Mei Flower

Self-Improvement

2011-04-28T23:15:00.000-05:00

I've written before about my weight loss. Here's a visual aid:

Left: Italy, June 2009
Right: Nashville, December 2010

I didn't really start concentrating on losing weight until last March. In a little over a year, I've lost 65-70 pounds (it's fluctuating right now; the ice cream I ate for dinner doesn't help).

I started exercising this month. I joined a gym and everything.

... I KNOW.

I'm having a hard time not being a Fat Girl. Like, I can look in a mirror and not recognize my own reflection. Obviously my body looks different, but my face! My face does not look familiar to me.

Sometimes I open my picture folder and stare at the photos, searching for the image I have of myself. Sometimes I find it, and sometimes I don't. It's so WEIRD, acknowledging this shift between perception and reality. And there's a little bit of mourning, too, because I didn't realize that I was changing this much, and I didn't have a chance to adjust because it seemed to come out of nowhere.

I feel like ... I feel like I'm in witness protection, almost. Like the past 7-8 years--the years I got fat and stayed that way--have been erased and I'm starting with nothing. I honestly don't know how to move forward.

So. This was depressing. Here, have a cat.

Home Improvement

2011-04-27T22:32:00.000-05:00

One of the best things about OWNING as opposed to RENTING is that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, to whatever I want. I cannot tell you what satisfaction it gives me to vaccuum at 1:30 in the morning, or to visit the paint counter with actual intent to buy.

With that said, I have some more things to show off.

It came with all its drawers and hardware; I forgot to take a picture before I'd started improvements.

I bought this dresser from a Craigslist seller for $25. When my mom and I went to pick it up, she told me not to buy it. It wasn't in the best condition, I admit, but I had a plan.

My $25 Craigslist dresser has become my totally unique dining room buffet. Some primer and a couple of coats of paint went a long way to making it more attractive. The insets are scrapbook pages cut to a template and glued to the drawers, and the formerly yellow brass handles are spray-painted with Oil-Rubbed Bronze (my go-to metallic).

NEXT!

I had to sand that spray paint off. It was offensive.

This lamp, with a shade (I used it on the other lamp), set me back a cool 15 bucks at a thrift store. You can see it has some of the same ugly green as my other lamp, but what you can't see is that, underneath that orange spray paint (that's my doing, by the way, because I started painting before I remembered to take a picture) is some kind of floral fantasy that was somebody else's bad idea.

When the orange spray paint didn't work out, I had to set this project aside for a while because I couldn't find the right color. I knew I wanted something in the orangey family, though.

This is craft paint. CRAFT PAINT. I bought it for, like, $1.99 at Hobby Lobby. The metal parts are Oil-Rubbed Bronze (yes, again), and I picked up the shade at the same Brunswick thrift store for three whole dollars.

Oh, and this is another re-wiring job, and I totally did not electrocute myself.

Here they are in my dining room.

Actually, the ONLY furniture currently in my dining room.

NEXT!

My backyard is fenced, but the yard kind of slopes downward, so I have a pretty good view into my neighbors' kitchen, and they can see into mine. This just will not do.

I bought some glazing spray paint, but I didn't want to just spray the door all willy-nilly; I thought that would be boring, and I didn't really want to worry about even coverage, because I knew that would probably be beyond my ability. So I taped a random, abstract-ish design onto the door, then went to town with that glaze.

It stunk pretty badly, and I had to lock the cats in my bedroom. Fortunately, it was a nice day in February when I did this, so it dried quickly and the house got an airing to boot.

There is still some visibility, so sunlight can get through, and the stripes make just enough of a pattern to be interesting, but not distracting. I am so proud of myself for having had this idea.

NEXT!

I HAVE A WHOLE ROOM JUST FOR BOOKS.

And it is CLASSY.

This is the only room in the house that has been painted. My mom did most of the painting, as I was having some shoulder issues at the time. I did pick the paint color, though.

The walls are lined with bookshelves, and each of them has a theme:

1. Books I have not read yet
2. Books for school (an entire bookshelf! I am disgusted!)
3. Antique books/Anne books/Little House Books/Betsy-Tacy books
4. General fiction
5. Young adult
6. Non-fiction
7. Classics/empty shelves

I was so disappointed about those empty shelves, until I remembered that I'd taken about 120 books to the used book store. Yeah, the credit I got there lasted all of three months. I'd also taken three large bags of books to the Goodwill bookstore, where I will probably forget I once owned them and buy them back eventually.

Walter doesn't like being left out of anything.

I knew exactly what I was looking for when it came to library seating, and it was difficult finding a chaise. Everything I'd seen in furniture stores was huge and clunky. I wanted a Victorian-style fainting couch, so I could practice being a damsel in distress if I wanted to. Fortunately, this beauty showed up on Craigslist. I had to drive all the way to Mississippi to get it, but it was totally worth it.

More improvements to come--I may or may not have bought out Lowes' entire paint department.

I'm Magic

2011-03-23T22:34:00.000-05:00

Like many new homeowners, I spend most of my paycheck on the mortgage and other house-related bills, which means that the furnishings around here are pretty sparse on account of I'm so po' I can't even afford the other half of that word.

Thrift stores have been a godsend, and I've haunted every single one in the local area, to the point that I recognize the workers and they recognize me. I am not even embarrassed about this.

One thing that's really helped me as I've shopped in these stores is my ability to envision improvements. So when I see something on the shelf at Goodwill, it might be really ugly, or broken, or old-fashioned, but I try to figure out how to make it into something I can use and display in my home.

Case in point:

I bought this old lamp for $5.99 after only one look at it. It was super-ugly, and it was caked in dust, and it had an old-timey plug on it, the kind that doesn't have one metal thingy that's bigger than the other (try not to be intimidated by my technical language).

So I brought it home and looked at it for a while and tried to figure out what, exactly, I was going to do with it. Well, the first thing I did with it was take it all apart, because that is my MO, even if sometimes it ends with me having to take my car to a mechanic so he can put the inside of the driver's side door back on. Hypothetically speaking.

Moving on. I took the lamp apart and took all the pieces outside, where I spray-painted the metal parts and the glass part ~~and the patio~~. I used Oil-rubbed Bronze on the metal and Blue Ocean Breeze on the glass. Then I thought, "Lemme see if I like how it looks if I sand a little of the blue off, so it looks all shabby and whatnot." It turns out that I don't like that look at all. AT. ALL. So I had to sand the glass part and remove all the paint, and then repaint it. Way to go, genius.

I bought a lamp kit at Home Depot and ~~actually read the directions~~ wired the whole lamp without electrocuting myself--though I did wear rubber-soled shoes, just to be safe. It totally works, AND I am still alive to boot! Miracles!

Attention hog!

The shade came from another lamp that I bought at a different thrift store. It was pretty yellowed with age, though, so I had to rehab it. And by "rehab it," I definitely mean "bleach the daylights out of it." That shade sat in my bathtub for a week, and the tub itself ran yellow with years of accumulated yuck. The trim around the bottom was originally gold; now it's silver. I don't play when I bleach stuff.

My success with this lamp has turned me into a spray-painting fool! I spray-paint everything. EVERYTHING!! In fact, some weekend I'm not going to have anything to spray-paint, and my neighbors are going to think I've died; that's how much I do it.

Little by little, I'm putting things in order. Thrift shop finds are all OVER this house, and I plan to post more of my DIY home improvements eventually.

When the spray-paint dries.

What I Have Learned

2011-03-07T22:56:00.002-06:00

If you adjust your tire pressure while wearing three inch heels, your thighs will hurt for days.

Dress Stress

2011-03-03T00:46:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine is getting married in July, and I get to be the maid of honor. I wanted to be the officiant, but apparently Presbyterian churches in Canada don't really like people who've been ordained on the internet to preside over weddings, or something. Fun-killers.

My friend (D) said she doesn't really care what I wear. As a matter of fact, D doesn't really care about this wedding; her fiance is the one who's all gung-ho about it, and insisting on the big church wedding with all the fixin's, which is the opposite of what usually happens. Anyway, the fiance's daughters were freaked out that D hadn't picked her colors yet ("Blush and bashful," I told her. "BLUUUUUUSH. and BAAAAAASHFUL."), so D made a quick decision which was that we should each wear a black dress, and she doesn't want to be involved further than that.

You'd think that finding a black dress that one could wear in an afternoon wedding would be fairly simple. You would be wrong.

I hate shopping, and right now, I'm not really sure what size I am, and I keep heading over the the plus-sized racks, even though I don't need to anymore. I was talking to D about this yesterday, about how I still see myself as the Fat Girl, and so I have a hard time finding something I like enough to try on; then, when I try something one, I'm super-critical about the fit and how it looks on me. D got kind of frustrated with me last Saturday, when I said (for the eighth time), that I didn't like where a sash was hitting on me because it made my waist look too bulky.

BDD, I have it.

Since we traipsed all over Metropolis Saturday and still didn't find a dress, I came home to do some internet shopping. First I bought this shirt. IT WAS NECESSARY.

Then I bought this dress. It's probably made in a sweatshop, but I was so tired I couldn't muster up more than a kernel of outrage. And you know how brides always say, "Oh, but you can wear it again!?" I don't. But I could see myself wearing this one on more than one occasion.

Provided, of course, that it fits.

Hey, look at that

2011-03-01T22:36:00.000-06:00

So I took a few months off; you may have noticed. I was busy, yes, but I also made a deliberate choice to have one less item on the to-do list for a little while.

But now ... well. Consider this the first day of the rest of my blog.

I will start with the highly important news that, at long last, I have applied to grad school. One of the many new additions to my to-do list (knocking my writing to the lowest priority) was studying for the GRE.

It loomed like a monster. Not having taken a math class--or indeed, having done any math that did not include figuring the sale price of clothing--was bound to result in my first ever failing grade on a standardized test. And not just any standardized test, mind you, but a standardized test that cost $160.

So I studied. Then I studied some more. I studied. Then I studied some more.

It began to come back to me: trinomials and the FOIL method, the factoring equations, applying geometry theorems to polygons, or whatever. P.S. I do not like math.

The day of the test was sunny and warm, exactly the opposite of what is expected in mid-February. The temperature was in the high 60s, a week after several snow days (oh, Tennessee, never change!).

I used every single second on all parts of the exam, because I was going to pass it, and I was going to continue my lifelong pattern of being an awesome test-taker, or die trying.

I'm still alive, so you know what that means.

750 verbal, 570 quantitative (math).

I don't know what my essay scores are yet, but I'm not really worried about it. In one essay, I referenced Galileo, Howard Carter, and ... somebody else, maybe a group, I don't remember. But it was completely random and right out of my world history curriculum, and I remember laughing to myself about how totally unconnected each of my examples was, but look at me, building bridges. In the second essay, I used skills I teach in my speech classes to tear apart an argument in a brutally satisfying masterpiece of critical reasoning. I feel pretty confident.

Sure, my math score could have been better, but look: I had to relearn, like, six years of mid-to-higher level math in a matter of weeks. I think I did all right. Plus, my school only requires a 480, so I'm ahead, really, if you think about it.

I am a little disappointed in my verbal score, though. I could have gotten an 800 if I'd studied.
Stupid.
*kicks ground*

I ... I ... oh dear

2010-11-30T03:21:00.001-06:00

I tried very, very hard, but I couldn't get out of directing the spring musical. Poop.

Yeah. THAT'S gonna be in the musical.*

That'll show 'em.

*No lie, I have watched this like 20 times. My face, you guys. My FACE.

Day 15*: Someone or Something You Couldn't Live Without

2010-11-16T20:51:00.001-06:00

(because you've tried living without it)

1. Bacon.
When I was a temporary vegetarian, nothing tested my resolve more than bacon. Mmmm. Bacon.

2. Caffeine
I go off caffeine about six times a year, it seems like. I do really well for a good while, and then I don't get enough sleep, or I have a play to get ready for, or I forget my water bottle at home, and I ~~fall~~ fling myself off the wagon. I do love Diet Coke, though. I don't care if it eats my insides like it eats the paint off a car.

3. Dairy products
HAHAHAHAHAHA just kidding. If I ever make an announcement that I'm giving up milk, what that means is I am also giving up breathing. I love milk more than I love Diet Coke. I could drink a gallon in a day. This explains why, in 35 years of being a Clumsy Poop, I've only had one actual broken bone. And that was when I was five and hadn't had the time to build up my Terminator-like skeletal structure.

4. Teaching
This is true. As much as I complain about my job, I don't know how I could leave it. Even my dream job--high school librarian**--still deals with education.

When I first started teaching, I wasn't prepared for the reality of the constant paperwork, testing, and student apathy. It killed my drive, so I quit and moved someplace else and got another job. It was a good job, and I liked it, but it wasn't teaching.

I couldn't believe how much I missed the classroom. Part of that, yes, was my desire to be in charge of ALL things at ALL times; I like that a lot. But the thing I missed most was sharing knowledge,and even learning things myself. I like KNOWING things, and I like telling what I know to, well, everybody.

* I skipped another one: Write a letter to a hero who's let you down. My heroes are fine, thanks. Well. Dead, mostly, but fine.

** nerd

Detoxed

2010-11-15T01:17:00.000-06:00

I haven't had a working television since January. I cut off the DirecTV to save money, but my ancient television is analog, not digital. Even though I bought one of those fancy converter boxes, I live far enough out in the country that a signal doesn't get through, so I had to give up television against my will.

Fortunately, almost everything I want to watch (and sooo many things I don't) is available online. I'm very, very wary of all those torrent sites--I'm terrified that I'll download something and then get a visit from the FBI--so I've been making good use of Hulu and Netflix, and when Mad Men was on, I bought the season on iTunes. All legal!

I've decided that I'm not even taking my television to the new house. I'll donate it to Goodwill or something, since it will probably work just fine for someone else.

I'm glad that television is not a priority for me anymore. I don't have to rush home to watch something, and I don't stare like a zombie at the screen for ten hours a day. So in that way, it's liberating.

On the other hand, I do spend a lot more time on the internet now ... one addiction for another?

Day 11: Something People Seem to Compliment You the Most On

2010-11-11T21:54:00.000-06:00

Lately, people have been noticing my weight loss. I get a new compliment every day.

One of my students said, "Ms. Flower, wanna hear something awesome? You've lost weight."

I said, "You're right, and it is!"

One of the teachers told me I was going to blow away in the wind. Oh, it would be nice, some days.

My favorite, though, was this girl that I taught for three years. I don't have her this year, her senior year, but she saw me in another teacher's classroom and said, "Ms. Flower, have you lost weight?"

"Yes," I said.

As I walked out the door (the bell was ringing), I heard her say, "Wow."

That was the best.

I'm Interrupting the 30 Days*

2010-11-11T21:50:00.000-06:00

... to tell you that I am in the midst of buying a house. I signed a contract and everything.

Inspection's tomorrow; barring structural damage, termites, or a previously undiscovered Indian burial ground, I should be moved in by Christmas.

I think I am most looking forward to not having to defrost my windows on cold mornings.

*I don't like Day 10, anyway, so it's just as well.

Day Nine: Someone You Didn't Want to Let Go, but Just Drifted

2010-11-09T18:43:00.000-06:00

I don't even know what this means. I guess ... someone I've lost touch with?

Thanks to Facebook, I've reconnected with most of the people I've missed from high school or college. And even some people I didn't miss, but friended out of politeness and a morbid desire to see if I turned out better than they did.

Day Eight: Someone Who Made Your Life Hell

2010-11-09T18:40:00.001-06:00

I don't think it's been THAT bad actually.

SomeTHING that has made my life HARDER is unrealistic education policy.

I do not believe that anyone who was involved with the creation of No Child Left Behind was

1. a teacher, of any kind, even a substitute Vacation Bible School teacher.
2. capable of any predictive thought.
3. scoring above 70 on an IQ test.

In fact, I hate this law so much that, if I ever met a person who was even in the building when it was being written down, I would punch him in the junk. Twice.

Jerk.

Day Seven: Someone Who Has Made Your Life Worth Living For

2010-11-07T20:30:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure I like this one. It implies that I would have ended my life if not for some person. I don't think about suicide (but I do think about dying, in a "They'll all be sorry when I'm DEAD" way).

So I will change this to "Someone who makes me want to be a better person."

Easy. I have two students who make me want to be a better person. Their names are A and B.

I've talked about A before.   He's in a good home now, as far as I know, but he's transferred to another school in the county. He hates it there, like I knew he would. This school is nicknamed ACT High, because they focus on test scores almost exclusively. A wants to do creative work; specifically, he wants to be an actor, and he probably could. So ACT High is killing his spirit, like I knew it would.

I hate that his life has been sucked into a pit this year.

I want to be a positive role model for him--and I think I am--but I also need to show more visible signs of affection. He knows I am protective of him, and that I liked having him in my classes, but I should have been more compassionate, probably, or shown more compassion.

B is almost like a role model to ME. She works hard to maintain a positive outlook, and she is friendly to everyone. She is the only person I know who is genuinely excited about EVERYTHING.  Not in an annoying way, but sincerely, actually overjoyed to grade papers, or read a play, or hang things up in the hallway.

I want to be like that. It's difficult to throw off this cynical tone I have, and people don't believe me when I tell them I'm happy about something; I always have to qualify my statements and say, "No, I'm being honest."  Sad.

I want these two to be able to look at me without derision or judgment, and to think of me as not just one of their favorite teachers, but as one of their favorite PEOPLE.  Because they are, hands down, two of my Favorites, General Category, not just Favorite Students.

Day Six: Something You Hope You Never Have to Do

2010-11-07T20:13:00.001-06:00

I hope I am never in a situation that puts a loved one's life in my hands.

If I ever had to make the decision to "pull the plug," it would drive me crazy. I'm not even using that word as hyperbole; I mean it would literally make me insane. First, because I would agonize over it prior to its happening, and second, because I would lie awake at night and wonder if I'd done the right thing. I would never sleep again.

Also, I hope I never have to change an adult diaper, MOM AND DAD.

Davy Five: Something You Hope to Do in Your Life

2010-11-05T21:14:00.001-05:00

^ HAHA, Davy. I'm keepin' it.

My imagination's on the fritz, so I'm having a hard time answering this one.

I guess maybe I'm drawing a blank because I see no reason why I shouldn't be able to complete my Bucket List. That could just be a commentary on the ~~lameness~~ practicality of my B.L., though, because I don't have any dreams of making out with a celebrity or visiting the moon, or whatever.

Oh! I've got it: I'd like to be in a musical. There.

I'm lucky in that I've been able to perform in some great plays in the past few years--leads in all of them, I might add--but I love musicals, and I could probably be in one ... provided there was minimal dancing involved. Like if I were in a musical about an invalid, that would work pretty well.

Probably wouldn't be much fun to watch though.

Day Four: Something You Have to Forgive Someone For

2010-11-04T21:48:00.000-05:00

Important: I SHOULD FORGIVE THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT FOR EFFING UP PUBLIC EDUCATION.

BUT I NEVER EVER WILL, AND THEY CAN SUCK IT.

Related: I SHOULD FORGIVE THE STATE OF TENNESSEE FOR NOT ONLY ALLOWING THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT TO BUTT-RAPE OUR PUBLIC EDUCATION SYSTEM (in the form of Race to the Top), BUT ALSO SENDING ENGRAVED INVITATIONS TO THE EVENT.

BUT I NEVER EVER WILL, AND THEY CAN SUCK IT.

THE END.

Day Three: Something You Have to Forgive Yourself For

2010-11-04T00:30:00.003-05:00

zoinks

Every single day, I mentally beat myself up because I haven't lived up to my own ridiculous standards. And look, you guys, I am bad at a lot of stuff. A LOT. OF STUFF.

But those are things I don't care about, like math, or not getting lost, or keeping a pristine house. When it comes to things I DO care about, it's a completely different story.

I have a compulsive need to be the best at those things: the most creative, the most intelligent, the most amusing, the most the most the most, the best the best the best.

Imagine what it feels like to live under that self-imposed pressure. It sucks, is what it feels like. To measure myself against my own expectations and to come up short EVERY SINGLE TIME, to disappoint myself on a daily basis ... those are things that drive people into CrazyTown.

I'm constantly beating myself up for not being BETTER, even though I know, empirically, that it's measurement that can't be classified, and the line between MEDIOCRE and BETTER is always moving in whatever direction is furthest away from me, which means I can never ever get there. This is what the rational part of my head tells me.

Only thing is, the non-rational part of my head doesn't really care about the practicality of attainability. The non-rational part of my head thinks I'm a dumbass who doesn't try hard enough. The non-rational part of my head thinks I should want it more. The non-rational part of my head picks apart every movement, every decision, and explains to me exactly where I went wrong, and what I should have done, and how things could have turned out differently if only I weren't so stupid or selfish or blind.

It would be one thing if I compared myself to other people and came up short.* It is an entirely different thing to compare myself to a statistically impossible Mei Flower, to look at the gulf that divides us and know that it will never shrink, ever.

I think it's worse, too, because these expectations are solely mine. Nobody's pressuring me, or putting demands on me, or judging me. EVERYBODY ACCEPTS MY IMPERFECTION BUT ME.

This explains why I'm so angry all the time.

*This never happens.

I've just realized that this seems like it would cancel out my previous post. But, for some weird reason, it doesn't ... to me. Both of these people exist: Amazing Awesome Mei Flower is just as alive as Emo Imperfect Mei Flower. I don't know how that works, exactly, but it does ... for me. I am ~~weird~~ psychologically unquantifiable.

Day Two: Something You Love about Yourself

2010-11-02T22:37:00.005-05:00

Oh, there are so many things!

I want to state immediately that I am more conceited than I need to be, and that I habitually remind people of how awesome I am. I'm not joking when I do this.

Some people think egotism is a cover for insecurity, and maybe it is ... for some people. Not me, though. I'm honest with myself about my own deficiencies and, as it happens, I often broadcast these as well. But no cats in this house are going to tell me on a daily basis that I'm wonderful, so I just have to tell myself.

ONE thing I love about myself is my ability to find humor in stupid situations. In this case, the word stupid is standing in for many adjectives, including stressful, angry, humiliating, and more in the same vein.

When I am 100% in the midst of any of these crises, I do not think ANYTHING is funny.

But sometimes--and always at the worst possible moment; typical--the evil part of my brain starts to narrate current events, and it starts plotting a rough draft for how I'm going to tell people about it later. And then, even though THIS IS NO TIME FOR LAUGHTER, I start to get the Church Giggles, and then I have to look at the floor.

If I didn't have this ability, I would not ... well, I guess I just wouldn't be living, is what. Because I've had a pretty charmed life, it's true, but I've also had to walk through some poo-storms every once in a while.

Just this past week, I had to snake the toilet at 2:00am because I'd tried to flush too much cat poop at one time. Believe me when I tell you that toilet clogs are not funny business, and that toilet clogs when one has to pee really badly are even less humorous. But as I was fighting with the plumbing, fending off cat turds and trying not to splash poo water in my face, my evil twin composed the most beautifully foul-mouthed comedic diatribe that I had to take a break so I could write it all down.* And when I finally gave up and went to bed, I was able to sleep, because I'd had my mad, and then I had my laugh and I let it go.

I FOR SURE could not be a teacher if I couldn't laugh at myself every single day. Can you imagine?

I would literally not be able to teach: almost half my lesson plans for my speech and theater classes revolve around something stupid that has happened to me.

Not to mention that stupid stuff CONTINUES to happen, at a fairly high rate, mind you, when I'm in the classroom. If I couldn't find the ridiculous side of student attitudes or state testing or educational bureacracy (which, let's face it, is just a fancypants synonymous term for ridiculous, or mocking required), I'd have torn the school down with my bare hands YEARS ago.

This blog would consist of nothing but posts titled "What Is Making Me Mad Today?" Because EVERYTHING makes me mad. It's just that, by the time it gets to you, I've turned it from something stupid into something slightly less stupid.

And in doing so, I can turn MYSELF from something awesome into something slightly MORE awesome.

*I will not post it here, in deference to my mother's delicate eyes.

Day One: Something You Hate about Yourself

2010-11-01T22:24:00.001-05:00

Here is what I hate about myself: I'm lazy.

No, really. My dream job would involve me sitting somewhere, getting fat, for money.

I hate that I'm not independently wealthy, and that I don't have a hummingbird's metabolism, and that Mary Poppins isn't cleaning my house.

I want an army of servants with very specific job titles, like "Bug Crusher" and "Toilet Unclogger." There should also be "Doritos Wrangler" and "Oreo Untwister."

My laziness keeps me from experiencing my life to the fullest. Henry David Thoreau--who was, by the way, SOOO lazy, but at least he made a living of it, even if his living consisted of rationalizing his laziness, that bastard--would judge me so hard.

It's not laziness alone that is so crippling (IT'S A DISEASE, OKAY), but the laziness coupled with my world class procrastination skills. Seriously, I am like the Michael Phelps of procrastination. I would totally win gold medals, if I ever got up off this couch. Or wanted to.

Anyway, laziness plus procrastination equals me being late for everything, all the time, and I can't stand tardiness in anyone, even myself.

It's an avalanche, is what it is. Or the butterfly effect, if the butterfly never fluttered its wings at all and decided to take a nap instead.

Hey, Nerds

2010-10-31T22:13:00.001-05:00

I love this picture even though it's clearly a non-ironic MySpace pose.

My half-assed Halloween costume, oh, thanks.
Also, I would like to remind everybody that I am 35 years old,
so that you can all feel bad about your liver spots.

I know it's super-uncool to take arms-length pictures of oneself, but I am a single lady with disagreeable, selfish cats who can't--or WON'T--learn to operate my camera.

I tried the timer, but then I wound up with this:

white on white on white

I wore this shirt to school Friday and was treated to several interruptions during my lessons, which started and ended like this: "Ohhhhh, now I get it!" Some people are sooo SMRT.

I'll be updating every day this month, because I'm doing this.

I do enjoy telling the truth, like the time I told this one person that if she directed a play nobody would audition for it, and the time I told somebody that nobody cared what he thought so why didn't he just keep it to himself for once.

Lest you think I'm celebrating Halloween with an extra dose of witchiness, kindly recall that I am just as mean about my own self, and I certainly don't see that changing any time soon.

I look forward to spilling my guts this month. I hope the toxicity isn't contagious.

Hey, Guess What

2010-10-18T23:30:00.002-05:00

I've lost 50 pounds since March.

It's hard to show you, because I don't really take pictures of myself being fat.

Before:

After:

Hmm, I thought the difference would be more noticeable. Stupid puffy cheeks.

Also, I like my fat hair better.

Oh, hi, I'm going to see a Living Legend

2010-10-12T18:22:00.000-05:00

That is all.

What Is Making Me Mad Today? (Part four in a series)

2010-10-04T00:37:00.000-05:00

Today I am mad because--

Wait. This story has history.

So this summer, I got a horrifying text that said, paraphrased, that a student's mother had died.

A parent's death is awful, no doubt. But I knew this mother, and I knew my student's awesome relationship with his mother, so that just compounded the awfulness.

It got worse.

She'd been beaten to death in the woods behind their house.

A person has been arrested, and it is alleged that he murdered her over a matter of fifty dollars.

I don't even know. People suck.

I should say here that the student in question is one of my favorites. Smart, funny, mostly well-behaved, a dedicated theater nerd, and just plain great. I'm not saying that I wouldn't have felt bad if this had happened to another student; I'm just saying that my heart broke twice as hard because it happened to him.

So that is the history.

My student (hereafter referred to as X, because that is not his name) texted me today to say he wouldn't be in class tomorrow. He said, "Don't ask. Well, ask [his cousin]."

Oh, yeah. I forgot to say that I'd taught his cousin before him, and all the things I said above would also apply to the cousin (I will call him Y). Y has graduated, and we keep in touch through Facebook and various school events that he attends when he can.

So I did ask Y what had happened, and if X was okay, and no, it turns out that is not exactly the case.

See, X lived with his mom and stepdad, and after his mother's murder, he and his brother and sister went to live with his dad, who is a grade A, number 1 jerkface, and I am only using that word because my mother will read this.

Today, Y told me, X's dad beat him up.

I don't even know. People suck.

So X's dad has been in jail all day, but got out at midnight, I guess. I don't know what kind of effed up laws make it possible for a man to serve a few hours behind bars for whaling on his fifteen-year-old child, but I do know that X's dad had better HOPE I never lay eyes on him, because I will not be able to control myself if I see his stupid jerkface: I will DESTROY him.

On a more positive note, X and his siblings are meeting tomorrow with someone about removing themselves from their dad's custody; they are staying with family members who are not afraid of their dad and who, in addition, are good friends with the local sheriff.

I don't know why I am always shocked at other people's behavior. You'd think, by now, that I would now that everybody doesn't have the life I do, or the family I do, or the advantages I do.

But it is. It's a constant surprise to discover that my students don't have the Brady-style happy home life that I did.

And every time I ask myself why that is, I come up with the same answer: I don't even know. People suck.

Poker Face

2010-09-20T19:32:00.003-05:00

The play opened Friday, and Hollywood will be calling any day now, probably.

The Friday crowd was lukewarm, but the Saturday and Sunday audiences were great--really responsive and totally into it. Even though the actors work hard, an audience can really affect performances positively or negatively. I'm glad that, so far, the effect has been pretty good.

Saturday after the show, this guy came up to me and asked, "Can I tell you something about your performance?"

I answered, with dread, "Um ... okay."

And he said, "I've acted in ______, and I've directed a bunch of shows with ______, but I've never seen someone with such amazing facial expression onstage."

I thanked him, but I'll admit that I mostly don't know what he's talking about. I never use my face to show emotion.

My face is always perfectly blank, in fact.

It's really one of my worst traits, this complete lack of emotion.

So I don't know where he got that idea.

Totally blank. No way to tell what I'm thinking.*

In other news, here's me not showing emotion during the actual play.

I admit I added this one in hopes of making my mom faint.

*As I write this, I can feel my face pulling itself into various expressions. My stupid face is always making a liar out of me.

You Have Your Talents, and I Have Mine

2010-09-15T00:21:00.000-05:00

Here's another example of me being good at my job:

Probably other teachers don't brag about their bruising skills.

"Congratulations! You're an old hag!"

2010-09-14T01:58:00.011-05:00

I'm teaching my theater class about stage makeup. In the past, I've only taught them how to make bruises and black eyes (because they're the most fun), but this year I'm also teaching them how to apply "natural" stage makeup (in quotes because, up close, there is nothing natural about it) and old age makeup.

I made a video of myself doing the old age one, but I didn't have time to edit it, and I didn't want to show off a half-done project; I like perfection, you see.

And probably that perfectionist streak explains why I got more and more depressed as I continued to record myself with my pronounced wrinkles and lopsided face. I've definitely crossed into the Botox camp after this experience.

This is the last segment of the video, and the only part I'm posting online, but only because I find it hilarious--after the fact. I look like death, and my expressions are ... well. You'll see.

Superstar

2010-08-26T23:27:00.002-05:00

Another reason I haven't been posting is that I'm doing another play. Acting in one, I mean, not directing.

I'm playing the role of Alice in You Can't Take It with You. It's a lead, and I play the only normal person in a family of weirdos. It's practically my autobiography.

Tonight one of the other actors gave me a great compliment. He said, "You're so good. It's amazing. You just have [Alice's] voice."

How cool is that? I said, "Naw, it's just a cold," because that is what I do. He's directed several plays for this theater, and he's won awards for acting himself, so I really appreciated his comments.

It's nice when someone who's not my mom--and therefore has no familial obligation--tells me I have talent. It makes my 16 hour days a little more bearable.

Oh, Hi

2010-08-24T23:11:00.000-05:00

School started about three weeks ago and it has been kicking my tail.

But that is not exciting.

This, however, is:

One of these people was born last Tuesday.

This is my nephew Senor Squishy Face. I named him that for obvious reasons.

This baby is a giant.

Senor Squishy Face weighed in at 9 lbs., 8 oz., and he was two weeks early. I figure if he'd cooked any longer, he'd have been about 20 lbs.

Having a boy in the family is taking some getting used to; there are certain ways to diaper boys, apparently, that you don't have to worry about with girls. I did it wrong last Saturday, and SSF soaked through his onesie in a second. My sister Joon's already gotten her inaugural shower, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

So here's just one of the many excuses I have for being blog-silent. I think it'll do.

Exercise Restraint

2010-08-03T21:47:00.000-05:00

I wrote a while back that I would be teaching the broadcasting class this year.

The woman who's taught it for 14 years is not a certified theater teacher, which is the technicality the administrators used to bring me in, though the real reason is that it has been nothing more than a pile of horse turds for several years, and it showed no sign of improvement. Any complaints from teachers, students, or administrators just led to excuses and tears. And nothing ever got done.

This is supposed to be a transition year, in which I am the teacher of record (which means MY name is attached to everything), and she is supposed to "advise" me. I had expected that "advise" would mean "teach me how to use the equipment," but apparently SHE thought "advise" meant "treat me like a student teacher."

So this year, I came in all excited, with tons of ideas, and almost immediately she shut me down on EVERY SINGLE IDEA.

ME:

The blank hit the fan because of couches.

Last week, I was at the school getting books so I could work on curriculum, and I asked the janitor to remove the ratty couches from the broadcasting room. I will now use the power of your imagination to give you a picture of these couches.

Imagine the stuff that crawls out from under a pile of rotted leaves.
Imagine a teenage boy's bathroom.
Imagine a cow's butthole.
Imagine athlete's foot.
Imagine a possum's guts.
Imagine a yeast infection.

There are certain members of the faculty who will swear on the Bible that several illegitimate children were conceived on those couches. And despite the fact that they are almost the grossest things I have ever had the misfortune to be in the same room with, every time I enter the broadcasting room, there are fifteen kids all lounging around on them, doing nothing.

So there are actually two reasons I wanted to get rid of those couches:

1. They are disgusting.
2. They breed laziness.

Yesterday the other teacher (Mrs. OT, from now on) and I were discussing plans for this year when the janitor came in and apologized for not being able to remove the couches yet. I said it was fine, as long as it was done by next week.

Well, Mrs. OT just about fell off her chair. "Can we talk about this?" she asked.

"I've pretty much made up my mind," I said.

"What will people sit on?"

"I'm moving in tables so it will be more like a conference room. It will give the kids a place to work and it will be more professional," I explained.

And the kraken, it was released.

"Is this how it's going to be?" she asked. "You making decisions and I don't have a say in them?"

"I made an executive decision," I said. "You weren't here to have a discussion, and frankly, those couches are a health hazard."

She began sputtering and moaning, and I sat. I did not say a word, and I did not roll my eyes, which was quite a feat, actually.

"If this is what's going to happen, I think I may have made a huge mistake in turning this over to you," she finally said.

ME:

Fine. FINE. Whatever. She is allowed to feel like she's being pushed aside, I can understand that. And I do have a tendency to bulldoze, I admit it.

If she had not just spend 30 minutes telling me why every idea I had was utter crap, I might have been more sympathetic. But I was not.

She continued along the same lines, and I interrupted her: "What, exactly, is your goal for the class?" I asked. "What do YOU want to see this class produce?"

She proceeded to give me a HISTORY of the class, a detailed account of the many times both the school board and our own administrators had screwed her over, ten thousand excuses for the class's increased suckage, and a grandstanding speech about the importance of arts in the school. In addition, she burst into tears. Twice.

Most importantly, SHE DID NOT ANSWER MY QUESTION.

Once again, I sat without saying a word, stone-faced. However, in my head, I was definitely saying, "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME."

When she finished, I said, "Let me tell you what I envision," and I gave her detailed, specific changes I wanted, plans for enacting those changes, and a timeline for said changes.

She began to protest, and I cut her off. "I do know a little something about making something out of nothing," I said. "I also know that creative people NEED structure, or nothing will get done. Furthermore, from my own experience, I know that if someone is not standing over my shoulder, or if someone gives me the ability NOT to work, I will take full advantage of that, and so will these students; I HAVE SEEN IT FIRSTHAND. I recognize that I am a control freak, but I have learned to put that to good use in motivating other people. I have high expectations and I intend to be watching every move these kids make or they WILL NOT WORK."

"Do you think I don't do that?" she asked.

ME:

I told a blatant lie: "I'm sure you do that." LIES LIES LIES. "But given the amount of talent, given the amount of creativity that I've seen enter that room every year, the production level falls far short of both my expectations and their potential, and I intend to change that." [and I continued in my head, "Because I will NOT have MY name attached to a bowl of poo-colored ROT."]

The resulting stream of excuses and tears what exactly what I expected, and exactly the sort of thing I do not have the patience for. Every flaw had an attached justification that just didn't make sense, every imperfection was someone else's fault.

Once again, I remained silent. It seemed like the best defense. There was no way I was going to give in, but I didn't know how to stop her other than to tell her to just SHUT UP, and that seemed rude.

Eventually she ran out of words, and I said, "Why don't you tell me how I can make this happen? I want to ____." And when she started to tell me why I COULDN'T do that, I said, "Then tell me how to do it." And she did. Good grief. If only I'd thought to do that earlier, I could have saved myself TWO HOURS.

I feel like we accomplished some things, but I'm not exactly sure she's not going to undermine me at every turn. Her first instinct is to shoot me down, which is entirely counterproductive, as well as wholly annoying.

If it hadn't been lunch time, we might have continued this dance for several hours. As it was, before she left, she cried at me one more time and said, "I hope we can work together," like SHE still doubted ME.

ME:

Maybe I'M the one who's made a huge mistake.

This is a pretty realistic account, but it is, of course, from my perspective. I feel like I was pretty rude at times, and I'm not sorry. I'm no saint, I have problems dealing with other people's bull, and I'm not exactly known for my patience or my diplomacy. Sue me.

The Shakes

2010-07-30T01:09:00.014-05:00

Oh, hey, guess what I did this week:

1). I turned 35.

Yeah, I can't believe it either.

2). I started house-hunting in earnest.

Since I pretty much stalk realtor.com and Zillow, I was well aware of what was out there: NOT MUCH.

Yesterday I looked at four houses. Today I went back to two of them. Tomorrow I am making an offer.

3). Immediately before and after making this decision, I freaked right the crap out.

I do tend to make decisions quickly and without much thought [evidence: my work history], but this is the biggest--and most costly--decision I've made.

I ... I ... is anyone else having trouble breathing???

Tethered

2010-07-24T23:30:00.002-05:00

Last week, my sister Joon and I went over to my parents' house for dinner. After we'd eaten, we all sat in the living room and played on our phones or iPods.

I cannot express how ashamed I am to write that.

There was a time when we talked beyond texts and/or Facebook comments, but technology has restricted us and bound us and now we are BORING. I hate that we are like that, and I hate that I participate in it.

I think, tonight, that I am over that. I will no longer allow myself to be rude and disengaged. I vow that I will not text my family members when we are in the same room. I will put my electronics away and pretend that I live in the distant past--2004--when we didn't have all this stuff that SAYS it will help us to communicate when in fact it PREVENTS direct communication.

I'm not saying that electronic communication is bad; I'm just saying that it can be set aside for awhile. I can put my phone in my purse for the 2-3 hours that I'm with other people. I don't HAVE to check Facebook every six seconds. Someone can live WITHOUT my texting him/her for a couple of hours.

I have a friend who never looks at my face anymore because she's too busy either reading a text or responding to it. I have an almost irrational amount of anger about this. Every time I hear the little ding of an incoming text, I feel like I'm minutes away from an apocalyptic explosion*.

In the interest of not being a massive hypocrite, I've had to take a look at my own habits, and I'm not exactly blameless in this regard. I mean to change that.

I HAVE A RIGHT TO EXPECT MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS' FULL ATTENTION.

MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS HAVE A RIGHT TO EXPECT MY FULL ATTENTION.

In my classroom, I post a set of real rules and a set of common sense rules. The first is very generic (as I've said before), and the second is more specific, addressing things that I actually have a problem with.

One of my common sense rules is It can wait 90 minutes.

Yes, you can, I tell my students on the first day. You can wait 90 minutes to tell me about your weekend, you can wait 90 minutes to eat your chips, you can wait 90 minutes to talk to your friend, and YOU CAN WAIT 90 MINUTES TO LOOK AT YOUR EFFING PHONE**.

So I am going to adopt that rule for myself, because there's certainly no surplus of common sense around here.

Yes, I can. I can wait 90 minutes to look at my effing phone. I can unplug myself for the short amount of time that I spend with other people. No one will die, nothing will explode, and I might just have an awesome time.

*I cannot believe how quickly I am turning into an old lady.

** My classroom delivery may be a little less volatile.

Because I Love It

2010-07-24T14:03:00.001-05:00

I KNEW those Dashwood sisters weren't as nice as they seemed.

Classy

2010-07-20T23:17:00.009-05:00

I went to school yesterday and today to get my room in order. Once again, we'll have one day of in-service before the kids show up for registration, and I hate it when students see my unprepared classroom. It feels like they've walked in on me in the bathroom.

The start of school (well, the "professional" "development" phase, anyway) is still two weeks away, but I felt a pressing need to get this out of the way so I could spend the rest of my vacation NOT thinking about school.

Pretty much my favorite thing about a new school year is buying new borders for my bulletin boards. I could spend hours looking at the litle turn-y things holding those border bundles--and I have. It takes a while to find one that sparks, and then I spend more hours looking for coordinating charts and paper. It's like Christmas shopping times 1000.

I totally lucked out this year. Check this awesome stuff:

Egypt, you guys! EGYYYYYYYYYYYYPPPPPPT. You know how I am about that.

After I get all the boards covered, I like to think about classroom rules. My real classroom rules are fairly generic and nonspecific, stuff like, "Respect others," or whatever. Students don't pay attention to those rules, and they are mainly there to satisfy the administrative directive about posting classroom rules.

(In real life, my classroom rule is more along the lines of, "Because I said so," but SOME PEOPLE don't think that's good enough.)

To get my year off to a good start, I like to post rules that I wish were allowed, but are not because I might hurt somebody's wittle feewings*. These rules are purely for my own amusement, and I take them down before anybody under the age of 22 sets foot in my room.

This year, I only have one rule:

I mean, really, is that too much to ask? (Apparently it is.)

We also have to post our consequences for breaking the rules, and these too follow a general outline:
1. warning
2. [some punishment]
3. parent contact
4. office referral.

Again, they're fairly useless, since my preferred consequence is a death glare, but I can't exactly write that on a poster, now, can I?

So I was thinking about consequences today, and I heard a little voice in my head. It sounded like this:

PERFECT.

I have to tell you that, in all honesty, I feel like this about six million times a day. I mean, sometimes I feel like the kids are actively FIGHTING KNOWLEDGE, like it's a cage match or something, and they are trying to punch Knowledge in the neck, and why do I need to be around for that?

Also, if there were such a thing as the Eric Cartman Guide to Classroom Management, I would snap that thing up in .019 seconds.

*I promise I don't make children cry. They make ME cry, sometimes, but I say a lot of stuff--A LOT OF STUFF--inside my head that never makes it out of my mouth.

Light the Corners of My Mind

2010-07-12T12:33:00.006-05:00

I've spent a lot of time cruising up and down the streets of Randomville these last few days. Checking out houses, checking out neighborhoods, trying to see myself as a responsible, mature adult-type person with a mortgage and a lawnmower*.

Some of those streets are very familiar, since I have spent most of my life here. But others only have on associated memory, and that memory is ORANGES.

See, at my high school, the marching band's annual fundraiser was (and still is) selling oranges. To this day, I HAVE to have oranges in November; it's a compulsion.

Way back when we first moved here, I was of course astonished and slightly frightened by the band director's intensity when it came to orange sales. We HAD to sell oranges! We MUST sell oranges! GO SELL SOME ORANGES!!!!!!!!!!!!

I took him at his word, because I liked being in band and I didn't want to get kicked out because of mediocre numbers on my order forms. My mother drove me down every street in Randomville (it was much smaller then), and I fake-smiled and broadened my accent and gave Oscar-winning performaces at every door. I sold the heck out of those oranges.

When we turned in our order forms, I had a great heaping pile, and most of the other band members had one or two. ONE OR TWO. Clearly, nobody else was worried that low orange sales would result in expulsion from the band.

That changed my thinking a bit. I sold oranges for three more years, but not door-to-door; I relied on the old slacker method of having my mom sell to her coworkers.

That's why, when I was driving around those streets, I thought about selling oranges, because that is literally my ONLY experience with some of those roads; in nearly 20 years, I haven't set either foot or tire on those streets.

Soon I might live on one of those streets, and maybe I'll open my door to some little sad-eyed band kid who just wants to move some oranges.

*haha, just kidding. I have no intention of owning a lawnmower.

Approved

2010-07-07T19:52:00.002-05:00

So last time I said I didn't have anything interesting to talk about, but that isn't true anymore.

My bank has approved me for a home loan and now I am looking for a house that I can buy WITH MY OWN MONEY.

Given my credit history, my expectations were low; in fact, I only talked to the bank about a loan at my dad's request, as we had sort of set up a plan by which he would buy a house and I would rent-to-own, or something.

I dragged my feet, because who voluntarily begs for public humiliation? At best, I was expecting them to say I could borrow up to five thousand dollars at 115% interest (optimism!!).

But I talked to the loan counselor yesterday, and I am pre-approved for the amount I requested, at whatever the going interest rate is--yesterday it was 4.87%, which, when you've held credit cards at 39% (and yes, I have), seems like practically nothing.

So I am currently looking for a modest dream house that is worthy of my next thirty years.

This may the most excited/nauseated I've ever been.

Blocking the Block

2010-07-05T21:31:00.003-05:00

There's not much of interest to write about right now--though I'm sure you're all dying to know how many hours I sit on the couch--but I want to get back into the habit of blogging on a regular basis. To that end, I'm using memes, because they generate thought, and at least I'm writing something.

This one comes from The Queen's Meme, and I'm not answering all the questions.

The Firsts Meme
(a totally random and useless meme about firsts)

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?

I thought I looked rested, finally. I slept for 10 hours last night, the first time this summer. It was a huge improvement.

2. Where did you go on the very first vacation of your life?

I don't know. I moved from New York to Florida when I was two months old, does that count?

One of the first vacations I remember is my family's first camping trip. We are not hardy mountain folk, but we did a lot of camping when I was younger.

On that first trip, I was probably four or five; my sister Joon would have been two or three. We borrowed a tent from another family and drove up into ... wherever we went. (I don't even know where we were living; it must have been Louisiana, but I don't think we went to the mountains there.) [Ed: My mother said it was Jellystone Park.]

As far as I remember, things were going really well. We'd eaten in the great outdoors (though I'm fairly certain we ate something totally processed and preserved, because we aren't the hunter/gatherer type either), sat around a campfire, and rolled ourselves into our sleeping bags for the night.

Then it started to rain. The tent began to leak, and things were getting tense out there in the wilderness.

I can only remember bits and pieces of this trip, since I was so young, but I do know that we packed up in the middle of the night and went home.

In a blazing defiance of Flower Protocol, my dad did NOT declare camping to be the stupidest thing he'd ever heard of and make a raised-fist statement in the vein of Scarlett O'Hara ("As God is my witness, I'LL NEVER GO CAMPING AGAIN."). Actually, we went camping a lot, in many fine campsites up and down the East Coast.

It must be noted, however, that I have made this statement myself. I hate camping, because I always wake up in the middle of the night and have to go to the bathroom, but I convince myself that there is a hook-handed escapee from a lunatic asylum right outside the tent, so I just lie awake and twist my legs around each other until morning. True story.

3. Open the door of your refrigerator. What is the first thing you see?

The hollowed shell of a watermelon. I didn't want bugs, so I couldn't put it in the garbage can. I might run down to the dump tomorrow.

Watermelon is the single greatest fruit in the world, and I will fight somebody about this.

4. What is the first thing you do when you get in your car?

Lock the doors. We Flowers are a paranoid bunch, and we lock everything, even if it's unnecessary. My brother-in-law calls my parents' house The Fortress, on account of there are three locks to get through when opening the front door.

When I'm driving downtown, I'm always hyper-alert, because I get about 10,000 email forwards from people warning me about the newest gang initiation, which always involves a carjacking and a rape. So I drive like this:

I always lock the door first thing when I get out of the car too.

5. If you had created the world in seven days yourself, what would you have created on the First Day?

To be honest, I probably would have created a clone of myself. Then we would have sat around trying to one-up each other in a nerd contest, and I would have forgotten about creating the rest of the world. Sometimes it's good that I'm not in charge.

6. What is the first song in your IPOD or song list?

"And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," by Jennifer Holliday. I should mention that, while this is obviously an awesome song, it's first because my song list is alphabetized.

7. When was the last time you needed FirstAid?

A little over a month ago, I managed to slice off my pinky fingernail while shaving my legs. Given the amount of blood that gushed into the bathtub, it's probably a good thing that the police didn't have a reason to be visiting my house right then (not that they EVER do). I bled for a straight hour, went through two hand towels, AND I couldn't find my good bandaids.

This is a good argument for waxing.

8. Can you explain what a first down is in football?

Yes, but only because I was in the marching band. You know what? I bet I haven't watched a football game in about 10 years. Hunh.

That is not a complaint.

Goin' to the Graveyard

2010-06-25T00:24:00.003-05:00

Last week I went to the historic Elmwood Cemetery in Memphis. It's a beautiful cemetery, but it was also an educational experience. Elmwood provides audio tours and maps so you can do your own thing and at your own pace.

I love local stories, but I really got schooled in Memphis history! There's so much I didn't know about the city, and I admit I felt some pride swelling up as the narrator ... erm ... narrated the stories of some of the people buried at Elmwood.

I took over 100 pictures that afternoon, and I'm showing some of them here in a video, with minimal explanation. Just look at the pictures.

p.s. If you had a mind to, you can get married here. One of my friends did. For the record, I'm not as afraid of cemeteries as I used to be, but using one for a destination wedding doesn't really fit my idea of celebration.

The beauty, the splendor, the wonder

2010-06-20T22:09:00.008-05:00

The Mousetrap ended last night, which means my hair can go on vacation now. Let's take a look at its latest journey.

For comparison, here is my hair in its natural state, blown dry, no styling:

Straight. Straight straight straight. Not a wave in sight. My hair thinks it's living in the 60s. But the director specifically requested "mall hair," so I devised a system that would turn my Marcia Brady hair into Melanie Griffith's Working Girl 'do.

Each performance day, I would spend 3-4 hours curling my hair with a 1/2 curling iron. I started with Suave Healthy Curls Scrunching Mousse, then applied a coat of Freeze It Mega Freeze Hairspray. I'd hit it with the Freeze It again just before and after curling, and then periodically douse my whole head with Bed Head Hard Head. By the time I'd finished, I looked like this:

And nothing short of an F-4 tornado was gonna shake those babies loose. I could have hammered nails with those things.

To give the curls time to set, I'd cover it with a scarf and drive to the theater. About 30 minutes before curtain, I'd brush them out and give them another Freeze It mist:

Usually they'd flatten a bit during the show, but then, I'd also sit backstage and tug on them, because they really were irresistible. They were such a novelty to me that I couldn't keep my hands away.

Most nights, I'd brush my hair out at the theater and pull it back into a Peter Cottontail-like puffball. I don't like hair on my face, and I don't like the smell of hairspray, so I needed to get both away from me ASAP:

The next morning, a regular shampoo would take all the product out, and a heavy duty conditioner made it possible to start all over again.

Summer, Week 1

2010-06-06T20:35:00.003-05:00

The end of school brought on insomnia and malaise. After running around all year, it's nice to be able to sit and do NOTHING.

In the past day or so, though, I've definitely felt the do-nothings wear off, and I've been working on cleaning up the house. I KNOW. You guys, I hate cleaning more than almost anything else in the world, but I'm tired of visiting the dryer before I can take a shower in the morning.

I'll be teaching the broadcasting class next year, and I'm SO EXCITED about it! The quality of the class's productions has declined in the past few years, to the point that I don't even want to turn on the television when show time is announced. I hope that I'm able to make some positive changes that will be evident almost immediately, and I've been doing a lot of Google searches to see what other schools are doing with their programs. I don't have experience with film editing, and I'm a little worried about that. Still, a new era has dawned!

I'm still in rehearsals for The Mousetrap. We open Friday, and I'm a little nervous. I've been doing hair trials, to figure out how to look like I'm an 80s Lady, but my hair doesn't hold curl well and I'm afraid the heat of the lights will melt my pouf. Also, I tend to run my fingers through my hair when I/my character is agitated, and I have visions of my hands getting caught, like a fly in a spiderweb. Probably not what Agatha Christie had in mind.

Here's a sample:

Those curls are all from a curling iron. It only took four or five hours. (!) I did another trial with curlers, but it was a miserable failure that ended in a bad mood.

I haven't neglected my education, because some friends and I went to an art museum this week. We are all about the culture here in Randomville. Also, we ate cupcakes. Feeding the soul AND the body!

Politics As Usual

2010-05-13T22:27:00.003-05:00

I used to want to go into politics. When I was eighteen and contemplating my future, I thought nothing would be more exciting than working at the Capitol. I would use my brains and my eloquence to make the world a better place.

Mei Flower Goes to Washington, that was my vision.

Well, I'm older now, and the scales have fallen, as they do. I no longer want to be a politician--not because I don't think I'm qualified (I totally am), but because I would rather not be associated with the profession. Lying down with dogs, etc.

Unfortunately, those dogs and their fleas still have a major impact on my job.

Apparently ever single person who's been elected to the legislature has a degree in education, and is therefore qualified to make decisions that affect Tennessee's public schools. Of course they do.

The fact is that the state's legislators, like most non-teachers, have no respect for teachers, have no idea what I do all day, and have 100,000,000,000 ideas on how to fix a system that THEY broke in the first place.

As my state--like the other 49--is facing a budget crunch this year, where exactly do our legislators look to save money? The answer, obviously, is to take it out of teachers' paychecks.

It's not like this is an isolated incident. Every day I hear more stories about schools closing because of our current economic situation. Why aren't more people angry about this? It's not like education doesn't drive EVERY SINGLE OTHER PROFESSION, right?

Anyway, concerning Tennessee's budget cuts specifically, here's the email I wrote to my dad, when he was composing his letter of complaint to our state senator. NOTE: He did not use any of my ideas in his final draft.

You could talk about how we're already experiencing budget crunches on the local level and how that is causing us to work harder, since we'll have bigger classes but the same obligations to raise test scores. You could also mention that you didn't read any articles about the state politicians taking any pay cuts. Further, you could ask where, exactly, that Race to the Top money is going to go, since it has been earmarked for education, and using it to build a new Governor's Mansion or sports stadium violates both the terms of that grant money and the trust of the educators of Tennessee. I would further remind him that there are almost 60,000 educators in Tennessee, and that each of them is also a voter.

According to this study, there are not enough teachers in our state, and projections say that we will have fewer and fewer as time progresses. How can we effectively educate Tennessee's children if there is no teacher in the classroom? What incentive does a potential teacher have to teach in Tennessee? Teaching is already one of the 10 worst-paying college degrees , and now the state is trying offer even less to new graduates. How do they think they're going to provide quality education IF THEY DON'T PAY FOR IT.

Also, education is one of the few industries in our state that shows a consistent growth rate (at least 2% per year), but the salary growth rate is not consistent with employment rate. (source: pdf file)

This is all in addition to the fact that the legislature itself has given teachers more responsibilities, instituted a set of unreasonable expectations in the form of state testing, and forced us to work longer hours--WHILE REFUSING TO PAY FOR IT.

If, as these lawmakers say, education IS important, they need to put their money where their mouths are.

This Week

2010-05-06T21:31:00.005-05:00

1. This week was my last week of jury duty.
You guys, I totally love jury duty! I know that everybody always complains about it, and says it's boring and stuff, but not me! I am down with my civic duty. Even though my first week was during Spring Break, I was still in the courtroom with my chin on my hands, all wide-eyed and little girly.
I sat for two trials, one on the first day and one on the last. The first was a criminal trial, and not only did I get to do one of my favorite things ever--judge other people--but I was also Madame Foreman. I read the verdict like I was the freaking Queen of England! The second trial was civil, and it ran until 8pm. EIGHT PEE EMM!! I was not Madame Foreman this time, which: boo. But even so, during deliberations, I said my piece and everyone agreed with me, and we wound up making a decision based on my ~~brilliant~~ argument. So it's kind of like I puppet-mastered the jury, which is probably illegal, but I didn't pull any literal strings, so I plead not guilty.
Bonus: I missed three days of school, including one professional development day and one day of standardized testing.

2. This week I taught World War II in my world history classes.
I love the fact that we're moving into a period of history that is recent enough that I can show actual footage of battles, etc. I think they really enhance my lessons.
I have really enjoyed teaching world history this year. I have poured my heart and soul into it, let me tell you. It pains me to think that a) I did all this work for a one-year assignment, and 2) ~~the coaches~~ some teachers handed their students some worksheets and called that a lesson. I wish history was recognized as a more valuable class, but since it's not a tested subject, nobody cares.

3. This week I got a part in a play.
I will be appearing in The Mousetrap, by Agatha Christie. I'm Mollie, the ~~person with the most lines to memorize~~ proprieter of a boarding house. Our version is set in Montana in the 1980s, which, on the one hand, is sad, because I was totally looking forward to being British, and on the other hand, is good, because we get to use David Bowie for the soundtrack.
My dad asked me why, since I just got done with the school play, I would want to commit myself to another. The truth is that directing a play and acting in a play are two entirely different things. Right now, I only have to worry about myself; I don't have to consider budget, gather materials, or make major decisions. It's AWESOME.

4. This week my ~~bad~~ challenging class did something right.
After Spring Break, I didn't want to start a major unit in my speech classes, since my students were preparing persuasive speeches for presentation. I created a mini-lesson for mock trial, and the kids really got into it. They were very excited to argue their cases in front of their classmates.
However, several students lost their mock trial privileges in my third period class when they did not have their persuasive speeches on the due date. And by "several," I mean "two-thirds of the class." (That was the first of two days I cried at an assistant principal.) I reassigned the cases, which meant that I had 16 kids serving on a jury, but whatever: taking them out of the trials was a worse punishment than detention, I think.
When the attorneys had made their closing statements, I instructed the jury and allowed them to deliberate. Both of my other classes had returned with a verdict in a matter of minutes, but this jury argued amongst themselves for a full forty minutes, and they would have gone longer if the bell hadn't rung. They were asking great questions, making amazing observations, and speaking as eloquently as any lawyer I've ever heard. It was so cool to watch them! I was absolutely astounded at their professionalism and their intense reactions.
Since the group was so large, I stayed with them to make sure they kept on-task, and they asked me questions to clarify their duties and some definitions. At one point, things became a little heated, and the jury foreman said, "Hey, hey, hey, nobody's getting angry here." And one kid replied, "Well, I'M getting a little angry, actually," which made me laugh out loud. After about twenty minutes, someone asked, "Ms. Flower, is this what jury duty is really like?" and I said, "YUP," which is 100% true. Later, a jury member said, "This isn't even a REAL CASE," and the foreman told her, "But we have to ACT like it is," which was the best thing I'd heard in weeks. I loved that they were so invested in the case.
That class period served as a reminder that I shouldn't have expectations of disappointment; I don't know why, after ten years, I haven't figured out that kids are capable of surprising even the crabbiest of Crabby Appletons, like me. One day I will look back at those seven days as both a low point AND a high point in my teaching career.

Oh, Glencoe

2010-04-28T22:31:00.002-05:00

According to Wikipedia (... I know):

"The Battle of the Bulge was the bloodiest of the battles that U.S. forces experienced in World War II ... The German losses in the battle were critical in several respects: the last of the German reserves were now gone, the Luftwaffe had been shattered and the remaining German forces in the West were being pushed back."

It's also the source of one of the best comebacks ever recorded.

Here is what my history textbook has to say the Battle of the Bulge:

.

.

.

Yup.

But I Can Explain ...

2010-04-28T19:22:00.001-05:00

For the past two weeks, all my Google searches have been related to Hitler, fascism, and Stalin.

I feel like my computer is judging me.

Yup

2010-04-23T19:55:00.004-05:00

Pop Quiz:

Today I was

a. told that the assignments I give my students are unrelated to my class .
b. accused of promoting the school board's "liberal agenda."
c. threatened with exposure via [a global media and entertainment company].
d. all of the above.

Today I

a. explained a class assignment to a parent and was told, "Well, that's not what s/he told me."
b. was told by said parent that he had told his child NOT to complete the assignment.
c. was told by said parent that his child would not, in fact, be receiving any punitive consequences for an incomplete assignment.
d. all of the above.

Today I

a. cried for the second time in two days in an assistant principal's office.
b. envisioned myself in an easier, more rewarding, job, such as lion tamer, or shark bait.
c. cursed until I ran out of words.
d. all of the above.

Today

a. two different assistant principals supported me, my class, my assignments, and my integrity when dealing with ~~delusional~~ parents and their child ~~who tells lies~~
b. I presided over a mock trial which exercises the following skills that are important in public speaking: critical thinking, improvisation, deductive reasoning, debate technique, research and rehearsal, propaganda recognition, persuasive speaking, informative speaking, and effective listening.
c. I did NOT punch anyone, and was both surprised at and proud of this fact.
d. all of the above.

What Is Making Me Mad Today? (part three in a series)

2010-04-22T23:06:00.001-05:00

Here is my justification for why so many students are failing my class this year:

Guess what, Board of "Education." I did what I was supposed to do. I made my class as easy as possible so that everyone would have the opportunity to succeed. I rarely gave homework. Toward the end of the year, I even stopped asking them to study and just let them use their notes. I bent over backwards for those kids, and I gave them every opportunity, and you know what? You're right. I HAVE FAILED.

Because I compromised my principles.
Because I focused on the lowest common denominator and let the others slide by.
Because I didn't offer challenges.
Because I rewarded mediocrity.
Because I let myself become a diaper-changer and a bottle-feeder.
Because I settled for peace when I should have striven for excellence.
Because I didn't tell you that you were wrong at every opportunity.
Because I didn't stand up for myself.
Because I allowed people who either haven't been in the classroom for years or have never been in the classroom at all to tell me how to do my job.
Because I suffered in silence when I should have raised my voice.

And most of all, I have failed them because I was not the best teacher I could be, because I did not teach them as well as I could have, because I lowered my expectations, because I listened to some bass-ackward, no-account, know-nothing, superiority-complexed a--holes, WHEN I KNEW THEY WERE WRONG THE WHOLE TIME.

And THAT is what is making me mad today.

Six Degrees

2010-04-13T23:44:00.005-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, when I was on the verge of my pre-performance breakdown, I received a summons for jury duty. Now. I am more than happy to offer my services to our local court system, but it so happens that this summons was for April 12, aka THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING BREAK.

At that moment, my pre-performance breakdown got moved up by several days, and while I was at it, I just went ahead and had my during- and post-performance breakdowns as well. I'd been looking forward to Spring Break the way a prisoner looks forward to parole, and now I was going to have to get up early and spend my day around common criminals? ["Just like at school," my mean personality sneered. Her name is Cindy.]

Because I am a Good Citizen--with the certificates to prove it; sure, they're from the fourth grade, but THEY COUNT--I showed up at the Random County Courthouse early Monday morning, walked through the metal detector, and stood in line waiting for the courtroom doors to open. I was already mentally planning my plea to the judge: "And if you DON'T let me go home, you will SEE ME on the OTHER SIDE of the JURY BOX because I WILL HAVE MURDERED SOMEONE MYSELF. I'm not saying WHO, exactly, but I THINK MY HANDS WILL FIT AROUND YOUR NECK JUST FINE." [Cindy helped me with that.]

The Circuit Court Clerk did a roll call, and not one, not two, not three, but FOUR of my former students had been summoned as well (two didn't show). There were also people who are probably related to two of my current students (their names are common around here, but only because they are, in fact, ALL related). One of the judges has a daughter I taught last year. I graduated from high school with one of the attorneys. And I think the clerk was my softball coach. Actually, it's absolutely possible that I was connected, in one way or another, to EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THAT COURTROOM.

Of course there's only one conclusion to draw from this:

I AM THE KEVIN BACON OF RANDOM COUNTY.

That revelation was so powerful that there was really only one way for me to adequately express my emotional state: I had to DANCE.

Oh, Hello

2010-04-13T09:46:00.007-05:00

Last week, the school's spring play opened and closed, which means I will now have approximately 400 more hours per week to concentrate on other stuff, so: YAY.

Here is what you need to know about that play:

1. It's a musical.
It is much different directing a musical than a dialogue-only play. There are so many other things to consider. Not to mention, it's been so long since I've been in band or choir that I had to resort to creating my own jargon for musical terms, because I couldn't remember, for example, the phrases "quarter rest" or "eighth notes." I'm very disappointed in myself.

2. I had SOOOO much help in putting it together.
The most help came from the choir director, who gave my cast extra help both before and after school. He came to several rehearsals--even the one on Good Friday--and was an excellent resource for my non-choir-member kids, very non-judgmental and encouraging.
Another friend choreographed one of the songs, again, staying after school for a rehearsal and showing remarkable patience with my rhythm-challenged babies.
One of the cast members' parents volunteer at a local theater, and they worked out a deal for us so we could borrow microphones for my soloists. I've never worked with a sound board before, but I got pretty darn good at it, if I do say so myself. Having a sound system improved the entire musical by 10,000%, and I was very sad when we had to give it all back.
We had not one, but TWO sarcophagi(?) built for the play. The art teacher and her classes created a massive, gorgeous sarcophagus out of cardboard and papier mache, while my lighting tech (a student) built the other one from plywood. One of the main reasons I chose this particular script was so that I could get a sarcophagus out of it, and now I have TWO. An embarrassment of riches.

2. This is an interactive play.
It was difficult to rehearse audience participation. Totally new and, of course, we didn't know what to expect. Fortunately, both nights, our audience did not disappoint, and I think they really enjoyed being part of the action. I was very impressed with my cast's ability to improvise, as they were not as quick during rehearsal.

3. There was a lot to do OUTSIDE of the actual play.
The action takes place in a museum, in an exhibit entitled "Monsters, Murderers, and Madmen." The script suggested setting up the auditorium to look like a museum, with exhibits and tableaus of various disgusting stuff/people from history.
The cast and I scoured our homes for objects that could, at the very least, be given a creepy back story, and set them out on the cafeteria tables (because we don't have an auditorium; we have a cafeteria stage, and by "stage," I mean "slightly elevated platform that has no stagelike qualities whatsoever") with the appropriate placards. Borrowing liberally from the science department's specimen cabinets, we managed to make up completely false information that sound sort of true, injecting both a sense of humor and a history lesson into each description.
In addition, we had a group of about 15 extras, volunteers who allowed themselves to be powdered to excess and doused in blood, who took on various personas (Jack the Ripper, Carrie, Frankenstein's monster) and interacted with audience members as they arrived. A good time was had by all.

4. I choreographed the majority of the songs.
I do not say this with arrogance, more like EXTREME SURPRISE. My dance experience consists of one ballet class and the Electric Slide, neither of which were particularly helpful in this context. My choreography style relies heavily on downbeats and walking in rhythm (or "marching," we called it, in band). Even so, I'm very proud of myself for having done something so completely NOT ME, and having it turn out to be pretty darn good. I might be prouder of the final dance than anything else I've ever done in my whole life.

5. I experienced enough stress in the last two weeks to fell a lesser woman.
If I were older, or had heart problems, or were prone to ulcers, this play would have killed me. As it was, I coped by becoming the ~~Bitc~~ Witchiest ~~Bit~~ Witch in Bi Witchlandia, and I have no regrets. Better cross than cremated, I am going to start saying since I just made this up right now.

6. I am through with school plays.
At least for the time being. There are several reasons:
a). My best class of actors is graduating this year. I refer to their past three years as the Golden Era, in my head. It will be hard to continue without them.
b). I'm (finally) starting grad school this fall. I will simply not have the time to stage a full production.
c). I am EXHAUSTED. During the season, every spare moment is spent on the play, whether I'm rehearsing, shopping, prepping, building ... whatever. Schools with real theater departments divide the work between the director, stage manager, lighting technician, sound technician, costumer, carpenter, PR person, prop master. At my school, the work is divided between me, myself, and I.
d). I'm not getting paid. Due to the amazing craphole that is our state budget, all clubs and activities (with the exception of football and basketball) are losing their funding. It's not that I was getting that much anyway--after taxes, about $350, approximately $1.50/hr.--but to get NOTHING expects a little bit more of me than I'm willing to give. Oh, but WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN. Look, if THE CHILDREN were so important to our state lawmakers, we wouldn't be having this conversation.
e). However, if we have the resources, I am going to try to hire an outside director to do at least one play next year. I'm looking forward to seeing how someone else will deal with our special circumstances.

7. Curtain.

What Is Making Me Mad Today? (part two in a series)

2010-03-22T21:49:00.002-05:00

Today I am mad because I caught Larynx Leprosy and was out of school for three days last week, and on the last day, my classes got stuck with the Rogue Sub.

For those of you who are not familiar with this stereotype, let me explain.

The Rogue Sub does not follow the teacher's lesson plans. She sometimes complains to the class about the worthlessness of the teacher's lesson plans, and then she picks and chooses what to share with the class. She ignores the teacher's request for notes detailing her classes' behavior and work ethic, and she rearranges the teacher's desk so the teacher cannot find anything when she returns.

I hate the Rogue Sub.

I planned this week's lessons around the expectation that my students would have completed the work I left for them, but apparently my directions were too confusing for the Rogue Sub to follow, and yes, that is what she told my students, that my lesson plans were unclear and she didn't know what I wanted her to do.

Oh?

Here is what I sent, and I know she got it because it was on my desk this morning with a note from a student in my fourth period class.

Please write the following on the board.

Schools should/should not switch to digital textbooks.
Schools should/should not do away with Homecoming Week activities.
The Harry Potter books are/are not better than the movies.
(could also be Lord of the Rings, Narnia, or Twilight)
It is/is not easier to be a teenager today than when your parents were young.
"With great power comes great responsibility." (Stan Lee) True or false?
"All good things to know are difficult to learn." (Greek proverb) True or false?
"Love is all you need." (Lennon/McCartney) True or false?

Students should choose ONE topic and write a speech, either supporting or opposing.

Please read the following to the class:

Today you're writing a speech. It's practice, so that by the time you write your giant five-minute speech, you'll know exactly what you're doing. You'll need to write an introduction, in which you state your opinion. Are you FOR digital textbooks? Then you tell me that in the intro. Do you AGREE with Stan Lee? Intro. Is John Lennon right? INTRO. An introduction, of course, needs to consist of MORE THAN ONE SENTENCE.

Before you even THINK about writing the introduction, however, you need to come up with AT LEAST THREE reasons why you're right. And once you've brainstormed those three reasons, you'll need to decide how you're going to support them. Remember, "because I said so" is NEVER a good argument. Given your lack of resources today, you're going to have to rely on yourselves as sources. THIS DOES NOT MEAN that you can write sentences such as, "That's my opinion," or "That's what I think." But you can use your personal experience to provide support.

For example, if I wrote a speech titled, "Teaching is Awesome," the first paragraph might say something like this, "One reason that teaching is awesome is that I get to meet so many wonderful people. The perfect example is my 1B class, which is the best class I have ever taught or will ever teach in my whole life. This class has the most amazing students, who always turn in their work on time, never complain, and come to class eager to learn. They make my life worth living."

Once you've got your three reasons SUPPORTING your opinion, you'll need to think of one thing that other people might say in opposition. Address that opposing opinion in your paper.

Example: "Some people might say that teachers don't make enough money. While I do agree with that statement, I will say that teaching offers other compensations. I may not be able to put gas in my car, but when I'm walking ten miles to school, uphill, carrying a hot potato to keep my fingers from freezing off, I think of my 1B class. When I see their smiling faces, I forget all about my negative bank balance, because the privilege of being their teacher is the only payment I need."

Finally, you'll need to conclude your paper and, as you know, your conclusion must consist of more than one sentence.

P.S. You'll be presenting these speeches on Tuesday. And since I will be dragging myself off my deathbed to hear them, THEY HAD BETTER BE GOOD.

I don't see what's so confusing about "Please read the following to the class." Is it because I didn't include the word "aloud"? Should I have defined the word "read"?

Not only did she NOT read anything aloud to my students, but she also wrote only four of my speech topics on the board, and then she told my students to write one paragraph about their chosen topic. ONE PARAGRAPH.

I had planned to use tomorrow for speech presentations and critiques, but apparently she also told them to go ahead and read their ~~speeches~~ PARAGRAPHS to the class. Which was clearly NOT part of the lesson plan.

Oh, but it gets better.

She also taught one of my world history classes, and by "taught," I definitely mean "completely ignored my instructions."

Once again, here is the lesson plan:

Please write the following on the board:

geography skills pg 759
history and arts pg 760
section review pg 761 (not #8)
geography skills pg 763
science, technology, and society, pg 764
infographics, pg 766
connecting to the united states, pg 769
section review pg 770 (YES to #8, but downgrade to a paragraph; and by "paragraph," please explain that I mean NO FEWER THAN FIVE COMPLETE SENTENCES THAT ARE PROPERLY SPELLED, USE CORRECT PUNCTUATION, AND FOLLOW CONVENTIONAL GRAMMAR RULES.)
analyzing visuals, pg 771
standardized test practice, pg 785, #1-9, 19, 20

Students may write all their work on the same paper, as long as each section is clearly labeled. This work is to be completed individually. ALL WORK MUST BE TURNED IN WHETHER IT IS COMPLETED OR NOT.

And here is a text I got from one of my students on Friday afternoon:

Student: I hope you get better soon. Because these subs are getting freaking crazy. haha but besides that you are an awesome teacher. [Ed. note: sniff, tear]

Me: Haha, nice afterthought. How was class today? Were you good?

Student: I was very good. However, the sub was crrrrrraaazyy. Like she gave us her own lecture about current events with palestine and stuff for some reason. And she was like i don't know why you have to learn about world war one. And then a lot of illegible [sic] things that took 45 mins of class. So no one finished the work because she didn't know what she was talking about and made her own thesis about what to do in class all day until someone asked to read your instructions. She also talked about her husband who went to vietnam and how she didn't really love him. And how he died from medical problems. Twas crazy.

And so, once again, I am screwed in regards to what I had planned to teach, because the Rogue Sub has some sort of comprehension issue. My kids have NO idea what's going on, because they're more confused than ever. Meanwhile, I can't find ANYTHING on my desk, so I don't know what work my classes have or haven't done.

Sigh. This is why I will die at school, because I can't subject my students to another day with the Rogue Sub.

I Am Persuaded

2010-03-09T21:03:00.003-06:00

As an introduction to our persuasion unit (which will lead to the debate unit), my speech classes have been working on group discussions. I taught them the process and then set them to practice. We have spent a week fixing the world's problems, and by "the world," I mean "our school." Discussed topics include the following:

How can we decrease truancy in our school?
What should we do to motivate underachieving students?
What should we do to encourage at-risk students to stay in school?

All of these topics came from newspaper articles I've read in the past two weeks; of course the articles dealt with specific proposals that had already been made: one talked about a Texas school system that uses GPS to track truant students, one talked about several states that are starting to give monetary rewards to students who make good grades, and one talked about schools that are discussing the possibility of allowing at-risk students to transfer to community college after the tenth grade.

After passing out each article, I wrote a discussion outline on the board and asked students to go ahead and write their own answers before the discussion began, so they would have something to contribute once we started. I tried to stress the importance of research and preparation, not just for the discussion, but also for our upcoming speeches ("There is no argument that can be logically won with, 'Because I said so,'" I told them. "Unless you're talking to your mom.")

As the group leader I got to direct the discussion, and I have to tell you, I've been pretty impressed. I don't often get a chance to see my students using their critical thinking skills, and I thought some of their solutions were pretty amazing. Almost every student contributed something, even though I had to coax it out of some of my more reticent kids.

I began each discussion by talking about how the situation we discussed could have major ramifications for our school. I tried to impress upon them that THEY are the ones who are most affected by school policies, and that if they aren't happy with their school, the powers-that-be would be more likely to listen to them (and their parents) than to me.

[If there's one thing that I've learned from teaching world history this year, it's that sometimes change only comes through revolution. I want to be on the front lines of this one.]

In all three discussions, someone suggested that we offer more classes that would appeal to students.

"Why don't we have those classes now?" I asked.

And without hesitating or prompting, they would answer, "No Child Left Behind."

See, when even the students know that a law has a negative effect on schools, the government should take note.

Dream World

2010-03-03T22:21:00.003-06:00

Last night I dreamt that one of my students had written something rude about me on Facebook. I actually WOKE UP in the middle of the night and thought, "YOU ARE DEAD TO ME, MISTER."

This morning, when I woke up for realsies, I was still mad at him.

(It should be noted, here, that 1. he's actually one of my favorite students, and 2. I don't stalk my students' Facebook accounts and I wouldn't care if they wrote about me, whether it's bad or good.)

I didn't see this student until last period today, but I must have had some unconscious Dream Anger recall, because I had to make a real effort not to snap at him FOR NO REASON AT ALL. I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye.

To make it worse, I started to feel guilty because I was treating him differently--even though, in this context, "differently" doesn't mean "badly," just "atypically"--and then I thought that he might think I really WAS mad at him, and then I felt bad that he might feel bad. And, I mean, it's not like I could explain, because how would THAT go? One does not try to reassure a freshman boy by starting out with, "I had this dream ..."

My problems are very weird and specific.

Oral History

2010-03-02T22:12:00.002-06:00

I'm sure you'll find this shocking--SHOCKING--but I'm not really the most conventional of teachers. Yeah, I know.

One of my fears is that the administrators at my school will randomly listen in on my classes through the school intercom, and I'll be saying something weird that could, out of context, be somewhat ... questionable.

For example, here are some things a principal might have heard if he'd chosen to wiretap my world history class today.

"You guys, I'm totally saying stuff in Chinese today, so prepare to have your MINDS BLOWN."

"Right, so your book calls this chapter 'The Decline of the Qing Dynasty,' but to be quite frank, the subtitle should be 'England Is a Jerk.'"

"And their main domestic problems were corruption, peasant unrest, and incompetence, which: THANK GOD, never happens anymore." [One of my students said, "That sounded like sarcasm," and I said, "It diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid?"]

(re: Opium Wars)
"And China was like, 'No, we don't want your British goods,' so then Great Britain was like, 'Boo, we'll show you. Here, HAVE SOME DRUGS!"

"So, basically, it was like if you went and picked a fight with a five-year-old. That has a drug problem."

(re: Tai Ping Rebellion)
"And then he was like, 'Jesus told me to destroy you! And then to name this city Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace!' So, more or less, it's like if I punched you in the face and then said, 'God bless you.'"

"If I were a math genius, I would break that down into the average number of deaths per day, but ... I don't actually care that much."

"And then when China had the AUDACITY to protest, Britain was like, 'HOW DARE YOU SIR. Also, we'll take Beijing now, pip pip!"

(re: self-strengthening)
"But China was all, 'Noooooooo, not democracy! That's just crazy talk!'"

(re: spheres of influence)
"So all these different countries made their claims, and they were like, 'This part is mine. Mine mine mine mine mine. MINE.'"

(re: the assignment)
"Nobody leaves unless you've given me your opium paper."

It's Kind of Like the Olympics

2010-02-10T11:06:00.002-06:00

Since the snows came, my workout regimen has consisted of racing my cat up the stairs.

He always beats me, but ... one day ...

Hypothesis, Experiment, Conclusion

2010-02-08T23:11:00.005-06:00

So.

Cats don't like snow.

But you probably already knew that.

Oy

2010-02-05T23:03:00.002-06:00

Today one of my angels turned in a quiz with a swastika on the back.

Then we started the lesson, which was all about the growth of anti-semitism in Europe during the early 20th century.

Coincidence ...?

Real World Connections

2010-02-04T22:14:00.004-06:00

Today I referred to pre-WWI Germany as the Regina George of Europe.

It was a good day.

What Is Making Me Mad This Week?

2010-02-02T21:54:00.003-06:00

Oh, I'm so glad you asked.

This week, I am mad because someone, on another forum, has asked some teachers for advice in regards to becoming a teacher, not because this person has an overwhelming desire to be in the classroom or because s/he has always dreamed of molding young minds or to become an educational inspiration for younger generations, OH NO.

This person would like to become a teacher because, essentially, s/he cannot find a first choice job and "teaching ... sounds ... interesting ..."

ME: ...

As you know, I find this opinion--that teaching is a fallback career that anyone can do--to be not only condescending but also very insulting.

In the first place, there is a level of education that must be acquired before one can just waltz to the front of a classroom. Second, there is a massive amount of testing that one must ~~endure~~ surpass. And third, ONE CANNOT AND SHOULD NOT BE A TEACHER JUST BECAUSE ONE'S LIFE PLAN HAS FALLEN THROUGH.

Urrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggh.

I'm actually quite proud of myself for not publicly eviscerating this person in the forum. I had gotten quite worked up, as I'm sure you can imagine.

The poster had asked us (veteran teachers) for advice on breaking into the field. S/he was not interested in advice such as "You need a degree in education" or "If you are looking for an easy job, try your local nuclear reactor."

Instead, s/he was looking for a quick ticket to Teacher Junction, and I thought, but did not say, the following:

If you would like to be a teacher, please complete the steps below:

1. Find a giant rock. Its shape and location are not important, but it should weigh at least as much as a small car.
2. Find a steep hill. If a hill is not available, lay a board against the side of a house at a 45 degree angle.
3. Every day, from 7:30 until 3:15, push the giant rock up the hill/board. You may have one toilet break in the morning and one in the afternoon. Lunch is at 10:35 and should last no longer than 20 minutes.
4. Enlist friends, neighbors, and total strangers to stand around and watch your progress. They should feel free to critique every move you make.
5. For every day that you fail to push the rock to the top of the hill/board, write a minus sign next to your name; likewise for every successful day, give yourself a plus. At the end of 184 days, if your minuses exceed your pluses, you could lose this cushy, easy job.

Pay is slightly above minimum wage, and may be dependent upon your positive effect data (your plus/minus differential).

After one year, in spite of any emotional or physical decline, if you feel up to facing that rock again, YOU ARE READY TO BE A TEACHER.

New Year, New Socks

2010-01-24T21:53:00.004-06:00

I don't know if I completed a pair of socks for myself at all last year. I know I made a pair for each of parents, and two pairs for a baby, but I might have overlooked myself altogether.

It's time to rectify that mistake:

Yarn: Wendy Happy
Colorway: Taurus
Needles: US2
Pattern: standard toe-up on 64 stitches with short-row heel

My mom bought the yarn for me on a trip to Asheville, North Carolina. "Just buy me something that looks like Asheville," I told her, and I think those are some very helpful and specific instructions.

About five years ago, my parents and I went to Asheville during the fall. On our trip, we visited the Biltmore winery, and this is what these socks remind me of: the leaves that were just starting to turn, the crisp mountain air, and giant casks of local wine.

Catching

2010-01-22T21:46:00.002-06:00

Two of my students told me about a discussion they had while watching the local news. All of the anchors, they told me, had falling inflections.

Guess who taught 'em that:

MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I may have been a little overenthusiastic about their revelation, but hey, it's nice to know that they've learned SOMETHING in my class.

Hunting

2010-01-21T20:59:00.002-06:00

A few weeks ago, I was SO OVER teaching that I actually tried to find another job. And by that, I definitely mean, "looked for high-paying, do-nothing positions on monster.com."

Well, surprise: no one is hiring.

So I lowered my expectations a little and looked for ANYTHING I might be remotely qualified to do, and whaddayaknow? The only thing I can do with my degree is ... teach.

Then I thought that maybe I could create my own job, like, wouldn't I be a great Professional Criticizer? Or perhaps someone needs a Certified Eye-Roller on staff.

Sadly, my only skill--which I discovered a couple of weeks ago, when I noticed Lyndie carrying around some ... erm ... baggage in the region of her tootie--is shaving a cat's butt. I'm an amazing Cat Butt Shaver.

I think there's a market for that. I mean, who else would be willing to wade in there? People, I've faced the dragon, and I've got the scars to prove it (literal as well as figurative, in this case). My fear--and, well, my shame--is gone.

For some reason, we were discussing this at lunch, and somehow I also volunteered to pimp some cats. Not by, like, spray-painting them with flames and attaching a spoiler bar to their tails, but by being a madam of sorts. For cats. A Cat Madam. I could do that.

Finally, as I was reading the news today, I found my perfect job, and this is a real, legitimate occupation that I didn't have to make up.

Here:
Holiday Inn location in London offers 'human bed warmer' service - a staffer to warm up your sheets

I know that sounds pretty shady, but really. Just seconds ago I was offering to get provide your cat with some adult entertainment. I am not afraid of the shade.

Hook, Line, and Sinker

2010-01-14T20:40:00.002-06:00

I was with my family and friends at the local Trivia Night, which is a total nerd way to spend a Saturday night.

Some guy came up to the table and asked, "Are you [Mei Flower]?"

"Yeeesss?" I replied. I hate that question.

"You probably don't remember me," he said, "but you were my tenth grade English teacher."

"Uh ... no, I'm sorry," I said. It's been ten years since I've taught sophomores.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that you had a real impact on me. I thought it was sorta boring at first, but you really made me think, and I just wanted to say thanks."

I couldn't thank him hard enough for saying those words, exactly when I needed them.

The rewards are few, you guys, VERY few. But they are sweet.

Another Day ...

2010-01-13T18:42:00.002-06:00

another reason to quit.

This year, Mr. X, who I will now refer to as Mr. A, as in A**hole, scrapped our freshman reading classes and forced reading intervention, I mean, "reading" "intervention" into the world history classes.

So I now find myself teaching world history, which is fine; I love the subject. But imagine my surprise--and dismay--when I found that I was not, in fact, to TEACH world history, but to become, essentially, a worksheet dispenser.

This decision was based on a failed reading program, the Carbo method, which was originally designed as a pull-out program for at-risk students. In the Carbo method, a student would choose his own reading material, read at his own pace, and discuss it with a teacher. There were fewer than 15 students in the class, and the teacher had at least one aide. Also, that is ALL the teacher did, reading intervention.

Instead, our school system shoved Carbo onto us with little-to-no training, demanded immediate results, gave us classes of 30 or more, and still expected us to teach up to three (3) other subjects. The Board also failed to realize that the problem with a self-motivated program is that many of our students are NOT MOTIVATED. Therefore, this program was a massive failure.

Down the road at Mecca High School, where the sun shines out of their asses, they transferred the Carbo method to the world history classes. Result: Students did not understand the text, did not do the work, and did fail the class.

Anyone else would have seen that this was a bad approach to reading intervention, not to mention world history, but not our hero Mr. A. As devoted to a bad idea as only a maniacal egotist could be, Mr. A declared that ALL schools in the county would follow Mecca High School's example.

I didn't. I ignored it.

And guess what: my students learned something. Oh, sure, it was largely against their will, and I had to fight like the dickens to stuff it into their heads, but they learned something.

Guess what else: my students read. Oh, yeah, they read their butts off. They read the book, they read supplemental material, they read encyclopedias, they read everything I can find that relates to the subject at hand.

But that is not good enough for Mr. A. Oh, no. This semester I have to do things His Way.

Let me explain His Way to you: During a world history class, another teacher has to give up half of his or her planning period to pull my students, one by one, out of class to read aloud from a workbook. The teacher does not track fluency, does not track comprehension, and does not track reading gains. What the teacher does is put a checkmark next to the student's name in order to prove to Mr. A that a "reading" "intervention" has taken place. Essentially, a tape recorder could do this job.

I do not think Mr. A would know a reading intervention if it bit him in the A.

... There Must Be Some Toros in the Atmosphere*

2010-01-04T22:43:00.004-06:00

My heat went out Saturday. I didn't realize it at first, since I keep the thermostat low in order to save money. It wasn't until I looked at my handy-dandy alarm clock with the built in temperature doodad that I realized it was 57 degrees. And that was upstairs!

Sunday I checked my gas bill status to make sure I'd paid it (I had), and I got the utility company to come out and make sure my pilot light was lit (it was). My hot water heater was working just fine, but I was still freezing.

I tried just turning the heat to ON, but it just blew cold air, which wasn't exactly what I was going for. I knew I had to call my landlord, and I had to face facts:

IT WAS TIME TO CLEAN THE HOUSE.

I spend most of Sunday thinking, "Gosh, I should really start cleaning now," while finding tens of thousands of things I absolutely HAD to look up on the internet. I'd load the dishwasher, or sort the laundry, but nothing that made much of a dent in the clutter.

Finally, just around midnight, I got the cleaning bug. And boy, oh boy, I CLEANED. This house is SPOTLESS.

And you know what? All that cleaning kept me warm for a while.

Then I went in my bedroom, where my handy-dandy alarm clock informed me that it was 51 degrees in there. I lost a little heat from the shock. The cats and I huddled together (Lyndie and Walter called a temporary truce for survival purposes) under my seven-layer bedcoverings and didn't move for five hours. It was hard to get out from under the covers this morning, let me tell you.

I called the landlord today, and the heating guys came out around 7:00 p.m. I was shivering on the couch, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt under a sweater under a hoodie under a coat under a blanket. The space heater was on high and all the doors were closed in order to preserve as much warmth as possible. The indicator on the thermostat had bent so far to the left it wasn't even visible anymore.

Fortunately, everything's fixed now, and the heat's been running for two solid hours. According to my handy-dandy alarm clock, my bedroom is back up to 69 degrees, which seems downright tropical. And I won't have to dress like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man when I go to bed, which is a bonus.

*get it?

The Nose Knows

2010-01-03T16:02:00.003-06:00

So the other day I was taking my late morning nap (not to be confused with my late afternoon nap; man, I love the holidays!), and here is the dream I had:

I walked into a kitchen where my dad was standing over the stove, stirring something in a frying pan. I sniffed the air, then wrinkled my nose.

"What's that smell?" I asked.

"I'm cooking," he said.

"WHAT are you cooking?"

"Mayonnaise."

fin

It was just about then that I started to wake up, and I lay in bed thinking about this weirdness for a second. Then I breathed into my sheet and it rebounded on me. Ah!

Clearly, my subconsious was sending me a message, and that message is that my sleep-breath smells like fried mayonnaise.

Popping In

2009-12-22T21:39:00.004-06:00

note: It's amazing how much easier it is to sustain a good mood when I don't have to go to work.

You may have noticed that I've been neglecting this space again. Well, I did it for YOU.

I've been in such a bad place lately that anything I wrote turned out to be utterly hateful. I mean, sure, I posted some of that stuff--it's not like I've never been rude before--but I literally could not think of ONE NICE THING to write about; everything I wanted to say was a complaint, or a whine, or the written equivalent of a raised middle finger.

And, you know, my mother raised me just like yours did, that if you couldn't say anything nice, etc. Really, "nice" has been so far off my radar it's like it was in another galaxy, like it was light years away and could only be reached by satellite.

Lest you think I haven't been verbalizing my anger in real life, though, let me just pop that dream bubble right now. I've been VERY vocal, but at the same time, I haven't yet said everything I want to say. The problem is that I know I'm being negative, but I feel powerless to stop it. Then I feel bad about unloading on other people, but again, it keeps happening. And THEN I wonder how and why I got so boring, that I can't talk about any topic other than this ONE THING that's making me so unhappy.

That's one of my resolutions for the new year, to stop focusing on all the bad stuff. It'll be difficult, because the bad stuff is tied to my job, which is 70-85% of myself.

Another of my resolutions is to post more often, and I don't know how I'm going to offer more life stories while maintaining a positive attitude.

Hmm. You should probably prepare yourselves for lots of pictures of cats. Yeah.

This Camel's Back is Broken

2009-12-03T22:07:00.002-06:00

Today our entire school received an email from our principal, forwarded from our curriculum director, that consisted of an advertisement passing itself off as "research." Its main message seemed to be, "See, you guys, I TOLD YOU that taking a practice ACT every week doesn't hurt the educational process!"

I almost had an aneurysm right there on my classroom floor and, in fact, I'm still so angry right now that I am pounding these keys like I WANT to pound our curriculum director.

This year, due to new ~~unnecessary~~ "reforms" made by this man, my job is ruining me. I have never been so tense and angry for such a long period of time. In fact, I have named my anger; it is now known as The Eternal Flame of Burning Rage, and it is growing by leaps and bounds.

Ordinarily, I will follow directives. I will be the model employee, and I will do what I'm told. I have done what I'm told while griping in silence, but as of today, I'm out. I'm through.

THESE FLOODGATES ARE OPEN.

And it starts with this email right here:

Dear Mr. X,

Thank you for providing the information concerning an upcoming workshop that supports the theory that there is no such thing as too much testing. I immediately saw how I could use it in my classroom to demonstrate uses of propaganda and logical fallacies.

My students were able to identify the following:
begging the question
card-stacking
false analogy
false premise
hasty generalization
irrelevant evidence
loaded words

I intend to use this advertisement again in the spring, when we discuss persuasive speaking, to illustrate the following:
manipulation of data
ineffective use of “expert opinion”
evaluation of the speaker’s purpose
importance of the speaker’s credibility
use of verifiable and reliable evidence
meeting ethical standards

Thank you so much for providing such a valuable authentic resource.

Sincerely,
Me

File Under: Teaching Is Never Boring

2009-12-01T22:05:00.003-06:00

I'm directing a musical for the spring, and I chose it based on one very simple criterion: it features an Egyptian sarcophagus.

What can I say? I'm easy.

So today when I was informing my students of this amazing discovery, I mentioned that my only real worry was that we were going to have a build a sarcophagus. To which I got this reply:

"Ooh, Ms. Flower! We can totally use the coffin I have in my garage!"

I had no response. Like, how WOULD one respond to that? I mean, I know all those words, but I never thought I would hear them in the same sentence together.

My life is weird.

Yeah, I Saw It

2009-11-23T11:06:00.003-06:00

I saw New Moon on Friday and it sucked. Fin.

However, there was something I am ridiculously excited about, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with badly-madeup vampires or supernaturally enhanced werewolf torsos.

No, it was this trailer:

I have been meaning to read the book for a while now, and this was a great motivator.

Why People Love Me

2009-11-17T20:33:00.004-06:00

Today, I was at my desk and I thought Student J was talking to me.

So I looked at him expectantly. He looked back. We looked at each other.

"Did you need something?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Did you ask me a question?"

"No."

"Did you say my name?"

"No."

"Oh," I said. "I must have been hallucinating."

Student X couldn't stand it any longer. "Ms. Flower," she said, "you know hallucinations are a symptom of drug use."

"Well," I said to the ceiling, "you would know."

"Oooooooooh," said the class, and everyone turned to see her reaction.

She was quiet for a moment, and then she nodded slowly.

"Touche, Ms. Flower," she said, "touche."

Pile It On

2009-11-06T23:41:00.002-06:00

Our school secretary died today.

I've known her almost twenty years, since I was a sophomore in high school and she subbed in my Spanish class. As a student, I hated having her as a sub, because she made us do our work; as a teacher, I would have requested her every single time.

By the time I'd graduated from college, she'd become the principal's secretary, and by the time I returned to Randomville for the second time, she'd become the heartbeat of the school.

She was the first person I saw in the morning and the last I saw in the afternoon. She called me Baby and Sweetie and Sugar, and she made me laugh every single day.

She driving across the state, on her way to see her grandchildren, when she keeled over. It was sudden, quiet, no warning. Her death was announced in an emergency meeting immediately after the students were dismissed. Our gasps of shock gave way to tears, and we left the library quietly, in clusters. Dazed.

I don't know how we're going to function without her.

Hide and Seek

2009-11-04T23:11:00.003-06:00

Boo, Textbook

2009-11-03T21:50:00.004-06:00

I'm not a fan of my world history textbook. While I can accept that the scope of the history of the world is so huge that a brief overview is the best one can hope for, so much is stuffed into each chapter that it makes my own brain bulge, and I can't even imagine what it would do to my students'.

We don't really have time to stop and focus on things for more than a day, so I feel like I'm not teaching anything that STICKS, like my students might remember hearing a name, but won't remember why, or who that person was, or why s/he was important.

For example, we are currently studying the Enlightenment, and our most recent section dealt with the Scientific Revolution. In 90 minutes, I had to talk about Ptolemy, Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler, Boyle, Newton, some guy who invented trigonometry, another guy who made advances in anatomy by dissecting human bodies, yet another guy who invented the decimal system, some guy who's the father of modern chemistry, a woman who wrote a book, Francis Bacon, the scientific method and Descartes. DESCARTES.

So, basically, I had to boil each of these people's discoveries down to a one sentence summary, which is IN NO WAY enough to truly illustrate their importance or their effects on history. And I feel like a bad teacher because I'm not taking the time to make sure they understand exactly WHY we still talk about these people, or why their discoveries/theories/inventions are important enough for them to learn about hundreds of years later.

Oh, and that brings me to my next complaint, which is this: the chronological pattern seems to be completely arbitrary. I prefer to talk about things in order but, in one chapter I might talk about China from 1000 B.C. to 1788, and the next chapter might be about Louis XIV--and nothing else. So not only are we jumping from continent to continent (which is not really a problem), but also from time period to time period, which is more confusing. Things could be more organized, is what I'm saying.

My other complaint is the PC aspect. I fully identify as a feminist, and I'm down with the whole civil rights thing. But sometimes it's obvious that the writers had to DIG in order to find an important non-white/non-male historical figure. For example, the aforementioned stuffed-to-the-gills chapter included information about this woman who discovered the Comet of 1702, which HAS NEVER BEEN SEEN AGAIN. Yet the section describing her Amazing Discovery was longer than the section about Newton and the laws of motion, which I had to Google so I could 1). understand them myself, and 2). teach them in simple, understandable language.

In my own opinion, there was just too much information stuffed into one section--not a chapter, but a SECTION of a chapter--to enable students to fully comprehend these massive, abstract concepts. In addition, this information covered a time span of 1500 years! I have no doubt that my students think Ptolemy and Newton lived at the same time, because I'm not altogether unsure of that myself; it all runs together after a while.

On the plus side, I learned what Boyle's law is; I asked my science teacher friend Michelle to explain it to me in words of one syllable and I think I've mostly got it. I asked lots of questions, which led to the following:

ME: So when you don't poke a potato and it explodes in the microwave, is that Boyle's law?

MICHELLE: No, that's Charles' law, which states--

ME: Charles' law? Well, it's not in my book, so screw 'im.

There was also this exchange:

ME: I didn't know Francis Bacon came up with the scientific method.

MICHELLE: There's more than one scientific method, so Francis Bacon didn't really come up with--

ME: Oh, I think the Glencoe World History book would beg to differ.

MICHELLE: Well, [So-and-So Jones] also has a version--

ME: But it's not in my book, so screw 'im.

Oh, and guess what's on the list for tomorrow:

John Locke and tabula rasa
Isaac Newton (again)
Montesquieu and separation of powers
Voltaire and deism
Diderot
Adam Smith
Beccaria
Rousseau
Wollstonecraft
John Wesley and Methodism

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunday in the Cemetery

2009-11-02T21:13:00.011-06:00

I went to the dances at Chandlerville,
And played snap-out at Winchester.
One time we changed partners,
Driving home in the moonlight of middle June,
And then I found Davis.

We were married and lived together for seventy years,
Enjoying, working, raising the twelve children,

Eight of whom we lost
Ere I
reached the age of sixty.

I spun, I wove, I kept the house, I nursed the sick,
I made the garden, and for holiday
Rambled over the fields where sang the larks,
And by Spoon River gathered many a shell,

And many a flower and medicinal weed --
Shouting to the wooded hills, singing to the green valleys.
At ninety-six I had lived enough, that is all,
And passed to sweet repose.

What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness,
Anger, discontent and drooping hopes?
Degenerate sons and daughters,

Life is too strong for you --
It takes life to love Life.

"Lucinda Matlock," Spoon River Anthology
by Edgar Lee Masters

Sunday Afternoon

2009-11-01T20:17:00.003-06:00

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately,
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,
To put to rout all that was not life and not,
when I had come to die,
Discover that I had not lived.”

Henry David Thoreau

Soundtrack

2009-10-28T21:01:00.004-05:00

Our fall play this year is Murder by the Book, which is a mystery/comedy. It's the second time I've directed this particular play, but the first time the actors have acutally learned their lines. As I recall, the last cast relied heavily on improvisation, and the last half of Act Two did not resemble the original script in any way, shape, or form.

I was an inexperienced director then, so I didn't know that sometimes threats are good, as in, "If you start ad-libbing, I will march onstage and disembowel you in the middle of your performance AND THEN WE CAN TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LIKE IMPROVISATION." So far, it seems to have worked, since our first performance was ad-lib free.

This year, I took my directing cues from Scooby-Doo--the cartoon series, not the movie--and I'm very pleased with the results.

One of my favorite things to do during the course of production is put together the play's soundtrack. Even though most of the songs play for only 30 seconds during scene changes, I still spend a lot of time trying to find exactly the right tune to convey the theme.

Here's what I chose (with my explanations):

1. "Overture (The Big Race)," Danny Elfman, from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure
There's a dreamy quality to the song, but it's not entirely pure or childlike. I listened to a lot of Elfman's stuff but kept coming back to Pee-Wee, mostly because I love this movie.

2. "The Towering Inferno (Main Title)," Joel McNeely, John Debney, Royal Scottish National Orchestra, Seattle Symphony Orchestra, Utah Symphony Orchestra & Varujan Kojian, from Great Composers: John Williams
I don't care if it's not cool: I love John Williams' music, so there. I originally bought this song to play while reading "The Most Dangerous Game" in my English classes. It sounds like an adventure.

3. "The Firebird, Symphonic Suite (1919): Infernal Dance of Kashey's Subjects," Tbilisi Symphony Orchestra & Jansug Kakhidze, from The Classical Halloween Collection - Classical Music of Doom, Dread and All Things Wicked!
This song sounds like a person is running for his life.

4. "The Battle," Harry Gregson-Williams, from The Chronicles of Narnia - The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
It starts out with low, foreboding strings, and moves into something that sounds heroic. I think this came out of my soundtrack for "The Cask of Amontillado."

5. "Funeral March of a Marionette," Arthur Fiedler & Boston Pops Orchestra, from Classics for Children
I'm not going to lie, I just wanted to shoehorn the Alfred Hitchcock theme in there. Whenever I hear it, I get a mental picture of Hitchcock aligning himself with his silhouette at the beginning of the tv show. Probably only two grandmas and I will understand this choice.

6. "Requiem (The Fifth)," Trans-Siberian Orchestra, from Beethoven's Last Night
A rock version of (duh) Beethoven's Fifth, there is a driving bass line throughout this piece that makes one believe there's a killer coming after her. (That might just be me.)

7. "Theme from Halloween," Orlando Pops Orchestra & Aleksander Santi, from The Classical Halloween Collection - Classical Music of Doom, Dread and All Things Wicked!
I've never seen Halloween--nor do I want to--but the piano theme makes the hair stand out from my arms, and I can't listen to more than a few seconds of it without experiencing a full-body shudder.

8. "Carmina Burana: I. O Fortuna," London Symphony Orchestra & Richard Hickox, from Orff: Carmina Burana
I don't listen to opera, but I was watching an episode of Glee that used this song to underscore an epic face-off between Sue Sylvester and Will Schuester, and my eyes lit right up. It's perfect.

9. "Romeo and Juliet: Love Theme," Arthur Fiedler & Boston Pops Orchestra, from 20th Century Masters the Millennium Collection: The Best of Arthur Fiedler and The Boston Pops
An inside joke with myself, as one of the characters directly references Romeo and Juliet right before a scene change. The song is melancholy, with its french horns, and R&J is all about death and doom, so it's not out of place.

10. "Psycho: Suite For Strings," Orlando Pops Orchestra, from Monster Mash and Other Songs of Horror
I thought using the "eee-eee-eee" music would be too obvious, so I went with something a bit more subtle. Also, I kind of think this music is used in the movie Clue (which also inspired my direction), but I couldn't find its soundtrack anywhere.

11. "A Night On Bald Mountain (Featured In "Fantasia")," New Symphony Orchestra of London & Sir Adrian Boult, from Reader's Digest Music: Fright Night: Classic Halloween Music
I thought this song was part of Wagner's Ring Cycle. I'm so embarrassed.

12. "In The Hall Of The Mountain King," Grieg, from Classical Relaxation Collection - The Greatest Tunes On Earth
I knew I wanted this tune, but I didn't know its title, composer, or where it came from. I had to go back to the last time I heard it, and guess what I wound up googling: ... the Smurfs soundtrack. Yeah.

Reasons I Haven't Blogged

2009-10-23T21:41:00.002-05:00

1. My computer got a virus.
2. I got sick.
3. I'm rehearsing for a play.
4. I was knitting for a new baby.
5. I chose sleep.

See you in November.

I Visited a Roman Cemetery

2009-09-28T20:45:00.002-05:00

One of the things I really wanted to do in Italy was visit some catacombs. That is a totally morbid and disgusting wish, but ... well. Have we met?

There are tons of catacombs in Rome, so how did I know which ones to visit? (I hear you ask). The decision was really made for me, as the Callixtus Catacombs were about five steps away from the bus stop. So it was really easy to choose.

I bought my ticket and waited for the tolling of a bell which would indicate the beginning of the tour. About ten of us English speakers joined an Australian priest, who led us down stone stairs that have existed for thousands of years.

[This is what I love most about traveling: walking the same paths that people walked so long ago. It grounds me; it's like I'm TOUCHING HISTORY. In unrelated news, I am a big ol' nerd.]

I thought I was going to be really scared, walking into what is, essentially, a Dead People Cave. But they've taken all the dead people out, and all that's left is a bunch of rectangular holes in the walls. The priest/tour guide told us that, back in the 1800s, the catacombs were opened for tours, and that some of the tourists would reach into the crypts and PULL OUT PIECES OF BONE and take them home. For SOUVENIRS. I can't even fathom the kind of nerve those people had; I'd be afraid of invoking a real-life version of "Whoooooooo's got my golden aaaaaaaaaaaaaarm?"

And now we have reached the Embarrassing Part of this story. Since the catacombs were graves, some of the earliest families decorated them with frescoes or even just line drawings. Some of these are still visible today, and the priest pointed them out as we walked through the crypts. We got to one drawing that he seemed especially excited about, and he stopped us to give a little speech.

I cannot emphasize enough that these drawings are thousands of years old, and are therefore very difficult to see, and also I am no student of Art. So the priest asked, "What do you see here?" and I tried to avoid eye contact so I wouldn't have to answer but he was not having that. So then I looked at the guy next to me--he was all of sixteen years old--like I was expecting him to answer, but he stared right back at me because he didn't know either. So we both looked at this minuscule, practically invisible line drawing, and the priest, taking mercy, said, "It's a bird."

Well, this did not help. So then he said, "Think about Harry Potter. What kind of bird is prominently featured in those books?"

And--oh, I still cannot believe this--I could not think of but ONE bird in all of the Harry Potter books and I knew I could not be right, but I said it anyway: "Um ... a hippogriff?"

I don't suppose you've ever wanted to climb right into a six thousand-year-old open grave-in-a-wall, but I certainly have. Hippogriff. Hmph. I do dislike feeling stupid in foreign places, but boy, I have had no end of practice.

You Sunk My Battleship!

2009-09-14T21:54:00.003-05:00

Setting aside, for the moment, all the crap things that have happened in the past few weeks--up to and including ANTS IN MY CLASSROOM--let me focus on something that has gone well at school.

I like to spend an entire class period reviewing for a test. To that end, I provide a study guide, the kids complete it on their own, we go over it in class, and then we play a review game.

My go-to review game is BINGO. It's easy, I don't have to do any prep work, and the kids like it. As the cherry on top, the students actually remember stuff afterwards, because they hear the test information several times.

[As an aside: Does catering to and babying students in this way prepare them for real-world assessment scenarios? No, probably not. But then, does taking a practice ACT every week for an entire year prepare them for real-world assessment scenarios? ... You see my point.]

I don't want to play BINGO every single time we prepare for a test, though, as we would all get bored and it would lose its ZING!, and I knew I had to come up with something else. So I did.

Reaching back into my childhood, I brought forth a game that is so old it's turned the corner back to new again: BATTLESHIP.

I drew two "boards" on the chalkboard, like so:

Each square is the equivalent of a peg-hole in the real game.

Some of my students argued that their opponents could see their strike zones, but I reminded them that I didn't have forty hours to be firing blind, and if they wanted to, they could just write the questions and answers from their study guides twenty-five times each. After that, I didn't get any more arguments.

I divided the students into two teams and seated them accordingly. I gave each team two "conferences," which are essentially lifelines: they could ask other members of their team for help if they used a conference; otherwise, they had to answer individually.

For each correct answer, I allowed the player to choose one target, and I would then put an X in the box s/he had chosen. Once a ship's boxes were all filled, I would do sound effects: "BOOM!" I'd shout when the battleship was sunk, and "boom!" I'd squeak when the patrol boat bit it.

We'd play until either the bell rang or all the boats were sunk.

One of my classes began to get very technical on me: "Noooooo, hit it in the engine room! Noooo, that's the artillery, we said ENGINE ROOM."

I said, "It's a misshapen eyeball filled with empty boxes. Get a grip."

Overall, it's one of my best review ideas yet. I give it an A.

Next time: CONNECT FOUR.

DON'T TEACH DON'T TEACH DON'T TEACH

2009-09-07T20:35:00.004-05:00

Friday, a kid went into an allegedly drug-induced rage in his biology class and had to be restrained by the band director, an assistant principal, and the school resource officer.

Sometime between Friday and Sunday, a perpetrator broke my classroom window, though whether any theft occurred remains unclear.

Sunday night, one of our teachers was shot and killed by a member of his family.

This year just gets better and better.

Perfect Example

2009-09-01T17:24:00.003-05:00

During last period, a student told me, "We talked about you in English today."

I was immediately suspicious. She must have seen it on my face.

"We were discussing verbal irony."

Well. Verbal irony is when a person says one thing and means another. Basically, it's a fancy way of saying sarcasm.

When I relayed this information to other teachers on my hallway, they laughed. "That's you: the walking display of verbal irony."

And I guess I can't argue with that ... unless I wanted to be ironic. Verbally.

Over the Moon

2009-08-25T22:19:00.002-05:00

In the future, when people tell me they want to teach, I am going to tell them this story and see if it changes their minds.

Last Friday, we had the first pep rally of the year. The principal had made some very inspiring announcements during the morning broadcast to the effect of, "If we look around and see people sitting down or looking bored, we just won't have more pep rallies this year."

Ordinarily, I might have skipped the pep rally, because there's something about a crowded gym that makes it very difficult for me to breathe. But I started this new thing this year, where I'm trying to be a Good Teacher, so I did my duty and escorted my students to the gym and climbed up into the sophomore section to make sure nobody was starting riots or ~~giving blowjobs~~ other stuff.

So I'm just standing there, minding my own business and vigorously not participating in the Hey! Cheer, when I glance over to my left, and what do I see?

A NAKED BUTT.

Yeah, you read that right.

I, the prudiest prude in Prudeland, was the one teacher who saw some stupid sophomore pull down his pants and shove his bare ass in his friends' faces.

Oh, the humanity. How will I ever erase that image from my memory?

AND I TEACH THAT KID. HE IS IN MY CLASS. How's that gonna work out?

As it happened, I was able to catch the kid's friend after he pulled down his jeans but before he pulled down his boxers, which was a mercy, believe me, because if I'd seen THAT kid's butt, there would have been projectile vomiting of Exorcist-like proportions. It would have taken the pep right out of that rally.

So I pulled them out into the hall with an assistant principal and told her the good news. You guys, how embarrassing is it to have to say the word "mooning" to someone old enough to be your mom? Pretty darn embarrassing.

She was horrified, obviously, and I, satisfied that my job was done, went back into the gym to vigorously NOT sing the fight song.

And I am THROUGH with pep rallies.

What My Students Know

2009-08-18T21:45:00.003-05:00

The curriculum and workbooks for my world history class include a great deal of information about Michelangelo. So I gave one of the handouts to my class and, before we started reading--activating prior knowledge, like a good teacher would--I asked, "What do you guys know about Michelangelo?"

Student 1: "He painted the ... uh ... the ... Saxton? Chapel?"

Me: "Do you mean the Sistine Chapel?"

Student 1: "Yeah, that's the one."

Student 2: "He did that one statue?"

Me: "Which one do you mean?"

Student 2: "You know. The ONE."

Me: "Could you be more specific?"

Student 2: [sighs as if offended] "The ONE. Of the DUDE. Who is NAKED."

Me: "Do you mean The David?"

Student 2: "I don't know. I guess."

Student 3: "Ms. Flower! Ms. Flower! I know something about Michelangelo!"

Me: "Okay, hit me."

Student 3: "He's a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle!"

Me: [sighs as if offended]

Machiavelli's The Prince (and the Princess)

2009-08-17T21:51:00.002-05:00

In my world history class, we're studying the Italian Renaissance. How perfect is that?

We've been discussing some of the new ideas that cropped up during that time, and Machiavelli is featured heavily in the textbook. I think that's a weird choice for ninth grade, but ... whatever.

Anyway, I gave a quiz today with this sentence:

Machiavelli's The Prince is about how to get and keep ______________________.

[The correct answer, for those of you who, like me, never even heard of Machiavelli in any classroom, including college, is POLITICAL POWER.]

However, I teach freshmen and, even though they were allowed to use their notes on the quiz, some of them had already lost them and had to improvise. TWO (2) of my geniuses wrote that

Machiavelli's The Prince is about how to get and keep women .

Probably that would be true ... in the Disney version.

In-service Stinks

2009-08-06T19:13:00.003-05:00

Today I attended an in-service meeting down the road at [Bitchface] High School. The teachers there were supposed to tell all the world history teachers in the county about how they revolutionized the whole curriculum and made it into the Most Perfect Class In All The Land.

Instead, they started thirty minutes late ("I forgot," said one presenter), rambled through a bunch of stuff we already know, told us how awesome they were, and didn't tell us a darn thing that was in any way helpful.

They forgot (?) to give us an evaluation form, but I improvised:

Padua

2009-07-20T21:59:00.013-05:00

... or, as we Italians call it, Padova.

Padua was the first city I visited, and it was an excellent introduction to the country.

It's pretty much impossible to take a bad picture in Italy.

Each city in Italy has a main square, called a piazza. In Padua, the piazza isn't a square at all, but an oval. It's surrounded by a little moat, and all along the moat, there are statues of famous scholars and professors who taught at the university.

I walked around the piazza and looked at the statues. This one gave me pause ...

until I realized the guy was sculpting and was not, in fact, in the process of decapitating someone.

The statues are pretty old and worn, but I think their age makes them more beautiful.

This one made me laugh ...

because that is one hardcore priest with his little bookholder.

The big sightseeing destination in Padua is St. Anthony's Basilica.

(under construction, as most of them are)

Like most of the ancient churches in Europe, St. Anthony's is still functional, and there was a service being conducted as we entered. Because it is a holy place, we weren't allowed to take pictures.

I'm not Catholic, so I don't really understand the layout of these huge churches, though I can certainly appreciate their beauty and history. What I especially liked about St. Anthony's was the Treasury Chapel, where they keep the relics. [scroll down]

Let me just say this: you have not lived a full and satisfied life until you've seen a saint's tongue and vocal cords. TONGUE AND VOCAL CORDS!!! This made my day.

In Italy, you often have to pay to go to the bathroom. I KNOW. And me with my tiny bladder! But the church lets you go for free, so I sure took advantage of that. And I totally almost got locked in the bathroom stall. I ... am special.

Before I left, I hit the gift shop, where I caught this little number:

You probably heard my gasp in America.

Class Rules

2009-07-15T20:15:00.005-05:00

I spent some time in my room today. It's my favorite time of the school year, when I get to think about who my new students will be, and rework my syllabus, and try to ...

Okay, I just like it because I get to buy new bulletin board borders and pick new posters and stuff. Whatever.

One of the most difficult things to do is come up with classroom rules. I modify them every year to reflect my growth as a teacher and the change in student attitudes. Let me run a few of my ideas by you, the unbiased reader.

What do you think:

Too vague?

How about this:

I'm trying to reach them on their level.

Some days, I definitely feel like this:

But it really only applies to .0001% of my students.

I think this is perfect:

As usual, simple is best.

Speaking Out

2009-07-14T20:42:00.002-05:00

When I told people that I was going to Italy, they all, without fail, asked if I was going alone. Then I had to launch into a boring explanation that I was going with a tour group, but I was still sort of alone, and then they'd ask if I knew anyone on the tour, and I would say, no, that's what "alone" means, dummy (though that last part may have been implied rather than stated).

Although I was warned many times about pickpockets, purse-snatchers, and the possibility of being kidnapped and sold into prostitution, I was more concerned with the fact that I would be spending two weeks with people I didn't know, and I didn't want to eat every meal or tour every destination by myself. The only solution I could see was that I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO TALK TO PEOPLE.

You have no idea how I agonized over this. Here's something you might not know about me: I do not talk to strangers. I don't like it. Small talk makes me itch.

But I knew that it was the only way I was going to be able to ~~get a picture of myself holding up the Tower of Pisa~~ fully enjoy myself on this trip, so I just put on a brave face and started talking.

At the first meal, I plunked my plate down at a table and asked, "Have you all already introduced yourselves?" since I'd missed the first part of the group meeting due my late bus from Venice. They answered in the negative, so I started the introductions. There were seven other people at that table: Natalie and Americo, Canadians of Italian descent; Maher and Dolores, Canadians who would get engaged in Venice; George and Kim, Australians on a full summer holiday (visiting George's family in Scotland, then touring Italy, then vacationing in Croatia); and Pam, a retiree from Manchester, England, who was also traveling alone and who would be my closest friend on this trip.

It was easy after this. I talked to some others at breakfast the next morning: Joanne and Judy, sisters from Buffalo, New York, who've become quite the world travelers since they retired. On the second day, I just turned around on the bus and started talking to Millie and Ken, who were also from the Manchester area, and who were accompanied by Millie's brother Clary. In Rome, I sat at an outdoor cafe with Bill and Judy, who are from a seaside city in England (I forget the name; it might be near Plymouth). At Assisi, I leaned against a wall with Marion and her daughter, who live in Rugby, England. There were two other ladies in the group, but I didn't get to speak to them very often, just in passing.

In short, I pretty much made the rounds. In a real-life demonstration of Bizarro-World, I became a social butterfly. I think some of the others--who, with the exception of Maher and Dolores, were all at retirement age--may have felt protective of me, and that's fine; they were far less restrictive than my own parents, who would have attached me to a kid-leash if there'd been such a thing in my younger days (and it would have been warranted, to tell the truth).

Plus, they were super fun! There's so much information out there, especially when you follow the patented Flower Technique (tm), which my father invented: ask ten billion questions at every opportunity and you never have to talk about yourself! I really did learn a lot, just by listening to people talk about what they'd seen and where they'd been. And I am just fascinated by other people's lives; there's just as much to learn from someone else's life experiences as there is in going to a museum.

All in all, I think I enjoyed Italy twice as much because I got to experience it with other people. And I NEVER had to eat alone.

Hotel One

2009-07-06T23:22:00.011-05:00

I was frisked at the Amsterdam airport. I'm getting used to being pulled out of line, or scanned, or searched, or whatever. It always happens to me on international flights; I guess my face says, "TERRORIST." Well, this one does.

Gosh, if only I didn't look so badass all the time.

I wandered around the airport for awhile, and finally settled at a little cafe where I drank coffee and wrote in my travel journal ~~for the last time on this trip~~. After a few minutes, I started to smell something weird. (it wasn't me, thanks) I stuck my nose up in the air and sniffed, looking for all the world like a groundhog on Feb. 2. And guess what: SOMEONE WAS SMOKING A CIGARETTE. Right there in the airport! And no one was saying anything!

That's when I knew I was in a different world.

------

Nobody stamped my passport in Italy. It was very disappointing; I want my passport to be filled up with stamps from lots of foreign countries, like the bureaucratic equivalent of a suitcase covered with stickers. I don't have official proof of having been in Italy, and THAT SUCKS. That EEC can bite my butt.

-----

Having safely arrived in Venice, I went immediately to the tourist information desk at the airport and told the woman, "I want to go here," and pointed to the address of my hotel in the little guidebook I'd been given. She studied it for a moment, then gave me a bus ticket with some numbers on it. I said, "Would you mind writing the directions down for me?" and she did, without even complaining! That same guidebook told me that Italians are unfriendly and unhelpful, but that lady was leaps and bounds ahead of her American counterpart back in Memphis.

Also, it was very smart of me to have asked her to do that; otherwise, I might never have gotten to my hotel. I had declined the airport-to-hotel shuttle service provided by the tour company. But at $50 a pop, I figured I could take a bus. This was a very dumb decision.

First, it was Sunday, and you can never count on anything on Sundays. Second, my hotel wasn't in Venice, exactly; it was a little outside of Venice. Third, it started to rain. Yeah.

I took the first bus into the city center, where I would have to catch a second bus. The tourist information woman had written the bus number down for me, but I headed for the ticket office just to confirm. When I got to the little window, I pulled out my guidebook and shouted, "Dove' ...?" and pointed at the bus number. And guess what: the bus I wanted didn't have a number; it had a letter. So it was very smart of me to have asked.

I headed over to the designated stop, only to learn that the next bus would be along in, oh, FORTY MINUTES.

-----

Fortunately, someone else--an Italian speaker--was going to the same hotel, so I just made sure to get off the bus at the same time she did. Only the bus didn't pull up to the hotel. No, it dropped us off about two blocks away ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. There was no sidewalk; there was barely a shoulder. And I had to hike--through the rain, mind you--to the hotel, dragging my suitcase behind.

At this point, it was about 6:30 pm Venice time, which meant it was about 11:30 am in Memphis. I had stepped onto my flight at 7:00 pm (Memphis), and, as has become my custom, I didn't bother to sleep the night before I left. Also, I don't sleep in public, because I'm afraid of embarrassing myself. So I hadn't slept in over 40 hours, and, as any person who has ever lived or worked with me can testify, I am one cranky old lady when I'm tired.

So I was just about over Venice, and I'd barely arrived.

-----

When I got to my room, it was dark. The room, I mean; it was just dusk outside. I couldn't find a light switch anywhere. Know why? There wasn't one. Fortunately, a member of the tour group walked by, saw me on the verge of collapsing into tears and insanity, and helped me out:

Apparently, the room key doubles as a power source. Some instructions would have been nice. You know, a step-by-step Guide to Electricity, or just a small diagram would have sufficed.

My room was small. If I hadn't lived in a closet for a week in London, I might have been disappointed. As it was, I was delighted that I would be able to tie my shoes without hitting both my elbows on opposite walls at the same time.

It looked kinda fancy ...

until I scattered my crap all over the place.

Here's the bathroom:

The shower was a bit small ...

(Target bag for scale)

but at least there was a bidet.

Okay, you know how I'm not classy? Like, at all? While I know what a bidet is, and have a basic idea of its purpose, I have never seen one, and I have certainly never seen one in action. When I turned the faucet--not to try to use it; just to see what happened*--and the water sprayed down, I couldn't comprehend how, exactly, one might contort oneself to ... you know ... WASH. So for a whole week-and-a-half, I just assumed it was a urinal. A messy, impractical urinal, to be sure, but a urinal nonetheless.

Don't you wish you were sophisticated like me?

*Also, I turned a knob on a thing that looked like a towel warmer, but turned out to be the hot water heater. So I got a faceful of water, but for a minute I was afraid it might be gas. In 33 years, and despite many "life lessons," I have never learned that I should not mess with unfamiliar gadgets and gizmos.

Now, lest you think that Italy has surpassed the U.S. in technology, take a look at the hairdryer:

Why, yes, that does appear to be part of my grandmother's old vacuum cleaner. To operate it, I had to tilt the hose out from the wall and point the nozzle at my head.

In my house, I use that particular attachment to suck dead bugs and cat litter from the corners. So you can imagine how happy I was to have it so close to my crowning glory.

Interlude

2009-07-01T19:12:00.001-05:00

I've said--quite often--that I don't want to get married, but I briefly reconsider that stance every time I have to take the garbage to the dump.

Part II: The Gate

2009-07-01T12:35:00.002-05:00

It took about four seconds to get through security. That is the first time that's ever happened.

Then it took about forty minutes to walk to my gate. It was literally the last one in the entire airport. Like, the sequence was random gate, random gate, my gate, WALL.

It was already crowded in the waiting area, and I sat down and took out my book, preparing for the two hour wait. The book was just cover, though, because really I was scoping out possible terrorists and thinking through my technique for stabbing said terrorists with knitting needles.

It occurred to me that I was indulging in some racial profiling, and then I felt guilty. This made me mad, because I don't like feeling guilty; I prefer to view the world with a robot-like lack of emotion.

Someone made an announcement to the effect that everyone carrying over $10,000 in cash should see a customs officer.

I immediately began speculating as to why someone would carry over $10,000 in cash.

POSSIBILITIES:
1. to pay an assassin
2. to bribe an official
3. to blow on hookers and weed (the flight, after all, was going to Amsterdam)
4. to buy slaves
5. to buy wives

You can see that my mind travels down a specific road.

There was an entire family wearing hospital masks. It made me feel normal; usually I'm the most OCD person in the room.

I went to the bathroom approximately fourteen times.

I tried to predict who would have the seat next to mine. My money was on the lady with the baby.

I looked around and thought, "If I were going to marry one of these men, which would it be?" I narrowed it down to one of the three with the $10,000. *(robot-like lack of emotion)*

When the announcement came to begin boarding, I went to the bathroom one more time, then got in line.

I was finally on my way.

Going to Italy

2009-06-30T21:35:00.003-05:00

Part 1: Punching Tickets

When I got to the airport, I went straight to the counter where a customer "service" rep instructed me to check in my own dang self. She may have used different language, but the message was the same.

As in most every other industry, the airlines, despite losing business for financial reasons, are also sporting increasingly dismal service reviews from customers (including this one, NORTHWEST AIRLINES). Their solution? Self-service. Like I'm not going to figure out that means more work for ME, or that I get to pay extra for the privilege.

Even though I immediately got a bad attitude about this whole self-service thing, I went and swiped my passport anyway. And guess what: my passport didn't think much of it either. No matter how many times I ran it through the swipe-y, uh, thingamajig, the machine refused to recognize me. Oh, it did at first, like when you see a familiar face in the crowd and start waving like a madwoman and then you get up to the person and find out that he's a stranger who LOOKS like someone you used to know ... not that this has ever happened to me.

Anyway, my name would pop up on the screen and seconds later the Evil Machine would give me a snotty message: "There is no passenger by that name." And, gosh, have you ever found yourself in the position of wanting to argue with an inanimate object? Because I was, like, three seconds away from pointing my finger in the air and snapping my neck and telling that thing in no uncertain terms that, "Oh, yes, I ASSURE you, there IS a passenger by that name, and she is fixing to WHOOP YOUR A--" but I managed to keep myself under control. Barely.

After a few more attempts, I finally got this message: "Please see a representative for assistance." At which point, my inner diva waved her finger (and her head) and said, "THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF YOU HAD RETAINED YOUR HUMAN STAFF AND NOT SENT ME TO A MACHINE." Also, my inner diva's voice dipped into baritone range on those last two words. It was a very effective performance, unfortunately playing only to an audience of, well, me.

So I interrupted the customer "service" rep who was rolling her eyes at another passenger who was trying to check her bag. And the CSR, I'm sure, would have rolled her eyes at ME, had I not ~~burned her with my laser beam eyes~~ given her The Look, the one that is so good at turning unruly ninth graders into model citizens in 2.15 seconds. But she was not happy, the CSR, and she had her own Look on her face.

She messed around a bit, then handed me my passport with this message: "Next time you purchase an international flight make sure you give your name exactly as it appears on your passport." I must have looked confused; I was completely unaware of any name changes in the past, you know, 34 years. Did I accidentally get married and then get a spontaneous case of amnesia? ~~Again?~~

"Your MIDDLE name," she fairly spat at me. "If your ticket doesn't match your passport, we have to enter everything manually."

Inner Diva: "Oh, you mean, DO YOUR JOB???????"

My Outer Diva smiled politely, checked her bag, and started the twenty mile hike to the gate. And bought a Cinnabon, so both of us were happy.

Ciao

2009-05-30T10:17:00.001-05:00

Today I am going to Italy.

And when I get back, I will gloat. Oh, will I gloat.

Remember

2009-05-25T11:58:00.013-05:00

The Debt Unpayable

What have I given,
Bold sailor on the sea?
In earth or heaven,
That you should die for me?

What can I give,
O soldier, leal and brave,
Long as I live,
To pay the life you gave?

What tithe or part
Can I return to thee,
O stricken heart,
That thou shouldst break for me?

The wind of Death
For you has slain life's flowers,
It withereth
(God grant) all weeds in ours.

F.W. Bourdillon

Why You Don't Want to Teach Freshmen

2009-05-19T22:13:00.003-05:00

It's the first day of exams, the last day I will have to see the ~~criminals~~ innocent babies in my first period class.

This class has three things wrong with it. I will call these things Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Moe is not so bad when the other two aren't there. He's relatively smart, bookwise, but he should apply himself to his schoolwork the same way he does to masturbating in the bathroom (true story).

Curly did not show up for his exam. I think Curly is either permanently high or terminally stupid; the signs are so similar.

Larry is a jerk. No, he is. He thinks he's awesome and believes he should be given advantages, for what, I don't know.

Between them, these three stooges have amassed a spectacular sheaf of office referrals numbering in the triple digits. Yet they were not sent to alternative school for even one day.

Because Curly was not in class today, Moe passed his exam. That's how their dynamic works.

Larry did not take his exam in my room, and here's why.

First of all, he came in to drop his bag at his desk before heading out to who-knows-where before the first bell. One of my female students said something to him--I don't remember what--and he said, "Oooh, sexy beast," in a really creepy voice before walking out of the room.

"You need to report that," I told the girl.

"No, I don't want to get anybody in trouble," she said, looking down at her desk.

"If you let him get away with it once, he'll think it's okay to talk to people like that," I said, mentally hoisting my Feminist Flag.

And maybe I overreacted to that comment a little, except that I really, REALLY don't like that kid.

Later, once class started and I got ready to pass out exams, Larry asked if he could wear his hat.

"No," I said. "The dress code still applies."

"But I feel naked without my hat," he said, as if he hadn't spent the previous 176 days in my room completely hatless.

"NO," I said. "Be quiet."

"Ms. Flower," he simpered, "do you want me to be naked?"

With dignity and grace, I turned to him and calmly said, "Get out."

"What'd I say?"

"GET. OUT." with clenched teeth. "I don't even want to LOOK at you right now."

This is why I drink.

**********

Obviously, I reported him, and he will spend the remainder of the week in ISP.

Still, I have questions: 1) Who thinks it's all right to talk like that in school, which is, essentially, a place of business, and requires a certain level of professionalism? and 2) Who thinks it's all right to talk to a TEACHER like that?

Finally--and this is the most important question of all--WHY does a student who's been written up for THIS EXACT BEHAVIOR upwards of thirty times get to stay in the general student population? What is the point of having an alternative school if no one goes there? And why should I bother writing a kid up if all he's going to get is two hours of detention?

There is something desperately wrong with this picture.

Why Enunciation Is Very Important

2009-05-16T10:28:00.002-05:00

a play in one act

Student: [excited] Hey, guess what, Ms. Flower. I'm fixin' to get paid!

Ms. Flower: [sharply] WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME.

Student: [confused] I said I'm fixin' to get paid.

Ms. Flower: [flustered] Oh, you're getting paaaaaaaaid. I thought you said you were fixin' to--never mind.

FIN

B Positive

2009-05-12T23:15:00.002-05:00

Today, on a whim, I gave some blood.

It's been four years since the last time I gave blood, not because of a medical reason or because I was able to answer "yes" to any of the five billion questions they now ask; I didn't donate because I know that you have to wait a year after getting a tattoo, and I've gotten two in the past four years.

I'm sure you're relieved to know it's not because of "travel[ing] outside of the country for longer than three months between 1980 and 1996."

Also, this is a new question that made me laugh: "Do you have malaria?" Are malaria victims partial to giving blood? I suppose it's good that I have donated before going to Venice; if I ever DO get malaria, I think it will come from those canals. But at least it will be FANCY malaria.

Anyway, it was taking a long time to get everything sorted and answered and test-poked, and I was keeping a close eye on the clock so I wouldn't be late for class.

I always give from my right arm, because I'm left-handed, and my arm always gets super-floppy after giving blood. I like my left arm to be functional. You know, in case of a Punching Emergency.

I squeezed the little ball and the nurse poked my arm and let out an excited gasp. "Oh, that's a GOOD vein," she said.

I looked at the ground, all fake modest, because I do have good veins, but it's not really a topic I can bring up in conversation. How would that go? "Yes, Aunt Becky, and speaking of government bailouts, did you know that I have exceptional veins for giving blood? Good thing, too, because those darn banks are bleeding me dry, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

No.

I can't look when the needle goes in, so I didn't even know what was coming at me. The nurse said, "You're going to feel a little pinch." But it wasn't like a little pinch. It was more like a knifing, like in a gang fight. When I looked down at the needle poking out of my Good Vein, I wimpered a little bit.

"That sure is a big needle," I ventured weakly.

"Yes, it is," the nurse agreed in a jovial voice.

The truth is, though, that it wasn't just a big needle. What it was, in fact, was a needle that could double for kitchen plumbing, if necessary. That needle could have held 25 pound weights on either end. That needle could have been part of a game: "Professor Plum, in the conservatory, with the Giant Needle."

I managed to hold myself together, but a freak out was imminent. I calmed down once I got my rhythm going, squeeze the stress ball, release, look at the clock. Squeeze, release, clock.

The bag dropped when it reached one pint, the nurse removed the needle ("Take a deep breath," she said, because you know what stops pain? AIR.), and I held the cotton ball over the puncture wound and raised my arm. It wasn't my first time in the Bloodmobile.

Once the nurse had handed off the bags and vials, she lowered my arm and put a tee-tiny round band-aid over the gaping hole in my vein. She turned away to get the big sticky bandage to wrap around my whole arm and sort of absentmindedly dropped a gauze pad over the band-aid.

Meanwhile, I watched as the band-aid turned red with my blood, which then began spilling out into the gauze, which was quickly soaked. And that's when the blood started running off my arm and onto the floor.

"Ummmm ..." I said, desperately trying to clot my blood through mental exercise. I didn't know what else to say; all the words I thought of didn't seem to make sense to me.

Here are some samples:

"I'M EXSANGUINATING!" <--------- I learned that from CSI.

"I'VE SUDDENLY TURNED INTO A HEMOPHILIAC!" <---------- Which would suggest that I'm a Russian princess.

"NO VAMPIRES! NO VAMPIIIIIIIIIIIRES!!!" <------- I may have watched Twilight this week.

"I'M DYING!! I'M DYING!! What a world, what a world." <------- Sometimes simple is best. Also, Wizard of Oz allusions are classy!

When the nurse turned around, she yanked my arm into the air and applied pressure. I lay back and prepared to die as prettily as possible. I was glad I wore a purple shirt today; it looks so good next to pale skin. And it doesn't show blood stains as much.

Oh, the best thing is that, while all this was going on, the bell rang. The nurse cleaned me up as quickly as she could, and I managed not to faint by using Lamaze techniques and counting to 100 in my head.

I was only a couple of minutes late to class, and I told my kids that if they got on my nerves, and my blood pressure rose, my veins would start to spurt blood and I'd die right there in front of them and it would be ALL THEIR FAULT.

(I don't often get to make threats, but when I do, they are GOOD.)

P.S. I didn't even get any cookies. So it was all for naught. Boo.

Winding Down

2009-05-07T22:07:00.002-05:00

Today is the second-to-last day of Big Giant Tests, and we are all feeling some heavy duty test fatigue.

Which is why my 3rd period class got to watch The Sandlot today. I figure that movie teaches history, communication skills, and critical thinking, so I'm pretty much covered. Also, everybody loves it.

Before I turned on the movie, I let my students know their grades and told them just how much they would have to study in order to pass the class for the year.

"[Chandler Muriel Bing]," I would call from the computer. "Please come see your grade. [Rachel Karen Greene], you're on deck."

Of course we are all a little loopy from the testing fumes, but those kids cracked up when I started middle-naming them. Whatever, it was free entertainment and it didn't require any effort on my part.

Later, after the movie had started and I was sunk down in a sea of ungraded papers, I noticed two girls whispering at their desks.

"What's the problem, ladies?" I asked.

They sort of gave each other the shifty eyes, then one smiled and said, "We were just wondering, Ms. Flower, what's YOUR middle name?"

I looked her straight in the eye and answered: "My middle name is AWESOME."

Slow Clap

2009-05-05T23:32:00.003-05:00

Roughly half the student body was in the middle of their Big Scary State Test when the fire alarm went off.

We filed outside, threatening our children with immediate physical harm if they spoke even half a syllable. They were really good, though, and I guess we must have "preserve[d] the integrity of the test," as one administrator put it, because they let the kids finish it. I'm sure next week we'll be told everyone has to retake it, but for now it looks like we're okay.

Oh, and that fire alarm? Some of our non-testers were in the weight room, unattended, and I guess they thought it would be fun to pull the little red lever. Then, instead of skulking out of the building and pretending not to know anything about it, they bragged to everyone within hearing distance.

Geniuses.

Why I Am Angry

2009-04-30T22:36:00.004-05:00

Next week, we'll begin our test-a-palooza, and every person in our school is Sick To Death of the whole thing already.

It's not just that the tests themselves are a ridiculous waste of time, or inaccurate assessments of students' and teachers' achievements, or any of the other things I've ranted about a million billion times before.

It's more that we all have Testing Fatigue before the tests themselves are even delivered to the building.

Ask any teacher in a test-associated classroom what s/he's been doing since February, and the answer will always be, "Test review."

Ask any student what they've read in English class this semester, and s/he'll say, "Test review."

Ask any administrator what they've been stressing for the last three months, and s/he'll say, "Test review."

Practice test, review. Practice test, review. That's it. That's what my English lesson plans have said (when I've bothered to turn them in, that is) since the beginning of the year.

It sucks.

I've reached a crossroads; I'm torn between a) not even caring how the kids do on their tests anymore, and b) having nightmares that my statistics come back with a column of giant negative signs (-) going down the page.

I waver between a very positive, zen-like attitude ("You're all going to do SO WELL on this test, I have SUCH confidence in your abilities!") to freaking out and being near tears ("You missed 36 out of 48?????? Oh sweet Jesus, take me now!")

Fortunately, I have a planning period immediately following my English class, and I can melt down without an audience. But my big freak-out today happened because I had a flash of something I probably knew--but chose to ignore--all along.

See, I TRY with these reviews. I know they're awful and they're tedious and they're boring. So I do games, and I give activities, and I tell stories and gesture wildly and jump around and dance and holler and cheerlead and fist bump and get all dramatic and ... well, what I do is, I make a giant ass of myself.

And yet, my students STILL don't follow directions. They STILL don't read the questions carefully. They STILL don't try the oft-repeated testing tips I've given. They STILL don't check to make sure the number on their answer sheet matches the number in the test booklet. They STILL don't pay attention to the clock.

Then, when I'm trying to go over the answers and tell them why they chose the wrong answer, and why another answer is correct, and how they can avoid that pitfall later, WHAT DO THEY DO?

They talk. They gossip. They sleep. They beat on their desks. They draw on their answer sheets. They look out the window. They do everything but the one thing I want them to do: LISTEN.

So here I am, putting in all this effort to try to help THEM, and I'm the only one who's actively participating in the review!

And this, THIS, is why the whole idea of using standardized tests to evaluate MY effectiveness is an EPIC FAIL.

Because I AM DOING THE WORK!

I am running my tail off teaching this stuff! I am doing everything in my power to help these kids pass this stupid, stupid test, but I AM GOING TO GET A FAILING GRADE because THEY DON'T GIVE A CRAP.

I just ... I give up. I give up.