And so we hit 100. That’s right my valued readers, this would be my one hundredth post. The big centennial, a perfect score on a test, the amount you’re supposed to give at work, etc., etc., etc.
I promised guest stars and funny stories, so I’ll try to deliver as best I can.
I’ve been thinking about dating in modern times (again) because of two things that have happened in the last week. First of all, many of the blogs I read have been discussing how hard it is to date in modern society. How do you meet people? How do know who a person really is? On and on it goes. The other event came from a discussion at a birthday party about the number of times that you have either proposed or been proposed to by someone.
My number was more than anyone else at the table including the women. Most of the guys were at the number one. Maybe this is because they were being proud MACHO men, who didn’t want to admit they had been shot down. Even Rock Hudson, a closet homosexual, was married for three years, AND on the first try. You got shot down, and Rock Hudson didn’t? Ouch! What do think of that Rock? Too far? No? Thanks for dropping by…
Anyway, the guys (except for myself) were all at one, and the women at this table were at two (except for Jessie, because her boyfriends were, well, not bright). So when it got around to me, I answered with a number no one was expecting.
“Three.”
You know that noise that cartoon characters make when they whip their heads around really quickly? That “whoosh” noise. They all made that noise. “Three!?” was shouted so loud by one of them that the other tables at La Bodega turned and stared straight into my soul (or so it felt).
So let’s explain this “three”. For the deaf, Marlee Matlin will be signing. Ok, first of all, only two of the three were my asking. The second person was my wife. She actually married me (sucker). The first person I asked was a girl I dated in college for two years. Convinced that she loved me (though I later found out I was wrong, but that’s another story), and convinced that I loved her, I asked her to marry me. She said yes. Fortunately (because I love my wife a hell of a lot more) the coupling did not last.
The strangest one, however, is number three. You see, I was not the one to ask for number three. Nope, I was asked.
In a very strange twist, I gained a stalker while in college. That’s right. A nice girl we’ll call Kelly decided that I was her soulmate. Her SOULMATE! This is a girl who called me from Paris. Why? She was lonely and needed someone to talk to. She would come by my home (I lived alone in a house while in college) at two or three in the morning. Have you ever had a woman (or a man for that matter) show up at your home in the cliché of a trenchcoat and nothing else? I have. And much to the chagrin of many of my friends, I refused to take advantage of the situation. I did not want to lead this girl on at all. I was not interested, and I was not going to let her think I was. However, my greatest shock came during the summer of 1999 just before I started dating my now wife. Kelly was not getting the hints. I had even gone as far as telling her face to face that I was just not interested. I admit that I am a flirt, but with her, due to the fact that I was uncomfortable with how she was, for example, attacking other women who even talked to me. When I say attacked, I don’t mean, “Get away from him, he’s mine!” No. I mean, “Die bitch!” and then grab a blunt object and swing away.
Anyway, one (ironically) dark and stormy night, I was home alone, watching Red Corner (a [actually] brilliant Richard Gere film) when my back door opened. Now I was used to my neighbors at the time getting drunk and attempting to kick in my door, because they were so sure that’s where they lived, but this was a key turning, not a kick. There was Kelly, who had stolen my emergency key from my friend’s apartment across town. She had TAKEN THE KEY. He didn’t give it to her. He knew the score.
So there she is, dripping wet, in my kitchen. I’m slightly inebriated and in my boxer shorts (as it is a typical St. Louis summer night: hot and humid even though it’s raining). She hands me a card with a poem on it (It was e.e. Cummings’ "May i feel said he"). If you don’t know the poem, it ends with “You are Mine said she.” I thank her, and sprint to go get pants. After putting on some, I ask her for the key. No problem. She then begins a speech that I will always remember. She tells me about how, “God created Eve to be with Adam.” (Never a good start with me.) Next, she talks about how, “Even now God makes two people that are so perfect for each other, they NEED to be together.” She then drops to her knee and asks me, “Will you be my Adam?”
I admit, it’s incredibly sweet, but I had never given her any indication that I even remotely liked her. I didn’t take her ring. I told her that she was sweet for asking, but it would never work, because I didn’t feel that way about her. “I think you’re a very nice girl, and that some guy out there will love you, but that guy will NEVER be me.” I know it sounds harsh, but I had to say it. It was the only way she would learn. Now, one or two of you out there might think that I’m a bastard, but how else do you get through to a stalker? Before this final speech, I had tried using friends as decoy girlfriends (and one decoy boyfriend, who ended up trying to get me to make out with him, which was SO strange), I had fallen (on purpose) out of a second story window into a hammock in order to avoid her (and let me tell you, that really hurt. The hammock didn’t break and neither did it, but it launched me forward into some rose bushes. Ouch!), and I had even tried getting other people who were friends with her to tell her she was making a mistake. That didn’t work either.
She stopped showing up and calling me. She started dating a friend of mine, but he later told me that she would call him by my name in the bedroom and always talked about me. She even once confronted my wife. Since we left St. Louis, however, we have not heard from her.
Stalkers can be tough to deal with, right Hollywood superstars and singers Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, Tom Jones, and James Woods? Am I wrong? No? Brad? Nothing? Thanks ladies and gentlemen, I bring you here to impress and you just sit there….
The crew I was dining with that night just couldn’t believe that story. One gal sat with her mouth wide open until I tossed a shrimp in it and almost made her choke (um, my bad). Little ole me, the dude who looks like Greg Grunberg, had a stalker, and a serious one at that.
Well, that’ll do it for 100. I hope it made you laugh or think or something. For 101, maybe I’ll talk about more failed dating. I don’t mind, it makes others feel better and makes me laugh at my own stupidity.
Thanks for taking the time to read this loooonng post. Special thanks to all my guest stars. Look for former mayor Ed Koch, Todd McFarlane, Goran Ivanesivic, several ex-girlfriends (or girls I've dated), and more!
Monday, July 25, 2005
Friday, July 22, 2005
Hypocrisy 7/22/05
When you tell someone you "hate" all of your friends, but you can't "live without them", that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you scream and shout, "It's absolutely wrong," that a show is adding a lesbian character, and then you talk about how you want two of the "hotter female" characters on that show to have, "graphic sex," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you sit there and say that only white people can be racist, and then you call a Hmong student a "chink," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say that a person has done something so unforgivable that they should be killed or fired, and then you do it too, and say, "Well, this is different," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you complain that society concentrates on looks too much, and then you get a boob job, that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say there is no God, and then you pray to him for help at a sporting event or "time of crisis," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say, "I'm not a yuppie," and then you refuse to eat somewhere, because it's, "too white trash," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say you hate a particular actor/actress/athelte/politician, and then you follow their every move saying, "I'm just fascinated by them," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you complain that no one notices the homeless, and then you don't give a dollar, that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say that it's never you causing the trouble, and then you punch someone for no reason, that's
HYPOCRISY!
And finally (for today),
When you tell people that there's nothing to worry about, but they should panic anyway, that's
HYPOCRISY!
Feel free to drop me some of your ideas of hypocrisy. I'm always curious to hear. Also, the next post will be my 100th, so look for some crazy story that will (attempt to) make you laugh and for guest stars.
Have a nice weekend!
HYPOCRISY!
When you scream and shout, "It's absolutely wrong," that a show is adding a lesbian character, and then you talk about how you want two of the "hotter female" characters on that show to have, "graphic sex," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you sit there and say that only white people can be racist, and then you call a Hmong student a "chink," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say that a person has done something so unforgivable that they should be killed or fired, and then you do it too, and say, "Well, this is different," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you complain that society concentrates on looks too much, and then you get a boob job, that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say there is no God, and then you pray to him for help at a sporting event or "time of crisis," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say, "I'm not a yuppie," and then you refuse to eat somewhere, because it's, "too white trash," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say you hate a particular actor/actress/athelte/politician, and then you follow their every move saying, "I'm just fascinated by them," that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you complain that no one notices the homeless, and then you don't give a dollar, that's
HYPOCRISY!
When you say that it's never you causing the trouble, and then you punch someone for no reason, that's
HYPOCRISY!
And finally (for today),
When you tell people that there's nothing to worry about, but they should panic anyway, that's
HYPOCRISY!
Feel free to drop me some of your ideas of hypocrisy. I'm always curious to hear. Also, the next post will be my 100th, so look for some crazy story that will (attempt to) make you laugh and for guest stars.
Have a nice weekend!
And, Like a Rollercoaster....
Sigh.
You're up one day, and then the next something happens that just makes you want bang your head on the chalk board over and over and over.
After being happy (though not exuberantly so) yesterday, my students today (and yes, I know it's Friday) really frustrated me. It wasn't so much their behavior in class, as right after. See, on Tuesday, they will all be taking the Basic Standards Test in Reading, and I am working very hard to prepare them. As I have said before, many of them have told me they just don't care about the test, school, or anything.
So today they took a mock test in order to see if what we have been doing for the last four weeks has been sticking. Out of 31 kids, 10 received passing grades. Of those ten, only 4 got higher than 75% (which is considered passing for the BST). Now, I could go off on a rant about this, but that's not what's annoying me. Honestly, I expected these scores. What angered me was what happened after they found out their scores.
One girl in the second period class scored a 90%. Highest grade of all 31 kids. She was really proud of herself, and I honestly was proud of her too, because she had come a really long way in four weeks. Unfortunately, as soon as the kids found out that she had scored so well, they began ruthlessly teasing her. One kid called her "Teacher's Pet." That's not so bad. What made it worse was when they started talking about the sexual favors she must have exchanged and called her a traitor to the other kids as well as not being true to her race. That's right. Because the other kids had scored so low, and she didn't, that meant she wasn't, "black." Once again, I'm not kidding. They kept talking about how white her skin was, etc., etc. With so much being thrown at her, she started to cry. Well, I wasn't going to stand for it. I quickly shut down the kids who were causing the problems, and then I gave them a very evil punishment. I made them go out in the hall, I grabbed a few textbooks off the shelves, and they had to hold out their arms with the textbooks in their hands. If the books droppped, they would go to the office to be punished. If they managed to stand there with the books out for ten minutes, I would only chastise them. What happened, you ask? Two kids dropped the books right away and were sent to the office. As this was their fourth time there, they aren't coming back. One kid made it, and then he apologized to her. Did he mean it? I have no clue.
Yeah, Tuesday is going to be very hard for these kids. Most of them aren't going to get credit for the class, because they haven't been doing to work or showing up. They love to talk to each other all the time, but you can't talk at all during the BST, or you'll be thrown out. Think about that: five weeks of work and sitting in an incredibly hot building only to blow it on the day of the test. The whole reason you're there, gone. All because you couldn't be quiet for two hours.
If none of the numbers change drastically next week, this will be the final tally:
Period 1: 12 kids (lost ten from the first day). 5 kids will get credit for the class. Probably 2 will pass the BST.
Period 2: 19 kids (lost seven from the first day). 3 kids will get credit for the class. Probably 4, maybe 5 will pass the BST.
So, that means out of 31, 8 will get credit and 6 will pass the BST. That's LOW! It makes me feel like a bad teacher. Granted, I can only do so much, but it still frustrates me that it's happening on my watch.
You're up one day, and then the next something happens that just makes you want bang your head on the chalk board over and over and over.
After being happy (though not exuberantly so) yesterday, my students today (and yes, I know it's Friday) really frustrated me. It wasn't so much their behavior in class, as right after. See, on Tuesday, they will all be taking the Basic Standards Test in Reading, and I am working very hard to prepare them. As I have said before, many of them have told me they just don't care about the test, school, or anything.
So today they took a mock test in order to see if what we have been doing for the last four weeks has been sticking. Out of 31 kids, 10 received passing grades. Of those ten, only 4 got higher than 75% (which is considered passing for the BST). Now, I could go off on a rant about this, but that's not what's annoying me. Honestly, I expected these scores. What angered me was what happened after they found out their scores.
One girl in the second period class scored a 90%. Highest grade of all 31 kids. She was really proud of herself, and I honestly was proud of her too, because she had come a really long way in four weeks. Unfortunately, as soon as the kids found out that she had scored so well, they began ruthlessly teasing her. One kid called her "Teacher's Pet." That's not so bad. What made it worse was when they started talking about the sexual favors she must have exchanged and called her a traitor to the other kids as well as not being true to her race. That's right. Because the other kids had scored so low, and she didn't, that meant she wasn't, "black." Once again, I'm not kidding. They kept talking about how white her skin was, etc., etc. With so much being thrown at her, she started to cry. Well, I wasn't going to stand for it. I quickly shut down the kids who were causing the problems, and then I gave them a very evil punishment. I made them go out in the hall, I grabbed a few textbooks off the shelves, and they had to hold out their arms with the textbooks in their hands. If the books droppped, they would go to the office to be punished. If they managed to stand there with the books out for ten minutes, I would only chastise them. What happened, you ask? Two kids dropped the books right away and were sent to the office. As this was their fourth time there, they aren't coming back. One kid made it, and then he apologized to her. Did he mean it? I have no clue.
Yeah, Tuesday is going to be very hard for these kids. Most of them aren't going to get credit for the class, because they haven't been doing to work or showing up. They love to talk to each other all the time, but you can't talk at all during the BST, or you'll be thrown out. Think about that: five weeks of work and sitting in an incredibly hot building only to blow it on the day of the test. The whole reason you're there, gone. All because you couldn't be quiet for two hours.
If none of the numbers change drastically next week, this will be the final tally:
Period 1: 12 kids (lost ten from the first day). 5 kids will get credit for the class. Probably 2 will pass the BST.
Period 2: 19 kids (lost seven from the first day). 3 kids will get credit for the class. Probably 4, maybe 5 will pass the BST.
So, that means out of 31, 8 will get credit and 6 will pass the BST. That's LOW! It makes me feel like a bad teacher. Granted, I can only do so much, but it still frustrates me that it's happening on my watch.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
And Now...Master Leab
Well, I'm done. That's right. As of 8:15 tonight, I finished my final Master's class. Done, finito, no mas, das Ende. I will only have to walk on to the St. Thomas campus one more time in order to pick up my diploma. After that, I'm gone.
After all the money I've sunk into that school, and after all the crap I've put up with from them, I cannot tell you the relief that I am feeling now that I am done. It's very strange to me that I now have a Master's Degree. I can remember the day I received my Bachelor's Degree. That, to me, was the proudest day of my life and it happened with such pomp and circumstance (no pun intended). Today, however, I don't feel like I've done something special. No, I just feel like I've completed a walk down the street and back. There has been some pretty scenery, but nothing really special.
It's weird.
I do admit that right now I feel really tired. That's because all the pressure I've been under to finish has passed.
So, here's a toast to myself and anyone else that finished their Master's today at St. Thomas. Congratulations. Now go get a job.
After all the money I've sunk into that school, and after all the crap I've put up with from them, I cannot tell you the relief that I am feeling now that I am done. It's very strange to me that I now have a Master's Degree. I can remember the day I received my Bachelor's Degree. That, to me, was the proudest day of my life and it happened with such pomp and circumstance (no pun intended). Today, however, I don't feel like I've done something special. No, I just feel like I've completed a walk down the street and back. There has been some pretty scenery, but nothing really special.
It's weird.
I do admit that right now I feel really tired. That's because all the pressure I've been under to finish has passed.
So, here's a toast to myself and anyone else that finished their Master's today at St. Thomas. Congratulations. Now go get a job.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Natural Selection at Work (7/20/05)
Sometimes you can just see natural selection about to work. As I drove home from work today, I stopped at a red light on Dowling Ave. The day turned out to be nice, so I was looking around at how the newly found sunshine was pouring down on the wonderful green (and brown) Earth. It was at this moment that I saw Darwin's theory at work. (Note: I REALLY wish I had a camera for this.) I saw a man on a bicycle. He was traveling quite fast and was wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. He had no helmet on. His neck was tilted so that he could talk on a cell phone. His hand kept moving back and forth from the handle bar to the phone. It was what was in his right hand that was interesting. As this man traveled with phone in hand, he had a baby in the other. I'm not kidding. He was cradling an infant in his other hand. The baby was wearing a jumper and that was about it. Can you imagine what this guy was thinking?
I need to get to Roy's house, but I have the baby. Ok, I'll take the baby with me and ride over. Hmm, I should make sure he's there, though. Sooo I'll call him as we go.
Yup, natural selection. With the choice of road, the choice of transportation, and a squirming baby, something bad is bound to happen. I'll need to check the paper tomorrow...
The other moment occured at school today during a break between classes. One of the students was waiting outside the nurse's office, because she said she didn't "feel right." As I sat there for my lunch duty, I watched this student stare at a electrical socket. I didn't understand why. She then pulled out a metal clip from her hair and started to put it in the socket. Now a very quick dialogue shot through my head, and it went like this:
Dude, she's going to hurt herself. Stop her!
But if I don't stop her, then she'll learn a valuable lesson.
Yes, but if she remembers that you were here, you could get sued.
She can't see me....Besides I could a good laugh.
No! Now tell that girl to stop before she turns extra crispy.
And with that, I yelled down the hall, "Hey! Get that clip away from the socket before you hurt yourself!"
She just turned looked at me and said, "Huh? How could this hurt me?" Luckily the nurse came out at that point, because I just didn't have it in me to explain it to her. It was obvious that Darwin would have loved this girl.
So there you go folks. You want ways to balance out the ever-growing population of this planet? Believe me, somehow people will get themselves to shuffle off this mortal coil.
I need to get to Roy's house, but I have the baby. Ok, I'll take the baby with me and ride over. Hmm, I should make sure he's there, though. Sooo I'll call him as we go.
Yup, natural selection. With the choice of road, the choice of transportation, and a squirming baby, something bad is bound to happen. I'll need to check the paper tomorrow...
The other moment occured at school today during a break between classes. One of the students was waiting outside the nurse's office, because she said she didn't "feel right." As I sat there for my lunch duty, I watched this student stare at a electrical socket. I didn't understand why. She then pulled out a metal clip from her hair and started to put it in the socket. Now a very quick dialogue shot through my head, and it went like this:
Dude, she's going to hurt herself. Stop her!
But if I don't stop her, then she'll learn a valuable lesson.
Yes, but if she remembers that you were here, you could get sued.
She can't see me....Besides I could a good laugh.
No! Now tell that girl to stop before she turns extra crispy.
And with that, I yelled down the hall, "Hey! Get that clip away from the socket before you hurt yourself!"
She just turned looked at me and said, "Huh? How could this hurt me?" Luckily the nurse came out at that point, because I just didn't have it in me to explain it to her. It was obvious that Darwin would have loved this girl.
So there you go folks. You want ways to balance out the ever-growing population of this planet? Believe me, somehow people will get themselves to shuffle off this mortal coil.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Mistaken Identity
I know this doesn't just happen to me or my family, but I swear it happens to us more than anyone else I know.
Once a week, at least, I am stopped by people who ask me if I am someone "famous." I'm not kidding. It doesn't just happen to me either. Let's start with my father.
A long time ago, when I was a young, cynical boy with promise, I was walking down Broadway with my father and one of my sisters. At the time, Burger King was running a promotion (yes, I have probably talked about this before) to find "Herb". If you saw Herb in a Burger King restaurant, you could win money. Now, Herb was a man with glasses, bald, and wore garish 80's sportcoats. Well, my father fit that same description, so as we walked by the BK, a man shoots out of the store and grabs my father. At the top of his lungs, he is screaming, "I've got Herb! I've got Herb," and he is attempting to drag my father into Burger King. Now my sister and I are young at this point, so when a rather large guy is dragging your father away, you can't really do much except scream or kick. We did both. My father, who I am still convinced is part of a super secret agency, managed to whip the guy off of him and into the door. Standing there ready to fight with his eyes blazing, my father asked, "what the hell is going on?!" The man, slightly dazed, said, "Aren't you Herb, man?" Within seconds, the manager of the BK came out and explained everything. Old Man Leab just looked at the manager and said, "That's preposterous. I'm not this Herb guy." And on our merry way we went...until it happened again ten blocks later. I'm not kidding. Another guy saw my father and screamed, "It's Herb! Hey man, I need the money. Come here, come here." It was at that point that my father realized, "we need to take a cab."
He's not alone in mistaken identity. At my college graduation, several of my classmates thought that my oldest sister was Winona Ryder. I'm sitting there in my department (Performing Arts), and several Psychology majors behind me are pointing at my sister and saying, "Dude, Winona Ryder is AT OUR GRADUATION!!!!" I tried to explain that the woman they were pointing to was my sister, but then it turned into, "Dude! This guy's sister is Winona Ryder!" And then the questions began:
"What was Johnny Depp like?"
"Is she working on any films now?"
And on and on it went. No matter how much I explained that my sister was NOT Winona Ryder, they just keep thinking I was lying.
And my mother and other sister have been mistaken for famous people. It's insane.
So why bring up these examples? Because I get mistaken for people at least once a week. For the last few weeks, I have been asked if I was one of the following people: either Greg Grunberg or, oddly enough, Kevin Smith. Obviously, I am now extremely self concious about how I look. Today had to be the weirdest experience of it. I was in a Richfield-based Electronics store (Ok, it was Best Buy), and the guy at the counter starts to ring me up and then looks at me. He stops, puts the scanner down, and says, "Hey, are you that guy?" You have to understand, I'm used to this at this point. I get it alot:
"Did we go to school together?" No.
"Are you that guy on TV?" No.
"Did you used to be blond?" God, NO!
"Wait, wait, wait. How do I know you?" Um, I don't know.
Anyway, as soon as he said "guy," everyone turned and looked. "Um, who do you think I am?" I asked. As the guy at the counter is about to ask, two women in the next lane, switch to my lane to be closer to me. At the same time, two other employees walk over. Now there is a crowd as the guy says, "That guy on Alias. He was also on that other show...uh...Lost. Played the pilot."
"Do you mean Greg Grunberg?" I put forward.
At this point, the women next to me are pulling pens and some sort of paper products out of their purses. I'm really not kidding. They are preparing to ask me for an autograph if I am Mr. Grunberg. More employees come over. Now, I don't really get embarrassed. I make a mistake, I laugh it off. Some confronts me, I stand my ground. It takes alot to make me get blush. And yet, as I try to explain to Counter Guy that I am not him, more people are arriving. Out loud, I say, "Folks, I'm not him. I'm sorry. I may look like him, but I'm not him." My embarrassment is not for me, but rather for the people who started toward me, because they thought I was a celebrity.
If people aren't mistaking me for some random celebrity (and I am not ripping on those two gentlemen), then they forget who I am immediately. I have a friend who tells me all the time that I would, "make a great terrorist." (Welcome to my blog, American Government. I hope you enjoy your viewing.) That's right. Apparently, according to him, I look like everybody else. Brown hair, brown eyes, regular height, regular build, nothing that makes me special.
We created a test when we were in college. A bunch of us went to a bar in very similar clothing. We waited until a gaggle (yes, like geese) of single women came in and sat down. Then I would go over and talk to them and buy drinks. After a few minutes, I would leave and go to the other side of the bar, but be in plain sight of the table. If you had met me or seen me, then you couldn't miss me. So, the guys would spread out around the bar. One of them would then go over and ask the ladies, "Hey, where's the guy you were just speaking with." Now, 4 out of 5 times (and the even occasionally five out five times), they would point at someone else. They even pointed at a blond guy once. A BLOND GUY! I have dark brown hair, people, and they pointed at a blond guy. And before you ask, no, the lighting wasn't bad.
So, there you have it. Either I am completely anonymous and forgotten (and thus ready for covert work), or people think that I am some random celebrity (and I just can't imagine hanging out in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota).
So, if you thought you saw someone in the corner of your eye, watch out! It just might be me. Now, back to my anonymity.
Once a week, at least, I am stopped by people who ask me if I am someone "famous." I'm not kidding. It doesn't just happen to me either. Let's start with my father.
A long time ago, when I was a young, cynical boy with promise, I was walking down Broadway with my father and one of my sisters. At the time, Burger King was running a promotion (yes, I have probably talked about this before) to find "Herb". If you saw Herb in a Burger King restaurant, you could win money. Now, Herb was a man with glasses, bald, and wore garish 80's sportcoats. Well, my father fit that same description, so as we walked by the BK, a man shoots out of the store and grabs my father. At the top of his lungs, he is screaming, "I've got Herb! I've got Herb," and he is attempting to drag my father into Burger King. Now my sister and I are young at this point, so when a rather large guy is dragging your father away, you can't really do much except scream or kick. We did both. My father, who I am still convinced is part of a super secret agency, managed to whip the guy off of him and into the door. Standing there ready to fight with his eyes blazing, my father asked, "what the hell is going on?!" The man, slightly dazed, said, "Aren't you Herb, man?" Within seconds, the manager of the BK came out and explained everything. Old Man Leab just looked at the manager and said, "That's preposterous. I'm not this Herb guy." And on our merry way we went...until it happened again ten blocks later. I'm not kidding. Another guy saw my father and screamed, "It's Herb! Hey man, I need the money. Come here, come here." It was at that point that my father realized, "we need to take a cab."
He's not alone in mistaken identity. At my college graduation, several of my classmates thought that my oldest sister was Winona Ryder. I'm sitting there in my department (Performing Arts), and several Psychology majors behind me are pointing at my sister and saying, "Dude, Winona Ryder is AT OUR GRADUATION!!!!" I tried to explain that the woman they were pointing to was my sister, but then it turned into, "Dude! This guy's sister is Winona Ryder!" And then the questions began:
"What was Johnny Depp like?"
"Is she working on any films now?"
And on and on it went. No matter how much I explained that my sister was NOT Winona Ryder, they just keep thinking I was lying.
And my mother and other sister have been mistaken for famous people. It's insane.
So why bring up these examples? Because I get mistaken for people at least once a week. For the last few weeks, I have been asked if I was one of the following people: either Greg Grunberg or, oddly enough, Kevin Smith. Obviously, I am now extremely self concious about how I look. Today had to be the weirdest experience of it. I was in a Richfield-based Electronics store (Ok, it was Best Buy), and the guy at the counter starts to ring me up and then looks at me. He stops, puts the scanner down, and says, "Hey, are you that guy?" You have to understand, I'm used to this at this point. I get it alot:
"Did we go to school together?" No.
"Are you that guy on TV?" No.
"Did you used to be blond?" God, NO!
"Wait, wait, wait. How do I know you?" Um, I don't know.
Anyway, as soon as he said "guy," everyone turned and looked. "Um, who do you think I am?" I asked. As the guy at the counter is about to ask, two women in the next lane, switch to my lane to be closer to me. At the same time, two other employees walk over. Now there is a crowd as the guy says, "That guy on Alias. He was also on that other show...uh...Lost. Played the pilot."
"Do you mean Greg Grunberg?" I put forward.
At this point, the women next to me are pulling pens and some sort of paper products out of their purses. I'm really not kidding. They are preparing to ask me for an autograph if I am Mr. Grunberg. More employees come over. Now, I don't really get embarrassed. I make a mistake, I laugh it off. Some confronts me, I stand my ground. It takes alot to make me get blush. And yet, as I try to explain to Counter Guy that I am not him, more people are arriving. Out loud, I say, "Folks, I'm not him. I'm sorry. I may look like him, but I'm not him." My embarrassment is not for me, but rather for the people who started toward me, because they thought I was a celebrity.
If people aren't mistaking me for some random celebrity (and I am not ripping on those two gentlemen), then they forget who I am immediately. I have a friend who tells me all the time that I would, "make a great terrorist." (Welcome to my blog, American Government. I hope you enjoy your viewing.) That's right. Apparently, according to him, I look like everybody else. Brown hair, brown eyes, regular height, regular build, nothing that makes me special.
We created a test when we were in college. A bunch of us went to a bar in very similar clothing. We waited until a gaggle (yes, like geese) of single women came in and sat down. Then I would go over and talk to them and buy drinks. After a few minutes, I would leave and go to the other side of the bar, but be in plain sight of the table. If you had met me or seen me, then you couldn't miss me. So, the guys would spread out around the bar. One of them would then go over and ask the ladies, "Hey, where's the guy you were just speaking with." Now, 4 out of 5 times (and the even occasionally five out five times), they would point at someone else. They even pointed at a blond guy once. A BLOND GUY! I have dark brown hair, people, and they pointed at a blond guy. And before you ask, no, the lighting wasn't bad.
So, there you have it. Either I am completely anonymous and forgotten (and thus ready for covert work), or people think that I am some random celebrity (and I just can't imagine hanging out in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota).
So, if you thought you saw someone in the corner of your eye, watch out! It just might be me. Now, back to my anonymity.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Speed Racer in Site B
I know that I've been overly grim/down/depressing in my last few posts, so I thought I would throw in a quick post that might (or hopefully will) make you laugh.
So you might remember I mentioned that when I was working at the Tobacco Document Depository that it had a "Site B". If the main site was the warehouse from Raiders of the Lost Ark, then Site B was like Santa's workshop. A huge space that had only two rows of boxes and the rest was open space. That space was good for two things: driving (either golf balls or frisbees) and racing (mostly chairs).
When I went over to Site B, I usually was sent over with Randy (not his real name), who would usually be on the same wavelength with me about mischief. After returning the boxes that had been requested, Randy and I would often grab the chairs at the desks there and create an obstacle course. Next, using the two chairs with wheels, we would race to see who could get through the course faster. You have to understand: this job was incredibly boring and tedious. Cockroaches would die from boredom, and we're talking about the things that will inherit the Earth after the nuclear war. Anyway, I can remember one particular nasty race, Randy and I bumped each other alot. We were taking the corner around the second shelf and slammed into each other. The resulting bump sent both of us into the shelf and almost tipped it over. Luckily we caught it. After that, we set up on one side and then would run as fast as we could, jump into the chair, and ride it until it stopped. Then we measured the distance. Whoever went farther won.
I was setting up for my third run. I needed to go one foot farther than my second run in order to best Randy. As I took off running, I knew something wasn't right, but I ignored the feeling. I leapt into the chair at top speed. The chair swung around and...tipped over with me in it. Have you ever gone on a Slip N Slide? Now imagine that, but remove the plastic and the water, replace them both with hard concrete floor, and that was what I slid on. As my face slid along the concrete floor, I kept thinking about two things:
1. Is this going to leave a visible mark? Yup.
2. Am I still going to go further than Randy? Uh, nope.
I was close to beating him, but my face just slowed me down (it could have been the beard). There's something about when you are in the middle of an accident or some sort of pain experience that time slows down and you realize certain things. As I slid on my face, I was able to ask those two questions, but I was also able to think about the world.
"Is it time for me to get a new job? I mean I like the freedom of working here, but I think I need more. Is that a bolt in the floor? That's going to hurt (and it SO did. It left the mark). Is Randy laughing already? I guess this is funny in a morbid way. My wife would laugh. Here comes the bolt."
After that day, we stopped the chair distance trials, but continued the obstacle races. Other times, we would bring the driver or a frisbee golf disc over and just plug away. One time, however, Randy shanked the ball and somehow hit it juuuusst right so it ricocheted off the wall, off a pipe, and back at him. He didn't duck fast enough, so it plowed right into his chest and knocked him over. If you've ever been hit by a golf ball, it hurts. I admit, however, that I did laugh.
There are times that I do miss the cavernous emptiness of Site B. If I was sent over there to work on any documents, I was happily alone. No one to bug me with their blissful ignorance, no one to comment on my musical tastes, and no one to sit there and try to use me as free therapy.
Of course, just because I'm teaching summer school now doesn't mean that I'm not having fun every once in a while. A few of us teachers wait until the students leave and play a version of Bocci Ball in the halls (so as not to damage the lockers, we do have rules about heights, etc). It's not the same as chair races, but it sure is a good way to blow off steam.
So you might remember I mentioned that when I was working at the Tobacco Document Depository that it had a "Site B". If the main site was the warehouse from Raiders of the Lost Ark, then Site B was like Santa's workshop. A huge space that had only two rows of boxes and the rest was open space. That space was good for two things: driving (either golf balls or frisbees) and racing (mostly chairs).
When I went over to Site B, I usually was sent over with Randy (not his real name), who would usually be on the same wavelength with me about mischief. After returning the boxes that had been requested, Randy and I would often grab the chairs at the desks there and create an obstacle course. Next, using the two chairs with wheels, we would race to see who could get through the course faster. You have to understand: this job was incredibly boring and tedious. Cockroaches would die from boredom, and we're talking about the things that will inherit the Earth after the nuclear war. Anyway, I can remember one particular nasty race, Randy and I bumped each other alot. We were taking the corner around the second shelf and slammed into each other. The resulting bump sent both of us into the shelf and almost tipped it over. Luckily we caught it. After that, we set up on one side and then would run as fast as we could, jump into the chair, and ride it until it stopped. Then we measured the distance. Whoever went farther won.
I was setting up for my third run. I needed to go one foot farther than my second run in order to best Randy. As I took off running, I knew something wasn't right, but I ignored the feeling. I leapt into the chair at top speed. The chair swung around and...tipped over with me in it. Have you ever gone on a Slip N Slide? Now imagine that, but remove the plastic and the water, replace them both with hard concrete floor, and that was what I slid on. As my face slid along the concrete floor, I kept thinking about two things:
1. Is this going to leave a visible mark? Yup.
2. Am I still going to go further than Randy? Uh, nope.
I was close to beating him, but my face just slowed me down (it could have been the beard). There's something about when you are in the middle of an accident or some sort of pain experience that time slows down and you realize certain things. As I slid on my face, I was able to ask those two questions, but I was also able to think about the world.
"Is it time for me to get a new job? I mean I like the freedom of working here, but I think I need more. Is that a bolt in the floor? That's going to hurt (and it SO did. It left the mark). Is Randy laughing already? I guess this is funny in a morbid way. My wife would laugh. Here comes the bolt."
After that day, we stopped the chair distance trials, but continued the obstacle races. Other times, we would bring the driver or a frisbee golf disc over and just plug away. One time, however, Randy shanked the ball and somehow hit it juuuusst right so it ricocheted off the wall, off a pipe, and back at him. He didn't duck fast enough, so it plowed right into his chest and knocked him over. If you've ever been hit by a golf ball, it hurts. I admit, however, that I did laugh.
There are times that I do miss the cavernous emptiness of Site B. If I was sent over there to work on any documents, I was happily alone. No one to bug me with their blissful ignorance, no one to comment on my musical tastes, and no one to sit there and try to use me as free therapy.
Of course, just because I'm teaching summer school now doesn't mean that I'm not having fun every once in a while. A few of us teachers wait until the students leave and play a version of Bocci Ball in the halls (so as not to damage the lockers, we do have rules about heights, etc). It's not the same as chair races, but it sure is a good way to blow off steam.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Grim Reality
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the real world is not the glorious, fun, and fantastic time that most kids think it is. I was reading the current post by Admin Worm, and something he said struck me:
"I want to believe—and at times have to believe—that some sort of ultimate judgment is coming."
In the best of all possible worlds, we hope that the universe will reward the good and punish the wicked. You want to believe, as Mr. Worm does, that Josef Mengele was somehow punished for his heinous crimes, but what if he wasn't? What if he got away and lived out his life in luxury? Does mean that the wicked truly aren't punished?
What about the people killed or hurt in the California mudslides? If one of them turned out to be a child molester, would we be ok with his (or her) death?
Now, I am not really a religious person. I've said that many times. Organized religion, to me, has become twisted and evil. Imagine: you can be a Chrisitan, but now you have choose the right way to be a Christian. What if Jesus were still here and heard of this:
"Wait, wait, wait. The Mormons are telling me that only a few people get into Heaven, but the Catholics are telling me that Mary is more important than you, JC. And then there are those Snake Handlers who tell me that if you really like me, and I truly believe in you, then the snake won't kill me."
Look, if you believe in Chrisitanity, then you must understand that evil people and good people really won't be judged now. I have a friend who likes to tell me that because he prays and lives a good life, that God will help him through things and make sure his life is more comfortable than, say, a murderer. However, what if, for example, a few current politicians were involved with shady dealings? Imagine that Ted Kennedy was part of a conspiracy to kill his own brothers. Now, other than the fact that many members of his family are dead, has he really been punished very much? What about someone lesser known like Thad Cochran (R) from Mississippi? What if it were him? He's done quite well. The point is that his punishment wouldn't come now, but rather after he died. That's why it's so strange to me when people say things like, "why would God let that happen?" First of all, don't we have free will? Aren't we allowed to choose (much like Eve with the apple)? Secondly, if "the meek shall inherit the Earth," then why would me question God's motives. Again, I am not a religious person. I'm more of a Taoist at this point than anything. My theories about the universe deal with time and perception, not a man that looks like Sir Laurence Olivier and tells me he has a grand plan.
That same friend of mine always asks me why I don't care about Heaven and Hell. Well, first of all, have you ever been trapped in a non-air conditioned elevator on the 16th floor of a Manhattan building in the middle of a heat wave and all you can hear is someone murdering a tune on what sounds like a clarinet? That's Hell to me (and that happened). My beliefs about Death are not like my friends. I don't believe that God is testing us like they do. They believe you have to live life "right," or God won't let you into Heaven. I choose to believe that if there is an engineer to this train, that he or she or it wouldn't make all of this just a test. With so many things to experience and feel and learn, how can certain things just be plain wrong? That's why organized religion is so strange to me. If you live THIS way, it's ok, but stray and you're damned. What? You like Rock and/ or Roll? To Hell you go!
Now, back to my point. I believe the universe balances everything out. My mother is the smartest person I have ever known. She has an amazing insight into life, people, and more. Her IQ hovers over 180 (which makes me feel very stupid), and she has the ability to make someone feel better with just a few words. And yet, the universe has balanced out those abilities. She has a hard time with meeting new people. She's had to use her ability to make people feel better to deal with two dying sisters and the death of her own mother. She's had to take care of three children as well as nurse my father back from near death and a triple-bypass. She doesn't go to the doctor, so we have no way of knowing what her health is. I love my mother, make no mistake, but I wish she would take better care of herself.
The ultimate show of balance, however, is Mr. Stephen Hawking. He could easily be the world's smartest person. He understands things that most people can't even pronounce, and yet his body has betrayed him. He has ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis), or Lou Gehrig's Disease. His brain is like a Corvette, but his body is easily a Yugo. Again, balance.
Sometimes, however, we see things we don't understand. That's why we want that "ultimate judgement," to occur. "How can that man/woman/country/etc. get away with that?" we ask. "It's not fair." That's the key. What is fair? This will probably get me flamed, but I don't care. I'm trying to make a point. There were so many people killed in the Twin Towers when they fell. We mourned them, as we should. Even convicted rapists have families that mourn their deaths. No one is ever truly a "loner." What if I told you that half of the people who died were part of a group that was trying to screw you out of your money? Do you still feel sorry for them? What if 1/3 of the people who died beat their children? Are you still as angry? Am I saying that that's what those people were? No. Relax. But why is it that when something bad happens to a good person, we get so angry, but when something good happens to an already good person, we get jealous? Admit it. You see someone like the guy in West Virginia who won the Powerball. He was already a millionaire, and he won millions more. Were you angry? Were you secretly happy when his granddaughter died, or his car was stolen, or he was arrested? (See, balance.)
Death is inevitable. Pain is inevitable. Seeing things we don't understand is inevitable. We will always see trial outcomes, deaths, events, and wonder, "Come on God/Fate/Time/ Space/ Murray the man who lives in the Sun. What the hell?" Has anyone ever not thought, "Gee, why me?" We are curious beings. We want to put a face to God, and Heaven, and such, because we fear the unknown. We are afraid of what we don't know. That's why Ghost stories work so well, and that's why we try to understand right and wrong, good and bad. If Mengele got away and lived a good life, then all the people he killed were never avenged. Mengele murdered and never was punished (unless there really is a Heaven and Hell, and then he's burning). We don't want to wait for justice, we want it right now. After 9/11, when they said that it was Osama Bin Laden, a radical Muslim extremist, how many people went out to mosques and attempted to hurt Muslims?
When we talk about wanting justice, we're talking about the Old Testament. We want an eye for an eye. Look at Israel and Palestine. You bomb me, I shoot up a bus, and on and on the retaliations go. It's so unfortunate.
Sorry, I went off on multiple tangents, but the point is still, in my view, solid. Reality, true reality, not television or movies, doesn't always have a happy ending. The bad guy wins, the good guy dies, the towns folk lose their money, and on and on. We don't want it to be that way. We want, we NEED the good people to prosper, and the bad people to be destroyed. It just doesn't work that way all the time. Reality bites, folks, because the poor get poorer, the rich get richer, the world keeps spinning, and we keep getting older.
Still, don't ever stop living, because reality isn't what you thought it would be. And if you're a parent, don't lie to your kids. Tell them the truth about the world. If you shelter them, you're doing them and yourself a disservice. Don't hide the world from them. Instead show them the world so that they are prepared and maybe, just maybe, they can change things (and this from the world's gold medal winning cynic).
"I want to believe—and at times have to believe—that some sort of ultimate judgment is coming."
In the best of all possible worlds, we hope that the universe will reward the good and punish the wicked. You want to believe, as Mr. Worm does, that Josef Mengele was somehow punished for his heinous crimes, but what if he wasn't? What if he got away and lived out his life in luxury? Does mean that the wicked truly aren't punished?
What about the people killed or hurt in the California mudslides? If one of them turned out to be a child molester, would we be ok with his (or her) death?
Now, I am not really a religious person. I've said that many times. Organized religion, to me, has become twisted and evil. Imagine: you can be a Chrisitan, but now you have choose the right way to be a Christian. What if Jesus were still here and heard of this:
"Wait, wait, wait. The Mormons are telling me that only a few people get into Heaven, but the Catholics are telling me that Mary is more important than you, JC. And then there are those Snake Handlers who tell me that if you really like me, and I truly believe in you, then the snake won't kill me."
Look, if you believe in Chrisitanity, then you must understand that evil people and good people really won't be judged now. I have a friend who likes to tell me that because he prays and lives a good life, that God will help him through things and make sure his life is more comfortable than, say, a murderer. However, what if, for example, a few current politicians were involved with shady dealings? Imagine that Ted Kennedy was part of a conspiracy to kill his own brothers. Now, other than the fact that many members of his family are dead, has he really been punished very much? What about someone lesser known like Thad Cochran (R) from Mississippi? What if it were him? He's done quite well. The point is that his punishment wouldn't come now, but rather after he died. That's why it's so strange to me when people say things like, "why would God let that happen?" First of all, don't we have free will? Aren't we allowed to choose (much like Eve with the apple)? Secondly, if "the meek shall inherit the Earth," then why would me question God's motives. Again, I am not a religious person. I'm more of a Taoist at this point than anything. My theories about the universe deal with time and perception, not a man that looks like Sir Laurence Olivier and tells me he has a grand plan.
That same friend of mine always asks me why I don't care about Heaven and Hell. Well, first of all, have you ever been trapped in a non-air conditioned elevator on the 16th floor of a Manhattan building in the middle of a heat wave and all you can hear is someone murdering a tune on what sounds like a clarinet? That's Hell to me (and that happened). My beliefs about Death are not like my friends. I don't believe that God is testing us like they do. They believe you have to live life "right," or God won't let you into Heaven. I choose to believe that if there is an engineer to this train, that he or she or it wouldn't make all of this just a test. With so many things to experience and feel and learn, how can certain things just be plain wrong? That's why organized religion is so strange to me. If you live THIS way, it's ok, but stray and you're damned. What? You like Rock and/ or Roll? To Hell you go!
Now, back to my point. I believe the universe balances everything out. My mother is the smartest person I have ever known. She has an amazing insight into life, people, and more. Her IQ hovers over 180 (which makes me feel very stupid), and she has the ability to make someone feel better with just a few words. And yet, the universe has balanced out those abilities. She has a hard time with meeting new people. She's had to use her ability to make people feel better to deal with two dying sisters and the death of her own mother. She's had to take care of three children as well as nurse my father back from near death and a triple-bypass. She doesn't go to the doctor, so we have no way of knowing what her health is. I love my mother, make no mistake, but I wish she would take better care of herself.
The ultimate show of balance, however, is Mr. Stephen Hawking. He could easily be the world's smartest person. He understands things that most people can't even pronounce, and yet his body has betrayed him. He has ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis), or Lou Gehrig's Disease. His brain is like a Corvette, but his body is easily a Yugo. Again, balance.
Sometimes, however, we see things we don't understand. That's why we want that "ultimate judgement," to occur. "How can that man/woman/country/etc. get away with that?" we ask. "It's not fair." That's the key. What is fair? This will probably get me flamed, but I don't care. I'm trying to make a point. There were so many people killed in the Twin Towers when they fell. We mourned them, as we should. Even convicted rapists have families that mourn their deaths. No one is ever truly a "loner." What if I told you that half of the people who died were part of a group that was trying to screw you out of your money? Do you still feel sorry for them? What if 1/3 of the people who died beat their children? Are you still as angry? Am I saying that that's what those people were? No. Relax. But why is it that when something bad happens to a good person, we get so angry, but when something good happens to an already good person, we get jealous? Admit it. You see someone like the guy in West Virginia who won the Powerball. He was already a millionaire, and he won millions more. Were you angry? Were you secretly happy when his granddaughter died, or his car was stolen, or he was arrested? (See, balance.)
Death is inevitable. Pain is inevitable. Seeing things we don't understand is inevitable. We will always see trial outcomes, deaths, events, and wonder, "Come on God/Fate/Time/ Space/ Murray the man who lives in the Sun. What the hell?" Has anyone ever not thought, "Gee, why me?" We are curious beings. We want to put a face to God, and Heaven, and such, because we fear the unknown. We are afraid of what we don't know. That's why Ghost stories work so well, and that's why we try to understand right and wrong, good and bad. If Mengele got away and lived a good life, then all the people he killed were never avenged. Mengele murdered and never was punished (unless there really is a Heaven and Hell, and then he's burning). We don't want to wait for justice, we want it right now. After 9/11, when they said that it was Osama Bin Laden, a radical Muslim extremist, how many people went out to mosques and attempted to hurt Muslims?
When we talk about wanting justice, we're talking about the Old Testament. We want an eye for an eye. Look at Israel and Palestine. You bomb me, I shoot up a bus, and on and on the retaliations go. It's so unfortunate.
Sorry, I went off on multiple tangents, but the point is still, in my view, solid. Reality, true reality, not television or movies, doesn't always have a happy ending. The bad guy wins, the good guy dies, the towns folk lose their money, and on and on. We don't want it to be that way. We want, we NEED the good people to prosper, and the bad people to be destroyed. It just doesn't work that way all the time. Reality bites, folks, because the poor get poorer, the rich get richer, the world keeps spinning, and we keep getting older.
Still, don't ever stop living, because reality isn't what you thought it would be. And if you're a parent, don't lie to your kids. Tell them the truth about the world. If you shelter them, you're doing them and yourself a disservice. Don't hide the world from them. Instead show them the world so that they are prepared and maybe, just maybe, they can change things (and this from the world's gold medal winning cynic).
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Goodbye, Brain!
Every once in a while, you have to let go and just, as Dr. Leary said, "Tune out." This is one of those nights. I watched my brain open my head, hop out onto the desk with his little hat and suitcase, wave goodbye, and run out the door, but not before slapping the cat for sniffing him.
Seriously, I'm just having one of those nights where my brain isn't making the connections. I tried to get some writing done on my final project for my Master's class, but I ended up just staring at the screen feeling like a kid who's just seen a plane for the first time: Mouth opened nice and wide, eyes glassy with amazement, and that feeling of, "holy cow, what the heck is that thing." The white space seemed to stretch well beyond the screen to above the ceiling and below the floor. No matter how hard I pushed my brain, it just wouldn't click.
Now, I believe everyone has to have one of these nights. Heck, I am a huge believer in MHDs (Mental Health Days). The body, the mind, and the soul can only take so much punishment before needing to recuperate. Even my wife, who believes that you can NEVER take a sick day, has the occasional day where she just sits at her desk and pretends to go through the motions. She'll deny this to the high heavens, but her co-workers have told me that there is the occasional day where she just doesn't seem to be there.
It's not just me either. I talked to a colleague who said he called his wife and just stammered. He couldn't remember why he called her, he couldn't remember what to say, and then the English language just left him. He told me that 25 seconds of silence passed by. That may not seem like a lot, but count it out sometime. It ends up feeling like a lifetime.
We all have off days, but this is more like a "not even show up day." It's tough on the old brain, which is why he left town with twenty bucks and my first edition of The Dark Tower.
I wish I could be funnier or have more to say, but I don't. The whole brain leaving thing puts me at a disadvantage. Maybe tomorrow I'll have more to say.
Seriously, I'm just having one of those nights where my brain isn't making the connections. I tried to get some writing done on my final project for my Master's class, but I ended up just staring at the screen feeling like a kid who's just seen a plane for the first time: Mouth opened nice and wide, eyes glassy with amazement, and that feeling of, "holy cow, what the heck is that thing." The white space seemed to stretch well beyond the screen to above the ceiling and below the floor. No matter how hard I pushed my brain, it just wouldn't click.
Now, I believe everyone has to have one of these nights. Heck, I am a huge believer in MHDs (Mental Health Days). The body, the mind, and the soul can only take so much punishment before needing to recuperate. Even my wife, who believes that you can NEVER take a sick day, has the occasional day where she just sits at her desk and pretends to go through the motions. She'll deny this to the high heavens, but her co-workers have told me that there is the occasional day where she just doesn't seem to be there.
It's not just me either. I talked to a colleague who said he called his wife and just stammered. He couldn't remember why he called her, he couldn't remember what to say, and then the English language just left him. He told me that 25 seconds of silence passed by. That may not seem like a lot, but count it out sometime. It ends up feeling like a lifetime.
We all have off days, but this is more like a "not even show up day." It's tough on the old brain, which is why he left town with twenty bucks and my first edition of The Dark Tower.
I wish I could be funnier or have more to say, but I don't. The whole brain leaving thing puts me at a disadvantage. Maybe tomorrow I'll have more to say.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Ramblings for the Evening (7/12/05)
A couple quick notes before I try to sleep:
Usual Suspects 2? Rumor has it that Bryan Singer and Kevin Spacey want to do a sequel to the brilliant (I know it's debateable) 1995 film. My question: WHY!? Don't do it. We were left with a great ending to the story. Why would you bring him back? This is one of those films that will get made and then everyone will see it and say, "You should have stopped." Think about Godfather 3, Terminator 3, Beverly Hills Cop III, Die Hard 2 AND 3, and even The Matrix series. You will build up the hopes of the people who loved that film, and then we'll all be pissed about where this one goes. Don't do it, please.
Feet Haters. There are a lot of you out there. Students, faculty, random people, and fellow bloggers that in the last month have told me why they hate their feet, or that they just hate feet. The lovely Meridita took a self portrait of her feet and then complained that she hates them. One student of mine panics if feet come anywhere near her. She can't even look at her own feet. It's very odd. Sure, there are people with fetishes out there for feet, but I had never really met anyone who HATED feet. Then, all of sudden, bam! Here are at least 15 people in 30 days complaining.
Cat Haters. I have said before: I have 3 cats. I love them very much and have raised them since they were tiny kittens. It pisses me off when people tell me that all cats are evil and should be killed. We associate dogs with happy, cool people, and cats with selfish people. I read this article in New York Dog (such a freaking odd magazine) about how cat people are liars and selfish, and dog people are trustworthy and great. Drives me nuts. What if you own both? Are you wishy-washy?
Ok, that's it. I'm out. I don't want to rant tonight.
Usual Suspects 2? Rumor has it that Bryan Singer and Kevin Spacey want to do a sequel to the brilliant (I know it's debateable) 1995 film. My question: WHY!? Don't do it. We were left with a great ending to the story. Why would you bring him back? This is one of those films that will get made and then everyone will see it and say, "You should have stopped." Think about Godfather 3, Terminator 3, Beverly Hills Cop III, Die Hard 2 AND 3, and even The Matrix series. You will build up the hopes of the people who loved that film, and then we'll all be pissed about where this one goes. Don't do it, please.
Feet Haters. There are a lot of you out there. Students, faculty, random people, and fellow bloggers that in the last month have told me why they hate their feet, or that they just hate feet. The lovely Meridita took a self portrait of her feet and then complained that she hates them. One student of mine panics if feet come anywhere near her. She can't even look at her own feet. It's very odd. Sure, there are people with fetishes out there for feet, but I had never really met anyone who HATED feet. Then, all of sudden, bam! Here are at least 15 people in 30 days complaining.
Cat Haters. I have said before: I have 3 cats. I love them very much and have raised them since they were tiny kittens. It pisses me off when people tell me that all cats are evil and should be killed. We associate dogs with happy, cool people, and cats with selfish people. I read this article in New York Dog (such a freaking odd magazine) about how cat people are liars and selfish, and dog people are trustworthy and great. Drives me nuts. What if you own both? Are you wishy-washy?
Ok, that's it. I'm out. I don't want to rant tonight.
Fear and Loathing in 217
Wow, I knew the power of words, but I never realized that I would scare someone so badly. One of my newest readers, Mr. Admin Worm, read my little rant from yesterday, and it apparently scared him out of teaching...maybe.
If you haven't read my rage-induced post, scroll on down to July 11 (or the next post). I admit it: I was very angry when I wrote that post. However, I want to make this very clear to anyone that reads ole I.T. here: I love teaching. I love it. I love the challenge of making the students understand something that before they either didn't know or didn't get. However, teaching is a great deal of work. Most people get the idea that teaching consists of handing out tests, correcting those tests, and just stepping up in front of a class and talking. You could do that, sure, but you might not really be a good teacher then. The key to being an educator is not really in the practice, but in the preparation of the lessons, quizzes, and etc. That's right: the awesome power of the teacher comes in how well you can organize and stay ahead of your students. Does personality help? Sure. I sometimes think that the students who "liked" me (and I use quotes because the key to being a teacher is to be likeable, not liked) is that I was able to talk to them. I was organized and made sure I understood what they were talking to me about at the time.
You must also have infinite patience. Why? Half of the lessons you prepare won't go the way you envisioned. Students will ignore you, or go faster or slower than you thought they could. It's about rolling with the punches.
Every day of teaching is completely different. Any teacher will agree with me. There is absolutely no way that the class you teach on Monday will act exactly the same the next day. How do I know? Well, take the kids I was ranting about yesterday. Today, they were much better. They worked on the stories, and they were respectful in talking to my E.A.
The other key to teaching is that you can't ever give up. There will be days where you just feel like nothing you say is getting through and that every single one of the kids you work with is destined to use the phrase: "Do you want fries with that?" However, they just might surprise you.
So if you're thinking about becoming a teacher, think about the following:
1. It's more than a job, it's a lifestyle. Most teachers live, breathe, eat, crap, etc. their jobs. You will take work home, so be prepared. The best teachers still have to take the occasional paper home to read. You'll find yourself working the occasional weekend to catch up. Does it suck? Yeah, but the reward is worth it.
2. Not all students are created equal. For every student you get that wants to learn, there may be 1 or 2 or even 5 that just don't care. You can and should do everything you can to get them into it, but they just may not care. One student I had (we'll call her Emma) liked to say that she didn't care, but she did the work, she was attentive most of the time, and she tried (though she wanted me to believe she didn't). What started out badly ended with her being one of my favorite students. (It also led to her causing me to be made fun of by faculty members even into this summer with people who barely know me. More on that later.) They say you can't judge a book by its cover. That's the best way to think of the students.
3. Preparation, preparation, preparation (and improvisation). You must be organized, prepared, and able to work the crowd. Things will come up, lessons will change. If you can't handle a student sending the room off on a tangent, then teaching will be very hard for you. I worked with a Theatre IB class. We were talking about African Theatre and ended up having to go back and explain what happened to Nelson Mandela, what the colonial history of most of Africa is, and then finally, almost an hour later, tie it back to theatre. If you can't go with the flow, but learn how to steer it at the same time, then teaching is not for you.
4. Be in shape. I laughed when one of my teachers told me that you must be able to run five miles everyday in order to teach. I thought, "Huh? You're standing there most of the time, and you never really move, so why the heck do you need to be in shape. Besides most of the teachers I know are fat." Well, this is why: You may not physcially go five miles over the day, but mentally it will feel like it. You have to watch between 35 to 52 people in a small room. Keep in mind what you want them to get through while also making sure they're attentive. Your mind races to keep everything together. You're also constantly thinking about the future of the class. Where are we going next? Your brain will hurt, but it will heal. That's why we have summer...usually.
And finally,
5. Say goodbye to normal. With all of the different personalities you'll be working with, there will be quirks and eccentricities. It's inevitable. You will see kids or fellow faculty members saying things or looking ways that you can't believe. One fellow student in my program told me all about how his supervising teacher had specific instructions about how to close the room when school was over. If those instructions weren't met, then the student teacher had to clean the entire room. That's what happens sometimes. Students will also have quirks. You just learn to deal with it.
I hope this helps anyone thinking about becoming a teacher. It's just like any other job. You'll have great days were amazing feats take place. You'll also have terrible days where you believe that you've been cursed by fate, or time, or God, or whatever rules your version of the universe. And some days...well...they'll just go by with nothing good or bad happening. See, it's just like any other job. The only difference? If you screw up really badly at this job, then you could be damaging alot of people. This should hopefully clear up any confusions, and if you're reading this, Admin Worm, then hopefully you're not scared anymore of teaching. If you (or anyone, for that matter) think you have what it takes to teach, then by all means: go for it! Working with students like Emma, or Greta, or Charlie, or Julie, or any of the students is totally worth it. They have keen insights to life, and you learn from them as they learn from you.
If you haven't read my rage-induced post, scroll on down to July 11 (or the next post). I admit it: I was very angry when I wrote that post. However, I want to make this very clear to anyone that reads ole I.T. here: I love teaching. I love it. I love the challenge of making the students understand something that before they either didn't know or didn't get. However, teaching is a great deal of work. Most people get the idea that teaching consists of handing out tests, correcting those tests, and just stepping up in front of a class and talking. You could do that, sure, but you might not really be a good teacher then. The key to being an educator is not really in the practice, but in the preparation of the lessons, quizzes, and etc. That's right: the awesome power of the teacher comes in how well you can organize and stay ahead of your students. Does personality help? Sure. I sometimes think that the students who "liked" me (and I use quotes because the key to being a teacher is to be likeable, not liked) is that I was able to talk to them. I was organized and made sure I understood what they were talking to me about at the time.
You must also have infinite patience. Why? Half of the lessons you prepare won't go the way you envisioned. Students will ignore you, or go faster or slower than you thought they could. It's about rolling with the punches.
Every day of teaching is completely different. Any teacher will agree with me. There is absolutely no way that the class you teach on Monday will act exactly the same the next day. How do I know? Well, take the kids I was ranting about yesterday. Today, they were much better. They worked on the stories, and they were respectful in talking to my E.A.
The other key to teaching is that you can't ever give up. There will be days where you just feel like nothing you say is getting through and that every single one of the kids you work with is destined to use the phrase: "Do you want fries with that?" However, they just might surprise you.
So if you're thinking about becoming a teacher, think about the following:
1. It's more than a job, it's a lifestyle. Most teachers live, breathe, eat, crap, etc. their jobs. You will take work home, so be prepared. The best teachers still have to take the occasional paper home to read. You'll find yourself working the occasional weekend to catch up. Does it suck? Yeah, but the reward is worth it.
2. Not all students are created equal. For every student you get that wants to learn, there may be 1 or 2 or even 5 that just don't care. You can and should do everything you can to get them into it, but they just may not care. One student I had (we'll call her Emma) liked to say that she didn't care, but she did the work, she was attentive most of the time, and she tried (though she wanted me to believe she didn't). What started out badly ended with her being one of my favorite students. (It also led to her causing me to be made fun of by faculty members even into this summer with people who barely know me. More on that later.) They say you can't judge a book by its cover. That's the best way to think of the students.
3. Preparation, preparation, preparation (and improvisation). You must be organized, prepared, and able to work the crowd. Things will come up, lessons will change. If you can't handle a student sending the room off on a tangent, then teaching will be very hard for you. I worked with a Theatre IB class. We were talking about African Theatre and ended up having to go back and explain what happened to Nelson Mandela, what the colonial history of most of Africa is, and then finally, almost an hour later, tie it back to theatre. If you can't go with the flow, but learn how to steer it at the same time, then teaching is not for you.
4. Be in shape. I laughed when one of my teachers told me that you must be able to run five miles everyday in order to teach. I thought, "Huh? You're standing there most of the time, and you never really move, so why the heck do you need to be in shape. Besides most of the teachers I know are fat." Well, this is why: You may not physcially go five miles over the day, but mentally it will feel like it. You have to watch between 35 to 52 people in a small room. Keep in mind what you want them to get through while also making sure they're attentive. Your mind races to keep everything together. You're also constantly thinking about the future of the class. Where are we going next? Your brain will hurt, but it will heal. That's why we have summer...usually.
And finally,
5. Say goodbye to normal. With all of the different personalities you'll be working with, there will be quirks and eccentricities. It's inevitable. You will see kids or fellow faculty members saying things or looking ways that you can't believe. One fellow student in my program told me all about how his supervising teacher had specific instructions about how to close the room when school was over. If those instructions weren't met, then the student teacher had to clean the entire room. That's what happens sometimes. Students will also have quirks. You just learn to deal with it.
I hope this helps anyone thinking about becoming a teacher. It's just like any other job. You'll have great days were amazing feats take place. You'll also have terrible days where you believe that you've been cursed by fate, or time, or God, or whatever rules your version of the universe. And some days...well...they'll just go by with nothing good or bad happening. See, it's just like any other job. The only difference? If you screw up really badly at this job, then you could be damaging alot of people. This should hopefully clear up any confusions, and if you're reading this, Admin Worm, then hopefully you're not scared anymore of teaching. If you (or anyone, for that matter) think you have what it takes to teach, then by all means: go for it! Working with students like Emma, or Greta, or Charlie, or Julie, or any of the students is totally worth it. They have keen insights to life, and you learn from them as they learn from you.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Ignorance Is (Dangerous) Bliss
Warning: The following is a passion-filled rant. Expletives may be used by the author. You've been warned, so if you feel your eyes may be fragile, stop reading. Also, the following conversations are true. Shocking, but true.
I must admit: I am worried about the future. Normally I honestly don't care. I see some of the students that I worked with over the year, and I realize that they will go on to great things. Emma will one day run a company. Greta will probably become the most lucrative aeronautic engineer in the history of Airbus or Boeing. Charlie will end up being the Robin Williams character in Dead Poets Society. I could go on and on.
Unfortunately, my second period reading class this summer has me very worried. Out of 22 kids, I'm starting to feel that maybe 3 have what it takes to pass the test and continue on. There are so many factors that frustrate me about this class:
1. They don't work. Look, I know it's summer school, but they are there for a reason. I have made this class almost painless with the amount of work that needs to be done. All I ask is that you listen, you try, and you do not judge your fellow classmates. Unfortunately, they do not prescribe to my way of thinking. Student one is reading aloud and makes a mistake? Let's all laugh as loud as we can and make him feel stupid. I have to read a paragraph and answer three questions? "That's not fair," or, "That's TOO much work!" Again, I understand they don't want to be there, but if they do nothing, they are not helping their chances to pass the Basic Standards Test. You MUST pass the test in order to graduate. Some of these kids have failed the test more than once. Shouldn't they at least try to figure out where they went wrong so they don't fail again?
2. They don't care. Honestly, they don't care about anything. The ignorance they showed me today was awe-inspiring in its hatred. Where to start? I've been called a Cracker by one of the students. Fine, not the proper use as I am not southern (I would be a Honky), but the problem is that they feel it's ok for them to call me a Cracker, but not ok if I respond in kind.
I got a whole speech about how only white people (like myself) can be racist, because we "invented racism," but then these students of color turn around and say things like, "Chinese people and Japanese people are the same thing." Or, my personal favorite, "All white people are alike, and all black people are black people. There's no difference among them." Now, trying to use logic, I asked the student:
"So a person from Namibia is the same as a person from Chicago is the same as a person from St. Lucia?"
The response? "Wait....What's Namibia?"
"It's a country in Africa."
"It is? I've never heard of it."
"What countries in Africa do you know?"
"Uh, Is South Africa in Africa?"
"Yes. Any others?"
"I don't know. Is India in Africa?"
"No."
"Then that's all I know."
Now, beyond the ignorance of not knowing what countries are where, which I believe most of us learned when we were in third grade, the other problem I have is the idea that this student, though not white, believes that he is not a racist, but says that a Chinese person is the same as a Japanese person. I have a friend named John. He's Korean, and he gets mistaken for Japanese and Chinese all the time. How does he feel about it? Does he say, "That's ok, we all look alike"? Hell no! He gets pissed.
Look, I'm not a Liberal, and I'm not a Conservative. I fall somewhere in the middle. I believe that complete labeling is wrong, but that we have to respect people's cultures and languages. Don't EVER accuse me of being a racist and then say that your thoughts aren't racist, because you can't be. That's bullshit.
Upon further correction, the student (and friends) said that they don't care. They also explained that the cop in St. Cloud who was dragged by the car, "got what he deserved," and that, "No one cares about some Jews that were killed." Yup, we were reading a story about the Holocaust, and the students felt that the story had no relevance. As the son of a German Jew who escaped the Holocaust, I tend to disagree, but I'm also biased. One other student told me that his parents explained to him that the Holocaust, "never happened." Are you kidding me? It never happened? Tell that to my family members that were killed! It's stuff like this that has me worried. What's next? All Muslim's should be killed just in case they are terrorists? Come on, people.
When later pressed about the fact that my family probably owned slaves, I turned it on them.
"So all black people are the same?"
"Yes."
"Egypt is in Africa, right?"
"Sure."
"So do black people live there?"
"Yeah, we OWNED that fucking place!"
"So it was the black people of Egypt who enslaved my people."
"Yeah! Wait, what?"
"Well, the Jews were enslaved by the Egyptians. If the Egyptians were black, then black people owned slaves. Therefore, you all, in here, (because all black people are alike, right?) owe me an apology and restitution."
"Well, that was different. Those people were white, not black. Yeah."
Anyone not see the problem yet?
As for college, well, only three out of them want to go. The rest believe that their skills or something else will make them rich without needing anymore education. Look, yeah there are a few people who made it big without a degree, but for everyone one of them, 9 didn't make it. Maybe it's more. Maybe it's 99, but still, that's alot of people. Go to college. Learn about the real world, not what 50 Cent or Ludacris or your parents tell you about it. See it for yourself.
3. They are disrespectful. I don't care if they try to disrespect me. I don't take crap from them, so if they try, I call them on it. However, the EA (Educational Assistant) in my classroom is an older woman who has earned her respect over the years. You do not refer to her as, "that fucking lady." Hell no! You do not refer to her as, "that white bitch." I don't think so. You want to know why you were kicked out today? She asked you to do something and you called her, "a cunt." That's not ok with me. That's why you're standing in the halls holding your arms out with books in them and you're not allowed to move. You cross the line, I will bury you.
And another thing: Stay out of my bag! Why is over by the desk and closed? So that you leave it alone. When you take something out of my bag without asking, that's stealing. Does that mean I can come to your home and take stuff? What's that? No. Then get away from my stuff.
4. They don't know. In this case, I do feel bad for them. I hear alot about how this kid's dad never works, how this kid's girlfriend is pregnant (at 12), or how this kid's sister was killed by a guy on drugs. Life is tough. I freely admit that. That's why I am trying to help them. I want them to go on to bigger and better things, to get away and then return to those neighborhoods to help.
I refuse to give up on these kids, but they do test my patience. Most of them will not pass this class. They don't do the work, they refuse to try, and they don't care. Out of 22, about 10 will return for 8.5 (not quite 9th grade, not really 8th grade). Do they care? No. One kid told me he wants to stay in school until he's 21. Why? Most people want out, not stay. What possible reason would you have to stay for that long?
Maybe they will surprise me. As one wise student told me, "No one wants to be there. You don't, they don't, so good luck."
They say ignorance is bliss. You're happy, because you don't know what's really going on or what's wrong. The problem with that is it creates situations that can really hurt you. I'm trying to help these kids, but they are holding on to that ignorance so strongly.
I must admit: I am worried about the future. Normally I honestly don't care. I see some of the students that I worked with over the year, and I realize that they will go on to great things. Emma will one day run a company. Greta will probably become the most lucrative aeronautic engineer in the history of Airbus or Boeing. Charlie will end up being the Robin Williams character in Dead Poets Society. I could go on and on.
Unfortunately, my second period reading class this summer has me very worried. Out of 22 kids, I'm starting to feel that maybe 3 have what it takes to pass the test and continue on. There are so many factors that frustrate me about this class:
1. They don't work. Look, I know it's summer school, but they are there for a reason. I have made this class almost painless with the amount of work that needs to be done. All I ask is that you listen, you try, and you do not judge your fellow classmates. Unfortunately, they do not prescribe to my way of thinking. Student one is reading aloud and makes a mistake? Let's all laugh as loud as we can and make him feel stupid. I have to read a paragraph and answer three questions? "That's not fair," or, "That's TOO much work!" Again, I understand they don't want to be there, but if they do nothing, they are not helping their chances to pass the Basic Standards Test. You MUST pass the test in order to graduate. Some of these kids have failed the test more than once. Shouldn't they at least try to figure out where they went wrong so they don't fail again?
2. They don't care. Honestly, they don't care about anything. The ignorance they showed me today was awe-inspiring in its hatred. Where to start? I've been called a Cracker by one of the students. Fine, not the proper use as I am not southern (I would be a Honky), but the problem is that they feel it's ok for them to call me a Cracker, but not ok if I respond in kind.
I got a whole speech about how only white people (like myself) can be racist, because we "invented racism," but then these students of color turn around and say things like, "Chinese people and Japanese people are the same thing." Or, my personal favorite, "All white people are alike, and all black people are black people. There's no difference among them." Now, trying to use logic, I asked the student:
"So a person from Namibia is the same as a person from Chicago is the same as a person from St. Lucia?"
The response? "Wait....What's Namibia?"
"It's a country in Africa."
"It is? I've never heard of it."
"What countries in Africa do you know?"
"Uh, Is South Africa in Africa?"
"Yes. Any others?"
"I don't know. Is India in Africa?"
"No."
"Then that's all I know."
Now, beyond the ignorance of not knowing what countries are where, which I believe most of us learned when we were in third grade, the other problem I have is the idea that this student, though not white, believes that he is not a racist, but says that a Chinese person is the same as a Japanese person. I have a friend named John. He's Korean, and he gets mistaken for Japanese and Chinese all the time. How does he feel about it? Does he say, "That's ok, we all look alike"? Hell no! He gets pissed.
Look, I'm not a Liberal, and I'm not a Conservative. I fall somewhere in the middle. I believe that complete labeling is wrong, but that we have to respect people's cultures and languages. Don't EVER accuse me of being a racist and then say that your thoughts aren't racist, because you can't be. That's bullshit.
Upon further correction, the student (and friends) said that they don't care. They also explained that the cop in St. Cloud who was dragged by the car, "got what he deserved," and that, "No one cares about some Jews that were killed." Yup, we were reading a story about the Holocaust, and the students felt that the story had no relevance. As the son of a German Jew who escaped the Holocaust, I tend to disagree, but I'm also biased. One other student told me that his parents explained to him that the Holocaust, "never happened." Are you kidding me? It never happened? Tell that to my family members that were killed! It's stuff like this that has me worried. What's next? All Muslim's should be killed just in case they are terrorists? Come on, people.
When later pressed about the fact that my family probably owned slaves, I turned it on them.
"So all black people are the same?"
"Yes."
"Egypt is in Africa, right?"
"Sure."
"So do black people live there?"
"Yeah, we OWNED that fucking place!"
"So it was the black people of Egypt who enslaved my people."
"Yeah! Wait, what?"
"Well, the Jews were enslaved by the Egyptians. If the Egyptians were black, then black people owned slaves. Therefore, you all, in here, (because all black people are alike, right?) owe me an apology and restitution."
"Well, that was different. Those people were white, not black. Yeah."
Anyone not see the problem yet?
As for college, well, only three out of them want to go. The rest believe that their skills or something else will make them rich without needing anymore education. Look, yeah there are a few people who made it big without a degree, but for everyone one of them, 9 didn't make it. Maybe it's more. Maybe it's 99, but still, that's alot of people. Go to college. Learn about the real world, not what 50 Cent or Ludacris or your parents tell you about it. See it for yourself.
3. They are disrespectful. I don't care if they try to disrespect me. I don't take crap from them, so if they try, I call them on it. However, the EA (Educational Assistant) in my classroom is an older woman who has earned her respect over the years. You do not refer to her as, "that fucking lady." Hell no! You do not refer to her as, "that white bitch." I don't think so. You want to know why you were kicked out today? She asked you to do something and you called her, "a cunt." That's not ok with me. That's why you're standing in the halls holding your arms out with books in them and you're not allowed to move. You cross the line, I will bury you.
And another thing: Stay out of my bag! Why is over by the desk and closed? So that you leave it alone. When you take something out of my bag without asking, that's stealing. Does that mean I can come to your home and take stuff? What's that? No. Then get away from my stuff.
4. They don't know. In this case, I do feel bad for them. I hear alot about how this kid's dad never works, how this kid's girlfriend is pregnant (at 12), or how this kid's sister was killed by a guy on drugs. Life is tough. I freely admit that. That's why I am trying to help them. I want them to go on to bigger and better things, to get away and then return to those neighborhoods to help.
I refuse to give up on these kids, but they do test my patience. Most of them will not pass this class. They don't do the work, they refuse to try, and they don't care. Out of 22, about 10 will return for 8.5 (not quite 9th grade, not really 8th grade). Do they care? No. One kid told me he wants to stay in school until he's 21. Why? Most people want out, not stay. What possible reason would you have to stay for that long?
Maybe they will surprise me. As one wise student told me, "No one wants to be there. You don't, they don't, so good luck."
They say ignorance is bliss. You're happy, because you don't know what's really going on or what's wrong. The problem with that is it creates situations that can really hurt you. I'm trying to help these kids, but they are holding on to that ignorance so strongly.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Insomnia and the Web
When you can't sleep, you end up looking for random things to occupy the time. Unfortunately, I was able to finish my book, so I started looking around for odd little sites to occupy my mind until I got tired again (I haven't gotten tired yet). Anyway, this quiz is quite funny, and the site it is on also has some other quite interesting quizzes (I am apparently not a great American). Though it can sometimes be a dark place, the web really is a wonderful tool for the person who cannot sleep. A few nights ago I read about the history of Kyoto. Why? Well, it just popped up while I was reading a former college friend's blog. She now lives in Japan teaching English to corporations.
Oh, and if you have a television (some people don't, nowadays), you should check out the movie Defending Your Life. It's an absolutely brilliant and quite funny look at what could be waiting for us when we die, along with a message about life. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Ok, on with the rest of the day now.
Oh, and if you have a television (some people don't, nowadays), you should check out the movie Defending Your Life. It's an absolutely brilliant and quite funny look at what could be waiting for us when we die, along with a message about life. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Ok, on with the rest of the day now.
Friday, July 08, 2005
The Secret to Dating
I bet the title caught your eye. Looking over several different sites over the last few days, I have noticed more and more people talking about the rules, or the secrets to, or just "What you need to know in order to date." I find it fascinating. I know people who are single, and I know people who are married. Everyone has advice on the subject of dating. Honestly, it's almost as if 75% (arbitrary number of course) of bloggers talk about dating. Heck, I've even talked about it in a previous post or two.
Before we get to the dating world, however, I want to share one quick funny note. Over the course of the last few months that I have been blogging, my lovely wife has never really looked in on what I am writing. Today, after writing about my warning from a police officer, my wife decides to read my blog and immediately calls me to make fun of me. Gee honey, thanks, and I love you too (I bet she never reads this).
Ok, beyond the fact that the blogging world is dating crazed, a few events have made me think about how dating has changed. It starts last night. As I arrived at St. Thomas for my Master's class, I got to the door just before a young woman. Now, I am a cynical person. If you ask me, chivalry didn't die, it just moved to Hoboken and settled in to married life. However, I held the door open for her and said, "after you." Most people I know would thank you and move in. Not this young woman. She stopped in her tracks, turned to me, and blasted me for being a "typical male." You see, according to her logic, I was attempting to take away power from her by holding the door open. I was honestly dumbstruck. The gentleman who came to the door while she was yelling at me was also surprised, but he bolted through the door while I held it open. (And yes, he did say, "Thank you.")
After class was over, I talked to Coach again (you may remember her as the lovely gal who asked me to walk her to her car). This time, though not awkward, I believed that, according to the rules of flirting (there's that word: rules), she was, in fact, not flirting with me. Fine, I had no problem with that. (Beyond my cynicism, I also believe that I am not really a good looking guy. Yay, personality!) My next problem occurred outside.
As I walked up the street to the ramp I parked in, I saw that I was going to pass what could be considered an attractive young woman wearing a very low cut dress. Being as I was in a pretty good mood (class ended early) I was whistling as I walked. However, though I noticed this woman would be attractive to most men, I never looked at her as we approached each other. Maybe I'm weird, but ever since I married, I don't really look at other women that way. Anyway, after I passed her without really looking at her, she stopped and called out at me, "Hey you in the red shirt!" (Do I really need to explain that I was wearing a red shirt? I guess I just did.) I, of course, turned, and, like an idiot, asked, "Me?" I knew she meant me, but I was honestly kind of annoyed by being stopped.
"Yes, you. Why didn't you look?"
"Excuse me?" I replied. "What am I supposed to look at?"
"Me! Why didn't you look at me?"
Ok, boys and girls, if we look at the rules (that damn word again), then I have to be very careful how I answer, right? If I say, "There are a lot of other things I could look at," then she may press me as to what, and I come off as, well, an ass. If I tell her, "I did, but I didn't want to be rude," then I come off as an odd duck. And, of course, I could always just say, "I'm married and have no need to look at other women anymore." You can't really argue with that one. My answer, however, wasn't really any of these three:
"I don't know. I guess I didn't think about it."
At this point, she starts to get louder and people stop to look at us.
"What do you mean you don't know?! I'm hot, dammit!"
Not wanting to continue this scene anymore, because, honestly, I wanted to go home after my long day, I pulled off my sunglasses and made a point to look her up and down. I didn't really see anything (as my mind was working overtime trying to contain the situation), but I made a point when I was done to say:
"Hey, nice work. You're great. Can I go now?"
With that, she turned and walked off in a huff.
So how would you deal with it? I ended up feeling annoyed. I held a door open earlier to be nice and was told I was an ass. Later I tried not to be like every other man in the world and look at this young lady, and, again, I get yelled at. Am I in the Twilight Zone?
So why, then, if I seem to not understand the opposite sex, am I talking about the Secret to Dating? Easy: I'm married. I don't date anymore, but I know alot of men and women who do. Whether married, dating, or single, everyone always talks about how the grass is always greener in the next pasture. You single? You don't want to be alone, so you wish you were dating. You dating? You wish that you had more of a commitment like married couples (yes, I am generalizing. Not EVERYONE feels this way). Married (note: this does NOT apply to me)? You then wish you either had more time alone (a la single) or could be with other people (via dating).
So Leab, you're probably cursing now, what the hell is the secret? You really want to know? Fine, the secret to dating is....There is no secret. There's no guarantee that works everytime. There are no real rules (I really hate that word). Why do I pick on "the rules of dating"? I do it, because rules are meant to be limitations. They limit what can be done. By attaching rules to dating or love or whatever, you limit the possibilities. For example, if you believe the rule that, as one man told me, "unless a woman makes eye contact and a motion toward you, you can't talk to her," then you'll never talk to a woman unless she literally bumps into you. How is that helping you?
So what's my advice to single people out there? Do your own thing. Remember, life is not like the movies. The music doesn't swell, the guy doesn't always chase down the airplane to tell the girl he needs her, etc. Just take all the rules, all the advice, all the crap about Mars and Venus and whatever, and just pitch it. There are no perfect guarantees when it comes to dating or marriages. That's why half of marriages now end in divorce. There's no blueprint, folks.
So, if you're single, don't fret. Your chances to date or meet someone don't end because you turn 40 or whatever. A colleague of mine is 51, and he just got married (for the first time). Get out there and have fun. Just remember, there is one rule ( freaking limitation, as it were): If the girl or guy is wearing a ring on the left hand that says, "our love eternal," that person is probably married...or has a lot of cats.
Before we get to the dating world, however, I want to share one quick funny note. Over the course of the last few months that I have been blogging, my lovely wife has never really looked in on what I am writing. Today, after writing about my warning from a police officer, my wife decides to read my blog and immediately calls me to make fun of me. Gee honey, thanks, and I love you too (I bet she never reads this).
Ok, beyond the fact that the blogging world is dating crazed, a few events have made me think about how dating has changed. It starts last night. As I arrived at St. Thomas for my Master's class, I got to the door just before a young woman. Now, I am a cynical person. If you ask me, chivalry didn't die, it just moved to Hoboken and settled in to married life. However, I held the door open for her and said, "after you." Most people I know would thank you and move in. Not this young woman. She stopped in her tracks, turned to me, and blasted me for being a "typical male." You see, according to her logic, I was attempting to take away power from her by holding the door open. I was honestly dumbstruck. The gentleman who came to the door while she was yelling at me was also surprised, but he bolted through the door while I held it open. (And yes, he did say, "Thank you.")
After class was over, I talked to Coach again (you may remember her as the lovely gal who asked me to walk her to her car). This time, though not awkward, I believed that, according to the rules of flirting (there's that word: rules), she was, in fact, not flirting with me. Fine, I had no problem with that. (Beyond my cynicism, I also believe that I am not really a good looking guy. Yay, personality!) My next problem occurred outside.
As I walked up the street to the ramp I parked in, I saw that I was going to pass what could be considered an attractive young woman wearing a very low cut dress. Being as I was in a pretty good mood (class ended early) I was whistling as I walked. However, though I noticed this woman would be attractive to most men, I never looked at her as we approached each other. Maybe I'm weird, but ever since I married, I don't really look at other women that way. Anyway, after I passed her without really looking at her, she stopped and called out at me, "Hey you in the red shirt!" (Do I really need to explain that I was wearing a red shirt? I guess I just did.) I, of course, turned, and, like an idiot, asked, "Me?" I knew she meant me, but I was honestly kind of annoyed by being stopped.
"Yes, you. Why didn't you look?"
"Excuse me?" I replied. "What am I supposed to look at?"
"Me! Why didn't you look at me?"
Ok, boys and girls, if we look at the rules (that damn word again), then I have to be very careful how I answer, right? If I say, "There are a lot of other things I could look at," then she may press me as to what, and I come off as, well, an ass. If I tell her, "I did, but I didn't want to be rude," then I come off as an odd duck. And, of course, I could always just say, "I'm married and have no need to look at other women anymore." You can't really argue with that one. My answer, however, wasn't really any of these three:
"I don't know. I guess I didn't think about it."
At this point, she starts to get louder and people stop to look at us.
"What do you mean you don't know?! I'm hot, dammit!"
Not wanting to continue this scene anymore, because, honestly, I wanted to go home after my long day, I pulled off my sunglasses and made a point to look her up and down. I didn't really see anything (as my mind was working overtime trying to contain the situation), but I made a point when I was done to say:
"Hey, nice work. You're great. Can I go now?"
With that, she turned and walked off in a huff.
So how would you deal with it? I ended up feeling annoyed. I held a door open earlier to be nice and was told I was an ass. Later I tried not to be like every other man in the world and look at this young lady, and, again, I get yelled at. Am I in the Twilight Zone?
So why, then, if I seem to not understand the opposite sex, am I talking about the Secret to Dating? Easy: I'm married. I don't date anymore, but I know alot of men and women who do. Whether married, dating, or single, everyone always talks about how the grass is always greener in the next pasture. You single? You don't want to be alone, so you wish you were dating. You dating? You wish that you had more of a commitment like married couples (yes, I am generalizing. Not EVERYONE feels this way). Married (note: this does NOT apply to me)? You then wish you either had more time alone (a la single) or could be with other people (via dating).
So Leab, you're probably cursing now, what the hell is the secret? You really want to know? Fine, the secret to dating is....There is no secret. There's no guarantee that works everytime. There are no real rules (I really hate that word). Why do I pick on "the rules of dating"? I do it, because rules are meant to be limitations. They limit what can be done. By attaching rules to dating or love or whatever, you limit the possibilities. For example, if you believe the rule that, as one man told me, "unless a woman makes eye contact and a motion toward you, you can't talk to her," then you'll never talk to a woman unless she literally bumps into you. How is that helping you?
So what's my advice to single people out there? Do your own thing. Remember, life is not like the movies. The music doesn't swell, the guy doesn't always chase down the airplane to tell the girl he needs her, etc. Just take all the rules, all the advice, all the crap about Mars and Venus and whatever, and just pitch it. There are no perfect guarantees when it comes to dating or marriages. That's why half of marriages now end in divorce. There's no blueprint, folks.
So, if you're single, don't fret. Your chances to date or meet someone don't end because you turn 40 or whatever. A colleague of mine is 51, and he just got married (for the first time). Get out there and have fun. Just remember, there is one rule ( freaking limitation, as it were): If the girl or guy is wearing a ring on the left hand that says, "our love eternal," that person is probably married...or has a lot of cats.
Firefighters, Police officers....Teachers?
Warning: Coarse Language is used. Viewer discretion is advised (no suing).
Today I am finally vindicated in saying that teaching is one of the hardest professions in the world. There are so many people who believe that you can just stand up in front of a classroom, start talking, and the students will just go with it. Hmmm. No. A lot of times you feel like Will Ferrell's Alex Trebek on Celebrity Jeopardy. You know what I mean. Sometimes you just cannot believe what you are hearing. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching (and I'm using the word "love" here). I love the challenge with all the preparing that needs to go into it, and the fact that no matter how well you cover every angle, you can still be surprised or occasionally unprepared. Still, I have been out at parties with my wife's co-workers (all engineers) who tell me that teaching is easy. Oh really, Mr. Smarty-Pants? Try it for one day. If you aren't prepared, you'll burn out quickly. I saw it all through my Master's program. One guy even quit student teaching not once, but twice. He thought the first time was due to outside influences, but really it was just that he couldn't handle it.
Honest to God, there are days when I would rather work for a bomb squad, because I truly believe there would be less pressure. In a totally egotistical manner, I look at it this way. I have between 30 to 45 people in my classroom. If I say the wrong thing or if I'm too harsh on one of them, it's very possible that my comment can affect that student so much, that they can never recover. Doctor's only have one life on the table, I have 30 to 40 in front of me everyday. Granted, that's a little bit of a self-serving way to look at it, but I feel it's true.
So why do I say I feel vindicated? Because today I was pulled over by a state trooper. Yup, yours truly was speeding along at 15 over the speed limit. The officer pulled me over and walked up to the car. He asked for my license. As I handed it to him, he noticed my badge (which I had forgotten to take off). Looking at it carefully, he asked me:
"Are you a teacher?"
I replied, "Yes I am, officer. I was just coming from teaching summer school."
"What do you teach?"
"I teach Basic Standards Reading."
"To?"
"Eighth graders and high school kids."
"You're working with high school kids in the summer?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
After contemplating this for a moment, he handed me back my license.
"I"m going to give you a warning, Mr. Leab. I think you've had enough punishment for today."
"Thank you so much."
"No, thank you. You're the one trying to fix our kids." (Note: I'm not sure I agree with his statement, but I don't want the ticket.)
So there you have it. A police officer, arguably one of the toughest professions, essentially told me that I have a tough job. Anyone who thinks teaching is just "really easy" needs to take note of this. It's not easy. Ask any teacher, and he or she will tell you the amount of work that goes into it. The key is that we have to take our work home with us. A lot of the people my wife work with do not.
So remember, boys and girls, respect your teachers. Realize that they are human too. We do have feelings, we just try not to let you see them.
Today I am finally vindicated in saying that teaching is one of the hardest professions in the world. There are so many people who believe that you can just stand up in front of a classroom, start talking, and the students will just go with it. Hmmm. No. A lot of times you feel like Will Ferrell's Alex Trebek on Celebrity Jeopardy. You know what I mean. Sometimes you just cannot believe what you are hearing. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching (and I'm using the word "love" here). I love the challenge with all the preparing that needs to go into it, and the fact that no matter how well you cover every angle, you can still be surprised or occasionally unprepared. Still, I have been out at parties with my wife's co-workers (all engineers) who tell me that teaching is easy. Oh really, Mr. Smarty-Pants? Try it for one day. If you aren't prepared, you'll burn out quickly. I saw it all through my Master's program. One guy even quit student teaching not once, but twice. He thought the first time was due to outside influences, but really it was just that he couldn't handle it.
Honest to God, there are days when I would rather work for a bomb squad, because I truly believe there would be less pressure. In a totally egotistical manner, I look at it this way. I have between 30 to 45 people in my classroom. If I say the wrong thing or if I'm too harsh on one of them, it's very possible that my comment can affect that student so much, that they can never recover. Doctor's only have one life on the table, I have 30 to 40 in front of me everyday. Granted, that's a little bit of a self-serving way to look at it, but I feel it's true.
So why do I say I feel vindicated? Because today I was pulled over by a state trooper. Yup, yours truly was speeding along at 15 over the speed limit. The officer pulled me over and walked up to the car. He asked for my license. As I handed it to him, he noticed my badge (which I had forgotten to take off). Looking at it carefully, he asked me:
"Are you a teacher?"
I replied, "Yes I am, officer. I was just coming from teaching summer school."
"What do you teach?"
"I teach Basic Standards Reading."
"To?"
"Eighth graders and high school kids."
"You're working with high school kids in the summer?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
After contemplating this for a moment, he handed me back my license.
"I"m going to give you a warning, Mr. Leab. I think you've had enough punishment for today."
"Thank you so much."
"No, thank you. You're the one trying to fix our kids." (Note: I'm not sure I agree with his statement, but I don't want the ticket.)
So there you have it. A police officer, arguably one of the toughest professions, essentially told me that I have a tough job. Anyone who thinks teaching is just "really easy" needs to take note of this. It's not easy. Ask any teacher, and he or she will tell you the amount of work that goes into it. The key is that we have to take our work home with us. A lot of the people my wife work with do not.
So remember, boys and girls, respect your teachers. Realize that they are human too. We do have feelings, we just try not to let you see them.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
The Best Law Story....Ever
Ok, yesterday I told you about what has to be the most frivolous lawsuit ever. Today, I am going to share with you my favorite law story. Maybe it's true, maybe it's an urban legend, but the tale is so uproariously funny, that it must be told.
A Charlotte, NC, lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against fire among other things. Within a month having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars and without yet having made even his first premium payment on the policy, the lawyer filed claim against the insurance company.
In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost "in a series of small fires." The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason: that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.
The lawyer sued....and won! In delivering the ruling the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. The Judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer held a policy from the company in which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable fire," and was obligated to pay the claim.
Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000.00 to the lawyer for his loss of the rare cigars lost in the "fires."
NOW FOR THE BEST PART... After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!!! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000.00 fine.
Again, it's probably not true, but we so hope that it is, because we want justice to prevail. We want the bad guy to lose, and we want to believe that they will be tripped up by clever consequences. The thing about the real world that is so hard for people to deal with is that here the bad guys can win, and they can win big. We want a world like the movies where the good guy rides in, cleans up the town, gets the girl (and treats her right), and kills the bad guy. It doesn't happen that way in real life, but we hope it will. Perhaps I'm being too cynical, but for every one happy ending, there are four unhappy endings. Like I said, maybe I'm just too cynical.
On a separate note, I want to invite all of you readers (what four, five now?) to check out my belle Michele's website. She has a keen eye about life, and she's a fellow educator. If I knew any real French, I would use it here. Unfortunately I know German, and all it does is march over the French language every 50 years or so....Now go look at that website, people.
A Charlotte, NC, lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against fire among other things. Within a month having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars and without yet having made even his first premium payment on the policy, the lawyer filed claim against the insurance company.
In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost "in a series of small fires." The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason: that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.
The lawyer sued....and won! In delivering the ruling the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. The Judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer held a policy from the company in which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable fire," and was obligated to pay the claim.
Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000.00 to the lawyer for his loss of the rare cigars lost in the "fires."
NOW FOR THE BEST PART... After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!!! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000.00 fine.
Again, it's probably not true, but we so hope that it is, because we want justice to prevail. We want the bad guy to lose, and we want to believe that they will be tripped up by clever consequences. The thing about the real world that is so hard for people to deal with is that here the bad guys can win, and they can win big. We want a world like the movies where the good guy rides in, cleans up the town, gets the girl (and treats her right), and kills the bad guy. It doesn't happen that way in real life, but we hope it will. Perhaps I'm being too cynical, but for every one happy ending, there are four unhappy endings. Like I said, maybe I'm just too cynical.
On a separate note, I want to invite all of you readers (what four, five now?) to check out my belle Michele's website. She has a keen eye about life, and she's a fellow educator. If I knew any real French, I would use it here. Unfortunately I know German, and all it does is march over the French language every 50 years or so....Now go look at that website, people.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
The Most Frivolous Lawsuit....EVER!
This is AWESOME!! So, Marina Bai has decided to sue NASA for 300 million dollars because of the universe's, "moral suffering." That's freaking awesome. She also told someone that NASA's experiment would "deform her horoscope."
If this lawsuit is allowed to go through, then I am going to sue the city of Robbinsdale for making me mow my lawn. Think about it: Everytime I mow, I am killing innocent grass and thus, like the Butterfly Effect, I am affecting not only my realm but the entire universe in a negative fashion by having to mow my lawn. Can I get several million for moral suffering and negative karmic influence?
This may be worse than the guy who sued a movie theater for showing R-rated movies. His argument was that because the theater was showing the movies, he would HAVE to watch them. He would HAVE TO WATCH THEM? That's the dumbest argument ever. He has a choice not to go. However, the lawsuit for the universe (which essentially this is) surpasses that lawsuit by far. I mean, come on, what's next? Can we sue on behalf of ants that are being killed by Terminix? This is ridiculous. These are the types of lawsuits that we need to eradicate. Not the ones where a doctor screws up and kills a patient. Look, I know McDonald's is evil. They have nasty food that will kill you, but you have the choice not to eat there. Pure and simple. A typical meal there costs, what, five bucks with tax? Eat it everyday, three times a day, that's 105 dollars a week. You can grocery shop for less. You just have to, horror of horrors, cook.
To the Marina Bai, who is suing the U.S. Space Agency, I think the universe will be fine. It somehow managed to make it millions of years (or several thousand if you're a Creationist) without a problem, I think it will be fine. However, if a black hole develops over the Earth, then I'm wrong.
If this lawsuit is allowed to go through, then I am going to sue the city of Robbinsdale for making me mow my lawn. Think about it: Everytime I mow, I am killing innocent grass and thus, like the Butterfly Effect, I am affecting not only my realm but the entire universe in a negative fashion by having to mow my lawn. Can I get several million for moral suffering and negative karmic influence?
This may be worse than the guy who sued a movie theater for showing R-rated movies. His argument was that because the theater was showing the movies, he would HAVE to watch them. He would HAVE TO WATCH THEM? That's the dumbest argument ever. He has a choice not to go. However, the lawsuit for the universe (which essentially this is) surpasses that lawsuit by far. I mean, come on, what's next? Can we sue on behalf of ants that are being killed by Terminix? This is ridiculous. These are the types of lawsuits that we need to eradicate. Not the ones where a doctor screws up and kills a patient. Look, I know McDonald's is evil. They have nasty food that will kill you, but you have the choice not to eat there. Pure and simple. A typical meal there costs, what, five bucks with tax? Eat it everyday, three times a day, that's 105 dollars a week. You can grocery shop for less. You just have to, horror of horrors, cook.
To the Marina Bai, who is suing the U.S. Space Agency, I think the universe will be fine. It somehow managed to make it millions of years (or several thousand if you're a Creationist) without a problem, I think it will be fine. However, if a black hole develops over the Earth, then I'm wrong.
French Humility
Oh Jacques Chirac, why must you make things soooooo personal. Yes, Paris, the front runner, lost the 2012 games to London. The final standings were as follows:
1. London
2. Paris
3. Madrid
4. New York
5. Moscow
There are many funny aspects to this final standing. First of all, Moscow, which Putin "guaranteed" would ready, was judged, "too far from ready." Ouch. Next was New York. The city that never sleeps was apparently crushed that they lost, but the IOC said there were too many security risks. Really? Security risks? In a city that was claiming that there are, at any given point, 22 million people (including the suburbs)? Noooooo. Then there was Madrid. It was apparently voted out because of security concerns as well. (Anyone remember the whole bombing thing?) So it came down to Paris and London.
Now, Paris was the favorite, but it shot itself in the foot many, many times like a twitching gunfighter. First of all, there was politics. France was the first country to pull out of the new European Union constitution. Not a smart move. The second issue, however, was Chirac's actions at a conclave in Russia. Apparently he was meeting with Putin and Schroeder (the German Chancellor) and made the following comment:
"The only thing the British contributed to European agriculture was mad cow disease." Now, the food of a country is not considered by the IOC, but still, that's a low blow. He apparently ragged on American food at the same time. Could his negative comments and attitude have been the reason that Paris lost the games? Many in the media sure think so.
Chirac made it personal, however, when he said that he believed that Paris lost the games because of him. Well, I'm glad to see that you feel you have that much power, Mr. Chirac.
I would like to congratulate London on receiving the games. There's a lot of work to be down, but you do have seven years. Good luck.
1. London
2. Paris
3. Madrid
4. New York
5. Moscow
There are many funny aspects to this final standing. First of all, Moscow, which Putin "guaranteed" would ready, was judged, "too far from ready." Ouch. Next was New York. The city that never sleeps was apparently crushed that they lost, but the IOC said there were too many security risks. Really? Security risks? In a city that was claiming that there are, at any given point, 22 million people (including the suburbs)? Noooooo. Then there was Madrid. It was apparently voted out because of security concerns as well. (Anyone remember the whole bombing thing?) So it came down to Paris and London.
Now, Paris was the favorite, but it shot itself in the foot many, many times like a twitching gunfighter. First of all, there was politics. France was the first country to pull out of the new European Union constitution. Not a smart move. The second issue, however, was Chirac's actions at a conclave in Russia. Apparently he was meeting with Putin and Schroeder (the German Chancellor) and made the following comment:
"The only thing the British contributed to European agriculture was mad cow disease." Now, the food of a country is not considered by the IOC, but still, that's a low blow. He apparently ragged on American food at the same time. Could his negative comments and attitude have been the reason that Paris lost the games? Many in the media sure think so.
Chirac made it personal, however, when he said that he believed that Paris lost the games because of him. Well, I'm glad to see that you feel you have that much power, Mr. Chirac.
I would like to congratulate London on receiving the games. There's a lot of work to be down, but you do have seven years. Good luck.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Fireworks Go BOOM!
Ok, the title is a given, but this past long weekend was all about the Chinese invention. With the U.S. celebrating its birthday (happy belated, U.S.A., you look like a monkey) fireworks were being shot off from every corner of the country. On my street alone, there were several houses firing off bottle rockets and other so called "illegal" fireworks. No ambulance or firetrucks, so all went well, though I did see one guy light a fire in his garage my not aiming his firework correctly. He had a fire extinguisher, however, so I guess that works out. His dog, however, may be forever traumatized. I didn't see where the rocket landed, but I heard a lot of yelping.
It wasn't just here in Minnesota, however, that I saw fireworks (though ours started around 10 PM). Yes, both New York and Boston had their celebrations on national television. I didn't really see the Boston celebration, because I was outside watching Minnesota's (as best I could), but New York's celebration (which I saw most of) was unfortunately cheesy and badly produced on television. I've seen a Fourth of July celebration in New York live. My father took me when I was a child. It's an amazing experience to see the fireworks light up the sky. NBC took that away with its quick cuts, cheesy picture in picture looks, and by cutting to the crowd at the most inopportune time. I'll give you a few examples:
1. The Donald. Ok, this, right off the bat, is incredibly cheesy and, for lack of a better term, lame. He starts the countdown late (catching up with the crowd) and then yells, "You're fired," into the camera (no, I won't pay). The funniest part, however, was when the camera cut to Trump sitting with his wife and Al Roker. You could tell, as he watched the sky, that he was thinking, "I am the richest man in New York. Why am I sitting on a folding chair next to the BBQ guy from the Food Network? This is not Uuge (intentionally misspelled to get it the way he says it)."
2. The Cuts. I understand that studies have shown that the modern television audience must have a cut or movement or change every three seconds. Fine. NBC was able to work with that, but some of their cuts drove me insane. Here comes the big finale of "God Bless America" with big red, white, and blue fireworks. As the rockets are about to explode, NBC cuts to the choir singing the song. Now, I don't know about you, but I could care less about the freaking choir (who aren't very attractive as is). No, I want to see the lights, the explosions, etc. Why did you cut away from the pretty stuff NBC? WHY!?!?!?! If you don't believe me about cut times, watch a video on MTV. Unless the camera is moving, no shot will last longer then 2 seconds. That's right: 2 seconds. No wonder we're all becoming ADD.
3. Picture in Picture. If it wasn't the cuts, then it was cutting off the fireworks by putting in a picture of the New York Symphony. Hey, they're great, but the visual we want is the fireworks, not a lead violin. Imagine watching a football game on TV. Your team is at the ten yard line trying to score. You're excited. As the ball is about to be snapped, a big ole box appears over the endzone, and a reporter starts talking to a fan, or the owner, or someone who is not playing. The ball is caught in the endzone, but you don't see it. You have to wait for the replay. Wouldn't that be annoying? Well that's what was happening there.
4. (and most annoying) The Olympic Plug. Look, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: let it go, New York. You do not want the Olympics. It was incredibly lame that you gave flags to the people and played the Olympic theme (a la John Williams, not the real one) and tried to make New York look like one big happy family ready for the Olympics. Let it go! It will not bring in more money. New Yorkers will not be happy. Besides, the 2010 Winter Games are in Vancouver. They try not to give the same continent the games twice in a row. New York and Vancouver are on the same continent. Therefore, anyone....anyone....Yes, Buller? That's right, it's not likely that New York will get the games for that reason.
The fireworks we did see were gorgeous. There's a majesty to the spectacle that turns us all, no matter how old we may be, to kids again. We shout, "oooohhh, ahhh, etc," with gaping mouths. Don't take that away from us to show some ten year old kid watching himself in a monitor that has been setup by the crowd. If he or she were watching the fireworks and being awed, that's one thing, but to see a kid who's just watching himself... well... sucks. Don't do that, it's boring.
I hope you all had a fantastic fourth.
UPDATE:
I forgot to mention that we had a fire alarm today at school, because some genius students decided to light firecrackers in the hallway...under the smoke alarm. My students were all excited, because they thought it meant they wouldn't have to take their test. They were very wrong and are now very mad at the students who did it.
It wasn't just here in Minnesota, however, that I saw fireworks (though ours started around 10 PM). Yes, both New York and Boston had their celebrations on national television. I didn't really see the Boston celebration, because I was outside watching Minnesota's (as best I could), but New York's celebration (which I saw most of) was unfortunately cheesy and badly produced on television. I've seen a Fourth of July celebration in New York live. My father took me when I was a child. It's an amazing experience to see the fireworks light up the sky. NBC took that away with its quick cuts, cheesy picture in picture looks, and by cutting to the crowd at the most inopportune time. I'll give you a few examples:
1. The Donald. Ok, this, right off the bat, is incredibly cheesy and, for lack of a better term, lame. He starts the countdown late (catching up with the crowd) and then yells, "You're fired," into the camera (no, I won't pay). The funniest part, however, was when the camera cut to Trump sitting with his wife and Al Roker. You could tell, as he watched the sky, that he was thinking, "I am the richest man in New York. Why am I sitting on a folding chair next to the BBQ guy from the Food Network? This is not Uuge (intentionally misspelled to get it the way he says it)."
2. The Cuts. I understand that studies have shown that the modern television audience must have a cut or movement or change every three seconds. Fine. NBC was able to work with that, but some of their cuts drove me insane. Here comes the big finale of "God Bless America" with big red, white, and blue fireworks. As the rockets are about to explode, NBC cuts to the choir singing the song. Now, I don't know about you, but I could care less about the freaking choir (who aren't very attractive as is). No, I want to see the lights, the explosions, etc. Why did you cut away from the pretty stuff NBC? WHY!?!?!?! If you don't believe me about cut times, watch a video on MTV. Unless the camera is moving, no shot will last longer then 2 seconds. That's right: 2 seconds. No wonder we're all becoming ADD.
3. Picture in Picture. If it wasn't the cuts, then it was cutting off the fireworks by putting in a picture of the New York Symphony. Hey, they're great, but the visual we want is the fireworks, not a lead violin. Imagine watching a football game on TV. Your team is at the ten yard line trying to score. You're excited. As the ball is about to be snapped, a big ole box appears over the endzone, and a reporter starts talking to a fan, or the owner, or someone who is not playing. The ball is caught in the endzone, but you don't see it. You have to wait for the replay. Wouldn't that be annoying? Well that's what was happening there.
4. (and most annoying) The Olympic Plug. Look, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: let it go, New York. You do not want the Olympics. It was incredibly lame that you gave flags to the people and played the Olympic theme (a la John Williams, not the real one) and tried to make New York look like one big happy family ready for the Olympics. Let it go! It will not bring in more money. New Yorkers will not be happy. Besides, the 2010 Winter Games are in Vancouver. They try not to give the same continent the games twice in a row. New York and Vancouver are on the same continent. Therefore, anyone....anyone....Yes, Buller? That's right, it's not likely that New York will get the games for that reason.
The fireworks we did see were gorgeous. There's a majesty to the spectacle that turns us all, no matter how old we may be, to kids again. We shout, "oooohhh, ahhh, etc," with gaping mouths. Don't take that away from us to show some ten year old kid watching himself in a monitor that has been setup by the crowd. If he or she were watching the fireworks and being awed, that's one thing, but to see a kid who's just watching himself... well... sucks. Don't do that, it's boring.
I hope you all had a fantastic fourth.
UPDATE:
I forgot to mention that we had a fire alarm today at school, because some genius students decided to light firecrackers in the hallway...under the smoke alarm. My students were all excited, because they thought it meant they wouldn't have to take their test. They were very wrong and are now very mad at the students who did it.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Par Five in the Lorillard section
Most people at the Tobacco Document Depository worked one of two shifts: the morning shift was from opening (around 8 am) to 3 or 4 PM. The other shift was from 10 or 11 AM until closing (around 6 PM). When I first started, I would do the morning shift, but eventually I wanted to take Fridays off, so I would work Monday through Thursday from opening to close. That way I got my forty hours a week. However, the best part of working until close was when several of us would knock off at 5:15 (this was, of course, when no clients, lawyers, or bosses were around. This was alot shortly before I left), and we would play the nine holes of the Minnesota Tobacco Document Depository golf course. That's right, we created an indoor golf course (of sorts).
Now, we were limited by three things:
1. Space: Even though this was a warehouse, you have to understand that there were row after row of shelves filled with boxes. Every shelf went from floor to ceiling. If you were claustrophobic, this was not the place for you to work. Only one person at a time could move through the stacks. While most of the walls were made of drywall (more on that a little later), a few were security walls, so they had to be tougher and thicker. This meant that if a ball bounced off that wall, it could go anywhere: off a co-worker (see #2), way out into the rough (near the bosses' office), or, in a few cases, it could bounce back right at you. Imagine being able to see, from start to finish, the very thing that was going to knock you out or hurt you. You brain ends up doing this:
WHACK! Oh that sounded good. Ping! (off the wall and back at your head.) Oh, this will not end well....WHAM! Annnnnnnnd, good night...
2. Co-workers: In order to make the holes work, we had to move from one side of the warehouse to the other (both side to side and front to back). If someone was sitting at a particular desk (like Tanya, who started with one table and somehow created a space for five people that only she would be allowed to sit at), then they might either complain, or be in the way. I can honestly recall one time I was playing with Bill trying to get out of the RJR Tobacco section. Our chip shots were way off that night. Eric, another worker, was working dilligently and wouldn't move. Well, Bill tried to chip around Eric, only, again, the shots were off that night, so he smacked Eric right in the head with a golf ball. Granted it wasn't that hard of a shot (remember, cramped spaces), but it still left a welt on Eric's head. I thought he was going to grab Bill's club and beat him to death. It was also really hard not to laugh. It's the Three Stooges principle: It's extremly funny when someone else is getting hurt. When it becomes you, then it's infuriating.
3. Clubs: We had only three clubs: a 3-wood, a five iron, and a putter. For a good golfer, three clubs would probably not be a problem, but those of us who were part of the MTDD Golf Club all, well, what's a good word....sucked. You ended up using the five iron more than any other club, but you had to be careful of either putting the club or the ball through the drywall. That actually happened once. The same night we hit Eric in the head, I actually chipped too hard and put my ball through the wall in the Phillip Morris section. I had to take a drop (two shots, damn it) and get a new ball. That was also the night that we put a hole in a box and had to make a quickie patch in order to hide the evidence.
Three days before I left the Depot, a few of us (all of us leaving) played a round for the MTDD Master's Trophy, or a 40 oz can of Budweiser in layman's terms. Three guys, bored out of their minds, played an incredible round of golf. It all came down to final hole (which was a par five in the Lorillard section. You had to start by the wall, curve around the next stack, get around to the far back of the warehouse, and then sink the put into the coffee cup that had apparently been on the floor by the wall since the place opened (a few years by the time I got there). If you were able to use the wall correctly, you could rebound off the end of the stack, down the next stack and then chip to the cup and sink a put for birdie. If you missed the wall, however, then you were screwed. Your ball would roll all the way down to the RJR section. The only way you could avoid a double bogey at that point was with a miracle.
All of us made it to the cup in three shots, so it would come down to whoever missed the putt. As John stepped up to take his putt, we heard our boss bringing a few lawyers to the back to look at the Lorillard section. John panicked and slammed the putter into the ball smashing the cup and driving the ball off a fire door and back toward where the lawyers were coming. If I hadn't taken a face-planting dive, they would have discovered our game. We were able to hide the clubs, and John made a big deal about, "breaking his lucky mug," by tripping on carpet seam. They bought it.
So nobody won. One day, before the Depot closes, the three of us will return for one more game. I don't really drink anymore, but I want bragging rights. I better start practicing my putts and my ability to be the ball. (Note to self: call Chevy Chase.)
Now, we were limited by three things:
1. Space: Even though this was a warehouse, you have to understand that there were row after row of shelves filled with boxes. Every shelf went from floor to ceiling. If you were claustrophobic, this was not the place for you to work. Only one person at a time could move through the stacks. While most of the walls were made of drywall (more on that a little later), a few were security walls, so they had to be tougher and thicker. This meant that if a ball bounced off that wall, it could go anywhere: off a co-worker (see #2), way out into the rough (near the bosses' office), or, in a few cases, it could bounce back right at you. Imagine being able to see, from start to finish, the very thing that was going to knock you out or hurt you. You brain ends up doing this:
WHACK! Oh that sounded good. Ping! (off the wall and back at your head.) Oh, this will not end well....WHAM! Annnnnnnnd, good night...
2. Co-workers: In order to make the holes work, we had to move from one side of the warehouse to the other (both side to side and front to back). If someone was sitting at a particular desk (like Tanya, who started with one table and somehow created a space for five people that only she would be allowed to sit at), then they might either complain, or be in the way. I can honestly recall one time I was playing with Bill trying to get out of the RJR Tobacco section. Our chip shots were way off that night. Eric, another worker, was working dilligently and wouldn't move. Well, Bill tried to chip around Eric, only, again, the shots were off that night, so he smacked Eric right in the head with a golf ball. Granted it wasn't that hard of a shot (remember, cramped spaces), but it still left a welt on Eric's head. I thought he was going to grab Bill's club and beat him to death. It was also really hard not to laugh. It's the Three Stooges principle: It's extremly funny when someone else is getting hurt. When it becomes you, then it's infuriating.
3. Clubs: We had only three clubs: a 3-wood, a five iron, and a putter. For a good golfer, three clubs would probably not be a problem, but those of us who were part of the MTDD Golf Club all, well, what's a good word....sucked. You ended up using the five iron more than any other club, but you had to be careful of either putting the club or the ball through the drywall. That actually happened once. The same night we hit Eric in the head, I actually chipped too hard and put my ball through the wall in the Phillip Morris section. I had to take a drop (two shots, damn it) and get a new ball. That was also the night that we put a hole in a box and had to make a quickie patch in order to hide the evidence.
Three days before I left the Depot, a few of us (all of us leaving) played a round for the MTDD Master's Trophy, or a 40 oz can of Budweiser in layman's terms. Three guys, bored out of their minds, played an incredible round of golf. It all came down to final hole (which was a par five in the Lorillard section. You had to start by the wall, curve around the next stack, get around to the far back of the warehouse, and then sink the put into the coffee cup that had apparently been on the floor by the wall since the place opened (a few years by the time I got there). If you were able to use the wall correctly, you could rebound off the end of the stack, down the next stack and then chip to the cup and sink a put for birdie. If you missed the wall, however, then you were screwed. Your ball would roll all the way down to the RJR section. The only way you could avoid a double bogey at that point was with a miracle.
All of us made it to the cup in three shots, so it would come down to whoever missed the putt. As John stepped up to take his putt, we heard our boss bringing a few lawyers to the back to look at the Lorillard section. John panicked and slammed the putter into the ball smashing the cup and driving the ball off a fire door and back toward where the lawyers were coming. If I hadn't taken a face-planting dive, they would have discovered our game. We were able to hide the clubs, and John made a big deal about, "breaking his lucky mug," by tripping on carpet seam. They bought it.
So nobody won. One day, before the Depot closes, the three of us will return for one more game. I don't really drink anymore, but I want bragging rights. I better start practicing my putts and my ability to be the ball. (Note to self: call Chevy Chase.)
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Mmmm....Lungalicious
Before I became the awe-inspiring teacher I am today, I used to work at the Minnesota Tobacco Document Depository. It was extremely odd (and that's honestly the best word to describe it). First of all, there's the space. Imagine the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark and add nasty flickering fluorescent lights. You know the buzz one of those lights makes when it's close to dying? Imagine hearing that noise no matter where you went. It could drive you crazy when there was no music or noise.
The oddest aspect, however, was the staff around me. I can remember a day where everyone was supposed to bring in canned food that would be eaten at lunch. We ended up Spam, Potted Meat, and Anchovies. Put that on a cracker with Spray Cheese, and, apparently, you have a meal. It was as disgusting as it sounds, and it took a great deal of mental discipline not to throw up.
Beyond the canned food incident, there were just an odd assortment of people (names have been altered). There was Tanya, who once corrected me for asking her about her kids. "I do not have kids," she told me, "I have children. Kids are baby goats." She also like to tell me about how I had a guardian angel on my shoulder that only she could see. That was creepy, but it might explain my shoulder and neck pain when I worked there.
There was Suzy, who came in shortly before I left (or escaped). She liked to tell everyone about every little thing they were doing wrong using the power of Minnesota Nice. "Do you really think those shoes go with that shirt?" she once asked me. She also like to talk about her boyfriend who was a mechanic of sorts. I never really got it.
How about Randy, who was an aspiring director (along with John) and like to ask the most random questions. "You're on a deserted island after your boat sinks. During the destruction of the ship, you've had to lose a limb. Which one and why?" It was odd.
The only person I really got along with Patty. She was a cancer survivor from Africa. She was always very sweet and always had a cheery disposition. Patty was the only one of the staff that I would really let work near me, because she wouldn't tell stupid stories, she wouldn't criticize, and she had great taste in music.
The most ironic thing about working at the Depot, however, was the fact that aside from myself and one or two other people, the staff all smoked. That's right, they all smoked! Even though we had bags of blackened lungs, and even though we read documents on a daily basis that talked about chemicals, and risks, and such, they would all go outside (even in the dead of winter) and smoke. It was extremely odd, and very ironic. In some ways, I think it's the very definition of ironic: people who work with information about the dangers of smoking all smoke. That's very funny to me.
I have a great deal of stories that came out working at the depot. I'll try to share more over the next few days. There was indoor golf, chair races at Site B, the other trial I was assigned to, my own "office" and much, much more! Stay tuned.
The oddest aspect, however, was the staff around me. I can remember a day where everyone was supposed to bring in canned food that would be eaten at lunch. We ended up Spam, Potted Meat, and Anchovies. Put that on a cracker with Spray Cheese, and, apparently, you have a meal. It was as disgusting as it sounds, and it took a great deal of mental discipline not to throw up.
Beyond the canned food incident, there were just an odd assortment of people (names have been altered). There was Tanya, who once corrected me for asking her about her kids. "I do not have kids," she told me, "I have children. Kids are baby goats." She also like to tell me about how I had a guardian angel on my shoulder that only she could see. That was creepy, but it might explain my shoulder and neck pain when I worked there.
There was Suzy, who came in shortly before I left (or escaped). She liked to tell everyone about every little thing they were doing wrong using the power of Minnesota Nice. "Do you really think those shoes go with that shirt?" she once asked me. She also like to talk about her boyfriend who was a mechanic of sorts. I never really got it.
How about Randy, who was an aspiring director (along with John) and like to ask the most random questions. "You're on a deserted island after your boat sinks. During the destruction of the ship, you've had to lose a limb. Which one and why?" It was odd.
The only person I really got along with Patty. She was a cancer survivor from Africa. She was always very sweet and always had a cheery disposition. Patty was the only one of the staff that I would really let work near me, because she wouldn't tell stupid stories, she wouldn't criticize, and she had great taste in music.
The most ironic thing about working at the Depot, however, was the fact that aside from myself and one or two other people, the staff all smoked. That's right, they all smoked! Even though we had bags of blackened lungs, and even though we read documents on a daily basis that talked about chemicals, and risks, and such, they would all go outside (even in the dead of winter) and smoke. It was extremely odd, and very ironic. In some ways, I think it's the very definition of ironic: people who work with information about the dangers of smoking all smoke. That's very funny to me.
I have a great deal of stories that came out working at the depot. I'll try to share more over the next few days. There was indoor golf, chair races at Site B, the other trial I was assigned to, my own "office" and much, much more! Stay tuned.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Patience....
We're into our third day of summer school, and I am feeling stressed....already. Why? Oh, for multiple reasons:
1. I've never taught reading before. I'm literally flying by the seat of my pants. I asked one teacher for help with the curriculum and discovered that he, too, had never done reading before. So the two of us went to a third guy for help. Did he help us? No. He apparently guards his curriculum like a lion with its cubs.
2. My first hour class is awesome. They try, and, even though they complain, they actually work. The second hour class, however, has been shuffled so that I have new kids who do not work. The first thing out one of their mouths today was that they couldn't learn from me, because "You're a white boy, and I'm not. We have nothing in common, so I'm just gonna sleep now." That's pretty much par for the course with that class. My favorite was the girl who went off on a rant about homosexuals, because there was an article in the paper (I make them read the paper) about "Canada and Gay Marriage." Hey, I'm glad you have your standards, but don't interrupt my teaching so you can spout anti-homosexual rhetoric. Most of them like to tell me that they don't need to be there and hate the fact that they have to be. I am also really tired of hearing that reading is not important. Look, to anyone thinking about becoming a professional basketball player (as most of my second hour thinks it will be): There are around 100 schools taken seriously in basketball (not including high schools). Each school has 12 players, though maybe only 4 or 5 (if that) are pro-caliber. That's four to five hundred people vying for sixty spots. If you assume 500, then you have only a 12% chance of getting on to a team. Most of these kids don't have the skills to make it, but they think they do. It's kind of depressing.
3. There is never enough time. Between work, and school, and life, there is never enough time to get everything done. I am slightly OCD, so I not only compartmentalize, but I also plan out my time very carefully. It's not that I can't be spontaneous, I just don't like down time. It's a thing, I know. So not having enough time, to me, means that I am failing in my planning. Yesterday I was in an educational setting (as a teacher or student) for a combined eleven hours. That's fine, but I also need to get aspects of my life in order around my house, and such. I feel very behind.
Man, I hate venting, and this is what I feel like I'm doing. Sorry. I promise my next post will be funnier.
1. I've never taught reading before. I'm literally flying by the seat of my pants. I asked one teacher for help with the curriculum and discovered that he, too, had never done reading before. So the two of us went to a third guy for help. Did he help us? No. He apparently guards his curriculum like a lion with its cubs.
2. My first hour class is awesome. They try, and, even though they complain, they actually work. The second hour class, however, has been shuffled so that I have new kids who do not work. The first thing out one of their mouths today was that they couldn't learn from me, because "You're a white boy, and I'm not. We have nothing in common, so I'm just gonna sleep now." That's pretty much par for the course with that class. My favorite was the girl who went off on a rant about homosexuals, because there was an article in the paper (I make them read the paper) about "Canada and Gay Marriage." Hey, I'm glad you have your standards, but don't interrupt my teaching so you can spout anti-homosexual rhetoric. Most of them like to tell me that they don't need to be there and hate the fact that they have to be. I am also really tired of hearing that reading is not important. Look, to anyone thinking about becoming a professional basketball player (as most of my second hour thinks it will be): There are around 100 schools taken seriously in basketball (not including high schools). Each school has 12 players, though maybe only 4 or 5 (if that) are pro-caliber. That's four to five hundred people vying for sixty spots. If you assume 500, then you have only a 12% chance of getting on to a team. Most of these kids don't have the skills to make it, but they think they do. It's kind of depressing.
3. There is never enough time. Between work, and school, and life, there is never enough time to get everything done. I am slightly OCD, so I not only compartmentalize, but I also plan out my time very carefully. It's not that I can't be spontaneous, I just don't like down time. It's a thing, I know. So not having enough time, to me, means that I am failing in my planning. Yesterday I was in an educational setting (as a teacher or student) for a combined eleven hours. That's fine, but I also need to get aspects of my life in order around my house, and such. I feel very behind.
Man, I hate venting, and this is what I feel like I'm doing. Sorry. I promise my next post will be funnier.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Where's Alice Cooper When I Need Him?
So, I started Summer School today. I don't mean my Master's class (which I can't stand, but whatever). Nope, I mean the school I am teaching this summer. Didn't Alice Cooper say, "School's out for summer," in his most famous song? And if you've never taught school in the summer, it's, well, hellacious. The students do not want to be there. The teachers do not want to be there. One of my colleagues explained that he was only there, because he really, REALLY, needed the money now that he has a kid. He kept telling me, "it's only 24 days, Leab. It's only five weeks."
Still, it honestly made me miss some of the kids I work with during the year. In the "Reading for Standards" classes I am teaching, I had to give out a test today. One kid just looked at it, put it down, and waited out the time. He handed it in with no answers given, and when he was asked, "why didn't you do anything," he responded, "I don't know. Maybe I'm just stupid." Talk about giving up before the race even starts. He doesn't care. He apparently has a job waiting for him the real world, so why does he need high school? In typical teenage fashion, he refused to listen to my reasons. It reminded me of another student of mine. She's brilliant, but she never listens. Then, having not listened, she exclaims, "No one understands or tries to help." You have to love the teenage frame of mind: No one gets me, no one tries to get me, but if they try to understand, it's an invasion of privacy. Awe-inspiring, isn't it folks?
So, for the next five weeks, I will toil through curriculum I don't really know (and I admit that as I have never taught reading before and was told it would be Math) with students who don't want to be there in a school with no air-conditioning and not enough fans. So If you see a post like this (see below) in the next few weeks:
ARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH. Hebba Itouilky. Brain melty, mushy. Fly, Walker, fly!
You will know why. Hopefully I can make a difference for one of them (I was supposed to have a total of 70 today and got only 18).
Oh, and one more thing. Shameless plug alert!!! Go check out little (haha) Meridita's Site (also known as Meredith). If you go, don't mention me, you just might get banned. Now, go hug something you care about and think happy thoughts, children. Tomorrow is a brand new and (hopefully) better day. Ha ha, desperate cynicism...
Still, it honestly made me miss some of the kids I work with during the year. In the "Reading for Standards" classes I am teaching, I had to give out a test today. One kid just looked at it, put it down, and waited out the time. He handed it in with no answers given, and when he was asked, "why didn't you do anything," he responded, "I don't know. Maybe I'm just stupid." Talk about giving up before the race even starts. He doesn't care. He apparently has a job waiting for him the real world, so why does he need high school? In typical teenage fashion, he refused to listen to my reasons. It reminded me of another student of mine. She's brilliant, but she never listens. Then, having not listened, she exclaims, "No one understands or tries to help." You have to love the teenage frame of mind: No one gets me, no one tries to get me, but if they try to understand, it's an invasion of privacy. Awe-inspiring, isn't it folks?
So, for the next five weeks, I will toil through curriculum I don't really know (and I admit that as I have never taught reading before and was told it would be Math) with students who don't want to be there in a school with no air-conditioning and not enough fans. So If you see a post like this (see below) in the next few weeks:
ARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH. Hebba Itouilky. Brain melty, mushy. Fly, Walker, fly!
You will know why. Hopefully I can make a difference for one of them (I was supposed to have a total of 70 today and got only 18).
Oh, and one more thing. Shameless plug alert!!! Go check out little (haha) Meridita's Site (also known as Meredith). If you go, don't mention me, you just might get banned. Now, go hug something you care about and think happy thoughts, children. Tomorrow is a brand new and (hopefully) better day. Ha ha, desperate cynicism...
Some Grief....Some Joy....
The title comes from a great song. It also is probably the best way to describe my weekend in Beantown. I had a great time tooling around America's Walking City. So if Boston was so great (though it had some down spots) where did the "grief" mentioned above come from? Yup, my Northwest flights.
On the way to Boston, the only real bad part of my flight was the woman sitting in the window seat in my row. See, Caroline and I couldn't sit together as the plane was full, so we both got aisles, and I sat behind her. I thought it was no big deal, but this woman thought it meant the end of our marriage. Whatever, anyway the flight from Minneapolis to Boston is about two hours and fifteen (maybe twenty) minutes. From the moment we sat on the plane, until we finally got off the plane, this woman (I call her cathy, because she's so feaking chatty) talked the entire time. She tried to talk to me, but I had a book that I buried myself into, but the pilot (deadhead for those in the know) sitting next to me had no such luck. I tried not to listen, but at one point she was talking about a sex workshop she and her third husband (Gary) went to in South Africa. The pilot kept looking over at me for help, but I wasn't going to be sucked in. No, no, no, no.
Boston, itself, was great. It was, however, wicked hot. Saturday was 95, and Sunday was 94. The news stations were almost pleading with people to wear sunscreen. "We here at Fox 25 don't want you to get cancer, so please: where sunscreen." It was sad and funny at the same time.
The city, if you have never been, is really compact and features some amazing history and some fantastic restaurants. I found it sad that this one Canadien (or Canadian for the Quebec-ers) couple told us they hadn't had any seafood while in Boston (about a week). There were no allegeries (so they said), they just chose to not eat seafood. Honestly that's like going to Kansas City and not having Bar-B-Q (or barbeque for you spelling Nazis). That's not right.
Anyway, the city is gorgeous. Perhaps the oddest portion of our trip, however, was the trolley tour guide we had. We decided on Saturday to hop on one of the trolleys for a driving tour of Boston. Besides the fact that he sounded and looked like Cliff Clavin (from Cheers). I think he was also drunk, because half of what he said made no sense, and the other half was more personal anecdotes. I mean I love hearing about the best pub in town, but did I need to hear about losing your virginity in the back booth? I don't think so. Stick to the history and trivia. He also got surly if you didn't leave a tip. Here he is chasing down a 70 year old lady, because she got off the trolley and didn't drop a buck. The funny part is that I don't think he saw the pepper spary in her left hand. She never used it, but it was ready.
The New England Aquarium was alot of fun, though I never realized how angry and evil penguins really are. I always thought penquins were like Opus from Bloom County. I was very wrong. As the aquarium volunteer cleaned the habitat, she was attacked over and over again. Her wetsuit took the brunt of it, but she did get one finger caught, and she yelped. Penguins are great, but would be terrible pets (think of the most psycho cat and make it shorter, meaner, and wetter).
The Black Rose Pub may look quaint on the outside, but inside are some serious drinkers. Caroline and I ran into two locals (Neil and Tom) who wanted us to drink away the rest of the day with them. I embarrassed my lovely wife by slipping into a Boston accent about ten minutes into our conversations. I can't help it, I pick up accents really fast. Neil, a landlord, tried very hard to convince us to move into one of his apartments next Thursday. Somehow, I don't think we can move that quickly. Still, Mrs. Leab really wants to move to the east coast sooner than later, so we'll see.
The other annoying part of the trip was the flight back. Once again, I wasn't sitting with my wife, but that's ok. No I was more annoyed at the woman in front of me. You see, the guy sitting next to me was Swiss and was having a really bad day. He had been traveling for fourteen hours and had one more flight to go after he made it to MSP. He was tired, his English was slipping, and he needed to get to the bathroom. I was on the aisle, so I stood up and moved out. The woman in front of him was leaned all the way back and had made it hard for him to get out. In order to move, he had to push off her seat. She, of course, flipped out. After cursing him out, she then told him to apologize. However, she was talking to fast, and he couldn't keep up, so he smiled, said, "ok," and kept going. She (we'll call her 31 E) wouldn't leave him alone, and refused to move forward to help him get out. I told him (in German) to wait and asked her politely to move (in English). Now, I'm a semi-reasonable man. You act polite, so will I. You cross me, I'll bury you. It's the way of the world (in my mind). She told me to, "mind my own fucking business. Who do you think you are?" My new neutral friend looked like he was going to pee his pants, and she was being unreasonable, so I leaned forward, over the guy in 31 D (who had taken out someone else's bag from the overhead bin and said, "my bag won't fit in here while your bag is here.") and said in a low rumble, "I'm the guy who's going to break your seat and fold you in half unless you move forward. Now stop being the ugly American, make us look good, and move forward." Apparently, I must have gotten through to her, because she zipped forward. She also ended up changing seat with a friend of hers further back in the plane. Could I have gotten in trouble? Sure, but the guy was having a really bad day. I knew she wasn't, because she told her friend she gets what she wants. Oh well.
So, if you need a place to vacation or visit for just a weekend, I recommend Boston. Of course, I would say go to New York first (that's my hometown, folks), but Boston is great. The history alone is enough to fill a week. So get out there and travel.
On the way to Boston, the only real bad part of my flight was the woman sitting in the window seat in my row. See, Caroline and I couldn't sit together as the plane was full, so we both got aisles, and I sat behind her. I thought it was no big deal, but this woman thought it meant the end of our marriage. Whatever, anyway the flight from Minneapolis to Boston is about two hours and fifteen (maybe twenty) minutes. From the moment we sat on the plane, until we finally got off the plane, this woman (I call her cathy, because she's so feaking chatty) talked the entire time. She tried to talk to me, but I had a book that I buried myself into, but the pilot (deadhead for those in the know) sitting next to me had no such luck. I tried not to listen, but at one point she was talking about a sex workshop she and her third husband (Gary) went to in South Africa. The pilot kept looking over at me for help, but I wasn't going to be sucked in. No, no, no, no.
Boston, itself, was great. It was, however, wicked hot. Saturday was 95, and Sunday was 94. The news stations were almost pleading with people to wear sunscreen. "We here at Fox 25 don't want you to get cancer, so please: where sunscreen." It was sad and funny at the same time.
The city, if you have never been, is really compact and features some amazing history and some fantastic restaurants. I found it sad that this one Canadien (or Canadian for the Quebec-ers) couple told us they hadn't had any seafood while in Boston (about a week). There were no allegeries (so they said), they just chose to not eat seafood. Honestly that's like going to Kansas City and not having Bar-B-Q (or barbeque for you spelling Nazis). That's not right.
Anyway, the city is gorgeous. Perhaps the oddest portion of our trip, however, was the trolley tour guide we had. We decided on Saturday to hop on one of the trolleys for a driving tour of Boston. Besides the fact that he sounded and looked like Cliff Clavin (from Cheers). I think he was also drunk, because half of what he said made no sense, and the other half was more personal anecdotes. I mean I love hearing about the best pub in town, but did I need to hear about losing your virginity in the back booth? I don't think so. Stick to the history and trivia. He also got surly if you didn't leave a tip. Here he is chasing down a 70 year old lady, because she got off the trolley and didn't drop a buck. The funny part is that I don't think he saw the pepper spary in her left hand. She never used it, but it was ready.
The New England Aquarium was alot of fun, though I never realized how angry and evil penguins really are. I always thought penquins were like Opus from Bloom County. I was very wrong. As the aquarium volunteer cleaned the habitat, she was attacked over and over again. Her wetsuit took the brunt of it, but she did get one finger caught, and she yelped. Penguins are great, but would be terrible pets (think of the most psycho cat and make it shorter, meaner, and wetter).
The Black Rose Pub may look quaint on the outside, but inside are some serious drinkers. Caroline and I ran into two locals (Neil and Tom) who wanted us to drink away the rest of the day with them. I embarrassed my lovely wife by slipping into a Boston accent about ten minutes into our conversations. I can't help it, I pick up accents really fast. Neil, a landlord, tried very hard to convince us to move into one of his apartments next Thursday. Somehow, I don't think we can move that quickly. Still, Mrs. Leab really wants to move to the east coast sooner than later, so we'll see.
The other annoying part of the trip was the flight back. Once again, I wasn't sitting with my wife, but that's ok. No I was more annoyed at the woman in front of me. You see, the guy sitting next to me was Swiss and was having a really bad day. He had been traveling for fourteen hours and had one more flight to go after he made it to MSP. He was tired, his English was slipping, and he needed to get to the bathroom. I was on the aisle, so I stood up and moved out. The woman in front of him was leaned all the way back and had made it hard for him to get out. In order to move, he had to push off her seat. She, of course, flipped out. After cursing him out, she then told him to apologize. However, she was talking to fast, and he couldn't keep up, so he smiled, said, "ok," and kept going. She (we'll call her 31 E) wouldn't leave him alone, and refused to move forward to help him get out. I told him (in German) to wait and asked her politely to move (in English). Now, I'm a semi-reasonable man. You act polite, so will I. You cross me, I'll bury you. It's the way of the world (in my mind). She told me to, "mind my own fucking business. Who do you think you are?" My new neutral friend looked like he was going to pee his pants, and she was being unreasonable, so I leaned forward, over the guy in 31 D (who had taken out someone else's bag from the overhead bin and said, "my bag won't fit in here while your bag is here.") and said in a low rumble, "I'm the guy who's going to break your seat and fold you in half unless you move forward. Now stop being the ugly American, make us look good, and move forward." Apparently, I must have gotten through to her, because she zipped forward. She also ended up changing seat with a friend of hers further back in the plane. Could I have gotten in trouble? Sure, but the guy was having a really bad day. I knew she wasn't, because she told her friend she gets what she wants. Oh well.
So, if you need a place to vacation or visit for just a weekend, I recommend Boston. Of course, I would say go to New York first (that's my hometown, folks), but Boston is great. The history alone is enough to fill a week. So get out there and travel.
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