I Came to Bring the Phunking Pain

Pants on fire

Teaching is a great profession. First of all, you get your summers off. And holidays. And a week in December, April, and February, if you teach in the Northeast, which I do. In addition to all that, you get 10 vacation days, maybe even sick days. I probably took more days in an average year than a good student.

Teaching can be very fun. There's a lot of creativity, a lot of flexibility. Though they won't admit it, and though some of them may frown on my saying so, there were a few times when I came in to work and just flubbed it. I made it up as I went along. Not the content, but the plan. I came in with only a vague idea, and sculpted a day out of it. Sometimes, those were my best days. Kids can be fun, especially teenagers, because they have a real, developed sense of humor. Sometimes they say things that are really funny, on purpose, and you laugh with them. There are teachers who think you're not supposed to laugh to avoid encouraging them, but my philosophy is that laughing is like gas, it can be unhealthy to hold it in. I guess that's why I like laughing gas so much.

Teaching feels like you're doing something good, and important. Even at its worst, even when five people have told you to fuck off at five different times in a day, you can still look back fondly at each of those kids and feel for them, and excuse them, and sometimes love them for who they are, who they are trying to be. If it sounds sappy and melodramatic, that's okay too, because it's High School, and High School accepts all the sap, corn, and melodrama you can throw at it. There are no eccentricities, there is only High School. High School is Zuul.

Teaching is secure. It doesn't rely on advertising dollars, or subscriptions. In all but the worst districts, if you do a good job, you've got a good job, for an entire year. Short of falling asleep in class, it's tough to get canned, and even if you do, there are people whose job it is to stick up for you. There's still a pension in teaching, too, if you ever decide to leave. There's upward mobility, sideways mobility, or you can just keep your head down and do your time.

I can't believe I'm writing this, but I am going to be a teacher next year. Actually, I'm going to be a teacher tomorrow. I had the interview at West Essex High School, and they loved me, and I loved them. They offered me the job the same day, and today I accepted it. I'm going to be teaching 3 sections of journalism, which is really what sold me. I'm also teaching a section of Sophomore English and a section of Theater Arts. I'm not running the school play, but I am advising the newspaper.

I took Stephen Colbert's advice and went with my gut. After I interviewed at the school, and just felt myself being part of a school again, it was intoxicating. I mean, I must have been under the influence, because I tossed away what, until yesterday, was a dream job playing with gadgets and working on a web site. I got home last night and all I could think was: I can't turn this job down. It's too good to turn down. If I designed an ideal teaching job, I wouldn't have been creative enough to come up with this one. I have to give it one more go, see where it takes me.

I'll let you know.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I probably won't be a teacher next month. I'm not a teacher right now, I'm just getting paid by a school, but that ends this month. I moved, so I'm looking for a new job. I broke my leg during prime teacher-looking-for-a-job season, which really hurt my confidence more than my chances, so I waited until the summer and now . . . nothing. Teaching jobs are hard to come by here in deep, white suburbia.

But I don't think I want to be a teacher next month. Later, maybe. I've had eight interviews in the last three weeks, and none of them have been for teaching gigs. Well, one tomorrow, but hopefully I'll cancel. I was kind of offered a job this morning. I was told by the owner of the web site that it would be great to have me on board, they just need to fill out some paperwork and find me a chair (literally). Does that count as an offer? We didn't talk money, so I say it doesn't. If I get an offer with a number attached tomorrow, before my school interview, I'll take it, and cancel with the school, and then I won't be a teacher.

At every interview, I've been asked why I'm not going to be a teacher. It's a really tough question to answer, because it was a heart-wrenching decision, and I don't use heart metaphorically lightly. I do feel a physical reaction in my torso when I realize I won't be teaching. I tell people it's because I was an editor and writer before I was a teacher, and I just want to get back into my original racket. That's because it would sound terrible at an interview if I told the truth. Teaching is a horrible job.

I met a guy at a party who is a pharmaceutical engineer. He designed a tank into which hamster enzymes are thrown, and, somehow, out comes propecia, the hair medecine. I asked if he liked his job. He said it had great hours, great pay, smart colleagues, interesting work. The only problem, he said, was that it was completely unfulfilling.

"How's your job?" he asked me.

"My job is only fulfilling."

There is nothing else good about it. The pay is lousy, the hours are endless, the colleagues are smart, but under so much pressure, and sometimes so young and inexperienced that they don't understand professionalism yet. The work is challenging, but it stops just shy of what I would call interesting. It is a horrible job. It is a miserable job. I have never met a person thinking about becoming a teacher whom I didn't try to talk out of the profession.

But it's a profession that needs me. It needs anyone, i'm not being egotistical. That's why it breaks my heart to leave it. It's like leaving a stray at the pound. I say to myself, someone else will come along and take care of that mangy thing, but I know I could do a good job at nurturing it, and someone else could take another mangy teaching job home with them.

So, I guess the moral is: Don't be a teacher. And if you want to be a teacher, whatever you do, don't ask me for career advice.

The Dog and the Matrix

I wonder what the dog thinks of all this. Nadine brought up an interesting question today. We have a woman who comes and cleans our place about once a month. She came today, first time since I broke my leg, and I had to clear out for a few hours. So I went to the movies, to see "V for Vendetta," more on that later.

Nadine asked what the dog thinks about Simone (she's brazilian, it's see-mo-NEE). Chum likes Simone very much, she also dogsits for us, but Nadine wondered if Cholmondley thinks it's weird that Simone visits once a month and then leaves. What does she think is going on? My first thought is that Cholmondley thinks this apartment is her (Chum's) house. We are all just guests, to some extent. She probably spends the most time here, so its a reasonable assumption. Therefore, Nadine and I, and Simone, and even Mary, our landlord who lives above us in this duplex, are all just resident guests, to some extent. I think it's more about how much stink we leave around the place, me being the winner there, with Nadine a close second. Of course, to Cholmondley, Simone probably smells kind of piney.

She doesn't know yet to get out of my way when I'm rolling towards her in the Roll-a-bout. I have to ask her to move, and she always stands in the doorway - to my bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, so I'm constantly asking her to move. I wonder if she wonders why I'm not just stepping over her like I usually do.

And I wonder if the walking thing is a question in her mind. When I broke my ankle, I was walking Chum. It wasn't her fault, I saw the ice and decided to play it slow and careful, but my ankle just slid out and cracked. She came running over to me and started licking me very sympathetically. I wasn't howling in pain, but I was clearly distressed. I wonder if she realizes that this was the last time I walked her in more than five weeks. I wonder if she realizes that the last walk is the reason I am now here all day, usually next to her on the couch. Probably not. I think she just takes things as they come. She learns when her behavior is reinforced, for better or worse, but I just feel like concept of realization are beyond the dog.

In any case, she's very cute, and I'm happy to have her around. Some times she realizes that I'm feeling like I'm not getting enough attention, and she'll try to tackle me, licking my face. I have absolutely no problem with extensive face-licking, though I know some people who do. Some times, though, she'll be sleeping with her ass towards me, and she'll stretch out her hind legs and give me a few swift kicks. You thought I was going to say farting, but I didn't, though don't think that doesn't happen. She is a dog.

"V" was good. I liked it a lot. There was almost no action, which was almost a relief. The Matrix really redefined action movies. I think it was easily the most exciting movie to come out since Star Wars or Raider's of the Lost Ark, canonical, really. This was just good. Solid allegory, in your face at times. Some really creepy lines, not in a good way: "Who would think that blowing up a building could change the world," referring to Guy Fawkes' attempt to blow up the British Parliament, a little too heavy-handed, but not in a Narnia sort of way.

From Netflix: "Throne of Blood," Akira Kurosawa's Macbeth, was surprisingly compelling. "The Office," the BBC version, is good, but I think it would be better with a few more people here on the couch with me. I rented "Twin Peaks," and started at Season 1, Disc 1, Episode 1, and the first thing it says is: "Previously, on Twin Peaks . . ." I was so pissed. They don't have a pilot episode available for rent. Also, I've started "The Prisoner," a psychological British series from back in the day about a retired secret agent who ends up on an enigmatic island. Every week, Number 2 tries to get out of him the answer to the question: "Why did you retire?" Every week he tries to escape, while Number 2 tries various forms of intimidation, coersion, and subterfuge. The best part is that if you break a rule, or manage to escape the island, a giant white balloon comes bouncing after you and brings you back.

"Amores Perros" had too many dead dogs for one movie, but was pretty okay. "Deliverance" was great, the anal rape scene for which it is so famous was not nearly as disturbing as the massive compound fracture that Burt Reynolds endures. "Some Like It Hot" was wacky, and it was the first Marilyn Monroe movie I've ever seen. She's very cute, which goes without saying, I suppose. I liked "Annie Hall," but didn't laugh out loud once. Finally, if anyone can explain the ending of "The French Connection," feel free to do so for extra credit.

Your homework for tonight: Roy Scheider to Kevin Bacon in 6 degrees or less. Oh, I also posted a lot of pictures. Some of you haven't seen me in almost a decade, feel free to take a look.