Vicissitudes

I am actually liking the new job, despite how it reads in these posts. It's just that the good points are more or less the same as with all my previous experience, while the parts that I can complain about are all new.

I'm sort of in the worst of both worlds here. I'm just a fill-in, so I don't really belong to the K team. They know I'm going to be going back to the sub team in a month. Likewise, I can't really talk to the sub team about how our days go because my day is so different. It's the same pay, but a lot more responsibility (lesson plans, consistency, room maintenance, etc), and not much more respect.

I sent out an email to all the parents detailing what we've been doing this week. I talked about all our games and projects and centers, and I also mentioned how the kids have been dealing with the change of teachers. The Vice-Head and other employees who saw the email said it was a very well-written update; they were very impressed and pleased. I do have a little skill, of course, in stringing words together.

However... I misspelled the school's name in the subject line.

It was a typo, and I immediately followed it with another jokey email blaming the typo on "faulty keyboards." Slightly embarrassing, that.

No one mentioned the typo at all, though. A couple of parents sent appreciative replies. One parent sent a note saying "Congratulations! You survived your first week!" Yes, I did, and I also managed to stumble through your heavy condescension, as well.

I know it was probably meant well, but it grates just a bit. I admit to being anxious about taking over mid-term for a popular teacher, but honestly --- making it through, and admirably, was pretty much presumed on my part. Again, this is my career, and this is not my first year. Seriously, do only teachers get that kind of treatment? Do lawyers' friends send them breathless notes of congratulation when they write their first memo?

Well, maybe they do. I do chafe at being treated like a young tyro, perhaps because I look like one (as I'm told ad nauseam, I appear to be twenty), at the age of thirty-seven.

New room, day three

Today was a bit better. I go through the schedule easily enough, and I'm fine at teaching reading and math concepts. We have literacy centers and fun math lessons (counting by 2s and 5s, games with dice) and so on.

But as Mr. C warned me, these are the rowdiest bunch of kids ever. Transitions are particularly rough. It's not that they don't listen per se --- they're certainly not rebellious. They do stop and clean up and line up, but they do it so sloppily and loudly and inefficiently that it takes forever. It's like trying to herd 18 affable Labrador puppies loaded with kinetic energy.

I told the kids that we'd just have to cut free time shorter, since they were having such a hard time packing up and getting in line at a reasonable pace. They looked bemused at this news; perhaps it will take. Mr. C suggested (I have spoken to him on the phone every day since taking over) that I send them a few at a time, directing the others to watch and see how it's done until everyone is ready and waiting. But if I could get them to follow those directions, I wouldn't have to resort to such strategies in the first place.

It's not a huge problem and the kids will get used to my style soon enough. I just don't want to get into a habit early of constantly monitoring, directing, squelching, and scolding. Very bad patterns to get into, and easy to do. It's so much easier when the kids know what's expected of them and know the consequences of bad choices, so they can have a relatively hands-off, fun day of exploration and success. I'm now in charge of an classroom environment I didn't create, which is tough.

Okay, fine

Deliberated over posting about today or not posting at all or doing a quick fill post today. Couldn't decide which was more honest, which would give me a much-needed shot of introspection, which was truest to the blog's function as a memory hole, which was less whiny. I don't know.

If you read Achewood, and you really ought to, perhaps you know the one where Roast Beef is too depressed to finish biting through a piece of toast.

Anyway, I decided to do a sort of mixture of all three choices. This will be a meaningless post that references where my head is today but might as well not be posted at all, really.

I don't know. Work was something. Beats me.

Starting today, various parents are coming in to have lunch at the tables with their kids. I have no idea if the two couples that came today were impressed with my calm professionalism and came away knowing their kids were in good hands or if they sat there appalled and wondering why everything was going to hell. Honestly, I have no idea. I can't tell.

The Vice-Head told me today that there's a school policy against picking up kids or hugging them except for a kneeling side hug. I'm a guy, and guys like to toss kids around, and I'd seen other teachers picking up kids, so I've done it. So now I have to tell the kids not to swing on me or ask to be picked up, and also clearly I was looking kinda weird for being so physical with the kids all the time, and also clearly some teachers must have complained to her about me. I don't know, it kind of feels like an emotional punch in the gut.

Has taking over the class put me under this pall of stress and uncertainty? I've never felt anything less than totally competent and confident at a new teaching job, but suddenly I feel like I'm being watched and judged.

I'm too sensitive or some shit. I have to finish biting through this toast.

Let's see. Today we started literacy centers and did some math and decorated our George Washington cut-outs. And in math we counted by 2s and 5s and I introduced them to calculators.

I may feel an infinitesimal bit better now. Or am I still depressed? Possibly. Can't tell. Too dazed with foreboding and gloom.

Kindergarten class

Well, you might think I'd have an interminable post about my first day taking over Mr. C's class, but it really wasn't any different than any other time I subbed at Prestigious. Well, a little different, in that I have to think a bit more long-term now and stay after school to rearrange things and prepare, but no biggie.

We did English and Math and made little paper George Washingtons and colored pictures in the style of Edgar Degas and so forth. I called Mr. C after school and asked a few questions about routine.

One kid came in crying because he missed Mr. C, but he cheered right up after a few minutes. I left his mother a voice mail and she emailed me back saying he "came home with a smile on his face" and that they were happy I was in the room. Of course, kids are protean --- he might come in crying again tomorrow.

Eh, I don't really have anything. Tired, though. And, outside of work, feeling bleak and futile. Insight, perhaps, in another post.

Turning Japanese

Yesterday, while on a walk, the whimsical notion popped into my head to search for grammatically correct but bizarre, phrases on Google: phrases that in theory might be used but in reality aren't, so no results would be found. The first one that popped into my head, for whatever reason, was "the Florence of Asia." Surely there's no real-world referent to such an appellation, I thought.

It turns out that there isn't much of one, but there's more to it than that.

Google brings five results for "the Florence of Asia," with five different cities being so called. Clearly, it's not widely used, but someone thought of it.

Huh. Bemused, I queried "the Rome of Asia." This returned 1,200 results, and apparently that nickname is reserved for Lhasa, Tibet. I did not know that!

Now I was becoming curious. Why was I not informed of these Asian counterparts to various cities? What is "the Paris of Asia"? Shanghai, Google informs me, with 2,410 results. Now I feel ignorant.

Surely there is no city called "the Milan of Asia"? There doesn't seem to be, but around 234 pages tell me that the Philippines has this name, for its fashion and furniture design industries.

Okay, try "the London of Asia." Singapore or Hong Kong, 1,820 results.

Is there a "New York of Asia"? Hong Kong for sure this time, with 2,300 pages affirming.

Trying to get esoteric, but still reasonable, I typed in "the Berlin of Asia." Only four results: Hong Kong, or war-torn Korea or war-torn Vietnam. Getting closer!

Similarly, "the Los Angeles of Asia" gives only four results, none of which agree with the other. I was surprised on this one, thinking it would be Bombay, for the Bollywood film industry.

Time to steer away from useful cities with a history. But still, "the Dallas of Asia" gives three results (Beijing or Singapore).

"The Mexico of Asia"? Lots of results: 275 or so, with no general consensus.

Okay, time to break out the oxymorons and get genuinely unrealistic. I typed "the Toronto of Asia" and got one result: Busan, Korea.

I finally found success with "the Ottawa of Asia." Zero results!

I managed to craft a reasonable search with no results. In this utterly useless contest, however, there are no winners. Only losers. Me and Ottawa.

Saturday Cartoons: the rut

Normally this type post is for sharing moments from print graphic novels I enjoy. I don't like posting comics available already and solely online, because, well, what's the point? But this made me, as the kids say, LOL.
























by "Phil"

I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them

The morning meeting with the parents went better than I'd anticipated. Everyone was cordial, and nearly everyone was reassuring and calm. One mother seemed a bit anxious, and asked lots of questions concerning my readiness. (Honestly, does anybody except teachers get that kind of interrogation? This is my job! I know how to do it!)

I pointed out to her that the transfer of power was not happening in a vacuum: the in-house substitutes, the reading coach, the whole kindergarten team, the Vice-Head, and so forth were all supporting me. And then I capped it off with, "This isn't my first job, you know." She deflated just slightly after that.

In the afternoon, I met with the PITA parents, the ones who'd sent the three-page jeremiad. The Head and VH had intimated that if things got rowdy during that meeting, they were going to invite the parents to leave Prestigious. But they were very appropriate and calm, and I made some reassuring teacher noises about their child's reading behaviors and phonemic awareness, and that was that.

Monday, I'm in there as the teacher for the next six weeks. I'm not too worried; the K team is letting me coast and feeding me the plans, and the floater's going to try to hang around a lot, so it shouldn't be okay.

PITA Parents

Got my first taste of PITA (that's Pain In The Ass) Parents today. Prestigious is known for its uptight and demanding parents, and during conference days (the 13th and 14th), I did encounter one mother who got extremely emotional and irrational about her kindergarten-age daughter who wasn't reading yet. But that was just something I was observing, not my problem.

Today, the Vice-Head showed me an email a parent sent to her with "concerns" he still has about my taking over Mr. C's class starting Monday. It started out asking where I'd done student teaching (uh, who cares?) and what my reading teaching strategies were (a fair question), and then just kind of devolved into an all-out criticism of anything and everything about Prestigious. Why don't I hold hour-long conferences with all the parents as soon as possible? Why isn't there an assistant, since there are a whopping 18 kids in the room? Hey, the reading coach doesn't have a master's degree! Hey, some other teacher, Ms. S, is with the kids maybe a couple of hours a week --- and she doesn't have a master's, either! (The parent found this out by searching the school website) And why can't parents visit the classroom whenever they want? And so on.

This email was sent, the Vice-Head told me, immediately after an hour-long conversation with her about the transfer. A conversation which began, she said, ten seconds after she'd sent the original notification email to all the parents.

So, like I've mentioned, I'm meeting the parents tomorrow. Yeah. Pretty enthused about that.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go review my reading teaching strategies.

This day will soon be at an end and now it's even sooner

I subbed in the Repeat Kindergarten class again today --- just seven kids, and the teacher leaves very detailed lesson plans. It's an easy gig, even by the rather lax standards of Prestigious.

After school we had our weekly staff meeting. They served sushi and other Asian treats. As a February birthday boy, I had to go to the middle of the room with five other teachers while the staff regaled us with the obligatory song (I stood there and took it, but it pained me; I hate being the cynosure). I got a gift card from the school, but I lost it. Anyway, pretty generous.

Every year, Prestigious gives grants to teachers who propose to travel and do something helpful, enriching, or skill-building. Today they revealed the winner, one of my sub team members who will get to go to Ecuador. I didn't quite catch the details, but she'll be doing some kind of volunteer work with wilderness trails.

Oh, and a weird thing happened. ...Well, maybe better not go into that at all. Let's just say it involved my inadvertent disclosure of search terms that had been used in the past on the classroom teacher's computer. One of them was a Japanese word. It freaked me out.

The same thing that I'd want today, I would want again tomorrow

The Vice-Head sent out the email to the parents of Mr. C's room, saying he was leaving for six months and I'd be in his place. Mr. C told the kids himself, but I couldn't be there, as I was subbing in another room. By the end of the day there was one (possibly the first of several) email from a parent concerned that the change would result in their son slipping in his reading progress.

I understand parental concern and naturally I'm going to discuss their fears with them. But really, some of these high-maintenance parents are bit too jumpy, if you ask me. How likely is it that Prestigious is going to replace the teacher with a total slacker who's going to just let the kids slide? Anyway, I'm meeting the parents Friday morning. There will be donuts, juice, and anxiety.

I had a talk with Mr. C after school in which he briefed me on some of the more troublesome behaviors to be found in his class. At the beginning of the year, two kids regularly would pitch screaming fits, and one of them literally had to be held by Mr. C. He said it was the worst first six months of his entire teaching career. Apparently, the kids have calmed down a lot since then; two are on some kind of behavior-altering drug.

***

When I was in his room during class hours, briefly, one girl came up to me, talked excitedly about something, and then abruptly turned and skipped / ran / jumped off to the circle area.

"She's in a hurry, I guess," I remarked to another five-year-old girl.

"No," she said offhand, "she's just hyper."

Jeffrey's Monkey Hit the Road

Lyrics to a song of loss and dependence.

Jeffrey’s Monkey Hit the Road

It seems the phone won’t stop ringing
Wasted toilet water singing
Sympathy cards, junk and bills
There’s no more room, mailbox is filled

Jeffrey’s monkey hit the road
Jeffrey’s monkey took a load off
Nothing good does this bode
Jeffrey’s monkey just lost his heart
Jeffrey’s monkey won’t do his part

Not a change of clothes for some time
The smell, the must, the awful grime ---
Where is Bobo who would dart and lunge
Here and there with his cloth and sponge?

Jeffrey’s monkey hit the road
Jeffrey’s monkey took a load off
Nothing good does this bode
Jeffrey’s monkey finally called it quits
Lazing god knows where, picking nits

Friends will find Jeff sad and alone
His little helper gone to parts unknown
They’ll bust down the door only to find
Jeffrey’s monkey left him behind

Sometimes life throws us a curve
Life hits and runs as it hits a nerve
We take what comes and hope it lasts
And try not to cling too hard to the past

Jeffrey’s monkey hit the road
Jeffrey’s monkey took a load off
Nothing good does this bode
Jeffrey’s monkey had it up to here
Wants a life of skittles and beer

Take a load off

Questions originally posted here.

Hypotheticals: If you could be a character in any novel, who would you be?
Boy, that's rather a tough one. Most of my favorite novels have protagonists who are more the victims of a large uncaring world (Yossarian, Holden Caulfield), not so much people whose fates you'd want to share. And characters with power over others, like Dracula or the Invisible Man, tend to end up badly. I do feel a sort of kinship with the sour but noble Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre. Sherlock Holmes is admirable in his way, but I always found him a bit too supercilious. Well, let's see. There's also Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island --- a plucky young lad who comes into fortune after great adventure. Same with Huck Finn. I'll pick Hawkins, because he's still young and financially secure at the end of his book.

Anything Goes: What outdoor activity do you consider the most dangerous?
Bungee jumping or skydiving. Oh, I guess maybe doing this.

No-Brainers: What is your favorite genre of movies?
Snarky comment: this is a "no-brainer" because only people who don't think very much have favorite genres of movies. Well, I'm mostly joking. But I might say animation, because there have been so many wonderfully imaginative animated films, but I could just as easily say any other genre. It depends on the writing, acting, direction, mood, cinematography, message. I'm not a big fan of Westerns, for example, but High Noon and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance are both great movies. Conversely, while I love thrillers and documentaries, the huge preponderance of movies in those fields are utter crap. I really don't have a favorite genre.

Oh, all right, it's superhero movies. When they're done right, I just love them so much.

Personals: How good is your long-term memory, on a scale of one to ten?
When I was younger (preteen, high school, early college), I'd say my memory went up to eleven. I remembered events (but not faces or dates) vividly; could recite snatches of conversation and text verbatim; and more often than now plucked the mot juste out of my expansive vocabulary effortlessly, without pause in speech of writing. Now, I'd say old age, alcohol use, and general rust has weakened my memory to, say, an eight.

***

This just in: My blog uses lots of big words

Saturday Cartoons: Nextwave: Agents of Hate: I Kick Your Face

by Warren Ellis and Stuart Immonen

In media res

No work today. Some of my entertainment the last couple of weeks:

Television: Showtime's "Dexter." An original idea, with a charismatic star (Michael C. Hall) who pulls off the difficult task of portraying a likable serial killer. I don't agree with all the praise this show's gotten, though. Unlike HBO's top-notch shows, 'Dexter" suffers from some rather clumsy acting (particularly from the main character's sister). Also, the plot is often much more unsubtle than I like to see. Holy cow, you mean the creepily intense prosthesist is the other killer, the one obsessed with hacking off limbs? Never saw that one coming! Finally, while there's a good mix of black humor and drama in the scripts, the depiction of police work is almost childish: press conferences held at whim, no repercussions (not even mandatory leave and counseling) for a shooting, shaky evidence taken at face value, obvious connections leaving the detectives baffled (where'd all that blood come from? Could it be from the guy who's been draining blood from his victims??), and so on. Oh, and Dexter's girlfriend being changed with assault when it has already been established that she had a restraining order against her ex-con, wife-beating, drunk-at-the-time husband is beyond absurd. All of which is to say that although it's not particularly intelligent, "Dexter" is nevertheless compelling viewing --- again, mostly for its quirky premise and Hall's work in the title role. But I can't see that it in any way compares in quality to HBO masterpieces like "The Wire" and 'Deadwood," or even "NYPD Blue."

Comics: Ed Brubaker and Michael Lark's run on Daredevil. My local comic store is having a big sale, so I picked up the entire collected run so far, three TPBs, at once. I love everything Brubaker does (Criminal being among his finest work), and was especially sorry to see his and Lark's Gotham Central end, but this is a fine replacement for the latter. It's all gritty and noir, with a complex (but not unnecessarily convoluted) plot and a very intelligent, sinister villain. Or rather, a succession of villains. If there were ten of these books out now, I'd get 'em all. Comic book heroin, this stuff is.

Books: Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I've stated before that I'm normally a fan of the florid prose of the 19th-century female classicists, especially their rich, evocative language. However, I found a lot wanting in this book. Here, the overly verbose prose bored me with its superfluity, rather than wowing me with its verve and poetry. More than that, though, I found the titular character almost completely unsympathetic. It wasn't that Jane Eyre, the orphan and schoolteacher, is a repellent person; it's that she seemed to have no will or direction of her own. As she vacillated ad nauseam between marrying her bigamist beloved or running off in shame, and again between marrying an arrogant prick of a missionary for no reason other than he demanded her to or actually having a spine, I found myself muttering "Stop moaning about, you prolix bint, and stand up for yourself." But then, I've always taken literature personally.

Dear Fellow Teachers

Dear teacher recently returned from maternity leave: I realize I'm outnumbered in this matriarchy, and you all really enjoy talking about makeup and babies and cute things all the time, but honestly, can't you wait until I'm out of the room before you start talking about your birth plug falling out? There is a line at which one has gone too far, ladies!

Dear 23-year-old first-year K teacher with no graduate degree: I realize I'm new here and all, but it irks me to sit on a parent conference and hear you introduce me and say that the reason I'm sitting in is "to get a little experience." It's kind of demeaning. I'm nearly 15 years older than you, far more educated, and have been working in early childhood for seven years. So, you know, that sucked.

If I thought I was qualified

Today was Parent Conference day at Prestigious. Lacking a classroom of my own, I sat in on five conferences (one from each grade), and helped a little at the greeting desk as well. I saw a good sampling of parent styles as well as teaching styles. Some parents come in like they own the joint and the teachers are their personal tutors; others see the teachers as the authority in the room. While there's some weight to the former (the teachers are paid by tuition, after all), a middle ground leaning toward the latter is probably healthiest.

I also had my Goal Meeting. I wrote for my goals that I wanted to get to know the staff and students better over the coming months as a way of fitting in better; and that I wanted to study kindergarten lesson plans and books for next year. The Vice-Head, looking over the goals, said, "That timeline may be changed."

It turns out that Mr. C, the K teacher I've helped out the last couple of days, is taking a leave of absence until the beginning of April in order to rest and recuperate. I'm going to be the teacher in that room, not next year, but starting the week after next.

Yikes. Stepping into the shoes of a well-liked, experienced teacher + mid-term + demanding parents + little kids who like routine + next to no preparation = anxiety.

Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life

All day, my legs and abdomen were actually sore. This is what comes of playing ball games for two hours with groups of pre-K kids yesterday. And being, apparently, completely out of shape. Stupid doctors telling me I can't lift weights.

Luckily, it was teacher appreciation day at Prestigious, and the staff was treated to chair massages (just what I needed) and lunch. The latter was sandwiches, mixed fruit, chips, and delightfully decadent chocolate-covered strawberries, and man, did I just describe that in a totally homosexual way or what? Speaking of which, one of the gay male teachers addressed me as "honey" today. It just kind of slipped out, I suppose.

Man, if I were gay, my social life would be a lot easier.

***

One of the kindergarteners was looking at a book of dangerous or exotic animals and as he flipped through the pages, I identified and commented on them. When he came to a photo of an octopus, I got all excited. Octopuses are among my favorite animals because of how interesting they are, what with all their weird powers (regeneration, piercing "tongue," color and texture adaptation, ink sacs, autotomic limbs) and supposed intelligence. I said, "Oh, boy! octopuses are---"

And another kid interrupted, "Delicious!"

Exhausted

I filled in for the pre-K gym teacher today. I had them play a game where two teams rolled balls at each other and if you were hit, you had to sit down until a designated helper tapped you back in again.

I lead a rather sedentary lifestyle and am unused to long bouts of aerobic exercise. And I only ate a yogurt, tomatoes, and cucumber for lunch, so I lacked energy fuel.

I came home and fell asleep for two hours.

***

Winter's on its way out and the nights are getting warmer, which in my house means it's time to make sure I wash the dishes every night and spray Raid in the garbage cans. I'll still get big monster roaches, but not as many.

新春快乐!

Went to the Hangout last night with the Friar. Once there, I sent out tentative, exploratory texts to a few people (T-Bone, K, Jaded, Epalg), but no one else wanted to come. I can understand why. It is a college bar, and last night was Douchebag Central, what with all the goddam frat boys and sorority skanks milling around. But eventually the usual gang of picaresque rogues --- AL and Tall and Fat and Voluptuary and so on --- came around, and we all had a good time monopolizing the trivia machine and talking a bunch of crap in general.

As has become our custom, I gave Friar a ride home (I'm never more than mildly tipsy by 2:00 a.m., while he's invariably plastered). No sooner had I reached my own house and kicked off my shoes than Friar called me (which in itself is anomalous, as he typically communicates solely through text massages). He said that Palfrey, in normal circumstances a rather iracund individual in any case, had become incensed at his lingering in the car chatting with me a few minutes outside their house. She proceeded to take his keys and throw them into the yard. Whereupon Friar, perhaps not unreasonably, pounded on the large front window and shattered it.

Well, that was his version of the tale, anyway. I walked back out and was reaching for my car door handle to pick him up when he said to forget it and hung up. A few tearful phone calls from Palfrey followed --- she urged me to go pick him up --- but he ducked my calls and ignored my texts, so I went to bed.

The nosography of connubial distress, or, Everyone's got problems.

Saturday Cartoons: A League of One

by Christopher Moeller

Lost its sparkle, it isn't the same

Yesterday, a fourth-grader stymied me with the old "A man pushes his car to a stop in front of a hotel and realizes he's bankrupt" conundrum. Damn smart-ass fourth-graders.

The pre-K students have been studying folk tales and nursery rhymes for a while now. Today at reading time, a pre-K kid ran up to me with a Rumpelstiltskin book, saying excitedly, "Look what I got!"

I nodded approvingly and said, "Yes, that's Rumpelstiltskin. Do you know that story?"

"No," he said in a matter of fact tone. "I can't even read."

***

Had dinner at this place again (had the same chicken tacos) with the Friar, Palfrey, and their baby Crafty; and 74, Zaftig and their now two year old baby E.

Made plans for another time with Epalg. Got a text massage (and email) from Jaded out of the blue for the first time in almost a year. I don't know if I care to hang out with her, though.

***

I seem to be a lot less introspective these days. Perhaps it's the lack of sleep.

Vocabulaire: fripon

fripon - mischievous, roguish

Cette belette friponne a chipé encore tous les oeufs de nos poulets !

Nothing like the real thing

As I mentioned yesterday, I was in a fourth-grade English class today, all day. Three sections, with no break at all.

The kids read aloud reports on Spain that they'd written. Their teacher had required them to fit vocabulary words into the essays, so there were more than a few unintentionally humorous sentences where the kids had forced the words into the piece, regardless of overall flow or sense.

For example, immediately following a discussion of bullfighting and apropos of nothing: "If everyone in Spain died, there would be great despair."

Sometimes the kids tried a bit harder: "I bet the bull is filled with despair as the matadors stab him."

Or a final line of a report on the modern customs of Spain: "I did not find anything about segregation when I researched this paper."

My favorite: "There is no place for segregation in fandango dancing."

There were the usual instances, as well, of misunderstanding words: "Spanish people creed that bullfighting is a good sport."

Besides listening to the kids read the essays, I administered a brief vocabulary quiz to each section, read some Narnia books aloud (I'd forgotten just how good they are) at DEAR time, and started a KWL chart about Spain.

It may not sound like much, but this day kicked my ass. I left school with deep exhaustion and a newfound respect for teachers at this level.

Oh, and I made a fourth-grader cry today by giving him a recess timeout (actually, I meant for him just to come see me and talk to me about the problem he'd been having, but he went and put himself in timeout instead). He said he hadn't gotten a timeout in two years. I had been very calm and laid back about the whole thing, so it wasn't like I scared him with my attitude or anything. He was just sensitive about getting "in trouble." I tried to console him afterwards, the poor guy. I really don't think it's that big a deal, but another teacher told me his mother might want to talk to me about it, as she's a hands-on type who has five other kids either in or graduated from Prestigious. Ouch.

Now the way that I feel is no longer news

This week will be busy. Quite a few teachers and most of the administration are gone on conferences.

Today, I subbed:

--- in a fourth-grade gym class. Wall ball!
--- in a first-grade writing session. Read and illustrate poems!
--- in a pre-K room. Show and tell!
--- in another pre-K room. Lie down on your mats, kids!
--- in two different kindergarten rooms. Leveled readers and a color separation science project!

As you can see, I wear many hats in this job. Tomorrow, it seems (though nobody consulted me on this), I'm going to be a fourth-grade English teacher all day.

At Prestigious, the fourth graders are rather more swaggering and insolent than they are at most elementary schools. Prestigious stops at fourth grade, so these kids are the kings of all they survey. Some of them are in for a rude awakening when they get to other, larger schools. Oh, they're great kids, but some of them could stand to be taken down a peg. A calm but assured demeanor and the expectation of respect seems to be the sine qua non.

I try to laugh about it

We had a half day today. Some very young prospective pre-K kids came to visit the school. Then all classes were dismissed at 11:00 a.m. The school provided a nice sandwich lunch for the teachers.

After lunch, a psychologist and author came to talk to the faculty about gender differences in learning. He teaching social skills to boys who have problems communicating. I'm interested in the topic in any case (as I wrote in this book review, which originally several opinionated comments that have since vanished), and he was a good speaker. He talked about the link between good hearing (girls hear better and with more breadth than boys) and phonological awareness, and how the latter is essential to social comprehension and emotional skill. He gave us a lot of instructional strategies for maximizing executive control --- the ability to maintain and monitor one's memory and reaction to transitional situations.

The school day ended at the normal time, but then we were all required to come back at 7:00 p.m. and hear more or less the same talk, only this time tailored for parents instead of teachers. It wasn't as awful as it sounds, as some of the information was different, and the speaker really was skilled at capturing attention. At one point, he showed a series of pictures of eyes --- only the eyes cut out from photos of people. He asked audience to label each pair of eyes' intended expression; it's a test for autism. Boys usually perform more poorly than girls, but I got every one right. No autism for me!

Freedom isn't free

I wonder if there's anyone left who's been paying the slightest bit of attention lately and still manages to pretend to themselves that this is a free country.

The following would be amusing if it weren't so representative of the overall atmosphere of sanctity: lawmakers would like to outlaw overweight people from eating in restaurants??

As in any fascist state worth the name, priests are put in prison for non-violent demonstrations against torture.

The President, having sworn to uphold the Constitution when he took office, now baldly asserts his power to ignore it.

Oh, you better believe fascist states like to torture enemies of the state.

Holding enemies of the state indefinitely, without charge or attorney? Even natural-born citizens? You better believe that, too.

Also, our overlords think citizens should have no privacy of information.

And they use a supposedly independent media to broadcast lies.

And no fascist nation would be complete without rigged elections and cronyism.

The list goes on. That's not even mentioning the contrast between the rights and protections of corporations versus those allowed citizens. And I think our Founding Fathers would burn the FCC to the ground if they saw the absurd power it held over speech.

I'm really hoping the Democrats take the White House (though I don't expect it; I believe the voting process has been hijacked). John McCain, to my mind the most palatable of the Republican contenders, wouldn't lift a finger to reverse any of this fascist doctrine.

So thank your lucky stars you've got protection
Walk the line, and never mind the cost
And don't wonder who them lawmen was protecting
When they nailed the Savior to the cross.

'Cause the law is for protection of the people
Rules are rules and any fool can see
We don't need no riddle speaking prophets
Scarin' decent folks like you and me, no siree.

--- Kris Kristofferson, "The Law Is for Protection of the People"

Saturday Cartoons: Jack of Fables: The (Nearly) Great Escape

by Bill Willingham, Matthew Sturges & Tony Akins

If life's for living what's living for

JOKE

Q: Who in literature killed more chickens than anyone else?

A: Macbeth, because he did murder most foul.

***

HEALTH

Went to see the sawbones after work. She said I was asymptomatic at this point, but I need to keep an eye out for certain signs of Impending Death. She said that because of how my surgery was done back in '74, if I ever do need some kind of implant to help my heart, the surgeons would have to come in from the opposite side from normal and maneuver around some unusual inner anatomy. I said, "That sounds like it's a procedure that few people could do well and would be very likely to be fucked up." The doctor said, "Yes, that's about right." Lovely. But for now, I seem to be free of the need for such drastic measures.

The doctor called me a "sweet kid." It's kind of irksome to be called a sweet kid when you're nearly forty. Damn these boyish, handsome features!

***

JOB

Light day today, mostly helping out in Mr. C's kindergarten room. He's supposedly leaving the school next year due to stress (that's not just gossip, it's from the vice-Head), but nothing is official yet. Indeed, he looks a bit more relaxed lately. This could be attributable to the news that the K teachers will have assistants next year.

I went to the VH and asked how certain the plans for me to be in the K room next year are.

She looked alarmed and asked, "Why, don't you want it?"

I assured her I did, but I just wanted to know for my own peace of mind. She replied that as far as she knew, it was as definite as I wanted it to be. If I wanted Ms. G's room, I'd have it. I said that was good, and I'd asked because the K teachers were looking happy, and I was worried about Ms. G deciding to stay after all.

The VH got a sort of sly twinkle in her eye and said, "Well, I can be a bit devious sometimes. Ms. G was very upset with being in the K room, and wanted another grade. I asked her if there was anything that could make her stay, and she said no. So we arranged the transfer. Then I told the K teachers about the assistants next year."

Hmmm.

Everyday I write the blog

It's late and I'm tired, so I'm just going to toss out a few things. Not that I'm going to drop off to sleep after I post this. I never fall asleep easily these days. Tachycardia and so forth. So unhealthy.

(1) Next year's position is supposed to be a secret for a while, but the admin told the kindergarten teachers, so I suppose it'll be a day at most before everyone knows. There's no place like schools for gossip. But the other K teachers were very welcoming and congratulatory about it.

(2) Today I subbed for the art teacher. I went around with a cart of supplies to nine pre-K classes to supervise a pattern project (gluing paper squares to make borders for pictures). I also covered a recess and another teacher's reading time. This was perhaps the most tiring day I've ever had at Prestigious. Nine pre-K art sessions takes the pep out of a man.

(3) I am excited about it, but I'm naturally pessimistic and refuse to believe that the position is mine until it actually happens. Someone might decide they want to stay after all, and then I'd be put back in the sub team.

(4) Today a second-grade girl told me that when women put on lipstick, they're putting "pig butt" on their lips because lipstick is made from pig butt. I'm pretty sure that's not true. I said that most lipsticks were synthetic now, anyway.

Movin' on up, maybe

Yesterday, on Brother's advice, I went to schedule a meeting for today with the Head --- just a sort of "how am I doing" mid-semester self-check. His secretary, amazed, said she had just been told by the Head to get me and schedule a meeting for today. Everyone was bemused by the synchronicity of it all.

The Vice-Head told me they wanted to talk to me about next year, decisions we had to make. Given the drawn-out process in which I was hired, this brought up the grim specter of them not renewing my contract for next year. However, she said, in conversation, "You're such a great addition to Prestigious," so I wasn't too worried about it. Of course, I wouldn't be me if I hadn't worried about it just a little, so I did.

Today, I had the big meeting, before classes. First, they said I wouldn't be getting the temporary room placement I mentioned here; they gave that to the young tall hot inexperienced girl. However, they're confident enough in me to renew my contract for next year two months earlier than the "probation period" that had been established. And not on the sub team, either. They're hiring me for next year as a solo kindergarten teacher, with my own room. And, possibly, a part-time assistant. Nice.

I always have friendly and funny chats with both the Head and the Vice-Head. They agree that it's a hard road being new here, especially being one of the few males. The Head told me his wife jokingly accused him of only hiring gorgeous women. And yes, there are quite a few fashion plates here.

Oh, today I subbed for the music teacher. That's a laugh, given my utter ignorance of the mechanics of music and my total absence of musical accomplishment. Still, I gave it a go. I had six kindergarten classes and one pre-K. I went to Prestigious' library and checked out a couple of picture books about music. We started each session with some songs, then I read a rhyming book about an animal band, having the kids pay special attention to the beat and rhythm of the words. Then I flipped through a book about percussion and defined the term. Finally, the kids played with Boomwhackers.

So, next year is set, at least in theory. I personally won't believe it until the contract's signed and in my hot little hands. But I'm more or less satisfied.

Now all I have to worry about is sudden heart failure between now and the end of the next school year. Goddamn old age and timebomb heart disease that goes off just when life's getting tolerable.

Music response meme

Via daveawayfromhome.

Turn on your iTunes (or iPod).

Or, in my case, Windows Media Player.

Set the player on "Shuffle."

It always is. I have music-appreciation ADD. Not an album purist. I used the shuffle button before there was a shuffle button. We called it "making a mix tape" back then.

Write something (a sentence, a paragraph, a story, a word,) about the first 5 songs that come up. Can you handle that? It's really not as hard as it might sound… as music, no matter your taste, is what makes the world go round.

Don't be patronizing, meme.

1. "You Belong To Me," Elvis Costello
"Your eyes are absent, your mouth is silent, pumping like a fire hydrant." A rockin' bit of New Wave vitriol. Love that high-pitch machine-gun piano in the middle. Nothing like the Dylan song "She Belongs To Me," but seeing this title always makes me think of the Dylan song, even though Dylan actually has another song called "You Belong To Me." And here's me, a Dylan fan for twenty year gone now, and I don't have that song in my collection. Man, I gotta get the Natural Born Killers soundtrack. What was I talking about again?

2. "Purple Haze," the Bobs
The Bobs are an a capella group. This is from their covers album, which I obtained almost 15 years ago now (and they said CDs wouldn't last over time!) from my old college. Specifically, I stole it from the radio station. In my defense, it was heavily scuffed and not being treated with the appropriate reverence. The Bobs' vocal imitation of Jimi Hendrix's wailing and crunching guitar riffs is something everyone ought to hear at least once.

3. "A Woman's Life and Love," Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire
Andrew Bird's violin-based, almost unclassifiable melange of jazz and other '30s styles is sheer delight to a guy like me with a broad musical palate (I like Fats Waller and Rancid, Dean Martin and Procol Harum). Superb vocals by the amazing Katherine Whalen.

4. "Nobody," Johnny Cash
From the American III album, perhaps my favorite of the series (it contains "One," "I See a Darkness," and "The Mercy Seat," perhaps the three finest covers Cash ever did --- oh, and "Solitary Man," too). This song is not one of my very favorites of his, but it's a terrific blend of comedy and pathos, a plaint by a perpetually put-upon sad sack. Cash has a long tradition of doing humorous pieces like this (as on his Live at Folsom Prison album), and he pulls the goofiness out of the lyrics' righteous ire with a practiced, knowing drawl. Anyway, I'd enjoy Cash singing the phone book, frankly.

5. "Lost in the Harbour," Tom Waits
Tom Waits has so many sides, he's round. That is, his career has been largely composed of various performing personas. There's the otherworldly roaring noise merchant, the growly burlesque-house pianist, the streetwise Beat poet, the noir throwback, the highly literate stream of consciousness lyricist, and so on. On this track we have Waits the slow, sad balladeer. It's not the flavor of Tom Waits I like best, but it's raspy and beautiful. And when Tom Waits does a sad song, you either feel sad or you're dead.

Republicans encourage welfare

Still full of sputtering, impotent rage.

Bush Opens Roadless Tongass National Forest to Logging

JUNEAU, Alaska, January 25, 2008 (ENS) - Today, the Bush administration put a "for sale" sign on trees in pristine roadless areas of the Tongass rainforest in Alaska - America's largest national forest.

This move by Bush officials to reverse roadless area protections parallels two others made recently in national forests located in Idaho and Colorado.

In December 2003, Bush officials "temporarily" exempted Alaska's Tongass rainforest from the Clinton era Roadless Rule, designed to protect 58 million acres of roadless wild forests in 39 states.

The Bush administration's new management plan for the Tongass National Forest will raise no revenue for the U.S. government, as the U.S. taxpayers will have to pay to build the roads the timber companies need to access the forest.

Republican lawmakers are evil, plain and simple. Just evil. Despoiling the earth for short-term profits, and adding insult to injury by making taxpayers pay for it. As for Republican voters, there is no explanation except that they're ignorant fools who believe everything Ann Coulter tells them. "Hell yeah, let's get them damn black welfare mothers off the taxpayers' backs! Good old American-loving Republicans want smaller government!"

Actually, Republicans adore corporate welfare, which drains government funds much more than the pittance given to single mothers living in poverty.

Basically, everything Republicans say they're for, they're actually against.

Law-and-order party? Bush and Cheney between them have three DWI convictions. And when it came to lining the coffers of companies he worked for, Cheney never met an ethics violation he didn't like.

Party of patriots who know how to wage war? Cheney and his five draft deferments are just the tip of the iceberg. This fiasco of a war has been managed by people who don't understand the military because they came of age scared shitless of it, and have to swagger around pretending like they're Real Men now.

Party of straight talkers? Then why was the party line from 1991-94 that Iraq would become a quagmire if invaded, but once W got his tiny little hard-on for Daddy's Revenge, the party line was that the invasion would last six weeks tops and we'd be welcomed as liberators?

Our glorious Republican lawmakers. Lying, hypocritical, cowardly, genocidal, amoral, venal pieces of slime.

Vocabulaire: un blaireau

un blaireau - a badger

Les meilleures brosses de rasage sont fabriquées traditionellement en poils de blaireau.

I just got one, and they really do help with a closer shave.

Republicans hate veterans

I don't often rant about politics, because I'm only a dilettante in that area, so many others speak more eloquently than I do on the subject, and I don't have the audience that justifies too many information round-up posts. And also, I can't even so much as think about that sneering lying pile of sleaze Dick Cheney (surely the most nakedly corrupt and hypocritical figure in American politics, ever) without seizing up into an apoplectic fit that prevents me from unclenching my jaw and fists until I have a hot bath and some nice chamomile tea... But every now and then the spirit of impotent, righteous rage moves me.

After manufacturing a war through outright lies to the American people, Bush and his cronies decided that the brave men and women who serve and die and are mutilated in the name of father-issue revenge complexes and oil money for billionaires don't deserve the limited recompense they get. Hypocritical lip service and a sanctimonious "God bless you" is good enough, according to the human scum who call themselves Christians, patriots, and conservatives.

Here's a flash video with a few facts.

An op-ed article on the lack of health care for veterans.

A story about one of many VA hospitals with staff crunches and patient backlogs.

More health care budget cuts.

But then, that's what happens when people who avoid any and all responsibility, let alone the honor and danger of military service, make the decisions for people who do the fighting. Here's an interesting look at who served and who had "other priorities."

George Bush's legacy, a table provided by the Democratic caucus.

Diversity and tolerance

Second grade again today. I like this age; still young enough to like their teachers and be silly, but old enough to be responsible and largely self-sufficient.

I was reading a book about Jackie Robinson for social-emotional time. One one page was both the words 'colored' and Negro.'

Me, after finishing the page: "Those are words that white people used to use for black people, but not anymore because they're not considered nice."
Girl: "And watermelon."
Me: "Uh, what?"
Girl: "Watermelon is a name for black people too."
Me: "Oh dear."

***
Later on, after one of my usual enthusiastic "Awesome" shout-outs, another girl said, "You're always so happy, Mr. Chance."
Me: "Well, that's the first time anyone's ever said that, ever."
Girl: "What?"
Me: "I'm screaming angrily on the inside. All. The. Time."
Girl, giggling: "You're so silly!"

In her naiveté, she mistook my fondness for children and my natural inclination to build up kids' self-esteem in jovial ways for self-contentment on my part. Ha ha! I'm actually full of angst.

***

Also, here is a new proposal for a flag of Oregon, as per Michael5000's contest. Michael is fast becoming my favorite blogger, which is no mean feat considering the strong competition out there with the likes of Chris Sims, Churlita, the Waiter, and Scipio.

Anyway. Michael is right to call for a redesign; flags with words and dates on them sort of miss the point of flags in the first place. It's a banner, not a mission statement. My design is primarily forest green, to represent Oregon's wondrous forests of pine. The top and bottom and bordered with gray, which represents the eight months of rainfall that keeps the place green. In the middle is a beaver icon (the state animal and nickname, as well as representing the spirit of pride and labor that I love in so many independent-minded Oregonians who are not hobos). Finally, the beaver is in a circle of blue, which represents the all-too-brief spring, during which the weather is perfect.

Lo and Behold

I subbed in the second grade again today. I've now subbed for each of the four second grade teachers. It's not my favorite thing, but it's nice. The team is very nice and helpful, writing out detailed schedules and overlooking my blips of uncertainty.

Prestigious Elementary pays very well, has a superb benefit package, is an esteemed institution, quite easy compared to public school, largely stress-free, and full of intelligent teachers with solid professional standards. And I think I may hate it.

The real tragedy --- the thing I'm truly scared of --- is that I may not fit in anywhere. I'm too unlike most teachers, too anti-social, too vehemently individualistic, too socially damaged.

What's the matter, Molly dear?
What's the matter with your mound?
What's it to you, Moby Dick?
This is chicken town.

Letting the days go by

Today a third grader told me what college he was going to go to. He'd investigated several, he told me (and named them), but finally decided on one with an emphasis on performing arts.

He was Daddy Warbucks in Prestigious' production of "Annie."

It's nice to have a life plan.

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself....
Well, how did I get here?

And you may ask yourself:
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself:
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself:
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself:
This is not my beautiful wife!
And you may tell yourself:
MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE??

Seriously, though, good luck, kid. It's a tough field, and anyway your father's probably going to make you go to law school.

Pride of America

Today at school we had visiting day. Classes were canceled and hordes of prospective new students were brought to the classrooms for informal observation. Anxious parents lined the hallways, sitting in chairs and every one of them looking like they were waiting for a doctor's life-saving diagnosis. Sonar and his gorgeous wife were there for their young son, as was T-Bone's wife with their younger daughter (the latter a shoo-in).

***

After work I went to the post office to mail a package. After waiting in line for an unusually speedy eleven minutes while two out of a four possible clerks slowly processed the every-growing line of customers, I was told by the clerk that the last digit of the zip code was wrong. And they couldn't tell me what the right zip code was.

In a U.S. post office. They couldn't look up a zip code.

This was a task that took me approximately two seconds on Google once I got home. What, they don't even have a big book where the codes are listed?

In the post office?

Now I understand that in this time of war born of deception, recession, disappearing middle class, uninsured working families, voter fraud, and so forth, this is a petty thing to be dwelling on hours after the event. But seriously, isn't this lack of initiative, or caring, or effort, symptomatic of a depressing downward spiral of this country? Where's the willingness to get the job done by any means necessary that kept the pioneers alive and got us through WWII?

We let illegal aliens shoulder the mantle so we can hate them for it, I guess.

A few graphic novel reviews

Nothing like comics to distract you from the harsh reality of the world. Here's some of the graphic novels I've read in the last few weeks.

Castle Waiting Volume One and Castle Waiting: The Curse of Brambly Hedge, by Linda Medley (Olio Press). I'd flipped through one of these volumes at the store before and shrugged and put it back. It seemed a bit amateurish to me. Also, for whatever erroneous reason, I felt the series was too redolent of John DeChancie's Castle Perilous series. Well, I got these books from a friend recently, and I was wrong about everything. I'm a convert to Medley's work. This series has nothing in common with DeChancie's novels; if anything, it's close to Bill Willingham's Fables, but with less of a dark, Vertigo feel. Furthermore, the art is decidedly not amateurish. Medley is a terrific artist with a sure, fine hand, and she definitely knows how to tell and pace a story. These GNs are billed as "Young Adult," but as with all great youth fiction (do kids even read Alice in Wonderland?), an adult can enjoy it without the least sense of superiority.

Annihilation Book One and Annihilation Book Two (various creators, Marvel). A lot of comics bloggers love this series, and it was on a lot of the year-end best of lists, so I got these books. I think the twenty-year-old me might have enjoyed the hell out of it (even while sniffing, "It's not as good as Sandman"), but the me that's on the near side of forty thought there were too many explosions and fight scenes and not enough human drama. I'm not saying it's childish, exactly, and I certainly enjoy my share of guilty nerd pleasures, but my tastes nowadays run more toward Sean McKeever's The Waiting Place than space opera. Though it was well-written for the most part, and I'm awed by some of the detail in the art, I wouldn't call it one of the best series of the year by a long shot.

Blue Beetle: Shellshocked and Blue Beetle: Road Trip, by John Rodgers, Keith Giffen, and Cully Hamner (DC). Another series that comic bloggers raved about. This time, I'm fully on board. Here in the story of Jaime Reyes, outcast teen turned unlikely and reluctant hero, is the human drams that the loud, perhaps overly-busy Annihilation lacks. I read on the Intertubes somewhere that these two slim GNs are from before the series "got very good," but I think it's already terrific.

White Death, by Rob Morrison and Charlie Adlard (AiT/PlanetLar). This is a WWI drama, focusing on the Italian resistance to Austrian attacks in the Dolomites. The white death of the title is the deliberate causing of avalanches using artillery. Morrison was inspired to write this book when he heard about the avalanche strategy, which he calls "even more obscene" than the course of normal warfare. Maybe it's just me, but I don't find it any more horrifying than shooting artillery directly at people, or any other way of killing or maiming people in war. So perhaps I was never in the mindset to properly get into Morrison's tale. Adlard's unusual art --- charcoal on grey paper --- is terrific, but I didn't think that this book had anything to say about WWI that hasn't been said thousands of times in other media. ...Well, maybe that's too harsh. If Garth Ennis' name were on the cover and not a word inside was changed, a lot more people would probably seek out and praise it. It's a good, solid war story, with a chilling ending (no pun intended).

In disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

Sometimes people commit suicide after something good happens to them, and those that knew them wonder why. It's because in depression, one tends to pin one's hopes on a single thing: "if I get this job, life will be better," or "once I get married, everything will go more smoothly," or "if I could afford a car that worked, I'd be happy." That sort of thing. But when the good thing actually comes to pass, the person finds that it doesn't shine any light on the rest of their lives. It only made a small corner of their lives better in a certain way. And so, seeing clearly now that one improvement isn't sufficient to give their lives that complete overhaul they'd been craving, they now realize the futility of that kind of hopeful fantasy. And, because depressed, they think that therefore there is no hope of any kind.

Anyway. I understand the viewpoint.

I'm ignorant about our world

65

...Also, I can't spell "Liechtenstein."

When usually it's nothing

Today I was the drama teacher again. Unlike the previous days, when I had first, second, and third graders, today was pre-K's turn in the drama room. All of them, apparently. The entire day was taken up by eight half-hour classes of pre-K kids.

I read some Mother Goose rhymes and the kids illustrated them with flannel board pieces for the first half. The last fifteen minutes of each session was given over to play with the fairy tale puppet sets. The younger kids were not quite as adept or familiar with the stories as the second-graders had been the day before, but the point today was really just familiarization with theater items, and a little fun, of course. I walked around showing them how to use the puppets and open their mouths and helped the kids along with the basics of the stories.

I'm actually fairly surprised at how unfamiliar the kids were with the basics: few easily recalled the three-step progressions of big eyes, big ears, big teeth of Red Riding Hood or the straw, sticks and bricks of the Three Pigs, for example. They were also surprisingly unfamiliar with the Mother Goose rhymes. I don't expect three- and four-year-olds to recite anything, but I did think it was strange how few could supply the words to, say, "Little Miss Muffet," even with prompting. These are kids who are read to by their parents (or nannies); maybe Mother Goose is out of fashion.

Anyway, after eight classes of fifteen pre-K kids each, "Hey Diddle Diddle," and Billy Goats Gruff puppetry, I was pretty tired of that routine. Give me the first-graders any day.

Speaking of repeating stuff, it was little Crafty's birthday --- Friar's son is now one year old. There was a birthday dinner, with me and Mrs. T-Bone and her two daughters in attendance. (The oldest daughter goes to prestigious, and kept calling me "Mr. Chance" and making me watch her eat chips with queso and Craisins.) Guess where we went? The same restaurant I'd been to twice this week, the Tex-Mex place mentioned here. I had the exact same thing again.

When I gave my taco order, the waiter (Mexican, of course) said, "Corn or flour tortilla?" I said, "Corn. That's the best." He smiled and said, "Yes, it is." I added, "Flour is for white losers." He smiled even more and said, "I know!"

So, if you're in a Mexican restaurant and you order flour tortillas, the Mexicans are laughing at you.

The clock I'm punching in, I'm a monster

Aside from less than an hour assigning take-home readers to another teacher's kindergarteners, I was the drama teacher all day today.

First was the second-graders. I was very pleased that I'd happened to drop in Tuesday and watch the lesson. I just repeated it. The kids broke into groups, read some brief plays, then discussed and voted on them. When I'd observed, Mr. Drama Teacher had ended the lesson with a game called Remote Control (in which the kids reacted to buttons he'd call out: "Play" meant act silly and run around, "Pause" meant freeze, "Rewind" meant go backwards, and so on). Being a failed child actor, I decided instead to end the lesson with some on-the-spot improv suggestions. Watching second-graders pretend to smell something disgusting or come into a surprise party that disappoints them is hilarious. Prestigious has some very creative, bright kids.

First grade was next. We discussed the difference between narrative and dialogue, then I split the kids into groups and they chose fairy tale puppet sets. They rehearsed and then acted out, all on their own, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, The Three Little Pigs, Red Riding Hood, and Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Again, I was amazed at some of the kids' creativity and humor. They put on silly voices, added narration between scenes, and made the puppets move in interesting and appropriate ways. I was especially proud of how much they did on their own, from picking which group would do which story to adding sound effects. After the plays, I led a rousing game of Remote Control.

Third grade had the most boring class. They watched a video of the opera Turandot. Although they listened fairly well, they were mostly interested in the executions and the riddles that would kill the suitor or bind Turandot to marriage. The kids hooted at a lot of it, mocking the woman who played the supposedly gorgeous title character. The general consensus was that she was unforgivably ancient (possibly close to forty, I'd guess). "She looks like my mom before she's had her coffee," a girl said. Another girl said she wasn't ugly: "She's just... I want to get the right words here and be fair... She seems like she's been in a car wreck is all." I don't know whether that girl was honestly trying to be solicitous or ironic. During a lengthy scene in which Ping, Pang, and Pong, the councilors, were waxing rhapsodic about their lives before the palace, a girl said, "We get it! Get to the riddles already!" Frankly, I felt that way too.

If I had wings and I could fly I know where I would go

I was in second grade again today. More math, but the work was review this time. To tell the truth, the day is kind of a blur to me. I don't remember much, though it was an easy schedule. The kids were gone over three hours at various specials.

I'm tired. Saturday, I saw a midnight movie with Epalg (Reservoir Dogs --- very visceral). Monday, I went to dinner with 74, Zaftig and their baby. Tuesday, I went back to the very same restaurant and had the exact same dish (chicken tacos on corn tortillas -- very authentic-Mex) with Epalg this time. Tonight, I went to the Hangout with the Friar. Early mornings, on my feet the work day, then filled evenings, and I don't sleep much or well anyway.

Friar and I talked a bit about whether I should move to a duplex-type place with a yard or stay here and save money and, once I find out what my job situation will be next year, buy a house for about the same monthly expense.

The latter plan is good, especially if I could get Mr. Hangout (real-estate mogul as well as bar owner) to help find a good deal. Of course, the plan's also predicated on the assumption that I'll live to enjoy a house. And remember the old adage: when we make an assumption, we make an ass out of u and mption.

Long, slow day

Got up earlier than usual and was at school by 7:00 a.m. The faculty have a "book club" in which they discuss professionally relevant texts. They're currently reading a book about how boys communicate. The Vice-Head was presenting a few chapters, and asked me and another male teacher to be there and act as her uncommunicative sons in a little skit to illustrate the concept. Afterwards, I sat through the talk and said not a word, possibly enforcing the stereotype.

We had a very light schedule. I wandered around a bit, sat in on a second-grade drama class where the kids read and evaluated short plays about Great Americans, and helped do some reading assessments in kindergarten. Then, in the afternoon, I subbed for a pre-K teacher (who will be leaving sometimes this semester; either I or another reserve teacher will get her spot).

Calm, easy day, with no problems. Also, got my first check. Sweet!

A real-life teacher

Today I was in a second-grade class all day (subbing for a woman who went to seventh grade with me). Despite all my experience in schools and teaching pre-K, I must say that today was my very first full day as a paid grade school teacher. I've been an aide, a student teacher, and a pre-K teacher, and I've helped and observed in other classes before, but this was the first time I was the actual and sole teacher, no qualifications, for grade school class, all day.

I had a lot of help, both from the other grade teachers and from the kids themselves. The other teachers kindly went over my schedule, showed me where some supplies were, and so on. The kids knew their schedule backwards and forwards, so they only needed the slightest verbal prompt from me to go through their day. For example, I said, "Let's get started with the calendar now," and one kid popped up and put the right day and date on the board, and then another kid read them off. I said it was time for math, and one kid pops up with a previously prepared estimation project. And so on.

The day was mostly math teaching (parallel lines and simple geometric shapes), with a little journal writing by the morning group and reading to the afternoon group. (The kids wrote about what their dream day at school would be like --- mostly art and gym and recess --- and I read them Roald Dahl's The Magic Finger.)

For some reason, very few of the kids in either group could draw a quadrangle with no parallel sides. They just couldn't get their heads around it, possibly because they had a hard time fulfilling a negative request. I got a lot of parallelograms (uh, no), trapezoids (closer), even a few triangles (couldn't be more off) or some desultory crossed line segments (I take it back about the triangles). This after much review of both "parallel" and "quadrangle."

I'm not mocking the kids (well, much); it's a hard concept to grasp, and I'm not sure I explained it well. If I'd known what I'd be asked to do, I might have been able to think of a strategy or an example that worked.

Anyway, I liked being there a lot.

Books

A few non-fiction books I read recently (in the realm of fiction, it's been pretty much only thrillers and crime novels lately) and what I thought of them:

• The Math Instinct: Why You’re a Mathematical Genius, Keith Devlin

The author describes the truly amazing abilities of dogs, bees, ants, birds and other creatures when it comes to eye-mouth coordination, navigation, locomotion, and so on. He uses this data --- along with some studies on how infants pay attention to certain sets of things up to three, and some other studies on poorly-educated street vendors who can do complicated math procedures in their heads but not on paper --- to argue that people have an innate instinct for mathematics. It’s an interesting book, but not a cohesive one, and ultimately unsatisfying. The animal studies are fascinating, but nearly completely irrelevant to the matter at hand; the animals, as Devlin himself says, aren’t “doing mathematics” any more than the world is “doing physics” as it spins. The studies on humans, especially the differences between school math and real-world math abilities, are germane, and Devlin has a good case to make that people can do math, but are turned off it through poorly-done formal study. Finally, the book concludes with an exhortation for people to practice the basics more through memorization. Gosh, thanks! Never would have thought of that.

• No Touch Monkey!, Ayun Halliday

A humorous memoir of bad or just plain weird travel experiences. Nothing is spectacularly unique --- from a dislocated knee in Sumatra, to getting clothes stolen while staying with monks in Hua Hin, Thailand; from being burglarized by an aggressively fearless monkey while too stoned to move in Pushkar, to the austere welcome a theater troupe receives in Soviet Romania. But Halliday is an engaging and very funny writer. She has an admirable talent for keeping the reader too amused to notice that nothing much of note is actually happening (hey, she was in Scotland with a baby!).

• The Big Year: A Tale Of Man, Nature, And Fowl Obsession, Mark Obmascik

Three birders --- a bumptious salesman, a software code writer, and a retired business executive --- each set off on a “big year” in 1998: they are determined to see as many birds in North America as they can in one year. At first, the men are unaware of each other, and later, a somewhat personal rivalry develops. Obmascik, who wasn’t there during any of the expeditions, uses journals and interviews to tell the three men’s stories, and while it’s impossible to tell how much he’s glossing over, it does read as if he were a fly on the wall (or ship rail, or tree, as the case may be). I could have used more in-depth interviews with the birders themselves: their thoughts and feelings. At the end, the business exec seems rather disappointed that he’d done a big year; I’d like to know whether it was worth it. The recently divorced code writer’s tale is the most maudlin: he maxes out all his credit cards and battles depression to see 715 birds that year. Is he glad he did it? I did enjoy the various trails and trials the birders went through, however: seasickness, cliffs, cold weather, thousands of frequent flier miles.

• Cross Country, Robert Sullivan

A 380-page rumination on the author’s experiences driving across the continental United States, several times over many years. Interspersed with his own experiences, Sullivan talks about history: Lewis and Clark; Carl G. Fisher and the Lincoln Highway; the See America First campaign and the rise of motor tourism; Kemmons Wilson and the Holiday Inn; the rise of the interstate system; the use of Jersey barriers; Jack Kerouac’s beginnings; even a brief look at the history of the to-go coffee cup lid. The factual information is fascinating, and told very well. That’s good, because the personal information is banal in the extreme. I don’t know whether Sullivan believes there’s value in acting as anthropologist of the quotidian (remarks on motel stays and breakfasts, sketches of parking lots), or if he truly thinks his experiences are interesting (he spends quite a long time detailing “the worst cross country trip ever,” in which nothing especially bad happens), but in either case, this book would have been an exceptional history of travel in America without them. It’s too bad. Sullivan’s a terrific historian, but he put way too much of himself in this book.

• Learned Pigs & Fireproof Women, Ricky Jay

A look at some of the freaks, wonders, curiosities and con men of the past. From mentalists like Harry Kahne to limbless marvels like Matthew Buchinger and Sarah Biffin, from water spouters to growers, from learned animals of all types to Max Petomane the farting impressionist, there’s quite a lot to wonder at. Some of the acts get only the briefest of mentions, which left me a bit dissatisfied, more questions arising than facts presented. When Jay deigns to write a lengthier investigation, complete with a little information as to how a trick is done (for example, Laroche, who went up a spiral ramp inside a large sphere), it’s a much more enjoyable book. The illustrations, mostly old photos and playbills, are extremely illuminating. On the whole, however, nothing in this book was an interesting to me as a short piece on Jay himself which I read by Mark Singer earlier this year. Jay's deep learning in his esoteric field (the history of magic, con games, and freaks), skill to the level of miracle-working at card manipulation, and obvious psychological idiosyncrasies (why does he refuse so much work? Why does he avoid publicity?) could and should fill a whole book.

• Soldier’s Heart, Elizabeth D. Samet

The author has taught literature at West Point for ten years, and writes of the ways in which literature has shaped her students. The book provides a few glimpses at memoir, but mostly it’s a look at how 9/11 changed cadets’ attitudes toward academics, and a reflection on the connection between the analysis of literature and military life. I was blown away by the passion of some of her students for classic literature, film, and poetry; the book certainly does much to destroy uninformed stereotypes about officers in the US military. More to the point, Samet does an excellent job justifying her position, making a strong case for the study of literature in all its nuances being good background for the future choices an officer may make. She writes of appreciating through literature moral courage as opposed to physical bravado, as in the writing of General Grant. It’s a thought-provoking and even moving book.

Saturday Cartoons: America

by Ralph Steadman, who foresaw it all thirty years earlier

I tell myself something's comin' but it never does

Feeling better than yesterday about work. Tiring day. Tiring week, in fact, mostly because I'm getting seven or fewer hours of sleep per night. Also, I'm walking or on my feet a lot all day.

Had a cathartic talk with the vice-head about the auction thing and being excluded by my fellow reserve teachers. She commiserated with me about the girly talk and gave me a few suggestions on what to do about the auction. However, before I could ask anyone else about it, the woman who's a putative leader of the team suggested that we do something else so that I would be included. So now we're offering our time to entertain some lucky (that is, rich) kids with a treasure hunt party. These private school auctions are nuts, man. I've been to one before (memories I blogged here but I'd rather not revisit) and with the open bar and the impetus to look good while supporting the school, parents spend truckloads of cash on all manner of goofy prizes.

Anyway. feeling better about that. Did not see hide nor hair of my nemesis.

All the kids are singing "Had a Bad Day," that Daniel Powter song, while they play tag and such. Apparently it was in the no-doubt execrable Chipmunks movie. Kinda weird.

Had dinner with the Friar and Palfrey and their baby at Green Margarita. Always a fun evening of tipsy laughter. Palfrey thought a lot of the traditions at Prestigious (like their distinctive method of quieting the children, and the preferred method of referring to and addressing them), were ridiculous. In some ways, she's even more anti-social than I am.

Garden, meet serpent

Today outside, the same two cute little girls from my Lesbian Nemesis' class came running up to me gleefully. One wanted to be picked up, so I swung her in the air. I didn't hold her, just swung her up briefly. Instantly, ol' L-Nem comes running up and tells the girls to go play, saying again "He's not there to play with you. Mr. Chance needs to watch all the children." Now, teachers giving kids extra attention may be her pet peeve or something, but I doubt it. One, I've seen her giving total attention to one or two kids briefly and appropriately, as I was doing. Two, it's not like I was walking around with the kid. I picked her up briefly. I really do think L-Nem is jealous that two of "her" kids happen to find me amusing. Three, I'd literally just arrived; L-Nem had no idea what I was out there for.

Second thing that got me down today: the school's having an auction in a couple of months, where parents bid on donated prizes to raise money for Prestigious. Teachers are strongly expected to donate time or projects. Not knowing at all what to do, I asked my fellow reserve team members about it, and they said that they donate as a group. I was relieved for about half a second, until they said they were going to do a "makeup party." Obviously, I can't be part of that. So much for team unity. Like last year when they had a different male reserve teacher, they've left me to find my own project to donate. My ninth day on the job. Fantastic.

This event exemplifies the atmosphere in general. I've worked with women all my life, and never have I been surrounded by so much girl talk as I have here. It's nothing but kittens and weddings and pregnancies and makeup and shoes and on and on. I understand a little female excitement at such things, but all the time? Where are the, shall we say, more earthy women who don't natter away about babies and marriage bouquets and rings? I've worked with them before. They're not at Prestigious, I guess.

The third thing that's bringing me down is the downtime. Quite a lot of the day, I'm just walking around seeing if there's anything for me to do, and almost always, the answer is no. I know most teachers (overworked and underpaid) would guffaw derisively at this "problem" (especially considering my paycheck), but really, it makes me uncomfortable. I like to be busy, or at least look busy. Being a reserve teacher, I don't have a set group of kids to track the progress of, or plans to make, so my downtime can't be filled with planning or long-term projects. I end up, as I say, trolling the halls, and I feel like I look useless out there. Or perhaps worse, unwanted.

If it weren't for some kind words from a couple of sympathetic teachers (one said that being new at Prestigious was one of the hardest things she'd ever done), I might have been very depressed at the end of today.

This is a terrific job and a huge notch in my belt career-wise, but I'm not so sure I fit in. At Brown, even though I wasn't getting paid, and the work was much harder and the hours unforgivable, I went home satisfied and happy with what I'd done that day, and nearly everyone raved about me, and I had a great time laughing with the other teachers. This has not been the case at Prestigious, yet. Obviously, it's too early to decide that I may not be happy here, but it's a possible gnat in the ointment at this point.

I've been at this job nine days. Am I hysterically over-reacting to a couple of bad moments? I am such a girl.

BFT sandwiches and other serious silliness

Today I was in a third-grade class. They were studying Native American peoples. Out of nowhere, one kid asked me if Indians ate BLT sandwiches. I said they couldn't, because they didn't have lettuce. Or bread.

We got into a rather lengthy discussion about what they could eat instead. My favorite suggestion was the BFT, the Bacon, Fish and Tomato sandwich. Opinion was split as to whether that would be disgusting or interesting to try. The whole discursion was a big digression that ended, rather predictably, far from the original topic (who liked sushi and who didn't), but hey, anything to avoid real work, right? Kids after my own heart.

I liked being with these third graders. It's a much more different atmosphere than the pre-K. I take a very relaxed, smiling approach to discipline with the older kids. I'll approach a "problem" kid slowly and coolly, hands in pockets, and say in a soft, cheerful and confident voice something like, "Do you think you can do your work and sit here, or should you move?" After they gawp at me a few moments, I go on, "I honestly want to know the answer to that. What do you think?" This tells them that (a) I'm serious and (b) I respect them enough to give them the power to control what happens after that. Gentle reminders and the expectation of self-control, mixed with a pleasant, even goofy, demeanor: that's how I play it.

Also, I told one kid who was acting up --- again, same smile, gentle tone, and kind but serious expression --- "You must have mistaken me for someone who's going to let you do whatever you want." (It's a line rephrased from "The Wire.") That clammed him up real good.

Let you think it was all redirecting and discipline (as if the BFT story wasn't enough to disprove that), we had fun playing with a Rubik's Cube and making silly signatures on the dry-erase board at the end of class.

I feel mistreated and I don't mind dyin'

I wore a 24-hour heart monitor at work today (discreetly, under a sweater; it's very small). Soon, its readout will inform doctors of whether I need to have some kind of horrible mechanical device inserted into me in the near future. Which is a fate worse than death, in my book.

Anyway. I had no schedule at work, so I spent all day literally walking around seeing where I was needed. I opened doors at the Older Students carpool; cut lengths of yarn for a teacher's project; cut lamination for another teacher; sat in on a fascinating fourth grade science project in which students designed Lego engines that could throw a ping-pong ball two feet; sat in on a second-grade math lesson; went on a 3-D shape hunt with a kindergarten class; showed off my infantile Chinese language skillz to a Chinese teacher; gave breaks to teachers at recess; and generally fluttered around trying to be helpful. Oh, and the Assistant Head asked me and another male teacher to play her sons in a drama preceding a book talk. That means I have to be at work before 7:00 a.m. next week. The things I do to ingratiate myself.