I have moved to the following address:
http://damenleeturks.posterous.com
Please forward.
04 January 2010
12 December 2009
05 May 2009
A Challenge
It’s hard to say how the interview went the other day.
On the purely editing side, I think it went fine. I'm a bit rusty when editing by hand (which is what they do for everything—how archaic!). So, I don't know if I marked everything correctly on the editing test they gave me. But, besides those misgivings, I'm not sure I want to work for that company.
I mean, it's money, and more than I'm making now, but the philosophy (and dress code) felt very stuffy and pompous. Here is much more laid back. Plus, there, it's very political and patriotic. I understand instilling good citizenship values in kids, but it seems like they're trying to groom statesmen from age 3 or 4.
Even now, I'm still supposed to write an essay (as part of the application) on "What America means to me".
And a job that requires that is way too political for me.
--
Honestly, I'm not sure I really agree with the whole "private school" philosophy, either. I mean, of course they're going to look good if they can exclude anyone they want. It's a fully private school. They were against vouchers even, for the reason that that would have been accepting government money, and thereby government control to some degree.
One of the questions in the interview was, "If you had a private audience with the president of the US, what would you discuss with him?" After rebounding from the seeming non-sequitur of a question, I brought up the topic of special education. It's something I'm passionate about, what with a blind sister, deaf friends, and having had a speech impediment in elementary. The interviewer tried convincing me that the reason they don't offer programs for children with "special needs" is because they don't have the resources for it.1
In other words, she tried to convince me that the exclusion of people with needs that aren't "normal" was a GOOD thing! She tried to sell me on the philosophy that this was niche education for smart (and thereby “special”) kids.
--
Along with the editing test (which I fully expected), they gave me a psychoanalysis test, one of those with questions like:
On lots of the psychoanalysis questions, I wouldn't have done any of the three options they gave me. I only wrote in my own options on that one, but there were a handful of others that I really wanted to.
Then, they gave me what amounted to a timed intelligence and logic test. Like they had to make sure I was smart enough to work there. It was almost insulting.
--
So, even though the money is good, I think I would be very, very uncomfortable there. It would be like working for (and with) the very snootiest people from a Gilmore Girls episode—the ones that make your skin crawl with their tennis whites and their riding lessons. It was very frustrating and disappointing.
If I did work there, the workload would be a lot, from what I was told. They have three editors, a graphic designer, and an illustrator in the communications department. And that small team does work on everything from fliers sent out to parents, curriculum and tests, newsletters, to invitations to benefit dinners, etc. The students alone number more than 10,000.
Still, despite the massive workload, the job sounded great during the interview. It really would be nice to have constant and steady assignments. Still, as I walked out of the interview (to go take those tests) and as I had time to think about the whole picture without being put on the spot, I started to doubt if I would like working there.
It's one thing to work at a school, with it's rules and regulations. It's another to work at the headquarters of a quasi- military/political/educational organization. (And I say military because of the strictly regimented curriculum and the firmly pressed uniforms—even the lady at the front desk was in a sweater-vest.)
Oh, well. Rant over. Back to the búsqueda.
1 The fact that there are no accommodations for "special" needs really grates on me.
Like, if they find out my child has dyslexia, what are they going to do—kick the kid out so he doesn't pull down their pristine test scores? Or what if I have a blind daughter like my sister? My sister is really smart, did debate and extemporaneous speaking, is very musically talented (they emphasize music and public speaking in their curriculum), plans on getting her masters in teaching, and wouldn't have pulled down anyone's test scores. But just because she would need some special accommodations, would they reject her because of her disability?
On the purely editing side, I think it went fine. I'm a bit rusty when editing by hand (which is what they do for everything—how archaic!). So, I don't know if I marked everything correctly on the editing test they gave me. But, besides those misgivings, I'm not sure I want to work for that company.
I mean, it's money, and more than I'm making now, but the philosophy (and dress code) felt very stuffy and pompous. Here is much more laid back. Plus, there, it's very political and patriotic. I understand instilling good citizenship values in kids, but it seems like they're trying to groom statesmen from age 3 or 4.
Even now, I'm still supposed to write an essay (as part of the application) on "What America means to me".
And a job that requires that is way too political for me.
--
Honestly, I'm not sure I really agree with the whole "private school" philosophy, either. I mean, of course they're going to look good if they can exclude anyone they want. It's a fully private school. They were against vouchers even, for the reason that that would have been accepting government money, and thereby government control to some degree.
One of the questions in the interview was, "If you had a private audience with the president of the US, what would you discuss with him?" After rebounding from the seeming non-sequitur of a question, I brought up the topic of special education. It's something I'm passionate about, what with a blind sister, deaf friends, and having had a speech impediment in elementary. The interviewer tried convincing me that the reason they don't offer programs for children with "special needs" is because they don't have the resources for it.1
In other words, she tried to convince me that the exclusion of people with needs that aren't "normal" was a GOOD thing! She tried to sell me on the philosophy that this was niche education for smart (and thereby “special”) kids.
--
Along with the editing test (which I fully expected), they gave me a psychoanalysis test, one of those with questions like:
You are a kindergarten teacher. Johnny is crying because he forgot his lunch. You notice that Sally, another student in the class, has more than she needs in her lunch. Your next action would be to:
A. Tell Johnny to stop crying and have Sally share her lunch with Johnny
B. Remind Johnny that he needs to bring his lunch and call his mother
C. Comfort Johnny and buy him a lunch with your own money
(I ended up editing A to say "Call Johnny's mother and ask Sally if she would share her lunch with Johnny" and marking that.)
A. Tell Johnny to stop crying and have Sally share her lunch with Johnny
B. Remind Johnny that he needs to bring his lunch and call his mother
C. Comfort Johnny and buy him a lunch with your own money
(I ended up editing A to say "Call Johnny's mother and ask Sally if she would share her lunch with Johnny" and marking that.)
On lots of the psychoanalysis questions, I wouldn't have done any of the three options they gave me. I only wrote in my own options on that one, but there were a handful of others that I really wanted to.
Then, they gave me what amounted to a timed intelligence and logic test. Like they had to make sure I was smart enough to work there. It was almost insulting.
--
So, even though the money is good, I think I would be very, very uncomfortable there. It would be like working for (and with) the very snootiest people from a Gilmore Girls episode—the ones that make your skin crawl with their tennis whites and their riding lessons. It was very frustrating and disappointing.
If I did work there, the workload would be a lot, from what I was told. They have three editors, a graphic designer, and an illustrator in the communications department. And that small team does work on everything from fliers sent out to parents, curriculum and tests, newsletters, to invitations to benefit dinners, etc. The students alone number more than 10,000.
Still, despite the massive workload, the job sounded great during the interview. It really would be nice to have constant and steady assignments. Still, as I walked out of the interview (to go take those tests) and as I had time to think about the whole picture without being put on the spot, I started to doubt if I would like working there.
It's one thing to work at a school, with it's rules and regulations. It's another to work at the headquarters of a quasi- military/political/educational organization. (And I say military because of the strictly regimented curriculum and the firmly pressed uniforms—even the lady at the front desk was in a sweater-vest.)
Oh, well. Rant over. Back to the búsqueda.
1 The fact that there are no accommodations for "special" needs really grates on me.
Like, if they find out my child has dyslexia, what are they going to do—kick the kid out so he doesn't pull down their pristine test scores? Or what if I have a blind daughter like my sister? My sister is really smart, did debate and extemporaneous speaking, is very musically talented (they emphasize music and public speaking in their curriculum), plans on getting her masters in teaching, and wouldn't have pulled down anyone's test scores. But just because she would need some special accommodations, would they reject her because of her disability?
03 April 2009
Cold Rain
Why does the rain have to be so cold here? I miss being warmly soaked by some sudden deluge, by some distant thunderclap and unexpected downpour.
My parent's subdivision (funny, how it's theirs now, and no longer mine) was built in an old rice field. The street gutters would overflow when the tropical storms came, pushing dead leaves and debris halfway up the lawns. Dark, low clouds and large, heavy, constant raindrops kept the world small, pulled in the walls and ceiling. Cars would circle the block until the water went down (or the drivers' courage came up) enough to ford through the churning, wet mess.
My mom used to get after us for playing in the deep ditches when it flooded. Fears of snakes or worms or ants or drowning or currents or sharp unseen glass shards. There were no storm drains to get caught in, just asphalt and concrete. We'd come home covered in mud and grass clippings, shedding our sopping outer skins at the front door. And after the rain and the water withdrew, the new crawdad holes would be visible, evidence new life made from clean clay.
I remember riding my bike through a flooded field one night when I was fourteen. The rain had stopped, and my clothes were still soaked. The warm, balmy, summer air felt nice. The full moon reflected brightly off the calm surface of the two-inch-deep lake where the field was. My front tire ripped softly through the water, whirring crisply, and I remember feeling alive. Like I was running on water, somewhere between flying and speed boating, the humid air suddenly cool on my skin. I remember laughing and dodging and sliding out on my back tire, avoiding the much deeper water in the roadside ditch.
I miss that. Here, the rain is just cold.
My parent's subdivision (funny, how it's theirs now, and no longer mine) was built in an old rice field. The street gutters would overflow when the tropical storms came, pushing dead leaves and debris halfway up the lawns. Dark, low clouds and large, heavy, constant raindrops kept the world small, pulled in the walls and ceiling. Cars would circle the block until the water went down (or the drivers' courage came up) enough to ford through the churning, wet mess.
My mom used to get after us for playing in the deep ditches when it flooded. Fears of snakes or worms or ants or drowning or currents or sharp unseen glass shards. There were no storm drains to get caught in, just asphalt and concrete. We'd come home covered in mud and grass clippings, shedding our sopping outer skins at the front door. And after the rain and the water withdrew, the new crawdad holes would be visible, evidence new life made from clean clay.
I remember riding my bike through a flooded field one night when I was fourteen. The rain had stopped, and my clothes were still soaked. The warm, balmy, summer air felt nice. The full moon reflected brightly off the calm surface of the two-inch-deep lake where the field was. My front tire ripped softly through the water, whirring crisply, and I remember feeling alive. Like I was running on water, somewhere between flying and speed boating, the humid air suddenly cool on my skin. I remember laughing and dodging and sliding out on my back tire, avoiding the much deeper water in the roadside ditch.
I miss that. Here, the rain is just cold.
04 September 2008
Drowning in Lake Bonneville
There I was in Geology class this afternoon, distracted by Gizmodo, Lifehacker, and Engadget. The professor put up a map of Lake Bonneville, pointed to a spot in the middle of the ancient lake, and said, "We're right here."
And my mind said, "Wha?"
I guess my mind hasn't quite decided to move up to Millcreek with Nicole and me yet. It's frightening to lose yourself like that, especially when I'm so used to knowing exactly where I am at all times.
Oh, well.
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