Saving the environment and running down neighbors. Thanks Toyota!
My neighbors are former nuns, and we get along quite well.
Two years ago, they moved here from a Wisconsin farm. They're...well...a little crunchy, but we get along very well. Years of dealing with a Granola sister has taught me how to speak the language. It's pretty easy.
Last year, after one of their 15 year old cars died, they bought a new Toyota Prius. Beautiful car, and pretty Earth-friendly. It also hurts like hell when it hits you.
Saturday...a day of rest for most teachers. My wife and son were inside asleep after a big day of playing.
I went outside to finish cleaning out the garage for Winter (who knew we'd have a heat wave).
As I walked back up the shared driveway toward my door to my house, my neighbors came home from...well...I have no idea where they were. We didn't discuss it.
The Toyota was headed right for me. I thought she was kidding, so I kept walking toward my door. It wasn't until they got closer that I saw that the driver (we'll call her Penny) wasn't looking at me, but at her roommate (who we'll call Lori).
I'd love to say that in a heroic move, I dove out of the way...but I can't.
Now, I attempted to lessen the blow by jumping up on the hood of the car as it hit me doing maybe 10 to 15 MPH.
Here's the thing: If you've ever been hit by a car...it hurts. Regardless of the speed, the sudden impact hurts. It's physics. An object at rest that is struck by an object in movement will feel or show an impact.
Let's try it another way:
Whether the stone hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the stone...it's going to be bad for the pitcher.
I'm the pitcher.
I lay across the hood sprawled out like a dead and gutted deer. Penny screamed and slammed the brakes, but I was clutching onto the top of the hood, so I did not go flying.
"OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD!!!!" I hear screamed. "Are you ok? OHMYGOD!!!"
My pride, once again, is hurt. It was only two days before that I was hit in a car...now I was hit...by a person.
My brain's first thought was actually not the pain I was in, but the thought about the deer.
"I wonder if this is how the deer feels," I thought.
The screaming continued from inside the car, but I stil couldn't get the image of the deer out of my head.
Penny, obviously flustered, tried to get out of the car without putting it in park. Her foot came out, and the car lurched forward again. Luckily Lori moved quickly to hit the brakes and put on the emergency brake.
The pain started to creep in to my body. I could tell the my right leg took most of the damage.
"Are you ok?" Penny said to me while trying to help me off the car.
"Leg hurts...and my back is starting to as well," I told her.
Lori, meanwhile, having put the car in park, proceeded to inspect the car. "Car looks ok..." she mumbled.
Penny, meanwhile, had turned white. I think she was afraid that I was really hurt.
Being the stupid, macho guy I am (I can admit it), I told her, "I'm fine."
But I wasn't. In fact I still have a slight limp today.
What's even funnier is that my wife and son didn't know until a few hours later (when I had trouble moving around) that something had happened.
Still...days later and I can't get that image of me as the deer out of my mind. I couldn't tell you why, but it's odd.
I mention the John Glenn Principle all the time, and this speaks to that principle. I got in a car accident, and I was fine. Doing the most mundane thing (walking up my driveway, for Pete's sake), I get hit by a car.
Then again, what do I know? I'm a Prius Hugger. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Black (and Blue) Friday
I'm back.
I know I teased great stories...which I'll get to, but I have to talk about the rest of my weekend. There's just...so much.
I'm starting to believe that Mr. Willoughby is right: The world is coming to an end. Not in the whole "Jesus comes down from the mountain" way. No...I think the end is coming from us. Black Friday is the perfect example.
I usually make it a rule: The day after Thanksgiving, I board up the house and hide. Unfortunately, my wife forgot to pack my son's saline spray which he needs for his nebulizing (He has lung issues right now). This meant that ole Leab had to go to Target (where his prescription is) to get it.
You have to understand: the town my wife's parents live in is a Wal-Mart town. There is a Target, but it's behind the Home Depot and only the "fancy rich-folk" go there. Much like King of the Hill, there are people who stand outside the Target talking about the death of the Mom and Pop Shops.
"Yep...place like this takes away our jobs....I'm out of chips...be right back."
Because I had to go out anyway, my wife's mother asked me for a favor:
"Could you please stop at Big Lot's and look for this camera? It's for your father-in-law's mother."
Now I get along pretty well with my mother-in-law, and I like my father-in-law's mother as she understands the feelings I have about Missouri, so I said yes...like an idiot.
8 AM on Friday. The store looks empty as I park.
Once I walk in, however, it's a different story. There are people literally crawling up the walls (on the shelves, of course) to grab the sale items. I don't see the camera, so I ask the store clerk by the door.
"Oh my...we sold out of those by 6:15. You should have been here like everyone else. The REAL shoppers were here then."
"Oh well," I replied. "Doesn't hurt to try."
"You snooze you lose," the clerk says. "You should have been here at 5 like everyone else."
"I really couldn't care. I just thought I would ask," I say, but the clerk has already moved on to someone else.
As I start to move around to leave the store, I see a DVD setup that's cheap. It's a Progressive Scan player marked down to $30. I know my brother-in-law wants one, so I pick it up to look at it.
After a few seconds, I hear a whoosh, and then my head starts to hurt. WHAM! Then again, WHAM!
"I saw it first, you fucker!" I hear screamed.
WHAM!
"What the hell?!" I scream back.
I turn and see a woman a half a foot shorter than me sizing me up with her purse for another hit. My hands shoot out to block her, but she's too quick, and she hits me in my groin. I'm not kidding.
"What...the...FUCK?!" I breathe out.
"I SAW IT FIRST! You took it out of my hands! It's mine!" She screams. She points to the DVD player I am clutching because my body is seizing while trying to get through the pain.
She rips the player from my hands and starts toward the checkout.
Here's the amazing part: NO ONE DOES ANYTHING!
The manager comes over and helps me up.
"Are you all right?" He asks me.
"Yeah," I say as the wave of nausea passes, "But why didn't you or anyone else help me?"
"Look," he starts, "It's our biggest shopping day. You aren't bleeding either. Were you planning on buying the player?"
"No, but..."
"No. You weren't. Look, I saw you pull up in the car from...what is that...Minnesota? You're not from here. If I file a complaint, if I call the cops...you'll probably lose. You aren't from here...and she is. She's a well-known resident and well liked. Her husband's an ex-Fire Marshall. Just....Just let it go."
That's life on Black Friday.
But wait...it gets worse.
With my dignity hovering around my stomach, I hobbled back to my car and drove to Target.
It's here that I see humanity at its worse. People were pushing around packed carts buying stuff they would never need or use. Who buys fourteen bottles of Shampoo? Just because they're on sale? Sigh.
The creme de la creme, however, is when the partrons discovered the one unbought Playstation 3 (shows you how backwoods or off the beaten path this place is). Two customers saw it and each grabbed a worker to try and get it. They arrived at the same time. It started as a shouting match.
"I was here first."
"NO, I was!"
Then it degenerated.
"If you think you're getting the machine, I'll fucking kill you!"
"Is that a threat? I'm calling the cops!" and out comes a cell phone.
The other person saw the phone and slapped it out of the first person's hand.
I was transfixed. It was like watching a car accident. You want to look away, but your have to see it.
Slowly, the phone spun on the floor. As it stopped, the phone's owner looked at the phone on the floor...to the person who hit it...to the crowd...to the machine...back to the floor...then, as if overcome with a bloodlust, he screamed as he tackled the other person. The hands flew from both people. The two Target workers were screaming into their radios.
The rent-a-cops...uh...I mean Security Detail...moved as fast as their fat bodies could move them, but even they weren't sure what to do.
I went home and told my wife and mother-in-law this. To her credit, my wife hugged me, my son cooed, and my mother-in-law gave me an ice bag.
So why does this illustrate Tom's point?
Because we go to "war", we shoot each other, we beat each other over material goods that will be forgotten rather quickly after December 25th (or after the Eighth Day). Parents pay 300% on a Tickle Me Elmo in order to not disappoint little Johnny or Joanie.
I love my son, but I'm not getting up at 2 in the morning in order to get him a toy. He can deal. Plus, I really hope he'll learn why that toy isn't the end all be all of life.
We lament when we don't get the things we want. You can't really get all of us to vote or help the homeless, but we'll destroy others in order to get that cheap DVD player.
Isn't apathy the beginning of the downfall of civilization?
Am I overreacting here?
Have the multiple blows to the head left me without a true perception of life?
You tell me. All I know is the following:
1. NEVER again am I going out on Black Friday (and I couldn't even get my son's Saline as the damn pharmacy shut down for the day to, and I quote, "keep the aisles from being cluttered").
2. I wish I could have kicked the crap out of both the people in Target, taken the PS3, and donated it to the battered kids shelter nearby.
3. Hit the woman back. I don't care if she's old, you hit below the belt, and I believe in equal rights. I see you again, you go down, bitch!
4. If we value the material possessions of our life more than the intangibles, we start to forget who we are. I'm not talking about God here, folks. I'm talking about family, love, sunrises, pets, intelligence, etc.
Then again, what do I know? I'm the guy rolling in pain in aisle five. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
I know I teased great stories...which I'll get to, but I have to talk about the rest of my weekend. There's just...so much.
I'm starting to believe that Mr. Willoughby is right: The world is coming to an end. Not in the whole "Jesus comes down from the mountain" way. No...I think the end is coming from us. Black Friday is the perfect example.
I usually make it a rule: The day after Thanksgiving, I board up the house and hide. Unfortunately, my wife forgot to pack my son's saline spray which he needs for his nebulizing (He has lung issues right now). This meant that ole Leab had to go to Target (where his prescription is) to get it.
You have to understand: the town my wife's parents live in is a Wal-Mart town. There is a Target, but it's behind the Home Depot and only the "fancy rich-folk" go there. Much like King of the Hill, there are people who stand outside the Target talking about the death of the Mom and Pop Shops.
"Yep...place like this takes away our jobs....I'm out of chips...be right back."
Because I had to go out anyway, my wife's mother asked me for a favor:
"Could you please stop at Big Lot's and look for this camera? It's for your father-in-law's mother."
Now I get along pretty well with my mother-in-law, and I like my father-in-law's mother as she understands the feelings I have about Missouri, so I said yes...like an idiot.
8 AM on Friday. The store looks empty as I park.
Once I walk in, however, it's a different story. There are people literally crawling up the walls (on the shelves, of course) to grab the sale items. I don't see the camera, so I ask the store clerk by the door.
"Oh my...we sold out of those by 6:15. You should have been here like everyone else. The REAL shoppers were here then."
"Oh well," I replied. "Doesn't hurt to try."
"You snooze you lose," the clerk says. "You should have been here at 5 like everyone else."
"I really couldn't care. I just thought I would ask," I say, but the clerk has already moved on to someone else.
As I start to move around to leave the store, I see a DVD setup that's cheap. It's a Progressive Scan player marked down to $30. I know my brother-in-law wants one, so I pick it up to look at it.
After a few seconds, I hear a whoosh, and then my head starts to hurt. WHAM! Then again, WHAM!
"I saw it first, you fucker!" I hear screamed.
WHAM!
"What the hell?!" I scream back.
I turn and see a woman a half a foot shorter than me sizing me up with her purse for another hit. My hands shoot out to block her, but she's too quick, and she hits me in my groin. I'm not kidding.
"What...the...FUCK?!" I breathe out.
"I SAW IT FIRST! You took it out of my hands! It's mine!" She screams. She points to the DVD player I am clutching because my body is seizing while trying to get through the pain.
She rips the player from my hands and starts toward the checkout.
Here's the amazing part: NO ONE DOES ANYTHING!
The manager comes over and helps me up.
"Are you all right?" He asks me.
"Yeah," I say as the wave of nausea passes, "But why didn't you or anyone else help me?"
"Look," he starts, "It's our biggest shopping day. You aren't bleeding either. Were you planning on buying the player?"
"No, but..."
"No. You weren't. Look, I saw you pull up in the car from...what is that...Minnesota? You're not from here. If I file a complaint, if I call the cops...you'll probably lose. You aren't from here...and she is. She's a well-known resident and well liked. Her husband's an ex-Fire Marshall. Just....Just let it go."
That's life on Black Friday.
But wait...it gets worse.
With my dignity hovering around my stomach, I hobbled back to my car and drove to Target.
It's here that I see humanity at its worse. People were pushing around packed carts buying stuff they would never need or use. Who buys fourteen bottles of Shampoo? Just because they're on sale? Sigh.
The creme de la creme, however, is when the partrons discovered the one unbought Playstation 3 (shows you how backwoods or off the beaten path this place is). Two customers saw it and each grabbed a worker to try and get it. They arrived at the same time. It started as a shouting match.
"I was here first."
"NO, I was!"
Then it degenerated.
"If you think you're getting the machine, I'll fucking kill you!"
"Is that a threat? I'm calling the cops!" and out comes a cell phone.
The other person saw the phone and slapped it out of the first person's hand.
I was transfixed. It was like watching a car accident. You want to look away, but your have to see it.
Slowly, the phone spun on the floor. As it stopped, the phone's owner looked at the phone on the floor...to the person who hit it...to the crowd...to the machine...back to the floor...then, as if overcome with a bloodlust, he screamed as he tackled the other person. The hands flew from both people. The two Target workers were screaming into their radios.
The rent-a-cops...uh...I mean Security Detail...moved as fast as their fat bodies could move them, but even they weren't sure what to do.
I went home and told my wife and mother-in-law this. To her credit, my wife hugged me, my son cooed, and my mother-in-law gave me an ice bag.
So why does this illustrate Tom's point?
Because we go to "war", we shoot each other, we beat each other over material goods that will be forgotten rather quickly after December 25th (or after the Eighth Day). Parents pay 300% on a Tickle Me Elmo in order to not disappoint little Johnny or Joanie.
I love my son, but I'm not getting up at 2 in the morning in order to get him a toy. He can deal. Plus, I really hope he'll learn why that toy isn't the end all be all of life.
We lament when we don't get the things we want. You can't really get all of us to vote or help the homeless, but we'll destroy others in order to get that cheap DVD player.
Isn't apathy the beginning of the downfall of civilization?
Am I overreacting here?
Have the multiple blows to the head left me without a true perception of life?
You tell me. All I know is the following:
1. NEVER again am I going out on Black Friday (and I couldn't even get my son's Saline as the damn pharmacy shut down for the day to, and I quote, "keep the aisles from being cluttered").
2. I wish I could have kicked the crap out of both the people in Target, taken the PS3, and donated it to the battered kids shelter nearby.
3. Hit the woman back. I don't care if she's old, you hit below the belt, and I believe in equal rights. I see you again, you go down, bitch!
4. If we value the material possessions of our life more than the intangibles, we start to forget who we are. I'm not talking about God here, folks. I'm talking about family, love, sunrises, pets, intelligence, etc.
Then again, what do I know? I'm the guy rolling in pain in aisle five. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Tryptophan Tidings
Happy Thanksgiving to you, my dear readers.
I am currently sitting in the living room of my in-laws writing to you on my wife's laptop. Everyone is asleep except for me. Maybe that's why it's so quiet.
Yes, I am once again at my in-laws, despite the fact that I was promised I wouldn't have to be here.
However, unlike my last trip, I am not physically able to fight back...though I did have to defend myself at dinner.
Let's start with my frustration.
When my son was born in June, my wife promised me that I would not have to go anywhere for this year's holidays.
"I promise," she told me, "that we will spend Christmas and Thanksgiving here in Minnesota." Awesome. That's what I wanted.
However, over the course of the last few weeks, the pressure has been laid on thick by the in-laws. The clincher? My wife's grandmother calls and explains that she, "is dying, and who knows when I can see my grandson again?"
Sigh.
My wife caved and agreed to bring Little Leab down to Missouri. She forgot, however, to check in with me. My protests fell on deaf ears as her parents, grandparents, et al were ready for Poozer and that was that.
Angry, I started driving yesterday at four. No problems until we hit Iowa. The small town of Mason City across the border is pretty much the only place you can stop to fill up until you get farther into the state (like Des Moines). When I got off the highway, it was packed full of cars. Instead of a quick fill up, I waited 30 minutes to fill up the car (I had to, I was empty).
The real fun started today.
My wife's grandmother who talked about dying kept calling me Eric. The problem? That's not my name. She also kept referring to me as, "Our Jew."
I kept my mouth shut through dinner as many of my in-laws used the term "nigger," but when it switched to politics, I was done for.
During the course of the week, I warned my wife I would be ambushed. She scoffed.
I was ambushed.
"It's the fault of Liberal teachers...not unlike my son-in-law...that our kids are dumber."
On and on it went. I got to hear about how the Democrats are destroying the country, and how only Bill O'Reilly can save us.
On and on it went.
Finally, after hearing that teachers aren't teaching kids what they need to know, I snapped.
"What are kids not learning that they need to?" I asked.
"Why we're in Iraq for one thing."
"Why would we talk about that in an English class? We want kids to be able to read and write, but we have so many problems because of YOUR NCLB," I responded.
On and on it went.
When it was over? My wife asked me to calm down. Did she defend me? No.
Then we went to the second dinner, which was at my wife's aunt and uncle's house.
This is where my wife's cousin and new baby would be. They were hyper competetive, which I didn't have the energy for.
"Well...Brayden is talking. He's sleeping through the night. He's fill in the blank for annoying comment."
"I don't care," I finally responded. "My son doesn't look like he's the product of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome."
A hush filled the room. My wife kicked me hard under the table.
It's just sad. I really hate the holiday season. My wife doesn't understand. I love my family, and they love me, but we don't feel the need to see each other around this time of year. My wife's family cannot deal if they don't put up the lights and tree and have all the food for Thanksgiving. My wife knows that my family doesn't do this, but she refuses to see why it makes me uncomfortable. We, of course, don't want to the see the foibles of our families, but they should not be ignored. The fact that some of her family talk about how much the problems of America are because of anyone not white is a problem.
I wish I was asleep like the rest of them.
I wish I actually liked this time of year.
I wish that my wife understood why I really don't like to make the drive down here.
I wish I was more tolerant of this.
Again, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope your holiday is fantastically plain.
Namaste.
I am currently sitting in the living room of my in-laws writing to you on my wife's laptop. Everyone is asleep except for me. Maybe that's why it's so quiet.
Yes, I am once again at my in-laws, despite the fact that I was promised I wouldn't have to be here.
However, unlike my last trip, I am not physically able to fight back...though I did have to defend myself at dinner.
Let's start with my frustration.
When my son was born in June, my wife promised me that I would not have to go anywhere for this year's holidays.
"I promise," she told me, "that we will spend Christmas and Thanksgiving here in Minnesota." Awesome. That's what I wanted.
However, over the course of the last few weeks, the pressure has been laid on thick by the in-laws. The clincher? My wife's grandmother calls and explains that she, "is dying, and who knows when I can see my grandson again?"
Sigh.
My wife caved and agreed to bring Little Leab down to Missouri. She forgot, however, to check in with me. My protests fell on deaf ears as her parents, grandparents, et al were ready for Poozer and that was that.
Angry, I started driving yesterday at four. No problems until we hit Iowa. The small town of Mason City across the border is pretty much the only place you can stop to fill up until you get farther into the state (like Des Moines). When I got off the highway, it was packed full of cars. Instead of a quick fill up, I waited 30 minutes to fill up the car (I had to, I was empty).
The real fun started today.
My wife's grandmother who talked about dying kept calling me Eric. The problem? That's not my name. She also kept referring to me as, "Our Jew."
I kept my mouth shut through dinner as many of my in-laws used the term "nigger," but when it switched to politics, I was done for.
During the course of the week, I warned my wife I would be ambushed. She scoffed.
I was ambushed.
"It's the fault of Liberal teachers...not unlike my son-in-law...that our kids are dumber."
On and on it went. I got to hear about how the Democrats are destroying the country, and how only Bill O'Reilly can save us.
On and on it went.
Finally, after hearing that teachers aren't teaching kids what they need to know, I snapped.
"What are kids not learning that they need to?" I asked.
"Why we're in Iraq for one thing."
"Why would we talk about that in an English class? We want kids to be able to read and write, but we have so many problems because of YOUR NCLB," I responded.
On and on it went.
When it was over? My wife asked me to calm down. Did she defend me? No.
Then we went to the second dinner, which was at my wife's aunt and uncle's house.
This is where my wife's cousin and new baby would be. They were hyper competetive, which I didn't have the energy for.
"Well...Brayden is talking. He's sleeping through the night. He's fill in the blank for annoying comment."
"I don't care," I finally responded. "My son doesn't look like he's the product of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome."
A hush filled the room. My wife kicked me hard under the table.
It's just sad. I really hate the holiday season. My wife doesn't understand. I love my family, and they love me, but we don't feel the need to see each other around this time of year. My wife's family cannot deal if they don't put up the lights and tree and have all the food for Thanksgiving. My wife knows that my family doesn't do this, but she refuses to see why it makes me uncomfortable. We, of course, don't want to the see the foibles of our families, but they should not be ignored. The fact that some of her family talk about how much the problems of America are because of anyone not white is a problem.
I wish I was asleep like the rest of them.
I wish I actually liked this time of year.
I wish that my wife understood why I really don't like to make the drive down here.
I wish I was more tolerant of this.
Again, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope your holiday is fantastically plain.
Namaste.
Monday, November 20, 2006
"You Jumped Out of the Ether"
Car accidents suck.
I take the same route to pick up my son. Because his daycare is in Maple Grove, I get on 494 and take it all the way around to 94.
Sounds easy right?
The only problem is traffic. By the time I reach Rockford Road, the speed drops to 2 MPH. That's not an exaggeration.
On the 9th, I got off to a late start to get my son. The crew and I worked late to try and get the set for the show ready.
Traveling north bound, I was in the left lane doing my lovely 2 MPH. Suddenly, there was the screech of tires. Before I knew it, the screech got closer, the car rocked forward, and my head snapped back.
I was hit.
With quick reflexes (I was lucky), I grabbed my emergency brake. Didn't matter; the person who hit me pushed forward into the car in front of me.
Scorecard:
Guy behind me: front end damage
Woman in front of me: slight (and I do mean slight) damage to spare tire cover
My car: front AND rear damage
Suffice to say, I was unhappy. Still, much like my last car accident, I was the first out of my car. I walked to the guy behind me.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
He stared at me sheepishly. "Yes. You?"
"Depends on how much money you have," I said.
"What?" he replied.
"I'm fine, but you hit me. I'll need your insurance info. I'm going to check on the woman you pushed me into."
With that, I walked to the other car.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"My car!" the woman screamed. "Look what you did to my car!"
I had no idea what the woman was pointing at and why she was screaming. I stepped closer.
I found a small scratch on the top side of her spare tire cover. It was nothing compared to the tire imprint on the front of my car.
She continued to freak out.
"Ma'am? I'll need your insurance," I said.
At this point, I walked back to my car to get my insurance.
There's something funny about a group car accident in how people react with one another. If it's one person's fault, that person will have a hard time looking in the eyes of everyone else.
In this case, the guy who hit me kept his eyes either looking straight up or looking straight down.
"Do we need to call the cops?" I asked.
"No," the woman said.
"No one's hurt, right?" the guy interjected.
"Plus," the woman added, "It's rush hour. I don't want to be here for another hour."
It was agreed. No cops.
I tried to call my wife, but couldn't get through.
The worst part wasn't the car accident or the fact that my neck was hurting. It was knowing that I was going to be very late to pick up my son.
"I just can't believe it," the guy kept saying. "You jumped out of the ether. I never saw you."
It was such a strange description. To jump out of the ether. The truth, he would admit later to the insurance company, was that he was on his cell phone and wasn't paying attention. He was in the middle lane and almost hit a car there. While talking to the person on the phone and looking over at the car he almost hit, he looked back to see mine and started to break, but it was too late.
$3,500 worth of damage to my car later, I'm riding around in a rental car sans truck (which would have helped in transporting wood for building platforms.
The kicker? The guy who hit me is a born and bred Minnesotan. You can talk all you want about how the bad drivers here are not from the state, but it was the Minnesotan who hit me...not the other way around.
Of course, that would only be my first car accident of that week. The second would come on the following Saturday...but that's a story for another time.
Namaste.
I take the same route to pick up my son. Because his daycare is in Maple Grove, I get on 494 and take it all the way around to 94.
Sounds easy right?
The only problem is traffic. By the time I reach Rockford Road, the speed drops to 2 MPH. That's not an exaggeration.
On the 9th, I got off to a late start to get my son. The crew and I worked late to try and get the set for the show ready.
Traveling north bound, I was in the left lane doing my lovely 2 MPH. Suddenly, there was the screech of tires. Before I knew it, the screech got closer, the car rocked forward, and my head snapped back.
I was hit.
With quick reflexes (I was lucky), I grabbed my emergency brake. Didn't matter; the person who hit me pushed forward into the car in front of me.
Scorecard:
Guy behind me: front end damage
Woman in front of me: slight (and I do mean slight) damage to spare tire cover
My car: front AND rear damage
Suffice to say, I was unhappy. Still, much like my last car accident, I was the first out of my car. I walked to the guy behind me.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
He stared at me sheepishly. "Yes. You?"
"Depends on how much money you have," I said.
"What?" he replied.
"I'm fine, but you hit me. I'll need your insurance info. I'm going to check on the woman you pushed me into."
With that, I walked to the other car.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"My car!" the woman screamed. "Look what you did to my car!"
I had no idea what the woman was pointing at and why she was screaming. I stepped closer.
I found a small scratch on the top side of her spare tire cover. It was nothing compared to the tire imprint on the front of my car.
She continued to freak out.
"Ma'am? I'll need your insurance," I said.
At this point, I walked back to my car to get my insurance.
There's something funny about a group car accident in how people react with one another. If it's one person's fault, that person will have a hard time looking in the eyes of everyone else.
In this case, the guy who hit me kept his eyes either looking straight up or looking straight down.
"Do we need to call the cops?" I asked.
"No," the woman said.
"No one's hurt, right?" the guy interjected.
"Plus," the woman added, "It's rush hour. I don't want to be here for another hour."
It was agreed. No cops.
I tried to call my wife, but couldn't get through.
The worst part wasn't the car accident or the fact that my neck was hurting. It was knowing that I was going to be very late to pick up my son.
"I just can't believe it," the guy kept saying. "You jumped out of the ether. I never saw you."
It was such a strange description. To jump out of the ether. The truth, he would admit later to the insurance company, was that he was on his cell phone and wasn't paying attention. He was in the middle lane and almost hit a car there. While talking to the person on the phone and looking over at the car he almost hit, he looked back to see mine and started to break, but it was too late.
$3,500 worth of damage to my car later, I'm riding around in a rental car sans truck (which would have helped in transporting wood for building platforms.
The kicker? The guy who hit me is a born and bred Minnesotan. You can talk all you want about how the bad drivers here are not from the state, but it was the Minnesotan who hit me...not the other way around.
Of course, that would only be my first car accident of that week. The second would come on the following Saturday...but that's a story for another time.
Namaste.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Crawling Out of Purgatory
"Where the blue blazes you been, Leab?"
Here's the deal:
the last two weeks have been difficult.
"Why? Writing isn't that hard!"
Ok, I was in two car accidents.
The first had a man rear-ending my car.
The second was my neighbor hitting me. Not my car, me.
"Ok...that's a start. What else?"
All righty then. My "Hell Week" came and went. That's a term for tech week of a show.
I also got very sick, dealt with my sick wife and son, AND have been putting out fires left and right.
Oh yeah...and I voted and had to deal with a guy almost stepping on my son.
Oh, and I have to leave in two days and drive to Kansas City to see my in-laws for the holiday. Why? Because my wife's memory is terrible.
And I missed the vita.mn party, which I'm not happy about, thank you very much.
On the bright side, I have plenty of stories, including something I hate more than modern movie attendance (trust me, Tom).
"Is that all?"
No, I've also been trying to keep up with my grades as the end of the trimester comes up.
"Well, there's no need to be unprofessional."
I hate you disembodied voice. I hate you so much.
"That's what I'm here for."
Whatever....I'll post more when I can.
Namaste.
Here's the deal:
the last two weeks have been difficult.
"Why? Writing isn't that hard!"
Ok, I was in two car accidents.
The first had a man rear-ending my car.
The second was my neighbor hitting me. Not my car, me.
"Ok...that's a start. What else?"
All righty then. My "Hell Week" came and went. That's a term for tech week of a show.
I also got very sick, dealt with my sick wife and son, AND have been putting out fires left and right.
Oh yeah...and I voted and had to deal with a guy almost stepping on my son.
Oh, and I have to leave in two days and drive to Kansas City to see my in-laws for the holiday. Why? Because my wife's memory is terrible.
And I missed the vita.mn party, which I'm not happy about, thank you very much.
On the bright side, I have plenty of stories, including something I hate more than modern movie attendance (trust me, Tom).
"Is that all?"
No, I've also been trying to keep up with my grades as the end of the trimester comes up.
"Well, there's no need to be unprofessional."
I hate you disembodied voice. I hate you so much.
"That's what I'm here for."
Whatever....I'll post more when I can.
Namaste.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Repetition...It Keeps Repeating
Here's a lovely story from my fellow teacher Ted.
Today his classes were visited by the local health clinic to tell the students all about their options.
Questions about STDs? Come to the clinic.
Other health issues? Come to the clinic.
You get the idea.
Here's where the story gets better.
The clinic supervisor, who was there to speak to the class, asked the students to name five "uncurable" STDs.
The students were quiet for a minute...then the ice was broken.
"HIV?"
"That's right," the supervisor said. "Can you name some others?"
It goes quiet again.
"HIV?" another kid puts forth.
"We've already heard that one. Can you think of another?"
Again...silence.
A hand shoots into the air and is called upon.
"Um...AIDS?"
"Well, AIDS comes from HIV, so we already have that one. Any others?"
"Oh...Oh!" a kid starts from the corner.
"Yes?" the supervisor says quietly.
"HIV?"
"Are you kidding? We've had that one already. Haven't you been listening? There are four others to name."
Two other hands shoot into the air.
"Bearing in mind that we have already named AIDS and HIV, name one of the other four."
The two hands slowly slink back to the depths.
Dead silence, Ted explained to me. They had dead silence for another thirty seconds while the supervisor prayed for an answer not tied to HIV.
It never came.
There are two sad factors here as I see it.
1. It shows that the kids didn't listen to the supervisor at all.
2. It shows that kids didn't listen to each other as well.
Even sadder? After the supervisor left, Ted asked his class if they could name any of the other diseases besides HIV. The first answer? "HIV."
Repetition...it keeps repeating.
Namaste.
Today his classes were visited by the local health clinic to tell the students all about their options.
Questions about STDs? Come to the clinic.
Other health issues? Come to the clinic.
You get the idea.
Here's where the story gets better.
The clinic supervisor, who was there to speak to the class, asked the students to name five "uncurable" STDs.
The students were quiet for a minute...then the ice was broken.
"HIV?"
"That's right," the supervisor said. "Can you name some others?"
It goes quiet again.
"HIV?" another kid puts forth.
"We've already heard that one. Can you think of another?"
Again...silence.
A hand shoots into the air and is called upon.
"Um...AIDS?"
"Well, AIDS comes from HIV, so we already have that one. Any others?"
"Oh...Oh!" a kid starts from the corner.
"Yes?" the supervisor says quietly.
"HIV?"
"Are you kidding? We've had that one already. Haven't you been listening? There are four others to name."
Two other hands shoot into the air.
"Bearing in mind that we have already named AIDS and HIV, name one of the other four."
The two hands slowly slink back to the depths.
Dead silence, Ted explained to me. They had dead silence for another thirty seconds while the supervisor prayed for an answer not tied to HIV.
It never came.
There are two sad factors here as I see it.
1. It shows that the kids didn't listen to the supervisor at all.
2. It shows that kids didn't listen to each other as well.
Even sadder? After the supervisor left, Ted asked his class if they could name any of the other diseases besides HIV. The first answer? "HIV."
Repetition...it keeps repeating.
Namaste.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Gimme That Card!
Oh how times have changed.
Have you seen the new Visa Check Card commercial where a guy attempts to buy lunch with (horror of horrors) CASH!!!!!!!!
Yes, it seems all is a well-oiled machine until Oliver Old-Fashioned decides to pull out a few George Washingtons instead of just handing over his card. When he reaches for his wallet, food goes flying, drinks spill, and industry grinds to a halt.
Just five years ago, you wouldn't see a commercial like this.
I can remember going to a restaurant, pulling out my card to pay, and hearing the sighs and groans from the people behind me. Their brains were almost screaming, "Why doesn't this schmuck have cash."
I wonder if those same people would get pissed off if I pulled out cash now.
It is strange, however. The other day I was in Target, and I paid cash for my purchase.
First there was the cashier, who looked angered and amazed at the green paper being handed to her. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I also got the sense she was angry about having to count out change.
Then there were the people behind me. The wait was obviously longer for them, because the cashier needed more time to count out the change.
In all honesty, I don't mind using my check card now, because the companies have made it unnecessary to sign unless over a certain amount. So when you head to your local McDonald's now, you use your card.
It's a brand new world, folks. We're becoming paperless. Still, cash, not credit, will help you out of many jams. Remember that.
Namaste.
Have you seen the new Visa Check Card commercial where a guy attempts to buy lunch with (horror of horrors) CASH!!!!!!!!
Yes, it seems all is a well-oiled machine until Oliver Old-Fashioned decides to pull out a few George Washingtons instead of just handing over his card. When he reaches for his wallet, food goes flying, drinks spill, and industry grinds to a halt.
Just five years ago, you wouldn't see a commercial like this.
I can remember going to a restaurant, pulling out my card to pay, and hearing the sighs and groans from the people behind me. Their brains were almost screaming, "Why doesn't this schmuck have cash."
I wonder if those same people would get pissed off if I pulled out cash now.
It is strange, however. The other day I was in Target, and I paid cash for my purchase.
First there was the cashier, who looked angered and amazed at the green paper being handed to her. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I also got the sense she was angry about having to count out change.
Then there were the people behind me. The wait was obviously longer for them, because the cashier needed more time to count out the change.
In all honesty, I don't mind using my check card now, because the companies have made it unnecessary to sign unless over a certain amount. So when you head to your local McDonald's now, you use your card.
It's a brand new world, folks. We're becoming paperless. Still, cash, not credit, will help you out of many jams. Remember that.
Namaste.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Ramblings for the Weekend (11/4/2006)
I know. It's been a week. I've been busy with life and such. You know...a four month old and all.
So, without further ado: GRIM!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doogie Yowser:
Neil Patrick Harris announced this week that he is gay. In other news: humans breathe, and the sky is blue. Maybe it was just me, but some of us knew for a really long time. Like Rock Hudson.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And No Flexing Either:
A man in upstate New York was booted for grunting at a gym. Expulsion. Now I understand the reason why they have these rules, and good for the Planet Fitness gyms, but this is a little much. Cops had to escort the man out? That's a big deal.
Grunting seems to be a big problem lately.
First there's this guy who was escorted out.
Next, the Women's Tennis Association (WTA) has been receiving complaints about one of its members: Maria Sharpova. Apparently her "extremely loud" grunt is throwing off the other players. Wimbeldon (the premeire tennis venue) may place a ban on grunting all together...on all the players.
Have you watched tennis lately? One of the fun aspects of the modern matches is to listen to who can grunt louder and with more purpose. I will admit, however, that Sharapova sometimes sounds like a rhino in heat...and that's saying something.
I feel bad for grunters. Can you imagine a no grunting policy at UPS around Christmas time? Many workers would be fired.
It's a strange world we live in nowadays.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Political Moment:
You all know how I feel about politics, so the fact that I'm writing something speaks to how huge this is.
My lovely wife announced to me tonight that she will not be voting in the upcoming election. After the beef stew in my mouth fell to the bowl below with a soft splat, I asked her why not.
And I quote:
"What's the point? All of the candidates suck. The people we can vote for (we live in Robbinsdale, so some races have nothing to do with us) couldn't care less about us, and it doesn't matter which of these three guys becomes governor, they all stink."
Many rebuttals ran through my head.
"But we have to vote. We have the right to do it, so we have to do it."
"Then choose who the least evil person is and vote for them."
"Vote for the Communists!!!!"
On and on it went. Luckily my brain was kicked back into reality by my sleeping son shifting to find a comfortable sleeping position on my lap.
"Honey," I started, "We have to vote. We have the luck to be able to do it."
"But there's no good candidate," she responded.
"Think of our son," I tried. "Who's going to help him the most?"
A small "harumph" came across the room. "Not a single one of them," she said.
I bring this up because I'm not sure she's wrong. This year Minnesota's candidates are...well...pathetic. They're bland. They're mostly white. They're not really for us (in my humble opinion).
I'm just going to vote for Tom. Sadly, I didn't realize this was a real deal until I started reading all of the links. Now I really hope Tom wins. We may not agree on everything, but the man sure is eloquent.
As for the upcoming elections? Hell, I'll take my lucky quarter in with me.
and finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bumped:
(Warning: A very unprofessional and angry section ahead.)
Regardless of what recent readers have said, I'm going to talk about the event that really angered me last week. The IT woman at my school was told she was going to be bumped last week. Bumping, for the unfamiliar, is when someone with more seniority (and tenure) decides to take your job (is there more to it? Yes, but this is the short version). Our gal was told that someone would be taking her job. There are a few problems here:
1. The gentleman who is to replace her is not versed in Macs. Why is this a problem? Most of the school's computers are Macs.
2. The IT gal and I have an idea to simplify many of the technical issues the teachers have: create a manual. That's right, an honest to goodness manual that explains the FAQs from most teachers. If she goes, how can we finish?
3. I work very well with the current IT gal. That, in my book, counts for something.
It's the nature of the game of teaching. Again, these are the things you rarely hear about (we never talked about it in grad school), but bumping occurs. Hell, my job is nowhere near safe. I might be bumped at the end of the year. It just means that I go somewhere else to get a job.
That's why I've been trying to get everything organized. If I'm going to go, it's not going to be like a bomb going off. I want the school, the students, the faculty, and such to function well even without me.
Am I planning to leave? No. But it happens. I've talked about John Glenn before, but how about a refresher course?
John Glenn did the most dangerous thing a person could do in the 1960s. He placed himself inside of what was basically a gas can with a rocket on it and shot himself into space. He circled the Earth after being told he may not survive, and when told he may not survive the landing, he landed safely in the ocean. He had completed the most dangerous task at the time.
After a ticker-tape parade and such, he wakes up one morning and goes to the shower, a mundane task that most people do everyday (or every other day). What happens? He slips and hurts his back and was laid up for a while.
The point? Much like the characters in Slaughterhouse Five, so it goes. If I'm around, then I will work my ass off. If I'm bumped, then I go somewhere else.
Of course what do I know? I'm the Jesus Christ of my highschool. Could you pass me my nails? I could be wrong.
Namaste.
So, without further ado: GRIM!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doogie Yowser:
Neil Patrick Harris announced this week that he is gay. In other news: humans breathe, and the sky is blue. Maybe it was just me, but some of us knew for a really long time. Like Rock Hudson.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And No Flexing Either:
A man in upstate New York was booted for grunting at a gym. Expulsion. Now I understand the reason why they have these rules, and good for the Planet Fitness gyms, but this is a little much. Cops had to escort the man out? That's a big deal.
Grunting seems to be a big problem lately.
First there's this guy who was escorted out.
Next, the Women's Tennis Association (WTA) has been receiving complaints about one of its members: Maria Sharpova. Apparently her "extremely loud" grunt is throwing off the other players. Wimbeldon (the premeire tennis venue) may place a ban on grunting all together...on all the players.
Have you watched tennis lately? One of the fun aspects of the modern matches is to listen to who can grunt louder and with more purpose. I will admit, however, that Sharapova sometimes sounds like a rhino in heat...and that's saying something.
I feel bad for grunters. Can you imagine a no grunting policy at UPS around Christmas time? Many workers would be fired.
It's a strange world we live in nowadays.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Political Moment:
You all know how I feel about politics, so the fact that I'm writing something speaks to how huge this is.
My lovely wife announced to me tonight that she will not be voting in the upcoming election. After the beef stew in my mouth fell to the bowl below with a soft splat, I asked her why not.
And I quote:
"What's the point? All of the candidates suck. The people we can vote for (we live in Robbinsdale, so some races have nothing to do with us) couldn't care less about us, and it doesn't matter which of these three guys becomes governor, they all stink."
Many rebuttals ran through my head.
"But we have to vote. We have the right to do it, so we have to do it."
"Then choose who the least evil person is and vote for them."
"Vote for the Communists!!!!"
On and on it went. Luckily my brain was kicked back into reality by my sleeping son shifting to find a comfortable sleeping position on my lap.
"Honey," I started, "We have to vote. We have the luck to be able to do it."
"But there's no good candidate," she responded.
"Think of our son," I tried. "Who's going to help him the most?"
A small "harumph" came across the room. "Not a single one of them," she said.
I bring this up because I'm not sure she's wrong. This year Minnesota's candidates are...well...pathetic. They're bland. They're mostly white. They're not really for us (in my humble opinion).
I'm just going to vote for Tom. Sadly, I didn't realize this was a real deal until I started reading all of the links. Now I really hope Tom wins. We may not agree on everything, but the man sure is eloquent.
As for the upcoming elections? Hell, I'll take my lucky quarter in with me.
and finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bumped:
(Warning: A very unprofessional and angry section ahead.)
Regardless of what recent readers have said, I'm going to talk about the event that really angered me last week. The IT woman at my school was told she was going to be bumped last week. Bumping, for the unfamiliar, is when someone with more seniority (and tenure) decides to take your job (is there more to it? Yes, but this is the short version). Our gal was told that someone would be taking her job. There are a few problems here:
1. The gentleman who is to replace her is not versed in Macs. Why is this a problem? Most of the school's computers are Macs.
2. The IT gal and I have an idea to simplify many of the technical issues the teachers have: create a manual. That's right, an honest to goodness manual that explains the FAQs from most teachers. If she goes, how can we finish?
3. I work very well with the current IT gal. That, in my book, counts for something.
It's the nature of the game of teaching. Again, these are the things you rarely hear about (we never talked about it in grad school), but bumping occurs. Hell, my job is nowhere near safe. I might be bumped at the end of the year. It just means that I go somewhere else to get a job.
That's why I've been trying to get everything organized. If I'm going to go, it's not going to be like a bomb going off. I want the school, the students, the faculty, and such to function well even without me.
Am I planning to leave? No. But it happens. I've talked about John Glenn before, but how about a refresher course?
John Glenn did the most dangerous thing a person could do in the 1960s. He placed himself inside of what was basically a gas can with a rocket on it and shot himself into space. He circled the Earth after being told he may not survive, and when told he may not survive the landing, he landed safely in the ocean. He had completed the most dangerous task at the time.
After a ticker-tape parade and such, he wakes up one morning and goes to the shower, a mundane task that most people do everyday (or every other day). What happens? He slips and hurts his back and was laid up for a while.
The point? Much like the characters in Slaughterhouse Five, so it goes. If I'm around, then I will work my ass off. If I'm bumped, then I go somewhere else.
Of course what do I know? I'm the Jesus Christ of my highschool. Could you pass me my nails? I could be wrong.
Namaste.
The Taming of the Roo: Part II
Morning Sickness. It sucks...or so I've been told.
As Little Leab was growing, he was making my wife ill. The first real major bouts of morning sickness came at the perfect time: my birthday.
There is one rule I have for my birthday: MHD. For those of you unaware of those letters, MHD stands for Mental Health Day. Every year, as a gift to myself, I take a day off from work.
One year I went to the zoo. Just me and the monkeys....
Most of the time, however, I go to the movies. I spend all day there by myself, which is nice. With my wife sick, however, my birthday was spent holding her hair. I knew she was really sick, because she didn't go to work. Mrs. Leab is a workaholic. There's almost no way she would miss work. If Jesus himself showed up and told her not to go to work, she'd smile at him and say, "Sorry, duty calls."
So with her praying to the Porcelain God, I knew she wasn't going anywhere.
There's a moment when you're holding someone's hair that you realize, "Damn...I'm having an 'adult' moment here." Damn kid's not even born yet and my life is changing.
Mrs. Leab's morning sickness would continue a little longer. It became a great excuse, however.
"You want us to see your play? It's six hours long...and about how your dad molested you dog? Yeah...the ole morning sickness is flaring up....Not sure we'll make it.
And, of course, my wife's sickness meant she couldn't help me set up the house. She could point and tell me where to put things, but the onus was on me.
The baby's room was covered in wall paper that would need to be taken down.
Here's a tip for you: score the walls...and steam the hell out of them. Worked very well.
It was difficult at first as I knew that I would have to give up my book room. Much like my father, I had a room dedicated to my books where I could store and read my books. Made life easier for school as well. I need a text? To the book room. Now I have a storage space where I have to rifle through boxes. Would I trade Poozer for a book room back? No, of course not, but it was still hard to pack up everything (and to be the one to do it).
The other difficult decision came when it was time to paint the room.
Yellow. Mrs. Leab wanted yellow. Just like my father, my lovely wife liked the color yellow.
We made a pact that we would not find out the sex ahead of time (that would be blown away by a talkative doctor), so the colors of pink and blue were pretty much out. I wanted a light green, but she wasn't having it. When I showed her a sample and she vomited on my shoes, I knew it was over. I could hear the bell ringing and fight being called. It worked out well.
Next: Classes...and appointments.
As Little Leab was growing, he was making my wife ill. The first real major bouts of morning sickness came at the perfect time: my birthday.
There is one rule I have for my birthday: MHD. For those of you unaware of those letters, MHD stands for Mental Health Day. Every year, as a gift to myself, I take a day off from work.
One year I went to the zoo. Just me and the monkeys....
Most of the time, however, I go to the movies. I spend all day there by myself, which is nice. With my wife sick, however, my birthday was spent holding her hair. I knew she was really sick, because she didn't go to work. Mrs. Leab is a workaholic. There's almost no way she would miss work. If Jesus himself showed up and told her not to go to work, she'd smile at him and say, "Sorry, duty calls."
So with her praying to the Porcelain God, I knew she wasn't going anywhere.
There's a moment when you're holding someone's hair that you realize, "Damn...I'm having an 'adult' moment here." Damn kid's not even born yet and my life is changing.
Mrs. Leab's morning sickness would continue a little longer. It became a great excuse, however.
"You want us to see your play? It's six hours long...and about how your dad molested you dog? Yeah...the ole morning sickness is flaring up....Not sure we'll make it.
And, of course, my wife's sickness meant she couldn't help me set up the house. She could point and tell me where to put things, but the onus was on me.
The baby's room was covered in wall paper that would need to be taken down.
Here's a tip for you: score the walls...and steam the hell out of them. Worked very well.
It was difficult at first as I knew that I would have to give up my book room. Much like my father, I had a room dedicated to my books where I could store and read my books. Made life easier for school as well. I need a text? To the book room. Now I have a storage space where I have to rifle through boxes. Would I trade Poozer for a book room back? No, of course not, but it was still hard to pack up everything (and to be the one to do it).
The other difficult decision came when it was time to paint the room.
Yellow. Mrs. Leab wanted yellow. Just like my father, my lovely wife liked the color yellow.
We made a pact that we would not find out the sex ahead of time (that would be blown away by a talkative doctor), so the colors of pink and blue were pretty much out. I wanted a light green, but she wasn't having it. When I showed her a sample and she vomited on my shoes, I knew it was over. I could hear the bell ringing and fight being called. It worked out well.
Next: Classes...and appointments.
Friday, October 27, 2006
A Day of Infamy
There have been many people (who we'll call "Celebrities") born on this day.
Let's look at a few:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Cleese:
Perhaps one of the funniest people to ever live on this Earth, John Cleese turned 67 today. This man will forever be known for his silly walks, calling King Arthur, "a pansy," and, "a chicken," and for walking around an apartment half naked while speaking Russian (if you don't know what I'm talking about, find out).
What most people don't know, however, is that beyond his comedic skills lies an incredibly smart man. Graduated with a degree in law from Cambridge, and is well spoken.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Theodore Roosevelt:
The Bull Moose was born on this day 148 years ago.
Beyond his famous quotes ("Speak softly, and carry a big stick"), he had a photographic memory, and is known to be the father of the Teddy Bear. How? It's about a hunting trip. After no animals could be found, someone captured a stray bear cub and offered Roosevelt the opportunity to shoot it. He refused, saying it was, "unsportsmanlike." Like wildfire, news of his deed spread (this included a cartoon drawing of the President refusing to shoot the cub). A few weeks later, a function was held at the White House, and someone (supposedly Roosevelt's wife) had small dolls in the likeness of bears made as card holders for the place settings. The bears were taken home as souvenirs...and that's how it began.
Other interesting notes? He was asthmatic, but conquered it (and would be known for being tough).
"Good to the last drop," (The Maxwell House slogan) came from him.
Once delivered a one-hour speech in spite of being shot moments before by a would-be assassin. That is tough.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Other famous people born on this date:
Lee Greenwood: Wrote the overplayed post 9-11 anthem "God Bless the U.S.A."
Roberto Benigni: "My English...I used it all up!"
Niccolo Paganini: Incredible operas were given to the world by this (no kidding) triple-jointed composer.
Oh, and then there's one other guy...but he's just some...unimportant teacher...so let's just move on, ok?
John Gotti: Well...you can't win them all. This former mafioso may have been born today, but he died of Cancer.
Matt Drudge: That's right...the Internet reporter himself came into being today.
Kelly Osbourne: Ozzy's daughter turned 22 today.
Ted Wass: Best known for being the dad on Blossom, he has now become an accomplished TV director.
Ivan Reitman: The man who gave us such films as Ghostbusters, and Kindergarten Cop turns 60 today.
Happy birthday to all, some of whom are alive, some of whom are not.
Namaste.
Let's look at a few:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Cleese:
Perhaps one of the funniest people to ever live on this Earth, John Cleese turned 67 today. This man will forever be known for his silly walks, calling King Arthur, "a pansy," and, "a chicken," and for walking around an apartment half naked while speaking Russian (if you don't know what I'm talking about, find out).
What most people don't know, however, is that beyond his comedic skills lies an incredibly smart man. Graduated with a degree in law from Cambridge, and is well spoken.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Theodore Roosevelt:
The Bull Moose was born on this day 148 years ago.
Beyond his famous quotes ("Speak softly, and carry a big stick"), he had a photographic memory, and is known to be the father of the Teddy Bear. How? It's about a hunting trip. After no animals could be found, someone captured a stray bear cub and offered Roosevelt the opportunity to shoot it. He refused, saying it was, "unsportsmanlike." Like wildfire, news of his deed spread (this included a cartoon drawing of the President refusing to shoot the cub). A few weeks later, a function was held at the White House, and someone (supposedly Roosevelt's wife) had small dolls in the likeness of bears made as card holders for the place settings. The bears were taken home as souvenirs...and that's how it began.
Other interesting notes? He was asthmatic, but conquered it (and would be known for being tough).
"Good to the last drop," (The Maxwell House slogan) came from him.
Once delivered a one-hour speech in spite of being shot moments before by a would-be assassin. That is tough.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Other famous people born on this date:
Lee Greenwood: Wrote the overplayed post 9-11 anthem "God Bless the U.S.A."
Roberto Benigni: "My English...I used it all up!"
Niccolo Paganini: Incredible operas were given to the world by this (no kidding) triple-jointed composer.
Oh, and then there's one other guy...but he's just some...unimportant teacher...so let's just move on, ok?
John Gotti: Well...you can't win them all. This former mafioso may have been born today, but he died of Cancer.
Matt Drudge: That's right...the Internet reporter himself came into being today.
Kelly Osbourne: Ozzy's daughter turned 22 today.
Ted Wass: Best known for being the dad on Blossom, he has now become an accomplished TV director.
Ivan Reitman: The man who gave us such films as Ghostbusters, and Kindergarten Cop turns 60 today.
Happy birthday to all, some of whom are alive, some of whom are not.
Namaste.
Why I Should Listen to Radio More Often
My son had to go to the doctor today, which was unfortunate (though they love him there and lavish attention on him. I swear, random nurses stopped in to smile and wave at my son...kids not even one and already a player....), but he survived getting shots.
He's been really sick lately, which is unfortunate, but a part of life.
So I'm driving to the appointment listening to Don Shelby and Jeff McKinny (or "The McSkinny" as they called it) on WCCO. One of them, I believe it was McKinny, was reading out of the recent issue of "Entertainment Weekly" (which made for thrilling radio). The subject was Sascha Baron Cohen's upcoming film Borat, which is getting hammered by some critics who don't have a sense of humor (oops, my real feelings popped out there for a second...sorry folks). So they are reading his interview to the audience when Shelby starts talking about how people think, even though Cohen is Jewish, that he is an Anti-Semite.
Except Shelby doesn't say, "Anti-Semite." Nope. He says (changed for pronounciation), "Anti-[See-mite]."
Thus begins a banter about See-mite versus Semite. As McKinny and Shelby banter, Shelby suddenly says (again for pronounciation), "You ever been in [See-men]?"
The air goes dead. I was chortling, because I had this vision of Don Shelby as the Peter Graves character (Captain Oveur) in Airplane.
Imagine Don Shelby saying, "You ever seen a...grown man naked, Billy?"
Yet the radio remained dead. It was at least five seconds before McKinny said, "Uh, no (Quick laughter). What else is on the list?"
This is why I should be listening to the radio more often. Where else but here can you get "Entertainment Weekly" read to you and have an Emmy-winning news anchor turn an ethnic slur into porno.
Good stuff.
He's been really sick lately, which is unfortunate, but a part of life.
So I'm driving to the appointment listening to Don Shelby and Jeff McKinny (or "The McSkinny" as they called it) on WCCO. One of them, I believe it was McKinny, was reading out of the recent issue of "Entertainment Weekly" (which made for thrilling radio). The subject was Sascha Baron Cohen's upcoming film Borat, which is getting hammered by some critics who don't have a sense of humor (oops, my real feelings popped out there for a second...sorry folks). So they are reading his interview to the audience when Shelby starts talking about how people think, even though Cohen is Jewish, that he is an Anti-Semite.
Except Shelby doesn't say, "Anti-Semite." Nope. He says (changed for pronounciation), "Anti-[See-mite]."
Thus begins a banter about See-mite versus Semite. As McKinny and Shelby banter, Shelby suddenly says (again for pronounciation), "You ever been in [See-men]?"
The air goes dead. I was chortling, because I had this vision of Don Shelby as the Peter Graves character (Captain Oveur) in Airplane.
Imagine Don Shelby saying, "You ever seen a...grown man naked, Billy?"
Yet the radio remained dead. It was at least five seconds before McKinny said, "Uh, no (Quick laughter). What else is on the list?"
This is why I should be listening to the radio more often. Where else but here can you get "Entertainment Weekly" read to you and have an Emmy-winning news anchor turn an ethnic slur into porno.
Good stuff.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Some Grief...Some Joy
Great song.
It was pointed out to me today that I seem to concentrate on the negative when it comes to my job.
There is a great deal of negative, but there is also a plethora of positive.
Everyone I know complains about their job. If work was went to be fun, it would be called super action fun time...but it isn't.
As I left work today, a few of my colleagues explained to me that they read the blog, and one in particular, who I actually trust, pointed out that most of my posts swing toward the negative. She's right.
So I figured I should discuss some of the positive aspects of my work.
Are there negatives? Sure. Every job has them.
So what are the positives? Well, for one, there the students. Each and every one of them brings something interesting to the table. Regardless of how frustrated I get sometimes, I enjoy working with the students. It's the reason I'm a teacher.
It's not the money.
It's not the colleagues.
It's not the actual study of English (though I love the literature we read).
No, it's the students. Today, for example, my fifth hour made me laugh so hard that I had to stop my teaching and laugh. Never really had that happen before in an English class. It was great.
But what about the school and my colleagues?
Yes, I have talked about how there have been problems. Bickering, stupid issues in the building, and more, but through it all there are some things that happen at my building that make me smile.
The members of my department all get along. That sounds like something small, but in reality it's a big deal. Another teacher I know works in the Minneapolis district. In her department in her building, the teachers don't talk to each other. When the department meetings come around, the teachers cordially sit and listen, but there's no passion...no warmth among them. They only see each other as other teachers, not colleagues, not humans. I'm not saying I'm best buddies with everyone in my department, but we talk to each other and are aware of our lives. My colleagues have taken an interest in seeing my young son, for example.
Beyond my department, there are people willing to talk to each other about more than just interdisciplinary issues. I may just be an English teacher, but I talk to many of the Science teachers on a daily basis.
Other positives?
There are teachers that care about the students, but they also care about how the other teachers are doing. It's nice to see. For example, the teacher I spoke to today actually gave me constructive criticism about what I have been writing about on the ole blog. She took the time to explain it to me. Most teachers (some of whom have approached me) instead of talking to me in a practical way instead freak out. Most teachers, however, just talk to me about what I've been writing (and thus help create a community which we're supposed to be working toward).
There's a great deal of school spirit. Every Friday most of the teachers wear our school colors to show they love the school (which means we see a great deal of red).
The teachers, for the most part, know the students' names.
These are just some of the different positive aspects of the school I work at. Again, there are bad days and annoying beauracracy, but that happens everywhere.
I like my job. I do. There are just some days that I feel stressed. The next few days (which are teacher conferences in St. Paul) will be nice.
Of course I'm just a new teacher who, "doesn't get it." I could be wrong.
Namaste.
It was pointed out to me today that I seem to concentrate on the negative when it comes to my job.
There is a great deal of negative, but there is also a plethora of positive.
Everyone I know complains about their job. If work was went to be fun, it would be called super action fun time...but it isn't.
As I left work today, a few of my colleagues explained to me that they read the blog, and one in particular, who I actually trust, pointed out that most of my posts swing toward the negative. She's right.
So I figured I should discuss some of the positive aspects of my work.
Are there negatives? Sure. Every job has them.
So what are the positives? Well, for one, there the students. Each and every one of them brings something interesting to the table. Regardless of how frustrated I get sometimes, I enjoy working with the students. It's the reason I'm a teacher.
It's not the money.
It's not the colleagues.
It's not the actual study of English (though I love the literature we read).
No, it's the students. Today, for example, my fifth hour made me laugh so hard that I had to stop my teaching and laugh. Never really had that happen before in an English class. It was great.
But what about the school and my colleagues?
Yes, I have talked about how there have been problems. Bickering, stupid issues in the building, and more, but through it all there are some things that happen at my building that make me smile.
The members of my department all get along. That sounds like something small, but in reality it's a big deal. Another teacher I know works in the Minneapolis district. In her department in her building, the teachers don't talk to each other. When the department meetings come around, the teachers cordially sit and listen, but there's no passion...no warmth among them. They only see each other as other teachers, not colleagues, not humans. I'm not saying I'm best buddies with everyone in my department, but we talk to each other and are aware of our lives. My colleagues have taken an interest in seeing my young son, for example.
Beyond my department, there are people willing to talk to each other about more than just interdisciplinary issues. I may just be an English teacher, but I talk to many of the Science teachers on a daily basis.
Other positives?
There are teachers that care about the students, but they also care about how the other teachers are doing. It's nice to see. For example, the teacher I spoke to today actually gave me constructive criticism about what I have been writing about on the ole blog. She took the time to explain it to me. Most teachers (some of whom have approached me) instead of talking to me in a practical way instead freak out. Most teachers, however, just talk to me about what I've been writing (and thus help create a community which we're supposed to be working toward).
There's a great deal of school spirit. Every Friday most of the teachers wear our school colors to show they love the school (which means we see a great deal of red).
The teachers, for the most part, know the students' names.
These are just some of the different positive aspects of the school I work at. Again, there are bad days and annoying beauracracy, but that happens everywhere.
I like my job. I do. There are just some days that I feel stressed. The next few days (which are teacher conferences in St. Paul) will be nice.
Of course I'm just a new teacher who, "doesn't get it." I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Ghosts of the Past
Apparently last year's theatre kids came to the school today. I saw only one of them...and that was by chance.
I'll be hiding in the booth....
Don't tell anyone.
Namaste.
I'll be hiding in the booth....
Don't tell anyone.
Namaste.
Grading Time
I love grading time.
The teachers are frustrated by trying to get everything in on time.
The students are worried about the grades and (for a few days) change their behavior in order to hopefully boost them.
Today I had a student bring me food in an attempt to suck up.
"Mr. Leab...I heard you like Starburts, so I bought you a whole bag...for no reason."
Here's how this should really sound:
"Mr. Leab. I'm freaking out about my grade, so I am attempting to bribe you with food in the hopes you will nudge my grade up...and you won't move me."
This student's attempt failed.
As for getting my grades in....Jeez that's hard. We have to use the online grading system, which I hate. I don't trust it. I've put things in before only to find that it wasn't saved. It's annoying.
Then again, it could be worse. Some of my colleagues have talked about times where they had to fill out cards. Card after card of grade that was then turned in so the grades could be sent. That would suck.
I get that the computer is supposed to make it easier, but there are so many steps. Even the manual we get is about the size of War and Peace. Keep it simple, dammit.
And then there are the parents. "You haven't taken into account that my son has (fill in the blank disease or issue). That's why he's failing."
No, he's failing because in six weeks, he's turned in one assignment. Plus, he doesn't listen in class. You want to help, get him to listen.
As a side note, I'd like to welcome all of my students who have stumbled on to/searched for/ taken by force my blog. Let me make it clear to you that it's not that big of a deal, and you can't blackmail me, so don't try it.
Then again what do I know? I'm just the teacher with three bags of Starbursts in his desk....I could be wrong.
Namaste.
The teachers are frustrated by trying to get everything in on time.
The students are worried about the grades and (for a few days) change their behavior in order to hopefully boost them.
Today I had a student bring me food in an attempt to suck up.
"Mr. Leab...I heard you like Starburts, so I bought you a whole bag...for no reason."
Here's how this should really sound:
"Mr. Leab. I'm freaking out about my grade, so I am attempting to bribe you with food in the hopes you will nudge my grade up...and you won't move me."
This student's attempt failed.
As for getting my grades in....Jeez that's hard. We have to use the online grading system, which I hate. I don't trust it. I've put things in before only to find that it wasn't saved. It's annoying.
Then again, it could be worse. Some of my colleagues have talked about times where they had to fill out cards. Card after card of grade that was then turned in so the grades could be sent. That would suck.
I get that the computer is supposed to make it easier, but there are so many steps. Even the manual we get is about the size of War and Peace. Keep it simple, dammit.
And then there are the parents. "You haven't taken into account that my son has (fill in the blank disease or issue). That's why he's failing."
No, he's failing because in six weeks, he's turned in one assignment. Plus, he doesn't listen in class. You want to help, get him to listen.
As a side note, I'd like to welcome all of my students who have stumbled on to/searched for/ taken by force my blog. Let me make it clear to you that it's not that big of a deal, and you can't blackmail me, so don't try it.
Then again what do I know? I'm just the teacher with three bags of Starbursts in his desk....I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (10/13/06)
Friday the 13th. So many people were scared to be out because...bad things happen today. Didn't happen to me.
Oh well.
So, without further ado: YOU CAN'T SEE ME
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An Open Letter to Some Teachers:
Dear fellow teachers from my district,
Thank you so much for telling the teacher of our class the other night not to give us a break. That was brilliant.
No really
I enjoyed feeling my legs fall asleep as I watched that video at the end.
It was even BETTER when we still left at 6:30...even though we were supposed to leave earlier.
Maybe it's because you, oh I don't know, didn't listen to me when I said, "That's a really bad idea."
"Oh, but we could leave early," you whined.
Hey, we all had a long day. Hell...we're all having a long year so far. Thanks for getting our break, our chance to get away from the education setting, taken away.
Maybe it's because you haven't been to many of the classes, but those of us who are veterans understand: They will go until the time is up...always.
Remember that.
You also don't get to complain about not having the break...when you asked to have it canceled.
Idiots....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ESPN Oops:
Tuesday afternoon, while driving over to Maple Grove to pick up my son, I was listening to ESPN Radio when they started talking about Cory Lidle. The sports pundits were going on about he and someone else were dead. Then they cut to Mayor Mike Bloomberg's press conference.
The listeners hear:
"Mayor? Do we know the names of the people who have died?"
Bloomberg responds quickly. "We are not at liberty to release the names of the men who died in the plane crash. I'm not going to do that. Until we have successfully contacted the next of kin, we will not release those names."
The press conference suddenly disappears, and the radio goes silent for five seconds. In life, that's not so much, but in radio, that's a lifetime. You can almost hear the directors, producers, and on-air talent at ESPN thinking, "Oh crap! We've spent the last few minutes talking about this pitcher and how he's dead...and they haven't contacted the next of kin.... His wife doesn't know yet."
After those five seconds, one of the on-air personalities says, "Well...we can only hope that his wife and 6 year old son have already been told of this tragedy, and they are not learning of this from our station or its affiliates."
I think my jaw dropped to the floor of my car.
Could you imagine being Lidle's wife or son and hearing that your significant other/ father (respectively) was dead from a radio station?
Not hearing it from an authority, but from some guy shooting off his mouth about why he hated interviewing the pitcher?
This speaks to two of the problems:
1. There is so much competition now, that they will do anything to get a jump ahead. During Martha Stewart's trial, one of the stations had a guy doing semiform by the court doors. I mean that's insane. I understand the need to hear what's happening, but at what point will we draw the line? Will stations start dropping bugs inside people via food in order to get the scoop? "CNN...reporting live from John Michael Karr's stomach. We'll hear the verdict...FIRST!"
2. Technology has allowed us to be so fast, that thinking has been replaced by the flying of fingers over cell phone or Blackberry keys. A friend of mine told me about being in a car accident, and watching some guy pull out a phone and text someone. Next thing he knew, he was talking to the cop, and the guy who hit him was talking to a reporter.
It's too easy now. If I had DeRusha's cell phone number, I feel confident I could get him to a story quickly if I needed to (this is not a dig on DeRusha. Let me make that clear).
Of course, only about 22.5 million Americans are apparently reading the "new" media, so who cares?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Fox Sports:
Dear Fox Sports,
Please stop cutting away from at-bats during the Mets game to show fans doing things like buying hot dogs. I missed a go-ahead run for the Mets so I could watch John Rubenstein ("lifelong Mets fan") buying and eating a kosher hot dog for the camera. Not cool.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Conferences:
Yesterday was PTC time (Parent/Teacher Conferences). I really don't like conference time, because everyone is on edge. The kids and parents are fretting about the grade, and the teacher is trying to figure out how to break bad news (Yes, it's not a doctor talking about death, but some people flip out...more on that later).
The conferences were good overall.
Predominantly I, once again, saw the kids and parents I DIDN'T need to. I'm glad that the parents that did come out care enough to talk to their kids' teachers, but it's the parents of the kids who are failing that I want to talk to; that I need to talk to during conferences.
Highs and lows:
High: Meeting some of the parents was great. Apparently my students like me (I pay them to say that), and several parents talked about what I was doing or discussed how I was teaching. It was nice.
Low: A parent who was not happy with me not sugarcoating my discussions with the kids. "Do they really need to know there's sex in Romeo and Juliet? Yes.
Low: The parent who asked me not swear in class (this included "Hell"). Seriously? They say and hear worse from adults.
High: Watching a parent cry from hearing about how wonderful her child is. Apparently I was the first teacher to say that her child was something positive. It was a nice moment.
Low: The mother who cried at her child's failing grade.
High: Getting to the end of my line.
Low: Watching parents walk out of my line, because they were tired of waiting. I went as fast as I could.
High: No one exploding and tossing my laptop across the room (this happened one year to another teacher).
Low: The parents who were upset with me telling them, "The conferences are over now. I know you've been waiting, but leave your name, number, and email, and I'll make sure the teacher contacts you. I guess I should explain. As the head of the department, I wanted to check in with my fellow English colleagues that were still there (several left a little early). There was a line at one teachers' station, so I told them they needed to leave an email. The look on the parent's face was told me she was pissed. My colleague knew it as well and decided to be generous. "I'll see her," she told me. So I acquiesed.
It was definitely better than last year, but I admit...I missed the blogging time.
In a few months...round two.
and finally....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Adventures of Frank:
Frank (another teacher) had a student who brought a gun to school. The student somehow got the gun from his father. The reason? Partly due to the recent rash of school shootings as well as due to frustration with staff and fellow students. The student had a gun and a list. The key here isn't the gun, but the list. The list had names of staff and students. Frank's name was on that list. It's not clear if the list was students and staff who were safe or who were targeted. It's scary to think about how a student could choose to kill a teacher or choose to leave him or her be.
We have had a student at my school removed for bringing a fake gun. He wanted to scare students who had picked on him. I just can't imagine.
Then again, what do I know? I'm just a teacher. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Oh well.
So, without further ado: YOU CAN'T SEE ME
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An Open Letter to Some Teachers:
Dear fellow teachers from my district,
Thank you so much for telling the teacher of our class the other night not to give us a break. That was brilliant.
No really
I enjoyed feeling my legs fall asleep as I watched that video at the end.
It was even BETTER when we still left at 6:30...even though we were supposed to leave earlier.
Maybe it's because you, oh I don't know, didn't listen to me when I said, "That's a really bad idea."
"Oh, but we could leave early," you whined.
Hey, we all had a long day. Hell...we're all having a long year so far. Thanks for getting our break, our chance to get away from the education setting, taken away.
Maybe it's because you haven't been to many of the classes, but those of us who are veterans understand: They will go until the time is up...always.
Remember that.
You also don't get to complain about not having the break...when you asked to have it canceled.
Idiots....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ESPN Oops:
Tuesday afternoon, while driving over to Maple Grove to pick up my son, I was listening to ESPN Radio when they started talking about Cory Lidle. The sports pundits were going on about he and someone else were dead. Then they cut to Mayor Mike Bloomberg's press conference.
The listeners hear:
"Mayor? Do we know the names of the people who have died?"
Bloomberg responds quickly. "We are not at liberty to release the names of the men who died in the plane crash. I'm not going to do that. Until we have successfully contacted the next of kin, we will not release those names."
The press conference suddenly disappears, and the radio goes silent for five seconds. In life, that's not so much, but in radio, that's a lifetime. You can almost hear the directors, producers, and on-air talent at ESPN thinking, "Oh crap! We've spent the last few minutes talking about this pitcher and how he's dead...and they haven't contacted the next of kin.... His wife doesn't know yet."
After those five seconds, one of the on-air personalities says, "Well...we can only hope that his wife and 6 year old son have already been told of this tragedy, and they are not learning of this from our station or its affiliates."
I think my jaw dropped to the floor of my car.
Could you imagine being Lidle's wife or son and hearing that your significant other/ father (respectively) was dead from a radio station?
Not hearing it from an authority, but from some guy shooting off his mouth about why he hated interviewing the pitcher?
This speaks to two of the problems:
1. There is so much competition now, that they will do anything to get a jump ahead. During Martha Stewart's trial, one of the stations had a guy doing semiform by the court doors. I mean that's insane. I understand the need to hear what's happening, but at what point will we draw the line? Will stations start dropping bugs inside people via food in order to get the scoop? "CNN...reporting live from John Michael Karr's stomach. We'll hear the verdict...FIRST!"
2. Technology has allowed us to be so fast, that thinking has been replaced by the flying of fingers over cell phone or Blackberry keys. A friend of mine told me about being in a car accident, and watching some guy pull out a phone and text someone. Next thing he knew, he was talking to the cop, and the guy who hit him was talking to a reporter.
It's too easy now. If I had DeRusha's cell phone number, I feel confident I could get him to a story quickly if I needed to (this is not a dig on DeRusha. Let me make that clear).
Of course, only about 22.5 million Americans are apparently reading the "new" media, so who cares?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Fox Sports:
Dear Fox Sports,
Please stop cutting away from at-bats during the Mets game to show fans doing things like buying hot dogs. I missed a go-ahead run for the Mets so I could watch John Rubenstein ("lifelong Mets fan") buying and eating a kosher hot dog for the camera. Not cool.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Conferences:
Yesterday was PTC time (Parent/Teacher Conferences). I really don't like conference time, because everyone is on edge. The kids and parents are fretting about the grade, and the teacher is trying to figure out how to break bad news (Yes, it's not a doctor talking about death, but some people flip out...more on that later).
The conferences were good overall.
Predominantly I, once again, saw the kids and parents I DIDN'T need to. I'm glad that the parents that did come out care enough to talk to their kids' teachers, but it's the parents of the kids who are failing that I want to talk to; that I need to talk to during conferences.
Highs and lows:
High: Meeting some of the parents was great. Apparently my students like me (I pay them to say that), and several parents talked about what I was doing or discussed how I was teaching. It was nice.
Low: A parent who was not happy with me not sugarcoating my discussions with the kids. "Do they really need to know there's sex in Romeo and Juliet? Yes.
Low: The parent who asked me not swear in class (this included "Hell"). Seriously? They say and hear worse from adults.
High: Watching a parent cry from hearing about how wonderful her child is. Apparently I was the first teacher to say that her child was something positive. It was a nice moment.
Low: The mother who cried at her child's failing grade.
High: Getting to the end of my line.
Low: Watching parents walk out of my line, because they were tired of waiting. I went as fast as I could.
High: No one exploding and tossing my laptop across the room (this happened one year to another teacher).
Low: The parents who were upset with me telling them, "The conferences are over now. I know you've been waiting, but leave your name, number, and email, and I'll make sure the teacher contacts you. I guess I should explain. As the head of the department, I wanted to check in with my fellow English colleagues that were still there (several left a little early). There was a line at one teachers' station, so I told them they needed to leave an email. The look on the parent's face was told me she was pissed. My colleague knew it as well and decided to be generous. "I'll see her," she told me. So I acquiesed.
It was definitely better than last year, but I admit...I missed the blogging time.
In a few months...round two.
and finally....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Adventures of Frank:
Frank (another teacher) had a student who brought a gun to school. The student somehow got the gun from his father. The reason? Partly due to the recent rash of school shootings as well as due to frustration with staff and fellow students. The student had a gun and a list. The key here isn't the gun, but the list. The list had names of staff and students. Frank's name was on that list. It's not clear if the list was students and staff who were safe or who were targeted. It's scary to think about how a student could choose to kill a teacher or choose to leave him or her be.
We have had a student at my school removed for bringing a fake gun. He wanted to scare students who had picked on him. I just can't imagine.
Then again, what do I know? I'm just a teacher. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (10/06/06)
The end of a long week.
Let's get to it.
So, without further ado: WIIIILLLLIIEEE!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hockey's Back (06 Edition):
My wife and I are still season ticket holders for The Minnesota Wild. Last night was the first regular season game of the new season, and boy was it fun. Not because of the team, but because it was my son's first ever Hockey game. Here he is at the tender age of 15 weeks (and how cool is it that I can still use "weeks" instead of "months" or "years" to describe his age?), and he was loving it!
He never cried once. When the horn went off, we, of course, covered his ears to protect them. He also made my wife very happy as he frowned when Mike Schmidt hit the higher note during the National Anthem.
The Wild won the game in overtime...but the Leab family had already left. The game started late due to all the pregame hoopla, so we left just after the third period started. By the time we got home, I was able to catch the game-winning goal AND then see the Mets beat the Dodgers (Go METS!). It was definitely exciting, but I freely admit that I spent more time staring at my son watching the game then the actual game.
Other notes from the game:
Will got his picture taken at the game. Unfortunately for us, the woman who did had never used a digital camera...ever. She hit the button and moved at the same time.
The "Let's Play Hockey" moment was done sans swearing, unlike last year, because the person chosen was a soldier who returned from The Middle East. The only aspect I didn't like was how the announcer told this whole story about how this soldier (or Sargeant) returned from a fire fight to one of the tents to relax, and the Armed Forces Network was showing a Wild game...and happened to show his dad. It's a great story, but it was delivered as if Jesus himself turned the TV just so this soldier could see it. I can't explain it better than that. It wasn't magic, just coincidence.
Anyway, he did a good job, but he was followed around the rest of the night by these drunk guys who kept taking pictures with him. You could see it in his eyes: he REALLY wanted to punch the hell out of them.
The food prices are insane now. I needed to buy a bottle of water so Little Leab could eat. It was four dollars for a small bottle. I couldn't do it. I went to the bar instead and asked the bartender (holding up a picture of my son) for water so I could make formula. She was sympathetic and gave me the water (slightly warm as well) for free.
The moment of the night came between the first and second period. As one of the on-ice attendants (or staff) was shuffling off, he hit a divet and fell backwards. His head hit the ice so hard that we could hear it on the second level. He was down for a few seconds. My wife, who witnessed the whole thing (I was getting the water), said that he was woozy when got up. You hate to see it, but it is schadenfreude (taking pleasure from other people's pain).
Little Leab was beloved by every single person around him. The couple in front of us talked about their one year old (who was at home asleep). They also marveled at the fact that Poozer was on my lap hanging out in the sling with no problems. The woman REALLY wanted the sling.
The couple behind us talked about how much they missed having their kids at Poozer's age (there's were three and five and very moody). One woman sitting three rows in front of us asked if she could "borrow" Little Leab so she could "hopefully get on the big screen." See, she thought that he was SO cute, so he'd have to be put on the screen. Suffice to say...we did not lend him out.
The low point of the night came when I ran into a student of mine who works at the Xcel Energy Center. He explained to me he was going to be expelled after being accused of stealing a purse (I advocated for him as he couldn't have done it, because he was in my classroom at the time of the crime. Apparently that didn't matter). I was pissed after he told me that. This is a kid that is only 18, has been through rehab, and who I have been working with on a daily basis to help graduate. Has he made mistakes in the past? Yes. Many of them, but this time he didn't do it. That's being ignored, however, as the girl says she has friends who will back her story up. I guess three high school students are more trustworthy than a teacher....
I also didn't get my free calendar as the boxes hadn't arrived as we were leaving. DisapPOINTED!
This will not be the last game I attend, but I must admit that both my wife and I were surprised at how well Little Leab took to this. He was asleep when the Wild scored the first goal. The horn went off, and he opened his eyes, looked around, and then fell back asleep.
Hockey's back. Everyone rejoice.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Education Rant:
(This is going to be slightly vitriolic, so Katie Couric...you may not want to read.)
Sometimes teachers act like the students they teach. I know this blog is read by my students, by my colleagues, by other teachers, and possibly some administrators.
My school is, in my opinion, a powderkeg.
The teachers are all on edge right now trying to deal with the new schedules and time constraints.
The students are having a hard time dealing with all the homework being thrust upon them.
The administrators and the teachers are dealing with angry parents and angry students.
Then, hanging over everyone, is the damn referendum, which we are reminded of every fifteen minutes now. If one more person comes to me and says, "Hey, did you know that you're going to lose your job if it doesn't pass," I may have to hurt someone.
There's a great deal of pressure that everyone is feeling right now, so the last thing we need is for the staff to turn into cliques like the high school students and for petty arguements to start now.
I look at my colleagues who look haggard right now. You can see it in their eyes. The English teachers leave every night with stacks of work, and there are some teachers leaving with almost nothing. There's a disparity, that's true, but it doesn't help that the ones leaving with nothing are complaining.
I watched two teachers have the most petty argument today over who should be allowed to make copies first. I'm worried that the pressure that's increasing in the building is going to push teachers to points of no return...or worse yet...quitting.
A teacher, who I won't name, had the guts to explain to a class how I was a bad teacher. This is to students. "Leab is a horrible teacher," was one quote. Several of the students who were in my class came to me and told me this. When confronted, the teacher denied it, but other teachers verified that this teacher (yes, this is really bad grammar, but identities will not be shared) had ripped the whole year in the teacher's lounge. How does that foster a community?
Yesterday I sat in a meeting and watched my colleagues meltdown. I saw finger pointing, I saw angry shouting, and I saw a person almost burst into tears (thus backing up the whole "pressure" point I've been talking about here). Now I am very good at leaving work at work and home at home, but this went with me. I had to vent...for a long time...to multiple people. That's how angry I was.
Today I went to the teacher who almost broke down and tried to talk about what happened. I was met with stiff resistance. The question was asked, "Are you ok?"
The response to me was, "Yeah..fine," in a very terse manner.
"No really," I continued, "Are you ok?"
"Fine." Very cold, very impersonal. I am now on this person's shit list. I didn't argue, however, and I didn't push it.
I may be a caustic prick, but I work hard to keep decorum. When I was cut off at the last staff meeting, I rolled with it and sent an email. When I was told I would (probably) lose my job, I rolled with it, and started thinking about back-up plans.
But when I was told that I don't do enough for the students, that's when I get angry. I hate doing this, but this is for my colleague who said that I, "don't care enough."
1. I currently advise two clubs for free. Anime Club and Video Game Club. Are they the best clubs ever? No, but the students get the chance to bond, and I have grading time. This winter I will be adding a third club (again for free) in the form of Knitting Club. Why? Because the students need someone to adivse them, and this allows them to meet and to deflate after a hard week. Beyond that, I have been asked to start a German club so students can learn German (because it is no longer taught at my school).
2. I do all the technical theatre work for the school for free. Beyond that, all of the tools in the shop are tools that I bought with my own money and donated so the kids would have the necessary equipment to build sets. When I say all the technical theatre work, I mean it. I have been called in to help with anything that comes through the building. I'm the only person in that building with a working knowledge of the light board in terms of how to fix it and how to work it. I am the only one who can fix (though against union rules) the electrical issues.
3. I am now the chair of my department, and though it is actually a "Co-chair" position, I am the one doing the work. The "Co-chair" is there so that if I am not listened to, he will be. As such, I have been checking in with each member of my department during the week to make sure he or she is doing ok and to find out what I can do to help. I have even approached the principal about the fact that some of us are feeling a wee bit "crispy" right now, and we could use some positive reinforcement.
4. I know each of my students' names and talk to them almost everyday. I stay after school sometimes just to talk to the kids. To find out how they are and how I can help.
My advisees are also a priority. I check their grades constantly, talk to their teachers, and check in with the kids constantly.
5. I have never given up on a kid. Last year, I taught a kid to read a clock. He was a sophomore in high school and could not read a clock. I taught him how to do it. When he came to me about wanting to drop out and just have kids, I talked him about why he needs to finish high school first. When he got in trouble with certain teachers, I made sure to back him up.
I may be the guy who takes your cell phone and keeps the battery, but I'm also the guy who argues for you not to be suspended, because I know that means you won't be learning from me, and that makes both our lives difficult.
Say what you will. You can rip all you want when I'm not in the teacher's lounge (which is all the time. I refuse to go in there, because it's a haven for negativity). You can talk about the fact that more and more of my advisees are leaving the school. I don't care.
I took this job and this life, because of the students. I don't show up to work for my colleagues. I do it for the kids.
If you give me a compliment about my teaching, thanks, but that's nothing to listening to Senior learn from my advice. That's nothing to watching a student understand what I'm getting at about life.
To my students reading this, that's what I'm getting at everyday in class. It's not about the material in a rote sense. It's about you getting the tools to function in everyday life. Romeo and Juliet? They were impulsive. They didn't think things through before acting. You can say that would never be you, but look closer at your choices.
Why did I have a whole conversation about "love" with you? Because the word is so misused by the people your age that it's sickening in some ways.
And yes, it's also to challenge you. I will say and do things that other teachers won't, because you need that challenge.
And to you my colleagues, you need to challenge them on that. If a student says, "I hate George Bush," call them on it. "Why?"
Make sure they have a real reason beyond trying to fit the mainstream or just think they way their parents do.
That's our job.
And don't ever question my commitment to the kids. I may bitch, but I show up everyday ready to go.
And to my freshmen, one key piece of advice:
You don't know the world.
You don't know everything.
Don't try to act with me like you do. I've been through and seen more than you have just by the fact that I have lived longer. If you try to act superior to me, I'll bury you. I've done it before, and I know I'll have to do it again.
I don't mind joking with you, but there is a line.
Never forget: I am not your friend.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Senoritis Stopped?:
The University of Washington is trying to stop Senoritis. The gist of the article, for those who don't like to read (and why are looking at my blog then?), is the school recinded several students' admissions to school, because their second semester grades went waaaaaay down. Now personally I would love to cop out and say that this is great...because it didn't happen to me (I had Junioritis, folks), but the real answer is that this IS a good thing.
Last year, I watched so many seniors try to just coast there way out. One kid I knew got a 1 (the equivalent of a D) during his final semester. He had already made it into college, so why did he need to care anymore?
Are there downsides? Of course. The one kid not finiding out until after registration? That's horrible. Get it done earlier. Still, this is not limited to only the state of Washington. Apparently Minnesota is thinking about doing this at U of M.
Again, I slacked (sort of) my Senior year of high school. I took English and Theatre electives my second semester.
It was worse in college. I only stayed for my wife, so I had two classes. One with 8 students, the other with one (yup, just me).
So remember, dear reader, that big brother (in the form of colleges) is always watching.
Then again what do I know? I managed to pass my classes even though I wanted to get the hell away from my school. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Let's get to it.
So, without further ado: WIIIILLLLIIEEE!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hockey's Back (06 Edition):
My wife and I are still season ticket holders for The Minnesota Wild. Last night was the first regular season game of the new season, and boy was it fun. Not because of the team, but because it was my son's first ever Hockey game. Here he is at the tender age of 15 weeks (and how cool is it that I can still use "weeks" instead of "months" or "years" to describe his age?), and he was loving it!
He never cried once. When the horn went off, we, of course, covered his ears to protect them. He also made my wife very happy as he frowned when Mike Schmidt hit the higher note during the National Anthem.
The Wild won the game in overtime...but the Leab family had already left. The game started late due to all the pregame hoopla, so we left just after the third period started. By the time we got home, I was able to catch the game-winning goal AND then see the Mets beat the Dodgers (Go METS!). It was definitely exciting, but I freely admit that I spent more time staring at my son watching the game then the actual game.
Other notes from the game:
Will got his picture taken at the game. Unfortunately for us, the woman who did had never used a digital camera...ever. She hit the button and moved at the same time.
The "Let's Play Hockey" moment was done sans swearing, unlike last year, because the person chosen was a soldier who returned from The Middle East. The only aspect I didn't like was how the announcer told this whole story about how this soldier (or Sargeant) returned from a fire fight to one of the tents to relax, and the Armed Forces Network was showing a Wild game...and happened to show his dad. It's a great story, but it was delivered as if Jesus himself turned the TV just so this soldier could see it. I can't explain it better than that. It wasn't magic, just coincidence.
Anyway, he did a good job, but he was followed around the rest of the night by these drunk guys who kept taking pictures with him. You could see it in his eyes: he REALLY wanted to punch the hell out of them.
The food prices are insane now. I needed to buy a bottle of water so Little Leab could eat. It was four dollars for a small bottle. I couldn't do it. I went to the bar instead and asked the bartender (holding up a picture of my son) for water so I could make formula. She was sympathetic and gave me the water (slightly warm as well) for free.
The moment of the night came between the first and second period. As one of the on-ice attendants (or staff) was shuffling off, he hit a divet and fell backwards. His head hit the ice so hard that we could hear it on the second level. He was down for a few seconds. My wife, who witnessed the whole thing (I was getting the water), said that he was woozy when got up. You hate to see it, but it is schadenfreude (taking pleasure from other people's pain).
Little Leab was beloved by every single person around him. The couple in front of us talked about their one year old (who was at home asleep). They also marveled at the fact that Poozer was on my lap hanging out in the sling with no problems. The woman REALLY wanted the sling.
The couple behind us talked about how much they missed having their kids at Poozer's age (there's were three and five and very moody). One woman sitting three rows in front of us asked if she could "borrow" Little Leab so she could "hopefully get on the big screen." See, she thought that he was SO cute, so he'd have to be put on the screen. Suffice to say...we did not lend him out.
The low point of the night came when I ran into a student of mine who works at the Xcel Energy Center. He explained to me he was going to be expelled after being accused of stealing a purse (I advocated for him as he couldn't have done it, because he was in my classroom at the time of the crime. Apparently that didn't matter). I was pissed after he told me that. This is a kid that is only 18, has been through rehab, and who I have been working with on a daily basis to help graduate. Has he made mistakes in the past? Yes. Many of them, but this time he didn't do it. That's being ignored, however, as the girl says she has friends who will back her story up. I guess three high school students are more trustworthy than a teacher....
I also didn't get my free calendar as the boxes hadn't arrived as we were leaving. DisapPOINTED!
This will not be the last game I attend, but I must admit that both my wife and I were surprised at how well Little Leab took to this. He was asleep when the Wild scored the first goal. The horn went off, and he opened his eyes, looked around, and then fell back asleep.
Hockey's back. Everyone rejoice.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Education Rant:
(This is going to be slightly vitriolic, so Katie Couric...you may not want to read.)
Sometimes teachers act like the students they teach. I know this blog is read by my students, by my colleagues, by other teachers, and possibly some administrators.
My school is, in my opinion, a powderkeg.
The teachers are all on edge right now trying to deal with the new schedules and time constraints.
The students are having a hard time dealing with all the homework being thrust upon them.
The administrators and the teachers are dealing with angry parents and angry students.
Then, hanging over everyone, is the damn referendum, which we are reminded of every fifteen minutes now. If one more person comes to me and says, "Hey, did you know that you're going to lose your job if it doesn't pass," I may have to hurt someone.
There's a great deal of pressure that everyone is feeling right now, so the last thing we need is for the staff to turn into cliques like the high school students and for petty arguements to start now.
I look at my colleagues who look haggard right now. You can see it in their eyes. The English teachers leave every night with stacks of work, and there are some teachers leaving with almost nothing. There's a disparity, that's true, but it doesn't help that the ones leaving with nothing are complaining.
I watched two teachers have the most petty argument today over who should be allowed to make copies first. I'm worried that the pressure that's increasing in the building is going to push teachers to points of no return...or worse yet...quitting.
A teacher, who I won't name, had the guts to explain to a class how I was a bad teacher. This is to students. "Leab is a horrible teacher," was one quote. Several of the students who were in my class came to me and told me this. When confronted, the teacher denied it, but other teachers verified that this teacher (yes, this is really bad grammar, but identities will not be shared) had ripped the whole year in the teacher's lounge. How does that foster a community?
Yesterday I sat in a meeting and watched my colleagues meltdown. I saw finger pointing, I saw angry shouting, and I saw a person almost burst into tears (thus backing up the whole "pressure" point I've been talking about here). Now I am very good at leaving work at work and home at home, but this went with me. I had to vent...for a long time...to multiple people. That's how angry I was.
Today I went to the teacher who almost broke down and tried to talk about what happened. I was met with stiff resistance. The question was asked, "Are you ok?"
The response to me was, "Yeah..fine," in a very terse manner.
"No really," I continued, "Are you ok?"
"Fine." Very cold, very impersonal. I am now on this person's shit list. I didn't argue, however, and I didn't push it.
I may be a caustic prick, but I work hard to keep decorum. When I was cut off at the last staff meeting, I rolled with it and sent an email. When I was told I would (probably) lose my job, I rolled with it, and started thinking about back-up plans.
But when I was told that I don't do enough for the students, that's when I get angry. I hate doing this, but this is for my colleague who said that I, "don't care enough."
1. I currently advise two clubs for free. Anime Club and Video Game Club. Are they the best clubs ever? No, but the students get the chance to bond, and I have grading time. This winter I will be adding a third club (again for free) in the form of Knitting Club. Why? Because the students need someone to adivse them, and this allows them to meet and to deflate after a hard week. Beyond that, I have been asked to start a German club so students can learn German (because it is no longer taught at my school).
2. I do all the technical theatre work for the school for free. Beyond that, all of the tools in the shop are tools that I bought with my own money and donated so the kids would have the necessary equipment to build sets. When I say all the technical theatre work, I mean it. I have been called in to help with anything that comes through the building. I'm the only person in that building with a working knowledge of the light board in terms of how to fix it and how to work it. I am the only one who can fix (though against union rules) the electrical issues.
3. I am now the chair of my department, and though it is actually a "Co-chair" position, I am the one doing the work. The "Co-chair" is there so that if I am not listened to, he will be. As such, I have been checking in with each member of my department during the week to make sure he or she is doing ok and to find out what I can do to help. I have even approached the principal about the fact that some of us are feeling a wee bit "crispy" right now, and we could use some positive reinforcement.
4. I know each of my students' names and talk to them almost everyday. I stay after school sometimes just to talk to the kids. To find out how they are and how I can help.
My advisees are also a priority. I check their grades constantly, talk to their teachers, and check in with the kids constantly.
5. I have never given up on a kid. Last year, I taught a kid to read a clock. He was a sophomore in high school and could not read a clock. I taught him how to do it. When he came to me about wanting to drop out and just have kids, I talked him about why he needs to finish high school first. When he got in trouble with certain teachers, I made sure to back him up.
I may be the guy who takes your cell phone and keeps the battery, but I'm also the guy who argues for you not to be suspended, because I know that means you won't be learning from me, and that makes both our lives difficult.
Say what you will. You can rip all you want when I'm not in the teacher's lounge (which is all the time. I refuse to go in there, because it's a haven for negativity). You can talk about the fact that more and more of my advisees are leaving the school. I don't care.
I took this job and this life, because of the students. I don't show up to work for my colleagues. I do it for the kids.
If you give me a compliment about my teaching, thanks, but that's nothing to listening to Senior learn from my advice. That's nothing to watching a student understand what I'm getting at about life.
To my students reading this, that's what I'm getting at everyday in class. It's not about the material in a rote sense. It's about you getting the tools to function in everyday life. Romeo and Juliet? They were impulsive. They didn't think things through before acting. You can say that would never be you, but look closer at your choices.
Why did I have a whole conversation about "love" with you? Because the word is so misused by the people your age that it's sickening in some ways.
And yes, it's also to challenge you. I will say and do things that other teachers won't, because you need that challenge.
And to you my colleagues, you need to challenge them on that. If a student says, "I hate George Bush," call them on it. "Why?"
Make sure they have a real reason beyond trying to fit the mainstream or just think they way their parents do.
That's our job.
And don't ever question my commitment to the kids. I may bitch, but I show up everyday ready to go.
And to my freshmen, one key piece of advice:
You don't know the world.
You don't know everything.
Don't try to act with me like you do. I've been through and seen more than you have just by the fact that I have lived longer. If you try to act superior to me, I'll bury you. I've done it before, and I know I'll have to do it again.
I don't mind joking with you, but there is a line.
Never forget: I am not your friend.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Senoritis Stopped?:
The University of Washington is trying to stop Senoritis. The gist of the article, for those who don't like to read (and why are looking at my blog then?), is the school recinded several students' admissions to school, because their second semester grades went waaaaaay down. Now personally I would love to cop out and say that this is great...because it didn't happen to me (I had Junioritis, folks), but the real answer is that this IS a good thing.
Last year, I watched so many seniors try to just coast there way out. One kid I knew got a 1 (the equivalent of a D) during his final semester. He had already made it into college, so why did he need to care anymore?
Are there downsides? Of course. The one kid not finiding out until after registration? That's horrible. Get it done earlier. Still, this is not limited to only the state of Washington. Apparently Minnesota is thinking about doing this at U of M.
Again, I slacked (sort of) my Senior year of high school. I took English and Theatre electives my second semester.
It was worse in college. I only stayed for my wife, so I had two classes. One with 8 students, the other with one (yup, just me).
So remember, dear reader, that big brother (in the form of colleges) is always watching.
Then again what do I know? I managed to pass my classes even though I wanted to get the hell away from my school. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (10/01/06)
Highs and lows.
Life is essentially made of those.
Everyday has, in some way, highs and lows.
You get the idea.
So, without further ado: HOP TO THE LEFT!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Wee One and his New Friend:
My wife, my son, and I were fortunate enough to have a professional photographer come to our home today to take some fabulous photos of Poozer.
Margaret came out to Robbinsdale (a FAR CRY from Minneapolis). This is the first time I have met a fellow blogger. A person who I felt I knew pretty well, but had never met in the flesh before today.
It was fantastic. Little Leab was his usual cute self, and the weather actually stayed nice enough so we could take pictures outside.
Margaret was great. Here I was expecting a quick trip out, and she ended up staying for two hours. Never once rolled her eyes or anything. It showed incredible patience.
I was also very happy with how my cats acted. Very polite.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Homecoming:
Tonight was the Homecoming Dance at my school.
Times have changed since I was in high school. First of all, there were cops. My school did not have cops walking the floor, my school didn't have to have the students patted down, and my school certainly had more men working the dance (including myself, there were two).
I ended up working the door most of the night. Why? Well, for one they wanted a guy up front, and the other reason is that I know almost all the kids' names. So there I stood, side by side with a cop, for most of the night.
At one point, however, I ended up on the dance floor to check and make sure the kids were dancing "appropriately." If we saw kids grinding and such, we were to separate them and shine a light on them. I brought my own: a lovely halogen flashlight that blinds. Cops love it.
Of course there were kids who danced inappropriately. We warned them not to, so they can't complain about us making them leave.
There were two very fascinating points on the night, however.
1. As soon as ten hit, the faculty bolted. They got the kids out, and then left. I was the last one to leave. Why? Well, I helped the DJ pack up his stuff, and I stayed while the last few kids waited for their parents. We couldn't leave them there alone, could we?
2. My principal has no idea about my life. She and I get along very well. Hell, she stole my wallet photo of my kid from me yesterday, because she finds him so darn cute.
In the course of our talking tonight, she really had no idea that I:
Couldn't hear last week.
Drive a half an hour each way everyday to and from work.
That I was closer to 30 than 20.
These are just examples. She then proceeded to utterly depress me by telling me that if the referendum does not pass in St. Paul, she will be forced to release teachers. MANY teachers. Then she made an indication toward me.
As for the rest of my colleagues, they were all bored. No one smiled.
There's a group of kids who like to tell me that I'm the best teacher in the school. I know they're wrong. There are many teachers much better than me, but the idea, I think, is not that I educate them so well (though I try). No, the idea is I am available and willing to talk. I stay late to talk to students. I work with multiple clubs. I say,"hello," to everybody. Not all the faculty do.
Back to the point.
When I was in high school, the Homecoming dance was a great deal more formal. The faculty and the students worked to look gooood. I didn't get that sense from many of the kids tonight.
Again, I go back to the cops. We didn't have police officers trolling the grounds and walking the gym in order to keep the peace.
And a little tip for the students who I know read this: When the dance starts at 7, and the ticket says no one gets in an hour after the start, don't show up after an hour. We won't let you in no matter how much you beg or what sob story you tell.
When all was said and done, I had a nice, quiet drive home, which led to...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Late Night Groceries:
On my way home, I decided that my wife and son would already be asleep, so I would make her life a little easier and pick up groceries. I stopped at the Byerly's in Golden Valley.
It was 11 PM, but the place was dead. I walked the aisles whistling to myself. What fascinated me was the cop who kept watching me as I shopped. Maybe it was because I was whistling. I don't know.
It's also amazing to me how peoples' demeanors change. No one was angry or quiet. As I whistled near another patron, he joined in.
When I checked out at the register, I bagged my own groceries and discussed the Twins with the cashier.
I even bagged the next's guys groceries, because it was only one bag's worth. He and I discussed Spanish cheeses as we walked out.
It's so different shopping in the dead of night.
Kind of nice.
Only problem is that I have no clue if I bought everything that my wife and I needed. I guess I'll know once morning comes.
That's it for me; I'm out.
Namaste.
Life is essentially made of those.
Everyday has, in some way, highs and lows.
You get the idea.
So, without further ado: HOP TO THE LEFT!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Wee One and his New Friend:
My wife, my son, and I were fortunate enough to have a professional photographer come to our home today to take some fabulous photos of Poozer.
Margaret came out to Robbinsdale (a FAR CRY from Minneapolis). This is the first time I have met a fellow blogger. A person who I felt I knew pretty well, but had never met in the flesh before today.
It was fantastic. Little Leab was his usual cute self, and the weather actually stayed nice enough so we could take pictures outside.
Margaret was great. Here I was expecting a quick trip out, and she ended up staying for two hours. Never once rolled her eyes or anything. It showed incredible patience.
I was also very happy with how my cats acted. Very polite.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Homecoming:
Tonight was the Homecoming Dance at my school.
Times have changed since I was in high school. First of all, there were cops. My school did not have cops walking the floor, my school didn't have to have the students patted down, and my school certainly had more men working the dance (including myself, there were two).
I ended up working the door most of the night. Why? Well, for one they wanted a guy up front, and the other reason is that I know almost all the kids' names. So there I stood, side by side with a cop, for most of the night.
At one point, however, I ended up on the dance floor to check and make sure the kids were dancing "appropriately." If we saw kids grinding and such, we were to separate them and shine a light on them. I brought my own: a lovely halogen flashlight that blinds. Cops love it.
Of course there were kids who danced inappropriately. We warned them not to, so they can't complain about us making them leave.
There were two very fascinating points on the night, however.
1. As soon as ten hit, the faculty bolted. They got the kids out, and then left. I was the last one to leave. Why? Well, I helped the DJ pack up his stuff, and I stayed while the last few kids waited for their parents. We couldn't leave them there alone, could we?
2. My principal has no idea about my life. She and I get along very well. Hell, she stole my wallet photo of my kid from me yesterday, because she finds him so darn cute.
In the course of our talking tonight, she really had no idea that I:
Couldn't hear last week.
Drive a half an hour each way everyday to and from work.
That I was closer to 30 than 20.
These are just examples. She then proceeded to utterly depress me by telling me that if the referendum does not pass in St. Paul, she will be forced to release teachers. MANY teachers. Then she made an indication toward me.
As for the rest of my colleagues, they were all bored. No one smiled.
There's a group of kids who like to tell me that I'm the best teacher in the school. I know they're wrong. There are many teachers much better than me, but the idea, I think, is not that I educate them so well (though I try). No, the idea is I am available and willing to talk. I stay late to talk to students. I work with multiple clubs. I say,"hello," to everybody. Not all the faculty do.
Back to the point.
When I was in high school, the Homecoming dance was a great deal more formal. The faculty and the students worked to look gooood. I didn't get that sense from many of the kids tonight.
Again, I go back to the cops. We didn't have police officers trolling the grounds and walking the gym in order to keep the peace.
And a little tip for the students who I know read this: When the dance starts at 7, and the ticket says no one gets in an hour after the start, don't show up after an hour. We won't let you in no matter how much you beg or what sob story you tell.
When all was said and done, I had a nice, quiet drive home, which led to...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Late Night Groceries:
On my way home, I decided that my wife and son would already be asleep, so I would make her life a little easier and pick up groceries. I stopped at the Byerly's in Golden Valley.
It was 11 PM, but the place was dead. I walked the aisles whistling to myself. What fascinated me was the cop who kept watching me as I shopped. Maybe it was because I was whistling. I don't know.
It's also amazing to me how peoples' demeanors change. No one was angry or quiet. As I whistled near another patron, he joined in.
When I checked out at the register, I bagged my own groceries and discussed the Twins with the cashier.
I even bagged the next's guys groceries, because it was only one bag's worth. He and I discussed Spanish cheeses as we walked out.
It's so different shopping in the dead of night.
Kind of nice.
Only problem is that I have no clue if I bought everything that my wife and I needed. I guess I'll know once morning comes.
That's it for me; I'm out.
Namaste.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Service with a Groan
When did it become ok for people to put down servers and counter clerks?
Seriously? When did it become ok for ANYONE to be put down?
I went to Panera Bread tonight to pick up some dinner for my wife. We forgot to defrost dinner last night...oops.
So I have this couple in front of me. The guy is a wannabe goomba. I say wannabe because he can't pull it off.
His girlfriend, who is standing with him, is one of those gals that thinks she's still 17 and in high school, even though she's in her 30's. How do I know? She's wearing low cut jeans, a shirt that's a little too high in some place and low in others, and a "Hollister" jacket. From the moment I got in line behind these people, I could sense trouble.
Though it was a rough week, I was actually in a better than average mood, and when I feel good, I whistle. Not really loud, but I whistle just the same. The tune in my head was "Something Stupid" by Sinatra.
Again, this is a low whistling, ok? Not the kind that everyone in the place can here. It's barely audible. Yet, as the guy in front of me is ordering, his girlfriend turns and stares at me.
Being the pleasant person I am, I nod a hello.
It is not returned.
"All right, I want a Smokehouse Turkey Sandwich...and soup...Chicken Noodle. She wants the Fuji Apple Chicken Salad. That's it."
The kid behind the counter starts ringing it up.
"What side do you want, sir?"
"I want a sourdough roll."
"We're out, sir. Sorry."
"What the hell?!" This is yelled loud enough that people on the other end of the restaurant turn and stare. "How can you be out?!"
"We sold out, sir."
"I want money off then. I'm not getting what I want!"
The manager sees this and comes over to talk to the guy. They go aside.
I order. I make it a point to be nice. This person is doing me a service. Sure, they're paid, but I figure they are still doing a service, so I have no reason to be mean to them.
I ask the kid, "Are you ok?"
"Yes. Thanks for asking."
"No problem. No one has the right to act that way."
What I don't see is Wannabe and his girlfriend are standing right there staring at me. I pretend not to notice.
After finishing, I have to walk right by them. Wannabe decides to stand in the way. However, being the navigator of hallways, I easily move around him.
Here's where it gets fun.
Wannabe follows me and keeps staring at me.
I stand by the counter waiting to be called by name, and I look over at Wannabe and his girlfriend.
Both of them stare at me, so again, I nod.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Wannabe asks.
"Excuse me?" I reply.
Thinking I'm stupid (or he's funny), I am told, "What...the...hell...are...you...looking...at?"
"Just looking at my surroundings."
"Mind your own business next time."
"Don't make it everyone's business, then," I reply without hesitation.
"Fuck you," Hollister Girl says.
"Nice," I reply, "Very mature."
"What'd you say to my girl?" Wannabe says while striking the look at me flex pose.
"Jesus Christ," I say under my breath. "I said your girlfriend is too old to look that way, and you need to stop posturing. Oh, and you need to treat the people who work here better." And with that, I turned and got some water.
Obviously two things happened here. The first was that I realized after speaking that I needed to shut the fuck up. The second was that Wannabe and Girl were obviously not prepared for what I said.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Wannabe asks.
It's Friday. I've been through Homecoming week. I'm tired, and my ears aren't 100% yet, so I really don't want to deal with this.
"Look. Shut up. You talked down at Kyle over there. He's new (Didn't you see the trainee badge). No one has the right to act that way. So just shut up or hit me or whatever. I don't care."
Again, this was not expected. Wannabe and girl just stare. The manager, who is behind the counter serving the food, just stares. The other patrons stare. I felt like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Funny enough, Wannabe's food came up. They call his name. He grabs the bag, turns to me and says, "Go FUCK yourself, Jizzbag," and starts to walk out. Again, I couldn't keep my mouth shut.
"Have a nice day. Oh, and remember, that feeling in your ass? Probably you head."
I get the bird from each of them. I resist the temptation to bite my thumb at them.
The manager is quiet, and then says, "Thanks for sticking up for Kyle, but don't do that again or you'll be asked to leave."
"I understand. That's fine. He just had no right to be an asshole."
What has happened that we are now ok with people being dumped on? I imagine that no one had ever told this guy to that. I also imagine that he's the kind of guy who gets a 100 dollar tab and still tips two bucks.
We treat each other so badly. I saw it today at the high school. I expect that kids will talk down to each other, but there seems to be no boundaries anymore. Of course this also happens with colleagues.
I remember seeing an usher at the local movie theater be berated because he asked to see someone's ticket. Rather than waste the time by screaming and jumping up and down like a toddler, just get the damn ticket out.
Remember, these people are just trying to earn a living.
Be kind.
Namaste.
Seriously? When did it become ok for ANYONE to be put down?
I went to Panera Bread tonight to pick up some dinner for my wife. We forgot to defrost dinner last night...oops.
So I have this couple in front of me. The guy is a wannabe goomba. I say wannabe because he can't pull it off.
His girlfriend, who is standing with him, is one of those gals that thinks she's still 17 and in high school, even though she's in her 30's. How do I know? She's wearing low cut jeans, a shirt that's a little too high in some place and low in others, and a "Hollister" jacket. From the moment I got in line behind these people, I could sense trouble.
Though it was a rough week, I was actually in a better than average mood, and when I feel good, I whistle. Not really loud, but I whistle just the same. The tune in my head was "Something Stupid" by Sinatra.
Again, this is a low whistling, ok? Not the kind that everyone in the place can here. It's barely audible. Yet, as the guy in front of me is ordering, his girlfriend turns and stares at me.
Being the pleasant person I am, I nod a hello.
It is not returned.
"All right, I want a Smokehouse Turkey Sandwich...and soup...Chicken Noodle. She wants the Fuji Apple Chicken Salad. That's it."
The kid behind the counter starts ringing it up.
"What side do you want, sir?"
"I want a sourdough roll."
"We're out, sir. Sorry."
"What the hell?!" This is yelled loud enough that people on the other end of the restaurant turn and stare. "How can you be out?!"
"We sold out, sir."
"I want money off then. I'm not getting what I want!"
The manager sees this and comes over to talk to the guy. They go aside.
I order. I make it a point to be nice. This person is doing me a service. Sure, they're paid, but I figure they are still doing a service, so I have no reason to be mean to them.
I ask the kid, "Are you ok?"
"Yes. Thanks for asking."
"No problem. No one has the right to act that way."
What I don't see is Wannabe and his girlfriend are standing right there staring at me. I pretend not to notice.
After finishing, I have to walk right by them. Wannabe decides to stand in the way. However, being the navigator of hallways, I easily move around him.
Here's where it gets fun.
Wannabe follows me and keeps staring at me.
I stand by the counter waiting to be called by name, and I look over at Wannabe and his girlfriend.
Both of them stare at me, so again, I nod.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Wannabe asks.
"Excuse me?" I reply.
Thinking I'm stupid (or he's funny), I am told, "What...the...hell...are...you...looking...at?"
"Just looking at my surroundings."
"Mind your own business next time."
"Don't make it everyone's business, then," I reply without hesitation.
"Fuck you," Hollister Girl says.
"Nice," I reply, "Very mature."
"What'd you say to my girl?" Wannabe says while striking the look at me flex pose.
"Jesus Christ," I say under my breath. "I said your girlfriend is too old to look that way, and you need to stop posturing. Oh, and you need to treat the people who work here better." And with that, I turned and got some water.
Obviously two things happened here. The first was that I realized after speaking that I needed to shut the fuck up. The second was that Wannabe and Girl were obviously not prepared for what I said.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Wannabe asks.
It's Friday. I've been through Homecoming week. I'm tired, and my ears aren't 100% yet, so I really don't want to deal with this.
"Look. Shut up. You talked down at Kyle over there. He's new (Didn't you see the trainee badge). No one has the right to act that way. So just shut up or hit me or whatever. I don't care."
Again, this was not expected. Wannabe and girl just stare. The manager, who is behind the counter serving the food, just stares. The other patrons stare. I felt like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Funny enough, Wannabe's food came up. They call his name. He grabs the bag, turns to me and says, "Go FUCK yourself, Jizzbag," and starts to walk out. Again, I couldn't keep my mouth shut.
"Have a nice day. Oh, and remember, that feeling in your ass? Probably you head."
I get the bird from each of them. I resist the temptation to bite my thumb at them.
The manager is quiet, and then says, "Thanks for sticking up for Kyle, but don't do that again or you'll be asked to leave."
"I understand. That's fine. He just had no right to be an asshole."
What has happened that we are now ok with people being dumped on? I imagine that no one had ever told this guy to that. I also imagine that he's the kind of guy who gets a 100 dollar tab and still tips two bucks.
We treat each other so badly. I saw it today at the high school. I expect that kids will talk down to each other, but there seems to be no boundaries anymore. Of course this also happens with colleagues.
I remember seeing an usher at the local movie theater be berated because he asked to see someone's ticket. Rather than waste the time by screaming and jumping up and down like a toddler, just get the damn ticket out.
Remember, these people are just trying to earn a living.
Be kind.
Namaste.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (09/25/06)
Hi. Remember me? Yeah, I'm back.
Status check.
My wife? Ill.
My son? Ok...and growing.
Me? Oy vey! But we'll get there.
Let's do it.
So, without further ado: GOOD KING OF CATS!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How You Doing?:
I'm hurting. I can't hear anything out of my left ear. My right ear, if I had to guess, is at about 40% the norm.
There's some pain, but not as much as last week.
So how did this happen?
I haven't a clue.
Last weekend I was feeling horrible, so I took a sick day (I know, I know...so early in the year) on Monday. I would have slept...but that was the day the city sent the tree trimmers to my neighborhood. I can still hear that wood chipper. That damn wood chipper.
I figured a day off would be enough. I was wrong. The next morning, during my fifth period class, my ears started to feel funny. By the end of the day, my ear was closed. I figured a cold pill would be enough. Again...wrong. When I woke up on Wednesday, my ear was throbbing. Again, being the macho (read: idiot) I am, I went to work. By sixth period, my left ear felt like it was going to pop, and my right ear was starting to hurt. I went to Urgent Care.
I HATE Urgent Care. You know, dear reader, how much I hate doctors. Urgent Care is worse.
You sit in a common waiting area that's usually a plain white and very dreary with other people who look like extras from Night of the Living Dead. I was doubled over in pain (but, again, being the macho idiot, I attempted to grade). However, I was not the worst patient in there. There was the old couple with one person (the guy) carrying an Oxygen tank. There was the little kid who would cry, then run into the bathroom, grab toilet paper (don't ask me why), and would shred it. When it was all gone...she would start crying again. Four pregnant people, and another guy my age who looked like he had blood on his left arm.
I waited forty-five minutes, then the nurse called my name. I didn't hear her, but somone saw my ID on my shirt (we have to wear it in order to get into our building now) and told me she was calling me.
The nurse was nice enough. She kept talking to me, however, about her life and being from Iowa. I only heard maybe half of it.
Another twenty minute wait, and then I was in a room.
Another ten minutes (are you doing the math yet?) passed.
The doctor was obviously feeling rushed, was tired, and was in no mood to talk.
"What's the problem?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"Ears. I think I have an ear infection." I replied.
He took out his instruments and check my left ear first.
"Holy Christ," he mutters. "Sorry about that."
Then he checked my other ear.
"Ok, both your ears are infected. Your right is just starting. Your left, however, looks bad. It's beyond the red on this chart," which he indicated and then continued, "so your eardrum looks like it may be in trouble. Take these antibiotics and put these drops in your ear."
I thanked him.
"One thing," he says before leaving, "the drops will make your ears numb, so you won't be able to hear...at all."
"Great," I muttered.
Another ten minute wait while I get the meds.
Almost a week has passed now, and I really can't hear. The students may know, but they aren't showing it. I'm hoping that I've been faking it enough, though my principal tried to talk to me today, and I flat out told her, "I can't hear you." She thought I was being rude, so I had to explain.
What I'm more annoyed about, however, is that with my son being overtired on Saturday, my wife being sick (food poisoning), and my not really being able to hear, I had to cancel meeting with the best photographer I know. Sure, she says it's not a problem, but it is...to me. I hate not keeping appointments, and I REALLY hate being sick.
I freely admit that part of the problem is that losing my hearing is a fear of mine. As I've said many times: losing my eyesight wouldn't be a problem, but losing my hearing would devestate me in some ways. My life is based on sound and listening.
But I digress.
I hate being sick.
(Update: I went to another doctor. An Otolaryngologist, which is an ear, nose, and throat guy. He gave me stronger meds, which is good. I also had my hearing tested and learned that my left ear's hearing has been damaged, which is bad. The worst part was when the nurse handed the audiologist two charts. The Audiologist saw my name, but looked at the wrong chart. She started asking me questions about what surgery I was to have, and then tried to stick a needle in my ear to numb me. That was fun.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What Do You Know?:
Many (former) students have been writing me, asking about how the year is going. To be honest? Ok.
There are good parts and bad parts.
Good? The students who want to learn.
Bad? The students who think they know better than me (as in they're smarter or whatever).
Good? Becoming the head of the English department and getting everyone to work with me.
Bad? The fact that there are still faculty members I work with who act like either A. jackasses, or B. the students.
Good? The fact that I know the material I'm teaching.
Bad? The fact that the students don't care.
Here's the deal. I miss last year's kids. I do. I miss my first class more, but I do miss the theatre kids from last year. They would seek me out to discuss the show, their issues, and more. Now? There are five students in the entire school who seek me out. I know many of the students, and many say, "hello," to me on a daily basis, but there are only a few that actually seek me out for help.
As to the rest of your questions? Well...you didn't hear it from me, but Ole Dr. G is doing a musical. A short one.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Football Comes To New Orleans:
It's amazing how America is of two minds about this:
On the one hand it's great that New Orleans was able to put the Superdome back together, but....
Aren't there things that are more important that haven't been fixed yet?
On the one hand it's great that New Orleans can celebrate something other than Mardi Gras.
On the one hand, the audience was very, very white, but....
Haven't a lot of folks moved on to other places?
I just find it fascinating how people are celebrating a football game as if it means the city is truly back.
Just an observation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Diddy's Buddy:
A shameless plug.
Jason DeRusha went and spent the night with Diddy (not like that you sick little puppies!) last Tuesday.
How much you want to bet Jason's not long for the Twin Cities now? Off to LA he'll go.
Go and read about it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That's all I got today.
Go and celebrate Margaret's work on Friday.
As for me? I'll be at the Homecoming Dance on Saturday night (regardless of my hearing).
Tomorrow? I have...another class. Awesome.
Namaste.
Status check.
My wife? Ill.
My son? Ok...and growing.
Me? Oy vey! But we'll get there.
Let's do it.
So, without further ado: GOOD KING OF CATS!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How You Doing?:
I'm hurting. I can't hear anything out of my left ear. My right ear, if I had to guess, is at about 40% the norm.
There's some pain, but not as much as last week.
So how did this happen?
I haven't a clue.
Last weekend I was feeling horrible, so I took a sick day (I know, I know...so early in the year) on Monday. I would have slept...but that was the day the city sent the tree trimmers to my neighborhood. I can still hear that wood chipper. That damn wood chipper.
I figured a day off would be enough. I was wrong. The next morning, during my fifth period class, my ears started to feel funny. By the end of the day, my ear was closed. I figured a cold pill would be enough. Again...wrong. When I woke up on Wednesday, my ear was throbbing. Again, being the macho (read: idiot) I am, I went to work. By sixth period, my left ear felt like it was going to pop, and my right ear was starting to hurt. I went to Urgent Care.
I HATE Urgent Care. You know, dear reader, how much I hate doctors. Urgent Care is worse.
You sit in a common waiting area that's usually a plain white and very dreary with other people who look like extras from Night of the Living Dead. I was doubled over in pain (but, again, being the macho idiot, I attempted to grade). However, I was not the worst patient in there. There was the old couple with one person (the guy) carrying an Oxygen tank. There was the little kid who would cry, then run into the bathroom, grab toilet paper (don't ask me why), and would shred it. When it was all gone...she would start crying again. Four pregnant people, and another guy my age who looked like he had blood on his left arm.
I waited forty-five minutes, then the nurse called my name. I didn't hear her, but somone saw my ID on my shirt (we have to wear it in order to get into our building now) and told me she was calling me.
The nurse was nice enough. She kept talking to me, however, about her life and being from Iowa. I only heard maybe half of it.
Another twenty minute wait, and then I was in a room.
Another ten minutes (are you doing the math yet?) passed.
The doctor was obviously feeling rushed, was tired, and was in no mood to talk.
"What's the problem?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"Ears. I think I have an ear infection." I replied.
He took out his instruments and check my left ear first.
"Holy Christ," he mutters. "Sorry about that."
Then he checked my other ear.
"Ok, both your ears are infected. Your right is just starting. Your left, however, looks bad. It's beyond the red on this chart," which he indicated and then continued, "so your eardrum looks like it may be in trouble. Take these antibiotics and put these drops in your ear."
I thanked him.
"One thing," he says before leaving, "the drops will make your ears numb, so you won't be able to hear...at all."
"Great," I muttered.
Another ten minute wait while I get the meds.
Almost a week has passed now, and I really can't hear. The students may know, but they aren't showing it. I'm hoping that I've been faking it enough, though my principal tried to talk to me today, and I flat out told her, "I can't hear you." She thought I was being rude, so I had to explain.
What I'm more annoyed about, however, is that with my son being overtired on Saturday, my wife being sick (food poisoning), and my not really being able to hear, I had to cancel meeting with the best photographer I know. Sure, she says it's not a problem, but it is...to me. I hate not keeping appointments, and I REALLY hate being sick.
I freely admit that part of the problem is that losing my hearing is a fear of mine. As I've said many times: losing my eyesight wouldn't be a problem, but losing my hearing would devestate me in some ways. My life is based on sound and listening.
But I digress.
I hate being sick.
(Update: I went to another doctor. An Otolaryngologist, which is an ear, nose, and throat guy. He gave me stronger meds, which is good. I also had my hearing tested and learned that my left ear's hearing has been damaged, which is bad. The worst part was when the nurse handed the audiologist two charts. The Audiologist saw my name, but looked at the wrong chart. She started asking me questions about what surgery I was to have, and then tried to stick a needle in my ear to numb me. That was fun.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What Do You Know?:
Many (former) students have been writing me, asking about how the year is going. To be honest? Ok.
There are good parts and bad parts.
Good? The students who want to learn.
Bad? The students who think they know better than me (as in they're smarter or whatever).
Good? Becoming the head of the English department and getting everyone to work with me.
Bad? The fact that there are still faculty members I work with who act like either A. jackasses, or B. the students.
Good? The fact that I know the material I'm teaching.
Bad? The fact that the students don't care.
Here's the deal. I miss last year's kids. I do. I miss my first class more, but I do miss the theatre kids from last year. They would seek me out to discuss the show, their issues, and more. Now? There are five students in the entire school who seek me out. I know many of the students, and many say, "hello," to me on a daily basis, but there are only a few that actually seek me out for help.
As to the rest of your questions? Well...you didn't hear it from me, but Ole Dr. G is doing a musical. A short one.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Football Comes To New Orleans:
It's amazing how America is of two minds about this:
On the one hand it's great that New Orleans was able to put the Superdome back together, but....
Aren't there things that are more important that haven't been fixed yet?
On the one hand it's great that New Orleans can celebrate something other than Mardi Gras.
On the one hand, the audience was very, very white, but....
Haven't a lot of folks moved on to other places?
I just find it fascinating how people are celebrating a football game as if it means the city is truly back.
Just an observation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Diddy's Buddy:
A shameless plug.
Jason DeRusha went and spent the night with Diddy (not like that you sick little puppies!) last Tuesday.
How much you want to bet Jason's not long for the Twin Cities now? Off to LA he'll go.
Go and read about it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That's all I got today.
Go and celebrate Margaret's work on Friday.
As for me? I'll be at the Homecoming Dance on Saturday night (regardless of my hearing).
Tomorrow? I have...another class. Awesome.
Namaste.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Bad Blogger!
I know, I know.
"Leab, where have you been for the last week?!"
"What's wrong with you?!"
Ok, here's the truth, boys and girls.
1. I now have five preps instead of three. Takes up more time.
2. Poozer and I have been spending some quality time together...especially because my wife has been staying at work until 9 at night. (Odd note: I read bits of Dante's Inferno to him...he smiled. Should I be nervous?)
3. I'm very sick. How sick you ask? Urgent Care sick. Both my ears are infected. My left ear, apparently, is so swollen that my ear drum might burst (or so my doctor told me....I hate doctors.) The students have no idea how hard it has been working with them lately as I can barely hear in one ear. I took Monday off in the hopes of getting better, but that didn't work (stupid tree cutters). Now, I can't take more time off. Awesome.
4. Classes. Yeah, if you're going to teach, you have to take classes for tenure. Because the district screwed up with me, I have three classes I'm in right now. Sigh.
I promise, dear reader (and I think there's one left). I will pick it up. I actually have things to talk about now.
Namaste.
"Leab, where have you been for the last week?!"
"What's wrong with you?!"
Ok, here's the truth, boys and girls.
1. I now have five preps instead of three. Takes up more time.
2. Poozer and I have been spending some quality time together...especially because my wife has been staying at work until 9 at night. (Odd note: I read bits of Dante's Inferno to him...he smiled. Should I be nervous?)
3. I'm very sick. How sick you ask? Urgent Care sick. Both my ears are infected. My left ear, apparently, is so swollen that my ear drum might burst (or so my doctor told me....I hate doctors.) The students have no idea how hard it has been working with them lately as I can barely hear in one ear. I took Monday off in the hopes of getting better, but that didn't work (stupid tree cutters). Now, I can't take more time off. Awesome.
4. Classes. Yeah, if you're going to teach, you have to take classes for tenure. Because the district screwed up with me, I have three classes I'm in right now. Sigh.
I promise, dear reader (and I think there's one left). I will pick it up. I actually have things to talk about now.
Namaste.
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