Last night's sunset.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
There Will Be Blood
One of the myriad benefits of living in West Texas is that you’re never too far away from the wonders of the petroleum industry. Sometimes, if you’re lucky like me, you find some large, hideously noisy drilling apparatus has set up shop outside your of bedroom overnight! Que Fortuna!
I am so digging the flags. It’s like they’re afraid Exxon Mobile or the Russians are going to try and take their pretty machine away from them. I love America! And capitalism! And Fritos and Toby Keith!
So yeah, this is now the view from my bedroom window.
I am so digging the flags. It’s like they’re afraid Exxon Mobile or the Russians are going to try and take their pretty machine away from them. I love America! And capitalism! And Fritos and Toby Keith!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Bloggy Bloggy Recap
This past week has been crazy. Brian Fellows crazy. Not so much with the animals, but with its inordinate amount of activities, at least by my standards. I will attempt to break its content down by using, drum roll, headings!
Standardized Testing—
My first trip to Lubbock for the week saw me taking the second and final state board exam I needed to pass before becoming a teacher. It was administered by a very large lesbian who laughed in the face of the rigid procedures one usually finds at testing centers. The last time I tested at Prometric—the GRE—I was glad to get out of there with out a body cavity exam. The proctor was that intense. This lady was more interested in chatting. She herself was enrolled in online classes and interrupted me about six times to discuss commonalities between my program and hers, during the test! Thankfully, it was a no-brainer, and I passed (my score report arrived via email a few days later)!
Roasting—
My second trip to Lubbock involved my dad’s teary goodbye to a certain farm credit bank that he has served as chairman of the board for the past 15 years. I didn’t think the retirement dinner they were throwing him would be that big of a deal, but there were about 100 people there, and it was more of a full-on roast than a simple dinner. There were seven or eight roasters, some better than the rest, who regaled us with some pretty rich stories about my dad’s behavior throughout his tenure, many of which I’m sure my dad would have liked to have died long ago. There were some other speeches about his accomplishments, which made me tearily proud, and one by my dad, who did his best impression of a politician seeking votes. It always amazes me how suave and dapper he can be. I’m too used to seeing him in his shorts watching television on the couch. After the roasts and the other speeches, he was awarded some hideous glass trophy thing that looked like a People’s Choice Award, along with the donation of a scholarship in his name. Again, proud. The dinner was great, too, but my favorite part of the whole evening was when one of dad’s colleagues, who sat across from us, told us the story about how his mother died by falling into a grain silo and being decapitated by the silo’s moving augers. Not appropriate, but awesome, dinner conversation.
Teaching—
So in the midst of all of this, I began my job as a teacher of the Mennonites. I’ve got 12 students, and in their cultural tradition of giving their children similar names, four of them are named Sarah and four are named Anna. This was confusing, especially during our introductory, get-to-know-you icebreaker. The game asked them to list their name and one thing they liked before going around the room and remembering each person’s answers (terribly clever, I know). Not only did they all have the same name, but the majority listed “spending time with their family” as the thing they liked. Thankfully, there was some differentiation. Some of the Sarah’s liked spending time with their families indoors, while some of the Anna’s preferred spending time with their families outdoors. Overall, it was a good first week, but it was all a little harder than I thought it would be. There is just such a language barrier, and on top of that, the students are all at such different levels of English proficiency that it is challenging to prepare class-wide instruction. I’m going to attempt and simplify things for next week. At least they didn’t run off. Someone actually brought me cookies on Friday!
Endings—
Any free time I had this week was spent finishing final projects for my education classes. I can now thankfully state that I have finished the coursework needed to become a teacher. All I lack now is student teaching this fall, putting me looking for work in the middle of the year. Hurrah. The End.
Standardized Testing—
My first trip to Lubbock for the week saw me taking the second and final state board exam I needed to pass before becoming a teacher. It was administered by a very large lesbian who laughed in the face of the rigid procedures one usually finds at testing centers. The last time I tested at Prometric—the GRE—I was glad to get out of there with out a body cavity exam. The proctor was that intense. This lady was more interested in chatting. She herself was enrolled in online classes and interrupted me about six times to discuss commonalities between my program and hers, during the test! Thankfully, it was a no-brainer, and I passed (my score report arrived via email a few days later)!
Roasting—
My second trip to Lubbock involved my dad’s teary goodbye to a certain farm credit bank that he has served as chairman of the board for the past 15 years. I didn’t think the retirement dinner they were throwing him would be that big of a deal, but there were about 100 people there, and it was more of a full-on roast than a simple dinner. There were seven or eight roasters, some better than the rest, who regaled us with some pretty rich stories about my dad’s behavior throughout his tenure, many of which I’m sure my dad would have liked to have died long ago. There were some other speeches about his accomplishments, which made me tearily proud, and one by my dad, who did his best impression of a politician seeking votes. It always amazes me how suave and dapper he can be. I’m too used to seeing him in his shorts watching television on the couch. After the roasts and the other speeches, he was awarded some hideous glass trophy thing that looked like a People’s Choice Award, along with the donation of a scholarship in his name. Again, proud. The dinner was great, too, but my favorite part of the whole evening was when one of dad’s colleagues, who sat across from us, told us the story about how his mother died by falling into a grain silo and being decapitated by the silo’s moving augers. Not appropriate, but awesome, dinner conversation.
Teaching—
So in the midst of all of this, I began my job as a teacher of the Mennonites. I’ve got 12 students, and in their cultural tradition of giving their children similar names, four of them are named Sarah and four are named Anna. This was confusing, especially during our introductory, get-to-know-you icebreaker. The game asked them to list their name and one thing they liked before going around the room and remembering each person’s answers (terribly clever, I know). Not only did they all have the same name, but the majority listed “spending time with their family” as the thing they liked. Thankfully, there was some differentiation. Some of the Sarah’s liked spending time with their families indoors, while some of the Anna’s preferred spending time with their families outdoors. Overall, it was a good first week, but it was all a little harder than I thought it would be. There is just such a language barrier, and on top of that, the students are all at such different levels of English proficiency that it is challenging to prepare class-wide instruction. I’m going to attempt and simplify things for next week. At least they didn’t run off. Someone actually brought me cookies on Friday!
Endings—
Any free time I had this week was spent finishing final projects for my education classes. I can now thankfully state that I have finished the coursework needed to become a teacher. All I lack now is student teaching this fall, putting me looking for work in the middle of the year. Hurrah. The End.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
My Cup Runneth Over
Good God! I've got another Bloggy Bloggy Friend! This is my friend Brandon's site. He sort of likes music.
Monday, April 21, 2008
More Bloggy Bloggy Friends!
I'd like to introduce everyone to my friend Adrianna's blog. She's super brave and is working with sexually abused girls in Cambodia.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Random Dew
Thanks to Laurie and her friend Kevin (who is apparently Bizarro Me) for sending this jewel along. I think the Menonites would enjoy the simplicity of the place's name quite a bit.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Behold! A Bloggy Bloggy Picture Post
Part One: The latest acquisition of the Two Neds' Garage aka My Dad's Playhouse: A 1978 Cadillac El Dorado.
The thing is over 20 ft. long, and it's named the "Beulah Mae" after the dead woman whose son Dad bought it from. Ms Mae only put a few thousand miles on it during a cross-country trip, then parked it in her garage, covered it with a quilt, and let it sit that way for the next three decades.
It's hideously pimptastic, but it is supposed to fetch a pretty decent resale price considering its mint condition.
My favorite parts of the car are its working 8-track deck--it's got a "contemporary music" tape with the Godfather theme on it--and CB radio handset.
Part Two: Odds and ends from the trip to Canton and Denton.
Canton has grown sad. Crafts and misc. junk are now outnumbering the antiques. There were a few neat metal animal sculptures, though. Most were whimsical enough. My favorite is the pig who looks like it's in the middle of a number two.
But a few looked like they'd just left Mount Doom and were merrily on their way to wage war on human and hobbit kind.
I did manage to find a few treasures during the weekend, although most were from a single store in Denton's town square.
John bought me the little bird pictured below. I've got a strange penchant for anything made of blue glass, but I've wanted one of these for years. My great-grandmother had a set that I loved. They're now the property of my grandmother, and will no doubt have to live through many other deaths before they're safe in my hands. Thankfully, I have my own now, and I will not have to anxiously await the passings of aunts and uncles before I can get my greedy hands on one. The bird(s) is called the Bluebird of Happiness. So, naturally, I caged it.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Jobby Jobby Dew
It looks like the Menno-Stare will now be an integral part of my existence.
I was at the local gym a few days ago when someone tapped me on the arm. It took me a few moments to recognize she was the director of the town’s Adult Learning Center, a free learning annex where adults can learn basic skills, prepare for the GED, learn English, etc. Apparently one of the center’s teachers is leaving next week for “unknown reasons” and they need, immediately, a substitute from now until the end of the school year. She knew of my current career trajectory—don’t ask me how—and offered me the job before I could remove my iPod headphones.
So the next day I went by the place—a set of five portable buildings behind the post office—to formerly accept the position and chat with the teacher to learn more about what exactly I would be doing. As it was technically a substitute position, I expected that I’d be given lesson plans for the next six weeks, something detailed and pre-planned.
Not. The. Case.
First off, the teacher, whose “unknown reasons” must be imminent death she was so old, told me that because she’d been teaching so long, she just “winged it” everyday. There were no lesson plans, no set curriculum, just the dowager herself and a room full of Mennonite women in their 40s who could barely speak English. The soon-to-be long gone teach did manage to tell me all about the coffee pot, though: how to make the coffee, where the creamer is stored, the best place to rinse the pot out. She also took a good ten minutes to fill me in on the particulars of the thermostat. Apparently, it is a persnickety old bat. So yeah, I left with no knowledge but the grim fact that I’ll be cluelessly in charge of these women for six weeks. At least we’ll be well-caffeinated.
I’m kind of excited.
So the next day I went by the place—a set of five portable buildings behind the post office—to formerly accept the position and chat with the teacher to learn more about what exactly I would be doing. As it was technically a substitute position, I expected that I’d be given lesson plans for the next six weeks, something detailed and pre-planned.
Not. The. Case.
First off, the teacher, whose “unknown reasons” must be imminent death she was so old, told me that because she’d been teaching so long, she just “winged it” everyday. There were no lesson plans, no set curriculum, just the dowager herself and a room full of Mennonite women in their 40s who could barely speak English. The soon-to-be long gone teach did manage to tell me all about the coffee pot, though: how to make the coffee, where the creamer is stored, the best place to rinse the pot out. She also took a good ten minutes to fill me in on the particulars of the thermostat. Apparently, it is a persnickety old bat. So yeah, I left with no knowledge but the grim fact that I’ll be cluelessly in charge of these women for six weeks. At least we’ll be well-caffeinated.
I’m kind of excited.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Warning! Unbridled Cheesiness Ahead!
West Texas has always seemed to me to be a place that has been forgotten. By who or what I don’t really know, but all you have to do is take a look around to see the evidence of this negligence. It’s been forgotten by culture: very little art, no feats of architecture, no steady streams of stimulating music, theater, fashion. Even ideas fail to permeate our borders. It’s also been forgotten by one of the simplest things that creates life, a substance that permits the existence of anything green, that allows for lakes and rivers, for skin that doesn’t itch daily from mucous membranes that no doubt resemble some long forgotten fossil discovered in a bed of hot clay. All of this neglect and disregard tends to make people (myself obviously excluded) tough, weathered, and sinewy, a sort of beef jerky existence.
But every now and then something happens that threatens to change all of this. Something occurs that makes you feel that, even for a moment, this place has been remembered.
But every now and then something happens that threatens to change all of this. Something occurs that makes you feel that, even for a moment, this place has been remembered.
Our dry spell ended at about 5:30 this morning. It’s been nearly eight months since we’ve had a drop of rain. Maybe it’s because I’ve been living in humid Central Texas for years now, lost my resistance to the desert, but there hasn’t been a day since I’ve been back that I haven’t taken a moment to think about rain. How nice it would feel on your skin, how good it would smell, how only a little of it would wash away the inches of piled-up dirt from the tops of houses, barns, churches, and cars. How good it would feel for your cells and pores to finally be able to take a damned drink.
It was about 5:32 when the thunder woke me. My parents were already outside on the front porch, holding hands, watching what has to be the best alarm clock ever invented. No one said a word to each other. We just stood there and eyed the fat speedy drops, each of us smiling a shit-eating grin. Even Muppet seemed to be aware of what she’d been missing. She shot out from the porch and did laps around the wet yard. Of course it ended almost as soon as it began. I think we had a total of 15 minutes of rain, hardly enough to help agriculturally. I know this sounds ridiculous, and I’m not much of a spiritual person, but this brief rainy spell was ridiculously uplifting for all of us. And it was, by far, the best church I’ve been to in a long, long while.
It was about 5:32 when the thunder woke me. My parents were already outside on the front porch, holding hands, watching what has to be the best alarm clock ever invented. No one said a word to each other. We just stood there and eyed the fat speedy drops, each of us smiling a shit-eating grin. Even Muppet seemed to be aware of what she’d been missing. She shot out from the porch and did laps around the wet yard. Of course it ended almost as soon as it began. I think we had a total of 15 minutes of rain, hardly enough to help agriculturally. I know this sounds ridiculous, and I’m not much of a spiritual person, but this brief rainy spell was ridiculously uplifting for all of us. And it was, by far, the best church I’ve been to in a long, long while.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Fun with Real Dialogue
Scene: My house in West Texas. I’ve just gotten out of the car after a tiring, six-hour drive. My defenses are down, and I forget to check the caller i.d. when the phone rings, the handset too nearby to ignore. The offending caller turns out to be one who rings my parents on a weekly basis and usually during dinner. They’ve asked me repeatedly to put a stop to such calls. Will I rise to the challenge?
Me: Hello?
Bubbly Girl Voice: Hi!!!!!!!!!
Me: Hello.
BGV of the Increasing Volume Type: Is Benjamin Matthews home?
Foolish, Foolish Me: This is he.
BGV of the IVT: Super!!!! This is (insert stripper name ending in “y”)! I’m calling from the Alumni Office at Pepperdine! I’m a sophomore!
Me: (slapping myself in the face and trying, unsuccessfully, to eat the phone) How can I help you?
BGV: I was just calling to update your records! Are you still at (lists parent’s phone number)?
Me: No. Never was. Parent’s phone number.
BGV: (laughing unwittingly) Well, can I get your number?
Me: I don’t have one.
BGV: (with cheery incredulousness) No phone?
Me: Nope.
BGV: Okay, how about an email?
Me: Don’t have one of those either.
BGV: (getting annoyed) Really?
Me: (realizing annoying Pepperdine students is easy and fun) Yeppers.
BGV: How about a work phone number or permanent address?
Me: I don’t have one.
BGV: A work number or a permanent address?
Me: Neither. I’m unemployed and shiftless.
BGV: . . .
Me: . . . .
BGV: So, um, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your time at Pepperdine. You know, we’re always trying to find out what former students liked and disliked to better our ranking.
Me: (baffled at the logic of the statement above) Okay.
BGV: So, how did you like it?
Me: I didn’t.
BGV: (shocked, as if these words have never been uttered) Oh. I see you’re from Texas. Was Pepperdine just too small for you?
Me: (again, blinded by her logic) No. It was more the rampant, smothering conservatism. And all of the militant Christians.
BGV: . . .
Me: Do you like it?
BGV: Um, yeah.
Me: Really?
BGV: (Still not getting it, but finally getting to her point) So, would you be interested in joining (some alumni club) or making a one-time cash donation of $100?
Me: What do you think?
BGV: Probably not?
Me: Probably not.
BGV: (defeated. it’s kind of sad.) Okay. Well bye.
Me: Bye. Oh, hey.
BGV: (a little bubble back in the voice) Yes?
Me: Please stop calling here.
Me: Hello?
Bubbly Girl Voice: Hi!!!!!!!!!
Me: Hello.
BGV of the Increasing Volume Type: Is Benjamin Matthews home?
Foolish, Foolish Me: This is he.
BGV of the IVT: Super!!!! This is (insert stripper name ending in “y”)! I’m calling from the Alumni Office at Pepperdine! I’m a sophomore!
Me: (slapping myself in the face and trying, unsuccessfully, to eat the phone) How can I help you?
BGV: I was just calling to update your records! Are you still at (lists parent’s phone number)?
Me: No. Never was. Parent’s phone number.
BGV: (laughing unwittingly) Well, can I get your number?
Me: I don’t have one.
BGV: (with cheery incredulousness) No phone?
Me: Nope.
BGV: Okay, how about an email?
Me: Don’t have one of those either.
BGV: (getting annoyed) Really?
Me: (realizing annoying Pepperdine students is easy and fun) Yeppers.
BGV: How about a work phone number or permanent address?
Me: I don’t have one.
BGV: A work number or a permanent address?
Me: Neither. I’m unemployed and shiftless.
BGV: . . .
Me: . . . .
BGV: So, um, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your time at Pepperdine. You know, we’re always trying to find out what former students liked and disliked to better our ranking.
Me: (baffled at the logic of the statement above) Okay.
BGV: So, how did you like it?
Me: I didn’t.
BGV: (shocked, as if these words have never been uttered) Oh. I see you’re from Texas. Was Pepperdine just too small for you?
Me: (again, blinded by her logic) No. It was more the rampant, smothering conservatism. And all of the militant Christians.
BGV: . . .
Me: Do you like it?
BGV: Um, yeah.
Me: Really?
BGV: (Still not getting it, but finally getting to her point) So, would you be interested in joining (some alumni club) or making a one-time cash donation of $100?
Me: What do you think?
BGV: Probably not?
Me: Probably not.
BGV: (defeated. it’s kind of sad.) Okay. Well bye.
Me: Bye. Oh, hey.
BGV: (a little bubble back in the voice) Yes?
Me: Please stop calling here.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
School Hard
Another apology for being such a scant poster. I'm entering the last month of my teacher training, at least as far as my classes go, and things are really starting to heat up: classes, outrageous professorial expectations, my basal body temperature. Thankfully, I've arranged for a few days off to visit the wilds of Central and East Texas, where I shall be visiting friends and participating in one of my All-Time-Favorite-Activities-of-All-Time, the flea market. I shall attempt to post a few times from the open road (eat your heart out, pre-computer-age Kerouac.
In other news, my journey as my mother's subject for her physical assessments class continues to get weirder. Last night she needed to practice taking a written medical history for someone with gastrointestinal problems. Because I wasn't feeling the least bit iffy, I was asked to take on the role of someone with, wait for it, bleeding stools. Our subsequent 30-minute chat was truly darling.
In other news, my journey as my mother's subject for her physical assessments class continues to get weirder. Last night she needed to practice taking a written medical history for someone with gastrointestinal problems. Because I wasn't feeling the least bit iffy, I was asked to take on the role of someone with, wait for it, bleeding stools. Our subsequent 30-minute chat was truly darling.
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