not here to help, only to observe and pass judgment

My birthday is in five weeks. I am not into celebrations or parties, I do not look forward to this event – all I have done is not die for 365 days.

However, I am on my low carb/low fat/low fun diet. I am giving myself an excuse to depart from that diet on the occasion of my birth. I invite you to participate and take pictures of your decadence as evidence for the rest of us here on Buzz Net. My schedule, although tentative includes breakfast at Dunkin Donuts (a New England mainstay), New York Chinese for lunch (deferring to my Long Island roots) and Mc Donald’s for dinner (in a tribute to America, Imperialism, and Capitalism - everything that I love and hold dear). This year we will call it National Spritopias Awareness Day and you too can become aware by becoming fat.

Last year I had the weekend off, this year I do not. Last year I visited my friend Jyram in Philadelphia and we had a great time and capped off the day at Buca de Beppo (sp). This year I have to work at my second job and will have to settle on rocking the Shamrock Shake at the Big M (yeah, imperialism!)

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to visit McDonald’s and get a shake and have your picture taking consuming it – you can go for the trifecta with getting Dunkin Donuts and Chinese Food as well for extra points. Do not speak to me of Krispy Kreme, it makes me sad.

One of my favorite things to observe as an English teacher is how children discover the meaning of words. My favorite method to observe is when they use a word until someone says, “do you know what that means?” and they betray their ignorance for a shot at someone telling them instead of garnering it from context clues or looking it up in the dictionary.

This week’s word was, “umbrage,” courtesy of the senior Senator from Pennsylvania over one of Senator Kennedy’s outbursts (that’s what you get, Kennedy staffers, for sobering him up for television). I just cannot help but think of Senator Kennedy as the Karen Walker of the United States Senate, only less clever, more drunk. Umbrage, for those of you who did not find out, means either, “resentment or annoyance arising from some offense” or “something that gives shade”

I contend that Senator Specter was saying, “I take shade in your massive bulk, sir” but my students figure that since he was mature up until stomping out of the room he meant his feelings were hurt.

I am relieved that we learned the meaning and have moved away from words like “clitoris,” “fellatio,” and “fiscal.” I hate drawing diagrams on the board and getting reputable guest speakers is not easy.

Teaching is a rough job, you get a great deal of lip service about how wonderful and sweet you are but no one backs that up with anything. I find my job is more bearable when I find new and interesting ways to do things; today’s new and interesting method is to abuse the students in detention with singing.

I like to break the day up with a little lightness there and here but today afforded no opportunity. We had a test in math and a heavy religion lesson about God always knowing what you are doing. Does God watch us go to the bathroom? Fernando, God knows when you go to the bathroom – he can hear you singing in there, too – but ‘knowing’ and ‘watching’ are two different things. Then we read perhaps the most boring story ever written by someone beside myself about a blind Puerto Rican kid who makes greeting cards for people’s step mothers. There was no opportunity to do anything interesting.

The students had a reading assignment that once completed would be reviewed this afternoon in class by a peer. This was to be done as homework. Well, the students who did not do it needed to stay in finish so the other children would not have their education impeded by a lazy classmate.

Our school is in a church so around noon – when we are supposed to be at recess – the bells start to peel. Since when the bells are ringing they are ringing Christmas carols and hymns, I decided to sing along – as punishment. My singing could peel the paint of the walls if I did it long enough. It was one of those times when students sat there and realized the error of their ways.

Now we are sitting through the electrical safety assembly put on by the local utility. The man introduced himself and his partner – my students asked why he brought his boyfriend and when talking about the incredibly rare instance of being hit by lightening that I had been struck by lightening. How they know that is beyond me because my sister would not have shared something like that with them, but they definitely told the utility people that.

I have to go – run interference – I have seen this presentation before and they are going to start talking about ‘using protection’ when dealing with electricity but my students are probably going to bring up diaphragms or something.

This morning one of my friend was found dead – he hung himself – by another one of our friends. This is the most shocking kind of death that I have experienced and if this is anything like any suicide I have grieved it will take a while to grieve. I will alternate between being angry with them for their selfishness (yes, I do that) and feeling guilt for not having done something I could have or should. I will ride out the school week on a mixture of anger and denial, until we have same habeas corpus I am remaining skeptical.

I always take these things personally – people tell you not to but you cannot help but think that if you had been a better friend, spent more time, love harder, looked longer, listened more intently – something – that you could have prevented this. And you vow, “the rest of my life is going to be an after-school special,” while it eats at you that you know that after an initial period of mourning that you will go back to being the same old scoundrel you always were. You will not be a better friend, brother, son, or person.

I knew something was wrong, but I could not put my finger on it. I called them just the other day because my spider sense was tingling, “call him, and see what is going on.” Of course, they did not tell me or anyone else.

I am purposefully keeping this from people I know that don’t know him – especially ‘religious’ folks. I am not ashamed to be a Christian – but “Christians” like Pat Robertson who would use this opportunity to conjecture on where his soul is right now – although I can parse that theologically and intellectually to my satisfaction. Where do broken hearts go? I have a good idea and I am relieved that he will not have to spend eternity with Mr. Robertson. And, Mr. Robertson – on behalf of the other Christians and Republicans, “We elect people to look stupid for us; we do not need you. The President and Governor of California are enough sophomoric comedy for one election cycle.”

As bad as I feel, I cannot imagine being the one who found him.

Answer: They find their way home

One of my students has been training the kindergarteners in guerilla warfare. She has devised an elaborate plot in which to get me knocked over on the playground so she (and others) can have a good laugh. I used to goalie so I am used to things hitting me in the head or people knocking me over.

It all started two years ago, when she was a third grader. She realized that, unlike other teachers, I would not get upset when I was accidentally hit by a ball or ran into during recess. This escalated into her organizing the other third grade girls into the Penguin Death Squad (PDS). They would waddle like penguins around the playground picking up speed and then come at me in a mob. In fourth grade – the year they officially become my students – they lost three girls in their cabal and had to enlist the boys. However, by fifth grade, I have finally become wise to this and can spot the PDS forming, and approaching in time to get out of their way. They needed something new.

They noticed that a kindergartener jumped on my back in September when I got on the ground to tie another child’s shoe. She has apparently organized them to do this, en masse, whenever I get down to tie someone’s shoe – but kindergarten boys do not lurk around waiting for someone to squat down on the ground to tie a shoe. They have been putting up kindergarten girls up to asking me to tie their shoes.

So, little Suzy comes up with a shoe needing to be tied and soon as I am done tying the shoe and Suzy is clear, I am dog piled by all six boys in Kindergarten. In thirteen short years Damier will be able to find them all work, but for now they are breaking my back. I realized today that it was a plot – not by those boys – but by my girls because I had not connected someone saying, “now” to me being dog piled before.

My revenge is coming. Justice never sleeps.

I went to the Mall today because I needed my computer serviced at the Apple Store. The ‘genius’ at the genius bar that serviced my computer commented that I had the cleanest keyboard he had seen in a while and that I had the first computer in months that did not have a keyboard area full of pubic hair. I asked him to wash his hands and he thought I was crazy, but I persisted and insisted. I am not judging what other people do at their computers but I am not keen on someone being up to their elbows in other people’s pubic hair touching my belongings. I had run out of the hand sanitizer that I carry in my brief case so I offered him a Clorox wipe.

Right now, he is probably writing about the nut job that did not have hair or food in his computer that carried Clorox on his person. This was a free service and he showed me a few other tricks that my computer can do so it was not a waste of time, I wish I could have called it a wash. I did buy products to clean my computer and other digital equipment after being admonished that I indeed should not bleach everything and that my computer is one of those things that is too ‘delicate’ for bleach. I really am disinterested in owning anything that cannot be bleached.

Today was our first day back to school after the Christmas Break and a Snow Day. The children all prayed for more snow tomorrow. I enjoy snow days but they always mean that more work has to be squeezed into a shorter amount of time. I needed the snow day yesterday – the snowplows, fire trucks, and ambulances kept me up all night Monday. I was up on time on Tuesday, ostensibly when Damier is going to bed, but after getting ready for school, I learned that school was cancelled. After saying insensitive things about those not present on IM to Damier, I slept on the couch in my teaching clothes before putting my pajamas back on for the rest of the day.

It was a tragic scene when the children arrived at school this morning, those dear children, they were excited and energized, and when they saw the daily agenda on the board it was as if they had hit the doldrums. The wind went right out of their sails – except a fifth grade girl who has not stopped giggling all day. She cannot look at me without laughing. It makes me self-conscious, and I would be angered by it but Jeremy and I used to love doing that – we would look at someone, then each other, and start laughing. This drove people crazy and drove some people to tears. If either of us is smiling, we are up to something. And, yes, I checked my zipper – several times in fact.

The other funny thing is that they keep looking to the clock – which is broken – and the despair because time does not seem to be moving because it really is not. The clock ticks off one minute for every five. They feel like they have died and gone to Hell. Around lunchtime, I plan to tell them that the clock is broken – for now this is fun for me on a purely sadistic level. One child at least thinks he is making record time on his work; I will crush that achievement later as well. Do not be confused, I love the children and I am a demigod in this school in the eyes of the children, but that does not mean that I do not enjoy a harmless joke at their expense every once in a while.

The joke at my expense seems to be that despite having a nice break from school I come back to kids who have forgotten everything. They do not remember the routines; the base facts (multiplication facts, grammar rules); and many of them have forgotten their own names and where their desks are. I find myself saying things like, Your name is Fernando; that is why ‘Fernando’ is written on all of your things. That belongs to Nigel; that is why ‘Nigel’ is written on that desk. One girl went back to third grade – but that might be from realizing that the grass is not truly greener on the other side. That is just our carpet, I assume the carpet is green – I am colorblind; I would never know. They looked so dejected when the third grade teacher brought them back to our room. The third grade teacher has an award he gives out in his head, the Dolt of the Day, I am afraid my class would come out in a tie today. Tomorrow will be better and by next Monday they will be back up to speed. This is my argument for year round schooling because the three days after Christmas Holiday that I spend getting them back ‘into school’ is commonly called, ‘September.’ The lose a great deal when they are out and it is proportional to the amount of hair I am ripping out of my head with each passing questions. Patience is a virtue but by virtue is being tested and I am getting testy.

You can tell that the kids have just had Christmas because all their clothes look new, and by ‘new,’ I mean, “they left the tags on.” It is cute but at the same time, it is dirty. God knows who tried those pants on before they did. I realize that this is not as big a concern for children as it is for adults. I am so neurotic about it that I ask the man at the Gap to get me a pair from the back – or at least let me think I am the first one to wear them. That is reason behind my love of Gap denim and khakis – the salesmen while indulge my fear of clothing born STDs. I would be the one to get an STD of a garment. Women will not touch me so I women get one from men who try on clothing commando.

Speaking of STDs, thanks to Tiny Elvis, I was able to inform everyone that I had exposed them to crabs and scabies with an email postcard. I am sure that came as a shock to some, but I think that sharing that as soon as possible is the best policy. I signed my name to them, I know someone who sent them to every skank in their address book anonymously. That was classless and I am horrified that I did not think of it first. I am sure that those e-mail post cards were not meant to substitute for holiday greetings. The worst part is that my email and the email of anyone who got one of those greetings is probably in some database being reviewed by Dick Cheney as we speak.