empty

After writing 9,o00 words for my senior project in the last few weeks, my brain is empty of things to say here.  Excuse me while I search for a creative outlet.  Off to doodle and read Don Miller.  He always gets my creativity flowing. Even though our political ideologies don’t line up.

On another note, I feel empty of wisdom right now. A friend and I have been having some pretty heavy spiritual conversations lately, and I just feel pretty dry on answers.  Please pray for our conversations!

focus

Here is what the focus of my life has become, and will continue to be for the next 5 weeks (thank goodness for the quarter system!):

Ah, Senior Project.

Amen.

I read this while I was blog surfing today:

my mid twenties can be summed up in one breathe as this; You’ve become an adult and its really nothing like you imagined.

Amen and amen.  That’s all I can say….just substitute the word “early” for “mid” in front of twenties, and that’s me in a nutshell these days.  But it is good, oh so good.

 I’m kicking-off my internship with Campus Crusade this weekend and the appropriately named “kick off weekend” in Orange County.  Here’s to long car rides with friends, putting off homework til Monday morning and learning all about support raising.  Pray for me if you think of it.  That’s all…I’m late to my French conversation class.

couldn’t resist

I should be writing my final paper for Neruda right now (hey! cut me some slack…I’m on page 4 of 8…and its not due til Thurs) but instead of writing, I wanna show you this video.  The thought of it keeps interrupting my writing because it is so stinkin’ funny!  I hate cats, but I still love this!

worth the disappointment.

D on my French midterm. I can’t say I’m surprised….I gave up studying to go to June for the weekend. My prof gave this really depressing lecture to our class before he handed the exams back. He kept saying he was how he wasn’t sure how our class was doing so poorly. I just braced myself, and wasn’t too hurt because it turns out my 64% is one percent higher than the median. The worst was that my prof wrote on my exam IN ENGLISH (a big deal for a fool who considers himself too good for it most of the time) the word: disappointing. He drew an arrow on the paper from the word “disappointing” to my work and to the directions for the section. I guess he just wanted to grind it into my brain that I misread the directions. As if I didn’t realize it from my lack of points for the section.  My bad.

Good news though.  This is what I did instead of studying for the better grade:

worth it:

Neruda says “Hay que vivir la vida.”

Prof. Kennelly says: “Restez à la maison et étudiez.”

Who would you side with?

pablo

dear pablo neruda,

i wish i had more creative energy right now.  your poetry is great.  i’m just pooped, and can’t come up with anything good to say about your poems.  i’m sorry.  hopefully the writer’s block will clear before tomorrow at 2, when the essay is due.  hope you’re proud of your beloved communist party.

con cariño,

sara

middle school

I’m in ED 300 this quarter, which means I have to get 45 hours of in-classroom observation done by the end of the quarter.  I’m at SLOHS on Tuesday mornings and I go to Laguna Middle School on Thursdays.  I’m trying to get the most out of my experience, so I started taking notes during Mr. Wittman’s class this morning.  

Now, Mr. Wittman is a straight-laced 30 something eighth grade english teacher at Laguna.  He has green plants in the window of his classroom and has posted inspirational quotes on bright paper around the border of the classroom walls.  Such quotes read, “No man is an island unto himself,” and “Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.”  He rides his road bike to school (which, might I add, is the exact same bike that my dad used to ride before he upgraded last summer) and holds a commanding presence in his classroom, standing before his students in impeccably pressed pleated khaki slacks.  

These are the events that unfolded in Mr. Wittman’s class on  Thursday, January 29, 2009.

I sat in Mr. Wittman’s class, pretty bored since he wasn’t really teaching.  I sat in a back row desk and tried not to yawn as I watched the students interact.  Suddenly, Mr. Wittman stood up, walked to the white board and asked the students to define the word “clause.” A student answered promptly and gave a good example.  Next, Mr. Wittman asked for an example of an independent clause.  Here’s the discussion that followed:

Mr. Wittman:  Who can give me an example of an independent clause please? And make it at least PG rated. (I choose to believe that he meant to say AT MOST PG rated….)

Lauren:  I am hungry.

Will: He said AT LEAST PG rated….I am hungry….FOR BLOOD!!!!

Mr. W:  Good.  Now add another independent clause with a conjunctive adjective.

Will:  I am hungry for blood; THUS, I eat a cow!

Mr. W:  Right.  Can someone else give me another example?

James:  Jimmy vivisected a squirrel…..

Mr. W: ;Consequently, he was expelled from school.

Katie:  What does ‘vivisect’ mean?

James: To dissect when its alive!!!

Tess: NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Jimmy vivisected a squirrel; consequently, HE WENT TO HELL.  Mr. Wittman!  He went to HELL.

Mr. W:  (doesn’t bat an eyelash) Separation of Church and State.

Samantha:  Do they get numbed first?

Jack:  Of course not!  It’s not a human!

Mr. W:  …and that’s how you make a compound sentence.

———–

I was dying to burst out in laughter.  Jr. Highers are too funny!  Sometimes, life is just so funny you have to record it.  This was one of those humorous moments.  I sat and transcribed the events so that I wouldn’t forget them, and could later relay the story to my dear sweet Brook (We like to take notes of random teacher commentary that we find hilarious).  I was just coming off the brink of bursting out in giggles in Mr. Wittman’s class when a student named Megan looked up at the board.  About 10 minutes had passed, and the students were back to drafting their biological research papers. Megan takes a look at the white board, gasps, and asks, “What does vivisect mean?” James was only so kind as to give another definition.  Megan then almost yelled, “WOW.  That sentence is inappropriate!  Can I erase it?”  Matt, another student then retorted, “It’s not inappropriate, it’s SCIENTIFIC.”

I have a huge respect for Jr. High teachers.  They’re great people.  I tried to stifle my giggles for the remainder of the class, but it was real hard.  I kept looking at the Webster’s Dictionaries placed under each desk.  They are all numbered (for clerical purposes, I’m sure), but most numbers have been scribbled over with a fat black permanent marker that reads 69.  

Ah, Jr. High.