Why God Invented Cell Phones & Put Cameras in Them

Behold, my neighbors' driveway ...

The picture doesn't have anything to give you a sense of scale, so you'll just have to trust me that my neighbors' kids used a warm spring day, their idle hands, and some sidewalk chalk to create this masterpiece that can be viewed from low-flying aircraft. Each letter's about five feet tall. 

Their use of the exclamation point makes it all feel like an urgent command, which I find ironic, since my dog usually poops in their yard. (Yes, we pick it up.)

Boys Rule

I've been thinking about boys a lot lately.
Not on purpose or anything.
I'll just be going along, minding my own, doin' what needs be done, and  - whap!  - thoughts of boys pop into my head.

Let me give you some examples ...

On the evening of February 13th, I was seated at our kitchen table next to my daughter. We were working on the task of assembling her Valentines to bring to pre-school. She'd picked out some at Target - pictures of cartoon monkeys and little monkey tattoos for each kid in her class. As she folded the cards and I stuffed the envelopes, I got a better look at the tattoos.

Damn.

All the monkeys had flowers in their hair - tucked behind one ear a la Dorothy Lamour in The Road to Bali. There were no monkeys wearing trucker hats or motorcycle helmets. Whatever would the boys think?! Would the boys be upset at these girlie monkey tattoos? Would they reject them and throw them on the floor in a rage?

Then I thought What's the big deal? I'm sure my daughter will get a boatload of Valentines with dump trucks and robots on them, and she'll like them. So, why do I get all worked up about whether or not the boys will be okay with something with flowers on it?

Because girls will accept things that are more stereotypically male, while boys turn up their noses at girl stuff.

Girls will read a book with a male protagonist, while boys bristle at reading one with a female lead character. I know

I'm speaking in generalizations here, but there's research - and more than a decade's worth of my own observations as a middle school teacher - to back these generalizations up.

I do not like this.
It feels wrong.
It seems to say It's still is a man's world, and women (including me) are trained to adjust and adapt to it. 

And then last weekend, I was sorting through some of my daughter's toys - the ones she's outgrown and wants to "give to a baby". I was looking at some stacking rings, really nice ones made of wood, imported from France, painted with gorgeous bright colors and patterns.

Our friends' little boy is developmentally at the right stage to play with these, but then I noticed that two of the rings were pink. Hot pink, actually. And I found myself thinking Uh, oh! This might be too feminine for him. 

Am I completely nuts?
The boy isn't even a year old yet!
He doesn't know what pink is!
Hell, he doesn't know what a boy is!
And here I am, worried that his parents are going to accuse me emasculating their son by giving him something a little too "pretty" to play with.

I was starting to think it was just me.
Surely, other women don't think like this.

Then at work today I was showing two (female) colleagues this awesome website called the Girl Effect. The three of us watched the video and were immediately moved and impressed and could absolutely see how it fit in with our curriculum and talked about showing it in class. ..

And then each one of us.
Independently.
Came up with the same worry:
How will the boys react?


Wow.

So, I know it's not just me who keeps thinking about boys, which is comforting.
But why are we always so worried about keeping them happy?

Probably because we're a bunch of girls.

And I Quote

Yes, I teach at a midwestern middle school.

Among all the other glorious craziness that comes with working with adolescents is the need for constant vigilance to make sure their t-shirts are appropriate.

Since I've been teaching for quite a few years, I've weathered the "Co-Ed Naked" years, the "Big Johnson" craze, and even the hoopla that was "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy".

I've awkwardly explained to a naive twelve-year old girl what her "Co-Ed Nighttime Football Practice: Bring Your Own Equipment" shirt referred to, and one of my female colleagues once had to educate a sixth grade ESL student as to what exactly his "Beavers" shirt was talking about. (He didn't believe her and sweetly insisted, "No, it's an animal.")

My most recent discussion was with a seventh grade boy wearing a "Check Out My Stimulus Package" t-shirt. At least it was timely. And perhaps indicated that he watches the news.

We all roll our eyes and vent, "Why do their parents let them wear these things?! I would never let my kid walk around in that!"

But maybe we need to take a little of the blame in this.

My evidence -

A List of Songs with Inappropriate Lyrics That Have Been Played School-Wide on Our  "Wake Up, Wakefield"-esque Show and Were Probably Chosen by the Adult Supervising the Program

1. AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long"

She was a fast machine

She kept her motor clean

She was the best damn woman that I ever seen

She had the sightless eyes

Telling me no lies

Knockin' me out with those American thighs

Yes, that's the part of the song they played. 

I stood in my darkened homeroom, mouth agape in disbelief as it blared through the speakers.

And I'm not even a prude or anything.

2.  Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me"
Step inside, walk this way

You and me babe, Hey, hey!

Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on

Livin' like a lover with a radar phone

Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp

Demolition woman, can I be your man?

Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light

Television lover, baby, go all night

Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet

Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah.

Another classic for the twelve-year old set, yes?

And a great opportunity to discuss metaphor as well.

Jolly good!

3.  Semisonic's "Closing Time"

Okay, it was on the last day of school, so I get why the song was chosen, and I can even overlook the "finish your whiskey or beer" part since I LOVE this band, but it was a bit disconcerting to hear the kids strolling out of homeroom singing, "I know who I want to take me home..." Just felt wrong, yanno.

4. Naughty By Nature's "O.P.P."

Don't panic. 

We didn't listen to the actual song for this one. 

It was a bus safety video that was desperately trying to be hip by having rap music in it. 

Seriously.

They sang, "You down with bus safety? Yeah, you know me!" over and over while I died in the back of my classroom.

At the time, I don't think there was a dirtier song out there.

Still, they chose it.

I do kinda love that guys from Naughty By Nature got royalty checks for an educational video, though. 

Can't Stop the Music

     For me, the holiday season has always been about the music.
     I have fond memories of stomping along in the snow, going caroling with the other kids from the neighborhood - back when it was still deemed safe to knock on strangers' doors and sing in their foyers for some cookies (and a few coins they'd put in the coffee can we'd conveniently brought along).

     Every year I'd look forward to going to Christmas Eve services at my Grandma's church, just so we could all sing "Silent Night" together, accompanied by a slightly out-of-tune organ, holding candles with those paper drip shields to protect our hands from the wax that would start to melt with wild abandon around the middle of the second verse.
     But, for sheer awesomeness, nothing beats being in a school holiday concert.
     Sure, I did the elementary school thing.
     We all did.
     Then in middle school we were all forced to choose our life path: band or choir.
     Mine was choir.
     Three years of the ridiculously high-pitched desecration of texts both sacred and secular ensued.
     My middle school choir had one boy who could actually sing.
     And I mean he could sing.
     He had classical training, amazing posture, and the ability to hit the high notes with pristine clarity. After getting a load of him, our choir director did the only thing she could do: make the rest of us his back-up singers. 
     That year we ditched Frosty and did numbers from Ahmal and the Night Visitors instead. It was probably the most culturally-edifying holiday concert our middle school had ever seen. Of course, most of us spent the evening singing "Ahhh...." and "Ohhh...." in hushed voices, so that the tone-deafness that pervaded our ranks would not overshadow il divo. Still, the applause was hearty that year. Yes, it was.
     Our high school choir was headed up by a dictator who demanded absolute allegiance from his minions. We bought fabric from him and were instructed which pattern to buy so all the girls' skirts matched perfectly. There were shoe rules (pumps, black, one-inch heel, no embellishments) and hideous red poly-blend sweaters.
     He was a perfectionist of the first order, and the only reason I'm still alive to type this is that no one would rat me out when I blurted, "Oh, shit!" after coming in a measure too early during a noontime concert at a shopping mall.
     Our holiday program was entirely sacred, much of it in Latin. We'd start practicing for it in early-October. All that lead time was necessary for the non-Catholics in the room to learn a new language, as well as the notes to sing.
     One year he went all Benjamin Britten on us - not a pretty sight. Totally fucked up my ability to spell for half my junior year.
     And when a Norwegian exchange student with a glass-shattering soprano showed up, we all found ourselves singing in her native tongue too. Man, the crowd lapped that one up like dogs.
     Every year, we ended the program with the same song: "Beautiful Savior" (Finally, something in English!).
     The school I teach at has been holding their holiday concerts this week, and I've been thinking about those adults out there in the crowd. Sure, they're all proud of their whipper-snappers up there belting it out, but it does get to be a long night, doesn't it?
     I recently realized that my parents stopped coming to my holiday concerts when I learned how to drive. Yes, once I had a way to get my sensible-pump/fugly-sweatered self to the venue without them, they were outta there. Can't say I blame them, though. I really can't.
     Now I get my holiday groove on singing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" with my daughter. As I watch her stand in the middle of the living room, belting it out solo, smiling proudly, and hitting her marks on all the hand gestures that go along with it, two words enter my mind: show choir.
     And it's a fate I am more than willing to accept.
     Until she can drive.

Glitter

The middle-school girls I teach are doing something weird.
Or, more precisely, not doing something weird.
And that's what's so strange.

I've had a front row seat to the seventh grade for about fifteen years now, so I kinda know what to expect from the kids on many levels.

The boys this year have not let me down. They are folding paper footballs and making origami Freddy Krueger fingers with wild abandon. They truly believe they invented both these things. And they are right on schedule in doing so. Every group of boys before them has done the exact same thing - and believed that they, too, had invented something new and wondrous.

But the girls - that's a different story.

As I looked at my students today, I noticed that something was missing.
Something scores of tween girls have brought to my room every single year.
That something is gobs of inexpertly applied glitter eye make-up.

None of my girls are ridiculously sparkly this year.

In fact, I'd be hard pressed to find many of them with anything beyond a tasteful (?!) touch of mascara. ('Cept the goth girls, but they don't really factor into this. They've adopted a lifestyle that requires eye make-up. Apples and oranges, people. Apples and oranges.)

Having noticed a trend (or it is a non-trend?), I must search for reasons.

I am currently working on two theories vis a vis the absence of tacky eye make-up on middle school girls at my school:

1.  Sasha and Malia Obama are already having a profoundly positive effect on girls thanks to their fresh-faced and stylish appearance. (I think of them as the anti-Olson twins.)

2.  The economy sucks, and extras like eye make-up for your middle school daughter are no longer in most family's budgets. What they used to spend on sparkles is helping put food on the table.

I'd be happier if #1 were the reason; girls could use some positive peer role models.

But I'm pretty sure it's reason #2, and, much as I mock the make-up when it's there, it makes me sad to see these girls missing out on a truly tacky right of passage that has marked seventh grade for so many who've come before them.

Maybe next year.

There's always hope.

Right There in Black & White

During my morning commute I ended up behind a big Chevy pick-up. While we were stopped for a red light, I got a chance to read his bumper sticker:

Eatin Fords and Shitin Dodge's

As an English teacher, a significant part of my day is spent extolling the virtues of correct spelling, punctuation, and grammar. My students leave the classroom knowing that they'll never be taken seriously in this world if their writing presents an image of one who lacks precision and general detail sticklerliness. You'll certainly never be published if you don't clean up your grammatical act, yanno.

And then this idiotic bumper sticker shows up and blows my pompous theories right out of the water.

Granted, the guy driving the truck still looks like an idiot, but that bumper sticker was created by someone. Yes, there's a person out there who dreamed up and wrote down that little slogan of excessive automotive pride. And that person is published. Totally published. A company loved his/her words SO much, they printed hundreds - even thousands - of copies to sell to the masses.

Money is being made from these misspelled, poorly punctuated words.

If any of you simply MUST express your Chevy pride in such manner as this, please consider purchasing your sticker from these folks. At least they took the time to do it right. Their English teachers must be so proud of them right now.

It's September, and I Suck

Tonight, as I snarfed down the "stress meal" that is the Wendy's Junior Bacon Cheeseburger with a side of Frosty, I realized that I loathe September.

Not just this September, either.

I mean ALL Septembers are on my shit list.

The reason for my extreme ill-will towards this month is simple: It is the month in which I suck on a grand scale. And the source of all this sucking is none other than the beginning of a new school year.

Now, I've been through this MANY times, so you'd think I'd have it down. But I don't. So here I am again, trapped in a swirl of frustration and stress. I pondered the reasons why this time of year always hits me so hard and makes me, a usually calm person, feel so utterly overwhelmed.

And why is it that I seem to suck so hard at so many things right now, when I normally don't really suck that much at all?

It's because I've lost some things that I'd forgotten to appreciate - and I miss them dearly.

The Stuff I'm Mourning

• Knowing  my Students' Names  In the excitement of the end of the school year in June, I forget how nice it is to be in a room where we all know one another - names, pets, hidden talents, shared experiences. Developing those bonds with this year's batch of kids takes time, and right now it just feels like I spend my days in a room full of strangers.

• Puttering in the Kitchen  In the summer, I spent hours chopping fresh fruits and vegetables, trying new recipes, and putting together meals at a leisurely pace = usually while listening to music and singing along (occasionally dancing too - but less often and never with sharp utensils). Cooking was my quality relaxation time. Now it's about rushing to get something on the dinner table and packing my lunches in a zombie-like trance.

• Morning Walks  Nothing beats the AM constitutional for me. But there's no way in hell I'm getting up at 4 o'clock to take one. The evening walk pales by comparison - more traffic, hotter weather, and fewer ducks bobbing contentedly on the lake.

• Being an Awesome Mom  I know that the physically/emotionally burned-out days of September shall pass, but it bugs me to find myself wishing my daughter would fall asleep a bit earlier, stop continually following me all around the house, stop asking so many questions, etc. In the summer, I have so much more to give. And I do give it. To her.

•  Brain-Numbing Television  I haven't watched a "marathon" of anything in almost three weeks. No wonder I'm cranky.

• Blogging  I've had many blog-worthy moments but lacked the energy to put them to words.

At least September's only one of those thirty-day months.

Japanese McDonald's Active Kids Milk Carton Puzzle

Check out the puzzle on the Ronald McDonald milk carton below.

It's meant for kids, so it's a pretty easy one to solve.

But isn't one of the answers a type of, ahem, activity you really wouldn't want to encourage your kids to participate in?

Gonna Make You Sweat

One of the joys of shopping at the Asian market is that, along with getting to eat some of the most AMAZING soup in the world at their deli, I get to revel in the bluntness of foreign food nomenclature. 

Since I don't speak an Asian language, I don't know if the tell-it-like-it-is attitude of the food names is a cultural difference or just a sign of the awkwardness of translating into English. Either way, I love that I can find a beverage that has the word sweat it its name...

Pocari Sweat

It's the Japanese equivalent of Gatorade, without all the euphemistic babble. Gatorade is basically the chemical clone of sweat - with food coloring added. I have to respect the Japanese for just putting it out there so bluntly, pretty much saying: When it's hot, you sweat. Drink sweat to replace the sweat you've been sweating. It's delicious. Enjoy. No "Is it in you?" for them. 

Speaking of Gatorade, I covered a week of summer school for Holly (of gall bladder fame) a couple summers ago. One of the boys came in toting a big bottle of dark-purple/borderline-black Gatorade. I'd never seen that kind before, so I asked, "What flavor is that?"

He glanced at the label and replied, "Lance Armstrong." 

"So, does that mean it tastes like Lance Armstrong?"

"I guess so." 

Apparently, Lance Armstrong's sweat is aubergine in color.

I have no idea what it tastes like, though.

Nor any desire to find out.

Cinderella's Balls

As spring weather brings out the necessity to speak to the tween girls I work with about appropriate dress (because they are either unaware of the concept or just think it's okay to dress as if they're going to be waiting tables at Hooters instead of attending middle school), I can't help but remember prom season of 1985 - when, even though my dress could be worn off-the-shoulder, I chose not to do so, because that seemed like WAY too grown-up of a thing for me to do.

matching cumberbunds = totally rad

The Greatest Story Ever Rolled

Sometimes I get frustrated when I see the foolish choices my students make, but then I'll remember that, when I was in middle school, I paid money to go to a theater and see THIS ...

... and have a tough time mustering up much of a sense of superiority after that.

In My Day It Was "Afternoon Delight"

My neighbor's son and his friends are good boys because they told his eight year-old sister and her friend to stop screaming the lyrics to"Crank That Souljah Boy" on the swing set because, "Those words are bad, and you shouldn't say things if you don't know what they mean."

History Repeats Itself: Dora's a Tween!

The internet's been all abuzz lately about this not-so-little lady ...

It's Age-Projection Enhanced Dora the Explorer!

Mattel announced plans to introduce a tween version of the intrepid cartoon heroine, and grown-ups commenced to go nuts about this new "sexed-up" Dora. I don't know if I'd go so far as to call her sexed-up, but she certainly did shed the baby fat and bought herself a tube of lip gloss. She looks like a fairly typical, pretty middle school girl. She hasn't stumbled into Bratz territory, so I'm not too worried about her. I just don't think she's particularly necessary. (Frankly, I'm more curious about what happened to Boots. How's middle school treating that monkey, anyway?)

The thing that surprises me most about this whole deal is how short our collective cultural memory is. This, friends, is not the first time a sweet little cartoon girl has skipped a few grades and made the leap from daycare to middle school. 

Lest we forget ...

Miss Pebbles Flintstone

Yes, those of us who endured a seventies-era childhood are in familiar territory with this Tween Dora controversy, for we all remember when our favorite Stone Age cutie pie suddenly morphed into ...

Prom Date Pebbles!

There she was in her wasp-waisted, mini-skirted splendor. (Thank God she inherited her mother's figure!)

 She was cute. 

She had a knack of getting into trouble. 

She had that big galloot Bamm-Bamm trailing her with dog-like devotion. 

And we hated her. 

The show was dumb, and the only reason most of us watched was because we only had three channels to choose from. 

Are you listening, Mattel? Kids today have limitless media access, and I fear tween Dora's destiny might just be the clearance rack.

While looking for pictures I did learn something, though. There is an entire website devoted to Flintstone's costumes. It bears the highly original address www.flinstonecostumes.com. I had no idea there was such demand for this.

Teen Pebbles Get-Up

I suspect she's violating the school dress code 

in a number of ways.

Innocence Lost

I was working with my students on choral reading and brought out "Old Mother Hubbard" as a practice text; it has lots of rhyme, a sing-song meter, and silly subject matter, so I figured it was an easy one to start out with. 

My last class of the day had finished reading the poem together, and I decided to have one of those cool-enough-to-mock-the-text moments and encourage the kids point out some of the odd, borderline-inappropriate for pre-schoolers things that were mentioned in this dusty, old nursery rhyme. 

They pointed out that Old Mother Hubbard had bought the dog a beer at the alehouse, that she'd come home to find him smoking a pipe, etc. One girl raised her hand and chimed in about the part when OMH "...went to the hosier's to get him some hose". I figured it was just an odd answer, so I replied with something about dogs not really needing socks. 

She'd just gotten out, "Oh, I thought it meant ..." when one of the boys jumped out of his seat and yelled, "NO! Stop!" 

I quickly realized that she had mistaken hose (as in stockings) for ho's (as in, yanno, ho's). I thanked the boy for his quick save and moved on to the next thing.

Later, as I thought about it, I remembered that in several of my other classes, kids had mentioned the hose line too. Only now I understood WHY they'd brought it up.

Wow. 

I don't know what bugs me more: that my students are so worldly beyond their years that they immediately think of whores when they hear that word or that they're such bad readers that they don't recognize the word hose when they see it. 

Now, of course, I have to live with the mental image of Old Mother Hubbard going out to get hookers for her dog.  And wonder whether the hookers were dog hookers or human ones. I'm choosing to believe they're dogs, mostly because it gives me an excuse to say things like, "She didn't have much money to spend, so she just got him a paw job."

In Vain

Background: My students' assignment was to write advertising slogans for various products, using similes in their ads. They made mini-billboards featuring their slogans and eye-catching artwork. Totally educational. Totally fun.

A conversation with one of my students:

He hands me his billboard. I see the slogan "Botch Tape is as strong as Jesus". I stifle a giggle.

Him: What?

Pause as I search for the right words.

Me: Well, was Jesus really known for his physical strength?

Him: (deadpan) He is very powerful.

Me: Yes, but powerful and strong are different.

Long, awkward pause as he stares at me.

Me: Have you ever noticed that companies don't really use religious figures in their ads? Do you see how it might make people who aren't that religion feel about what they're selling?

More awkward silence as he scrunches up his face in confusion as to my point. I see a possible out in discussing his artwork; unfortunately, he's gone hog wild with the markers, and it's a big, multi-colored blur.

Me: What is this you've drawn here?

Him: He's taping those two guys to the ceiling.

I search my limited knowledge of Bible stories and try desperately to remember one where Jesus sticks people to the ceiling. (My parents liked to sleep in on Sundays, and I went to one day of Vacation Bible School with the neighbor kid when I was about eight - it mostly seemed to be about making pictures of stained glass windows out of macaroni and tempera paint.) The closest explanation I can find is that this young man believes that Jesus painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Sensing a gigantic can of worms opening with that line of inquiry, I try a direct approach.

Me: Why is he taping them to the ceiling?

Him: (without the slightest hint of humor) It is really strong tape.

Another awkward silence.

Me: Fine. Just go sit down.

This Smells Like Ass

I was correcting a paper from one of my students when I found this moment of typo:

"I always wear the clothes from Abercrombie, but I hate the smell of their colon."

I'll take her word for it.