Redux: When High School is like... a Divine Comedy

I just felt like it was time to revisit this former post again... Why? BECAUSE I MISS SUNLIGHT. DAMN YOU, STANDARD TIME.


For me, the school year is in full swing-- inasmuch as one can be when Winter Break seems a million miles away. For those of you who have forgotten, or who now look back upon your high school years through the rosy mists of fondness for that halcyon era when your head, not your back, was covered with hair and your tricep didn't flop around like a Tibetan prayer flag in a good stiff breeze, high school is organized into concentric circles of despair and Sisyphean drudgery which align quite nicely with the Nine Circles of Hell our friend and eternal optimist Dante Alighieri described so fully.

Circle 1- Limbo, the Home of the Innocent: The freshmen have already had most of the pranks pulled on them-- like looking for a swimming pool on the roof, or looking for the smoking area, or being told that we have open campus for lunch, and so on. They've lost a bit of that dazed look-- unless it's a permanent condition.

Circle 2-The Lustful: The "veteran" freshmen on the two- or three-year-plans are already falling back into their habits of trying to evade class as much as possible and still somehow be able to finagle enough credits to achieve sophomorehood. They lust for a way to get over. Those who lust for each other have tried to discover just where the security cameras don't work.

Circle 3- The Gluttonous: Last year's freshmen who made the cut to sophomores are hoping to have grown some-- the girls hoping to be able to fill out those teeny tanks they wear and the boys hoping to get closer to making that dunk on the basketball court. The boys can eat the weight of a newborn elephant in one sitting. Sophomores bear the grim visage of those who realize that they still must slog through an eternity of high school, and that as long ago as they were seventh graders? That's how long it will be before they graduate. The mathematically inclined have computed this sentence in Hell as the equivalent of 19.7% of their lives thus far.

Circle 4- The Hoarders and the Improvident: Most of the juniors are engulfed in a tsunami in post-high school planning, as the last deadline to register for the ACT was on last Friday, and they are frantically collecting honors to list on their applications and recommendations from harried staff. Those who swear that they'll NEVER want to go to college or trade school or sit in a classroom again are sneering at their classmates who are wigging out. They can't wait to get out of school so they'll never have to do what anyone tells them, EVER AGAIN.

Circle 5- The River Styx; the Wrathful and the Sullen: The seniors have slogged their way through all these levels only to discover that they are merely on the verge of true Hell. They've figured out to take AP and honors classes their first semester, and as soon as the transcripts are mailed off to their fifteen dream colleges to "drop them like it's hot" and coast through the rest of the year. The ones who SWORE that they would never want to go to college or trade school have lost a bit of that sneer as they are slowly coming to the realization that after antagonizing Mom and Dad for the last six years, what with the brushes with the law and the suspensions and the phone calls from school and the poor grades, their parents are COUNTING the days until they can tell their offspring that their bedroom has become an exercise room, and seven bucks an hour at TWO part time jobs at fast food joints minus something called FICA and social security will get them a run-down one bedroom apartment with three roommates, rides to work on a bus, peanut butter sandwiches, no vacations EVER-- much less three months in a row off, no health care, and tennis shoes from K-Mart, not Foot Locker. No bling, no phat threads, and no pimpin' any rides. Suddenly four years of sitting in a classroom listening to someone drone on and on about 18th century British literature or the principles of accounting doesn't sound nearly as stupefying as fifty years of soul-destroying repetitive labor where you come home at the end of the day with the smell of fried food permeating even your HAIR, which you now have to get cut at Great Clips four times a year. They've asked their uncle about that job at the Ford plant, but it's shutting its doors in 2009 and outsourcing to Mexico under NAFTA, and soon their uncle may be delivering pizzas and competing with them for jobs-- and he, at least, has a history of showing up to work on time and following directions, which gives him a big leg up on them.

Gosh, is it too late to take the ACT?

Circle 6- The City of Dis; the Heretics: The teachers have once again realized that no matter how thick the student behavior guide is, that the assistant principals have pretty much no interest in enforcing the policies on tardiness, dress code, attendance, cell phones, smoking in the john, or insubordination unless it's directed at them. These teachers will "dis" these administrators with considerable bitterness. They are already huddling in circles in the hallway, disputing the diagnoses buried in IEPs and 504s, and mocking memos from administration. They have their own vision of what the school should look like, but theirs is not a theology bearing the imprimatur of the powers that be, so they just appear out of touch with reality. Those who work hard and strive to inculcate their students with a love of learning are nonetheless vilified by the public and even some of their peers. Those who think that students should be accountable for their shortcomings are considered to be child-hating misanthropes.

Circle 7- The Violent: Many of the parents have already had all the phone calls from school they are going to tolerate. They have blocked calls from any building in the district. Others have been lurking malevolently in the counseling office since the end of July demanding that their kids' schedules be changed about five times, or that an entire class be created to fully meet the needs of their son or daughter. Already two hundred of them have tried to enroll their children in our district by claiming the address of the UPS store down the street, and if they don't get what they want, they will try to intimidate anyone within hearing, including our sweet little white-haired registrar.

Circle 8- Malebolge, The Fraudulent: The counsellors and principals fall into various categories listed by Dante. They either spent two years in a classroom and are 24 years old, or they spent two years in the classroom twenty years ago. But no matter what, they are experts in good teaching methods and writing curriculum, or so they assure the staff. Among them are:
Panderers, who just want to be the students' "friend;"
Flatterers, who will tell you that they think you're a great teacher only to dump more work on you;
Simoniacs, who shower dispensations for referrals upon kids, in a bid to supposedly "save" them from the "Heretics;"
Hypocrites, who will merely counsel a kid who calls a teacher that word for "a person who would engage in carnal activity with his maternal relative" but who suspends a kid for six days for calling the AP a sexual deviate;
Sowers of Discord, Scandal, and Schism, who hang out all day with their favorite staff members in their office, trading gossip and innuendo regarding the rest of the staff-- they think that teachers are all incompetent, hyperbolic, child-hating misanthropes.

Circle 9- The Traitors: The central office administrators and school board. They will bizarrely give permission for five hundred kids who supposedly live at the UPS store down the street to attend schools in our district, and they will refuse to investigate reports that students are being dropped off at bus stops in cars with license plates from a neighboring state. They will overturn suspensions upon a whim. They will go to the National School Board Association meeting in Miami with their entire families while they tell teachers there is no money for raises and their deductible for health insurance will need to triple. They think that teachers are all incompetent, hyperbolic, child-hating misanthropes who are overpaid.


And how would our friend Dante describe this abode?

“And when, with gladness in his face, he placed his hand upon my own, to comfort me, he drew me in among the hidden things. Here sighs and lamentations and loud cries were echoing across the starless air, so that, as soon as I set out, I wept. Strange utterances, horrible pronouncements, accents of anger, words of suffering, and voices shrill and faint, and beating hands—all went to make tumult that will whirl forever through that turbid, timeless air, like sand that eddies when a whirlwind swirls.” [Dante, as he enters the Gates of Hell. Canto III, Inferno]

Avast, scurvy dogs!

And today? Today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day!!!!!!

You Are 80% Pirate

Shiver me timbers! You be a tried an' true buccanneer. Yer likely the captain - shoutin' orders to scrub the deck or walk the plank. If anyone questions yer shipmate skills, ye'll jus' crush the'r barnacles! Ye have been flying the Jolly Roger fer a long time. So long that you likely be havin' a bad case o' scurvy.

Would You Make a Good Pirate?

Now, who be surprised?

I before E except after "team"

Yes, we got the good news that our staff development will include "team-building" exercises.

Does that mean that the administration will finally join our team? Or let the teachers join theirs?

And who here, besides me, is now thinking about that scene in Mean Girls?

You know, there is no "I" in team. But "ME" is in there if you rearrange the letters. And if you really rearrange the letters, you get "meat."

Reprise: When teaching school is like... a divine comedy

I just felt like it was time to revisit this former post again... Why? BECAUSE THIS SCHOOL YEAR WILL NEVER. EVER. END.


For me, the school year is still in full swing-- inasmuch as one can be when Memorial Day still hasn't rolled around yet. For those of you who have forgotten, or who now look back upon your high school years through the rosy mists of fondness for that halcyon era when your head, not your back, was covered with hair and your tricep didn't flop around like a Tibetan prayer flag in a good stiff breeze, high school is organized into concentric circles of despair and Sisyphean drudgery which align quite nicely with the Nine Circles of Hell our friend and eternal optimist Dante Alighieri described so fully.

Circle 1- Limbo, the Home of the Innocent: The freshmen have already had most of the pranks pulled on them-- like looking for a swimming pool on the roof, or looking for the smoking area, or being told that we have open campus for lunch, and so on. They've lost a bit of that dazed look-- unless it's a permanent condition.

Circle 2-The Lustful: The "veteran" freshmen on the two- or three-year-plans are already falling back into their habits of trying to evade class as much as possible and still somehow be able to finagle enough credits to achieve sophomorehood. They lust for a way to get over. Those who lust for each other have tried to discover just where the security cameras don't work.

Circle 3- The Gluttonous: Last year's freshmen who made the cut to sophomores are hoping to have grown some-- the girls hoping to be able to fill out those teeny tanks they wear and the boys hoping to get closer to making that dunk on the basketball court. The boys can eat the weight of a newborn elephant in one sitting. Sophomores bear the grim visage of those who realize that they still must slog through an eternity of high school, and that as long ago as they were seventh graders? That's how long it will be before they graduate. The mathematically inclined have computed this sentence in Hell as the equivalent of 19.7% of their lives thus far.

Circle 4- The Hoarders and the Improvident: Most of the juniors are engulfed in a tsunami in post-high school planning, as the last deadline to register for the ACT was on last Friday, and they are frantically collecting honors to list on their applications and recommendations from harried staff. Those who swear that they'll NEVER want to go to college or trade school or sit in a classroom again are sneering at their classmates who are wigging out. They can't wait to get out of school so they'll never have to do what anyone tells them, EVER AGAIN.

Circle 5- The River Styx; the Wrathful and the Sullen: The seniors have slogged their way through all these levels only to discover that they are merely on the verge of true Hell. They've figured out to take AP and honors classes their first semester, and as soon as the transcripts are mailed off to their fifteen dream colleges to "drop them like it's hot" and coast through the rest of the year. The ones who SWORE that they would never want to go to college or trade school have lost a bit of that sneer as they are slowly coming to the realization that after antagonizing Mom and Dad for the last six years, what with the brushes with the law and the suspensions and the phone calls from school and the poor grades, their parents are COUNTING the days until they can tell their offspring that their bedroom has become an exercise room, and seven bucks an hour at TWO part time jobs at fast food joints minus something called FICA and social security will get them a run-down one bedroom apartment with three roommates, rides to work on a bus, peanut butter sandwiches, no vacations EVER-- much less three months in a row off, no health care, and tennis shoes from K-Mart, not Foot Locker. No bling, no phat threads, and no pimpin' any rides. Suddenly four years of sitting in a classroom listening to someone drone on and on about 18th century British literature or the principles of accounting doesn't sound nearly as stupefying as fifty years of soul-destroying repetitive labor where you come home at the end of the day with the smell of fried food permeating even your HAIR, which you now have to get cut at Great Clips four times a year. They've asked their uncle about that job at the Ford plant, but it's shutting its doors in 2009 and outsourcing to Mexico under NAFTA, and soon their uncle may be delivering pizzas and competing with them for jobs-- and he, at least, has a history of showing up to work on time and following directions, which gives him a big leg up on them.

Gosh, is it too late to take the ACT?

Circle 6- The City of Dis; the Heretics: The teachers have once again realized that no matter how thick the student behavior guide is, that the assistant principals have pretty much no interest in enforcing the policies on tardiness, dress code, attendance, cell phones, smoking in the john, or insubordination unless it's directed at them. These teachers will "dis" these administrators with considerable bitterness. They are already huddling in circles in the hallway, disputing the diagnoses buried in IEPs and 504s, and mocking memos from administration. They have their own vision of what the school should look like, but theirs is not a theology bearing the imprimatur of the powers that be, so they just appear out of touch with reality. Those who work hard and strive to inculcate their students with a love of learning are nonetheless vilified by the public and even some of their peers. Those who think that students should be accountable for their shortcomings are considered to be child-hating misanthropes.

Circle 7- The Violent: Many of the parents have already had all the phone calls from school they are going to tolerate. They have blocked calls from any building in the district. Others have been lurking malevolently in the counseling office since the end of July demanding that their kids' schedules be changed about five times, or that an entire class be created to fully meet the needs of their son or daughter. Already two hundred of them have tried to enroll their children in our district by claiming the address of the UPS store down the street, and if they don't get what they want, they will try to intimidate anyone within hearing, including our sweet little white-haired registrar.

Circle 8- Malebolge, The Fraudulent: The counsellors and principals fall into various categories listed by Dante. They either spent two years in a classroom and are 24 years old, or they spent two years in the classroom twenty years ago. But no matter what, they are experts in good teaching methods and writing curriculum, or so they assure the staff. Among them are:
Panderers, who just want to be the students' "friend;"
Flatterers, who will tell you that they think you're a great teacher only to dump more work on you;
Simoniacs, who shower dispensations for referrals upon kids, in a bid to supposedly "save" them from the "Heretics;"
Hypocrites, who will merely counsel a kid who calls a teacher that word for "a person who would engage in carnal activity with his maternal relative" but who suspends a kid for six days for calling the AP a sexual deviate;
Sowers of Discord, Scandal, and Schism, who hang out all day with their favorite staff members in their office, trading gossip and innuendo regarding the rest of the staff-- they think that teachers are all incompetent, hyperbolic, child-hating misanthropes.

Circle 9- The Traitors: The central office administrators and school board. They will bizarrely give permission for five hundred kids who supposedly live at the UPS store down the street to attend schools in our district, and they will refuse to investigate reports that students are being dropped off at bus stops in cars with license plates from a neighboring state. They will overturn suspensions upon a whim. They will go to the National School Board Association meeting in Miami with their entire families while they tell teachers there is no money for raises and their deductible for health insurance will need to triple. They think that teachers are all incompetent, hyperbolic, child-hating misanthropes who are overpaid.


And how would our friend Dante describe this abode?

“And when, with gladness in his face, he placed his hand upon my own, to comfort me, he drew me in among the hidden things. Here sighs and lamentations and loud cries were echoing across the starless air, so that, as soon as I set out, I wept. Strange utterances, horrible pronouncements, accents of anger, words of suffering, and voices shrill and faint, and beating hands—all went to make tumult that will whirl forever through that turbid, timeless air, like sand that eddies when a whirlwind swirls.” [Dante, as he enters the Gates of Hell. Canto III, Inferno]

Well, it's better than being Emma....

Take the Quiz here!

Any other result would be unacceptable.

You Passed High School with an A

You have the brains of a high school graduate... at least!

Could You Pass High School?

Quelle surprise!

No Foolin'.

You Would Make a Horrible 1930's Wife

You are way too non conformist, independent, and sassy to be an ideal retro wife. You may be so wild that you aren't even considering marriage! Good thing we don't live in the 1930s anymore!

Would You Have Been a Good Wife in the 1930s?

That's a laugh.

And since I am a Virgo, this makes sense in another way.

Because Virgo's part of the body is the bowels. Get it? (And BTW, WHY????)

You Are a Colon

You are very orderly and fact driven. You aren't concerned much with theories or dreams... only what's true or untrue. You are brilliant and incredibly learned. Anything you know is well researched. You like to make lists and sort through things step by step. You aren't subject to whim or emotions. Your friends see you as a constant source of knowledge and advice. (But they are a little sick of you being right all of the time!) You excel in: Leadership positions You get along best with: The Semi-Colon

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

Why me, Lord?

I want to conduct a little unscientific survey:

How many of you get stopped by complete strangers anywhere you go who either tell you their problems or engage you in completely random conversation?

This has been my special curse all of my life. Sometimes, it has been cool, like when Vincent Price personally talked to me about a modern art exhibit at the British Museum, or when Ozzie Smith teased me about playing racquetball while pregnant or when Al Gore and I joked for 3-4 minutes over a dropped contact lens.

But most of the time, it's just bizarre. If I am standing in a Barnes and Noble, minding my own business, customers approach me to ask where a book is or who an author is even if the employee is standing five feet away. It has gotten to the point that I feel they should at least give me the employee discount or put me on salary.

If I am waiting for a table in a restaurant, here will come some random dude who will tell me his life story.

Last year, on the way to work, I was asked directions to someplace while sitting in traffic at a stop light. Three times.

Today, I'm zipping along on my bike at 7:30 am, and this guy I had passed a couple of times waves me down. Since there were about thirty other people on the path with us, I stopped, and off this dude goes with this long story about a bicycle safety website he runs and blah blah blah blah freakin' blah. I was shaking him off more than Nuke Laloosh tried to shake off Crash Davis, but it was like there was a giant sucking sound before I could get away and tentacle marks left on my arm. I mean, what part of "I'm working out, here" (said like Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy) doesn't translate? You would think that being in motion would preclude these unscheduled little tete a tetes.

Anyone else out there suffering like this?

Is it my friendly, open expression? Is it that I look like I've got the answer, no matter what the question? Is it heaps of intellect bristling off my brow?

I'd like to teach the world to sing....

Okay, so I am horrendously busy and I am deeply sorry that I have been ignoring you all lately and I promise I will be much better in just a few days as soon as everybody in my family gets well and I write this damn paper I'm working on, but I must say this, and I'll just throw it out so you can bat it around amongst yourselves like a litter of kitties with a ball of yarn.

I was listening to my latest favorite band, The Weepies, and really enjoying their voices. Then I was messing around iTunes and listened to some Christmas music, and then-- bammo, there was Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins bleating his way through yet another piece of something and I just thought: DAMN! Who gave this guy a microphone to begin with and thought that this was a good idea?

You have heard me gripe before about people who have recording contracts who can't sing, talented songwriters I am sure, but jeez! I wish they would let someone else sing their songs. You know, people like Lucinda Williams, God bless her, but really, she sings like I speak French: it just doesn't translate into anything intelligible to the human ear. I thought Macy Gray was an elderly, Gitane-smoking, former opium addict when I first heard her. I'm still not too sure I was all that mistaken.

Back to Billy Corgan: I will NEVER forgive him for his cover of Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide." Ever. The first time I heard it, I made the Sound of Ultimate Suffering for about thirty seconds.

So who do you think should never be allowed to sing again?

And let's make it easy: no one who has ever appeared on American Idol need apply, because I think that entire show is just wrong from the get-go.

The Pharyngula-Mutating-Genre Meme

Here's a meme that's been mutating around the blogosphere from the real mac daddy of science bloggers, Pharyngula, and I got tagged.

Okay, Mommyprof, I accept that bet!

First, the rules:
There are a set of questions below that are all of the form, "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is...".Copy the questions, and before answering them, you may modify them in a limited way, carrying out no more than two of these operations:

You can leave them exactly as is.
You can delete any one question.
You can mutate either the genre, medium, or subgenre of any one question.
For instance, you could change "The best time travel novel in SF/Fantasy is..." to "The best time travel novel in Westerns is...", or "The best time travel movie in SF/Fantasy is...", or "The best romance novel in SF/Fantasy is...".
You can add a completely new question of your choice to the end of the list, as long as it is still in the form "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is...".
You must have at least one question in your set, or you've gone extinct, and you must be able to answer it yourself, or you're not viable.
Then answer your possibly mutant set of questions. Please do include a link back to the blog you got them from, to simplify tracing the ancestry, and include these instructions. Finally, pass it along to any number of your fellow bloggers. Remember, though, your success as a Darwinian replicator is going to be measured by the propagation of your variants, which is going to be a function of both the interest your well-honed questions generate and the number of successful attempts at reproducing them.


So, without further ado:
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Pharyngula.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Metamagician and the Hellfire Club.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Flying Trilobite.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is A Blog Around the Clock.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Primate Diaries
My great-great-great-great-great-grandparent is Thus Spake Zuska.
My great-great-great-great-grandparent is a k8, a cat, a mission.
My great-great-great-grandparent is Monkeygirl.
My great-great-grandparent is DancingFish.
My great-grandparent is Dr. Brazen Hussy.
My grandparent is Addy.
My parent is Mommy/prof.

The best short story in SciFi/Fantasy is: "Jerry Was a Man," by Robert A. Heinlein.
The best cult movie in comedy is: This is Spinal Tap
The best children’s novel in classic fiction is: The Phantom Tollbooth
The best high-fat food in Greek cooking is: Saganaki (flaming cheese)
The best recent movie in comedy is: Mean Girls
The best humorous song in folk music is: "Sensitive New Age Guys" by Christine Lavin.

And I tag:
The Science Goddess
Guusjem
Graycie
Aisby

Why not waste your time on the internet than going to GEICO?

Darren threw down, and I picked it up. Because I'm not competitive. I'M SPIRITUAL!

Your Aura is Blue

Spiritual and calm, you tend to live a quiet but enriching life. You are very giving of yourself. And it's hard for you to let go of relationships. The purpose of your life: showing love to other people Famous blues include: Angelina Jolie, the Dali Lama, Oprah Careers for you to try: Psychic, Peace Corps Volunteer, Counselor

What Color Is Your Aura?

God knows the counselor things feels right... And Angeline Jolie? Ummm, without the vial of blood and tattoos, okay.


And then there's this, where we're pretty similar:

You Are 70% "Average American"

You are average because you've known your best friend for at least ten years. You are not average since you have (at least) a college degree.

How "Average American" Are You?

And this explains why Darren reminds me of the kid brother I never had:

You are 40% Taurus

How Taurus Are You?

And this, where he beats me by 30 points, also explaining a LOT:

You Are 14% Evil

You are good. So good, that you make evil people squirm. Just remember, you may need to turn to the dark side to get what you want!

How Evil Are You?

I am a good girl! Sue me! And if speeding wasn't against the law, that number woulda been lower....


And then, since he feels comfortable in the company of Jack Kemp:

You Are 56% Democrat

You aren't a full fledged Democrat yet, but it's likely the party that fits you best. You probably consider yourself an independent Democrat. You usually support the party, but you also think for yourself!

How Democrat Are You?

I bet he was twelve when Kent ran for president. Thinking for yourself is good.


And I'm pretty salty...

You are Ocean Blue

You're both warm and practical. You're very driven, but you're also very well rounded. You tend to see both sides to every issue, and people consider you a natural diplomat.

What Color Blue Are You?

I can live with this....

Your Inner European is Swedish!

Relaxed and peaceful. You like to kick back and enjoy life.

Who's Your Inner European?

This is completely true...

You Are Austin

A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll. You're totally weird and very proud of it. Artistic and freaky, you still seem to fit in... in your own strange way. Famous Austin residents: Lance Armstrong, Sandra Bullock, Andy Roddick

What American City Are You?

Even if it IS in Texas....



And take THAT, Danilo de Costa... because this made me think of you MORE, bud:

Your Hillbilly Name Is...

Penny Sue Carter

Hillbilly Name Generator

I'm not doing the bathroom habits one. Gross.

That Blogthings place is just completely addictive, but not as addictive as YouTube.

Let the language geeks rejoice: We've Got Puns!

Okay, my husband sent these, and they ARE delicious!


It is said that the ability to make and understand puns is the highest level of language development. The ability to make puns that don't make ordinary people shudder transcends the language skills of even the most adept.

Here then, are the 10 first place winners in the International Pun Contest:


Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says, "Dam!"

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.

Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says "I've lost my electron."
The other says "Are you sure?"
The first replies "Yes, I'm positive."

Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal?
His goal: transcend dental medication.

A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse.
"But why?" they asked, as they moved off.
"Because," he said," I can't stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer."

A woman has twins and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named "Ahmal." The other goes to a family in Spain; they name him "Juan." Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal.
Her husband responds, "They're twins! If you've seen Juan, you've seen Ahmal."

A group of friars were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened up a small florist shop to raise funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, a rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town to "persuade" them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he'd be back if they didn't close up shop. Terrified, they did so, thereby proving that only Hugh can prevent florist friars.

Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and, with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him (Oh man, this is so bad, it's good) a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

Mawwage is wot bwings us togevvah today....

Some dear friends are getting married this weekend, and as someone who's been married for nearly twenty years, I thought I would share a few important anecdotes to the reality of wedded bliss (from a friend who emailed me these-- I just can't help myself!)

UNDERSTANDING WOMEN (A MAN'S PERSPECTIVE)
I know I'm not going to understand women. I'll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root, and still be afraid of a spider.

(Editorial comment: I don't understand that either-- either part.)


WORDS
A husband read an article to his wife about how many words women use a day...30,000 to a man's 15,000.

The wife replied, "The reason has to be because we have to repeat everything to men..."

The husband then turned to his wife and asked, "What?"

(Editorial comment: If he doesn't deny that you said anything to begin with... And when you have kids, you get to repeat things much more than once!)


MARRIAGE SEMINAR
While attending a marriage seminar dealing with communication, Tom and his wife Grace listened to the instructor remind them, "It is essential that husbands and wives know each other's likes and dislikes...."

He addressed the man,"Can you name your wife's favorite flower?"

Tom leaned over, touched his wife's arm gently and whispered, "It's Pillsbury, isn't it?"


THE SILENT TREATMENT
A man and his wife were having some problems at home and were giving each other the silent treatment. The man realized that the next day, he would need his wife to wake him at 5:00 AM for an early morning business flight.

Not wanting to be the first to break the silence (and LOSE), he wrote on a piece of paper, "Please wake me at 5:00 AM." He left it where he knew she would find it.

The next morning, the man woke up, only to discover it was 9:00 AM and he had missed his flight. Furious, he was about to go and see why his wife hadn't wakened him, when he noticed a piece of paper by the bed.

The paper said, "It is 5:00 AM. Wake up."

Men are not equipped for these kinds of contests.

(Editorial comment: Yes, your husband will still expect you to be his alarm clock, even if you are angry at each other. Because even though they love technology, and can program the TiVo to stand on its head and while changing the oil in the car, they can't figure out how to stop hitting the snooze button or sleeping through the alarm altogether.)

Eight! Ocho! Huit! Yodul! Hachi! VIII!

On the Edge and Casting Out Nines have both graciouly tagged moi to reveal 8 random things about myself. Now, if you read this blog at all, you know it's pretty damn random anyway, but okie-doke!

1. I never wear nail polish on my fingernails. I remember when the Husbandly Unit was courting me, and I had been buying into all that gotta-paint-your-nails-if-you-want-to-catch-a-fella crap, and, like the engineer he is, he pointed out what an absolute waste of time it was to do it, so I very thankfully stopped. I am sure it was actually all a part of his nefarious plan to marry a low-maintenance (please read that word as "inexpensive") woman since he was also quite, um, frugal. But I never get a manicure. Of any sort. French, Korean, Russian or any other nationality. When you play stringed instruments, what's the point?

2. I used to drink 7-8 Pepsis a day, beginning early in the morning and going into the wee hours. I now allow myself maybe one a day during the school year. It was a wrench.

3. I only gained 8 pounds while I was expecting. When you start off looking like a lady weight-lifter, you don't need to go far. And my feet actually decreased a size by the time I had my last kid.

4. I used to be addicted to romance novels. I liked the funny ones-- not so much with the Danielle Steele. My favorite one was also a mystery-- It was Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters. I read that often, even today.

5. Complete strangers ask me for help or advice in stores and on the street. All the time. They will pick me out of a crowd and make a beeline for me, ignoring cops and concierges by the score. My husband has finally gotten used to it, but it used to freak him out.

6. I could clean up on that new show "The Singing Bee." I can remember song lyrics from songs I haven't heard for years. On our vacation, we discovered that, apparently, radio stations in the Carolinas don't play any music other than oldies and country. I sang the lyrics to every song I heard for hours to keep myself awake. After three notes, I can start belting out, "When the sun comes up on a sleepy little town/ Down around San Antone/ And the folks are risin' for another day/ Round about their homes...." Pity me.

7. I don't get hangovers. Ever. The secret is to drink a glass of water for every glass of alcohol. And come from a long line of moonshiners.

8. I was a Camp Fire Girl. Not a Girl Scout; a Camp Fire Girl. All the way from Blue Birds through Horizon Club. And I loved it. I wish there was a group nearby for my girls, but they are Girl Scouts instead, poor things.



Now, this meme has been around for so long, I hereby tag anyone who hasn't gotten to play along yet if they want to. Just let me know, and I'll read yours!

Is there anything more fun than a geeky pun?

An open mash note to an unknown headline writer:

Dear Sir or Madam:

I bow to you. You saw the opening, and you took it. Yes indeedy.

The headline?

Skywalkers in Korea cross the Han solo.


SKYWALKERS!

Crossing the Han. Solo.




Did I tell you he was my favorite?












Hahahahahahahahahahahah!

You have NO IDEA how much I needed that. Ahhhhhh.

Margaret Spellings' Undergarment Fixation-- Is An Intervention Necessary?

Education Secretary Spellings pulled out an favorite chestnut of hers at the news of that Dana Perino will be taking over temporarily for the ailing Tony Snow. As was noted in the news today:

"Perino has been flooded with calls of support, including one, she says, from Education Secretary Margaret Spellings, who told her: 'Put your big-girl panties on.'"

This is a not-so-charming little phrase out of which she's gotten quite a bit of mileage (see here, f'rinstance.). However, doesn't she understand that they are called "unmentionables" for a reason? To wit: you don't mention them, not if you want to be seen as having any gravitas.

And speaking of gravitas, by "big-girl panties," does she mean

these....










or, these










or, these













or perhaps, ultimately, THESE lovelies, popular with astronauts everywhere?













Because, if I was going to have to be a presidential spokeperson in this day and age, I think the last one would be required.

I'm just sayin'.

When teaching school is like... a divine comedy

For me, the school year is back in full swing-- inasmuch as one can be when Labor Day still hasn't rolled around yet. For those of you who have forgotten, or who now look back upon your high school years through the rosy mists of fondness for that halcyon era when your head, not your back, was covered with hair and your tricep didn't flop around like a Tibetan prayer flag in a good stiff breeze, high school is organized into concentric circles of despair and Sisyphean drudgery which align quite nicely with the Nine Circles of Hell our friend and eternal optimist Dante Alighieri described so fully.

Circle 1- Limbo, the Home of the Innocent: The freshmen have already had most of the pranks pulled on them-- like looking for a swimming pool on the roof, or looking for the smoking area, or being told that we have open campus for lunch, and so on. They've lost a bit of that dazed look-- unless it's a permanent condition.

Circle 2-The Lustful: The "veteran" freshmen on the two- or three-year-plans are already falling back into their habits of trying to evade class as much as possible and still somehow be able to finagle enough credits to achieve sophomorehood. They lust for a way to get over. Those who lust for each other have tried to discover just where the security cameras don't work.

Circle 3- The Gluttonous: Last year's freshmen who made the cut to sophomores are hoping to have grown some-- the girls hoping to be able to fill out those teeny tanks they wear and the boys hoping to get closer to making that dunk on the basketball court. The boys can eat the weight of a newborn elephant in one sitting. Sophomores bear the grim visage of those who realize that they still must slog through an eternity of high school, and that as long ago as they were seventh graders? That's how long it will be before they graduate. The mathematically inclined have computed this sentence in Hell as the equivalent of 19.7% of their lives thus far.

Circle 4- The Hoarders and the Improvident: Most of the juniors are engulfed in a tsunami in post-high school planning, as the first deadline to register for the ACT was on the Friday after we started school, and they are frantically collecting honors to list on their aplications and recommendations from harried staff. Those who swear that they'll NEVER want to go to college or trade school or sit in a classroom again are sneering at their classmates who are wigging out. They can't wait to get out of school so they'll never have to do what anyone tells them, EVER AGAIN.

Circle 5- The River Styx; the Wrathful and the Sullen: The seniors have slogged their way through all these levels only to discover that they are merely on the verge of true Hell. They've figured out to take AP and honors classes their first semester, and as soon as the transcripts are mailed off to their fifteen dream colleges to "drop them like it's hot" and coast through the rest of the year. The ones who SWORE that they would never want to go to college or trade school have lost a bit of that sneer as they are slowly coming to the realization that after antagonizing Mom and Dad for the last six years, what with the brushes with the law and the suspensions and the phone calls from school and the poor grades, their parents are COUNTING the days until they can tell their offspring that their bedroom has become an exercise room, and seven bucks an hour at TWO part time jobs at fast food joints minus something called FICA and social security will get them a run-down one bedroom apartment with three roommates, rides to work on a bus, peanut butter sandwiches, no vacations EVER-- much less three months in a row off, no health care, and tennis shoes from K-Mart, not Foot Locker. No bling, no phat threads, and no pimpin' any rides. Suddenly four years of sitting in a classroom listening to someone drone on and on about 18th century British literature or the principles of accounting doesn't sound nearly as stupefying as fifty years of soul-destroying repetitive labor where you come home at the end of the day with the smell of fried food permeating even your HAIR, which you now have to get cut at Great Clips four times a year. They've asked their uncle about that job at the Ford plant, but it's shutting its doors in 2007 and outsourcing to Mexico under NAFTA, and soon their uncle may be delivering pizzas and competing with them for jobs-- and he, at least, has a history of showing up to work on time and following directions, which gives him a big leg up on them.

Gosh, is it too late to take the ACT?

Circle 6- The City of Dis; the Heretics: The teachers have once again realized that no matter how thick the student behavior guide is, that the assistant principals have pretty much no interest in enforcing the policies on tardiness, dress code, attendance, cell phones, smoking in the john, or insubordination unless it's directed at them. These teachers will "dis" these administrators with considerable bitterness. They are already huddling in circles in the hallway, disputing the diagnoses buried in IEPs and 504s, and mocking memos from administration. They have their own vision of what the school should look like, but theirs is not a theology bearing the imprimatur of the powers that be, so they just appear out of touch with reality. Those who work hard and strive to inculcate their students with a love of learning are nonetheless vilified by the public and even some of their peers. Those who think that students should be accountable for their shortcomings are considered to be child-hating misanthropes.

Circle 7- The Violent: Many of the parents have already had all the phone calls from school they are going to tolerate. They have blocked calls from any building in the district. Others have been lurking malevolently in the counseling office since the end of July demanding that their kids' schedules be changed about five times, or that an entire class be created to fully meet the needs of their son or daughter. Already two hundred of them have tried to enroll their children in our district by claiming the address of the UPS store down the street, and if they don't get what they want, they will try to intimidate anyone within hearing, including our sweet little white-haired registrar.

Circle 8- Malebolge, The Fraudulent: The counsellors and principals fall into various categories listed by Dante. They either spent two years in a classroom and are 24 years old, or they spent two years in the classroom twenty years ago. But no matter what, they are experts in good teaching methods and writing curriculum, or so they assure the staff. Among them are:
Panderers, who just want to be the students' "friend;"
Flatterers, who will tell you that they think you're a great teacher only to dump more work on you;
Simoniacs, who shower dispensations for referrals upon kids, in a bid to supposedly "save" them from the "Heretics;"
Hypocrites, who will merely counsel a kid who calls a teacher that word for "a person who would engage in carnal activity with his maternal relative" but who suspends a kid for six days for calling the AP a sexual deviate;
Sowers of Discord, Scandal, and Schism, who hang out all day with their favorite staff members in their office, trading gossip and innuendo regarding the rest of the staff-- they think that teachers are all incompetent, hyperbolic, child-hating misanthropes.

Circle 9- The Traitors: The central office administrators and school board. They will bizarrely give permission for five hundred kids who supposedly live at the UPS store down the street to attend schools in our district, and they will refuse to investigate reports that students are being dropped off at bus stops in cars with license plates from a neighboring state. They will overturn suspensions upon a whim. They will go to the National School Board Association meeting in Miami with their entire families while they tell teachers there is no money for raises and their deductible for health insurance will need to triple. They think that teachers are all incompetent, hyperbolic, child-hating misanthropes who are overpaid.


And how would our friend Dante describe this abode?

“And when, with gladness in his face, he placed his hand upon my own, to comfort me, he drew me in among the hidden things. Here sighs and lamentations and loud cries were echoing across the starless air, so that, as soon as I set out, I wept. Strange utterances, horrible pronouncements, accents of anger, words of suffering, and voices shrill and faint, and beating hands—all went to make tumult that will whirl forever through that turbid, timeless air, like sand that eddies when a whirlwind swirls.” [Dante, as he enters the Gates of Hell. Canto III, Inferno]

I am SO Not Surprised!

Of course this is me! I found this little gizmo thanks to Educat. Of course you've got the time to waste-- you're reading my insane ramblings, aren't you? Go to take The Classic Dames Test here.

Katharine Hepburn You scored 21% grit, 23% wit, 42% flair, and 19% class!

You are the fabulously quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone. Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like strong women. Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the Classic Leading Man Test.

Bubbas and Yankees

Stream- of-consciousness here, as I await parent-teacher conferences tomorrow and the next night:

Shouldn't there be a law against the New York YANKEES having a player named Bubba? And anyone rooting for the Yankees around me gets a BRONX CHEER.

Is "ept" the opposite of "inept?" Why isn't it "inapt?"

Was I hallucinating, or did I hear the district computer diva use the terms "internet alien" and "internet immigrant" with a straight face in our faculty meeting today?

Does anyone know which countries use US dollars as their currency besides the US? I forget...

Who was crazier in the subgroup "People who have held elected office in the US:" Aaron Burr, David Duke, Richard Nixon, or Tom DeLay?

Did I just spend all day today explaining what speculation, inflation and bimetallism mean? Will I ever get those minutes back in my life?

Question to the skinny Gen Xer in left field: How many times do I have to hit it over your head until you learn to back up on the fat old broad? My mitt is older than you.

A sign that I have watched 50 First Dates waaaay too many times: I'm looking at Jason Giambi, remark how he looks kinda chunky, my hubby says, "I think he's finally off the juice," and my elder daughter immediately says, "It's a pwotein thake!"