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a brush with the crew

Last night, Mike and I were ordering sandwiches at Potbelly's and couldn't help but notice the guy in front of us looked familiar. Really familiar. I was entertaining ideas, but didn't want to say anything until Mike asked me if I recognized him. I said, "Not unless he's on the Crew." Well, of course, Mike was thinking the same thing. We left him alone as he ordered and left, and of course as soon as we got home we jumped on the internet and searched the team roster. Lo and behold, it turns out we were standing in line next to Duncan Oughton (Duncan's Crew profile), one of the midfielders for the Crew. Being the soccer obsessed lunatics we are, we tried not to get overly excited, but I have to admit it was really a great way to end a day. I'm now working on memorizing the entire roster in anticipation of future encounters, as it's surprisingly difficult to recognize some of these guys without their yellow jerseys on. I think perhaps it's about time I joined one of the three official fan clubs: the Hudson Street Hooligans, the Crew Union, or La Turbina de las Amarillas.... (photo from goal.com, specifically http://www.goal.com/hk/people/new-zealand/6650/duncan-oughton)

teaching

I am really excited to start teaching again this fall. At Esparto High School, I had something really special. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision in leaving that place, but it wasn't the students that finally led me to my decision. It was the administration, as well as my own desire to pursue a PhD and eventually get into teaching at the college level. There are days when I find myself thinking of my students, most especially the Class of 2008 who I was lucky enough to spend three years with; and I realize that the circumstances of that experience are non-replicable. Where else would I be able to make up 50% of the English department, and therefore teach 50% of the students in the entire high school? And even if I did find a place where that could happen, how would I ever swing it so that I taught 10th and 11th grade for two years, only to switch to 10th and 12th the third (therefore allowing me to stay with the same class for a third year in a row)? When I think about it honestly, I realize it would be nearly impossible to make all of those things happen, and that even if I could, who's to say the class would have the same kind of chemistry and pizzazz that that one did? So I console myself by seeing just how lucky I was to have that experience in the first place, and by allowing myself to reminisce about the students and their very special and unique selves. I also let myself wonder where they all are right now, a little over a year since I've seen any of them -- and I dream of all the incredible turns their lives are hopefully taking as they start to make a place and a name for themselves in this world of ours.

So with those thoughts on my mind, I am beginning to look forward to the teaching I get to do this fall. I'll be teaching my first class of college students, in the form of an English 110 course (freshman composition). It may not sound like the most exciting curriculum out there, but it sure does sound good to get back into the classroom. Thinking about it makes me more certain of my decision to work toward my PhD. The fact that I am this excited (so excited!) to get back into the classroom makes me feel confident that I'm heading in the right direction, and the fact that I miss the students from EHS makes me realize that it was the people (rather than the circumstances) that I miss the most. Somehow, that makes me feel really good.

I suppose it's last night's thunderstorm coupled with today's cloudy and windy weather that are bringing out the introspective side of me, but I also think it's the season. Back to school season: lined paper and Trapper Keepers on display everywhere you go, backpacks flying off the shelves and students of all sizes picking out the gear that will see them through this next school year. I wonder if these things will always turn my mind toward my students -- if they will always bring back memories of Senior Dinner and Rascal Flatts, Spart-a-rama, a particular shade of purple, and some familiar faces and personalities that have left their mark on me. Will I always find myself getting out a particular towel riddled with signatures, looking at the shapes of the letters and remembering the people who put them there? Will I always get out a simple three-ring binder filled with photographs and signatures, messages written in my own personal teacher's yearbook? Will I continue to sift through memories and find myself smiling at times past? Probably. And I can't say I'm all that broken up about it. I had some really good times at EHS, and some amazing people touched my life in ways that will always be with me. Perhaps that is my sign that I am where I should be -- that I can look back over where I've been and feel happy about it.

lazy, good-for-nothing, punkass little freeloaders

Two nights ago, someone got into Mike's truck and ransacked the entire thing, stealing an older iPod (plus iPod car gadgets) and our GPS (alas, poor Lizzie, nevermore to give us directions as we wander through this foreign land). Happily, there was no damage to the truck. Unhappily, it was parked right outside of our apartment, which is apparently not safe. Oh yeah, and things were stolen!! What is wrong with people, that they feel the need to break into people's cars and take things?

I'm reminded of a scene from Gone in 60 Seconds (yup, I'm referencing it) where one of the characters has just worked "hard" to steal a car, only to pull out of the garage and have another car thief attempt to carjack him. He punches the carjacker in the face, gets out of the car, and kicks him -- all the while complaining about the way kids these days don't want to work for anything, and just want to freeload off of other people's hard work. Of course, I'm not condoning car theft, but I like his message: nobody wants to work for anything anymore. It seems like everywhere you turn, there are more people looking for handouts.

Just the other day, Mike opened the door to a couple of kids who were (of course) selling something: magazines. Working to earn their "points" so they could go to Cancun or something. How exactly is it considered "working" to knock on people's doors and ask for money?

I don't know, maybe I'm just turning into one of those preachy old farts who spouts off about "kids these days" and their bad habits, and how much better it was in the old days when I was a kid. I mean, none of my friends want to work either, but they're out there holding jobs and doing it anyway so they can earn their keep. Nobody would choose to work if they could just have the money for free, but that just doesn't happen anymore. The moral of the story: if you want something, DON'T F***ING STEAL IT FROM ME!!

a little summer sadness

ODD. To feel sad in the summertime, that is. I don't really know why I feel so melancholy lately -- and so often, too. Sometimes I start thinking of the explanation they would have given in Shakespeare's day, something about the four humours, and what happens when a person has too much of one. I think it was black bile that made for a melancholy disposition. But of course, that's just a silly and outdated way of thinking, right? Sure. So what's my excuse? I guess summertime used to mean something else. It used to mean spending time with good friends, and catching up with friends you hadn't seen in a while -- having lots of time to do with as you please. But what happens when so few of your friends are even in the same time zone as you are? And when your new friends are busy with their own lives? And when (not that I'm complaining about this) your husband has a job, and it's just you and the cat in the apartment all day. With your books. All those books, but nobody to talk to. Nobody real to have a conversation with. Everybody living their lives three hours behind you, or in another part of the world. It's strange how technology brings people together in so many ways (communication is faster, sites like facebook make social networking easier, even shopping is altered) but keeps them apart in so many others. Sure, all my friends are saying things on facebook, and I can see what's going on in their lives and what they've written on my wall. It's just not the same as grabbing a bite to eat at our favorite deli, or sipping hot chocolate in the local coffee shop, or hanging up the phone knowing that in fifteen minutes one of us will be sitting in the other's living room. I mean, I have friends -- CLOSE friends -- who bought a house recently and I can't afford to get out to San Francisco to see them (and their amazing new home). I haven't seen my sister and my brother-in-law since New Year's day, and I don't forsee being able to get back home until the end of this year. Luckily, my parents are coming out in a few weeks, so it won't be an entire year since I've seen them. And thankfully, I was able to see my best friend at the end of April when we met up in DC (thanks to her parents' kindness and generosity). But as my friends continue to live their lives and keep me posted on all of the things we used to do together, some of which I haven't been able to do for years (like winter Tahoe trips and end-of-summer Don Pedro trips) I just keep brushing it off like it doesn't make me sad to watch another year go by without being able to do those things. Of course, it's the more everyday things that I miss most. Driving out to SF to visit for the weekend. Having a regular enough schedule to make regular phone calls a possibility. Hell, lately I haven't even been able to check my email on a regular basis. It's silly to complain about this stuff, really, because I know I have a lot of things going on that I can be thankful for. But it doesn't help me feel any less isolated. Sometimes I'm just lonely.

Futbol, Fireworks, and Fireflies

AHH, THE 4TH OF JULY. Yup, Mike and I spent the evening watching the Columbus Crew take on DC United. It wasn't their best game, but in the end they tied (1-1) and considering the bad refs and the oddly unenthusiastic crowd (at least, until the Crew scored their goal), I guess that's good enough for me. After the game, they had a nice little fireworks show in the light rain, and then Mike and I headed home. Of course, the drive wasn't entirely uneventful either (we had to phone in a drunk driver who was alternating between driving into oncoming traffic and going up onto the curb -- at one point, narrowly missing a telephone pole). When we got home, we walked into the courtyard in our apartment complex and saw some fireflies drifting lazily in the dark. It's the first time I've seen them since I was on vacation with my family in Washington, DC, over twenty years ago. It was a lovely way to come home, especially after the semi-disappointing game and the tense ride back. Now, back in our nice quiet apartment, the booming of not-so-distant fireworks fills the air like quiet thunder, and flashes of colored night air play above the treetops. We're not close enough that we can see the actual fireworks, but the glowing pulses of light are a nice pseudo-Northern Lights (this coming from a person who has yet to see the Northern Lights, of course, because I'm sure that when I do I will regret making such an undoubtedly silly statement). With the sounds of celebration pounding outside our windows, I can say that this has been a lovely way to spend Independence Day. :)