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| Recently, I have been thinking about the possibility of becoming an English teacher, either at the high school or college level. To my amazement, I am actually thinking that I would prefer to teach high school instead of college. Even more, I think I would prefer to teach the low-level English classes; in other words, not the honors classes, but the ones with kids who hate being there. My reason is simple. I want to help them give a shit.
These thoughts defy many of my prior conclusions which kept me from even seriously considering the possibility of teaching. To elaborate:
- I hate high school. A lot.
- I have always imagined teaching to be an exhausting job, and, especially through observing my high school teachers, it appeared to be a source of unhappiness and apathy.
- I only hear complaints about the pay (while money alone is not a good reason to decide on a career, it is certainly worth considering)
- Probably more bad things, but I need to move on to the more important part of this.
That being said, I have some questions for anyone who reads this. My desire to become a teacher could only be a temporary feeling, but I want to hear from some honest people (really, be honest), preferably people who know me, so I can gauge arguments on whether or not I would be cut out for it.
1) If you are a high school teacher, of any subject, or just happen to know what the public school system is like, how much freedom should I expect teaching at a public high school? I mean this in regard to designing a curriculum, and day-to-day class exercises.
2) Same question as 1, but at the college level.
3) Are most high school teachers, in fact, joyless? Does the job eat away at happiness? Should I expect to work with a lot of apathetic humans who don't care about their job or the kids?
4) Independent of question 3, when, if ever, is the job "worth it?"
5) Assessing my personality with gross honesty, do you think I would be a good teacher, especially under the circumstances I explained (teaching high school instead of college, and teaching low-level courses instead of honors courses)?
Say whatever you want. Say what you're actually thinking and tell it to me straight. I've already got two degrees, so I have my share of training and am ready to start working apart from education. I am fully capable of being happy working in a number of different fields.
Thanks.
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| I think I'd like to watch this documentary called Dirty Country. Larry Pierce's (the dude featured in the film) entire music career is based on writing country music with really dirty lyrics. According to a gentleman interviewed in the trailer, his key demographic is truckers. And, appropriately, a lot of his music is sold at truck stops.
Joe Pickett and Nick Prueher, who filmed the documentary, have also been writers for The Onion, The Colbert Report, The Late Show with David Letterman, and in recent years, have been setting up the Found Footage Festival (to watch a few clips, click here [the video titled "Video Dating" was sent in by David Cross]).
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| These are fun to write. If you are reading this, try writing a paradelle of your own, and show it to people. Here's the structure.
The Multidimensional Mothjob
Sometimes people ask me if I'm only in two dimensions.
Sometimes people ask me if I'm only in two dimensions.
Yes, but I have a girlfriend, and she's sexy.
Yes, but I have a girlfriend, and she's sexy.
I'm two people. She's already a yes girlfriend, but sometimes,
and only if I have sexy dimensions ask in me.
She contacted me when she saw how stupid my resume was.
She contacted me when she saw how stupid my resume was.
They weren't actually hiring, but she wanted to mock me.
They weren't actually hiring, but she wanted to mock me.
When she saw me, she was actually stupid, but they weren't.
How she contacted my resume, but hiring wanted to mock me.
We hit it off like two moths caught in a whirlwind.
We hit it off like two moths caught in a whirlwind.
That is, until she realized I acted like I was in more than one dimension.
That is, until she realized I acted like I was in more than one dimension.
Is two more than one? Whirlwind moths acted like a dimension.
I like that we realized she was caught off in it until I hit in.
I have a sexy girlfriend, yes, but she's stupid.
In mock dimensions, she is sometimes one dimension
and people actually like it. I'm already hiring moths
to ask me how that resume wanted only me, but she was more than I.
If two weren't realized in, was she hit like we acted?
My, when she caught two, I contacted until they saw me off in a whirlwind.
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| Here's another paradelle:
Some Stupid Kid Just Workin
The new frankfurters have arrived and they be poppin'.
The new frankfurters have arrived and they be poppin'.
Forget everything you knew about smelly ass cheese.
Forget everything you knew about smelly ass cheese.
Ass poppin' about, and they have new cheese frankfurters.
You knew everything smelly arrived. Be about the forget.
Look at that happiness. It swells like a new bag of cheese.
Look at that happiness. It swells like a new bag of cheese.
You know all juveniles want hot peppers.
You know all juveniles want hot peppers.
Know a hot happiness like you want that new bag
of juvenile swell cheese peppers. Look at it all!
You probably take life for granted, you child.
You probably take life for granted, you child.
Hot dogs and relish and cheese are inherently meaningful objects.
Hot dogs and relish and cheese are inherently meaningful objects.
Dogs inherently take hot life objects and probably relish you.
You are granted meaningful for cheese and child.
Look, the hot child dogs have smelly peppers.
New juveniles forget they are meaningful.
It arrived that you probably granted happiness
for a life bag of hot new ass, and everything.
You be about relish swells, and you knew all poppin' frankfurters want objects
like you know, and cheese inherently take cheese at cheese.
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| Billy Collins created a form of poetry called the paradelle, titling it like a French formal thing, akin to the villanelle.
My friend Andrew Donovan asked me to write one, and I became really excited. Here's what I came up with:
Truth on a Foggy Night
I lifted up my amber glass to the fucking night.
I lifted up my amber glass to the fucking night.
All at once, the black became light.
All at once, the black became light.
The night became amber to the glass.
At once, I lifted up all my fucking black light.
The earth showed its bullshit to me.
The earth showed its bullshit to me.
I sniffed the faint scent of cooked flesh.
I sniffed the faint scent of cooked flesh.
To me, the earth flesh cooked its scent.
I showed of the faint sniffed bullshit.
Without sunglasses, my eyes burst overwhelming.
Without sunglasses, my eyes burst overwhelming.
The meaning of the truth was my kneeling.
The meaning of the truth was my kneeling.
Meaning, my kneeling without the burst of truth
was the sunglasses overwhelming my eyes.
The fucking bullshit. I became overwhelming.
The night lifted its black light to me.
I showed my amber eyes, kneeling
to all the flesh of the earth without my sunglasses.
The scent of cooked glass was sniffed.
At once, my meaning burst up the faint truth.
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