Beanies and faux leather: scaring students into submission since 2014.
Well, hi. This will be a post about everything and nothing, leaning heavily toward the latter. In semi-chronological order, I present a smattering of life happenings.
:: As second term ended, I announced, in no uncertain terms, the day on which I would accept no more late work. There were of course students who saved copious amounts of work to turn in the day after the late work portal closed. One such student took to harassing me via twitter. His fatal words, "I'll do anything if you accept my work." And, so. A deal was struck.
The following day, before our lesson began, said student had to do an interpretive dance to the Hercules masterpiece, Zero to Hero. He whimpered for the song's entirety, looked completely debased, and made our class very happy. Students shouted dance move suggestions and he half-heartedly obliged. I stood at the back of the room muttering, Remember, this is what procrastination looks like. Humiliation. Let this moment forever sear your memories.
:: One of my students tagged me in a whiny, semi-educational tweet. I said something about student apathy and posted a picture of Homer Simpson smacking his head. Later, he stopped by my classroom with his friend. "Did you see my tweet?!" Me: "Yes. Did you see my response?" Student: "Yeah. Well the thing is...I don't know a lot of the words you use." Me: "Might I suggest downloading dictionary.com? It would fit nicely next to your twitter." His friend let out a whoop and punched him in the arm.
:: An adorable disabled student recently found out where my classroom is. He runs to see me between classes. He talks to me, about me, in third person. "Why is Regan wearing shoes? Why did Regan use the boy's bathroom? [Ahem: I did not.] Why is Regan wearing socks?" Notably, he's taken an unfortunate interest in my feet. He always tries to get me to take my shoes off. For the sake of all involved, I refuse.
:: In class the other day we were talking about, "The American Dream," and meritocracies, when I asked whether anyone knew what meritocracy meant. Me: "It's a word you hear, but may not always know what it means." One of my student raises his hand, "Um...Mrs. Gull? I'm just wondering. Who exactly do you hang out with? Because I sure don't hear my friends saying meritocracy." Me: "I...hang out with books? And a few humans."
:: Now, to wrap up all things crucially important. Last night I was getting Conlin a Haagen Dazs ice cream bar when I had a brain lapse and thought it would be funny to pretend to chuck it at him. [Are those dry attempts at humor ever funny?] I wound up and jerked my arm forward, letting out a dramatic, "Waaaaa!" Conlin didn't even blink because we've been married almost five years and I, to my dismay, continue to do this kind of dumb shit. However. While I had intended for the throw to be staged, the ice cream bar actually broke free from it's wrapper, whacked the coffee table, bounced up at Conlin, and sprayed the room with chocolate shell. His eyes coldly assessed the lunatic in the room, me, while I stood in shock, babbling about my intentions.