Let's All Go to the Lobby

I decided to show a movie today in class.

I KNOW.

It's not really something you are supposed to do. In fact, it is often frowned upon. Wendy Kopp is probably planning a beheading at this moment. However, I sensed my overall attitude veering towards being a bit too nasty to my kids (and not in a clever bitchy way, but something more abrasive) and I wanted to give us all a bit of a break.

Back in my day (re: 1990-1998), movies were shown quite frequently. This was pre-No Child Left Behind, so people did not get as up in arms about wasting precious instruction time. Our viewings ranged from such classics as "Babe" to lesser-known-but-still-rockin' gems like "Duck Tales The Movie: Treasure of the Lost Lamp." God, that one was a classic.

Today, I chose "Jumanji" because it is semi-educational because it is based on a book.

When I was teaching in a public school, June was known as "Movie Month." Instruction essentially stopped at the end of May (and in some classes like-ahem-the Union rep's, APRIL) and the movies began. I didn't really join this ship until my second year. I had a class of only boys and decided to show them "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King." The extended edition. Why? Because it was four hours long.

At one point, Gandalf spends three minutes of screen time riding his horse up a mountain to the entrance of a castle. Without missing a beat, a student said, "Damn. That's one long ass driveway." How true.

This was the first time I have shown a movie in the past two years. Perhaps it is because I am about to leave the classroom and am so incredibly tired and drained from this school year. Or maybe it's because the kids need to sit back and enjoy each other's company without a worksheet in front of them.

Either way, the kids got a special treat and they were happy. And Mr. Vest was happy. And somewhere Anderson Cooper was happy. Because he was thinking about Mr. Vest.

Oh, Slap!

Silly Bandz are the f'in rage in schools at the moment. So much so that many schools are banning them...and I can totally see why.

It's because they are awesome. If you are not aware of what they are- I mean, if you aren't a teacher or have a child, it would be a tad creepy if you did know what they were- look below.
Basically, they are rubber bands in the shape of a whole mess of stuff...and the kids are cocaine-level obsessed with them (I mean, a rubber band in the shape of devil horns? ROCK ON.). They wear dozens at a time on their wrists, making all of them look a little left-of-center, if you follow me. The added bonus is that they are wicked cheap, meaning any kid can have a vast collection. With any fad, there is competition and you are bound to have kids get in arguments about whose bandz are the best and blah blah blah. Hence, schools banning them.

I keep confiscating them just so I can take them home and wear them in the privacy of my home. They also glow in the dark which means that I can stage my own rave in the comfort of my home.

I didn't really know why I was so taken by them...but then it hit me: Silly Bandz are the 2010 version of slap bracelets. You remember "slap bracelets," right? They were the bee knee's back in 1992 (and forever in my heart), but some idiot kid in a school- let's use my "go to" blame state of Montana- had to go hurt himself and suddenly having one in your possession was akin to having small pox or something. Or "cooties," which to a 9 year old is much, much worse.

Slap bracelets came and went...followed by Pogs (LOVE) and Tamogachi-whatever Pets (huh?) and Pokemon cards (never understood it). Silly Bandz will make way for something equally awesome for kids and headache-inducing for parents and teachers. But you know, at least we are resorting back to fashion (a la slap bracelets)...and that is something I can get behind.

A Gallery

It's June, so I let the kids take some minutes to doodle. Naturally, some of them drew pictures of yours truly.

Front: Mr. Vest: "Is anybody there?"


Back: "Lookin' good"


Why, thank you!


CLONES:



This kid drew my hair "swoop" pretty well.

Now, This is Just Getting Ridiculous

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and every single freakin' student in the city of New York has lost their mind.

On top of that, so has every teacher. You can feel is as you walk through the hallways...the emotions are just simmering beneath the surface before something- anything- happens that sets the whole building amok.

I have come to expect this every June. The final day of school, so far away in months past, is just an inch or so away. Students have long since realized that this is the time of the year to go ape shit over everything and anything. It's almost like they believe they have a free pass to go insane.

But teachers do, too...so I'm not necessarily complaining.

Case(s) in point:
*Spitting is on the rise, as well as farting.
*A student that would normally not harm a fly smacked a boy in the face for "lookin' at her funny."
*A kid "overdosed" on his asthma medicine, natch.
*One kid thought it would be a good idea to attempt a back flip from a chair. After her got off the floor and complained of back pain and a "broken liver," he realized that wasn't exactly a smart decision.

Even the usual threats I have used throughout the year are not having the same effect. Months ago, if I were to say, "Keep talking and you will lose P.E." they'd shut the hell up. Now, I try the same thing and their facial reactions are telling me to shut the hell up.

A coworker of mine but it best when she said that she wants to create a shirt with a simple message to all of the students in the school: "It's June. Stop it."

Amen.

God, I need a drink.

Let Me Be Blunt

I've discussed this before in a previous post, but it needs to be discussed once more after a recent event.

Yesterday, a coworker approached me and handed me what looked like a giant blunt. At first I was excited because hey, it's a blunt. It was a Pavlov moment. Sue me.

He informed me that he caught a student with said ganja and that student was one of mine. Of course. I tried to be shocked, but I'll have to admit that I wasn't entirely. If I had to pick any student of mine that would fashion a blunt out of paper, it would be this kid.

He's the stylish one who likes to wear colored bracelets and talk about fashion. A chip off the old block. Let's call him Bambi.

I approached the child and informed him that we needed to discuss an important matter. Now, this kid looks like a puppy when he knows he's in trouble. He has these giant, brown eyes and muffled speaking voice that is so cute that you can't even handle it. He stood with his hands behind his back and a look of absolute terror in his face.

"Do you know what I have in my possession?" I asked him.

Bambi remarked, "no," but drew it out in a way that it was almost like a question. I took out the contraband and held it upright in front of his eyes. His eyes widened in such a way that it nearly covered his face.

"What is this, Mr. Man?" I asked. "Mr. Man" is a phrase I use when I'm trying to convey being really pissed off. I think it often works. Truthfully, I just like saying 'Mr. Man.'

Bambi took a beat and said, "Pencil shavings."

"Pencil shavings? These are pencil shavings, you say? Then why are they wrapped up in such a fashion?"

Bambi went on to claim that he couldn't get up in his current class to throw out his pencil shavings (pronounced by him as "penciwl shayviths") and needed to put them inside something.

"So you decided to put them in the form of a marijuana cigarette?!" I intoned.

At this point, I lost it. I couldn't stop laughing, trying to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent tiny bursts of laughter out. It was freakishly hard.

Bambi stammered. "It's naht a maryjana cigawhet."

"Oh? Because it sure does look like one. Explain yourself!" (I seem to have forgotten at this point that I was talking to a nine year old and not a hooligan on Law & Order)

Bambi couldn't explain himself. And I couldn't stop laughing in his face. I tried to backtrack, because I wasn't laughing at him. It was more the idea that in my adult life, I am questioning a child who talks like a Rugrat about making a fake blunt with pencil shavings. Such is life.

Frankly, was I that angry about this situation? No, not at all. In fact, it was the high point of my day. I mean, come on, it's June. Is anything supposed to make sense at this point in the school year? Not really. So, I dropped it and then went around to many teachers and recounted the story.

It should be noted that the blunt's size was impressive. This kid has a future.

Ready for my close up

So, I'm mildly obsessed with Sia and am eagerly awaiting her new album. Last week, I discovered her video for "You've Changed" and have been bouncing to it ever since. Watch below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLPPlRDOZx0

This got me thinking about School Picture Day back when I was a little munchkin. I suppose the overall appeal of these particular days was that we (and children banished to school uniforms in a Catholic school) were able to put on our Sunday best. This was always a special treat, even up until high school. Oh, how I remember those days when girls at my high school tramped it up on the weekends because they just "couldn't take" wearing a plaid skirt all of the time.

This all got me thinking about my various adventures in school picture preparation. I took this shit real seriously. My clothes were always laid out the night before (ok, two nights before) and I woke up extra, extra early to ensure my hair was coiffed perfectly. Now, my hair has always been semi-decent...but back then it was the cat's meow. And this was BEFORE hair wax, people!

One year, I believe it was 3rd grade, I discovered a new look. We had the good fortune of having a pool in our backyard and I noticed that every time I got of the pool and had my hair slicked completely back, it would dry into this very stylish bouffant. Yes, I realize a nine year old's use of the word "bouffant" is a clear indicator of where they will be heading in terms of sexual orientation, but lets get our heads out of the gutter, mmkay?

I knew I wanted to have this style in my school picture, so I got up early on the big day, went to the pool, dipped my head in and quickly ran to the bathroom to dry it with a hand dryer. Oh baby, it looked good. I thought I looked like Tom Cruise (pre-"glib" days) or Kirk Fogg from "Legends of the Hidden Temple" or something equally debonair.

*Side note swoon for Kirk Fogg.

Kirk Fogg is the man, by the way.

*End side note and swoon*

I got to school, happily took my picture and awaited their arrival in a few weeks. The entire time I waited, I simply knew my picture looked the best and that no one could top my hair, shirt and tie combination. God, I was a superstar.

Weeks later, the photos arrived. I nearly tore them in half as I opened the package, totally excited about seeing them.

And I saw them. The hair looked fabulous and my smile was to die. My happiness quickly subsided though, as I then I saw it. Caked underneath my nose was an obvious booger. You needed to look really closely, but there it was. It was like the size of a freakin' nickel and I was instantly mortified.

I cursed myself for my vanity and I then I realized who was really at fault here- the photographer. Who lets a chubby kid with perfect hair take a picture with a booger underneath their nose and not say anything?! Who does that?! Clearly someone who didn't watch "Free to Be You and Me" growing up. The horses weren't running free in his land, that's for damn sure. (look up the reference, I'm too upset to at the moment)

I was angry. I was embarrassed. I was hungry.

I vowed from that day on to ensure that every picture taken of me for school would be divine. No one would get in my way. No one. Not even someone holding a taco.

Ok, maybe someone holding a taco.

The next year, it entered the photo session with extra care. No boogers, no marks on my face from the scented marker I probably was trying to eat earlier in the day, nothing. I was good to go.

The same photographer was there, and he said, "You ready, bucko?"

"Yes. But are you?"

"Um yes. That's my job."

"Is it?"

"Yes"

"IS IT?!"

At that, I had made him uncomfortable. And that felt good.