Where does the time go?

I found where the time goes. It goes out the window.

After getting hired by Synergy Charter Schools to build their RSP program at the brand new Quantum Academy High School, the only mantra I heard by the principal and board members was, "there are never enough hours in the day."

So true. So true.

But you know, we be racing now. And I'm actually getting better. The key to it all is keeping it in your brain. I know the big thing in cross right now is to "freak out" as is popular on the East Coast. I'm the exact opposite: go as fast as possible while still keeping the brain open. When I keep the brain open, the first lap is perfect:

Keep it upright, try not to put too many people in the tape, find the group, go go go.

I try to get a quick head count sometime during the first lap just to see how I fell in the hustle. It sounds lame, but top 16 through the first few corners works for me thus far.

The middle laps are all about finding the tempo, hitting the lines, staying off the brakes, and looking way ahead for the next group to latch on to.

Last lap: redemption. Always redemption. Get it back.

I love cross because it's all about me: about what I can pour into an effort, about how well I set my bike up, about my mental choices, my toughness, and my focus.

People have their niche, and 'cross is mine.

redemption

The Excitement and Danger of the Charter

So it has been awhile, and mainly because a lot has changed since the last post. No one reads. It's okay, this is slowly turning into a chronicle of my life just in case I go crazy enough to lose my memory.

I'm now residing in Long Beach, and it has been quite the move. What a fantastic city.

I've been training pretty hard, and fortunate enough to live in a cycling friendly city (though it is completely lacking in the 'mountains' department).

Interestingly enough, my offer with Celerity was rescinded within a few weeks of it being initially offered.

Remember that whole, "no job with Celerity without CSUDH" deal? That came back to haunt. CSUDH was utterly ineffective in processing my paperwork and, when Celerity called to check on my status, a lady in the department actually said that I didn't exist on paper, and was not even in the program!!

So, yea, they let me go. Unfortunately, it was the way they took back their offer that stunned me. Within a few weeks of being offered my spot, I get a letter with 2 sentences, effectively saying that we're taking back your offer. Unfortunately, instead of saying "we are rescinding your offer," it was instead phrased as, "we are RESENDING your offer."

So you can see where I would be a bit confused. I figured that after driving countless hours and delivering a fantastic demo lesson that I would be at least given a phone call. I can't expect to be hired if i'm technically not even a student eligible for the program (although, if they would have waited a few weeks, they would have seen the opposite). Still, the lack of respect shown to me left my feelings hurt, but it also left me with insane amounts of motivation to show the error of their ways.

After moving to Long Beach, I was given a hot tip about a job from a very grateful professor, and I went after it. Hardcore. I was in the principals face over the phone, via email. No one could shake me. After a series of interviews, I was offered ANOTHER special education job.

What?!?!

So now we got this sweet new pad and I've got myself a sweet new job (though there are still copious amounts of paperwork left) and things seem a bit more stable. very nice.

Why Mark McGwire should not be in the classroom

Is it not 2011? Are we not educating a future generation?

"A child is a person who is going to carry on what you have started...He is going to move in and take over your churches, schools, universities, and corporations. The fate of humanity is in his hands." -Abraham Lincoln

So, leaving out Abe's blatant sexism and issues with slavery and racism, we can still take this quote for face value: This little ones are going to be big ones, and when I'm old and weak, they will be deciding my fate.

So why this?

Forget about the disaster situation that is this classroom. Hand to God, I almost fainted when I stepped into the room. There are random stacks of papers everywhere in this classroom, not one of which is close to neat. There are paper scraps on top of mothballs on top of random geometric figures that were assembled years ago and left to collect dust in the nether-regions of this class. Forget about that.

That's Mark McGwire. Mark FREAKING McGwire. Big Mac. Mr. I plead the 5th. This is the guy that thought it was okay to use a steroid that was banned by the World Anti-Doping Agency, the IOC and the NFL, just because it wasn't banned in the MLB.

And he's taking notes on earthquakes with the kids right across from the Character Counts poster.

I don't expect the students to really know who McGwire is on a social level, they're definitely to young for that, but it would be interesting to hear a student raise questions about why it is that Mr. McGwire gets to hold a place of prestige in the classroom, right next to Griffey and Gwynn.

I'm sure McGwire is sorry, and I'm sure he's a great guy. I bet he even serves as a role model for young players in terms of what not to do. But he has no place here, towering 6 feet overhead.

Hired and "The Intern Situation Explained"

Yes, yes yes....yes yes yes....yes yes yes.

So I have finally been hired.

After a few trips up to L.A. and some demo lesson action, I was left feeling as though all my efforts had been for not. I did my demo on a Monday, and was told that I would hear the verdict by the following Monday. After two weeks had passed, I naturally assumed that they had passed on me, and that it would be more grinding for Mr. Smith.

Another week passed by before I got word from some of my professional references that the school, Celerity Charter, had actually been conducting a background check! This was good news that became nervous news when I received a call from Celerity asking for MORE professional references (I had listed a principal and two guide teachers). After giving contact information for two teachers that I have subbed for, another week passed before hearing anything again.

It wasn't until the following Friday that I received a call from the Board of Directors offering me the position contingent on my placement in the Special Ed Mild/Mod program at CSUDH. And this is where it gets confusing.

In classic Mr. Smith fashion, I have to delay my true enjoyment and celebration until CSU Dominguez Hills says it's okay for me to have a job.

It seems that, while Celerity Schools has offered me employment, CSUDH has to verify that this is a proper teaching job (it is), and more so, that it fits their description of a proper Special Education class. The bottom line here is that, even after earning this job, CSUDH has the final word.

There is no job with Celerity without CSUDH. There is no program with CSUDH without Celerity. And the biggest issue is that all of this is out of my hands.

Oooooooooh well....

Sometimes you need to make some changes...

Okay. Take a look at this picture. Ask yourself if you see anything wrong. Anything at all. Go ahead. I dare ya.

Anyone see it? The whole thing about having "electricity" in your pants? And how big is that charge that you're hiding in there?

Oh, it sure is big. Is that a light bulb or are you just happy to see me?

And in case you were wondering what level class that this screenplay was written for, that would be 2nd grade. Yes, 2nd graders came very close to talking about having a big huge electric charge that turned into a big long electric snake that suddenly jumped out of their pants.

And that is why, as a teacher, you need to preview EVERYTHING that comes your way. You can't even take a corporate prepared play about electricity for granted, because clearly there are some jokers in the lot.

What to make of getting crushed...?

There is this one thing about bike racing and the attempt to become a professional teacher, the one golden, great equalizer amongst both: as an individual, you really, really put yourself out there.

There is no one to blame when I fail. There are never excuses, only the hard truth that today, yesterday, I was not good enough to succeed.

Will I be good enough tomorrow?

I am expecting good things both on the bike and in the classroom. For now, I will keep the details close to heart in an attempt to shield myself from the possibility of allowing my hopes to reach a new high.

I have visions of personal achievement, a larger bank account, and that sense of accomplishment. They dance through my mind like the apparitions in Disneyland's Haunted House Ride.

They're there, I'm not sure how, I can't touch them, but they're there.

serving out of body, searching in a mind.

I jotted most of this down in between tables at the Boathouse on Easter Sunday.

An out of body experience. I don't believe in them, or at least I didn't believe, because of the sheer impossibility that is, 'being out of my body.' To me, 'out of body' seems like a near death experience, not a surreal or visceral or whatever you want it to be experience.

The journey at a higher altitude is unique. I'm caught looking at my unkempt hair, the (hopefully not growing) bald spot on the top of my head, my table manners, my serving etiquette. I have never noticed, until yesterday, the way that sarcasm has snuck it's way into my professional demeanor, every table greeted the same, served the same. I reuse the same jokes. I try to say 'dubious' to as many tables as possible. I'm usually successful, rarely a stretch.

"what's your soup of the day?"

"today we have french onion, and it is delicious."

She looks at her husband with an unsure glance, turns to me and orders the french onion.

"No need to be dubious, ma'am, you'll really like the french onion."

A stretch?

Dubious.

This isn't a bad thing, as the tables leave happy. No complaints to the manager. Excellent tips to me (37.5% of which will later redistributed to my coworkers), and it's been a full calendar year since any old people have burned themselves on the hot water in which they steep their teas. Things go as they do, and I go as I do, to and fro. I feel like a dropped document or letter on a windy day. Blown down the street, hurtling end over end until resting, waiting, for the next gust to send me on my way.

Up the stairs. Grab the pitcher, return to table, refill beverages, up the stairs, return pitcher, return to resting place by the bar window. Stand.

I stand in silence, and I listen. I listen because, as is the case in most places I've worked, it's far more beneficial to listen to what others have to say, than to speak yourself. I know who drinks, who drinks too much, I listen, not just hear. I listen because I learn about everyone around me. I know who to trust. A glance around the corner. Plates to be cleared. Grab, carry, scrape, drop, repeat.

And so goes the rhythm of the shift, not unlike a road race, pedal stroke after pedal stroke, up and down across the land, hugging her curves, for better or for worse, unending and, as unsettling as it may be, unrelenting until the finish line.

The last table leaves, the bill is collected, and I can feel myself slowly deflating. Almost on cue, my position 5 feet above my head returns to that space 5 millimeters inside my skull. I can think. I look around. I am aware of what I've done today, what I will do, and where I will go. As I drink with my friends, listen to the jokes, and discuss poor tipping, I realize how unique this job really is. I realize how fortunate we all are to be in the position to have such a job, as auto-pilot as it may be. I can't explain why I feel this way all of the sudden. I've long been trying to coin this term (maybe it still needs time to be defined by others):

Server Euphoria : a state consciousness, post-shift, when a restaurant worker takes a quick moment to analyze, synthesize and evaluate whatever the hell it was that just happened, counts her/his tip money (good or bad), and smiles.