Ramblings for the Evening (06/28/06)

Let's get right to it.
So without further ado: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF!
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Religious Animosity:
This is quite funny to me:
(From Imdb.com)
Falwell: You "Got To Be a Homosexual" for Hollywood Success
The Moral Majority's Jerry Falwell, who has campaigned for stronger regulations on racy film and television content, has told a church audience in Lynchburg, VA that the entertainment industry is riddled with "moral perverts." The Associated Press quoted Fallwell as saying during a televised sermon at the Thomas Road Baptist Church, where he serves as senior pastor, "You know, you almost got to be a homosexual to be recognized in the entertainment industry anymore." He suggested that the industry has caused the world to go "sex crazy," then added: "Movie stars not married to each other, having babies and making headlines all over the world as though they were doing some great thing. Big deal! Just another moral pervert. And for them to become heroes for our kids."

So here's my thoughts on this:
1. I got three words for you, Mr. Falwell: The Catholic Church. The headlines part especially. You call them moral perverts. Isn't pride a sin, Mr. Falwell? Don't you push to have people recognize you for your achievements? That would make you a sinner. So shut it.
2. Irony: A televised sermon. That would make him a television star.
3. You HAVE to be a homosexual? Really? Hey, Mel Gibson...how do you feel about that? You've just been outed. Paul Newman...you're marriage is obviously a sham. Oh, and Meryl Streep...you better just fess up, because ole Sheriff Falwell is in town.

Here's the deal, Jerry. Do you mind if I call you Jerry? J-Dog it is then. Look, the world has MANY more problems than this. Homosexuality is not a problem...not like pedophilia, abuse, or even murder. Pick a different target...otherwise I will have to say that the priest doth protest too much. I'm just saying.
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The "No" Prize:
I used to (and I admit I occasionally still do) read comic books. I was a big fan of Batman, Green Lantern, and The Punisher. That's not the point right now.
Marvel Comics, one of the largest publishers along with DC, used to have what was called a "No Prize." Basically, if you found a mistake in a comic book and were able to explain it to the editors, then you got your name in the letters page and no prize (hence the name).
Well, Margaret gets the "No Prize" for being the only person to actually notice that I mentioned there was a big announcement coming and guessing it. All hail Princess Yoshi. Now I must practice my Mario Karting....
And finally:
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The Zen of Parenthood:
There is something very zen-like about being a parent. You learn how to calm your mind in order to concentrate on what your child needs.
As I start to write this, I realize that I will need more space to talk about this, but think about what makes you calm your mind in order to concentrate on what you need to do. What makes you "flow" as it were.
Namaste.

Most Pointless Class Ever!

One week in, and I'm actually having fun.
Am I well-rested? No.
Am I smelling like roses? Heck no.
Am I in love with my little 8 pound Poozer (as I call him)? Most definitely.
Everytime I get up in order to change a diaper or help my wife feed him, all my negative feelings go away when I see his face.
And yes, I am changing diapers, dear reader. I promised my wife I would do every diaper for the first two weeks. It's the least I can do after what she went through in bringing Poozer to the world.
This post, however, is not about my son. No, it's about the class that I suffered through the week of my son's birth.
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So here's the deal: When you are going for tenure, you are required to take certain courses. In my district, it is now required that non-tenured teachers (such as myself) take a course on the "foundations" of teaching. Now, of course I don't begrudge my district for wanting its teachers to have a firm understanding of teaching as well as some tricks, but this "Foundations" class covers the first semester of what I did in graduate school. I'm getting ahead of myself, however.
Day One:
My wife had still not given birth at this point. We were going to have to go in on Monday night to induce (that would have been the nineteenth). Now, I was nervous that I was going to miss the birth of my son, so I called the co-ordinator of the class ahead of time to discuss this. After some pleasantries were exchanged, we got down to the point:
Me: "So, my son is to born on the 20th. He's going to be induced."
Her: "Congratulations."
Me: "Thank you. So, I may have to miss class so I can be there with my wife to welcome in my son. He's two weeks late...."
Her: "I...see."
Me: "So I need permission to miss class on Tuesday."
Her: "Oh no, I can't do that."
Me: "Ummm. I'm sorry? I don't think I understand."
Her response was long-winded, so I'm going to boil it down as well as explain to you why none of her answers worked for me.
Her: "Well, first of all, as you remember from the New Teacher Orientation...."
I never got the invite to the new teacher orientation. I was hired too late.
"We offer the class four times a year. You could have signed up for them anytime before this as I'm sure you know."
My school's co-ordinator spaced on telling me about this. Now she did have a rough year personally, but she forgot. I mentioned this and was told:
"Well...that's your fault for not looking into what you need to know, now isn't it?"
That's a very Minnesota way of answering. She continued on....
"There's also the fact that you need this class in order to work in the district. "
That's true. According to the e-mail I received shortly before the end of the year, the district warned me that failure to take this class would result in termination of my contract. Then she got to my utterly favorite part:
"Besides, you're not the one giving birth, your wife is. You don't need to be there."
At this point I can see the vein in my forehead. That's how angry I am talking to this woman. I can see my own forehead vein throbbing.
I get that my parents' generation and before didn't allow the husband to be there, but I was my wife's coach on this one. Hell, the stirrups in our delivery room were broken, so I had to actually hold my wife's legs up when she pushed (more on that another time). Back to the point. I didn't need to be there.
With no choice, I headed to class on Monday morning.
There were 26 of us. I was the only high school teacher. Everyone else was elementary or kindergarten. That did not bode well.
The two teachers (including the co-ordinator) were elementary teachers. They assured us that everything we did could be used in the elementary classroom.
"What about high school?" I asked.
"Ummm. Some of it can be," is the response.
Oh boy.
We spend the first two hours "getting to know each other." I can hear Maria singing in my head as I walk around the classroom asking people questions about their favorite politicians.
Getting to know you
Really, Paul Wellstone, huh?
Getting to know all about you
Well, Hillary Clinton is a classy lady
Etc. Etc. Etc.
Everything we did on the first day was covered in my classes at St. Thomas. I was so bored that I ended up telling my group during every group work how to make the posters so they reflected what the teachers were looking for in the assignment.
As one classmate would put it on the last day. "From the start it was obvious you were a Gifted/ Talented kid in a special ed class." Ouch.
At one point my phone rang. It was my wife. Her water had broken.
"My wife's water just broke. I need to go."
"You can leave in an hour," I'm told.
"An HOUR?!?!?"
"You need to finish the class first. Class is from 8 to 4, and you have to be here."
Again, the throbbing vein. I have this vision of my wife giving birth and saying, "Where's my husband?" My child wasn't even born yet, and I'm a deadbeat dad.
Class ends with an exercise about classroom management. One teacher mentions ringing a bell for attention. I envision my 9th graders giving the "WTF, Mate" look.
I go to the teacher.
"My child's birth is imminent. What do I need to do?"
"Are you saying you might not be here?"
"I love my job, but I love my wife and child more."
She thinks it over.
"Fill out these sheets and get them back to me before four o'clock tomorrow. Do that, and you get your credit."
I raced to the hospital where I spent the night. As my wife slept, I did my "homework" by monitor light.
Day Two:
My wife had not given birth yet. I asked the doctor how much time I had. Because I had enough, I raced over to St. Paul in time for the beginning of class.
I signed in, handed over my homework, and started to leave.
"Where are you going?" the teacher asked me.
"Back to my wife's side. I did all the homework, including the sheets for today. I'm done."
"How?" She asked me.
"I told you before, this is all stuff I've done in previous classes. You'll find my answers are correct. See you tomorrow."
And with that day two of class ended. My son was born that night. I headed in the next day.
Day Three:
"You look tired," my desk partner says.
"I didn't really sleep much. New baby and all."
"So we heard," he replies.
This class doesn't go much better. My new desk partner is deaf in one ear, has worn the same clothes three straight days, and his cellphone (with a Ricky Martin ringtone) is constantly going off as he is trying to buy a house.
Let's put it this way: I was a new dad who smelled of new baby, and yet, I smelled better than him.
Day Three was dedicated to scaffolding. Not the architecture kind, mind you, but the education kind (works in the same way, more or less).
I spent two years on scaffolding. My lesson plans use the technique. It's old news to me.
Yet there we are, for almost eight hours mind you, looking for ways to show the whole class how to use the technique.
I mentioned before that everyone else was teaching elementary or kindergarten. This is where the problems started. We had to have sample lesson plans. Mine was based on one I actually taught on Romeo & Juliet. The rest of the class couldn't get into it because, "it's too advanced."
It was a typical high school level lesson. No harder than any other.
During our working lunch (I should mention we never took a lunch break. We had to work over lunch, which...well...you get the idea.), I sat alone. Not by choice, mind you. It's just that the rest of class either worked at the same school or worked at the same level. The only guy who talked to me was an elementary teacher who thought his son was going to be in my class next year. He would grill me over the entire four days about IB, texts, and more.
Day three ended with a visit from the president of the school district's teacher's union. Nice lady, but she was a snob. Whether she meant to or not, she bashed high school teachers as being, "a little too unwavering...unlike middle school and elementary teachers who are a little more flexible."
Perhaps it was the fatigue. Maybe it was the anger of being in a class that was teaching me NOTHING, but I said something. It wouldn't be the last time.
"Flexible, huh? Is that why we have to re-teach the kids HOW to be in a classroom. You know, the whole raise your hand, work for your grade, and pay attention thing?"
"You must be a high school teacher," she says.
"Yup."
"I didn't mean to offend you," I'm told.
"Inadvertant or not, think through what you say to us. We are your voting public."
I would not get a response to that one.
I returned to the hospital to be with my wife with more homework. I would later discover that I was the ONLY person made to hand in homework.
Day Four:
The last day. I took pictures of my son to class with me as a way to make me a little happy. The work was forgetable this day. I didn't do anything except present for my group, because I needed SOMETHING to do. What can I say, I'm a showman.
At lunch I was given an impromptu baby shower by a few of my classmates. The leader, it turned out, was the guy whose son was to be in my class (Hey, the kid gets an automatic B+ now). It was very nice, but many of the students walked off, and a few later told me that they thought it was rude that I interrupted class to have a shower (It wasn't my idea...but who cares? Some people just lack humor, dagnabit).
The final hour was atrocious. I can think of no better way to decribe it. The president of the union returned to talk to us...again. This time it was about elections and getting us to sign up. As she sat there talking to us about what was happening in the district and Washington D.C. and such, it dawned on me that the entire class was just a ploy to get us to sign up to work for the union. They needed people to go door to door on voting day, they needed people to make phone calls, and they needed people to mail letters. Our final survey even gave us "the chance to help by signing up for a job."
I was pissed. I was tired, and I was pissed.
On my survey I wrote out some comments (this was what got me in trouble at St. Thomas).
What I didn't know was that the president of the union (and I am intentionally not capitalizing, folks) would read them.
"Would you tell me who wrote this please? I'll read it aloud. 'If I had one suggestion it would be to not take up class time with political aspirations. That is for outside the class. We complain about how we have such little time to teach in class, so why practice what we are angry about all the time?' Who wrote this?"
I had no qualms. That was only one of several things I wrote.
"I did. I mean it as well."
"Explain yourself," she said to me.
"I am told I have to be here, or I lose my job. My child is born, but I can't spend time with him, because I have to be here to learn what I already know. Then rather than let us go early, you take an hour to talk to us about politics and almost require us to sign up for some sort of work. You want to win a politcal battle. Grassroots doesn't work anymore. Go for television.
In all honesty ma'am. I feel you have wasted our time with this and have not fostered a good relationship with your constituency but have, in fact, perhaps turned some against you."
She was silent. Everyone was. I heard a pin drop in Edina...and I was sitting in St. Paul.
"Well," she stammers," does anyone have anything positive to say."
The room remains silent.
After finishing up, I start to leave and am stopped by the president. After exchanging words, she gets to the point.
"Would you like to work for the union?" She asks.
"No. I have a new child. I'm busy. Thanks though."
"I don't mean sending out fliers and such. I mean actually working for us."
"Oh God no," I reply. "I'm happy as I am right now. Get back to me in a few years...like ten.
And I left.
30 hours of completly wasted time. I felt guilty everytime I left my wife in the hospital with my son. "Sorry honey. I have to go sit on my ass for eight hours and learn nothing. Have fun with diapers, feedings, and such."
Did I survive? Sure.
Am I happy? Not even close.
But...now I get a nice vacation until August...then I have another classs. Sigh.
Namaste.

Fatherhood Begins

I'm finally up for some air.
I can't write too much now as the baby is still waking up here and there needing to fed, changed, etc.
In a few days I plan to write out the whole labor story (it's a doozy).
I can also tell you that this summer will see stories about the pregnancy as well as discussing the class I just attended for the last week (and was almost forced to miss the birth, no less.)
So, until I have a little more time to write, I'll just have to leave you with my favorite picture of my son. It's from a few minutes after his birth.
Namaste.

Two New Links

So, I've added two new links over there on the right, and I've removed one.
First of all, there's "The Gone Rick Motel," which has some fun caption contests.
The other is a smashing new writer recommend by ole Admin Worm. I trust Worm's judgement. So, I've added "William Smythe" to the class.
Enjoy.
Nothing new to report.
Namaste.

Happy (other sort of made-up) Holiday!

Today is Father's Day.
This is another sort of made up holiday not unlike Mother's Day.
Originally the holiday was created to be celebrated on March 19, but it slowly has made its way to the third sunday of June, and it was officially given that day by Lyndon Johnson. It was not, however, recognized until 1972 when Nixon was in office.
Once again, not unlike Mother's Day, the holiday has been taken over by places such as Home Depot and Sears who offer "dad-oriented gifts." What does that mean? It means that back on Mother's Day I was supposed to by my mother jewelry, and now I'm supposed to buy my father a grill...or power tools...or a big screen TV.
The goal here, is that I'm supposed to spend money to show my father how much I love him. I don't really do that.
Unlike Mother's Day, there's really no guilt involved with this holiday. Now maybe it's just me, but the commercials and ads made it sound like not buying my mom a gift would lead to suffering in Hell, but for Dad...well...a hug and maybe a card is enough. Otherwise just give him a gift card. That'll make him happy.
My father couldn't care less. I did get him a gift, but not because of the holiday. No I did it because he's losing weight like crazy and needs the clothes (apparently a triple bypass and pills will motivate a diet better than anything). I bought him two shirts. No big deal.
His real Father's Day gift is this entry. I know he'll never read it. I know he knows about this blog, but I also know he's extremely busy. I will tell you, dear reader, some stories about my father.
Let me start with the present. Though he is 70 and his kids are all grown up, he still keeps his fathering nature.
My niece is two years old. At her last birthday party, he set up a train set for her and played with her for over an hour. This is a 70 year old man.
He loves his granddaughter. He won't truly admit it if you confront him, but it's just like how he is with my mother's cat. Lucy (the cat) will come into his room and lie on his desk. He doesn't move her, just works around her. If you catch him, however, he gets faux-upset and removes the cat quietly, saying, "Uh...darn white rat...."
I've mentioned before that my father is a Holocaust survivor. He grew up in a very tough situation, but, even though he's had issues showing his emotions, he has always worked hard to be there for us. When I was eight years old, my father was teaching at a university in Cologne, Germany. He was away, but I had time off from school and went out to be with him for two weeks. It was incredible. As busy as he was, my father made time to take me to the zoo as well as Lego Land. He also reassured me as we attempted to drive through the then-present Checkpoint Charlie (I had visions of being arrested or taken away). The highlight of that trip, however, came when my father had a car accident.
Unlike here in America, the cones in Germany are hard and have a concrete base to keep them in place. While swerving to avoid another driver who wasn't paying attention, my father's car struck a cone and lost a tire. He kept the car in control, but had to change the rim.
The next day, he was using a friend's car when a large truck slammed him into a guardrail. (my father has REALLY bad luck when it comes to driving. You have to understand: he didn't get his license to drive until I was born. At that point he was 42.) The police wanted to take him in to give a statement and to talk about what had happened the night before as well. I was left alone. Before he went, my father said to me, "If I'm not back by four, call your mother. The number is on the table by the phone."
While my father answered questions, I watched movies and read books. Soon the clock struck four. My father was nowhere to be seen. I waited two minutes, then I called my mother. As I started to explain to her what had happened, my father walks in with two cops following him. I could see his expression was not happy.
"You called your mother?" He asked.
"You said to wait until 4. It's 4:05."
I knew my father was angry. There was a vein in his forehead throbbing, but he never raised his voice. He wanted to very much so, and he was known for it, but he remained calm. Not because of the cops and not because of the fact that my mother was on the phone. He remained docile, because he didn't want to yell in front of me. He was trying to be a good role model. To this day it is very rare that my father will yell in front of me. Part of it may be that I can yell as loud as he can, but most of the time it is because he is trying to remain that role model.
When I was in college, I had some rough times (as I have mentioned before). The same can be said with high school as well. My father did his best to help. He visited me a few times in St. Louis, and we did what we normally do together: We went to the movies.
The fact that I am a cinephile can be traced to my father. Both Sister #1 and I love films. I remember almost every film I have seen with my father. From the good (The Hunt for Red October, Pulp Fiction), to the bad (Sudden Death), to the annoying (The Long Kiss Goodnight), I have seen many films with that man sitting beside me. Back to the point however.
I used to get a package once every two weeks while I was in college. It contained all of my mail that was still being sent to him and a letter from him.
The letters were nice. How often do people use the written word? I don't mean emails, I mean pen to paper. It's rare that anyone does that anymore.
If it isn't evident by this point, my father is a hero of mine. He has overcome extreme adversity, managed to hold down several jobs at once, and raise three kids with my mother.
My father has taught me when to fight and when you don't.
He taught me that Hitchcock is a master of using color.
He taught me that sometimes you have to lose in order to win.
He taught me that you never, ever, hit a woman.
He taught me that brains is more important than brawn.
My father taught me that all of our experiences are what make us who we are. Never deny who you are for others.
He taught me that when my children are born I need to take some time away from work and just bask in them.
He taught me that secret conferences are great.
He taught me you have to be a magician in order to be a parent.
He taught me that you can be a parent and love your kids, but you should never forget the mother of your children.
I love my father very much, because he has taught me that you can remain a man but still have emotions.
My father has prepared me as well as he can to be a dad. I stand now on the precipice of fatherhood. Even as I finish writing this, my wife has started the labor process (relax, she's right next to me and ok with me writing).
That would be the one thing I have not truly been talking about: I am about to be a father myself (props to Margaret for being the only person to actually guess it).
That's why I'm so grateful to my father. As I am about to become a father, I can look to how my father raised me to see how I should raise my own son.
So, to you my dad, Happy Father's Day. I'm grateful for everything you've ever taught me. I look forward to you, me, and my son going to the movies together.
If you're a father reading this, then I hope you have a great (other sort of made-up) holiday as well.
Namaste.

Ramblings for the Morning (06/17/06)

I'm back.
Life has been hectic and busy, which is life, I guess.
Where have I been? Well...the school year ended, I had frantic phone calls being made to my house, and I have been trying to get my summer together.
I have a class I have to be at all next week, so I've been gathering materials.
Ok, you got me, I've been staring at this rainbow light that dances across my house everyday (it's a refraction of light that hits a lamp I have that was my grandmother's. I love it.
On with the show.
So, without further ado: EAAAAGLE!
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Graduation:
I mentioned this before, but I never quite got around to talking about it. My school's graduation was boring. Granted, it was still better than Patrick Henry's (No one pulled a gun) and better than Central's (No brawls among the grads during the ceremony). Still, let me hit the highlights.
1. The Roy Wilkins Auditorium was incredibly hot. There was easily a 15 degree difference between the inside of the auditorium and the hallway. I stood outside pacing out programs at one point, and I could feel the heat pushing at my back. Very nasty. Which reminds me....
2. Originally, I was forgotten by my school. Yes, it was a running theme this year, but they did not put me on the list. I got there after my principal told me to be there..or else, and I discovered that they did not have a job for me nor did they have me on the check-in list. However, because I was there, I could not leave. I had three jobs when all was said and done.
A. I was to setup the area downstairs where gowns were turned in and diplomas were given. I put the tables up, put out the placards, and setup the chairs. Good stuff.
B. Programs. We made 1,500 programs. I was given a stack of 600. I was out very quickly. One woman put her finger on my chest and pushed me against the wall when I didn't have a program for her. "I drove 1,000 miles to see my first grandchild graduate. What do YOU mean you don't have a program?" After thirty more seconds of complaining, I gave her the program I had pulled for myself. No one else complained, just this woman.
C. I was to watch the door over by the men's room to make sure no one snuck in or out. That one was good, because it allowed me to leave, which I did when the ceremony went late.
3. The ceremony went late. We had to start late, because students were arriving late, didn't get in line quickly, and (my personal favorite) the valedictorian speaker...was late. Good stuff. You want more?
4. The ceremony was boring. Incredibly BORING! Oh my. The band was off key, the choir was WAY off key, and the speakers were...well...atrocious. One speech dealt with a woman going down memory lane about what highschool was like when she graduated forty years ago. After ten minutes of "look at how crazy things were in the sixties, the main point emerged: Life will be different in forty years. Good luck. One faculty member near me said, "What?" That was the running theme.
The valedictorian's speech was next. He, I was later told, thought he was being funny as he gave his speech about Aesop's Fables. He was hunched over the podium, too far away from the mic (thus creating lots of feedback), and his speech was boring.
The only good speech came from a faculty member who talked about searching in yourself before searching the world. The only problem, however, was that his speech was extremely dark.
It was boring. The highlight came when a disgruntled student attempted to hit one of the faculty members with a bottle. The student was on the second floor, and the faculty member was next to me. The teacher on her other side and I caught the bottle, and could hear the laughing, but we couldn't find the student.
That's how boring it was. And it was long. I left at 7:15, and it STILL wasn't done. I couldn't take it anymore. I had been there since 3:30.
When I graduated, it was fast. It went like this:
"Good morning" (Quick two minute intro from the head).
"The graduates are...." (Get your diploma.)
"Our speaker" (with a four minute speech offering to buy us dinner).
"Now get out" (and we left).
It was under an hour.
I understand that graduation is a big deal, but cut the pomp and circumstance (no pun intended). Bring them in, give them ONE speaker, call them up for the diploma, and then leave. They don't want to be there for two-and-a-half hours. Neither do the teachers or the families. Make it easy on everyone.
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NASCAR Gets a New Sponsor:
Scientology. That's right the RELIGION practiced throughout Hollywood...and parts of the real world is sponsoring a car. The team is going to be called: "Ignite Your Potential" and will be all about Hubbard and Dianetics. Does no one else have a problem with this? Am I the only one?
Let's look at all the elements of this story here:
1. NASCAR is the second most popular sport in the United States (Football is #1). The Cruise Gang is smart as they can reach many people with that car. However, the downside is that most of those people are HARDCORE Christians. That whole "Bible is LITERALLY true" group. Scientologists will have a hard time reaching them.
2. If this works, will the church be next? Will there be a Catholic car or a Protestant car? How great would it be if the Protestant and Catholic car kept trying to run each other off the track? It would be like Ireland on Asphalt.
3. What about the Jewish car? Will it be the color of lox and the driver will have locks on his helmet? Maybe Thomas' Bagels could be the sponsor. (Before you get all "Oh no he didn't" on me, remember that my father is Jewish.)
4. My issue, however, is that a religion is allowed to sponsor something. It's good to know that those Scientologists' money is going to a worthy cause.... Do you remember The Simpsons episode where Homer tries to go to the Super Bowl, while Marge and Lisa see an ad for the Catholic Church? (The episode is called "Sunday, Cruddy Sunday.") In that episode (which the Catholic Church tried to have cut), a man pulls into gas station where sexy ladies fill up his gas tank and wash his car to the tune of "She's Got Legs." At the end, they zoom in on the cross around her neck and say, "The Catholic Church. We've made a few changes." It's brilliant satire on the Super Bowl ads.
Now to the point: Are we really that far away from that? We already have the "Church of Latter Day Saints" ads. Should Christianity or Judaism or Buddhism or Scientology be allowed to put ads out like that? They aren't technically businesses, so should they be putting out ads?
I can't answer this question. Only you can. My opinion is no. We have too much religion out their in the mainstream, so I think we don't need anymore.
I don't have any ill wishes toward the Scientology racer, but I find it suspect that a religion is allowed to sponsor anything. Will there be an ad at the Metrodome next year?
You tell me.
And finally:
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The Zen of Gardening:
I have a VERY hard time relaxing. I'm one of those people that's always keyed up, because if I relax, my body literally unwinds. Seriously. I tried relaxing yesterday, and suddenly I had back pain.
That's why I love to garden with my wife. When we moved into our house, we discovered that one of the previous owners was a concrete mason, and he HATED grass and gardening. So, he did two things:
1. The entire backyard is concrete. He killed ALL of the grass and covered it with concrete.
2. He ripped out almost all the plants and put in stone. Lots and lots of stone. Mrs. Leab was extremely happy as there was a blank canvas. She could do whatever she wanted as the only plants we had were Hostas (which are green...that's it).
Three years later, we now have several distinct gardens.
First we removed all the stone and piled it up. In the back we placed roses, clematis, and more.
The front, however, is where we're really proud of our work. We created a garden on the corner of our lawn (note to anyone who tries to do this: Lay down tarp and kill the grass that way. Digging it all up is a giant pain. Trust me.), and we created an evergreen garden on one side of the house. The other is more like an English garden. It's nice.
So you may ask, "Leab. You're a guy. Most guys...don't garden. What's the deal?"
Well, I like it, because gardening, mowing the lawn, and watering are ways to zen moments. As you mow, the world disappears. It's only you, the grass, and the mower. You don't hear much else but the hum of the engine. As you dig the dirt and place the plants in their new homes, you realize the connections among all of us and the world. Thinking about watering and when you should, as well as how it works, shows the fragility of the world. If you deeply water a plant twice a week, then it learns to dig deep for water and survive without having to watered everyday (which is what you want. You want the plants to be able to need only two days of watering).
I garden, because it can be peaceful. The only time I ever hated what I was doing was when I discovered that the previous owner had put concrete UNDER the entire bed. I had to break up the concrete and dispose of it. That was not fun.
If you don't do so now, get a plant and care for it. It allows for a peace I cannot describe. It's like Bonsai (which I also recommend).
That's all I got for now. More as it comes.
Namaste.
P.S. Ask me nicely, maybe I'll tell you a story about getting phone calls and such.

End of the School Year (2005-2006) III

There is a bruise on my right hand. It covers my knuckles. There is also a hole in the wall of the building I work in right now. Are the two related? You decide.
The year came to a close at 2:00 PM today, but the frustration continues. Honestly this week has been complete and utter hell. Let's move beyond my personal life issues and go straight to the work ones.
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Finals:
I was nice to my students. They had their real final during The Odyssey. Most of them blew it off and paid for it. The final for my class was grammar. Only grammar (Yes, it is ironic that my grammar, at times, is quite atrocious...moving on now). 40 points. That was it.
The scores...not so good. Some kids failed. A few got an "A" from me. Most, however, cruised into the "D" and "C" range. Here's the kicker. They were happy with it. I would have kicked my own ass.
So, after most of the students had destroyed their grades on the project, I offered some easy assignments to help boost their grades. Most of the students blew these off as well. That's why I hate this time of year. I hate having to grab a student and show them, "Well, you got the"D" here, because you blew off these easy 10 point assignments."
Of course I got the, "Can I make them up?" from the students, but I stood firm.
"No. You had the opportunity to do it, and you chose not to."
Look, I don't think grades are the end all, be all of civilization. If the kids were concentrating on the grade for the class, they missed out on almost everything I was saying. I don't care about the final grade. I care that they show me they understand how to use what I've been teaching.
It's why now, as I sit here in my home, I feel as though I failed the kids who did not pass.
I'm torn.
On the one hand, I should have concentrated more on the kids who had problems.
On the other, I have to realize that they have to meet me halfway.

On the one hand, I probably could have cared more.
On the other, how can I care more than them?

I could go on and on.
I watched the kids take their finals, and I realized I could tell, without having to grade, which kids got it and which didn't. I was right as I graded.
My grades, by the way, are finished. Took me one hour this afternoon to get them all in to Campus (online grading). That's about the only positive thing I can say about it.
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Colleagues:
I freely admit that I am the new guy on the block at my school. So why is it that my colleagues use me as a psychologist?
I had one talking to me about her significant other: "What do you think he's feeling?"
My response: "Well, have you tried asking him?"
WOW, BREAKTHROUGH!
Another was talking to me about being single.
Another was talking to me about how to deal with a child (yeah, I don't have teenage kids, so...I don't know).
I could go on and on. Apparently I'm really only good for help or for procurement. (Hey Leab, I need this, so can you get it for me?)
One of my colleagues is fond of saying, "my anger from teaching comes, more often than not, from my colleagues, not the kids." I can relate.
Everyday the entire last two months, someone on the staff has said to me, "Wow, how can you deal with teaching Freshman all day? I'd go nuts!"
I look at it like a cut on your hand. You ever slice your hand while cutting vegetables or bread or some sort of food? If you cut your hand and just say, "Oops, I cut my hand," and then clean it up, it's not so bad.
If, however, you cut your hand and someone shouts, "OH MY GOD!!!! YOU CUT YOUR HAND!!!!" followed by someone else doing it, then you might feel a little panic.
I do my job, and I don't usually feel tired, but everytime some says to me, "Oh God, how do you stand at the end of the day?" I usually feel one of two things:
1. Exhausted. My body almost screams, "Hey! I'm tired!"
Or
2. Angry. I don't need to be told over and over again that my situation is rough. I know. You don't grab the guy in the wheelchair and say, "Don't you wish you could walk?" That's just mean.
Don't poke the bear, folks. Don't poke the bear.
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End of the School Year...and Beyond:
Sigh.
I had everything wrapped up today. The woman who I am to turn my keys and such into left early today. She promised she would be around, but, after I worked extremely hard to get everything done in under an hour, I went down to the office only to discover she had left an hour early. Why tell me, "I'll be here late, only to leave early."
And no, there was no emergency. She just left.
Sigh.
My anger, however, is not at her. She's great. No, the problem is in my setup next year.
I don't have my own room. I have a cart. That's right, Teacher on Wheels. Moving on.
I have a desk in a shared office. Well, my desk is staying put, but now two major groups (about 8 people) are moving into the room with me. The room isn't huge.
The problem is not that so many people will be in there ALL THE TIME. My problem is that I came in today to find a few of these people trying to take my desk from me.
It was like catching your significant other cheating on you.
There's the moment of shock when you take in what your seeing
There's the denial (I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing).
Then...there's the anger.
I had all three.
The first thing I saw was all the boxes being taken off my desk (we pack up all of our stuff for Summer Break so the school can be thoroughly cleaned (and so stuff won't disappear during summer school). The three people moving my stuff looked like kids being caught in the cookie jar.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"We need this desk," I was told.
"You can't have it," I replied. "That's my desk, and I'm using it."
"This isn't your desk."
"Um, that's my picture of my wife, and that's my name on the papers there."
"Oh....Well, we need the desk, so you'lkl have to move."
"No. I will only give up that desk if the principal herself comes up here and tells me to move from it."
"We need to the desk. Just give it to us."
"No. Put my stuff down, move away from the bookshelf too as that's mine as well, and figure something else out."
At this point, one of the three goes and calls the principal to tell on me. I'm not kidding. This person said I was "being combative and unhelpful."
Now, I am very lucky in that I have a good rapport with my princiapl. She showed up, took one look around, and then asked me what was happening.
I told her they were attempting to pillage my desk.
She looked around and said, "No. (indicating the three people) You will be over there. Leave that area alone."
"But..."
"No. That is HIS desk and his stuff. Leave it alone."
She leaves, and what happens?
THEY GO BACK TO MOVING MY STUFF!
I'm reasonable, so I tell them:
"Drop my stuff, NOW! Back away from my desk. You heard the principal. Take those two desks over there."
Grumble, grumble, grumble is all I get as a response.
I sat at my desk for my whole lunch break in order to make sure they left my stuff alone. I want my corner (because you can't see if I'm in there from the hall).
Of course as I was rushing to finish everything this afternoon, one my colleagues somehow doesn't see me and shuts the lights off. I sat in the dark thinking, "Wow, I really don't rate, do I?"
And then the kicker: I have five classes next year, and, as of right now, it's all freshman again. I had some senior classes, but those are gone now. All freshman, all the time. I can feel the grey hairs. Don't get me wrong, I like working with freshman, but there are times when you need that adult conversation you can't get with the younger kids.
During Romeo & Juliet, they could not stop giggling about how they had sex. That gets kind of annoying.
After all that frustration, I bruised my hand. It hurts.
As for my other frustrations, that's for another day.
I'm just sorry that the graduates didn't come back for the painting.
Oh well.
Tomorrow is our end of year meeting. It's also when we're supposed to finish our grades (but I'm done). This is it, then...two months off. Bring on the Summer.
Namaste.

A Clarification

I want to make one thing crystal clear.
This is not a joke nor does it come out of anger. It is solely an explanation.
All references to any certain former members of the Fox 9 morning team have been removed from this site.
Other blogs have been deleted, posts have been removed, and names edited out.
If certain former members do not believe this, do a search for a specific name above at the "search this blog" bar. Then click on the supposed posts. You'll see the references are in fact gone.
This is all I can do.
I have requested that others remove the writings, but I cannot make them.
I, of course, apologize if this has caused any problems, but I have done what was requested of me.
Should I be missing something, please contact me by email at ironicteachings@hotmail.com and tell me what actions you would like me to do.
That's all I got.
The humble writer.

The Name Game

Ok, I do have a great deal to talk about (end of the year, a boring graduation, and more), but I really don't want to blog while I'm angry. Why? Because things will be written that could cause problems or complaints or more, and I'm too tired at this point.
So instead, it's the name game.
Feel free to pilfer and use as your own. This can be quite fun.
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1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Triscket Grimes
2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your dad's side, your favorite candy)
Rogers Starburst
3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your last name
M-Lea
4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite animal, favorite color)
Penguin Black
5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Rogers New York
6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters of your last name, last 3 letters of mother's maiden name, first 3 letters of your pet's name)
Leakyeuly
7. JEDI NAME: (middle name spelled backwards, your mom's maiden name spelled backwards)
Sregor Seyk
8. PORN STAR NAME: (middle name, father's middle initial, street you grew up on)
Rogers J. Litchfield
9. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, an automobile you have)
The Black Infiniti

There you go.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you all about the graduation that never ended, the interesting new NASCAR sponsor, more.
Have a good night.
Namaste.

A Great Excuse

At least I now know that if I get out of my car and beat the crap out of lousy drivers, I am now justified. It's great, isn't it? We now have excuses for almost anything.
"Your Honor, I know what I did is wrong, but I have Intermittent Explosive Disorder."
"You have bowel issues?"
"No, Your Honor, I have anger."
"Oh...then case dismissed."
Now of course it won't go this way, but it's just another excuse.
When I was a kid, being hyper was being a kid. You had some sugar, and you ran around until you were tired. Now that's ADHD.
We have too many disorders and too many drugs for them.
Look at the article. They recommend drugs for this disorder too. I'm not surprised. Drug companies can make a ton of money if everything you do is wrong.
Did I mention I also have ILD? Yup, Intermitten Laughing Disorder. I just seem to find things funny and laugh out loud everyonce in a while. Maybe I need to get depressants....

Ramblings for the Evening (6/05/06)

Can I just tell you that I find it deliciously ironic that on the eve of the supposed "Day of the Demon" I have officially received my sixth email from an angry reader? Yes, apparently my comments on Pat Robertson, as well as the Pope, were not liked by a few readers. I have to say: I love hatemail. It usually is just a rambling mess with only one through line: "Here's why you're stupid, and I'm right."
Good stuff.
What's funnier than that? I've gotten more mail...about Anderson Cooper. The Coop's got a lot of friends out there. I'd write about him, but I don't want another...well...you all remember the last time I wrote about a reporter....Sigh.
Do you think I could piss off more people if I talk about the fact that New York should get that money back? I mean if you were a terrorist, would you attack New York or Wyoming? If you said Wyoming, you're a liar. You don't deserve your 72 virgins.
Ok, let's do this.
So, without further ado: SWEET CAROLINE....BOP, BOP, BOP!
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David Hasselhoff is Omnipresent:
Seriously, this guy is EVERYWHERE. In the last few weeks, here's where he's been (in no particular order):
American Idol Finale (where he cried. Sorry, HE CRIED when the dude won).
Courtside at a Dallas Mavericks/ Phoenix Suns game.
Sportscenter.
Various talk show programs (he's pimping a new CD apparently).
In Germany promoting the World Cup (it's only a few days away now).
He's also a judge on America's Got Talent (That one is too easy to make fun of, so moving on).
Oh, did I mention that Steven Spielberg wants him in the Baywatch movie, and he may be a part of the Knight Rider movie?
This just goes to show you: if you go through an incredibly tough divorce and 'roid up (and I think he may be 'roiding, but that's just my opinion, folks), you too can have a great career.
Look, I'm not going to Hassel the Hoff", but I am going to ask: Why is he the only 80's star that we are resurrecting? Where's Tuti? What about Rick (Don't Call Me Ricky, Bitch) Schroeder? Where's Yahoo Serious?
I'm just saying...I'm slightly worried that I might walk into my school tomorrow and see him there. Then, when I stop to get gas for my car...he'll be there. Then, when I head out to buy groceries, he'll be there.
It's a little creepy.
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An Open Call to the Theatre Class of 2006:
Ok theatre grads, this is an invite.
If you wish, I am opening up the booth to allow any of the graduating theatre kids the ability to paint one brick as their own. This will become a new annual event for the theatre people. You want to bring your own paint? (which I recommend.) Do it. You want to decorate your square with pictures? Do it. It's your call.
My plan is to do this on Thursday. You want to do it earlier, let me know. You're the first class, so the placement is up to you.
and finally:
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Hey, Minnesota Wild!:
To the local team,
I really hope you're paying attention.
Look at the Edmonton Oilers. This is a team that spent most of the last 15 years (since they won their last championship) as a joke. However, in the new NHL, this team is now thriving. They're spending money (did you see the Pronger trade and multiple signings), and they take chances (they traded for Roloson).
Look at the Carolina Hurricanes. They, too, have spent money and made trades.
Both teams had attendance issues, but guess what? They STILL spent the money to make the team better.
Now, I am a loyal season ticket holder. I have been for a while now. I have also attended many games since I first moved up here which also happened to be the team's first season. When team kind of screwed people during the lockout season, I did not complain. Nope, I paid my money.
This past season, however, you did NOT play into the new NHL. Your team reamained like the old guard. In fact, the Wild only spent barely over the minimum salary cap.
So, I want you as a business to look at the Edmonton Oilers and the Carolina Hurricanes. Two teams that did NOT spend the least amount of money and look what happened to them. The Oilers are the first number eight seed to make the finals (and they will probably win it in six). They traded for Roloson (who most fans AND management said was, "done."), and they made it MORE affordable for the fans instead of raising prices on a mediocre team.
I, as a loyal season ticket holder, declare the following:
1. If the team trades away the veterans and then rarely plays the superstar kids, I will no longer be a ticket holder.
2. If you have a subpar season (not making the playoffs, or, worse yet, being under .500), and you still raise ticket prices, I will no longer be a ticket holder.
3. If you do absolutely nothing in the offseason to try and get a big ticket name (hi, Zdeno Chara, did we mention that Minnesota is a great deal like the Czech Republic?), or to improve the team (DEEEEFEEEENNNNNSSSSSEEEEE), then I will no longer be a ticket holder.
Use the Oilers' model, folks.
They made the finals...we're playing golf.
Just a thought.
Namaste.

End of the School Year (2005-2006) II

Today was the Senior Goodbye. Basically, the next two weeks of school will be done sans the Class of 2006.
I admit...I will miss many of them.
The assembly, which (like every year) ran way too long, was quite upsetting to many (students and teachers). I actually smiled a little as I watched some of my colleagues wipe away tears.
Hugs abound as we all said goodbye.
I really wanted to give some "words of wisdom" to the seniors, but I discovered that our words had to be cleared by the administration ahead of time.
Upon hearing this from one of the APs, my first response was, "Dammit."
My second, however, was, "Wait...why do we have to clear it with YOU? Shouldn't you trust us at this point?"
So, because I was unable to do it at the assembly, I now present: Leab's Words of Wisdom to The Class of 2006. This is how it would have went, word for word.

To my lovely Seniors.
I have some advice that just may come in handy in the future.
I see people here who could be running the world one day.
Let me just give you some easy rules to follow for the years that are to come.
1. Do not ever punch Mickey Mouse. It has serious consequences. I know of what I speak.
2. When all else fails: beg, borrow, and steal.
3. Should you find yourself arguing with a painting of Vincent Van Gogh, stop what you are doing. Something is terribly wrong.
All right, in all seriousness, here is the real advice I recommend you follow.
1. Think before you speak. Speak before you act. Think before you act.
2. Remember that you have a wealth of knowledge and guidance here (at the school) whenever you need it. We don't say, "Oh, that class is DEAD to us now," after you leave. You need help, just ask us.
3. Same as before. If you're arguing with a painting, something is wrong.
In closing I would like to paraphrase Ralph Waldo Emerson:
"The reasonable person attempts to adapt him- or herself to the world.
The unreasonable person attempts to adapt the world to him- or herself.
Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable person."
Be that person. Question what is happening. Seek answers. Solve the problems. Make the difference and the changes. Help facilitate progress.
That is my request and my advice to you.
Good luck.
Namaste.

Good luck to you, Class of 2006. May your journey be only beginning.
Namaste.

End of the School Year (2005-2006) Part I

"Mr. Leab?"
"Yes?"
"I don't like my grade."
"Oooook. What do you want me to do?"
"I want an 'A'...regular or minus...doesn't matter which."
"You have a 'C' right now."
"But I WANT an 'A' in this class."
"Ok, you need to do the work over the next ten days."
"Can't you just GIVE me the grade?"
Snort! "Uh...no."
"Here, look at this. I did it in ten minutes. It's good, right?"
"Yes."
"See, that's why you have to raise my grade on the (Odyssey) project. It may have looked like it was only a few minutes of work, but see how good it can be?"
"You got some of the information wrong, your paper wasn't proofread, AND...you even misspelled my name, the name of the book, AND the name of the main character. That's alot to get wrong for having two weeks to work on it."
"That...that is not the point."
"It isn't?"
"No. The point is that I need an "A", and you should give it to me!"
"It's not going to happen."
"BUUUUUT THAAAAAT'SSS NOOOOOT FAIR! If I don't get an "A", I don't get my car. I WANT my car!"
"This isn't helping me to change my mind."
"Look, why can't you just let me have the "A" now? Do that, and I'll be good until the end of the year."
"Be good until the end of the year, and you MIGHT earn that "A"...maybe."
"You're mean and this isn't fair. This is because I'm black, isn't it?"
"SIGH. No. It's because you don't turn in work. It's because you talk to other class mates rather than listen to me."
"Huh? Are you talking to me still?"
"Thank you for proving my point."
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I echo Michele. I tolerate the kids.
I tolerate the kids.
I tolerate the kids.
I tolerate the kids. (Only ten more days.)
Repeat and breath.

How You Know I'm Stupid

For the past two days it has been warm. Very warm. Some might even say it was hot.
"It was so hot I saw a little man in an orange robe burst into flames!"
Ok, maybe not THAT hot.
So how do I know I'm stupid?
I've spent the last three days up to right now gardening with my wife.
That's right: I've been outdoors the whole time planting trees, plants, and more. Built a fountain, dug a trench, Planted way too many plants, weeded, and more.
Was it fun? Sure.
Am I cooked like a Thanksgiving Turkey? Most definitely.
Have I done any grading? Um...next question.
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Ok, quick ramble:
1. Congratulations to DeRusha and the funky fresh WCCO crew for becoming number one in the ratings. Yes, I'm a week late, but it's the thought that counts. Plus, I'm a viewer...sometimes. Here's hoping for another successful year.
2. The Pope went to Auschwitz. It sounds like the start of a really good joke, but it's actually real. There was a fantastic photo of him standing in front of the gates staring into the camp on one of the news stations. It was almost as if you could hear his mind going, "Oh I remember this place. The memories...."
It's ironic. The man was a part of the Hitlerjunge, and now he leads the Catholic world. Who knew God had such a great sense of humor. Strike that: I've seen a Platypus up close. Still, do you think there's a little irony in him visiting? Just a little?
Plus, do you think maybe the Vatican is doing a little damage control because this new pope is not really well liked? (You try following John II, the Revenge.) He goes to Auschwitz, meets with a Rabbi, and maybe the world says, "Hmm...maybe he's not such a bad guy."
I'm just saying....
Ok, that's it. Happy Memorial Day (Oxymoron) and Happy Birthday Jolene.
Namaste.

Ramblings: Memorial Weekend Edition 2006!

Woooo. I got nothing. It's Memorial Day Weekend, folks. My brain is partially shut down, but many things I saw today got it going.
So, without further ado: DO YOUR WORST!
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Anderson Cooper...is a girl:
Ok, not really. However, I have some issues with, and I quote one of my colleagues, "The most trusted news anchor IN THE WORLD!!!"
1. In the current issue of Entertainment Weekly, the man admits that he watches and records (No, I will not use "TIVO" as a verb) My Super Sweet 16. What?! This man is delivering important news about the Pope at Auschwitz (more on that later), yet he goes home and watches a show about rich girls whining about needing Bengal Tigers at their parties? He needs THAT drivel? I don't know a single guy who has ever really stopped and watched that show. HE RECORDS IT! I hope he's being sarcastic.
2. He cried at Katrina. Anyone else cry? Anyone? Oprah, even?
3. He wants an "Ice-Capades version of his life" done. Again, hoping for sarcasm here. Wanting an ice show starring Elvis Stojko as "The Hip News Guy," is a little scary. Then again, so is the fact that I know who Elvis Stojko is (Thanks Sister #1).
4. A VERY Real Quote: "Going gray is like ejaculation. You know it can happen prematurely, but when it actually does, it's a total shock."
Ok, maybe it's unfair of me to pick on the guy. There are many people in the world (and I can't believe people have this much time) attempting to "out" him. My issue? I couldn't care less if AC (Not to be confused with OJ's buddy) is gay. I'm just shocked that a serious news anchor can let himself go so far as to watch a horrible MTV show. Next you'll tell me that Rush Limbaugh is a huge fan of The O.C.
What do you mean he is?
Sigh.
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What the HELL happened to NORMAL NAMES!!!!!
Ok, so Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had their baby. Yeah...I guess. It's a girl, but get this name: Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt. Shiloh? Shiloh?! Ok, it's a dog. See the book jacket? It's a freaking dog! My sister (still Sister #1) also informed me it was a battleground as well. What the hell is going on with people and crazy-ass names?!
You want examples?
Frank Zappa named one of his kids Moon Unit.
Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow had Apple and Moses.
Jason Lee (of My Name Is Earl) named his kid Pilot Inspektor.
Penn Jillete may have the best, however.
Kid #1 is Moxie Crimefighter. Kid #2 is Zolten Penn. Zolten, by the way, was the name of Dracula's dog.
It's not just celebrities who are coming up with crazy names to torture kids throughout their lives. When I first started teaching, I had a girl in my class named (Oh, I really wish I was kidding) Leukemia. Spelled JUST LIKE THE DISEASE! I asked the mom the one time I got to talk to her, "How did you come up with the name?" This was the response:
"I heard it in the hospital, and I thought it was just so pretty. What, don't you like it?"
I was dumbstruck. I just smiled, nodded, and pretended a colleague called me over.
Navaeh is now popular. That's "Heaven" backwards (but if it's a boy, I would name it Lleh....Yes, I am a nerd).
There was a girl in my Master's program named Sierra Ciara (Both said the same way). Why would you do that to your kid.
Look, I get that giving your kid a really unique name means that NO ONE else will have it, but there is such as thing as creating major issues. My mother used to joke with her sisters that they would name the first of their kids "Crud" just to hear their mother say it. "Hello, Crud." They didn't do that, however. They realized it would totally alienate a kid. Pilot is a great name, but imagine how much that kid is going to be razzed.
Am I saying you shouldn't try to give unique names? No, but have common sense.
That being said: If I have a son, his name will be Rangers Mets Leab after two of my favorite teams...or maybe Mister Leab Leab, just to confuse people.
If I have a girl, her name will be Princess Leia Leab, because who could ever forget it. That one tops my original thought: Rose Bud Leab.
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Pretty Kitty:
I am nowhere near the photographer that Margaret is. However, every once in a while, I manage to stumble upon a shot that I think other will like. Ms. Sopheava put out the challenge to see if there was a cat cuter than her kitten. Slightly unfair as kittens are almost always adorable versus adult cats. One reason why my Ex wouldn't take the one cat was, as she said, "adult cats are boring and ugly." I disagree, but I digress. This is my neighbor's cat, Mork. He likes to come into my backyard and hide in the Lilacs for shade. I was weeding today and discovered him there. He didn't move. I think he's adorable.
Eventually, I hope to get some nice shots of my own cats, but for now you'll have to look at Mork.
And finally:
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The Anger of a Teacher:
I get along with everybody. It's really hard, but I somehow manage to stay on most people's good side. That being said, one of my colleagues really pushed me last week.
I had a bad week. I was feeling slightly down, very hot, and a little frustrated. My students' grades are starting to tank. They aren't taking the work seriously here in the last weeks, and it's hurting them badly. One student dropped from a B to a D-. Turn in no work, fail a test, and don't show up...and that's what happens.
Now, I gave the kids a project to finish The Odyssey: Draw a comic, act out a scene, or modernize one part.
The kids didn't take the 150 point project seriously and most bombed the presentation as well as the work.
I felt guilty. It had me believing that I was failing as a teacher. After all, if I were a good teacher, the students would be doing well. Of course this ignores the fact it's a two-way street, but remember: I was tired.
So I'm feeling bad, and I start to think: Maybe I need to concentrate on the kids who want to work and allow myself to be available for the kids who don't care, but not concentrate on them.
I talk to this colleague who shares many of these kids, and he says to me, "Usually it's a teacher who has been around for ten, fifteen years that quits on their students."
Here's the rough part: He repeats my feelings...to some of my students. Now I have a few kids flipping out at me and believing that I don't care about them.
Thursday and Friday were a crisis period. I was angry at myself, my colleague, and my students. At one point, I actually stopped one of my classes and explained to them why I was disappointed and how their projects were not good. "I'm not going to sugar coat it: Your projects were not very good. There was very little heart put into them. Most of you look like you did them at the last second. Most of you got the information about the story wrong. Most of you can't even listen to each other."
This caught their attention.
So I ask you students, teachers, former students, former teachers, whoever: Am I overreacting to my colleague? Am I bad teacher for feeling that I may need to concentrate more on the kids trying than the kids not trying?
Am I just being stupid?
I don't know.
Have a good holiday tomorrow.
Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (05/23/06)

All day I thought it was Wednesday. I was so excited to think the week was half over. Now imagine my disappointment when I figured it out. Not a good thing.
Let's do this....
So, without further ado: OH GREAT STEVE!!!!
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Pat Robertson...is Superman:
Hear me out. I'm not a big Robertson fan, but check this out. Pat Robertson can leg press 2,000 pounds (Take that Madeline Albright and your 400 pounds). That's one ton! The man can press a Toyota! "How?" you ask. Well, it all has to do with his energy shakes (which you can buy at his website...but it's for God...yeah...God).
So, here's my plan. If Pat Robertson can leg press one ton, then he can be like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable. Wait, hear me out. He can go around righting the wrongs on this Earth. He doesn't like how Homosexuals are adopting? He can use his mighty legs to jump to all the places where they are adopting, and then kick them off the continent. Wait! He could kick our illegal immigrants away too!
How about this: Robertson, Tammy Faye Messner (nee Baker), Benny Hinn, and Jerry Falwell create a SUPER TEAM!
Robertson's powerful legs could be used to kick the enemies of Jesus!
Tammy Faye could use her eyes to take down criminals!
Benny Hinn can knock over any man, "With the power of Christ!"
and Falwell...well, someone has to be the brains of the operation....
Throw in Willie Ames as Bibleman and we're ready to fight the evils of hardcore liberalism, homosexuality, and even...other sects of Christianity!
Any thoughts?
Look, either they form this team, or I want a "Circus of the Stars"-type show. I want to see Robertson do this press. And it has to be all at once, none of this, "I did 10 reps of 200 pounds which is 2,000." Nope. All at once, and several reps. Let's go, holy man. Show the world.
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Happy Birthday Rex:
It's been said. Moving on.
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Regrets...I've had a few:
Regrets are horrible. Several of the other blogs I read have been talking about regrets they have. I have a few (I am, after all, only human). However, I don't let those regrets run my life. One blog I read (sorry, not naming this person) has been talking about how these regrets are coming back and not allowing this person to live his/her life.
I want to give some advice to the person:
Having regrets is fine. Allowing those regrets to dictate your life is not. Everyone makes mistakes. It's a part of life. The issue is that you have to be able to say, "Damn, I made a mistake." Then, you have to pick up the pieces and go on to the next thing. Why do we fall down? So we can get up.
Allow yourself to see the mistakes, but don't allow them to blind you. You had a bad relationship? That sucks, but it's over. The past. Keep going.
You told someone something you shouldn't have? Apologize and go on.
There's a story I like to tell that illustrates my point.
When I was applying to colleges, I made sure to make college visits (you have to see the school before you decide). When I went to St. Louis to check out Washington University in St. Louis, I got a campus tour from a guide who said (and I quote), "I can do this whole thing blindfolded. I know this place like the back of my hand."
We started the tour and came upon a part of the sidewalk that was cracked. Without looking he managed to miss the crack. Good for him. However, a few feet after that was another crack that must have been new. Our guide was concentrating on one of the gals in the group when he hit the crack with his heel and tumbled. Ten minutes later, he did it again. After that, he walked forward the rest of the time, but still managed to talk in a way we could hear him.
I bring this up because when we regret, we look back on what has happened and ignore what is or will happen. We're walking backward in the darkness on a path we don't know.
Regret should be like that prom dress or tuxedo you own. You have it, but you only wear it occasionally.
That's all I got. I hope it helps.
Namaste.

Did you see this article in the Star Tribune? It's brilliant, and it's funny because it's true! My neighbors and I have already had a vigorous discussion about it (they disagree...and the word "transplant" was used when explaining how I can think the way I do).
The other way I know that sarcasm is lost is in my recent post on MN Speak (and I have no problem saying that since management turned over the site has REALLY changed). Yes, I did in fact make mention (as I did in a previous post here) that I find it ridiculous that our government passed this law and that they are using it to show they can actually get things done, but when I made mention of education, the roads, and such, I was being sarcastic. I know what our government has and hasn't done. My issue is that they are proud of the fact they passed a meaningless bill that will be impossible to enforce.
I don't like talking about politics, because it brings out the zealots who attempt to nuke the conversation to win instead of listening and trying to understand others' viewpoints. Sigh.
On with the ramblings.
So, without further ado: BUT I LIKE A COOKIE!
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Week in Review:
I love being a teacher. There are days when it's harder than passing a kidney stone, but I love being a teacher. There are some really rewarding days when the students get into it, and we rock and roll. Then there's this past week. Over five days, we had one good one and four bad ones.
The students have checked out. We have four weeks left, but the final week is essentially finals, so we really have only three weeks left. My students couldn't care less, and the teachers tell me, "Don't teach anything new, because the students won't listen. Don't set them up to fail." My teachers beat the crap out of me until the final bell. We learned new information in my world history class the day before the final...and then had to write an essay on that info. I'm just glad I listened.
As I said, somedays are bad. It's not that every class is bad, but one bad class along with two other indifferent classes (or three if you get coverage) can just make it a rotten day.
Here's the summation of what destroyed me last week:
1. Students going on vacation early. The students have a final project for The Odyssey. They have to work in groups and give a presentation to the class. They're freaking out (and they should, it's worth 200 points and can either help or destroy their grade). I'm being a very benevolent dictator and giving them time in class (everyday last week) to work on the project. Most are screwing around and not working. I'm not going to be lenient.
However, the issue here isn't their lack of work ethic, but the fact that some parents are going on vacation now and taking the kids with them. I have 110 kids I work with over the course of a day. Twenty-five are missing class during the course of this week. Some are already gone and won't return until after Memorial Day (So close to the end of the year? What are these parents thinking?), while others are leaving on Thursday or Friday.
I get that parents get short vacations and need to take them when they can, but I've got one parent whose kid is failing (I mean getting an "N" folks....We don't use "F" anymore.), and he is pulling his daughter for the whole week. She's missing the project. She can't get a partner (I'm letting her work alone), but I don't see her doing the project on the 30th. They are setting her up for failure. I have a back-up plan for her, but is it fair that she does something else because her parents want to go to the Bahamas?
2. Students feeling "Springy". Here's a tip to all my students who read this (I know a few of you do): If you skip my class on a test day, and I see you screwing around either in town or outside the school, you don't get to make up the test. You can beg, you can attempt to bribe, but it ain't happening. I have one student who decided that she wasn't going to take my test because it, "was a nice day," as she told her friends. I was told she, "was sick." Oops. Even if she was sick, I shouldn't have seen her attempting to ollie (jumping with a skateboard) outside the school at the end of the day. If you're so stupid that you think your teacher won't notice you as he or she is leaving for the day...when you missed a test, you deserve that zero.
However, that's not the only Spring issue. I had to boot two kids the other day because they were shoving each other around the room. When I wrote them up, they started begging so they wouldn't miss the dance.
I had another student refuse to move away from a girl and instead wanted to be sent out (and thereby suspended). I booted him, and he didn't even go to the office, just walked off. Never a good idea.
I get that in Spring, most kids minds go...uh...loopy, but holy hell, folks. Some of these kids are down right idiotic. "I'd rather be suspended than move one seat." That's just idiotic. He just wanted an excuse to miss class (he's going to fail, sadly).
The ultimate, however, came from a student WHO BIT ME. She was mad, so she grabbed my hand and bit it. She didn't break the skin, but left teeth impressions that stayed for two days.
What is wrong with these kids? It's Spring and their horomones and such are out of control. Hard to teach with that happening.
3. Non-caring Teachers. I get along with most of my colleagues. There are a few who have issues with me, but I don't care. However, some of the teachers have checked out for the year. Their students are wandering the hallways, coming to my class instead of their own, and these teachers don't care. It makes it hard on the rest of us.
Sigh.
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Movie Theatres:
I still believe in going to movie theatres. I do. I really like sitting there and watching the film on that big screen, but it's difficult at times when the audience is obviously not used to it or doesn't care about it. The other night my wife and I went to the AMC movie theatre in Maple Grove. It's a nice facility with large screens and clean spaces. That's good. As we sat in the theatre waiting for the previews to finish, I looked back at the projector room to see two guys yelling at each other and pointing at the projector. The film strip was too dark. It was obvious that the bulb in the projector was broken and needed to be changed. They stopped the film and started to fix it. The film was supposed to start at 8:05, but didn't start until 8:40 (they had issues). What angered me wasn't the theatre, but the audience. The management apologized for the trouble and gave out coupons. The audience turned on them, yelled at them, and then demanded their money back...but be allowed to watch the film. There were a bunch of teenagers trying to be cool and making fun of people, even going so far as the throw stuff at them (ice, popcorn, and later change). On the other end, however, there were parents with kids yelling about bedtimes. They just sat and bitched. Yes, that is their right, but come on...who does it help? Just relax and wait. It's not that hard.
On a side note, I did find it interesting that one of the teenagers who was posing (yes, he was a poser to the nth degree) was afraid to use the urinals in the bathroom. There were five urinals open (I was at one end) and he went into a stall. You can't be a tough guy and then be afraid of the guy at the urinal, Senor Poser.
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Picture is worth how much?
They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. This is from a story in the New York Daily News about the NRA expo that was held in New York recently.
There is so much I can say about this, but again, I try not to talk about politics and such.
I can say two things:
1. Dennis, I've got your next photo caption contest.
2. Is anyone else disturbed by that fact that she's in a Bjorn and attempting to grab a pistol. Do you think there's some guy out there who looks at this picture with a girl and a gun and thinks, "Oh yeah. A few years from now...she's mine," and then...uh...does something naughty?
Hope you've had a great weekend. Summer is coming as is graduation.
Namaste.