Improvathon 2009 May 30-31

Just a reminder that the Improvathon starts today at the Riviera Theater in North Tonawanda! I'm playing 4-6pm and 10-midnight, then 2-4pm tomorrow and maybe the All Star show at 8pm. If you're reading this and you don't come...you better live in another state!!!

Random Clown Post

This was something I typed into the notes on my phone after one of those great goofy conversations with Kevin:

I think the only thing that would sound funnier than beatin' someone down with an accordion would be beatin' down one of those clowns with the squeaky shoes and the bike horn nose. Visually, beating the bejeesus outta a mascot is pretty appealing, but who can deny the joy you'd get in the discordant cacaphony of cheesy instruments, which should end with the quintessential El Kabong sound.

In fact, if I knew I had clown beatings to look forward to, I would actually carry around a supply of cheap ukeleles in the trunk of my car JUST for such an occasion. These would be next to my bag of throwing shoes for presidential visits and my multipurpose sack of vegetables.

Karbi

Not sure why I don't already have this posted, but since people still ask about it, here it is! It was originally written after a holiday party back in 2003.

Many people don't know this, but I am actually the African American ambassador to the nation. One of many, really, but I don't often seem to be in the same place at the same time with the other ambassadors. In fact, in most cases and many places here in upstate New York, I am the "only one" or "the other one" in many social gatherings. It is my job to be as diplomatic as possible in relations with those outside the African American race so that all future cross culture interactions go as smoothly as possible. It's a pretty stressful position, but one I have slowly learned to realize the importance (and sometimes depressing nature) of.

Just this past holiday, my husband and I were visiting friends for our yearly New Year's party. This party is truly the highlight of our year. It always includes a great many people, old and young, most of whom I hold in high regard as friends of my husband's and now, mine. I'm usually the only person of color in attendance, but this never bothers me, no matter where we are. As I mentioned, I'm frequently the "only one" or "the other one". Since these friends live more than an hour from us, we always make arrangements to stay the night just to enjoy their company without feeling the need to make it home before sleep or drunk drivers overtake us.

We were, in fact, just hitting the 3 o'clock hour and a possible bedtime when someone suggested we play a game called Balderdash. It's a great word game if you've never played; you have to try to convince people you know the meaning of a real, but very unusual word by writing a definition that sounds convincing…or at least, sounds funny enough to make the game fun. Usually, people become one of three types in this game: the funny definition writer, the simple definition writers or the complex definition writers. After a few minutes of game play, we already had established ourselves. We'd had quite a few of the goofy answers already, like "fungo--the green goo on the back of a turtle" and "bort--excess gas". For the record, however, I'm an amazing liar as well as a teacher, so I tend toward the creation of definitions too complex to be a lie, like "karbi--the sooty residue atop slate shingles after years of usage".

On that same round, however, another member of our party also came up with a definition. "Karbi--what a black guy says…dis kar bi mine."

Most of you hearing this did one of two things just now…snicker or laugh outright. I, on the other hand, was mortified and very trapped. Remember for a moment that I was the only black person at this table full of 10 other adults. Even my husband is white. The entire table swiveled to look at me while my husband gripped my hand with an intensity that was as powerful as my own at that moment. What was I supposed to say? What COULD I say?

A diplomatic quandary, though you may not recognize it. For I only have one true option in this situation and it is NOT the one I want. To do what I want means becoming indignant, demanding to know why this man, whom I only knew as a husband of a relative of a friend, would say something so insulting at this table with me right in plain view. How dare he say such things in my face, insinuating that a black man, such as my college-educated father or any of his friends, would talk this way? Jokes about people of any ethnic background are inevitably about their stupidity, which is why most people don't tell such jokes now. Sure, there are black actors, comedians, and regular folk who still use this humor to impress others, but maybe they haven't yet realized the dignity our people have lost while they get paid, or just don't care. Money can make a person that way, especially large amounts of it. I have even watched younger black children make these same jokes so that their friends will think they are funny, too, not realizing that they are being laughed at, not with, and I feel sick inside thinking of all this.

But in the eyes of my friends, I could see what was hoped for, even expected. Surely I would find this amusing! Why, only last week, Def Comedy Jam had a comedian using ebonics rather proudly and he'd been hilarious. And don't shows like "Martin" tout the same sort of ebonic pride? Surely I could be pleased that I would be part of such a broad tradition of humor! Besides, it was "just a joke"…why take it so seriously and ruin the entire party with a bunch of politically correct rhetoric? We can all laugh at ourselves here.

Many of you might be saying, "Nonsense! If I found something offensive, I'd speak right up and hang what others think of me!" But this is the catch .22 of being the diplomat. What others think of me is what others think of others like me they meet. Everything I say and do now reflects on everyone who looks like me later. This has become abundantly clear when children come up to me and want to know who my favorite rapper is, or why black people are so mean all the time, or when grown men and women still ask things like "Why are black people so loud?" or "Do you know Shanika? I used to work with her back in Dallas, and she's black, too…" Or even worse yet, when my own mother-in-law tells me that she cannot accept me because she was attacked by a mugger who was black.

And honestly, if this were the case, could anyone blame any black person for being irate with every white person THEY met? After all, one bad experience rules a great many white lives…why not mine? Why can't I take this one experience and hate or prejudge or, at the very least, have a real fear of any white person I meet? But what I usually hear in response to this is "Well, you just have to understand…"

Why? Why is it my job to be understanding and your job to speak out about what disturbs you without the irritation or disdain of others? Yet, just like the president, I cannot simply SAY how much I dislike something without global repercussions. I CERTAINLY can't ACT on my feelings, because my anger here proves that black people are a violent, or at the very least, an overly sensitive lot. But my silence or laughter only reinforces that it's okay to use this kind of humor and then nothing is learned at all. Never mind the fact that had this joke been about someone with a mental handicap, we would ALL have been indignant.

And so I sat for an uncomfortable second, with all this whirling in my head, my husband gripping my hand, because as a white person himself, he, too, wants to speak out and damn this man's actions…but I did what I had to at that moment.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded. "Do you not see me sitting in the room here?"

But as I said it, I laughed.

And as I did, and the rest of our friends began to chuckle with me, a little piece of my dignity slipped away. My right to speak for myself was stolen by the adoring eyes of my friends who thought I was a great sport for laughing, even as I threw a notebook at the man's head and blinked back angry tears that no one but my husband saw.

On the way home (a trip which we decided to make 30 minutes later, despite our original plan to stay), both my husband and I ranted and raved about the "nerve of this guy" and how his leaving before us was probably to get home to restoke the ol' Christmas cross fire. But by the time our furor had died down, we were left feeling cheated. "I hate being reminded of my place," I told my husband wearily as I started to cry. He felt awful, of course, and tried to get me to understand that my place was not to be the brunt of someone's jokes. "No," I told him, "my place is to understand that he doesn't know any better and that he might NEVER know any better and just accept that. I am the ambassador. Welcome to my world."

As I sobbed, I realized in the back of my mind how hard this was for him. First, as a white male, he has never been denied his right to speak. He has even gone so far as to demand that shoplifters put things back when he sees them taking an item, so justice is his banner. As my husband, he has also never been denied his right to protect me. But once again, he was able to see how even his anger or irritation on my behalf would only have exacerbated the situation…and he felt just as helpless as I did, but certainly not as often as I have. In a way, that makes it harder, I suppose.

But he didn't leave it at that. The next day, my husband called our friends and told them why we left, explaining our feelings and our discomfort. I was against this at first, especially when I realized that NO one else at the table had thought twice about this. But not only were our friends understanding, they wanted to talk to me and thank me for telling them this, giving them food for thought and a new understanding. It helped to wipe away a little of the natural wariness that had arisen from this incident, so much so that I realized how many people really WANT to know when they've said or done something offensive and don't. Usually, the person they've offended leaves without saying a word or they, too are an ambassador and laugh off the incident, swallowing yet another distasteful public scene into their own discomfort. I was comforted to know that this is not always a thankless job. It's unfair and even painful, but not always thankless. SOMEone learned something from this…and perhaps in hearing it, you might, too.

I am actually one of the many African American ambassadors to the nation. I have diverted many a cross cultural mishap in my time, but please…don't thank me.

Understand me.

Speak for me when I cannot speak or am not heard.

And for God sake, don't just let me laugh…hand me a tissue.

Chasing Down Grief

Well, it finally happened. I sat watching the inauguration today and suddenly realized that my little brother, Eli, will not be watching this and giving some kind of running commentary. Tears that wouldn't come at a funeral not meant for me and in the days since finally flowed unbidden.

For those of you who don't know, Elijah Eatman, a close friend of Kevin's and mine, was found dead in his apartment by his mother after going home sick earlier in the week. From the moment I moved up here and began to hang out with all of Kevin's friends, I put them into my extended family. I've never been this far away from my regular family, so I needed some folks to turn to. They were all into sci-fi, fantasy and anime, so we all became fast friends that helped each other embrace our inner geek. The Quinns, along with my nieces and all my students and, became adopted children, taking the place of those we couldn't have. Maureen, Kathy, and then Brandy became the sisters I always wanted. Chris and Darrin became like those cousins you rarely see, but love hanging with when you get them back into your life. Tom (another friend of ours and Eli's that passed two years ago from complications stemming from his kidneys) became my eldest brother, the gruff but lovable one who lead the family with his foot in your ass and his heart devoted to your soul. Darryl became my dreamy eyed middle brother, the one who always wanted to see everyone happy and would never harm a soul. Dean became my twin, the one born a few minutes before me and capable of more bluster and pride in himself, but (if possible) twice as much bluster and pride on my behalf. Drew became a younger middle brother, picking up Eli's goofy slack and getting us all into trouble as he joined our group of gamers.

And Eli was the baby, the one I had to protect from jibes and push in the right direction. Tom's departure set his feet truly on the path to independence, but he himself pulled on the bootstraps and got himself where he wanted to be. In not hearing from him, I was actually comforted, because I knew it meant he was finally okay. Even when he WAS over here, he'd lost the need to impress or defend himself because he was fully comfortable with who he was, despite what anyone else thought.

It took a while to grieve. I felt robbed at the funeral, cheated of my chance to release in such strange settings. Eli was a Muslim, so the women sat in the back at his funeral and weren't allowed at the gravesite at ALL. The men couldn't even touch the women, so African American males shook hands with my husband, but apologized to me and passed on. Kevin said it was odd to be treated like a prince by a group of black men while his black wife was shunned like a member of the KKK. After that, Kevin needed time to adjust and grieve himself, so, like all people who care for each other, my thoughts about the whole event disappeared as I comforted him in his time of need. Later, when he was coming to terms, it just seemed silly to cry over something I felt I'd already gotten past.

I really believed that I was okay up until now.

I'm sorry he's gone. I can't believe I won't get to tell those guys to "leave that boy alone, he's not doing ANYTHING to you" anymore, as if he NEEDED a defender. I won't get to burst into hysterical laughter at his rapid fire chipmunk laugh, correct his spelling, or remind him that, no matter what his family says, finding a woman to be with is NOT a necessity if he's happy. I won't get to see him eventually find that spooky anime loving horror movie going chick with the smoky voice and a dominatrix outfit in her back closet, behind her Hot Topic wedding dress and her "Foamy" t-shirt (yeah, I guess I've thought this through a bit!).

Mostly, I'm just plain old sorry for me. I wish I had more stories to share than this. Kevin knew Eli from college in the Anime Club and our other friends grew up together. I moved so much as a child that I never spent more than 3 years in any school before college (and even then, I went to 3 different colleges before finishing up at UNT). I wish, as I always do, that I'd had a history with all of my friends beyond what I've got now. God knows I'm grateful for what I do have with all of you today, but man, I wish we'd all been neighborhood pals and everything and could talk for hours about all the fun we used to have. I don't know if that would make me miss Eli less, but it'd sure feel more tangible than what I've got right now.

For my sake, I would appreciate it if all my friends would wait at least a decade before deciding to check out on me. Two in three years is a little much.

D.

Teachers Are Glorified Babysitters!

So, I was thinking about the whole "teachers are just babysitters" thing again today and laughing to myself, especially when I thought of all the folks at home with their kids know who WISH they had that teacher working right now!

Frankly, my hubby has it right. If teaching is such easy money just to babysit, why don't more people DO it??? Just go out and get the 4 year degree (in which you do student teaching and learn how one tries to impart knowledge while "babysitting"), then sub for years on end trying to get INTO a district (while DEALING with the same kids who don't respect you because you're not their teacher) and then...teach! Actually try to MAKE children learn when they really want to do anything else, even just sit and VEG out rather than learn. And THEN deal with the parents who think you're just teaching because you're that mean teacher THEY had back in "n"th grade that hated them. Oh, and don't forget the general public who'll want to know why Johnny can't read later on down the road because all you did was "babysit".

As Noah once said to the Lord..."RIGHT!"

Let's break this down for a minute. Babysitters come in and go home. As a teacher, just TRY to make your work day just fit into the actual DAY. Babysitters do NOT have to take the kid home with them or grade them on how they did. And if you're thinking "Well, if teachers gave less homework, they wouldn't HAVE so much work at home to do" think again. When I go home, I'm not just grading. I'm doing lesson plans and checking to see where the kids are so I can adjust my lesson plans and finding new ways to present old material so the kids will actually ENJOY learning ('cause if they DON'T, they won't make it far). Every teacher I know carries work home with them, even on holidays and does it during free time. And we're NOT hourly, we're SALARIED, so it's EXPECTED we're doing this and that our salaries will cover the time lost with our loved ones.

Oh, and the holidays? Those times you think we have it easy? Those are the times when we're told to go to superintendent's meetings, conferences, and other places that AREN'T because teachers NEVER stop learning. There's always new ways to do things, new rules and regs to follow, new constrictions that prevent us from doing what it is we were hired to do in the simplest and most direct manner.

And have you ever dealt with a school bureaucracy? People at the top are kinda like the financial wing of hospitals. They sometimes forget that school really ISN'T a business. It's not about making kids and their parents HAPPY (although it's a nice side effect). It's about giving them what they NEED to survive. It's about making them into life long learners, people who understand that education is what makes us better than animals. Despite the separation of church and state, we still show children how to treat their fellow man by showing them the mistakes of the past, explaining how to take care of the future and letting them interact with other humans on a regular basis where they're CONSTANTLY tested on right and wrong.

As more and more parents try to be friends and not parents, teachers have become more like parents than anything. But we're GOOD parents. While we teach, we try to shelter and protect your child from the world around them. We know they may go home and deal with terrible outside forces and scary adult issues, but while they are with us, they are SAFE. Even in extreme circumstances, when other adults (even parents or family members) turn cold and frightening, or children become confused & angry and turn on each other, we assure your child that NO ONE can get to them while we are there. Every time we have any kind of drill, I remind my students of all the proper procedures, as well as tell them that "no matter WHAT, I will personally STOP anyone that tries to hurt you!"

And homework? Okay, admittedly some people go overboard, but isn't it possible that with all the ways the public demands that children be ready to join the workplace that it's NECESSARY? School is where you LEARN things and homework is to PRACTICE what you learned, just like anything else. And if you expect the same of your kids in a SPORT (going to practice regularly before you actually play the game), why be so shocked that your kids would do the same in the academic arena? We've read about parents who've threatened and literally KILLED to make sure their child got on cheerleading squads or hockey teams. Where's the same passion for something they'll need for the REST of their lives ('cause, I can PROMISE you, VERY few move on to professional careers in SPORTS!)?

And, really, folks, even if you think education did you NO good at all, can you GET the high paying jobs without going to school anymore? You literally HAVE to have a degree from a secondary school of SOME sort to stand out in the ever shrinking workplace.

Do you REALLY want to call the person who taught you to READ nothing more than a babysitter, then pay them pennies to do all that you expect of them?

Okay, since I've rambled on like a Seinfeld rerun, let me end with this bit of humor. Can't take credit for it, but if this is how the world feels, I have no choice but to acquiesce for the global good! :-)

Since school teachers are really just glorified babysitters, let's just pay teachers the going rate for babysitting.

Let's pay them $3 an hour per kid, and they work 8-4, with a half-hour lunch. After all, why should we pay them for 'planning' or to eat?

So that's 7.5 working hours a day, and an elementary teacher works with about 20 kids a day.

So $3 X 7.5 hours a day X 20 kids = $450.00.

And I'm sure not paying them for weekends (more 'planning') and I'm sure not paying them for summers off for 'training' or advanced 'education,' so really, we are only going to pay them for 180 days a year.

So $450.00 X 180 = $81,000.

And just to be nice, if you have a master's degree, I'll give you $4.00 an hour.

That means we are going to pay teachers/babysitters $80,000 to $108,000 a year.

And not a penny more!

You Know You're Getting Old When...

This list started while watching the first item on the list and just kept expanding:

1. You watch Lindsey Wagner selling Sleep Number beds and are just as interested in what she has to say as when she was the Bionic Woman.

2. You're ALLOWED to stay up all night, but don't want to.

3. You DON'T have to take a nap after lunch, but you DO want to.

4. The sight of snow falling makes you think about scraping windows and shoveling, not building forts and making snowmen.

5. Your parents' house or grandmother's house looks smaller than you remember it.

6. You look at people you would have described as "hot" when you were 18 and wonder do their parents know what their wearing in public.

7. The idea of getting to drive to the pizza place, take the money inside and PAY for the pizza makes you feel tired, not grown up.

8. Running surprises you as much as it does your walking shoes.

9. You actually HAVE walking shoes.

10. You are more likely to be a spectator than a player in a pickup game.

11. You watch the love scenes in movies and actually understand them.

12. You can't get candy if you dress up on Halloween.

13. You're the one saying "When I was your age" and boring your children/grandchildren.

14. You actually have children/grandchildren.

15. You REALLY know what sex is (not just what your friends say).

16. Your worries about money involve more than just candy and video games.

17. You're more like Hook than Peter...and you're not sure how or when that happened.

18. You're mad that you can't find anything but anime & computer gen stuff on Saturday mornings.

19. When you watch tv, you spend half the time saying "Who's that?" and the other half asking "What ever happened to (insert 70's/80's tv star here)?"

20. You stopped believing that Saturday Night Live was funny about 15 years ago.

Well, of course YOU did...redux!

Okay...I can now publically admit it.

I voted for Barack Obama!

Man, what a relief to finally get to SAY that! For those of you wondering why I kept it a secret, there's a ton of reasons. First of all, I'm a teacher, so I never tell the kids who I plan to vote for. They're always trying to gauge their own thoughts with my own and I want them to decide for themselves.

The biggest, though, was the subject of one of my earlier blogs and where the title for this one came from. I didn't want people throwing away my political opinion just because I was black. With some of the folks I know, just saying that I was voting for him would have made them decide to not listen to anything I had to say about ANYthing. They would have been disgusted, thinking I only voted for him because of his race and that "we all stick together".

This is patently NOT true. There are about as many divides in the black community as there are in the white community, so looking like someone does not automatically mean I'll be casting a vote for them. I was ready to vote for either of them back in the primaries, but in the end, I really just paid attention to what the candidates had to say and felt like Obama was the most likely candidate for CHANGE.

Watching the returns was amazing. I was completely overjoyed until I listened to McCain's concession speech.

And then, right in the middle, I started to cry.

All this time and I had truly forgotten that he was the FIRST (frankly, I forgot he was black at ALL!). He did such an amazing job of making this NOT about race that people of ALL races truly forgot. Personally, I really only cared about CHANGE, not making history or anything else. Even before I walked into the polling booth, Kevin nudged my elbow and whispered "Go make history." And it still didn't hit me.

But once I remembered, really understood, I wished that my (and his) grandmother had lived to see the day. My own parents (who never voted in their lives until 2000) even said they really had never expected to see this in their lifetime. Dad said he'd just never thought that far ahead. I liken it to the way one doesn't think of marrying flowers. It's not that they can't be pretty and sweet, but the idea of marriage to a plant just seems so farfetched as to never occur to you.

My favorite saying from all this was on a t-shirt:

Rosa sat so Martin could walk
Martin walked so Barack could run
Barack is running so our children can FLY.

Speaking of children, despite my attempts to NOT discuss my personal political views and stick to the basic facts of the American election process, this whole thing held my class in its thrall. I was so proud! Last week was NY Kids Voting, but I had NO info on the candidates. I was very disappointed because NO one should vote without finding out the FACTS about the people involved. So, without my telling them to, many of them went and did research on their own. When I mentioned that the US president is a world leader, one of my boys asked "How can we be so popular if our economy is so bad?" They kept asking great questions, so instead of sticking to the basics, we went deep into everything that's been hitting the US (war, economy, etc.). We even talked about what a patriot really is (ANYone who defends their country against outside influences). On Tuesday, we kept an electoral college map that refreshed every 10 minutes up on the tv with kid votes from all over the US. They were excited today when they checked the real map and saw how well the kids mirrored their parents in voting (which led to the discussion of why kids AREN'T allowed to vote).

Anyway, it's been one amazing race...now I'm just praying for the man's safety and hoping people aren't looking at me now and thinking I'm gloating. I'm not, I promise. I'm just glad to see that something NEW is happening. The world can FINALLY look at us and think we're good people again, not selfish brats that like to bully our way into whatever financially benefits us.

So, I'm all full of national pride again...and not in that "holier-than-thou-'cause-I'm-a-bigger-patriot-than-you" kind of way, either. Just the "glad-we're-back-to-normal-with-a-HUGE-sigh-of-relief" kinda way!

D.