handgun

This picture summarizes some of the problems I will likely encounter once school starts.  See my hand?  Gun position?  In case you're wondering, there's an accompanying noise I make when I let my hand get all gangsta (which is happening with alarming frequency).  The noise isn't pretty, either--a kind of tongue-clicking, should you insist I label it.  

Teachers are supposed to exude a certain, "authority."  Cue: Regan problems.  

In addition to busting out violent-ish hand signals, I have developed a pseudo-gangster way of speaking, which incorporates poor grammar and mild slang.  I blame both Conlin and the show The Wire.  

My current mantra is as follows:

I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  I will not call my students, "homies."  

Maybe I'm not doing a sufficient job illustrating my lack of discipline in the above-mentioned areas.  A story might help.  A couple semesters ago I was walking down a somewhat-crowded hall, when someone called my name.  My body reacted far faster than my mind.  Without registering who was calling me, I flipped around and--you guessed it--made my weird clicking noise/gun signal.  Had I been quicker to register the voice of my 70-year-old professor, I may have been able to holster my gun.  It is safe to say my professor was mentally and emotionally unprepared for my, literal, handgun.  

Buena suerte a mí el 21 de agosto.