Attacking Those Essays

As illustrated by my classroom artist, in real time. I’ve been telling him I’d get around to posting more of his work, but I haven’t had time to scan, and I don’t want to encourage too much more off task behavior.

Anyway, this masterpiece was apparently inspired by my informing period 5 that I’d be tackling their folder of essays first, since it was so hideously huge. 20 minutes later, this gem made it to the front of the room. I think he must have an informal publicist sitting somewhere in the back also, because the artwork inconspicuously winds and finds its way to the front.

This is some embarrassing poop.

It’s a major bummer when you slip into a public restroom to take a quick yet urgent pee, you look down at the pot, and notice with no small amount of chagrin that the previous occupant has left an assortment of skid marks on the bowl bottom. I’m not faulting the person for the massive  poop bomb, but you walk out after an innocent urination and the next person on the way in thinks you’re the one who blew the place up.

It’s even worse when you’re in a confined public place like a coffee shop. You sit down, they come out of the restroom and sit down across the room. Now you’re exchanging awkward glances for the next half hour.

And I have to cut my study session short because some fiber king did his deal before I could get there.

The difference between boys and men…

…is not that big at Bally’s Total Fitness. Consider the signs:

Please do not cut your hair in the sink.

Do not throw paper in the urinals. If seen, your membership may be revoked.

These are not metaphoric signs. They are pieces of paper pasted strategically throughout the locker room.

I’m sure this is not a phenomenon unique to Bally’s. At every gym I’ve ever visited, clients demonstrate a difficulty in returning dumbbells to their proper location, or removing weights from the barbell. In the unlikely event a bar is unloaded, it is a near certainty that barbells will not be returned to their homes.  Today there was an old apple core beside one of the cable machines.

In college, our coach would not let anyone leave the gym until every dumbbell and barbell was returned to its spot. This took less than 5 minutes.

Irony is everywhere. You would think people go to the gym to AVOID being a lazy slob.

I Do-nut agree with the union on this one.

In the omnipresent quest to stand up for kids, another local teachers’ association has gone about getting its way in a fantastic display of pomp and pouting. Upset about the district’s alleged reneging on a contract agreement–apparently, they agreed to a 20 minute lunch and no nutrition break on minimum days–the union thrust a stick into the eye of the district, enticing students with Krispy Kreme donuts so that they would avoid the district provided nutrition. Of course this amounted to a significant loss of funds for the district. That’ll show them. Of course that’s money that goes towards students, who unions enjoy reminding us can’t learn if they’re not properly fed.

I understand it’s a bit difficult to hit back at the district without aiming at cash flow. But it’s near impossible to do that without effecting students, who are the magical talisman hoisted by union spokespersons at times of political uncertainty. This is one more example of how teacher and student best interest do not always go hand in hand. Unions who ignore the conflict of interest are flirting with brass-balled hypocrisy.

The bottom line is, teachers need to stand up for their rights. Not get pushed around. It’s the holidays, and these educators are about to enjoy a hard-earned two weeks off. It’s the last Friday before the big break. It’s a minimum day. And district officials have the audacity to require teachers to stay an extra 15 minutes?!

I defer to the eloquence of a random commenter at msnbc newsvine:

In this case, the union is upset over having to work an extra fifteen minutes with the students they normally claim are the centers of their being. They are the ones who will “suffer” if teachers have to be subjected to competency tests based in part on whether students actually learn. They are the ones who will be deprived of essential knowledge if a single teacher is cut loose for not being able to teach. Yet, having to spend an additional fifteen minutes of time with their beloved charges sets them off into a Krispy Kreme paroxysm in which calories and fat fly in the face of administrators.

Less than Jake–Glasshouse–12/5 or something

Ever since I saw them at Vans Warped Tour 99, LTJ has been one of my favorite live bands. I’ve seen them five or six times, and each time has been more than worth the 15 bucks or whatever it cost.

I get a choice between Hollywood House of Blues on Friday, or Glasshouse in Pomona on Saturday. Glasshouse is less than 10 miles away, I can get door tickets and avoid HOB’s egregious service/facilities charge, and the Glasshouse is home to quite a few fond and not-so-fond memories. Given the last few times I’ve been have been lame. They’ve remodeled (the outside), but the bands I’ve seen lately have been weak, so I figured that was the problem.

It will be some time before I ever return to see anyone live in this dive.

Doors opened at 6:30. We bought tickets (23 dollars, are you kidding me. And that was without any service charge.) from a dude at a card table (I think he was pocketing his own little service charge), walked inside to preview the “Van’s Warped Tour” tenth anniversary movie. It was garbage, and there were about 20 people crammed up against the stage watching a recording of Ice T in some kind of ridiculous commando outfit. Indeed, it may have been the first encounter with an LCD projector for many of them, judging from the incline of their necks and the wonder in their eyes. Of course in the Glasshouse, any technology appears to be somewhat wondrous.

We left and drove around downtown Pomona, wandered up to Claremont, had some frozen yogurt, walked on the boardwalk (yes, Claremont has a boardwalk). Ever the connoisseurs, we previewed an art gallery, finished the yogurt, and made our way back to the car and on to Pomona.

In a shameful episode of elitism, Hannah and I took turns poking fun at the people and businesses along Holt and Indian Hill. First it was the teens holding hands walking to 7/11.

Hannah: Anything makes you happy when you’re 14. Even walking to 7/11.

Me: What the heck kind of name for a market is El Super? El Super what?

And that was before we even turned right onto Holt. There was this chicken place with the anabolically enhanced rooster on the front. We past establishment after unfortunate establishment as Hannah and I heckled and degraded the finer offerings of Holt Blvd. I wanted to drive her by the house I spent the first 7 years of my life in, but she said it was too ghetto.

Finally we made it back to Pomona. We parked, walked to Starbucks, pausing to take a picture of Antonio Bestard’s law offices. His sign was crafted in such a way that it appeared to read “Antonio Attorney: Bastard at Law.” He had one one each corner of the office, two floors up. We laughed at that for awhile, drank some coffee, walked back and decided to see who was playing.  I think it was Fishbone. The place was still pretty dead, so after they finished up, we walked across to the train station, took some pictures, inspected the overpass, and figured out how to work the timing feature on Hanna’s camera.

It was freezing. We killed twenty minutes or so, and walked back in to a dirty floor that was more dead than before. Unbelievably, Less than Jake came onstage to about 100-plus fans. It was pathetic and embarrassing. I almost felt like leaving and making everyone else leave so that they could just go home.

A few lowlights:

• Shout outs to anyone who attended from more than .7 miles away.
• Lead singer calling out a chick who was texting. “Hey you. Yeah you. Where do you work? I’m going to come to your work and (do something sort of gross) right where you work.
• Bringing up a husband/wife pairing who appeared to be over 60. Each needed a supportive cane to navigate. Each sported a LTJ button.
• Bringing up some girl’s mom and letting her pick a guy out of the crowd to dance with.
• Some guy saying to his friend on the way out: “That was intense.”
• Offers to take the first 20 or 40 or something people on the tour bus to the next stop in San Diego. It would have been about 40% of the crowd.
• Lead singer mocking the snack bar in the back, likening the pretzel coating to “lube.”

Last day before winter break–2009

Now the years are starting to blur together. Today is Friday, it is 1:16, and I am finished with work for two weeks of winter break. I don’t remember what I did last year. I don’t remember the year before. I remember one year I rented Cindeella Man, took it back because it was scratched, and then had the lady put the exact same copy back in the DVD case for me to discover once I got home. I don’t remember if I watched it that night.

I remember winning the holiday door decorating contest (actually my students one it for me), even though I don’t celebrate any particular winter holiday. This year I forgot to recruit homeroom decorators until it was too late.

I think I will always remember my first Christmas break as a teacher, back at Rim of the World. We watched All Quiet on the Western Front, and I remember the carol they played over the PA system as students filed out on their way to break. It was an amazing feeling. I’d been teaching forever. It had been about four months.

This year the months flew by. I’m tired, a bit relieved, but it doesn’t feel the same. Not as defined. Not as memorable. I guess that’s why I’m writing. Each year I write a little something before I go on break, but this year is the first I’m not doing it by hand. We watched Flowers for Algernon, had an awards assembly, and that was it. I got a few cards and candies–one a home-mader. I was touched. Seriously.

Tomorrow I’m helping someone move. The next day we’ll be at church. After that, I don’t know. I need to read A Midwife’s Tale, and the Vaccine Book. I just finished The Warriors, source of the “cult classic” film from the 80′s. I think it was the 80′s. I’d like to take Jackson snowboarding for the first time.  Maybe a date. Perhaps a trip to somewhere. The beach. Hold Ella.

It’s absolutely beautiful right now. Close to 70 degrees, clear without smog. It was chilly in the morning, but I’m roasting right now in my longsleeve Mountain High semi-turtleneck. It doesn’t quite feel like winter break yet, although there is some kind of pop-christmas tune on in the background at Coffee Klatch.

One more half year down.

More what-the-heck from my CTA

I’m still trying to figure out if this is a little white lie, a dose of doublespeak, or an “innocent” obfuscation meant for manipulation. I have always been under the impression that the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP), also known as “the nation’s report card” is the best measure we have for comparing student achievement nationwide. Whereas different states can set their own assessments and proficiency bands (which leads to all sorts of difficulties when comparing states based on their standardized test score performance), NAEP measures students from all states against the same criteria.

CTA has a few words on NAEP on their latest issue of California Educator, which focuses primarily on tests. They argue that NAEP scores are an

unreliable method to gauge the progress of students from one state to another due to differing standards. Because the NAEP assessments are not currently aligned to California’s content standards, and each state is allowed to set its own standards under No Child Left Behind, NAEP scores are an inaccurate means of comparison.

I don’t think this is meant to be purposefully asinine. But what the heck? Isn’t the reason for NAEP’s reliability rooted in the fact that it DOES NOT align itself to any particular state’s standards? And if it did, wouldn’t that make it an unfair means of comparison between states? Is CTA actually suggesting that the CST’s, which they so often decry, are actually the gold-standard? I acknowledge that many researchers have deemed California’s standards among the most rigorous nationwide, but the fact that California is doing poorly on NAEP should cause pause, not disqualification of the messenger (NAEP).

So, in conclusion: NAEP says we’re not doing well, so NAEP is not a good indicator. Because after all, California has tough standards, and our tests are standards-aligned, and NAEP is not aligned to our standards…so disregard NAEP data. Makes no flipping sense.

Mission St. Pale Ale

I’m coming around on the pale ales. 

These used to be some of my least favorites, but frequency seems to me making me fonder. The Mission St. caught my eye because it was a bargain, and it had recently won an award for its category. I wasn’t disappointed, although I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as the Pyramid’s Drifter. I’d definitely give this one another shot.

Santa Barbara Coffee Shops

I like Santa Barbara, and I like coffee shops.

State Street Coffee was never open for business when we happened to pass by, but the sign was sharp, the structure was unique, and their weren’t as passersby were at a minimum, so was Al’s embarrassment at my photographing buildings for no apparent reason.

HotSpots, on the other hand, (it literally was “on the other hand” as in “across the street”) was city-renowned for staying open 24 hours, its signature “Obama Blend” (yes we can drink coffee past midnight), and it’s touch screen vestibule for visitors seeking some sights to see. And, in a touch I had never seen before, HotSpots featured several pay-for-internet-access computer stations. Understandably, this all-night access point–which, by the way, was less than a block from the sand–had quite an extensive internet squatting policy.

I spotted three other distinguished coffeehouses on State Street (two Starbucks, a Coffee Bean, and a local shop with an upstairs loft, but I was too lazy to go back for my camera, and too embarrassed (or at least too afraid of embarrassing Allison) to be snapping pictures of a Starbucks sign in the middle of a bunch of people. 

I love lofts in a coffee shop. Reminds me of Top Pot Donuts from Seattle.

Top Pot: Lots of books and two stories! : )

Santa Barbara Coffee Shops

I like Santa Barbara, and I like coffee shops.

State Street Coffee was never open for business when we happened to pass by, but the sign was sharp, the structure was unique, and their weren’t as passersby were at a minimum, so was Al’s embarrassment at my photographing buildings for no apparent reason.

HotSpots, on the other hand, (it literally was “on the other hand” as in “across the street”) was city-renowned for staying open 24 hours, its signature “Obama Blend” (yes we can drink coffee past midnight), and it’s touch screen vestibule for visitors seeking some sights to see. And, in a touch I had never seen before, HotSpots featured several pay-for-internet-access computer stations. Understandably, this all-night access point–which, by the way, was less than a block from the sand–had quite an extensive internet squatting policy.

I spotted three other distinguished coffeehouses on State Street (two Starbucks, a Coffee Bean, and a local shop with an upstairs loft, but I was too lazy to go back for my camera, and too embarrassed (or at least too afraid of embarrassing Allison) to be snapping pictures of a Starbucks sign in the middle of a bunch of people. 

I love lofts in a coffee shop. Reminds me of Top Pot Donuts from Seattle.

Top Pot: Lots of books and two stories! : )