This quote is perhaps the most brilliant and hilarious thing I have ever said.
Let me supply some context...
Exactly, what my sister posted as her status:
"It feels amazing outside. I love fall,hoodys and bonfires. Cuddling and hayrack rides. the smell of burning leaves and all pretty colors. this is definately my favorite season every year, so thankful its here."
How I responded:
Post one:
"Because I have too-- a) hoodies**. If you don't believe me, google it. =) b) Something about "my favorite season every year" just sounds strange, as if despite the fact it is clearly contains all the factors that you deem to be the best and use to dictate your favorite, the statement implies that perhaps you are always surprised that it is your favorite. Or, that an unknown instigating factor may perhaps sway your favoritism one year. It's kind of like saying, "Green is my favorite color every rainbow." See, something just sounds odd about it. lol. But, yeah, I am also happy Autumn is finally here.
Post two:
"Also, because I missed it the first time, c) definitely**"
Post three:
"And, neglect the extraneous "is" before "clearly". I was typing faster than my brain."
I am not sure why her post bugged me the way it did. Perhaps it is because I just finished what could possibly be the most cleverly and masterfully constructed argument to a question ever posed to me (by my online social studies methods teacher). Perhaps it is because of the aforementioned statement that I am to conclude I am at my most brilliant after the Witching hour and before sunrise. So, fresh off the high of my own brilliance, I stumbled upon her post while glancing at Facebook, and had to respond.
Now, I cannot stop fucking laughing at "Green is my favorite color every rainbow".
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Reasons I could potentially be an awful teacher...
I go on a lot about teaching. Lately it has been more present in conversations because I am fast approaching the end of my prison sentence known as college. I'm taking content exams and going into classrooms. Shit is getting real now. I'm going to be student teaching next spring-- provided that tomorrow when I turn in my unbelievably ridiculous application for student teaching, everything doesn't go Titanic on me, which is something totally possibly through the incompetency of the TEP department... And, yes, you didn't read that wrong, I just I used the word "Titanic" as a euphemism for a disaster. Really, you could use any disaster...
Man-made-
"How was your date with Jessica last night?"
"Oh my god, it went totally Hindenburg after the second course."
Economic-
"How was Thanksgiving at your parents?"
"It turned Black Tuesday after mom opened the wine."
Natural-
"How did your speech go?"
"It was an epic Katrina."
Terrorism-
"How was that new Twilight saga movie?"
"It was like watching September 11th all over again."
Ssssss.... too soon? I guess ten years isn't enough.
I digress, as I so often have too, next semester, in less than six months, I'm going to be standing in front of high school students as a beacon of knowledge. The ones that aren't sleeping or playing on cell phones are going to be looking at me as a source of knowledge, and potentially forming opinions on my lessons that they hold for the rest of their lives. That's fucking intimidating. Especially when I think of situations I have been in during history classes where I have made a statement, and the other person on the end of the conversation says, "Where did you hear that?", and I respond, "I learned that in my high school American History class", and they just laugh. I don't won't the be the idiot teacher who got it wrong, and gets laughed at by some stupid history major. But, at least I can take some comfort in the fact that most of those kids who argued my opinions also failed multiple times to pass the content exam, where I didn't. That's the problem with going into history because you like bombs and WWII-- you tend to not go out of your way to learn much else, and end up being one of those terrible history teachers. The cycle continues...
But, what if I end up being one of those terrible teachers? Or worse, what if I end up being John Keating? (For those of you who just lost me, that's Robin Williams character from Dead Poet's Society)? What if I am a great fucking teacher, but I am too radical, and the administration and parents come after me like ravenous wolves? That's also intimidating. Would I diminish my passion just to keep my job? That's a sobering thought. But, it get's me thinking about other things.
Reasons I could potentially be a horrible teacher--
1. I say fuck a lot.
It's really not a secret about just how dirty of a mouth I have. I like to think I am an eloquent curser, but most of polite society would use the argument that a truly educated person does not have to resort to cursing to get their point across. To which, I politely respond, fuck off, you pretentious dick. Classy? Not exactly. But, what's the point in being classy when you are trying to insult someone? Anyway, once I was old enough to realize I could get away with it, I got pretty used to cursing, and now I find myself in situations where "fucks" can just slip out of my mouth without my permission. Like for instance, the time I was talking to one of my softball team mom's and I had to cleverly backtrack, and pretend I simply mispronounced a word. I'm too the point where I wonder how many words just slip out without my knowledge? That's a scary thought, isn't it?
"Alright class, today we're going to talk about a bad ass mother fucker named Winston Churchill. He served as the fucking Prime Minister of Great Britain during World War fucking II and helped lead to an allied victory, but perhaps he is best known for his reply to some bitch who insulted him for his drinking problem, "Madam, I may be drunk, but in the morning I shall be sober, but you will still be ugly." Fuck yeah.
Ironically, using this kind of language to teach about Winston Churchill doesn't seem like such an inappropriate example.
2. From the perspective of a teacher, by the unfortunate and terrible standards to which I am held as a history teacher, I am kind of a shitty history teacher.
I know the big things. 1776- Dec. of Independence is signed. 1787- Constitution is ratified. 1914- WWI breaks out in Europe, but other than the big stuff-- wars, assassinations, and other disasters (such as the examples I have identified at the beginning of this post), I have not taken the time to learn dates. Sorry about that, I guess I was too busy actually learning about the importance of the events rather than when they happened. That's why I have the textbook, right? I won't use it other than to make sure I'm not wrong... Napoleon lost at Waterloo in 1815, alright, good to know, but as for the rest of your dry prose, lack of useful or interesting information, and crappy propaganda, I reject your available information textbook. That's all a text book is good for anyway-- what, when, where, and who. The why is always thrown out to the wayside. Students don't need to thik about history, they just need to know it! How else could we test them!? Isn't that the only reason students go to school-- to take tests and get god grades? I mean, that's what we do in the real world right?
This leads me to reason 3.
3. I am sarcastic as I am immature. ... so, a lot in both circumstances.
The smart kids will get it. But, for the other 95% of the class, I'm going to lose them. I find things ironic and hilarious that other people, lame people, don't find hilarious, or even remotely interesting. I also lack tact, because when does someone in my position need that? I mean, six days shy of the tenth anniversary of a national tragedy, I have no problem making a joke. Maybe it's one of the unfortunate side effects of being a social studies major in that I have become so accustomed to analyzing every movement the human race makes to remember it was a horribly, unnecessary tragedy where thousands lost their lives. Or, maybe it is because that things like Sept. 11th still happen that I have become detached from a race of beings I am ashamed to be a part of and I'm just speaking through cynicism. The problem is I'm going to have to constantly to aware of the fact that just because I find something amusing, doesn't mean anyone else will. Plus, I have to remember, when student says or does something "inappropriate", it is wrong to laugh my ass off, no matter how fucking funny it is. Gotta be the adult now...
Perhaps, I should rethink this whole teaching thing...
Man-made-
"How was your date with Jessica last night?"
"Oh my god, it went totally Hindenburg after the second course."
Economic-
"How was Thanksgiving at your parents?"
"It turned Black Tuesday after mom opened the wine."
Natural-
"How did your speech go?"
"It was an epic Katrina."
Terrorism-
"How was that new Twilight saga movie?"
"It was like watching September 11th all over again."
Ssssss.... too soon? I guess ten years isn't enough.
I digress, as I so often have too, next semester, in less than six months, I'm going to be standing in front of high school students as a beacon of knowledge. The ones that aren't sleeping or playing on cell phones are going to be looking at me as a source of knowledge, and potentially forming opinions on my lessons that they hold for the rest of their lives. That's fucking intimidating. Especially when I think of situations I have been in during history classes where I have made a statement, and the other person on the end of the conversation says, "Where did you hear that?", and I respond, "I learned that in my high school American History class", and they just laugh. I don't won't the be the idiot teacher who got it wrong, and gets laughed at by some stupid history major. But, at least I can take some comfort in the fact that most of those kids who argued my opinions also failed multiple times to pass the content exam, where I didn't. That's the problem with going into history because you like bombs and WWII-- you tend to not go out of your way to learn much else, and end up being one of those terrible history teachers. The cycle continues...
But, what if I end up being one of those terrible teachers? Or worse, what if I end up being John Keating? (For those of you who just lost me, that's Robin Williams character from Dead Poet's Society)? What if I am a great fucking teacher, but I am too radical, and the administration and parents come after me like ravenous wolves? That's also intimidating. Would I diminish my passion just to keep my job? That's a sobering thought. But, it get's me thinking about other things.
Reasons I could potentially be a horrible teacher--
1. I say fuck a lot.
It's really not a secret about just how dirty of a mouth I have. I like to think I am an eloquent curser, but most of polite society would use the argument that a truly educated person does not have to resort to cursing to get their point across. To which, I politely respond, fuck off, you pretentious dick. Classy? Not exactly. But, what's the point in being classy when you are trying to insult someone? Anyway, once I was old enough to realize I could get away with it, I got pretty used to cursing, and now I find myself in situations where "fucks" can just slip out of my mouth without my permission. Like for instance, the time I was talking to one of my softball team mom's and I had to cleverly backtrack, and pretend I simply mispronounced a word. I'm too the point where I wonder how many words just slip out without my knowledge? That's a scary thought, isn't it?
"Alright class, today we're going to talk about a bad ass mother fucker named Winston Churchill. He served as the fucking Prime Minister of Great Britain during World War fucking II and helped lead to an allied victory, but perhaps he is best known for his reply to some bitch who insulted him for his drinking problem, "Madam, I may be drunk, but in the morning I shall be sober, but you will still be ugly." Fuck yeah.
Ironically, using this kind of language to teach about Winston Churchill doesn't seem like such an inappropriate example.
2. From the perspective of a teacher, by the unfortunate and terrible standards to which I am held as a history teacher, I am kind of a shitty history teacher.
I know the big things. 1776- Dec. of Independence is signed. 1787- Constitution is ratified. 1914- WWI breaks out in Europe, but other than the big stuff-- wars, assassinations, and other disasters (such as the examples I have identified at the beginning of this post), I have not taken the time to learn dates. Sorry about that, I guess I was too busy actually learning about the importance of the events rather than when they happened. That's why I have the textbook, right? I won't use it other than to make sure I'm not wrong... Napoleon lost at Waterloo in 1815, alright, good to know, but as for the rest of your dry prose, lack of useful or interesting information, and crappy propaganda, I reject your available information textbook. That's all a text book is good for anyway-- what, when, where, and who. The why is always thrown out to the wayside. Students don't need to thik about history, they just need to know it! How else could we test them!? Isn't that the only reason students go to school-- to take tests and get god grades? I mean, that's what we do in the real world right?
This leads me to reason 3.
3. I am sarcastic as I am immature. ... so, a lot in both circumstances.
The smart kids will get it. But, for the other 95% of the class, I'm going to lose them. I find things ironic and hilarious that other people, lame people, don't find hilarious, or even remotely interesting. I also lack tact, because when does someone in my position need that? I mean, six days shy of the tenth anniversary of a national tragedy, I have no problem making a joke. Maybe it's one of the unfortunate side effects of being a social studies major in that I have become so accustomed to analyzing every movement the human race makes to remember it was a horribly, unnecessary tragedy where thousands lost their lives. Or, maybe it is because that things like Sept. 11th still happen that I have become detached from a race of beings I am ashamed to be a part of and I'm just speaking through cynicism. The problem is I'm going to have to constantly to aware of the fact that just because I find something amusing, doesn't mean anyone else will. Plus, I have to remember, when student says or does something "inappropriate", it is wrong to laugh my ass off, no matter how fucking funny it is. Gotta be the adult now...
Perhaps, I should rethink this whole teaching thing...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Rolling in dough while Carlin rolls in his grave.
I found this 'Calvin and Hobbes' strip in one of Wyatt's compilation books, and it made me think of this song by Bo Burnham-- who is made completely out of sarcasm and brillance. But, both are pretty spot on. Click here to watch since Blogger's stupid, useless video uploader keeps malfunctioning.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo9pU1q8sy8
Especially the Calvin strip. I mean, just get on IMDB and check out this article. "Movies you won't even believe are coming out".
http://www.imdb.com/list/vmHqw4Vs-Dc
I mean, seriously? Can we not possibly continue as a species without another Independence Day? Without raping a fine stand alone film for gross movie profits for summer blockbusters? That's how you end up with awful sequels that ruin the original epic movie-- Jurassic Park 4, for instance. Or, without ruining what happiness of my childhood I have left with movies like Indiana Jones 5 or Ghostbusters 3. And it's not just movies. A couple of months ago, I was was looking for news about the new Zelda Wii game that has been delayed like three years, and I found an article complaining about the fact that the video game industry is also out of ideas.
" More Proof the Video Game Industry is Out of Ideas (E3 2010)"
http://www.cracked.com/article_18609_more-proof-video-game-industry-out-ideas-e3-2010.html
And, don't even get me started on the vampire thing that they have thoroughly beaten into the ground, and thankfully, seems to have been staked and dying out for the time being... until the damn two-part finale that was only broken up in the sad attempt to make as much money and the stupid two-part debacle that was Deathly Hallows-- thankfully the second part made up for the failing of the first.
I digress though.
I claim to be an artist. I am a painter. A photographer. A writer. I am creative and whimsical when the muse calls, and sometimes I finish something I am so amazed that I accomplished and proud that I created...
Like Bo said--
"Have you ever been to a birthday party for children,
And one of the children won't stop screaming
'Cause he's just a little attention attractor
When he grows up to be a comic or actor
He'll be rewarded for never maturing
For never understanding or learning
That every day can't be about him
There's other people, you selfish asshole!"
That's me. I make art, and people tell me it's great. I'm that kid screaming for praise and attention. My drug is attention, and yes, I am an addict, but I only wish I got paid to indulge in my habit...
... And then I see art by someone who is a real artist, like my father in law. I feel like my paintings are the kindergarten scribbled, put up on the fridge equivalent of what he does and that makes me feel so insignificant and untalented and undeserving of any attention for my so-called "gifts".
It makes me feel like a poser artist. One of the delusionals who thinks they have speck of talent, but doesn't, but no-one will tell them for fear of hurting ther feelings. I guess I am being too hard on myself-- at least I am not one of those losers who draws manga and anime and posts every single crappy sketch and scrap of aforementioned crap art on their Deviant Art page. 75% of Fan Art these days is one of my favorite characters as a slutty Japanese school girl, or as a big breasted anime bimbo, or for some weird ass reason, and anime style dog. I mean, wtf? I'm not looking for images of bukake splatted female characters from my favorite fandoms. I just wanted a cool background. Those people are fucked up...
But, I endure, hoping that what I lack in writing or painting talent, perhaps I more than make up for in originality and creativeness. If that's the case, at least I am doing better than Hollywood.
An argument only my husband and I could have...
While cleaning the house yesterday in preparation for Darryl's birthday poker game, Wyatt and I were each cleaning while something educational was on television. During one of the commercial breaks a commercial for a travel show I have watched occasionally called Rick Steves' Europe came on. Rick Steves is a famous travel guy who does travels shows in which he travels. Occasionally he writes books about it too. Anyway, Rick was going to Iran in the next episode, and this made me pause because I had to make fun of the fact that Iran is not located Europe. It made me laugh and I commented about it. And, this point is where I made the unfortunate mistake of allowing this comment to lead into the following conversation. (The following is a paraphrased transcript of what I can remember about this unbelievably stupid conversation.)
Bekki- "Well, obviously Rick Steves' doesn't know much about geography, because last time I checked, Iran is in the Middle East, not in Europe."
Wyatt- "Yes it is.
Bekki- "What? No it's not. It's on a completely different continent."
Wyatt-- trying to be condescending, "Bekki, where is the Middle East? What continent is it on?"
Bekki-- "It's in Asia, Wyatt. The show is called Rick Steves' "EUROPE". They are going to another continent that is not Europe.
Wyatt-- A little more condescending sounding, not sure why because his comments are so completely non-sensical, "So, it's not really Middle East then is it?"
Bekki- "Yes it IS! That is the regional term."
Wyatt- "Well it can't be the Middle East if it's in Asia. You're not talking about a regional term, you were talking about a continent."
Bekki, who is utterly lost at this point, near face-palming, "What the fuck are you talking about? Where do we live? We live in the Mid-West, which is on the North American Continent. Just because the region is in North America doesn't mean it's not referred to as the Mid-West. That's the regional term."
Wyatt, still continuing with this ludacris conversation for reasons unknown to intelligent beings, "But you weren't talking about the region, you were talking about the continent."
Bekki- "REGARDLESS OF THE WORDING I USED, THE POINT REMAINS THAT IRAN IS NOT IN FUCKING EUROPE!
Wyatt- "Yeah, but it's close by."
This is the point in the conversation in which I resort to drinking in case this conversation continues.
Bekki- "Well, obviously Rick Steves' doesn't know much about geography, because last time I checked, Iran is in the Middle East, not in Europe."
Wyatt- "Yes it is.
Bekki- "What? No it's not. It's on a completely different continent."
Wyatt-- trying to be condescending, "Bekki, where is the Middle East? What continent is it on?"
Bekki-- "It's in Asia, Wyatt. The show is called Rick Steves' "EUROPE". They are going to another continent that is not Europe.
Wyatt-- A little more condescending sounding, not sure why because his comments are so completely non-sensical, "So, it's not really Middle East then is it?"
Bekki- "Yes it IS! That is the regional term."
Wyatt- "Well it can't be the Middle East if it's in Asia. You're not talking about a regional term, you were talking about a continent."
Bekki, who is utterly lost at this point, near face-palming, "What the fuck are you talking about? Where do we live? We live in the Mid-West, which is on the North American Continent. Just because the region is in North America doesn't mean it's not referred to as the Mid-West. That's the regional term."
Wyatt, still continuing with this ludacris conversation for reasons unknown to intelligent beings, "But you weren't talking about the region, you were talking about the continent."
Bekki- "REGARDLESS OF THE WORDING I USED, THE POINT REMAINS THAT IRAN IS NOT IN FUCKING EUROPE!
Wyatt- "Yeah, but it's close by."
This is the point in the conversation in which I resort to drinking in case this conversation continues.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Shut the fuck up, take my money, and put me in a fucking classroom!
Once again, UIS has found a new way to kill my brain cells with their bureaucratic stupidity. I was informed yesterday that I have two weeks to submit the 50 some odd forms, applications, certificates, and other jazz I need to sign up and qualify for student teaching in the Spring of 2012. Most of these things I could have completed months, even years ago, and yet they withhold this info until two weeks before I have to have it submitted, after which there is absolutely no way they will consider me for teaching in the spring. So, in the next two weeks I have to fill out three applications, without errors of any kind-- can't even cross out or whiteout--, obtain signatures from department chairs and advisers in triplicate graduation application forms, write a new resume and teaching philosophy --has to be new, can't be any of the 1000 I have had make of either in all my education classes-- and print them in quintuple -- yes, that's right, five copies--, take two online courses for mandated reporting and health and safety, and pass tests for both for which I have to submit two forms for each, meet with my TEP advisor twice for more approvals and signatures, and a whole bunch of other forms and documents and bullshit and run around.
To say I am unhappy, angry, annoyed, would be an understatement. I wish I could re-organize this department on an epic level. The complete and utter lack of sensibility or communication skills by this department is staggering. I know I am a good teacher, and all the proof comes from my reviews and evaluations from my students and sponsor teachers. But, this department refuses to equip us with the practical knowledge one will need to become a competent teacher in a real world setting...
NO! Instead, I have been forced to take my umpteenth online class where for my first fucking assignment I must write an autobiographical paper about why I want to be a teacher, my experiences with teaching, and how I think these experiences will make me a better teacher! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I FUCKING WRITTEN THIS PAPER! Seriously? No... SERIOUSLY!?
[Excuse the brief interruption in your regularly schedule blog post while the writer puts a gun in her mouth.]
This is not going to make me a better teacher. Making me take bullshit online courses where I do not actually get to function in a real classroom setting will not make me a better teacher. Waxing poetic bullshit about how great of a teacher I'll imagine I'll be will not make me a better teacher. Do you know what will make me a better teacher?
PUT ME IN A FUCKING CLASSROOM!
I understand there are methods and lessons I have to learn beforehand, but how will I ever learn to put them into actual practice if all my classes are online and I only get 40 hours of in classroom time with actual living, breathing, spit ball shooting, sarcastic, intelligent, learning disabled, black, white, hispanic, impoverished, wealthy, athletic, awkward, and any other combination of diverse students! This is why the level of education in this country is so unbelievably, terrifyingly dismal. If we can't even properly educate future educators, what hope do the poor students have without qualified, competent teachers, without funding for resources for those teachers, and with NCLB dictating what subjects are important and unimportant based on whether we can standardize a test for it?
I'm terrified to get up in front of a classroom and claim myself to be a teacher. I do not in any way feel prepared for this. I feel cheated. I feel like I got a sub-standard education, and if I don't feel like I'll be ready to teach these students on the level they deserve, how is that fair to them? I love teaching, and I know how to relate to students, how to present material to them, how to make school fun, how to make it come alive, how to interact with them-- when I get up there, I now how to be a good teacher-- but UIS wants me to be a good clinical teacher, all sterilized and generic, all touchy-feely and not gritty and realistically.
Dear mystical and complex universe, please don't let me fall flat on my unprepared face. Please, I have been sacrificing and busting my ass for this moment for six years-- please, please, let me get all my paperwork in on time, and let next semester go as smoothly and brilliantly as possible--
Because if it doesn't... the gun is going back in my mouth.
To say I am unhappy, angry, annoyed, would be an understatement. I wish I could re-organize this department on an epic level. The complete and utter lack of sensibility or communication skills by this department is staggering. I know I am a good teacher, and all the proof comes from my reviews and evaluations from my students and sponsor teachers. But, this department refuses to equip us with the practical knowledge one will need to become a competent teacher in a real world setting...
NO! Instead, I have been forced to take my umpteenth online class where for my first fucking assignment I must write an autobiographical paper about why I want to be a teacher, my experiences with teaching, and how I think these experiences will make me a better teacher! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I FUCKING WRITTEN THIS PAPER! Seriously? No... SERIOUSLY!?
[Excuse the brief interruption in your regularly schedule blog post while the writer puts a gun in her mouth.]
This is not going to make me a better teacher. Making me take bullshit online courses where I do not actually get to function in a real classroom setting will not make me a better teacher. Waxing poetic bullshit about how great of a teacher I'll imagine I'll be will not make me a better teacher. Do you know what will make me a better teacher?
PUT ME IN A FUCKING CLASSROOM!
I understand there are methods and lessons I have to learn beforehand, but how will I ever learn to put them into actual practice if all my classes are online and I only get 40 hours of in classroom time with actual living, breathing, spit ball shooting, sarcastic, intelligent, learning disabled, black, white, hispanic, impoverished, wealthy, athletic, awkward, and any other combination of diverse students! This is why the level of education in this country is so unbelievably, terrifyingly dismal. If we can't even properly educate future educators, what hope do the poor students have without qualified, competent teachers, without funding for resources for those teachers, and with NCLB dictating what subjects are important and unimportant based on whether we can standardize a test for it?
I'm terrified to get up in front of a classroom and claim myself to be a teacher. I do not in any way feel prepared for this. I feel cheated. I feel like I got a sub-standard education, and if I don't feel like I'll be ready to teach these students on the level they deserve, how is that fair to them? I love teaching, and I know how to relate to students, how to present material to them, how to make school fun, how to make it come alive, how to interact with them-- when I get up there, I now how to be a good teacher-- but UIS wants me to be a good clinical teacher, all sterilized and generic, all touchy-feely and not gritty and realistically.
Dear mystical and complex universe, please don't let me fall flat on my unprepared face. Please, I have been sacrificing and busting my ass for this moment for six years-- please, please, let me get all my paperwork in on time, and let next semester go as smoothly and brilliantly as possible--
Because if it doesn't... the gun is going back in my mouth.
Monday, August 22, 2011
UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!
So, last week, when we got back from our honeymoon, I had to quickly get online to order my books. I am only taking two classes this semester. This is supposed to be my easy semester-- two classes, no job to balance with homework and on campus meetings. Free time to hang out, to go to events like parties and weddings without having to worry about whether I can get time off or if homework is due. All I have is an online course for my Social Science Methods requirement for secondary education, and math class to fulfill the last two credits I need to finish the teaching program. While the methods book was average in price of what I am used too, the math book was ridiculous, and so I went online to order it. A paperback copy for $60! Awesomely doable! Ordered. Unfortunately a week later, I discovered that I had purchased one of the supplements, and not the text. FUCK! I had less than a week before class started, and I HATE being the kid who has to ask for extra time because the books aren't in yet. In my haste and panic, I ended up having to order the ridiculous book from the bookstore, that at the cheapest cost us $130 just to rent, and thus because of our recent excursion to Wyoming, meant we went negative to pay for my unintended extra expense. I also can't return to supplement book.
On top of this drama,I am not happy, at all, about having to take another math class. Way back at LLCC, in 2006 during my second semester of college I took what I thought would be my last math class. MAT 104- Math for the liberal arts major. Easy, right? One semester and done forever. All I needed for the history program here at UIS was 4 credits. Unfortunately after I finished all of my bachelor credits, and I am just trying to finish up my certification classes, do they inform me that I need 6 credits to the education program. FUCK! Well, I'm over it, and I an begrudgingly taking this class. I get online to register and see MAT 102, College Algebra. It's a freshman class and I am a super senior at UIS, this should be fine for a math illiterate such s myself-- the kind of person who gets so panic attacky when she sees numbers that I freeze up and forget how to count when someone watches me count out change.
Today is the first day of classes, first last day for me, and it's going to be amazing. Everything should be perfect. I get up, shower, apply makeup, and put on my new outfit that I bought, the one that makes me look mature, elegant, sophisticated, and like a teacher candidate-- a hot teacher candidate, mind you. I have no problem finding a parking spot and am the first one in the class room. Yes! First choice in prime seating! I make a few friends as the students pile it. Most of them look like they are barely old enough to be in high school let alone college, and I revel in my maturity and coolness, and adjust my trendy new outfit like I am better than all of these newbians. The teacher seems perfect for me and I relax somewhat that although this class terrifies me, I am sure she is willing to work with me and is committed to making sure we all get this. This might not be absolutely horrible...
Tragedy strikes without warning!
"This is a prepatory class for Calculus for those of you who are majoring in business and computer science, so if you are not required to take calculus after this, you might want to talk to your adviser and see about taking another class."
WHAT!? NO! I am in the wrong class! The very class I lost $60 dollars on ordering the wrong book and went negative to order the right one! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME! Next thing I know is we're going over notes, and it's like the entire class is a play and I don't know any of the lines. Numbers and variables are flying up on the board and answers are being shouted out. How are they coming to these conclusions!? This is less decipherable than hieroglyphics! I am fucked. Do I even know where the receipt for my book return is? GOD DAMN IT!
I talked to her after class, and we decided that I should go to her Quantitative Reasoning class, which is more of a survey. I mean christ, I just need to dam credits. I gave up being an astronaut for this very reason, and there is no way I can do this math. It's going to be impossible. Plus, I am relieved I won't lose her as my teacher. But first I have to make sure QR isn't too much like my MAT 104 class and will still count. Next thing I know is I am rushing over to talk to the Teacher Education dept to make sure I can take this new class. Luckily, the amazing lady that pretty much runs that dept pulls strings and approves my decision. I run back to my new teacher and tell her all is good in the land of Bekki after all. Crisis averted. She sends me to the dept asst, I get dept approval, and I hustle over to the library to add and drop the classes.
I drive home, knowing I have to be back at 4 for my new math class, hopefully more aligned with the needs of special needs math cases like myself, determined to find my book return receipt. I, Bekki Leber the fucking idiot, tossed it because I always hold on to them and never need to return books. I am always on top of things and I know what classes I need. No. Not this year. Because all the info was conveniently not presented to me, and I was not informed this was a prep track specific class, I am now digging with my bare hands through my trash can-- full of old food, junk mail, coffee grinds, other undesirable oozes and squashed remnants-- is that fucking mold!? I have to wash my hands, excuse me. BLECK! No return slip.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK...
This is the part where I panic and go wake up Wyatt with only four hours of sleep to break down and cry.
I get back online, buy my new book, and accept that I have just lost a collective near $200 on this class. I order my new book and head back to UIS to pick it up, print off some stuff at the library since my printer is dead and I can't get my new parking pass until I have the form, and be at my new math class at 4 pm.
A small victory! While telling my sob story to the ladies in the bookstore while they pick up my new book, I am informed that I can still return my book up until Friday. I don't need the slip because they can print it since I bought it online! THANK YOU MERCIFUL UNIVERSE! Just one small victory, but it makes a few things right. I still lost $60 bucks on the other book, but I can cope with that, I guess, if I have no other choice. OH, rest assured I will bitch about it, at length, whether you want me to or not. But, on the whole, I am heaving a sigh .
But, if someone asks me how my days is going, would it be too melodramatic to say it's approaching one of my worst ever?
On top of this drama,I am not happy, at all, about having to take another math class. Way back at LLCC, in 2006 during my second semester of college I took what I thought would be my last math class. MAT 104- Math for the liberal arts major. Easy, right? One semester and done forever. All I needed for the history program here at UIS was 4 credits. Unfortunately after I finished all of my bachelor credits, and I am just trying to finish up my certification classes, do they inform me that I need 6 credits to the education program. FUCK! Well, I'm over it, and I an begrudgingly taking this class. I get online to register and see MAT 102, College Algebra. It's a freshman class and I am a super senior at UIS, this should be fine for a math illiterate such s myself-- the kind of person who gets so panic attacky when she sees numbers that I freeze up and forget how to count when someone watches me count out change.
Today is the first day of classes, first last day for me, and it's going to be amazing. Everything should be perfect. I get up, shower, apply makeup, and put on my new outfit that I bought, the one that makes me look mature, elegant, sophisticated, and like a teacher candidate-- a hot teacher candidate, mind you. I have no problem finding a parking spot and am the first one in the class room. Yes! First choice in prime seating! I make a few friends as the students pile it. Most of them look like they are barely old enough to be in high school let alone college, and I revel in my maturity and coolness, and adjust my trendy new outfit like I am better than all of these newbians. The teacher seems perfect for me and I relax somewhat that although this class terrifies me, I am sure she is willing to work with me and is committed to making sure we all get this. This might not be absolutely horrible...
Tragedy strikes without warning!
"This is a prepatory class for Calculus for those of you who are majoring in business and computer science, so if you are not required to take calculus after this, you might want to talk to your adviser and see about taking another class."
WHAT!? NO! I am in the wrong class! The very class I lost $60 dollars on ordering the wrong book and went negative to order the right one! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME! Next thing I know is we're going over notes, and it's like the entire class is a play and I don't know any of the lines. Numbers and variables are flying up on the board and answers are being shouted out. How are they coming to these conclusions!? This is less decipherable than hieroglyphics! I am fucked. Do I even know where the receipt for my book return is? GOD DAMN IT!
I talked to her after class, and we decided that I should go to her Quantitative Reasoning class, which is more of a survey. I mean christ, I just need to dam credits. I gave up being an astronaut for this very reason, and there is no way I can do this math. It's going to be impossible. Plus, I am relieved I won't lose her as my teacher. But first I have to make sure QR isn't too much like my MAT 104 class and will still count. Next thing I know is I am rushing over to talk to the Teacher Education dept to make sure I can take this new class. Luckily, the amazing lady that pretty much runs that dept pulls strings and approves my decision. I run back to my new teacher and tell her all is good in the land of Bekki after all. Crisis averted. She sends me to the dept asst, I get dept approval, and I hustle over to the library to add and drop the classes.
I drive home, knowing I have to be back at 4 for my new math class, hopefully more aligned with the needs of special needs math cases like myself, determined to find my book return receipt. I, Bekki Leber the fucking idiot, tossed it because I always hold on to them and never need to return books. I am always on top of things and I know what classes I need. No. Not this year. Because all the info was conveniently not presented to me, and I was not informed this was a prep track specific class, I am now digging with my bare hands through my trash can-- full of old food, junk mail, coffee grinds, other undesirable oozes and squashed remnants-- is that fucking mold!? I have to wash my hands, excuse me. BLECK! No return slip.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK...
This is the part where I panic and go wake up Wyatt with only four hours of sleep to break down and cry.
I get back online, buy my new book, and accept that I have just lost a collective near $200 on this class. I order my new book and head back to UIS to pick it up, print off some stuff at the library since my printer is dead and I can't get my new parking pass until I have the form, and be at my new math class at 4 pm.
A small victory! While telling my sob story to the ladies in the bookstore while they pick up my new book, I am informed that I can still return my book up until Friday. I don't need the slip because they can print it since I bought it online! THANK YOU MERCIFUL UNIVERSE! Just one small victory, but it makes a few things right. I still lost $60 bucks on the other book, but I can cope with that, I guess, if I have no other choice. OH, rest assured I will bitch about it, at length, whether you want me to or not. But, on the whole, I am heaving a sigh .
But, if someone asks me how my days is going, would it be too melodramatic to say it's approaching one of my worst ever?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
When I grow up, I want to be a writer...
Most of you, who would bother coming here, have heard me at some point make reference to “My Novel”. Be it over Facebook status, a conversation, an arbitrary comment, what have you-- you have probably heard me mention this mystery novel and some of you have even asked, “What’s it about?”.
This is the part where I stare back at you in silence for a moment while my brain tries to compile the enormity of the last three years of world building, character development, plot lining, twist turning, cliff hangers, and all the other things that make these eventual books—Singularity, Infinity, and Relativity—(at least their names for now, although I’ve gotten kind of attached to them, and the physics names are all kind of an underlying science theme I am aiming for….blah, blah, blah) into a cohesive description that you, the lay person with no insight into my vivid, whirlwind imagination, could possibly understand as to what exactly I am trying to create without an in-depth, hour long, confusing and constantly back tracking explanation… which will follow.
I’m not insulting your intelligence in assuming so pompously that you, said lay person devoid of a window into the head of a head case, could not possibly understand what the hell I am talking about. Nor, am I trying to insinuate that I’m writing an intensely deep, complicated novel that will rival the collective works of Austen, Twain, Fitzgerald, Vonnegut, King, Rowling, and Meyer… Hahaha. Okay that last name was hard to type because I was laughing so hard I was snorting. I am definitely not trying to insinuate that my book will rival Stephanie Meyer—because no matter how horrendous of a writer I turn out to be, my novels will exceed, outclass, and make a complete mockery of the series that Meyer and her coven of hormonal tweens—and their pathetic sisters and mothers—consider a literary masterpiece of epic romance. Once again, that last part of the sentence was complicated with the laughing and the snorting.
If I had break it down to its most basic components, I guess I would have to say it is about souls—those who have them and those that do not, and all the scientific reasons why. DISCLOSURE: THIS STORY HAS ABSLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH VAMPIRES OR WEREWOLVES. So, if you don’t tend to stray any further down the literary rabbithole than those two topics, and you know who you are, and I’ve probably criticized you at length, than you’re probably not going to be interested. Sorry. Like, I know it’s totally the popular thing to the right now, and like, every person that thinks they are a writer is totally doing that – but, that’s exactly why I am writing about nothing that has to do with Vampires or Werewolves. Meyer bashing aside, the whole idea boils down to what are souls, really? In my world, they are an electromagnetic based organism, a parasite that feeds off the energy of humans, and this is the reason we die. But, through the wonder of evolution, some humans have adapted to fend off these parasites, and thus they have no soul (Vapids) and because of their sans-soulness, are immortal. Others have adapted to have a symbiotic relationship with souls allowing an increased mental capacity, superpowers in other words (Abstracts), and are also immortal. Now, this immortality has its limits. While they stop aging around the early thirties, being an Abstract or a Vapid doesn’t mean you cannot die. They are still susceptible to disease and trauma, but they will never die because of old age.
That’s pretty bare bones, I know, and even a little bit more farfetched, but if you have ever watched Star Trek, it probably seems a little less hard to wrap your brain bones around.
Okay, so where am I going with all this? Well, if you are actually under the illusion I am going to finish this someday, and think you might ever read this STOP NOW, because in the words of River Song, SPOILERS!:
Here’s the best way to explain the beginning of the plot—
A man named Elias Dethridge—my antagonist… (or is he? Could he possibly also be a protagonist? Who knows? Read the book in a decade when I finally finish it, and find out for yourself.) – This is the part where you roll your eyes at me, stop trying to follow my impossible train of thought and say, “Fuck, she is long winded!”—anyway, Elias Dethridge, antagonist, protagonist, whatever, is a vapid. He falls for a normal human lady, Violetta, who will eventually die, and decides he can’t be with her until he finds a way to make her immortal like him. Flash forward through years of traveling, talking to wise men and shamans and other general conveyers of mysticism, and soul-searching – pun absolutely intended—and he finds a way to make her immortal by removing her soul. Enter Magnus Finnegan, or better known as Finn. He is an abstract, and his power is… you ready for this, electromagnetic manipulation, or in other words, he can extract Violetta’s parasite, a.k.a soul, and make her immortal right? Makes sense. Absolutely logical. Anyone without a soul is immortal.
WRONG!
Taking out the soul of normal human does such irreparable, traumatic damage to their body and psyche, it essentially drives them insane (think Drusilla from Buffy). What is poor Elias to do? Find a way to fix her. Okay, get ready because here comes the rubber science—
A soul implants after birth –haha, fuck you anti-abortionists, not in my book!—and bonds with the body physically. Remove it and it will kill the person, but when they die it just simply moves on to another host. Revive that person and the soul is no longer bonded to the body of that person, and they’ll be immortal. Unfortunately, one unintended side effect is they lack that sanity thing that most people—myself excluded—enjoy and take for granted on a regular basis. The soul becomes such a interconnected part of the body, it’s like the worst form of phantom limb you can experience, thus the crazy. If you can put it back in though, all your problems are solved! The best part? Since the soul has bonded to a new body, it doesn’t recognize the host, but the body recognizes the soul and is relived of all of the stress derived from extraction. It’s like trying to put a round peg in a square hole—it still fits, but not quite. But, hey, sanity restored.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right?
WRONG!
Did you not pick up on the part where the soul bonded to another person? That means you have to kill the new host. And, it’s not like there is an Iphone app for finding displaced souls. It can take years for repossessors and seers to find the soul and it’s new host. So, what is Elias Dethridge to do while he tries to restore his wife? While he waits patiently for decades to once again have Violetta back? What else? Build a black market empire on this amazing new power he knows how to wield.
So, Dethridge becomes a rich, entrepreneur of supernatural services, and eventually becomes one of the most powerful men on the planet. Then, suddenly, it happens! They find Violetta’s soul! Finn is sent to recover it—except, aww, isn’t that always the way? Finn completely falls in love with the girl he is suppose to kill and steal the soul from… what is a man totally indebted to another man for a life of wealth, luxury, and power to do in this situation? Easy. Kill someone else, send the fake soul back, and run away with the girl. Duh. Which would have been very romantic and all, except Dethridge isn’t going to let that fly! He has become a vicious, soul stealing, murder through vicarious acts of his repossessors, madman insane with power. He gets another repossessor , they kill the girl and take the soul, nearly killing Finn and leaving him for nearly dead. His true love slain by the hands of the only father figure Finn’s ever known, there is really only one thing to do, isn’t there? Start a fucking revolution to bring down an empire, stop Dethridge’s tyranny, and seek the ultimate form of vengeance—he has to kill Violetta Dethridge. The plot builds, stuff happens, characters get introduced, more stuff happens, and eventually that is exactly what Finn does. He frees the soul of the woman he loved in the hopes that when it comes back-- and here’s hoping it comes back into another woman, because otherwise, that’s awkward—she will learn to love him again. He’ll be around right? He’s immortal. He’ll just wait. How romantic. Everybody swoons and awes, and eventually they live happily ever after, right?
WRONG!
The soul attaches to a girl, luckily for Finn, but in the ironic way that writers work, it attaches to an abstract, a girl with empath abilities. Oh, did I totally forget to mention that DETHRIDGE KILLS ALL EMPATHS BECAUSE THEY ARE A THREAT TO HIM!? Oh, curse you dramatic irony! What is Finn to do? Save her of course. He’ll just keep her hidden, keep a distant eye on her, keep her safe until she grows up and he can explain everything and she’ll fall madly in love with him and they will run off together into the sunset, right?
Do I really need to say it? I mean, you have got to be getting the picture here, picking up on some kind of pattern.
WRONG!
Enter the protagonist (Maybe? Plot thickens…) Max, who is an out of work artist, beaten down by life’s unfair blows, driven to the point of insanity by the voices in her head, and a full-fledged alcoholic.
And, here, despite all that immense and detailed back-story, is where the novel really starts. Max is exposed to Dethridge, he sends a hit out on her, but Finn gets her out, tagged along by her best friend, loyal side kick, and all around ‘Ducky’, Ridley. From here is the adventure I call “Singularity”.
Yeah, now that you read all this, sound pretty awesome, doesn’t it? And now you are all like, “Damn! I spoiled everything.” Rest assured, there are many more twists and surprises to come. I mean, I obviously have to come up with tons more bull shit to put into the other two books…
Now you know. One a scale of 1-10, how fucking confused are you right now? =)
This is the part where I stare back at you in silence for a moment while my brain tries to compile the enormity of the last three years of world building, character development, plot lining, twist turning, cliff hangers, and all the other things that make these eventual books—Singularity, Infinity, and Relativity—(at least their names for now, although I’ve gotten kind of attached to them, and the physics names are all kind of an underlying science theme I am aiming for….blah, blah, blah) into a cohesive description that you, the lay person with no insight into my vivid, whirlwind imagination, could possibly understand as to what exactly I am trying to create without an in-depth, hour long, confusing and constantly back tracking explanation… which will follow.
I’m not insulting your intelligence in assuming so pompously that you, said lay person devoid of a window into the head of a head case, could not possibly understand what the hell I am talking about. Nor, am I trying to insinuate that I’m writing an intensely deep, complicated novel that will rival the collective works of Austen, Twain, Fitzgerald, Vonnegut, King, Rowling, and Meyer… Hahaha. Okay that last name was hard to type because I was laughing so hard I was snorting. I am definitely not trying to insinuate that my book will rival Stephanie Meyer—because no matter how horrendous of a writer I turn out to be, my novels will exceed, outclass, and make a complete mockery of the series that Meyer and her coven of hormonal tweens—and their pathetic sisters and mothers—consider a literary masterpiece of epic romance. Once again, that last part of the sentence was complicated with the laughing and the snorting.
If I had break it down to its most basic components, I guess I would have to say it is about souls—those who have them and those that do not, and all the scientific reasons why. DISCLOSURE: THIS STORY HAS ABSLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH VAMPIRES OR WEREWOLVES. So, if you don’t tend to stray any further down the literary rabbithole than those two topics, and you know who you are, and I’ve probably criticized you at length, than you’re probably not going to be interested. Sorry. Like, I know it’s totally the popular thing to the right now, and like, every person that thinks they are a writer is totally doing that – but, that’s exactly why I am writing about nothing that has to do with Vampires or Werewolves. Meyer bashing aside, the whole idea boils down to what are souls, really? In my world, they are an electromagnetic based organism, a parasite that feeds off the energy of humans, and this is the reason we die. But, through the wonder of evolution, some humans have adapted to fend off these parasites, and thus they have no soul (Vapids) and because of their sans-soulness, are immortal. Others have adapted to have a symbiotic relationship with souls allowing an increased mental capacity, superpowers in other words (Abstracts), and are also immortal. Now, this immortality has its limits. While they stop aging around the early thirties, being an Abstract or a Vapid doesn’t mean you cannot die. They are still susceptible to disease and trauma, but they will never die because of old age.
That’s pretty bare bones, I know, and even a little bit more farfetched, but if you have ever watched Star Trek, it probably seems a little less hard to wrap your brain bones around.
Okay, so where am I going with all this? Well, if you are actually under the illusion I am going to finish this someday, and think you might ever read this STOP NOW, because in the words of River Song, SPOILERS!:
Here’s the best way to explain the beginning of the plot—
A man named Elias Dethridge—my antagonist… (or is he? Could he possibly also be a protagonist? Who knows? Read the book in a decade when I finally finish it, and find out for yourself.) – This is the part where you roll your eyes at me, stop trying to follow my impossible train of thought and say, “Fuck, she is long winded!”—anyway, Elias Dethridge, antagonist, protagonist, whatever, is a vapid. He falls for a normal human lady, Violetta, who will eventually die, and decides he can’t be with her until he finds a way to make her immortal like him. Flash forward through years of traveling, talking to wise men and shamans and other general conveyers of mysticism, and soul-searching – pun absolutely intended—and he finds a way to make her immortal by removing her soul. Enter Magnus Finnegan, or better known as Finn. He is an abstract, and his power is… you ready for this, electromagnetic manipulation, or in other words, he can extract Violetta’s parasite, a.k.a soul, and make her immortal right? Makes sense. Absolutely logical. Anyone without a soul is immortal.
WRONG!
Taking out the soul of normal human does such irreparable, traumatic damage to their body and psyche, it essentially drives them insane (think Drusilla from Buffy). What is poor Elias to do? Find a way to fix her. Okay, get ready because here comes the rubber science—
A soul implants after birth –haha, fuck you anti-abortionists, not in my book!—and bonds with the body physically. Remove it and it will kill the person, but when they die it just simply moves on to another host. Revive that person and the soul is no longer bonded to the body of that person, and they’ll be immortal. Unfortunately, one unintended side effect is they lack that sanity thing that most people—myself excluded—enjoy and take for granted on a regular basis. The soul becomes such a interconnected part of the body, it’s like the worst form of phantom limb you can experience, thus the crazy. If you can put it back in though, all your problems are solved! The best part? Since the soul has bonded to a new body, it doesn’t recognize the host, but the body recognizes the soul and is relived of all of the stress derived from extraction. It’s like trying to put a round peg in a square hole—it still fits, but not quite. But, hey, sanity restored.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right?
WRONG!
Did you not pick up on the part where the soul bonded to another person? That means you have to kill the new host. And, it’s not like there is an Iphone app for finding displaced souls. It can take years for repossessors and seers to find the soul and it’s new host. So, what is Elias Dethridge to do while he tries to restore his wife? While he waits patiently for decades to once again have Violetta back? What else? Build a black market empire on this amazing new power he knows how to wield.
So, Dethridge becomes a rich, entrepreneur of supernatural services, and eventually becomes one of the most powerful men on the planet. Then, suddenly, it happens! They find Violetta’s soul! Finn is sent to recover it—except, aww, isn’t that always the way? Finn completely falls in love with the girl he is suppose to kill and steal the soul from… what is a man totally indebted to another man for a life of wealth, luxury, and power to do in this situation? Easy. Kill someone else, send the fake soul back, and run away with the girl. Duh. Which would have been very romantic and all, except Dethridge isn’t going to let that fly! He has become a vicious, soul stealing, murder through vicarious acts of his repossessors, madman insane with power. He gets another repossessor , they kill the girl and take the soul, nearly killing Finn and leaving him for nearly dead. His true love slain by the hands of the only father figure Finn’s ever known, there is really only one thing to do, isn’t there? Start a fucking revolution to bring down an empire, stop Dethridge’s tyranny, and seek the ultimate form of vengeance—he has to kill Violetta Dethridge. The plot builds, stuff happens, characters get introduced, more stuff happens, and eventually that is exactly what Finn does. He frees the soul of the woman he loved in the hopes that when it comes back-- and here’s hoping it comes back into another woman, because otherwise, that’s awkward—she will learn to love him again. He’ll be around right? He’s immortal. He’ll just wait. How romantic. Everybody swoons and awes, and eventually they live happily ever after, right?
WRONG!
The soul attaches to a girl, luckily for Finn, but in the ironic way that writers work, it attaches to an abstract, a girl with empath abilities. Oh, did I totally forget to mention that DETHRIDGE KILLS ALL EMPATHS BECAUSE THEY ARE A THREAT TO HIM!? Oh, curse you dramatic irony! What is Finn to do? Save her of course. He’ll just keep her hidden, keep a distant eye on her, keep her safe until she grows up and he can explain everything and she’ll fall madly in love with him and they will run off together into the sunset, right?
Do I really need to say it? I mean, you have got to be getting the picture here, picking up on some kind of pattern.
WRONG!
Enter the protagonist (Maybe? Plot thickens…) Max, who is an out of work artist, beaten down by life’s unfair blows, driven to the point of insanity by the voices in her head, and a full-fledged alcoholic.
And, here, despite all that immense and detailed back-story, is where the novel really starts. Max is exposed to Dethridge, he sends a hit out on her, but Finn gets her out, tagged along by her best friend, loyal side kick, and all around ‘Ducky’, Ridley. From here is the adventure I call “Singularity”.
Yeah, now that you read all this, sound pretty awesome, doesn’t it? And now you are all like, “Damn! I spoiled everything.” Rest assured, there are many more twists and surprises to come. I mean, I obviously have to come up with tons more bull shit to put into the other two books…
Now you know. One a scale of 1-10, how fucking confused are you right now? =)
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