Last night I went to see Calvin Johnson play at the Artistary. I LOVE Calvin, I love his music, I love his jokes, I love that he does my dishes when he stays at my house. I love the endearing misfit community he presides over. I met some of my deepest friends through Calvin, and I will be loyal to him until the day I die.
However. Sometimes? The people who go to Calvin’s shows? Can get on my nerves. Like last night. I was standing against the wall over to the side and I had a view of the whole crowd. It was a packed house! Everyone was sitting cross-legged on the floor, smiling adoringly at my dear friend. Cool. then I noticed this one dude drinking from a ceramic mug. And I was like, “whoa, dude. Come on. Isn’t that just a little bit affected? This isn’t a house show!” But then my vision sort of panned out, and I realized there were about half a dozen plucky kids sipping from ceramic mugs. And for some reason that just irritated the fuck out of me. It crossed the line in my eyes from cute and twee to downright affected. I mean honestly. There’s comfort and community, and then there’s just putting on airs. Suddenly all of the ill-fitting sweaters and frayed scarves in the room made me feel a little woozy, and I had to apply some blush to calm my nerves. It didn’t help that the girl wearing the red hoodie sitting in front of me kept bumping into my legs as she leaned her head back to feel the vibrations or whatever. Ugh. You all know how I feel about that!
Snarkiness aside, it was one of the nicest shows I’ve seen Calvin give. The crowd (much as they annoyed me) was super warm to him. They laughed at all his rad jokes, even the ones imbedded in his songs. And Calvin seemed really happy and silly, which I love. He told a great story that simultaneously roasted Adam Forkner and pumped him up. Karl Blau played next, and though I wasn’t able to stay for the whole set, what I heard flashed me back to Shipwreck Days in the nicest way.
So, a little bit snarky, but nice where it counts.

So the job fair last weekend was sort of a bust. There were hundreds of potential teachers wearing black suits and name tags, standing in long lines for five minute group interviews with glass-eyed principals. I was incredibly nervous. Luckily many of my colleagues has already completed their interviews before I arrived, so they were able to give me good tips. TIps like, “if you don’t speak Spanish you’re fucked.” I don’t speak Spanish. Also, they didn’t really say, “fucked.” Anyway. If you DID speak Spanish, or if you had a reading or ESL endorsement, you were funneled toward a more in depth interview. The rest of us poor schmucks were not as lucky. My interviewer interrupted me halfway through my answer to the ONLY question he asked me (“what would you bring to the district”). His eyes drifted over my head to another administrator, and he called her over to have a little chat about lunch or something. Much chuckling. Then after a couple of minutes he returned to me, “What were you saying?” Ugh. I mumbled something about 4th grade buddies and counted myself out of the running. I guess it didn’t go as horribly as I thought, though, because I just received an email about a second interview. We will see.
Last night I went to dinner at the Head of School’s house. My school encourages these mixed-group faculty/staff dinners. I sort of forgot about it, and ate a ginormous burrito about an hour before I had to be at her house. So when I showed up I was totally full. I hoped that it would be a buffet style event, so no one would notice how meager my serving was. No luck. The hostess served us, and I am ashamed to say that at least one appetizer wound up in my napkin.
I thought the whole debacle would make a great 70’s Show episode. A character is invited to the boss’s house for dinner, but fills up on french fries and hamburgers. To get an instant appetite, she smokes a joint to get the munchies. Then hilarity ensues. Great pitch, right?
Tonight HRS ARK ROYAL and I are going to stay at a fancy hotel. Cha cha cha. Perhaps we will take advantage of their “intimacy kit.” Cla-ssy.

I am sitting at a table of six year old boys- all are drawing pictures of volcanoes. I am eavesdropping.
“Who do you want to win, Paul. Snakes or poachers?”
“I don’t want to answer that. Make it snakes and pandas.”
“What about poachers or pandas?”
“Pandas.”
“Can you draw the volcano for me, Peter?”
“The big one or the small one?”
“Start with the big one and then do the small one.”
“Willow! Did you know that the first Fort Stevens is just all grass now? And I got to shoot this teeny miniature cannon. It was only about two inches big. It makes smoke and a clicking sound.”
Pablo interjects- “That’s not even a real gun, Bruno.”
“I know.”
“Kevin, why do you always draw that same robot?”
“I just like it.”
“Are those Ewoks?”
“Yeah, they’re A-1 Ewoks. That’s a new movie or something.”
“Can I make a peanut cannon?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, no one copy me.”

I have 3 more lessons to write tonight, and then I have to design an assessment plan and rubric for the integrated social studies unit I’m planning. It’s due on Friday. It’s sort of like my Master’s thesis. But I am procrastinating. I’m thinking about HRS ARK ROYAL, and the February report he is most likely going to post today. He will note his progress in many arenas- fashion, food, business- and set goals for March. I have not been keeping stats on anything other than my mileage (which I’ve cut by 25% in 2006!), but I would like to set some March Goals. Here they are:
* Blog at least four times per week
* Flickr at least once per week
* Eat dinner at home at least twice per week
* Have sex at least four times per week
* Hang out with the following friends, who I haven’t seen in a while:
-Nicole
-Liz #2
-Shannon
-Suzy
-Thea
-Justin
* Let parents at my school know that I will be available to tutor this summer
* Leave PDX for at least a day (not counting my Las Vegas Trip at the end of the month)
* Wash my car
* Complete my relationship contract with HRS ARK ROYAL and get it notarized
I can’t think of any other goals, so I guess it’s time to get back to work.

Urban Honking was featured in the Willamette Week today. There was a front page picture of Steve, Mike and Jona, plus another full page photo inside, and smaller pics of other UrHo bloggers. It was an amazing article, giving those three men their proper dues for setting up such a rad online community. The authors basically called UrHo a harbinger for a new era of media. It was really cool.
They did a blurb about Perfect Heart, which they described as “anxiety-ridden.” Yikes! And they quoted from a post about waxing my (invisible) mustache. Double Yikes!! I am mild-to-moderately embarrassed by this summation of my blog, but it’s cool. I do use this blog as a forum for examining the root of my emotions, which makes it somewhat volcanic. And I take weird pleasure in chronicling my embarrassing moments for public scrutiny. Perfect Heart is about Ultimate Transparency- revealing myself with all my strengths and flaws in an effort to present an honest self-portrait. It just feels a little funny to see it all condensed in the newspaper! The awesome part is that they called me a modern day Angela Chase (from My So-Called Life, remember?) which brings me just that much closer to Jordan Catalano. Mmm. Jordan Catalano. I have loved thee well. Mike and I joked that we are what would happen if Angela Chase started dating Max Fischer, which is just plain rad.
Today when I drove past an elementary school in my neighborhood, I was stopped by a crossing guard. The reason? A little girl and her mom were walking their potbellied pig across the street. Uh huh. Were they coming from school? Did the pig go to class with the girl, like for show and tell, or did mom just walk pig to school to pick up little girl? It was a big ol’ pig, too. On a leash.
Liz’s high school boyfriend has a pig as a pet. Along with some llamas, I think. And a dog. The pig’s name was Rosie. Some pig.

I’m exasperated because I wrote a really nice post about a storycorps feature that made my carpool friend and I cry on the way to work last week, but then I did a wrong keyboard shortcut and lost the whole thing. It’s my own fault for writing straight into MT, but still. I don’t have the heart to write it again, so just check out Annie and Danny on the storycorps website. Or listen to a nice excerpt from the first interview they gave storycorps. Danny is dead now, but sharing the story of his love for Anne has ennobled and immortalized him.
This weekend had me thinking a lot about the large and small gestures we make to let people know we love them. I went to my mentor teacher’s wedding at the oldest African American church in Portland. It was at four in the afternoon, and the rain-diffused light softened even more as it filtered through the stained glass windows. The theme song for the wedding (if there can be such a thing) was At Last. The officiant was a close friend of the bride and groom, and he made lots of references to the winding road they walked to the alter. Their newborn baby snuggled in the arms of the bride’s son attested to that. So, yeah. The wedding was a long time coming, but the love was there all along. And it’s cool when a wedding is just an acknowledgment of a union that is already strong. Not a monument as much as a milestone. Anyway, it was cool.
That night HMS ARK ROYAL (whose pseudonym may soon be abandoned) and I attended a black tie event at the Convention Center. The fancy school where I work was holding their annual auction, hoping to raise a couple hundred thousand dollars. Or maybe half a million. Anyway. All kinds of Portland royalty were there, dressed to the nines, bidding bazillions of dollars on doggie parties and racecar vacation packages. Middle-aged moms were dragging their husbands along by their hands, angling for some hot silent auction item. Maybe a dress worn by Paris Hilton. Maybe an autographed Cal Ripkin baseball glove. Everyone was tipsy and having a good time. I started talking to one student’s parents- this girl is having a real tough time in first grade- and next thing I know the mom was crying, and the dad was telling me how emotional they both are right now. I just wanted them to know that I cared about their kid, and that other kids and teachers do too, despite the rocky road. I guess it was the wrong time to bring up a touchy subject, and I feel bad that I put a damper on their evening. But it’s amazing how vulnerable such powerful people can get when it comes to their kids. All parents do, I guess. Love. The large and small ways it reveals itself.
HMS ARK ROYAL and I are in a nice, tender place. We’re both busy, busy, and it can be a strain. But we’re working on our relationship contract, setting a date schedule, and doing lots of ichat check ins. HRS ARK ROYAL points out that this is all just code for “communicating.” It’s nice to be with someone who likes structure in a relationship as much as I do. Things feel strong right now.

Am I lucky or what?

The Wilson brothers, that is. I just read Liz’s blog, and her passing reference to Owen Wilson produced a flood of love and longing in my soul. I can could give you a lengthy description of the quirks and charms that endear those men to me, but really they can all be summed up with one single, beautiful word, “Bottlerocket.”
Ca-caw! Ca-caw!
The thing is, they are just perfect compliments to each other. I can never really pick a favorite, because they are so nice as a pair. Luke, Luke, Luke. Steady as a rock. And oh oh, Owen. Such a lady killer! Just slaying them! If they both proposed to me on the very same day, but the offers expired at midnight and I had to choose, I would pick Luke. Because I am pretty sure he would make a better husband- do the dishes, paint the fence. Owen would be awfully fun, but he might just be a cheater. He’s sneaky, you know? And while I would like to make sweet love to him, I think he would be an excellent brother-in-law. He’d bring the beer at the 4th of July BBQ, and who knows? Maybe a joint, too.
There was a time, after Rushmore but before Royal Tenenbaums, when I was convinced that if I crafted the PERFECT letter to Wes Anderson (I mean really perfect) he would fall half in love with me and put me in a movie. I would play a returning astronaut with a crippling case of Vertigo who rides a bike barefoot and always wears short-shorts. My leading man? Insert Wilson brother here.
Sigh. Gweneth Paltrow stole my thunder, and my chances of lasting love with Dignan or Anthony were dashed forever. Ugh! “I want to hug him!”

I do not do well with change. That is fact number 11 or 12 about Willow: She does not do well with change. The summer before I left Denver for college, I got ulcers from the worry. During my two month gradual return from Dublin to Portland I cried almost every day, even though I was so happy to be headed home. And when my heart was last broken, I threw up every morning for a month. I used to yell at my mom when I was packing for camp, and anyone who has ever helped me move houses can attest to my nervy nerves. I do not do well with change!
Rereading that intro, I think it would be more accurate to say that I do not do well with uncertainty. I’m not good at “winging it,” or “rolling with the punches.” Tomato, tomato.
Which is unfortunate, because I am entering a period of great uncertainty. Classes end in a week and a half, and I’m cool with that part. I feel like a highly trained teacher. The part that’s got me all tied up in knots is the whole job hunting part. We did a resume workshop yesterday- two cohorts combined- and while it was helpful it was also completely overwhelming. The other cohort is obsessed with Making An Impression in the 30 seconds they’ll talk to district reps at job fairs- meaning they’ll all be in pink power suits and color-of-confidence lipstick or whatever. The stress/anxiety level of my cohort pales, just pales in comparison to their collective intensity.
I’m actually not THAT worried about getting a job. I make a good first impression, I have a lot of experience, I interview well, and I’m a really good teacher. I’m mostly worried about the PROCESS of getting a job- the job fair registrations, the memorization of district information, the sending of many thank you notes, the mapquesting directions to suburban convention centers. I am not good at these things! And I need to make a portfolio! Circuits…. Burning….
I’m trying to keep my stress contained. Which is to say I’m trying not to take it out on my boyfriend. I hate acting like a grouch- it makes me feel so guilty! And I’m trying to be good about examining the source of my grouchiness before I grumble. I want to keep my expectations reasonable and appropriate. And not overreact to miner stuff. Basically I’m trying to be a good girlfriend and not a total ding dong.
I took the day off today because I’ve been feeling almost-sick for the last little while. I’ve been run-down, headachy, and slightly queasy. I thought I was on the verge of coming down with something, but now that I think about it it’s probably just stress. On the plus side I’m not vomiting, and I don’t have ulcers, and my crying jags are happening in around three day intervals. So maybe I’m managing it all a little better than I used to.
My life is not hard! I need to stop being such a baby!

One of the girls in my cohort owns a pink power suit, and she is planning on wearing it to the plethora of job fairs we’ll all be attending over the next few months. Do I need to buy a suit? I have a very nice grey suit that was tailored for me for a college play set in the 1950s. It has become my de-facto Miss Nancy Novak suit. The skirt is very, very, very tight. And it has some largish pink buttons- great on stage, not as great in person. What I’m saying is that I would look like a high class trollop strutting around the convention center in it- not at all the sexless old maid I ought to present. So what should I wear? The lady who came to put the fear of god in us (by informing us of the close deadlines, large applicant pool, and fickle administrators) told us to dress like “Nordstrom sales associates.” Uh huh. Which department? Makeup? Should I wear a white smock and beige slacks with stilettos? Or maybe I should look to Brass Plum for inspiration. I could wear fluffy sheepskin boots with white leggings and a gold lame tunic. Appropriate? Maybe not.
So, maybe a suit. They keep saying you can’t overdress for an interview, but you can certainly underdress. They also say you should wear what you’d wear to parent/teacher conferences. And if your a man you should definitely wear a tie. But not necessarily jacket. Can I get away with a nice sweater/skirt combo? Anyone who has interviewed for a real job want to help me out? European?
Help!

My classes end on March 1st. Today is February 18th. So, yeah. In eleven days I will effectively have earned my Masters degree. I will be a trained teacher. I mean, I still have to finish my student teaching, and in the summer I’ll take a few reflection classes. But ultimately, I’m done. And that is REALLY scary! I keep having these waves of panic. Where am I going to work? What if I don’t get a job? How am I going to finish the massive amount of coursework that is due in the next few weeks and still find time to update my resume, build my portfolio and buy proper interview clothes? Some districts in my area begin the application process in March. I have to get letters of recommendation together! It is stressful! And some people in my cohort are building websites. Should I build a website? I don’t know how to do that! But I’ll be competing against people who have one, so maybe I should have one. And that’s another thing- I am about to compete for jobs against my cohort friends. I don’t want to do it! I want all of us to work together at a school! The thought of being pitted against any of them makes me feel a little sick.
And then in addition to homework and job prep there is also the small matter of filing my taxes so I can apply for financial aid. It’s due March 1st, but I haven’t gone near it yet. You know in cartoons when the robot is forced to process too much information and it starts making that whirring/sputtering noise and then bolts start flying from it’s head? That is how I feel.
I know that I will be a good teacher. I have weaknesses, but I know what they are and I’m working on them. I don’t take rigorous enough anecdotal assessment notes. My mini-lessons are inconsistent. But those things are easily fixed with some careful planning and attention. The broader skills- relationship building, creative lesson planning, classroom management and flexible teaching- I have down pretty solid. So why am I so incredibly freaked out?
I want to close my eyes for a while, and then when I open them I want all of this hard, stressful stuff to be over. Okay? Thanks.