Productive Rage

I have respect for people who have hit bottom and managed to resurface, for those who have opted out of the mainstream and fought for their beliefs, but if I meet one more goddam smiley happy soul-searcher out here, I will stomp them with my steel-toed boots. Don't tell me you can "help" me, because all rage is A Bad Thing and everyone should court contentment and a balanced spiritual path and seek moderation in all things. You can shove your chakras up your yoga-toned hippie ass. If you are not enraged by the everyday injustices, you're breathing sand, Ostrich Boy. If you tune out the religious hypocrises and political abuses today but tsk-tsk at me because I can't find my Zen or Tao or Jesusness or whatever you've been spoonfed, then I will muster up my best teacher poker-face and nod at you until you leave me the hell alone. Then I will blog your benightedness and drink to your stupidity. Either way, I win.

I am stable enough to not manifest my rage in drug abuse or the denigration of those weaker than I. I'm not going to torture kittens or beat my husband when I feel that gnashing inside. Yeah, I'll rant on this forum, but I'll also get shit done. The more physically demanding art forms are great for that, but you can also write & make a difference, you can just intensify how you work, or you can simply go running if that's your thing. (I personally run at gunpoint. My Bitter Half is the gazelle; I am more of an armadillo.)

Why, then, do the "enlightened" ones try to talk me out of my motivation? I have been around a little, folks; I have tried your yoga and your Jesus and your drugs and most recently, your role as a Good Citizen. I have mutilated my flesh, harmed my brain, taken out my guilt and pain on my physical being countless times; I know what isn't good for me.

Rage works for me; I am not consumed by it; rather, I partake of it when I recognize the need, process it, and shape it to my will. It takes time, and a little finessing, but it beats pretending I'm something I'm not. Esse quam Videri. Look it up.

hategrade: Let me at 'em

Seethe with me now, all over again. Post #1, in case you missed it.



hategrade: Let me at 'em

On and on with the MagPo sessions

MagPo, of course, being a inane moniker for Magnetic Poetry until I come up with something better.

First off, a little sonnet by a slightly tipsy linguist friend:
___________________

His Turkey Woman secreted beer
So they hollered a naked American platitude

____________________
(sort of Jim Morrisonesque...)


now my latest-- a little crude, but we were all tippin' 'em that night:
___________________
The zeal is in yer britches
I kin feel it
Dish me more lard, Bubba,
This here is Love

respite?

We left school three days early to attend a wedding. This is strictly taboo, but my Bitter Half's administrator, sensing his breaking point, put in a good word to the superintendent. We did the only sensible thing we could as a result: we drank ourselves stupid in a vain attempt to drown out the school year. This is not something we could've accomplished if not for the guise of a wedding; we needed the rationale. Nor is this something I expect to do often; we are fast approaching the age of no return, when health issues become a concern and hangovers come more easily and stick around longer. Our twenties are nowhere in sight.

As a finale to a horrendously stressful year, my young friend who is leaving the profession after a mere 182 days of Hell had a terrible curve ball flung her way: another teacher had permitted a bashing session of her by their mutual students. If not for a sensible young lass with her trusty MP3 player, the whole thing would've gone down as nasty hearsay instead of the lawsuit-fodder it is. God, I hate being non-union in this profession. To top it off, the teacher in question was my friend's mentor teacher! With mentors like these, who needs vindictive students? This is the pinnacle of unprofessional, downright catty behavior. It used to be that those who left the teaching profession early on did so because they were not cut out to teach; now they are leaving in droves because of the unholy trinity of Mainstreaming, Lack of Support and Downright Shitty Salaries. Toss in a little NCLB and you have remaining a tiny pool of martyrs and mugwumps. The latter would leave if they could find a reason-- any reason. The former grit their teeth and take the hits for everyone, latent guilt rippling just beneath the surface of their thick skins.

Of course, I cannot survive financially without teaching Summer School, so there'll be plenty more fodder starting next week. Both of my readers should be pleased to hear this.

Rock on

The kids in this town have an absolute fixation with rock-throwing. I can think of easily six or eight rock-throwing incidents from this year alone, from throwing rocks at cars to hurling rocks at teachers. To make matters worse, the xeriscaping around the playground is riddled with stones from golfball- to cobble- sized. A maintenance man told me they had to replace windows in an outbuilding at least once a month.

Today, a teeny little waif of a fifth-grader came in crying, covering one eye, asking to go to the nurse. Someone had thrown a rock and hit her in the face. The usual round of questioning took place and yielded a suspect-- a classmate who always seems to believe (at Mom's urging) that the rules don't apply to him. When asked about it, he said he was holding the rock and twirling in a circle when it just flew out of his hand.

*stunned silence*

Threats and Violence

Little Brother (see Escalating Violence post) has taken it to a new level. Today he came in from recess positively seething, just clenching his fist and emitting little snarls and grunts of rage. He also had tears in his eyes, so I called him aside and told him to take a breath. He proceeded to threaten to kill a co-worker who stopped him from fighting during playground duty. He said, " I'm gonna do a drive by and kill her!" When questioned by the principal later, he denied the drive-by part. She told him, "Let's think about how silly that is. You don't even drive." This was his chance to defend himself and clear his name. His reply?

"I do so drive!"

Escalating Violence

Last week the 5th & 6th graders went up to the middle school for some transitional happy-time or some such crap. (As of next year the middle school includes 6th grade.) Anticipating an audience, this obnoxious big bully (literally--this kid's probably 5'8", 200 lbs.) picked a fight with an unassuming, mild-mannered teacher to make a scene to impress the up-and-comers. You read right: an eighth-grader got in the face of a TEACHER, knowing full well that a.) the guy legally couldn't lay a hand on him, b.) the teacher was new and probably would be stunned just long enough to lose the upper hand, and c.) the guy's a wet dishrag, just entirely too nice to deal with these felons-in-training.

Of course, the thuglet got suspended. Now he's a hero. The boy's 5th-grade brother missed the incident because he was not permitted to go because of violence-based disciplinary problems. His mother bitched and moaned that her little darling couldn't go and threatened to pull him out and home school him. (This is a common threat here.) If, only if. Little Brother decided to make a name for himself nonetheless by starting a fight at the elementary school.

This behavior mimics the brushfires of this region. This morning, another 5th grader picked a fight with a 6th grade boy and my Bitter Half had to get in between them. Turns out the 5th grader was making fun of the other boy for not having a father.
The boy's father was dead.
What the hell is wrong with these kids? I'm glad I filter my water. I mean it. Something here is poisonous. I sent my sixth grade art elective kids back to class because they were being so unbelievably rude. My administrator happened to be in the room working on our art exhibit for the big show this weekend when they started in with some snaps-- you know, the "your momma" jokes. They're not bright enough to make up their own, but about four boys started going back & forth with it. I was so tired of reprimanding them that I hesistated. My administrator is one of those calm, centered, benefit-of-the-doubt people, so she caught us all off guard when she blew up at them. I felt like I had not defused the situtation soon enough, and betrayed that they would be so flippant about something so offensive.

My initial instinct that it was appropriated material was correct. Evidently there's a television show called something original like "Your Momma". Where's the stewardship in that? What jackass decided to make a buck off of that winner? Don't get me wrong-- I understand that in some cultures, it's a game--playing the dozens. To hear these kids misappropriate it and get into fisticuffs over it disassociates it from any cultural benefit. In short--it's not theirs to use, and they misuse it anyway.

F*ck this abuse. I'll give it back.

Magnetic Poetry part II

My Bitter Half created this one.
-----------------------------------

An amalgam of banal rednecks 4-wheelin'
Drinking and breeding
Crass wedding is the delight
A fecund smell languishes
I say eschew your cousin!
-----------------------------------

(Remember, we have only the Genius edition and the Redneck edition.)

SOIA

Yes...last night was the Sick Of It All show in ABQ. Twenty years of rage. These guys understand me. There were 4 bands on the bill: With These Weapons, First Blood, Stretch Armstrong, and of course SOIA headlined. With These Weapons hail from ABQ and are a really tight HC ensemble. They were young but solid, with everyone holding up their end of the deal. Their appropriately high-energy frontman, Josh, told me they don't have a CD yet, which is a shame. They do have some shows coming up in the ABQ area that I'd like to catch, and you can download their stuff from a website I have yet to research.

First Blood are from SF and are also very tight. Their drummer has the requisite speed skills (it sounded like quadruple-bass pedals to me) but is not just a speedboy. Their lead guitarist made his Les Paul do things no self-respecting guitar should do. (That's a compliment.) Their vocalist is their goldmine, though...what a set of pipes on that young man.

I had heard of Stretch Armstrong in passing. They are a band name that you drop when you're seventeen and want to sound cool. About a minute into their set, I realized they simply did not belong in the lineup. They were straight-up Happycore and I didn't care for them at all. My Bitter Half got offered twenty bucks for his prime seat for one song, and he told the guy, "You can have it. This band SUCKS!." Near the end of the set I heard the vocalist mention something about catching their video on MTV 2 and Fuse, whatever that is, and knew my initial instinct was right. We were in the loft area with a good view of the pit and the kids went crazy for them, though. (Damned all-ages shows.)

Because we gave up our prime positions for the MTV bozos, we had to jockey for position for SOIA . I am still reeling. Front man Lou quipped, "People ask us all the time,'How can you still be angry after 20 years?' [I'm still angry] because people care more about Tom Cruise's baby than about what's going on in the world!" Later, he tore apart the MTV culture before launching into "Disco Sucks, Fuck Everything". The kids in the pit were blissfully unaware that they were the objects of mockery and kept cheering, while we above snickered at their cluelessness. The band is an inspiration to the thirtysomethings-plus in their unflagging energy levels. They were everything I'd hoped and then some.

My bitter half, in a rare state of bliss, sought the autograph of guitarist Pete. He told me we should try to meet him. I told him that would put me in the uncomfortable position of having my husband and my crush in the same proximity, but my pulse sped up nonetheless. Pete Koller is an unbearably attractive man. Sadly, the uncomfortable moment did not arise. On leaving, though, I shook Lou's hand and thanked him, and told bassist Craig that they did an outstanding job.

This was the best Mother's Day ever, and it's only my second one.

grammatically incorrect T-shirts

A boy in my Bitter Half's class wears a slogan T-shirt regularly that says, 'High school chics rule'. Content aside, is this correct? I suspect it's supposed to be 'High school CHICKS rule'. To the best of my knowledge, 'chic' is pronounced 'sheik' and means fashionable. Unless he's REALLY hip and doing some sort of pop- culture reference to the 1980s high-waisted women's jeans of that brand name--just kidding...the level of pop culture referenced here is unironic, unchallenging, and culturally maladjusted. I just made that last one up, but it has a nice ring to it.

CYS: Money for Nothing

Hey, Children & Youth Services--what the hell do you DO, anyway? I can tell you a few things they DON'T do. They DO NOT:
- take children away from parents on drugs
-take children away from mentally ill biological parents who refuse treatment, can't hold a job, and pose a risk to their children's well-being
-give permanent custody to the more stable parent or other guardian
-place children in a "better home" (i.e. with running water and a mom who isn't whoring for cash) if it means taking them away from their biological mother
-give teachers any say in assessing "at-risk" behaviors, even though they're with them for eight hours a day

I get physically sick thinking about this crap. I don't sleep from 3 AM to 5 AM most mornings because of the anxiety this type of thing causes me. If you can be around heartbreak cases all day and shrug them off at 3:30 PM, congratulations. You are soulless and dead inside. I applaud you, because this is the only way to avoid feeling like you're being clawed apart from the inside with guilt, disappointment, and rage.

If you are in a branch of CYS that is efficient, just, and effectual, then challenge me. I would love to be wrong on this.