Attack of the Adult Tattle Tale

I have some great students. They are really lovely, hardworking, wouldn't-say-boo-to-a-fly types of kids. Today, during our homeroom "silent reading" period (think of "study hall" from your high school years), I had some kids finishing up a group project, while other kids were trying to work on their silent reading response journals. I tried to separate the kids (talkers and readers) by placing them on separate sides of the room. Eventually, however, the volume of conversation swelled to a point that it was difficult for the readers to concentrate.

One of my nicest kids, D, asked me if she could place a chair outside the classroom door to read.

I was, right then and there, struck with a great idea. Our school is brand spanking new and it is beautiful. There are massive, airy areas that are drenched in natural sunlight for most of the day. There are quint little window seats that afford the kids a view of the vast field below, and comfortable but practical benches built into walls across from the library. The real piece de resistance is a huge, high-ceilinged, floor-to-ceiling windowed atrium on the third floor of the building. There are two sofas and a rocking chair stationed in this thing and NOBODY ever uses them. The atrium is located catty-corner (is that right?) to my classroom, so my window looks square into the thing. The couches and rocking chair are placed square in front of the atrium window, which means that, to all intents and purposes, they are basically an extension of my classroom furniture. I can see (and hear if the windows are all open) every single thing that goes on in the atrium.

So...the grand idea was that I would allow these four studious, responsible, hardworking young ladies the opportunity to take advantage of some of this beautiful space in this marvel of architecture we call a school. I assigned D to the little window seat ten feet away from my classroom door, K to the bench opposite the library (in plain view of the librarian's circulation desk), C to the sofa in the atrium, and L to the rocking chair in the atrium. These girls were delighted with the opportunity to spread their little wings a bit and to experience a little bit of independence.

I could see L and C the entire time through my windows, and I knew that D and K wouldn't even think of moving from their spots until I sent somebody to go and get them to return to class.

The kids were so pleased, and I was really happy with how well they did. I checked the amount of work they had done before they'd left the room, and the amount of work they had when they returned to the room. I was more than convinced that they would have done the exact same amount of work had they been sitting right under my nose. Not all kids are like this, but these few are.

I was chatting with the principal later and I even mentioned to her that I was really glad to have given the students a chance to really appreciate the true beauty of the building, and to enjoy the functionality of some of the neater sitting areas. She was really glad to hear the news and (as a former 8th grade teacher herself), commented upon the much-needed independence that many kids this age need to feel. She totally gets it.

Fast Forward to five minutes after dismissal. I'm sitting in my classroom when the phone rings. The caller is identified as "DR" my principal. I thought nothing of it. I picked up ready for a pleasant chat, but was greeted, instead, with tales of an email that she had received from LM (another teacher) complaining about my kids. The principal said LM claimed the kids were (and I quote directly), "rolling around on floors, lying down, disrupting people, purposely trying to trip her as she walked by, and generally causing problems."

My stomach sank. WTF? I had watched L and C through the window, and they were the only two working anywhere near each other. D and K were totally isolated from any other kids. I was gobsmacked, and totally embarrassed. Recall, if you will, the fact that just moments earlier I had been telling my principal how beautifully my little arrangement had worked.

I expressed my discontent with the fact that this woman didn't speak to me directly, but rather involved the principal immediately.

The principal readily agreed and told me that she was relaying the information so that I could speak to my colleague directly and put this issue to rest.

So, that's exactly what I did. I found my colleague and asked her what she had seen. "Well," she said, "There were kids everywhere and I didn't know if they were supposed to be all over the place like that."

I asked her what she meant by "all over the place." Did she mean that they were simply in different locations, or that they were literally rolling and running around.

She said that "all over the place" was her reference to the number of locations in which ALL FOUR of the kids were sitting.

I asked her then to recount for me exactly what she had seen the kids doing.

"Well," she said, "one of them was sitting on the floor and had her legs extended out in front of her. When I walked by I almost tripped over her because I only saw her at the last minute."

Ok, granted, the kid should have been on the bench and not the floor, but still...

So, I asked if she had thrust her legs forward when the teacher had approached. "No." Then I asked if she was otherwise misbehaving or what the rest of her body posture was. "Oh, she was sitting up straight with her back against the wall."

Ok.

Then I asked what else she was doing while she was sitting there.

"She was reading her book and writing in her notebook."

Ok. What about the other kids. What were they doing?

"Well, they were sitting there reading."

Hmmm...now I should ask if they were talking and carrying on.

"No, they were reading."

So, were they running, loafing, lounging, or otherwise doing anything with their bodies other than sitting there?

"No. They were just sitting there."

When she heard herself basically admitting that the kids were doing NOTHING wrong, she back pedaled and said, "Well....I just didn't know if they should be there. I mean, they were in the HALL!!! I didn't know if that was OK."

I then asked her if she asked the students what they were doing.

"No."

I asked her if she knew whose class they were in? Did she know they were my kids?

"Yes."

And yet, I reminded her, she never bothered to come speak to me directly about this. But rather she went directly to the principal.

"Yes. Well I didn't know."

I then reminded her (with a hurt and scorned look) that I thought we were friends and that we had always enjoyed a pleasant, collegial relationship.

"No. Yes. No...we are. We are friends. Yes. We are."

I asked her if I had ever proven to be impenetrable in terms of discussing work-related matters or if I had ever been off-putting about discussing work with her.

"No...of course not!"

Then I asked her why, then, had she gone to the principal over my head rather than come to me in a spirit of collegiality to discuss an issue of concern.

She kind of stammered and did a lot of staring at her feet.

I also reminded her that these young ladies were sitting in highly conspicuous locations around the school with novels, notebooks and pencils, freely writing and flipping through their books. They weren't lurking, hiding, or cowering in dark corners. They were there, out in the open, for all to see. Why the F would anybody think they were there on anything other than a teacher's authority????

Jesus.

I told her, "Look. I get it. I get that in this school we have somehow embraced a culture of tattling to the principal rather than approach our colleagues in a friendly spirit of professional discourse. But I assured her that although I fully get it, I just can't embrace it.

I reminded her that I have to watch her homeroom dismiss themselves every day in a wild frenzy (because she doesn't walk them to the door so by the time they charge past my classroom to the stairs, they are in a fever pitch) and yet I've never opend my mouth to the principal. Why? Because I'm not 3. And I just don't want to have to get my principal involved in stupid crap that she shouldn't have to tend to. Hello...the woman has a school to run.

Whatever.

The woman was all apologies, and I backed off. But still. One more person at work to trust as far as I can fling.

I don't get it. Maybe working around kids keeps the tattle tale alive in all teachers.

Inspired by Julie's Blog Post

I was just cruising through my girls' blogs. It has been a while since I even treated on blog territory. Facebook has torn me away from my blog. As much as I appreciated the seemingly instant gratification of communicating one message to multiple readers at once (as is the case in blogland), nothing can surpass Facebook in terms of ease of instant correspondence.

Oh well....

I think I got intimidated by the long ass entry I would have to write after my return from France. I kept putting it off. Then, every time I thought about blogging, I knew it would require a huge time commitment.

Suffice it to say that I had a great time in France. Let's move on.

I'm going to forgive myself the failure to recount that trip in exquisite detail and just continue with regular daily banter.

Anyway, back to Julie's post. She encouraged her blog readers to grab the nearest book and copy the 5th line from page 56.

I am currently reading "Kitchen Confidential" (and yes, I know I'm supposed to set a book title in italics or underline, but I don't know how to do that on Blogger) by Anthony Bourdain. It is a great read.

So, line 5 as it appears on page 56 is as follows:

Line Cooking-the real business of preparing the food you eat-- is more about consistency, about mindless, unvarying repetition, the same series of tasks performed over and over and over again in exactly the same way."

Julie then encourages her readers to convey the next two or three lines. Here they are:

The last thing a chef wants in a line cook is an innovator, somebody with ideas of his own who is going ot mess around with the chef's recipes and presentations. Chefs require blind, near-fanatical loyalty, a strong back and an automaton-like consistency of execution under battlefield conditions.

I kind of enjoy reading about this profession. I have no experience with it. My culinary expertise consists of chopping veggies and tossing a frozen pizza into the oven.

Anthony Bourdain has a show called "No Reservations." You should check it out (and his book if you can). He is very articulate, very cheeky, and very entertaining.

Thanks, Jules, for getting me to break my blog ice after all this time. Go ahead..raise the topic of books and try to keep me quiet!!

Dusty Snausage

I took a brief foray to Downtown Crossing in Boston today, for no other reason than I had some time to kill before meeting my cousin, Jules, for lunch.

I was amused by the sight of a sausage vender who had set up his cart right on a corner where there is an absolutely massive construction project happening. There was debris of all shapes and sizes raining down on this guy's sausage stand, and he was carrying on as if nothing was happening. The crazy thing is that he had plenty of customers there, which only served to reaffirm his choice to set up shop right there, smack in the middle of a massive dig-up.

The other little thing I wanted to write about was the scene that unfolded in front of the DSW store.

I was on my way in, and about to reach for the door, when this young couple cut right in front of me. "Even better" I thought, "Let them open the door for me."

The woman reached for the door, and in fact had her hand on the handle to open it. As she was about to execute the opening of the door, another friend called out to her, and the couple proceeded to have a raucous conversation in Spanish (and for quite some time) all the while exhibiting no intention to leave the doorway so as to facilitate my entry. And it isn't as if they had seen me. We had already acknowledged each other with polite nods. But once they stated their conversation, they just chose to ignore me, while clogging up the door.

Finally, I sort of barked, "Excuse me" and barreled through the door. I could feel their angry eyes boring a hole in my back as I walked by them, but I didn't care.

Bad TV

In my last post, I talked about our new cable subscription. More importantly, I addressed my emerging obsession with some really bad shows. It's rather frightening how this can happen so quickly.

When bad TV happens to good people!

Anyway, I'm getting reacquainted with LIfetime here (having managed to pry myself away from Bravo in order to reestablish my connection with the esteemed "television for women" channel). Sure I've flipped through the channels and briefly lingered at Lifetime prior to today, but old episode of "The Golden Girls" and "Designing Women" just haven't been enough to entice me to stop and take note. Today, however, all that changed. The combination of the driving rain outside and the "Fallen Angels" marathon on Lifetime is enough to have me hooked.

Yeah, that's right. I said the "Fallen Angels" marathon! I probably don't have to spell out the leitmotiv of the films, but I will anyway because it is too delicious not to. The movies all spin the yarns of highly successful young women who ha effed up royally in one way or the other. The last movie they played depicted the not-so-original saga of the straight-A-student who gets preggers with her boyfriend's kid, much to her mother's chagrin.

Yawn.

The movie on now, however, is pretty decent. A young woman gets into Harvard, but before taking off for the ivy-lined, hallowed halls of the venerable institution, she marries her high school sweetheart, who, at the time of the wedding, is awaiting his final decision on his own Harvard application. Needless to say, he does not get in, and is stuck working construction jobs while his wife hob-nobs with her new Harvard friends. Enter cute guitar-playing classmate, and impending marital disaster.

I'll let you know what happens.

I'm sure that at some point that Brian Austin Greene movie about "Too Young to Be a Father" will come on. Or maybe that focuses too much on the boy, not the "fallen angel." I guess that movie will have to be fitted into another marathon..."Boys To Men Too Quickly" or some crap. I'm sure Lifetime will name is something a lot less awkward, and with a much more dramatic flare. I'm just not Lifetime marathon-naming caliber, I guess.

At 7 there's something on called "Odd Girl Out." I didn't even read the description of that one, but GEE, I wonder what on earth is could be about. And then at 9 they're premiering something called, "Cheerleaders Gone Wild." Sounds a bit pornographic, if you ask me.

Anyway, moving on....

In a posting about really cheesy TV, I would be remiss if I did not mention the crap on Bravo. I know I talked about it yesterday, but after having been forced to dwell on the reading matter for these horrible courses for an entire month, I consider it a welcome chance for my mind to be completely trapped focusing on these shows. I like a little brain-deadness.


Did I mention "Flipping Out" in my last post? In the even that I didn't, let me talk about it again. Here's a picture of that asshole, Jeff Lewis. Just so you can put a face with the name as I rant....



Man, this guy is a jerk. He is such an arrogant, egotistical, self-centered, world-ends-at-the-tip-of-my nose Bitch! I have never heard him speak to anybody with anything other than apparent contempt. My god, how any of those people keep working for him is well beyond me. I suppose it is safe to assume they remain in his employ for the television exposure. Although they needn't bother. They're all such talentless ass clowns that the likelihood that they'll be picked up by some other show is nil to none!

I am oddly compelled to watch the show, as I said before. I don't know why, but when he's on, I just want to invest so much energy in hating his ass that I just can't swap the channel! Isn't that sick?

Can I just say one more thing about Lewis before I move on?

Calm down with the lip Botox, Jeff! Jesus.

On second thought, a few more injections, and his lips will be so massive that he won't be able to talk. Might not be such a bad idea!


Shear Genius is another show that I am really enjoying...




Jaclyn Smith is the host and she looks great for 9,000 years old. Actually, if I looked half as good as her at 34, I'd look freakishly amazing!

Good show. Different from most reality shows because the people have to actually possess and demonstrate some talent in order to win. Usually these reality shows consist of people laying around on sofas, covered in blankets, whispering in the dreaded "fake raspy" voice about whom to enter into allegiances with and whom to vote against. At least with "Genius" people have to DO something.

It was interesting to watch it with Lauren today, because she could give little annotations about what "I'm going to bring her hair to a 9B instead of a 6E" really means. It was like having my own talking caption!

I'll have to go over there and watch it with her again.

Oh, wait...she actually has a life.

Back Among the Living

Do you remember how I once complained about not getting the summer school job? Well, in retrospect, I realize that this was the biggest blessing in disguise ever!

I had harbored these romantic images of me teaching every day until 1:00, then going over to Umass from 5-9. I thought, "This might be a slight pain in the arse, but I can handle it."

That was before I encountered EH, my "Designing Middle and Secondary School Curriculum" professor. Eunny pronounced, Oonie), as she liked to be called, was hell on wheels. This course only lasted one month. In that time, I wrote:

a pre and post assessment of my understanding of curriculum (1.5 pages each)
a 5 page "philosophy of education" at the beginning of the course
a 33 page critique of an existing ELA curriculum in Epsom, NH
a 19 page suggested modification of the curriculum
a 42 page document with three lesson plans**
a 5 page reflective paper on a presentation I gave to the class.
a post-course "updated" philosophy of education, this one totaling 13 pages. ***

**: I was required to cite literature and write a lengthy introduction to my lesson plan. NO teacher EVER writes formal lesson plans after five minutes in the business. They certainly don't write lesson plans with citations and freaking literature citations. Jesus!

***: She "corrected" my original philosophy of education, and told me to rewrite it, citing the literature we had read in class. Ahh...the literature was SHITE, and I had to basically scrap my enduring philosophy of education and write one in which I proclaim to model myself after the phony baloney "experts" we read in the course. NO teacher has a 13 page philosophy of education. Well, except for me.

The woman was psychotic and incredibly hypocritical. Keep the following three examples in mind:

1. She would regularly talk about the evils and ineffectiveness of lecturing the kids. She would tell us we would lose them, that they have an average attention span of 7 minutes, that kids will just disengage. Then, as these warnings were still hot and wet off her lips, she would launch in to lectures that would last for an hour or more! Fucking horrid.

2. When one of the women in our group didn't do her part of the project, she told us all she was refusing to accept the work. When I went to see her to appeal to her "logic" to evaluate the rest of us on the portion of the work we had done individually, she kept insisting that it was our problem as the work was meant to be collaborative. When I set up and appointment to meet her privately, she got angry, slammed the chair back under the table, buried her face in her laptop and barked, "Nancy, if you were having this conversation with your student, what would it look like?" After a brief pause, I told her, "It would not look like this, I can guarantee you that!" Then I called her a hypocrite for telling us to respect our students, and then treating me like this behind closed doors. She showed up to class ten minutes later, acting as if nothing had happened. I gave her the silent treatment for two days, and she asked my classmate, Mary, "What's wrong with Nancy?" Ahhhhh.....????

3. See the abovementioned list of work!! Add to that the average of 150 pages of reading per night.

Anyway, I'm freakin' done! My second class was pretty painless, but I'm glad to have it over, too. It seems strange not to have a major dissertation to write.

Ok, enough about that.

Every summer Stephen wants to watch the Tour de France, so we upgrade our cable. Usually I can take it or leave it, but this time around, I'm inexplicably addicted to BRAVO!!



Come on....what's not to love?

Project Runway....You're out, "Auf wiedersehen!"

Shear Genius. Awesome. Annoyingly obnoxious and egotistical people. An impossibly young looking Jaclyn Smith (she has to contain lots of plastic at this point), the over-the-top dramatics.

That Real Estate show with the absolute most arrogant asshole I've ever seen in my life (you know, the guy with the huge lips and the worst case of cheerleader cadence-itis I ever did hear.) He is so horrible and yet I'm oddly compelled to watch.

Now there's the Real Housewives show coming up, and the real estate show with the 12 year-old brokers, one of whom has that horrible combed-entirely-forward hairdo. Very dodgy.

I read something about Bridezillas on Reesie's blog. Is that on Bravo, too? Does anybody know anything about this? Praytell.

And finally, my computer is back. Lauren took me over to pick her up, for which I'm extremely grateful.

The silence of my computer is deafening. Whereas pre-repair it sounded like a jetway, it now sound blissfully like nothing. I'm trying to be optimistic, but we've been here before. A new logicboard and power supply, followed by a few days of silence. Then right back to grinding fans and all the other good stuff. But hey...as long as I'm still under warranty, I'll just keep bringing it in for repairs.

And hey....

7 days and counting until France!!

An Evening With Old Friends

I can't think of any other way to sum up an evening spent with Bon Jovi. I'm not delusional. I don't have imaginary friendships with the members of Bon Jovi. I don't labor under the delusion that any of these fabulous men are aware of my existence on the planet.

However, every time I go to a Bon Jovi show, from the moment they take the stage, I feel like I'm getting together with old friends. I guess that's what happens when a girl first sees a band when she's 12 years old, and she's still just as stoked about seeing them when she's pushing the ripe old age of 35.

The real treat of the evening came when we got to get up close and personal with the Jovi. He appeared on a side stage in the crowd, not far from where Lauren and I were sitting. We just kind of looked at each other, taking our great height into consideration, and then looked at the other four foot garden gnomes in the audience and we knew what had to be done.

We just plowed over people. I'm not sure if we left anybody injured in our wake, but Christ...this is JOVI! What were we supposed to do? Ace like ethical human beings or something? No...our only choice was to turn the other people in the crowd into human bowling pins and knock them the hell over.

Listen, in the presence of greatness, people tend to abandon all sense of reason and decency. The saddest part is that I don't even feel bad. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Just keep that in mind if you see me at a Bon Jovi show. I'm bigger than you. I'm not afraid to use my size to my advantage. If you're in my way, I'll have to crush your ass to get even a milimeter closer to JBJ.

I got some GREAT pictures. Lauren is using my sexy Canon camera at the show tonight (Yeah, she's going again), so I'll have to post my photos tomorrow. For tonight you'll have to make due with this Kenneth Cole advertisement.

Listen to me...."You'll have to make due."

Jesus...I know you all just canceled your dates for Tomorrow night so you can sit home and stare at this God all night long.

Go ahead...try to deny it.

The music was great. The relics of the 80's that comprised the audience did not disappoint, either. Acid washed jeans abounded. Deep fried piggyback perms were abundant. There was no shortage of poorly executed mullets and two-cent floozies. I mean, come on people. I know the eighties are sort of making a bit of a comeback. But these slobs are wearing the outfits from the first time around, blissfully unaware that there was a twenty five year gap in which that leather vest with no shirt underneath was not acceptable. Well, that particular fashion trend never was, isn't, and never will be acceptable. But you know what I'm getting at here.

Anyway, I must point out how gracious Bon Jovi are. They pull all the old warhorses (Livin' on a Prayer, You Give Love a Bad Name, Runaway) with a huge grin on their faces and an unparalleled (spelling?) enthusiasm. They always seem humbled by the fact that the audience acutally knows every word to every single song, and they seem to genuinely enjoy the fact that they've had this connection with their fans.

Take, for instance, "Livin on a Prayer." They played the first couple of cords of the song, and then the audience just took over from there, without Jovi even chiming in. The jumbotron overhead projected an image of a beaming JBJ during the crowd performance. Upon its conclusion, he said, "See....this is why I keep coming back to Boston!"

You know he's had to sing that song nine million times in his life, but there is he, happy as a clam to do it for the nine million and first time for us. The band seems to enjoy the music as much as the crowd down.

Very refreshing.

I tell you, there is nothing like a Bon Jovi concert. If you have't been to one yet, you haven't lived.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The Rumor Mill

Today during a professional development meeting my cell phone rang.

Normally I would not even dream of answering my phone at such an inopportune time. However, seeing as where my superintendent had just seen fit to blast me in front of all my colleagues, I wasn't feeling terribly professional.

So...I picked up the phone. It was my friend, Maura. She is also a teacher in the district. She was at another professional development meeting with another teacher from my school.

As soon as I picked up the phone, Maura was gushing her heartfelt congratulations. I was flummoxed. I asked her what on earth she was congratulating me on. "Linda M. just told me you're pregnant," she cooed.

Ahhhh.....????

No.

I'm not pregnant. But if people are thinking I am, I had best get my ass to Jenny Craig on the double.

Strange.

Talk about being the last to know.

Graduation

Today is my last day of school. Usually I'm totally psyched for this day to happen. Today, however, I approach the day with a little more sobriety than I normally would. (And no, I don't mean sobriety as in the opposite of bombed, but rather in the opposite sense than gleeful. Just wanted to clear that up.)

This is my first year with an 8th grade homeroom. I always taught 8th grade, but previously I had 7th grade homerooms. And sure I was sad to see the 8th graders leave, but there was, I guess, a little sense of removal from all that emotion. Last year, when my 8th grade teaching colleagues retired, I asked the principal if I could take a grade 8 homeroom.

It has been a fantastic year. My homeroom rocked. The kids were funny, considerate, personable and just straight up good. Sure, they were goofs sometimes. Of course I had to tell them off for being jackasses every once in a while. But we "got" each other. I knew they were awesome kids, even if they were having a not-so-awesome-kids day, and they knew I loved them, even if I had to play the heavy or remove some privilege temporarily or something. We all knew our roles, and for the most part, we played them.

Me and my homeroom. It was a match made in heaven.

I have threatened, more than a few times this year, to report all their final averages for their classes as failing. This would ensure that they would have to stay behind in 8th grade and I could keep them for another year. They would chuckle and promise that if I passed them, they'd come back to visit.

I guess I'll have to live with that.

But in all seriousness, these kids have been attending this school since kindergarten. It is high time that they moved on. They are so ready to be done with elementary school. (There are good and bad things to be said about k-8 schools. It keeps them every so slightly younger for an every so slightly longer period of time. That's obviously a good thing. But they really start to feel cramped after a while. Obviously that's a bad thing.)

So, I have to let them go. I will be there today, amidst the 8th grade girl tears, comforting and consoling and telling them that they will be great at the high school and that after two days there, they'll never look back or long for their elementary school days. I'll say all this cheerfully, knowing that it's true. But inwardly, I will be heavyhearted. This is the BEST homeroom a teacher could ever have had. I LOVED these kids.

But as I said...it is their time. Keeping them would be unfair.

And now I'm off. I have an extremely early start to my last day because one of my students called me yesterday after she found out that some of the kids' pictures were missing from the CD yearbook they did. It turns out that the guy who did the CD burning for us (while we were on our field trip) burned the wrong file. It was one of the drafts and not the final project. In my mind, I was thinking, "What's the big deal?" But then I realized that of course it is a VERY big deal for the poor kids whose pictures don't appear in their own 8th grade yearbook. So, I trudged down to Target, picked up a pack of CDs, made plans to meet Tina at school at 7, and start the final burn!

This was after staying at school until 5:00 conducting interviews for a new 8th grade teacher.

Who said the end of the year was easy?

Well....I'm off. Tina and yearbook duty call.

Xtreme Frisbee

Today we had our field trip to Canobie Lake amusement park in New Hampshire.

The kids were great. The weather was a dream. The colleague who went with me is a lot of fun. The day was perfect. It had been threatening to lightening and downpour, but none of that nightmare weather ever materialized.

As soon as we entered the park, the kids scrammed and ran to all four corners of the park in pursuit of their favorite rides.

My colleague and I walked around and enjoyed being outdoors. We occasionally ran into some of our students, chatted about what rides they'd been on, and then pleasantly parted ways.

After lunch (we waited 45 minutes in line for disgusting fatty chicken fingers and fries), we ran into Anna-Julia, Melissa, Brandon and Sergio. Actually, Melissa and Brandon were sitting there, having an iced tea, and waiting for Anna-Julia and Sergio, who had retired momentarily to their respective restrooms. I expressed my disappointment at the fact that my colleague refused to ride the "XTreme Frisbee ride with me." At this, Melissa and Brandon perked up and informed me that Anna-Julia was desperate for somebody to ride the thing with. Neither of them felt like braving the ride.

So, when Anna-Julia came back, we immediately reparied to the corner of the park where the XTreme Frisbee ride is housed.

Thinking it hilarious that their teacher was perparing to go on this most horrifying ride, Brandon and Melissa took thier phones out and summoned all their classmates to the ride to witness what they thought might be my extreme diziness and disorientation.

When we arrived at the ride, a good 3/4 of the kids were there, waiting to join us in our venture onto the XTreme Frisbee ride.

We waited in line together, me and all of my 8th graders, much to the amusement of all the other hundreds of kids in line. "Hey, look at those kids going on the ride with the teacher!"

At last, our turn to ride arrived.

This ride consists of a huge disc with seats all around the perameters. The disc begins to hoist itself back and forth, all the while spinning around like crazy.

With each passage to and fro, the disc gains more momentum, gains more height, and spins more violently out of control.

Just when I had convinced myself that the ride had reached its climax, I realized that the speed had intensified and that we were going so high that we were practically spinning completely over. It was outrageous. I am a fan of horrifying amusements, but this thing was over the top even for me. I was willing the thing to be over!

After what seemed like hours of spinning and hurtling through space at breakneck speeds, the thing finally started to slow and descend.

After that, I had gained some official streed cred and was dragged to every spinning ride in the park by my students.

But I can't complain. I had a great time.

This is what being an 8th grade teacher is about.

Adventure Tomorrow

Another advantage of having an 8th grade homeroom is that I get to go on the field trip to Canobie Lake Park. As a 7th grade homeroom teacher, I've had to sit back in years past and watch while the 8th graders went off for this exciting day. This year, I'll get to be a part of it.

And yes, I have every last intention of going on rides, either with the kids or by myself if necessary!

Ha ha.

A Memo To The General Public

To: General Public

From: Nants

Re: Personal Hygiene Crisis

It is nearly summer. Temperatures are on the rise. It is crucial that all of us make it a habit to take regular showers. Unless you are living in a secluded cabin in the middle of the deepest depths of the woods and have no intentions of ever seeing another living soul, you MUST shower daily. If you are taking public transportation, you absolutely MUST shower. You must also use deodorant and wear clean clothes. Brush your teeth for good measure while you're at it.

This is no laughing matter, people. This is extremely serious business.

Refusing to shower is not cute. It's not quaint. It's not "environmentally responsible." Think of other ways to save the planet if you must; bike instead of driving, recycle, use a reusable water bottle...whatever. Just please, please do not forgo the daily sower.

I beg of you.

Shocker

Every once in a while, logging onto MSN.com can be a bit shocking. You navigate to the web page and see some shocking headline and you have to take a minute to re-read it to make sure that you've read it correctly.

Such was the case when I found out about that psychopath that kept his daughter locked in a basement in Austria for 24 years? Twenty-four years? I had to read that headline a few times to make sure that's really what it said.

Today, I visited the website, and was greeted with news of Tim Russert's death. I honestly read the thing a few times before I really grasped the reality of Russert's passing.

Now don't get me wrong, I didn't know Tim Russert personally or anything. Sometimes, though, a famous person's death strikes me as if I have experienced some sense of loss. I guess because Russert was so prolific in his appearances in this heated election season. (Can I really call it a "season'? Eon might be a more appropriate word.) It seemed like the guy was being featured on every single news-related broadcast on every media outlet.

And he seemed like a pretty nice guy. You know, an average Joe kind of person.

I think the irony in the whole thing is that Russert, who was known for his low-tech-ism, is now being instantaneously memorialized on the internet and on impossibly quickly compiled life retrospectives that could only have been done with the help of computers.

Already this evening, NBC resurrected Tom Brokaw (who I also really like and haven't been a devotee of any nightly network news since he retired) to host and hourlong special "a look back on Tim Russert's life."

Anyway, I kind of liked Russert, and I liked "Meet the Press" when I was around to watch it. The morning talk shows are going to have to find somebody else to come in and break down politics for the average person.

Oh well....RIP Russert.

Snapshot of the day....

I kind of like blogging like I did yesterday. It is kind of "cheating" because I didn't really compose proper paragraphs, but still...I got my points across.

I think I'll do a little more of that today...

1. I found out that the principal never bothered to discipline a 7th grader who had been dead rude to a first grade teacher Friday afternoon. I encouraged that teacher to remind the principal of the incident again today. Thankfully the principal did finally look into the matter. The worst part of the whole thing is that the teacher felt threatened and told the principal as much. It's pretty weak that the principal just got around to addressing the issue today.

2. We're not sure we're keeping the tempurpedic. I'm just not sure I'm in love with it. Stephen isn't either. I think we should be ready to divorce each other for this mattress at that price.

3. I am typing on Lauren's computer as her kids play Play-Do. (Sorry, Lauren.) They are busily fulfilling my request of frying me up a Play-Do leg of lamb in the playhouse skillet. They're pretty happily setting about this task.

4. I finally finished correcting my pile, nay MOUNTAIN, of my students' young author books. Believe me, I think it is more work for the teacher to correct these things than it is for the kids to do them.

5. I am going to be in for a very late night at school tomorrow. The yearbook staff are determined to stick around until the thing is done. Not that they have much choice, mind you. I would do it, myself, but I honestly have no idea how to use the foolish program they're using. So, I'm going to go to school tomorrrow armed with money for pizza and soda, and patience to stick around until the thing is finished.

6. Gene is meeting me for Mexican tomorrow after I finish the yearbook. I think I'll need a margerita by then.

7. I'm outta here to play with my nieces. I haven't been this neglectful of them. I just type fast!!!

Checking in

Not much to say.

5.5 days of school left (if I'm calculating correctly)

Still sweltering hot in my apartment.

Shoulder feeling a bit "off' following one of my "FIRM" workouts.

Listening to some strange music at the moment.

Feeling overwhelmed by the amount of grading I still have to do before closing out the school year.

Dreading the "end of year" paperwork that accompanies the end of every school year.

Looking forward to watching our remaining two episodes of "Lost."

Looking out the window at a lovely, evening sunny scene

Incredulous at the fact that the day of our amusement park field trip is threatening rain...even as all the surrounding days look to be perfect.

Hungry.

Cooking frozen pizza...real heatlhy

Wearing white wife-beater and jean shorts. Classy, right?

The Sweetest Thing

It is hot in our apartment. I mean...sweltering. I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm just stating the facts. You know by now that I really live for this weather.

But still.....we needed a bit of reprieve.

Stephen was in the bedroom, relaxing beneath the ceiling fan, which is the extent of our heat-relief equipment. I was sitting in the living room, profusely sweating under the effort of sitting there.

All of a sudden an idea hit me...

There is an ice cream shop about ten minutes (on foot) from our condo. I thought, "Wouldn't it be a great idea to go get a cool, refreshing snack?"

So, I bounced the idea off Stephen, who readily agreed to go with me.

We both threw on something that just about qualified as presentable and set off for the ice cream shop.

As we were walking up the street, enjoying the warm weather and rehashing our respective days at work, I thought to myself (and I know this is really corny), "this is what being hitched is all about." I have a built in ice cream shop date, or just somebody who'll throw on a pair of shoes and walk around the block with me.

That's ok by me.

Dont worry....This post contains no spoilers! Promise.

Lauren and I went to check out the Sex and the City movie today. If you are still dying to see the movie, I promise you can still read on without learning of any of the movie's plot twists and turns. I wouldn't do that to you.

I will say that I think the movie is well worth its admission price. The actresses look great, the dialogue is as witty and snappy as ever, and the story line will keep you very much engaged.

The funny, silly scenes are typical Sex and the City fodder. Nothing surprising there. The more dramatic scenes are extremely well acted. I felt as emotionally invested in these characters as ever.

The filming was often done in such a way as to have the four ladies sitting around an "open-ended" table, sharing a laugh, and really pulling the viewer in as the fifth friend in the crew.

The film lasts for around 2.5 hours. The Boston Globe dubbed it "Lord of the Rings For Girls." I couldn't agree more.

If you were a fan of the show, go check out the movie. It is well worth the time and money spent.

Ok, but here's the deal...

Lauren and I, being the punctual creatures that we are, arrived at the cinema around 20 minutes prior to the beginning of the previews, even. We were all perched in prime movie theatre real estate (aisle seats on a row at the back of the rather small theatre) ready to view our "old friends" from a comfortable vantage point.

I took a trip to the restroom (quelle surprise) prior to the start of the previews. When I returned, Lauren announced that we would have to leave our seats and find other seating. I was a big nervous at this point. You see, the theatre was about three quarters full, with only the front row seats available. She said the woman who had come to our row during my trip to the can had on some really noxious perfume.

Lauren is a lot more sensitive to smell than I am, so I told her we could switch seats. She could sit on the aisle and I would sit next to the perfume lady. So, we executed the seat switch. Lauren had barely settled into her aisle seat, and I still had yet to plant my ass in her newly vacated seat when the odor of this woman's perfume hit me full on. I had no self-censoring in place when I proclaimed, "This is really BAD! We need to get out of here."

If I had thought about it, I would not have been so obnoxious because the woman understood that we were leaving because of her. But seriously, if she was going to be "in my face" with her perfume, I could be in her face with my comments.

So, we were forced to move to practically the front of the theatre. We had been planted in the middle of the theatre, but now we were relegated to the side. So, we had to sit there with our necks craned sideways and upwards. I'm still sore, but I think the evasion of the perfume (and I know I'm going to spell this next word wrong, but I'm not even going to try to correct it) asphyxiation was well worth a little neck kink. I'll let you know when I evaluate the mobility range of my neck tomorrow.

Peace out

Hot Hot Hot

I am sitting in my apartment ROASTING. Actually, given the fact that it is above 90 degrees outside, my apartment is not as hot as I would have thought it would be.

I have something about air-conditioning in my apartment. Believe me, I'm the first one to duck into a cool mall or movie theatre to get a brief respite from the intense heat. However, I've never been a fan of having my own living space air conditioned. I guess I spend the entire year waiting for the summer, so when it comes, I really like to feel it. Granted, some nights are tough int the old sixth floor sweat box apartment, but I have always opted to tough it out.

So you see, it's not an energy conservation thing. I wish I were that goody goody. Hey, if I wanted to blast some AC, I figure my carbon footprint is small enough to allow me to do so without guilt. (Thank god my carbon footprint is small. My real footprint is certainly not.) I take the bus and walk most places, so I'm saving the planet in my meanderings from point A to point B on any given journey. But enough about that...all I'm saying is that I wish I could say that I was taking an environmental stand against air conditioning so that I'd seem all cool and stuff, but really, I just don't like having AC at home.

Today was a strange day. The temperature soared above 90 for most of the day. When I left the house this morning, at around 7:00 AM, it was still cool enough for me to have a thin t-shirt on. But I could feel the heat lurking beneath the cool temps. Does that make any sense?

You cannot understand how much I love the hot weather.

I almost shed tears of joy on that first morning (usually in June) where I leave the apartment for the bus at 6:30 AM and it is already HOT! I'm not talking about the kind of thing that happened today, where you can tell that it is going to eventually get hot. I'm talking about the kind of day where you walk out your door super early and you're already dying in the heat. You know you don't stand a chance against it because you know it is only going to get hotter as the day wears on.

This is MY time of year!!!!

Second Time's A Charm

You know the idiot colleague I referred to in my last post?

Well, I went to work today to discover that she had not only committed the supremely stupid thing once, but twice. She came forward today with her tail between her legs to admit to me that she had done the same thing in regards to a student not in my homeroom. It had gone unnoticed because the teacher in whose homeroom this student is enrolled, is out, and so the substitute never would have known.

Clearly she was trying to take things over our heads and was not counting on getting busted.

I know I'm being very cloak and dagger here. But please.

Re-do.

I just deleted a post that I wrote last night. It dealt with the subject of work. Although I used no names, and nobody at work knows of my blog, I thought it might have been too much information.

Just suffice it to say that, once again, I am feeling saddled and extremely put upon by the incompetence of the resource room "teacher" who "services" my special education students.

It is such a farce.