Here's a joke from The Pony. Notice that it involves his four-legged friends.
A baby horse looked up at her mom and said, "Mommy, why is my name Rose?"
The mama horse replied, "Because just after you were born, a rose fell on your head."
A second baby horse looked up at her mom, and said, "Mommy, why is my name Daisy?"
The mama horse replied, "Because just after you were born, a daisy fell on your head."
A third baby horse looked up at his mom, and said, "Bwoienahhoeiarhregh?"
The mama horse replied, "Shut up, Cinderblock!"
OR, for the adult politically incorrect version...
An Indian child asked his father, "Why am I called Running Deer?"
The father replied, "When I looked out of the teepee after you were born, the first thing I saw was a running deer."
A second Indian child asked his father, "Why am I called Soaring Eagle?"
The father replied, "When I looked out of the teepee after you were born, the first thing I saw was a soaring eagle."
A third Indian child asked his father, "How did I get MY name?"
The father replied, "Why you ask, Two Dogs F*cking?"
Thank you. I'll be here all week.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Tap Tap Tapping At My Classroom Door
Rounding out the trifecta of Students Out of Control, we have the Sneaker. This event occurred last Friday. If I hadn't already used two write-up slips in the two previous days, this little episode would have earned one as well. But we all must be careful in crying WOLF too often, lest nobody heed our screams when our sanity is on the line.
Sneaker started off the class period by darting out the classroom door just before the tardy bell, mumbling out the side of her mouth, "I'm going to the bathroom." Normally, the procedure is to ASK, and then be granted permission. This way, class is not disrupted later, and the student does not get a tardy UNLESS this is a daily occurrence, or the student has been lolling about the classroom for a while before asking just at the bell.
When Sneaker re-entered the classroom, she blurted out threats to students who were minding their own business and listening to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. So Sneaker was dealt with in the form of a lecture about her being the one to always stir everybody up for no reason, and how she needs to understand that other people are allowed to speak freely and breathe the same air as she does. That led to another lecture on how she can stare hatefully at me, but I can do the same thing right back at her. (Insert hateful stare here).
Sneaker calmed down a bit, meaning that she stopped breathing fire out her nose and did her assignment. Towards the end of the class period, as I was grading their papers, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Sneaker and two cronies were standing near the door, looking at the bulletin board. I did not begrudge them this freedom, as it was Reading Day, meaning the schedule was all wonky, and there is a list of bell times for the alternate schedule on the bulletin board.
Oh, but Sneaker was tap tap tapping something on the aluminum frame of the bulletin board. You know that tap. It's the "Notice me, notice me, say something so I can say something back, notice me, notice me, I'm being really bad" tap. I refused to take the bait. The bell rang for lunch, and the students went out the door. I finished recording grades, and went to lunch.
When we came back from lunch, I shouldered my way past the funny boys who KNOW I'm at lunch with them, sitting at the very next table, who rush to my room to stand and wait for me to walk down the hall and unlock it. The Vegetator said, "It smells like my freezer in here!" Which normally would make me retch, because usually my room smells like a mixture of old farts and stale cigarette smoke. But this time it smelled COLD. That's because it was 68 freakin' degrees in there.
Somebody had knocked my thermostat down four degrees just before lunch. Don't think I didn't know who it was. But to put on a good show, I looked at The Vegetator. "Looks like somebody changed my thermostat. What do you know about THAT?" He looked startled. "It wasn't me this time. I swear!" I looked at the other boy who is also in my class 3rd hour. "Swastikator...?" He also denied it. I believed him. He did not get that smirk that he gets when I question him about drawing swastikas on one of my calculators.
I stood in the hall and waited for Sneaker. She came stomping down the hall, as is her way. She could make Michael Caine cry, what with being 10 to the eightieth power less couth than Gracie Hart in Miss Congeniality. As she entered hearing range, I asked, "Why did you lower my thermostat? You know that you're not supposed to touch something like that." Of course she hemmed and hawed. "Uh. What?" I was happy to repeat my question, never letting my gaze waver. She knew her goose was cooked. "I don't know why. I was tapping my quarter on the wall, and I guess, maybe, it bounced over and hit the thermostat." Indeed. It bounced sideways three feet and bounced off the 'down' arrow of the thermostat four times. Uh huh.
She got the lecture on how that was a serious offense, and deserved a write-up, and I was going to have to think long and hard about her behavior and discuss it with Mr. Principal. The wind went out of her sails then, and she acted like a 'normal' ninth-grader for the rest of the class period.
Sneaker has no idea how close she was to being furloughed to Basementia for a few days.
Sneaker started off the class period by darting out the classroom door just before the tardy bell, mumbling out the side of her mouth, "I'm going to the bathroom." Normally, the procedure is to ASK, and then be granted permission. This way, class is not disrupted later, and the student does not get a tardy UNLESS this is a daily occurrence, or the student has been lolling about the classroom for a while before asking just at the bell.
When Sneaker re-entered the classroom, she blurted out threats to students who were minding their own business and listening to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. So Sneaker was dealt with in the form of a lecture about her being the one to always stir everybody up for no reason, and how she needs to understand that other people are allowed to speak freely and breathe the same air as she does. That led to another lecture on how she can stare hatefully at me, but I can do the same thing right back at her. (Insert hateful stare here).
Sneaker calmed down a bit, meaning that she stopped breathing fire out her nose and did her assignment. Towards the end of the class period, as I was grading their papers, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Sneaker and two cronies were standing near the door, looking at the bulletin board. I did not begrudge them this freedom, as it was Reading Day, meaning the schedule was all wonky, and there is a list of bell times for the alternate schedule on the bulletin board.
Oh, but Sneaker was tap tap tapping something on the aluminum frame of the bulletin board. You know that tap. It's the "Notice me, notice me, say something so I can say something back, notice me, notice me, I'm being really bad" tap. I refused to take the bait. The bell rang for lunch, and the students went out the door. I finished recording grades, and went to lunch.
When we came back from lunch, I shouldered my way past the funny boys who KNOW I'm at lunch with them, sitting at the very next table, who rush to my room to stand and wait for me to walk down the hall and unlock it. The Vegetator said, "It smells like my freezer in here!" Which normally would make me retch, because usually my room smells like a mixture of old farts and stale cigarette smoke. But this time it smelled COLD. That's because it was 68 freakin' degrees in there.
Somebody had knocked my thermostat down four degrees just before lunch. Don't think I didn't know who it was. But to put on a good show, I looked at The Vegetator. "Looks like somebody changed my thermostat. What do you know about THAT?" He looked startled. "It wasn't me this time. I swear!" I looked at the other boy who is also in my class 3rd hour. "Swastikator...?" He also denied it. I believed him. He did not get that smirk that he gets when I question him about drawing swastikas on one of my calculators.
I stood in the hall and waited for Sneaker. She came stomping down the hall, as is her way. She could make Michael Caine cry, what with being 10 to the eightieth power less couth than Gracie Hart in Miss Congeniality. As she entered hearing range, I asked, "Why did you lower my thermostat? You know that you're not supposed to touch something like that." Of course she hemmed and hawed. "Uh. What?" I was happy to repeat my question, never letting my gaze waver. She knew her goose was cooked. "I don't know why. I was tapping my quarter on the wall, and I guess, maybe, it bounced over and hit the thermostat." Indeed. It bounced sideways three feet and bounced off the 'down' arrow of the thermostat four times. Uh huh.
She got the lecture on how that was a serious offense, and deserved a write-up, and I was going to have to think long and hard about her behavior and discuss it with Mr. Principal. The wind went out of her sails then, and she acted like a 'normal' ninth-grader for the rest of the class period.
Sneaker has no idea how close she was to being furloughed to Basementia for a few days.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Who's Really In Charge Here
Yes, some of the students have declared all-out war on school rules. What has given them this idea that they are above the law? Certainly not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.
Let's take a look at Example 2. This was on Thursday, the day after the 15-minute visit to the library 'on the way to the bathroom' during a test. It was a different class. A class which stretches the limits of the student discipline policy, the limits of common decency, and the limits of common sense.
It was the day after a test. A test on cells and mitosis. A test of 30 questions, composed of multiple choice, fill-in-the-blank, and a diagram of cell stages to explain. Plus, they could use any graded papers that were handed back. I'm not trying to find a cancer curer in this group.
The Victim did not finish his test on Wednesday, despite sideward glances at his seatmate's paper. There's a reason I make my seating chart with with A students next to A students, D students next to D students, etc. There were three students who did not finish, and one student who was absent. Those four were given the test on Thursday. The rest of the class had an assignment to read Science World magazine. We read it together, because if I just passed it out and said to read it, they would hide behind ginormous purses and backpacks, trying to text, pretending to be reading. So I call for the desks to be cleared, hands on the desk, following along while I read. Some classes will volunteer to take turns, but this one does not.
So in this class on Thursday, it is quieter than a normal day. I am the only one speaking. They know from experience that if they talk, they get a written assignment instead a peaceful day absorbing current scientific headlines. Four of them are taking the test. One of them complains. Guess which one. You got it. The Victim.
The Victim can not stand the spotlight to be off of him for an entire class period. About 10 minutes into class, he says, "Can I go take this somewhere else?" Of course the answer was 'No'. To begin with, the library was full of the book fair. Secondly, The Victim is the one always talking and making other kids unable to concentrate. I saw no reason to play into his victimhood by allowing him out the classroom. He has never had any issues with not being able to concentrate during the first three quarters. None of the others had a problem. The majority of the class was done in ONE DAY as expected. It's not like this was the bar exam. The Victim was just playing the game of 'Who's Really In Charge Here.' And that has to be Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.
I explained that the library was full, and that Mr. Principal does not like people sitting in the hall. To which Client agreed, "Yeah. Mrs. NotACook put ME in the hall, and next thing you know, Mr. Principal saw me on the camera, and called me to the office to see what I did!"
The Victim kept complaining. I told him I was sorry that he couldn't concentrate, but that his arguing was making the other three testees (heh, heh, I said 'testees') unable to concentrate. He had two choices: he could finish his test, or hand it in if he was unable to finish. From there, The Victim started a rant about how I was telling him to give up, and no teacher had ever told him to give up, and maybe he would just quit school altogether. Typical attention-seeking blather. The Victim also asked to talk to Mr. Principal. I told him, "After class." He worked on his test a few minutes. He put it on my desk. He mumbled to the people around him. He took back his test. He mumbled some more. He jumped up and announced, "I'm going to see the Principal!" and walked out. The class oohed. Because you DO NOT walk out of class.
About five minutes later, The Victim returned. "He says I have to work it out with you. Can I sit in the hall?" Again, I told him 'No.' At some schools, this is routine. You can look down the hall and see several kids sitting out in desks. Not here. It is never done. And besides, how do I know that The Victim even went to the office? Nobody notified me. He had no note. The Victim sat down. I continued to read. The Victim stood up, crumpled up his test, and threw it on the floor. I continued reading. The Victim said, "Oh, my God!" Because he was not getting the attention that he entitled himself to. He mumbled to the students around him for the rest of the hour. He did not turn in his test, but picked up the crumpled paper and left it on his desk. I graded it anyway, just to CMA.
The next hour being my plan time, I wrote up a discipline notice with an account of the incident, and mosied up to the office. The secretary told me that Mr. Principal was not in. I asked if The Victim had been there. She said, "Well, he came in looking for Mr. Principal, but he didn't say why. I told him he was in the cafeteria, so he might have gone out there to talk to him." I still don't know if The Victim ever talked to Mr. Principal. I found Mr. Principal in the hall 30 minutes later, and handed him the evidence, since he was talking to someone else at the time. Between classes, the Client came down the hall and said, "The Big Man doesn't look very happy." I said, "Do you know anything about that?" Meaning, the Client has spent his share of time in Mr. Principal's office. The Client said, "I saw him holding a crumpled paper and a write-up slip, so I'm guessing it's The Victim." I did not respond. You can't discuss one student's issues with another student.
The next day, The Victim got called out of the class in the first five minutes. He walked from his desk, away from the door, to look out the window. The Client and the Attorney both said, "You're gonna get it now! You walked out of class." There is no love lost among the three of them. The Vicitm said, "I may just be going home." Which he did.
Seventh hour, The Principal stopped by my room. "The gentleman in question is getting detention. He just happened to leave today before I called him in. Just so you know."
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom WILL be avenged!
Let's take a look at Example 2. This was on Thursday, the day after the 15-minute visit to the library 'on the way to the bathroom' during a test. It was a different class. A class which stretches the limits of the student discipline policy, the limits of common decency, and the limits of common sense.
It was the day after a test. A test on cells and mitosis. A test of 30 questions, composed of multiple choice, fill-in-the-blank, and a diagram of cell stages to explain. Plus, they could use any graded papers that were handed back. I'm not trying to find a cancer curer in this group.
The Victim did not finish his test on Wednesday, despite sideward glances at his seatmate's paper. There's a reason I make my seating chart with with A students next to A students, D students next to D students, etc. There were three students who did not finish, and one student who was absent. Those four were given the test on Thursday. The rest of the class had an assignment to read Science World magazine. We read it together, because if I just passed it out and said to read it, they would hide behind ginormous purses and backpacks, trying to text, pretending to be reading. So I call for the desks to be cleared, hands on the desk, following along while I read. Some classes will volunteer to take turns, but this one does not.
So in this class on Thursday, it is quieter than a normal day. I am the only one speaking. They know from experience that if they talk, they get a written assignment instead a peaceful day absorbing current scientific headlines. Four of them are taking the test. One of them complains. Guess which one. You got it. The Victim.
The Victim can not stand the spotlight to be off of him for an entire class period. About 10 minutes into class, he says, "Can I go take this somewhere else?" Of course the answer was 'No'. To begin with, the library was full of the book fair. Secondly, The Victim is the one always talking and making other kids unable to concentrate. I saw no reason to play into his victimhood by allowing him out the classroom. He has never had any issues with not being able to concentrate during the first three quarters. None of the others had a problem. The majority of the class was done in ONE DAY as expected. It's not like this was the bar exam. The Victim was just playing the game of 'Who's Really In Charge Here.' And that has to be Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.
I explained that the library was full, and that Mr. Principal does not like people sitting in the hall. To which Client agreed, "Yeah. Mrs. NotACook put ME in the hall, and next thing you know, Mr. Principal saw me on the camera, and called me to the office to see what I did!"
The Victim kept complaining. I told him I was sorry that he couldn't concentrate, but that his arguing was making the other three testees (heh, heh, I said 'testees') unable to concentrate. He had two choices: he could finish his test, or hand it in if he was unable to finish. From there, The Victim started a rant about how I was telling him to give up, and no teacher had ever told him to give up, and maybe he would just quit school altogether. Typical attention-seeking blather. The Victim also asked to talk to Mr. Principal. I told him, "After class." He worked on his test a few minutes. He put it on my desk. He mumbled to the people around him. He took back his test. He mumbled some more. He jumped up and announced, "I'm going to see the Principal!" and walked out. The class oohed. Because you DO NOT walk out of class.
About five minutes later, The Victim returned. "He says I have to work it out with you. Can I sit in the hall?" Again, I told him 'No.' At some schools, this is routine. You can look down the hall and see several kids sitting out in desks. Not here. It is never done. And besides, how do I know that The Victim even went to the office? Nobody notified me. He had no note. The Victim sat down. I continued to read. The Victim stood up, crumpled up his test, and threw it on the floor. I continued reading. The Victim said, "Oh, my God!" Because he was not getting the attention that he entitled himself to. He mumbled to the students around him for the rest of the hour. He did not turn in his test, but picked up the crumpled paper and left it on his desk. I graded it anyway, just to CMA.
The next hour being my plan time, I wrote up a discipline notice with an account of the incident, and mosied up to the office. The secretary told me that Mr. Principal was not in. I asked if The Victim had been there. She said, "Well, he came in looking for Mr. Principal, but he didn't say why. I told him he was in the cafeteria, so he might have gone out there to talk to him." I still don't know if The Victim ever talked to Mr. Principal. I found Mr. Principal in the hall 30 minutes later, and handed him the evidence, since he was talking to someone else at the time. Between classes, the Client came down the hall and said, "The Big Man doesn't look very happy." I said, "Do you know anything about that?" Meaning, the Client has spent his share of time in Mr. Principal's office. The Client said, "I saw him holding a crumpled paper and a write-up slip, so I'm guessing it's The Victim." I did not respond. You can't discuss one student's issues with another student.
The next day, The Victim got called out of the class in the first five minutes. He walked from his desk, away from the door, to look out the window. The Client and the Attorney both said, "You're gonna get it now! You walked out of class." There is no love lost among the three of them. The Vicitm said, "I may just be going home." Which he did.
Seventh hour, The Principal stopped by my room. "The gentleman in question is getting detention. He just happened to leave today before I called him in. Just so you know."
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom WILL be avenged!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Missin' In The Boys' Room
As promised yesterday, here's what's eating Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. The students have gone off the deep end, and some have managed to swim out of sight of shore. It is anarchy at Newmentia!
On Wednesday, I gave a test, a regular chapter test on Motion, things such as speed, acceleration, net force, etc. At the beginning of 7th hour, I passed out the tests. I pointed out the formulas written on the board in case students might need them for the four problems that were included on the test.
About five minutes after testing began, a sliver of a young man approached my desk. "Can I go to the bathroom?" Normally, I instruct the student to leave his/her cell phone on my desk, and give permission. I am the closest classroom to the bathrooms at my end of the building. My students do not have to pass any other rooms, so I know they won't disturb anyone. No skin off my nose if I let a kid heed nature's call. I figure if they go to the trouble to come up front and ask, they really need to go. This kid has never given me any trouble. I have him twice a day, since he's in my math class, too. He rarely, if ever, has asked to go to the bathroom. So I figured he needed to go NOW, because really, who asks to go to the bathroom in the middle of a test? I didn't even ask for his cell phone. I just nodded for him to go.
Five minutes passed. I sent another youngster to the boys' bathroom to check on Sliver. He came back right away. It IS only about five feet from my door to the boys' bathroom door. Actually, they don't have a door, but a concrete block maze. This has virtually eliminated smoking in the boys' room. I haven't caught a whiff of smoke in the seven years we've been in this building. Except for in the women's faculty bathroom. But I digress...
Checker said, "He's not in there." Mrs. Hillbilly Mom shifted the Mystery Machine into high gear. Another student, he of the one-legged goat story, offered, "I bet he's at the science fair! I bet he's at the science fair!" Which was a red herring, because the school science fair was the previous week, and the junior college science fair is next week. Mrs. HM strode to the back of her room to Command Central. She picked up the phone to dial the library, as Sliver is in the Book Club, and has often asked to go to the library. At that point, Goat Boy announced, "I mean the BOOK fair, not the science fair." Uh huh. Wednesday was the first day of our two-day book fair. In the library.
"Have you seen Sliver?" Mrs. HM asked the breathless librarian, who had been out of her office ogling book fair visitors to cut down on theft. "Yes. He's here." Oh, no he wasn't. At that moment, Sliver walked back into the classroom. He had been gone 15 minutes. "Thanks. He just came in." Mrs. Librarian was tightening his noose unknowingly. "Well, I can assure you that he's been down here in the library." Good to know.
Checker can't keep his mouth shut. He is hereby terminated from Mystery, Inc. "Hey, Sliver. You are SO busted! You weren't in the bathroom. She sent me to check. You were in the library!" Sliver was a deer in 36 ocular headlights. "I never said I wasn't." No. He didn't have a chance to lie to me. Which probably saved him an extra day of ISS.
"What were you doing in the library, Sliver?" I could see the gears churning under that long hair. "I just stopped by for a minute to ask about a book." The library is way down at Mabel's end of the building. Past two bathrooms, a custodian's closet, the faculty workroom, the athletic director's office, the nurse's office, the main entrance, the Principal's office, a classroom, down a ramp, and past the doors to the student parking lot. In no stretch of the imagination could he have "stopped by" the library on his way from Mrs. HM's classroom to the boys' bathroom FIVE FEET AWAY.
Mrs. HM will be avenged. Sliver will have to learn to hold it until the 21st of May.
On Wednesday, I gave a test, a regular chapter test on Motion, things such as speed, acceleration, net force, etc. At the beginning of 7th hour, I passed out the tests. I pointed out the formulas written on the board in case students might need them for the four problems that were included on the test.
About five minutes after testing began, a sliver of a young man approached my desk. "Can I go to the bathroom?" Normally, I instruct the student to leave his/her cell phone on my desk, and give permission. I am the closest classroom to the bathrooms at my end of the building. My students do not have to pass any other rooms, so I know they won't disturb anyone. No skin off my nose if I let a kid heed nature's call. I figure if they go to the trouble to come up front and ask, they really need to go. This kid has never given me any trouble. I have him twice a day, since he's in my math class, too. He rarely, if ever, has asked to go to the bathroom. So I figured he needed to go NOW, because really, who asks to go to the bathroom in the middle of a test? I didn't even ask for his cell phone. I just nodded for him to go.
Five minutes passed. I sent another youngster to the boys' bathroom to check on Sliver. He came back right away. It IS only about five feet from my door to the boys' bathroom door. Actually, they don't have a door, but a concrete block maze. This has virtually eliminated smoking in the boys' room. I haven't caught a whiff of smoke in the seven years we've been in this building. Except for in the women's faculty bathroom. But I digress...
Checker said, "He's not in there." Mrs. Hillbilly Mom shifted the Mystery Machine into high gear. Another student, he of the one-legged goat story, offered, "I bet he's at the science fair! I bet he's at the science fair!" Which was a red herring, because the school science fair was the previous week, and the junior college science fair is next week. Mrs. HM strode to the back of her room to Command Central. She picked up the phone to dial the library, as Sliver is in the Book Club, and has often asked to go to the library. At that point, Goat Boy announced, "I mean the BOOK fair, not the science fair." Uh huh. Wednesday was the first day of our two-day book fair. In the library.
"Have you seen Sliver?" Mrs. HM asked the breathless librarian, who had been out of her office ogling book fair visitors to cut down on theft. "Yes. He's here." Oh, no he wasn't. At that moment, Sliver walked back into the classroom. He had been gone 15 minutes. "Thanks. He just came in." Mrs. Librarian was tightening his noose unknowingly. "Well, I can assure you that he's been down here in the library." Good to know.
Checker can't keep his mouth shut. He is hereby terminated from Mystery, Inc. "Hey, Sliver. You are SO busted! You weren't in the bathroom. She sent me to check. You were in the library!" Sliver was a deer in 36 ocular headlights. "I never said I wasn't." No. He didn't have a chance to lie to me. Which probably saved him an extra day of ISS.
"What were you doing in the library, Sliver?" I could see the gears churning under that long hair. "I just stopped by for a minute to ask about a book." The library is way down at Mabel's end of the building. Past two bathrooms, a custodian's closet, the faculty workroom, the athletic director's office, the nurse's office, the main entrance, the Principal's office, a classroom, down a ramp, and past the doors to the student parking lot. In no stretch of the imagination could he have "stopped by" the library on his way from Mrs. HM's classroom to the boys' bathroom FIVE FEET AWAY.
Mrs. HM will be avenged. Sliver will have to learn to hold it until the 21st of May.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Bringin' The Pain
In his routine from Bring the Pain, Chris Rock has a part where he explains that a man should never hit a woman, and that HE would never hit a woman, but he understands. Let that marinate for a moment. Better yet, find yourself a copy of Bring the Pain.
Once upon a time, there was a teacher who was not really fond of the students. He was about 15 years away from retirement back then, and when I caught up with him 10 years later, he still had the same attitude. I used to giggle nervously at his antics. Now I understand.
His standard line was, "Kids, we hate you!" He said it several times a day, during lunch, during breaks, standing in the hall where kids could hear him. He probably announced it at the beginning of each class period. He didn't care. It was his mantra.
One of his favorite fantasies involved the demise of the slightly-more-than-half of the student body which he found particularly offensive. It went a little something like this: the Principal would get on the PA system and announce, "The following students report to the gym. Bring your books." Then he would read off a list of names. The Principal, not Mr. Sunshine. And in Mr. Sunshine's fantasyland, the students would report to the gym. With their books. The double doors would close. And gas would be pumped through the shower heads in the locker room, down the short hallway, into the gym, neutralizing all those students standing in anticipation, but leaving their books. That was important to Mr. Sunshine--that we get the books back before the students expired.
Yes. It IS macabre. I would never endorse such a fantasy. But I understand.
More on this flash of insight tomorrow.
Once upon a time, there was a teacher who was not really fond of the students. He was about 15 years away from retirement back then, and when I caught up with him 10 years later, he still had the same attitude. I used to giggle nervously at his antics. Now I understand.
His standard line was, "Kids, we hate you!" He said it several times a day, during lunch, during breaks, standing in the hall where kids could hear him. He probably announced it at the beginning of each class period. He didn't care. It was his mantra.
One of his favorite fantasies involved the demise of the slightly-more-than-half of the student body which he found particularly offensive. It went a little something like this: the Principal would get on the PA system and announce, "The following students report to the gym. Bring your books." Then he would read off a list of names. The Principal, not Mr. Sunshine. And in Mr. Sunshine's fantasyland, the students would report to the gym. With their books. The double doors would close. And gas would be pumped through the shower heads in the locker room, down the short hallway, into the gym, neutralizing all those students standing in anticipation, but leaving their books. That was important to Mr. Sunshine--that we get the books back before the students expired.
Yes. It IS macabre. I would never endorse such a fantasy. But I understand.
More on this flash of insight tomorrow.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Random Thought Thursday 3-26-09
Not to be a Debbie Downer, but...sigh..."It's official. The little red hen that Basementia Buddy traded us for a 12-pack of beer in a three-chicken deal is really a rooster." HH had suspected it because 'she' had a comb, but BB said that it was supposed to have a comb, that it was a Rhode Island Red. Yesterday, HH observed that 'she' is growing spurs.
I don't know which is sadder...The Pony asking HH every evening, "Did the chickens lay any eggs, Dad?" or HH thinking for five months that he was going to get two roosters to produce eggs.
We saw a beautiful rainbow on the way to school this morning, across the street from Basementia. Both ends were visible, and all seven colors of the spectrum. No pots of gold, though. Nor Skittles. Have you met my friend Roy G. Biv? That's how to remember the colors of the visible spectrum, you know. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. You're welcome.
Somebody at work stated that Sarah Palin is as equally mentally ill as the OctoMom. Though not a fan of Sarah Palin, nor Octomom, for that matter, I replied that I don't exactly think they are equivalent on the looney meter. The somebody snapped, "Why? Because she only had five kids instead of fourteen?" Which, upon hearing the tale, the #1 son, who is infatuated with Sarah Palin, said, "I guess we can call her the PentaMom." That's what it's like living with a nerd, in case you didn't know. Anyhoo, thank the Gummi Mary that at least one of the two is crazy enough to wear Arctic Cat clothing instead of attending a snowmobile race in her birthday suit, crazy enough not to get high and give an interview to 60 Minutes while giggling like a schoolgirl, and crazy enough to support the Special Olympics instead of being a role model for ridiculing its participants on national television.
I have an intestine in my 1st hour class. The student council went to Elementia to present a live act of the human body. The Intestine said he recognized my son because when he asked what nutrient was in milk that made it good for you, The Pony wiggled all over his seat, waving his arm in the air, and when called on, bellowed proudly, "CALCIUM!" That, my friends, is what it's like to live with another nerd. Let the record show that The Pony does not even drink milk.
When it gets down to 20 days of school left, I'm going to keep a running tally on the whiteboard. Though it would be more appropriate this year to have kept a running tally of days served, much like a prisoner or hostage trying to maintain sanity.
My faithful New Delly died this evening, only to be resurrected a few moments later. He had the blue screen of death, something about a fatal error and a data dump, then a recurring hiccup of 'Internet Explorer has stopped working' pop-ups that would not abate, even through Task Manager intervention. A system restore to last weekend perked my New Delly right up. If only life itself was so simple.
I don't know which is sadder...The Pony asking HH every evening, "Did the chickens lay any eggs, Dad?" or HH thinking for five months that he was going to get two roosters to produce eggs.
We saw a beautiful rainbow on the way to school this morning, across the street from Basementia. Both ends were visible, and all seven colors of the spectrum. No pots of gold, though. Nor Skittles. Have you met my friend Roy G. Biv? That's how to remember the colors of the visible spectrum, you know. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. You're welcome.
Somebody at work stated that Sarah Palin is as equally mentally ill as the OctoMom. Though not a fan of Sarah Palin, nor Octomom, for that matter, I replied that I don't exactly think they are equivalent on the looney meter. The somebody snapped, "Why? Because she only had five kids instead of fourteen?" Which, upon hearing the tale, the #1 son, who is infatuated with Sarah Palin, said, "I guess we can call her the PentaMom." That's what it's like living with a nerd, in case you didn't know. Anyhoo, thank the Gummi Mary that at least one of the two is crazy enough to wear Arctic Cat clothing instead of attending a snowmobile race in her birthday suit, crazy enough not to get high and give an interview to 60 Minutes while giggling like a schoolgirl, and crazy enough to support the Special Olympics instead of being a role model for ridiculing its participants on national television.
I have an intestine in my 1st hour class. The student council went to Elementia to present a live act of the human body. The Intestine said he recognized my son because when he asked what nutrient was in milk that made it good for you, The Pony wiggled all over his seat, waving his arm in the air, and when called on, bellowed proudly, "CALCIUM!" That, my friends, is what it's like to live with another nerd. Let the record show that The Pony does not even drink milk.
When it gets down to 20 days of school left, I'm going to keep a running tally on the whiteboard. Though it would be more appropriate this year to have kept a running tally of days served, much like a prisoner or hostage trying to maintain sanity.
My faithful New Delly died this evening, only to be resurrected a few moments later. He had the blue screen of death, something about a fatal error and a data dump, then a recurring hiccup of 'Internet Explorer has stopped working' pop-ups that would not abate, even through Task Manager intervention. A system restore to last weekend perked my New Delly right up. If only life itself was so simple.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Toughen Up, Buttercup
What do students chat about when they get their work done? Oh, rainbows and unicorns and puppies and kittens. Or perhaps this:
"If I have kids, and they're rude, they're going in the basement for an hour. They can learn their lesson in the dark!"
Yeah. That's what I overheard 3rd hour today. Welcome to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's world. Also in her world, the main maintenance dude has been installing two large flat-screen TVs in the cafeteria. Grant money, don't you know. Except the grant specified that electronic equipment had to be used in a common area. So, even though the Principal would have liked to get more computers for the classrooms, he had to find something that would work for the whole community. There sure are a lot of strings attached to the various monies we can finagle.
If I had been in charge of installing two large flat-screen TVs in a cafeteria, you can bet that I would have worked in the morning or afternoon, NOT during the three lunch shifts. But there he's been for the last week and a half, standing on his ladder, his head up in the ceiling tiles. That's just asking for it if you ask me. Which he didn't.
Today, all systems were go. There was reception. Before all the kids had even gone through the line and gotten their trays, Main Dude came to the teachers' table and tossed the remote to the Principal. "I've had enough of THAT!" Then he went back to his ladder and buried his head in the ceiling. Who would have ever imagined that the kids would tell him what channel to put it on, and then another group would ask for a different channel, then the first group would get mad, but a third group would want their channel, etc.? A gosh-darn TEACHER, that's who!
People these days who want to be everybody's buddy will not survive long in a school. Toughen up, Buttercup, or you won't be long for the educational world.
Can I get a "Heck, yeah!" from my teaching cronies?
"If I have kids, and they're rude, they're going in the basement for an hour. They can learn their lesson in the dark!"
Yeah. That's what I overheard 3rd hour today. Welcome to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's world. Also in her world, the main maintenance dude has been installing two large flat-screen TVs in the cafeteria. Grant money, don't you know. Except the grant specified that electronic equipment had to be used in a common area. So, even though the Principal would have liked to get more computers for the classrooms, he had to find something that would work for the whole community. There sure are a lot of strings attached to the various monies we can finagle.
If I had been in charge of installing two large flat-screen TVs in a cafeteria, you can bet that I would have worked in the morning or afternoon, NOT during the three lunch shifts. But there he's been for the last week and a half, standing on his ladder, his head up in the ceiling tiles. That's just asking for it if you ask me. Which he didn't.
Today, all systems were go. There was reception. Before all the kids had even gone through the line and gotten their trays, Main Dude came to the teachers' table and tossed the remote to the Principal. "I've had enough of THAT!" Then he went back to his ladder and buried his head in the ceiling. Who would have ever imagined that the kids would tell him what channel to put it on, and then another group would ask for a different channel, then the first group would get mad, but a third group would want their channel, etc.? A gosh-darn TEACHER, that's who!
People these days who want to be everybody's buddy will not survive long in a school. Toughen up, Buttercup, or you won't be long for the educational world.
Can I get a "Heck, yeah!" from my teaching cronies?
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