I'm at Panera, a grande I.C. Spice in hand, free Wi-Fi in front of me, and Hammock playing on my headphones. It's no Marshall McGearty's, but it's about as good as we can do here in Bethlehem. It's a pity they close at 9, a mere 40 minutes from now. There is a reason I got here so late in the evening, but it is too exasperating a story to tell after a day like this one.
Yes, a band called Hammock is playing on my headphones. Jared gave them to me and he recently asked what I thought of them. I ignored his question, because I had only listened to them once or twice on my home stereo and through my tiny laptop speakers, and was very bored and unimpressed. Well, it has just now become very clear that this music was made to be listened to through headphones after long days. It is large and expansive music, immediately bringing images of far off places to mind, making the odd groups of sandwicheatingsoupsipping people around me, not to mention the burden of a long day and miserable job, temporarily disappear. So, Jared, while I'm not crazy about the CD, it's exactly what I need tonight, and now that I've heard it on headphones, I understand why people enjoy it.
Yes, it was a long day indeed, and there was too much to rehash here. I dealt with some frustrating students during one period, and when my time in the room came to a close, I warned them that the teacher taking over would be writing down names for detention. I walked out of the room and heard several girls cheer and clap in response to my departure. I marched back into the room to their surprise, threatened them, and then tried to tell them that they can think I'm the bad guy all they want, but really I'm only trying to help. I tried convincing them that someday they would realize I wasn't being mean, I was only doing my best to help them learn. They didn't believe me, and I doubt they ever will. The next period found me "losing my patience" to put it mildly. I yelled in kid's face rather harshly, so much so that afterwards a girl said, "Damn mister, your face is red."
I don't want to be in a job that turns me into this. This isn't me. I'm not a person who yells in kid's faces. I don't want to be in a job where I'm depressed out of my mind, and yet my coworkers somehow comment on how happy and pleasant I am. (Are they worse off than I am? Or perhaps they haven't picked up on my sarcastic tendencies yet? Or is the Spirit just working that much overtime?) I don't want to be in a job where I am constantly frustrated and where I constantly feel locked in and held down. Is this just a first year thing? I'm beginning to wonder. (And if I can say "I don't want this" that many times in a row, someone explain to me why I haven't started looking elsewhere yet.)
And I knowww that there are only 9 weeks left. But that can only help so much.
So this afternoon Erica and I went for a small walk around the neighborhood. It helped a little; how can this warm weather not? I should've spent the rest of the evening outside, and I have a feeling when I get kicked out of here at 9:00, I'll go for another walk. Lord knows I need it. (The Lord knows I need him; he's waiting for me to realize the same.)
On our walk this afternoon, we were walking through a middle-class-white-collar-quiet-pleasant-and-quaint neighborhood. Up ahead we saw young blonde-haired boy, wearing glasses, a t-shirt, shorts, tube socks and sneakers, sitting on his front lawn. There were toys strewn about; a skateboard, a basketball, and the like. He was enjoying the spring day, lounging back in the grass and reading a book. He completed the scene in this picturesque neighborhood. But as we got closer, we noticed a boom box sitting next to him, and as we got even closer, we heard the sound of some major ghetto thumpin' hip-hop coming from the little stereo, serenading his perfect spring afternoon, somewhat skewing the scene.
Erica and I tried not to giggle on the spot, but it was incredibly hard not to contain ourselves. I mean, seriously, this kid was young. When I was this kid’s age, I was listening to Amy Grant cassettes, not guys rapping about sippin’ on gin and juice.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
He was the smallest man on the football team at 140 pounds, but played like a tiger.
Ad, Erica’s grandfather, passed away this past Monday night. He had taken a turn for the worse about a week prior, and after a short trip to the hospital at the end of last week, he returned home to be comfortable through his final moments.
A recent soapbox of mine has been our response as Christians to these difficult times, our ability to mourn, and our ability to, as Paul says, mourn with those who mourn. Little did I know the opportunity to test what I’ve been preaching would come so soon.
I’ve come to realize that few people are close with their grandfathers these days. While I admire my grandfather very much, I wouldn’t consider myself close to him, and I’m sure many people my age can relate. But Ad was close to Erica, his only granddaughter, and she was close to him. While I don’t think he knew all that much about me, he decided early on that he liked me, and he cheered us on in just about everything we did. All this to say Ad held an important place in our lives, even in mine after only 7 or so years of knowing him. And he was indeed a special man, as you can tell by the deservingly-lengthy obiturary that was written by his eloquent-English-professor brother.
And this was really the first time I’ve experienced death so closely. My mind has been wheeling because of it, with things I won’t delve into here.
And so what does one say? What can be said to summarize a life or the rollercoasterofaweek that ends a life?
And I guess that’s one of the things I’ve been preaching lately. Nothing can be said, nothing should be said, and that’s ok.
And these cycles of life are striking, as during the time we were saying goodbye to Ad, Liz posted pictures of the beautiful little girl to whom they were saying hello; just like on the newspaper website, where the link for obituaries is right next to the link for births.
Ad, Erica’s grandfather, passed away this past Monday night. He had taken a turn for the worse about a week prior, and after a short trip to the hospital at the end of last week, he returned home to be comfortable through his final moments.
A recent soapbox of mine has been our response as Christians to these difficult times, our ability to mourn, and our ability to, as Paul says, mourn with those who mourn. Little did I know the opportunity to test what I’ve been preaching would come so soon.
I’ve come to realize that few people are close with their grandfathers these days. While I admire my grandfather very much, I wouldn’t consider myself close to him, and I’m sure many people my age can relate. But Ad was close to Erica, his only granddaughter, and she was close to him. While I don’t think he knew all that much about me, he decided early on that he liked me, and he cheered us on in just about everything we did. All this to say Ad held an important place in our lives, even in mine after only 7 or so years of knowing him. And he was indeed a special man, as you can tell by the deservingly-lengthy obiturary that was written by his eloquent-English-professor brother.
And this was really the first time I’ve experienced death so closely. My mind has been wheeling because of it, with things I won’t delve into here.
And so what does one say? What can be said to summarize a life or the rollercoasterofaweek that ends a life?
And I guess that’s one of the things I’ve been preaching lately. Nothing can be said, nothing should be said, and that’s ok.
And these cycles of life are striking, as during the time we were saying goodbye to Ad, Liz posted pictures of the beautiful little girl to whom they were saying hello; just like on the newspaper website, where the link for obituaries is right next to the link for births.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
This week and last week we've been giving the big bad PSSA tests. Those are the state tests that let Mr. Bush know how our school is doing.
A 6th grade teacher asked her class what they thought of the test. She asked if they thought anything on the test was difficult. One boy approached her quietly and quite concerned (which is unusual, as this comment would typically be made in order to gain attention from peers). "Miss, my test kept talking about asses."
"About what?"
"Asses."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, miss."
"Well how was it spelled?"
"A-s-s-e-s-s."
A 6th grade teacher asked her class what they thought of the test. She asked if they thought anything on the test was difficult. One boy approached her quietly and quite concerned (which is unusual, as this comment would typically be made in order to gain attention from peers). "Miss, my test kept talking about asses."
"About what?"
"Asses."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, miss."
"Well how was it spelled?"
"A-s-s-e-s-s."
Saturday, March 25, 2006
i was sitting here in the kitchen, stealing internet, surfing from blog to blog, and found this on erik newby's. and it is freaking incredible and you should watch it over and over again like i am doing right now.
This morning I watched a documentary called "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?"
Two girls decided they wanted to make a documentary. They discovered this odd subculture called the Christian Music Industry, and so they decided to make a documentary on Christian music. Knowing nothing about it, they heard about this crazy festival called Cornerstone. So they showed up at this big festival, and started filming.
With it being two random girls making their first movie, it's obviously not very well done. The camera work is sloppy, the sound is rather terrible, and all in all it's pretty amateur. But I still found it to be pretty interesting. I watched it in the shoes of these two girls, who weren’t Christians, who, like most of the “outside world,” support things like abortion and homosexuality and other typical everyday things. Can you imagine knowing nothing about the Christian subculture and then just jumping into a place like Cornerstone Festival? These were some brave girls!
I found them to be very respectable girls too, because even though they probably thought the majority of these people were wackos, they didn’t draw a picture of a freak show. They didn’t cut off interviews at convenient places and didn’t put any words in peoples mouths. They presented things very fairly.
Now, covering the world of Christian music is no easy task.
We’ve got Band A that is making crappy music and trying to use it as a tool to save the lost. We’ve got Band B that is making really good music and trying to use it as a tool to save the lost. We've got Band C who is making music solely for the sake of worship and Band D who is making worship for the sake of a profit. We’ve got Band E that is making mediocre music, and while they might be singing about God, they’re hypocrites just milking the subculture for all it’s worth. We’ve got Band F that is trying to make good art for God. We’ve got Band G that is trying to make good art for the heck of it, or who is rocking out because they consider rock and roll to be their occupation, which is perfectly valid. We’ve got Band H that probably isn’t Christian at all, but for some reason they’re playing at Cornerstone, mostly just for the sake of confusing everyone and causing controversy and getting a little bit of the profit there is in the Christian market. We’ve got bands who like the Christian bubble, we’ve got bands who are trying to cross over, we’ve got bands who started outside of the bubble and like it there, we’ve got bands who have a foot in both places.
There’s a lot to cover. And the more you wade through it all, the more ridiculous it all looks.
There are two best parts of this movie. One is when they are interviewing the singer from Living Sacrifice. His little daughter runs into the room and he picks her up and introduces her. She is probably about the age of 6. He tells her to sing like daddy, and in response, she half screams/half roars, “JESUS!!!!!!” It was really funny.
And the other part you probably have to watch the commentary to catch, but there is a quick shot of some of the audience during a prayer. Many of them have their hands raised. And in the corner is a kind of awkward overweight boy, hands in the air, eyes closed, and he turns his head to sniff his armpit, grimmaces, and goes back to praying. It is very quick and hard to catch, but when you do, it is FUNNY.
I don’t know why I’m talking about this movie so much, because it really isn’t that great, but I guess it’s on an area that has interested me and been a big part of my life over the past 10 or 12 years, whether I like to admit it or not.
There’s more I want to say about something related to this, but I don’t know what to say or how to say it quite yet, so I’ll wait on that.
Two girls decided they wanted to make a documentary. They discovered this odd subculture called the Christian Music Industry, and so they decided to make a documentary on Christian music. Knowing nothing about it, they heard about this crazy festival called Cornerstone. So they showed up at this big festival, and started filming.
With it being two random girls making their first movie, it's obviously not very well done. The camera work is sloppy, the sound is rather terrible, and all in all it's pretty amateur. But I still found it to be pretty interesting. I watched it in the shoes of these two girls, who weren’t Christians, who, like most of the “outside world,” support things like abortion and homosexuality and other typical everyday things. Can you imagine knowing nothing about the Christian subculture and then just jumping into a place like Cornerstone Festival? These were some brave girls!
I found them to be very respectable girls too, because even though they probably thought the majority of these people were wackos, they didn’t draw a picture of a freak show. They didn’t cut off interviews at convenient places and didn’t put any words in peoples mouths. They presented things very fairly.
Now, covering the world of Christian music is no easy task.
We’ve got Band A that is making crappy music and trying to use it as a tool to save the lost. We’ve got Band B that is making really good music and trying to use it as a tool to save the lost. We've got Band C who is making music solely for the sake of worship and Band D who is making worship for the sake of a profit. We’ve got Band E that is making mediocre music, and while they might be singing about God, they’re hypocrites just milking the subculture for all it’s worth. We’ve got Band F that is trying to make good art for God. We’ve got Band G that is trying to make good art for the heck of it, or who is rocking out because they consider rock and roll to be their occupation, which is perfectly valid. We’ve got Band H that probably isn’t Christian at all, but for some reason they’re playing at Cornerstone, mostly just for the sake of confusing everyone and causing controversy and getting a little bit of the profit there is in the Christian market. We’ve got bands who like the Christian bubble, we’ve got bands who are trying to cross over, we’ve got bands who started outside of the bubble and like it there, we’ve got bands who have a foot in both places.
There’s a lot to cover. And the more you wade through it all, the more ridiculous it all looks.
There are two best parts of this movie. One is when they are interviewing the singer from Living Sacrifice. His little daughter runs into the room and he picks her up and introduces her. She is probably about the age of 6. He tells her to sing like daddy, and in response, she half screams/half roars, “JESUS!!!!!!” It was really funny.
And the other part you probably have to watch the commentary to catch, but there is a quick shot of some of the audience during a prayer. Many of them have their hands raised. And in the corner is a kind of awkward overweight boy, hands in the air, eyes closed, and he turns his head to sniff his armpit, grimmaces, and goes back to praying. It is very quick and hard to catch, but when you do, it is FUNNY.
I don’t know why I’m talking about this movie so much, because it really isn’t that great, but I guess it’s on an area that has interested me and been a big part of my life over the past 10 or 12 years, whether I like to admit it or not.
There’s more I want to say about something related to this, but I don’t know what to say or how to say it quite yet, so I’ll wait on that.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
you college basketball fans might be interested in knowing that in order to be sure to fill out a march madness bracket exactly right, you would have to fill out over 18,000,000,000,000,000,000 brackets. that's 18 quintillion, if you were wondering. And that means that even if every single person on the face of the planet filled out a unique bracket, chances of someone getting it exactly right are still pretty much impossible. i tried sharing this with my seventh graders this afternoon. they were unimpressed and disinterested.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
When the one boy told me I had a fresh haircut, I told him my wife did it, and then I messed it up, and then we had to fix it. He said, "You cut your hair yourself?"
"Yep."
"You're too cheap to pay for it?"
"Yeah man, haircuts are expensive," I said.
"Nuh-uh, they're only like 10 bucks," he informed me.
"Yeah, but if you get your hair cut once a month, that adds up to 120 dollars."
His eyes got big. "Damn, mister. I never thought of it like that!" He paused thoughtfully, then shook his head and said, "Man, you're always thinkin' about math, aren't you mister?"
"Of course," I said.
Later in the class, one girl was bragging that her father gets his hair cut every Friday. I made them do the math this time. "How many Fridays are in a month? So how much is that a month? Times 12 months? That's right, 480 dollars a year...almost 500 dollars!" Their eyes got big and round with disbelief. They all seemed to imply that this girl's dad was crazy for spending so much, but she shrugged it off implying that it's a small price to pay in order to look good.
"Yep."
"You're too cheap to pay for it?"
"Yeah man, haircuts are expensive," I said.
"Nuh-uh, they're only like 10 bucks," he informed me.
"Yeah, but if you get your hair cut once a month, that adds up to 120 dollars."
His eyes got big. "Damn, mister. I never thought of it like that!" He paused thoughtfully, then shook his head and said, "Man, you're always thinkin' about math, aren't you mister?"
"Of course," I said.
Later in the class, one girl was bragging that her father gets his hair cut every Friday. I made them do the math this time. "How many Fridays are in a month? So how much is that a month? Times 12 months? That's right, 480 dollars a year...almost 500 dollars!" Their eyes got big and round with disbelief. They all seemed to imply that this girl's dad was crazy for spending so much, but she shrugged it off implying that it's a small price to pay in order to look good.
Monday, March 20, 2006
All the boys at school liked my haircut. They said things like, "Fresh haircut mister! Smooth! Lookin' Good!" All the girls at school hated my haircut, or at least wanted to belittle me and found this to be the easiest way. They said underhanded things like "Nice haircut, Mister..." while rolling their eyes, frowning, and snickering with their girlfriends.
Last night when I was talking to Dan, the words, "Yeah, that's how I roll" slipped out of my mouth. I spent most of last night and the better part of today wondering where that came from. These kids are rubbing off on me.
We spent the weekend on the road. We visited a friend in Charlottesville, VA and hung out on the campus of the Univ of Virginia. It was lovely and it made me wish I went to a real college. Next we went to a wedding in Charlotte, NC. We were almost late for the wedding. I was changing my shoes and socks at traffic lights and putting on my tie as we walked in. We were about 3 minutes late, but luckily it hadn't started yet. Then we drove home. I-81 in NC and VA is absolutely beautiful driving. Next time you take a road trip, I recommend working it into the route somehow.
I need your help and here's the deal. I haven't bought a good new t-shirt in a really long time. And the ones I'm wearing are getting old and stale and annoying. I'm looking to update my wardrobe and I need your help. Please give suggestions. Am I too old to be purchasing t-shirts from my favorite bands? I am considering shirts from the following people/places: Sufjan or Half Handed Cloud from www.asthmatickitty.com, Why? from www.anticon.com, www.mewithoutyou.com, www.pedrothelion.com or one of his shirts from www.jadetree.com, www.anathallo.com, or maybe something from www.secretlycanadian.com...? Slow Loris finally has some shirts posted again, and I've been waiting to buy from her for a long time, but she only has three posted at the moment at www.slowshirts.com. www.threadless.com has a $10 sale right now til Wednesday. Those of you who know me know I have pretty much no fashion sense at all. So, I'm asking you to dress me. These times where I build my wardrobe are very few and far between, so as far as giving your two cents goes, it's now or never. If I'm looking in all the wrong places and band t-shirts are out of style for a nearly 23 year-old, please say so.
Maybe I should stick to thrift-shopping, but I've never been very good at that either. If you send me a good thrift store shirt, I'll pay you for it.
Last night when I was talking to Dan, the words, "Yeah, that's how I roll" slipped out of my mouth. I spent most of last night and the better part of today wondering where that came from. These kids are rubbing off on me.
We spent the weekend on the road. We visited a friend in Charlottesville, VA and hung out on the campus of the Univ of Virginia. It was lovely and it made me wish I went to a real college. Next we went to a wedding in Charlotte, NC. We were almost late for the wedding. I was changing my shoes and socks at traffic lights and putting on my tie as we walked in. We were about 3 minutes late, but luckily it hadn't started yet. Then we drove home. I-81 in NC and VA is absolutely beautiful driving. Next time you take a road trip, I recommend working it into the route somehow.
I need your help and here's the deal. I haven't bought a good new t-shirt in a really long time. And the ones I'm wearing are getting old and stale and annoying. I'm looking to update my wardrobe and I need your help. Please give suggestions. Am I too old to be purchasing t-shirts from my favorite bands? I am considering shirts from the following people/places: Sufjan or Half Handed Cloud from www.asthmatickitty.com, Why? from www.anticon.com, www.mewithoutyou.com, www.pedrothelion.com or one of his shirts from www.jadetree.com, www.anathallo.com, or maybe something from www.secretlycanadian.com...? Slow Loris finally has some shirts posted again, and I've been waiting to buy from her for a long time, but she only has three posted at the moment at www.slowshirts.com. www.threadless.com has a $10 sale right now til Wednesday. Those of you who know me know I have pretty much no fashion sense at all. So, I'm asking you to dress me. These times where I build my wardrobe are very few and far between, so as far as giving your two cents goes, it's now or never. If I'm looking in all the wrong places and band t-shirts are out of style for a nearly 23 year-old, please say so.
Maybe I should stick to thrift-shopping, but I've never been very good at that either. If you send me a good thrift store shirt, I'll pay you for it.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Erica just gave me a haircut she was rather proud of. As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, I took it upon myself to trim up my sideburns with the clippers. Let me preface this by saying sideburns are something I've never really understood. Either mine grow in differently than everybody else's, or I just don't understand them in general; I missed the boat somewhere along the line. Well, let's just say I misjudged the attachment I was using, and pretty much took off my right sideburn completely, dug into the above-the-ear hair as well, and also somehow gave myself something similar to the lines of Vanilla Ice or Jamin's new style. When Erica heard me spouting Christian curse words, she came in and was nearly brought to tears. Needless to say, the haircut turned out much shorter than we both originally intended.
Another topic. I've been wondering lately, what's the correct response to the knock on the door when you're using the bathroom? Every time I'm in the bathroom, I get really scared someone is going to knock on the door. Sometimes people knock and I completely ignore them for lack of a good response. Pretty much anything you say sounds really strange and awkward. Greetings, such as "Hello!" are just plain odd. Shouting something like "Occupied!" or "It's in use!" seem a little rude or peculiar or nerdy at the very least. "Who is it?" is about as good as an inquisitve "Yes?" and both are out of the picture. "Just a minute!" is probably the best I can come up with, but that makes it sound like you're in the middle of something, rushing to finish, which can become uncomfortable rather easily as well. Suggestions?
No, but seriously, I'm looking for some advice on this one.
Another topic. I've been wondering lately, what's the correct response to the knock on the door when you're using the bathroom? Every time I'm in the bathroom, I get really scared someone is going to knock on the door. Sometimes people knock and I completely ignore them for lack of a good response. Pretty much anything you say sounds really strange and awkward. Greetings, such as "Hello!" are just plain odd. Shouting something like "Occupied!" or "It's in use!" seem a little rude or peculiar or nerdy at the very least. "Who is it?" is about as good as an inquisitve "Yes?" and both are out of the picture. "Just a minute!" is probably the best I can come up with, but that makes it sound like you're in the middle of something, rushing to finish, which can become uncomfortable rather easily as well. Suggestions?
No, but seriously, I'm looking for some advice on this one.
It’s been a while since I last posted.
We did indeed have the Anathallo “Floating World” listening party last Saturday. It lacked organization and publicity, so it was a tad anticlimactic. For instance, had I thought of it sooner, I would have had everyone dress in Japanese garb; their favorite komono, the sumo wrestler suit, etc, and we could have had sushi or hibachi steak for dinner. But no, this was just Wes, Mike, Morgan, Kyle, Erica and I sitting in the living room and listening. Not a whole lot of hype.
That being said, Floating World is pretty dang amazing. It is as ambitious as we all would have hoped. It is full of surprises and is pretty much the most creative music being made right now, and if that isn’t true, it at least draws it’s influences from the most creative music being made right now (ie: Sigur Ros, Sufjan Stevens). There are some things I don’t like and some things I wish were different, but that doesn’t make it any less amazing.
Allow me to share a quick story. Before the listening party, since it was a beautiful 70-some-degree spring day, we decided to play outside. Mark was there and he made up a game that involved sitting on the third step of our porch and tossing rings into masking-tape-subdivided-sections worth different allotments of points. When asked how many rounds we should play, Kyle replied, “Seventeen.” And so, we played seventeen rounds. When I made another small masking tape circle off to the left of the sidewalk worth seventeen points, it seemed only fitting to call the game Seventeen.
Fast forward to round seventeen. Mark is in the lead with 102 points. Kyle couldn’t beat him, Erica couldn’t beat him, and it’s my turn, the second-to-last person. I had 83 points. I needed a 17 and a 3 or a 5 to win. Nobody had scored a 17 the entire game despite several tries. On my first of three tosses, I aimed for the 17 and missed. The pressure was on. On my second toss, I aimed for 17, threw it carefully, and it stuck. I was inside the tape, which bumped my score up to 100 and the everyone was going nuts. It was unbelievable! So, it was my last toss, and I needed a three, which was probably only 4 feet away from our tossing spot. A hush fell over my opponents, all eyes were on me. I checked the wind, I concentrated, I aimed, drew back, and tossed. In typical Shorb-luck fashion, it landed right in the middle of a line. Zero points. Game over.
You probably had to be there.
You know how us young artsy fartsy opinionated Christians have never really liked Thomas Kinkade, the Artist of Light? Looks like now we have all the more reason. Now will the rest of you believe us?
School has been ok lately. I’ve been drained and joyless, doing my best to keep pressing on. There have been plenty of run-ins, some more dramatic than others. I’ll save the stories for real-life conversations.
I don’t know how it happened, because it all happened so quickly, but yesterday the eighth graders somehow squeezed it out of me: I confessed to them that I pluck my unibrow. I told them that information was by no means allowed to leave the room, that it was just between us.
Outside the window of my third and fourth floor classrooms, there is this weird empty space outside that is enclosed by a tall brick wall. From outside, it looks like it’s part of the building. Looking down from ab ove, you can see it’s just an empty space filled with pencils and balls and an occasional dictionary or textbook thrown by mischevious middle schoolers. Today, two girls were looking out the window and asked me what is was for. I said, “I don’t know, it’s just a place for little brats to throw their pencils so they can yell at the teacher ‘MIIIIIIISTEEEEER I DON’T HAVE A PENCIIIIIILLLLL’ simply for the sake of driving him crazy. Seriously, look at all those nice, perfect pencils just wasted down there.” Both of their eyes were wide and fixed on me, and one girl said, “Wooow, teachers know everything! Who tells them this stuff?!” This made me feel very good about myself. I smirked and went back to teaching. (This was not unlike the note in the calculator incident a few months back.)
The other day during lunch:
Language Arts Teacher #1: He said she was skating like a beautiful ballerina!
Language Arts Teacher #2: Hey, at least he used a pretty good metaphor.
Me the Math Teacher: Actually, it was a simile.
Language Arts Teachers #1 and #2: --dirty looks--
Personal day tomorrow, road trip to VA and NC to visit some of Erica’s friends and go to a wedding, and then the PSSA’s come next week. The pressure is on!
Something like 52 or 53 days of school left; but who’s counting?
We did indeed have the Anathallo “Floating World” listening party last Saturday. It lacked organization and publicity, so it was a tad anticlimactic. For instance, had I thought of it sooner, I would have had everyone dress in Japanese garb; their favorite komono, the sumo wrestler suit, etc, and we could have had sushi or hibachi steak for dinner. But no, this was just Wes, Mike, Morgan, Kyle, Erica and I sitting in the living room and listening. Not a whole lot of hype.
That being said, Floating World is pretty dang amazing. It is as ambitious as we all would have hoped. It is full of surprises and is pretty much the most creative music being made right now, and if that isn’t true, it at least draws it’s influences from the most creative music being made right now (ie: Sigur Ros, Sufjan Stevens). There are some things I don’t like and some things I wish were different, but that doesn’t make it any less amazing.
Allow me to share a quick story. Before the listening party, since it was a beautiful 70-some-degree spring day, we decided to play outside. Mark was there and he made up a game that involved sitting on the third step of our porch and tossing rings into masking-tape-subdivided-sections worth different allotments of points. When asked how many rounds we should play, Kyle replied, “Seventeen.” And so, we played seventeen rounds. When I made another small masking tape circle off to the left of the sidewalk worth seventeen points, it seemed only fitting to call the game Seventeen.
Fast forward to round seventeen. Mark is in the lead with 102 points. Kyle couldn’t beat him, Erica couldn’t beat him, and it’s my turn, the second-to-last person. I had 83 points. I needed a 17 and a 3 or a 5 to win. Nobody had scored a 17 the entire game despite several tries. On my first of three tosses, I aimed for the 17 and missed. The pressure was on. On my second toss, I aimed for 17, threw it carefully, and it stuck. I was inside the tape, which bumped my score up to 100 and the everyone was going nuts. It was unbelievable! So, it was my last toss, and I needed a three, which was probably only 4 feet away from our tossing spot. A hush fell over my opponents, all eyes were on me. I checked the wind, I concentrated, I aimed, drew back, and tossed. In typical Shorb-luck fashion, it landed right in the middle of a line. Zero points. Game over.
You probably had to be there.
You know how us young artsy fartsy opinionated Christians have never really liked Thomas Kinkade, the Artist of Light? Looks like now we have all the more reason. Now will the rest of you believe us?
School has been ok lately. I’ve been drained and joyless, doing my best to keep pressing on. There have been plenty of run-ins, some more dramatic than others. I’ll save the stories for real-life conversations.
I don’t know how it happened, because it all happened so quickly, but yesterday the eighth graders somehow squeezed it out of me: I confessed to them that I pluck my unibrow. I told them that information was by no means allowed to leave the room, that it was just between us.
Outside the window of my third and fourth floor classrooms, there is this weird empty space outside that is enclosed by a tall brick wall. From outside, it looks like it’s part of the building. Looking down from ab ove, you can see it’s just an empty space filled with pencils and balls and an occasional dictionary or textbook thrown by mischevious middle schoolers. Today, two girls were looking out the window and asked me what is was for. I said, “I don’t know, it’s just a place for little brats to throw their pencils so they can yell at the teacher ‘MIIIIIIISTEEEEER I DON’T HAVE A PENCIIIIIILLLLL’ simply for the sake of driving him crazy. Seriously, look at all those nice, perfect pencils just wasted down there.” Both of their eyes were wide and fixed on me, and one girl said, “Wooow, teachers know everything! Who tells them this stuff?!” This made me feel very good about myself. I smirked and went back to teaching. (This was not unlike the note in the calculator incident a few months back.)
The other day during lunch:
Language Arts Teacher #1: He said she was skating like a beautiful ballerina!
Language Arts Teacher #2: Hey, at least he used a pretty good metaphor.
Me the Math Teacher: Actually, it was a simile.
Language Arts Teachers #1 and #2: --dirty looks--
Personal day tomorrow, road trip to VA and NC to visit some of Erica’s friends and go to a wedding, and then the PSSA’s come next week. The pressure is on!
Something like 52 or 53 days of school left; but who’s counting?
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
In each of my math classes, I have given the students folders that they use for all of their math-related papers and such. My original rule was, “NO WRITING ON THE FOLDERS!!!” But I quickly found that there was no good way to enforce a rule that tried to keep bored students from doodling.
So, now that students have covered their folders with all sorts of drawings and writings and whathaveyou, I have found several things to laugh at.
In the middle of her folder, one girl has written “Don’t Hate!” which, if you're out of touch with the urban community, is a popular saying with these kids. But then, off in the corner of the folder, she wrote, “I Hate Math Class!”
Another girl, in large, sassy letters, wrote “Additude” an underlined it several times for extra emphasis. I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming it’s a clever and witty play on words keeping the subject matter of the class in mind.
So, now that students have covered their folders with all sorts of drawings and writings and whathaveyou, I have found several things to laugh at.
In the middle of her folder, one girl has written “Don’t Hate!” which, if you're out of touch with the urban community, is a popular saying with these kids. But then, off in the corner of the folder, she wrote, “I Hate Math Class!”
Another girl, in large, sassy letters, wrote “Additude” an underlined it several times for extra emphasis. I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming it’s a clever and witty play on words keeping the subject matter of the class in mind.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Here’s a recap of last week:
The 7th grade social studies teacher told one of his classes whom I also teach that I have my black belt in karate. He told them that I was trained to kill six people in less than 30 seconds. They apparently argued over whether it was true or not. Most of them don’t believe it, but one boy keeps asking me about it. He asked where I received my training. I told him Japan. He keeps asking very tough questions, and I’ve weaseled my way out of most of them, but if he keeps asking, he’s bound to uncover the truth sooner or later.
One boy, a small and skinny pre-pubescent somewhat nerdy white boy, entered the classroom and asked me how I was doing. I said, “Never better. This is the best day of my life.” He said to his peers, “Whoa! Mister said this was the best day of his life! He must’ve had his first kiss today!” It was a very odd statement, and with it coming from this kid who I’m sure truly does equate the two, it made me giggle quite hard in front of the whole class.
In a team-meeting, we were discussing which kids from every class should receive a certain award for attitude and effort. I was vetoing every kid on account of their poor attitudes in my class. Finally, one of the student teachers gave her two cents and said, “Maybe it’s just you.” I agreed that it WAS just me, but for the rest of the day I walked through the halls thinking to myself, “Maybe it IS just me,” and that maybe things are so tough just because I’m a crappy teacher and I’m not cut out for this and on and on.
On Friday, for some reason, partially due to the shirt I was wearing and how it was tucked in, and maybe partially because of some back pain, and maybe partially because of how much I had eaten the night before, my infamous-yet-mysteriously-elusive gut was quite visible. It was noticeably protruding, so much so that I think I had at least five kids in EVERY class comment on it. Some kids told me I was getting fat. Some kids asked me if I was drinking too much beer. Some kids had the audacity to hit it as they walked past me. It’s a tough life being a skinny fat man and working with middle schoolers.
Here is a recap of the weekend:
It was an amazing weekend, actually, and while nobody likes a play-by-play blog post, I think this weekend warrants one.
Erica, Wesley and I went down to Philadelphia. While Erica visited some college friends, Wes and I successfully used the public transportation system (it was my first time using it in Philly) to get to the Khyber to see Ester Drang and Metal Hearts. It was a really great show. Metal Hearts are a new band on Suicide Squeeze. They are pretty innovative and a breath of fresh air and I suggest you check them out. They are playing shows every single night of the month, so look them up.
At the show Wes and I observed a rather old looking reserved man with a funny bow tie and one of those newspaperboy hats that old men wear. I assumed he was either a father of one of the musicians or a college professor checking out the scene. He was rather out of place, but he kept a low profile, that is, until Ester Drang started playing. Just before they started, he began yelling, “YEEEEEAAAH! DO IT, GUYS! DO IT!” He continued to yell all throughout the show, and we are talking from-the-diaphragm-gut-wrenching-football-game-meat-head yells, complete with over-the-head clapping. So, perhaps he WAS a mad professor, but he was obviously Ester Drang’s biggest fan.
So that was Friday night. Saturday brought lunch at a Chinese buffet, dinner at the mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, and Walk the Line, which I fell asleep for (no surprise there.)
On Sunday, Erica and I drove back to Philly for the Sixers game, and we were turned into big sports fans for the day. They played the Pacers and blew it, losing by one point in a very ant-climactic and disappointing game. We both hate Chris Webber. NBA basketball is mostly very boring, and live games aren’t as exciting as you might think. But we had a fun time nonetheless. .....SPORTS!!!
We finished the weekend off with Bible study at Mark and Heathers, and there you have it, a magnificent weekend indeed.
I got Anathallo’s new CD and the Javelins split in the mail today from Jamin the sweetheart. We’re hoping for a Saturday listening party. I can’t waaaaaait.
Hope you are well. Come visit.
The 7th grade social studies teacher told one of his classes whom I also teach that I have my black belt in karate. He told them that I was trained to kill six people in less than 30 seconds. They apparently argued over whether it was true or not. Most of them don’t believe it, but one boy keeps asking me about it. He asked where I received my training. I told him Japan. He keeps asking very tough questions, and I’ve weaseled my way out of most of them, but if he keeps asking, he’s bound to uncover the truth sooner or later.
One boy, a small and skinny pre-pubescent somewhat nerdy white boy, entered the classroom and asked me how I was doing. I said, “Never better. This is the best day of my life.” He said to his peers, “Whoa! Mister said this was the best day of his life! He must’ve had his first kiss today!” It was a very odd statement, and with it coming from this kid who I’m sure truly does equate the two, it made me giggle quite hard in front of the whole class.
In a team-meeting, we were discussing which kids from every class should receive a certain award for attitude and effort. I was vetoing every kid on account of their poor attitudes in my class. Finally, one of the student teachers gave her two cents and said, “Maybe it’s just you.” I agreed that it WAS just me, but for the rest of the day I walked through the halls thinking to myself, “Maybe it IS just me,” and that maybe things are so tough just because I’m a crappy teacher and I’m not cut out for this and on and on.
On Friday, for some reason, partially due to the shirt I was wearing and how it was tucked in, and maybe partially because of some back pain, and maybe partially because of how much I had eaten the night before, my infamous-yet-mysteriously-elusive gut was quite visible. It was noticeably protruding, so much so that I think I had at least five kids in EVERY class comment on it. Some kids told me I was getting fat. Some kids asked me if I was drinking too much beer. Some kids had the audacity to hit it as they walked past me. It’s a tough life being a skinny fat man and working with middle schoolers.
Here is a recap of the weekend:
It was an amazing weekend, actually, and while nobody likes a play-by-play blog post, I think this weekend warrants one.
Erica, Wesley and I went down to Philadelphia. While Erica visited some college friends, Wes and I successfully used the public transportation system (it was my first time using it in Philly) to get to the Khyber to see Ester Drang and Metal Hearts. It was a really great show. Metal Hearts are a new band on Suicide Squeeze. They are pretty innovative and a breath of fresh air and I suggest you check them out. They are playing shows every single night of the month, so look them up.
At the show Wes and I observed a rather old looking reserved man with a funny bow tie and one of those newspaperboy hats that old men wear. I assumed he was either a father of one of the musicians or a college professor checking out the scene. He was rather out of place, but he kept a low profile, that is, until Ester Drang started playing. Just before they started, he began yelling, “YEEEEEAAAH! DO IT, GUYS! DO IT!” He continued to yell all throughout the show, and we are talking from-the-diaphragm-gut-wrenching-football-game-meat-head yells, complete with over-the-head clapping. So, perhaps he WAS a mad professor, but he was obviously Ester Drang’s biggest fan.
So that was Friday night. Saturday brought lunch at a Chinese buffet, dinner at the mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, and Walk the Line, which I fell asleep for (no surprise there.)
On Sunday, Erica and I drove back to Philly for the Sixers game, and we were turned into big sports fans for the day. They played the Pacers and blew it, losing by one point in a very ant-climactic and disappointing game. We both hate Chris Webber. NBA basketball is mostly very boring, and live games aren’t as exciting as you might think. But we had a fun time nonetheless. .....SPORTS!!!
We finished the weekend off with Bible study at Mark and Heathers, and there you have it, a magnificent weekend indeed.
I got Anathallo’s new CD and the Javelins split in the mail today from Jamin the sweetheart. We’re hoping for a Saturday listening party. I can’t waaaaaait.
Hope you are well. Come visit.
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