Look at this.

Look very, very closely.

I am suspicious.

I had no idea how much I would be influenced by Chinese traditions when I first arrived in Asia. But now, eighteen months into my repatriation, I have to say, I’ve not left it all behind. In fact, I have kept a fair amount of it in daily practice.

• I don’t wear shoes in my house, and I would really rather you didn’t either.
• I love chopsticks.
• I say “Aiyahhh” all the time, and Chinglish is never really that far a way.
• I love Chinese astrology, and yes, I believe.
• I adore the ideology that surrounds the lunar new year in terms of preparedness, ensuring good fortune, and appreciation for new beginnings while venerating the past.

The Chinese are true champions of the practice of ignoring mutual exclusivity (among other things) and in many ways they truly embody the belief of hedging all one’s bets for acquiring a better future. Paying big dollars for license plates with fortuitous numbers (6, 8, and 9 in particular), submitting college applications on auspicious dates, appeasing the ghosts, beginning each year with a completely clean slate.

Aha. Now you see why I like it: clean slates are nothing short of divine.

So, I did all my cleaning. I gutted the closets and got rid of a ton of shit. I cleaned base-boards and I dusted. I also realized how much I absolutely loathe dusting. I got the laundry all done, I flipped the mattress and made the bed, I washed windows and cleaned the refrigerator. I organized my sock drawer and dusted all my books. I remembered again how much I freaking hate dusting. I cleaned the cat box and washed dishes. I tossed old magazines and filed all my paid bills. I balanced my check book and took care of my banking for the month. I vacuumed and then I vacuumed some more. I backed up the computer and zip-tied loose cords. When it was all said and done I saw I had to dust one more time. Aiyah.

And then I sat down and looked around. I missed Cita, who used to do all this for me in Hong Kong, but felt pretty good about getting it done here. It did feel like I could get everything done now that the foundations were in order. And all before the New Year so as not to sweep out any of the good luck. Nope, I do not want to do that.

This year is supposed to be challenging for me, a Dog, because “clamorous Dragon years frazzle [my] fragile nerves. As if the noise and brouhaha weren’t enough, Dragons steal the spotlight… These are the years in which [Dogs] feel that, no matter how hard you try, you cannot make progress on your own terms.“

Dogs, in the good times, are described as attentive, well-meaning, helpful, warm-hearted, altruistic, modest, devoted, philosophical, dutiful, discreet, intelligent and enthusiastic. But when the shit hits the fan they can be nasty, mean-spirited, disagreeable, bad-tempered, self-righteous, judgemental, quarrelsome, accusing, nervous, anxious and impossible to live with. (White, 1993.)

You.Don’t.Say.

Girl Dogs  are described as workaholics. Characterized by stamina, endurance, grit and determination, all to make the world a better place in which to live. A Girl Dog has a sharp tongue and a marshmallow heart, as a friend, the Dog woman is forever. Professionally, she is a human dynamo, providing she finds the right ambience to work in where she feels unencumbered by arrogant superiors, can set the parameters herself… Her physical endurance is admirable… the control she has over her mind, the disciplined way she can continually kick herself to get going and stay going, her determination and grit are superhuman… Dog women are not only thin-skinned but they are painfully sensitive to what others think of them… Dryness, a hint of reserve, strict personal discipline, X-ray powers of observation and crackling commentary are native to all sensitive Dog women. (Ibid.)

Huh.

Metal Dogs are described thusly: This is the Dog that wants to change the world. He’s strong-minded, as well as generous and self-sacrificing. He’s a brave, gallant person whose sole reason for being on this earth is to stalk he holy grail of perfection… They are logical, zealous, methodical and rigorous. They do not believe in violence or upheaval, feeling that gentler, more civilized methods can and do work. They strive for an ideal with a determination that boggles the minds of less eager, less determined folk. Curiously, although they sometimes seem unapproachable, Metal Dogs long more than anything else to be understood, loved and revered by their peers. (Ibid.)

Ahhh… and now you all have seen through my harsh facade to what lies within that seemingly cold, dark heart.

Well, then. Regarding this year, I am told, “Don’t creep away, grumble or pout. Listen. Heed the Dragon’s wisdom. For all his showing off the Dragon is a soothsayer, a sage and a mastermind reader of the political scene. When the party is over and the fireworks die to an ember, you will remember and act on his words.” [That just made me think of Guy Fawkes, for some reason, though he was a Horse, not a Dragon.]

And to that end, I shall listen.

Maybe even to a Horse.

Photos by me! From Beihai Park in Beijing. 2008.

But, sweeter things prevailed.

• “I know you’ve had hundreds and hundreds of students, but I’ve only had one Geography teacher who was also my friend.” [Via text.]
• “Seriously, I was blown away, that was one of the best lessons I have ever seen. I was totally engrossed and the kids loved it. Really, it was amazing. They are so lucky to have you.”  [Post-observation comments from a much respected colleague.]
• “You’re not alone…and go with it…this beautiful life just goes around once…” [Via email.]
• “I don’t often feel this way. You are like a fresh breath of air.” [Via text.]
• “Oh my god, it’s ridiculous. We will all go to mat for you on this, you know that right?” [From my partner in edumacational crime.]
• “I miss AP Lit with you SO much. My comparative lit class sucks so much compared to AP lit. Please just come teach at University of Oregon so I can be a happy English major… Please.” [Via Facebook.]
• “In my life.” [Via text.]

Whenever they feel like it.

See you after the black out…..

I hope.

Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybody’s pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry

I generally have the news on in the morning while I am getting ready for work. As I have mentioned before, I switched to Channel 2 to avoid the retardation that would inevitably befall me if I kept watching the local NBC affiliate, KNTV. And in general, Channel Two gets me what I need: some basic headlines about the world news, the economy, weather, and Bart delays. But lately, the news has just been bumming me out. It is just making me sad for humanity.

• San Francisco’s first homicide of 2012, reported with just a little too much enthusiasm as it is contrasted with the substantially more impressive homicidal wave that has swept Oakland in January.
• Stand-off in Soma with rooftop shooters discussed as if it were a mere video game – but a sub-par one.
• US soldiers peeing on the dead bodies of Afghan soldiers delivered in the same tone of voice as the announcement that the jobless rate is soaring and traffic delays.

And in the last week, my personal favorites, the stories of teachers busted for sexual relations with students.

First, we heard about the 35 year-old elementary school teacher who was accused of aggravated sexual assault on his campus. The next day the Granada High math teacher who had a six month sexual relationship with her 15-year-old student that began with a Facebook/Words With Friends relationship. Then there was the art teacher at James Logan High who got busted for various acts with one of his 14-year-old female student.

That was in a single week.

*sigh*

It just makes me so sad. And after this wonderfully calm, long weekend I turned on the news again – fires, drought, freezing temperatures and no homeless relief, all within the first five minutes – and left for work… sad.

But then, I got to work. And as the day progressed, my mood went up and up and up. This may have been enhanced by caffeine, though I think it has much more to do with the way my days go. I start off surrounded by sophomores. They are funny and silly and inquisitive and easy to confuse. We analyzed examples of the kind of digital images they are responsible for creating as part of their interdisciplinary project on the HIV/AIDS crisis, which will culminate in a mock W.H.O. conference. They had smart, insightful and, yes, funny, observations.

Then came my Senior Seminar class. We are reading Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers as our primary text in that class at the moment. We considered the validity (and viability) of his 10,000 hour premise. We built a flowchart that differentiated between innate characteristics, personal choices, and random [serendipitous] occurrences to evaluate the 10k hour premise with his case studies of Bill Joy, the Beatles, and Bill Gates. We talked about what success is, and what makes success.

I wrapped up the day with my seniors as they continued to work on their  interdisciplinary investigative journalism projects, constructing and deconstructing the socipolitical narratives that surround us today. We talked about the effects of financial regulation and deregulation. We discussed what motives might explain why a pro-choice person like HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius would suddenly reverse her all of her positions when it came to Plan B emergency contraceptives. We considered how we have created a marketplace where [subsidized] fast food is cheaper than healthy food, and the potential role of the Farm Bill in this. We looked at the connection between gun legislation and race. We read about the futile attempts to harness the methyl iodide gasses in California’s Central Valley and the similar fundamental ideals behind fracking. We practiced annotating citations and creating original propaganda pieces with culture jamming.

Then my day ended.

And in the end, it was a great day. I have a job that actually makes my days better, and I don’t know how many people can say that. Teaching is a special field… special in that lots of people could probably get a job teaching, but not everyone can teach. And, as the recent news seems to indicate – from sex scandals to blaming teacher’s unions for the failure of the economy – there are a fair number who seem to be confused about what doing a good job teaching actually means.

When we were discussing the recent school scandals in class, on e of my students said he could kind of understand it, “Like, you know, if the teacher is super-hot.” We all looked at him. I asked if he realized that he had just said that out loud. He laughed. I shuddered. And we all thought of Van Halen.

Because, really… it is not like they were singing about waitresses* or librarians**, were they?

* Waitresses were only used as a representation of another profession – don’t read into it.

** However, librarians were used on purpose here as there seems to be such a large cohort of them who really, really try hard to self-identify as something excessively titillating.  But in the end, they never got a song, did they? [They got this blog though...]

A connecting principle
Linked to the invisible
Almost imperceptible
Something inexpressible
Science insusceptible
Logic so inflexible
Causally connectible
Yet nothing is invincible

Currently, I am teaming with my English teaching colleague on an interdisciplinary project for my seniors throughout which they are working to identify the sociopolitical narratives that surround us and then deconstructing them to see, well, what lies beneath, I suppose. Before the semester ends they will be producing a journal of self-produced investigative reports examining the power of the dollar in politics focusing on topics ranging from factory farming to fracking to the SEC (non)regulation to SOPA to NAFTA to… well, you get the idea.

The project is pretty ambitious to lay on a group of 60 seniors who at this point in their academic careers really just want to get the flock out of high school. And it is also something I am not sure I would have had the inclination or ability to grock at that age. But no matter, we forged on, hoping that we could hook them with a series of WTF moments as they questioned how our government, ostensibly of, by and for the people was working for them – or was it… working against them? [maniacal laugh...]

In the midst of the abrupt return to school (that only comes after a really rewarding vacation), I took a little step up to Shattuck to get a mid-morning Americano. As I was walking back in my own little reverie (that only comes after getting a delicious coffee and the knowledge that your prep is only half way over), I glanced over at a shop window that I had never noticed before, as I never really walk on this side of the street.

There staring out of the window at my wondering eyes was this:

And this…

Wait. What?

Okay, so yeah, I know I work in Berkeley and as such we might not be such an accurate reflection of the rest of the country, but still. There I was face to window glass with the exact premise, neé purpose of the project I had been envisioning.

I quickly shot photos of each of the other twelve panels which chronologically outlined the key turning points in the transition from a government of, by and for the people to a government of, by and for the $$$$$. And then I ran back to tell my colleague. And… being that it is Berkeley, we decided to take a little field trip the next day. We would have them look at the images and try to work out what the purpose of the store front was, the agenda, who might be behind it…

When we got there we talked about it a little bit and I challenged some of the kids to see if they could find out who was the occupant of the building. Boy, do seniors love this kind of challenge. Before I knew it they were on it and had gotten the attention of someone in the building. Suddenly our field trip was a seminar in a local progressive think-tank called Maplight.org. They took us up and showed us what they do and offered any sort of assist that our students might need. Just because they can. “It is what they do,” they said.

Talk about amazing. And whether or not this would only happen in Berkeley, I cannot really say, but I am certainly glad it happened on that day.

If you act, as you think
The missing link
Synchronicity

We know you, they know me
Extrasensory
Synchronicity

A star fall, a phone call
It joins all
Synchronicity

It’s so deep, it’s so wide
Your inside
Synchronicity

I’ll stop the world and melt with you
You’ve seen the difference and
It’s getting better all the time
There’s nothing you and I won’t do
I’ll stop the world and melt with you

I own this movie, though I haven’t watched it in a while (no matter a I know all the words and every song by heart…) But every time I do watch it, I am reminded of how it is like, the most awesome love story ever. It is clearly responsible for indelibly imprinting a certain archetype on  my brain. Thanks 1983.

Randy:  So, when can I see you again?
Julie Richman: Gee, Randy… why don’t you wait until the end of the evening to say these things?
Randy: It’s how I feel.
Julie Richman: I’m here with you now.

For some reason, in spite of the fact that I spent just about every summer in LA – and mostly the Valley – from 1970 until 1987, this early 80s period is part of my most elemental programming. I wonder if it is genetic if you have Valley parents? Anyhow, I remember so well riding around in LA and seeing it exactly how it is in this movie. The malls, god, I actually loved them. And the ranch-style Valley houses, because you know there is so much ranching going on out there in the Valley… The clothes. Holy crap – I aspired to that.

Epic.

And parents that just did not fit into the norm of my peer set? Yep. I had them. I love that they run a health food store, so wonderfully 1983. The language is a bit silly, almost distracting… (were we ever that bad? Well, I did have a 3/4 sleeve shirt in white and lavender that said: “I’m a Val, I know” Seriously…) But the story is pretty much the end all be all of love stories. Okay, okay, Top Five. Like, fer sure.

Well fuck you, for sure, like totally!

And you all know I have my Nick Cage issues, but damn, he could deliver a line. He is just like the “real” guy among all the plastics, you know? I can’t imagine how he would have played in my high school, [angst in my pants!] but in hindsight it certainly seems like just what the doctor ordered. He makes every boyfriend I ever had seem pretty lame.

Man, he’s like tripendicular, ya know?

Oh, except for Joe Flynn. The scene in the movie when Julie and Randy are talking and Fred is chasing Suzie around the car happened to me almost exactly the same way when Nancy took one for the team and let a certain Hurt brother chase her while I tried to convince Joe that a nice little vanilla girl like me was just what he needed. Short lived success there, but not because I had to deal with some Tommy cretin… more just because Joe was a little too thug to make up his mind. But man, he was smoking hot. Oddly, as with Julie’s predicament in the movie, I am farily certain none of my friends agreed with me on this…

And still, every time I watch the movie I love it a little more. Who wouldn’t root for Randy and Fred. [Hi, I'm Fred. I like tacos and '71 Cabernet. My favorite color is magenta.] And another victory goes to the Bohemians.

Well, I mean, come on, we are talking about the Valley – how alternative did you think they were gonna be for the perfect little love story? Plus… they got a word for girls like me…

Sitting at the kitchen table with a nice glass of wine last night (I do know how to rock a Saturday night) I was putting their post-vacay review together – we are embarking on a crazy-cool-ambitious-intimidating-cross-curricular project for the month of January – and I got distracted thinking about my personal narrative assessment of 2012 so far.

What I wanted to accomplish was getting a jump on the planning for the interdisciplinary units we are teaching this month – and though not much got done over the holiday, the week was productive. Things look good and I am excited to teach the material. I have a little more grading to do, but not too much… I have a few things hanging over my head to take care of for paper work and such – changing banks, completing a long overdue evaluation of a class I completed in December, signing up for yet another test to prove to the state of California that I am qualified to teach, this time English Language Learners (no, five years teaching overseas does not merit any sort of pass on this.) Plus there is the planning for the spring semester… Economics and the second half of World History… but you know me – I love a good planning session.

Accolades for making time for the things that make me smile: yoga, the gym (okay, that makes me laugh more than smile, but it’s all good), family, friends, travel… I saw my coach on Friday night and it was awesome. He is still just the kind of balance I have always needed in my life – and I swear the man was right about everything he ever said to me. Eerie. Also planning some trips soon – Southern California, HK, y quién sabe que m
as… México? Europe? Sometimes it really does feel like the world is my oyster.

However, I will be getting my head together with a financial planner from USAA this month (to talk myself out of a lot of that fun I suspect.) Sensibility it so banal. I suppose this goes into areas of concern. For now though, just remembering to maintain some semblance of balance and reflect on the things that make me smile.

I found a daily/diary on my bookshelf from who knows when, and decided I would fill it out. One more place to list things that maybe don’t really need to be posted on the internet (see mom? I have limits.)

So far 2012, you have been nothing short of a sunshine daydream.
I resolve to keep it coming.

I was trying to explain what it was I liked the best about The Cowboy, who I had just met, to A the other morning. A knows The Cowboy, and we were comparing contexts. I said that what I loved was that he was polite. He opens doors. He waits. He listens. He notices small details. Not to mention he is rather a badass and I feel fairly confident that were anything dodgy to go down anytime, he could quickly and effectively handle the situation. These are qualities that I also really appreciate in Knux [aka: O.M.Y.S.F.Y.S.F.Y.B.M.M.] To be fair I must credit #5 with many of these same qualities (until it his personal choices prevented that from being a reality…)

No, chivalry is most certainly not dead, it is just that it often shows itself most gracefully, and authentically, in the more unlikely candidates. The Duncans, the Benders, the Jim Starks… those are the ones who know the kind of chivalry I like.

Here is a true story to punctuate my point:

We were at the Belly Up the other night to see a show but had sort of missed the part of the show that the most interested party wanted to see and so we were milling. Someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned to see a nice looking fellow and his friend. The Tapper asked me a question about one of the people I was with. The Tapper then began to talk to my friend and the parties seemed to merge a bit, but in a fairly casual way. As the evening progressed The Tapper shifted his interests towards me. I had not really considered The Tapper, but he appeared quite vested in trying to extend the evening, which we are all ready to stick a fork in. He was full of platitudes and overly touchy. Frankly, his entreaties became fairly presumptuous in a rather adolescent way before he finally realized that he would not be enjoying any more of my company on this evening.

He called the next day… he would really like to see me before I went back to the City, would I like to have dinner? Sure, why not… but I really only had one night I could do this and that would be the next day, would that work? Yes, of course. Okay let’s go here. Alright, what time? I am flexible. I need to be on the later side. Hmmm. How about 7:30? Okay, fine. I will call you if I can I make it earlier. Okay. Okay. See you tomorrow.

I promptly Googled him. A bit older than I thought, a financial advisor for big dollar clients, a 619 number. Well. That would be different for me on a number of levels.

But, I would not find out the myriad ways in which we would likely be incompatible because an hour before we were supposed to meet (at a rescheduled time and place – on account of him) he called to cancel. He was sick – probably “was grinding too hard in his bodysurfing sesh” earlier that day. That is a verbatim quote. And without disclosing too much, I will tell you he is more than ten years older than me. And he said “sesh.” Still, he wanted to see me and so he would give me a call in the next day or so if he felt better. Whatevs.

I would not hear from The Tapper again.

Fast forward a couple of days to my introduction to The Cowboy. Lacking in all of the grown-up approved categories that The Tapper had to offer, The Cowboy has kind of eschewed the traditional notion of security, as such. But, I have no doubt that given any situation he would have the requisite savvy to handle himself with aplomb and escape with the most minor of casualties. He is smart, though in no hurry to demonstrate this to all and sundry. He is kind, and I have not heard him direct a single cruel word towards anyone. He is a physical specimen of some significant note; a surfer, biker, runner. And a roofer. Yep. A tradesman. And The Cowboy has no issue with this. Not because he is unaware that in a culture like ours people are undoubtedly judging him for this, but because he really just does not give a shit. He likes what he does. He works hard. And without fail, he speaks gently, holds hands, opens doors… and could drop you in a minute if you insulted the honor of someone he cared for.

No, chivalry is not dead. It is just found in those who have a true understanding for the word means. It is not something that is done for etiquette’s sake (or to try to get some late night action.) It exists because the truly chivalrous believe that their actions make the world a better place, some how, in some little way. And that is why they do it.

Or, at least, that is certainly how it seemed to me when I asked The Cowboy if he’d be around in the new year. He looked back and said, “As… you….. wish.”

Now that, Buttercup, is chivalry.

Inherently satisfying, if total baloney in practicality, I must admit.

Still, I do love a good list. And in keeping with my tradition of listing, some twenty-plus years and counting (and, yes, of course I still have all the lists, what kind of Virgo do you think I am, man?) I give you 2011: My Year in a List.

1. 2011 began with The Great Fall. It was prophetic in terms of the drama, but more notably, the reality that even a seemingly deadly fall left nary a scratch on me; quite literally as D said at the time, I bounced. The year was the same, everything that seemed like it might be the thing that finally was too much landed me in exponentially better circumstances.

2. Hong Kong overnight. I went back to the 852 for the briefest of visits. Oddly I shortened the trip feeling like I really had nothing else to do there. In an strange way the visit did offer closure, but more importantly, it showed me that there can be closure without totally extricating something from one’s life. Another blow to mutual exclusivity. 852, I will see you in March.

3. Americanization. After eighteen months, I have been taken back into the fold of the American reality: a failing economy, deep national angst, and growing consternation over, well, everything. I no longer have the disposable income and the flexibility that life in the 852 offered. But I love being home in the midst of what I hope is a harbinger of things to come with people finally standing up and admitting that we can be better. Or at least don’t need to suck this hard.

4. The Switch. In the most classic case of “everything happens for a reason” that could have been written, a certain short man decided that he did not want me to teach at his school for a second year. Though it rocked me hard (and he stood alone in that decision), it turned into one of my greatest professional opportunities ever. Berkeley, you have made all the difference.

5. Max. I thought that getting a new kitten would be – what – a way to improve Matilda’s life in the city? Matil clearly thinks I am the hugest idiot ever. Max is beautiful and kinda dumb and super endearing and totally destructive. Matil recently submitted her own list for what would improve her life in San Francisco. It included no cars, a private jungle for hunting and stalking, subtropical climates, total feline autonomy, and a litter box for one. Nowhere on the list did it mention a companion. But Max is staying and we are going to make this work, and hope that he gets it together.

6. Festivus for the rest of us. Coachella, Lollapalooza, Bridge School and all points in between. Back to land of big shows, big music and lots of fun. Thank you D and A. [Not to mention the ESPYs and the SF Film Festival and all kinds of fabulous elbows to rub.] Looking forward to hitting the domestic road again in 2012.

7. Occupied! The sentiment of dissent continued to grow and I must say, strange things are afoot – and thank fuck for that. While many continue to shake their heads and condemn those who would step up and take action, I am reminded of the dangers of a somniferous halcyon age and the catatonic side-effects of complacency.

8. My photo book finally came to fruition. A year after I thought it would be finished, I did in fact finish the book. 365 days of photos, in order: the good the bad and the ugly. But it was finished. And it turned out, my photography habit is what got me my new job… Apparently I am an artist.

9. Many full circles. I lost my gramma; my parents came back to the Bay Area and I saw my dad; I rediscovered sports injuries and I went back to the gym; old friends led to new friends; I went back to the scenes of several crimes and closed the (storage unit) door on all of them; even the Muppets came back..

10. The end of some days just brings on more days. I remembered what I needed to remember and let go of what needed to be cut loose. It kind of feels like I finally came home.

Just in time for the apocalypse.

Think I am gonna let it be.