Go "Figure"

I had to go to Marathon Sports today to get a new pair of sneakers. I had to replace the ones that I lost and/or were stolen from the gym. I was sure I had left them at the gym, and when I went in to check with the lost and found folks, I was surprised to find that they were not there. The gym employee told me, "Oh yeah, you'd be surprised at how many people find and then keep sneakers. We get iPods, phones, wallets, and other valuables turned in all the time. But sneakers? They mysteriously go missing all the time."

Really? Used gym sneakers? Smelly used gym sneakers?

Go figure.

Anyway, I had to just buy my old standby, the Brooks Adrenaline GTS. I think the first time I bought these, they were in the 4th generation of them. Now they're all flashy and disco-ball encrusted. They're in the 9th generation now. They cost 104 dollars! I was thinking of sticking with the horrible, too-big Saucony shoes that I had as backup, but I was feeling the onset of the dreadful Plantar Faciitis pain that had me grounded a couple of years ago. No thanks on that one. But for reals, 104 dollars? I would NEVER spend 104 dollars on shoes that I would actually wear out and about. And yet, I willingly spend it on shoes that I only wear at the gym.

Go figure.


On a much more serious note, one that makes me almost embarrassed to prattle on about the pointless drivel that pretty much constitutes my daily life...

I have been shocked by the scope of the devastation of the earthquake in Haiti. My god. Have you been following this? It is pretty amazing that these natural disasters always seem to befall the most impoverished, and therefore already-quite-fucked places in the world. I mean, Jesus. Haiti is the poorest nation in the western hemisphere. Did they really need this on top of all that?

I hadn't even thought this through clearly this morning when I mused to myself, "God, if that happened here, we would be self-sufficient enough to bail our own residents out."

Then I thought of Katrina. What the hell happened there.

But seriously, back to the earthquake in Haiti. They already have absolutely nothing and now this?

Go figure.

OOOOHHHHMMMMMMMM......

Today it sucked when the alarm clock went off early. I was about to get all annoyed about getting up early, but then I thought...."I survived a root canal yesterday. Early morning alarm clock? Ha! That's nothing." Suddenly, I was exceedingly serene and happy to greet the early morning. Serenity now.

I got to school and the students told me that the substitute teacher berated me for about twenty minutes because I had mis-numbered the quiz I left behind for them to do. I was feeling all hot under the collar at first. How dare that asshole berate me publicly in front of my students? Then I thought, "Screw that shit. I survived a root canal yesterday. Public flogging by a jackass who gets paid 60 bucks a day to deal with this nonsense? Ha!" I just serenely told my students that any person who would publicly criticize a woman he didn't know in front of her students was a far lower life form than the teacher whose Microsoft word auto-formatting sabotaged her quiz numbering. Serenity now.

I called Target today to see if they had a specific item. "Sure," they said, "We have plenty of those in stock." When I went over there to pick up said item, I found out that in fact, not only do they not have this item, but that they have not carried it for some time. I was about to go all Ralph Nayder consumer advocate on their ass, but then I thought, "Really, Nants? You're gonna get upset over this crap when you survived a root canal yesterday? Let this one go!" Incompetent Target employee?? Ha! I smiled and apologized to the woman at the customer service desk, stating that clearly the mistake must have been mine. Surely I misunderstood the woman whom I had spoken with earlier. They called the Target in Watertown and confirmed that the item was there and would be set aside for me. Serenity now.

I was stuck behind some jackass who must have learned to drive at the Stevie Wonder Auto School. I was about to honk his ass into oblivion, but then I thought, "No way. I survived a freakin' root canal yesterday. Slow driver who refuses to use directionals? Ha!" Serenity now.

Somebody at Shaws nearly hobbled me for life with her shopping cart. I was about to turn around and tell her where to shove that godforsaken carriage. But then I thought, "Christ! I survived a root canal yesterday. Coming away from a trip to the seafood counter with a permanent limp? Ha!" Serenity now.

Basically, that's my new outlook on life. When something looks difficult, challenging, or overall shitty, I'm just going to think of how I survived being restrained by three people while a dentist shoved an injection directly through a dental nerve and I'm going to think, "HA!"

Serenity now.

Would You Rather...??

I took the day off so that I can go for my root canal this afternoon. The appointment isn't until 2:30, and I'm sure that my fabulous principal would have let me leave school early to get to the dentist on time, but here's the thing..

I'm on some two-part sedative pill therapy. I took the first one last night before going to bed and I'll take the second one today one hour before the procedure. The doctor promises that it will calm me down and leave me with a heightened feeling of relaxation. I'm kind of expecting to walk in there all calm, with images of kitties prancing through pastures and shit dancing through my head, but then going into full panic mode once I catch the first glimpse of a dental instrument of torture.

I had no choice but to take the whole day off. I'm already a basket case. It would not have been a good day around the kids. I would have felt really badly with them having to put up with me in this state of anxiety.

So I'm hanging out at home and I'm watching the Law and Order SVU marathon. (Jesus, is there ever NOT an Law and Order SVU Marathon on?)

I'm watching the victims and perps in these episodes fret over their problems, and I'm thinking, "Yeah...that's nothing. I gotta get a freakin' ROOT CANAL! How do you think I feel."

I'm seriously thinking that all of the "hardships" I've seen on this show so far would be welcome alternatives to what I'm facing in the dental chair later today.

I'm inspired by that game, 'Would You Rather?"

Here are a few Law and Order/Dental Surgery "Would You Rather" scenarios:

1. Would you rather:
A. Be pushed down a flight of New York City cement subway stairs?
B. Endure a Root Canal?

Personally, I'm gonna have to go with the subway stairs.

2. Would you rather:
A. Be murdered and then have your organs harvested and sold by black market low-lifes?
B. Endure a Root Canal?

I'm gonna have to say that I'm all for organ donation. I'll go for A.

3. Would you rather:
A. Have a stalker track your every move and terrorize you at every turn?
B. Endure a root canal.

I'm thinking that as long as my stalker isn't a dentist, I'll easily opt for A.

4. Would you rather:
A. Be kidnapped by a disgusting pervert and taken in a van all over New York City?
B. Endure a root canal.

You know, New York is a great city, and travel by subway has the disadvantage that you can't really enjoy the sights. At least in the van I might catch a glance of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. I'm going to have to opt for A again.

5. Would you rather:
A. Have your apartment completely torn apart by angry police officers with a search warrant?
B. Endure a root canal.

I'm going to have to go for A. I need some redecoration inspiration. Maybe the upturning of my sofa and the hurling of my bookshelves to the other side of the room would be like an interior decorating muse.

6. Would you rather:
A. Face hours on end of police interrogation?
B. Endure a root canal.

All the TV shows I watch show the cops giving their interrogation subjects sandwiches and coffee. How bad could that be? I'm going to have to go with A.

7. Would you rather:
A. Find our that your high school aged kid is running a drug smuggling ring out of the school bathroom?
B. Endure a root canal.

At least the high school kid will be taken to jail and out of your hair. Just think, an extra bedroom to turn into a home office. I'm going to have to opt for B again.

8. Would you rather:
A. Be the victim of identity theft?
B. Endure a root canal.

Hey, if somebody so badly wants to be me, they can even go and have my stupid root canal. I'm all about A.

Do you see a trend in my answers?

Not So Gentle Dental

Maybe I should have been more skeptical of this outpost of a chain dental practice that's wedged between an Irish bar of ill repute and a check cashing store in Brighton Center. Maybe the homeless guy living in the lobby of the building that houses said dental practice should have been a flashing warning beacon. Maybe the receptionist who made Tammy Faye Baker look all dewey and fresh-faced should have served as a deterrent.

But I was in pain and the dentist who I've revered and respected for the past couple of years was actually MEAN to me when I called up to tell him I was experiencing some discomfort following the repair he did on my fractured tooth. I normally get a lot of patience, sympathy, and prompt treatment from this guy. I expected him to clear his calendar and race into the office to put me out of my misery when I called. Instead, he told me to keep taking 800 mg. of Advil every 8 hours until my scheduled dental cleaning on January 21st. Keep in mind, I had already been taking that dosage of Advil since December 20th, and I placed the call in question on January 4th.

I'm no great fan of my stomach, and sometimes I feel pretty anxious to blast it away, but burning a hole through it with Advil didn't really appeal to me.

So, I made the call to Gentle Dental. I knew they had lots of office locations, and, most importantly, Saturday hours.

I got an appointment for the Brighton Center location on Saturday. Two seconds after evaluating my X-Ray, the dentist proclaimed me in need of a root canal. So we got that underway. I can't really bring myself to describe it again. Read the previous post if you really need to know about my dental trauma.

At the conclusion of the appointment, the doctor handed me an Rx for vicodin. Clearly, then, he was anticipating pain. I thought I was being a good patient in asking, "What kind of pain is normal? What should I expect and when should I be alarmed?"

He assured me that he had left me poised to experience low, dull, throbbing pain, but that there would not be any nerve pain or sensation.

GREAT. Now we're in business.

This morning when I woke up, I almost fainted at the sharp, shooting, through-the-nerve pain in my tooth. I literally almost fell over when it hit me. I've never felt anything like it before and I never EVER want to experience it again.

Had there been a cliff nearby, I would have happily walked right off it. I do live on the 6th floor of my building, so I could have jumped out the window, but these storm windows are a bitch to open. Plus, knowing me, the only damage I'd do in the fall is break more teeth, which would make this whole scenario worse.

Anyway, I figured, "OK, this pain is exactly what he said NOT to expect. I'm going to call the emergency number." So, I look up the office online. There is a phone number there, and it explains that if a patient calls after normal business hours (Sunday), she should expect to get the emergency beeper number on the outgoing voicemail.

Thank Goodness.

So, I call and guess what......????

Not only is there no human voice announcing the number as belonging to Gentle Dental of Brighton, but there is absolutely NO information regarding any emergency contact number. There was just some automated voice saying, "Hello. Please leave a message."

FOR REALZZZ??????????

Yeah....for realz.

In an utter state of panic, I called the Brookline Gentle Dental location, and I get the absolute nicest, kindest human being on the phone. He is a dentist and he explained that what I'm going through is normal and that the other dentist probably should not have promised me absolutely no nerve pain. He said some patients have no nerve pain, but others do. I guess I'm one of the lucky ones.

Funny how your nerves calm down when you are in pain, but you at least know that it is "normal."

I left a scathing message for the corporate Gentle Dental folks. I don't give a shit. I am not going back there to have my root canal finished.

But come on, people, whose job was it to check the freakin' outgoing voice message and switch it on when the office closed yesterday??? That seems like something that should be in the normal realm of responsibilities for the office receptionist. She was probably too busy putting on another layer of foundation to get the job done.


The guy on call from that office is probably all psyched to have a nice, quiet weekend. Meanwhile, the Brookline office is all swamped with emergency calls and shit. Or maybe they just did a caller ID thing on their phone and programmed it to thwart my attempts to contact them. Everybody else got the proper outgoing message, but I was call blocked. After all, it's easier than having me in there shaking, trembling, crying, and whatever the hell else I did to compromise the very core of my integrity, self-respect, and dignity.

Anyway, I took about 800 Advil this morning to quell that pain. I had to turn on the radio to have some sort of distraction. I put on NPR. I figured they might be running a story about some third world country whose residents lots are worse than my own. Again, seeking solace in the misery of others is a great therapy for one's own suffering. Instead, there was a story on about the economy. They were talking about how Obama should try to get to the "root" of the problem by "extracting" the expendable income and taking a "bite" out of.....

whatever. I turned it off at that point.

Really, NPR...tooth metaphors. Is that the best you can do? Don't you have any sympathy for my suffering?

Apparently not.

OK, I'm out.

The Soundtrack to My Root Canal

This morning I experienced the utter horror of a root canal procedure. Actually, to be more precise, I endured the beginning of a root canal procedure. I have to return next week sometime for the remainder of the treatment. The doctor told me to expect to be in the chair for at least another two hours. But kids, the fun doesn't stop there. You see, upon completion of the root canal, I will have to get a crown to quite literally "top it all off".

I am armed with vicodin and prescription strength ibuprofin, both of which I fully expect to use. The novocaine has not even come close to wearing off. My entire face is numb, but I can STILL feel the post procedural pain deep down in my gums. I am not looking forward to the full force of the pain when the novocaine eventually does wear off. Suffice it to say I'll be spending a majority of the weekend in a dope-induced haze.

Will it be a bad idea to down the entire 12 pack of Michelobe Ultra that we have in our fridge along with the vicodin? I'm not actively planning that self-prescribed pain therapy "cocktail", but if need be, I'll self-medicate.

I was sitting there after the assistant gave me the X-Ray. She walked into the room with the X-Ray and said, "Yeah, you're gonna definitely need a root canal." The dentist walked in, looked over her shoulder at the X-Ray, and quickly concurred.

FUCK!

People, I am not proud of this, but I actually started crying. I really, really did. The guy hadn't even touched me yet and already I had lost all semblance of composure. Let's just say that it all went down hill from there.

The guy started explaining the procedure to me, giving me the blow by blow of what he was going to do. I actually stopped him and said, "Doctor, look at me. Do I look like I want or need to know what is going to happen in my mouth?" He considered that for a moment and decided to stop talking. Good call, doctor. Good call.

He did say that the alternative to performing the root canal would be to just extract the tooth. Christ, though. I don't want to look like a Jersey Shore cast member.

During the procedure, there were times when I FELT what was going on. Horror of all horrors. I would not wish this on anybody else. I really, really would not. I wouldn't even inflict it on the person who invented skinny jeans.

Anyway, back to the title of my post.

Of course I expected the usual cacophony of drills, scraping, suctioning, picking, grinding and whatever the hell else one's ears are assaulted with during a dental visit.

What I was not expecting was that the rather loud music issuing forth from the surround sound speakers would be coming from the XM Satellite Disco radio station.

Cool.

I did feel kinda bad for the really elderly Russian Jewish Orthodox woman who was clearly flustered and uncomfortable during Donna Summer's "Love to Love You, Baby". Not quite the Bubushka's musical preference, I guess.

The sad thing is that some of the awesome songs that would ultimately become the soundtrack to my root canal have been ruined for me forever. And they were all songs that, prior to 9:00 this morning, I LOVED!

Here's the list:

1. The Hustle: The dentist wheels the tray of torture devices (dental instruments) into the room just as the song is starting up. The once seemingly innocent whispers of "Do it!" at the beginning of the song suddenly take on extremely sinister overtones. Listen, guy, just hustle on up and get this thing over and done with.

2. I Wanna Be Your Lover: The dentist starts inserting some "dental dam" into my mouth. I probably don't need to say much more than that.

3. Off the Wall: I'm going off the wall as the dentist tells me that he things the 19 shots of novocaine that he has given me so far are going to provide sufficient anesthesia for the procedure ahead.

4. Happy Birthday To You (Steevie Wonder): I'm ruing the day I was ever born and the 36 years of moments that lead up to the busted tooth that landed me in this damn chair.

5. YMCA: I'm thinking, "Why don't I just have the damn guy pull out my tooth? Then I can just be a toothless wonder living at the Y. Anything would be better than having to endure this crap.

6. Don't Stop Till You Get Enough: Great idea. I've had more than enough. Let's put down the drills and STOP!

7. Give it to Me Baby: This ditty came on as the dentist was removing some long tube thing and INSERTING it somewhere in my tooth area, presumably into the root. Why oh why did I even look? Why? I'll have that image seared into my head forever. He gave it to me, Baby, alright.

8. There But For the Grace of God Go I: I realize that people walking outside might have a view through the long blinds. I might be on display having a root canal for the world to see. I'm sure the people on the street were thinking, "Oh, Jesus, look at that poor bastard getting a root canal. There but for the grace of God go I." That's what I'd be thinking if I saw some other sucker having a root canal.


9. Fly Robin Fly: I was pretty sure I was going to fly right out of the chair when the doctor hit an area that somehow was impervious to the effects of the novocaine.

10. Lady's Night: As the doctor was handing me the vicodin prescription, I was thinking, "It's gonna be party time tonight!"

But seriously folks, I'm blogging now because I fully expect the pain level to get ugly as the day goes on. I can't imagine I'll be in any shape to sit at the computer later on.

The double edge sword is that I didn't eat before my appointment, and I can't eat now because I'm totally numb. And I can't take the painkiller on an empty stomach. Damn, I wish I had thought that out better.

Gotta go watch "The Rise and Fall of Tiger Woods." I have to feel better about myself and the only way to do that it to bask in the glory of somebody else's failures. Sorry Tiger.

What was I thinking when....?

1. I told my husband, "Go right ahead. Put on that Netflix movie featuring early footage of Metallica!" To be honest with you, it sounds either like Metallica were performing in a tin can, or that my 4 year-old niece recorded them using her Fisher Price "my-first-boom-box" radio. Possibly both.

2. I expected the 7-day T pass that I purchased to actually work?

3. I called the T, expecting a quick and convenient solution to remedy said 7-day pas SNAFU? Of course I have to haul ass all the way over to Park Street to get the pass re-encoded. (?? HUH??)

4. I expected there to actually be a T employee manning the cavernous Porter Square station? Naturally there was no such person there and so I cannot get my pass to activate the automated door to allow me the access I need to the train to take me to Park Street to get the pass squared away? (When I called the T to find out what was going on, the woman quite seriously asked me why on earth nobody was working the Porter Square station. Seriously. She really did. I guess I'm now in charge of scheduling ground personnel for the entire MBTA system. Damn.)

5. I sent the two students whose lifelong goal seems to be to elevate procrastination and lollygagging to high artforms to get the morning fruit snacks today?

6. I bought three sweaters from three separate stores without trying them on last weekend? Of course I HATE all of them and have to bring them back. So much for saving a few minutes in the fitting room. This will amount to hours standing in return lines. And of course, I'll have to negotiate the T on the aforementioned busted pass in order to get downtown. Not the brightest move I've ever made.

7. I skipped right over the introductory workout in the Jillian Michaels "30 Day Shred" video? I thought I was in some semblance of decent enough shape to take on a 30 minute workout. Yeah..right!

8. I decided to wear a really heavy sweater to work today all while failing to account for the wildly fluctuating temperatures in my building? Today it was about 96 degrees in my classroom. Why not shed the sweater, you ask? Well, I had a maroon bra and a really flimsy white t-shirt under said sweater. Not a professional look.

9. I opted for a career that requires me to be coherent enough to deal with dozens of teenagers at ungodly early hours of the morning.

10. I poured myself a Diet Coke just moments before heading to bed for the evening? I guess I'm kidding myself if I think I'll be getting any sleep with this Metallica thing blaring in the background anyway.

11. I allowed myself to sit entranced in front of the boob tube watching two full hours of "LA Ink" over the Christmas vacation. Those are two hours of my life I'll never get back.

12. I somehow lost my sneakers. Yeah. Lost. As in...I can't find them. I do not have small feet. Two of my sneakers should not be hard to find.

I'm sure there are a few other gems I'm leaving out. As the Metallica video blares in the background, I'm thinking that I did well in placing it in this list's top position.

Happy New Year....In Moderation

Merry New Year!!

I've resolved to write more in 2010.

The reason I didn't revive my blog on January first was that I had already engaged in some serious self-sabotage before even getting started. You see, I did the whole, "I'm going to write on my blog every single day" thing. It's a way too ambitious goal and so, knowing full well that I would never come close to making it, I quit before I even tried.

That's the thing with New Year's resolutions. They're always too damn big and overly ambitious. We set ourselves up for failure by making our goals way too lofty and unattainable.

Take, as a case in point, the common resolution to get to the gym. People don't simply resolve to get to the gym a few times a week. They promise themselves they'll get there every single day of the new year. Realistic? Hardly. Life gets in the way. The very first day the person does NOT get to the gym, he immediately feels as if he's failed, and then he stops going altogether.

We don't just resolve to try to eat better. We tell ourselves we will eat nothing but carrots for an entire year. The first time we indulge in a piece of candy, we throw our healthy eating resolutions out completely and pull up a chair at the local Old Country Buffet and eat ourselves into a diabetic coma.

So, in the spirit of setting realistic goals, ones that I can dust myself off and get back on the horse if I fall off, here's what I'm trying to do:

1. Write more frequently. Maybe I'll publish to my blog a couple of times a week. I had initially thought I would blog every single day. There, see....an overambitious goal. When I failed to take to my blog on January 1st, I figured I'd failed. However, today I thought, "How stupid. Just because I have not written within the first five days of January does that mean that I have to refrain from writing all year?" Hells no. So, here I am, sufficiently dusted off and newly resolved to write when I can. And that's going to have to be good enough.

2. I had originally told myself that I would give up wine and beer forever and ever and ever. Then I had a beer on January 1st. Hey wait, though...that doesn't mean that I have to give up altogether and just hook myself up to a beer IV. So, I've readjusted that goal as well. Now I'm just refraining from having any booze on school nights. It's been working rather nicely. The great thing about it is that I never drank heavily through the week. I might have a beer or two a couple of times a week. But I can live without that. It's easier on the waistline, liver, and wallet.

There are a couple more things I'm going to try to do better or more/less frequently. Notice that I'm not saying there are a few things I'll do perfectly or that I'll always/never do.

I'm resolving to resolve in moderation.

I was just checking out the gym schedule. I have today off and I have to get to the gym. I went to a really early spinning class yesterday and the proceeded to sit around on my sofa the entire day. (That's not entirely true. For a couple of hours I was lying on my sofa, not sitting.)

As a result of this inactivity, my back is killing me. Maybe it sounds strange, but my back hurts more when I am totally sedentary than it does when I'm up and moving around.

So, normally I go to the gym at 5:30 on Monday nights, but if I have the day off (as is the case today) I try to get my workout in earlier. I checked the schedule at all three gyms, and the one that looks most promising is the "Forza" class in Back Bay. Forza is apparently some kind of Japanese samaurai (spelling?) sword workout. I have seen the baskets of wooden sword thingees sitting there a million times and never quite knew what they were for. Well..I guess I'm about to find out.

If I can still move after the class (because I think it might be pretty freakin' hard), I'll let you know how things worked out.

In other news, I am SICK AS HELL OF SNOW. It has been falling non stop in Boston for the entire month of January. Actually, it started back in September. There have been a couple of mild days where the snow on the ground would finally melt away. This would occur, of course, just in time for the next deep freeze and snow storm to move in and take up long term residence. There is snow on the ground that I'm convinced is going to stay there until April. Actually, since April has turned to full-on winter here in New England, it might just sit there until May.

What the hell?

It is really hard to sit here in this arctic freeze and contemplate the concept of global warming. I'm not a denier at all. I'm just saying that it's hard to sit here watching Noah Wylie cry about the polar bears losing their natural habitat in the north pole. Hell....just send 'em down to Boston. They'll be fine.

Guilty as Charged

I got a jury duty summons yesterday. My service date is April 2nd. The last time I was called to serve on a Jury was a few years ago. My service date was set for August. I requested a postponement because I figured it would be better to take the day off of school rather than serve on my own time in the summer. LOL. The funny thing was that instead of getting a new date, I got a letter basically telling me that they would not need me after all.

The last time I went to jury duty, I sat on a trial for almost two weeks. My courtroom was directly one floor above the Louise Woodward trial. The media frenzy was fun and kind of exciting. (Remember Louise...the British Nanny who killed the baby in her care?)

This time I'll be serving in Boston. Last time I was in Cambridge. Hopefully I won't get seated and I'll be dismissed early enough to enjoy a lovely day of shopping at nearby Faneuil Hall.

Can you believe that I was able to confirm my juror service online? Man...what can't we do online these days?

In other news, I went to my thyroid doctor today. He said I look much better than the last time I saw him, when, to use his own words, I was "an absolute mess." He asked if people have told me I look better. Ah...not so much.

It turns out I might actually now be hypothyroid (the original problem was hyperthyroidism). Sometimes the medication can overtreat the hyperthyroidism. The doctor explained that the thyroid is a pretty temperamental gland that is difficult to property regulate. The dosage of medication has to be tweaked a bunch before things calm down. The telltale signs of the hyperthyroidism were apparently my warm hands, bulging eyes, shaky hands, and edginess. This time the doctor remarked that my extremities seem colder, that the shakes are gone, and that my heart rate was really slow. This, he asserts, could be the result of my regular exercise, so he's not sure. But I'm kinda hoping it is hypo because I have packed on a little bit of weight on this stupid medication. Oh well..it is what it is. I'll find out Monday.

Hmm..what else. Nothing I guess.

Stephen is playing some inane war video game on his new laptop. All these guns are firing and people are calling out in shock and pain. Yeah, he's 41.

Latest Musings

I don't blog enough, that's for sure. When I think about blogging, I get all overwhelmed because I always let so much time elapse between posts. Then I wonder if I have to go back and update all of you on everything that's transpired in my life. Because that's such a daunting thought, I opt out of blogging.

But just today a couple of thoughts have occurred to me.

1. Not that much actually happens in my life, so I'm hardly buried under interesting stories that must be conveyed in painstaking detail.

2. Even if I were drowning in wondrous stories of misadventure and mayhem, it would be awfully presumptuous of me to feel as if you were all out there awaiting my detailed retelling of every last detail. To believe that would be to labor (falsely, of course) under the delusion that all of you are in such dire need of a life as to necessitate your holding your collective breath waiting for my next missive. How arrogant of me.

3. It is completely OK for me to check in periodically and just rant on about whatever happens to be on my mind at any particular time. So what if I don't talk about everything that's transpired in my life since my last entry. Because...after all, as I've concluded in thought number 2, you guys probably don't give a crap anyway!

How liberating. So, I'll blog when I can. No more guilt about letting too much time elapse. No more cowering under the girth of all that has been left unreported on or unsaid. Just pure, unadulterated joy of self-expression when the mood hits.

Ahhh.....

(That was a sigh of relief.)

Anyway, I got myself a new phone. Very cute. It is the LG En V. I was thinking about going on the iPhone, but I decided to stick with Verizon Wireless. I know a lot of people have reported having horrendous service, but I have always had stellar, exemplary service from Verizon, so I'm going to stick there. Also, the phone was cheaper than the iPhone, which made me happy.



This thing is cute, cute, cute. It is blood red, which makes me feel fun, yet more grown up than my pink Motorolla RazR. (I grew pretty tired of that thing). The thing I like best about my phone is that it goes online! Yippie. I can bypass the firewalls at school and play around on Facebook on my prep periods! LOL. Now I can keep up to speed with all the silly online antics of my friends and family members throughout the day. No need to wait until I go home. I can engage in that silly, intellectually empty activity on the clock. I LOVE it! I also like that the plan I'm on is relatively reasonably priced (around 65 dollars a month, I think) for unlimited texting to any network, unlimited data usage, and all kinds of other little bells and whistles! I'm very happy with my new little gadget. I'm not much of a gadget freak, and this phone is hardly cutting edge to any hardcore electronic freak, but it does the trick for me. Case in point, during our mindless, pointless, boring, and idiotic staff meeting today at work, I was all over the web. It was great. Money well spent!

Switching topics...

In my ongoing addiction to TV shows I had never seen before getting our cable package expanded beyond our previous ghetto package, I've started watching House.



It's an interesting show. I love House's acerbic wit. He's great. Cheeky, obnoxious, self-centered, dark, and brooding. He's my type of guy. And he's just a little bit gorgeous, isn't he? Must be the blue eyes. OK...enough about that. The show has other merits. I encourage you to watch it to discover them on your own.

I've also become quite the addict of "No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain."



Maybe I have a thing for snarky older guys. Or maybe it's just that I like entertaining TV shows. Who can say for sure?

OK...I think I'm done. I'm hungry and I'm off to make some dinner.

I have tomorrow off. I called in sick so that I can go see my thyroid doctor. I think I need a medication dosage adjustment. Christ...what an annoyance.

Oh..and one last thing. Today the city for which I work had an "Employee Perks Fair" at city hall. The problem is the we teachers are required to stay in school until 2:45. Today we had meetings at other schools at 2:45 until 4:14. The employee perk fair went from 11-4. So, when were we supposed to get there?

You tell me.

Stupid.

It takes a village...

I have a few things to talk about this evening. And yeah, it's Saturday night at 7:44 and I'm sitting in my living room watching bad TV (Stylista on VH1) with no intention of going out. What of it? We can't all be my hip, fashionable, cool, socially sought-after, young-sprite-of-a-thing, painfully cool cousin Bobby, who has been to some happening Christmas party every night since the beginning of December. Some of us are elderly losers who look forward to solitary Saturday nights at home in front of bad shows.

LOL.

Anyway, Lauren, my mother, and I went to Foxwoods casino this weekend. I'm a VERY unseasoned gambler. This was only my second time in a casino.

I got down to Foxwoods and quite honestly didn't know what to do when I got to the casino. Actually, I hit the hotel gym when we first arrived, and Lauren and my mother went down to the Casino. I had to have my mother meet me at the entrance to the casino and walk me through all the money exchanging processes and give me a brief (OK...extensive) tutorial as to how to play the machines. I was totally clueless.

My first series of games resulted in my losing twenty dollars in as many seconds. Honestly. I found out that I had been playing "dollar slots." Every game cost me a dollar. I guess I should have just stripped out of my shirt and handed it to the door attendant at the casino. It would have been easier. Then again, NOBODY needs to see that shit, so forget it. I'll keep it all buttoned up.

Not long after entering into the casino, I found a "Village People" slot machine! Nice.

I won some cash on the thing. It was red hot for a while. Nobody could touch me. I was getting ready to singlehandedly take down the entire casino. I was winning around 200 dollars. I don't think Foxwoods has ever seen anybody on a red hot roll like that. They'll be talking about it for years. And I'm sure they were sweating the loss.

I cashed out and took my winnings to the Hard Rock cafe, where we proceeded to call Reesie. Sorry, Reese...we were about fifteen cheap ass free drinks into the evening by the time we got you on the blower.

Anyway, I found an Irish themed machine and played that with some success for a while. Mind you, when you're playing nickel slot machines, "some success" means that I was winning .25 a game.

I found some machine called "Stinking Rich" with skunks and shit all over it. I played three or four games with a ten dollar voucher. The worst thing is that I keep pressing the button without any idea what's really going on. I just have absolutely no idea what the rules, objectives, or winning criteria are. I just push the button and sit there and gape stupidly while the screen moves to the sounds of inane casino music. Within a few minutes, I was up to around 80 dollars on that machine. Then, just as quickly, they were telling me I no longer had any money to play it.

Huh?

That was the end of my gambling for the evening.

I retired to this bar area. I figured I would have a decent glass of wine, even if I had to pay for it, and then retire to the room.

I was shocked to find that the wine would either cost me 9 dollars if I chose not to play the casino machine located right on the surface of the bar in front of me, of be complimentary if I chose to place the minimum bet (5 dollars) in the machine. I asked to make sure I was understanding correctly. I could pay 9 dollars with no possibility of winning anything, or 5 dollars with the possibility of winning millions.

Yep. That was the case. I chose to play, of course. Naturally I won nothing. But still...I figured I was ahead of the game on the wine at least. I was clearly no longer playing when the guy came and offered me another glass of wine. I reminded him that I was no longer playing, and had in fact only bet five bucks. He didn't think this was a problem, and was prepared to keep pouring just on the basis of my having placed a five dollar bet a half hour earlier. I turned down the wine and retired to the room.

This morning, the three of us had a disappointing breakfast at Panera (Lauren was surprised that I had stated my dislike of Panera, but I have yet to have a really pleasant meal there), and then retired to the casinos for a little more play. We are all painfully early risers in the morning, even on days off. The three of us had showered, packed our bags, and eaten breakfast by 7:00 AM. I decided to try to go back and earn my millions on my previously red hot Village People machine. It was stone cold. I wasted perhaps another twenty dollars on the thing before throwing in the towel.

I returned to the room at 8:00 or so. We had given each other a 10:30 meeting time, so I was able to get in some quality reading, and watched a really horrifyingly bad, but somewhat funny nonetheless movie starring Bernie Mac. That bastard was funny, god rest his acerbic soul.

In the end, I returned to Boston with the exact same sum of cash in my wallet as when I went down there. I guess the experts call this "breaking even" and they consider it to be a small victory on behalf of the player. So I'm pleased enough about that. But even for me, a self-proclaimed non-gambler, the lure was somewhat strong. I had to will myself away from the Village People machine. It was crappy this morning, and I knew it. But I kept telling myself that if I stuck another twenty into it, it might heat up again. Luckily I didn't yield to the temptation, but it was a challenge for me to walk away.

Maybe I need professional help.



Onto this next topic. You should all read this great book! Freakin' hilarious. My favorite part of the whole book is when the author tells of her friend, a middle school teacher for behaviorally disturbed boys, who gets her class in control by threatening to show her wedding video. She did it once before, much to the horror and chagrin of her boys. They started towing a very straight line in order to avoid this nightmare again. Now, all this woman has to do when her kids are acting like jackasses is gesture toward the drawer containing the video, and they immediately start profusely apologizing for the behavior.

Shit...why didn't we hire a videographer for our wedding? What were we thinking? I know we had said it was too expensive at the time, but when I think of the hours of horror I could have inflicted on poorly behaved middle schoolers, I regret my peny pinching ways.

Oh well, there's always the dreadfully boring three-hour film "The Trial of Standing Bear" that can be pulled out, dusted off, and shown for jackasses to watch if their behavior merits the torture.

I think that might be all I had to say.

Well...I'm sure I had more, but I'm hungry and my dinner is ready.

Just a Couple of My Favorite Dudes

This has been one long ass week. And it ain't over yet. I had class Tuesday night, professional development until 5 on Wednesday, and tonight (Thursday) I was at school for parent conferences until 8:00. Jesus....I still have to get my arse through tomorrow.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with my "Girls' Group." I look forward to this group. The kids are talkative, open, warm, funny, charming, and just plain enjoyable. It is a highlight of my week. I'm glad I do it twice a week. It ensures pleasant starts to at least two mornings a week.

Anyway, today at dismissal, one of the GREAT girls in my homeroom, C, dropped the contents of her folder all over the floor. We were all helping her gather her things. I came across pictures of an adorable young man, and she confirmed that it was her much-talked-about boyfriend.

The girls were talking about bringing pictures of cute boys to school for me to see. I then declared tomorrow's girls' group "Bring A Picture of a Cute Boy to Girls' Group" day. The kids are all excited. They all asked me if I was going to bring a picture of my husband. Ha! I guaranteed them they'll be treated to a picture of my "other husband" Jon Bon Jovi. They squealed with delight, so of course I'll have to bring a picture of JBJ to the group. I will skip the picture of Bill Clinton because although I love the bastard, I don't think he's cute. I just stumbled across this photo while I was looking for the perfect JBJ photo and thought it was kind of fun. So here it is.

I am prepping to see a bunch of photos of rappers and hip hop singers that I've never heard of tomorrow. But it will be fun.

The cutest thing is that tonight, one of my favorite parents, a single dad of an awesome daughter, K, came to see me. He comes to every open house, school event, and PTA. We talked about his delightful, peppy, spunky daughter. He was preparing to leave and then his daughter turned and said, "Oh, Ms. B., C is worried that she can't print a picture for tomorrow. Her printer is broken!" I jokingly told her that C could not come to group. She caught the joke and said she'd text her friend back and tell her it wasn't a problem. Dad, who hadn't said anything about this conversation finally chimed in with, "K, you can just print a picture for her tonight at home. What's the problem?" I laughed and asked Dad, "Do you know what this picture is for? It's not for a school project." He kind of sighed and said, "I know. I know all about it. It's 'bring-a-picture-of-a-cute-boy-to-girls'-group day.'" I told him not to feel compelled to allow his daughter to deplete his precious and expensive computer ink supply for this frivolity. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I can either know that my daughter is printing pictures of Chris Brown from the centrally located printer in the living room, texting her friends and giggling about the fact that her teacher is letting them bring them to the group, or I could say no and she'd sneak off and do it somewhere else where she could get into god-knows-what trouble. The printer ink is a small price to pay for knowing my daughter is up to silly, goofy, 14 year-old antics right under my nose."

I guess he had a point, but what a cool ass dad.

Full Moon?

I'm not really one to follow the lunar cycle, but maybe I should. I can't even see the moon from where I'm sitting and I don't have the energy to move the three fee that it would require me to see it. All I'm saying is that it must be a full freakin' moon. If it isn't, I'm going to find out when the full moon is going to fall and make sure I take a personal day. I want to be as far away from school as possible on any day that they might be crazier than they were today.

I'm beat. No, I'm not just beat. I'm beat down.

The kids have been ridiculous lately. The behavior today was out of control. It has honestly been astounding. I NEVER send kids to the office for discipline. Well...maybe NEVER is too broad a term. I would say that RARELY is an apt descriptor of how often I send kids to the office for discipline. Between F (whose story I recounted on yesterday's post) and the three that I sent to the office today, I've reached a total of 4 kids to the office in two days.

It's not even worth recounting the things that they did to warrant the trips to the principal. If I started getting into the details here, I'd probably undo the benefits of the hot needle acupuncture I had this afternoon. Suffice it to say that the behavior has been BAD. It's not just silly ass kid stuff either. It's really BAD. I'll leave it at that.

I felt really bad, though, because at the end of the day, two lovely girls, D and K, came by to chat. They proceeded to tell me that they've had enough of being clumped together in groups with kids who purposely do stupid and hurtful things to other people. They're tired of being included in collective punishments. (The VP kept the entire 8th grade on a group detention yesterday after school....I do try to avoid these types of unfair group punishments, but sometimes they are effective. The worst part is that the threat of a group punishment is often lorded over a mass of kids in the hopes that the jerk/s who perpetrated whatever offense might feel guilty about seeing their classmates needlessly and unjustly punished and step forward to claim responsibility for their actions. Usually, though, if the kid was jerky enough to commit the original crime, he has no guilt about watching his classmates sink unfairly. That's the cruel irony of the entire thing). They are tired of having their things stolen and tampered with. They are tired of having spit balls hurled at their lunch trays by jackasses in their 8th grade class. They are upset about the fact that I have to lock the door when the class is out of the room, thus necessitating a situation where the entire group has to go to lockers, even if they don't need to get anything from their lockers. But they are fully understanding of the fact that I've been left with no choice, and they said they would do the same in my shoes. They are tired of losing class time for the overabundance of discipline issues that crop up on a daily basis. They're tired of being bullied and then called snitches if they try to stick up for themselves. They're tired of being walked all over by jerks.

When they were going through this catharsis, I felt really badly for them. It is easy for me to identify how the shit behavior inconveniences me, but I rarely stop to think about how it drives the other kids, the nice kids, crazy, too.

Here were these kids asking if I could implement the "100 points discipline chart" (never mind the details, just know that it is extremely restrictive and punitive) because they think it might shape things up.

When I told the kids that I was surprised, because the behavior has only seemed terrible in the past few days, they could barely contain their ironic laughter. They said that the minute the teachers are out of the picture, the bullies are at it in full force. They further confided that my 8th grade teaching colleague has little control over the kids and that things in his room are grim now and only getting worse. I guess that, as his mentor, I will have to find a way to gingerly address this issue.

And let me just say that when the conversation veered in the direction of kids talking about my colleague, I steered it immediately onto more neutral territory. I think it is totally uncool for one teacher to malign or otherwise talk unflatteringly about a colleague in front of kids. Big no no there.

But man....I am in desperate need of a day off. Something. I haven't felt this harried in teaching for quite some time now. It just seems that every little thing is blowing up and coming to a head at the same time. I'm used to putting out a few little fires and one big fire on a daily basis. That's my job. But there are no little fires here. Everything is volcanic proportion and I'm fighting just to keep up with things. Getting ahead isn't even in the question.

Man......

Calgon take me away.

It Goes Beyond the Pop Tart

It was a tough day at school today. My kids seem to be in a behavioral slump. I can't explain why, but they are.

Today we had "bus safety day." A bus company sent over a representative who was charged with the responsibility of meeting with students of each grade level, having them board the bus, and then discussing the basics of bus safety with them. The man who came to do the presentation loaded my 8th graders onto the bus, and then proceeded to read, in a barely audible voice, with the thickest accent I've ever heard, a series of rules. He had absolutely no voice inflection, and the poor guy butchered every single word he spoke. I was surprised and disappointed that my students, so many of whom have themselves struggled with English, were vicious in their reactions to this man. They laughed snorting, vicious, throaty laughs. It was terrible. The principal was sitting right there throughout the duration of the presentation. One student, F, was particularly obnoxious. The other teachers all have a history of having deep-seated conflict with F. But for some reason, I have been saved from having to deal with this behavior. Why? Because, according to F himself, he likes me. Simple as that. I have never been forced to deal with his infamous bad behavior. We have an understanding. And I like it that way.

The principal witnessed his atrocious behavior and pulled him aside to speak to him immediately following the presentation. She must not have lambasted him too firmly because he was back on our hallway within moments. But he was fuming. When I pulled him aside to calm him (which I usually am very successful at doing), he only grew more agitated. He accused me of having "snitched" on him to the principal. I may like to foster close relationships with the kids, but I have to draw a line when they become a little too familiar. I assured him that the principal needed zero help from me in noticing his outrageous behavior, and that I didn't appreciate the tone he had taken with me. With that, he blurted, "What the fuck do you want, Ms. B?"

The movement in the hallway (it was crazy locker time) froze as every student awaited my response. As cool as a cucumber, I answered, "I want for you to follow me right to the office. I don't need to listen to this, and you have no place in 8th grade today."

I then ushered this kid down to the principal.

Look...I get the whole hormone thing. I get that kids at this age are likely to be volatile, but I don't have to put up with being sworn at and to. The kids are always swearing at each other, or about something in general that has pissed them off. When that happens, I remind them that we're in school and we move on. But this kid swore AT me, which was absolutely not going to go down well.

Later, some kids in my homeroom noticed that there were a few packages of Pop Tarts that had been left over from a girls group that I run in the mornings. They were swarming around them, and I shooed them away. Before leaving for lunch, I noticed three wrapped packages of the things. When we returned from lunch, I was on locker duty for a moment while the kids trickled in and out of the room, back and forth between class and lockers. When I came back to the room, the kids were all acting strange. I immediately went to the freakin' pop tart bowl.

Empty.

I was pissed. I made every kid leave their backpack on the floor in my room, taking only what they needed for science class out of the room with them. It was my full intention to conduct a full backpack search following the upcoming class period, when my homeroom returned.

But fuck it.

When they returned, I mused aloud, "I didn't earn degrees at two of the country's finest and most prestigious educational institutions to have my career culminate in shaking down a bunch of backpacks for a miserably, lowly Pop Tart. If you stole it, you need it more than I do. But keep in mind that I'm not mad about a Pop Tart. I'm mad about being a theft victim. But you go ahead. You take that Pop Tart and eat it. When you're tucking into your sugary frosted sweet later today, just know that you're a lowlife and a thief."

Harsh? Probably? But fuck that. I explained that we were beyond the Pop Tart itself and that we were talking about simple, petty theft.

Damn....Christmas Vacation, are you here yet?

Waxing Nostalgic

So, today is Veterans' Day. I love the fact that we have the day off, but unlike most kind of too-distant-past-to-be-truly meaningful national holidays, this one is actually relevant and poignant in the here and now. It gives me pause when I think of all the people who have served this country, and of course, of those who are currently serving. Man...it must be hard to be over there (wherever "over there" happens to be to any given soldier).

I have a friend who is over in Iraq. She is the friend/neighbor of Jim, the guy who owns "the cabin" in NH. This young woman, Jill, enlisted about a year ago and was deployed to Iraq this summer. We have sent her a few letters and cards just to keep her up-to-date on the silly happenings at home, but more to just let her know that we're thinking of her.

She is only 19. Crazy, huh? I am not a religious person, but I do pray for her safety. She personalizes this war for me. I hope she comes home safe. SOON!

In my own silly little bubble not-directly-affected-by-war world, I had a nice day off. I got up early with Stephen and we went for coffee. (I'm forever doomed to be an early morning person, I'm afraid. The life of a teacher, as it were).

I had already had coffee, taken the bus to the gym, worked out for a couple of hours, and showered by 9:30 AM. I know...nuts.

I then tooled around for a while, stopping to pick up some dinner stuff at Trader Joe's. I love that dump.

I got a great Wax job at a salon in Brookline. It's funny because Brookline is so freakin' posh, but there are all these salons where you can get an awesome eyebrow wax job for like six bucks! So, I took advantage of that and had my brows "shaped." My brows are so freakin' puny to begin with that they are never actually "shaped" but rather just "cleaned up." Whatever...it needed done!

Ok, this is a lame post and I'm just procrastinating. I have lots to correct. But to my credit...I've done a heap of work today. Grades are due soon and they're actually computerized for the first time ever. How sexy!!

Just Stuff

Hi Y'all. I know my blogging has been totally sporadic. I wish I could seriously sit here and promise more frequent (or at least more regular) posts, but I won't commit to that. I'm sure it's a goal I won't be able to live up to.

I guess the best way to see if I'm blogging is to check in from time to time. Not that I am laboring under delusions of anybody sitting by their computers and holding their breath. I'm just saying.

I don't have much to say. Mostly I'm posting because the only other thing I really have pressing upon me at this point is a massive mountain (I was going to say "pile," but that would hardly do justice) of correcting to do. I've solemnly vowed to my students that I would have their work turned back to them by next Wednesday at the latest. If I want to meet that goal, I've got to devote serious time this weekend to getting that done. I was going to make a promise for Tuesday, but then I remembered that we have Veterans' Day, and so I gave myself until Wednesday. Yet another reason to be eternally grateful to our devoted and honorable Veterans.

First topic:

I wonder why I seem to invite negative comments from "Anonymous" from time to time. I could delete the comments, or password protect my blog I guess. I don't know how to do that, though, so I'll rule that option out. As far as the deleting the comments....why bother? I guess you could say that if it strikes me enough to write about it, that I'm somewhat bothered by it and should just delete them. Actually "bothered" would be a strong word. This is a silly blog. A silly PUBLIC blog, at that. Anybody out there can find it and read it, and I have the comment option activated, so I guess I'm leaving myself open to the critique. It just seems strange to me that people actually take the time to be personally insulting on what is clearly a silly, just-for-laughs blog. I could see if I were out there taking a Perez Hilton stance or if I were some official political blogger or something. But come on, people, it's just me. I have a silly arse blog about a hot dog stand and get bitched out. I post a happy, SILLY little post about Obama, and I get insulted. What's up with that?

Well, "Anonymous" I guess you've got me.

But hear me out. I'm not such a bad person. I found it amusing that somebody was selling hot dogs from the depths of a construction pit . I am happy that Obama got elected. I actually like the guy. Do these things add up to make me such a horrific, horrible, human being worthy of being reviled and insulted by you?

Some of these people leave comments that make me think they might actually be taking my pointless musings here seriously.

Actually, instead of being perplexed, maybe I should feel badly for "Anonymous." If he/she is taking my blog seriously, they must be inhabiting a very strange reality. How disconcerting.

Let's see what jerky-ass comment "Anonymous" leaves now, shall we?

Second Topic:

I feel like I have nothing to wear. It is the classic, full-closet-and-bursting-at-the-seams-closet-but-not-a-damned-thing-to-put-on syndrome. I feel like I'm wearing the same things over and over and over and over. You get the picture. My friend, Jenn, and I are going to conduct an Old Navy raid today. She's a big time Old Navy girl. I hardly ever get over there. I do have some jeans from there that I like a lot. And I've purchased a few things there from time to time. But I'm ready to take the plunge and really try to find some good stuff there. That place is pretty affordable, so I'm hoping to find some things I like. One of the problems with Old Navy can sometimes be that things are cut for girls that weigh about 800 pounds less than I do. I have also found them to be quite a strong offender on the bulging-side-pockets pants phenomenon. But I'm going to try to go in there with an open mind and get past my hang-ups. Fingers crossed.

Third Topic:

I tried acupuncture this week. I have a friend at the gym who is an acupuncturist, and she's giving me a good deal on the treatments. I am hoping I find it to be a fruitful pursuit.

Fourth Topic:

I am sick and tired of my freaking class at UMass. It really stinks. I have learned absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Do you get the point? The lectures are pointless and directionless. The syllabus keeps changing and the assignment expectations are fuzzy at best. I never quite feel like I know what I'm doing or what I'm supposed to be doing. Quite annoying, really. I get sick of it. The professor also keeps up well beyond the 2.5 hour duration of the course, and she NEVER gives us a break. Jesus...I don't mind staying late if we at least had a break in the middle of the class. I REALLY like it when profs give the breka up to get us out early. But in this class, it is the worst of all worlds. No break AND we stay late!!

Fifth Topic:

Are you all members of Netflix? I would seriously recommend it!

Sixth Topic:

I am trying desperately to put a normal weekly gym schedule back together. Step aerobics classes, the mainstay of my workout regime, are slowly but surely coming off the schedule, only to be replaced with tons of spinning and yoga classes. Let me tell you how much I HATE Yoga. I can't stand that crap. And I'm crap at it. I am about as agile as a cement block. Maybe even less so. Give me a step bench to pound around on and I'm happy. I know the whole point of yoga is to keep practicing and getting better, but I can't be bothered to screw around with that garbage. I can't stand the whole yoga culture.
I hate spinning less passionately than I used to, but make no mistake...I still hate it. I should be more openminded, but honestly, unless I'm sweating my butt off in a step class, or doing some weight lifting work, I don't really have a great time working out. And then there's the treadmill. If I really can't deal with any of the classes on offer on a particular day, I hope on the treadmill for an hour. I try everything to make the time pass...TV, iPod, magazine...whatever. But none of it works. The time just drags by.

Seventh Topic:

Work has been hard.

Eighth Topic:

I'm desperate for a good book to read. I just finished Anthony Bourdain's first book, and I'm plowing quickly through his second opus, but I'm already looking forward to a couple of days from now when I won't have anything at the ready to read. Any good recommendations? I suppose I could read my course stuff for UMass, but why bother? I spent the 130 dollars on the course books and have not cracked them once. Why start now?

Ninth Topic:

Totally random, but I'll throw it out there...(I have 8 topics, so I might as well go for ten, right?)
If you're a salmon lover, try this super simple, but sublime recipe that I pirated from cooking light. It's so easy it's hardly a recipe, but whatever. Semantics.
Zest an orange, squeeze the orange's own juice on the zest, pour some soy sauce into the mixture. Marinate the salmon in that for 30 minutes and then cook at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or to whatever level of doneness you like for your Salmon. Freaking delicious.

Tenth Topic.

This business of it being full on pitch black night at 4:30 in the afternoon is truly depressing.

Peace out...

O Yeah!
O Baby!

Obama!

Rock the Vote, Baby!

Man...at long last. Election day is tomorrow. It seems that campaign "season" has been interminable, but at the same time, it's now hard to believe that tomorrow, we'll know who our next President is going to be.

I'm voting for Obama, but please note that I didn't put some crazy, ugly, unflattering photo of your boy (if he's your boy) McCain. Hey, he might not be my guy, but I respect the fact that he might be your guy.






I wish I could truly believe that every vote counts. But in this electoral collect joke system, that's just not true. We need to overhaul that noise.

In the meantime, I hope everybody gets their arse out to vote. It's important stuff, kids.

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!!