The Sapient Sutler

Saturday Song: "Redemption Song," Wyclef Jean

2011-09-10T19:37:00.004-05:00

Redemption Song, Wyclef Jean, from America: A Tribute To Heroes (2001).

One of Bob Marley's finest songs, covered here masterfully by Wyckef Jean. Immediately after the 9/11 bombings, the "Tribute To Heroes" charity show aired, and this song was Wyclef's contribution. He reworks it brilliantly, letting the song serve as both poignant lament and then, nearing to the end, a song of hope and triumph of the spirit over evil. Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer both tackled this song as well around 2002, and I love all three versions. But this one really does pack an emotional punch. It was definitely one of the wisest song picks for the 9/11 tribute.

My heart's in the basement, my weekend's at an all time low

2011-09-09T19:01:00.003-05:00

For lunch I had pizza, carrots, and passive-aggressive false solicitousness. One of my team was absent, so Ms. DeWolf filled in. Now I have been bending over backward to be nice to her since school started, or at the very least to be trying to thaw the coldness that has sprung up. I texted her saying that I was willing to forget her serious overstepping of the first day, when she took L3 out of my room; and I gave her a CD that I thought she'd like that I had bought a year or so ago and didn't think much of.

But, sitting with Ms. Blah and me at lunch, she heavily laid on pinched, critical commentary directed at me, and not in the half-jokey way you might give a co-worker a backhanded compliment. No, it was clear nastiness, to the point where I, typically very reserved and easygoing at work when it comes to personality clashes, said to her, "Wow, you're just kind of a horrible person, aren't you?" and then tuned her out the rest of the lunch period. Probably slightly shocked Ms. Blah, but you know, what the hell.

It didn't make my day suck, but it was definitely an unpleasant moment in an otherwise fine day.

I could always use a little bit more to hold on to

2011-09-08T20:23:00.003-05:00

S3, when the class timer went off: "My goodness, Mr. Chance, that beeping scared the tapioca pudding out of me!" (Cute, but possibly picked up from a TV show?)

***

J2, on being asked to name something that starts with A: "Ares. He's the Greek God of war." (Impressive!)

***

J1, being shown the photos in my digital camera: "How can a camera take pictures when it doesn't have eyes?" (Uh... good question. Magic?)

***

G2, walking down the hall with me, at the head of the line, apropos of nothing, cheerily: "My daddy is much fatter than you!" (What the hell? I'm not fat!)

Political links

2011-09-07T23:14:00.005-05:00

People who rail against universal health care are monsters. This did not have to happen.

What the Republicans are for, and how they have been winning the language game for years: anyone who has been paying any attention knows this already, but this guy says it so well.

Rick Perry is a hypocritical bastard who takes all the credit for things the federal government and its "evil" dollars helped bring about. He also likes to pretend he hates government, except when he wants Big Brother to tell doctors what to say or rent him a mansion. Hey, and you know those wildfires Texas has been having? He cut fire fighting budgets this year, and now wants the big bad evil Fed to come help us!

(I'm thinking Perry's going to be the guy I'll have to keep an eye on for the 2012 version of my Fact Sheet.)

They're all shouting something at us, waving and pointing

2011-09-06T20:20:00.004-05:00

Man, it's so loud in here. The highest stress part of my workday has got to be carpool. When the parents don't display their numbers or for some other reason they slip by the system, Ms. Helen calls the kids out via the intercom. And Ms. Helen, while easy on the eyes, has the loudest, screechiest, most nasal, diamond-bit-drill of a voice you have ever heard. Her impatient, hectoring shrieking when the kids miss their cues to go to the cars makes everyone cringe, and it makes me very anxious. And that stress gets transferred from me to the kids, as I try in the chaos to get them out the door with all they should be carrying and which most of them would forget every day if not reminded.

I think every carpool, like each cigarette, takes eleven minutes off my life. Actually I feel like smoking to calm down afterwards. I don't, though. I go for alcohol.

Got to lose this skin I'm imprisoned in

2011-09-05T22:51:00.002-05:00

Today was not only a day off from work, but the first day in many, many weeks that the temperature has been below 100 degrees all day long. After scorching triple digits and oppressive 90 degree nights, a cold front pushed the mercury down to a positively balmy 85. So naturally I spent a lot of time outside, walking and laying on my beach chair in my yard reading.

Of course, I'm half-Briton, half red-headed Scot, and my porcelain-white skin turned a cheery but slightly painful bright red. Whoops! Too much of a good thing.

Later in the evening I went out with Friar, Courtney, C, and Auric's drummer to go see three great local bands. The Friar's music label, always weak from lack of exposure, has pretty much died of file sharing, so he and Drummer are starting up a management business. That, and he's a lawyer and family man. What a dynamo. Me, I'm too tired to untie my shoes when I get home from work.

Newbery XII - 1933

2011-09-04T20:33:00.002-05:00

The twelfth winner of the Newbery was, surprise surprise, set in a country that is not America! It was Young Fu Of the Upper Yangtze, by Elizabeth Foreman Lewis.

It tells of the coming of age of the titular Fu, a fourteen-year-old boy from the countryside who in the 1920s arrives in the vast city of Chungking (modern Chongqing) with his widowed mother. Apprenticed to Tang, a consummate coppersmith, Fu learns to temper his naïve curiosity, swallow his fears, face the bizarre novelty of foreign devils and gasoline-powered cars, and master his pride. Episode by episode, Fu grows wiser from his mistakes, and is a very likeable, sympathetic hero who risks his life for others on two occasions.

This is an exciting and engaging young adult novel. Like many books of this era, it reflects an era of more exacting learning in schools. Some of the vocabulary is rather abstruse – badinage, enmity, stinting, auspicious, for just a few random examples – and the writing is sometimes tortuous ("Not one man in all China but would make the journey"). But it’s rewarding, and a book-loving kid could easily get plunged into this almost alien world that was once very real. The most interesting thing about the book, indeed, is seeing the differences and similarities between Fu’s world and thought and those of us today. There are eternal truths about humans, and Fu shows bravery and kindness and pride and stupidity, all of which readers can relate to. But then there's the traditional Chinese way of life, with its reverence for age and unquestioning obedience of mothers, fear of evil and mischievous spirits, fatalistic resignation to oppression, foot-binding, coolies, poverty, opium, sedan chairs, draconian punishments, and so on. At a few decades past the turn of the century, many Chinese still lived the way their ancestors did thousands of years previously, and knew just as little about the outside world. Fu, for example, cannot imagine the ocean across which the foreigners live, assuming it must be smaller than the mighty Yangtze. (Actually, judging from some of the travel literature about China I’ve read, such as the superb Iron & Silk, some Chinese in the countryside even ten years ago knew very little about geography, space, and other fields irrelevant to their lives.) Lewis’ wonderfully written book (her first!) is a terrific window for young adults into history and the study of other cultures.

Recommended for children: Yes, for older children, who have a love of reading and fearlessness about new vocabulary and concepts.

Recommended for adults: Yes! Everyone should delve into other cultures, and this is a well-written story.

Saturday Song: "Lover's Rock," The Clash

2011-09-03T17:18:00.003-05:00

Lover's Rock, The Clash, from London Calling (1979).

One of the lesser-known gems from the landmark album. Although a casual listen leaves many thinking that this is about a blow job, the song actually castigates men who have unprotected sex and father babies "when she forgot that thing she had to swallow" (the Pill). It reminds men that there are other things you can do in bed besides being "free with your seed" and thus losing the energy to continue pleasing a woman. For example, "there is a place you can kiss." Such a man, who has self-control and consideration, "can make a lover in a thousand gos." That's right! He's talkin' cunnilingus, baby!

...Wait a minute! This song isn't about the oppressive class system! Sell-outs!

Make no mistakes, I'm what you make me

2011-09-02T21:31:00.003-05:00

So, things are going about as usual with me, which is to say Happiness Eludes, though I'm always cognizant of my good fortune in being an educated American with a nice job.

The problem with having so much of my identity tied up with my job, of course, is that when things don't go well, I have no other pillar to rely on. I, Chance, am not father, nor husband, nor long-term lover.

Hell, I'm not even a zealous hobbyist. Those aspects of life don't exist for me; after a setback, all I have is time to reflect on the success or failure of my professional day.

It doesn't even have to be anything specific, just a general sense of malaise that the day could have gone better. That can blacken the whole rest of my evening. Well, that's what happens when you're a depressive sad sack.

Wake me when September ends

2011-09-01T22:34:00.003-05:00

At work, the new kids are coalescing into a class pretty nicely. L3 has stopped being so fearful and depressed; G2 is doing fine and her mother seems happy. We're coming out of the introductory stage where the kids are learning to interact and socialize in their new environment, and beginning to do actual literacy and math lessons. Some of the kids are not used to having to do a certain task, such as writing a sentence, and one or two get a touch weepy at the end of the day.

But that's par for the course; they're learning that putting a bit of effort into a task they're not necessarily enthralled by won't kill them, and they'll be proud of how much they're learning in no time. In all, they're a great group, quick to clean up after themselves and generally helpful to one another. They seem more responsible as well. They're not quite as quick with the addition facts and letter sounds as last year's class, but that can come later. Being good listeners and developing good work skills are the roots on which those other branches of knowledge will come later.

Or something, you know. I just wing it every day.

Some babies grow in a peculiar way

2011-08-31T17:00:00.001-05:00

I left work early to get my booster Hepatitis B shot for an upcoming trip to Haiti. If indeed this goes through (and I have already committed financially), I shall be traveling with a church group, led by a cardiac surgeon who was the father of a girl in the class I had my first year at Prestigius. We're going to distribute medicine and such. As I have absolutely no useful skills other than a so-so French (which isn't really what they parlez in Haiti anyway), I'm not sure why I was asked along, but I'm interested/trepidatious about the adventure.

If I do go, it will be my first trip outside the U.S. in many years (I had to get a new passport), and it will break my workout streak. Currently, I am on my 178th consecutive day of exercise with free weights.

Well, as long as I don't, you know, die screaming in a falling aircraft, surrounded by damn praying.

Wish I could go back and change these years

2011-08-30T21:12:00.002-05:00

Just a few of the changes since I dropped out of this blog thing.

My father died. He was in and out of rehab, suffered a stroke, was a shell of his former physical self, had a dramatic drop in mental acuity, and had a couple of car wrecks before it became clear he couldn't drive any more. Still, though, he'd settled into a sort of doddering quasi-invalid but feisty existence, so it was nevertheless a bit of a shock when he passed away peacefully in his armchair right after getting up one morning. I don't want to be flippant about this. He was a huge part of my life and a deceased parent always leaves a huge hole. But I'll list some more, much more minor, changes anyway.

I got a cable connection, mainly so my father could watch TV at my house when I had him over for the night, but he died very soon after it was installed. So now I have TV, and I watch a couple of things. "Top Gear." "No Reservations." "King Of the Hill" reruns. Some dumb but compelling reality shows like "Sons Of Guns."

I got a new dog, another rescue dog, who had a bad childhood and is Fearful. He weighs nearly seventy pounds and has a head like a bull. Since I can't walk two dogs at once, I walk them a lot less. Usually I walk them on alternate days, but not anywhere near every day as I did when I only had the one. Plus the Boy Dog is socially inept, so I have to watch him closely. He's not very friendly with visitors, either. Sadly, he may be a Poor Life Choice, but I can't give him up now. I'm the only one he's got left: he adored me and my father and fears/hates everyone else.

Epalg moved away to a small eastern state to go to grad school. We have almost no contact, though there is the sporadic, desultory text.

Ms. N quit Prestigius to become a governess. These things exist here in Deviltown with its many wealthy families who spend lavishly on private schools and tutors. There is some contact; we have lunch and catch up a few times a year.

MA recently moved to New York but is moving back again soon. She is still a rather flighty person in her professional and personal life.

I still talk to K, but rarely.

This summer I reconnected with Joy, a minor character in these pages, who is slightly more eager to socialize than I am. She seems to be flirting shamelessly with me. I am not interested, and so balance is restored to the Universe for all the women I'm interested in who don't care for me.

Last year T-Bone and Courtney's youngest daughter was in my class. I love that cute little toothless braniac. This year, 74 and Zaftig's daughter is in Ms. Bluestocking's class, and their youngest, a hefty and excitable cheery fellow, is in Pre-K. Oh, and so is Muffin's son. Yes, all my friend's children go to the school where I work.

I am definitely going bald.

When it all comes down you'll find you've lost another day

2011-08-29T20:27:00.001-05:00

Had my required face-to-face meeting with Head #3 today. When I got to her door at the arranged time, she was in a meeting, and I had to wait thirty minutes until she was free.

The meeting was surprisingly brief. This was the sum total of what was said:

Head #3: "How long have you been here at Prestigious, Chance?"

Me: "This will be my fourth full year."

H3: "And you love it, don't you? I can tell."

Me: "Yes, I do."

H3: "Well, here's what I know about you: You were on Quiz Show!."

[pause]

Me: "That's it? That's what you know about me?"

H3, all beatific smiles: "Yes."

(What, no "You're widely respected"? No "Everyone is amazed at what a good job you do"? How about "You have a good resume"?)

Me: "Well, I did lose."

H3: "But just being on it is terrific." [pause] "Well, I just want you to know my door is always open if you need anything." [Stands up.]

And that was it. I was on Quiz Show!, I seem to be enjoying myself at work, and the Head's door is always open unless she's in a meeting during the time you're scheduled to see her.

Newbery XI - 1932

2011-08-28T23:16:00.002-05:00

In 1932, one of my favorite books of all time, Brave New World, was published. And in an almost entirely unrelated development, the award for best children's book went to Waterless Mountain, by Laura Adams Armer.

This book is an episodic novel of the Navajo people (standing then as yet another example of the ALSC's propensity for "ethnic" tales). A boy called Younger Brother, party inspired by his Uncle, a shaman, leaves his family and goes west, following the Turquoise Woman who went west to marry the sun. Along the way, he rescues a white boy, routs some horse thieves, and flies in a plane with “Grandfather,” the white trader who knows and loves the Navajo.

It’s all told in a very muted style, almost entirely from the Navajo point of view, so that ceremonies and scenes of nature do seem mystical and full of moment. It's rife with the type of poetic phrases for human experience, such as “my heart is making a new song,” that various American media have always found so compelling. It’s an interesting book, but I didn’t find it particularly engaging, probably because of its episodic plot: there’s no great struggle or resolution. And as we all learned in our freshman literature class, there is no Drama without Conflict. Or is that just the demanding way of the white man?

Recommended for children: Yes, especially for young boys who would appreciate the adventures of Younger Brother; but also for its message of the importance of a connection to nature.

Recommended for adults: Not really.

Saturday Song: "Danny Says," Tom Waits

2011-08-27T11:42:00.003-05:00

Danny Says, Tom Waits, from Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards (disc two), 2006

A cover of the Ramones' love song, transformed into a tipsy weeper by the master of the genre. Waits eschews the sorta-Shirelles sound of the original and keeps the pace slow and soft. It's amazing how Waits turns the song into a cousin of "Ol' 55" and makes it seem easy; it's also a kick to hear him talking about listening to the Ramones' "Sheena" on the radio. (This isn't the only Ramones cover Waits has done; he also covered "The Return of Jackie and Judy" on the tribute album We're a Happy Family.) Short, sweet, sad, genius.

I knew you before the west was won and I heard you say the past was much more fun

2011-08-26T21:57:00.003-05:00

Yeah, had to post a silly nonsense humor piece yesterday after being all Drama Queen on Wednesday. Work was pretty good today. We got pizza for lunch. The kids are understanding the routines and easing into the full day much easier than last year's class. So far there are no big trouble makers, although S3 needs constant redirecting.

Went out after work to the same old bar with the same old crew and played video golf and oh my Ganesh I have been doing that for six years.

Maybe time to branch into new things? The future is a lot briefer than it was.

Ninja facts

2011-08-25T22:15:00.006-05:00

Did you know...

Death by ninja attack is the number two killer in America, more common than random stabbings and church-related pranks-gone-wrong combined. However, experts believe that many ninja deaths go unreported as such because many of them look just like accidents.
Many people erroneously believe that pirates are ninjas' arch-enemy. This is untrue. Their actual most hated nemesis? Clowns.
Ninjas are so attuned with their qi that they can levitate, turn invisible for brief periods, and pass through walls. They are capable of subsisting at full physical capacity on one handful of rice and two teaspoons of water per month.
While they do not require additional food, however, they enjoy eating the brains of their enemies. Seriously, those things are like ice cream to ninjas.
Out of reverence for ancient tradition, ninjas will never, ever attack someone on the toilet. They know you'll have to come out of there some time, anyway.
97% of true ninjas are Japanese. Two percent are Chinese, 0.5 percent Vietnamese, and 0.5 percent are African American for some reason.
When a ninja mates with a human, the offspring is typically a sturdy specimen, but never has any of the shadow-based superhuman abilities of the ninja. Therefore ninjas primarily mate with their own kind.
If you ever stumble upon two ninjas mating, take a picture quick, because that shit is gold.
Some mountebanks and quacks sell what they refer to as ninja repellent spray. Do not waste your money. There is no such thing. Ninjas do dislike the taste and odor of high fructose corn syrup-based carbonated beverages, but spraying a ninja with Pepsi isn't going to do anything except make him madder.
Right before the moment of death, a ninja's victim always hears the ninja whisper in his ear, "You just been ninja'd, muthafuckaaaaaah!" in a sing-song falsetto.
Sure, it sounds unlikely, but how can you prove it isn't true?

You think I'm a baby; nobody likes to hear "Why don't you grow up" at dawn

2011-08-24T21:50:00.003-05:00

First day back with the kids! Had two crying, a girl who was just being dramatic and poor L3, he of the health problems and medically induced depression. More on him below.

The kids are:

A, nice girl, somewhat mopey, seems to be a bit uncertain how to join others in play

E1, super-cute tiny girl whose mother is rumored to be a Hard Case.

E2, another tiny little cute girl with a no-nonsense mother, though I haven't had any problems with her.

G1, girl whose twin brother is in Mrs. Hatfield's class.

G2, the daughter of the High Maintenance mom (ex-attorney, now stay at home mom, probably transferred that argumentative energy into current position); very sweet and cheerful

H, small little tow-headed boy; Mrs. Tall told me that he was a problem in her class, but he was very helpful to all the other kids, offering them the color marker they were looking for and so forth

J1, brother of a girl from last year's class; a bit hyperactive; very nice parents

J2, very pale boy, type that loves explaining things earnestly with words too complex for his mouth

L1, blonde girl, sister of a girl from my first class at Prestigius; much quieter than her

L2, blonde boy, was quiet and kept to himself, seemed sweet

L3, with the health issues noted yesterday, came in crying and saying he wanted to call his mom and go home at lunch

M, sweet blonde girl, part of a very large and noted area family

R1, small and scrappy brother of a boy from last year, a bit hyperactive and given to attempting a cold stare when redirected

R2, cute black girl, seemed cheerful

S1, blondish girl, one of only two in the class with divorced parents

S2, blonde girl, only child, with two arty parents who spoil the hell out of her, very entitled and demanding, although decidedly creative; given to pouting if she has to wait for something

S3, black-haired girl, kept to herself

T1, very large (tall and weighty) boy, cheery, good listener, popular with peers

T2, precocious boy of Chinese descent

And that's the lot. Oh! 74 and Zaftig's daughter, who made her first appearance in this blog, and the world, here and has appeared sporadically since, is in K now --- lord, they grow up fast, even if they're not your own. She is in Ms. Bluestocking's class. Don't think I've mentioned her before --- Ms. Bluestocking is a very young teacher on my team. Previously an assistant, this is her second year as a full teacher. She is extremely good looking, even by Prestigius standards, and pretty cheerful, but kind of ditzy.

Another bit of High Drama in the Workplace (on the first day!) when an in-house substitute, Ms. DeWolf, took it upon herself to take L3 out of my classroom because he was sad. She had a camera, so I sort of assumed that she was just taking his picture, but no --- she took him to the other end of the building to sit and read a book. I was livid. The lack of professional courtesy --- you just don't take out a kid without explaining to the teacher why and what you intend to do --- the insulting assumption that she knew better than me how to make the boy feel welcome and wanted, the overweening arrogance mixed with pure wrongheaded ignorance (I disagree strongly that a child should be allowed to dictate terms in the classroom, especially on the first damn day, and feel strongly that a child's self-worth and happiness improves when he is shown that he has the strength to make it through initial uncertainty). And I have over ten years' worth of kids and parents that loved the hell out of me for my affectionate/strict classroom demeanor, so I'm not just some insensitive creep trying to bring the hammer down on a poor unhealthy kid. I truly believe that my way would help him best, and I know that taking a kid away from a teacher without asking first is not cool.

Of course, it doesn't help that Ms. DeWolf is the one I had the very brief, ill-fated relationship with last year.

I had a hard time waking this morning, I got a lot of things on my mind

2011-08-23T18:42:00.003-05:00

The second half of the room's parents came in for their conferences today. They went well on the whole. The woman I spoke of here (with the "bitter pinched face"), G2's mother, did need some extra reassuring about how the class is arranged and who would be sitting with whom when, etc etc, but then surprised me by saying that she's requested me and was very happy her daughter was in my class. So that might be a non-issue.

The only other conference that raises some issues was the one for a boy, L3, who cannot ingest milk, wheat, soy, or eggs due to a host of medical problems. He needs to bring in his own snack, and the parents are pretty neurotic about him not being differentiated from the other kids. His last teacher, Mrs. Helen, took pains to mix up the snacks so that her kids never really noticed that L3 was getting something different; I don't know if that's something that needs to continue. As he progresses through school, it'll be clear that his diet is different, so why not embrace it now and have pride in the responsibility of managing his own food? I've seen two celiac kids go through kindergarten and they were fine having their food kept separate. Anyway, poor L3. He also has some other health issues; he takes medicine, one side effect of which is depression; so he's going to need a lot of reassurance.

Oh yeah, I had the Talk with Assistant T. It wasn't too awkward. She got a bit embarrassed but seemed to take it all in. However, she then talked a bit out of turn during conferences, again (like mentioning to parents programs that previous kids have done, which is a big taboo), so I think the Vice Head will have to lead a Talk with all the assistants.

Kids tomorrow!

Looking for context and perspective, looking for some kind of distraction

2011-08-22T21:45:00.003-05:00

Today I met half of the parents in my class. All the meetings went well except for one, with J2's parents, which was the source of a little bit of drama in my room.

I sat across from the parents and Assistant T sat to my right. During this orientation conference, J2's parents looked only at T. It was not a natural thing to do; the mother was facing and directly across from me, and had to almost turn 90 degrees in her chair to speak to T. I would ask a question, and she would turn and direct her answer to T. I'd ask another, and she'd do it again.

Now it ought to be pretty fucking clear that I am the teacher in the room. Assistant T is an assistant. Her name is not on the class list, her name is not on the name tags; I send out all emails to parents, I ask the orientation interview questions, I write down the answers, etc. So this mother's bizarre turning to address T, who was not asking questions (but was responding with affirmation interjections and a few comments), was baffling to me. I think the bewilderment and frustration showed on my face --- I was doing everything but point to myself, trying to non-verbally get the parents to look at me, sending psychic waves: You should be talking to me, lady! They did not work for some reason.

Okay, so that's not really so bad, although it was bothersome to me. The parents do need to be aware that I'm the one to refer to about everything, good and bad, in that room, and should use that time to get to know me, but whatever. One conference where they don't bond with me isn't going to hurt, and they'll get the idea soon enough. The real drama came afterwards.

The instant they left, I just looked at Assistant T, and she knew immediately what was in my mind, and noted that it was a strange and awkward situation, but, she was quick to say, not her fault that she was being spoken to.

"That is true," I said, "but what would have helped was if once you saw that was happening, you had stopped responding to her at all and just looked at me."

Well, that rubbed T the wrong way, and she said I loved power and would not be a good co-teacher.

This was, unfortunately, the wrong response. I am, after all, her supervisor, a fact she doesn't seem to want to admit. (Literally --- this has come up before, but only in conversation, not in this problem context.) Here, we may have a problem.

I'm not the supervisor type, and her unwillingness to hear criticism is partly my fault in that I talk irreverently and jokingly most of the time, so that when I do try to correct or suggest something seriously to T, she dismisses me as if I were talking in my usual manner. I'm also extremely lenient in most ways; some teachers don't have assistants sit in on conferences at all. I also give T a very long leash in interacting with the kids, because she's good at it. So I have not really delineated the authority lines.

And this doesn't have anything to do with a desire for power. It's just a fact that assessment, curriculum, behavior issues, and everything that can possibly happen to these children is my responsibility.

So I spoke to the Vice Head, who was appalled at T's reaction to me and said that in fact she should have known enough to actually leave the room if she was the source of some distraction from what that meeting ought to be about. And that perhaps she should not sit in on conferences tomorrow. And she told me to have a sit down with T and make some things clear.

So now I have to put on a supervisor hat and talk to T seriously, which I can do, but she's clearly highly sensitive about being given redirection in the workplace, and I don't want to push her into the other extreme of dropping all initiative. But of course I have to do it, because we have to make sure we're all on the same page. Otherwise, the Vice Head says, "the problem gets worse and then she'll have to go, and we don't want that."

Authority makes my stomach hurt.

Newbery X - 1931

2011-08-21T16:57:00.003-05:00

Yes, I'm still doing this for some reason!

The tenth Newbery winner was The Cat Who Went To Heaven, by Elizabeth Coatsworth. This slim tale is set "far away in Japan" (exotic locales, as we have seen in this series, being to the Newbery as playing the wise moron is to the Oscar).

A poor artist's housekeeper brings in a small spotted cat, who is named Good Fortune. Shortly afterwards, the artist is commissioned by a temple to paint Buddha’s death scene. The artist meditates on the various sacrifices that various animals --- the snail, the horse, the deer, the ox, the monkey, the dog --- all made for the dying Buddha, or made when they were the Buddha in a different lifetime, and then he paints them coming to pay respects. Then, even though the cat, an independent, ill-favored animal, did not receive the Buddha’s blessing on his death, the artist puts the cat in the picture as well. This is not looked upon favorably by the local priest.

It’s a sweet tale, full of gently subtle teachings on restraint, sacrifice, and love for all beings. Many of the animals sacrifice themselves for the benefit of Buddha or their masters; the deer, for example, convinces a king to become vegetarian by offering himself for sacrifice at a feast.

Recommended for children: I would guess that most American kids these days would find this a charming story, perhaps a bit over their heads but planting seeds of great ideas for the future. It’s not as lightweight as its brevity implies, and has a certain timeless, fairy tale quality to it.

Recommended for adults: Yes, for the same reasons.

Vexillology II

2011-08-20T13:28:00.001-05:00

Remember when one time a ways back I talked about flags? And then Michael5000 started making it a regular feature on his blog and did it so much better and everything because he's a blogging wunderkind. But here is another flag post anyway because I'm staying away from social updates for now. Maybe next Saturday it'll be a meme! Or some more thoughts on randomly selected songs! Or I'll have quit blogging again!

Anyway. Without further ado, three flags chosen at random.

The Philippines

White triangle, field of dark blue, field of scarlet. On the triangle is a sun with eight rays, representing the original eight provinces of Philippines, and three small stars that represent the three major island groups. Nice colors, very good visuals, almost aerodynamic (the eye is gently directed from hoist to fly), and richly symbolic. Grade: A

Morocco

Ugh! Maybe it looks better in real life:

It's not as visually unappealing up there on the flagpole, but it's still pretty blah. I'll admit that the interlacing green pentangle is an interesting design, but all by itself on that field of red it loses something, and it seems as though most Moroccan flags just use a solid line for the star instead of the over-and-under motif seen above. When that's the case, this flag has very little going for it other than in-your-face starkness. But haven't they ever heard of opposing colors? Grade: C+

Peru

Zzzzzz. Actually this, though it is the official national flag, seems to be a template of sorts, upon which various defacements can be be placed. So it seems as though most government establishments fly this, the national ensign, marked with the Peruvian coat of arms:

The coat of arms depicts a vicuna, the quinine tree, and a cornucopia, all in a shield surrounded by a wreath, crested by a smaller wreath. All of which is mighty impressive --- first, the pride in the national resources, and second, having the chutzpah to stick wreaths pretty much wherever the fancy takes you. Grade: D for the national flag, B+ for the ensign.

Maybe we could just be friends; I'm being a bit presumptuous

2011-08-19T22:31:00.004-05:00

Last day of Teacher Week.

After a morning meeting, pretty near the whole faculty piled into a big ol' charter bus and we visited the construction site of a brand new science center which is in the process of being built in our fair burg. The director gave us a talk about all the child-friendly science activities there will be, and we wandered around the room that will one day be the lobby, looking at scale models of the planned layout. I wanted to pull a Zoolander and act outraged that the new science center was going to be so uselessly tiny, but maturity prevailed.

Then the team ate lunch at one of my favorite Tex-Mex places. This week has had a lot of eating out. Next week I'm going to start bagging it. Back to school again, we worked on a few projects. In the afternoon, there was a social gathering at school, in the gym. It was a goodbye to an important admin assistant, and wine was served, making it the first time in my experience alcohol had been given to teachers on the Prestigius campus.

Muffin and her husband hosted a barbecue that 74, Friar and possibly Courtney attended, but I skipped it to have dinner with my aunt, here for the weekend --- she used to live in town but now lives in L.A. with a sugar daddy and leads a globe-trotting, adventurous lifestyle (whitewater rapids, Jay-Z concerts, Malaysia, Uzbekistan, Singapore) in her 60s.

There's no one road; we should not be the same, but I'm just a ghost

2011-08-18T19:59:00.005-05:00

Today the teachers led orientations on their grade levels to new parents in their rooms. About eight kids' parents showed up, out of a class of nineteen. I walked them through a brief PowerPoint presentation, answering questions about lunch, snack, backpacks, curriculum, and so on. Nearly everyone was good-natured and pleasant. Most seemed on board with my rather eccentric style. Except one woman, whose face was a bitter pinched mask of disdain, and said only one thing to me, a criticism about the work group I'd randomly put her daughter in. I think she might be what we call a High Maintenance parent.

The class is pretty full, but I think I have a good group. I have two kids who are siblings of kids in last year's class and one girl who's the sister of one of my favorite kids, a girl in my very first class at Prestigius, back in 2008-9.

Had lunch with the team again. Then sat through the same unintentionally hilarious '80s video on first aid and blood-borne diseases that Prestigius has shown every year since I've been there. Then they asked us for money for various Funds, another annual tradition. Then we got root beer floats, so I guess it evens out.

Sorrow's native son, he will not smile for anyone

2011-08-17T21:50:00.005-05:00

The major achievement of my day was making it through the day without napping after work. First time this week!

My assistant and I continued with the preparations. Damn, this blog is already like a damn Grisham novel, isn't it? Thrill as we clean out dried-up and stinky old paint pots left from last year! Tremble as I use the paper cutter to make journal covers! Gasp in awe as I wait around for the school's servers to come back online so I can print! Cheer as I write the kids' names on every conceivable surface in the room!

Also our team, teachers and assistants, went out for lunch. I think I may have mentioned that Prestigius hires a disproportionately high percentage of preposterously good-looking young women, and my team exemplifies that (except me, Ms. Hatfield who is a grandmotherly type, and her assistant who is the great-grandmotherly type). So on that basis alone it's nice to hang out with the team; but I thought it was good to get some social bonding in. It was a good time. Everyone was cheerful and there was none of that awkwardness you sometimes get with co-workers out socially. All good, except one of our colleagues didn't go.

Last year's team was very tight-knit, cheerful and bantering. Unlike a lot of grade level teams, we genuinely got along. But then Ms. Kent had her second child, and she took her maternity leave, and should return this year as an in-house substitute. Her place has been taken by Ms. Blah, who was on our team my first year, then was transferred to first grade and now is back again. She was and remains excessively negative and complains about everything, constantly interpreting every request from admin as an example of their incompetence and generally giving off the air of being bitter and put-upon. I don't like being around people like that. Hopefully we can still make it as a team this year.

I can't keep it in, I've gotta let it out

2011-08-16T16:35:00.004-05:00

Teacher Days Week: Day 2: The Enteachering.

More getting ready for the kids. The usual busywork: making math folders, handwriting folders, journals, name tags, chair tags, orientation packets for parents, calendar pieces, etc.

There were only two high- (or perhaps low-) lights to the day, besides a tasty free lunch.

The first was sexual harassment prevention training, led perhaps inevitably by the world's most androgynous lawyer, who was, no exaggeration at all, a living breathing real-world Pat from "Saturday Night Live." Except for the grossest quid-pro-quo chauvinist scenarios, I am guilty of most of the things she listed as taboo. I have no thought-to-language filter. At one point, she mentioned in the process of making a point, "I'm not saying that anyone wakes up in the morning and asks themselves how they can most offend their co-workers that day, but..." When she said that, four or five teachers looked over at me pointedly. I'm the counter-example.

The second was a talk from the art teacher about how we can't post the kids' art in the hallways and we have to respect the physical space by not having non-school-sanctioned furniture, personal items, microwaves, or anything else anywhere visible. Nearly every member of the faculty quietly resents the art teacher for her aesthetic ascetic crusade, which began last year and resulted in a mass removal of literally roomfuls of perfectly good material (pencil cups, shelves, books, stamps, bins, file folders) across the entire school. I have more or less ignored everything she has tried to initiate, but then my room has always been fairly bare anyway.

A lot has changed in the year and a half since I abruptly dropped this blog. I'm on my third assistant, dozens of faculty members have come and gone, the Head is new, I had a very brief and ridiculous relationship with a co-worker (always a bad idea)... I'm trying this year to be more friendly and positive. It's hard, though. I mean, I've always been helpful and courteous when people actually need something, but I have typically derided the everyday empty courtesies. Not only is it hard to change habits, it's also hard for others to see small nudges toward improvement from someone who has until then shown three or four years of disinterest.

Someone keeps saying I'm insane to complain

2011-08-15T13:47:00.001-05:00

This summer I read the entire archives of this blog. Yes, I was surprised by the unrelenting bleating, whining, resentful, martyred tone, and quickly got sick of my pathetic self-abnegation, but I remembered the reasons I began this blog in the first place.

First, as a way of taking personal stock. Gnōthi seauton and all that. In some ways getting it all out on the screen helped me deal with my issues. It's like self-administered therapy. Or cheaper Prozac. If you suffer from depression, ask your doctor if Blogaxia is right for you. Side effects of Blogazia include whining, midsection weight gain from constant sitting, and a general unhealthy pallor. Try to get outside once in a while too, Mopey.

Second, as a way of chronicling career progression. In that the blog succeeded, and might continue to serve.

So, hey.

Today was the first day back after summer at Prestigius. We have about a dozen new faces on staff, plus a new Head. It's a lady Head! That's crazy. Although soft spoken and friendly, she has already set some grumblers a-grumbling by saying all teachers need to stay a half hour after carpool every day. I almost always did that anyway, but most didn't; it was distinct trait of Prestigius that the teachers would fly out the door right after the students, which is hardly the case at most schools.

No kids at school yet, just the usual morale-building get-togethers, welcoming speeches, information and schedule arranging, and work in the classroom.

More tomorrow.

Newbery IX - 1930

2010-01-24T22:10:00.002-06:00

The ninth winner of the Newbery award was Hitty: Her First Hundred Years, by Rachel Field.

This rather charming book purports to be the autobiography of a small antebellum wooden doll, the titular Hitty, who is carved out of mountain ash-wood by a traveling peddler.

Preoccupied with her fine clothing and her dignity, Hitty goes through a variety of more or less unrelated adventures, from being taken to a crow’s nest by a mother bird, to staying a year in a barn with mice, to being worshiped as an idol by island "savages," to being used as in an Indian fakir’s snake-charming act, to serving as a portrait-painter’s prop, to touring as an antique at a doll show. With each passing year she learns a bit more about people and their various cultures and foibles, and loses bit by bit her vanity.

It’s thus broadly similar in content and plot to Kate DiCamillo’s excellent 2006 book The Miraculous Journey Of Edward Tulane, but with a less modern (obviously), less mature attitude toward love and loss. Any lessons learned about human nature in Field's book are clearly secondary to the whimsical fantasy of the sentient doll. It's certainly an enjoyable adventure story, full of twists and turns, suspense and drama (and how telling that in order for the protagonist in such a globe-trotting adventure, normally the province of boys alone, to be female, it must be a wooden doll). It's also often wryly amusing, so fun to read for an adult as well as a child.

I don't want to belittle the book for what it's not, which is the most ignorant style of review. But I think the premise offers a good chance to parody, reflect, or magnify human nature through observation and allegory, a chance that Field missed in favor of a simpler tale of the episodic ups and downs in a wooden doll's life. Perhaps this is just an aspect of the book's being dated; modern children want and deserve deeper messages in their literature, even in their fantasy.

Recommended for children: Yes, it's a fun story.

Recommended for adults: It's hardly a bad book, but I can't think why an adult would want to read it unless he was reading all the Newberys in chronological order for some reason.

The Best Lyric Of All Time

2010-01-23T16:06:00.001-06:00

Q: O wise Sage, what is the best lyric of all time?

A: The best lyric of all time is:

Now I guess I'll have to tell 'em
That I got no cerebellum
- "Teenage Lobotomy," Ramones

Don't get crushed in the iron fist

2010-01-22T19:14:00.004-06:00

We had a faculty meeting yesterday about using observation of kids to help us teach more effectively. The presenter had a lot of good ideas and sample materials. One of her introductory exercises, a sort of attention grabber, was to have the teachers list the kids in their class, not alphabetically or by gender or any other way except as they came to our minds singly. Everyone forgot about at least one of their own students. It was an interesting and informative experiment, and offered some food for thought about who was first in our minds, and why, and who went unnoticed, and why.

One thing she suggested was to step back and simply observe altercations, as long as they were safe, and to quash that teacher's impulse to solve problems for the kids. It can be quite enlightening to see how the kids work it out when they have to, and gives the teacher a better idea of what the power structure is like in the room.

Well, so this morning the boys were flailing around with the plastic animals, making them all charge and hit each other, and I was on the verge of saying, "Quit fighting with the animals," as I have so often before, but this time I bit my tongue and watched. After assessing the chaos, I stepped in, but didn't address anyone's behavior. I just said, "Shouldn't the lion be chasing the kangaroo, instead of the other way around? He's a carnivore, while the kangaroo is an herbivore."

Well, that set off a flurry of boys examining the animals and assessing them. Is a leopard a predator? How can we tell? Isn't an elephant a predator --- if not, what are those long fangs for? Can't a rhino fight off a tiger? Yes, the boys were still having the animals fight, but now it was a richer, more controlled fight. It was a great moment. I really like it when staff development is actually useful like that.

Another thing she reminded us was that classroom management is not about control. It's futile to try to "control" children --- that may work in the immediate term, but it's not teaching and it's not efficacious. What teachers should strive to do is give students strategies to guide their own behavior. You have to understand how they act. And the best way to do that is to step back, refrain from jumping in, and just observe them. And record them.

And lo and behold, this evening I came home and read in the fantastic book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind:

"Even though you try to put people under some control, it is impossible. You cannot do it. The best way to control people is to encourage them to be mischievous. Then they will be in control in its wider sense. To give your sheep or cow a wide, spacious meadow is the way to control him. So it is with people: first let them do what they want, and watch them. This is the best policy."

Man, that's Synchronicity, man.

My life is standing still but I'm still alive

2010-01-21T22:26:00.005-06:00

Today, Prestigius was closed to students, but the teachers came in for a full work day, because it was that time again --- visits from prospective students! Of, course as I learned from this day and its follow-up, no one gives a tinker's dam what we teachers have to say on these kids' files, so it was pretty stress-free day. I saw Muffin and her little kid who is applying for Pre-K.

There was a smart bunch of kids visiting my room, very pleasant for the most part, and we had a lot of fun. There were eight of them (four didn't show up, which means their parents paid the $150 admissions fee for nothing, I guess) in the room with two teachers, me and Mrs. Hatfield, plus our two assistants. That's a very relaxing ratio.

At the end, we went to the circle and played the "what do they have in common" game. To introduce them to the concept, I gave them the easiest one. I named all of the girls, and they stood up one by one. "Now," I said, "Why are only these four standing up, and not the rest?"

One girl waved her hand excitedly. "Ooh! I know!" she cried. "Because you told us to!"

True dat!

You're wearing out my joie de vie

2010-01-20T21:26:00.004-06:00

Little H, who looks to be repeating kindergarten next year if the school has anything to say about it, threw a pen at M2's neck just before recess. She wasn't hurt. When I asked him about it, he did what he does every single time his behavior is commented on --- "Well she" or "Well he did" and blah blah blah. The kid has no sense of accountability. And yes, many five-year-olds do.

So we went out to recess but he and I had a little chat on the bench. He said that M2 wouldn't get out of his way, whatever that means --- were they in a corridor? (By the way, it's really appalling how much goes on in my room that I don't notice. I try hard to be with-it and everywhere at once, but clearly I'm missing a lot.) Well, anyway, so I tried role playing with him. "I'm M2," I said. "Ask me to get out of my way."

"Get out of my way," he mumbled in his squeaky little baby voice.

"No!" I said.

H shook his head. "She didn't say no. She just 'tood there."

After shouting, "Look, numbskull, we're not re-enacting the verbatim court record here! This is an exercise! Don't you have any notion of the abstract?" in my head, I said, "Okay, I'll just stand here." So I folded my arms and made a hmmph noise, like M2 does when she's being sassy.

There was a long pause.

I broke character. "Uh, H. What are you going to do? You asked, but M2 isn't getting out of your way. What do you say? What do you do?"

He furrowed his brow, clearly at a loss. Then he brightened. "T'row the pen the other way so it doesn't hit anyone!"

Yes. Because that will help.

I trust I'll end up sleeping cradled in my doom

2010-01-19T18:33:00.005-06:00

Say, this is turning into a "Kids Say the Stupidest Things" blog 24/7, but that's because I'm Distracted right now. Only time for quick posts. But that will change, surely.

Anyway, remember when I said to W1, "What are we adding?" and he said (correctly but not relevantly) "Numbers?" Well, a similar thing happened today. Talking to M1, a girl who is not quite as desperately in need of a shopping spree at the Clue Store as W1 is, I stressed the importance of putting spaces between the words.

"See, here," I said helpfully, "because I told you to, you put a space after this first word, but then after I went away you didn't put any more spaces in. But spaces need to go after every word. Not just after the first word, but after every word. Now, where do the spaces go?"

Little M1 took a breath, as she does when she's not quite sure what's going on, but plunged right on: "They go on the paper."

Man, I love my job.

Where another man's life might begin, that's exactly where mine ends

2010-01-18T17:57:00.003-06:00

I was informed today by a child that our president was "taking everyone's money away and is going to make them into hobos."

(Wait, hobos? Consarn it! All riled up on giggle juice, I'll wager! Fetch the railroad bulls and march 'em off to the hoosegow!)

Another teacher said to this boy, "I'll bet your parents watch Fox news."

He said immediately and with gusto, "Yeah! It's so boring!"

Man, I know people enjoy sacrificing reason on the altar of righteousness and greed, but do they have to tell their kids about it?

***

Oh, and also today a boy looked at my lunch bag and said, "That lunch box sure has a long strap."

I said, "Yes, it does."

He replied, "Let's go ahead and call it a purse."

Meme from Electronic Cerebrectomy

2010-01-17T22:16:00.000-06:00

Where I got it

1. Name someone with the same birthday as you.

I have no idea and I don't care.

2. Where was your first kiss?

By the pool at Muffin's house, with the usual gang I hang out with 22 years later, minus a couple who have become lost to us over the years, including the girl in question: a whiplash-inducing buxom blonde with a sultry smile I remember to this day. For whatever reason, ugly scrawny nerdy me attracted the hot young ladies back then. It was doubtless my rapier wit. Here's my thoughts on the subject, from October 2006.

3. Have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex? If yes, why?

Um... not in anger. Ahem. Not that I think women are utterly sacred and untouchable when it comes to physical violence --- there are certainly a lot of loudmouthed nasty pieces of female work who probably should have been backhanded a few times in their developing years, and you can see some of them on reality TV these days --- but mostly that Shouldn't Be Done.

4. Have you ever sung in front of a large number of people? When?

Probably, because I don't have shame about that kind of thing, but don't remember any specific occasions. I have a horrible voice and no sense of pitch, key, or rhythm. People wince even when I attempt something as simple as "Happy Birthday." But I don't care. If I feel like singing, I'll belt one out, dammit!

5. What's the first thing you notice about your preferred sex?

Eyes. Big wide eyes kill me. Then mouth. Then what comes out of it.

6. What really turns you off?

Lack of empathy.

7. What is your biggest mistake?

I think I've answered this in more than one meme. Here's a good example of the kind of emo bullshit I tend to start spouting when forced to think about such things.

8. Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose?

Oh my, yes! I used to slash my arms and face with a knife. The cool kids call it "cutting" these days.

9. Say something totally random about yourself.

Here's an odd thing --- my digital camera has gone wonky and only takes pictures in the dark. At night or in a dimly lit bowling alley, the pictures are fine. But in the day, indoors with or without flash, they come out all washed with light and staticky horizontal lines and whatnot. It's not condensation on the lens, or the batteries, or anything. I've messed with the settings in an exhaustive array of combinations, with no luck. Oh, and here's the truly weird part: the video setting still works perfectly no matter what the light. Just not the photos. So obviously there's something wrong with the shutter exposing too much light or something? Oh, I don't know what I'm talking about. But you have to admit that was random.

10. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?

As mentioned here (proving there is nothing new under the e-sun), various sources of questionable repute have said I resemble Christopher Reeve, Tobey Maguire, and Tony Curtis. Usually these are older ladies saying these things, women whom one can only assume are in desperate need for cataract surgery.

11. Do you still watch kiddie movies or TV shows?

Sure. I own The Incredibles and The Jungle Book. I thought Toy Story 2 was one of the top 100 movies of all time. And it wasn't so long ago I was watching "Justice League Unlimited" on DVD. The other day, a woman said defensively to me as I was talking about the wonderful book The Phantom Tollbooth (which she'd never heard of, naturally), "I don't read children's books." I could only reply, "How sad for you."

That's it for me, as it's getting late, I have recommendations to write, and I don't have good answers for the rest of it.

Many times we've shared our thoughts

2010-01-16T21:21:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, dinner at a nice Mexican place with the usual crowd. Thirteen people including kids --- three couples, two kids each, and me.

Today, with crowd but sans kids, bowling at an obscenely "hip" and "trendy" bowling alley that blares the latest hip hop and empty bubblegum pop videos at the end of the lane, behind the pins (how is that helping?) and has a full bar and black lights that make your vodka look blue and your yellow shirt look white. I guess it sounds kinda fun when I write it down like that. Friar and Palfrey. T-Bone and Courtney. Muffin and her husband. Me.

It's nice I have friends. But not sure about the seventh wheel part.

It's sweeter than the ripple wine

2010-01-15T18:08:00.001-06:00

The other day the Spanish teacher told the kids she'd been out because of an operation (she'd gotten her appendix out in an emergency procedure a few days before). This prompted R to share that his mother has ovarian cancer --- he knows all about it, including the fact that she can't have any more children --- which somehow led to H gleefully proclaiming, "I love to feel my mommy's boobies!"

That's where I stepped in and asked, "Kids, have you ever heard of the phrase T.M.I.?"

***

This morning, during the circle time, E asked if she could take her shirt off because she was hot in the room (she was wearing a spaghetti strap top underneath). "I guess," I said complainingly, "but I'm hot too, and you don't see me taking off my shirt."

She giggled. "No! 'Cause then we would see your boobies!"

Say, why do they all call them "boobies," anyway? And why do they think I have them?

Take a look now at what your boy has done

2010-01-14T19:47:00.004-06:00

I was trying to guide W1 through a story problem today. This kid, although a decent reader and apparently bright in several ways, is sporadically clueless. Everyone else groks what's going on, even my youngest little whiner, H. But this kid, who can read the thing himself, is just lost. The problem says A has 4 blocks and B has 3 blocks. How many all together? I remind him the key words that make this an addition problem. I help him work this through the number line. I direct his drawing of four blocks of one color and, separated by a gap, three of another. And then we get to the part where he writes the number sentence, and he acts as though he just woke up, in his hermetically sealed pod, which arrived from Alpha Centauri a thousand years ago.

He writes, "5 + 4 = 3." I suppress the urge to kill and read through the problem with him, again. Recalling, of course, that he can read it himself. I get him to point out the numbers that the problem gives. "Where'd you get five from?!" I screech at him in my head. I trace the number line activity. "See? We start at four and add three. Three jumps on the line. So the numbers in this problem are four and three. Four blocks, and three blocks." I show him the picture that he drew. I look at him, and he nods. "So..." I prompt through gritted teeth, "what are we adding?"

"Numbers," he mumbles.

After throttling him mentally, I go over it again. Finally, he has it. he writes the equation.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Another math fact pounded unwillingly into the blunted brain of a blockhead.

Until it's time to write the answer in tally marks. And W1 puts down twenty-five of them.

My independence seems to vanish in the haze

2010-01-13T19:32:00.002-06:00

My talented and lovely assistant, pregnant with her second child, is almost certainly not going to be back next year. This means (as long I'm coming back, but hey, who knows, right?) I will get to help interview and choose a new one. But... but... Who will order food for me and fax stupid forms so I don't have to go upstairs and uncomplainingly pour the juice while I lord it over the kids? The next person might want to grow in their new job and actually have some kind of teaching time!

If this does come to pass, I will very much miss her. She puts up with my bizarre behavior and we complement each other very well (both of us being pretty laid back and uninterested in sweating the small stuff). She's going to have a girl, and being the tomboy that she is, told me, "I hope she'll be bald for two years so I don't have to do any hair stuff." So you can see how she and I kind of fit together in this school of gorgeous, shoes-obsessed fashion plates.

I tie myself below the deck

2010-01-12T18:30:00.006-06:00

Today I missed almost all of our after-school faculty meeting because carpool came and went, and B was still in the room. "Who's picking you up today?" I asked. "I don't know" she said in her tiny, precise little voice.

We waited a bit, I took her down to the office, hung around until some other late pick-ups had left, then we headed back to the room to contact somebody. I tried to reach her mother's cell phone --- which B helpfully recited, along with her father's --- but I couldn't get through. I said, "I'll try your father," and started dialing.

"My father is at China" said B in her tiny voice.

I broke off and looked for her home number. I reached her mother, who speaks English passably. "Hello, J," I said. "B is still here!" Her mother said, "It Tuesday. She has Yoga class in, ah, gym." I thanked her and hung up.

I looked at B, astonished. "Why didn't you tell me that?!" I thundered.

She put a finger in her mouth and grinned mischievously. "Tee hee," she giggled. She knew all the time she had an after-school activity. She just didn't want to go! She'd rather have hung around watching me make small talk and call people. Kids are such sneaks.

I caught the last ten minutes of the meeting and hit the snacks. I saw the Head, and he greeted me with an amiable, "Oh, you still work here?" I found out later that I'd also totally forgotten about a meeting of the Environmental Awareness team I'm on. Whoops!

This was made more ominous by his final announcement of the meeting, which was that teacher contracts will be postponed until returning students have all be accounted for. "It's just prudent, in this economy, to make sure the numbers are three," he said. Then, not quite so reassuringly, "I can't promise that everyone will be guaranteed a spot, or that nothing unfortunate will happen."

Hey! What? Huh? Wow!

Well, actually, I feel as secure as an insecure fellow like me can feel about this job, but it's the first time I've head anyone at Prestigious talk like that.

Here he comes with a green one once again

2010-01-11T23:21:00.005-06:00

Today at school R wanted to use the Rubik's cube. He couldn't remember the name of it, and hemmed and hawed until finally he said, "Mr. Chance, can I play with the... uh... Mucus Block?"

Why isn't our new puzzle toy selling well? There are quintillions of combinations! Imagine the endless possibilities! So why aren't bright kids picking up a brightly-colored, challenging Mucus Block®?

Newbery XIII - 1929

2010-01-10T21:10:00.006-06:00

Welcome to the eighth installment of what is unquestionably the Internet's finest collection of all the Newbery winners reviewed in chronological order.

The year was 1929. In October, a stock market crash marked the beginning of a global depression. Canada's high court ruled, in what most jurists regard as a moment of sheer lunacy, that women legally counted as people. And the first Academy Awards were handed out, to the interest of hardly anyone outside of Hollywood.

Meanwhile, the ALA's choice of best juvenile book was The Trumpeter Of Krakow, by Eric P. Kelly. In keeping with the Association's love for stories from far-flung lands and eras, they chose one set in Poland, 1461. The main character is one Joseph Charnetski, a fifteen-year-old, who travels with his family to Krakow after their home and fields in the Ukraine are destroyed. And yes, he becomes the trumpeter of the title. Oops, spoiler.

The family befriends a wise scholar and goes to live in the house of an alchemist and his daughter. Joseph becomes a watchman in the Church of Our Lady Mary. In the tower there, he plays on the hour the Heynal, a theme that is traditionally broken off in mid-note out of respect for a brave Polish lad who was killed by an arrow while playing it as Tartars advanced. (Click on that Wikipedia link for an interesting side note to this ancient legend, which may not be one at all.) The family is shadowed and accosted several times by a mysterious rogue, who turns out to be the dreaded Ukrainian warlord whose men originally drove them from their home and is out to steal a priceless treasure which, to Joseph's surprise, his father is guarding for the king.

This is a fine historical adventure, written in a clear but highly literate style, full of drama and suspense. Krakow is also made central to the story, as Kelly lovingly details its various buildings and streets. Nor is this a story that could be transplanted to another time, as lesser historical tales can be; alchemy plays a great role in this book, as part of the drama stems from Kreutz, the alchemist, and his attempts to find the secret of transmuting base metals to gold. It's fun to read, and the brisk pacing and suspense keep the pages turning --- a perfect young adult adventure story.

Recommended for adults: Yes.

Recommended for children: Yes.

Loaded 19

2010-01-09T18:06:00.002-06:00

Hypotheticals: If you had to run a marathon, how many miles do you think you could last?
If I had to actually run? Probably one before I died. I could walk it, but it would take a while.

Anything Goes: What is life's greatest mystery?
Why women enjoy the company of men who treat them like dirt without seeming to offer anything to compensate for it.

No-Brainers: What is your favorite flower?
See number 47 here.

Personals: What do you generally sleep in at night?
When it's cold, a long john type shirt and flannel pants. When it's hot, I go commando, baby!

What becomes of the broken hearted?

2010-01-08T09:27:00.005-06:00

In late December, flatulent ass Rush Limbaugh was rushed to a hospital in Hawaii following severe chest pains. Disregarding all the prayers of the righteous, God did not strike him down in agony. Apparently, they found nothing wrong with him, and now he's fine. Fine enough to spout the following fatuous crap: "Based on what happened here to me, I don't think there's one thing wrong with the American healthcare system. It is working just fine, just dandy."

Wow, really? The system worked for a famous, white, male, multi-millionaire conservative? That's amazing! It must therefore also work for black welfare moms, college students, underemployed single mothers, and minimum wage-earning heads of families! That's logic! QED, bitches, and check mate!

Seriously, why have the people not risen up as one to slay this menace to all that is good and holy?

By the way, anyone remember that around the same time, conservative apologist Kevin Madden went on the airwaves to make himself look ridiculous with this asinine claptrap: "You have to also remember the fact that the president being on vacation in Hawaii, it’s much different than being in Texas. Hawaii to many Americans seems like a foreign place."

Oopsie! It's a state, and apparently even evil lying conservative media whores go there to relax! Not, unfortunately, to die.

I saw a man driving a BMW convertible with a bumper sticker that read: "Don't spread my wealth. Spread my work ethic!" Why, yes, the driver was white, how did you guess? Perhaps it was this tidbit from the Bureau of Labor: "More than half of black males between the ages of 16 and 19 are unemployed. And that's only counting those seeking work. Economists say legions of other young black men — nobody knows how many — have given up looking."

I really wanted to smash his car with a cinderblock and leave it to break down at night in the poorest neighborhood of the city, so all those lazy black men who just aren't working hard enough, darn it, could enjoy the wisdom of his bumper sticker.

Yep, I'm starting the New Year with a lot of Buddhist-like serenity and good karma.

Where do we go from here and what did you do with the directions?

2010-01-07T19:12:00.000-06:00

After school we had a meeting about the writing curriculum. Ms. Ice Queen, a first grade teacher who was the leader of the group (I had been installed as co-leader), suddenly quit the group without explanation, at least to the rest of the faculty. So now I'm the main leader. I'm not the type who likes to sit around analyzing where we've been and where we're going and whether that's the way we want to go --- at least not for very long. Those are necessary things to consider, but at some point, I want action to be taken. For example, if we're examining our expectations to see if they're appropriate, consistent, and form some kind of continuum, eventually we'll need to stop examining and start pruning, streamlining, and inserting new ideas.

So, with very short notice, this afternoon I tried to pick up where Icy left off, and asked for input and volunteers to complete some tasks. But man, teachers can be such a contrary, heel-dragging bunch, especially at this school. They were questioning why we needed to do things, and whether it wouldn't be redundant with all the documentation we already have, and so on.

I wanted to say, "Look, jerks, you're right, okay? You know and I know all this is just window dressing, to make us keep our minds on our work, and so the administration can say we revamp the curriculum frequently. We're not meant to move mountains here. So how about just shutting up and writing out the extremely brief page I'm asking for so we can go the hell home." Of course I didn't. Eventually, a couple of people said they'd write the drafts, and I said I'd write the mission statement of writing philosophy, and we called it a day. I'd like to say that I adjourned the meeting, but actually people just started standing up and walking away. I have no power, and garner no respect.

***

After the meeting I picked up some Asian take out food for five and brought it to R's house. His mother has ovarian and carcinoid cancer and may not recover, though she's in treatment. I guess that puts my spine herpes, vertebrae misalignment, heart troubles and neck fungus in a relative light; they're not (as yet) fatal --- though Ganesh on the great greasy Ganges, this zona itches like a mofo. Arrrrgh! Scratchscratchscratch ointment medicine arggh

***

Hey, how come at work I can be patient as Job and Buddha, charming and funny with the kids all day, and then at that one single moment when I've reached my limit, at the fifteenth useless petty transgression, and I call out to a troublesome boy in a clearly fed-up tone --- that's the very moment an admin walks by?

Because there is no why. That's why.

I went to the doctor and the doctor said Friend, this should be the middle but it could be the end

2010-01-06T21:27:00.004-06:00

Hey, guess what's not fun? Having little crappy things wrong with your health.

First there was the disgusting ringworm, a condition that has recurred (in much milder form) off and on since May. I'm still getting over a bout of bronchitis I contracted in early December. Then there was the neck pain thing which sent me to a chiropractor. I sleep on a memory foam pillow now with neck support, because my neck vertebrae bend out the wrong way.

And now I have the goddamn shingles, or as I like to call it, spinal herpes. (Shingles is some kind of residual chicken pox virus that lives in your spine and decides to give you a nasty rash thirty years later, apparently.) Let me tell you what that's like: weirdly tingly, slightly painful, uncomfortably itchy, extremely unappealing visually. Also: may indicate increased risk of cancer! Isn't the panoply of nature's creation a wonderful thing?

I'm currently taking a shedload of medication, including digitalis for tachycardia, prescription cough drops, Vicodin (which I don't need, but might later?), and two drugs to combat the zona breakout. I have ceased taking Prozac and some other drug meant to lower my blood pressure, which is fine right now on its own. Man, I don't even like taking any medication.

This is perhaps the consequences of seeing the doctor approximately zero times from the age of 23 to 32 or so. I can feel the cold grasp of Grandfather Death already.

Laugh along even though they're laughing at you

2010-01-05T20:12:00.009-06:00

So there are a number of brief, on-the-spot games I play with the kids between instruction or projects. We play a variety of hangman, a sort of game like Mastermind except with words, four-in-a-row team tic tac toe, equation solving tic tac toe, and so on.

One of these games is What Do They Have in Common; in this game I ask several kids to stand up, and the class takes turns trying to guess what characteristic belongs to that group, and only that group. The simplest example of this would be: all the girls stand up. A slightly harder example is: asking the kids in striped shirts to stand up. A very hard example might be: have the kids whose names begin with vowels stand up.

In general, kindergarten kids are not very good at this game. The first day I introduced the game, after the more obvious boys/girls and hair color examples didn't go exactly smoothly, I had my assistant and I stand up and all the kids sit. They had a very hard time coming to conclusion that what we had in common and they didn't was "adulthood" or "are teachers" or anything of that kind.

The kids will excitedly and erroneously proclaim the current round's characteristic to be the same as the previous, even when it is clearly not ("no, not all the girls are standing up this time, so that can't be it..."). They will attempt to conflate it with patterns ("there's a girl, and a boy with shoelaces, then a girl, and boy without shoelaces"), which is pretty much the opposite of the idea. They are also largely incapable of figuring out abstract common themes, such as "everyone standing has a double letter in their name." And, finally, when asked to come up with their own characteristics to form a group, usually miss one person who fits the condition, or put in an extraneous one ("A2 is standing up, but he isn't wearing any buttons!").

In short, it's great fun. They're getting better at it. And to be fair, it's a pretty hard game. Today I could not figure out a couple of the characteristics that the kids thought of themselves (everyone with collars, with brown eyes). On the other hand, one of the kids standing up in the former game was not actually wearing a collar. So that made it a bit tougher.

So but anyhow this morning I had the three kids whose names end in Y stand up. There were a couple of desultory guesses, then A3 raised her hand eagerly. "What do you think these three classmates have in common?" I asked her.

"They're all very slow in finishing their work!" she said gleefully.

Cue: Assistant and I convulsing with laughter, amid faux-horrified protests at the idea.

To lamely try to justify for what it is, a lack of drive

2010-01-04T19:51:00.001-06:00

Let's see, what have I been up to, then? Not much. Earlier this year, A4's mother stirred up a little maelstrom in a mailbag when she met with me, the Head, the Vice Head, and Ms. Counselor because of the "bullying" she claimed A4 was getting at the hands of other children in my class. She said he was coming home with bruises and was being savagely beaten for no reason. When extended observation by everyone and his brother revealed that nothing of the sort was happening and this was communicated to her, A4's mother told Ms. Counselor that she believed her child's story over any adult's. The Head told me later that I won the prize for having the kookiest parent in the school this year. Then just as suddenly as it began it was over, as A4's mother decided everything was groovy again.

I wrote six recommendations last week for kids whose parents wanted them to go bigger better even more respected private schools (well, and one that wanted to go to a cheaper school). The Vice Head gave us her perennial advice ("don't gush") and I toned everything down a bit, being the corporate sellout that I am.

As I've whined about before, more than once, I've been dragooned into Doing Stuff beyond what I feel is the acceptable call of duty. Now I'm apparently leading some kind of writing curriculum review team. Must I? Curse this effortless eloquence!

Newbery VII

2010-01-03T17:55:00.004-06:00

When we last looked in on the venerable Newberys, the winner was the lovable, racist Smoky the Cowhorse.

In 1928, the Newbery Committee in all its wisdom chose as the best children's book of the year Gay-Neck: The Story Of a Pigeon, by Indian-born author Dhan Gopal Mukerji. This would prove to future generations of children to be a problematic choice for two reasons. One, it is called Gay-Neck, and that's just not something you can live down anymore. Two, it is the story of a pigeon.

The plot begins in the early 1900s, with a young Indian boy who raises carrier pigeons. The titular Gay-Neck, named for his colorful neck plumage, is the finest, able to outfly eagles and hawks. When WWI breaks out, Gay-Neck is used as a messenger pigeon under the boy’s friend, Ghond the hunter. The bird finds he must dodge the screaming mechanical eagles (planes) and barking dogs (machine guns) that try to destroy him.

During the course of the war, both the pigeon and Ghond are wounded, and both develop a form of traumatic disorder. So they travel to the lamaseries in the Himalayas to meditate and overcome their fear. The story is told mostly from the boy’s point of view, but occasionally Gay-Neck narrates when the bird is alone, and Ghond is also given his view, during the most harrowing battle. It is a story of a pigeon, in a strict sense, but the plot is really only the steed that the message rides, so to speak.

Mukerji's main concern is promoting Buddhist concerns of peace, courage, and wisdom. Prayers and meditations on overcoming fear are not only included, they're the main lesson of the story – "No beast of prey can kill his victim without frightening him first," and "each being that lives is a reservoir of infinite courage." I like that second one, by the way. Trying saying it to yourself. Go on. I'll wait.

Rarely does a children’s book manage to tread such deep waters without looking ridiculous, but Mukerji manages to imbue his little tale with an enormous amount of inspiration and wisdom.

Recommended for children: Well... oh dear. It's a good book, and kids love animal stories. But, see, it's called "Gay-Neck."

Recommeded for adults: Yes.

Looking back through time you know it's clear that I've been blind

2010-01-02T22:19:00.003-06:00

Ha ha! Won't it be funny, after yesterday's long melodramatic emo post, I suddenly stop blogging again?

Well, one more day, perhaps.

So this morning I went to the chiropractor. Second visit of the week, and of my life. I woke up a couple weeks back with some neck pain that never went away, so now this. I know some people think of chiropractors as nothing short of miracle workers and some think they're dangerous quacks. I've always been a bit leery, myself, but these guys seem very capable and calm and assured. I won't say I'm utterly healed, but over the last few days the pain has lessened and mobility has increased. Hell, the deep muscle massage and heated vibrating chairs by themselves are practically worth the price of admission, anyway. I'm not so much a fan of having my bones crack audibly while some guy pushes my body parts in different directions, but I understand that my neck is in a funny shape, and this seems to help.

And remember how inaction breeds despair and all that? Say yes more; nay, even create opportunities to say yes to? Well, it's been less than twenty-four hours since I wrote that and I already turned down an invitation to dinner... but it was just Friar and his kids and Muffin and her kids, and I just ate with them on New Year's Eve, and anyhow the Green Margarita is a truly disgusting restaurant. Greasy orange cheese and all that, the worst excesses of Tex-Mex and none of the health benefits.

I've been eating no land-based meat, except on Saturdays, for about three months now. I don't really feel any different, but I'm confident that my blood pressure and arteries are thanking me.

***

In Buddhist metta practice, traditionally one trains oneself to cultivate loving goodwill to everyone by starting first with oneself, moving on to a friend or loved one, then a person whom one feels neutral toward, then someone one has bad feelings for, and so on in widening concentric circles until one feels love for the universe. So, basically, inward to outward. I assume that this is meant to be from easiest to hardest --- after all, it's easier to feel love for your good friend than for your rarely-seen next door neighbor, and easier to love that neighbor than the creep who spreads rumors about you at the office.

But what about those of us who stumble at the starting block? Love me first? The whole damn point of trying to make myself serene is that I'm not happy with myself in the first place. I think I'd better start with thinking good thoughts about Friar and his family, and save myself for about third in line.

Better can't make your life better

2010-01-01T21:39:00.003-06:00

Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.

Okay. So. Yeah.

This is going to be one of those lengthy, meandering, almost-but-not-quite getting to a point posts, so watch out, Future Self. Prepare to smirk.

Yeah, I went back to blogging after taking the summer off, then instantly dropped it again. And although that hasn't exactly left a gaping void in my life that begs to be filled, it's something that ought to be remedied.

Why? Well, certainly in large part the only answer to that seems to be Yes, why? But there's something to it.

When you're depressive like I am, certain things Matter. Actually, no. It's not so much that they --- those things --- matter as that they indicate or represent something that matters. People often make these obsessive little pledges to themselves, especially on New Year's Day, which by no coincidence whatever this is. And whether it's, for example, trying do 20 minutes of elliptical three times a week or logging the mileage and gas costs of your new car or opening bills the day you get them or not drinking soda or blogging about your life every day, it's usually some kind of a connection to the world. Even in the case of avoidance, like quitting smoking or eating meat or what have you, the idea is to replace that bad habit with a better one --- viz., one that builds a better relationship between you and your environment.

You know, I used to be more eloquent. Or maybe things just sound better in my head.

Well but and so what I'm trying to get at is that these obsessive little pledges are, if not meaningful in themselves, indicative of meaning. When a depressive like me drops these habits made with the best of intentions to keep up good connections --- well, sometimes it's because those things were time-consuming and silly and served their brief purpose (like, who needs to log their new car's mileage on a regular basis?). But sometimes the letting go of these ostensibly insignificant things is a symptom. A symptom of an unhealthy disassociation.

To normal gregarious social butterflies, the following may seem an absurd statement, but for some people there really is a slope from quitting blogging (goodbye, introspection) to dropping healthy eating habits (I'm not talking about my eating on the Internet anymore, so who cares?) to cutting out all social activity and retreating almost entirely into the life of a recluse (why should I go out? My mind and body are mush). This is not imaginary. This is not a self-fulfilling prophecy. This is self-destruction through indifference and it is real.

All of which is a very loquacious way of saying that I'd better blog daily again, dammit. It's constructive. Doing is better than not doing. Gnōthi seauton and all that.

***

Right, so that was awkward! Quick, change the subject! What are your New Year's resolutions, Chance?

Actually, Chance, I never make any New Year's resolutions. Whenever I've been inspired to better myself, I've always been the type that tends more toward "Do it now!" instead of "Wait until some arbitrary moment infused with artificial importance!" However, I hope that I'll live a good story this year. And I would like to think about some of the things I need in my life. Maybe three of them.

One thing I need back in my life -- and this will sound the absurdest of all, but I'll plow on --- is Zen. I need my Zen back. Like most liberal arts college students, I studied Zen a bit and because enamored with some of its teachings. I think my Zen got leaked out of me after my ex-wife cheated on me while studying to be a Buddhist priest. Yes, really. Anyway, I think somewhere I lost a certain serenity, and I need it back. Not only was it better for my mental health, I think it made me a more appealing soul. No one likes an uptight snark addict. Nam myoho renge kyo, people. Let's get metta-physical.

But I must also face facts and admit that while I've lived an aleatory sort of existence, the fatalistic life has not necessarily been good to me. Inaction breeds despair. Why have I had so many shitty relationships? Because they chose me, and I shrugged and accepted it. I didn't actively choose them --- or, perhaps more accurately, I lacked the will to deny them. I am far too old and sedentary and unpopular to let things happen anymore. I need not just to say yes more, but to go and find those opportunities to say yes to. That can mean something as little as answering the phone more often.

Finally, you know what I need more of in my life? Relationships that aren't doomed.

The funny circus from his head

2009-08-26T21:20:00.005-05:00

First day of school with the kids! Um... yay?

They seem like a good group. The day went pretty much exactly like last year's.

The cast:

A1, boy, 5. Clever, good reader, knows a few French words, has a sly mischievous look about him. Is half-Asian.
A2, boy, 6. Son of the ultra-involved Sikh parents. Bookish and smart. Seems affable and sweet, not at all the competitive, self-absorbed kid his parents described at the conference.
A3, girl, 5. Seems sharp. Loves art.
A4, boy, 6. The second-loudest kid in the room, but not aggressive, just playful. Mother is from South America. She says he can add fractions and subtract two-digit numbers already. So far I'm impressed with his volume.
B, girl, 5. Daughter of first-generation immigrants. Her mother spoke English fairly well at our meeting, but not quite fluently enough for total communication. B herself spoke perhaps three words in total today, all of them monosyllabic answers drawn very reluctantly from her by me insisting on a reply.
C, boy, 5. A smart fellow, perhaps has Asperger's. Talks as if someone's constantly adjusting his pitch and playback speed.
G, girl, 5. Youngest in the class, turned five just a few days ago. Very sweet. Excellent artist.
H, boy, 5. Second-youngest in the class. Absolutely goes nuts for superheroes (so we have something to talk about). Very poor motor skills, almost no letter-sound correspondence, not strong enough to close the hole punch. I may have to earn my pay with this little guy.
K1, girl, 5. One of two black girls in the room. Almost zero literacy skills. Has a reputation for being sassy and defiant, but this hasn't emerged yet. It may never, Ganesh willing.
K2, girl, 5. Big cheeks. Loves animals. Good reader.
M1, girl, 5. Super cute! Loves art.
M2, girl, 5. Don't know her ethnic heritage but she's a sort of mocha color. Also has a reputation for being sassy. Poor writing.
R, boy, 5. Just the sweetest, most helpful little ball of energy you ever saw. His mother has possibly terminal cancer. Is terrific at invented spelling.
T, girl, 5. The second black girl in the class. A terrific reader. Fell asleep in her chair at the end of the day.
W1, boy, 5. Nice kid, kinda loud, loves Legos. All I really know about him so far is his mother is really, really hot. Don't judge me!
W2, boy, 6. Kept to himself, loves to cut and glue paper creations. Very well spoken and seems to read fairly fluently.
Z, boy, 5. The loudest kid in the class. Ebullient and chipper and loud, but showed streaks of whiny defeatism already. Very poor writing skills.

They're a fun, happy, creative bunch, and --- here's hoping --- I don't sense any aggression in the group as I did with a couple of last year's boys. I feel like the big difference between this and my former class --- and I know it's only been one day, so I may be wrong --- are that this class has fewer kids with advanced reading and writing skills, and some with almost no phonetic awareness. Well, down the road we go, then.

***

After school, Ms. N, Ms. Counselor, and I put on a little skit we'd prepared at the behest of the Administration about the importance of faculty and staff donating to the school fund. We opened with me giving a few amusingly inappropriate ideas on how to stir up involvement (mostly I favored punching), then we narrated a PowerPoint with some very humorous photos, taken by the development office, that illustrated our ideas. Ms. N and I had been picked for this project because of last year's presentation on our conference, which we mistakenly made creative and engaging, so now we're the go-to people for in-house talks.

And then we all got ice cream floats! It was a cibarious celebration.

Now he's ready to walk a path that is new and he can't turn back

2009-08-25T19:27:00.001-05:00

Second day of parent conferences. Overall I'm very sanguine about the State of Parental Affairs this year. They seem like a bright, easy-going bunch who aren't (too) fazed by my rather off-kilter manner, speech, humor, and appearance. (Yes, I kind of cultivate the image.)

The last parent to arrive (rescheduled, having forgotten about her original meeting yesterday until I called her about it) came in looking for all the world like an African tribeswoman in a dashiki, complete with tiny wide-eyed baby (recently acquired from CPS, she told us without volunteering any further information) on her voluminous hip. I asked her, as I had all the parents, where her daughter was in reading, and she replied, "I don't know." She honestly had no idea how well, or indeed if, her child could read. Later she asked me what she could do at home to help her daughter's math skills. I asked her to tell me about what level her daughter was. "I don't know," she said again. Oh dear. I said I wouldn't be able to advise her on anything until I figured out what skills her child had.

Although I didn't get the younger brother of the girl from Mr. C's class whose father is French, I did get two other kids who have fathers who can speak French and want their kids to learn. That's good, as I've always liked teaching simple French phrases to kids.

Also, I got some supplemental insurance. We already have health and dental paid, but I got a cancer policy (lots of tumors in my family) and some kind of heart attack policy which I'm not at all sure I actually need, since despite my congenital heart condition I'm at no more of a risk for heart attack than anyone else my age and level of activity. What I'm at risk for is heart failure, which is a totally different fish. Oh well. I'll probably die of a stroke now anyway.

Incredibly tired. Not used to this frenetic pace.

Walk on eggshells on my old stomping ground

2009-08-24T21:57:00.003-05:00

First day of parent conferences.

I met half my 18 kids' parents. One boy's parents are a couple of self-described nerds (the father designs video games for a living, their dog is named after a mathematician, and their son's middle name is that of a famous scientist). Another boy's mother has possibly fatal cancer (she looked good, but obviously thin and weak, and discussed her illness with humor and openness); there's also a supportive stepfather and an absent father in his life. Most of the parents were effusive and charming and appeared happy to have me as their child's teacher.

I think there may be problems with two sets of parents: one is the Sikh family I met Friday, who are stereotypically pushy helicopter parents and whose perfectionist neuroses are being projected into their poor kid. The second is another new boy's South American-born mother, whose relentless officiousness during our brief interview made the Indian couple seem like laid-back, trusting hippie cats.

Sunday Warbooks: Why the Allies Won

2009-08-23T21:44:00.004-05:00

A review of Why the Allies Won, by Richard Overy.

Just as the title indicates, this is a thorough examination of how WWII --- the outcome of which was decidedly uncertain before late 1943 or so --- ended the way it did. Overy is a masterful and convincing historian, who over the course of 330 pages lays out a cogent argument based on everything from economy and materiel production to the warped philosophy of the Axis powers.

It's impossible to distill the mass of fascinating information into a few paragraphs, but there are a few main points that especially ring true. The first is, of course, the industrial production of the USA and USSR, unmatched by any of the Axis powers. Overy argues that America’s capitalist society and the Soviet centralized dictatorship were each in their own way ideally suited to maximize their vast resources. In contrast, Hitler's less focused, more cutthroat dictatorship failed to make the most of Germany's limited resources. A telling example is when Hitler’s armies took Soviet oil fields, but then had no engineers to make the oil available to Germany, so it made no discernible change in their production.

Overy further argues that the Allied powers made simple, reliable, mass-produced weapons, and kept a healthy ratio of mechanics on hand. The opposite was true of the Germany industrial complex, which was fixated on ever-newer technologies, so obsolescence and difficulty of repair became issues as the war progressed. Overy concludes that even Germany's much-vaunted missile program, which was inarguably years ahead of anything the Allies had, was "a lost cause" for these reasons: impressive, yes, but not a war-winner.

The second main theme is the rapid learning curve of the allied powers, who learned from their many early defeats and focused intently on producing only what was needed to win. The Germans and Japanese, by contrast, has a very slow learning curve, and coasted on early victories, believing that their militaristic will-to-power philosophy made victory a foregone conclusion. This learning curve extended to every facet of the war --- improvements in bombing, defense, codes, and so on ensured the Allies’ early losses were not often repeated.

The final main theme that runs through the whole book, though it's not made as explicit as the others, is the mindset of the various leaders. Churchill, Roosevelt, and Stalin had many philosophical and strategical differences, but were able to work in lock step for the single goal of destroying Nazism utterly. Hitler had no such restraint, unable to maintain even the farce of an alliance with Stalin until the war in the west had been concluded. Stalin, for all his faults, promoted reliable men, wanted to hear the unvarnished truth about how the war was progressing, and allowed himself to be overruled when it came to important strategic decisions. Hitler, famously, removed officers who told him bad news, even if it was true, and obsessively insisted on micro-managing the war (sounds like Bush and Rumsfeld!), with a deleterious result for Germany's chances for victory.

Perhaps the most interesting example of how much Hitler's self-supposed strategic genius hurt Germany was Hitler's insistence on treating the Normandy landings lightly, thinking they were only a ruse, until it was far too late and Patton had already swept over half of France. Historical events like this always give rise to their hypothetical counterparts: what if Hitler had allowed Rommel and others to fight the war they wanted to? The modern Anglo-American mind reels at the horror.

In all, this is an inexhaustibly fascinating book, one sure to promote argument among WWII buffs for its calm, reasoned analysis and sometimes unexpected conclusions.

***

Sunday warbooks scoreboard:

Greco-Persian wars: 2
WWI: 2
WWII: 6 <----winning big, like the Allies in late 1945
Vietnam: 2
Iraq wars: 2
Afghanistan war: 1
General warfare: 2

Got holes in my socks, they match the ones that I got in my feet

2009-08-22T21:58:00.006-05:00

The other day friend of the Sutler Churlita wrote a great timely post about her memories of her first day of kindergarten. I have no memory of my own first day, even though I'm (barely) younger than Churlita is. Indeed, I have only vague memories of the entire era, and some of them may be inadvertently conflated with those of earlier or younger years, as well. I just don't know.

Around that time my teacher was called Miss Cockerell, and some kids out of a sense of not malevolent silliness called her "Miss Cockroach" behind her back. We were blissfully unaware of the ruder words her name might have conjured up in, say middle school students. I don't remember any other teacher's names until fifth grade or so. I had a small group of friends both boys and girls, as I have all my life, and didn't interact much with outside that group. I remember exactly two students' names from those times (and exactly two more from all other years until high school). For a reason that now utterly escapes me, we referred to mail delivery trucks as "cracker boxes," and called out dibs on XYZ amount of crackers ("I got a thousand crackers!") if we saw one first.

Kids are nuts, man.

***

Anyway, tonight I went out to Hangout II with the old gang: Friar, Muffin, T-Bone, Courtney, and Auric. Oh, and Mr. Hangout came out with us too. We heard a very good local country band, the members of whom I'm passing acquaintances with. Muffin is now stomach-extendingly pregnant, despite being a very tiny woman everywhere else. She looks like an elf with a beach ball in her dress.

A passing girl said to another one as we sat and drank, "That's Auric! He's the lead singer of Auric's Band!" I turned to her and said, "No, it's not. He gets that all the time. Don't you, Fred?" But I'm not sure she was convinced by my clever artifice.

Kid, stay and snip your cord off

2009-08-21T18:43:00.005-05:00

Today we were supposed to have playground visits, so the parents can bring the new kids and watch them interact outside, but it stormed during the night so the visits were canceled. Of course, by ten a.m. the ground was bone dry and it was as if moisture had never existed within the borders Texas. But as I've mentioned before, the people in these here parts can get a mite panicky over inclement weather.

Anyhoo, instead I met eight or ten of my kids' parents, with no children present. They seem like a decent, nice group. I gave a brief overview of what we expect in kindergarten and our basic schedule, using a PowerPoint presentation Ms. K made for the team. My assistant sat at my laptop and clicked the mouse to change the pages whenever I pointed at the screen as if I had an old-fashioned projector remote and said "Ka-chunk!"

My wild, unpredictable way of speaking, my congenital irreverence for everything under the sun, and the simple fact that I'm a man in a traditionally female job probably made a few of the parents somewhat wary. That's to be expected. One father in particular, a Sikh --- but sans turban --- seemed a bit stiff, but it's all fine with me. I like to cultivate that initial shock by playing up the weirdness, then surprise them with smooth competence. They'll come around.

At the end of the day we had a brief tutorial on our new payroll procedures. Soon it'll all be online and we won't fill out sheets to request leave, nor will we get paper check stubs. That's the future, baby. (Checks info online) Hey! I have eighty hours of sick leave! I'ma stay home all week watchin' daytime teevee and eatin' Bugles!

The world don't care and yet it clings to me

2009-08-20T20:42:00.000-05:00

Here's a meme I got sent.

My Life According to __________

Pick a favorite musical artist and answer all the questions as accurately and sincerely as possible using only song titles.

Artist picked: Tom Waits

Are you a male or female: Little Man
Describe yourself: Nobody
How do you feel: Young at Heart
Describe where you currently live: House Where Nobody Lives
If you could go anywhere, where would you go? San Diego Serenade
Your favorite form of transportation: Train Song
You and your best friend are...? (Lookin' For) The Heart Of Saturday Night
What's the weather like: In Shades
Favorite time of day: The Ghosts of Saturday Night
If your life was a TV show, what would it be called? Just Another Sucker On the Vine
What is life to you: Misery Is the River Of the World
Your relationship: Bad Liver And a Broken Heart
Your fear: How's It Gonna End
What is the best advice you have to give: Never Let Go
Thought for the day: I Never Talk To Strangers
How you would like to die: The Earth Died Screaming
Everything sucks because: Everything Goes To Hell
Everything's okay because: World Keeps Turning
Your soul's present condition: The Part You Throw Away
Your motto: I'm Still Here

I'm going to unpack all my things before it gets too late

2009-08-19T20:26:00.003-05:00

Work on my room goes apace. Things are finally starting to look a little more organized and neat. Actually, my room has a rather ascetic atmosphere compared to my three female K counterparts. For example, I eschew those cascade bookshelves that so many other EC rooms have, preferring typical horizontal shelves. The resulting minimalism is not necessarily a good thing, and I do feel like I'm not being quite as colorful and tactile and welcoming and cutesy as they are, but I guess I gotta be me. My classroom looks more like a third-grade room than a kindergarten one. But hell, we still have fun.

Today at lunch Admin Assistant was commiserating with Counselor about their dating mishaps (both are astoundingly attractive young single women), saying "Yeah, the guy should know how to act, but you don't want to have to tell him. You want him to just know it."

I said, "I wish you could really hear yourself right now." I mean, I do understand her meaning, but it's a fantasy. No date's going to go well if you're looking for a mind reader.

She did use a funny term, though. Referring to a lot of men's tendency to text instead of manning up and calling a women they're maybe sort of interested in, she said, "They use their texticles because they don't have the balls to call." It wasn't until I actually wrote this post that I realized it was an extant term; I thought she coined it on the spot.

Drowning in the sound of my own rhapsody

2009-08-18T23:38:00.004-05:00

Man, there is a lot to do when preparing for a new class. I would have thought it would be easier the second time around in the same room, but no. Among the things that ought to be made before Day One:

Kids' names labels for the chairs
Handwriting folders
Blank math folders for story problems
Name tags for attendance board
Name tags for the job chart
Nine blank weather charts
Writing journals
Take-home work folders
Computer use schedule
Open space use schedule

...And so forth. As I tell anyone within hearing range at work, if I didn't have my lovely and talented Assistant, I'd be lost. She's a funny, friendly, easy-going woman who used to be on the substitute team with me. Now she has this part-time job because of her young son. Over the course of the last year and a half, she got pregnant, got divorced, and is now happily remarried.

We make a great team, except that for whatever reason, the two of us together seem to be dumber than each one of us separately. It's like we both expect the other one to do the thinking. It's awesome.

Stitch on stitch and earn to urn, a presence on the lift

2009-08-17T23:24:00.002-05:00

Well, work started. We got a free breakfast and a free lunch (I skipped the first and the second was nasty, but it's the thought that counts). Spent most of the day on a project very long overdue --- reorganizing, going through, sorting, or trashing every item on Mr. C's over-crowded shelves. The room looks like a damn midden, but at least I'll know where things are when this is all over. Hopefully.

We had Blood Borne Pathogens training courtesy of The Nurse again, and watched the same outrageously awful video as last year, starring The World's Worst Actress and three young people who represent HIV, Hep B, and Hep C. The one who represents HIV was a black jock. That's so racist.

I came home and took a three-hour nap. Um... that was overkill. I shouldn't do that.

Newbery VI

2009-08-16T22:14:00.005-05:00

Continuing where we left off...

In 1927 the America Library Association took a break from heaping praises on less than stellar collections of legends from faraway lands, and turned to a quintessentially American story in Smoky the Cowhorse, by Will James.

This book follows the life of a range horse, from his birth, though the various occupations he's put to, and finally to being put out to pasture for retirement. James makes the horse the center of the story, and tells it as realistically as possible while making Smoky an exceptional beast. (The horse never voices an opinion, let alone talks; James tries to express silent instinct or antipathy without anthropomorphizing the animal.)

Indeed, Smoky isn't actually his name, except inasmuch as a bronco buster named Clint calls him that for a while. Most of his life he's a nameless, wild horse, free on the range, learning to stay with the herd, avoid and kill rattlesnakes, fight wolves, and so on. Annually he is corralled by cowboys and made to do range work: herding steer, which he grows to enjoy. After some misadventure, he is known by the name of Cougar as a famous cowboy-killing bucking bronco, and later still he's called Cloudy as an indifferent riding horse for greenhorn dude equestrians.

Things look bleakest for him when, older and enfeebled by a lifetime of action, he’s sold as a workhorse, regularly beaten and mistreated. Of course there’s a happy ending, but James lets it unfold with patience; nothing is neatly packaged or trite, and Smoky is far from a pet, or even so much as tame, even at the end. It’s a superior animal story, but unfortunately made a bit difficult for the modern reader by two factors.

One, James writes in a sub-literate dialect ("them horses was running," "If Smoky could only knowed, there’d been a lot of suffering which he wouldn't had to've went thru"), which may have been intentional or not, but either way it's not charming or conducive to good reading practice. And then, common words, even equine vocabulary such as "gait," are misspelled, which indicates that the ungrammatical dialect may have been the best James could do. I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it makes for hard reading.

Second, and far worse, there's a deep racism in the book. The two villains are Mexican. One is referred to with contempt as a "breed" (short for "half-breed," he being half-Mexican, half "other blood that’s darker") with no morals. The other is a similarly immoral, cruel man who is beaten for his cruelty by a white man in front of a laughing sheriff who stops the fight, but only because the Mexican's death would make work for him, "same as if he were a white man." It's a pity, because James is a decent storyteller, and though I don’t care for animal tales as a rule, this one drew me in. This is a book a product of its time, certainly.

Recommended for children: I'm afraid not.

Recommended for adults: It's not bad, if you can look past the ugly racial views and the cowpoke writing style. Not for everyone, at the very least.

I've gathered myself from the bits and remains and the pieces I've pulled from all of my days

2009-08-15T22:00:00.002-05:00

I spent my Saturday renting a truck from Home Depot (motto: "the people in our Tool Rental department are total pricks") and helping my aunt move. She was planning to move to LA where her male companion lives, but apparently he's a crazy person just like the last guy, and broke up with her via a text message because she talks to her son too much or something. Anyhoo, she's just sold her house, and she's storing a lot of her clothes in my house while she's temporarily without a place to call her own and nomadic. She also gave me Cousin's bed and night stand, which is pretty sweet. Now I have a real guest room that actually looks inviting, instead of just having a mattress on a floor.

Uh, I mean, I just got back from helping my aunt move, and boy, are my arms tired!

***

Conversation with guy who lives on my street as I passed by taking Dog for a walk:

Me: "Howdy." [Which after all is short for "how d'you do."]
His reply: "How are you doing?" [Much in the style, surely inadvertently, of Joey from "Friends."]
Me: "Oh, good." [Pause.] "And you?"
Him: "Fine, and yourself?"

I thought I'd let that one lie where it was and kept walking.

When the crowd becomes your burden and you've early closed your curtains, I'll wait by the backstage door

2009-08-14T23:48:00.009-05:00

Had dinner with Friar and Muffin and their children at the Green Margarita. I ordered what I hoped was the healthiest thing I could ask for --- bean burritos with cheese and rice --- but the beans were refried and the cheese was that glowing orange crap Tex-Mex restaurants love so well. I've been making a fairly decent effort since returning from my travels to eat healthy, so it made me mildly ill for some hours afterward. At least I didn't eat any meat dishes. Instead of taking six months off my life, this meal only reduced my life span by three months.

***

HWT and I decided that Kate (of "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" fame) now has a vagina so cavernous, she can only get pleasure by inserting into it something the width of a baby's cranium. Thus the loathsome cycle continues. Also: HWT and I are filthy, filthy people.

***

You know how wives can sue rich ex-husbands for alimony, claiming that the husband got them used to a certain standard of living that they didn't enjoy before the marriage, so the husbands thus owe their ex-wives money enough for them to continue living up to that now-established standard? Using the same logic, I wonder if I can sue Prestigius for a salary I don't work for? After all, the school is the one that's been enabling me to live this slothful, idle lifestyle --- paying me, quite literally, to do nothing --- so the school bears the burden of continuing to fund my decadent lifestyle. Let's face it, it's what I'm used to now!

***

Once again (see last year's whining, with Michael5000's excellent comment), work seems to have drafted me into various committees and responsibilities I'd, frankly, rather not have. The year hasn't even started yet and already I'm on the Fund Committee and the Expansion Committee, and --- perhaps most ludicrously --- in an after-work leadership course. Yes, because leading and wielding authority are what I do best. Also, am I really the best pick for helping determine how the school will grow in the future? I just got here, and I'll probably be dead before any new building starts.

The finger points to those who might've chose a path different than that which failure closed

2009-08-13T10:29:00.000-05:00

Friar's wife celebrated a birthday this week, so I didn't see much of the man himself; he either celebrated with her or was left alone with the kids as she went out for some peace and quiet.

I went out with Hot Waitress T (who really should be called Hot Special-Ed Teacher T now) to a show where Sonar was playing. First, I picked her up where she lives downtown in a fancy high-security building and we were almost mugged because the streets down there are crawling with unemployed oppressed scam artists and street predators. Someone came close to a stabbing but I don't know if it was him or me --- you best believe I carry a blade when I go down to Devil's Elm, boy. He peeled away when a cop on a Segway rolled by obliviously. T and I went to one of her favorite spots, a trendy bar that had a lot of hipsters in it. I had artichoke pizza, which was okay. Stupid hipsters.

Yesterday I finished translating a French review for Sonar --- the third such I've done for him --- so in gratitude he put us on the list (which he probably would have done anyway, though.) It was a fun show. I saw two acquaintances: one a waitress at Hangout II who made us the infamous Swine Flu shots and ate a very late drunk dinner with us once; the other was a local music blogger with some degree of recognition in town. I don't know him very well, but he seems to think I do.

Work Monday --- no kids, but Faculty Days. Gotta get the room ready and meet the new parents. But... but I'm used to sitting around doing nothing now!

Can't you feel that sun a-shinin'?

2009-08-12T11:20:00.006-05:00

Back!

For the first time in what to the best of my recollection is three years, I left Devil-Town and went on not one but two mini-vacations!

In the first, I went to see my good friend 神圣 in San Diego. The visit just happened to coincide with the San Diego Comic Con, so we figured we might as well go. You know, as long as I was there and all. Also, we're both total geeks. I took lots of pictures of attendees in costumes. Not of the professional booth girls --- I find that to be a particularly egregious example of pandering to fanboys --- but of regular people who took the time to make creative, fun costumes. Some of them did incredible jobs, like a Dark Knight Joker who was carrying around a pencil as a prop, a couple who were a perfect Hal Jordan and Jade, a slight girl dressed as the Joker on vacation (shorts and a Hawaiian shirt over the usual regalia), and a terrific Red Skull.

There was something for everyone, from a very attractive young lady dressed as the Silk Spectre --- hott --- to the cutest little four-year-old boy dressed as the Dark Knight Joker --- possibly inappropriate --- with his even littler sister, who tried her best to be that girl from Harry Potter. One woman dressed as Lara Croft got a bit shirty when I failed to recognize her. "I don't know anything about video games," I said, and she returned hotly that it was also a movie.

Fun fact: if you ask someone dressed as Spider-Man if you can take their picture, they instantly crouch down and make the web-shooting gesture. One hundred percent of the people dressed as Spider-Man did this.

Later, we went out for drinks with an upcoming Marvel artist who just did a stint on The Punisher, he and 神圣 being old school friends from Taiwan.

Back in the real world, 神圣 and I and his family had a blast in San Diego. Beaches, sushi, bars, his fellow doctoral students (one friend I met is doing his dissertation on French film noir, and was a fascinating person). It's a beautiful city and the weather was gorgeous. His two kids were well-behaved and adorable; it was a blast watching them at Comic Con as well. His wife gave birth to their third about seven hours after I left, maker her, as another woman remarked, "quite the trooper" for walking around at Comic Con with us the second day.

For the second vacation, I went to Portland for a week to visit Brother and Sister-In-Law, not to mention Nephews 1, 2 and 3, the last of whom is nearly three and whom I had never seen before. I also saw Deep Blue, my old high school and undergraduate friend, his wife Cyan and their now three-year-old son.

Just before I arrived, Portland had been experiencing some pretty severe heat there, but it thankfully broke and it was beautifully cool to warm. We went peach-picking and collected some of the most delicious fruit I've ever had ("the Mackinaws are in, Jerry!"), except maybe the fresh-picked plums we were given by a homeowner with a tree in her yard. We visited all the great food places: Mio sushi, Apizza Scholls, the Ben & Jerry's store, and that haven for gluttonous locavores, Burgerville.

Not too much had changed since I was last there --- my nephews are still brats, Portland still has a lot of hobos and rude bicyclists, it's a verdant paradise, and the economy is sluggish. A lot of storefronts have been remodeled and revamped, but they seem to sit empty. I was immensely cheered to see so many local businesses still going strong (except maybe in the case of Dixie Mattress --- how does that place stay open, anyway?). Portland is a walker's city, and the people enjoy supporting the community. Streets like Sandy, which require cars to drive down, don't do as well as touristy but laid-back Mom-and-Pop areas like Hawthorne or Division.

Anyway, now back in the heat of Devil-Town. Work starts Monday. I've been totally idle since the last week of May.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

2009-05-27T17:43:00.003-05:00

(After Mary Elizabeth Frye's maudlin piece.)

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
Just go on home and get some sleep.
I can't hear your sobs and tears,
My rotting head no more has ears.
Wail as you will --- under your feet
Lies but a piece of rotting meat.
But even were this body whole,
There is no spirit, there is no soul.
You speak aloud, and cry, and moan,
But I've no more sentience than a stone.
Whatever now you say you feel
You should have said when I was real.
So leave me mold'ring under the loam,
Dry your tears and go on back home.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. There is no I.

My mind is set on overdrive

2009-05-26T21:06:00.005-05:00

Last day of school had only mundane paperwork and logistical meetings. Vacation has begun.

Not that I'm not grateful, but now what?

I went out to Hangout II with Friar and Courtney. I was petulant and prickish all night, and probably as a consequence Courtney was being slightly bitchy, and Friar after a few drinks started to get smug and insulting as is his wont, and all in all it wasn't fun and I blew $60 on cabs to have a crappy night.

I know that wasn't my usually entertaining overview of my nights out, but it wasn't an entertaining night. I need the drugs to kick in again.

Hey, K and L are dating each other! I didn't even know they knew each other. I met K through the Maddening Angel (from whom she is now estranged) and L from the Friar/Hangout, two almost wholly discrete circles of my life. Small world. And their names are consecutive letters! It was meant to be.

Oh yeah --- and I do have ringworm. I may have gotten it from one of the kids (though I can't think who) or maybe an animal. So fucking nasty. It's a tenacious and disgusting little fungus and it takes two to four weeks to get rid of with daily treatment. And it may leave a permanent round mark. I have it on my neck. Yay! The universe loves me.

That was called love for the workers in song

2009-05-25T21:19:00.008-05:00

Well, here I am again. I got used to the damn thing, and it's cheaper than therapy.

I had a pretty good final week of school. I didn't get many end-of-year gifts and nothing fancy, but I did get plenty of compliments, and that's all I expected. J's parents bought me lunch on the last day. L2's mother said she wanted me to move up to first grade so he could have me again next year. My secret favorite Q's father said he had initial concerns about a male K teacher, but "getting you was the best thing that could have happened to her."

Most of the week was taken up with visiting the first grade classrooms; having the kids write cards for the summer birthday kids; and doing easy final-week things like finishing "This year I learned..." in writing and "How many days are left in school if ten are crossed off our calendar?" type word problems in math. The very last day I told the kids that the most important thing I wanted them to remember all year was this:

Be nice to people who have less talent or power than you do.

I hope it stuck.

***

I hadn't been taking my Happy Pills for the last ten days, through a combination of laziness, sickness and the accompanying bizarre sleep schedule, and a vague interest in seeing what would happen. I think it was a bad idea, and I'm starting again. As Friar said: "If you had diabetes, you wouldn't want to go off your meds just to 'see what would happen,' would you? If you need them, you need them." I think he's right.

Most people, for example, would not have been totally depressed, as I was, on Sunday. Saturday, I'd spent a pleasant evening at Hangout II, joking and talking with good friends (Friar, K, L --- this guy) and a few people I didn't know, including a very attractive, drunk woman who hung on me and kept kissing me and pressing my hand between her legs. L flicked a lit cigarette into my face hard at my request. I drank a shot that seemed to be made of Tabasco, and possibly bacon. We went back to Friar's house (where I'd drunkenly and erroneously thought I'd left my car). Friar promptly passed out in his bed, so drunk girl and I hung out in his living room, blasting music until 4:00 a.m when we collapsed on his couch.

Sounds fun. Was fun. So why the depression? If you have to ask, you'll never understand. Sometimes I have a hard time distinguishing fantasy from reality. Or rather, fantasy from the probable.

I'm not sure I should blog about such personal stuff. It makes me introspective. I feel like it helps me sort my thoughts into a semblance of rationality, but you know, I think when I instead pass over the personal in silence, that helps me not be so jittery about the past. Which is probably more helpful.

Oh yeah --- and I should have done my assessments last week. Like, finished Tuesday. It's no surprise to people who read this that I'm a procrastinatin' fool. So it'll be a late night. Oh well, nothing new.

Also, I may have ringworm. Awesome!

Hiatus

2009-05-18T16:03:00.002-05:00

The last week, a very busy work schedule, some ill-advised late nights, and a bout of nasty throat flu all conspired to put blog posts on the back burner. Come to think of it they were never on the front burner. Let's say they got taken off the back burner and put into a Tupperware tub and set in the refrigerator to keep for maybe later.

It was just about time for a break anyway. I may start posting again once the old batteries are recharged. After all, I have Newbery winners to review.

Newbery V

2009-05-10T20:21:00.004-05:00

The 1926 Newbery Medal winner was Shen Of the Sea: Chinese Stories For Children, by Arthur Bowie Chrisman. It is a collection of humorous folk tales from China, written in a light, mostly tongue-in-cheek style that seems to mimic the inflections and honorifics of the Chinese language.

The title story describes a monarch who tricks and captures the shen, or demons, of the sea, who wish to flood his domain. Other entries are explanation tales, reminiscent of the Just-So stories: how chopsticks came to be (the king invented them after being attacked by his irascible queen with the silverware) how fine porecelain came to be (it was a collection of mud pies fired hard by dragon breath), or how tea came to be (a witch enchanted Chah's herbs so they'd help him stay awake, after he saved her from a black dragon, or oo long; cha is Chinese for tea). A couple are love stories between men and spirits, and a few are like the European folk tales of silly people who do things literally, but in the end their silliness is their salvation.

It's fun reading, but there's nothing spectacular about the prose, nor particularly memorable about the tales, so I do hope this wasn't actually the finest children's book of its year. As with the previous year's winner, Tales From Silver Lands, perhaps the committee thought multiculturalism trumped non-spectacular writing.

Recommended for children: sure.

Recommended for adults: not really, unless they're Sinophiles.

I'm so old...

2009-05-09T13:18:00.006-05:00

...My high school class recently celebrated its twentieth reunion.

...I have fond memories of the game Adventure, which I played and mastered when I was 13 years old. I remember every experience the article describes: being robbed by the bat, being zoomed through the game by the bat while in a dragon, visiting the Easter Egg room, everything. For all the realism and detail and epic backstories of massive multi-player games today, this simple, doofy-looking game where a box grabs an arrow to kill a seahorse remains tops in my mind.

...I had a Texas Instruments computer that used the computer language BASIC (10 Print "HI THERE" 20 Goto 10) and recorded such coded text programs on audio cassette tape.

...I remember arcades in every mall, the only way the common feller could play video games. They cost a quarter, no more. Arcades barely exist any more.

...I was nine, ten, and eleven when Advanced Dungeons & Dragons was developed, and it changed how I played games with my friends. In short, my geekiness was complete.

...I had a word processor in college --- not a PC, but a real word processor, basically an electric typewriter. It stored a whopping one line of text in its memory before printing. I got extremely adept at extemporaneous eloquence in my research papers.

...For most of my childhood, if you wanted to watch a movie, you had to see it in a theater. Cable became widely available when I was eleven or so, but again, you had to watch what HBO chose to air (usually the same blockbuster movies over and over). Then VHS and Betamax slowly took hold, and despite TV stations and movie studios' bemoaning that it would be death of the industry (they can fast-forward over the commercials! And why will anyone ever go to the theater again?), it became possible to watch a wide variety of things pretty much on demand (by which I mean you had to drive to the rental store first). True "on demand" viewing is just now becoming a literal reality --- which is very cool.

...When I was a kid, after the last late-night talk show, the national anthem would play and then you'd get a test pattern. Dead TV air. Doesn't exist any more.

...My home had rotary phones (museum relics today!) until quite late into middle school. My mother got a wireless phone eventually, and it was the size of a brick and had an antenna like a steel pipe.

...I remember answering machines that recorded with cassettes. Yeah, if someone was out, you didn't talk to them. You left a message on their answering machine, if they had one. If you got lost driving, you didn't twitter your friends, call the location, or upload Google street view to your iPhone. You stopped and asked for directions.

...The Internet did not exist until my second year of college, or thereabouts. It was a primitive system of electronic bulletin boards where idiots argued with other idiots about religion and politics and culture. There was no IMDb to settle movie bets, no Wikipedia to vandalize. If you wanted to look up a fact, you had to get a book from the library (or make it up, but without fooling anyone else with your lies). If you wanted the lyrics to a song, and they weren't printed in the cassette or album sleve, you had to listen repeatedly and type fast. I'm a member of the last generation to understand fully just how massively influential the Internet has been, a total paradigm shift in culture; the youth don't know what it was like, and the older don't know what it's like now.

...I saw Star Wars in its first theater run. (There was no other way to see it!)

...I was eleven when Michael Jackson caused a small stir with his then-risqué song "Billie Jean" came out. I was thirteen when Madonna shocked the prudes with "Like a Virgin." Oh, how innocent we all were then! Rap was just barely beginning to make itself felt among the whiteys.

...I was seventeen years old when REM's Green came out, in 1988. I was 23 when Green Day's first major label album, Dookie, came out. I associate them with college life and post-college stagnation, respectively.

...I remember Carter's election, the Iran hostage crisis, the Challenger explosion, the fall of the Berlin Wall, Reagan getting shot, and other things that a college student today regards as the history of a generation ago. I even have vague memories of long lines at gas stations (the 1973-74 oil embargo) and Nixon's resignation (I was three).

I'm old.

I know this kind of post is old hat and boring, especially for the younger people, but trust me --- when you get to be my age, you'll see the appeal of looking back. Which is not to say that I ever want to stop looking forward, too. Bring on the 3-D video phones, teleportation, bionic arms, AI robot servants in every home, and Google brain implants! In fact, where are they? They're late.

I heard telephones, opera house, favorite melodies

2009-05-08T23:04:00.005-05:00

After work, I went over to D's rather palatial house for the second of my auction obligations. G was there as well for a sleepover. G was excited and talky, while D reverted back to his quieter, shy self, perhaps unsettled by his teacher's presence in his home. I brought them both books and cookies. I read the books, talked to D's mother for a bit and then left. It was fun.

Then, I went with the Friar to some sort of Fried Food Festival where Auric's band was playing. We got there late and mostly just hung around the backstage area, under the suspicious eye of Quickdraw McGraw the grizzled old security guy, until Drummer's Wife came by and fetched Auric (set over, utterly soaked with sweat) to give us the OK to come in. We talked for a bit from the side of the stage (as thousands of people waiting for the next artists to take the stage watched us), then made our way to the dressing room. Friar and I would make terrible bodyguards, it turns out, as Auric was accosted by four different over-enthused fans on the short walk over. We did, however, play the rude bad guys who had to pull him away as he smiled and posed for pictures.

Then we all went to Hangout II, where we met up with the incredibly inebriated Mr. Hangout, Tall, the slightly annoying barfly AL, and a few other acquaintances not close to me. (At the end of the night, as we walked to the car, Auric said to us, "I think AL has some kind of radar that lets him know which bar I'm in whenever I'm in town so he can show up five minutes after me and never leave my side.")

There was a David Bowie cover band playing. They were all right. Good musicians technically, but I didn't care for the vocals. Their name was rather bland. I think we can all agree that a very good name for a Bowie cover band is The Rock'n'Roll Suicides.

Speaking of naming things, we also had a long discussion about the gayest name ever for a gay bar. Many rather graphic suggestions were thrown out, but most rejected as being open to hetero scat or sodomy. For example, Cock 'n' the Ass (with colorful neon logo of a rooster and a donkey, natch) could conceivably be a bar at which you can find women into anal sex. ("Hey, where are all the ladies tonight?!") I think in the end we went with "The Horny Homo."

Out of the mouths of babes

2009-05-07T21:27:00.002-05:00

I still think fondly of some of the kids at the old Job at La Poubelle School, especially the toddler CF (this kid, of the original Kids Say... post).

I liked CF a lot. He didn't like candy or any kind of sweet food like ice cream. But he would enthusiastically chomp down on these huge honking pickles his mom would pack him for lunch. I was surprised the first time I saw that, and said to him, "Is that really a pickle? I didn't know kids your age liked pickles." CF stopped crunching for a second and said, "Pickle good." I got a big kick out of that.

His mom dressed him in button-down shirts and sharp dress shoes, and so he looked like a little man, with a mischievous grin and his little snub nose. He would often enter the toddler room with a sudden rush, sliding to a stop with arms outspread, sort of like Kramer on "Seinfeld" but with more élan and less kinetic slapstick. Then he'd give his big smile and bellow, "Hello, girls!" (A real junior ladies' man it seemed, but occasionally he'd change it to, "Hello, boys!" He wasn't picky.)

Anyway, one day I was changing his diaper (I've changed more diapers in my time than most young mothers), and he reached down, fingered his penis, and said to me, "What dis?"

I said, playing it straight and clinical, "Well, CF, that's your penis."

He considered that just a second, his eyes flashing, then said reverentially, "Penis good!"

Man, he really knew what was what. I just wish I could see how these kids turn out as adolescents and adults.

Vocabulaire: un imprimé

2009-05-06T21:13:00.002-05:00

un imprimé - a booklet, a printed form

On dit à tous les candidats: pour procurer un emploi, il faut que vous remplissiez cet imprimé.

I'm filling out a lot of imprimés myself now for work.

Amusing and bemusing conversations

2009-05-05T22:13:00.002-05:00

With three-year-old B, brother of A2, who visits my class nearly every morning:

Me: "Hello, B. What's going on today?"

B: "Sunday."

Me: "No, it's not Sunday. It's Tuesday."

B: "Ha ha! That sounds like the number two!"

Me: "Well, it is the second day of the school week. But what I meant was not what day is it, but what is happening today?"

B: "Windy."

Me: "Windy?"

B: "Windy all day."

Me: "Perhaps so, B. But, more specifically, what people mean when they say 'what's going on?' is what's happening with you in particular."

B: [Pause, then holding up pinky, ring, and middle fingers] "Three."

Me: "Three, eh?"

B: "Three all day."

Me: "Well, it was nice talking to you. Sorry you can't stay."

***

With my mother and aunt:

Me: "I was over reading a book at a kid's house the other day."

Aunt: "Is that a typical event, or a one-off?"

Mother: [Completely flabbergasted] "One off? What does that mean? One off what?"

Aunt: "It's an expression meaning one time."

Mother: "Why not say that, then? Why not say 'Are you doing that just the once?' What is this off business? You're not Jazzy Jeff and the French Prince! What are you talking that rap slang?"

Aunt: [Laughing too hard to talk]

Me: "Yes, Aunt, why are you talking ebonics?"

Mother: [Totally baffled] "Bonics? What are bonics? What are you talking about now?"

Me: "That's the language the French Prince speaks."

No one ever tells me so what am I to know

2009-05-04T22:02:00.003-05:00

Today I went over to Z's house. I brought a cookie and two books that I gave to her. Her parents paid $100 at this year's auction for this exciting privilege. I stayed for about 40 minutes. Z seemed happy enough, but I hope her parents thought it was worth it. I'm not really the kind to play up the cutesy factor for the kindergarteners, unlike some of my other team members. For example, there's a Prestigius robe we can wear so it looks like we're all "ready for bed" when we come to read the story and have cookies and milk and all that. I thought, nah, fuck the robe. Like I say, I hope Z's parents didn't wonder "was that it?" after I left. I would have.

Sunday Warbooks: Tales Of the South Pacific

2009-05-03T21:23:00.004-05:00

A review of Tales Of the South Pacific, by James Michener.

A collection of tales not so much of war itself but of the ordinary men who waged war, and how the war (and the South Pacific) changed them. This book, written in 1947, won the Pulitzer Prize, and deservedly so. It's utterly readable and timeless. Indeed, Michener's narrator evokes prescient shades of Catch-22's 1961 absurdist hero Yossarian in the opening piece. Unable to express what he did in the war, he tells a gruff, glory-loving major about what island life was like:

"Why, hell!" the major snorted. "Seems all he did was sit on his ass and wait!"

"That's exactly it!" I cried, happy to find at least someone who knew what I was talking about.

Easily more than the sum of its parts, this collection of stories is an eye-opening account of life in wartime: not the horrors of war (though there's a bit of that), but the waiting, the selfless heroism, the bottled-up passion, the thankless endless toil, the vast logistics of a campaign, the suddenness of death and loss and love.

Why did it take me until I was 38 years old to read this book? The omission of this work from the typical academic canon is utterly incomprehensible to me; it’s everything that the more boring and less complete in scope All Quiet On the Western Front is said to be, and more.

Michener is far more than a captivating storyteller, collector of colorful characters, painter of vivid natural imagery, and chronicler of the orchestrations of world warfare. Each of the "tales" comprising his carefully-constructed epic narrative is thematically and stylistically related to the other smaller narratives and at the same time artistically whole in itself. While he does have poetic phrases at his command, what he can say without saying it --- a subtly omitted word or a hint --- is breathtaking.

Michener impresses with his vast understanding of the scope of a military operation, as in the chapter “Alligator” (the codename for a fictitious invasion) --- the planning, the estimated casualties, the number of hospital beds needed, the men needed to build landing strips and docks and housing, the men needed simply to replace pencils and paper for plans, and on and on --- and then he finishes with a few brief, poignant lines of a man who wrote to a plain woman ("who would never be married in a hundred years anyway") a proposal:

"You was very sweet to me and I want to tell you if I…"

But he didn't. Some don't.

But, Michener says, that last letter plus the one from the chaplain was almost as good as being married.

That talent of Michener’s, the ability to juggle the big picture with the little human details, the forgotten grunts, the KIA and the faceless laborers, just blows me away. With every paragraph he weaves a new story of heroism, or efficiency, or defiance, or laziness, or lust, or bravery, or shame, and every character is all too human and believable. It makes the climax of the book, the landing at the island of Kuralei, all the more moving, as his narrator surveys the littered beaches and mourns the dead.

This book is quite simply a brilliant masterpiece that should be read by every student of American history; it may be fiction, but it shows more plainly why this was known as the "Greatest Generation," without hagiography or needless embellishment. They did what they were asked to do, and worked and complained and loved and died, and they weren't saints or the ultimate soldiers. They were Americans, is all.

***

Sunday warbooks scoreboard:

Greco-Persian wars: 2
WWI: 2
WWII: 5
Vietnam: 2
Iraq wars: 2
Afghanistan war: 1
General warfare: 2

Loaded XVIII

2009-05-02T17:11:00.003-05:00

Hypotheticals: If you created a new flavor of ice cream, what would it be?
I'm pretty sure all the possible variations of ice cream have already been invented. How about I just stir crushed Heath bars in some mint Häagen-Dazs and call it a day.

Anything Goes: What celebrity makes you glad you are not a celebrity?
Lindsay Lohan.

No-Brainers: Besides a cat or dog, what animal would you want as a house pet?
I've had ferrets before and love them, though they are stinky and tend to be destructive. If had a vast acreage and my choice, I'd have some baboons as guard animals. Who wouldn't want to walk a baboon on a leash?

Personals: Which of the following do you feel yields the greatest benefits - extraordinary wealth, strong friendships, true love, or a loyal, loving family?
True love. Sadly.

Say yes to a real life ambition

2009-05-01T16:40:00.003-05:00

The first graders in Ms. N's class are doing a unit on Australia. I do a pretty decent Australian accent (as long as the Australian is a drunk and very excited Steve Irwin), so Ms. N invited me to her class to read a book on koalas and talk to the kids about the local fauna, all in character. I thought it went all right, though as with everything in my life the event suffered from poor to no planning. For example, Ms. N asked me, as if I were a real visitor the kids didn't know, my name. I stared in blank panic for a couple of seconds before blurting, "Uh... Cassowary Brisbane?" Smooth!

Ms. N was looking even lovelier than usual, if that's possible, in a short-sleeved pink dress. She has said to me, jokingly, on a few occasions since our conference in Arizona that she's "going through withdrawal" from not hanging around me and feels "deprived" without me making jokes constantly. This cannot mean anything more significant than she enjoyed my company as a coworker, and it would be very bad for my health to become fruitlessly enamored of yet another gorgeous woman who happens to like talking to me occasionally.

In reality, women like her just don't settle for guys with my... features. She's a literate, funny, Ivy League-educated goddess, while I am a witty curmudgeon who looks like a hobbit with Down syndrome. (In the past, people have said I resemble Tobey Maguire, but now that I think about it, he looks like a hobbit with Down syndrome too.) It's ridiculous of me to even be writing about this. In fact, I have to go.

In the foul furrow that you dig

2009-04-30T20:27:00.005-05:00

So we here in Texas are all gonna die from the swine flu, or as the conservative racist folk have it, the illegal alien flu. We who work in a school are on our toes --- Fort Worth has closed its entire district in what may or may not be a bit of early and unnecessary panic --- and we're keeping the kids washing their hands every time they sneeze or wipe their noses.

Today L was passing out our snack, pretzel sticks. As he walked around, I saw him take one out, lick it, and put it back in the bag. "What on earth are you doing?" I squawked in horror. He shrugged. "I forgot I licked that one," he said. I dumped all the pretzels in the trash, then as an afterthought tossed the bag in too.

Does anybody really know...

2009-04-29T20:13:00.002-05:00

Doing a lot of assessment this week. Of course, Prestigius doesn't administer Satan's test, the TAKS, but we do have benchmarks and goals we need the kids to meet. By now, with less than twenty school days left in the year (how the hell did that happen?) the kindergarteners are expected to:

identify all major money and its value
count by twos and fives to at least fifty
create and extend three-part patterns
read simple phonetic words in isolation
recognize several sight words
do addition and subtraction sentences with and without models
identify the main idea of a story, its characters, and setting
come up with rhyming words and opposites
write all the lowercase letters without a model
tell the time in hours and half hours
understand one-half, one-third, and one-fourth
recognize the place values of three-digit numbers
and so forth and so on...

Most of my kids are reading at exceptionally high levels, so I've been spending most of my time finding out how much they've picked up in math. I was surprised to find that a lot of them, although they could tell the time easily, didn't know whcih was the hour hand or the minute hand. How do they know what time it is, then? I guess that shows they don't really understand how the clock works, they've just memorized the positions.

Vocabulaire: maugréer

2009-04-28T20:05:00.003-05:00

maugréer - to grumble, complain

La tarlouze était toujours s'occuper à maugréer contre son sort.

I was a bit of a self-pitying whinger yesterday.

Where danger is double and pleasures are few

2009-04-27T18:15:00.006-05:00

Well, today was an abysmal kick in the neck.

I was told by Miss Busty that some people were "offended" and complaining about something I did, or rather, a habit I have in the classroom. The whole thing is so irksome and inane, I can't even write about it. Basically, I'm offended back at them for sticking their noses where they don't belong, I think anyone who's "offended" by what I was doing is pathetic and needs mental help, and I'm mildly resentful at Busty for refusing to tell me who's got their fucking panties in a bunch over nothing. (What, now she doesn't stoop to gossip? What a laugh.)

Well, it's reminded me that these people are not in any way my friends, to be trusted or opened up to; they're co-workers, and as such should be kept at a respectful, professional arm's length. Friends are understanding; co-workers --- especially women --- are backbiting and quick to gossip. And yes, this is partly gender-based: I was told that I'm not entirely accepted because this was a woman's field and it's "still strange" to see men in early childhood. Yay, 2009 and equality! And what really got me is how this appalling bias is totally okay, yet if it were a bunch of, say, surgeons or CEOs hassling a woman because she wasn't in her "traditional field," that would be obviously wrong to all but the most clueless chauvinist.

And just think, the other day I was idly wondering if I should talk to my doctor about getting off the Prozac; everything was going so swimmingly and I was so cheerful that I thought I had my head on straight. Now I'm pissed off and thinking all over again about how much my life sucks and there's no need to live it. Yes, it's irrational. That's why I take medication for it. But that's how it is. Pass the vodka and the bullets and write me a refill, doc.

Vocabulaire: la gueule de bois

2009-04-26T18:24:00.007-05:00

la gueule de bois - a hangover

Le seul moyen d'éviter la geuele de bois est d'engloutir cinq citrons après chaque verre d'alcool. Trop peu de gens ont la patience de mettre en pratique cette méthode infaillible.

Sitting back trying to recapture a little of the glory

2009-04-25T17:51:00.004-05:00

Tonight was my 20th high school reunion.

I'm old.

I didn't go, of course. All the people I care to converse with from that era are already in contact with me, and have been for the past two decades.

(One of the Prestigius parents, who happens to be an '89 graduate of Alma Mater as well, saw me at work a few days ago and asked if I was going to the reunion. "No," I said. He nodded. "Prior commitment?" he asked. "No," I said.)

After the reunion festivities had concluded, I met up with T-Bone and Courtney, 74, Friar, and Auric and his sister at Hangout. We took a couple of taxis to Hangout II --- a place also owned by Mr. Hangout, a much more pleasant and adult bar with seats, tables, and board games, and few to zero frat boys --- and whiled away the wee hours reminiscing and asking each other Trivial Pursuit questions.

We're old and geeks.

Then, it just wouldn't be Good Old Nostalgic Times Like the Old Days if we didn't go have a 3:00 a.m. meal at Denny's. So we did, and I had another Sodium 'n' Cholesterol Slam. In retrospect, I question the prudence of this decision. Late-night Denny's in Devil-Town was just a wild and wonderful as ever. It's where white high school kids, cowboys, tough dudes decked out like pimps, Mexican guys in gang colors, and large black ladies in very tiny, tight dresses all come together to enjoy artery-clogging fare under sickly fluorescents.

Most of the evening is a pleasant blur. I recall defending the Hold Steady as one of the best American bands of all time and deriding Journey. Auric said that if the Hold Steady were in the running, his band ought to be as well. I think maybe it's really the Beach Boys, or maybe the Band. Or R.E.M. or the Ramones or Rancid. Also, when we got back to the Original Hangout and were turned away due to it being well past closing time, Friar insisted on setting everyone straight about how we were allowed in there whenever we wanted and making the bouncer apologize to us. Good times.

It's never touched a frying pan

2009-04-24T22:31:00.004-05:00

Even though it was Free Pizza Friday today, Assistant and I ordered a colorful array of sushi rolls for lunch from a place down the street. It's taken me a bit to get over the very idea of eating sushi here in Devil-Town, but you gotta make do with what you have. This city may not boast the high quality freshness of Portland or New York, but there's a few halfway decent spots that must suffice.

As we ate our expensive fishy goodness, some of the parent volunteers stood in the hallway, apparently sniggering at us for eating our fancy foreign fare while good old American pizza from a good old American chain restaurant was available for free to all. Well, they can cram it with walnuts.

After lunch, I held a lottery among the kids to hand out all our decorative plastic grass and the two extra chopsticks sets we always get. (This latter may be a comment by the restaurant on how much we order at a time; if the charge is being a big old piggie, nolo contendere, I'm afraid.)

One of the girl remarked how strong I was, as she tried in vain to snap apart her wooden chopsticks as I had done.

Later on the gym teacher, a large and powerful lady, scooped me up in a big bear hug and spun we around the room as I might have done a child. It was humiliating and oddly exhilarating.

After work I ate a big rare mushroom-swiss burger and a bunch of cheese fries at Cheesefries with Friar and T-Bone and their respective wives and children. It was basically a trough of sodium, starch, and LDL cholesterol, so it didn't do my heart any favors. Still, I rarely eat like that, and it's a good thing too or I'd be dead by now. Yes, big old piggie, that's me.

I'm a dream walker, or maybe just a dream stumbler

2009-04-23T21:18:00.004-05:00

Two coworkers and one child independently told me today that they I made an appearance in their dreams the previous night.

Ms. Tall, a pre-K teacher, dreamed that she and I had bit parts in a Broadway revival of "Shrek: the Musical." We didn't sing and only had brief speaking lines. Apparently in the dream we were discussing how the show didn't seem to be working. Oh, and Regis Philbin played the title ogre --- a role, I'm sure you'll agree, he was born to play. Still, I feel slighted, as I'm bursting with thespian talent. Why didn't I have more lines?

Assistant G also dreamed about me. She has previously dreamed that I was yelling and screaming at her over some slight (behavior not exactly second nature to me --- if I want to degrade someone I just mock them with snide, cutting remarks and abstruse vocabulary). This time around, though, I was a doctor, balding with a comb over, she said, and I was giving her bad news. How utterly creepy.

Finally, young B told me that he dreamed that I was with him at a hockey game and the puck hit me in the leg and I fell down on the ice.

Say, these range from kinda disappointing to utterly loathsome. I wonder if it portends something foul.

You were always changing your shape, now you're not an eel anymore

2009-04-22T19:44:00.004-05:00

Today we had our weekly faculty meeting. We had a speaker invited by the Head, a retired ex-employee. She talked to us about fostering our creative thinking. She had tiny feet and frizzy hair and talked in a stream of consciousness run-on and no one understand a word she was saying. Miss Busty turned to me and whispered, "Is she on coke?"

She had us line up in alphebetic order and form groups and then we had to discuss "out of the box" thinking. For one exercise she gave us a list of unrelated words and we had to put them together for an advertisement for an imaginary product. I was enlisted to be our group's spokesman, so I went up and shouted some nightmare ad copy I made up off the top of my head in an Australian accent.

Another exercise was for our group to discuss "what we'd like to tackle in the near future." I said I wanted to tackle Fen, our fetching young administrative assistant.

I think my sanity is questioned more with every day longer I stay at Prestigius.

On the other hand, the Head and the Vice-Head left halfway through Ms. Frizzy's presentation, so I suppose that while I may have been the most explicitly obvious in not taking it seriously, I wasn't the only one.

Just a fine and fancy ramble

2009-04-21T18:45:00.006-05:00

So, my class went to the zoo today. It was very hot. And tiring.

If there's a better method to corral sixteen kindergarteners than bellowing constantly, I'm not aware of it.

The following brief anecdote reveals everything that escorting kids this age to the zoo is all about:

We get to the monkey area, and there's a long row of cages with various kinds of simians, leaping and cavorting about their trees, swinging from a branch here, grabbing cage bars with their tails over there, engaging in dizzying aerial gymnastics in all directions.

And just at the moment we draw near, one kid calls out in a voice of wonder and excitement, "Oh, wow! Look! A doodlebug!!"

And sixteen kids cluster around a small patch of dirt just under the cages, jostling one another as they crane their necks to get a better look.

Later, I asked everyone what their favorite part of the zoo was. Mostly, it was petting the rabbit at the children's area. One girl liked the fact that a chimp at the zoo shared her name. And a couple of others thought the merry-go-round ride was the best.

No one mentioned seeing any animals. Kindergarteners are very tactile creatures.

It's just my job five days a week

2009-04-20T22:16:00.003-05:00

Today we had Kite Visits, which is when the kindergarten classes take these big kites they colored and flies them out in the field with their parents. It was good fun. I rescued no less than three kites from trees. Some of the parents were duly impressed. I acted like I knew some big secret about how to untangle kites, but really I only had one crucial strategy: pull the string hard and hope it doesn't break.

Tomorrow we're going to the zoo. Man, I wouldn't trade being an elementary teacher for anything. I feel sorry for suckers in cubes.

Newbery IV

2009-04-19T21:35:00.003-05:00

In 1925, the book that snagged the Newbery was Tales From Silver Lands, by one Charles J. Finger.

A collection of mostly unrelated stories from South American countries. Based on his narration, Finger presumably traveled all over the continent collecting these stories and tales, unless he's just making up everything out of whole cloth.

That's about it, really. There are explanatory stories ("A Tale of Three Tails," which explains how the rat and deer and rabbit got their tails), fairy tales of recognizable structure and climax ("The Hungry Old Witch," "The Wonderful Mirror"), trickster tales ("El Enano," about a fox who tricks the titular greedy monster into leaving a village) and hero tales ("The Hero Twins” and "The Four Hundred," which tell of how some heroic lads killed three giants).

While the stories are pleasant enough and Finger's authorial voice is kindly and inviting, I didn’t think there was anything remarkable in their characters, plot, or the execution of the telling. Fairy tales can be timeless and enthralling, but there's nothing suspenseful or dramatic about them. And their simplicity isn't a huge draw for me. Hey, the little orphan kid met a magic lady who tells him how to defeat the evil witch! And she's right, because people who seem to be good always are, and bad people are vicious crones or ugly giants! And heaven forfend the hero actually figure out anything on his own. Let the oracle tell him exactly what steps to take.

If I'm in the mood for such things, I'd rather read Kipling or Grimm, who did the same things better. Of all the stories, only the last – "The Cat and Dream Man" – stands out, remarkable for its surreal nature (a destructive, monstrous cat dreams of a fox-faced man who grants wishes in an ironically cruel manner) and the unusual use of a particular magic item (an axe which splits everything it hits into two replicas of the original). For the most part, though, this is pretty ordinary stuff; perhaps in 1926 the then-atypical provenance of the stories made them stand out enough to snag the award.

Recommended for children: Sure, reading fairy tales and folk stories from all over the world is a terrific foundation for kids.

Recommended for adults: Not so much, unless you're a folktale obsessive.

Loaded XVII

2009-04-18T22:27:00.002-05:00

Hypotheticals: If you wanted to test the limits, how many slices of pizza could you consume?
Depends on how big the pieces were. A typical delivery-chain's idea of a large, maybe? I know I could polish off a medium easy, so I think I could handle a large if I wanted to pull a Cool Hand Luke, pizza style.

Anything Goes: What natural disaster would you be most frightened of?
Tornadoes. I may be gradually getting over my worry about windstorms and tornadoes (contemplating suicide can make you indifferent to natural disasters), but they've always been my bugbear. The very idea of other disasters doesn't bother me like tornadoes do. In fact, a small earthquake is kind of fun.

No-Brainers: What is your favorite soft drink?
Dublin Dr Pepper, made in Texas with real cane sugar. Or Coke, hecho en Mexico with real cane sugar. Or sometimes I like Virgil's Cream Soda. Oh, Hansen's natural sodas are pretty refreshing in a way other sodas aren't.

Personals: What one person would you trust with your most personal possession?
I don't think I have personal possessions in the sense that they have sentimental value. Nor could I even begin to gauge the "trustworthiness" of my friends in that sense. Pretty much any family member or close friend can watch my stuff while I'm on vacation. Is that what this means? I don't know.

Idle musing

2009-04-17T23:31:00.004-05:00

Tonight after work the school hosted International Night, where kids and their parents had booth showing off the food and customs of various countries. It was pretty fun, if chaotic. The French booth had very good brie on crackers and unaccountably delicious tiny eclairs. Amongst the crowds I found two lost children (one in my class, one from last year) and returned them to their grandparents. I did this despite the fact that I was wearing a faded, slightly wrinkled T-shirt and a very wrinkled short-sleeved button down.

***

Sure, my father may have pissed away a full scholarship to Oxford and a bright future, two high-prestige jobs, his robust health, his once-unimpeachable mind, his marriage, and his relationship with his adult children for a life-destroying total obsession with every intoxicant known to man. But that's his only indulgence! Everyone's allowed one vice. I mean, I never saw him gambling. Or, say, counterfeiting currency.

***

Why is it, when you're eating at a restaurant, these people --- total strangers --- are always coming over and breezily introducing themselves and asking if you're doing okay, or checking to see if you're still hungry? No matter how deeply you may be engrossed in conversation with your dinner party, or enjoying your meal --- it's always some Smiling Joe popping up and asking if you have room for dessert! Well, that's none of your fucking business, mister! Do I go over to where you eat and bother you about "refills" or "taking those plates out of your way"?

Through many dangers, toils, and snares

2009-04-16T23:14:00.003-05:00

There's a girl in our pre-K program who is tall, smart, and will turn six over the summer. This means that she'll be seven at the end of her kindergarten year. That isn't so amazingly unusual (I have one like that), but it is too bad because she doesn't need to be held back. The reason she's still in pre-K is because she has a twin brother who was recommended for a second year of the program and her parents didn't want to split them up.

I saw her drawing and writing, and it's clear she's already able to handle what would have been her kindergarten year. Clearly, at this rate she's just going to continue to shine and leave her brother in the dust. Since it's obvious that we can't improve the little fellow's mind, in order to narrow the gap I think we need to embark on a serious regimen of tearing down the girl's self-esteem.

The teachers should be pointing out how her work sets her apart from the others, how her age gives her an unfair advantage, how her young peers resent her successes. This won't reduce her intelligence, of course, but it should block any further advances in achievement. Then the brother won't have to worry about being compared to his much more able sister, and soon they'll both be coasting along at a nice level of acceptable mediocrity.

Just a modest proposal.

Parents just don't understand

2009-04-15T22:07:00.002-05:00

Today I got an email from V's mother. Apparently, V had come home saying she'd added a penis and vagina to her human body project during health class. Her mother wanted to know what, if anything, she'd distorted in the retelling. (Also, she made up some crap about V acting up during the observation, which the two administrators with her at the time saw no sign of.) I asked Ms. Blah, the K teacher who runs the Health lessons, and she said they'd added a kidney and a bladder to their anatomy posters.

Well, really. Is V's mother an imbecile as well as an attention junkie? Does she really think that we're going to take it upon ourselves to tell five-year-olds about the penis and vagina, much less have them attach paper models of same onto an anatomy project? I mean, what the hey, am I right? (Words fail me.) It's as if the moment a person has kids, the previously dormant Stupid Gene kicks in and they suddenly lose all rationality. (No offense, Churlita.)

Also, one father said he wished the school would let him come watch me at work when I didn't know he was there. The Vice-Head told him that would be unethical, and assured him that what the parents see is what happens daily; if that weren't the case, the students themselves would loudly point out the discrepancies in their routine during observation times (of which they are unaware).

So gee, how nice that some kid's parent thinks I need to be watched on the sly, and that it would be totally okay to watch people at work without them knowing it. Makes you proud to be an educator and an American.

Kissing to be clever

2009-04-14T20:09:00.004-05:00

As soon as I entered the school this morning, one of the early drop-off kids, a fourth grader named Zeke, asked me: "Mr. Chance, do you know what 'make out' means? Because Mr. Max says he doesn't know."

I said, "Of course I know. It means like if something is far away or if it's in a fog, if you can just barely see it, you can make it out, like, 'Can you make out what that sign says from here?' That's what it means."

I walked away as he stared at me in puzzlement. I later learned that before I'd got there, he'd asked both Mr. Max and Ms. LN what 'make out' means, and they both professed not to know. Ms. LN said, "What does it mean to you, Zeke?"

"Oh, you know," this fourth-grader had replied, "it's when you're with your girlfriend and you're under the covers and you start kissing and maybe doing other things..."

Wait. What. Excuse me? When I was nine, we didn't have girlfriends we kissed or did "other things" with. I've said it before and I'll say it again: the kids are sure playing at being grown up real early these days.

Later that same day, Zeke was questioned by his teachers and the Head for writing anti-Semitic graffiti on his classroom bathroom's wall. He did it. They know he did it. But he denied all, the little vandal. Also, this particular vandal is Jewish himself. Huh. Mixed-up sort of fellow.

Thews that lie and cumber sunlit pallets never thrive

2009-04-13T21:45:00.004-05:00

At work, had the second observation. It seemed to go fine, though I was a bit less ebullient than usual in the classroom. After work, I pretty much collapsed as soon as I got home. I set my alarm for an hour nap at 4:00 p.m. but didn't wake up until 6 p.m. I must have been drop-dead exhausted. I didn't take Dog for a walk, which is very rare.

Instead, I went to H&R Block, where for $60 a nice lady did my taxes. Apparently I get $700 back. How lucky! I was yawning all throughout the session, and the tax lady said, "Almost done, and then you can go to bed." I said, "I'm yawning because I just woke up from a two-hour nap after work." She made a shocked face and said in a sort of half-joking, half-complaining tone, "I have to rush between two jobs and don't get home until bedtime, and you have time to take long naps after work? And you still get money back on your taxes?"

I could be snide here, but it is true that mine is a charmed life in several ways. I'm a white male American; I'm financially stable if not rich; I have a good standard of living; I survived 38 years through a typically fatal birth defect, a shitty childhood, hurricanes and earthquakes, cross-country trips, flights on rickety Indian airplanes, and mind-warping depression. And here I am, doing kind of okay.

I'm waiting for the shoe to drop.

Sunday Warbooks: This Man's Army

2009-04-12T22:10:00.003-05:00

A review of This Man’s Army: A Soldier’s Story From the Front Lines Of the War On Terrorism, by Andrew Exum.

The author, a gung-ho sort of all-American boy, went through ROTC at Penn State, then through Ranger School. After 9/11, he was deployed with the 10th Mountain Division into Afghanistan, where his men patrolled the Shah-i-Kot Valley and ferreted out al-Quaeda dug in there (a mission dubbed Operation Anaconda).

This brief memoir is perhaps a little light on the military side (9/11 does not occur until page 70, Exum's platoon leaves Kuwait and lands in Bagram on page 120, and he's back home by page 200). However, the strength of this book is not in its descriptions of combat. Instead, it's a book that, perhaps more than most "country boy goes to war" stories, reveals not so much what it's like to be in war as what it's like to be transformed by war.

Exum, a deep, educated, and introspective writer, muses thoughtfully on the dedication to serve; his need to deliberately put God out of his mind while on patrol and his disdain for those who try to graft war and Christianity; what it means to kill in combat; and the bonds between soldiers formed by combat. The book is an excellent testament to how, even when war doesn't destroy or maim a man, it leaves indelible marks on him. "After the shooting stops, how does the soldier settle back into society and modern civilization?" he asks at the end of the book, and then says, "I'm still looking for the answer."

This book is out of print, which is a shame, because out of the massive glut of Iraq and Afghan memoirs, this one stands out as a much-needed philosophical take on war in modern society.

***

Sunday warbooks scoreboard:

Greco-Persian wars: 2
WWI: 2
WWII: 4
Vietnam: 2
Iraq wars: 2
Afghanistan war: 1
General warfare: 2

Don't give a damn about my reputation

2009-04-11T18:19:00.006-05:00

I started watching the complete "Freaks and Geeks" on DVD about a month ago, and just finished the last disc. At first, I didn't think much of the series; it got off to an unremarkable start, and as I'm a 38-year-old man (albeit an incredibly immature one), I found it hard to care much about these high school kids' problems. But as the story progressed, and the scripts got sharper, and the characters came into focus, I got drawn into each emotionally complex mini-drama gradually revealed behind the sullen or arrogant exteriors.

At first, I'd smugly told myself that I hadn't been like that as a teenager, that I honestly didn't give a damn what anybody thought, unlike everyone else who just acted like it --- but then it all started to come back to me. The fear of saying what you really mean, the fear of standing out inadvertently, the fear of reaching out to someone: these are all real and timeless.

And then the series just ends! It got canceled without so much as a wrap-up finale! The big story arcs --- Nick and Linday's quasi-romance; Daniel's slow and painful discovery of his abilities through layers of self-loathing; Sam's reluctant acceptance of himself as he is --- all come to nothing. And that final scene, where Lindsay secretly ditches her academic camp to go follow the Dead in a hippie van with Kim and some goofy hippies...

Curse you, Judd Apatow, for drawing me into your world of adolescent pathos and then cutting off the story flow abruptly! I need closure, dammit!

Seriously, in all this mania for remakes, can't someone go ahead and redo this show? They can duplicate the first season verbatim, like Van Sant did with Psycho, and then go ahead and make an original second season. Is that so much to ask?