Every man I meet makes me a bit more lesbian.
Every woman I meet makes a bit more heterosexual.
Showing posts with label general inerest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label general inerest. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, November 25, 2010
International day against gender violence
One week ago I went to a school trip to El Escorial with my students, who are generally well behaved.
However, they are teenagers. And such as they are, they decided to insult each other..how did they do it so we did not realise? Via bluetooth. Bt they did not connect to each other and then do it, no. They wrote offensive comment for the other as their names for the bluetooth system, which made it quite difficult to find out who was to blame.
One o them called “ big tits” to a girl, who had already being said to “ eat dicks”. So I banned electronic devices and gave a speech about it in class. Anyway, I decided to tell the dean so he put some pressure on not using cell phones, and I talked about it to a couple of coworkers, all of them great professionals.
The dean said that it was better to make an intervention from the advisory class, and then asked “ iff she was really one”. And my female coworkers said that “ deep down she likes it “ and, “ she kind of brings it upon herself?And the dean?”
And wrath gets over me. How is it possible? Two WOMEN?! What do you mean she brings it up
The student can be whatever she wants to be and whatever she wants to do, she might like to be the centre of attention, but that does not mean that anybody has the right to talk about her or comment on her or her actions. Besides, she is just a regular teenager
Sexism is so down rooted that it flows out as soon as you look into human relationships
And no, I am not a crazy radical feminist that sees things where they are not and who is obsessed. It happens that very often, there is an appearance of justice and equality that does not correspond to reality. There are people that this it is enough to say we are the same and do some political correct thing. But there is so much more to be done. We need to change the way we are treated and we treat each other.We need to get rid of this kind of language and erase this ideas from our subconscious, and to confront this kind of comments.
Sometimes, I look at the world, and I just want to sit down and cry.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Christmas concert at my school
Sometimes, being in New York is like being in a film.
Today it was the Christmas concert at my school, and I offered to help the band.
Clarinets, trumpets, trombons, lots of percussion, elelctric guitars, a choir a four teacher, two of them music ones, dedicated to make that sound good.
About thirty kids playing instruments, different TV and film songs and a couple of Christmas carols.
Like in a Disney film or in a teenage series, or in Hannah Montana. But at my school, kids do not usually have any previous knowledge of music, and it might be the first time they actually have acces to the instruments. The instruments of course, belong to the school. They take music classes everyday, and that is why they are being able to play what they are playing, which is a lot for the background they have.
A clarinet comes to watch the concet and try to avoid playing. The teacher has to get off the stage and tell him off to bring him out of the audience in the morning, so that he plays with the band.
In the morning there is a bigger audience, because the other teachers bring the kids down so they can listen to the concert. In the evening, the auditorium is almost empty, just filled to a quarter of its capacity, being optimistic. Most of them being friends of the players... and some parents.
Putting together musicians and singers, there will be like thirty kids playing, trying their best. There is hardly a dozen parents in the audience.
A concert prepaired with such an effort, such an illusion...Nervousness, scripts...And the parents... where are they? Some can't come because of work, some will be in a different country, some will not be, some aight not even know that their offspring is playing, or might not even be able to notice their absence from home in a rainy winter night. But they are there, playing, like if the auditorium was full,like if they were playing the best of the music. Although some, like the clarinet, does not even come in the night to school.
Like in a movie, but not a Disney one or a teenage series....more like in other movies without happy endings or warm christmas' with presents or love.
And this way, teachers look at the last week and a half before the holidays, knowing that it is going to be down hill,being aware, as they unconsciousoy are, of the big amount of unfulfilled expectations and disapointments they are going to have to face. The way to a christmas time like the one in a amovie...but in an alternative one
Today it was the Christmas concert at my school, and I offered to help the band.
Clarinets, trumpets, trombons, lots of percussion, elelctric guitars, a choir a four teacher, two of them music ones, dedicated to make that sound good.
About thirty kids playing instruments, different TV and film songs and a couple of Christmas carols.
Like in a Disney film or in a teenage series, or in Hannah Montana. But at my school, kids do not usually have any previous knowledge of music, and it might be the first time they actually have acces to the instruments. The instruments of course, belong to the school. They take music classes everyday, and that is why they are being able to play what they are playing, which is a lot for the background they have.
A clarinet comes to watch the concet and try to avoid playing. The teacher has to get off the stage and tell him off to bring him out of the audience in the morning, so that he plays with the band.
In the morning there is a bigger audience, because the other teachers bring the kids down so they can listen to the concert. In the evening, the auditorium is almost empty, just filled to a quarter of its capacity, being optimistic. Most of them being friends of the players... and some parents.
Putting together musicians and singers, there will be like thirty kids playing, trying their best. There is hardly a dozen parents in the audience.
A concert prepaired with such an effort, such an illusion...Nervousness, scripts...And the parents... where are they? Some can't come because of work, some will be in a different country, some will not be, some aight not even know that their offspring is playing, or might not even be able to notice their absence from home in a rainy winter night. But they are there, playing, like if the auditorium was full,like if they were playing the best of the music. Although some, like the clarinet, does not even come in the night to school.
Like in a movie, but not a Disney one or a teenage series....more like in other movies without happy endings or warm christmas' with presents or love.
And this way, teachers look at the last week and a half before the holidays, knowing that it is going to be down hill,being aware, as they unconsciousoy are, of the big amount of unfulfilled expectations and disapointments they are going to have to face. The way to a christmas time like the one in a amovie...but in an alternative one
Concierto de Navidad en mi escuela.
A veces esar en Nueva York es como estar dentro de una película.
Hoy ha sido el concierto de Navidad, de mi instituto, y me he ofrecido a ayudar a la banda. Clarinetes, trompetas, trombones, mucha percusión, guistarras eléctricas, un coro, y cuatro profesores, dos de ellos de música, muy dedicados a que aquello sonara.
Una treintena de niños tocando distintos instrumentos, canciones de series de televisión y películas, y un par de villancicos.
Como en las películas de Disney o en las series de institutos, o en Hannah Montana. Pero en mi instituto, los chicos normalemnete no teinen conociemientos previos de música, y puede ser la primera vez que tengan acceso a los intrumentos. Los itnstrumentos por supuestos, todos del isntituto compartidos. Dan clase de música todos los días, y gracias a eso han llegado donde están, que bastante es para el background que tienen.
Un clarinete viene a ver el concierto y se escaquea.El profesor teine que bajarse del escenario y regañarlo para sacarlo de entre el público de la mañana, para que toque.
Por la mañana hay más público, porque los otros profesores bajan a sus alumnos a escuchar el concierto. Por la tarde, el auditoria está medio vacío, a un cuarto de su capacidad, con suerte. Y la mayoría amigos de los que tocan...y algunos padres.
Entre el coro y los músicos, habrá alrededor de treinta chavales tocando, haciéndolo lo mejor que pueden. Apenas hay una docena de padres en el auditorio.
Un concierto preparado con tanto es fuerzo, con tanta ilusión...Los nervios, las partituras... Y los padres, ¿ dónde están? Unos no pueden venir, por el trabajo, otros estarán en otros países, algunos no estarán, otros no quieren venir, otros puede que ni siquiera sepan que su hijo o hija está tocando, ni note su ausencia a las nueve de la noche de un lluvioso día de invierno. Pero ellos ahí, tocando como si estuviera el auditorio lleno, como si tocasen la mejor de las piezas.Aunque algunos, como el clarinete, ni siquiera aparece por el insituto por la tarde.
Como en las películas, pero no las de Disney ni las series de instituto... como otras películas sin finales felices ni navidades cálidas con regalos y amor.
Hoy ha sido el concierto de Navidad, de mi instituto, y me he ofrecido a ayudar a la banda. Clarinetes, trompetas, trombones, mucha percusión, guistarras eléctricas, un coro, y cuatro profesores, dos de ellos de música, muy dedicados a que aquello sonara.
Una treintena de niños tocando distintos instrumentos, canciones de series de televisión y películas, y un par de villancicos.
Como en las películas de Disney o en las series de institutos, o en Hannah Montana. Pero en mi instituto, los chicos normalemnete no teinen conociemientos previos de música, y puede ser la primera vez que tengan acceso a los intrumentos. Los itnstrumentos por supuestos, todos del isntituto compartidos. Dan clase de música todos los días, y gracias a eso han llegado donde están, que bastante es para el background que tienen.
Un clarinete viene a ver el concierto y se escaquea.El profesor teine que bajarse del escenario y regañarlo para sacarlo de entre el público de la mañana, para que toque.
Por la mañana hay más público, porque los otros profesores bajan a sus alumnos a escuchar el concierto. Por la tarde, el auditoria está medio vacío, a un cuarto de su capacidad, con suerte. Y la mayoría amigos de los que tocan...y algunos padres.
Entre el coro y los músicos, habrá alrededor de treinta chavales tocando, haciéndolo lo mejor que pueden. Apenas hay una docena de padres en el auditorio.
Un concierto preparado con tanto es fuerzo, con tanta ilusión...Los nervios, las partituras... Y los padres, ¿ dónde están? Unos no pueden venir, por el trabajo, otros estarán en otros países, algunos no estarán, otros no quieren venir, otros puede que ni siquiera sepan que su hijo o hija está tocando, ni note su ausencia a las nueve de la noche de un lluvioso día de invierno. Pero ellos ahí, tocando como si estuviera el auditorio lleno, como si tocasen la mejor de las piezas.Aunque algunos, como el clarinete, ni siquiera aparece por el insituto por la tarde.
Como en las películas, pero no las de Disney ni las series de instituto... como otras películas sin finales felices ni navidades cálidas con regalos y amor.
Y así los profesores, nos enfrentamos a la última semana y media de clase sabiendo que va a ser cuesta abajo, sabiendo, como ellos sabes inconscientemente, la cantida de esperanzas incumplidas y desilusiones con que van a tener que enferntarse. El camino hacia una navidad de película, pero de película alternativa.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Election day in New York/Elecciones en nueva Yörk
November 4th, 2008. Election day in USA, when, for the first time, an Afro-American could be elected president
And here I am, sat at a Professional Development Workshop at my school’s library, without students. It is an electoral school.
When I go through the hall, sometimes I fine big queues. Sometimes it is almost empty. There are some strange machines to vote, in which people get to vote, move a huge lever, press some buttons and move the lever again.
From time to time somebody sends a message. Someone calls at break Are there any news? Nothing yet.
School is over. Screenwriting class is almost empty. I go to a friend’s house, in the Lower East Side; I have dinner and a drink there. I go back home. It’s 11 pm. There is an expecting calm. I take the train. Change once. Somebody says “ It’s over” 45 minutes later I go back to the street in 125th at St Nicholas av. Down at the platform people are shouting and singing. I do not need to listen to the radio or what the TV any more in order to know what is happening. I get to the street. Masses of people flowing from one side to the other, shouting, “ Obama”, singing, dancing…one music groups passes by, followed by a crowd. Martin Luther King’s square is lit up with TV lights and crowded. The bells in the different churches don’t stop pealing. Cars have to stop. And buses. People open their doors and hold each other. I go back home, and call Spain,. I call m mother, at hospital, she has to be operated. She is about to get into the circus.
I go to sleep and I wake up with the elections hangover. I call again, alter a restless night. She is out, but she is not awake yet.
Alter school. I go to the doctor, to the orthopedist. I have another vertebra broken.
One day for the history of USA, for my mum’s history, for mine.
I ad one Obama pin to the memento collection from America, and a vertebra to the fractured vertebrae one.
Cuatro de noviembre de 2008. Día de las elecciones estadounidenses en las que, por primera vez un americno de color puede ser elegido presidente,
Y aquí estoy, sentada en un Professional Development Workshop ( u sea, un cursillo pa profes) en la biblioteca de mi centro sin alumnos, un colegio electoral.
Cuando paso por el vestíbulo, a veces hay largas colas, a veces casi nadie. Hay unas máquin muy raras para votar, en las que la gente entra,. mueve una palanca gigate, aprieta unos botones, y vuelve a mover la palanca.
De vez en cuando alguien manda un mensaje En el descanso se llama. ¿ Se sabe algo?
Nada.
Acaba el cole. En clase de guíon no hay nadie. Voy a casa de un amigo. En el Lower East side. ceno y tomo algo. Y me vuelvo a mi casa. Son las once. No hay nadie en la calle. Reina una tranquilidad expectante. Cojo el metro. Un transbordo. alguien dice, "It´s over" 45 minutos más tarde salgo a la calle en la 125th con St. Nicholas Av. Ya en la parada, la gente va gritando y cantando. Ya no tengo que escuchra la radio o ver la tele para saber que está pasando. Salgo a lacalle. Ríadas de gente de un lado para todo, gritando " Obama", cantando, bailando... PAsa un grupo de música seguido por una multitud. La plaza de Martin Luther King está ilumanda con focos televisivos, y repleta de gente. Las campanas de las iglesias no paran de repicar. Los coches se tiene que parar, y los autobuses.La gente abre las puertas y se abraza. Vuelvo a casa.
Y llamo a España, a mi madre al hospital, la tienen que operar.
Me voy a domir y me levanto en la resaca de las elecciones. Llamo otra vez, después de una noche intranquila. Ya ha salido, aunque aún no está despierta.
Voy al traumatólogo. Me dice que tengo otra vértebra rota.
Un día para la historia de EEUU, para la historia de mi madre, para mi historia.
Añado una chapa de Obama a la colección de recuerdos de América, y una vértebra más a la de vértebras rotas.
And here I am, sat at a Professional Development Workshop at my school’s library, without students. It is an electoral school.
When I go through the hall, sometimes I fine big queues. Sometimes it is almost empty. There are some strange machines to vote, in which people get to vote, move a huge lever, press some buttons and move the lever again.
From time to time somebody sends a message. Someone calls at break Are there any news? Nothing yet.
School is over. Screenwriting class is almost empty. I go to a friend’s house, in the Lower East Side; I have dinner and a drink there. I go back home. It’s 11 pm. There is an expecting calm. I take the train. Change once. Somebody says “ It’s over” 45 minutes later I go back to the street in 125th at St Nicholas av. Down at the platform people are shouting and singing. I do not need to listen to the radio or what the TV any more in order to know what is happening. I get to the street. Masses of people flowing from one side to the other, shouting, “ Obama”, singing, dancing…one music groups passes by, followed by a crowd. Martin Luther King’s square is lit up with TV lights and crowded. The bells in the different churches don’t stop pealing. Cars have to stop. And buses. People open their doors and hold each other. I go back home, and call Spain,. I call m mother, at hospital, she has to be operated. She is about to get into the circus.
I go to sleep and I wake up with the elections hangover. I call again, alter a restless night. She is out, but she is not awake yet.
Alter school. I go to the doctor, to the orthopedist. I have another vertebra broken.
One day for the history of USA, for my mum’s history, for mine.
I ad one Obama pin to the memento collection from America, and a vertebra to the fractured vertebrae one.
Cuatro de noviembre de 2008. Día de las elecciones estadounidenses en las que, por primera vez un americno de color puede ser elegido presidente,
Y aquí estoy, sentada en un Professional Development Workshop ( u sea, un cursillo pa profes) en la biblioteca de mi centro sin alumnos, un colegio electoral.
Cuando paso por el vestíbulo, a veces hay largas colas, a veces casi nadie. Hay unas máquin muy raras para votar, en las que la gente entra,. mueve una palanca gigate, aprieta unos botones, y vuelve a mover la palanca.
De vez en cuando alguien manda un mensaje En el descanso se llama. ¿ Se sabe algo?
Nada.
Acaba el cole. En clase de guíon no hay nadie. Voy a casa de un amigo. En el Lower East side. ceno y tomo algo. Y me vuelvo a mi casa. Son las once. No hay nadie en la calle. Reina una tranquilidad expectante. Cojo el metro. Un transbordo. alguien dice, "It´s over" 45 minutos más tarde salgo a la calle en la 125th con St. Nicholas Av. Ya en la parada, la gente va gritando y cantando. Ya no tengo que escuchra la radio o ver la tele para saber que está pasando. Salgo a lacalle. Ríadas de gente de un lado para todo, gritando " Obama", cantando, bailando... PAsa un grupo de música seguido por una multitud. La plaza de Martin Luther King está ilumanda con focos televisivos, y repleta de gente. Las campanas de las iglesias no paran de repicar. Los coches se tiene que parar, y los autobuses.La gente abre las puertas y se abraza. Vuelvo a casa.
Y llamo a España, a mi madre al hospital, la tienen que operar.
Me voy a domir y me levanto en la resaca de las elecciones. Llamo otra vez, después de una noche intranquila. Ya ha salido, aunque aún no está despierta.
Voy al traumatólogo. Me dice que tengo otra vértebra rota.
Un día para la historia de EEUU, para la historia de mi madre, para mi historia.
Añado una chapa de Obama a la colección de recuerdos de América, y una vértebra más a la de vértebras rotas.
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