This just in....World does not end at tip of nose, contrary to the belief of millions!

I am a REAL stickler for time. I've always been an extremely punctual person and being made to wait around for people who can't be bothered to make the effort to show up on time drives me crazy. It always seems as though we fools who show up early or on time are forced to make concessions to the slow pokes of the world.

When I was leaving Washington, DC, my flight was delayed for "late arriving passengers." I asked the flight attendant if that meant people who needed to connect to this flight had been delayed on the previous flight. Fair play, right? I mean, if your flight is delayed, you can't be on time for your connection. However, the flight attendant just said, "No, it looks like some folks just aren't here yet. It has nothing to do with a connection."

I was flummoxed. I mean I had been there for the suggested two hours prior to the flight. Apparently that is nothing but a mere suggestion.

What ever happened to the "You snooze you lose" way of doing things? I mean, really! This isn't a city bus, folks, we're trying to catch a flight. And you could argue that those people were stuck up in security lines or some such. I contend, however, that if they had gotten to the airport in a timely manner, they would have time to clear security. We should all understand security in a post 9/11 world. If we're leaving five minutes to get from the airport parking lot to the flight gate, we should be taught our lesson the hard way.

But no, the airline decides instead to wait around for the stragglers.

No wonder the percentage of on time flights is abysmal a this point. Doesn't this just breed a race of latecomers? I mean, really....after seeing this display, what's my incentive to show up early or on time? I might just start leaving my apartment twenty minutes before flight time. They're going to wait for me after all. Why hurry?

And just today I went to the gym to take a step class. It was in Cambridge at 9:00. I left my apartment for a 7:10 bus, which is admittedly really early. I just couldn't sleep any longer, so I decided to get out and enjoy the lovely weather. Anyway, I digress...

I learned that the class would be held in the smaller of the two studios. It used to be in the larger one, but has apparently been shuffled to the smaller one. (I don't often make this class as it is in the morning on a Thursday.)

When I learned that the class would be in the smaller studio, I was glad to be there early. I looked at the clock. It was 8:15. I set up my bench in the room, and then went out to lift weights. By 8:55, the room was pretty mobbed. I was glad to have set up already. The class started uneventfully at 9. Lo and behold, at 9:10, the same ASSHOLE who shows up to every single class that she takes at least ten minutes late comes strolling into the room. She seemed to be momentarily deterred by the fact that the room was filled to capacity. However, she didn't give up that easily. She went over to get her bench, knocking everybody over and all and causing everybody to miss up their coreography, etc. She got her bench and marched STRAIGHT OVER TO WHERE I WAS STANDING AND SET UP RIGHT ON TOP OF ME. Then, she had the nerve to interrupt me and walk right up to me and ask say, "I know I was here late and you were here on time, and I know this is really a pain, but could you move over? I'm crashing into the weights over here."

Maybe it is mean of me, but I just looked at her briefly and then resumed my workout. I didn't even answer her. I was thinking, "SCREW this!" She said herself that it was a pain and that I was there on time.

The thing that really baffles me is how these idiots can think that they have the right to show up late, inconvenience everybody, and that everybody should move out of their way! No way!

Annoying, right?

Like I said, this might just be me getting too tightly wound over something silly, but it drives me to the brink.

"Capital" Punishment.

So I decided to head down to Washington, DC to visit my friend, Leslie, for the first few days of the April vacation. Makes sense, right? I mean, it's always great to catch up with friends. It also makes sense to travel south for nice weather, right?

Wrong.

It did NOTHING BUT POUR\ the entire time I was there. I'm not talking about drizzle. Not even a steady rain. It was an endless stream of opaque sheets of rain. It sucked. I was totally unmotivated to get out of my little tour bus to walk around the monuments.

Anyway here are a couple of photos I took.




The picture above might suggest that the weather wasn't that bad. I just played around with iPhoto to try to make the skies look less dismal. In fact, look at the same undoctored photo below to see just how shite it really was.




And yeah, here's another shot of the lovely weather.

What more can I say.

The Longest Week

I keep thinking today is Friday. I have been making this mistake all day long. I think it is wishing thinking on my behalf. Tonight we had to endure evening parent-teacher conferences. I guess I was willing myself to be past Thursday evening parent conferences, and straight on through to Friday. The fact that April vacation is next week could be another driving force behind my wishing it were already Friday. That would, after all, just bring me one day closer to vacation.

But alas, it is Thursday. And tomorrow is another full day of school. But then...April Vacation. An entire week off. Nice!!

I am going down to DC for a few days, to visit my friend, Leslie. I'm not sure exactly what we'll get up to, but I'm sure it will be fun. Leslie and I always have a few laughs when we get together. I'm sure this will be no different.

One of my students got mad at me yesterday because I made her sit down during a chorus performance. The students were made to sit on the floor, which does suck, but nevertheless.....

Anyway, I had heard rumors of her temper, but had never seen it firsthand. She was pissed at me yesterday, which prompted me to have the very gentle, "You know, sometimes we have to put up with things we don't like when we have to function productively in a community like a school or a workplace" conversation. It just brought about more huffing and puffing.

Today the same student was a jerk in my class. I tried to check in with her again, but she was super obnoxious again.

I guess I'll leave it for a few days.

Jesus....

Is this my career?

This Just In....I'm getting old!

Today the high school chorus came to our school to perform for the 7th and 8th graders. They make the rounds of the middle school classes every year to basically recruit the incoming freshmen.

I was monitoring my class, of course, and probably spending more energy doing that than actually listening to the singing. I cast a glance up onto the chorus risers to see if I recognized any of the kids as former graduates of my middle school crew. Not recognizing any of the kids, I turned my attention back to my own students. Toward the end of the performance, the chorus director asked any kids who had attended my school in 8th grade to raise their hands. I was shocked when five hands popped up. I neared the risers to look again at the faces. I've been teaching 8th grade at my school for 7 years, so clearly all of the kids on the risers had passed through my class within the last four years.

A few of the faces suddenly took on a familiar air, but the others were still completely unfamiliar.

After the performance, the kids who had attended my school ran over to say hello, give hugs, report on what's new in their lives, etc. As soon as they neared and started talking, I immediately remembered every single one of them, and could imagine what they looked like as they sat in my class. But my goodness, they look so different now. They are "all growed up." The hair. The makeup. The clothes.

Anyway, yeah, I'm getting a little long in the tooth!!

Seeing former students is always GREAT, but it always makes me feel over the hill. Ha ha.

MCAS Hell.

The Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System (MCAS) is a pain in the ass. It is the state standardized testing and it is a real bear. It would be one thing if the kids had a day or two of testing, but this thing goes on for months. The kids are tested in just about every subject every year or every other year. It sucks.

It throws every single school into total scheduling hell and turmoil.

My kids had the ELA test this week. My 8th grade special ed kids had to go test with this jackass who calls himself a resource room teacher. Apparently, he sat there talking with the other teacher in the room for the entire first day of testing. The other teacher kept trying to physically distance herself from the guy, retreating to the far corner of the room, hoping that he would shut the Christ up. This was to no avail. Finally she convinced the jerk to go take a coffee break, and the kids got a few moments of peace and quiet.

Yesterday the kids came back to my homeroom from his class and reported that he had been talking on his cell phone to his insurance company about a car accident the entire time. When they asked him to hang up because they could not concentrate, he told them, "You're not doing well anyway." He brushed them off and continued talking. And let me just say that this man is hardly discreet. Everything he does his slovenly and loud. He's disgusting.

As I was taking my class to lunch, this really good kid M.M. called me from the other end of the hall. He had apparently decided to stop taking the test and wait until 11:30 when he knew he would see my class filing to lunch. He took it upon himself to dismiss himself from that room and come to me to tell me that he was unable to complete his work. I was livid.

Under normal circumstances, teachers present a united front to the kids, even if they disagree with each other. However, this test is just way too high stakes. I marched the kid right into the vice principal so he could tell her what had happened. He was so frustrated. He said, "Mrs. H., if you don't believe me, I can even tell you what street the accident happened on and what Mr. F.'s doctor said because HE WAS TALKING ABOUT IT THE ENTIRE TIME."

We managed to calm MM down and the VP made space for him to sit and work in her office.

This is just so F'ed up on so many levels. First and foremost...as I mentioned, this test is so freakin' high stakes. All the kids have to be given the chance to succeed. I get a kick out of this a-hole ruining this test for the kid. What does he care? The kid's test goes under my name, not his.

But perhaps the most important element at play here is the fact that this alleged special education teacher would tell a special education student that he might as well endure his endless phone conversation because he's not going to do well anyway.

WTF???

I might not be the best teacher ever. Occasionally a lesson bombs, or the kids did not get from point A to point B in a timely manner. Sometimes the activities get convoluted or whatever. Sometimes the kids don't connect to the lesson the way I had anticipated. But Jesus, I have never just told a kid to give up because he has no chance of succeeding. That's disgusting.

Mmmmmm.........

Usually I'm a beer/wine girl, but last night I went out with my friend, Becky, who is much more the "cocktail" sort. I decided to indulge myself in a fancy cocktail, but I never know what to order. The main reason that I stay away from mixed drinks is that they usually taste so BOOZY to me. I know that might appeal to a lot of people, but not to me. Booze tastes like paint thinner to me. Too harsh. I guess that's why I stick with wine and beer.

Anyway, I asked the very nice Irish bartender to recommend a not-too-boozy, not-too-sweet cocktail. Maybe something tart or citrusy. The bartender thought for a moment and asked, "Do you like grapefruit?" When I replied in the affirmative, he immediately set to busying himself with all kind of paraphernalia....ice, shaker, martini glass, several bottles...you get the picture.

When he was finished, there was a very pretty red/orange drink in a martini glass with a little twist of lemon zest wrapped around the rim. Lovely.

I asked what the drink was, but the bartender just encouraged me to try it first before asking 20 questions.

I brought the concoction to my lips and was delighted with the light, but very intensely grapefruit flavored taste. It was lovely.

Apparently was a "ruby red martini" made with Ruby Red Absolut. After I'd polished it off, (every last drop, of course), the barman asked me if I wanted another. I almost went ahead and ordered a second one, but then logic prevailed. If it didn't taste at all boozy, that didn't mean that it wasn't boozy. Probably just the opposite. So, I stopped at one, but I could have had fifty.

Get thee to a local bar and order up a Ruby Red Martini!

MMMM.....

Hell-Evator Ride From Hell.

In our quirky little building, our quirky little elevator recently became the source of my greatest nightmare.

On Tuesday morning, I solicited the elevator to the 6th floor. I boarded the elevator, checking my watch and calculating how much time I had to catch my bus. When the elevator stopped, I went to step off. The only problem seemed to be that the door wasn't opening. The elevator was no longer moving, and try as I may by pressing every single button in the thing, I could not get the door to budge.

I called Stephen on my cell. As soon as I heard myself announce to him that I was stuck on the elevator, the panic sank in. All of a sudden, I could not breathe. The elevator is tiny and dingy to begin with, but it seemed to be getting smaller by the second. It was horrifying. Stephen urged me to try all the buttons again. This I did. To no avail.

Stephen came down the stairs, calling through the elevator doors at each floor to see if he could locate me. Eventually was able to hear him. He was on the first floor, but his voice sounded like it was slightly below me. I was clearly trapped somewhere between the first and second floors.

At this point, I was hyperventilating. I found some paper with an "In case of elevator emergency" number, and promptly dialed it. I thought I would be dialing some elevator manufacturer in China, but was extremely relieved when I was greeted with, "C and J management, how can we help?" (C and J being the management company for our building.) Somehow I managed to blurt out that I was trapped in the elevator. The woman, a seemingly kind soul, issued some reassuring words, telling me to sit tight while she paged the manager. Several minutes passed with no update from the answering service, so I dialed back. This time, the "seemingly kind soul" greeted me with an annoyed, "What do you want??" She could not possibly be serious, right? WHAT DID I WANT? Ahhh...how about getting me out of this f*&@#ing rat trap for starters!!!

Anyway, realizing that our useless building "super" was going to do everything to protect his "useless" title, Stephen decided to call 911. Perhaps my deep panic in the elevator help lead him to this decision, too.

Within a few moments, I heard the sirens outside of the building. "Thank Christ" was all I could think.

Finally I heard the firefighters who had come to my rescue. I was almost weeping with joy and relief to realize they hadn't even bothered to send the cops, but rather had gone directly for the fire fighters. I mean, I am not putting cops down, and I realize the important role they play in our society and I'm thankful to them for it, but seriously...in situations like this, when you know shit is going to have to be DONE, you NEED and WANT the firefighters. Those peeps don't even try to waste time screwing around. They just get the job done. No small talk. No farting around. But the thing that I always find amazing about firefighters is that while they're getting right down to business, they always seem to find a word or two of reassurance or comfort for the person in distress.

Needless to say, Boston's Bravest did not disappoint in this regard. One of the firefighters, while trying to instruct me how to "kill the power" in the elevator, managed to call me every pet name in the book, all the while assuring me that they were there to help and I could stop worrying. I think it went something like this..."Ok, honey. Look, Sweetheart. What I need to you to do, Doll, is try to look around, Darling, and find the power switch, Pumpkin, and turn it down, Love." When I became alarmed at not finding the thing, the guy asked me, "Ok, Pet, no problem, Dear. You're in an older elevator, Sugar, and so you just leave it to us to figure out what to do, Baby." (Is this a typical Irish Boston Firefighter, or what? )

At any rate, intense conversation pursued as to how the would kill the power on the thing. At some point, they must have sounded as if they didn't know what to do, and I must have slid into a deeper panic because I think I hysterically said, "You're the firefighters. You always know what to do. Please don't tell me you don't know what to do!" I don't have a recording of what I sounded like, but I'm willing to wager that I sounded like a woman on the edge.

At this point, I was unsure of how many firefighters were there. However, at this point, when I expressed this primal fear that I was encapsulated in this elevator for the rest of my days, I heard about 6 voices make haste to reassure me that they would not leave my side until I was out of there, "even if it took all day and night." They made a solemn promise that they would stick with me, and I believed they would. I immediately started to breathe easier.

At any rate, the discussion seemed to end when the men reached a consensus that the best way to kill the power was through a control mechanism that is almost always on the roof of the building. When I meekly asked why they needed to kill the power, one disembodied firefighter's voice informed me that since I was clearly between floors, they needed to kill the power in case they had my body partially out of the shaft, and the elevator decided to start moving again.

'Nuff said.

Stephen accompanied a duo of the firefighters to the roof egress. The reached the 7th floor when he realized, "Crap, we don't have keys to the roof door!"

A voice behind him calmly stated, "I do."

Stephen turned to see one of the men with is axe at the ready. With it, he proceeded to nonchalantly bust open the door. He then walked, without missing a beat, to the box containing the elevator mechanisms, and used his axe to bust the hell into that thing, too. He proceeded to kill the power.

At some point, the firefighters who had adjourned to the roof returned and reported that it was safe to begin the entry into the elevator itself. I saw the beam of a flashlight enter the elevator and the men told me that they were coming in.

I heard the god awful crunch of metal and steel being manipulated in most unnatural ways.

At long last, the door was pried open, and I looked down into the eyes of my knights in shining armor...6 of Boston's Bravest.

As I said, I was somewhere between the first and second floors. When the men opened the elevator, they could see my legs from my knees down. I could, in turn, look down and see those guys looking up at me.

I started to jump the hell out of there, but they stayed me, asking me to patiently wait out the enactment of their elevator rescue protocol. Of course I obliged, even though the instinct to jump out of there was so great.

Anyway, they laid a ladder sideways across the exposed elevator shaft, braced their feet against it, and then instructed me to lay flat on my back in the elevator, with my feet pointed toward the door.

This I did, albeit feeling completely ridiculous.

The firefighters instructed me to inch my body toward the open door. Two of them stood on either side of me, catching my ankles and calf muscles. As I inched further, two of them grabbed me from under the thighs and low back. Still two more supported me from just under the shoulders. Eventually, my body was soaring above six strapping firefighters, parallel to the floor below.

Ever the caring professionals, they did not remove their supportive hands, even from my ankles, until my feet were again on terra firma.

Guys, all I have to say is THANK GOD for firefighters. I have always known they are the true heros in any crisis. This only proved my theory.

So, to all the firefighters in the world, including the best one, CALIFORNIA MO....Thank you for what you do every day.

Kiss my Ve Ri T-ASS

I was rejected by Harvard...AGAIN!!

I found out on Sunday through an email. My immediate reaction may surprise you. I was actually quite relieved.

Really.

You see, just that morning I was beginning to absorb the reality of what my life would be like if I were in school full time and not earning an income. I'd have to bid adieu to my beloved gym membership, my regular eyebrow waxing appointments, my frequent Target runs and so many other little things. My occasional iTunes purchases, for example, or my visits to the sale rack at Ann Taylor Loft.

I mean sure, the prestige of attending Harvard would have been great, but I don't do the whole "broke graduate student" thing very well. And why should I? I'm 34, for Chrissakes. I've been professionally employed for 13 years. How could I go back to drinking Milwaukees Best Light when my tastebuds have already been tickles by Czechevar, that oh-so-sweet nectar of the gods.

But OK, as soon as the relief subsided, I became a little indignant about the whole thing. Jesus. Why didn't they accept me? So, I called the admissions office to speak to one of the admissions officers. The woman told me that they were looking to generate a "more diverse student body." I assured her that I bring a very diverse perspective to the conversation. I'm older than the average applicant, for starters. I've had more life and professional experience. I've taught in an language immersion program her in the US. I spent two years teaching overseas, another in urban public education.

My line of conversation seemed to agitate the admissions officer. She told me, "That's not exactly the type of diversity we're looking for." As I pressed her to define "diversity" in terms of what I was lacking, she became increasingly uncomfortable and eventually asked me to told. Several moments later, she came back with a newfound sense of self-assuredness and snapped, "Your math GRE scores were really low."

Keep in mind, I am an English teacher. But rather than belabor the point, I simply said, "I understand" and exited the clearly pointless exchange.

I will stand up and face the people to whom I freely declared, "I think I'll get in. The real challenge shouldn't be the admission, but rather the fellowship." I probably came across as arrogant, although I didn't mean to. So, feel free to serve me up a big slab of humble pie and I'll happily tuck right into it. The rejection took me by surprise, but a little humility was never known to kill anybody.

Seriously though, those Harvard Be-atches don't know what they're missing because I'm fabulous. And that's the troof!!

Ha ha.

But come on....a rejection letter through email. Are they taking a page from Jack Burger, the asshole who dumped our Sex and the City heroine, Carrie Bradshaw, on a post-it note? Apparently so.

So, the plan is to stay the course at Umass Boston. I'm in a course now, and I can take a couple more over the summer. I have 5 years to do what I need to do, so I'm in good shape. And best of all, I get to keep my job and my paycheck. All is right with the world. With my world, that is.

As for the other happenings in my world:

My friend, Sharyn, lent me her hair straightening iron and, boy, has it changed my life. The thing rules. And it is so damn easy to use. If I am saying this gadget is easy, believe me, it is. If you don't have one of these things, I'd highly recommend checking one out.

My friend, Clay, got me to join up to Facebook. I had heard of it, but had no idea how to use it. When I signed up, I was all confused and shit. But with a little practice and frequent exposure to the requisite lingo, I was a seasoned pro. The great thing is that you can search people and then add them as your friends. You can then root around your friends' profiles to see if they have any long-lost acquaintances in common with you. You can then avoid doing the legwork of finding that third party, and just add them to your friends list as well. Genius.

And the best part of all is that you can play Scrabble games with folks. My friend, John, who lives in China (!) and I reconnected through Facebook and we're devout Scrabble mates now. Of course he kills me in every game because he uses these word generators that feed him words like "XDQQXXYQ." This would probably value like 4,000 points. I could use the same things, but I refuse as I'm a game purist...especially for word or language games. Sure, there may be a word, "XXXQQXX" that means "boil on the ass of a newborn rhino, but I've never heard of it, so I won't use it. That's just how I roll.

At this point my track record is that I've lost 23 games and won 2. At least I've lost those 23 games under my own intellectual steam.

Ok, I'm losing typing steam here.

My last thought....check out the "L Word" Showtime series. It's worth watching.

Burdened.

I am back at my Mac, and I actually know how to post pictures, but for this entry I won't.

Normally my pictures are whimsical or cheeky or whatever. Today, however, I'm feeling neither emotion.

You know the AWESOME kid that I blogged about just a short while ago? Well, he came around to my classroom after school today to talk. I know he's been in a pretty rough state for the past week or so. He's been stressed, disengaged and generally withdrawn. I mentioned to him this morning that I'm always around if he ever feels like chatting.

Anyway, following dismissal he showed up and he basically poured out his soul to me. Everything that has been weighing on this brilliant mind came pouring out and it was worse than I had ever expected it to be. He was crying as he talked. I was on the verge of crying, myself, as I listened.

Jesus, it just places much-needed but often overlooked perspective on the fact that these kids are coming to school with so much CRAP on their minds. How can we honestly expect school to be a priority to them when they're so burdened by the difficulties of their own lives?

This poor baby.

I restate that I will go and break the miserable face of anybody who ruins this kid. Not this kid. I won't have it.

I Love My 8th Grade Homeroom

Last year I had a 7th grade homeroom. When the two 8th grade homeroom teachers retired, I jumped at the chance to take an 8th grade homeroom. I Love 8th graders.

Anyway, last year, the kids were chatting. They were talking about who would play them in a movie of their lives. They asked me who would play me, and I wasted no time in telling them that I surely believed that Samuel L. Jackson would be the most obvious choice. At this, they were delighted.

They have been teasing me about it ever since. Now, as an 8th grade homeroom teacher, I have many of the same kids that I had last year. They still laugh about that. They call me Sameuel sometimes, or Mrs. Jackson. We all laugh.

The school district updated our employee ID cards last week, and never took our old ones away. So, I took my old one and doctored it up a little bit with a picture of Samuel. I just left it on my neck chain and let the kids notice it on their own.

Not long into the morning homeroom period, one of the girls noticed it and made a big deal out of it. The kids all started laughing.

This kid, let's call him James, didn't even seem to notice. But James isn't the swiftest kid in the pack.

James is in my 3rd period English class. About halfway through the lesson, when I was standing in front of his desk, he started looking intently at my ID tag. He asked, "Ms. B., did you get a new ID photo?" I said, "Why yes, I did. What do you think of it?"

He looked at it a moment longer and said, "Well, not to be rude, but you look sort of older in it."

The whole room stopped breathing. Here was this kid, serious as a heart attack, telling me that the only thing noticably different about the photo of Samuel L. Jackson was the fact that I looked older. Granted, Samuel is quite a bit older than me. That said, shouldn't the student have found it more remarkable that I was suddenly a bald African-American man with a beard???

Welcome to my job.

Then, later, during "silent reading" (I use quotes because this is often the loudest period of the day), I noticed a science book lying around on my counter top. I have been trying to crack the whip against errant school materials lately, so I wasted no time asking the owner of the book to step forward. All the kids were quick to point out that they had their own books.

I passed the book to my favorite student of all times and asked him to look inside to find the name of the owner and return the book. He shyly said, "Ms. B., I can't tell you whose book this is." But there was something lurking behind his shy demeanor. "What do you mean, you can't?" I asked. "Is there no name in it."

"Well," he said, "there is, but I can't say."

"What?"

I took the book from the kid, and prepared to announce the owner's name out loud. I was on the verge of shouting it out. But just before I did, I noticed that under the "Issued to" line was the name "Your Ass."

Lovely. Apparently the book was issued to "Your Ass" this year.

I looked at the student. He looked at me. We both just BURST OUT LAUGHING.

come on.

Naturally the kids were all curious as to what we were laughing at. We were right on the verge of going to lunch. I knew the kid would fill them in down in the cafeteria, so I let it go at that.

It was a funny day at work.

And The Winner Is....

Ladies and Gentlemen, the simple truth of the matter is that I HATE the academy awards. I hate them for several reasons. Don't worry, I'll go into detail so as not to leave you in the dark.

Here are my reasons:

1. Fucking Jack Nicholson. I HATE that bastard. I mean, I really, really hate him. He is completely overrated and pompous, arrogant and jackassy. (yeah, I'm making up words now, what of it?) You might be asking why I associate Nicholson with the awards. Just stop and think about it. Watch the show for five minutes and you will realize that they pan in on this jerk in his front-row audience seat constantly. It drives me nuts. And he's always sitting there looking so smug. To top it all off, some idiot "star" has to get up there every year and feign humility in the face of receiving an award with the "amazing" Jack Nicholson looking on. It grows tiresome, really.

2. While I'm on the topic of feigned humility....
It drives me absolutely bonkers when the winner of whatever category (usually best actress, but it can be anything), has to get up and start weeping and pretending to be unworthy of even having been nominated in the same category as the other self-congratulatory asshole co-nominees. Usually its some young actress weeping over the fact that she could even be considered in the same category as some old broad like Judy Dench or some crap.

3. The acceptance speeches. Jesus, do these people even listen to themselves? Or are they contented with making us listen/suffer through their speeches?

4. The annual Cate Blanchett starring as the queen in some movie or the other. Seriously, that bitch is playing some queen (past, present, midieval, whatever) every single year.

5. Stupid host jokes.

6. The fact that the show takes 8 hours to complete.

7. The worst thing of all is the stupid lifetime acheivement award. They get some Hollywood denizen to stand up there and blow steam about some complete washup for hours on end. Then everybody stands up in thunderous applause, once again feigning humility in the presence of whatever boob is being honored.

8. The post-broadcast fashion wrap up shows.

CRAP!!

Gotts go watch the show so I have something to bitch about.

February Vacation

Once again, I'm blogging from a PC, so there will be no picture today.

I am in the tail end of my February vacation. I cannot believe that it is already Thursday afternoon. Where has the time gone?

Nothing terribly interesting has been going on this week. I moved into my friends' house yesterday for ten days to take care of their cats and dog. I am no stranger to this gig. I have put in several tours of animal care for these peeps over the past couple of years. It is always nice to be around here because they live close to my gym and a bunch of neat coffee shops and stuff. I enjoy it. Plus, they have laundry right in the basement and there's no competing with laundry-jacking jackass neighbors! Lovely.

Other than some recent gym drama, I have nothing to report. But I will report on the gym drama.

I take a step aerobics class every saturday morning. It is a GREAT class. It is totally worth the effort of getting up to take a 6:30 bus to Harvard Square and then walking 15 minutes to the gym. Claudia, the instructor, takes us through an amazing workout! The problem is that the class is so freakin' crowded all the time. Actually, that really isn't the entirety of the problem. You see, if everybody gets their ass in the studio by 8:00 AM, we can all move around and make accomodations for everybody to fit and have sufficient room. The problem is that every week, like clockwork, the same inconsiderate jerks come to class ten to fifteen minutes late. They interrupt everybody when they walk over to get their equipment out, and then they set up shop right on top of some poor member who has to stop her own workout to make space for the late arriving offender. Often they end up pushing somebody (mostly ME) so far into a corner or so far against a wall that we can't even move safely. The worst part is that the jerks who show up late are often the "big kickers" whose moves are so huge that they have everybody around them cowering in fear of taking a boot to the head. It sucks.

This has been going on every Saturday since I joined the gym years ago. The annoying thing is that they "ticket" all the other popular classes so as to avoid this exact problem. But they refuse to ticket the step class.

Two weeks ago, in sheer frustration, I wrote a total poison pen email to the director of the club, in which I outlined all of the above concerns. Of course, every time I made mention of the latecomers, I referred to them in all caps as INCONSIDERATE JERKS!!

Anyway, I get this response in which they blame the instructor and say, "We aren't sure if ticketing the class would work, so we're not going to try."

I sent yet another poison pen taking them down a few pegs for blaming the instructor for something that the gym should be supervising. I also critisized them for refusing to try something that might help alleviate the problem.

Naturally I sent the emails from my own account and signed my own name to them. They all know who I am, and I wasn't cowering in the shadows of anonymity. Screw that. The funny thing is that the managers are all being all nice to me now, and they've decided to ticket the class after all.

Basically, I let it be known that for $91 dollars a month, their refusal to do anything about this problem, and endanger members in the process, constitutes an unacceptable level of customer service in my book.

So, there's my gym crusade.

Oh, and here's another little gym tale.

Today I was lifting weights at around 8. There was nobody there. Not a soul. The entire stretching area was empty and I was the only one in free weights for a while. Then another member showed up. I presumed she was there to lift weights, too. I was wrong. She was actually there in the free weight area to stretch, do abs, and do pushups. Whatever, right? Well, the crazy thing was that she decided to do all of these things right there in front of the free weight rack. So, needless to say, every time I needed a different weight, I was forced to walk around her or lean over her. And she kept getting pissed. Finally she said, "Do you think you could just take all the weights you'll need for your workout so that you don't have to keep interrupting me?" (Sounds shocking, I know, but this IS Cambridge.) To which I replied, "Do you think you could do your stretching in the stretching area so that you don't have to interrupt my lifting routine?" Of course she got mad. Remember, this is Cambridge, and everybody's world ends at the tip of their own nose. Convenient.

Anyway, hardly an interesting post, but still, at least it was procrastination time from my paper correcting.

Trumped!

I'm writing on my mom's PC, and I have no idea how to install a picture on this thing, but pictures are just aesthetics, and I find this issue pressing enough to write about without the aesthetics.

We need to talk about the Trump Show. We REALLY need to talk about the Trump Show.

In a word, it sucks. I know people panned last season, but seriously, that was award winning television compared to what's taking place this season.

These so-called celebrities are a bunch of losers, and Trump is totally pussyfooting around them.

Two weeks ago, there was a two hour episode on. I missed it for whatever reason. I was all bummed out to miss the show, but was relieved by the fact that I could catch it online the next day. So, I hunkered down in front of my Mac and tuned into the sure-to-be-nailbiting two hour episode. I was psyched.

It turned out to be a massive letdown. The show dragged on for two hours, only to conclude with the resignation of the guy from the Sopranos. It was idiotic because the guy had infiltrated the other team, and was then accusing his own teammates of being "rats" and he claimed to be fearing for his life. Puh-leez. As if freakin' Stephen Baldwin was going to be out there putting a hit on the guy.

Anyway, nobody even got canned and I thought it was so bogus that they made this a two hour episode.

I tuned back in this past week because, for some reason, I can't NOT tune in. Again, total disappointment.

This past week, Omorosa was working on the same team as her arch rival, Piers. They were at each other constantly. For the entire duration of the episode, she was really digging in her claws, making cheap pot shots at him about his poor relationship with his kids or whatever.

At the end, the Omorosa team, which had been so dirisive throughout the show, won the task. Trump dismissed that team, and was heavyhearted at the prospect of firing somebody from the losing team. They had worked together so well.

And in the end, he decided not to fire anybody.

Come on, Trump. These people might be "celebrities" but you don't have to creep around them. Christ, they are E list celebs, at best. You have more clout than them!!!

Whatever. I'm feeling Trumped by Trump.

I will tune in again this week, but if I don't see a good old fashioned blood bath of a firing, I'm never watching again.

Christ!!

Yesterday we had parent conferences at school. By contract, we are only supposed to have contract for a two hour period. Somehow, the conferences were scheduled for 2.5 hours. So, OK, we decided to overlook that. We didn't want to make a big union federal case out of it, so we let it go, sucked it up and decided to just deal with the longer conference period.

The things started at 2:45 and were meant to last until 5:15. At around 4:15, the fire alarm went off. Within a few seconds, the principal came over the intercom and announced that we should all vacate and take our things with us as it was not clear if we would be able to reenter the building.

So, we all got our crap and headed outside into the 20 degree temperatures.

And there we waited. And waited. And waited. Some parents were still there and they came over to chat in the school yard. At that point, what are you going to do? So, naturally we spoke with those parents who were still there and had been waiting.

All the while we're thinking that the principal is surely going to come around and tell us to get going, leave the school and get out of the frigid cold. But this dismissal never came. And there we stood. At one point, I was trying to talk with a parent and these kids were zipping through us on scooters and shit. It was really ridiculous.

So, not only did we have thirty extra minutes of meetings, but then we were forced to conduct the entire last hour of conferences outdoors. Even the teachers who had nobody to see them were stuck standing there in the arctic temperatures.

And the really horrible thing is that there must be some architectural property of the school that makes the school yard this barren, windswept expanse. And yesterday was really, really windy. It absolutely sucked.

So, there we stood, in the well-below freezing temperatures, for an entire hour having parent conferences.

Insane, right?

But here's my point.

Teachers are the only professionals that would be expected to put up with this crap.

Think about it....

If I were a teller in a bank and an extended fire alarm kept us out of a building for an hour, would my boss really make me take a calculator and a strong box of cash outside and conduct transactions in the parking lot?

If I were working at Target as a cashier, would they make me take a cash box outside and continue selling merchandise in the parking lot?

If I were a receptionist, would they give me a cell phone and make me take calls and messages outside in a freezing parking lot?

No, of course not.

And yet...as teachers, we're expected to just shut our mouths and put up with it. Hey, at least when we are in school, we do have heat. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you'll know that for the past few winters, we've had NO HEAT in school.

And there again, we're teachers, the scum on the bottom of the professional pond.

Case in Point....Never Remake a Classic Movie

Ok, so I'm sitting here correcting papers, and the Johnny Depp "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" is on network television. I was kind of excited to see it advertised, because I'd never seen it. And I LOVE the Gene Wilder original version. Who didn't?

Can I just say that in spite of my broad vocabulary and gift of hyperbole, I don't think I can find the words to express just what CRAP this movie is. Jesus, it stinks. The actors suck. The music is terrible. Every single scene has been one letdown after the other.

I am going to turn it off. I can't even stand it anymore. Why did anybody think it necessary to "F" with the original film?

Exhausted.

Last night I had meeting number 2 of my 13-week-long course at UMass Boston (pictured above).

The course meets from 7-9:30 PM. A nightmare for me, who am normally in bed by that ungodly late hour of the evening. Last week, being the first week, the instructor let us leave at around 8:45. That was a delightful surprise. She even proposed that we consider meeting from 6-8:30 instead. I was psyched, but didn't get my hopes up. Just as well. When we arrived at class last night, the instructor informed us that the class would have to meet at 7 as regularly scheduled. I was a little disappointed, but I knew going into the thing that the class would go until 9:30. I had made peace with that.

I kept holding out hope that she might offer us the chance to skip the break (because she HAD to be planning on giving us a break, right), and just leave a little earlier than 9:30. Maybe 9:10 or something. Hey, its still late, but I'll take any minute earlier that I can.

Well, I was in for a not-so-delightful surprise when I went to class last night.

We NEVER got a break. We worked right on through the entire 2.5 hour period. At around 9, the instructor gave us a 15 minute period of time to collaborate with a partner. She told us that starting at 9:15, each of the 7 groups would have two minutes to present their findings. I smelled disaster right from the word go. Come on, 7 groups in 15 minutes. If you don't know teachers, then you don't know that we're TALKERS! Myself included. There was no way in hell we were getting through all 7 presentations in 15 minutes. The timeframe was blown out of the water as soon as the first group took the floor. They spoke for 12 minutes!!! That left 3 minutes for the remaining 6 groups. Do you see where this is going? I was in group 2, and believe me when I tell you, I held the floor for maybe 25 seconds. I hoped the other groups would cop on. No such luck. Long story longer, we wound up in the classroom until freakin' 9:45.

Jesus, as if I have nothing better to do with my time.

And this the thing...

This woman is there teaching me how to teach, but she has no grasp of time management or regulating discussion flow. Jesus, I was observed by my principal last week and she commended me many times on my excellent classroom management skills. Christ, I should take over the class at UMass. I can tell you this right now....nobody would be in that room a second beyond 9:30. And we'd have a break, too. Fo' sho!!

Whatever.

Today was a half day for kids, so I should have been able to spend some quality time working on report cards, which are coming out Friday. However, one of the two million committees I'm on met from 12-2:30. We then had a full school professional development meeting that lasted until almost 5, our longest one yet.

Again, bad timing all around!!

The Perfect Kid

I have the PERFECT kid in my class this year. I had him last year, too, and that's when I realized that he was an amazing kid. I naturally hand picked him to be in my homeroom for this year when I moved up to a grade 8 homeroom. I didn't have the pleasure of having in my homeroom when I taught grade 7 last year, so I figured it was only appropriate that I have him this year.

I normally refer to the kid as DF because those are his initials. I don't call him that to his face. When speaking with him directly, I call him by his lovely given name. It is in referring to him out of his company that I call him DF. Normally the context is something like this, "My god, once our DF graduates on to the high school, who the hell will take his place?"

He's perfect. He's super duper smart and hard working, he's nice to the other kids, he's as handsome as they come, he's sooo nice to the other kids, he's athletic and he is completely unassuming and modest about all that he has going for him.

Today he asked me if he could stay after school to work with his partner on their Power Point presentation. Naturally I said he could. He then asked me if he could ask one of the girls in the 8th grade class to come and help him with the finer aspects of power point. He isn't the most gifted computer person. (I guess everybody, even DF, has their weaknesses.) The great thing was that he asked the girl who is probably the most academically limited kid in the class (but she's pretty good with Power Point) if she could help him. Naturally the girl was totally flattered to be asked by the by far smartest kid in the class, for her help. She was glowing.

They were with me until almost 5:00 this evening and I had a great time with them.

But here's the thing....

DF's parents are extremely young, maybe even younger than me. They are divorced and they are bitterly angry at each other. They spend a majority of their time with the kids trash talking each other. DF has spoken with me at length about how this stresses him out and really hurts him.

Yesterday was one such day. DF came to school very late and parked himself in the therapy chair next to my desk to talk with me about what was going on. It was pretty heavy.

He is usually so pleasant, but yesterday he was pretty out of sorts. When he went to lunch, he seemed particularly disjointed.

Anyway, our lunch period is just under 30 minutes. With about 5 minutes remaining in the lunch shift, I went across the hall to use the faculty restroom in the main office. The sight that greeted me upon entrance to the office shocked me. There was my perfect DF sitting in the "I'm in trouble and waiting to be busted by the principal chair." I literally rubbed my eyes and tried to refocus. I simply could not believe that DF, of all kids, would be sitting there.

When he saw me in a state of shock, he looked so totally embarrassed. He spilled the beans and told me that he had been loud in the cafeteria and when the janitor told him to knock it off, he totally lost touch with his normal perfect DF self and told the guy, "Get the fuck out of my face."

I was SHOCKED!! He immediately apologized for repeating the thing to me, but quickly added that he knows he can talk to me about stuff like that. Before I could say anything to him, he totally started beating himself up. "I cant' believe I lost control of myself like that. I was so rude to the janitor. This is totally unacceptable. Even if I'm upset I just can't speak to people that way...." All the perfect DF stuff.

I sat there quiet for a moment, looking for the right thing to say to the fallen-from-grace DF. Finally he broke the silence with, "Well, Ms. B., so much for the DF pedestal, right?"

I wasn't even aware of his awareness of the fact that I have him on a total pedestal. But I didn't miss the opportunity. I said, "Nope, no way." I explained that although he had totally screwed up, he could at least take credit for totally owning what he did, realizing that it was dead wrong, and resigning himself to the trouble that was about to come his way.

When the principal showed up, she was equally shocked by what she heard. She let DF off the hook because she knows he is the perfect kid who even handles his imperfections the perfect way. She spoke at length with him about what happened, but she understood that he had just been stressed out and that he was mature enough to take responsibility for what he did.

Today, he came to school with a lengthy apology note to the janitor, (and this kid is an amazing writer) complete with his father's and mother's phone numbers just in case the janitor wanted to call his parents and speak to them about what had happened.

Even the janitor said, "Christ, I almost feel like apologizing to the kid!"

Anyway, I'm just saying that there are a lot of complaints forthcoming from me about the increasingly difficult job teaching has become. But then you get a kid like DF. And it is all worth it. Of course, I know this is THE one DF I will really have in my career. Sure, there will be good kids in the future. Lots of them. But there'll only ever be on DF, and he's in my class for anther 5 months. I'm going to enjoy it while I can!

The Skinny on Skinny Jeans

I'm not a big fan of the skinny jean. I guess they're OK on skinny 15 year-old girls, two demographics into which I can safely say I do not fall. My real beef with skinny jeans lies in their popularity among young (and sometimes not-so-young) men. It seems to be a budding fashion phenomenon among the sort of college age, hip, trendy, artistic/musician set. I wonder what's going on with that.

There are two things that bother me about these jeans:

1. They are SO "skinny" that I often find myself wondering just how the christ the wearer managed to get his foot in through the leg opening.

2. They seem to have cross-breeded with their seeming incompatible opposite, the baggy jean. The situation becomes awkward because these jeans are so freaking tight, and so what they lack in "bagginess" they make up for in "sagginess." The ass is so low on these things, and the excess material, which in the typical gangsta baggy jeans would just fall around the shoe and hit the floor, is just stuck there around the skin tight foot opening. I can only direct your attention to the picture at the top of the page.

This is nothing new. it has been going on for a long time. All of the trendy young things at the Apple Store this summer were wearing these things. I just didn't understand. I was hoping it would be a short-lived thing, but apparently it has some staying power. Sadly.

Anyway, I'm just saying...

Question of the Week

On Fridays, my students get to answer a "question of the week." They enjoy it because each week, we pick one student's question, (usually an open-ended, imagined scenario type of thing), and we go to the computer lab where they bang out a quick, paragraph-long response. We then take the answers and hang them on the "question of the week" bulletin board in the 7th and 8th grade hallway. It is a great discussion prompter. I always join the students in answering the question, and like them, I post my reply in the hallway.

So, this week's question was posed by Dilpreet, and it it was, "If you could spend the day with any five people, past or present, famous or non-famous, who would they be."

Fun question.

I had my 5 people pretty quickly.






Naturally Bono was on my top 5. He's interesting, motivated, artistic, and brilliant. If I got annoyed listening to his "save the world" spiel, I could always just ask him to lapse into song for a moment or two. Plus, say what you will...maybe he's pretentious, and maybe he has a god complex. He's certainly teenie, tiny, short. But the guy is sexy.





Naturally my hero, Bill Clinton, had to factor into the equation somewhere. As far as I'm concerned, this guy is still the president. Ok, he's still MY president. I don't acknowledge the current administration. George W. Who? Anyway, I LOVES me some Bill Clinton. Make no mistakes, I have no desire to shag the guy, but I do think he's pretty amazing. You should pick up his book, "Giving" if you haven't already. Honestly, it will inspire you to want to be a better human being. Bill could be in the process of becoming a stronger former president than he was a sitting president. Naw, though, the guy is great not matter what. He could write a fortune cookie and I'd call it an oeuvre of genius!





I NEED to meet Erik Larson, author of the mind-blowing Devil in the White City. I won't take much of his time, though, because he MUST get back to writing the next book to blow my mind!! I plan on telling him simply to cast aside all of his other daily obligations (taking the kids to school, feeding the pets, shopping, cleaning the house, etc) and promptly set about hiring somebody to do all these things for him so that he may devote every waking moment to penning his next chef-d'oeuvre.



Naturally I have to meet Samuel L. Jackson so that we can discuss how I'd like him to portray me when he plays me in the movie Hollywood will eventually make of my riveting life. We need to make sure he nails the role. Besides, just being seen with SLJ has to boost my street cred because he's just so DAMN COOL!!




Last but not least, my boy, Jon Bon Jovi. Look at the picture and then ask yourself if you really need me to spell out why I want to spend some time with this cool drink of water.

Shut Up, Already!

I very stupidly asked for the book Animal, Vegetable, Mineral by Barbara Kingsolver for Christmas. My fabulous in-laws went right out and bought it for me. I was delighted to receive it and anxious to start reading it.

If you're not familiar with the book, it is a non-fiction work by Kingsolver in which she details her family's quest to eat nothing but locally grown or raised food for an entire year. Sounded like an interesting premise. I thought it might be informative, humorous, and even full of some great recipe ideas for fresh fruits and vegetables. I thought it might be enlightening, or at the very least, entertaining.

But here's the ugly truth of the matter.

All this broad does is freakin' preach about how as Americans we're fat, lazy, overindulged and inconsiderate of the environment. All this might be true, but haven't we heard this all before in so many books, films, songs, documentaries? Does there really need to be another work detailing the sloth of Americans? Does she think she's sharing groundbreaking truths with us? Does she think her book is so revolutionary?

Let me shed some light of my own on this situation...

We've seen, heard, and read it all before.

The annoying thing is that Kingsolver starts off by talking about how much fuel is required to ship out-of-season goods clear across the world. True, I'm sure. The problem is that I'm now on page 75 of the book and this is all she seems to discuss. Well, this and the fact that her family is so perfect and that we are all inadequate and unworthy of life because we don't live just like they do. Honestly, I thought I might be inspired by this book. In fact, I'm just totally turned off because this woman is such a self-righteous asshole. The worst thing is that the woman doesn't just come across as an utter stuck up asshole herself, but rather she drags her entire family in on the act. The stupid husbad, Steven L. Hopp, has these little "factual essays" that appear at random intervals throughout the book. He focuses on, surprise, surprise, the fact that we waste billions of barrels of oil shipping foods around the world. But I haven't shared the worst part of this book yet....

Even worse than the jackass husband getting involved, is the fact that the daughter, 18 year-old self-righteous asshole in training, Camille, has little missives throughout the book as well. In her missives, she basically unabashedly pats herself on the back for eating only free-range meats and locally grown produce. She paints herself as the wonder of her college class and makes it sound as if all her classmates are worshipping at her feet because she eats fresh veggies.

Puh-leez, people!! When I was in college, nobody looked twice if anybody ate a salad. In fact, it was pretty commonplace. Things must be pretty different now than they were when I was in college.

If my writing has not convinced you that these people are assholes, just take a look at the photograph that they willingly put on the back of their book. Need I say more? A pictures speaks a thousand words, doesn't it?




My favorite parts of the book involve the author telling stories about how friends have served out-of-season fruits and vegetables at dinner parties. Kingsolver completely berates and insults these people, basically equating their choice to serve these foods with their singlehandedly destroying the planet. She insults their intelligence, their hospitality, and their friendship to make her self-righteous points.

Screw that. I hope these people read her book, feel rightfully insulted, and drop this bitch like a hot locally-grown, free range, organic potato.

It is not often that I don't finish a book. But this is one that will be relegated to the "holding up the short end of the couch" pile. I just can't be preached at by this arrogant, pompous asshole and her family any longer.