The Long Way Around Baltimore & TFA Militants

Since I live in DC, the Baltimore protests, being less than an hour away, were a very real thing. First off, I know that whole situation has kind of blown over, but I’ve just come across a few articles that bring it up for me again in my mind. I found an article about David Simon, the creator of The Wire, the HBO show about crime in Baltimore. That show is most people’s first connections to Baltimore who live outside the city. Whenever somebody mentions Baltimore, I think of McNulty having his kids play front ‘n follow in the fish market and Omar whistling a tune while he walks the streets with a shotgun under his trench coat. Second, I’ve come across some articles criticizing Teach for America teachers for getting involved and leading protests in Ferguson, Baltimore, and other areas.

Let’s start with David Simon on Baltimore. (It’s a long article, but worth the read. Fascinating.) Simon used to be a cop and then ended up writing some of the best police shows on television, including The Wire. So he has his own experience and then he has the testimonies and experiences of other Baltimore police officers who felt very comfortable sharing when he was just a TV writer. The article mostly focuses on what Simon calls the death of “real policing.” Essentially, crime in Baltimore got bad, so the police were told to decrease crime and do it quick. It just so happens I just finished watching season 3 of The Wire where this actually happens. The police commissioner tells everyone to get rid of crime in their areas, and he doesn’t care how they do it. So Major Colvin, wanting to do real police work, which means actually investigating the big crimes instead of chasing down corner kids, decides to create Hamsterdam—a police-free zone. Dealers and addicts are welcome to do whatever they need to do in that zone and the police will look the other way, as long as the corners stay empty. After talking about how people get by the no drinking of alcohol on the street by putting bottles in a paper bag, Colvin persuades his officers to his cause by saying, “There’s never been a paper bag for drugs.” Hamsterdam is the paper bag he creates. And the number of violent crimes goes drastically down. And the police chief asks, “How did you do it?” But in the end, he really doesn’t care. He’s just interested in the results, not the process.

I couldn’t help but think of Hamsterdam while reading Simon’s thoughts on the current situation of Baltimore. He states, “actual investigation goes unrewarded and where rounding up bodies for street dealing, drug possession, loitering such – the easiest and most self-evident arrests a cop can make – is nonetheless the path to enlightenment and promotion and some additional pay.” In other words, the only way for cops to get recognition and congratulations from the higher-ups is to make the most arrests. The easiest way to make lots of arrests are to round up people for street dealing, drug possession, and loitering. In fact, Simon says that police would play with the data in order to figuratively create these drastic drops in violent crime: “How better than to later claim a 30 or 40 percent reduction in crime than by first juking up your inherited rate as high as she’ll go. It really was that cynical an exercise.”

So what I’ve learned about Baltimore is that its concerned with changing the numbers as soon as possible with whatever means necessary, but not actually figuring out why the numbers are there in the first place. Why are these people involved in the drug trade? Why are these kids choosing to sit on the corners instead of going to school? Let’s tackle those issue first before pulling kids off of corners and shoving them into vans for a rough ride.

And this makes me reflect on my teaching experience because the majority of higher-ups are concerned with getting the desirable numbers, too. At my school, they were recited on the announcements every morning: “Every day is 90-60-30. 90% of our children will be in attendance. At least 60% of our children will receive proficient on their end of course exams. And our students will receive at least a 30 on the ACT.” That is the goal, and it is ideal, but that’s just it. The numbers are ideal.

I wish I could wave a magic wand and poof! My kids would be able to live up to those numbers. Maybe even we give them this different standardized test, they’ll do better. Let’s do PARCC instead. This happens with Common Core. 48 states adopted Common Core standards, but then they had them for a year, saw that kids did worse and decided to take them away so their numbers would fair better. But really kids were like, “What are you making us do? We’ve never had to do it before!” The change wasn’t quick enough, so we need to do something more drastic. The nation’s graduation were reported to be in the high 80%, but those graduation rates don’t take into account the students who said they would enroll in homeschool but never did, or the ones who got deported.

And I get angry—angry that we keep trying to find the path of least resistance, and it doesn’t work. We have to stop manipulating the numbers and start looking at the root cause of the problem. And the problem is systematic.

Which brings me to my next topic about articles criticizing TFA teachers getting involved. Michelle Malkin describes TFA teachers in the New York Post as “militant” and “peace-loving instigators.” I’m only offended by the first term, but what offends me about her article is this statement: “Teach For America has transformed itself into a recruiting center for militants bent on occupying themselves with anything other than imparting knowledge and academic excellence to children in the classroom.”

My response?
You bet I do.

You bet we’re concerned with teaching our kids knowledge other than academic excellence. Yes, I’m no longer in the classroom, but you bet that I think about those kids every day. I don’t focus on how I could’ve taught Algebra better. I think about the ways I could have better equipped my kids to tackle the world around them—a world in which the majority of people still, even after everything, judges them by the color of their skin and not by the contents of their characters. You bet that when I reunited with some of my kids after a few months apart, I didn’t ask them “remember how to write that speech?” I asked them to tell me about progressive tax law, why they’re interested in it and why that’s important, whether there were any more shootings or robberies in the neighborhood. I wanted to know whether they were safe.

I’m going to amend Ms. Malkin’s statement to say that TFA has become a center for recruiting people that give a shit about the world. I’m the first to talk about the faults of TFA, but teaching its corps members to question the status quo and supporting them when they act for social justice is not one of them.

There’s Never Been a Paper Bag for Drugs

The Long Way Around My Memphis Return

I went back to Memphis over my spring break. It was exactly as I remembered. I caught up with friends, went to all of my favorite eateries (and then some), and even visited my school.

Let me update you on what’s been happening at my old school. Remember my principal Mr. Scott? He got caught having an affair with one of the other staff members and was “asked to leave” the district. This all went down in the fall, and I made sure I got a play by play. Word somehow got out about the affair via the radio, so of course, everybody at the school knew what happened. I guess Mr. Scott had a Jan.

Remember when Michael forwarded everyone that picture of their Sandals vacation?

I could say more details about the affair—I found myself an unwilling confidante last year— but I won’t because I don’t want to sensationalize the actions of a man who has victimized women. I was never a victim directly, but I was a witness, and the affair confirmed my suspicions. I don’t mind saying the next thing now because I don’t work there anymore, and everyone knows anyway. Mr. Scott, you are a misogynist.

The most current issue my old school is dealing with is an accusation of mold. Now the first rule of mold is that we don’t talk about it. At least, that seems to be the rule that the administration seems to be following. The story is that a student complained of getting sick from mold to a parent, who then complained to the school board. This is now just the most recent time that the school has been on the local news. The administration issued a letter to parents saying that they’re checking it out, best rest assured, there is no mold. All you have to do is look up, though, and you’d see the many water stains and ceiling panels that are disintegrating from moisture. In my opinion, this is no surprise. We had many floods last year. After a heavy rain, we couldn’t use the close in the special ed office because the ceiling panels might fall off and hit you in the head. No mold? Really?

Anyway, those are the bad things they’ve been dealing with this year, but there have also been many good things. The school has a drama club that put together an amazing production and continues to do so. Some of our kids have gotten press for being mentors at the community organization nearby. It’s not all bad, which has always been the case of that school, but the bad just overshadows the good sometimes.

Back to my visit:
I didn’t realize how nervous I was to revisit the school in which I taught special education for two years until I left and realized that my jaw, which had been tightly clenched for about a week, was now loose and relaxed. I’d timed my visit for the last period of the last day before the school goes on spring break, thinking that teachers and students would be more relaxed, but I was nervous. First there was the question of how to enter. I only told a couple teachers that I was coming and passed the word to my Model UN kids. Should I sign in like an official visitor in the front office or should I sneak around the back and find an open door that I guarded once to prevent student from skipping metal detections? Second, would I see any of my kids? I opted for the front door, was greeted by an unfamiliar face, and thought, “It’s all different. I won’t see anybody I recognize.” Then I heard someone call my name, and the usual secretary, who’d helped me out on multiple occasions tracking down students and parents, came and gave me a hug. I knew it’d be a good visit. I wandered upstairs to the special ed office, knocked on the door, and ran into all of my former co-workers, even the school psychologist I worked with who only came to our school once a week. The office looked exactly the same, but maybe a bit more put together. I spent the rest of the last period wandering around the hallways like a delinquent student saying hi to everyone. Apparently, word went around that I was back because others started telling me that people saw me in the hallways. To my amusement, some students didn’t even truly realize that I’d left.

Student: “Hey Miss!”
Me: “Hey! How are you?”
Student: “Doing excellent! I haven’t seen you all year.”
Me: “I know. I’ve just been hiding in a locker all year.”
Student: “Really?”

I didn’t see all the students I wanted to see, but I did see all of my Model UN students. And that was the best of all. When I saw one of my students at the end of the hall, he dropped his binder, ran over, and gave me a big hug. Apparently, he and a couple others had been looking for me all day. I got the chance to pow-wow with them all at once, and they updated me on prom, and the school gossip (new principal and mold), MUN awards (best delegate and best resolution thank you very much), as well as future plans like college, scholarships, and graduation. I cannot express to you how full of love my heart was for these students who had brought me so much joy for the last two years. Before long, the school day ended, and one by one, they trickled out to go home, but most of them stayed late to catch up. They even walked me back to my car when I finally decided to leave.

I won’t deny that there has been a little guilt from my leaving. I don’t miss all the job, but I miss some of the interactions even though I’m happy with where I am now. But I couldn’t have asked for a better reunion.

The Long Way Around Ice and Snow

I grew up in southern California. People don’t lie when they say it’s sunny all the time. When we get any type of precipitation, we freak out. I’ve been gradually moving to colder and colder places. First Memphis and now Washington D.C. While I’ve experienced ice and snow before (snow-shoeing in Lake Tahoe, fighting for balance in Edinburgh), I’ve never had to deal with it on a day to day basis. Here are some things I’ve learned since dealing with cold weather: 1. Ice scrapers are your friend. You go nowhere if you can’t see through ice on your windshield. 2. Flip up your wipers on your car so they don’t stick to the windshield. Your car looks like a dork, but it’s much more difficult to scrape away a deep layer of ice caked to your window because it got caught on your wiper.

It’s like your car is saying “Here I am!”

3. Traction is key. I’ve gotten used to wearing my boots with deep grooves outside and changing into more work appropriate clothes once I get there. 4. Ice is no joke. Snow is beautiful. Ice is treacherous. Freezing rain means that people are going to the hospital. There were lots of ambulances the other day on campus because people fell and broke their bodies. As soon as the rain hits a surface, it freezes. This is what gives us lovely icicles and also makes it possible to slide down the sidewalk like you’re on a slip-n-slide. My car has been stuck in ice for a few days now. I tried to leave my parking spot, but my wheels couldn’t get any traction, so I couldn’t go anywhere. Actually, I realized this after I was half-way out of my spot, so I was half in the street, blocking everybody, and half in the spot. A good Samaritan tried to help me, but after half of hour of trying to break up the ice and putting down some salt, we both agreed, it would be safer to stay. I managed to back right back in to my spot. Ice storms make you take stock of your life. When you know you’re going to be snowed in, what do you run to buy at the store? Duh. Soup and alcohol #Priorities. We have a snow day today, and I was really in the mood for something warm and sweet like brownies, but had no supplies. I’m not going outside, so I had to forage for food in our pantry. Collectively, my roommates and I had nutella, apples, oatmeal, and some sugar. I just took the concoction out of the oven. Still have yet to determine whether it’s a success or not.

The Long Way Around Tech Week

I’m part of the running crew for the two thesis shows in rep at my school. Let me tell you, teching two shows is a lot.

For you theatre neophytes, let me explain what I just said. The running crew are the people who make sure everything happens back stage so the show on stage runs smoothly. This includes changing scenery, setting props, even helping the cast change in and out of costumes quickly. We set up before everyone else gets there and clean up when everyone else leaves. (It was highly recommended by my professor that I do this in order to complete my required crew hours for my degree.) I’m glad to do it, honestly; it’s not that hard, but it takes a lot of time. For example, at CUA, you have a tech day for one show–a 10-hour day in which you go from cue to cue to make sure everything works correctly. Because I’m crewing for two shows, I had two 10-hour days. While everyone else gets to alternate days off, I’m there from about 6:00pm-11:00pm every night. Actually, because my main job is costumes, I need to stay late to finish washing the fake blood off of shirts, and come early to iron the costumes most days. Like I said, my job isn’t that hard, but it’s just a lot of time. This means that in between cues, when I don’t necessarily have to be there, I’m back stage frantically trying to finish my homework. Oh yeah, homework. That still needs to happen.

So now you know what running crew does, but let me delve a little bit more into tech.
Ah, tech…
Tech is a very special beast.

When you tech a show, it’s the first time you put everything together. The cast is in costume, the sound and light cues are going. You have all the real props (for the most part) for the first time. All the designers are there to take notes and make sure everything is working out the way they planned it. So is the director and, in our case, the playwright. You start at the top of the show and run from cue to cue to work out all the kinks. For example, one of the shows has magical elements where books fly off stage. It’s just me and another crew member pulling them up when they’re already hooked up to some fish line. But there was great debate as to the positioning of the book so that as it flew off, it wouldn’t knock over the lamp on the desk. Stuff like that.

It’s a lot of hurry up and wait during tech week. For one of our shows, we barely got through to intermission, so really, the first time we got through the entire show was for our dress rehearsal the night before opening when a photographer came to take production photos.

During tech, real conflicts begin. For instance, the director asks the prop master why we can’t put a curtain up on stage so an actor doesn’t have to change in front of everyone, and he answers that it wasn’t in the floor plan, so he can’t do it. Actors wielding swords suddenly have more obstacles and less space to deal with so stage combat needs to be reworked. Someone unexpectedly takes a bathroom break and everyone freaks out because we can’t run the cue without her. The playwright has adverse thoughts about the costume choice for a character by the costume designer, and the designer is adamant that we have no more room in the budget.

Drama!

There is really no way to describe how tech week feels, but I’m going to try:

Things You Say During Tech:
“I’ll be able to hang out again in 3 weeks because the shows will be over then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your text. I was in tech.”

“I’ll pull down your neglige so it doesn’t fly up when you take your dress off.”

“I can’t. I’m in tech.”

“I really need a drink to get through this.”

Things You Won’t Say During Tech:
“Oh, goodie! My call is an hour and a half before everyone else!”

“Love my new calluses from pulling the ropes for those flies.”

“Hell yes, I would love to charge that glow tape for you.”

“Why yes, I would absolutely love to practice that quick change again.”

“I wish this could go on forever.”

Tech Week = Hell Week

The Long Way Around the Super Bowl

I had my most interesting Super Bowl experience today.

Let me preface with I don’t follow football. Everything I’ve learned about football, I’ve learned from Denzel Washington in Remember the Titans or Coach Eric Taylor in Friday Night Lights (that show made me care about football #Riggins). Like most people who don’t follow the NFL, I watch the Super Bowl for the food and the company (and maybe the half-time show). It’s all about the wings and guac in my mind.

So I take a step back on the Super Bowl and just watch the craziness happen. I was mostly surrounded by Seahawks fans, not because they had a love for Seattle, but because they had a profound hatred of the Patriots. (Apparently, New York and Boston hate one another. Who knew.) So as the plays were going and the Seahawks made some spectacular catches (that fabulous hot potato moment at the end, anyone?), I found myself pondering the effects of sports on interpersonal relationships.

People, who are usually extremely calm and tranquil, turn violent:
“I want to see Tom Brady cry. I want someone to break his legs.”
“That’s right. Stay on the ground you mother-fucker.”
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

Those who were once friends were now mortal enemies:
“Your team sucks. They are the devil. I hate them. And I hate you.”

Trivial comments now became professions of faith:
“I can’t believe you just said that. Now I know I can’t count on you when the going gets rough. Go outside, turn around three times, and spit.”

In between all these comments, I’ve learned that the day of the Super Bowl is the day that domestic violence calls reach their highest—a fact heightened by the commercial with the real-life recording of a woman calling a 9-1-1 operator, pretending to order a pizza, but really saying that her husband has just beat her.

Amidst this repartee, I commented, “I’m so glad we have such a positive atmosphere and that we’re all supporting each other despite our differences.” Those who’ve read my previous posts know I keep a “why can’t we be friends” attitude when it comes to sports, for the most part.

But then something amazing happened. Towards the end of the game, the next door neighbor of my friend, whose apartment I was visiting to watch the game, knocked on the door and asked to join. Apparently, his TV went out during the last minute. He brought along a girl with him, who was a major Seahawks fan. I knew this because she basically barged into the apartment on her phone, giving a play-by-play to whoever was on the other end. Before I knew it, she was sitting next to me on the floor and commenting on how we both were wearing fuzzy socks—to her, a sign that we’ve bonded.

The Seahawks fumbled and this girl lost her shit. She threw her phone across the room, jumped up and down and shouted, “Those mother-fuckers!” several times before sitting down next to me again. She actually kind of collapsed onto the floor, banging her head on the coffee table in the process. Seattle still had a chance to make it if they really tried. The tension was high. She asked to hold my hand, and before I knew it, she was squeezing it really hard. They were at 3rd down (I honestly don’t know if this is right. I don’t really get the whole down thing.) She dropped my hand and held my foot.

“Can I hold your foot? It’s just more work to hold your hand. I’m gonna give it a massage. Do you want a foot massage?”

Sure, whatever you need to do to calm yourself down.

While simultaneously watching the screen, “Does that feel nice?”

I have no idea who you are and why you want to massage both my feet, but hey free massage!

The game ended. She cussed. She offered us all a cigarette, asked to take some of our beer, then invited us to an after party at her apartment down the hall. Then she left, and I asked my friends if they knew her, and they said, “No!”

I just let a complete stranger give me a foot massage and hold my hand. Casual.

I will say this about the Super Bowl. It does bring people together in the strangest ways. By the way, my new fuzzy-sock buddy gave me a pretty nice foot massage. I’ll file this under one of the strangest sports experiences I’ve ever had.

Whatever. I’ll stick with Quidditch. Ireland’s got the best team, but Bulgaria’s got Krum.

The Long Way Around Inscrutability

I’ve just returned to grad school after a month off and finally checked my mailbox in the drama department. Little did I know I would find two of my final papers from last semester’s classes. I know I passed both the classes, so I wasn’t going to look at all the individual comments. At this point, I don’t even care, but I was curious about one particular paper.

I was very interested to see how I did for one particular paper because, quite honestly, I was surprised by my grade. Now grades in grad school are different. I don’t want to say they don’t matter, but frankly, they don’t matter as much. Nobody cares if you got straight A’s in grad school. They care that you got your degree. While I want to do well in all my classes because I have some pride, I’m not going to bust my butt for a class I don’t really care about.

I wrote a paper for one such class. It’s difficult to describe what it was like to be a student in that class, but as a former teacher, I was frustrated. The professor was highly knowledgeable in the subject. That was very clear, but he did not do a great job of conveying that knowledge to us. I won’t say anything more because I’ve spent the past semester bitching about it, but I will describe what happened when he gave us the assignment for our final paper.

He spent an entire page describing what we had to do, and yet, I had no idea what he wanted me to do. When he handed out the assignment to us in class, he wanted to spend just a brief amount of time talking about it, and then the rest reviewing, but we were all so confused, that we spent the entire three hours asking questions about it. The discussion didn’t really help that much, so when I went home and had to begin the paper (mind you, after already writing several papers for another class due earlier in the week),

I said to myself

So I wrote the paper how I wanted to write it, turned it in, and said

Actually, I tried burning the assignment with a lighter outside, but there was too much wind. The flame went out, so I ripped the assignment in half instead. It was very cathartic.

When I saw my grades over break, I was pleasantly surprised to see a grade that was much higher than the one I expected. In my mind, the professor: a) Actually really liked my paper; b) Took pity on me; c) Just gave up.

So I couldn’t help but glance at the back page of my essay and saw that he wrote comments for, not only for how I did on my paper, but for how I did in the class as a whole.

His comment: “You were a very thoughtful (though sometimes inscrutable) student.”

Inscrutable student? What the hell does that mean? I had two thoughts:

1) I was hard to read, and he never quite figured me out. This would go with the word’s denotation.

2) Did he just call me dumb? As in, I was incapable of analyzing anything?

Then I laughed to myself because the comment just epitomized my entire experience in that class. I was never sure whether I dazzled my professor with my wit or my obtuseness.

In conclusion, I leave you with another form of inscrutability.

You can always tell a Milford man.

The Long Way Around The Battle of 5 Armies

I watched The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies over my winter break. It was a bit ridiculous. I walked away feeling…confused? unsatisfied? aggravated? I don’t know. I’m still processing it, which is why I’ve decided to take this opportunity to write my own review.

Before I do so, I do have a few disclaimers. First, I’ve never read The Hobbit. Weird right because it seems like I would be really into that based on my history (see blogs The Long Ways Around Addiction and Magical Instruction for reference). I just started reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy for the first time this month and am halfway through The Two Towers (so…many…songs). I didn’t know about them until I saw the first movie, which made me want to read the books, but at the time (I was in middle school, I think), I couldn’t get through Tolkien’s dry writing, so I stopped. Second, my reactions to the first two Hobbits varied. I was delighted by the first one. I thought it was fun. I fell asleep during the second one. It seems like I didn’t miss much. Smaug was definitely the highlight.

I decided to watch the third film because it had a battle, so if nothing else, it would be cool, and I wanted to know the fates of the dwarves. (By the way, if you want to see a very attractive Thorin, watch the miniseries North & South. You can find it via Netflix. It was my first encounter with Richard Armitage, and I’ve been devoted ever since. Also, I will refer to Fili and Kili as the cute dwarves because I can never remember which one is which, and that’s how I distinguish them from the others.) Anyway, one of my good friends decided to go to the theater to see The Hobbit with me. She’s been a Tolkien fan and has read The Simarillion and everything, so she acted as my Tolkien scholar. Her dad also came with us because he’s a fan. He enjoyed the film.

If you plan to see the movie and don’t want me to give things away, I recommend you stop reading now. ***SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!***

Here are my thoughts:

1. This is supposed to be The Hobbit, but where was Bilbo? It says something about a film if the main character takes the backburner. My understanding is that the book is about Bilbo’s journey in finding the ring. My friend says you don’t even really experience the battle in the book. In order to solve that problem, the filmmakers essentially take Bilbo away by knocking him unconscious for most of the battle. Oops.

2. I spent most of the movie trying to figure out who the 5th army was. That’s not good. You got the dwarves, the men, the elves, and the orcs, but that’s only four. We later find out that there’s a secret army of orcs that come attack. Is that the 5th one? But there’s also another dwarf army, technically. I’m confused.

3. Is it just me or have Orlando Bloom and Lee Pace’s elven stares of intensity become more elven stares of constipation?

That’s right, Thranduil. Push the dookie out.

4. Why do the eagles always arrive late to battles? Seriously. Are they the 5th army? I’ve learned from The Lord of the Rings movies that the eagles basically make or break a battle. They always save the day at the last moment, but must they always procrastinate? Eagles are clutch.

5. Tauriel. Oh, Tauriel. And the female characters in general. You know what, I need a few paragraphs for this one.

Tauriel is a character created for the movies to add some femininity to this boys club. Let me first say that I appreciate that. I appreciate how Peter Jackson added more for the female characters to do in the film versions of Tolkien’s books. For example, Arwen actually speaks in the movies whereas in the books she merely looks pretty over to the side. She remains an object. Galadriel is pretty badass in the films. She has an awesome fight in the third Hobbit, actually. That was cool to see. In the books, she is one of the female characters who has the most lines, but she’s still just a beautiful woman. Yes, there’s Eowen who is the warrior princess and kills the witch king in The Return of the King, but even then, she needs a half-man, Merry, to help her. This somewhat changes in the movie, but her main deal is to act as the third side of the love triangle that is Arwen, Aragorn, and Eowen, even in the films.

So I was excited to learn that Galadriel would make an appearance, and that there was a new character of a elf warrior maiden named Tauriel, played by Evangeline Lily. But I have to say, Peter Jackson, that I was disappointed. In The Battle of the Five Armies, Galadriel saves Gandalf, banishing Sauron to the depths of Mordor where he reappears for Frodo later on, but still. She does that all by herself. Yet, she immediately weakens from this task, and of all people, Saruman, tells Elrond to take her to recover in Lothlorien, where she remains passive for a century. So super powerful Galadriel has been demoted by two males.

Then there’s Tauriel, who comes across as a badass she-elf, but ends up being merely the love interest to one of the cute dwarves (Fili? Kili?) Not only that, she’s the love interest for Legolas, who defies his father because he lurrrrves her just so damn much. In the midst of the battle, she desperately tries to find her love-dwarf, only to see him stabbed by an orc. She fights the orc in rage, and I think, “You go, girl! You kill that orc!” But no, she can’t do it herself and needs Kili (or Fili?) to injure the orc before his dying breath. Then because she’s so overcome with grief, she lacks the strength to finish off the job.

Come on, Tauriel. Get your shit together and kill the friggin orc you’ve been fighting for hours.

But no. She can’t. Legolas needs to do it for her, basically defying gravity in his elfen agility to prove his love to Tauriel by saving her life. Then in response, as she cradles the dwarf’s body, Tauriel cries, “If this is love, I don’t want it!” I know, Tauriel. Why does it hurt so much?

You know what, I don’t care. You were supposed to be this badass warrior she-elf, and yet, you let your identity be dictated by the males around you. THE DWARF DOES NOT DEFINE YOU, TAURIEL! 

So thank you, Peter Jackson, for deceiving us into thinking that you would defy Hollywood stereotypes of female characters. I think I’ll stick with the previous films and leave The Hobbit behind.

And because it never gets old…

The Long Way Around Being M.I.A. for an M.F.A.

I’ve been away for a while, and it’s good to be back. Lots has happened since my last update:

1. I found a place in D.C. Thank the Lord because it was really stressful. Thank you for my very good friend who let me sleep on the floor in the living room for about a month. I live in the Northwest region of DC. I learned it’s very important to specify this because there could be a U St. NW as well as a NE, SW, and SE. There isn’t, but you get my point.

2. I started grad school. It’s strange starting graduate school because you kind of expect it to be like your undergrad. I look like a student, which I am, but I’m new and don’t know anything. Plus, as a grad student, you pretty much know 3 buildings—where your classes are, where the library is, and where the food is. My first few days walking around, I feared someone would accuse me of not being a student. That didn’t happen, though.

This is what I feared.

It was weird being a student again. For the past two years I’ve been the teacher. It made attending my classes aggravating at first because I kept thinking that I could’ve structured the courses better than my professors. I guess I’ll never leave that part of me behind. A blessing and a curse.

3. I started my job. I run a tutoring program through my university. It’s fun. I really enjoy the people I work with. Such a change from my last job. I’m still involved in education but more in the training and administrative aspect rather than the actual educating. Still, I like it. Instead of high schoolers, I deal with undergrads, mostly freshmen. They’re all so little and have no idea what to expect of college. Was I that little?

Anyway, that’s what’s happened so far. I’m making a commitment to keep up with this blog. I stopped doing it because, well, I was already writing a lot for my M.F.A. I wasn’t sure I had time, but let’s face it. Anytime you’re writing helps with writing, so this is a way I’ll make sure to keep up with it even if I’m on vacation.

The Long Way Around #YesAllWomen

This post is a little late to the party, but I’ve been thinking about writing it ever since #YesAllWomen was trending on Twitter. Recently, there’s been much debate about changing the norms that dictate how society views women, how men view women, and how women view themselves. I didn’t really realize the importance of this debate until I came across a Buzzfeed post one of my friends shared on Facebook.

Let me start off by saying that I am a feminist. I believe that both men and women should have equal opportunities, but when I read “29 Things Women Avoid Doing Because We Fear for Our Safety,” I had an epiphany. The post is self-explanatory. Women avoid activities like running at night, traveling alone, etc. because we fear for our safety. I identified with the examples a lot.

When I visited home, I went to a dance club with some of my girlfriends. Because I’m home so sparingly, nowadays, the girls have started the tradition of making it my “birthday” to add some excitement. Random people were coming up to me wishing me a happy birthday. One guy even bought me a drink, but I didn’t accept it. He came out of nowhere, and the only thought in my head when he put it in front of my face was, “I’m not drinking that rufi drink.” I’m pretty sure I said these exact words in response, “As a woman, I cannot accept a drink from a man when I didn’t see it being made.”

I had to move and wanted to sell some furniture on Craigslist. The first item that sold was my couch, and none of my friends could come at the appointed meeting time. I was so nervous that I sent a mass text out to everyone I knew in the city saying, “I would just like to inform you that if I don’t text you back, I have been abducted by people from Craigslist.” I survived the encounter and never had a problem after that.

The thing is that as I was reading this list of “29 Things Women Avoid Doing,” I kept thinking to myself, “Well, duh. Nobody should do that, even men.” Men shouldn’t ever answer the door to unexpected visitors in case they’re planning to attack you. Men shouldn’t ever give their last names to strangers or people they just met because it makes it easier to stalk you.

Then I had another thought, “Do men actually do these things?”

Thus struck my epiphany: My mind has been warped by society so much that I unconsciously expect men to attack me every minute of every day….and I didn’t even realize how warped my mind was.

So I’m adding a few more hashtags to #YesAllWomen:

Because every woman I know has experienced sexual harassment and assault. #YesAllWomen

Because I just moved to DC, and when I walk the streets, I’m scared that I’ll unwittingly initiate harassment no matter what neighborhood I’m walking. #YesAllWomen

Because every woman I know has had dreams about being raped, but none of the men I know have. #YesAllWomen

There. Here endeth the lesson.

The Daily Show- The Fault in Our Schools

What Men Are Really Saying When they Catcall

The Short Way Around DC Parking

I just moved to DC for grad school, and you know what I figured out about parking?

There is no short way.