Thursday, June 20, 2002

I love how weeks of relentless math education can really smack me up the side of the head. I became giddy today after the Board of Education failed me in the schedule. Due to conflicts, inefficiencies, and probably the confluence of some astrological thingies, I have the morning off Friday. Because I have so much mental tunnel vision, I really had no idea what to do with the extra time. I'm going to wash the dog, drink a full pot of coffee, maybe make some breakfast. Laundry sounds exciting.

I get stressed about my capabilities in math every damned day. My brain is somewhat overloaded, and my laughing has a slight hysterical tinge. I think incontinence is just one equation away. I made a resolution quite a few years ago to not quit something out of fear of the unknown, but I'm discovering how much math I simply don't understand. Today was a great discussion, but for sections of the formulas, I could have sworn I was listening to a Peanuts teacher. We were figuring out the equation for optimum area for soda cans, and all I could hear was "mwah, mwahmwah mwah mwah." I am that round headed kid, just waiting for someone to pull away the football.

Writing about my worries gives me a perspective on how silly it is. My classmates are great, my brain hasn't been this stretched since I first started learning Russian, and I have donuts every day. My dog can hold it in for over twelve hours, and we're having the housewarming party this weekend. I will make it through the training, I will plunge into teaching, and I will laugh about this time later on in life, regardless of the outcome.

Wednesday, June 19, 2002

With the new commute every day to Brooklyn College, I'm definitely becoming intimately familiar with trains and their quirks. It takes me between an hour and occasionally ninety minutes to get to classes. I now automatically check the seat for liquid, and I don't even think about trying to identify the liquid if I see it sloshing about like some mini-ocean. I am wildly fascinated by the single advertisement above my head, or the pattern on the floor, or the freckles on my arms. I am not even remotely interested in the man fishing around in his cavernous left nostril for some magic nose goblin that continues to elude him. Maybe he's discovered the sinus passage that leads directly to the pleasure center of his brain, maybe he is attempting to widen it to allow easier access for foreign objects.

I get this silly little rush whenever one of the new subway trains pulls up to the station. The bright LED display of the number, the charming voice of the man announcing "please stand clear of the closing doors!", the hand grips everywhere, the quiet air conditioning, it's pleasant. Even the beggars seem better dressed. One time whatever mechanism triggers the voice malfunctioned and his voice started rapping. PPPPPPLeaassssee Sttttttannnnnndddd grblemishericky. The fluorescent lighting in the new trains makes everyone look less pallid, something that New Yorkers need badly.

That was something I noticed in the new Spiderman film. I really enjoyed it, but everyone in the film is too tan.There are some tan people in the city, but if you want to blend in, I recommend the jaundiced look. Try to also be sixty pounds underweight. I saw the film with Nick, and Sam Raimi's creation was as enjoyable on my second viewing. I was able to watch the background this time, the buildings that I've learned to recognize in my wanderings about town. I've lived in famous cities like London, Moscow, and Lubbock (the home of Buddy Holly!), but the film reflects my feelings about this city. Every day, something happens that makes me feel like I'm living in a movie. I'm waiting for someone off stage to tell me the scene is done, I need to clear the stage. The people I meet, the conversations I share, the food I try, it all seems to be some scene in a thriller. I'm waiting for the sex scenes, but I guess my show must be G-rated.

Monday, June 17, 2002

I have certain urges, certain... needs. In Texas, I could satisfy those primal needs when they got too strong. Here in NYC, I hadn't found an outlet, until last night. I made quite a spectacle satisfying it, at Chili's. One would think that cream gravy and country fried steak, being two of the four basic food groups, would be easily available in this culinary city. BUT NO! I've been searching every borough. Sure, I can find Thai food, Ethiopian food, Uzbek food, Peruvian food, Meckaleckahimeckahineyho food. When it comes to deep frying every item and covering it with flour, grease, and pepper, I'm just out of luck. Thank god for faceless chain restaurants in the horrifying crowded tacky tourist center of Manhattan.