havana nights

i loved prom. junior and senior years (i wasn't one of those cool sophomores who got asked by a senior, though i did have c.j. otto-affiliated dreams of greatness). i loved the dresses, the intricate preparation, the accesorizing, the dancing (mario "the italian stallion" borgerding and i were the last couple to leave the dance floor our senior year), the atmosphere. i remember watching ed loiselle, my favorite high school teacher (and one of the direct reasons i entered the profession) and his wife dancing at prom as chaperones and i thought, "man, i can't wait 'til i can chaperone a dance." dorky, i know. sometimes little courtney-humm intricacies like my louder-than-god voice and my obsession with school supplies lead me to believe that my only true calling is high school teaching. my love of high school dances lends credence to this conviction. as a senior advisor, i finally earned my stripes to attend jsb, junior senior banquet.

to fully encapsulate my dorkiness and excitement, i will admit that i had robyn topic-humm send me a dress for the occassion. i mean, come on. i had to dress the part. pre-dance preparations ensued at homestead #1 for jamie, maddy and i, complete with a bottle of wine, three hair appliances and plenty of make-up. maddy made brian and i a corsage and boutonniere and after i pinned the flowers on brian's oceans 11 linen suit, we took his motorcycle down to school with me riding side-saddle and woo-ing the road workers with my scanty apparel. jamie, allison and i had a difficult time veiling our excitement as the servers (10th grade students) delivered smooties and food to our tables. during a few key songs we decided to start the dance party in the quad amongst the tables, lit by colorful bulbs under the chilly fall night sky.

passing notes during dinner is a jsb tradition and along with the inappropriate notes we circulated amongst the staff, while a some of us received a few notes full of sexual connotations from students... somehow both uncomfortably inappropriate and guiltily flattering.

when we made our way from dinner to the dance it was as if we were entering the auditorium that time forgot. wooden floors, colorful flowing draperies with sparkling lights, the stage equipped for live music. very 1950's. the chaperones certainly held their own on the dance floor and i am glad to say that we indubitably had the moves. multiple times during the evening i had to remind myself to remain somewhat cool, calm and collected in the light of my dreams of returning prom greatness. i am supposed to be a role model, after all. instead of a corn field all-night afterparty we had a few drinks to end the night out in style. on our drive home, i yelled, "make good choices!" from the back of the motorcycle to all of the students we passed. especially the couples (i assume this is more appropriate than, "no glove, no love"). though jsb did not include any of the admissions of infatuation that the "from this moment on" 2001 prom featured, the evening was a fabulous venture back to the future that affirmed my gratitude for being 23 and not 18.

filling up the circle (self-portraits of contentment)

briefly perused
the internet
for a quote
a song
to encapsulate
my afternoon
self-portraits
and then remembered
what consistently
seems to
escape me.

my words are the ones

that make the most sense.

contrary to my

misconception

learning to be alone.

looking for the me

without the you.

without the apology.

never take those ruby slippers off your feet

last weekend was the staff talent show. and though i have not developed sufficient musical prowess to become a pink-sunglass wearing rockstar, i do have the requisite skills for background dancing and after-partying. our hoe-down accompaniment to “airline to heaven” was akin to relocating my living room to the parker hall stage. we (jamie, allison, holly, kyle and i) marched/ trotted down the aisle to join the band (brian, joe, dave, brian and louise) on stage after i assembled my costume—straw hat from a stranger in the audience, sunglasses and overalls— moments before the performance. other highlights included “for what it’s worth,” “round here,” dave’s over-the-top maracas on “magic carpet ride,” the “so i married an axe murderer” inspired bass-accompanied stylings of monty and the rushing of the stage by middle schoolers following the staff dance.
our impromptu soirée was punctuated with hot-off-the-griddle pancakes, old monk and american spirits under the patriotic backdrop of brian’s american-flag-donning couch. a good time was indubitably had by all.

make you feel that way

i am wearing pants that haven't fit for 6 months. and i didn't need to lay on the bed to zip them up.

i am also wearing pointy black shoes with heels that echo with authorit-aey every time i walk down the hall. i feel like a little girl wearing her mother's high heels and playing dress-up.

i was running (literally, running [coffee in hand]) late to school this morning and a stranger offered me a ride to school on his scooter. he ended up being related to babul, our school's driver. consequently, i was on time to high school assembly for the first time in almost a week.

girls' night on friday complete with bridget jones, weeds (the show that is the new favorite pasttime of woodstock staff members everywhere) bagels and cream cheese (!), v-crans (vodka & cranberry juice) and an unbelievable amount of sappy pappy estrogen-filled love.

i haven't eaten chocolate or pringles for over a week.

the ferns are turning brown which means monsoon is almost over; though it is a bittersweet end... the green moss and fern-covered trees are incredible, but the mold on everything-- seriously, anything in your house that sits for over 72 hours typically grows a layer of mold-- purses, clothes, my watch, the tablecloth-- needs to be done.

having homestead #1 be the locale for multiple "pep-talks" to fellow novice teachers with the amazing feeling that i have lived a whole year to learn about a) myself, b) teaching and c) give this advice in this moment.

i wore a sari for indian independence day (15 august) and learned how to wrap it myself. (this is a delayed comment, i know... i was so busy with my existential rants that i didn't have time for such details).

i just had a solo dance party and singing performance in my classroom. to do: get over fear of singing in front of people. how else will i become a rock star in my next life?

i think i finally figured out how to make a "authentic assessment" in exam form. the victory has been a long-time coming.

last week was interhouse cross country, the day that woodstock most closely resembles hogwarts. though i came to school with no running intentions, i finished in 13th place in borrowed shoes and jeans to cheers of "go ms. humm!!"

i taught my 1 1/2 year old neighbor, josef, "up high, down low, too slow!" this weekend. gets him laughing every time... and, man, when you make a kid laugh like that...

you know those kids that act like they hate everything? all of their classes, lunch, friends, EVERYTHING... even those kids smile and laugh (occassionally) and participate in my class. and they even play "simon says", too.

it's chicken enchilada day in the cafeteria.

rock on.

woodstock thought for the day, brought to you by allison weber, the letter q and the number 12

"it is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself."
betty friedan

love me, love my gaping imperfection

i might hurt you someday if you get too close to me.

i am sorry.

i probably already hurt you and you might be too close to me.

私は残念である。.

can you forgive me? can i forgive myself?

je suis désolé.

i find myself talking shit about a pretty sunset and carrying the weight of the world i have created and dismantled time and again. and every time i rebuild, i see that i am the same.

a stranger from myself

tiptoeing around the gaping holes in the floorboards my own chainsaw created.

estoy apesadumbrado.

cheeto stains and other confessions

“cigarettes and chocolate milk. these are just a couple of my cravings. everything it seems i like’s a little bit stronger a little bit thicker a little bit harmful for me… if i were to buy jelly beans, i would eat them all in just one sitting… it isn’t very smart… tends to make one part so broken-hearted…”

in the effort to manufacture perfect bites, moments and meals, i have created an undesirably strong tendency to emotionally eat my concerns away. what was once a humorous personality trait of instant gratification has spiraled into a dysfunctional co-dependant love affair mired with the veil of immediate “fullness” and lasting self-hatred. ultimately, it is just a single affliction under the unbrella of seeking sustenance outside of myself. and the entire problem exploded in my face in one last blaze of gluttonous glory. in actuality, FAR FROM glory.

and as i greet the situation honestly, i do not conceal my fear of judgment. i consistently simplify the depths of my emotions when i am ashamed of myself, and i feel that wave of “this is a stupid feeling” coming on strong. either way. mourning the passing of bad habits happens. so i am giving up junk food and dessert and chocolate and chips. i’ve hated my body secretly (and blatantly) for 8 years and not had the strength to stop. you can only bring demons with you so long before you tell them to get the fuck away. or to leave them behind while decisively moving in another direction. “every moment is another chance to turn it all around.”

i have rarely felt so strong and simultaneously weak as when i turned to my guru for help. i hate admitting weakness. i hate that i have a problem letting go. if i were a shakespearean tragic hero my fatal flaw would be attachment. as i flip through my journal it returns again and again in different arenas. i’ve always struggled with the valley between self-acceptance and the desire to fight demons. and i have said time and again that i want to change. however, not until now is the desire to change authentic.

a lot of people give up dessert for lent. and i never really understood the push to give up something you love in that circumstance. but now, when the faith is all about faith in myself i get it. no one can do this for me. no one can save me but myself. this is me saying “emough.” enough of my bullshit attachment to externalities. this is a foray in earned gratification that runs deeper than cheetos and chocolate. well, in one arena, at least. cigarettes and unhealthy-nostalgia, your numbers are almost up.