sauce on the side

HOT:

philadelphia. figuratively, as always, but also literally, lately. seriously. it’s so hot that the cacti on my window sill look like they might die. it’s so hot that little kids are running around in the park half-naked even after the sun goes down. it’s so hot that my drive through grey’s ferry and southern point breeze looks like it must be set up as a walking tour of philadelphia’s busted hydrants (i managed to get both sides of my car rinsed off without even really trying…) it’s so hot that i was on channel 6 two nights ago just because i was out running in the heat (yup, i was sweaty girl describing kelly drive as “like running through..hot soup”. it’s so hot that simon can barely stop panting long enough to bark at the sweaty high school kids doing yard work outside the window. it’s so hot that the faces of the boys on the corners exude a strange blend of lethargy and unpredictable anger, and the backs of the cop’s blue collared shirts are perpetually dark with sweat. heat. everywhere.

NOT:
phonics. let me let you in on a little secret. so, i am an expert at remedial reading programs, the kind that use brain research to create multi-sensory channels towards phonemic and phonetic awareness that can’t be established the traditional way. this is a lucrative skill, one that is going to build up my meager little savings account. however, as i often forget between summers: i hate it. i hate one-on-one tutoring, generally, and i hate phonics, specifically. the other day i sat flopped down on the bed, groaned, and asked doron to guess how much of my day had been devoted to short vowels. the answer? at least 70%. it’s weird how developing a skill can seem like a good idea at the time, but once one has said skill, then it becomes a bit of a trap. as in, once i’ve handed over my resume, i can’t just get a cushy test prep tutoring gig with some private school girl who is worried about getting into brown. no, i score the 12-14 year olds who have had the crushing bad luck to be born with crippling dyslexia. they get bored and frustrated, i get bored and frustrated, and the whole system whereby one needs to learn to read to excel in modern american society begins to take on the sick pallor of a cruel joke. i can’t even get any good mileage our of complaining about how “hard” it is for ME, because, shit, when I go home from two hours of orton-gillingham drills, i can READ. (something that I am really, really trying not to take granted these days….)

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