I hope that all of you are as full of Tofurkey as I am.

My bed is falling apart.

By way of explanation, when I first moved into Chez Wavelet, I was so busy running around and attending teacher inservices and whathaveyou that I didn't go bed shopping for a week and a half. When I finally went to a mattress type store, it was without preparation or price comparison; I just wanted to stop sleeping on the floor. So, for reasons that I cannot presently recall, I bought a metal futon frame and mattress. Also, I did not pay to have it assembled. I think my logic was "I've looked over other people's shoulders while they were assembling furniture and offered helpful advice scads of time! Scads! Surely this translates into furniture assembling ability...nay, furniture assembling acumen!"

So, they dropped the futon components in all their fragmented glory off at my apartment. The mattress frame and end pieces were bulky, and heavy, and I'm rather a wimp, so I ended up propping various pieces on boxes in an effort to keep them balanced while I screwed other pieces into them. As time went on, my efforts began to diverge from those recommended by the (cryptic) instruction manual. Things kept sliding off, or falling off, or failing to fit. I'm not really sure how I concluded the construction, but I remember that at the end, I had something which looked very much like a bed frame...and several leftover nuts, bolts, screws, and so forth. By then, I was too frustrated to figure out what went wrong, so I shoved the futon in the corner and called it good. Not very good, mind you...

Since that day, a year or so ago, various pieces have been dropping off of the bed frame. First it was washers...then screws...now entire spring things have started to come loose. At this point, it's less together than it is apart. Still, it remains standing. But the end could come any day.

In conclusion, donations to buy me a hammock are solicited. As long as it's one of those no assembly required kinds.

You have no idea how tiring it is to be cheerful and rational and a good example for the impressionable younguns all the livelong day.

Perhaps I'll do more skateboarding off roofs and prank calling congressmen on my off days, to make up for it.

this is a wonderful idea

Catechetical instruction is an activity fraught with danger. Yesterday, for example, I asked my sixth graders to illustrate the corporal works of mercy (e.g. feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty...). Most of them chose to depict "clothe the naked" in a rather literal manner. In fact, most of them drew themselves finding a naked person wandering around outside, and offering them some clothing.

So, here is a PSA whether or not you are in sixth grade:

If you see a naked guy wandering around your local park, do not proceed to chase him around the picnic benches in an effort to clothe him. Rather, leave the area and contact the authorities. Or possibly turn on the sprinkler system.

This happened during my childhood more than you would think. Of course, I grew up in Berkeley.

Parent teacher conferences are over. I love love loooooove most of the parents. They are, by and large, sweet rational helpful human beings who try in all things to do the best for their children, and I'm privileged to be a part of their educational efforts. A new parent came in to tell me how happy her girl, Jasmin*, was in my class, and how much more confident she is in her own abilities. I just about started sniffling, right there.

On the other hand, there is the occasional nutter. I feel sorry for the children of such parents, but really, I'm not doing the kids much good. The model that their parents give them will affect their lives far more than any of my natterings on morality or the pursuit of truth for truth's sake or the importance of not being an utter pain in the arse all the livelong day.

So, really, I'm quite superfluous. The kids of good parents will turn out more or less all right, and my example is not needed; they already have a love of learning and the virtuous life modeled at home. The kids of nutter parents will walk in the way of their forefathers no matter what I say. So why bother? Why not just pack it all in and choose a profession with more dignity and and cash flow...such as, say, a garbage collecter, or meter reader?

Such thoughts occasionally cross my mind. But then I think of Jasmin, who is one of the sweetest kids I've ever been able to teach. When she entered my class, it was obvious that her previous school had let her down. She was afraid of saying a thing in class, afraid of looking foolish, afraid of being mocked. It took some time to convince her that learning can be enjoyable, that the word "test" wasn't something to flinch from, that I would never give her sarcastic answers to her honest questions.

So, in the warped set of scales which measure my overall sense of fulfillment, you have on one side: a happy child who needed my help. On the other, among other things: attempting to teach the first declension to hormone-addled proto-adolescents, having to wonder whether one more car ailment will mean ramen for dinner FOREVER, and the occasional nutter parent (and offspring thereof).

I can't tell whether I'm taking this life thing too seriously, or not seriously enough.

*not her real name

aluminum foil hats help the government read your mind

What a quandary for the paranoid. The only solution is helmets made entirely of meat.

My sixth graders are very competitive. Unfortunately, so caught up are they in succeeding in the game of Getting Good Grades and Being Popular and BEING NUMBER ONE DAMMIT!!! that they occasionally trash talk each other. They'll say things along the lines of "I don't want him/her on our team!" or "How come you finished that test so slowly?" or "HA!!! You're wrong! Miss P says so!"

So, I gave them a Father Michael style talk on charity. Father Michael, a chaplain at my college, and a very sweet and earnest sort of a priest, tended to give short sermons on either:

• the life of a saint


• one of the pettier vices

Sometimes the latter sermons bordered on the amusing or absurd, as in his condemnation of dancing alone (by which I think he meant the bump and grind), and his treatment of the importance of throwing out blouses and skirts which one has outgrown (an oblique reference to immodestly tight clothing). On the whole, though, most of us are quite petty sinners, and so petty sermons are appropriate and useful.

I imparted to the sixth graders a piece of advice which Father Michael gave me (doubtless after I had confessed, for the sixth time in a row, the desire to strike certain of my section mates over the head with a truncheon). Whenever you see someone who really annoys you, or about whom you are tempted to think or speak something uncharitable (e.g. "Shut up and DIE!!"), say a quick, silent Hail Mary for them. This really works wonders on one's overall charity level...well, eventually...

Anyhoo, the sixth graders seemed thoroughly chastened. No more smack talking for them. They're going to straighten up and fly right from here on out. Yup yup.

best drinking game EVER!

In 2008, the Presidential race will be between Zod and Cthulthu.

Our school had its annual All Saint's Day carnival; fake swords and fantastic St. Sebastian impaled-with-arrows style costumes for all! Miss G and I were standing around, watching the action. A pint-sized girl ran by in a nun costume.

Miss G: "Aw, it's a little nun!"
Girl (in a very snippy tone of voice): "I'm not a nun, I'm a tertiary!"
Miss G: "So you're St. Catherine of Sienna, then?"
Girl (mollified): "Yes."

Heehee.

Last night, we (boyf and I) went to an All Hallow's Eve Vespers/Litany of the Saints type thing. The Litany of the Saints was sung during a candle light procession. What I love best about those is that there is always, ALWAYS some little kid who sets his paper candle holder on fire. So you hear "Sancte Phillipe...ora pro nobis...Sancte Bartolomaee...ora pro nobis...Sancte Matthaee...ACK! DROP IT! PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT!"