So, I've been somewhat lax about blog writing this year. In first semester that was because I was working in a doomed boys' school which is closing down at the end of the year, resulting in increasing student misbehaviour and decreasing staff morale. Takes up a fair whack of your day.
This semester I am facing a whole new set of challenges, having started at a new school with a whole new set of (somewhat unexpected) responsibilities. I now teach in a co-ed, middle class 'burbs school, where, unbeknownst to me, I had been awarded the position of Head of Drama. How does one receive a job without being aware, you may ask. WELL...
I applied for an ongoing Drama/ English teaching position. I interviewed for the same position, and at no point was co-ordination mentioned. They then checked my references, raved about me to my principal and... nothing. Just as I got REALLY annoyed at not hearing anything, they called me; the terms of the job had changed (due to falling student numbers. Why does this happen everywhere I go???). Not to include co-ordination, mind you. It was simply a fixed contract, with a view to permanency. I took the job.
You'll note there's still no co-ordination involved. A few days before the position commenced, I went to school for orientation and received my timetable, which included a few free periods. What are these for, I asked? Why, to co-ordinate the department! Yes, of course they were...
Sadly, the teacher I replaced had been quite unwell in Semester one, leaving behind a few neglected and disheveled English classes (including a VCE class), a failed musical, and a complete absence of a Year Ten Drama curriculum. I had been of the impression that my job involved picking up and rearranging these pieces. Now people were mentioning tasks such as resurrecting a VCE Drama course and forward planning for the following year's performing arts festival.
A few days ago, the Assistant Principal mentioned a VCE expo (which I'd heard nothing of), for which a VCE Drama stall needed to be constructed, requiring information, pamphlets, photos, possible performances. In passing, the AP noted that, as we hadn't a Head of Drama, I might need to assist the Head of Arts in this. What? No Head of Drama? What was I, then? CHOPPED LIVER? I'd only just gotten my head around the surprise position and already it was being taken away! (And did this mean that I was able to shirk any extra responsibility? *pleasepleaseplease*)
Cue emergency meeting with Head of Arts, who outlined my responsibilities as *possible* Head of Drama, as well as expectations for the VCE Expo. He also checked with the AP, and confirmed that, as I had a time allowance, I MUST be Head of Drama! And so, my title has been re-bestowed upon me. What a week...
In viewing news, I have recently: seen and absolutely loved the musical, 'Wicked'; seen and been disappointed by the dance-ical, 'Edward Scissorhands'; seen and thoroughly enjoyed (although not as much as the previous Batman film) the Heath-ical, 'The Dark Knight'; been reminded of the rock opera shambles of last year, through the much better organised Complete Works Theater Company's version of 'Macbeth'; and am expecting to very much enjoy tomorrow's performance of Bell Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'.
In eating news, I am soon attending a chocolate festival (including a very exciting wine and chocolate matching session); am planning to attend the Taste of Melbourne food festival; am considering buying far more wine than I require (but it includes freebies!); have discovered the best churros in Melbourne so far (Juanita's, Brunswick St Fitzroy); and am excited to be gathering with a whole hope of long lost friends in a group dinner at the Quiet Man pub tomorrow.
And that's all, folks!
Showing posts with label Quandary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Quandary. Show all posts
Friday, August 01, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
Funding shortfall
You may know that I am a mentor. Through a welfare organisation called Good Shepherd, I, and other like minded volunteers in the MOOOV program provide a stable adult presence for around 50 disadvantaged young people. Or at least, we did. Today we have had it confirmed that our program is out of funding, both from philanthropic partners and the government. The program has no choice; it is selecting which mentoring matches are to be terminated immediately, and then phasing out all other matches.
This is such a huge disappointment. The program funds the volunteers to meet up with their young person and just 'hang out' for a minimum of an hour a week. Quite often mentors spend a lot more time than this (especially if you count travel time and costs, which are the mentors own costs). But in the end, the benefits are so great that no-one begrudges the time they have put into this fantastic program; seeing these kids, who've seen too much of life's negativities, blossom into confident and happier young people is such an incredible reward.
Our kids in the program come from a range of difficult situations; poverty, foster care, refugees, school refusers, substance abuse, personal abuse. These young people have seen more of the dark side of life than many lucky adults will experience in their whole lifetime. These kids have learned not to trust adults, to only rely on themselves, to disconnect from a society that has harmed them. Through valuable programs like MOOOV, we help them to plug back into the mainstream, and look forward to their own futures. And now, due to a lack of funds, these kids are likely to find themselves back on society's trash heap.
Sadly, mentoring is not a focus for our current government. They're focused on band aid solutions, like Juvenile Justice, but haven't the inclination to look at the source of the wound. So much can be done by helping kids gain the confidence to pull themselves up out of grim situations before they become dire situations that lead to darker cycles.
If you know anyone in government, in companies interested in financially supporting a charity, or in media, please help to promote our excellent cause. Expressions of funding interest, and all communications should be directed to Sue Parkes, Communications Manager at Good Shepherd, on 03 9418 3000.
This is such a huge disappointment. The program funds the volunteers to meet up with their young person and just 'hang out' for a minimum of an hour a week. Quite often mentors spend a lot more time than this (especially if you count travel time and costs, which are the mentors own costs). But in the end, the benefits are so great that no-one begrudges the time they have put into this fantastic program; seeing these kids, who've seen too much of life's negativities, blossom into confident and happier young people is such an incredible reward.
Our kids in the program come from a range of difficult situations; poverty, foster care, refugees, school refusers, substance abuse, personal abuse. These young people have seen more of the dark side of life than many lucky adults will experience in their whole lifetime. These kids have learned not to trust adults, to only rely on themselves, to disconnect from a society that has harmed them. Through valuable programs like MOOOV, we help them to plug back into the mainstream, and look forward to their own futures. And now, due to a lack of funds, these kids are likely to find themselves back on society's trash heap.
Sadly, mentoring is not a focus for our current government. They're focused on band aid solutions, like Juvenile Justice, but haven't the inclination to look at the source of the wound. So much can be done by helping kids gain the confidence to pull themselves up out of grim situations before they become dire situations that lead to darker cycles.
If you know anyone in government, in companies interested in financially supporting a charity, or in media, please help to promote our excellent cause. Expressions of funding interest, and all communications should be directed to Sue Parkes, Communications Manager at Good Shepherd, on 03 9418 3000.
Monday, April 28, 2008
I don't like Mondays
I just KNEW today would be messy. Despite the extra day of weekend, I didn't get enough work done (again), therefore needing to stay up fairly late to do some more marking and feel more fulfilled. Extra early morning, to get in to school and make up for what I didn't prepare over the weekend... hectic, but doable. Pity I knocked over and broke my bedside lamp in the extra-early darkness- I wonder if superglue can fix that, or if the heat of the light would just melt it all over again? Hmm.
I had felt sluggish all weekend, not helped by the fact that I can't wear most of my shoes, because I got stiletto stabbed in the foot at the formal, and my shoes all seem to rub that spot. So no shoes = no exercise + no orthotics = fat and sore Naomi. Still on ill fitting shoes today. Not good, but workable.
As I zoomed out the door, realising I'd actually intended to leave about 20 minutes earlier (should have just slept longer, I guess), I was confronted with my open car bonnet. That's right, the car inexplicably overheated last night. Gurgled some water into the radiator and headed out... slowly... and noisily... and, as the trip progressed, steamily... Overheating again. I prayed to the saint of roads and radiators and steam and traffic lights and explosions and personal protection to please get me to school in one piece. Mission successful.
Feeling anxious at the thought of an exploding car, no way of getting to school without my car, and also the impending cost of repairs, I wasted my extra preparation time on the phone to various parties hoping to magically fix my car. Rocked into my first class and realised I was completely nauseous (anxiety or fumes? Who knows?). But hooray, they were pretty good, and I survived my following classes too without too much hassle.
The drive home was a terrifying prospect. I filled the car with as much water as she could drink, drove about five metres, realised the oil light had flashed on and pulled over to check it out. Bone dry, and strangely (considering the service and radiator core replacement she had four weeks ago) the oil cap was not on properly. I suspect maybe the oil fill I was charged for might not have been carried out? Again, who knows. Filled with all the oil I had, called the garage to change 'check in' from tomorrow morning to this afternoon and putted my pathetic, smokey way to the garage.
Conclusion? A blown head gasket. So now I'm looking at about $600 (not anywhere near as it could be, admittedly), 3 days carless (thank god for Sam driving by my area and being happy to give me a lift), and a bit more stress in my days. Yay.
And THAT is why I don't like Mondays. Thank goodness I've got a nice glass of wine to relieve the pressure :)
(Innocent bystander sangiovese merlot. Very nice)
I had felt sluggish all weekend, not helped by the fact that I can't wear most of my shoes, because I got stiletto stabbed in the foot at the formal, and my shoes all seem to rub that spot. So no shoes = no exercise + no orthotics = fat and sore Naomi. Still on ill fitting shoes today. Not good, but workable.
As I zoomed out the door, realising I'd actually intended to leave about 20 minutes earlier (should have just slept longer, I guess), I was confronted with my open car bonnet. That's right, the car inexplicably overheated last night. Gurgled some water into the radiator and headed out... slowly... and noisily... and, as the trip progressed, steamily... Overheating again. I prayed to the saint of roads and radiators and steam and traffic lights and explosions and personal protection to please get me to school in one piece. Mission successful.
Feeling anxious at the thought of an exploding car, no way of getting to school without my car, and also the impending cost of repairs, I wasted my extra preparation time on the phone to various parties hoping to magically fix my car. Rocked into my first class and realised I was completely nauseous (anxiety or fumes? Who knows?). But hooray, they were pretty good, and I survived my following classes too without too much hassle.
The drive home was a terrifying prospect. I filled the car with as much water as she could drink, drove about five metres, realised the oil light had flashed on and pulled over to check it out. Bone dry, and strangely (considering the service and radiator core replacement she had four weeks ago) the oil cap was not on properly. I suspect maybe the oil fill I was charged for might not have been carried out? Again, who knows. Filled with all the oil I had, called the garage to change 'check in' from tomorrow morning to this afternoon and putted my pathetic, smokey way to the garage.
Conclusion? A blown head gasket. So now I'm looking at about $600 (not anywhere near as it could be, admittedly), 3 days carless (thank god for Sam driving by my area and being happy to give me a lift), and a bit more stress in my days. Yay.
And THAT is why I don't like Mondays. Thank goodness I've got a nice glass of wine to relieve the pressure :)
(Innocent bystander sangiovese merlot. Very nice)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Festival of Fringe
Of late, I have been sporting a fringe. Straight down, straight across, and hanging anywhere from just above my eyebrows to poking me in the eye, depending on whether I'd trimmed it lately.
"I'd trimmed it." These are the fateful words which trigger our sad tale. Being a penny-pincher right now, I refuse to go to a hairdresser just to pay them to make three broad snips along my eyebrows. I have been trimming my own fringe, and most of the time, doing an ok job. But once, just once, my hairdressing skills clearly absented me. It was a dark day on which I decided to employ creativity into my shearing routine.
I'd been feeling bored with my hair. I'd been feeling confident about my snipping skills. I'd been watching far too many back episodes of 'Love My Way'. And so, when I picked up the scissors, I was certain I had the skills to emulate Claudia Karvan's fringe.
I did not.
Do you know how difficult it is to swallow your pride, call around hairdressers, explain your 'fringe emergency', and hope they can fix it for a reasonable budget price? It's not easy, I can assure you. I was so glad I went to Nick's hairdresser. There a lovely European lady reassured me that everyone cuts their own hair at some point in their lives (sure, but they're normally about five years old), and that I actually hadn't done too bad a job of it. She talked me through all my (two) options, advised what she thought was the best, and patiently snipped away, explaining all the time what she was doing and why.
When she stepped back (after a free blow dry!), I was amazed. My mission had been achieved. I had a choppy asymmetrical fringe, and wispy layers around my face. Sadly, I hadn't become a gorgeous, respected actress (a la Claudia) or a kooky, damaged yet talented artist ( a la Frankie, Claudia's LMW character), but I did have some very funky hair which I REALLY liked.
And all it cost me was $33, a night of panic, and a chunk of self-respect.
"I'd trimmed it." These are the fateful words which trigger our sad tale. Being a penny-pincher right now, I refuse to go to a hairdresser just to pay them to make three broad snips along my eyebrows. I have been trimming my own fringe, and most of the time, doing an ok job. But once, just once, my hairdressing skills clearly absented me. It was a dark day on which I decided to employ creativity into my shearing routine.
I'd been feeling bored with my hair. I'd been feeling confident about my snipping skills. I'd been watching far too many back episodes of 'Love My Way'. And so, when I picked up the scissors, I was certain I had the skills to emulate Claudia Karvan's fringe.
I did not.
Do you know how difficult it is to swallow your pride, call around hairdressers, explain your 'fringe emergency', and hope they can fix it for a reasonable budget price? It's not easy, I can assure you. I was so glad I went to Nick's hairdresser. There a lovely European lady reassured me that everyone cuts their own hair at some point in their lives (sure, but they're normally about five years old), and that I actually hadn't done too bad a job of it. She talked me through all my (two) options, advised what she thought was the best, and patiently snipped away, explaining all the time what she was doing and why.
When she stepped back (after a free blow dry!), I was amazed. My mission had been achieved. I had a choppy asymmetrical fringe, and wispy layers around my face. Sadly, I hadn't become a gorgeous, respected actress (a la Claudia) or a kooky, damaged yet talented artist ( a la Frankie, Claudia's LMW character), but I did have some very funky hair which I REALLY liked.
And all it cost me was $33, a night of panic, and a chunk of self-respect.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Insufferable intolerance
As a child, I remember hearing of the most horrible allergy I could imagine; a friend of mine could not eat chocolate! At eleven, I was aghast. Not eat chocolate? Why bother living? At twenty-five, my feelings on the matter have, if anything, probably intensified.
When I returned to France having spent six weeks travelling other parts of Europe, I experienced stomach pains I hadn't suffered since I was last in Paris. Trying to pinpoint what could be wrong (I mean, I know I'd always insisted I wasn't interested in Paris, but surely I couldn't be allergic to it???), I realised that something had been added to my diet when I joined my friend Lisa in her second home; cheese feasts.
Living in France, Lisa had discovered the joy that is French cheese, and had developed somewhat of an addiction. In fact, she suffered severe cheese withdrawals as we travelled further away from French fromage. Upon return to Paris, we enjoyed a picnic on the Champs du Mars, sampling saucisson, wine and a variety of delicious cheeses. Since her return to Melbourne, Lisa and I generally meet over a newly discovered cheese, in the hope it may live up to the lofty heights of its French cousin. I'm coming to suspect that the feeling in my stomach is not disappointment, but perhaps something far more sinister.
Lactose intolerance is a fairly common development as humans age. It occurs when the body stops producing lactase, the enzyme which breaks down lactose (milk sugars). In fact, most mammals stop producing lactase once they are weaned, making humans quite unique in the prolonged dairy consumption. However, societies with a low dairy consumption, such as Asian or Aboriginal communities, have a greater tendency towards lactose intolerance. In Caucasians or those of European descent, lactose intolerance occurs in about 5% of people.
Now I have a confession to make. I am a dairy tart. I get around in the dairy section of the supermarket; my beloved chocolate, yoghurt, cheese, icecream, milk, sour cream, and what's a cake without a dollop of cream? I love dairy. So this niggling thought has been ignored for a long time. But the stomach pain after each dairy binge is a little too coincidental.
The easiest way to test for lactose intolerance is to cut out all dairy products from the diet for a few weeks, and then slowly reintroduce items to establish which cause the biggest problems. With best intentions, I poured soy milk onto my Vita Brits and began my first lactose free day.
I'd fallen off the wagon by recess. I reasoned with myself that I didn't get stomach pain after yoghurt, so maybe the bacteria in it was countering the lactose? At lunchtime, I just HAD to eat the rest of that Mars Bar. And when we went out for pizza, well it would have been unfair of me to deny Nick a pizza with cheese. And that one with mascarpone, fetta and mozzarella did look good...
Today I started again. Fruit for breakfast. I discovered that one of my tea blends was perfectly complemented by soy milk. Then a bagel topped with... um... does goat's cheese contain lactose? After a tantrum at the realisation that I couldn't even have jam and butter (have to buy some Nuttelex), I decided to throw today's race, and ate the chevre goat cheese (yum). Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll cut out dairy. But I can't help wondering if such painful self-denial will really be worth it...
When I returned to France having spent six weeks travelling other parts of Europe, I experienced stomach pains I hadn't suffered since I was last in Paris. Trying to pinpoint what could be wrong (I mean, I know I'd always insisted I wasn't interested in Paris, but surely I couldn't be allergic to it???), I realised that something had been added to my diet when I joined my friend Lisa in her second home; cheese feasts.
Living in France, Lisa had discovered the joy that is French cheese, and had developed somewhat of an addiction. In fact, she suffered severe cheese withdrawals as we travelled further away from French fromage. Upon return to Paris, we enjoyed a picnic on the Champs du Mars, sampling saucisson, wine and a variety of delicious cheeses. Since her return to Melbourne, Lisa and I generally meet over a newly discovered cheese, in the hope it may live up to the lofty heights of its French cousin. I'm coming to suspect that the feeling in my stomach is not disappointment, but perhaps something far more sinister.
Lactose intolerance is a fairly common development as humans age. It occurs when the body stops producing lactase, the enzyme which breaks down lactose (milk sugars). In fact, most mammals stop producing lactase once they are weaned, making humans quite unique in the prolonged dairy consumption. However, societies with a low dairy consumption, such as Asian or Aboriginal communities, have a greater tendency towards lactose intolerance. In Caucasians or those of European descent, lactose intolerance occurs in about 5% of people.
Now I have a confession to make. I am a dairy tart. I get around in the dairy section of the supermarket; my beloved chocolate, yoghurt, cheese, icecream, milk, sour cream, and what's a cake without a dollop of cream? I love dairy. So this niggling thought has been ignored for a long time. But the stomach pain after each dairy binge is a little too coincidental.
The easiest way to test for lactose intolerance is to cut out all dairy products from the diet for a few weeks, and then slowly reintroduce items to establish which cause the biggest problems. With best intentions, I poured soy milk onto my Vita Brits and began my first lactose free day.
I'd fallen off the wagon by recess. I reasoned with myself that I didn't get stomach pain after yoghurt, so maybe the bacteria in it was countering the lactose? At lunchtime, I just HAD to eat the rest of that Mars Bar. And when we went out for pizza, well it would have been unfair of me to deny Nick a pizza with cheese. And that one with mascarpone, fetta and mozzarella did look good...
Today I started again. Fruit for breakfast. I discovered that one of my tea blends was perfectly complemented by soy milk. Then a bagel topped with... um... does goat's cheese contain lactose? After a tantrum at the realisation that I couldn't even have jam and butter (have to buy some Nuttelex), I decided to throw today's race, and ate the chevre goat cheese (yum). Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll cut out dairy. But I can't help wondering if such painful self-denial will really be worth it...
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Job Instability is Contagious
I have been stressing out about my job situation for weeks. Before I went to Europe (oh, care-free days of holidaying), I had been under the impression that I had a stable job back home. Upon my return, I discovered the company had been sold, and that the two other staff in Melbourne (including a new recruit) were now on a salary, rather than casual wages like myself. I, however, was to remain casual, which didn't worry me too much at first, as I'd been casual before and making ample amounts in that fashion.
Things started to seem shakier when I was told our company cars were being sold (I LOVE my car) and our props downsized (and no longer anywhere NEAR as cool as they used to be). Soon I realised there wasn't as much work as before, and I started to stress about my finances (a common preoccupation for me, I must admit. I like security).
I was a bit resentful of the New Girl, who had a salary right from the start of her job, but it training her I got to know her, and she's great. We chatted heaps about the changes in the company, and our uncertainty about the security of our jobs, and our other career options. I told her I was considering going back to classroom teaching next year, and when I started looking for work last week, she was really supportive and positive.
I've now gotten one post as an emergency teacher, and applied for a stack more. This is work that could complement my current casual schedule. But I've also applied for full time teaching work for later in the year and next year, and an awesome education position at the RSPCA, which I would snap up if offered. So I'm definitely looking outside of The Company, because they simply can't offer me security.
My Boss has been promising for weeks to call and discuss 'my future with The Company'. That call FINALLY came today, and she announced that, while she couldn't offer me permanency right now (!), she wanted me to stay. In fact, as an indication of how much she loves me, she offered the information that she had to get rid of a full timer. New Girl is the Sacrificial Lamb. The new ownership wants one full timer and one casual in Melbs, and I have been 'selected' as I am soooo reliable (yeah, and dumb enough to stay on a casual wage, which New Girl would be unable to do...).
So here's my quandary. I told The Boss that I have applied for supplementary casual work, and was also looking into full time teaching next year. I didn't tell her I was considering full time work this year. If I had, would she have kept New Girl on staff? Am I costing someone a job? And should I tell New Girl (soon to be Old Girl) that the axe is dropping? I know she'll be called tonight, but I feel so bad *knowing* and not being able to affect the result...
Things started to seem shakier when I was told our company cars were being sold (I LOVE my car) and our props downsized (and no longer anywhere NEAR as cool as they used to be). Soon I realised there wasn't as much work as before, and I started to stress about my finances (a common preoccupation for me, I must admit. I like security).
I was a bit resentful of the New Girl, who had a salary right from the start of her job, but it training her I got to know her, and she's great. We chatted heaps about the changes in the company, and our uncertainty about the security of our jobs, and our other career options. I told her I was considering going back to classroom teaching next year, and when I started looking for work last week, she was really supportive and positive.
I've now gotten one post as an emergency teacher, and applied for a stack more. This is work that could complement my current casual schedule. But I've also applied for full time teaching work for later in the year and next year, and an awesome education position at the RSPCA, which I would snap up if offered. So I'm definitely looking outside of The Company, because they simply can't offer me security.
My Boss has been promising for weeks to call and discuss 'my future with The Company'. That call FINALLY came today, and she announced that, while she couldn't offer me permanency right now (!), she wanted me to stay. In fact, as an indication of how much she loves me, she offered the information that she had to get rid of a full timer. New Girl is the Sacrificial Lamb. The new ownership wants one full timer and one casual in Melbs, and I have been 'selected' as I am soooo reliable (yeah, and dumb enough to stay on a casual wage, which New Girl would be unable to do...).
So here's my quandary. I told The Boss that I have applied for supplementary casual work, and was also looking into full time teaching next year. I didn't tell her I was considering full time work this year. If I had, would she have kept New Girl on staff? Am I costing someone a job? And should I tell New Girl (soon to be Old Girl) that the axe is dropping? I know she'll be called tonight, but I feel so bad *knowing* and not being able to affect the result...
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