Science is Cool

As someone who used to make a living (I used to complain but it sure seems like I had a hefty salary from my vantage over here) trying to make science concepts understandable to novice audiences, I appreciated this Slate article, challenging journalists to just say it like it is, rather than burying already potentially off-putting subject matter in unnecessarily reverential, flowery prose.

I am reminded of the "Venus Explains the Atom" segment on WKRP.  This Emmy-award winning episode was directed by the dad of a good friend of mine.

These days, I slip in science whenever I can, which isn't very often in the age of No Child Left Behind.  If we're not reading, we're doing math.  If we're not doing math, we're reading.  

Sometimes we even read about math!

Math Manipulatives Make the World Go 'Round

Need I say more?  When I rule the world, not only will there be hooks under every restaurant table, but there will be fake money, fraction bars and circles, base ten blocks, and flippy counting pieces in every classroom, regardless of the subject.

Yes, I am substitute teaching again (*waves to the US economy*).

Really, it's all about fraction bars.

Slack-O-Rama

While in college, I ran with a crowd who was rather obsessed with the satirical "religion" called The Church of the Subgenius.  I don't even want to link to it, as it predates The Dawn of Al Gore's Internet, and the whole thing is, well, sophomoric, like something to do in college. Anyway.  A core principle of its belief system revolves around the concept of "slack".  That is, free stuff.

Well, slack has been raining down like manna from heaven for the past 24 hours, with no sign of stopping.  

• A Burning Man ticket fell into my lap.  After much consternation, I am going to go.  Once a decade, whether I need it or not!  
  
• A ride with a dear friend materialized, saving me from needing to ride with a chakra-yogic stranger.
  
• A 32" TV was just offered to me for free.  No more DVDs on the computer screen!  It's old-school, but who cares?
  
• I have access to a PARKING SPACE in SF tomorrow if I need it for a thing I need to go do; this is invaluable.
  
• And the most recent bit of slack that came my way was a receipt with the cafe wireless code on it, which I am of course going to leave here for the next person who happens along.
  

Unfortunately, slack can only be achieved when one does nothing for it, so it cannot extend to my job interview tomorrow.  But I am taking all of this slack as a sign that things are good in the world, and will use this attitude go in there tomorrow and assume the best!

In or Out?

Yesterday, my mailbox fell apart.  

I put the key into the lock, where it promptly got stuck.  Really stuck.  This key wasn't disengaging, not on my watch.  So I started unscrewing the mechanism from the inside, at which point I became intimately familiar with how much I do not know about locks.  I soon found myself on the dusty porch, chasing tiny little metal cylinders (are those the tumblers?), trying to place them back into the lock (now freed of the key).  I learned that you can't just put any length cylinder wherever it fits.  I made my best guess and now the lock sort of works.

Something similar happened to me last year, when the house lock got stuck, fortunately in the "open" position with the door open (as opposed to not being able to open the door at all).  There weren't any little cylinders falling all over the place that time, though, just a door that I couldn't close.

I'm sure there's a tarot card or astrological sign or rune or something that's trying to tell me to stay in or out of this or that place, or maybe it's trying to tell me that I need to take a locksmithing course.

The San Francisco Mime Troupe is Back in Action!

Go see!  

The Story is Late, But it's Still Worth Telling

It's been a couple of months now, but this is the story of two days in one third-grade classroom.

I got to know the kids pretty well during these two days.  Their regular teacher apparently ran  a very tight ship.  I let them get away with a few things, but let them know that they were only getting away with things because it was okay with me.

One kid was a natural leader.  Smart, personable, always ready with an answer.  I noticed him speaking with his stock broker on the way to recess on a cell phone.  One made out of paper.  "Yeah, yeah," he said.  "Sell high?" I asked?  "Yep," he'd reply.

He had fun with his phone each recess, but after lunch I noticed what must have been the result of a promotional deal in the lunchroom - everyone seemed to have a phone!  We were going to do an afternoon activity, and I explained that, because we were in class, they were going to need to power their (paper) phones down.

They had a variety of excuses about why this was simply unacceptable:

"But I'm expecting an important call!"

"But can't I keep it on vibrate?"

"How about if I just text?"

"Can I just use it to take pictures?"

No, no, a thousand times no...we're in class, and you need to power down your phones...and the same goes for LAPTOPS (this was directed to a girl who at this point was furiously typing away on a sheet of folded paper, who upon hearing this news slammed it shut, clamshell-style).

It was all pretty funny.  Keep in mind, their regular teacher would've had these things in the recycle bin before anyone had speed-dialed their bookie, and they knew it.

Below is the phone the ringleader made for me - he made sure to check and see if he had included a texting function:

I said "thank you", and modeled powering it down, shutting it, and putting it away until after class.

This class, having a tight daily ship, knew the rules.  Oh how they knew the rules.  And they were not shy about enforcing the rules with each other.  In short, they were tattlers like no tattlers I had ever met.  After about one hour of this, I remembered a trick I'd read on a sub message board: The Tattle Box.  I emptied a small box I found on a shelf, and told the kids (upon their return from recess, all with fresh tattles to report), "It's very clear that you all know the rules, and you're very good at reminding each other of the rules.  Here's what I'd like you to do, and please use your judgement...if someone is bleeding or otherwise doing something dangerous, I want you to come tell me.  In all other cases, I'd like you to write down your concern and put it into this box."

The box was overflowing in a span of 45 minutes:

It turns out they were very concerned that I read the notes, but beyond that, they were just happy they'd been heard. 

I cannot recommend this technique enough.  I imagine there are some offices where this approach to management might come in handy.

Is This Thing On?

I can only imagine what I'd look like if I wasn't attempting to get my money's worth out of my gym membership.

Sheesh.

Simplify, Simplify, Simplify

Just as my substitute teacher dance card was filling every day, the clock struck midnight and the ball ended.  I am now once again an unemployed pumpkin.  This is actually sort of good, as I was getting a little too comfortable in a unsustainable position.

In an attempt to not reinvent the wheel every time I write a cover letter, I crib as much as I can from past cover letters.  This is a great idea, except while looking at past cover letters and their overabundance of 25-cent words, well, it's no wonder nobody has hired me and my big mouth yet.  I'm not intentionally using 25-cent words...they just sort of come out when they happen to be the best words to express idea x, y, or z.

We'll have no more of that!  No more proper idea expression!  Humph!

Reason Number 869

Remember when friends are receiving holiday bonuses that you receive your bonuses from much greater things.  The bonus includes students saying thank you, telling you that you are the best teacher, little notes and formal letters, and general job satisfaction.

--1000 Best New Teacher Survival Secrets

That's sure poetic and all, but as they say, it sure doesn't pay the rent.  But today I was struck by some of the truth in that (setting aside for a moment record gas and food prices, CA rent that's far too high, and no benefits) as I shuffled from one odd situation to another.

This is the final week of school.  I miraculously have four assignments, but they're all a little weird at this point in the game.  This morning, I was working at one site for a half day, supposedly filling in while teachers met with some incoming parents for next year.  Only one of the parents showed, leaving me doing a lot of sitting around in the faculty lounge.  At one point, the office manager asked if I'd mind doing some work for her.  Presented with a pile of papers to be folded and subsequently stuffed into envelopes, I lasted about ten seconds before feeling grateful that I have not been serving time in a different high-rise every day.  Yes, as frustrating as this job is, as low as I feel on the totem pole, as poorly as I am paid, I would rather be wrestling with the constant needs of kindergartners (who, by the way, imprint in about one minute), than stuffing envelopes.  

Way to go, perspective!

This afternoon, I was at a second site, and the plan called for some science.  Out of a textbook?!?  I asked if the teacher had any balloons for a chapter on electricity, and spent my lunch hour coming up with static experiments.  I was in The Zone, similar to the one I was in during my stint as a high school Improv instructor.  Enter the students.  I'd had them before, and we were just getting to the good stuff when BEEP BEEP BEEP - there's the fire drill!  We got out to the playground, where the alarm proceeded to go on for...a half an hour.  Someone had pulled the alarm, and the lock on the control panel was apparently corroded shut.  Wheee!   While all this was going on, I gathered the kids around me and tried to explain, over the din, how opposite charges attract, and like charges repel, all to set up a quick experiment we hadn't yet been able to do...just in case there was time back in class.  Booo!  They got the alarm shut off just as schooltime was ending.  I invited kids to leave if they wanted to leave, and to stick around for a few minutes if they wanted to do a couple of experiments.

The five students that stuck around gave me one of the most rewarding experiences I've yet had in this position, and at this point, all of us were off the clock.  They were interested and they were curious and they were grateful.  All very unusual during the course of a regular school day.

Also off the clock, I stuck around town for an extra three hours, all so I could head to yet another school and attend a showing of Hansel and Gretel Eat Right, as produced by a wily group of first graders I've grown to know very well.  I arrived just as the lights were about to go down, so the kids spotted me and started shouting my name.

I've gotta say, that was pretty cool.  

As long as I have to be a temporary worker with crappy pay and no benefits, I'd much rather be in a position of leading a discussion pointing out the relative un-PC-itude of Schoolhouse Rock's "Elbow Room" (which I did last week) and get hugs from germy little kids than push paper somewhere.

"Ways to Deal With Bullies"

"...walk away."

"...tell an adult."

"...stand up for kids who are being bullied."

"...use humor, and try to make friends."

Wait, what?

Try to make friends?  Who writes these motivational school posters, anyway?

Goody Two Shoes

This morning I was recruited to be the advisor-for-the-day of a lunchtime dance club (i.e. they need grown-up supervision to be in the dance studio).  The school office manager (we were in the same class) hands me the key and the conversation goes something like this:

"So this is in the basement of the other building, down in the old rifle range."

"Er, I'm afraid I never knew where the RIFLE RANGE was."

"You know, right by where they held detention."

"Uhh..."

I kind of sort of never had detention.  Kept my mouth shut about it, though, as I am still desirous of being "cool" when I go back to high school.

Silly Rules and Regulations

So I was back at the ole high school today, covering for a science class.  High school teachers assume subs know nothing of X subject matter, so they often leave videos.

I had lunch in the English Department lounge, as I'd spent many a lunchtime there as a precocious teacher's pet.  The English teachers were all very nice, some recognizing me, and etc.  Mr. C (who was at the time, and remains now, a looker) was talking about how he was going to show his class "Into the Wild", as they're reading the book.  "And I'll have to get permission slips," due to a couple of far-away partial nude shots.

Permission slips? I started describing the videos I was showing today:

The Great Barrier Reef: Nowhere have I heard the word "sperm" mentioned with such frequency.  Nowhere.  (Coolest thing I learned from the video - synchronous spawning.)

Inside the Living Body: You'd have thought this was health class.  In what was actually a very cool video about the human organism, we had: birth, repeated extreme-closeup breastfeeding, cameras shoved inside just about everywhere a camera could be shoved, computer models of reproductive organs, actual footage of said reproductive organs (from the inside), discussions of body hair (complete with CGI), sexual desire, dopamine, oxytocin ... and the kids loved footage of food plopping around as it made its way through various stages of the digestive process. (I kept saying, "This is what's happening to your lunch RIGHT NOW!")

I scoff at your permission slip! 

Leetle Tiny Things Make All the Difference

So I gathered a mother lode of Bed & Bath coupons (as I am wont to do) and got me a Bodum Coffee Press.  The classic one.  The one everyone has.  The one that's painfully bereft of any volumetric measurements...

...until now.

I was very pleased to discover that the newest model does indeed have measurements.  Though they are only for "cups" rather than the "ounces" referred to in the instruction manual, I'm still happy there's finally something there.

Just for fun, here's a CoffeeGeek Manual on how to prepare perfect french press coffee.

A Surreal Week

I have the very unique position of substitute teaching in the school district where I received my own K-12 education; the same district where my mom taught for most of her career.  I have been using this second fact to network as much as I can, dropping my mom's name left and right, as many people know and respect her work.

Just recently, I have been coming up against the first fact, and it's been wigging me out more than a little.

Last week, I was in a K room, and one of the moms dropping off her kid was a classmate of mine.  A second mom came up to greet me, as her kid was in a different class.  The next day, I was in my mom's classroom.  The kids were perfect.  I attribute this to their dispositions, to the work and expectations of their regular teacher, and, to the room itself.  This same day, the kids did an Earth Day activity with some of the older kids, which meant I worked with my own first grade teacher, who now teaches fifth grade at mom's school. 

It gets even weirder.

This week, I broke the high school barrier.  I've been fearing high school, but it turns out to be a world easier than middle school, and actually quite easy.  You see, I've had this notion for a long time now that middle school students feel the need to assert their superiority, and that high school students already know that they're better than you, and no longer need to prove it.

I started off at my rival high school, over on the rougher end of town.  I confess, I was nervous.  I had three English classes and two Drama classes.  Aside from a little too much talking (particularly from the supposedly better disciplined ROTC kids), most of the students buckled down and did their assigned in-class essay.  I had fun telling them I'd attended the other high school, receiving jeers while the walls were coming down.  I'd prepared for the Drama classes with a long list of improv rules and games, and the kids actually listened to what I was saying.  The advanced kids did a great job on short solo pieces describing the significance of a single object from different points of view, and the very best part came at the end of the day, with time for just one more, as they all said, "Now YOU do one!"

*sniff!*

But the wiggiest experience of all came yesterday, when I subbed at my high school.  I walked into the building and discovered that it still smells the same.  Not an offensive smell, just a distinctive smell that transported me back in time.  I mentioned to the kids that I'd attended their school, and added that I'd attended at the same time as another present teacher (but left out the bit about him being my first boyfriend - that's pulling in the big guns).  The office manager was in my class, and one of the attendance staff was the omnipresent PTA mom while I was growing up.  Very, very strange.

I spoke with Mr. Classmate (who is teaching in the room where I basically lived, doing Yearbook for all four years) as well as my favorite teacher (still there), and they agreed that high school subbing isn't so scary after all, and that people who sub for middle school are indeed out of their minds.

I didn't particularly like high school, yet as I walked around campus, I remembered tiny things that had transpired here and there, and I'm actually looking forward to going back.  At the same time, playing "This is Your Life" every single day is seriously weirding me out.

Tiny Little Things

Today, shortly after I seized a "teachable moment" (the kids were supposed to be doing language arts stuff but had out a sheet of geometric shapes so I was showing them how you can look at the root of a word and learn things about what it describes..."tri" and "quad" and " oct" and etc...) one girl, who was eating it up, asked me, "How many classes have you taken on how to teach?  Because you're really good!"

This made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

(The answer:  zero.)

"Sure, I love teaching science...no matter what age..."

Today was beyond trying, and I only wish that incessant pencil sharpening was the worst thing that I had to deal with.

But that's all in the past now, as I was just introduced to this thing, perhaps once of the coolest intersection-of-science-and-art simple little web things I've seen in a long time.

Maybe I'll stay home tomorrow and just watch that all day.

The Stuff of Nightmares

...or at least posts about annoying little things in life.

Electric pencil sharpeners?  Bad news!  Oh sure, they save time, they're kind of fun to use, and the manual ones tend to jam, but get one of these things in a room full of schoolchildren, and the resulting effect is that of an entire day of "zzZZZZzzzzz ....zzzZZZZZZzzzzz ....zzZZZZZZzzzzz!!!"

I'm not even making up the magnitude of this annoyance, as evidenced by an entire thread about electric pencil sharpeners on a sub teacher forum.  I have since found even more references to this issue, sprinkled among countless lists of things that challenge the sensibilities, including issues like arm-tapping and tattling.

I've started instituting "Okay, you have one minute to sharpen pencils!" instructions, because after one day of having kids up and down for the entire class period with that noise, I had to do something. 

If [Our US Leaders Would Admit That They] Only Had a Brain

From a NYT opinion piece :

"From Singapore to Japan, politicians pretend to be smarter and better- educated than they actually are, because intellect is an asset at the polls. In the United States, almost alone among developed countries, politicians pretend to be less worldly and erudite than they are (Bill Clinton was masterful at hiding a brilliant mind behind folksy Arkansas sayings about pigs).

Alas, when a politician has the double disadvantage of obvious intelligence and an elite education and then on top of that tries to educate the public on a complex issue — as Al Gore did about climate change — then that candidate is derided as arrogant and out of touch.

The dumbing-down of discourse has been particularly striking since the 1970s. Think of the devolution of the emblematic conservative voice from William Buckley to Bill O’Reilly. It’s enough to make one doubt Darwin.

There’s no simple solution, but the complex and incomplete solution is a greater emphasis on education at every level. And maybe, just maybe, this cycle has run its course, for the last seven years perhaps have discredited the anti-intellectualism movement. President Bush, after all, is the movement’s epitome — and its fruit."

Poptastic

As many of you know, I am something of a popcorn aficionado.  Not only do I enjoy popcorn, but it serves as an important measure of my psychological state.  For example, if I'm feeling down, I'm probably not in the mood for popcorn.  If my demeanor is improving, the desire for popcorn often serves as an outside indicator that things are looking up.  But it's not only a comfort food, it's also a tasty treat.

I've been eating popcorn for as long as I can remember.  My parents used to make popcorn almost every night, and I'd get a small bowl for myself.  As time went on, I would get a larger bowl.  I remember standing on a stool, watching the first kernels pop, on our now-defunct Wear-Ever air popper (IMHO, the finest air popper ever made, hands-down).  After an extensive search for another air popper (I look down my nose at the microwave variety), I settled on the Presto model, after a few bad experiences with less pricey models.

I wasn't a bit surprised as I read Slate's article on popcorn poppers as they confirmed all of the experiences that I've had over the years.  I've even tried their #2, and that's the same place I'd rank it, after years of scientific experimentation.

Three cheers for popcorn!

Silver Lining Count: 1

The past two weeks have been mired in annoying "grown-up stuff": dealing with phone company shenanigans, more calls to said company to get my internet working properly (turns out they'd keyed in the wrong service codes or something and I was getting speeds ten times less than the speed I was paying for....I immediately started throwing geek terms at them on the phone, to avoid being asked if I'd first checked to see if the power had been turned on...), a huge mess involving three different agents at the medical insurance company telling me three completely different things, up to and including, "You can't have any more medical coverage under x plan, so neener," (you see, I've been trained by mom to basically not set foot outside sans coverage, so after being told "No problem!" last week and everyone else saying, "We're sorry but that was false information and you are screwed," this week, well, that did not go over well.)

Where do the silver linings come in?  Besides the fact that one agency (car insurance) took my money no problem, the silver lining comes with the realization that I have people who can help me with these bureaucratic agencies, and without this support, things might be a lot more dire than they are.  I had help getting proper information to throw at the phone company, both in terms of the service itself, and with how to talk to the geeks.  After multiple calls to the medical insurance company, Tom got on the line and straightened things out, reminding me that as an agent, he is paid to do such things.  But without this support, I'd likely be without a phone working the way it should, and I'd be at the mercy of whatever customer service agent I got that day for medical insurance, whose advice may or may not agree with their official policies.

Thanks to all of my support networks; together, we will fight The Man.  My sincere sympathies go out to those without such support - it's a tough fight out there.

I *Heart* The Man

"Hi I ordered service that began on March 10, but due to some problems on your end, I didn't have service until yesterday, March 19, so I need my bill to reflect that."

"We don't do that." (terse)

"But my service didn't begin until a week and a half after billing began."

"There's no way I can do that." (curt)

"But three technicians came out and did all sorts of work on the outside line and there are records of service calls all over the place and can I have a credit or something?"

"Maybe I can arrange a credit." (terse and curt)

"Uhhh..."

"Let me call the repair department - please hold." (impatient)

*elevator music*

"I can't get them on the line for another five minutes or so, but I am going to credit you with one month of phone service at $10.69." (chucking to herself ever so silently)

"Er, wait a minute, I've also been unable to use internet service [which is $30 on top of the phone line charge]..."

"We don't credit for internet, only the phone line, and that's one month at $10.69." (as if she's doing me a favor)

"Who do I talk to about internet billing?"

"That would be me." (with the voice of someone who knows she's the boss of me)

"Um..."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" (sickly sweet)

"No."

*mutter*

Yay, Phone! Now Don't Call Me!

Three repair people later (the guy today said, "I'm not leaving until you have a dial tone,"), each one guaranteeing that the next would not need inside access, and each one knocking on the door for inside access, I have a phone!  I've also joined the Space Age with an active internet connection, which is good, as my "borrowed" neighborhood connection was getting pretty spotty.

I've now had an active line for about an hour and a half.  I received one call from Abigail, and a half hour later, I got a telemarketing call from the police.

Folks, if you haven't done so already, add yourself to the National Do Not Call Registry.  That is, unless you enjoy speaking with telemarketers.

Hooray For Geek Speak!

So the plan was this: my stepdad was going to head over, bearing his telecommunications knowledge from the military, a frogsuit, suction cups for scaling the outside of the building, an armful of telephone wire, a flashlight, newspapers and boiling water, and a volt meter. 

This volt meter is the thing that confirmed that my five jacks were, in fact, dead.

After my three unsuccessful attempts to find the *&$%^ telephone box around and under the house, he located it, requiring us to climb over a rusty washing machine, under an asbestos-laden heater duct, and up onto a dirt-covered platform.   I learned that my previous experience with a phone box involved one that was newer, and that you can't count on a jack being at said box.  I learned that old wires are never taken completely away, meaning that in this 100+ year-old house, there were quite a few wires hanging around doing nothing but being confusing.   I learned that you can tell which little connections are active by using a volt meter, as the active ones are carrying 53 volts.  I also learned that if a phone is ringing, it should be carrying 120 volts.  We both learned that if you set my new, touchpad-pleasing number to ring (from a cellphone), it will ring all day long and not activate any of the connections with even one volt (a far cry from 120), meaning that no signal is being received at the box.

Back on the phone to wrestle with the automated phone system to ATT.  I'm not sure if there is anything else in the world that raises my blood pressure more than automated phone systems.  

Though they don't do service calls on Sundays, they do (eventually) have live people on the line to take repair requests.  I established my identity, and then put Tom on the phone to throw some big words at them, up to and including "point of demarcation".

Never mind my own futile attempts to get them to do something; ten seconds after hearing "inactive point of demarcation" they ran some test that took even less time than that and stopped talking about $425 service calls and instead said, "yep, the problem is on our end".  

This theoretically means that my phone will be working by this afternoon, if they follow through with their 12-4pm service window.

I've decided my very first phone call will be to the billing department, to change the date of service.

Thanks, Tom!

First Aid for the Elementary Set

In my travels as a substitute teacher, I am running into a number of very mild cases of, well, mostly nothing.  I have determined that first aid for elementary school children is pretty universal, and as long as there's no actual bleeding, it goes pretty much like this:

2nd grade and below:  

The child has a (real or imagined) bump, and they think that attention will solve their problem. There's nothing a school nurse can do, and no sign that anything is actually wrong.  No blood, walking and talking is normal, and nobody's doubled over in pain.  In these cases, I will root around on the teacher's desk for some sort of small stuffed animal, or even a colorful pencil, and do some hocus pocus: "This here is a make-your-finger-feel-better-teddy-bear.  It will touch your finger three times, and after about a half an hour, your finger will feel all better." This usually does the trick.

3rd grade and above:

Now we're generally looking at a ploy to get out of the classroom.  I know they're not going to fall for three special touches from a magic pencil, so if complaints persist, I'll give them a pass to go to the office for...ice.  Ice will treat anything from a bump to a headache to the need to get out of class for ten minutes.

If only ice could solve my telephone problems.

Oh, woe is me!

I've been quite excited about once again having a telephone line.  A plain old local line.  A line so I don't need to arrange elaborate visits to someone else's house to conduct phone interviews with a reliable connection.  A line so I can stop going over my monthly allotment of cell minutes.  A line so I can also pay for internet.  A line so I can stop holding a we-don't-really-know-what-the-long-term-effects-of-these things-are cell phone so close to my brain all day long.

Today, my phone line was turned on.  It's a cool number that makes a very pleasing pattern on the keypad.  You can call it and you'll get a nice ring tone.  Only problem:  my jacks in the apartment are dead.  All five of them.  Clearly, this place has been wired, and it's been wired pretty well, as the aforementioned five jacks are in a pretty small space.  

Upon calling the phone company, I learned that they did indeed turn the line on at the box.  I also learned that one's California landlord is required to provide the first jack.  I furthermore learned that you can contract whoever you want to do the work on said jack, and that AT&T charges $425.

This is not a conversation I want to have with my new landlord, who gave me a rent reduction to move in.

Just as I have been learning more than I ever wanted to know about the inner workings of toilets, tomorrow I guess I'll be learning all about how multiple-line phone boxes work.

Nancy Who?

I have been doing a lot of substitute teaching, and my most cush days so far have been spent in the school Media Center.  This is what we used to call "The Library", as it now includes computer time for the lil' dickenses.  

It's been kind of fun rediscovering some of my own favorite books as I've made the reshelving rounds, however I've also noticed some new versions of my old standbys that don't quite cut it.  Most notably, the Nancy Drew series, still presumably authored by "Carolyn Keene" (which always included a number of ghost writers), has gone way downhill.  

A beloved relative gave me my first Nancy Drew book, The Crooked Banister.  After this, I remember trips to the bookstore carefully selecting what looked like the spookiest, most ghostly adventures, solved by the brainy Nancy along with her trusty Scooby Gang.  Remember, this was before Scooby Gangs even existed, so this was some forward-looking literature.  These books had it all:  a strong female lead, slightly unusual female supporting characters, and wonderfully scary scenarios.

You can still find the classic volumes in today's school Media Centers, however they are surrounded by newer works such as The Fashion Disaster (featuring a fashion show for dogs) and Sleepover Sleuths (including, of course, a pajama fashion show).

Need I say more?

Breaking Those Ikea Chains of Love

I am writing this post sitting on my sofa, using the computer that is sitting on my coffee table, all wrapped up in the melt-in-your-mouth flaky crust that is my apartment.  I had an amazing moving crew last week (was it only last week?) who packed, schlepped, and unpacked boxes of, er, stuff, scattered all over the Bay Area (okay, in three distinct places).  I am left with a bunch of boxes, the contents of some which haven't been explored in over two years, and quite frankly I have been living quite fine without.  On the other hand, I am finally using some kitchen stuff that has never seen the light of day, and I am rediscovering clothes that have missed me.

I feel very, very lucky to have found this place, and even luckier to have such an amazing group of friends who made the moving process go better than I could have imagined.  

I am slowly amassing furniture, and managing to mostly avoid Ikea in the process.  A few Ikea pieces here and there work for me, but I have no interest in making my place into that early scene from Fight Club.  

I am a comparison-shopping aficionado, and can tell you exactly what you should be buying at Target, at Trader Joe's, and what you should save for a Costco trip.  I am making more trips to Bed and Bath than I'd like, using two coupons at a time.  They'd like you to enter the store, use one "loss leader" coupon, and then purchase additional items at full price.  I'm hip to their scam, and I will as many visits as it takes.  There's an outlet close to my sub-work, so this isn't requiring any extra car trips.

This type of monetary obsession reminds me, it's time to find that Real Job(tm).

Time Marches On

I once celebrated a number of birthdays today, but I am taking a break from celebrating them this year.

I find this makes me a bit sad.

Perhaps I will celebrate them again someday.

Home Sweet Home

It's true, I have scored My First Apartment.  It's amazing how many offers I've had, over other people yet, with no income!  This whole job thing is next on my list, as one cannot live on subbing alone, particularly if one is looking for a healthy psyche.  

I'll be living on the top floor of a mansion, in a 100 year-old building with some really neat architectural details.  And the kitchen?  It's in the turret.  I've looked at a lot of places, and I usually bring along cameras and tape measures and I go home and pour over details and do math and study bus schedules, but for this place?  I just knew I wanted it.  The one typical thing I did was time the walk (yes, with a stopwatch) from the local commercial district to the house.  6 minutes, 43 seconds.

As of March 1, I will begin life as someone who has a fridge with *only* her own food in it.

Housewarming festivities may take a little while, as the aforementioned job situation will make furniture acquisition a gradual process.

Hooray!

This is the Reason I Don't Give My Friends with Children Toys That Make Noise

Heard as I was subbing in the media center today:

*annoying electronic chirp chirp chirp*

"What's that noise?"

"It's that book."

"I think I'm done with that book."

Dear readers, never, ever, ever give your friends with children gifts that make an electronic noise.  An instrument or some blocks to pound against one another, now that's one thing, but something that goes *beep beep beep*...just say no.

Also heard today:

"I'm going to follow you around now."

That was nipped in the bud.

All in all, however, the day in the media center was pretty chill, especially since I'd been up coughing half the night, with lucid dreams of having to read out loud all day, thereby doing my barely-hanging-on-voice in for good.  No reading out loud today, just some minor chirping books.

Change the Channel!

Is it just me, or are there others out there who are equally annoyed by the down-home, non-threatening folksy wisdom dispatched by Garrison Keillor on A Prairie Home Companion?

My local public radio station plays most of its shows twice a day, and on the weekends, it repeats some of the same shows on both days.  This means that at any given hour on the radio, A Prairie Home Companion is playing.  Two hours of Guy Noir.  Two hours of the ketchup board and that powdered milk song.  Two hours of an appreciative Minnesota audience knowingly getting down with their wholesome Lutheran roots.

I sort of can't stand it.

The Most Important Meal of the Day

So most of my sub jobs so far have been last-minute affairs.  I leap into action after an early-morning phone call, dashing off to the school as I lace my shoes, desperately tossing together a PB&J sandwich which then gets crammed it into my bag (which I don't even like).

Today, I was pretty excited to have had advance notice about my job.  I put together a nice lunch, complete with water and snacks.  Tea in hand, I sauntered out the door.  As I approached the car, I realized something very important:

In all of my excitement about lunch, I had completely forgotten to eat breakfast.

Oops.

Herding Cats

You'd think that first graders would be pretty easy.  In reality a day spent with first graders is a day of cat-herding.  They are very into their routines, and have a hard time if things are a little different. 

Like, for example, if they have a substitute teacher who might not be familiar with every nuance of every moment of every day.  They get a little stressed out.

I've also discovered that they respond only to very specific words.  The lesson plans called for a practice spelling test.  I thought "test" sounded a little hardcore, so I wrote down that we were having a "quiz".

Child: "Quiz?  We don't have quizzes."

Me: "Do you have tests?"

Child: "Yes."

Me: "Okay, we're having a test."

Child: "Oh, okay."

They seem to enjoy upsetting each other by calling names.  Here's an example:

Child (crying): "He called me a BURRITO!"

Me: "Well, are you a burrito?"

Child (sniffling): "No..."

Me: "Then don't listen to him."

One of the kids says he's getting me a ring for Valentine's Day.  I was hoping for a special valentine this year...I just didn't think it'd come in the form of a Transformers card.

It's the Little Things

I have had a brand-new can opener in storage for almost three years.  Since it became mine, I have been using a wide variety of, in my opinion, extremely sub-par can openers, usually in the homes of those who don't do much cooking.  

I just used my new can opener, the one I selected to meet my exacting specifications, the one that topped off an Amazon order for free shipping, for the first time.

I feel complete.

Rubber and Latex: Always in Style

Porter the Linkmaster has done it again. I've seen some fabulous fashions in my day, and I love nothing better than creating party outfits out of cardboard and hot glue, old CDs, or giant pieces of paper. Next time I'm invited to a special event, I may try my hand at creating a dress made entirely out of balloons.

Of course, as we discovered at Abigail and Joshua's New Year's Day party, if you don't have any balloons on hand, you can always grab a condom.

Improv Gone Wild

Due to a particular confluence of events, I began taking improv classes in 1998.  I loved it from my very first day.  Since then, I have taken a healthy portion of classes, participated in private groups, done some instruction, and performed for 1000 kids at a time, using improv as part of a science presentation.  I've had a few moments of brilliance, some of utter failure, and many others that were just sort of in-between.

Good improv is absolutely sublime, and bad improv reminds us all that while performing without a net doesn't work 100% of the time, it's okay to try.  Even the experts make fools of themselves some of the time.

But I'm not here to talk about bad improv.  I am here to illustrate some amazing improv.  There's an organization in NYC called Improv Everywhere.  They don't do off off off Broadway community theater.  No, they amass large groups of people and do some large-scale weirding out.  

Porter alerted me to an amazing YouTube clip of Improv Everywhere, as they set about  freezing time in Grand Central Station.

After watching the video, I thought of a similar stunt I'd heard on an episode of This American Life - yep, it was the same group.  This time, they'd stormed a nightclub performance of a tiny local rock band that nobody had ever heard of, making it look like they had a million rabid fans.  As with all TAL episodes, poignant observations relating to the nature of human interaction ensued.

Improv *and* Ira Glass?  I am one happy camper!

"You All Everybody"

Mmmm, Driveshaft.

Catchy enough to serve as an anthem for an entire weekend.  A minute to learn...and a lifetime to get out of your head.

I Am Good, I Am

After much internal bargaining and attempted negotiation this morning, I hit the gymette.  

I win!

After tossing some ersatz lunch down my throat, it's time for another meeting with a potential part-time employer.  I seem to be amassing part-time work at a rapid clip.  This is something I am quite used to, however my long-standing dream continues to include visions of only one W-2 form to deal with during tax season.

The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love

After staying up too late doing nothing in particular, I got a 7:30am phone call.  Am I available to fill in a sub spot for 8th graders?  "Yes," I said, "I can do that." Commence a mad dash around the house, in and out of the shower, making sure I'm wearing shoes with heels to augment my height, tossing food into my mouth, throwing together a lunch, and checking that my shirt comes up high enough soas to not pull a Hillary.  I realize that this adrenaline rush isn't going to last forever, and hurry some black tea into a travel mug.  It's not as much caffeine as I'd like to have for this occasion, but it's better than nothing.

fast forward seven hours

Well, nothing caught on fire.  I managed to maintain an almost dead calm the entire day.  Anything else would have been just Too Much.

Strangely, this type of temping still feels better to me than does temping in the form of filing papers inside a highrise.

So Far, So Good

So far, I'd have to say that 2008 is aok.

Cheek to Cheek

I am a dancer. I've always been a dancer. It's part of who I am, and who I'd like to continue to be. Dancing took a back seat while in grad school, but present circumstances are allowing for more opportunities to dance than I've had in a while. Ballroom, swing, morris, 80's... you name it, and I'll be lacing up the appropriate shoes.

I was a tad frustrated at the Edwardian Ball this weekend. It was my first time in attendance, and while there was definitely eye candy all 'round, there wasn't as much dancing as I'd anticipated. While the bands (all very fun) were playing, the goths just weren't dancing. They weren't even goth dancing (once very accurately described to me as "being on fire in slow motion"). There were specific points in the program meant for ballroom dancing, but isn't all music made for dancing?

Sheesh.

In related news, tailcoats are the bomb.  Doesn't really matter what kind; they can traditional, they can be goth, but they should just be, early and often.

Enjoy this example of a tailcoat in proper action (and the dress ain't half-bad, either).

"...before they made real video games."

So I was in said Local Coffeeshop, when I heard this:

"So my dad is like an expert at Pac Man...from college...you know, before they made real video games..."

The senior high school girls sitting behind me were trying to figure out how to play the tabletop Ms. Pac Man machine. It was one of those new-fangled tabletops, where you can choose among several "classic" games. After their first round, I heard them going through the list, "Donkey Kong...what's that? Centipede...I don't know any of these!"

I couldn't stop myself from turning around and saying, "Centipede is one of the best games ever - you should try it." They asked how to play and I offered to coach them through a session ("If you see a little spider coming at you, you need to get it fast") but $1 was a bit steep for a game and they turned their attention elsewhere.

Net result: I felt at once "old", and yet superior in my taste in video games.

I resisted telling them to run out and see "The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters", a fabulous David and Goliath style documentary, featuring a mild-mannered Bellevue, WA resident against a Floridian hot sauce magnate... you just have to see it.

I think their dad would like it.

They're Following Me

I am quite suddenly experiencing so many blasts from the past that I wouldn't be that surprised if I looked outside and saw people sporting bell bottoms.

Pumped Up and (I Hope) Staph Free

Just finished cleaning up after checking out the 24 Hour Fitness, literally across the street. I need to get myself back into the gym and have friends who are satisfied customers, so I thought I'd give it a try. It's a "circuit training" facility, meaning that you spend one minute on each of twentysomething machines. This bodes well for my college-developed mantra, "If you save everything until the last minute, it only takes a minute," but the by-the-books health and safety side me me wants more evidence (see previous sunscreen and earplug post). My previous gym experience included hand-picking a trainer (I selected the one pursuing her PhD in exercise stuff), and then getting a personalized workout plan, complete with math. The circuit scene is very much one size fits all.

It's proving difficult to find any articles that aren't sponsored by a circuit training outfit, but if they're out there, I'll find them. Oh yes, I will find them.

Joining a gym also sports an alluring air of danger due to a big ole staph epidemic making the rounds in the Bay Area right now.

The L Word

"L" is for "Lifeline". The lifeline that I keep ripping back to, or one of four or five at my disposal. I knit for about three hours today, and the jury's out on whether any actual progress has been made. The lacelike object currently vexing me is the Shetland Triangle Shawl, from Wrap Style. I am working it in Elsebeth Lavold's Silky Tweed, color Claret, size 8 KP Options Needles. Loving the points, particularly after going back to some older projects and working with with non KP needles.

I continue to be amazed at the persistence I display when it comes to this hobby, because usually, giving up is a far more attractive option.

Like Falling Back Onto a Log

Today, along with much of the rest of the country, I got up and went to work. This isn't ordinarily so interesting, but I haven't had full-time work since I went to grad school (and still don't) so I found it very refreshing and novel.

My task? Present tarantula facts to squirmy second and third-graders, along accompanied by a Real Live Tarantula.

I find this type of work immeasurably easier and more natural than, say, answering phones in a busy office.

Though this was a one-morning gig, I'm anticipating more, so this is good. Between this and serving the great county of Alameda as a substitute teacher, I *will* continue to put food on the table (said while shaking a determined fist into the air).

A Real Job(tm) continues to elude me.

Buzzing With Potential Energy

Today I had fingerprints taken for an emergency teaching credential, which will allow me to be abused for up to 30 days apiece in any number of Bay Area classrooms. It felt good to actually put these papers I've been carrying around to use (college transcripts, passport, and etc.). I also talked to a woman at a museum where I will be teaching a class tomorrow morning - this may lead to other classes. So I'm finally starting to get some potential coals into the fire and things are just starting to look semi-decent at least in terms of being able to pay rent and eat, fine, fine, good good.

So we can just leave things as they are but wait a second, who is that I see walking down the street while I'm sitting in the aforementioned Local Coffee Shop but an old acquaintance who now works for an organization that, well, let's just say that I was very happy to have run into him, and I am going to be forwarding my current information.

I am buzzing with so much potential energy that I am writing run-on sentences and I don't even care.

Fingerprints...again.

Today I get to head to Hayward to get yet another set of fingerprints taken. I have been fingerprinted in California three or four times, and in Seattle once. Or was that twice? I've definitely been background checked twice there.

I keep waiting for them to come up with something interesting.

My Local Coffee Shop Annoys Me

While in Seattle, I got into the coffee shop "scene". It's a perfect setup: lots of rain means there are lots of cozy places to settle in for the day. Here in the Bay Area, there aren't a lot of places that have it down. There's either not enough seating, or the atmosphere is all wrong. The coffee shop up the street has the right atmosphere, and there are plenty of places to sit, and the food's fine, but the staff just rubs me the wrong way. They busy themselves playing music way too loud, or way too ironically (today it was "classic soul" a la Smokey Robinson and the Supremes), and shouting to each other, jumping around in ways that are designed to garner attention, and just generally acting cooler-than-thou.

True though this may be, they don't need to rub it in.

Reconnecting With My Roots

After going to New Wave City the other evening, I've found myself listening to a bunch of my older CDs, and loving every minute of it. Last night I stumbled across a very bizarre interpretation of Duran Duran songs, apparently performed by a string quartet. You can listen to some samples on iTunes, or right here on Amazon.

The other ridiculous thing I did last night was finish up a knitting project, that just turned out silly. My favorite response to my worry, "are the bows too big?" came from Joshua, who said, "Define too big!"

They remain Too Big, which is just as they should be.

Finished Something! Well, almost.

A pair of gloves is *almost* finished. All I need is a nice piece of ribbon and that'll be that. I began them at a grad student retreat on Whidbey Island last year, when a bunch of us decided to get together on a weekend and talk shop. Someone was illustrating a point by saying something about how we're surrounded by X and Y all the time, but we don't take conscious notice of it. Then they said, "For example, we're all, oh I don't know, we're all wearing socks, but we don't even notice things like that."

I stopped the comment and said, "Er, I've actually noticed every one of your socks today."

So anyway, I have these nice gloves to remind me of that day's adventure and that's fun.

Tomorrow morning I get to hang at the social security office to get a replacement card - that oughta be an adventure!

And as for right now: I have me some Peter Murphy on the stereo, and I couldn't be more satisfied.

Girls on Film

I'm going to New Wave City tonight for the first time in, well, a few years. Should be fun - it's Duran Duran night! So I'm heading out into gale-force weather today to get a couple of things I need, most notably...earplugs. This goes well with my declaration that, if faced with the prospect of being trapped on a desert island, the first thing I would want to have is...sunscreen.

You can count on me for health and safety basics.

No, *Really*, a Finishing Frenzy!

I am doing what I can to make FOs out of UFOs, with varying degrees of success. It'd be nice if I had room to block, or at least a steady paycheck to get me some o' them interlocking foam tile things from Amazon that are manufactured for use in baby rooms.

Oh by the way, I am back in the San Francisco Bay Area, slowly getting my life back on track. I am a master (or a mistress, depending on who's asking), and the jobs are sadly not yet rolling in.