In the doghouse.

Update:
My dog-permit prescription scheme (see below) failed miserably today, because the doctor unfortunately turned out to be some sort of a peace-loving quack job who could only tell me that I needed to quit Karate and take up Tai Chi in order to "settle my nerves and focus on the positive." What this had to do with my maternal pining for a dog or my history of clinical depression continues to elude me; furthermore, at least I know that performing some bullshit ballet of fake defensive movements won't do any more good for my soul than practicing throat-smashes on a dummy that looks like Bruce Willis. So pretty much, fuck that guy and his schmancy fucking degree. I pushed my opinion about my need for a dog, but it didn't do any good, and I left empty-handed. As I smiled understandingly, I fleetingly considered knocking out Mr. Pseudo-philosopher via an explosive and unexpected attack to the jugular, and then positioning a pen in his hand and getting the signature that I'd come in for through more creative means than originally expected. But then I thought I might get arrested.
You win again, Focault. You win.

To make a long story short, I ended out crying for hours today, and now I feel as though my head and heart weigh about a thousand pounds. It's genuinely devastating to bond with an animal in need and later be told--by some unsubstantial fucking Nazi rental corporation that doesn't even know you or care to consider your needs, and that just recently changed its stupid pet policy--that you have to drop the whole idea and forget about him. I don't have a forgetful sort of heart, especially when it comes to dogchildren and humanchildren.

I going to get a copy of the rental agreement and find out what the penalties are for having a non-permitted animal here at the apartment. If it's not an arm and a leg or an eviction as well as as mighty fee, I think I might just get the dog anyway and pray that he's as quiet as I've been told. I might end out feeling like I'm smuggling a Jewish person in my apartment, but I think it would still be better than leaving the poor thing impounded. I would love him to pieces--little chewy chihuahua pieces, and he would love me back. We'd ride in my car and roll down the windows and howl to Paul Simon songs. We'd pee on the roots of the neighbor's hydrangeas just to watch the blooms change colors. We'd walk to the market and sprawl on the living room carpet and be the best of friends.


Fucking apartment Nazis.




I'm so sad.

This is how I've felt all week.

Unbelievable.

1. I put an adoption hold on a dog from the Heartland Humane Society, after three years of planning and dreaming and (some, I'll admit, only some) saving. He is not at all what I expected: a white, scraggly, half-starved stray with large batlike ears, dainty feet, and a pathetically drooping tail, twelve pounds in all, with the most soulful eyes you've ever seen. He is at least half Chihuahua (I know, I know), and the Humane Society's name for him is Perkins (I freaking know). But he chose me; he looked at me and telepathically whispered "Vamos."
2. Then, (after setting my heart on this rather sorry excuse for a canine,) I found out that my apartment technically doesn't allow pets, even though it's pretty much teeming with cats and some kind of a hound that howls whenever someone turns the telly too loud. These, according to Von Asscrack Property Management, are all "designated companion" creatures.
3. So it comes down to this: tomorrow I'm going tomorrow to get a medical referral for pet ownership. Yes, I'm dead serous. My appointment is at 1:30, and I plan to cite my last eight years' worth of depression medications, counseling sessions, and psychological testing to back up my point that sometimes I need a furry little ball of bizarrity. (I'm not on meds anymore or any of that, but I think dogs are important to my emotional well-being nevertheless.) So, in short,
4. Heaven help me.
5. And may the doctor's note from the University not cost me an arm and a leg.

This just in.

I am a one-woman public education revolution.

My mischievous miscreants are so interested in the course material that they don't even want to be defiant or distracting. I seem to have found the golden key to behavior management... it involves a strange mixture of joking, making strange warning "tcch-ch!" sounds with theatrical faces, thanking kids for their contributions, and cranking out awesome activities that involve technology and interaction.
I was absolutely sure I'd shrivel up and die while working with this age group, but apparently the kids quite like my quirkiness and the wild lessons that I'm coming up with. I could do this. I would still rather teach higher levels or even college, but this is livable. Exhausting though.

The media specialist at the middle school, who is a) the only informed individual on the entire staff, and b) looks uncannily like my brother, has become a valuable ally amongst the sea of crochety post-menopausal frumpmasters (also known as teachers). Today we shot the shit about the rise of the graphic novel, the censorship of reading materials in public school libraries, Swingline staplers, the Stone Roses, Sigur Ros, and Bellingham's underground music scene.

I've slept so little in the last few days that everything feels fragmented. Probably not worth attempting to write.



But before I forget, here are some units I'm thinking of teaching eventually:
- A unit about the evolution of indie music culture throughout the nineties and into the present, using Rob Sheffield's Love is a Mix Tape and Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, alongside lyrical analysis and student songwriting.
- An elective unit focusing on the career and artistic stylings of Michel Gondry (director of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, The Science of Sleep, and several music videos by Bjork, among other things). Maybe extending to talk about conventions of postmodern French film.
- A class about epic journeys, using the works of Joseph Campbell, alongside texts and films such as Harry Potter, The Dark is Rising, Pan's Labyrinth, Lord of the Rings, Sabriel, Star Wars, and others (hopefully more multicultural). Perhaps extending this to consider conventions of modern epic journeys. Incorporating complex literary theory.
- A unit about magical realism. Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Cristina Garcia, and others; films such as Like Water for Chocolate.
- A unit about ghosts in literature. I briefly considered focusing on this as a graduate English student, but decided to go into teaching instead. Ghosts have unusual functions throughout literature that living characters cannot seem to fulfill, and this has always interested me. (I think I am fascinated by ghosts in literature because they always appear in my dreams as well.)
- A unit about ethnic identity and immigration in poetry and prose, featuring the works of Jhumpa Lahiri, Maxine Hong Kingston, Gish Jen, Khaled Housseini, Derek Walcott, and others.
- A unit about Shakespeare that includes his literary influences, his contemporaries, excellent artwork and films that capture the spirit of the era (Shakespeare in Love is one), and unconventional renditions of Shakespearean plays (including films like The Abridged Shakespeare Company, Shakespeare Behind Bars, and modern renditions of plays). I would teach this alongside the sonnets, because Shakespeare's plays shine the most brightly when you have a solid understanding of the poetic tradition upon which they're built. (Shakespeare considered himself first a poet, and then a playwrite.)
- A free after school unit in self defense, free-hand and perhaps with weaponry (I am learning short-sword fighting in my Eugene class right now).