Dreaming of the Dead

Last night I had my first dream about Eric in our new--their old--apartment. For those of you who don't know the entire story, about a month ago we moved into the garden apartment of our brownstone which was inhabited by our dear friend Kat, who moved out to Long Island to be across the street from her sister. Kat and Eric used to live downstairs from us; they were our close friends and closer neighbors. At the end of May, 2007, Eric died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Kat had a baby 9 months later. It's a story that makes me shiver each time I retell it, and I'm still in shock that it even happened.

I have sensed Eric's presence in this apartment, but Kat assures me that he came to Long Island with them. I know he did, but I think he still comes back to visit. Regardless, last night I dreamed that I found him in a secret room in the basement of our apartment. It surprisingly wasn't creepy or scary at all. I dreamed that I found this room, and it was full of all of Eric's toys from his childhood that Kat had forgotten to move. I was looking at the toys, and when I turned around and Eric was standing there. Afraid that he'd disappear before I could do anything, I ran over and hugged him with as much force and love and emotion as possible. Then he disappeared.

I repeatedly have a similar dream about a childhood friend, Heidi, who died in a car accident my junior year in high school. This dream, in various forms, comes about 2-3 times per year and always leaves me unsettled. In the dream Heidi shows up somewhere, and I ask, "Wait, I thought you were dead...where have you been?!" And it turns out she didn't die, but we just hadn't seen her since 11th grade. I always hug her continuously, cry, and try to catch her up on our lives since November 1990, but when I awake a sadness always lingers.

I guess that's just what some of us want when we lose someone so quickly--one last connection to make sure they know how much we loved them during their lives.

a safe-haven of friends

For those who know me, you know that i come from a familial stronghold of religous ferver. When growing up, I had to answer the phone, "Praise the Lord, Lori speaking." I went to many Aglow meetings with my mom in which the entire room of women would break into speaking in tongues. I had to read the Bible before school and at dinner each night, attend a multitude of Bible schools and classes, and all this was on top of every Catholic girl's upbringing of CCD and Religious Education.

I think I clocked enough religion in my first 18 years to last a lifetime. No exaggeration.

With this in mind, my wildly liberal ideologies do not sit well with my family. My mom calls me about once a year, honestly crying b/c she has had some dream that I am burning in hell. Many a phone conversation disintegrates into her asking about my salvation. On my latest visits home, she gave me the garage door code so that after they are raptured, I can get down to NC and salvage their valuables to barter with Satan during the seven years of trial and tribulation. Again, I am not exaggerating.

During such political times, it is difficult to talk to my mom. I love her, I really do, but politics is the white elephant looming in our conversations now. I can't even ask her about Palin, the election, etc, b/c we differ so greatly that I get angry and she gets frustrated. We have an unspoken agreement that we just don't talk about these things. But, being the child and her being the mom, I always start to feel bad about this, even though there really is no compromise available here.

Which is why I love my friends. I know surrounding yourself by like-minded people doesn't challenge you in some ways, but it is incredibly reassuring in others. And, I take great solace in knowing that if by some wild stretch of the imagination my mom is right, that I'll be facing the apocalypse and/or going to hell with my favorite people.

Some political fun from some great folks.

GREAT POLITICAL BLOG by an old coworker...

funny video post snagged from my super-smart hairdresser:

I like violence, sex, and drugs...

Every Monday, in my 90-minute 11th grade English classes, we have independent reading. I have been pleasantly surprised at how much the students actually enjoy this time to read to themselves in a quiet (somewhat) environment. The only rule is that you have to read a book (no daily newspapers or magazines allowed), but any type of book is okay: manga, graphic novels, urban fiction, Moby Dick...it's all valid for independent reading.

After six weeks of independent reading, I had the students write a summary of what they have read as well as a note to me about what they'd like to see in my measly classroom library which is mostly composed of books people in my neighborhood put on their stoops. All the good books I find (books in urban settings, with characters that are teens of color, that might have some mild drug dealing, etc. within their pages) are snatched up and passed around immediately, leaving the less desirable books on my shelf. I'd like to supplement my library, but I want to make sure I buy things the kids will read.

Some responses from Monday's assignment =

"I like books about violence, drugs, and sex. Action books really."
"I like to read about kids being abused, killing, things related to teens, and action."
"The book I'm reading is Tasting Cindy. I'ts about a married housewife that has sex with other men when her husband is away. She was blackmailed by her husband's brother. He forced her to have sex with him and his mistress. She does it because she don't want her husband or her mother to know about her secret sex life."

WOW.

I am still constantly surprised by my students desire to read such pornographic books. I read some of this smut over their shoulders and I blush. It poses a hard question as to what we can allow in school. We certainly would not show a pornographic film in class (even if it could potentially supplement a lesson!), so should we allow such books in school? How can we police this work? What actually constitutes the crap from the plain, old urban fiction that might have some cursing and drugs but is still far from a porno?

Above is my fave student book from a few years back: Homo Thug. A man gets sent to prison and has to find love in the arms of another man.

The people who write this "shit lit" are rich, fo' sure.

Informality from Hell

I am sure most of you reading this watched the vice-presidential debate last week between Joe Biden and Sarah Palin. If you didn't, you should. Even though Palin disappointed by not being quite as inarticulate as she was with Katie Couric, she still provided enough fodder for another good Saturday Night Live skit (Tina Fey is a genius, btw...).

As much as I pretty much disagree with Palin's orthodoxy--both political and religious--what I mainly took issue with was her colloquial language last Thursday. Let me preface this:

As an English teacher, I spend an amazing amount of time tying to explain the need to be able to code-switch between colloquial slanguage and academic, standard English. This is a difficult subject to bridge as a White girl working in an urban setting. I am cautious not to make my students' language seem "incorrect" and my English seem "proper." I ardently praise the effectiveness and artistry of slanguage when doing creative writing, when writing dialogue, or when talking to friends; it has an important place in society--no doubt. BUT (and this BUT cannot be emphasized enough), a research paper, the SAT essay, a job interview, and the vice presidential debate are NOT such places.

Additionally, I feel she played the gender card with this "down-home" hodge-podge of language. The winking, the body language, the colloquialisms of being "blessed" and "having a special place in heaven" are not expressions that a male candidate could toss out with the same reaction. It reminds me of the time my advisor at Teachers College, LB, took a group of us women doctoral students aside and gave us a pep talk on the dangers of informal speech when trying to be considered an academic. The warnings I remember were: No intonation at the end of the sentence unless it is a bonifide question. No "like" at all, anywhere. No cliches. No being cute, be formal--this might be a school of education, but they will still rip you to shreds if they feel you are not a valid researcher.

This is what Palin deserves. Send those pitbulls that she mentions--lipsticked and all--after her for grammatical negligence. She might think she has a place in heaven, but her language use is certainly going to burn in hell.

No Bail-Out on 8th Street

This week's discussion of the bail-out has provoked many a discussion at work, home, with friends...it seems we're all confused, intrigued, and concerned about what is happening with our economy. And then, of course, there's the debate between who is the bail-out really looking out for--Main Street or Wall Street--as if the two were not intimately interconnected.

But one thing that has gotten my goat is the need to bail out the many Americans who have taken out mortgages that they could not afford, in good or bad financial times. Adam and I have typed our annual joint income into Chase's mortgage calculator many times in the past few years, and we have realized repeatedly that even if some miracle occurred and we were able to get a significant amount of money down, that we could not afford a mortgage with our other expenses of college loans and daycare. Impossible. We have resolved that we will rent until the loans are paid the the babe(s) are in public school. That'll be at least 6-7 more years! Then we'll see...

Why is that a difficult concept to grasp?

I understand the desire to own. Renting sucks. Especially when you're our age and you really want your home to reflect your life and your want to put down stable roots for your kids. Damn it, I'm a cancer--I nest with vigor 24/7. Renting irks me. But what choice to we have?

Slight Coffee Addiction?

This morning started like every other. Alexandra woke at 3am, which facilitated a mid-night bottle feed b/c she was coughing and wheezing like an 80-year old with emphysema. Due to this, we all got started a bit late. I rushed out the door, backpack, lunch, and extra bag of papers graded in tow, only to land at the doorstep of my coffee place to find it was....closed!

At this point my knees got weak, I almost withered into myself, and I stood there reading the signs and peering into the windows in total denial--hoping for some sign of life. Once I accepted that it was indeed closed, my brain went into race mode, scouting all the coffee spots I knew between my house and the doors to my school. Which could I get to the quickest (I was running a little late) who had the best coffee? Should I take the subway or bus to land myself at this new destination? My blood pressure was rising. I was getting frantic. Could I call the school and tell them I'd be late? (Yes, all for coffee).

You see, I teach 1st, 2nd, and 3rd period in a row, so if I don't get coffee before school I can't get it until 11am, which is WAY too late for this gal.

As you might guess, since I live in Park Slope and teach in Cobble Hill, there were a million and one places for an over-caffeinated white person like myself (that's my favorite line from the movie "Crash") to get her fix. It all ended up okay, but man, for a second there I thought I was going to have to go back home, crawl into bed, and wait for the apocalypse.

Caffeine anyone?

Sarah Palin Bingo

Something to spice up your debate watching tonight = Sarah Palin bingo!
(who has the time to sit down and make these things?!)

Go to www.palinbingo.com for fun.

Can't wait to see what Tina Fey comes up with after tonight. Her parodies are just making me even more excited for the season premiere of 30 Rock...