Internet porn is pretty cool. And iTunes. And Google, etc. But the best thing ever to come off the internet? Yacht Rock.

Woah, nellie

Six hours on a Saturday to grade my student work. I haven't even started planning next week's lessons yet! That's likely another six hours tomorrow.

The fact that the administration at my school fills up all my on-clock planning time with pointless meetings is going to be a big problem for me. I don't mind working ten or twelve extra hours a week, but fifteen or twenty is too much.

Day 5

"Dag, yo! This class be trifflin'! Mr. G, if I bring my mutha up in hyeah kin I get transferred to another class?" One of my students asked me this during period four, after I had to scream again and sit everyone down. She was tearing up because she always tries to do her work and while she and two or three others try to learn I am rushing around breaking up munchkin fisticuffs.

I'm not sure what the logic is behind our current class arrangements, but grouping every problem child in the sixth grade into one homeroom and having them spend the day wearing teachers out is not conducive to learning. I'm not particularly angry or frustrated by this group, because my attitude is to just strap in and enjoy the ride. Their antics are always entertaining, and there's no sense getting angry at them. I tell them the truth: I yell because I'm disappointed, not because I'm angry (though when they almost knocked my LCD projector on the floor I did let my temper get the best of me--I'm out $600 on that piece of equipment, and I use it every day).

I think at the next sixth grade team meeting I'm going to suggest breaking this class up into more manageable chunks. There is a core of six boys and three girls who cause all the trouble. If two of them were in a room it would fine, and we could easily disperse them amongst the other sections instead of turning one section into the Arkham Asylum.

I like these kids, however. One of the worst behavior problems handed me a note today. "Don't read it in front of anyone," he said. I opened it after school and it said "I like you Mr. G. You are a good man. I like your class and but you is nice and smart. I try to be better. 4 yo and other teaching people."

Another of these hoodlums is a wreck all day every day until the end, when he meekly asks me to walk him out of the building and across the street to his mother. "Someone hasslin' you?" I asked him, and he nodded, but I can get no further info because of the no snitchin' code.

Karaoke tonight with the Booker T. fac at Kelly's, aaiiiigggght?

Now is the time

I retired from political comment here out of necessity more than a year ago--I was too busy with grad school and grade school last year, and my level of bile rose dangerously high any time I watched network or cable coverage of any speech or candidate, and I canceled my subscriptions to The Nation and the Times and the Post. I haven't been the devoted politico junkie I used to be in some time.

But I tuned in last night for Barack Obama's speech. I read his book, I've sent him cha-ching, I've cast off my former unwillingness to back Dems because of him, so I figured I should see what he had to say in Denver.

I was moved. Obama doesn't come across as artificial the way HRC or other Dems do. He actually DID leave Harvard and go work in the slums of Chicago instead of making bank as a lawyer. I can respect a brother with those kinds of cajones. Anyone willing to forego six figures to organize poor folks to fight for their rights can say "This election is not about me, it's about you" without causing me to puke. He pleased me by mentioning GBLT rights. I liked the fact that he was aggressive about defending himself against bogus charges of anti-Americanism (and he better keep it up. There are adults working in my school who believe Obama is going to turn Booker T. into a madrassa day 1).

Do I worry about his associations with Chicago School economists? Hell yeah. Do I worry about Joe Biden sitting in the VP's office with his tongue deep up several credit-card company CEO's asses? Hell yeah. But I think Obama is for real.

My students wrote letters to him for homework. I gave them the option of writing to McCain too but only a couple did. I am sending their letters to both candidates.

#54

Every now and again I likes me some Dick, and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch was some of the best Dick I ever had. Of course Dick is an acquired taste, what with the never quite knowing whether you're in real reality or a variety of the pseudo-, and here there are the usual pre-cogs and the layers and levels and quadrillion associated narrative complications associated with such.

Dudes who have been drafted by the UN to colonize Mars eat a drug called Can-D in order to escape into an artificial toy world, inhabiting briefly but realistically the lives of a doll named Perky Pat* and her companion on a miniature layout. Along comes a drug called Chew-Z which takes things to a whole other level, and Bernie Mayerson can't figure out if Chew-Z is the second coming of God or an alien invasion. Neither can the reader, but who cares? It's damn good Dick.

*I swear Perky Pat was in at least one Dick story I read before.

Day 4

I thought I was doing pretty well, having only intervened to prevent one fight in three days. Ha! Day 4 saw me intervene in three fights, one between girls in my typically calm first period, and another two during oft-chaotic period four. But other than that things went rather smoothly. I think when I put Mr. East Baltimore against the wall using only the palm of my hand and pinned him there I sent a message to the rest of the wanna be munchkin thugs in that class: Mr. G go hard. Of course I slammed him into the nice cushy bulletin board so he was in no danger of harm. Next time he makes his table mate cry and tries to choke him I will dangle his ass out the window.

Period 4 lined up backs to the wall before I let them sit today. I called them one by one to get their folders and take their seats. They all did at least part of their classwork today, and they wrote apologies to the principal for their behavior yesterday. I think I am winning respect from some of the clowns in that class. I can tell because they stop glaring at me and they start asking me what kinds of movies I like, and if I ever coached football.

Period 2 is still in honeymoon mode. No problems at all. I know their time will come. They haven't seen me blow my stack yet. We read about volcanoes and one of their warm-up options was "Some people are described as having a 'volcanic temper.' What do you think that means." Several students used me as an example.

Day 3

My first two classes? Angels. They follow directions, they do their work, if I raise my voice they jump. There are some snotty brats and a couple chatterboxes--big deal! I love them all. Two boys threw down their backpacks in my second class today and started to push each other. I got between them, told them firmly this doesn't happen in my room, and asked each one separately to do me a favor and work things out like grown ups, and they were laughing and joking and making illustrations together at the end of class. Some of these sixth graders are so tiny I can't believe it. One little boy I swear looks like a second grader. He tells me crazy stories like: "Mr G I swim at a pool that is 100 feet deep. I can almost touch the bottom but I can't hold my breath long enough" or "I was riding a roller coaster and I slipped out the bottom and landed in the pool at the bottom of a loop." He is the tiniest little pudge with cornrows and a mustache and there is no roller coaster outside Dutch Wonderland that he is tall enough to ride.

I love my last class too, but it is full of head-cases. We had a sixth grade team meeting today and I asked our administrator why all the nutbags were couped up together. The teachers who had this group already today warned me that another goofball had flown in from Dunbar Middle. The administration tried to explain how East Baltimore kids were different from West B'more, and that the new kid would have an even shorter fuse and he would be frontin' hard to prove himself.

When this class came in they were a nightmare right off the bat; the new kid was a whirlwind of incitement, moving around and starting trouble. Of course the principal happened to be walking by just as I was trying to get them settled. He came in my class and said "I don't run a zoo!" He took two young ladies to his office for acting out and returned them ten minutes later. I was struggling the whole class period to reign these kids in, and finally I blew up. "Silence!" I shrieked in my scary voice. The new kid said "dag" and I got right in his face. "I said QUIET!" I moved to the front of the room and continued: "If anyone speaks before the end of class they will get ten minutes with me after school." A boy raised his hand and I shook my head at him. He put it back in his lap. "Now line up against the wall, backs to the wall. NOW. I want to see your eyes on me." I waited for them to form up. "You are going to pick up the trash on the floor NOW, and then you are going to put your folders away and then you are going to sit quietly through the afternoon announcements. Tomorrow you have ten minutes detention in this class. EVERYONE. You speak out of turn, you move without permission, and you are MINE. I AM NOT PLAYING IN HERE ANYMORE. You get on my nerves again and my other classes will get all my treats on Friday. You will get an extra weekend homework. If you follow my procedures and if you follow the rules tomorrow I will take you off my detention list. If you do not I will keep you ten minutes Thursday AND Friday."

DEAD silence ensued for the next ten minutes. My room was spic and span. They lined up at dismissal and waited quietly. I am making a new seating chart and nobody is going to like their new seat. Tough.

Under Construction

I'm very slowly re-establishing links and other sidebar junque--I beg your patience and forbearance with the reconstruction process. I have to fit repairs in between lesson planning and watching The Wire and music rehearsals.

And sleep.