Love Letter In Care Of My Employer's IT Department

To whom it may concern:

I say "to whom it may concern" because I'm not quite certain whom it may concern. I'm fairly certain that the IT department knows, as it is responsible for carrying out your decisions. However, being that this is __________________, it's entirely possible that your decisions are filtered through so many layers of bureaucracy that the IT is ignorant of your existence. Perhaps, like the good angel portrayed by Al Pacino under the name John Milton, you prefer to keep your influence subtle and understated. In which case, I beg the IT department to forward this as best it knows. If the IT department itself is responsible for these policies, it may be wisest to remain silent; my love for the person in question is quite abundant and probably best enjoyed from a safe distance.

First, let me say that I appreciate how difficult your job is. So much lies within your purview: ensuring student safety, intellectual integrity, and above all wise use of time in an era where that horrible demon, the Internet, provides so many temptations to degradation, dishonor, and dissipation. Why, if you didn't block Wikipedia from student access, they might copy/paste info from it at school rather than at home! Worse, they might actually begin to research at school, starting in the familiar place, rather than giving up and googling whatever comes to mind. Indeed, this is so important that I understand when my own access is similarly blocked. I'm sure I'll find a detailed dissection of the differences between film and book elsewhere. Nothing makes me happier than seeking information and clicking on a link that leads immediately back to your "Blocked by ______" page - as per "student policies". It makes me feel so warm and fuzzy, knowing you think of me just like a student.

I'm also glad for the numerous blocks on "adult content". Heaven knows, high schoolers will never find a way to find pornographic material on school grounds as long as you block such sites as Cracked. Although it may sometimes impede searches for clever, witty examples of literary, scientific, and historical note, it helps me rest more easily, knowing that students who want smutty material are restricted to the very active hacked file in our school's student directory.

Ah, but most of all, I appreciate the way you block timewasters like blogs. Who knows how much time and effort might be wasted if teachers were allowed to participate in social sites while on school computers? Yesterday, instead of participating in social sites, I was strictly limited to helpful educational sites listing logical fallacies in helpfully exhaustive groups. Not once in my two hours of searching for helpful information was I distracted by a social networking site. Alas, I was unable to complete (or properly start) the lesson with such a wealth of information and was required to retire home. From home, I resumed my search. Not thirty seconds in, I was led astray by a socially networked blog by a teacher who had a detailed lesson plan on exactly the topic I intended to teach, complete with handouts and materials which probably saved me two hours on prep work.

I'm so glad you help by blocking blogs and social networking sites. I'm so glad that I can post this, secure in the knowledge that this will be so difficult to access from school that it will probably never come to your attention.

Love and kisses,
Mouse

Dear Prospective Employer

Dear Prospective Employer,

I'm looking for a job. I'm looking specifically for a job teaching the English language (such as is useful for students with a working fluency already) and literature published in the English language. And your school looks like one I'd really love to work at. I can't say how badly I want to work there. Or else your school looks like one I'd tolerate working at in preference to giving it all up to become a stock trader. (I hate complicated money issues, competition, and regular risk-taking. Stock trading rates below digging ditches on my potential job interests.) Sadly, I can't tell you if you're merely tolerable, and if your school is one I love, the praise sounds like flattery. There's no winning there.

Of course, I can't tell you why I'm no longer at my last job; I'm not too clear myself. The only thing I'm clear on is that it wasn't my choice, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear that. Not sure you want to hear that "I'm a potentially amazing teacher if I get some help in these areas", but it's true. I have a ton of assets that I can bring to the job. I'm just not entirely self-sufficient.

But you don't want to hear that, do you? You want to hear about my exquisite perfection as a potential employee. You want to hear about how great I am, how flawless I am, etc etc. And I guess I could brag on myself some more. Thing is, though? I'm much more aware of my faults. I spend a lot more time worrying about them.

But enough about me. Let's see what you want to know. Sadly, those of you who fall into the "love" category have not told me much; all I know is what the "tolerable" folk want to know:

Screw introspection, dangit

And the question pops up again, making me want to tackle innocent bystanders until it gets answered.

Did you click the link?

No?

I can wait till you do.

Okay, hopefully you clicked the link and hopefully it took you to Johnny the Tackling Alzheimer's Patient. If not, look it up. It's worth it. Best Scrubs-joke-to-become-a-running-family-joke ever.

Who am I?

At the moment, I'm not terribly concerned about the deep philosophical implications. I feel like I know myself pretty well. The whole existential who-are-we-as-human-beings thing? It's an interesting question to pursue, but not one I have a pressing need to figure out at the moment. I'm good with self-knowledge and pretty happy with my current level. 'S all good.

But apparently, it's not enough to know myself. I have to explain myself to everyone else - within the space of a single piece of paper. Or multiple pieces of paper. You see, I'm doing a job application which involves not only a resume, but also an autobiographical statement. Simultaneously, I'm having to revise my "Who am I?" essay for my teaching class. I have to figure out, not who I am, but how best to project my identity onto a few pieces of paper - and not even my identity, but that part of my identity which is acceptable for introducing myself to a stranger who may wish to employ me. So I have to figure out the balance between honesty and reserve - as Hitch would say, "not show it all at once, but show the real you." What part of me is the part that needs to go on that paper?

And do I really care?

I'm irreverent and flippant and silly, because I'm passionately, fervently and intensely dedicated to things that either don't interest or outright scare other people. (Old stories and language would be in the former, religion the latter.) I'm slow to commit and I keep my commitments few on the ground, because I'm intensely loyal and I'll give my all once I'm committed. I follow the rules meticulously when I agree with them and break them spectacularly when I don't - which makes me an unpredictable employee. Don't get me wrong, I don't randomly break rules - I go through discussing, disputing, etc if something really doesn't work for me. I'm just going to do what I think is right, and if negotiation doesn't work...

Well, that's not something you put on stuff for an employer to see. "Creative," "determined," what have you, but not "occasionally stubborn as a mule." Also, "laid back" and "adaptable" can be good, but "lazy" really can't. Not that I'm okay with laziness, but if I'm talking about myself...

Also I have a possible addiction to ellipses...

But I'm not sure...

Gah. This doesn't even get into detailing accomplishments for my resume. I hate resumes.

And I don't wanna talk about me. Don't wanna talk about "I". And if I want to talk about Number One, that's some other Guy. Why? Why? Why?

Screw introspection. And linguistics, while we're at it.

I'm a teacher! I teach! - The First Hurdle

Today was a very important day. Today, for the first time, I faced down a class of high school students and taught them a lesson. I am officially a teacher!

(That is, until I'm flushed with triumph about teaching with my first official lesson plan in my methods course next semester. Or until I'm student teaching next spring. Or until I get my license. Or until I have my own classroom. Or until I've finished my first year. Or until that magic day when the class REALLY gets it. I reserve the right to name any and all future days The Official Start Of My Teacherness.)

How did I manage? Heroically, considering my deep dislike of presentations. I took presenting an old Scottish ballad to a bunch of apathetic, academically indifferent teenagers, looked it squarely in the eye, and... got myself good and drunk first, my old coping mechanism for nerve-wracking assignments.

Those who do not know me will have entirely the wrong impression now; those who do will be utterly confused. I do not use alcohol or any other foreign chemicals to get plastered. I simply distract myself working or surfing the Net or reading till the not-so-wee hours of the morning, and fatigue poisons do the rest. I used to think it was just procrastination; now I wonder if it's a half-deliberate attempt to hit an altered state of consciousness where I no longer feel nervous or frustrated, only euphoric or depressed.

Anyway, I chose my poem well. I managed to get the kids discussing the nature of fairies, and I managed to stop them at the point when they were looking at me funny by explaining that I wanted to discuss the magical kind. And they stuck with that! The first two verses, I let 'em struggle with the original poem. Then I asked them what they thought it meant, when the last stanza warns "'And nae maid comes to Carterhaugh /And a maid returns again.'" They seemed to agree with the girl who decided it must mean no maid ever comes back alive. All attention was riveted on me when I explained that the second time, "maid" was being used in the sense of "virgin". :-D It's sad how predictably it works, actually - load on the sex, and the kids are completely involved. After that point I gave them my quick translation so they could follow without getting utterly lost.

I lost their attention during the lengthy passage on how to free Tam - in retrospect, I should have emphasized more the odd situation of the man being the damsel in distress. Overall, I felt like I did an adequate job, but I could have done better. I also felt like I was getting off easy. This class was taught by an extremely experienced, competent, and deft teacher whose students were polite and well-behaved for this stranger while their teacher was watching. The teacher had also gotten their sympathy for me by comparing my student teaching to their senior exit presentations. The teacher also covered what would have been a woeful lack if I had been going solo - I completely neglected to review, highlight important points, take questions, etc. The teacher covered for me so naturally that I doubt the students noticed. I'm just glad it wasn't a formal lesson assignment. The review is the part where you actually hammer the lesson home; otherwise, odds are it'll be forgotten by nightfall. The teacher also improvised an excellent assignment: allow the students to write their own ballad. I would have spent more time collectively plotting before splitting the students into groups to work on different sections, but then, I would have planned this in advance or I wouldn't have been able to think of it at all. The teacher was improvising brilliantly with the time I left over.

I'm not being too hard on myself; I did well for what it was, and it's okay that I still have things to learn to pay attention to. (Dangling prepositions will be permitted in my class, thank you very much.) Still, it did get me thinking. I did a fraction of what a teacher needs to do, and I got the following review from a teacher who knows enough to know the lack:

"Ms. [gosh, it's weird to be called by my last name] taught a lesson on ballads (emphasis on "Tam Lin") on April 18. She had a class of 17 English IV Standard students in the palm of her hand. When she completed her lesson, the class decided she should be their teacher until the end of the year. :)"

Is it blasphemous that I spent the latter half of the period thinking about how God covers for us? We're allowed to stand or fall for the part we're ready to play, but for the rest, He covers so deftly that we look like we did something we can't. Here, a teacher made it look like I can teach a class. (Actually, God was probably involved too. Three hours of sleep following a sleep-deprived week, then no caffeine... but then, adrenaline does something too.) Another time, I might hold my temper with that complete and utter idiot, or I might offer good emotional support, or some sudden insight... but the minute I think I'm really doing well, that it's my contribution that's making the most difference, I'm kidding myself.

Still lots to learn and grow into!

Thread Breaks

At the moment, I'm earning my daily bread in an embroidery shop. It's nice working with my hands after working with my brain all through college, but some days make me want to scream.

Like today. Our embroidery is done with some marvelous computer-run machines which, once set up, are supposed to run automatically through the intricate patterns to produce yet another stunning work of art (or, more often, simple logo or monogram). The worker, in theory, goes about her business setting up the next run, doing small chores, etc while the machine plugs away. The only thing which can stop this beautiful process is a thread break. I leave it to the reader to imagine how rare this event is in this age of miraculous technology.

Today we got to run a 43,000-stitch design. This is about ten times as long as a typical design - tricky to start with, because the machines are more prone to thread breaks the longer they run. (Not that I'm implying that these marvelous machines ever have thread breaks.) This is, however, doable; we ran this design on Friday in under an hour. So it's time to make it more challenging, and do it on a leather vest! Leather is about the least embroidery-friendly substance in the known world, at least out of the things anyone would ever consider embroidering. (And I'm an expert on that list. Our customers have had us embroidering everything from car covers to interesting segments of men's boxers.) And just in case we might get bored, the design would run right over two seams on the back of the vest - seams done blue jean style, only thicker because of the leather. The needles almost burst themselves with, er, joy.

But how many thread breaks? you ask, being too clever to be fooled by my bitter sarcasm. How many thread breaks? I lost count. But to give you an idea how this was running... well, I said we got to do this "today." In reality, we started this thing at 1:30 PM on Friday. At 4:45, it was a little over halfway done, and I was nearly stark raving mad. How many thread breaks? I must remember to ask the marvelous computer that was running the machine. Given that the average time to fix a thread break is 2 minutes, and the average running time between thread breaks was 20 seconds, it ought to be mathematically possible to figure it out right now. Even so, it was running better than today: the last third took from 9:30 AM to 1:00 PM.

By the end, my biggest peeve was not the thread breaks. I understood that the leather was tricky (and probably sticky, from the point of view of a rapidly running machine). What drove me mad was the machine's attempt to take care of them itself. It would detect a thread break and stop immediately - even if the thread break was nonexistent, or something that would quickly take care of itself if the machine would run through it. At other times, I would watch the thread fray to nothing before my eyes, and yet the machine would keep running, determined to make it work. In either case, I would have to back the machine up and make it do twice as much work to make up the mixed-up section. Sometimes, the tangled mess would fray the thread still more, and I'd have to redo a section three, five, ten times.

Being the wonderfully spiritual obsessively analogizing person I am, I distracted myself by trying to find Great Lessons in the mess. It started out seeming obvious: Listen to the operator. However smart your programming might be, however adjustable you might be, you will be wrong often enough that the operator's opinion ought always to come first. And ignoring that will lead to a lot of mess, and a lot of fuss that could be avoided the second the operator is heeded. Good good. Excellent idea. Then I realized the analogy breaks down at the point where the operator feels an intense desire to take a sledgehammer to the whole operation after a certain point. And especially when the operator starts hating the whole business. I don't think God's patience is so finite.

So, make of it what you will. I will settle on spiritual warfare. Demonic interference is the only explanation for the machine managing to get still worse when I started humming "It Is Well With My Soul." They're out to get me, I tell you.