Posts from — February 2008

I wasn’t supposed to write tonight, but I’m moved again.Excuse me for getting a little too personal, but over the last week, I’ve noticed the vital role that fathers play in their offspring’s role. Unfortunately, we still have fathers who won’t own up to being fathers, mothers who berate fathers regardless of how integral a person that man is, fathers who want to be great fathers but never learned, fathers who never wanted to be fathers to begin with but ended up liking it, fathers who love, who kill, who cheat, who work until their bones show, fathers who abuse their positions in life by projecting death, and fathers who despite their faults are fathers to their children.

Some social scientists and psychologists point to how many boys watch their own mothers and sisters go through some sort of abuse and at some point sympathizing with the mother but eventually turning on the victim and wondering how they could allow that to happen. When they grow up, they go on to mimic the behaviors they observed, subconsciously becoming the person they wish they weren’t, but isn’t that the beauty? It leads me to believe that there’s a potential, then, to reverse the negative, and redefine the role of a father, even in the most dire of straits.

This weekend, for instance, I got the chance to go see my fully recovered father in Miami, as I mentioned before. The effect he’s had on his children is profound, even when they don’t realize it themselves. The way they project themselves and treat others has traces of my father all over it. All of his children have a serious sense of humor and a charm about us that translates socially. Yet, each of us have a varying degree of cynicism towards the world, and that comes through in the sarcasm and insecurities some of us display (or displayed). Maybe it’s the way some of us belittle others, or aggrandize ourselves when it’s not that necessary. As water beings, we have a constant need to find a balance of some sort, and by going to one extreme, we can balance out the other extreme. Yet, that’s a reflection of whatever role our father played in our lives, how our mothers reacted to his oscillating presence, and how / if we ever grew from that experience.

Yet, in his most dire moment, close to death, we still made our presence felt near his bed in that ICU, hovering around him, in pain. Fortunately for us, he came back to consciousness. I can’t say the same for one of my good friends. Kel wrote a eulogy to his father on his Xanga, and honestly, it really cut me deep:

However, I did come to know that my father lived life by his own set of rules. And in accordance with his rules decided it was best to pursue his relationship with god on his own terms. In fact, my father said very little to me about life in general. My father never asked me if I did my homework or anything of that nature, which for a child I considered weird. Though my father never said much to me I was fortunate enough to observe his actions and decide for myself if those were actions I wanted to replicate. To some this may be a reckless, haphazard means of parenting, but I will say that it allowed me to become a man in my own right in accordance to my own precepts.

Damn. Underneath his admittedly apathetic exterior lies a man whose soul and heart no one could capture. He lives by his own rules, and thinks as critically as any human being as I’ve ever met. I discover today that influence is paternally genetic. It also makes me wonder if I’m ready to be a father. I’m already a bit of a perfectionist, and my experiences have only led me to believe strongly in the idea of a father, whatever that might mean when I’m ready. I’m far from. I have an ideal for what I want to be as a father, consisting of a boundless list of “not”’s and “don’t”s. Most of my friends have a negative experience with their father, but the ones who had a father in their family are as well-adjusted as people get.

So while I send my friend his condolences over the loss of his father and appreciate the traits I adapted from my father, I try to redefine for myself what a father means these days. Because G_d forbid if I dishonor the title of a father. It’s not just about being 1/2 of someone’s DNA: it’s helping to compose your offspring’s whole humanity.

jose, who’s still trying to understand his own father’s impact on his life …

re: the future of education

Me: “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
NYC Educator: “Maybe. Hope you’re wrong but you probably aren’t”

My Google Reader is replete with educational blogs: teacher bloggers, educational policy, and even administrator / collective blogs, and they pretty much all tell me the same thing: we’re headed for grim times in the field of education. The most telling sign of where it’s heading is the race for the presidency: How many times have you heard Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, or any other presidential candidate for that matter really discuss their educational plans in depth? Unfortunately, a few people weren’t too pleased with my decision to not vote in the primary, but look at just a sliver of the presidential talking points for the more heavily touted Democrats a few months back (and, to be sure, the president totally ignored this during his final State of the Union). Not surprisingly, education is completely missing.

Not that education isn’t on people’s minds. When I tell people I’m a teacher, they call it a noble cause, and tell me how people depend on me and others like me to lead the children to a better understand of not just math but life itself, even conceding that they probably wouldn’t do it themselves. I understand their position, but when I tell certain people why I’m not convinced about Bloomberg, Klein, Weingarten, or any politico trying to snatch up votes, people look at me with the stankest of faces. I also see the same people ignoring education even in the blogosphere, even with this huge army of teachers, administrators, and support staff that write thoroughly.

This is what many teachers have already started to see: the deterioration of the image of the teacher. Not that many in our cohorts don’t act inappropriately (D’oh!), but that’s really the minority. Despite what the media might paint about teachers, most of the teachers I’ve come across are hard-working and integral individuals with nothing but the students’ interests at heart. Yet, it’s become easier to harass teachers and continually chip at their job security than to develop them. The conspiracy theorist critical thinker in me says it’s because, if we develop teachers, we then encourage teachers to actually teach intelligently, thus creating a populace that can analyze, rationalize, and understand, not so they can have sufficient skills for the workforce, but so they can look at their environment and make effective changes to their environments, making this world a better place to live in.

I can’t be moved on this issue, seeing first-hand how principals, administrators, teachers, and students have to battle the powers that be just to get a sliver of the pie society’s dealing us. Fortunately, we’re already starting to see the glimmer of the people fighting back and helping to push the agenda back to its rightful place. To be continued someday …

jose, who is definitely bumping that discipline by janet, and liking it …

I have another confession to make, my people.I love Janet Jackson.

Yes, I’m not a fairweather fan. To the contrary, I’d even go so far as to say Janet was my first dream girl / girlfriend, even if she’s a decade or so my senior. Her songs always rocked my eardrum during the early years, when my only access to the outside world was MTV and Z100. I couldn’t even own any of her CDs or tapes until I went and got a little bit of money. By then, the first Janet album I ever got (and bought 2 copies of eventually) was Design of a Decade, the greatest greatest-hits album I’ve ever heard. I even had this to say a few years ago on the elder blog:

Songs like “Control” and “Pleasure Principle” make you feel independent, while songs like “Miss You Much” and “Let’s Wait a While” showcase the trials and tribulations of love and its derivatives. It goes from celebratory (”Alright“) to emotional (”Come Back To Me“), from chill (”That’s the Way Love Goes“) to freaky (”Twenty Foreplay“), from angry (”Black Cat” and “Rhythm Nation“) to cute (”When I Think Of You“) all in one album. It’s so sick.

I own every album after that, too, and also got two copies of janet., the best album she’s had to date, with all due respect to The Velvet Rope. I honestly couldn’t help but be enamored by her sweet sensuality, her energy, and her work ethic. Even if she didn’t have the strongest voice, she was going to kick everyone’s butt on stage and on a track. She also grew musically, becoming more mature in content and music, delving into her personal life, and still wearing sexy like no one else can. Despite anyone’s opinions about the plastic surgeries or the marriage issues she had, no one could ever deny that overall, she’s a beautiful lady, and she carries herself gracefully …

… Even in strife. Even as people questioned whether she’d ever get out of her brother Michael Jackson’s shadow (the song and video for “Scream” proved the affirmative). Despite a stellar single in “I Want You”  (produced by Kanye), Damita Jo didn’t do very well due to Boobgate (I’m only 70% over that incident), and 20 Y.O. fell through the cracks, even as her most observant and worshipping fans have become superstars themselves (here’s looking at you, Ciara, Britney, Usher, Chris Brown, etc.). Even with that crazy upbringing that produced Michael, she still managed to come out looking like the normal one.

So what’s a Janet fan to do when he’s waiting for that comeback? CD after CD, he buys, dedicated fully to the artist that provided the soundtrack for so many critical moments in his life through her personal experiences, and while he’s pleased with the product, everyone else calls it a failure. I’m not sure, but I’ll buy that new Janet, not for the new production / direction she’s taken with her music, or the awesome album cover for Discipline. Even naysayers have hope in the effort.

A toast to you, miss. Love would never do without you …

jose, who has no regrets about what he posts on here …

Can we get one more day on this glorious vacation? No? That’s unfortunate. I was just getting used to hearing the sounds of nothing in the morning. A few notes:1. I can’t contain it anymore. I tried, Eva, and it’s just not working. I’m going to the Kanye West concert in NYC! My face absolutely illuminated when I got the pre-sales tickets I wanted. I even went ahead and passed the code along to some friends so they could share in the experience. See you all in May.

2. I know I’m a math teacher because, when I’m on the elliptical machine reading the time remaining, I start to compare the minute and second timers, and answer if they’re relatively prime. For instance, at 14:28, they’re not relatively prime because they have a common factor of 14, but a few seconds later, at 14:15, the numbers are relatively prime because they only have a common factor of 1. Sick right?

3. Speaking of which, JD knows how to write carnivals up. Check his version of The Math Carnival here, where he features 2 of my posts (humbled, really I am).

4. Getting back from Miami with maybe a total of 8 hours of sleep over the last couple of nights, I knew today would be equally as dizzying. I also found myself profoundly motivated to make things happen. It’s a mix of seeing my father healthy again but in an interesting situation, my godsister losing her life to a suicidal maniac (which I spoke of before, but I refuse to go into detail here for obvious reasons), and just having a better understanding of the time I’m given … or lack thereof. It’s a sense of urgency that transforms normal people into legends, ordinary groups into championship teams, and blank pages into hallowed pieces of literature.

“I had a dream I could buy my way to heaven
When I awoke I spent that on a necklace
I told G_d I’d be back in a second
Man, it’s so hard not to act reckless
To whom much is given, much is tested
Get arrested, guess until he get the message
I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny
And what’d I do? Act more stupidly …”

Kanye West - “Can’t Tell Me Nothin’”

With those few bars, he evokes the questions and fears of everything that comes with success, whatever your definition. On the one hand, you have him finally reaching his dreams, updating and personalizing another scribe’s dream as his own. On the other hand, he understands the pressure and pitfalls this success leads to, even if its unintentional. All this drama that successful people go through can either make or break them, as cliché as that sounds.

In all honesty, I wonder if this latest series of events that have laid themselves on my path is just a way for the spirit around all of us to substantiate future successes, like the way we prefer to watch / read biographies of people who’ve had grand success but also the most crucibles along the way. Even if this was the case, I’m the only one who could fully understand this movie, because I write like hell, but due to circumstances out of my control (and I suspect others’ too), I’d take some things with me to the grave.

But I’m feeling as ambitious as ever. I’m driven, and that’s what’s important. With all the naysayers and doubters I’ve had in my lifetime, even within my family, I’ve kept a cool head, calmly reminding myself that actions speak louder than words, and say, in the immortal words of Mr. West, “Wait ’till I get my money right …”

jose, who talks with so much emphasis …

Big props to everyone who visited my site yesterday. A link in the New York Magazine’s Daily Intelligencer and Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, for a good 300 hits, (best day total) ever didn’t hurt either.

Anyways, I’m in Miami, FL, now, and so far it’s been interesting. I partied a little bit last night with my family and their friends at a star-studded party (Dwayne Wade, Shawn Marion, Cee-Lo, Clinton Portis, etc.). I wasn’t really interested in much of the fan-fare outside of giving a couple of these dudes dap. I was more into just having fun and laughing at how many girls really thought they were going to get close to the dudes mentioned.

Whenever I come to Miami, I always have these revelatory conversations with my brothers, sisters, and cousins on my father’s side. It’s interesting coming to a place with such a high density of both Dominicans and Haitians. On the one hand, we enjoy each other’s company, throwing barbs at each other endlessly and ranking who amongst us is the most cocky (not surprisingly, I come in next to last). On the other hand, I always wonder what my family members are saying in their fluent Creole, the language I don’t speak despite my Haitian background.

This probably came up because one of my cousins has a ringtone for “Zouk La,” a really popular Haitian song. It struck me as odd because I had been listening to this song for years under the name “La Medicina” by Wilfredo Vargas. Holy crap, it’s more evidence that Dominicans and Haitians aren’t that far apart from each other (if at all). I let my brother and cousin listen to it on the iPod and even they seemed impressed by this interesting instant research.

But even in those actions, I still find myself having to answer to statements and questions I thought I long resolved. My answers are usually:

• No, I’m not prissy because I use big words.
• I have a good 50% chance of learning Creole if I live in Haiti for a few months, but otherwise, it looks closer to 10%.
• I don’t hold “the people” to a different standard than I do White people.
• I’m not giving anyone any leeway if they’re arguing for Bill O’Reilly.
• Just because I don’t care much for BET, Popeye’s Chicken, or Tyler Perry movies doesn’t make me any less Black than the rest of you.

Of course, those were just ideas that popped into my head. I would like to think that my actions as a teacher, poet, activist, and writer speak for themselves. The questions will continue to follow me so long as I live. There aren’t any books out there that detail my experience, or blogs I can turn to so I can discuss this dichotomy. Unfortunately, many of my AfroLatino brethren would rather choose a side than embrace their being as a whole.

And I understand that, because I couldn’t even come to terms with my Blackness because of my father’s past, but after the while, the truth seeps in. It reminds me of the first couple of chapters in Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States, which I’m reading now. All it takes is a little simple deception and narrowing our frame of reference, thus dividing and conquering us, and pitting us against each other even within our families.

But as the merengue keeps playing in my iPod, I still find myself looking for la medicina that might cure us of our ills …

jose, who doesn’t normally post on friday …

Every morning, this is what my walk to the train station looks like:

That thing I circled is The Ludlow. At first, it doesn’t look too obstructive …

Then, as I start to walk down Houston St., I realize how much it blocks my damn sunlight, the energy I feed off of every morning. It casts this huge and ominous shadow over the street; if the sun even came out that day, people might not know. Whenever I inquire about a price from my fellow LESers, they give me the big eyeroll and a deep breathe. And it’s only getting worse.

As if you didn’t know my stance on the deterioration of the Lower East Side, my neighborhood for more than a quarter-century now, I’m absolutely infuriated with the amount of gentrification that’s swept our neighborhood. When Emperor Guiliani presided over NYC and rid the city of much of NYC’s charm and character in favor of condominiums and Walt Disney, many of us wondered what the hell would happen to us. I first noticed the change when this building came up.

I was too young to understand that, as modest as this structure and its accompanying stores were, it would be the precursor for the raising of the rent and the razing of too many structures I’m familiar with. The clocks on top of the Red Square tell the right time if you strictly look at the hands, but the numbers are all switched around, meaning that the LES was now on their time and not ours.

A decade later, 1/2 of the shops, buildings, and people I used to know in this area have either evaporated or gone elsewhere, replaced with boutiques, wine shops, art and architecture showcases, and bars. An overabundance really. There’s nothing wrong with a little renovation. I’m all for getting a little more money into a neighborhood and a little less crime, but let’s look at a case study:

Building A is a brand new building. Building B’s probably been around since this was a primary Jewish neighborhood. Now, because of Building A, building B can raise its rent. And because of building B, residents of building A can say they live in better conditions, even though they live right next to each other, have to shop at the same groceries, and have the same inglorious view of the changes happening in this neighborhood.

Now, some of these shops changed completely, but others found it cute to basically keep the name of the old establishment just to look semi-authentic. (Click for larger image)

And whenever gentrification wants to leave its signature, it turns to the boys from Seattle:

Some of my critics who believe that life shouldn’t be fair and blame the victim whenever they get the chance, would probably now say, “But Jose, can’t a community grow? Why does everything have to be negative? Gentrification brings jobs, it cleans up neighborhoods, brings in people, and strengthens the community.” In some ways, they might be right. I don’t have to go very far to have fun. There’s a nice diner here that I can take my friends to, and people look at me in awe whenever I tell them I was born and raised here, a confidence booster for sure.

Yet my response stays the same: what happens to the people who’ve been working here for decades now? Why is it always appropriate for the more affluent to invade a poor person’s space and push out the inhabitants for their own gain while the poor are always ostracized when we make inroads in their communities? Why does redlining and HUD exist if this is a free society and all men are created equal? Will they have us live like on the East River when it’s all said and done?

I’m not sure, but the following structure is a hint. Look at it. It’s ugly. Really.

Need another angle?

Wait, if I look at it clearly, I think I see something …

A FIST! And there you have it. Symbolic of the struggles of the people, the fist now represents the urban developers’ forceful raping of the delicate culture Loisaida has cultivated over the last few decades. Before Time Out New York had the nerve to advertise “The Lower East Side Is Back” on their covers, people lived here. Before the NYPost and other newspapers had the nerve to mistake where Chico painted the Nixzmary Brown and 2Pac murals, the Lower East Side was here. Before the Nuyorican Poets Cafe had lines full of people trying to act like they understand the art of Pedro Pietri and mimicking each other just to look deep / cute, Pedro Pietri himself gave the people anthems to get by on those open mic nights. Before these yuppies, hipsters, posers, and wannabes giggled and vomited their way through all our neighborhoods, the Lower East Side was cool.

Odyssey, the disco band, once sang of native New Yorkers, but those come sparse like the American bald eagle and Babe Ruth rookie cards, and just as valuable. Because we still preserve the secrets, the ups and downs, the grit, and the soul that once made the Lower East Side, and hence NYC, what it was, and what people come here for. I’m not sure, but my LES is officially on its death bed, and we are the eulogizers and pallbearers of that tradition.

jose, l.e.s. for life …

p.s. - I know I linked this a couple of posts ago, but I’ll get into it a little bit later on.

Last week in the classroom, I started dreading the idea of the two worst words for any regular teacher in this country: test prep. I hate it because it’s a contrived barometer of what they’ve truly learned, and en masse, becomes the data for metrics used to evaluate student progress, teacher competency, school preparedness, and demographic success rates. Unfortunately, only the people on the bottom of the totem pole ever address the malleability of these tests; they change at the behest of the emperor’s needs and not actually creating a standard for what certain grade levels should learn at any given part of their academic careers.

So instead, I decided to pull out the hardest questions from their predictive assessments (I’m a rebel) and help them understand how to do it. Let me show you. I took a problem like this:

and actually made it more multi-dimensional.

Nothing too shabby, but it’s interesting to see the kids’ faces of bewilderment. At first, only the more spatially inclined got how to do it. Then, as I started to show how the whole picture is nothing but a bunch of rectangles, the rest of the kids who were paying attention from the previous week’s lesson on the properties of a rectangle (it took a little reprogramming) were able to decipher the code on their own (for those not geometrically inclined, a hint: all parallelograms, including rectangles have 2 pairs of parallel and equidistant sides).

Of course, then I got really off-the-wall and gave them a similar figure and gave them completely off dimensions. Just to use the diagram above, the 10 was where the 7 is, and I mixed it up with some decimals, so the smart-asses in the class quipped, “But Mr. V, why didn’t you just put the measures where they belonged?”

I laughed, and like the quixotic teacher we’re used to seeing in the movies, I retorted, “It’s not about what you see. It’s about the idea behind what you see. Yes, the lengths are totally mixed up, and you’re already distracted by the mis-measurements. But if you understand that the longest length is the sum of the 2 shorter lengths parallel to it, then this should be no problem for you. Same goes with the the widths. Now, on the test, none of the lengths will be drawn to scale, so are you going to break out your ruler for every problem? I really hope not. I’m just making it obvious that you need to use your arithmetic skills to figure this out.”

Of course, one or two of them were still incredulous, but the rest understood. I was making them think for once. They couldn’t take anything for granted, and that’s important. Instantly, I found buy-in. I even differentiated by breaking the kids up in groups, and handing them cards with specially-made problems. Then they took it upon themselves to break out some chart paper and deliver how they did it to the rest of the class. I allowed for it only if I got to ask them critical questions to each and every student. Done and done.

jose

Things to Keep In Mind When Attending a Movie / Play:1. Please turn off your cell phone when you come in the theater. I mean, as soon as. Especially if you know you have one of those annoying ringtones of some random celebrity telling you to pick up the phone. Morons who violate will tempt this young man to dropkick your piece of technological annoyance.

2. Shut up. I mean, really, shut up. It’d be one thing if you’re supposed to interact with the film, but this is not Blue’s Clues; it’s Definitely, Maybe, and I don’t need you to tell the whole movie theatre how corny a romantic comedy is! The absolute gall! The audacity! Go home now, ladies! The Knicks are only a couple of blocks away; you can make all the noise you want over there.

3. Cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze. If you can’t, then you skipped 1st grade. Please take a refresher course. When I’m watching a musical like Avenue Q, I don’t need you spreading your disgusting viruses all over the back of my head and neck, you leprous sore. I never had to take a shower so badly after that.

Speaking of which, my girl and I saw Avenue Q, a great musical using Jim Henson-type puppets. I hear it’s popular, and even won a Tony. The premise of the whole musical is that … well, people may not necessarily have a purpose, even with all the college degrees and jobs we accumulate. We all have some redeeming qualities that will somehow lead us to a happy ending. Overall, I found it fun and well put-together. At some point, we all forgot that there were humans actually controlling the puppets and doing their voices.

One part of the musical that bothered the both of us to some extent was the song “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist.” I knew they were going to be raunchy, and offensive, so I didn’t mind the humor much. But my girl kinda stayed silent while the rest of the predominantly White crowd (and I) laughed, especially when one of the actors quipped “Mexican busboys should learn to speak English!”

She wondered, “Are all these people laughing because they’re uncomfortable, or because they really hold these views about us? Some of the people in the audience, you can tell, really believe what they were saying.”

I laughed a little, because the leper behind me, with his venomous racket in back of me, definitely believed it, laughing so hard, he might have come all over himself. I suspect that others at the show, though, might not necessarily be racists, but products of racial prejudice, and thus act out in ways they might not even be conscious of. For instance, you ever notice how many people take everything Dave Chappelle says seriously and ignore everything Cornell West says? Yes, it’s two different ways of delivering the same message, but they’re both critical of the establishment in their own ways. Many people don’t know how to handle issues except if there’s that giveback of entertainment. “Yes, I’ll talk about how prejudice I am, but only if you promise to make me laugh or at least attempt to.”

Maybe that’s the point of the song, anyways. They wanted to show people just how racist they could be, and prove it by making them laugh at racist ideas. And what’s worse is that, during the jokes, I laughed at the apparent racism, from the Gary Coleman shtick to Christmas Eve (your average Asian-American lady stereotype). Not because I believed them, but because when people make such egregiously ignorant comments like the one above, I can’t help but laugh. Kinda like watching the Faux News Network.

what do you think?

jose, who will definitely write tomorrow to make up for my missing Monday …

Before I continue, I just have to give a shout-out to my boy Andy G., who ileaves to Korea to teach English for a year next Saturday. This is significant for the both of us in that this man’s like a younger brother to me, and I’ll miss him while he’s there. His passion and compassion will make great qualities to the program, and hopefully he comes back as the same irreverent but a more grown version of the man he is today. Keep in touch, Andy. And no, if you do get married for some reason, I won’t kick you in the nuts like you asked me to. That’s Sunny’s job.

So with the week off I have, I’ll have plenty of time to give myself time to recuperate from the kids, and maybe write a little more in that ubiquitous manuscript every writer seems to have in their back pocket, at the very least for a conversational piece. I’ll be somewhere in NYC away from home from Sunday - Tuesday for some QT with the QT, and then Miami from Thursday - Sunday to visit my fully recovered father.

I love getting tagged for memes, and I can’t figure out why. It’s probably because it makes me feel important that someone would want my opinion … or simply that I get to withhold my best posts for another round, similar to Dwight Howard’s Slam Dunk contest routine tonight (that boy was an absolute slamimal and he can’t be caged).

Anyways, Shelly thinks I’d offer good tips on writing, and I laughed because there’s no way I’m sharing my secrets on this public forum. I never ever share any good advice on writing, and never thought I would either, until Shelly promised to add me on Facebook as a friend. After that, how could I resist?

3. Some Words You Should Never Misspell

Their. Believe. Embarrass. Wednesday. February. Piece. They’re. The. It’s and Its. Can’t.

There are just some words you can’t get away with misspelling, and these are just a few. I’m sorry, but I have a feeling that, if you’re targeting an intelligent audience, there are certain words you wouldn’t dare misspell. Some words you can get away with misspelling, especially if they have more than 3 syllables, but spell-checking and proofreading are your two best friends. That is, unless you intentionally misspelled the word to make a clearly stated point, then that’s cool.

2. Stay On Point, Whatever The Point

Blogs are notorious for their circuitous ruminations, and often, we wonder if the author knows the point they’re trying to make. Sometimes, it’s plainly obvious that the author simply wants to write their thoughts down, but there’s a difference between simply meandering and trying to make your point but not getting there. Even in poetry, I hate when certain poets lose me with their deceptive similes in favor of distracting us from the fact that they’re making no sense. Stay on point. You don’t necessarily have to be concise, but come sharp. I follow the previous statement pretty well.

1. Touch It, Bring It, Pay It, Watch It, Turn It, Leave It, Stop, Format It

Truer words were never spoken. Once you’ve learned the rules of writing, and can format great essays, you can abandon the rules completely. There’s a sense that we have to prove ourselves that we have some sense of literacy, after which we can veer far from the rules, and thus make our own. When I write, I think about the rules of writing for a little bit, then I break away from them until I find my voice.

The reality of this exercise, though, is that there’s no right or wrong answer. Some people need structure when they write, making an outline of their thoughts and ideas before putting down a single word. Others like to read a ton of literary pieces before they write their own, which is a great idea except that some people get stuck on trying to write like someone else. I abide by my own advice; just give me a keyboard and my music list, and I’m ready to rock.

I tag (hoping to awake some sleeping giants):

Amber at bamcabral.net

Harm at simplyharmony.com

Tamara at xanga.com/mental_revelatiions

and

Kelvin at xanga.com/pre_k

jose, who would have more to talk about, but really, personal tragedies are no laughing matter. this says it all …

I never used to like Valentine’s Day, but now I love it. Then again, it’s probably because I had a date, and have had one for some time now. I haven’t always had the best of luck, especially as a child, but now, things have never looked brighter. I’m not just in love, but I love, and it’s cool.

So in the spirit of that love, I’d love to tell you about some of the things I love:

I love having my lessons ready for school.

I love my independence.

I love writing, and I love it so much, I schedule the topics in my mind, unless something else comes up that’s a little cooler than that … like a date with a hot girlfriend.

I love my kids. Despite how annoying, frustrating, self-centered, destructive, insane, off-kilter, entitled, sloppy, and often insulting some of them are, the majority of my kids are just that: kids, and you can’t do anything except love them for who they are. They have this energy that makes you want to vicariously live through them almost … I said almost. After all, I like this grown-up version of me.

I love teaching. That’s a whole ‘nother post.

I love orange soda, but it’s a long-lost love since I haven’t been drinking it that much. I’ve maybe that my kind on that citrus divinity once over the last year, and that’s serious.

I love seeing good writers, good bloggers, and good comments, ones that make me brim with ideas and responses throughout the day and keep me writing at night.

I love good sex, and when a quickie is considered 45 minutes.

I love my family and friends for all their support.

I love my creativity and empathy, as they are probably my strongest qualities, even greater than my humility (and sometimes lack thereof).

I love performing poems though I rarely get a chance due to lack of preparation or scheduling conflicts.

I love the Lower East Side, even if it’s become the bastion of gentrification.

I love Freecell, like geezus kristo! I play it during my free periods, on the train home, on the way back, on a trip, and at home when I’m bored.

I love travelling, and it looks like I’ll be doing a lot of that. I’m on an award tour, and I got Muhammad my man, going each and every place with a cam in my hand. Miami, DC, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, and maybe Montreal, here I come.

I love getting angry over educational politics, and just talking as much crap as possible until I become professional again.

I love being an underdog, because it just makes me want to get revenge on the naysayers. I would actually prefer to be the perpetual underdog.

On that line, I love when my team wins championships. My homeroom lost to my advanced class in the first game of the tourney. After that first horrendous loss, and their only loss of the tournament, they acted like sore losers, and I dug into them a little, especially the leader of my team. He’s already got a bad temper, but then he was selfish, shooting something 1 for 8 with no assists. After that game, I practiced after school with them, and taught them a little bit of everything. I attended a couple of their games, coaching them on the sidelines, and they won game after game. Today, fatefully, they went and played the same team that beat them, not once but twice in the same day, so I was excited. I was more pleased that they, for the most part, played with class, and worked hard. They shared the ball and passed like I’ve begged them to.

I love teaching them more than just math.

I love seeing how they overcame the odds.

I would love to see them grow after everything they’ve learned …

jose, who’s got a million things to share, but frankly, i need a nap …