yojerous

new blog

2007-10-04T01:55:00.001-05:00

www.mimi-ah.blogspot.com

natural klepto

2006-06-26T15:50:00.000-05:00

i steal stuff. ok, not really. but, if i go to whole foods or some other choose-where-to-sit kind of eating establishment, i do choose my seat based on what was left there. for example, did someone leave a magazine? a newspaper? yes? then that's where i go.
today, it was the sports section of the houston chronicle. england beat ecuador, 1-0. yesterday, it was the comics. cathy had to buy a pumice stone and garfield is still fat.

today, i went to whole foods and blockbuster. before that, i was bonding with the floor of my room. we've become fast friends, my floor and i. it knows my sorrows. i know it has none. i'd say it's a fairly equal, give-and-take kind of relationship.

football, not futbol

2006-06-14T17:35:00.000-05:00

last night, my roommate schooled me in the way of american football. understand -- to him, it is an occult art, and so even i, one who has never even watched the "traditional" thanksgiving game, found that i was fascinated. i get it.

i'm sure my approach to "getting" football breaks every man law set forth by the man council and that, soon, the man council KGB/CIA will have pulled me into their next commerical wearing egg in my hair. there must be some rule against a bookish girl sitting on her flowered couch, listening to football but thinking about psychology and kinesthetic intelligence and then having the moxy to say that she "gets it."

but people. the amount of effort poured into creating a microcosmic battle in which men are arranged, forgive the cliche, almost like pieces of a chess set and then physically pitted against each other using pre-memorized tactical strategies while following this elaborate set of rules, rules that even assign penalties for "unsportsmanlike conduct" or "excessive celebration," is so ridiculous to me that it suddenly makes sense.

of course. of course you risk life and limb to get the ball 10 yards. of course.

i more or less expect, some day in the future, for some irate fan to throw a drink at me for asking too many questions. it's ok. i'll just wear a raincoat.

ronaldinho has the face of a mule

2006-06-13T20:13:00.000-05:00

but the greatest hair in the history of mankind. i said it here -- mankind. now i haven't watched that much soccer, but it seems surreal for a man to be playing in a world cup match and grin, from ear to ear, for an entire game.
would that i had this kind of confidence.

so today, after watching the croatians wage war on the brazilians, life is pretty sweet.

that's all i've got for now.

a whole new world...

2006-06-11T15:56:00.000-05:00

But, I'm not on a magic carpet ride. I'm watching the World Cup. It's amazing what happens when someone explains the, all of, 5 rules or so of this game. Now, with the mysteries dispeled, I have become addicted. Soccer -- subversive, subjective, aggressive, fast-paced, creative, and gorgeus -- is actually a sport I enjoy watching. And as a Houstonian who didn't even bother watching the Astros in the World Series, I think this is a big step.
Here's the thing though: If all sport were this pretty, perhaps I would have paid attention all these years. And by pretty, I don't just refer to the talent. (Though soccer men do take ... the entire cake.) I mean that the gory enthusiasm with which Mexico creamed Iran today (3-1) left me screaming, despite the fact that I was quite alone, in my bedroom, still in my workout clothes.

my indirect way of saying ...

2006-05-24T23:13:00.000-05:00

as of tomorrow, it will have been two years. it is done.
and i don't know what to say. it's momentous. it's also just another day at school, which will pass in that invisible, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary way in which days at school always pass. still, it seems like something should happen. a thunderstorm should rage in my classroom. the aurora borealis should occur. but it won't. i'd say that odds are tomorrow, my last day at Lee High School, will be pretty normal. In fact, I may even leave early.
oh well.
when there is no formal ceremony to help you do that whole closure thing, one generally imposes some personal ritual. however, my mind is a blank. how to mark the passing? i could have at least written a few thank you notes.
again, oh well.

but not "oh well." tomorrow is not a shrug my shoulders and then leave sort of day. i mean, let's be honest -- i've left school at a run almost every single day for two years. but, you see, i always knew i would be back. and tomorrow is obviously different. there is no going back. and so tomorrow, while i'm fairly certain that i'll still leave at a run, it will not be without looking back. not without looking back.

happy mother's day

2006-05-14T22:42:00.000-05:00

this weekend, my sisters, our mother, and i drove up to college station. on the way back, the following conversation occurred:
(sister1, talking over the radio)
mom interjects: stop! stop! your words! they are too harsh! make them soft and gentle.
i smirk: yeah. soft and gentle. (exaggerated voice) like...butterfly kisses.
mom, not getting it: yes yes! like butterfly kisses!
(pause)
sister2 deadpans from the passenger seat: yeah (she turns to face sister1) pollinate me.
mom, still not getting it: yes yes! so beautiful!

backlog

2006-05-08T18:48:00.000-05:00

so, i have about 10 things to say...something about my mother and her obsession with oatmeal, something else about fiction and its relationship to truth. the twisted tendon in my right foot, my mother who is going to have surgery...blah blah...my grandfather who just had surgery.

but it's just too much.

denying denial

2006-05-03T19:45:00.000-05:00

today, i ate 3 fortune cookies in a row. they read:
1. Be content with your lot. One cannot be first in everything.
2. You will make many changes before settling down happily.
and
3. This is a prosperous time in life for you.

it's like being stuck in an 80's movie. but instead of the mechanical genie in the abandoned telephone booth or the snaggle-toothed witch at the town carnival or the floating cube in the magic 8 ball, i'm the chinese chick with the fortune cookie hang-up. it doesn't get better than this.

i think that i'm sad...haven't been able to breathe for a week, even though (refer to fortune 3) all is well. there are three weeks of school left, and i'm going to berkeley. but i'm sad. so sad. what gives?

illogical

2006-05-03T19:27:00.000-05:00

JoieTang: it's funny
JoieTang: i'm trying to figure out how, for this coming summer, i've been invited to go on trips to guatemala, africa, and france
JoieTang: but am choosing to stay in houston

quote of the day

2006-04-26T18:34:00.000-05:00

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.

Carl Jung (1875 - 1961)

my state of being

2006-04-25T23:08:00.000-05:00

i broke my ice cream fast. it's that bad.

it's becoming a theme

2006-04-24T19:27:00.000-05:00

this past weekend, i was in college station, tx. my younger sister and i went for a morning walk, and on this walk we found an abandoned bicycle tire. now, it just so happened that my sister needed such a tire, and we thought, "look, here's one, just lying in the middle of a field...what to do?" our answer: we took the it with us, hauling it between us like the trophy it was. she says if it doesn't fit her bicycle, she'll mount it on her wall.
genius.

this, however, is not my first early morning adventure. the weekend before, i was in berkeley. and while running up milvia, i realized that, to my left, there was a padded, black bra in the middle of the road. it looked about a D cup.

deciscion...i mean, decision

2006-04-21T07:04:00.000-05:00

berkeley. i chose berkeley.

while clicking "accept," i almost threw up. but it was ok. i didn't. no animals were harmed in the making of this film.

i'm in california

2006-04-17T00:10:00.000-05:00

but this is what i'm thinking about.

If in John it says "In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God," was that word a palindrome?

Ha.

news flash

2006-04-12T21:04:00.000-05:00

today, a senior asked me to prom. the conversation went something like this.
"miss, i have a question to ask you."
"yes?"
"miss, will you go to prom with me?"
"no."
"c'mon miss!" the bell rang, and children streamed toward the door. the senior followed me to the front of the room where i began to rewind a video. giovanni, sensing a show, followed him.
"miss, why won't you go to prom with me?"
"you're a student."
giovanni cut in, "yeah, she can't go with you because she's a teacher." he really has an uncanny grasp on reality.
"miss," said the senior, "c'mon."
"find someone your own age."
"she'll be at the dance anyway," added giovanni
"you will?"
"sure, and i'll dance with you."
"ok...man, now i'm going to have to ask some girl from another school." i thought to myself that i didn't see the relationship between asking me to prom and being forced to ask a girl from another school, but said nothing. he and giovanni finally started toward the door, with giovanni making some joke about how he's going to make me come back for his prom and hey, by then i wouldn't be a teacher and so maybe...

making the numbers public

2006-04-09T13:35:00.000-05:00

i'm nervous about this. in one week, i have to decide.

Brubeck13: how have things been going? has a decision been made about grad school?
JoieTang: not yet
JoieTang: by april 21
JoieTang: i'm torn right now
JoieTang: uc riverside is offering to waive tution and fees and give me a guaranteed 7000 per year, plus maybe 5000 for two years, and it's a phD program in dance history and criticism
JoieTang: berkeley is offering to waive tuition and fees, but has no other funding, and it's only a 2 year masters in folklore...but then again, it's berkeley, which is its own selling point
JoieTang: i can't quite figure out what i want, because...i can make both work
Brubeck13: that is a tough choice. have you had a chance to visit both universities?
JoieTang: i'm doing that this weekend

landmark

2006-04-08T18:50:00.000-05:00

i can now say that i've driven an SUV around San Antonio with 4 teenagers in tow. and that I've lived to tell the tale. oh the power, the power and the majesty of Ms. Tang.

dreamlife of bees

2006-04-05T19:43:00.000-05:00

there is something going on with my dreams. last night, i dreamt that i was chaperoning for a school trip, but it was some bizarre, the-entire-school-is-going-on-this-trip trip. we were in a hotel, a truly nice hotel, the kind in which the queen beds have feather mattresses and the rooms are decorated in this deep jewel tone...and the heavy curtains had gold braid sashes...
we, the teachers, because it was school day, were required to teach mini-lessons in given hotel roms. and i, joy tang had been informed of this particular requirement about 5 minutes before students were due to arrive. i had no materials, no books, no paper, no anything, and i had to teach something about folklore, and the joy in the dream was leaning her head against a chest of drawers thinking thinking about "what on earth am i going to teach them?" when it came to me (me in the dream).
i jumped up and started filling the tub with water. (in the dream, the tub was outside, sunken into the balcony, and the balcony was a polished all-wood contraption with a railing and a trellis with vines climbing all over it.) the tub was filling, and i was scribbling down some notes on a hotel pad. the students were coming in; the tub started overflowing; i had stephany diaz, a student, turn it off, and we began the lesson with water dribbling over the edge of the tub, onto the balcony, and pooling against the glass sliding door.
the lesson was designed to create hypotheses about how certain folktales about magical creatures, etc came about. the students were supposed to put their feet in the tub and observe how the water distorted their toes. "they look webbed, don't they?" i asked. everyone agreed. then, we had this discussion about how people came up with mermaids, etc. so on and so forth.
dream-joy was exceedingly proud of herself, and after the students left, she marched back into the room to share her happiness with another teacher. but linda trendell, Lee High School's school improvement coordinator, was in the room. the dream shifts a little here, because apparently, the room was her summer home, or something to that effect. the balcony became a full patio with a backyard. she was walking around the patio and complaing loudly about how some people just didn't know how to take care of things and look, look how the wood was stained and look at all these dead leaves. there were chairs strewn about the porch, wet and black and steamy, and she was straightening chairs and wondering which one of the teachers was so irresponsible. and i just stood there, looking very guilty and not saying anything. mary frazee, one of our elective teachers, was also there, helping her and commiserating, and somehow, i knew that she knew i had done this, but she wasn't going to tell. by sympathizing with linda, she was scolding me indirectly, but she wasn't going to tell on me, whereas linda was increasing the pitch of her fit.
i started helping and avoided eye contact.

the dream shifts again here. i'm walking across the patio with a chair, and then i'm not. instead, i'm walking across a kindergarten classroom with two, small, paper cups -- the kind you get at McDonald's for your condiments. i'm in kindergarten, and i'm going to my teacher to get more tempura paint for my art project. we're supposed to be painting a picture, anything we want. i'm asking the teacher for white and aquamarine.
"Is that enough, Joy?"
"A little more."
She pours more. "Is that enough?"
"Just a tiny bit more."
She pours more. She looks at me.
"Thank you," I say, and walk back to my desk.
Kindergarten-dream-Joy sits down to paint and there's this sense that she's completely overwhelmed by her colors. She wants to paint the colors next to each other so that the subject of her painting is about the colors, and she wants the colors to stand out against each other. She wants everyone to understand how vibrant they are to her. So, she uses her paint brush to paint irregulary shaped strips of color all over her paper, sort of blobs the paint where she intuits the blobs should be and uses wide strokes where she thinks swaths of color should be. She's very absorbed, and doesn't notice anything else while she's painting.
But then she finishes and looks to see what her neighbor is doing. Her neighbor has painted people and a house and a sun. Everything is very neat and the lines and figures are very clear. Kindergarten-dream-Joy looks back at her own piece of construction paper and realizes that her painting is actually just a big mess, that all the colors are mixed strangely and that there is nothing to look at. It's a disaster. It looks like a toddler could have painted it. She hates her painting. And there's this sense in the dream that ever after she is going to try and paint houses and people and other, more recognizable objects.

This is where I wake up, as dream-Joy is trying to discard her painting. I sit up in bed and think, "Weird dream," and then I realize that actually, the second half of this dream, the part in which I'm painting, is not a dream at all. It's a memory. I was younger than 5, and I was staying with a family by the name of Kirk, but the rest of it is true.

much like AA

2006-04-04T20:35:00.000-05:00

i talk alot. and i'm not always sure if this is a good thing. i've got this friend...with whom i talk for at least an hour each day, usually on the phone. but the conversation is all me, and contrary to popular belief, this makes me very uncomfortable. i try to stop and ask questions, but sometimes when i do, it's still just silence. and so then i talk some more. and then there's more silence. so then i talk some more, etc. is this wrong? i can't believe i'm going to post this, but i am.
hi. i'm joy.
(hi joy)
and i can't stop talking.

my sisters and i have discussed our shared paranoia of people suddenly growing bored with us. i think this applies here. no response means that the listener has hit the joy quota, the "if i were to never speak to joy again, it's ok, because i can't handle anymore of her words" syndrome -- especially as everything i discuss nowadays is nonsense. as in, if it's not about exercise balls, cauliflower, or what color i should dye my hair, apparently it's not joy-worthy.
and so, i tend to wonder, if in the third hour of a conversation i am still expounding on topics such as how the sibs and i used to play make-believe, is the other person wondering, " why doesn't she just stop?"
logically, yes. and i keep hoping it's no.
because in the end, this is all i know. all i know in life can be summed up in moments such as... what it feels like to roll down a hill at night... and when i'm not not being careful, this is what tends to come out of me.

my friend ili used to say that my babbling was different, that somehow i was not that annoying girl who hadn't really been invited to the party but who wouldn't let anyone else talk because the story about her pet hamster was just so interesting. instead, i was some sort of subplanted joy-guru. and while it's weird to have one pontificating in your kitchen, in the end, it's still a guru perched on your dining table and how cool is that?
logically, impossible. but i keep hoping it's so.

i know that it's 1am on a school night and that this wreaks greatly of sentimentality. i also know that those of us who worry about talking too much should most likely just, you know, learn how to listen. i do work on it. i promise. i think, i just hope that...i just hope what all of us hope -- that at the end of the day, we discover that we are not full of crap.

when it's in your face

2006-03-29T06:44:00.000-06:00

yesterday, as the protests continued and houston schools started to empty, i finally finally started my education...what is the dream act...what is being debated in the house and the senate?
i admit with shame that i'm no politician, no great activist or follower of current events. but i am a teacher, and this i know. if some man is fool enough to build a fence, my students will climb it. they will set fire to it. they will dig holes through it or under it or around it, because a fence is an insult, a symbol, and nothing more.

chinese people are the best

2006-03-27T18:23:00.000-06:00

i got stressed. and i wanted cheez-its. i wanted cheez-its, but i didn't want them on my hands. so, i'm eating them with chopsticks.

some like it early

2006-03-26T08:32:00.000-06:00

Today, I became conscious of the sound of pigeons mating. I woke up to it. It’s a low, whirring sound – like purring, actually – emitted over and over again at a constant speed. But then, there was this high, singular chirp. Maybe that was the orgasm.

talking to myself

2006-03-24T16:07:00.000-06:00

I used to have these two blog rules: 1. Don't get serious. 2. Don't get boring. Skimming through the past 6 weeks, I seem to have abandoned both.

I was talking to a friend two nights ago, about poetry -- about how a high school poet often believes that he or she can discuss "love" in a meaningful way, and how that is so often fallacious. Still, I wanted to know, just theoretically, "Why isn't it meaningful? How is that I can read this poem about raspberries and carpets (I had been reading him a poem) and not find it trite? But then there's this high school business about 'Oh I love him so/Why can't I let him go,' and my gag reflex goes off. I mean, it's love that should be the meaningful thing, right?
His answer was, "It's just too heavy-handed ..." I don't remember what else he said, only the word "heavy-handed."
He had closed his eyes when I was reading him the poem -- "To Go To Lvov," by Adam Zagajewski.
He has this sense of balance and propriety that I just don't have, this intuitive understanding of the delicacy between too much and too little. He might err on the side of too-little -- in my version of reality, that is. But I certainly, always err on the side of too much, and this is in all realities.

Maybe I'm writing this because I fell apart today, in that quiet way when one decides to go to bed, for no reason, in the middle of the day -- for the entire day. And that is too much, I think. Maybe I'm writing this because I'm not-so-secretly, somewhat in love with this friend (who thankfully does not read this), and I often have an uncomfortable sense of crowding him, and I'm ashamed of it. He never asked for this much of me, but I press it upon him. And he takes it, because again, he has that strange sensitivity about what is needed. And --
This, as well, is too much.

in summary

2006-03-19T14:02:00.000-06:00

in one month i have to make this, what feels like, a mammoth decision about where i'm going to spend the next 2-6 years of my life. and now that the initial rush of acceptance is over, and i'm telling people about my plans...well, things grow a little more complex. instead of boring you with details, here is an exchange that exemplifies my current state of being, and the reactions i'm getting, and so on and so forth...

NiragKadakia: what are you going to grad school for?
JoieTang: folklore, with an emphasis in dance
NiragKadakia: WTF
NiragKadakia: i mean
NiragKadakia: cool
NiragKadakia: that's really unique
NiragKadakia: wow
JoieTang: WTF is appropriate
JoieTang: i'm in WTF mode
NiragKadakia: word.
(pause)
JoieTang: do you really think it's cool or are we still on WTF?
NiragKadakia: um i'm not sure
NiragKadakia: to each his own

need i say more? wait, just one more. when my mother realized that this is, possibly, a ph.d. move, her first remark was, "don't forget about your REAL life." she meant, "don't forget about getting married." that's it. i'm done.

shock

2006-03-08T21:27:00.000-06:00

one hour ago, i got an email from uc riverside. they accepted me. i never imagined one school would accept, let alone two.

extra post-it

2006-03-06T19:28:00.000-06:00

second year, second semester tfa thoughts...

NiragKadakia: guh. i just woke up from a 3.5 hour nap
JoieTang: ha. been there, done that
NiragKadakia: man, so you only have like 2 months left. that's badass
JoieTang: i know, but it's weird
JoieTang: i'm getting all teary
JoieTang: at the end, i only remember the good stuff
JoieTang: for example, how much i truly love my students
NiragKadakia: oh that's cool
NiragKadakia: i wish i loved my kids. i dont love anything anymore. like, i really really dislike them to a large extent. maybe I'm just in that stage. i dont know.
JoieTang: well, i hated mine from...november until...2 weeks ago.
JoieTang: and then inexplicably, something happened
NiragKadakia: ha.
JoieTang: nothing IN CLASS happened
NiragKadakia: right
JoieTang: but i was looking at them one day and was like, "Little bastards. Who'll love you if i don't?"
JoieTang: and then i loved them

post-it on today

2006-03-06T19:14:00.000-06:00

I was accepted into UC Berkeley's Folklore program today.

pseudo-intellectual-ism

2006-02-26T19:44:00.000-06:00

while talking about gnataxela's study abroad plans:

JoieTang: i want to go to spain
JoieTang: take me!
gnataxela: weigh 70 pounds and i will
JoieTang: so, i have to lose about 50
JoieTang: interesting
gnataxela: yes
gnataxela: easy cheese
JoieTang: easy as pie
JoieTang: wait, don't say pie
JoieTang: and don't say cheese
gnataxela: haha
JoieTang: it would be cheaper (than buying a plane ticket) if i lost 50 lbs
JoieTang: it would just mean starvation
JoieTang: starvation saves alot of money
gnataxela: it does
gnataxela: unless something bad happens in between
JoieTang: like death?
JoieTang: yeah, i know
JoieTang: death is expensive
gnataxela: not for you though
gnataxela: only for your loved ones
gnataxela: and, it is also fairly emotionally painless for you
gnataxela: well, i imagine
gnataxela: do angels mourn?
JoieTang: that's a good question
JoieTang: i'll keep you posted
gnataxela: okay thanks

my little sister has a cute bum

2006-02-26T19:36:00.000-06:00

just in case any of you wanted to know.

gnataxela: are you doing better? mommy said you had no voice
JoieTang: i still have no voice. i'm taking tomorrow off, because of it
gnataxela: yay personal days
JoieTang: i think it's my last one. i'm sort of upset about it, because i actually want to go to school, but if i don't rest my voice, i don't think it's going to get better anytime soon
JoieTang: i've been raspy for about a week and a half now, already. and it's starting to move into my chest
gnataxela: that's like my ankle. but i keep running on it.
JoieTang: i know, because you just don't want to stop
gnataxela: it's too fun!
JoieTang: it's so hard for me not to talk
gnataxela: yes yes i bet
JoieTang: were you here, i would give you the "Heeeeyyyyy" smack
JoieTang: on your shoulder i think
JoieTang: though your bum is also fun
gnataxela: my bum is fun
JoieTang: we know
JoieTang: try not to let it talk to my bum
JoieTang: it gets jealous
gnataxela: fair enough

quotes of the weekend

2006-02-26T11:13:00.000-06:00

"I'm an alzheimer's patient in training." -- Lee HS teacher

"Well, call me the next time you have PMS." -- Man who wanted to go to the Chocolate Bar

if only it were this easy in real life

2006-02-23T23:02:00.000-06:00

ever since i won a teacher vs. student hula hoop competition at the school's homecoming pep rally, random kids at school have been like, "hey, are you that teacher with the hula hoop?" it's pretty sweet.

brain scraps

2006-02-21T06:46:00.000-06:00

and for everyone who has asked: alvin ailey is a modern dance company founded by said alvin ailey. he created a work in the 1960's called revelations, which has become a classic of american dance because it was the first modern dance work to use images and music from black church-goers of the time. he passed away in 1989, but his artistic director, judith jamison, keeps the company in good health.
and don't i sound like a playbill? you know, it's funny that i know these things. it's not like i ever had a conversation about alvin ailey. i don't think anyone ever told me about alvin ailey. it sort of feels the same way kids in my family learn about sex -- one day, you just know.

i woke up this morning with the thought in my mind that i would like to become famous, which i thought was odd, and then i followed my dream back a bit, and realized i was thinking about maitland. maitland is a boy i met in taiwan. he was this tiny, skinny thing with a full beard from the bay area. and he, even though he didn't know me from eve, from the first day, would take me riding on his motorcycle, just around and around taipei. he never introduced me to any of his friends, or his girlfriend, and i didn't have any friends to introduce to him (ha). i've also never even said his name to anyone, not for the year and a half i've been home from taiwan.
he always told me that his name was the scottish word for marsh. i think the dream was that if i were famous, maitland and i would find each other again. and i would say, "hey look. i'm alright." and he would say, "yeah. hey, let's go the art museum." and i would hop onto his bike, like before, and we would go. i'd have to become famous, because i only ever had his taiwan cell phone number, and that's just not going to work.

two words

2006-02-19T21:32:00.000-06:00

alvin ailey.
alvin ailey alvin ailey alvin ailey.

i don't think it gets better than this. i think i can die now.

lee high school homecoming

2006-02-12T18:07:00.000-06:00

we play soccer during homecoming. i love it. it's not necessary for me to understand a single thing about the sport to know when my boys are playing their hearts out. and they were, they so were. and they lost, they so lost.
i have much to say, but even more to plan. in short, i was proud of lee high school that day. there was rain blowing in a not-so-thin mist across the field, and it had poured just before the game. so, the field was flooded, and the air was heavy with water, in ways that only a houstonian can understand. the resulting damp was in our clothes, soaking through our shoes. but still, the stands were full, of dancing, cussing kids. and they sang their profane cheers from beginning to end.

go lee.

might have something to do with

2006-02-06T23:07:00.000-06:00

here's thinking that forgiveness is probably along the lines of seeing myself with kindness. it's very dr. phil, but i'm going with it.

when you know it's your fault

2006-02-06T19:01:00.000-06:00

i have a friend i call wad. as a friend, she's the real deal. she's one of those friends who comes over to help you take care of your crap and then listens to it as well. and then, when you screw up your face and say, "i love you, dude" or something even cheesier, she says it back. what's more, you believe her, and you don't believe she's doing you a favor either.
i need those people.

waddie told me today that i am too hard on myself, because i was bemoaning my ineffectiveness as a teacher. but listen, i don't think i'm too hard on myself. i think that i know exactly what i need to do, and that i either can't or don't do it. either way, it seems inexcusable.
in the background, i have the tv on, so i won't feel so alone. 7th heaven is on the wb. i usually hate 7th heaven. but today, it has just made me cry. because what's on today? today, it's about the music teacher, who's filling in for detention, and he's playing gershwin, and he asks some kid about the composer, and she knew the answer. and that answer turned into a week-long socratic-style lecture/discussion about the place of music in society and how literature, music, and history intersect, a discussion in which students were so engaged that they went to detention on purpose, just so that they could listen to this man talk.
it's fake, this world. people think that this is what teaching is. it's not; it's so not. this is what's easy about teaching. being inspiring is easy. creating the desire to do something with no immediate rewards is hard. teaching someone to read or to take a test or to write complete sentences; this is hard.
i am not too hard on myself. my job is hard; i have to be hard on myself.

but i do want to know how to forgive myself. how does that work?

and by the way

2006-02-04T09:48:00.000-06:00

Jowithani: hey mama
JoieTang: hey baby
Jowithani: how are you?
JoieTang: i am purposefully eating too much and wasting my morning, because my doctor said i was too fat. and this is my way of telling him to screw himself.
Jowithani: hee hee hee
Jowithani: you know, the logical reaction would be to go to the gym. but no. we are girls. we will show them with ice cream.

i am indeed a creature of reason.

men carrying purses

2006-02-04T09:26:00.000-06:00

so, last night i was hanging out with a friend. we shall call him d. we spontaneously went to dinner, and then i ended up going to church with him. it was a completely unplanned evening, and it was good times.
now, at the end of the service, i, d, and another friend (l), were all standing next to a pillar and making small talk. apparently l and d have a running joke about men carrying purses. d had once seen a man carrying a white and red HISD tote over his shoulder and said to l, "I don't think I could ever do that." and what has since ensued is l finding ways to convince d that he would look great, great carrying one of her purses.
so, we're standing there. we're joined by another friend (l2), and after a moment, i realize that it's 3 women, banded together for the sole purpose of teasing and relentlessly trying to dress-up our male counterpart as a woman.
and my thought was, "we never do grow up, do we?" and then i watched as l2 sneaked her bag onto d's arm, while d sort of put up a fight. ha.

first time for everything

2006-01-31T20:30:00.000-06:00

cheshireNwndrlnd: ttyl
cheshireNwndrlnd: first time using that. =0)
JoieTang: ttyl virgin
JoieTang: nice

joy tang's version of being depressed

2006-01-24T23:07:00.000-06:00

when i dance salsa, i can no longer hear the beat. it just went away. thus, when i dance, i can feel myself rushing, but i can't for the life of me actually hear when to put my foot down and when to pick it up, and therefore, i can't fix it. 123-AND-567. there's this pause on AND; i can't feel the AND. so my dancing has no texture. there's no breath, like someone speaking in monotone.
i know, i know. woe is me (or woe is i...whatever.) but it's breaking my heart.

what a blogful day

2006-01-20T22:35:00.000-06:00

i am ill once again. i get ill so often now that i teach. runny nose, congested head, sore throat. i've got it all. at least, this time, i haven't lost my voice. try teaching without a voice. it's cute. i had to write all directions on the board.
i spent a productive five minutes this evening crushing fortune cookies. i found them in the top cupboard, next to the theraflu. so, i sat on the counter, mixing my theraflu and cracking the fortune cookies into the sink. my fortunes are:

you may have to change your plans.
you will make a name for yourself.
someone is looking up to you.

i find that i have a strange superstition about fortune cookies. as i crack them open, i sometimes get this fluttery feeling of "wow, i wonder what it's going to say," and for a moment, while i'm actively reading the slip of paper, i actually believe that this, this is my destiny. it's forgotten in the next five minutes, but for that moment, i'm like, man, the fate of my universe is in my hands. it's heady stuff. who needs reality television, honestly.
anyway, it was sort of devastating to read about how i need to change my plans, seeing as i was just informed that UC Riverside never received one of my reccommendations. i'm hoping the prof sent it, or will send it. i emailed him. i hope he replies. i hope i get in. i really hope that i won't have to change my plans.
but then it was so uplifting to think that no matter what i do, i will "make a name for myself," and then i was like "ahhhh...some student looks up to mini-teacher tang. how sweet."
it was a rollercoaster of a five minutes, obviously. good times were had by all.

while i was lying in bed, before the whole fortune cookie thing, i was watching channel 13 news. who is the stupid blonde chick doing the reporting about violence in houston schools? "we'll follow up on this news story so that we can continue to give you perspective about what's happening in your schools." whatever lady. who does she think she is? you giving us perspective? who says that you have perspective? who says that the 3, count them, 3 teachers and 1 student and 1 parent interviewed in the 5 minute blip about one of the largest school districts in the nation in the aftermath of one of the most publicized hurricane seasons in recent history in any way presents an accurate and viable perspective on anything? i'm not saying that houston does not have a problem. i'm saying who gave the blonde chick with bad streaks in her hair the credibility stamp? who told her she oculd talk? i mean, artifical coloring aside, please. give us perspective, please. i'd like to give her a fortune.

in your next life, you will have a teleprompter chained to your right leg.

seriously, there should be more speech writers. we need them the way we need good secretaries and trustworthy tax lawyers. i wish i had a script writer. who wrote the script that had me trapped in bed with a mug of theraflu? tonight people are salsa dancing at taco milagro, without ME. i am very displeased.

i gotta go to school...

2006-01-20T07:34:00.000-06:00

right now, i have to go to school. i woke up late. it's 7:33am. but, i had the weirdest dream. it was this dream within a dream. i was at my cousin's house. and there was this guy lying in a bed. in the dream, it was one of his friends, but in my head in the dream (the person i was in the dream was thinking that it was...) it was my first ex-boyfriend? and so, I laid down next to him, and gave him a kiss, thinking it was the ex, and when the dream-me woke up and found out it was the friend, we both did the "EWWWW!" thing and wiped our faces...at least we've confimed: not attracted to that one?
and then the dream changed places. I had to go from this house to another place. i had to go watch this independent movie while the cousin and cohorts went carousing. and so, i was dropped off, and then realized i had no cell phone with me, but oh well. and i watched this scratchy, patchy movie, but not all of it. part of the reel was broken. but apparently it was one of the newly, shall we say, "in" nature documentary/dramas. this one had trained lions hunting buffalo.
the cell phone part comes back into play when an elderly man says, "hi joy," and tells me we have to leave the movie a little early, and dream-me is half waking into real-time me now, but is still willing to go along with this. and we drive in his pickup to a little, white house. and there we (the two joy-consiousness-es) learn that this is matthew mcconaughy's father (i have no idea how to spell that.) the three of us and matthew's gorgeus sisters (i also do not know if matthew has sisters) were going big game hunting; specifically, we were going to hunt buffalo with trained lions...who knew?
so, we drove out to first check out the campsites, and dream-joy AND real-joy were getting quite nervous, but mostly because i had no gear, and everyone expected me to have gear. i woke up as i was explaing to matthew that i couldn't go because i didn't have boots, only these slip-on shoes and that i couldn't call the cousin to pick me up because i didn't have my cell phone and i had forgotten my house key with my cell phone, but hey, i had my credit card...though i didn't think it would help in the wild, what with the ineffectiveness of swiping my card on a tree and all (i was saying this in the dream. yes. wow, right?)
and matthew had the most concerned look on his face, really disappointed. after this, his burly father, who was dressed in a gingham shirt, a red gingham shirt, told me that he would not be opposed to me making a move on his son...which statement shocked both the joy-people.
the strangest portion of this whole thing, however, is that during the dream, matthew m. could speak chinese without an accent, and did so several times. apparently, i knew him in college because we were both learning chinese in college. and, i called matthew m. george. his name was george.
to school, to school.

to my friend teaching in camden

2006-01-19T20:28:00.000-06:00

JoieTang: i heard it's ridiculously cold up where you are, on the news
cheshireNwndrlnd: yeah, my feet are cold and i'm inside
cheshireNwndrlnd: i guess the landlord is waiting for hell to freeze over before releasing the heat
JoieTang: it's apparent that the latent heat from hell is no longer warming the NorthEast
JoieTang: the puritan fervor finally killed off the last dregs
cheshireNwndrlnd: ahahahhahahahha

and

2006-01-17T22:12:00.000-06:00

and peanut butter. about 8 tablespoons of peanut butter. and a bar of chocolate. and thai food with brown rice. and several morningstar soy patties, and chocolate/soy cereal bars, and then some more tofu...it's like pouring whole foods into my stomach. and celery with ginger-miso dressing. that store OWNS me.
it's all a conspiracy. an organic foods conspiracy.

tension makes me...

2006-01-17T19:19:00.000-06:00

apparently, when i'm tense, i eat fruit. i've had a banana, an orange, 2 green apples, and strawberries (in my yogurt).
or is that... when i'm tense, i just eat, and i just happen to have alot of fruit at the moment? that's probably a bit more likely.

the week in revue

2006-01-08T14:09:00.000-06:00

my broom has been stolen out of my classroom. to quote Tomas, an ex-student, "Miss, the only reason anyone would want to steal a broom is to beat the crap out of somebody." so, whoever you are...i hope you're putting it to proper use.
oh, and furthermore, the accompanying dustpan has been officially confiscated by the cleaning-lady. it just sits there, smiling at me from on top of her cart.
people, please. i got them both from the dollar store. a little dignity here.

and yesterday, i got lost once and got my car towed once.

(throwing confetti)

return of the crazy lady

2006-01-05T21:55:00.000-06:00

talking tfa. that's what i call it. it can't be helped. sometimes, it just happens.
NiragKadakia: joy. how is class going
NiragKadakia: this job is ridiculous
JoieTang: it is, isn't it?
JoieTang: i've lost my sense of humor again
JoieTang: it's been 4 days
NiragKadakia: HA
NiragKadakia: 4 days
JoieTang: indeed
JoieTang: i went two days
JoieTang: i took a day off because of a blinding migraine
JoieTang: and then went back today
JoieTang: and forgot, FORGOT when 2 of my classes ended, believing BOTH times that i had half an hour more than i actually had, when i've had the same schedule for 1.5 years
JoieTang: i've lost it
NiragKadakia: damn. that sucks
JoieTang: i actually started jumping up and down, in front of the class, with my hands on my head, and the kids were like "Ms. Tang, are you ok?"
i said, "no."
no, i was not ok. i can't quite explain it. do i care? yes, but it feels sometimes that i just can't remember why i care, or what it is that i care about. i'm so tired, for no real reason at all, whatsoever. i think i'm tired, because i care; i think i can't remember why i care because i'm tired. i'm tired of talking about me, and how i feel, and yet, here i am again, and again. i'm a second year teacher, and it is, it is, much better than last year. and i do love to teach, i promise, though you can't tell. and no, i'm not in denial.
but...if i could somehow explain what it means to not...know that you're making any kind of difference...and that you can't make that difference without destroying yourself. this is how i feel, i guess, and feelings are not always based on reality. but, i'm not here to talk about what is or is not.
what i want to say is just this: that everyday i'm faced with a seemingly impossible task, and the task's requirements seems to come down to a single choice -- my life or theirs? when i spend myself entirely, i can produce one good lesson. and then, that night and the next day, my body cries, because it is so tired. so other days, i go to bed, and produce lessons that, i think, would be good enough for another audience, but not for our kids -- not my kids, who need to be engaged, and nurtured, entertained and enriched, who need to expand their minds AND learn how to read. it's never enough.
tonight, i'm going to bed. does that mean that i've failed someone? in the world of tfa, it means that i have. but, truly, i don't think i can live every day of my life as if i'm fighting a war. how can i live a life, a civilian life, in which sleep itself is the crime?

the humanity

2005-12-31T03:53:00.000-06:00

it's 4am and nothing is wrong, but i can't sleep. i want to know why. it's unjust. it's just not right.

before i forget

2005-12-30T11:00:00.000-06:00

i have a favorite-ish christmas moment. my mother wants to go on a walk. i've gone to bed early because i have a stomachache. my mother leaves to go on a walk; my two younger sisters go with her. one minute later, the sisters are back in my room, "joy, just kidding. this is not an optional walk. we ALL have to go on this walk."
"what? that's crazy."
"no, seriously. get up."
"crazy woman," i think. but there is no choice, so i roll myself out of bed, put on a sweater and stumble outside, where my brother is also waiting, and we proceed to ... to walk. our mother walks in front, and we, her offspring, stream behind her.
my siblings, however, are well-schooled in the art of owning, yes--owning, such authoritarian scenarios. we walk one block. then, my youngest sister, who is weirdly strong, suddenly turns to me and heaves me onto her back, piggy-back style. i am still unsure as to how i got there. she then runs down the sidewalk, with me still on her back. as we are racing down the street, we are overtaken by a large object, which turns out to be my younger brother, who is also weirdly strong, with my other sister on his back.
after awhile, the two weirdly strong kids drop those of normal/less-than-normal strength onto the ground and sort of do victory dance before starting a speed-walking race, back and forth between the walking humans and whatever large object (car, tree, house) is convenient. and then the sister-of-normal-strength tells me of the time she saw my brother throw someone over his shoulder and run down the street (something like that). and my brother (exactly like this) to prove his ability, tosses the sister-of-the-weirdly-strong over his right shoulder and shows us how he can run two blocks down the street and back, without slacking in his pace.
i, the sister of less-than-normal-strength, was rather overcome with awe.
and so we progress through the neighborhood, passing over-sized snow globes and the texas-shaped christmas ornamentation. our mother is now behind us, observing. and we are doubled over with hysteria.
i think i will end here.
the end.

just another thursday

2005-12-30T10:44:00.000-06:00

the last thursday before school begins, i drag my sorry butt back to skybar. the salsa crew and i arrive at 9:30 and leave at 12:30. we leave after e. tells me i have slapped the man dancing next to us, in the rear, no less than 3 times. i had no recollection of this sordid affair, and thus decided we needed to leave, immediately.
i've always said that i don't need to drink to be drunk.

bum brushing

2005-12-23T13:50:00.000-06:00

skybar was crowded last night. and that is an understatement. still, a partner found a way to dip me so low my hair brushed the floor. on the way up, my left cheek scraped against something coarse, and i had to press my hand against it for a few seconds, to stop the stinging. the partner and i finished out the song and said our thank you's, and i had a moment to reflect, "what was that thing?"
i realized it must have been someone's jeans. someone's butt in jeans.
yeah baby.

bare breasts

2005-12-22T18:23:00.000-06:00

ok, story time.
i had my yearly physical today. i went, peed in the obligatory cup, and then, clad in my purple robe, toddled down the hall to the radiology unit. after handing my forms to the lady at the front desk, the attendant (fernando, according to his nametag) ushered me into the x-ray room and arrayed me in protective gear. as i stood there, waiting, with the lead apron tied around my midriff and my chest pressed against the machine, as instructed, fernando asked, as he had obviousloy been instructed, "have you removed your bra?"
"oh...no," i replied. i've had x-rays before. i should've remembered, but i didn't.
so, fernando exits the room and says to just open the door when i'm ready, and i take off the bra and look for a place to put it. but there is no place to put it except face-up (face up? cups up? cups upright?) on the table directly in front of the door. i gaze at my bit of black cloth with underwire and have a sensation not unlike the girl who goes bra shopping with her mother for the first time. i don't know. these things don't embarrass me, or so i thought.
i lay the bra across the table, open the door and fernando comes in, perfectly nonchalant. but i do a 180 and run straight to the x-ray machine and press my now-bra-less breasts on the panel, as before. but perhaps it was with a certain fervor, because there was a silence before i heard a shuffle behind me, and then the very polite hands of fernando putting the lead apron around my waist again. "oh..." i mutter.
"don't be embarrassed. it's all ok."
nervous laugh from yours truly, "hey, man...i mean, it's just getting kinda scandalous around here...what with bras and all."
cue fernando laughing (at me/with me/nervously...why does this girl talk so damn much-ly?)
and cue taking several x-rays of joy, now perfectly silent.

but oh, this was just the beginning. i had one more stop before checking out. i put my bra back on, and toddled up the stairs and around the corner to the EKG department. this time, now seasoned and much wiser than before, i volunteered my information to the EKG attendant.
"i have my bra on," i said before she attached the electrodes to my chest, "do you need me to remove it?"
"yes," she said," i do."
so i did. and then the attendant just opened up my robe.
so, there i was--lying bare-breasted and face-up on the examining table while she stuck those gummy electrode things to my chest and stomach. "heh," i said, "they're sticky."
she didn't look at me, "yeah, they are."
i started humming, because i did feel just a little exposed. i mean, in your peripheral vision you can see your own nipples, the tips of them just rising above your line of sight, in other words.
so, yeah. i was really glad to put my clothes back on after that. (shrug) maybe i only like nudity when no one's looking? or maybe only in the company of friends.

my way of apologizing to the blogosphere

2005-12-12T22:10:00.000-06:00

JoieTang: my blog is negative these days
gnataxela: yeah?
gnataxela: i haven't read it in a while
JoieTang: yes, it really is quite negative
JoieTang: i used to only post goofy stories and an occasional "i'm emotional" story
JoieTang: but i lately i'm like, "internet yelling" every single post
gnataxela: a good venting?
JoieTang: well, good for me
JoieTang: i don't know who's reading it
JoieTang: they must be like
JoieTang: man
JoieTang: go find a ledge
gnataxela: hahhaa

it's like diarrhea

2005-12-12T18:06:00.000-06:00

of the mouth.
i'm about to take a huge dump on this page.
consider yourself warned. we're legal. it's binding.
moving on.
i'd like to talk extensively about the fact that my car has been recently vandalized and that my cell phone has been stolen. i'd also like to say something about the recent lockdown at Westbury HS, the conflicts between local kids and New Orleans' kids, the connections between the disillusionment at my school and New Orleans, the slew of knife...incidents...and murders in (yes, IN) and around my high school. Poverty in Houston, gangs in Houston, drop-out rates, these are also on my mind.
or, i could mention that i discovered my highschool flame is stationed in Iraq (yes, in the desert with mortars falling around his bed)...two minutes ago. this also seems...you know...soul-shaking. or, maybe, i could actually mention something nice, for once...say yada yada about my prof forwarding me one of my grad school reccommendations, a letter so so glowing that i nearly wept.
so, you know...general crime, gang violence, evacuees, the war in Iraq, sneaking peeks at recc letters.

but all i really want to talk about is how much i suck at teaching. but now i'm too tired to talk about it, as is customary with teaching -- knowing what you want, but being too tired to do anything about it.
the end.

smoke signals

2005-12-08T15:02:00.000-06:00

you know i'm pissed if i start eating large slabs of meat. today there was brisket at the faculty luncheon. i speared about 16 oz of meat onto my plate. and yeah, i ate it all.
you know i'm extra-pissed if fatty proteins are not enough. today, after the 16 oz of cow, i found a bag of caramel popcorn, ate it, and followed it with a frosted animal cracker, two butter cookies, and a handful of dove milk chocolates.

so, what does it all mean? what does it mean if you witness a 5', twenty-something-year-old female storm down the hallway with a plate of meat in one hand and a bag of chocolate in the other?

it means you'd best watch yourself.

so obvious

2005-12-06T21:29:00.000-06:00

clearly, something is going on with me. i'm watching mad hot ballroom. and just now, i almost, ALMOST started crying. they're...they're just so BEAUTIFUL. these children DANCING...ok.
time of the month? yeah, maybe.
which reminds me of a story... yesterday, during my off hour, i had to run to the grocery store for a package of products, as i was out, yes yes. so, i'm rushing back into the school just as the kids start to swarm out of the school. i'm carrying my pretty, green package in my see-through plastic bag over my left arm and the little boys passing me are sort of eyeing it warily. at least, i think they're looking. and, i make it up the stairs, into my classroom, plop the thing on my desk, lean over to open a drawer, and then there's Giovanni at the door. no time to hide. He runs straight to my desk and stands in front of the package i'm unwrapping. "Miss!" he yells. (Why do they always yell that word? It's as if the word "Miss" cannot be spoken, as if to simply say it in a normal tone of voice would cause the word to lose its original meaning.)
"Yes," i say, before he can ask his question, "Ms. Tang was out."
"What?" his eyes refocus, "Miss? I didn't even notice."
"Really?" i ask.
"Really," he says, and then he asks his question. But, as he is walking out, he turns around and adds, "Besides, it's just natural, Miss."
true story. he said this, which leaves me just so SCHOOLED by a high school BOY. The boys i knew in high school covered their ears and sang, "lalalalalalalalalalalalalala" at the very mention of menses. my younger sister has this story about how she chased a boy around a football field with a pad in her hands. and he screamed bloody murder the entire way. but this kid, "Ah MISS (always a yell). It's just natural."
i so need to meet this kid's mother. what did she put in his cereal?

very self-absorbed

2005-11-27T23:04:00.000-06:00

you know, i've been writing alot about my mother. here we go again.
i went home this past thanksgiving. the brother and sisters were great. the food was great. but, the house was a roiling wreck -- a puss-filled, boil-squelching mess. (how a house can be "puss-filled" i don't know, but it's the perfect description, so there.)
from this experience, i have re-realized the answer to the "why does joy have a horror of clutter?" question. it's because my mother never throws anything away. therefore, i have to throw everything away. i have to purge my home of the sins of trash.
recently, however, i've been going through my old files, and i realized that throwing away my papers in fits of anger, or selling books in other fits of misplaced rage, or throwing away old shoes for that matter...sometimes it's...not so good.
i threw away a damaged disk three days ago. it was damaged, after all. the files were irretrievable. i hadn't missed them. i wasn't going to spend money on retrieving them. i'd tried all the free methods. it was fine. it was good. it was trash. yesterday, i realized that on that damaged disk rested the clean copies of my best college writing.
it's not much, my writing. but i think scribblers have this odd attachment to the things they've scratched in notebooks or, these days, saved in badly named word files. i do. now, i have more or less stopped writing. ok, i've pretty much called it quits, but what i wrote at one point still matters to me, because i take my old papers as evidence that i have lived. i've had thoughts. i've had opinions on the thoughts of others.
it's getting harder to remember things, and i mean anything, these days, and when i lose my papers it's like losing the possibility of finding myself again. and i don't know why that's important, and i suspect it isn't actually important. but still.
all of this means that the applying to grad school thing is hard, because i'm having to look for old writing, and every file i open reveals something i've lost. and every file i've lost makes me feel lost in that little girl "who am i?" sense that i had hoped was left behind with my outgrown gym uniform. i'm fighting back the very real urge to throw up. after that, i have to revise my resume.
and yes, that was about my mother.

if i were to write a letter about my day, it would go something like...

2005-11-23T23:44:00.000-06:00

hi.

i've always figured, if you don't know where to start a conversation, start in the middle.
i'm home in houston. my brother and sister are already cooking. my brother, in fact, is on his second pan of cornbread because his first pan of cornbread was over-peppered, and we just can't have that. my task in all of this seems to be...to just...be there. the conversations between me and my family members go something like:
(i leave the kitchen...to actually DO something)
alexa (the youngest sister...walks to where i'm sitting): joy, will you come?
me: come where? come to the kitchen?
alexa: yeeesssss
me: but what will i do?
alexa: just...just come!
me: um, ok.
alexa: (sigh of satisfaction)
(we walk back to the kitchen)
me: hey, gingersnaps
alexa: i want one.
me: i want one too.
alexa: great (opening the bag)
me: i love gingersnaps.
i do love gingersnaps. i can't think of a holiday without gingersnaps. but that is not the point. in fact, there is no point to this conversation, and no point to me being in the kitchen. after opening the bag of gingersnaps, i stood and watched alexa make gingersnap and pecan crust for the sweet potato pie and complimented her on how finely crushed the gingersnaps were and exclaimed over the smell of toasted pecans and then marveled at how much butter went into the pie crust...but i didn't do anything. i can't cook at all; that's all alexa and allen (the brother). but, they like it when i stand there.
it seems to be my lot in life. for example, while i'm the worst shopper in my family, my other sister (melodie), who is the hands-down best bargain hunter among us, cannot make simple purchases without my approval. she has called me while i am in a different state because she is in a shoe store and has to decide whether or not she needs black pumps for work, and she's describing them to me on the phone, how high the heel is, how comfortable they are, how the toe is shaped, while, again, i'm in a different state, and thinking to myself, "how ironic," before saying something along the lines of, "sounds good, mel. they sound pretty useful. do you like them?"
"yeah, i like them."
"then get them."
"ok."
and we hang up. and there we have it.
why am i telling you this? i'm not sure, besides, i guess, because i'm supposed to be starting in the middle. and i'm in the middle of my family at the moment. and i'm really glad, because i've missed them.
we're the type of family in which everyone seems just a little too big for their respective bodies. we're not tall. i'm the shortest, but my brother is still only 5' 8", and yet, we always seem to be crawling on top of each other. our conversations overlap; even our phone conversations are sort of community property.
it's awful. it's wonderful. it's a violation of privacy, but i wouldn't have it any other way. at least, not during thanksgiving.

joy

Melodie and her survey

2005-11-14T21:30:00.000-06:00

My sister has asked me to do her survey. As I cannot concentrate on lesson planning, I am going to do...half of it now.

10 years ago: I was 14 years old. I was a freshman at Klein High School. I played the French Horn...I marched in the mighty KHS marching band...how bizarre...My mother let me accept a date to band banquet, but she wouldn’t let me ride in his car. He had to meet me there. Good times.

5 years ago: I was 19 years old. I was at Brigham Young University, starting my first year in the Chinese Language House. I was obsessed with modern dance. I was trying to learn Chinese. I had finally declared my major. When I told my mother I was an English major, she was so happy, because being an English major meant I had stopped trying to be a dance major...That summer I went to China for the first time. It rocked.

1 year ago: It was the first semester of the first year of Teach for America Houston. Around now, I was thinking of different ways to stop the pain. So much pain. I kept printing out applications for Borders or Whole Foods. I was eating a lot of ice cream. I remember being mad that Houston had no skinny-dipping venues. That was the one thing about Utah...

just now

2005-11-10T21:42:00.000-06:00

JoieTang: i just had this lovely taiwanese lady come over and...this is the conversation...."joy! you've lost weight."
"no i've actually gained weight."
"but your face is thinner"
"that's stress. you always lose weight in the face and gain in other places"
"oh. well you're thinner than you were in taiwan. you were so fat in taiwan"
"i know"
"yeah, so fat."
"i hate taiwan"
"really? why?"
JoieTang: i'm so exceedingly pleasant, aren't i?
JoieTang: and i hate chinese people
Jowithani: ah
Jowithani: um
Jowithani: joy
Jowithani: are you allowed to hate chinese people?
JoieTang: yes
JoieTang: as i am chinese
JoieTang: absolutely

my life defined

2005-11-06T16:25:00.000-06:00

audio austronomy: i'm going to start referring to your life as
audio austronomy: dance dance joyvolution

In which we discuss my stretch marks...

2005-11-06T10:44:00.000-06:00

T is an old friend from college.

T says:
Still there? I've been thinking.
Joy says:
about?
T says:
stretch marks
T says:
Maybe because I've been reading sherlock holmes lately so I feel I am a dectctive of some sort...
T says:
but I have the impression that these marks are bothering you extremely.
T says:
yes?
T says:
Because I've been thinking...
Joy says:
i'm ready
T says:
First, am I right?
T says:
because if I'm wrong, I won't waste your time with something that i'm still trying to form in my mind
T says:
and I will say sorry first
T says:
and go.
Joy says:
um, you're right
Joy says:
they bug me
Joy says:
alot
Joy says:
i try not to look at them most of the time
Joy says:
i just haven't gotten dressed yet
T says:
are they readily visible.
Joy says:
extremely
T says:
ok.
T says:
Here's my thought...if you don't follow me, give me a second.
Trento says:
I don't quite know how to say it.
T says:
My wife's stretch marks are visible...to me only of course. but there is something that doesn't bother me about them. They testify to me of one thing.
T says:
She's real.
T says:
Now that may seem dumb, but it means a lot to me.
T says:
Of course her marks are from something completly different, from childbirth, but they are still there, so they are the same thing...
T says:
do you follow?
Joy says:
following
T says:
What I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you have stretch marks because they tell me that you are real too.
T says:
and I would rather have real any day
Joy says:
...
Joy says:
you give men a good name

in which i whine

2005-11-06T08:48:00.000-06:00

i'm one who often doubts even my ability to know what i want. it's complicated, in that straight-forward kind of complicated way.
last night, i practically threw a male friend out the door, because i was feeling needy, and if he did not leave, right that instant, something was going to go down, and that something, would not have been about him. that something would have been (you guessed it) about me, my lack of security, my sadness, about validating me--body and mind.
which leads me to a question:
how can i be so sure of what i don't want but then come apart in confronting what i do, want?

i think that i want a graduate degree in folklore, with an emphasis on tradtional dance forms. lately, i have been doubting this. i've been lost in my doubt, really. it's obvious when i'm lost; my mind starts to reel and as it does, i'm tossed by its pitch and spin, begin to drown in its movement. it shuttles between questions that miss the crux of the issue, that mask what my issues are, even and especially from me. "If you apply to a different program, what happens to your writing?" it asks me.
"What writing?" I ask back. (Yes, this is why we worry. i asked back.)
"You know, your writing. That creative nonfiction stuff, those personal essays."
"I don't write anymore."
"But you do."
"You can't say I write if I haven't written anything, now can you?"
(Silence)
"And besides, I'm sick of my own voice."
Which also worries me, because is that some kind of metaphor? In any case, there's that writing question, which in reality is asking, "Are you just running away because you couldn't do this other thing..." and then questions about the wisdom of applying to a program when I know nothing about the program, because I only discovered the programs a few weeks ago, appear. And then there is the fact of there being only a month to research and apply to graduate school, and my mediocre GRE scores, but there isn't time to study for it again, because you know, there is still that teaching gig, and just by the way, while we're thinking about it, I've never actually done any work in folklore. What are my qualifications? How would I get in? What did I do, research-wise, while an undergrad? Nothing. And moreover, I don't dance. Not really. "You can learn," I argue.
"And did I mention my hips?" I retort. (Yes, retort. honestly.)
"They fit in your jeans?"
"Barely."
"Well..."
"They are not 18 anymore. They're heavy. They don't lift."
(Silence)
"You saw yourself yesterday."
I went to a salsa workshop yesterday. It was fun. I was horrific. And my reflection was horrifically large.

It's hard to argue against me; I'm so adamantly pro-failure.

In my head, all these doubts stack up against this single idea, and the let's-go-to-grad-school-and-really-do-some-version-of-that-dance-thing-you-always-wanted-to-do idea has very little to back it. There is no model for this in my life context, no beaten path, no example to follow, and no proof in my personal life that I can carry this off. What proof I have is proof that I over and over again ... fail myself... or that what I begin is something that I thought might be long term but is not, for one reason or another...because of health for the teaching thing, disillusionment for the English degree, lack of drive for the Chinese thing, etc. While some people see this as just "trying things out" or just "having a variety of interests at different stages of life," I suppose, as I go after everything I do with a certain over-intensity, I see that this smacks of inconsistency, and I feel worn out, worn thin, more accurately. I think I blame this on my mother.

And, should I convince myself that I actually have the ability to truly want anything, this graduate degree cannot be short term. You see, I do think I want to dance, or at least study it. I don't think that this choice negates all other possibilities (writing), or that I'm running away from my other failures. I don't even think that I should be viewing everything I've done as failure...but, that's another story. It's just that, how can I be sure?
I think I can't. Perhaps, one can't ever be sure.

Yeah, I totally blame this on my mother.

two teachers talk after work

2005-10-19T20:59:00.000-05:00

JoieTang: i want
JoieTang: to SEE PEOPLE
JoieTang: i want to want to see people
JoieTang: i want to be wanted!
JoieTang: i'm not making sense
KatieEiko: to see people?
JoieTang: i'm think i must be talking about the go to school early and see children and come home late and see no one syndrome
JoieTang: where i turn on the tv and the computer and the radio to shut out all the silence
KatieEiko: oh YES
KatieEiko: i know what you mean
KatieEiko: me too

notes in caps

2005-10-14T13:02:00.000-05:00

i've spent the past several hours sifting through old papers from college. i am OVERWHELMED by the sheer amount of writing i have produced over the years as well as the now-suddenly-remembered reams of letters, journals, draft and final drafts i have lost...or burned. (not a joke)
i find one essay and then realize there was an essay that went with it, because that one came first and this other one is a revision that turned into THIS essay, but THAT essay had something in it i wanted, and now, where is that essay? answer: it's gone. gone gone gone.
i'm OVERWHELMED with the piles of papers in my closet, the memories of other papers that are NOT in my closet, and, moreover, how bad all the writing is. right, can't forget that.
most of all, i'm overwhelmed by the pile of disks i sorted through to find clean copies of these things. all of my old floppies are labeled something obscure like "Winter 2003," and all the files are labeled vaguley along the lines of "Dog," "March 2000," or "a Rant."
WHAT was i thinking? answer: I wasn't. take heed. all english majors, writers, would-be writers, liberal arts and humanities types, scribblers of all shape, size, color, and disposition, take heed of my pain. let it not be wasted.

catch 22

2005-10-13T08:22:00.000-05:00

everytime i read about or hear someone else say that they are taking a class that is, "a complete waste of time," i start to breathe faster, because some part of me is afraid that my students are thinking the same thing of me, of my class. it's almost more than i can bear, to know, to even suspect that i'm teaching and no one is learning. i'm not sure what this lack of learning represents to me...is it the knowledge that if they don't learn in my class, then i'm exacerbating a problem i committed two years of my life to alleviating? (that was a really long sentence.) is it because it means that i'm suffering for nothing? is it because my belief in the power of books borders on the insane, and that i'm betraying the lords of literacy by my very existence in the classroom?! i mean, guys...all hyperbole aside now...why do i care so much? it's killing me.
especially, because i'm not actually doing all that much about it.
and perhaps that's it. most of all, i feel myself a hypocrite.
meaning, yes, i'm doing the best i can ... but i'm doing the best i can, distracted. i've become distracted with grad school research (which for me, is all-absorbing), a boy (which ended, but in a way that leaves me even more distracted), and this one inconvenience known as exhaustion.
and in my job, you can't afford to be distracted.
but i am. i even have a hierarchy of "needs." (thank you maslow.) i come home from school, thinking about school, but then i get into my room, and am immediately, suddenly, overwhelmed with this wave of exhaustion, so i sit down for a few hours, because i can't seem to get up, but i don't allow myself to sleep for fear that i won't wake up again (note last night) and then i pick myself up and begin doing "30 minutes of grad school 'stuff,'" which "stuff" becomes 3-4 hours of "stuff," and then it's about 11:30ishpm, because i get home at around 5:30ishpm, and i haven't started anything for school. so, i throw something together in the next 2 hours, go to sleep around 1am, possibly 2am if i'm writing a test, and then get up about 4 hours later. repeat, repeat. it's pointless, you know? stop the cycle already.
but, i haven't been able to stop, not yet.
obviously, according to the above-outlined hierarchy, school is at the bottom of the priority list. it's less important than sitting around for 3 hours, doing grad school research for 3 or 4 hours, less important, basically, than trying, desperately, to feel good.

trying to feel good...because that's really what all this is. i try to avoid school, for at least a few hours, because i never feel good about school. and while grad school is NOT (believe me, i've thought this through) running away to the land of "i feel good," it IS the next thing on the agenda. so, it's easier to focus on that than the task at hand. the teaching at hand. the students in the classroom. i'm wasting my time, because i'm wasting their time.
which is why, right now, i can't stand me.

it's not a job in which you can afford to be distracted. and i am. one could say that this simply points to that fallacy of logic with which the world regards teachers: that they are not human, and that i am simply being human, albeit a slightly sensitive one who needs a little more sleep or just a little more unstructured time than her more organized teacher counterparts. yes, you could say that, and i might even believe you. and then i could stand on my soapbox and proclaim my right as a person to be tired and depressed, and my right to spend time planning for MY OWN future instead of always putting 100 children, who don't even bother to come to class let alone do my "pointless" homework, first.

but then, guys. but then, what do i do about these kids? who will put them first if i don't?

8am

2005-10-13T08:21:00.000-05:00

i am awake. it's freakin' amazing.

announcing

2005-10-13T01:58:00.000-05:00

what shall be hereby known as a sleep binge. i want the world to know...or whatever part of the world reads this blog, that i have today slept from 5pm until 1:40am and will now continue to sleep from approximately 2:00am to, shall we say, 8ish in the am?

why is this interesting? it's not, so much.
but i'm amused, you see, because it's like looking at my life in terms of how many hours i haven't slept on so many other days, and it suddenly explains so much of the past 3-4 weeks...all those days i thought i was close to breaking .... you know, assuming sleeptime is glue for the daytime, i was. i was. nothing like a moment like the one in which you wake up from a nap in the darkness, and you think, "oh, it's probably about 8pm, overslept a bit," and then get up to see the clock is reading 1 in the am to be a little, "well..."
according the past twenty minutes, if my evaluation has any validity to it whatsoever, my immediate state of mental clarity upon waking in comparision to the befuddled mental state in which i taught school today should really be some sort of political treatise. i could be the case study (as we all know the world revolves around me. of course.) that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt ... that being tired of heart translates into being tired of body, and that doing more is sometimes doing less when you're already overspent.
maybe, when i wake up, this will make sense. i'll keep my fingers crossed.

questions

2005-10-11T00:26:00.000-05:00

i want, i want to grab a child out of the hall and take that child by the shoulders and look him or her in the eyes and hiss, "Tell me now. Am I a good teacher? Am I a GOOD teacher? Do you LEARN? Please, please I need to know."
but, i don't know. that might be scary. you think?

resorting to violence

2005-10-10T18:03:00.000-05:00

RayChan911: so how are the kids treating you?
JoieTang: today, they treated me ... well, terribly
RayChan911: i thought you have the same kids?
JoieTang: i do
JoieTang: they are too comfortable
JoieTang: kids need new teachers every year
JoieTang: because a new teacher creates a sense of FEAR
JoieTang: that takes an entire year to dispel
RayChan911: i see, maybe you should carry a bow and arrow around
RayChan911: that'll put the fear of god into them
JoieTang: amen

my life is meaningless. yes, it's true.

2005-10-04T18:52:00.000-05:00

gnataxela: days go by and still i think of you
gnataxela: that's been stuck in my head. do you remember that song?
JoieTang: ha. so, this means you're not really thinking of me.
JoieTang: you know, somewhere between you informing me yesterday that i am complete failure at relationships, this kid who told me today, point blank, that my class is useless, and this final stab...you may as well kill me now
JoieTang: :-)
gnataxela: well i still think of you
gnataxela: but it's also a song
gnataxela: i think it was written about you for me
gnataxela: really
gnataxela: haha
gnataxela: everyone thinks english is useless in high school
gnataxela: especially if you're not good at it
JoieTang: no no, this kid is pretty good, and he hates me
gnataxela: eh
gnataxela: eat him
JoieTang: good one
gnataxela: cool
JoieTang: i'm posting this

the questions that you keep you up at night

2005-10-03T22:00:00.000-05:00

Why are dancer-boys subpar human beings? I honestly want to know.

Comments on the matter:
Raging Aardvark: what, pray tell, is a dancer-boy?
Raging Aardvark: as in, good enough to do it vocationally if not professionally?
JoieTang: yes
Raging Aardvark: well, you've got to put your points somewhere. i can only assume it costs double to learn to dance, so all those points most people put into Be A Decent Human Being gets sucked into Dance Well.
JoieTang: you're getting posted again
Raging Aardvark: woo.

california dreams

2005-09-24T16:19:00.000-05:00

i think a hurricane passed through, but i'm not entirely sure. i believe that i slept through it, so yeah guys. hurricane rita. what a trip. now when i say that i can sleep through a hurricane, i can say it with that extra literal umph.
anyway, i've just called continental and am sitting here, on hold. perhaps writing this and sitting on the phone is not the best use of my vacation time (no school until wednesday baby), but i'm desperate to get to cali. i was supposed to be in this wedding, this wedding of one of the world's coolest people and attended by such as well, and if there is anything that i want at this juncture in time, it's to be in THIS wedding in california WITHOUT having to use any substitute days. c'mon rita, c'mon! momma wants a trip to california!

a little more of the same

2005-09-22T23:12:00.000-05:00

i've picked up swearing this month. to understand the magnanimity of this issue, you have to understand: i made it 21 years without swearing. not once, i promise you. and then i turned 22, and i think i swore twice in the 2 years between then and now, and then suddenly, this month, sandwiched somewhere between 2 hurricanes and a failed pseudo-relationship (with emphasis on the "pseudo," which is all we need to know really), profanity has found its fodder.
i'm a little disturbed.
today, the day before hurricane rita, i keep calling my friends, but i can't get through. and i'm not worried, but disturbed, again with this strange sense of "disturbed." there is, oddly, exactly one cell phone, owned by a child named jarad (poor jarad), that consistently picks up my cell phone, and so it is on this one soul whom i pour all my strange disturbance--about hurricanes and such. and yet, i rarely refer to the hurricane. instead, our conversation, as he and his roommate sat in their traffic on 290 and i sat in my traffic between rice village and spring, went something like

jarad: we're passing a street called kickapoo. haha.
me: why must you hate on the american indians? haven't they had enough. leave 'em alone.
jarad: (not quite sure if i'm joking, which i was, for the record) I was just saying that i have a simple mind, and that it makes me laugh.
me: it makes me laugh too.
jarad: shame on your for pointing a finger at me
me: what?!!
jarad: yeah, you just totally told me off. and then you agreed with me. you hypocrite.
me: what?!!
jarad: you heard me!
me: i was JOKING!
jarad: what is that saying, about how if it's true, people protest even more?
me: i was JOKING!
jarad: you know, my grandmother was native american.
me: um, i didn't know that.
jarad: yeah, i have native american...really, i have a little of everything, except asian.
me: well, i guess we'll have to fix that.
jarad: right, so when are we going to make babies?
me: (snort) i could just drop you off with a sign in chinatown
jarad: nah.
me: no, it would work! you know, give you a sign. "please register here...submit blood test here." it would work, I'm telling you."
jarad: you're crazy, joy.
me: i know
jarad: but you're funny.
me: i aim to please

i might have made this conversation a little catchier than it was...which is sad, if you think about it, but that is the nature of reconstructing conversations...and the point, the ever-elusive point, is that THIS is what i talked about in the middle of the greatest metropolitan evacuation in the history of the United States. yes. in fact, we went on to talk about

jarad: you know, they say that humans involuntarily eat 8 spiders in their lifetimes?
me: i had heard that. you know what? you should write a grant. you should write a grant and study the 8-Spider-Diet
jarad: um, no.
me: why NOT?
jarad: because it doesn't exist.
me: wait, you just told me that it did exist
jarad: no, i never said that.
me: no, you JUST did.
jarad: no
me: yes!
jarad: no, it's not like Atkins or something crazy like that. people don't actually have this diet.
me: i'm not saying to MAKE it a diet. i'm saying to study the phenomenon. it'd be great.
jarad: why don't you study it.
me: nono, this is all you.
jarad: well, then we should at least call it "the arachnid diet"
me: no.
jarad: why?
me: because then that's saying that you're going to study people eating flies because that's what spiders eat...
jarad: noooooooooo

and so, once again. THIS is what we talked about in the middle of the greatest evacuation of a metropolitan area in the history of the United States.

i suppose this is my way of keeping disturbances at bay. already in daily life, i almost never call except to talk nonsense (and only in its purest form), and now i have this need to laugh, and a need to focus on details. but, i'm home now. and i can't turn off the news, and every hour or so, i disappear into a back room and dial phone numbers, only to get busy signals. and this i suppose doesn't really matter. yet still

me: hi
jarad: joy? (this is about the fifth time i've called him today)
me: i'm sorry. i'm sorry i call so much. but i keep watching the news and i worry about you guys on the road. i mean...
jarad: we're here
me: you're there?
jarad: yeah, we just got in.
me: oh good. you never ran out of gas?
jarad: no, no. we're fine.
me: ok.
jarad: listen, i'm going to eat. i'll call you later?
me: no, you don't have to call. i just wanted to know you guys were there. say hi to mark (his roommate) for me.
jarad: will do.

i prefer to talk about spiders. and asian babies. or anything really, rather than what's on my mind. people don't know this about me...moving on...

they forecast that we won't be in the eye of the storm, so it is doubtful that rita will truly "devastate" (everyone's favorite word) houston. it's just that there's been so much lately.
my heart hurts.
who says that?
this probably has something to do with the cursing.

rita

2005-09-21T20:08:00.000-05:00

i will never name my children rita or katrina, or anything ending with the letter a.

finally, dancing for non-dancers

2005-09-16T00:33:00.000-05:00

i like to forget people can watch me, when dancing. after all, i'm not dancing for the pleasure of being seen, nor am i necessarily a pleasure to see.

an essay that says it well.

http://www.creativenonfiction.org/brevity/brev18/killian_salsa.htm

there's the growing feeling

2005-09-15T06:37:00.000-05:00

of desperation, like i can't do enough in one given day; where did my hours go; why am i sitting at this desk writing in this little, white box when it's 6:30 in the morning and i went to sleep without writing lesson plans, why? why?
that was a rhetorical question, by the way. but, nonetheless...i think, i suspect, it has something to do with this growing feeling of desperation...not desperation, but fatigue. as in, it is not stress, really. it's more of a suffocating, slowly. it's almost nice, like falling asleep in cotton. as if you know you're going to die, but it seems so pleasant...it's hard to explain. unless you're a teacher? unless you're one of those young, tightly-wound, high-strung teacher-types in a school full of students who can't speak English and don't even know they can't speak English because they only speak with each other, and then there are the Hurricane Katrina evacuees. yes, i have evacuees, no surprise. i live in Houston. it was only a matter of time. they came last week.
but when they walked into my 4th period class...
it's the time, and the timing, and that class. they walked in and i couldn't stop. i was like, "sit anywhere." and they did, and we moved on, the whole class, and they just sort of rolled themselves in.
and how do i stop? when do i stop? to ask the questions? to address their prescence in my classroom, but that's not even the point. the point is that there are 31 students registered for 4th period, 22 desks, and about 6 absences per day and more absent students being added to that class nearly every day. the point is that i cannot believe that this is MY point, seeing as my alarm is still set to/so i wake up to NPR and NPR, at this point, may as well be known as "Konnecting Katrina" (or whatever cheesy name), because nothing else exists right now, except for Katrina and her babies, my babies, the children who walked into my room the other day. and there they sit, sometimes in a desk, while I feverishly teach off of post-it notes, because i sat for 3 hours at my desk the night before, staring so blankly at my other notes. is it because i'm too tired? or is it because i'm drowning, suffocating actually, slowly. and it's so nice, like falling asleep in cotton, but...i don't know.
i want to know something.
let me get back to you on the question.

apparently, i can only communicate vicariously

2005-09-15T06:32:00.000-05:00

audio austronomy: how did the lesson go?
JoieTang: eh
JoieTang: it was an eh day
audio austronomy: i am sorry
JoieTang: i have a big pimple
JoieTang: a big gut
audio austronomy: for the ehness
JoieTang: and i can't do this one salsa move
JoieTang: and somehow
JoieTang: SOMEHOW
JoieTang: these must all be related
JoieTang: my eh teaching
JoieTang: my big gut
audio austronomy: hehe
audio austronomy: well
audio austronomy: if you believe in the concept of
JoieTang: and that one salsa move
audio austronomy: qi
audio austronomy: and a mass consciousness
audio austronomy: and
audio austronomy: equilibrium
audio austronomy: i'm sure it can all be related
JoieTang: then let it be so
audio austronomy: mm
audio austronomy: (gongggggg)
audio austronomy: i banged the ceremonial gong
JoieTang: oh good
JoieTang: did you waft the incense?
audio austronomy: yes
audio austronomy: and
audio austronomy: i spoke the sacred word of lorelai
audio austronomy: dirty

waste not, want not

2005-09-13T08:16:00.000-05:00

JoieTang: it's been kind of an emotional roller coaster of a week, last weekend to this past one
JoieTang: i've temporarily lost my sense of humor. have you seen it?
JoieTang: it's in a striped box
JoieTang: with a picture of pandora on it
Queerheadguy: i think charlie ate it
JoieTang: that is so wrong
Queerheadguy: but he eats everything
Queerheadguy: he once ate my paranoia
Queerheadguy: it was a surprisingly relaxing week
Queerheadguy: until he gave it back
Queerheadguy: lemme tell you
Queerheadguy: it smelled
JoieTang: so, it was regurgitated paranoia?
Queerheadguy: didn't come out that way honey
Queerheadguy: it had corn on it

katrina byproducts: cautions and solutions

2005-09-04T09:51:00.000-05:00

Goddess980: thanks to the recent uprise in crime, my purse with my cell phone was stolen

JoieTang: WHAT?! WHERE?!

Goddess980: hobby lobby!!!!!!!!!!!! I was buying fake flowers to make arrangements and my purse was yanked out of my cart, I couldn't have been more than a foot away looking at flowers. thankfully the thief was an idiot, he mistook my redleather clutch in my purse for a wallet, when it was really my makeup bag (although I did buy expensive makeup just a month ago) and he took my cell phone, which doesn't work unless it's plugged in, and he didn't even take the charger that was sitting on top too! they found the rest in the mens' room dumped out everywhere, but thank god my debit card, license and such were all there. I just don't have anyone's phone number anymore.

JoieTang: well, remind me...if my children have sociopathic tendencies, to drop them. that will be my service to humanity

hurricane in my head

2005-09-03T23:44:00.000-05:00

walked into the george r. brown convention center today to volunteer for all of 2 hours (my goodness, i'm such a saint) sorting clothes into piles and walked into the wrong part of the center. saw the beds lined up in rows upon rows, wall to massive concrete wall, and the shower schedule posted on an obliging pillar. the pink group showers at 10am, the green group showers at 11am, and so on.
begin to sort clothes. begin to label. a man wearing the official yellow plastic jacket calls out, "all volunteers who can hear me, please come here! all volunteers who can hear me, please come here! we have 6 more trucks of water coming in. as you can see, we are out of space. we need to scootch all of this," hand waving expansively at the literal wall of clothing covering the floor, "over there. scootching...is...is exactly what you think it is! let's focus people!"
"you can just walk in," said the man beside me,"they'll put you to work."

i felt so high school, so "i'm doing this with my friends, " so let me get a call on my cell phone while i move piles of clothes around, so temporary. i park my car; i walk in; i get a nametag. i work for 2 hours. now, i'm going dancing. i'm going, but it seems wrong somehow.

the next day

2005-08-29T17:53:00.000-05:00

and then i ate like a bucket of fried rice.
and i was like, "ok people. this is getting nuts."

and then i had some chocolate covered nuts.

hershey shots

2005-08-27T13:59:00.000-05:00

i lined up the hershey kisses in a row on my counter and downed them one after the other in quick succession. i did 5 in under a minute.

this is how i knew i was having a bad day.

what does it all mean?

2005-08-21T17:11:00.000-05:00

yesterday, entirely by chance, i danced for about 8 hours straight.
and, to be honest, i found it piles more meaningful than the majority of my "meaningful" experiences.

Port-a-Potty Mobile

2005-08-20T13:01:00.000-05:00

I'm driving home and I'm stopped at this intersection and I see to my right the cars coming and among them is a truck with a flashing light on top, and I think, "Why the flashing light? Emergency? Construction?" And then, the car comes into view and it is pulling a "Texas Outhouse," and suddenly, the flashing light was oh so appropriate.
I mean, people should pull over. It's just not safe.

sometimes

2005-08-20T09:15:00.000-05:00

i make up conversations in my head. it's quietly cathartic, like one of those greek plays in which the audience experiences the emotions vicariously so as to purge them of the need to act out such tragedies in life.
whatever.
it is at times difficult for me not to compare myself to the tfa goddess across the hall. she is a second year tfa teacher like me. but, unlike me, she is organized and goal-driven. she also teaches in ways other than lecture and does so well, manages her classroom with aplomb, tracks her students' progress, creates lesson plans with what seems to be minimal stress, teaches engagement strategies to other teachers in the school, manages the twice weekly teacher meetings in our small learning community, is coordinator of the tfa school-site meetings, and is constantly reaching out to other teachers in her content area as well as the first year corp members at our school.
and she reaches out to me. in fact, she's one of my best friends in houston.
what does she eat for breakfast?
i read on her blog that she thinks that the first year tfa science teachers are looking up to her, and that it is nice. and i had this stab of there-is-no-way-that-a-first-year-can-look-up-to-me-because-i-am-still-planning-day-to-day pain. and i wanted to know, "Why? Why can i never get my act together?" this is not so i can feel the "i'm this amazing person" rush (after all, it's usually not all that true; plus i don't care who you are, if you feel this way no one wants to play with you) or because i'm jealous of the lady across the hall (i'm not), it's because i'd like to do more for people than i am. and her life reminds me of what mine is not.

but then again ... it doesn't really matter.
the play in my head went something like this:
(scene: i am sitting in a classroom with the tfa goddess. she, as the meeting's coordinator, is about to begin. two first year corp members troop in.)
me: hi, how has your first week been?
first year girl: ok. tough, but ok.
me: (laughing) sounds better than i did last year.
first year girl: oh, i'm sure it's about the same
(goddes and i exchange a look and we both laugh)
goddess: no, joy was seriously falling apart for the entire year last year.
first year girl: well, this year is better, right?
goddess: (winking at me) well, we'll see
me: (smiling) it's an acknowledged fact of my life.
goddess: she gets flustered.
clueless first year boy: (jumping in) then how did you get into tfa? i mean, you must do something right.
(awkward silence)
me: (then, looking straight at him) a little creativity and strength of will go a long way.
and it does, guys. i'm still here, aren't i?
the point of this is not the "i'm ok/you're ok/we're all ok/i'm doing the best i can and that's enough" rhetoric, though it may seem so. the point is more like i'm shrugging my shoulders. who really cares? i kinda like what i learned last year and this past summer. i do like how far i've come. i kinda like my classes, and i like what i'm doing in class. and i know it's not enough, but when is it ever enough? exactly. never. so, there is this often unacknowledged space between obsession and i-just-don't-care. i don't know what that place is called, but i'm saying it's a pretty good space. i think i'm gonna like it here.
thank you greek theatre. maybe i'll re-read the odyssey after all.

If only

2005-08-18T21:10:00.000-05:00

I had my students write themselves those, "What do I want to accomplish by the end of the school year" letters (ala Ms Saccamanno, 8th grade English). And one girl specifically requested I read her letter. So I did, and what did I find? "Ms. Tang, this summer I got pregnant and I lost my baby and I look happy but really I am quite sad," and she would like a letter back from me, please.
"Do you want to talk?"
"No, Miss."
"You just want a letter."
"Yes."
So, a letter.

all i want to say is

2005-08-16T16:27:00.000-05:00

teaching is hard.

random metaphor

2005-08-14T22:29:00.000-05:00

i find, that a dancer can move quite effectively if he or she can find even a few inches of dance floor space. the key is finding that tiny square of space on which to stand. and then you can fly.

i'm not the only one

2005-08-13T00:21:00.000-05:00

Raging Aardvark: i propose to you a conjecture: all asians are, in one way or another, mentally infirm.
JoieTang: absolutely
JoieTang: if not so at birth, then driven there with a vengeance

Is this racist?

2005-08-05T01:33:00.000-05:00

I believe that I have anti-Chinese tendencies.
You must understand; I just now remembered the day I became convinced of my fatness. I was 12 or 13, and the siblings and I were at a family friend's house. These people were (in fact they still are) Chinese, so when you imagine this scene, imagine it in Chinese with twitchy, black-haired people running about in it.
And if you don't speak Chinese, well. That's even better.
The lady of the house was measuring me for some hand-me-down pants. She threaded the measuring tape around my waist and then held it up, eye-level. Chaos ensued. "Mimi," she literally screamed, "This cannot be! Mimi! Wah!" And then she measured again and when it was the same, she shook her head in what I guess was disbelief. "Mimi," she said this quite firmly,"You must go on a diet. You are too big. This," she then bellowed across the living room to my mother, "is how big I was in college!"
I remember being devastated.
However, today I also remembered that at 13, I was 5' tall and had just reached 101 lbs.
So now, I just hate Chinese women. Stupid tiny Chinese women.
My first time shopping in China, a lady walked up behind me to look at the skirt I was holding. She said, "You can't get into that," and walked away. I've also had someone tell me that I had a Chinese face and an American body. (Which means a fat body, in case that wasn't clear.) I've had a girl actually put her hands on either side of my ribcage, shake me like a cantalope, and then look at me in wonder, "Your body is so dense."
I've heard that in Taiwan, acupuncture, this age-old Chinese medicine, is now a weight-loss alternative. Seriously? Seriously, I want to know, what is wrong with these people?!
When will the Chinese learn that there is a difference between a high standard and a standard of objective perfectionism? When will they learn that the latter hinders more than it helps.
So many people, so much stupid.

postscript

2005-08-01T09:40:00.000-05:00

PMS is real.
Can I get a witness?

Happy Twin Day

2005-08-01T09:39:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday, Allen!

Happy Birthday, Melodie!

before you leap

2005-07-28T21:12:00.000-05:00

I wrote a scathing (and by scathing, I mean a merciless personal attack) evaluation of my University of St Thomas professor. While I was writing it, it was like a high.
But now I feel like a bad Meg Ryan movie. Specifically, I feel like Meg Ryan in "You Got Mail" -- that scene where she tells off Tom Hanks in the most biting way possible, and she gets to revel in it for exactly 2 minutes. And then, she realizes that while everything she said was true, it was also cruel.
As was everything I said. So, tomorrow, I'm calling the university and asking, Please. May I rewrite my evaluation? Please, don't let her read my evaluation. I do not withdraw my assessment of her, but I'd like to withdraw a small measure of the venom.

pearls of poo

2005-07-28T21:08:00.000-05:00

Dear Alexa,
I think this advice is most excellent and will be sure to report any progress.
Much love,
Joy

Alexa Tang (currently in Beijing, China) wrote:
i'll just have you know that i made some excellent poo this morning. i think one of the best feelings in the world is when you make great poo, and a lot of it, and then lie back in bed for a wihle to enjoy your empty bowels. right now, i'm pretty sure joy is jealous. and this is why i wanted to share with her some pearls of wisdom on pooing.
pearl #1: watermelon is your friend. it's sweet, it's watery, it's fibery, and all of this makes it very poo friendly. we like this watermelon pooing friend.
pearl #2: too much starch is bad. i don't care how much "fiber" crap you're eating joy, it's just going to stop you up. you need vegetables. or watermelon. both is good too.
pearl #3: in the morning, when you feel that there is poo in your system, lie on your left side. i swear you will feel things start to churn for the better.
pearl #4: after lying on your left side for a while, drink some warm water. my theory is that this softens your poo.
pearl #5: if you are sitting on the toilet, and you still cannot make poo, massage your tummy! and remember what mommy told you the first time you went to china: "in with the nose, out with the butthole." remember, poo is already dead. you must win the fight. i hope that we all have healthier bowel movements from now on. my friend smitha tells me that her dad says that a person's happiness can be measured by if they've slept well, eaten well, and pooped well. let's be happy.
love,
alexa

on being almost 24

2005-07-26T23:09:00.000-05:00

i'm almost 24, and i've believed for a long time now that i would wake up one day and find myself to be an adult. but, i don't believe that anymore, nor do i care. i believe, instead, that no matter how much we might or might not develop in the process of living, that some small part of us will remain in high school. i'm becoming certain that there is some corner of our selves which holds the person who awoke within us at 16--that adolescent hungry for experience, that part child part grown-up riddled with angst, wonder, and hurt.
i mean, really. watch reality tv.
maybe as we get older, we're not as concerned with image. maybe, we get more comfortable in our own skins, so to speak. and yet (have you noticed?) as soon as we, people (we the people, hah), band together -- at work, in graduate school, at a conference -- there are still those instantaneous categories: the smart one, the popular one, the funny one, the pretty one. it's high school, people. personally, i think we just get better at hiding our classifications, either that or we get better at negotiating our roles and finding space within them. I'd like to believe the latter.

so this is my real question. if we are so much better at accepting ourselves, why are we so much worse at managing our relationships? granted, children are cruel. they might not associate with you if you don't have the right haircut, remember when? but they do talk. they're interested in you and in each other. they want to know the you inside your skin, whereas most adults, simply, no longer care. they don't notice things about each other. they don't ask uncomfortable questions, because it's assumed that as you're now an adult, you're in control of your life. to seem to think otherwise might be rude, and besides, who has the time?
how many non-profits do we have for youth in comparison to the number we have for other adults, our peers? our judgement is supposed to increase naturally we grow older, but does it really? always? how old were you when you really started screwing up, after all? i think it's interesting that we create structures to help ensure the success of our rising generations, but that once each generation rises, they find themselves alone.
in my most esteemed high school teacher opinion, i think we would be well-served to remember some of our basics...things like asking people about their day, in more than the "how are you?" sense, things like asking someone WHY she is acting the way she's acting instead of automatically assuming the worst about that person, enjoying who a person is as much as what a person is...didn't we learn this at some point in high school? didn't we learn that the whole jocks vs. geeks vs. theatre freaks was all a hoax? it was supposed to be some deep and life-changing revelation that happened in the life of every high school kid, was something cosmically designed to keep us from widening the chasms that have always separated person from person.
yet here we are. or here i am, mumbling about what i think is where we are. i'm not saying to hold hands and sing kum ba yah. and i'm not saying that, you know, we shouldn't do the whole networking thing or that we should eschew all social niceties and i'm not saying that we should organize company camp-outs every few weeks (how banal). i'm just saying that we should remember, or someone should; i should. a birthday should mean that i've learned more than i've forgotten.

For the Kids on the Inside

2005-07-19T00:24:00.000-05:00

In the face of insomnia, I have resorted to online personality/relationship tests. If you have known my mother, you will know why this is HILARIOUS:

In general, human beings are defined by their needs and wants. In a relationship, you may want:
A predictable environment with few surprises that are not "planned."
Recognition of skills and ability.
Activities involving contact with many people.
A friendly, favorable social environment.
Popularity.
Sound relationships which form naturally, and are not contriving or scheming.
Security for now, and in the future.
An audience to perform to and entertain.
A support system to help you get things done.
Equal relations with others.
Peace and harmony.
An environment free from conflict or hostility.

Guys, I hope you're laughing, because this, this is funny stuff.

briefly

2005-07-10T19:25:00.000-05:00

I am recently obsessed with salsa.
the dance, not the dip.

i think a contradiction

2005-07-04T19:10:00.000-05:00

here's something i suspect.
in the united states, "expressing yourself" is a popular solution to nearly every problem. but, if the concern being expressed is "girly," then it is not legitimate. if a woman does indeed venture to explore an emotion on the "girly" side of things, it is then the other person's job to console her by saying "yes, i understand," over and over again, which would be fine, except that it is actually a form of pacification. you don't need to listen, you see; just keep reassuring her until she stops talking. then your job is done and you can forget the concern ever existed. if you prefer a more agressive method of interaction, you are even allowed to inform a woman that she is just "being a girl," and this information should be reason enough for her to "calm down" and resolve the situation on her own.
in this i see a twofold problem. 1) that an invalid emotion is a girl's emotion, and moreover 2) that not only is this kind of reinforcement telling women not to express certain emotions, it sends the signal that one shouldn't have such emotions at all, that they are a sign of weakness.
i suspect men believe this to be true. but even worse, i think many women believe this as well.