Not giving up, not backing down

I get a churp from CNN on my blackberry while trying to power pee before my next class that a shooting occurred at Fort Hood in Texas.

Then, I turned on the news a few hours later to absorb the information.

When an Army Psychiatrist (note: with an Arabic name) goes postal on an army base (i.e. shooting up the place, screaming something about how Allah/God wills it), what does that tell you?  What it says to me is that either a) he was suffering from PTSD, b) had more than serious reservations about being deployed to Iraq, or c) had a jidadist desire to take as many infidels as possible with him… with one serious drawback– he SURVIVED being shot four times and is currently in stable condition at the base hospital. (Shit, I guess he doesn’t get those vestile virgins after all…)

This is a serious state of affairs, folks.  Not more than 18 hours later, the news is saturating our lives with the news of ANOTHER mass shooting, this time at an Orlando, FL business complex.

Hmm… things are broken, people.  Broken.

I am honestly sad for the soldiers and civilians whose lives were abruptly halted through the power of a sick individual.  I hope they throw the goddamn book of the law on him and it squishes him senseless.

And, having a cellmate named Jim Bob probably wouldn’t be a bad thing, either.  Jim Bob from the Deep South, who is from a LONG line of angry soldiers.

——–

I am doggie-paddling through this semester, gasping for air as I desperately cling to the side of the pool. 

And, I can’t believe I let work get in the way of my tyrannical bitching at my blog.  I seriously need to reassess what’s important to me.

Peeing… important (especially at the point where you find that you are dancing to keep from embarassing yourself)…

Sleeping… important, but is it really necessary?  (I’m finding that the more I am awake, the more baggy my eyes get.)

Taxes. Pfhbt! The government can SUCKIT! 

——–

Update on my name-calling colleague.

I get a phonecall from the HEAD DEAN at the college the other day… asking me about the situation, because MY tutoring supervisors told her about it. 

I’m not a shit-starter.  I dont’ even TRY to start shit.  However, I take it seriously when someone tries to mar my reputation.  If I called YOU a stinking asshole with a festering need to make my life miserable… and have never MET you before, then that would be defamation of character.

I feel so… defamed.  *sniiiiiiiiiff*

Yeah, no.  Like I give a rat’s ass what this faceless person thinks about me.  I’m TRYING to stay off the radar with administration (a trick I’ve still yet to master)…

I hope I get hired back next semester.  Bosses hate shit-starting female teachers who have this man-hating persona (one of my guy friends called me a Nazi-Fem) who is outspoken and takes no shit.  (That’s where I shoot myself in the foot.)

I think people have a hard time figuring out how to deal with me.  I am outspoken (to an extent).  If I’m MAKING a point, you betcha that I’ll speak up.  I spent too many years being complacent.  Now that I’ve found my voice, you bet your chair-indented bottoms that I’m going to be a voice to be heard… and possibly feared… like if your favorite aunt suddenly goes bonkers and everyone whispers…  except minus the passive crazy part.

And, most of all, I’m a straight-shooter. 

This is where my tourettes comes into play…

My brain sometimes is slower than the words that spill out of my mouth.  And, when that happens, there are people who are … moderately afraid… and then it causes them to put distance between them and me.

Do I care?  Maybe I need to…

——-

I’ve lost another friend.  My friend, S, who married a year ago and has a 6-month old baby.  She moved into a house about 15 minutes from my house… in September… and I’ve yet to be invited there.  I did ask her once, I think shortly after her move, if I could come see the house.  Her response was, “I’m not finished unpacking.”

That was over 2 months ago.  I called her Monday to offer my sympathy (a family member passed away) and she had a screaming baby on her shoulder.

That was the first time that I’ve spoken with her since the end of Sept.

I’m not calling her anymore… if she calls me, then she wants to keep our friendship alive.  I’m not going to discuss our friendship with a baby screaming.  And, if she won’t see me (or, rather, let me reword that… if she doesn’t have TIME to see me) or speak with me (without the benefit of a screaming child), then I’ll just let the friendship slide under the tide and settle wherever it settles.

She was a little smiffed that I’ve started hanging out with my friends from h.s.  I’ve done the new baby thing.  Three times.  After I was married, NONE of my single friends wanted to hang out with me anymore.  A few of them said to me that I was married and couldn’t hang out anymore.

I went from being a part of a large group of people to being alone.  Nary a friend to be found.  And, it was like that until I went back to college.

There are phases in my life where I either have a lot of friends around or none at all.

My h.s. friends are a lot more like me.  And, that’s a good thing.  We have a history and a lot in common…

I feel sad to let this friendship slide away… she and I have been friends for 12 years… and grew close the last few years before she got married.  but, she’s the type who will not invite friends to functions and only focus on her family.  If that’s what she wants to do, that’s fine.  But, my family is small… and fractured.  My friends are my family, which is why I always extend invites to my friends.

Her husband is a little weird, but he grows on ya.  (A little.  He’s still weird.)

Anyway, I have to get to grading or it’ll never get done.

Have a good weekend…

Happy Halloween!

I’m past my mid-way through the semester mark.  So far, the students are good people… without the ability to communicate effectively.

WITH that said…

I have learned a lot this semester… I’ve learned that some of my students think that when school is tough, they make the other option to enlist in the military (you know, as opposed to studying, turning in their papers, and passing tests). 

My frustration has hit all sorts of new levels… from anger, to frustration, to happiness, to utter disgust.

Most recently, a student came to me to complain about one of the tutors she saw.  This particular tutor is also a teacher at the school.  The student, who has taken me before, told me that this woman called me a bitch, difficult, and gave her a hard time about having me as a teacher.  In other words, she crossed the line between being a tutor and shooting off her big goddamn mouth.

Furious, I went in to speak with our supervisors in the tutoring office.  I should’ve shut the door, but I was angry.  First of all, I don’t even KNOW this person, so who are they to tell MY student that I’m a bitch… that I’m too difficult… and that my expectations are too high.  Uh, we’re teaching COLLEGE… and there’s nothing wrong with have expectations set higher than high school.  But, to defame me to a STUDENT?  Oh helllll no.

When kids complain about their teachers to me, I cut them off.  Professionally, I do not feel it pertinent to bad mouth a teacher, especially ones I don’t know.

The supervisors’ mouths fell open as I described to them (um, angrily, and loudly) how I am thoroughly furious with this individual because how DARE SHE tell one of MY students that I’m a bitch.  If she wanted to SEE me be a bitch, I could SO oblige her… but that it makes me angry because she has NO IDEA what I do for these students and to TELL one of mine that I’m a bitch who expects too much…

Furious wouldn’t define my rage… and the one supervisor shook her head and looked to the ground and the other looked angry.

My demand… I want a verbal apology from this woman, someone I’ve never MET before… for slandering my good name at that school… and how dare she… yadda yadda.

Actually, I played angrier than I was… I was mad, don’t get me wrong, but I was more insulted than furious.  But, in order to get things done at this school, sometimes it doesn’t hurt to go big.

However, in hindsight… I should’ve shut the door first.

——-

Today, it’s raining.  I have NO idea how the kids are going to go trick-or-treating, if at all.  I have three bags of candy (of which we eat 2 and we can barely give away 1)… anticipating NO ONE coming to the house… so I can sit and grade the rewrites of essays I received two weeks ago (that were horrid).

Enjoy your weekend and have a safe and happy Halloween!

Waves from the back of the universe

I know I know… I said I’d post on Saturday…

but, I was in the midst of midterm hell… grading 90+ exams and 270+ essays… of which I finished SAunday around 5pm… in time to learn that my good friend’s mom had succumbed to brain cancer.

And, to be honest, I *think* about posting… I have the desire to post… but was honestly exhausted and using whatever strength I had left to finish the last few exams. Phew. Anyway, it’s been a busier semester than last spring… and I’m still not in sync with this semester.

I will comment on the president’s use of “pandemic.”

I do not want to hear him refer to the H1N1 as “pandemic” again.  It pisses me off.

Why?  Well, because it’s not pandemic, it’s more of an “epidemic” and if he thinks 1,000 people succumbing to it is a lot… think about the Black Plague… which claimed over 1/3 of the population of Europe, or AIDs/HIV, Cholera, of the Influenza epidemic from 1918.

All of these were far more nationally and globally devastating than H1N1.

Before you get your panties in a twist, think about this: someone said to me yesterday, he said “pandemic” because he’s pushing his healthcare agenda.

Hmm… makes sense.

But, doesn’t EVER president have an agenda?  I think it’s a required trait.

… I have to get to class.  I’ll post more when I can.

Peeking around the corner

OH MYGAWD!!

I’m alive and tired.  I’ll post something tomorrow when my brain is clear.

SNAP… just like that

What a week, people. 

My two oldest sons were sick this week (currently, #1 son is snarfling all over my house and now I’m starting to not feel well). 

I’m crabby today.  Just warning you…

Next week are my midterms.  They’re finished, copied, and sorted.  Now all I have to do is give them.

I found out today that my department chair wants to departmentalize the finals … my guess is because of the 12 of us in the department, only two or three actually GIVE exams.  First of all, I’ve NEVER given a departmentalized final.  I think it’s robotic and doesn’t allow me to cover things I do that are not textbook-dependant.  I’m upset, not to mention PISSED at the lazy ass people in my department.  I’m especially pissed at the new female history prof (who is also my son’s teacher at his school) because she’s goddamn lazy.

Departmentalized finals?  Seriously?  Isn’t it bad enough that I’m STUCK with these crappy textbooks that I didn’t pick and have been trying to get changed since I started working here?  Departmentalized finals… are we in middle school?  High school?  Geezus crackers and fire hydrants.  Teaching college is like glorified high school bullshit, minus the parents.

Oh wait.  I still have a handful of those driving me crazy.  (What part of, “I cannot legally discuss your child’s education with you” do they NOT understand.)

—

The other day, I said “bullshit” in class.  I never swear in class.  My semester so far has me saying, “Hell,” “Damn,” and “Bullshit.”  *whimpers*

What I say IN MY MIND is allowed… however, lately (moreso than usual), I have been suffering from Tourettes.  I have warned my students that sometimes things pop out of my mouth that miss the filter in my brain.  We are supposed to ignore those.  You know, like inane ramblings about M&Ms.

The reason I said ” bullshit” is simple.  I’m tired of reading bullshit.

This semester, I’ve drastically altered my paper-writing requirement from my first semester here: I’ve gone from 5-7 page papers, to 3-5 pages, and am currently STUCK at 5-8 PARAGRAPHS.

*sighs*

If they can’t write a research paper, HERSTORY, how can they write a simple high school-level essay?  (*taps on forehead*) How?  They can’t.  Or, they won’t.  And, for the few that actually TRY to do a good job, they get screwed because the masses are fucking up their education for them.

I’m tired of teaching (again).  I’m tired of being frustrated when I give an assignment only to have bullshit crap returned to me (“The American Revolution was necessary because if it didn’t happen, Mell Gipson never would’ve made the Patriat.”).  I’m tired of spending umpteen hours every week preparing info for them, finding video clips, and assembling cool local history stuff only to hear crickets, see blank stares, and nary a thank you from the clusterfuck of college students who prop their heads up with their cell phones and try to pick a fight with me in class.

YES… yes, I have a couple who think they can give me shit in class and expect me to take it.

Being the “Comeback Queen,” I never lose a battle of wits with a student.  The other day, this kid tried to slice me open with his words and I shut him down. “If you want to discuss this with me, you can talk to me after class.”

He tried to interrupt me, and I sharply responded with, “I will NOT let you deter their academic time with complaining. STOW IT.”

Or, the kid who said to me, “Har har… you screwed up the quiz.”

My response? “I can fail you if I want to.”

Another, “I think take-home midterm essays are HARD.”

My response: “Deal with it.”

“The OTHER history teachers are easier.”

“Why didn’t you take them, then?”

“Why can’t we watch television?”

“Sesame Street ended at 8.”

“That open-book quiz is SO hard.”

“Boo-freaking-hoo.  Welcome to college.”

 

My son suggested to me today that I should go into EMT training with him.  We can be a team… paramedics who can save lives.

“I don’t like needles and I can’t handle someone vomitting,” I say.

“Oh, they don’t vomit, much”, he says.

“But, they still vomit.”

“Don’t sit by their mouths.”

 

He said once I complete EMT training, I can get a job at a hospital and make decent money.  I won’t have to read papers.  I won’t have to field a gazillion email complaints.  I can get sued or embarass myself by doing something like… dry heaving.  Do I want to embarass myself anymore than I already do?  Hmm…

He’s insistent.  I’m not sure.  I like teaching.  I don’t like having to deal with bullshit.  And, as the semesters pass, I’m dealing with more bullshit than I care to count.

Bullshit and politics.  I hate both. 

(Whose sick of my complaining about teaching, raise your hands!)

*sighs*

I guess today, I feel unappreciated, disrespected, overwhelmed, tired, achy, and crabby.

Would it hurt for someone to say thank you to me every so often?

Step off

Well, I’m back.  At least for now.

I’ve collected two classes’ papers.  I have graded three and can tell you that my wish for my birthday, Christmas, and the handful of pennies that I threw into a fountain didn’t come true.

I’m hesitant to start reading them.  My spidey senses are tingling… and telling me that spelling, grammar, and following directions are the three things the students this semester have a difficult time with.

Speaking of spelling…

I do not like the Gosselins anymore.  I only watched the show every so often because the kids were absolutely adorable.  Mom’s a crank and dad’s a pig.

Dad is currently upset that he’s been “fired” from the show (omitting his name: ”Kate plus 8″)… and a friend or paparazzo buddy of his (no doubt) hung a sign on his gate to the McMansion that had spelling errors galore.

He was upset that the person who made the sign spelled HIS name wrong.

It also spelled “penalty” as “penelty”.

Okay… if you want people to take you seriously, get a proofreader.  Dumbass.

Back to my papers… and quizzes… and the nothingless void that has become my life.

I found out that a family in town put their house on the market and sold it in TWO WEEKS.  (bark)

TWO

WEEKS

*sighs*

*pouts*

In due time, people.  At some point in my life, I will be staring out my window at the Rocky Mts… putting my crazy life in NJ aside and starting something new (and hopefully better).  In the meantime, I’ll be spending umpteen amount of hours in my batcave writing, reading, and grading.

Oh, the life of a teacher… how much fun it is… to be me.

Here are some interesting emails that I’ve received this week. (The only thing changed here are the names.)

They may give you as much a chuckle as they did to me:

• Professor Herstory… is the Encyclopedia of American History an encyclopedia?  I can’t tell because its online.
• Hey… get me my grade, k?
• (20 minutes before class)  I want an extension on my paper. 
• I was booted from my online quiz. Restart it.
• Professor Lady, I wanna assk you if you can do me a farver.  I wanna get an a in ur class, but your hard.
• I know you don’t give ickstensions on papers and do not resetting the quizzes on the computer, but I was sick and now I’m still sick and I want more time.
• (15 minutes after test was taken in school) I cant wait anymore.  What did you give me on my test???

*chuckles*

I tell you, for as much as I love teaching college (repeat after me: no parents, no parents, no parents), these emails never cease to amaze me.  First of all, there are no manners… such as, “Dear Professor,” “Professor,” or “Mrs.”  Secondly, most of them never sign their names.  So I have to email back, “Who is this?”  I have even gone as far as emailing a student and explaining ettiquette… because if one more person calls me “hey”, I will respond with, “what the fuck do you want?”

I’m sure THAT’D get their attention.

I’ve already been in to the Assistant Dean to speak to him about a couple of things…

Like… this relatively EASY thing I do called ON LINE QUIZZES.  I use the school server and account to create a series of chapter quizzes that are OPEN BOOK and to be completed at HOME.

I’ve only seen 3 students score a 25 (out of 95 students)… most are barely passing with a 10/25 or 15/25.  Sad.

I even got an email from a student questioning my “difficulty”… “I think your questions for those open book quizzes are hard.”  GOOD, I say.  It’s an open book, it’s supposed to be hard.  My response was, “Welcome to college.”

Again… I still stand firm to the belief that not EVERYONE belongs in college.  But, let them try a semester at least to see if it is for them.  Just let those kids take someone else’s class for a change…

Oh… I have picked up tutoring hours at the college, as I’m sure I said once or twice before.  The combination of teaching them and then tutoring them is killing me.  By Thursday and Friday, I’m a zombie.

However, I have gotten closer to a few fellow staff members (about time… its only my 3rd semester here)… and we have fun, when we’re allowed to.  Sometimes when we’re not.

Speaking of fun…

My girlfriend from h.s. is in this week (tending to her mother who is dying slowly from cancer)… and she, along with another h.s. friend, were over last night, drank a LOT of wine, then drunk texted friends of our’s.

I’m a bad girl waiting to come out, I think.

My husband is sleeping in the big comfy chair while the three of us are sitting at my dining room table, huddled over my cell phone, as we’re texting silly shit to two of our guy friends from h.s.  One was at home sick, watching the game and the other is in the process of being trained for a new occupation over 6 hrs from here.

It was silly, dirty, nasty fun.  And, I am not ashamed… at all.  hehe…

Today, I find out that a mutual friend is upset that she wasn’t invited to our drunk texting thang… and feels left out, yet again, because she’s not married, has no kids, has no significant other, and for the life of me, and for reasons I can’t explain, thinks that by dressing like a slutty 16 yr old (she’s older than me), and by aggressively flirting with men (married AND single alike) that she’ll land a guy.

She’s already announced that she’d be people’s fuck buddies.

Ok, well… I guess I’m still a bit on the conservative side… even though I’m outspoken and can be abrasive (at times).

I don’t think that if you’re looking for a long-term, stable relationship with a nice guy that saying, “Can we be fuck buddies” is the best choice of words.

That more or less establishes your relationship as a big booty call.

I’m not a booty call type of girl.  I’m too ridiculously romantic to want to screw someone whom I don’t know and then never see them again.

I don’t know… maybe I’m missing something.

Oh well.

I’m off to bed.  I have been wanting to write for a while, but work just sucks up ALL of my awake time, it seems.  At least for now.

Toodles poodles!

If I had only known sooner…

while in college, if someone grabbed me by my two arms and shook me while telling me to get out of education before it eats me alive, I probably would’ve laughed at them.  My mother said that I was SO determined to become a teacher that God floating down on a chariot pulled by gleaming white stallions, I would tell him to buzz off.

Hindsight is 20/20, they say.

Although I enjoy being the center of attention (yes, I’m a self-admitted attention whore), and like interacting with students (unless they were created to drive a rod up my ass and irritate me to pieces), I do not like the bullshit political part of teaching.  You know, the fake smile-wave thing.

I would definitely not make it in the realm of politics… I don’t like backstabbing, underhanded manuevers, or game-playing.  You have something to say, say it.  Don’t threaten me.  I’ll get you back… and whilst trying to be a considerate person, I have a mean streak.  (thank my father for that)

Yesterday, I received about 38 emails from two classes of students whining about getting kicked out of their online quiz.

My response: “I’m not resetting your quizzes.”

Their response: “Oh, ok, I guess I’ll take the failing grade.”

Yup.  That’s the idea.

Though, I did reset two who didn’t even start their quiz, thinking that’d be fair because they didn’t even get to SEE the quiz… but the next time I have a quiz, there’ll be no excuses.  If you do something to get kicked out, the system hates you, the server is being flooky, your Internet is mean, the man is out to get you, or whatever you seem to think is happening… it’s true.  My online quizzes are created to help you to fail… to frustrate you… to make you cry and beg me, on your knees with tears and sniffles, to help you.

Seriously… I have a life, albeit, school is currently sucking the “free” out of my free-time.  I had to turn off my blackberry last night because if ONE more student emailed me that they “accidentally” hit submit before they finished or that the server is out to get them, I was going to smash my phone.

I’M WATCHING TV WITH MY KIDS… the first time I’d seen them all day.  Are you… kidding?

I keep kicking myself for giving them my “just for them” backup email (in the event that the school account isn’t cooperating)… I need to re-establish some boundaries.

The SCHOOL email is the first line of defense.  DO NOT use the additional email unless I have not responded to your initial email within 24 hours.  DO NOT expect a response from me after 9pm on weekdays and 7pm on weekends.

And for CRYING OUT LOUD… stop sucking the fun out of my life with your petty whining.

Last night, I posted a message, mostly out of desperation, at the class server… and said, “I’m tired of repeating myself.  I am NOT resetting your quizzes.  I cannot reopen your quiz for you, because then I would have to reset it.  Understand that this was established the first day of class.  I’m sorry that the Internet is out to get you, and that the server hates you, your computer is being wicked, and your mouse likes to close your quizzes.  In order to be fair to everyone, you all must follow the rules.  That’s it.”

I have spoken.  After yesterday, I haven’t gotten any more emails.  So far.

The deadline for that quiz is tonight.  There’s still 12-1/2 hours before I can say, “Oh well, the quiz is over, too late” in an official capacity.

The first quiz was my apron string cutting quiz.  And, I told them that.  This isn’t high school, is yet another thing I’ve said.  And, I will be getting progressively harder, was one more thing I told them.

Apparently, my suspicions about this school are correct: it IS grade 13.

(I work at a community college.  I’m getting to know the full-time staffers and some of them are a lot of fun to be around, as I’m there four days a week.  My department supervisor seems to like me.  The deans seem to like me (especially after reporting what seemed like a depressed and despondant email from a student last semester)… because I’m a rule-player.  I’m not a flouncy, goes by the seat of her pants type of teacher.  I have actually set up the course in advance (something I was never able to do in high school)… and I FOLLOW IT.

So, we’ll see how the day goes…

Oh, in response to the “putting pics on Facebook”… last night I went into FB and took out any pictures that may seem to border what the law enforcement drones may consider child porn… a headshot of my 6 yr old with a soapy mohawk whilst in the bathtub (with no privates showing)… if they can arrest a mom for putting pics of her little ones on FB in the tub, God only knows what they have in store for ME.

I’m waiting, law enforcement people, in my batcave, staring at a pile of paperwork that I need to get done today.  IF you can give me an hour, I’ll be ready for you to cuff me.

In the meantime, would you mind picking up some decaf coffee for me?  I’d be much obliged.

Donut, coffee, and a fetal position

It’s been yet another long week in a series of long weeks to be followed by even MORE long weeks in which all I do is eat, breathe, sleep, and pee school.

Ok, the peeing of school was a little too much.  Sorry.

I”m also more exhausted than last semester… especially inregards to the on-line take home quizzes I’ve assigned.

It’s like these people have never used computers and I’ve pulled the technology out of my ass and one day said, “POOF! Be technologically advanced and multiply!”

Let’s just say that *I* am more technologically saavy and capable than most of my 18-20 year old students collectively.  OR, so they want me to believe.

I receive 32 emails since 3pm… whining about this or that… telling me that I have incorrect answers… or that my TAKE HOME quizzes are too hard.

Boo-freaking-hoo.

(I did realize how many SPELLING typos I’ve made.  It’s shameful.  That’s all I feel badly for…

Then, I get an email from a student telling me (rather boldly) that my questions were “too hard” and he feels that they need to be “easier.”

My mouth dropped.  Then, I started to laugh.

My response was, “Welcome to college.”

(Yes, I actually said it.)

Then, I get an email from a DAD … more or less telling me that I better excuse his son for attending his mother’s “devastating” gall bladder surgery (which I’ve had… and its far from devastating… especially since she had a laproscopic surgery… with three little incissions)… threatening to call the administration.

Uh, fuck that shit.

I forwarded it to the Dean.  And, after meeting with him (the Dean) today, it has become apparent that he also agreed that the parent was out of line.  This email has been forwarded up the higher levels of the school administration.  GOOD.  I know what my r0le is, and know full well that *I* cannot discuss any college-related stuff with anyone’s parent… especially if they are over 18.

My view was this:  I made my policy for makeups and absenses when I wrote my syllabus.  I went over this policy after giving my syllabus to my students.  I reiterate the policy when needbe.  What I will not be is threatened, cajolled or manipulated into changing my policy because some DAD said I had to.  I don’t even listen to MY OWN father now… so, some stranger’s dad doesn’t scare me…  especially not as much as my OWN father used to.  NO father scares me.  So take your idle threats and cram them up your large expectations ass… and think on it for a few.

Before I even received that insulting email, I offered to let him come into another class to take his test (as they were taking their’s, too).  This wasn’t a new concept… I’ve done this before.  However to say, “I expect that you WILL allow him to make up all missed assignments, tests, etc, or I will notify the administration” is the button that does not need to be pushed by an over-bearing father or his son.  Ever.

Needless to say, the administration is deciding how to approach this… you know, to avoid any future lawsuits.  So, this essentially means that the teachers involved will be screwed… and it’ll be just…like…teaching…high school.

Maybe.

We’ll see. 

At least *I* am the one who took the step to talk to the administration first.  It was probably just an idle threat… however, I’m not taking ANYYYY chances.  Nope.  Not me.

Although, this is a school that has hired as a full-time, tenured professor… who kicks off his shoes, screams at the top of his lungs, and propels such words as “FUCKERS’,” SON OF A WHORE BITCH” and “COCKSUCKER” during his lessons…

The first time I heard him, I nearly died.  The students in his class saw my face through the glass in the window… and the shock on my face was probably more than enough for them… and they started laughing.  And, I had to physically pull my mouth shut so I didn’t look any more ridiculous tha…oh hell, when don’t I look ridiculous.

I think I’ve said hell (in the proper context) and damn (once, only once).. but never ever say f-bombs, or any other x-rated words in class.  That’s for outside of school, out of the earshot of impressionable young people.

 

Nor do I “hang with the homies”… though, one of my students (who is friends with my son) has become my lunch buddy.  I eat in the wide open of the caf…  I don’t invite them to my house, exchange cells or any of that creepy pervy stuff.

The weird thing is this… at least 1/3 of my students are friends with my older son and of that 1/3 at least 1/2 of those have been in my house, slept over, eaten at my table, etc.  It’s weird, I have to say, to have so many people I’ve known since they were in kindegarden in my classes.

Weird.

Ok, so here is a question…

Recently, a woman was arrested because she posted pictures of her children in the bathtub on Facebook.

What is your perspective about putting personal pics on such social networking sites such as Facebook?

zig zag hide the bag…

I’m a horrible, neglectful blogger.  I hope you (yet again) forgive me for my negligence…

I’m teaching three classes, tutoring two days a week (for a few hours), run the little one to soccer (when I’m not melting down with time constraints), and am lacking adequate sleep…  and, I think I’m starting to NOT feel well.

*sighs*

Needless to say…

School is going “all right” I guess.  They’ve had a test (which they did well on because I dumbed it down to the point that retarded circus monkeys would be able to score a high grade), an on-line quiz (which they failed miserably), and a deal struck…

I am doing things a little differently this semester.  I do not want to become predictable… and fall into a pattern, necessarily… and I want to be a BETTER teacher, not a slave to mediocracy.

So…

We’ll see how things pan out.  I’m not helping some of them by going easy on them, but I’m hoping I can lull them into a false sense of security before I pull the rug out from beneath them.

Or… something like that.

What’s to bitch about?  I just saw my paycheck and it’s a couple hundred dollars MORE than the spring semester.  I’m also working my ass off, too.  Something’s gotta give, that’s for sure…

——-

Last night, at #3’s soccer game (mind you, its a clustermenagerie of 6 yr olds all scrumming to get the ball)… my little angel was misbehaving because of a lack of proper coaching-adult supervision… across the field from where I was sitting.

I put my hand, horizontally, in front of my neck and did this “knock it off” thing… and my LOVELY little 6 yr old stuck his tongue out at me and did a mini Neener Neener face.

I felt my eyes bulge.

I sent #1 son over to talk to him… because I would make a scene if I had to go over there (it has been an entire WEEK of his misbehaving)… when he was walking back to us, that little one was at it again.

So, I got up and walked over, trailing behind two other parents whose lovelies were misbehaving as well.

Just as I was passing a mother and granny at the corner of the field, the granny hollers out, “Don’t be beatin them kids cuz its illegal.”

I’m seething.  The LAST thing I need is some pointy-droopy boobed old lady to tell me how to not discipline my kid.  Would I have beaten him on the field? No… but, I was THIS close to grabbing him and taking him home.  To hell with the game, sort’ve thing…

Then, I hear the old bitty yelling out again, “Someone needs to teach them kids a lesson.”

First of all… they’re SIX goddamn years old.

Secondly… I’m HERE aren’t I?  Shut the fuck up.

Thirdly… weren’t you just the old bat who told me to NOT beat my kid?  Would you please make up your mind?

Finally… but the hell out of my business or I’ll have my son scissor kick you to the back of your head.  (/insert movie quote from Talladega Nights)

I get to my son and he IMMEDIATELY sits up and says with this pitiful face, “What? What did I do?”

“You made me get up and cross the field because you cannot behave.”

“I’m behaving.”

“No, apparently you’re not.”

I can STILL hear the heckling of that older woman and her daughter… related to a little girl in #3’s kindegarden class last year… “Beatin them kids is illegal.”

[Sorry to interrupt... I just got a phone call from "Steve" from the Chimney company.  Steve sounds 11, maybe 12.  His voice cracked like Peter Brady when he sang that "Sunshine" song.  I said, "Steve, I don't have a chimney, sorry." And I hung up.  I think I need to re-up on my DNC listing... ]

[Shit, I just dated myself, didn't I?]

[Oh well... it was bound to happen...]

I stood by #3 for a few minutes… squatting down to whisper to him that either he behaves or we go home.  At this point, my allergies were screaming… my skin was itching all over, my eyes were watering, my nose was getting congested… I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if we stayed… all I wanted to do was GO HOME and drink a bottle of Benedryll.

He behaved.

I walked back to my seat, keeping an ever villigant eye on my little spider monkey.  Whilst walking past the hecklers, I snarled, “Better call DYFS… “

And, no, I didn’t beat him.

However, when we got to the car, after the game had ended, my angellic little one stuck his tongue out at me and did that crappy face whilst saying, “I hate you, you’re a weiner.”

Did I mention that the mom who went to restrain her little girl ignored the child while she told her mother to “suck her weiner.”

Apparently, the kid is confused.  Girls can’t tell anyone to “suck their weiner” unless they’re harboring two different genitals… which was not the case, I don’t believe.

I tried to shut my mouth, but I felt my jaw drop.  My husband could see my face from across the field.  “What’s wrong,” he later asked me, “Why did your mouth drop?”

Out of ear-shot of #3, I told him… and HIS mouth fell open.

Ok, back to the car…

I wanted to clobber the little turd at this point.  He does this all of the time and my lovely husband doesn’t say a WORD unless I give him shit about it.  Back me up, will ya?  Is it that hard to do?  We need to be a team!  etc.. etc…

Last year, my little one apparently BIT this little girl.  Why?  She was sticking her fist in his face and he bit her.  No, he didn’t draw blood.  I was livid when I found out.  He lost his Nintendo DS for a month and was sent to his room.  Every day thereafter, he was in time out.  I almost used a little bar soap in his mouth (I wonder what that old bitch would’ve said had I pulled out a bar of zest and stuck it in #3’s mouth.  I think I’d hand my phone to her so she could expedite the call… and I’d even spell my name out for her.)

This little girl, after observing her for about 10 minutes, is the reason MY son says words like, “Weiner,” “You suck,” and “I hate you.” 

He never said it as much as he’s been doing lately… and the longer he sat next to her, the more he said it TO ME.

I’m tired… I’m cranky… I have nagging college students whining and nagging me for their grades every second of the goddamn day.  I have 3 essay questions to write for Monday, notes for an entire chapter, and grading of tests (that have written essays on them).  My eyes are crossing, my throat hurts, and my body aches.

I think I’m gonna go take a short nap… I’m cooking chicken soup on the stove and I should go check it.

Oh, so when we got home, #3 ended up spending some time in his room until dinner arrived (we ordered pizza b/c soccer ran late) and once he was finished, he was bathed and put to bed.  No television, no dessert, nothing.

I’m going to have to drop the hammer again on my husband.

Either back me up or I’m kicking everyone out of MY house… or I’ll run away to an undisclosed place… that way he’ll have to deal with the shit directly and for a longer amount of time… and perhaps he’ll “get” it …

*sighs*

For an ENTIRE week, I posted an OPEN BOOK quiz to be taken AT HOME by my students… because, I truly didn’t want to read weekly essays and took the same amount of points and applied it to four take-home tests.

Should’ve been cake, right?

Hardly.

The majority of my students STILL haven’t taken this quiz yet, and it closes at 11:59:59pm TONIGHT.

And, of those who have taken this quiz (which comes VERBATIM from the text), the class averages are 19/25 and 17/25… only ONE class has a satisfactory score: 22/25.

*sighs*

In my days in college, which weren’t THAT long ago, an open book was a miracle from God. A TAKE HOME open book was golden. If you failed it, you were truly an idiot and didn’t belong in college.

There, I said it. Although, we were sternly warned (with pointed finger and scowly faces) to not try to weed out those who do not belong in college… because hey, this is community college and EVERYONE belongs in college… here.

So, when do we use honesty and forth-rightness in telling some of these students that either they kick it into gear or they go to a technical school.  Let’s face it, we still need people to pump our gas in NJ (which makes us better than nearly every other state because our hands don’t smell like gasoline) and flip burgers (except for a fastfood place my husband and I went to en route to our cousin’s funeral.. robots would have done a better job).

It is NOT my job to tell some doe-eyed kid that they are not college material.  It IS my job to teach them and then assess whether or not they “got” it.  However, as I write their tests today for next week, I am wondering something…

If they can’t PASS a take-home open book quiz, how in the HELL are they going to pass a pen-and-paper test?

I’ve also noticed that thus far, this week, the same 5-6 students are having difficulties accessing or completing this quiz.

Um… ITS A TAKE HOME OPEN BOOK QUIZ.  Really?  Are you going to make this super dramatic?  It’s 17 questions DIRECTLY FROM THE BOOK… I could’ve given some of the people the PAGE numbers and they still would’ve failed.

It’s sad… ya know?

Yesterday, before and after class, the same student was bugging me about one of the questions that I had on the quiz.

He failed without that 1-point question, by the way.  And he is arguing semantics.  Patron and leader, in our perspective of a particular noble who supported navigation is the same thing.  This one individual OPENED the door for western exploration and enabled men such as Columbus, Vespucci, Magellan to show the Old World that there was more to this spinning globe than their egotistical selves and what they deemed “inferior”… Asia, Africa, and the Middle East.

So, I told him, numerous times, that I stand by the answer: Prince Henry the Navigator.

I get home, a mere 30 minutes later, and there’s the SAME student writing the question for me in an email, in the event that I’m stupid and had forgotten that he already nagged me twice before without my relenting… to remind me, that if ANY OTHER STUDENT has this question wrong, that perhaps I should revisit it.

My response was:

If anyone’s gotten it wrong, it is because they didn’t read further in the text when it states that Prince Henry founded a Navigation school, gleaned navigational/maritime technology and enabled it to be improved upon… making him the patron and founder of…

Ok, you get the message.

Apparently, he did not.

So… I anticipate an email from an administrator asking me why an angry student is in their office bitching over a 1-point question on a quiz that they miserably failed.

This ridiculous sense of entitlement has been perpetuated.

I’m not saying that I do not make mistakes… however, after I checked the question when he FIRST brought it to my attention, I checked it and it was correct.  Ok, so there ya go… I looked at it and gave him his 30-seconds.  Let’s move on, shall we?

So, I’m DUMBING this test down more than LAST semester… and it pains me as I write this test to admit that if I do not dumb it down, that only a handful of students across the board will actually PASS.

Tho, I do have to say that they are fulfilling their part of the bargain we made… that I give them the notes and we have lengthy classroom discussions, they participate, and I give them an occasional activity in class to do.

Yesterday, by far, was my most productive and informal class since I’ve started at college.  I started to tell them the story of history, throwing processing questions out at them, “Why do you suppose…” and “In what way…” to see if they were getting it.

A small percentage of students began to raise their hands… and I didn’t pick on the hiders because I still don’t know their names… however, I will start calling from the roster next week… they need to earn the participation grade, it’s not a gimme.

———–

I have decided to invest in a netbook so that I can work on my lessons while I have downtime at school, as well as update grades, answer desperate emails, etc.

My school is odd… the adjuncts outnumber the full-time staff 10 to 1.  We have NO lounge.  We have NO desks of our own.  We have NO computer access that is out of the reach of the students (i.e. library).  And, dragging my shit from classroom to bathroom to car to tutoring to classroom to the cafeteria is getting exhausting.  One of the poli sci professors offered two drawers in her file cabinet for any adjuncts who need a place to put their stuff.

The full-timers have a room with cubicles for their offices.  The school must have sensed that the part-timers are getting pissy and put two SUPER SMALL cubicles together for us… with signs saying “Adjunct Computer desks.”  Guess what?  There are NO computers there.

Hmm…

Another adjunct and I have devised an evil plot… we’re going to print two pictures of a computer and TAPE it to the desk.  If nothing else, the other adjuncts will get the joke.  In other words, more likely than not, there never WILL be computers there… OR they will give us the left-over rejects that no one can use because its a POS.

I also noticed a small room used as a lounge.  I asked who it was for.  I was informed that the students are free to study there… but it cannot be used by adjuncts.  So stated the freeholders and board members who are in charge of our school

Are we a hated people?  Shall we wander the hallways for a thousand years like the Jews in the desert?  Or, will someone at some point realize that without us, that cheap school would have NO ONE to teach…

So, in rebellion, I went outside to my car (in a milled parking lot behind the modular classrooms) and had a cigarette… in the no smoking area.

Bite me, she said tongue in cheek.

One more time around the crazy tree, please

…If for nothing else, it’ll look good on my resume.

Kayne West is a piece of garbage.  His blatant rudeness towards Taylor Swift during the recent MTV music awards (or the AMA.. or whatever in the hell it was, oh wait, it must’ve been MTV because it was chaos on a stick)… for taking her microphone away while she was accepting her “best female performer in a music video that no one gets to see because MTV is more focused on stupid television shows focusing on alcohol-infused idiots jumping off balconies and having random sex with homeless bagladies” award so he could point towards Beyonce and shame the judges by saying something about Beyonce’s shit is better than that stupid white girl’s… (not in those exact words, but you know that’s what he was saying)… embarassing the entire music industry.

Well, except for Kanye… who thinks his egotistical bullshit doesn’t stink.

First of all, where were the backstage staff?  Do they get long canes to reel in long talkers and stage stealers?  Why didn’t security bum rush him and tackle him to the ground?  Would it have even occurred if Elton John pranced on stage dressed in seguins and feathers?  Or if Liza Minelli started throwing M&Ms at the audience?  HELL NO…

Well, they DID let Michael Jackson and his then (fake) wife Lisa Marie Presley make OUT… which still sends nauseating chills up my spine.

And, Howard Stern sail in on some high-wire harness with his ass cheeks exposed.

Essentially, the show was more excited about getting negative press for a stupid stunt by a stupid person than it was for the young girl who’s moment he crapped on.

I never liked Kayne.  Not that I don’t appreciate out-spoken people, because at times I do.  What I don’t appreciate is the general and over-all lack of respect that people show to one another.

Like, when I’m driving to work and some 14 year old kid, who SHOULD be in school, skirts across the road on his bike, popping in and out between cars, begging for someone in a big SUV to hit him.  Like me, for instance. 

Or, the lady with her dog on her lap and a coffee in her hand while she juggles her cell phone on her shoulder.  Hello?  Stupid lady?  Hang UP the phone, put the damn dog in the seat next to you, put your coffee IN your cup holder, and try to not hit the stupid kid on the bike who is darting across the road.

———-

Have I mentioned YET this week that I’m utterly exhausted?

Dreaming Patrick Swayze dreams is adding to my exhaustion.  What a great actor… in movies such as Youngblood, Red Dawn, the Outsiders, Point Break, Road House, Dirty Dancing, Ghost… and the list goes on.

Hey, Patrick… Nobody puts baby in the corner!

We’ll miss you…

———-
UPDATE 9/16/09 @ 11:03

Leno shut up Kanye… News at 11!

How unlucky are we?

Last night, my son comes running up the stairs w/ his laptop in hand, freaking out.

He turns the screen towards me and says, “MOM??”

My husband’s cousin… her husband died.  Their daughter posted it at FACEBOOK but did not notify anyone in the family.  Essentially, aside from the cousin’s brothers, my family was the first to know.

I had suspected something was up all day long, why I didn’t CALL them, I don’t know.  Maybe I was afraid that it was true. 

Have we lost ALL sense of person-to-person verbal communication so much that we rely upon Internet-based websites?  Is it even more ridiculous to feel insulted and hurt that a close family member couldn’t pick up the phone and start the family phone chain?  I had to find out on FB and then break the news to my kids, husband, and inlaws?

I understand posting a funny comment, picture, or lyrics to a song at facebook.  I get people leaving me messages all of the time (I use the FB with my real name for people who do not know that I have THIS blog, and have neglected my friends at my herstory07 facebook page… my bad, I’m awful… you should unfriend me out of spite)… about stupid shit.  Imagine my angst and pure frustration when I see an indirect comment (COMMENT) at their daughter’s page saying, “I love and miss you dad.”

WHAT? what? Whaaaaat?  I think I hit forty-three levels of anxiety that I didn’t even know I had.  By the end of my phone call inquiries, I couldn’t sleep.  When I catch sleep in the middle of my tossing and turning, I dreamt about our cousin… something I’ve never done.

So… when did we lose our penache for speaking directly to people?   When I call any company, I’m impatient because I, for one, do not appreciate being put on hold.  Nor do I appreciate having to push number after number after number in hopes that a human voice will save me from that button-pushing hell.  Mostly, I do not like elevator muzak.  It gives me a headache and I can never get the damned song out of my head.

#2 son won’t answer the house phone anymore.  When I ask him to CALL someone, he’d prefer to text them.  I, too, find myself texting things, but for something that requires more than a few words with ridiculous spelling and acronyms, I pick UP the phone, dial their number, and speak with the person… voice to voice.  A skill that’s been mostly lost with this present generation.

So, you can probably understand why I have been nursing a headache, my stomach is in knots, and my eyes hurt.  I’ve been trying to get people to use the goddamn phone.  Thankfully, my mil knows how to use it (and states, “I don’t even HAVE Facebook, so if you didn’t see it, when would I be told?”)… because she’s called me about 5 times since my sil told her early this morning (we wanted her to not be up all night, worried and upset… we’ll just save that for today and tonight).

I texted the cousin’s daughter… “I just saw FB, what the hell is going on??”

NO response.  Granted, they are in shock, and I empathize with them… emphatically.  Been there, done that… have a t-shirt to prove it.

So, the next person to be annoyed with are the siblings of the cousin who were told YESTERDAY MORNING… who then could have called family.  Did they? No.
The past  19 hrs have been just purely chaotic in a hellish manner.  I shall miss our cousin… his loss is a sad loss.  (Not that any loss isn’t.)

Argh…

I think I need to go lay down for a bit…

You’re the only one who knows that…

One week down and fifteen more to go.  Whew.

I didn’t think this week would end any time soon, however, it has.  My little one also started soccer the first week of September and was supposed to have his first game today… in the pouring rain and cold… but, fortunately, a last minute phone call from the coach’s wife as I stood in a towel, just out of the shower, made today MUCH BETTER.  The game has been post-poned.  Whew.

I am very opinionated (if you haven’t noticed yet), and I do not hesitate to say what I’m thinking… and sometimes my “don’t say that” filter isn’t working well.  And, then I feel like shit until I get to apologize for speaking my mind.  It took me a LONG time to be able to speak my mind, ya know.  I like it.  However, people tend to think I’m this mechanical bitch… but, I’m really not that way.  I’m skeptical and CAN be a bitch.  There’s a difference. 

Besides, there’s a lot of work that goes into being a bitch 24/7.  I couldn’t do that… it’d be too tiring.

So, I know that a few of you probably are wondering how my first week back to school was.

It was… uh… ok.

My filter didn’t work on Day 1.  I said “Henry 8th was a manwhore” in a room of impressionable, first semester college students.  I saw one girl’s face.. her eyes were HUGE, her mouth hung open, and there was a hint of a smirk.

YES, I SAID MANWHORE.  Hello?  It’s college.  Can (most of us) we be adults?  Ok, so I said something completely out of character for myself… I usually wait a few weeks before shoving around comments like, “insane from inbreeding” or “manwhore”… though, in my opinion, someone has to say it.  If I am going to capture their attention… I have to say things like “inbreeding,” “sexually incompatiable” and “manwhore.”  They’re lucky they are not in my World Civ I course, or I’d say crazy-ass things referring to vestal virgin sacrifices, chastity and premarital sex, as well as condoms.

I had an ENTIRE lesson on methods of birth control… I swear to GOD my class last fall nearly exploded in laughter.  And, for the remainder of the semester, if anyone said “condom”, they’d burst out laughing.   Sheep intestines are apparently VERY funny…

Needless to say, I’m hoping that I can take the info (which is HUGE, but even when reduced is still a lot) and make it more interesting.

So, I’m inserting questions into my powerpoints to force conversation.

We’ll see how that works…

Needless to say…

I have a student who told me her entire life story in the hallway before class on the first day, after calling me by my first name (uh, no)… and reminds me of that mom from That 70s Show:

 

Kitty Forman. 

 

 

 
… except, during that 5 minute tour of her life, she actually made me feel badly for her.  She’s in her 50s and finally going back to school because her dad wouldn’t LET her go to college… and that she felt too… old… to be in college.

LET her go?

My dad didn’t THINK I was college material (not that he paid for any of my tuition or books or anything), and therefore TOLD me that I should goto a community college.  I wanted to get away from them.  I went away to a school that my mother nagged me to go to (but I didn’t want to go, because it was UBER conservative Christian) and I ended up screwing around (because I just wanted out of my parents’ house) and failed out my first year.

Where’d I end up?  Community college.  And for all his faults and foibles, he never prevented me from at least going.  I think he believed I was going to fall on my ass, get some office job typing, and that’d be that.  Har har… er, shit.  I’d probably be making MORE money if I had done that, but I was determined to get a college degree… a few in fact.  But, it doesnt’ make me any smarter than anyone else.  What it does is makes me indebted to the financial aid system… repayment of that tuition (that would then land me the PERFECT job where I could work for 30 years, collect my pension, and retire)… and struggle to find a job, to which I have since discovered that NONE are perfect… however, this is pretty damn close… except for the pay… and my lack of a place to put my stuff (officially). 

So, while I’m listening to her tell me about her struggle to get to this one single point, I smiled, stopped her (she was near crying at this point), looked her deadpan in her eyes and said said, “When I went back to college when I was 29, more than half of my courses were filled with men and women in their 50s and 60s who were going back to college, too.  Do not ever feel that you’re too old to be here.”

She tried to hug me, but instead her urge to go potty overwhelmed her and she scampered off towards the ladies’ room.  I leaned back against the wall, looked up towards the ceiling, and took a deep breath.  When I quietly exhaled, a student from another class got my attention with, “Did your son tell you I was in your class?”

Oh boy.  I’m a goddamn celebrity.  And, as it turns out, her DAD is a big wig politican in my county… a freeholder, I believe.  That means he’s my boss.  Great.  My luck, “manwhore” will pop out of my mouth and her father will find out.  I’ll be banned from breathing ever again.

——-side note——–

When I was an undergrad, I had a professor who was notorious for swearing at appropriate times…

Like, “Since I’m teaching you the 1960s this semester, if those rotten bastard suits drag me out, I want this ENTIRE class to protest like no tomorrow.”

One time, he blurted out “fuck” in class and the entire group grew silent (which was difficult for them).  I quietly snickered… he was my advisor, I was fully aware of his ability to drop the f-bomb… but apparently a few were not.

Like, “these fuckers beat black people with big baseball bats and set dogs loose on them.”

One time, frustrated that the lacrosse team wouldn’t SHUT THE HELL UP… he said, “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

They shut up.  I again found it funny and smiled.  Some people never learn.

—-end of side note——

Ok, so essentially… the semester is going to be super duper interesting.  I have a large class of comatose 18 yr olds, an emotional 50+ year old, and a few kids who remind me of dejected muppets.

It’ll be interesting, for sure!

Check back for updates… they may be sporadic, but I’m sure they’ll be interesting…

And, maybe, just maybe, I won’t get fired… *grins*

Mistress Dorkmeister, at your service

Today was my first day back to classes.  WHEW BOY! 

First of all, last semester (and the one prior), I recall bitching about the air conditioning not kicking in until my class was over.  That was an 8am class.  I’m now starting my day with a 9:30am class.  Guess what?  Being as wet like when you get OUT of the shower to greet your class is NOT fun.  The hallway was steamy.  The room was hot only because the antiquated projector they sent me (some evil plot to sweat me out) was blowing HOT air on me for 90 minutes.  During my 90 minute break before my next class, I went outside to experience  muggy, buggy and cloudy… to get my lunch from the car, to dump off stuff from my first class… and to get some air. 
I go back inside and claim a table in the cafe (which I have labeled “MINE”), telling my students that if they need to find me, I will lay claim and make it my office.  (No one came to visit… bummer)

So, I purposedly positioned myself under the a/c vent.  Ahhh….

Then, once adequately cooled off, I venture down the now a/c’d hallway to my class (I had it switched from a smaller, cramped room, to one with more desks… to be able to handle 37 students and myself). 

The

room

has

NO

air conditioning

AT… all!

*sighs*

SOAKED again… the windows were open… the door open (eek, I think the president heard me call Henry VIII a man-whore)… and lights down… I was sweating profusely.

My students must think I’m menopausal.  The truth is, I have low tolerance to heat.  It doesn’t matter if its 75 and humid or 90 and not, I will sweat like the gates were open on a dam.

Then, while frustrated that there was neither a laptop nor a projector, I sent a student to the library to fetch one.

Gotta love the librarian… she pointed to the 100″ screen (I thought it was a television, what did I know)… and said, “Silly, THAT is your computer.”

I melted.  I giggled.  I hugged the goddamn thing.

It’s a GIANT smart board… easier than what I had seen before… one where I can touch the screen to make it work, one with a wireless keyboard and mouse… one that makes me (almost sort’ve) forget how hot the room was.

Some of the students in that class are kids I’ve known since they were born.  They KNOW I’m off my rocker.  It’s the ones that I don’t know who I think are afraid of me…

Tomorrow, I have one class.  In this class are remnants of that group that followed me from first to second semester.  I’m the ONLY history teacher they’ve had.  I have molded them… and they are my clay creatures.

I’ll give more updates tomorrow… need to goto bed.

Night friends!

In Honor of Labor Day

The history of labor in the United States was always quite tumultuous.  Children working by the time they were kindergarden age.  Women only permitted to work until they were married, IF they were permitted to work.  Black people, once emancipated, were liberated through their ability to work.  However, their jobs usually consisted of low-level, unskilled work that not only paid very little but was also rife with racist undertones and discriminatory practices.
The Irish and Chinese built railroads and canals.
Hispanics fought for the right to unionize farm labor, but were always given the menial tasks for the most minimal of pay.
The Irish and Italians were barred from most east-coast factories at the start of the 20th century, with “NINA” a common sign outside most locations.  (No Irish Need Apply)

Once the unions entered the picture, their anger reached revolutionary levels, fighting for a 10-hour day, a 6-day work week, better pay, healthier and safer working conditions, and a more liveable existence.
But, they were met with both business and governmental resistance as their strikes grew in greatness.

Factories would commonly chain doors shut to prevent union members from coming in to “tarnish” the minds of their workers, but also to keep workers IN the factories (freedom equated laziness and low output).

And, when unions did penetrate factories, workers who complied with union demands or participated in strikes or work-outs would either be fired, harassed, or in extreme cases, killed. 

Over the course of American history… our workforce has evolved from an agriculturally-based minimally-industrial economy to fully-evolved industrialization, to war-time industry, to a struggling economy that has high unemployment rates as industry outsources its labor and production to 3rd world countries because then it would enable the owners to make even MORE money… but, putting quantity ahead of quality.

So, while you’re grilling burgers (or tofu) and drinking a beer with friends, family or by yourself, remember why we have these holidays.

This one, in particular, was officiated around the 1890s… giving the workers (who mostly worked 12-16 hr days, 6-7 days a week, without sick pay/days, or insurance) a day OFF… so they could relax.

Relax.  Enjoy.  Take a moment to think about those who are working today… to serve you so that you can have a day of rest…. Gas station attendants, convenience store clerks, police/fire/emergency services, taxis, doctors and nurses in hospitals, and those trying to just make ends meet.

Here are some pictures that serve as a reminder that the labor movement has really evolved from where it was 25, 50, 100, 200 years ago.  Enjoy!

 

 

         CHILD LABOR IN FACTORY

 

 

 

 

TRIANGLE SHIRTWAIST FACTORY (before the fire that killed hundreds of women workers who were barred into their workareas to avoid them escaping and skirting out on work… as a result, doors can no longer be chained shut, but that doesn’t stop factory owners from doing it)

 

 

 

 

Sweatshop prior to the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist fire in NYC.

 

 

 

 

 

Another area of the factory before the fire in 1911

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The newspapers showed the public the result of this horrific fire.  The media made sure that events such as this frequented the public eye, probably in an attempt to get a reaction out of the American public. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 A STANDOFF between the police and striking workers in Lawrence, KS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, which is more important?  Making money or enjoying your job?

I’d opt for the fair and ethnical treatment of workers… not just in the United States, but also in those 3rd world countries that now house a growing percentage of what we see as “former” American labor.  Places such as India, Indonesia, Mexico (sorry, but I don’t consider them more than 2nd or 3rd world), China, Pakistan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Africa have been struggling under the leadership of oppressive rulers, absentee leaders, or strict legal constructs… so that they can earn a few cents an hour making products that we could easily make here.  What they need is to develop their own industry… to evolve in their own right… and begin to mend their countries, economies, and society.

 

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