Blogging

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I had to give up on Angela’s Ashes. It felt bad to give up. It won the Pulitzer Prize. But it sat there, unread, because every time I picked it up, I said, “Well this is just damned depressing. His sister died, and she has the same name as my daughter. The twins are going to die. That will be awful to read. I don’t want to do it today.” I am not saying it wasn’t good. I just can’t do it.

I picked up our copy of We’ve Got Blog: How Weblogs are Changing our Culture and started thumbing through it again. I find parts of it interesting. There is such a dichotomy in the world of blogging/journaling. Some people hate, detest, and despise the online journal, feeling that we should go back to compilations of links with some commentary. Others feel that journaling and reading about others’ lives is more interesting. I fall into the latter category. I like cool links, but most of the time, unless it looks really intriguing, I don’t leave a blogger’s/diarist’s site to explore that link. That is just me, though. I was reading through the commentary on “A-List Bloggers” like Meg and Jason Kottke. The thing I found most intriguing was that they met and and embarked on a relationship. I immediately went to Meg’s blog today to see if there was any hint of it still going on. But she’s doesn’t really dish the personal stuff I guess.

I like writing online. Calling it blogging, journaling, whatever. It feels good to get some stuff out there, and I like for people to read what I write. I admit I don’t care as much as I did at one time, or I’d not have left my old host. I was getting right around 100 hits a day there. Most of it was from Googlers looking for porn, but they were visiting anyway.

One of my friends has been harassed away from her diary — maybe even an Internet presence altogether — by a couple of trolls who disagreed with something she said and began attacking her in a forum, then harassing her over the phone. I sincerely hope she presses charges, takes it up with the diary host, and gets her phone number changed. I hope she doesn’t stay away. I like her, and I really enjoyed what she wrote. But I sure understand her reasons for leaving.

I came here and left my old host for reasons of my own. I really love the world of blogging, journaling, whatever, but I really wish it didn’t have this dark side that enabled people to prey on others.

Speaking of moving, my husband has set up shop at a new journal, so now I can link him without fear of a certain troll of my own. He’s a great writer. Enjoy.

One of the things that struck me about Meg’s blog was it’s simplicity. Not a lot there, really, not even link-wise. I guess I like something I can sink my teeth into, writing-wise, and her blog is a really light snack. What would you like to see in this blog?

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These Kids Today

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Oh my God.

Tell me the truth. Those of us over, say 25. Would it EVER, EVER have occurred to you to do something like this at school? What the hell is going on?

I will tell you the truth. When I first started keeping a journal online, I noticed that there were a lot of teenagers journaling or blogging. And a lot of them talked about sex. I can’t read about kids having sex. It makes my skin crawl. Never mind the fact that I did it too. It makes my skin crawl to remember that, to be honest. We’re bombarded with sex from every side, and I can remember feeling intensely curious about what the fuss could possibly be about. But at that age, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to tape myself having sex, or to share my sexual adventures with every creep in the world on the Internet (of course, there was no Internet for the masses back then, but I digress).

What’s behind this trend? Can we truly just point the finger at the Internet and say that the availability of sexual information is much greater? I mean, we all know by know how to find pornography, erotica, even how-to techniques online, and most of the time, we don’t need to prove our ages beyond the “we’re keeping you honest by making you click a button saying you’re over 18” type of proof.

Filters don’t even get it all. Someone at my school was able to look at a picture of a, um, well, festively decorated female crotch. And I know we have filters on our computers, because I was never able to read my former journal from work.

I’m not innocent here. I shared some pretty, let’s say personal adventures in my old journal. I don’t plan to do that here. I feel it was a mistake. But I did it as a grown woman in my thirties. Not a teenage girl.

I don’t think their parents can possibly know they’re doing things like this. And why don’t they? I know everything my daughter does on the computer. It isn’t hard to keep tabs on your children, folks. And it isn’t hard to teach them it isn’t a good idea to make sex tapes at school.

I started to wonder why they were all given permission be out of class and how long they were all gone. I wouldn’t think it would be a short period of time, considering. But I can’t point fingers at their teachers without knowing some more facts. How did they manage to get a camera in school?

Why are we teaching our girls nowadays that in order to be accepted, they must be sexually promiscuous? We even have people grabbing pejoratives like “slut” and “whore” and translating them into badges of some sick, twisted kind of honor. Since when is it a point of pride that you don’t care who you have sex with? Since when does being sexually adventurous at a young age make you somehow cooler than the other kids? It is, in my opinion, a disturbing trend that is making victims of our teenagers and opening them up to dangers they can’t possibly imagine.

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Color Me Naive

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Well, I just feel stupid. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to one of my online friends. Another diarist ran her off her site. I won’t divulge all the details, because I’m not sure she’d want me to, but the basics are that this other person made it her personal agenda to constantly poke fun at my friend — everything from her appearance to her family. And she did it in a public forum with lots of her cronies cheering her on and joining in. The idea of that just appalled me. So I was doing some sleuthing and finally decided to check out a forum run by someone whose diary I’ve been reading for about two years or so. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I’m not sure that this person was involved in flaming my friend, but she sure as hell does her share in her own forum. What I read made me sick. I couldn’t believe someone could be that small and mean-spirited to people they haven’t met.

I realize I’m being cryptic here, and I apologize. I obviously wouldn’t like to be a target of theirs — the members of this forum, that is. I am hoping that they do not locate my URL, see this post, and unleash — any time someone criticizes them, they rip the person a new one.

It’s the ugliest side of the Internet. People who hide behind computer screens and insult people they don’t even know. I just can’t understand that behavior. Obviously, I can’t read the person anymore. I had thought she was nice enough. I didn’t see that side of her in her journal. Hm.

Well, that said, Rajni says an FAQ would be all right. But no one asks me questions frequently. Want to ask me something?

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Overheard

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Some students were passing my classroom during my planning. I was working on grades on my computer, and they didn’t realize I was in there (you can’t see me when I sit behind my computer). I heard one say to the other, “You have Ms. Huff?”

“Yeah.”

“For Journalism?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard she’s mean.”

Good. That’s the sort of reputation you want to have as a middle school teacher. I, on the other hand, think I’m way too nice.

I can only say thank God it’s Friday at last. I am so tired. Our whole house being sick has taken its toll. Plus, I didn’t stay home from work (staying home when you’re a teacher only means more work — it certainly doesn’t help me relax to think of how awful the kids might be behaving).

I had a very profound idea for writing this morning and promptly forgot it.

Did I say I was tired? I did? Oh. Well. I am.

I am also extremely dull today.

When we were driving home this evening, I was watching the trees speeding by my window. Tall, black, spindly pines, all huddled closely together, drying in the gray late afternoon light. And I thought to myself that I could go into those trees, like Thoreau, and just live apart from society for a while. Well, not so much like Thoreau. After all, he went to town a whole lot, and he had more help than he lets on. But you get the idea. I’m not one for roughing it, so I probably wouldn’t last. But sometimes, it seems like it would be great to get away from bills, cars, city lights, and the fast pace of life and just be in the woods. I used to feel God in the woods. Now I’m scared of the Blair Witch.

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Thou Shalt Not Park Here

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Ugh. We all have colds at our house. The small children have streaming noses (so does Dad). We’re all whining, coughing, and spewing snot. Stay far away from us. I’ve had a sinus headache for a couple of days. I’m just exhausted, but I am supposed to “monitor” a basketball game tonight. I am completely disinterested in going.

I just feel like I have no time to do anything. I wanted to write requests to some area private schools and public school systems for teaching applications, but I haven’t had time.

My husband was hired on the spot as a tenor soloist at a presbyterian church in one of Atlanta’s northern suburbs. Pays well. And they have a children’s classroom that they let us use while we waited for him at practice. Dylan is crawling very well now. Maggie knocked him down a couple of times (on purpose). But they had fun. Best of all, you know the congregation has a sense of humor when the “No Parking” signs read “Thou Shalt Not Park Here.”

That said, I am worried about Sarah. She seems extremely socially inept. She is not aware of others and doesn’t seem to worry what they might think. I am afraid middle school will be torture for her. She played with the kids last night. I am grateful that she doesn’t think she’s too cool for them and that she likes to play with them. It worries me that she plays like them. What I mean is that they had two little plastic rocking horses. And she got on one and rode it. It is probably unsuitable for anyone over the age of four to play with, and Sarah is 10. She climbs, skips, hops, and crawls at inappropriate times. She has few friends, but it doesn’t bother her. It’s like she’s in her own little world. She’s bright. She often uses words in everyday speech that I’m not sure my middle school students know. But she’s just… immature. I don’t want her to go through the pain of being teased. Maybe she’ll be okay. Guess I’m just being a “mom.”

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Groundhog Day

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Happy Imbolc, my pagan friends. Or St. Brigid’s Day. What on earth is this holiday about, anyway?

Well, it is officially Black History Month. One of the people I admire most in the world is Martin Luther King, Jr.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

Langston Hughes wrote one of the most profound poems I’ve ever read:

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

What a wealth of culture; what amazing contributions to humanity.

And on a completely unrelated topic altogether, I have tried to look at journals located at my old host’s site. It appears to be down. To which I can’t help but say, in the fashion of Nelson on The Simpsons: “Ha, ha!”

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Here We Go Again

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No wonder everyone thinks Georgia is backward.

As long as we have idiots in charge, education in Georgia is going to remain the butt of jokes across the country. My 8th grade students know changing the wording from “evolution” to “biological changes over time” is pointless and stupid. Why doesn’t the State Superintendent know this?

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Duh

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I like inspiring young minds to learn (yeah, right). Teaching is one of those things that I keep coming back to. Even though I bolt down school lunch in 20 minutes each day, hold it in when I gotta go because I can’t leave 28 kids unsupervised, and spend way too much time planning/grading papers, it’s still one of those things I guess I’m meant to do. Sometimes, I’d like to be a “normal” person, sitting in a cube, reading diaries and blogs when I should be working, going out to lunch… But alas, that is not my lot in life. However, my hubby found me a priceless link: How to Get a Book Deal with Your Blog. Okay, publishers. I’m available. I’ll even quit teaching to pontificate and whine for obscene amounts of money. I await your response.

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Enough

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Okay, I’ve officially had it teaching middle school. The kids are squirrely, but I can deal with that. I don’t care for 6th grade “high-spiritedness,” but the 7th and 8th graders I can handle okay. And no, I guess that hasn’t always been the case, but it is something I fixed. It isn’t really the kids. It’s everything I need to do. I don’t have a homeroom this year, but the mountain of work I had when I did could rival K-2. No, I am seriously being scrutinized. Being under the microscope causes anyone stress. I’m no different. I am a good teacher. I know this. Should I be teaching middle school? I don’t think so. I don’t think this is where my strengths lie. Every blasted thing I do is examined, picked apart, and found lacking. I really feel like improvements I’ve made are just not important. I feel as though I’m being treated unfairly.

I’m the first to take blame, even unmerited, when I screw up. Maybe not 100% of the time, but who does? I have OCD, however, and one of the aspects of OCD that cripples me is perfectionism. If I am not perfect, I don’t want to be. I don’t demand perfection from others, but I expect it from myself. And I just can’t seem to do this job perfectly.

I don’t want to teach here anymore. I want to go back to teaching high school. Maybe even in a private school. My current school feels more and more… wrong for me.

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Isn’t It Ironic

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Now if this isn’t the most ironic thing:

The author of The First Wives Club died during surgery… for a facelift.

I have issues with my appearance, like most women, but I will never have a facelift. I don’t care if I start looking like a Shar-Pei. I am prematurely gray. At 32, my hair isn’t just salt and pepper, it’s more than 50% gray. I don’t really have any problems with weight — some stretch marks and baggy skin on my belly. But I’m only 5’4″, 100 pounds, and a woman my size can’t have three kids and not get all stretchy.

In other news, I fell down and hurt myself (just like a toddler) yesterday. I was carrying Dylan, slipped on a toy on the floor, and down I went. Now, since I was holding my baby, I didn’t want him to get hurt, so I wasn’t able to block my fall. My hand must have gone out, though, because I did something heinous to it. I don’t know if I sprained it, but today, the thumb joint is all swollen. My backside is what’s killing me. I fell right down on my keister.

Well, I’m off for now.

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