Bloodborne.

Today, this morning, I went to my HR orientation with Wayzata, and like most orientations I've been to, when photo IDs were required, I had not washed my hair.

I had an Ambien hangover, David and I both did this morning, but the drive was short because I stayed with him in Minneapolis last night. And when I packed for this meeting, it never crossed my mind that I should dress nicely. It just crossed my mind to pack pants.

So I was surprised this morning when I was the only one wearing jeans, the only one with greasy hair, the last one to show up who had to crawl over people to the back of the room, the only one who had to leave 10 minutes into the meeting to go clog her runny nose with tissue-thin toilet paper and then tuck it into the pocket of her purple hoodie.

Fucking fancy-ass Wayzata. And your khakis.

All good news today. A raise already because of a flub in my first contract, insurance that pays me $90 a month instead of me paying anything in, the news that I'll be in two different rooms next year but at least will be able to put my things in one of them.

And typical HR videos, oh yes. But the same thing happened to me that always does in these situations: I think things are funny as hell, and nobody else does, everyone else is too shy or too stuff-shirted to laugh at the funny.

The first video we watched was about Bloodborne Pathogens: 15 minutes of precaution. It was an experience I assume students have when teachers pop-in videos that are made to be accessible and fun even though it's a serious topic! And so the lady with the big teeth said we're going to make this learning as easy as possible for you! And then she discussed how to take off gloves and what kind of diseases someone can get from blood while wacky graphics (kind of like the intro to Saved by the Bell) danced in the background and the sound effect of screeching tires or a needle being dragged off a record (like whoa, what did she just say! That's an important statistic!) interrupted her speech every four seconds.

Also, it was like that science show Beakman's World that I used to watch every Saturday morning, fast-paced and trying to make boring things fun, making me wish I had the materials in my house to try some of the experiments.

There are three types of bloodborne pathogens. One is HIV and the other two are Hepatitis B and C. The video portrayed these as a metaphor, so when the narrator said Watch out for the big three--HIV, HB, and HC! the scene cut to three kids wearing letter jackets. One of the kids' letter jackets with HIV sewn down the side.

Of course, I started laughing. And nobody else in the room did. I snorted, everyone else took it seriously. Dude. He had a letter jacket that said HIV and he pointed at the letters with the same attitude accused-baby-daddy have backstage on the Maury Povich show.

Also, the amount of blood in this movie was preposterous. I think it's a little weird that I have to spend so much time on blood training in the first place, but the scenarios in this movie involved a student with such a wretched bloody nose that it covered his entire face, and a Koi pond size amount of blood in the hallway (that a teacher had to clean up). In fact, the video showed this amount of blood on numerous occasions. To myself: well, I guess there are a number of things we need to consider when it comes to those school shootings. I mean, who the fuck is going to clean that shit up? Obviously teachers in business skirts with latex gloves. It was like she was frantically cleaning up after a murder.

The next video was about harassment (hilarious before it even starts). At one point in the movie, the characters (a group of employees discussing their employee handbook in a conference room) were reluctant about the importance of harassment rules. (Duh, harassment is important, you guys! Don't be fucking stupid!)

My second-favorite part of the movie was when the black guy used the word "Oriental" to describe Asians, and the others were like Oriental is not the appropriate term and he was like: do they even care if you call them that? How do you know? Does your cat get mad when you call it Siamese?

And my favorite part of the movie was during the "gay" part, when the men in the movie were chided for talking in effeminate voices about decorating their offices. (By the way, not okay, everybody.) The person offended by these voices was a straight man, and in order to highlight this, the movie cut to an interview with the man (a la Real World with him talking to the camera) and he said I just don't think it's okay for the guys to act like this--I mean, I just found out that Susan who works with me is a lesbian.

And then the video cuts to Susan in an interview setting. She has overheard all of these inappropriate gay comments. Susan is not happy. She is an angry lesbian. Susan is wearing a plaid work shirt, no makeup. She talks in a deep voice and her curly hair is pulled back in a lazy unwashed fashion. If I could've seen it, I'm sure her hair was tied back with twine and she was wearing calf-length socks that had lost their elasticity 2 years ago and hung around her ankles like hair scrunchies.

I accidentally guffawed, and since I was in the front for the movie (they were on a screen in the back of the room), I turned around to look at the "crowd" with a stupid grin on my face that said Oh, man, can you believe this guys! This is the most ironic thing in the world! And a bunch of straight mouths faced back at me.

And then I felt very conscious of my jeans and flipflops.

au revior le Hutch. OR The Big Waterfall Road Trip.

My incessant boredom over the last three weeks would lead one to think I'd be blogging everyday, writing about the nothingness that goes on in Hutchinson with basic cable, a wall air conditioning, and 85 degrees. But boredom, somehow, leads to laziness, and I have been too lazy to blog. I have been too bored to blog, too lazy.

The countdown to Operation: Get the Fuck Out of Hutch has reached its final week. I'm leaving on Saturday. I've been slowly packing for awhile, mostly buying bins everyday and letting them sit in my living room. Then buying more bins. I have a load of boxes to give to Goodwill. I'm throwing things away. The He-Man blanket, I'm sorry to say, has reached its last leg (perhaps a child will experience an unfortunate pricking of the sewing needle Shannon once lost in there), as have a bunch of my clothes, the comforter on my bed (but I love the new one), the Psychology textbooks with USED stickers on the side I thought I'd hold onto for the rest of my life to remember that I once was 19, some random desk items like a paperweight and those desk lights from Ikea that I once thought were so amazing, stainless steel bowls that came with my pots and pans (from the second year of undergrad) and that I never used, not even once. The dishes with the shallow bowls that are ugly anyway (leaving me with only three or so plastic bowls, but I've decided I like hodge podge dishes and intend to replace them slowly with one or two from multiple sets that I like) are packed up and ready to go, as are the plates I bought to display Christmas cookies (just for that, you know) that I did get use out of during Operation: Bake back in 2007.

It feels good to get rid of this shit. I am a new woman.

It will probably be replaced with other shit. But I'm trying not to do that. I feel like I will finally be settling, and it finally feels good. [We'll see how I feel about this in a couple of months, though, eh? Grass-is-greener-Wayzata.)

Today I ordered $50 worth of pictures from Snapfish. I haven't ordered hard copies of photos since 2006, so I'm pretty excited to hold onto the last four years of my life. [Now that I've said this, I realize I'm missing a bunch. Good thing I have a free shipping password.]

A couple of weeks ago, I cleaned out my classroom, handed in my keys and my ID card (which felt like handing in a badge and a gun) and I had the exit meeting with my principal. He said: even though you're leaving, we don't regret hiring you, which I needed to hear. This was much different than what the "mean one" in the English department told Tessa: Jean interviewed so, so well--we were just floored with her. But then the school year started and she didn't do anything we expected her to.

She's a bitch. I should make it clear that "expected her to do" meant that I didn't follow the in-stone curriculum of the department, that I added my own assignments to the in-stone calendar of the department. Before the new interview the department told Tessa (who has the same "rebel" approach to her classroom that I do): well, it's our fault for not making it clear that you and Jean were expected to do everything we'd written in the curriculum. We'll just have to make this perfectly clear during this interview.

Yes, Tessa said, we should make it clear that there is very little room for creativity in this curriculum.

I have been replaced with "Joe."

So, my room is empty. I don't get to say goodbye to some of the kids I'd like to say goodbye to, and I was nostalgic on that last day. But it won't last long. I love this place for the experience, but I keep putting myself in the position: what if you were here for another year, and my stomach twists like I'm doing an unintentional sit-up. Oh, God. The 95 degree open-house with no air conditioning. Teaching "La Relacion" again. And then I think of teaching Advanced Comp, and the twisty feeling disappears. Then I think of living 3 minutes from 8 coffee shops and 2 bookstores and the twisty feeling disappears.

Hutch, Hutch, Hutch.

*

On Saturday I was feeling claustrophobic and I wanted to go shoe shopping, so I drove to Willmar. When I got to Willmar, it was uneventful and dull. It was Hutchinson, but smaller, and with less water features. I was going to turn around and go back, but then I figured I had a whole day, so I decided to turn it into a day trip.

And the mission of my day trip was to visit cities that had the name "falls" in their city name. Because I anticipated that these places would have some waterfalls, and who doesn't love a good waterfall on a Saturday.

GRANITE FALLS, MINN. ["Don't forget to wipe"]

I turned the Impala southwest and headed to Granite Falls. The little phone GPS took me right into the city, and I tried to find parks or waterfalls or areas of green on the little map. But I didn't find much. While the logo for the town has a big fucking two-piered waterfall on it, there were no sigs pointing to waterfalls, nor brown signs indicating parks, which would indicate waterfalls. So, I drove around for awhile, in those little streets. I drove by a Lutheran church with an 80s SUV out front for an almost-married couple, and in addition to streamers and cans on the back, the windows were painted CONGRATS GOON & SHORTY.

This couple is either really, hideously annoying, or really fucking awesome.

I found a bridge and a clearning near the Minnesota River, and I saw a dam-like waterfall next to an hydro-electric plant. See:

And I thought there is no way this lame, man-made waterfall is the claim to fame of Granite Falls. I crossed the walking bridge, over to a park, full of tall oaks and ankle-length scratchy grass; I walked down a sidewalk alongside the park, following the river. And there was nothing there. From the bridge I saw no waterfall, and from the river-side I saw no waterfall.

But there was a blue porta-porty in the middle of nowhere, and I had to pee. I set my camera on the cement outside, went in, swatted the flies, locked the door, squatted. On the back side of the door, in red paint like blood was sprawled DON'T FORGET TO WIPE. It looked like a message on a mirror in a horror movie. And I didn't forget to.

Anyway. Granite Falls has little, but whenever I see them on the weather map, I can think: ah, yes, Granite Falls. I've been there. If I was a student or a certain MFAer with jazzy prose, I'd said, I'll never take that place for granite.


To get out of town and in hopes of seeing a waterfall, I followed these signs about the Minnesota River Valley:

But Minnesotans think everything is scenic.

REDWOOD FALLS, MINN. ["There is a waterfall here, but we're not making it clear where it is"]

I plugged Redwood Falls into the GPS, and it took me the way of construction, so I drove around until it recalculated and took me along more pink Minnesota River Valley sigs. Very green, very much like Mankato with its broccoli-head trees and hills on the roadways that make it seem like I'm constantly climbing a roller coaster, waiting for the click click clicks to get slower as I reach the top and start to point down.

I passed through a Sioux Indian Reservation (with a giant neon sign on the roadside that flashed INDIAN RESERVATION THIS WAY) which seemed a little Casino-esque for not being a Casino, and I pulled into Bridge Street, right into town. Redwood Falls doesn't have a giant river. It has Redwood Creek, and there were a couple of parks around Redwood Creek. I drove the narrow roads near the parks, around the camping signs and the tents and the folks in RVs with orange fires--flames stretching as though they'd just woke up from a long nap and kissing off black smoke--right outside their doors. I found plenty of creek, but I found no waterfalls. It was frustrating, the town being called Redwood Falls. I would like to rename it: There's a waterfall here but we're not making it clear where it is. But then again, Hutchinson is called Hutch and there is no communal Hutch in the city park or anything. There is only a popcorn cart that never, ever sells popcorn and a phonebooth with the phone off the receiver.

In Redwood Falls, I found a zoo. One of those free zoos with chickens in cages as though they're zoo animals and not just jacked from some dude's farm, with deer behind thin wire, with peacocks and goats (meh-meh-mehs) and candy machines that give handfuls of dusty corn for a quarter.

I stretched my legs here (and my feet, which were blistered because of impractical shoes for this impromptu day trip), grabbed the camera, and headed for the buffalo.

The buffalo's heads are as big as my car.

It's a little awkward, being at a zoo by yourself. Sort of child molestery. Parents there had children, couples held hands, I walked around with my keys in my back pocket and my camera strap around my wrist.

I stood in front of the cage. Kids gathered, too, parents made comments about keeping fingers out of cages and how big and brown the eyes were. I stood in front of the big one, camera at my side, just looking.

And the buffalo charged at me. Only me. I was the only one on that side of the fence, and the buffalo rammed his head into the side of the fence. It was like I'd been talking shit about his girlfriend and he was on steroids; it was like Eliot Stabler in the police locker room after a perp threatens his family. Of course, if the fence wasn't there I'd have been dead, but that's why zoos have fences, silly.

The whole crowd gasped and I stood there wide-eyed, and then a man with a paper bag (the zookeeper?) said What did you do to get him to do that? And I shrugged and he said I've been trying to get him to charge all day! And you just show up and he finally charges!

And then he took his paper bag and continued to draw it along the fence in a way of taunting the buffalo and calling out to them. Rattle, rattle, rattle. It made me want to charge him.

Also, he had like four teeth total.

I peeked at the deer for awhile, two babies and a mother; one of the babies really naughty and splashing in the pond, splashing his brother, trying to instigate a chase. Deer are adorable, and I would like one for a pet, please, with its stiff ears and morse code of white dashes and dots on its backside.

I'd grabbed some quarters from my car, so I went to the machine to grab some corn. I fed the goats--they were so excited and cute, little puppies--and when I went back for more, they went away. They went to their goat bridge.

You know, like Billy Goats Gruff. This goat is like: don't take a picture of my fucking bridge. And I certainly couldn't be like hey goats come here because I was by myself, and goats don't like being told what to do, but I noticed a weird crank device where I could drop the corn in and wind it to the top of the bridge. So I cranked, and the goats ate. And then I left, hoping to see some waterfall on the way out, but I gave up and went back to Hutchinson. It wasn't a bad view on the way out, though.

I passed through Olivia, Minn., the self-proclaimed corn capital. And there was a lot of corn, but no more corn than I'd seen the rest of the trip, along with about 400 grain elevators.

The end. That was the day trip, about six or seven hours. I didn't have to fill up on gas, I didn't have to talk to anybody, and I didn't buy anything. But how often do I get to western Minnesota, anyway, and what else are you gonna do. I came home and looked up waterfalls in these towns online: turns out that Granite Falls manmade waterfalls are the big feature (are you serious?) but there are some other falls along the way; turns out I was about 1/2 mile from the Redwood Falls Ramsey Falls alongside the creek. No big deal. Aren't I going to see Niagra Falls in a couple of weeks?

No better way to say goodbye to Hutch than to leave it for a day, so when I came full circle I could call it home, could come back home to Hutch, just once.

I thought the same thing every time I drove through Pine Island, Minnesota.

Where is William Duffy's farm located? Why don't I see the bronze butterfly? Have I wasted my life?

My God, James Wright, I have so many questions.

I'm done commuting to Rochester, but that doesn't mean class is done. I have about 15 pages of Literature Review to write, alongside a detailed description of my Method. But the data collection tools are nearly ready to go, and the intro is pretty solid, even though research writers are quite unappreciative of the creative quirks in my writing. You want to use a fragment for what? For effect? Hu-huh, I don't think so. Get your fucking em-dashes out of here, you MFA slut.

Nobody really said that. But throughout this 3 and 1/2 week course I did have some interesting conversations about my writing. Namely with the professor, who really is a wonderful professor, who embarrassed me in front of the entire room of people I didn't know (all training to be K--6 teachers, I was the only 5--12) by saying things like:

• Jean is very, very special, everyone. Jean has an MFA. That is a terminal degree, which means that highest possible degree. She has already been teaching for two years.

and

• What do you think about that Jean? During class discussions that I did not volunteer myself for.

and

• [as a P.S. to an email to the entire class] P.S. Jean, we are so lucky to have you in this class. You have so much to teach us.

and

• Well, when Jean signed up for this class, I was so intimidated! She is just so smart! I thought I was going to make myself a fool in front of her.

Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered as fuck. But after that email to the class, I got some stink eyes when I walked in the room next day. I wanted to say: NO! I didn't ask for this! I'm not smarter than any of you! There is nothing special about me except I spent three years getting drunk and writing some poems and shit. Stop.

But class is over. I will implement the experiment I've written next year, another year when I will be ridiculously busy and have no time for implementing experiments. But the little psychologist who lives inside of me is pretty excited, and I had a good time, actually, creating my data triangulation matrix (Liz, you have to see), and I've created some data collection tools that I'm more than willing to show off. Particularly a "peer review rubric" wherein my students will review their peer reviewers. And, next year, I'll be audio tape recording a couple of peer reviews to see what it is students talk about when the have the whole class to talk about writing. My guess: school gossip, farting, shopping, and football.

The title of my Action Research Project (thesis toward finishing the fucking M.S. Education K--12) is:

Where to Start Syndrome:

Can Goal-Setting Improve the Quality of Student Peer Review and Revision?

In one year, I'll be able to answer this question. And I will have to present it to a big group of people whilst wearing a fancy outfit. Jealous? Me either.

Anyway, I'm going to go to Green Bay now to get hammered.

Oh hey, what's up, I hate research.

I've come to find that my research strategy for journal articles is the same strategy I use at a Chinese buffet.

Everything looks good. Fill plate. Ingest as much as possible.

And then I find, in hindsight of course, that I've eaten too much. That my strategy of ooh, this looks so good, this looks exactly like what I need, PRINT PRINT PRINT just leads to a boatload of indigestion. Then I find (after reading the whole 20-page article, of course) that the article I thought was so amazing actually is research on retarded children. Or Korean children. Or ugly children. And I will have none of those in my classroom.

Then I get hungry and start all over again. Second plate. Pretty soon dessert. Oh, this looks so good, it just smells satisfying. Oh, turns out it's seven-hour-old squid with orange sauce.

Good thing I didn't notice until after I ate the whole thing.

This week in Hutch

was the best week you've had in Hutch.

Leave it to Jenny and Christina. This town is livable when you only have to work 2 hours a day, when you leave it three times during the week, when your bestest friends in the whole world and the cutest dog of all time are running around your tiny apartment. It's absolutely livable when you're friends start cooking for you, have meals prepared after job interviews, bake you a cake that says Smell Ya Later Hutch after you nail the job. (Before that, they soothed you and comforted you and offered all they could--they put up with your nervousness and whining after that horrible interivew (the worst you've had, ever)--and you had a group hug when you got the call.

They taught 8th graders with you. You went for walks around town. They did all the dishes. They kissed you on the head in the bathroom when you were waiting for the puke to come after way too much Sweet Tea Vodka. (Devil, devil, sweet tea.) You believe you each shared a victory at Scrabble. You were almost skunked at Cribbage. It was a cold week, more fall than summer, gray skies, almost-rain and then rain.

God, you ate some good food.

And when it was over, it wasn't sad like the other times. Because there is the 4th of July, and then there is the roadtrip to New York, and you are very quite certain that that week will blow this one out of the water.

*

Not to jinx it, but this summer is in the running for being the best one I've ever had. Not to jinx it. Everything is amazing. Now I have to find the best way to quit my job.

I sent this email to about 20 people today:

A quote from a student's final exam essay, re: Huck Finn:

"Jim is the biggest influence on huck cause you have to have a lot of responsibility to take care of a slave. You need to feed, water, make sure they don't get stolen, It's just like takeing care of a puppie but it's a human and 10 times harder."

My favorite part is where you have to "water" a slave. You know, so they don't dry out in the sun.

Liz said: You need to make sure your slaves don't get stolen! What does this student recommend? The Club? A nice, sturdy bike lock (remember to get it around the legs and seat, too, so no one steals those parts and leaves you with the rest)?

What.

Argh.

I just found out on fucking Facebook that my uncle has been missing from his group home for six days, meaning he has been off his medication, meaning he is not safe.

And I've been home for the last four days, but nobody said anything about this.

There are so many things I will never, ever, ever understand.