This is the tenth consecutive year I've gone to Florida to take in some Spring Training baseball games. Mostly I go solo, but this year my brother, C, managed to get the week off work, so he came with me (he came with me a few years ago, too).
I've always flown down, because time has been tight; about every other year I've gone to our union's annual meeting which takes up the first weekend of March Break, through Monday afternoon. But I wasn't going to go to the meeting this year, and I'd always wanted to drive isntead of fly, so I asked C if he was up for it, and he was.
We stayed at our parents' place on Saturday night, which effectively gave us a headstart on the Sunday morning (doubly important on the day the clocks went ahead an hour). Made it to Knoxville, Tennessee on the first day, then rolled into central Florida around dinnertime the next evening. A generally uneventful drive; managed to get through Atlanta just before noon on Monday, which meant the traffic wasn't bad at all.
Three full days, three games (two at home in Lakeland, one just down the road in Kissimmee), three Tiger wins, and pretty tenacious heat every day. On the upside, it was mostly sunny; on the downside, 32C is pretty oppressive when you've spent a winter in Canada.
On the way back we needed to hit the road pretty early in the day so that we'd miss Friday afternoon Atlanta rush hour... which we largely did, save for a bit of I-75 on the north side of the city, but honestly, it wasn't any worse than, say, Mississauga on the 401. We did hit ridiculous traffic in Chattanooga, after running into a road closure in the south of Georgia (and a subsequent detour) but made it back to Knoxville and had dinner. The next morning we needed to take a detour around a rockslide which had the northbound lanes of the highway closed, and we drove some little twisty roads before coming back to the interstate.
Some observations:
Country music these days is just really, really awful. It all sounds pretty much the same: you've got a guy singing in a southern twang, a pasteurized band behind him essentially playing rock, lyrics about drinking and partying and pickup trucks and women, and even (incredibly) electronic beats which veer into hip-hop territory. And it's unavoidable down there.
There are places in the south where camouflage clothing isn't worn ironically, nor to actually camouflage oneself in a forest. It's just worn to lunch.
Quite a few people really, really hate Hillary Clinton. I was talking with a waitress in a barbecue restaurant who'd never heard of Bernie Sanders but would "give him a look," and would only refer to Clinton as "that woman who I won't name." Similarly, a guy at a game who identified as a Republican couldn't get over the whole Whitewater thing -- "all the witnesses either died or disappeared!" -- but at the same time felt generally uneasy about Trump.
I was called "sweetie," "slick" and "hun" by waitresses.
Yuengling is a decent cheap beer. I wish we had it here.
A woman at one of the games in Lakeland got hit in the nose by a foul ball. But it wasn't a screaming liner into the stands; it was a high pop-fly behind the plate. Why you wouldn't be trying to get out of the way -- especially since you have several seconds to do so -- is beyond me. I watched the ball come up and over the screen, and it landed in the section to our right and made quite the thump; I didn't know at the time that was the sound of the ball hitting a woman's face. Eventually the paramedics took her away; noses bleed a lot. The moral of the story: HOLY SHIT, PAY ATTENTION.
On the way back we stopped just south of the Georgia border to buy pecans. The guy standing by the front who was helping to run the place -- his role in the management of the establishment wasn't clearly defined, and neither was the number of teeth in his mouth -- was talking to C and I about music (I forget how it came up), and the guy said that a buddy of his has a sweet recording studio in his basement, and the drummer from Creed was once there, recording stuff! As we got in the car, C asked me, "Should we have told him that Creed sucks?" But hey, the way I figure it, that probably makes for a pretty good story for that guy, so let's let him keep it.
Before the St. Patrick's Day game in Lakeland, we bought peanuts from a vendor outside the stadium, assured we could take them in with us (which we did). She said the proceeds from the sales "were going to charity," and I asked what charities. She said there were two: one to help out disadvantaged kids, and the other "provides options for pregnant women." That second one... yiiiikes. I really wanted to ask her what "options" she was talking about, and given that this was in a church parking lot, I'm pretty damn sure those options didn't include abortions (Florida is rife with billboards with babies on them that say, "18 Days from Conception to Heartbeat!"). But hey, I wasn't about to get into a huge, deep discussion on the heaviest of topics; besides, there was baseball to go see.
After buying the peanuts, C and I went to watch the Tigers take batting practice on a back field. It's actually way better to go out there, if you're looking for souvenirs; instead of fighting 50 people for balls, there were 5 of us, chatting casually the whole time. C had one skip past him, and the guy who got it said he has three grandkids and already had three balls, so he gave it to C (whose daughter asked us to get one for her).
As we walked out there past the chain-link outfield fence, C sneezed and Tigers prospect Kyle Ryan, who was in the outfield shagging fly balls, said with a southern accent, "Bless you." C sneezed again; another "Bless you." How polite! I told him, "Hey, you looked good in Tuesday's game," which elicited a, "Well, thankya" in response. Nice kid. Looked him up, and he's from Auburndale, Florida, right close to Lakeland. Local kid does well.
While standing out beyond right-center and chatting with the fellow souvenir-hunters, one of them saw Tiger prospect Michael Fulmer grab a fly ball. He said, "Hey Michael, we're the guys your dad knows from the hotel!" Fullmer replied, "Oh, really? He's told me a lot about you." Laughter ensued, and the guy asked, "Is that so? What did he say?" Fulmer shot back, "Ah, y'know, I really shouldn't tell ya."
The Tigers are wearing these ridiculous navy jerseys this spring. They've never had a special Spring Training jersey before, but I imagine MLB put the squeeze on 'em to wear these so they could bump up their licenced-gear sales. I always enjoyed the fact that they wore their regular-season uniforms in ST; it seems way classier to me. Also, there were two straight games in which two teams in navy jerseys played each other; the only way to tell them apart were the colours of their caps and pants. Awful.
We sat in the shade for all three games. At the first game I thought, "Well, we're in the shade, hats make my head hot, so I'll just take mine off." I hadn't put sunscreen on my forehead... which got burnt. In the shade. From reflected light. Holy shit, I'm pale.
I'm pretty excited to not have to drive 12-ish hours today, that's for sure.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Sunday, February 14, 2016
There's something I've been putting off doing for about a month now.
And here it is.
A few weeks ago I got my issue of Rolling Stone in the mail, and this was on the cover:
Apparently "The World's Hottest Band" is a group of four naked white boys called 5 Seconds of Summer. Now, I think I've heard a snippet of this band before, and if memory serves, they fucking suck.
But, I told myself that I should just give them a fair shake. And in doing so, I endeavoured to do this: I would go to YouTube, type in the band's name, and listen to the song that has the most views, in its entirety, and then comment on it.
The song that filled this bill, with over 168 million views as of right now, is called "She Looks So Perfect." Here's the song in question:
*deep breath*
*slow, pained exhale*
0:09 -- Right off the bat, guaranteed gold: the wordless concert-ready sing-along. "Hey-eyyyy-ey-eyyyy!" Goddamn, what is with bands and this shit these days? I blame you, Mumford and Sons. Only, you use banjos. But, same deal.
0:28 -- Oh, isn't that cute, the singer has a lip ring. And you sound like you've been autotune'd out the wazoo. But, it also sounds like you're auditioning for American Idol.
0:42 -- The quiet pre-chorus. Oooooh, anticipation! The chorus is just gonna, like, explode, and stuff!
0:45 -- ...which it does.
0:53 -- Wait, did I just hear the word "underwear?" Lemme back this up.
0:50 -- "You look so perfect standing there, in my American Apparel underwear." Hold on. Did I get that right? I unfortunately need to hear this a third time.
0:50 (again) -- Oh jeezus, I did get that right. This is just so cheap. Did they get money (or, at the very least, free gitsch) from AA for this blatant product placement? And, obviously, he's describing her wearing his undies, and we all know what THAT means. FORNICATION HAS OCCURRED.
1:15 -- Is this what passes for a guitar solo? One, you can barely hear it, it's drowned in more "hey-eyyy-ey-eyyy"s; two, I suck at guitar and I could play this; three, he's really sellin' it on the video, isn't he? Oh, he drops to his knees and somehow plays a solo less interesting than that found in "The Chemicals Between Us" by Bush.
This is painful. Oh lordy, this is painful. But, I must soldier-on.
1:25 -- You sons of bitches. That's kids sitting there, bored, in a PHYSICS CLASS. Joke's on you, assholes! There are no girls in physics. Your video is factually inaccurate.
1:40 -- This whole verse is just very confusing in terms of the imagery in the video. (Musically, it's just as boring as the rest of the song. Why does the drummer play 16th notes on the floor tom the whole time during the verses, instead of using the hats like a normal person would? What mood is he trying to create here?) There are two fat, lonely people in a diner, one booth from each other. Clearly they're meant for each other, because surprise, they're the only fat people in the whole video! And, jeezie creezie, girl in physics class, put your fucking shirt back on.
1:47 -- And now the fat guy ripped off his pants, GOB Bluth-style, and is dancing. What the hell is going on here?
1:51 -- The fat woman is down to her bra and panties. Oh, look, we're inclusive of all body types... for 2.2 seconds in total, and then, now, back to the hot people you want to see strip off their clothes for some reason.
1:57 -- please be over 18, please be over 18, please be over 18, girl who ripped off skirt... I mean it's "Physics 101" on the board, that means a university class, right? pleasepleaseplease.
2:13 -- So the point of this video, I think, is that this song is so good, everyone will take off their clothes and dance around. Well, friend, no song is that good. (Except one.)
2:22 -- The quiet interlude. Damn, I thought this went out with '90s alt-rock. Then again, I don't listen to much new stuff, especially mainstream music like this pop-punk BS. Hey, I mistakenly typed "poop" instead of "pop" just there before backspacing. Freud, have at it.
2:38 -- THIS IS THE PART OF THE CONCERT WHERE YOU CLAP ALONG, TEENYBOPPERS (before your mom comes back to pick you up)
3:01 -- Suburban mom with stripper moves. Noice.
3:16 -- Midget!
3:20 -- Oooooh, boys, are you gonna strip down now? *fingers crossed*
3:25 -- NOOOOOOOO!!!!
The verdict:
This song was exactly what I expected it to be. It's perfectly engineered to sound catchy to a 12-year-old, who will buy the album, the poster, the t-shirt, and the concert ticket. Plus, it includes a lot of the modern tropes: wordless sing-along part, mastered to be as uniformly loud as possible, and nary a shred of musical talent to be found. Congratulations, 5SOS: you lived down to my every expectation.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I picked up a King Crimson album recently and haven't sat down to listen to it yet.
Sincerely,
An old coot.
A few weeks ago I got my issue of Rolling Stone in the mail, and this was on the cover:
Apparently "The World's Hottest Band" is a group of four naked white boys called 5 Seconds of Summer. Now, I think I've heard a snippet of this band before, and if memory serves, they fucking suck.
But, I told myself that I should just give them a fair shake. And in doing so, I endeavoured to do this: I would go to YouTube, type in the band's name, and listen to the song that has the most views, in its entirety, and then comment on it.
* * * * *
The song that filled this bill, with over 168 million views as of right now, is called "She Looks So Perfect." Here's the song in question:
*deep breath*
*slow, pained exhale*
0:09 -- Right off the bat, guaranteed gold: the wordless concert-ready sing-along. "Hey-eyyyy-ey-eyyyy!" Goddamn, what is with bands and this shit these days? I blame you, Mumford and Sons. Only, you use banjos. But, same deal.
0:28 -- Oh, isn't that cute, the singer has a lip ring. And you sound like you've been autotune'd out the wazoo. But, it also sounds like you're auditioning for American Idol.
0:42 -- The quiet pre-chorus. Oooooh, anticipation! The chorus is just gonna, like, explode, and stuff!
0:45 -- ...which it does.
0:53 -- Wait, did I just hear the word "underwear?" Lemme back this up.
0:50 -- "You look so perfect standing there, in my American Apparel underwear." Hold on. Did I get that right? I unfortunately need to hear this a third time.
0:50 (again) -- Oh jeezus, I did get that right. This is just so cheap. Did they get money (or, at the very least, free gitsch) from AA for this blatant product placement? And, obviously, he's describing her wearing his undies, and we all know what THAT means. FORNICATION HAS OCCURRED.
1:15 -- Is this what passes for a guitar solo? One, you can barely hear it, it's drowned in more "hey-eyyy-ey-eyyy"s; two, I suck at guitar and I could play this; three, he's really sellin' it on the video, isn't he? Oh, he drops to his knees and somehow plays a solo less interesting than that found in "The Chemicals Between Us" by Bush.
This is painful. Oh lordy, this is painful. But, I must soldier-on.
1:25 -- You sons of bitches. That's kids sitting there, bored, in a PHYSICS CLASS. Joke's on you, assholes! There are no girls in physics. Your video is factually inaccurate.
1:40 -- This whole verse is just very confusing in terms of the imagery in the video. (Musically, it's just as boring as the rest of the song. Why does the drummer play 16th notes on the floor tom the whole time during the verses, instead of using the hats like a normal person would? What mood is he trying to create here?) There are two fat, lonely people in a diner, one booth from each other. Clearly they're meant for each other, because surprise, they're the only fat people in the whole video! And, jeezie creezie, girl in physics class, put your fucking shirt back on.
1:47 -- And now the fat guy ripped off his pants, GOB Bluth-style, and is dancing. What the hell is going on here?
1:51 -- The fat woman is down to her bra and panties. Oh, look, we're inclusive of all body types... for 2.2 seconds in total, and then, now, back to the hot people you want to see strip off their clothes for some reason.
1:57 -- please be over 18, please be over 18, please be over 18, girl who ripped off skirt... I mean it's "Physics 101" on the board, that means a university class, right? pleasepleaseplease.
2:13 -- So the point of this video, I think, is that this song is so good, everyone will take off their clothes and dance around. Well, friend, no song is that good. (Except one.)
2:22 -- The quiet interlude. Damn, I thought this went out with '90s alt-rock. Then again, I don't listen to much new stuff, especially mainstream music like this pop-punk BS. Hey, I mistakenly typed "poop" instead of "pop" just there before backspacing. Freud, have at it.
2:38 -- THIS IS THE PART OF THE CONCERT WHERE YOU CLAP ALONG, TEENYBOPPERS (before your mom comes back to pick you up)
3:01 -- Suburban mom with stripper moves. Noice.
3:16 -- Midget!
3:20 -- Oooooh, boys, are you gonna strip down now? *fingers crossed*
3:25 -- NOOOOOOOO!!!!
* * * * *
The verdict:
This song was exactly what I expected it to be. It's perfectly engineered to sound catchy to a 12-year-old, who will buy the album, the poster, the t-shirt, and the concert ticket. Plus, it includes a lot of the modern tropes: wordless sing-along part, mastered to be as uniformly loud as possible, and nary a shred of musical talent to be found. Congratulations, 5SOS: you lived down to my every expectation.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I picked up a King Crimson album recently and haven't sat down to listen to it yet.
Sincerely,
An old coot.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
My mom says I'm a catch.
...and I'm not just quoting Nada Surf's biggest hit here.
Actually, my mom has never said that. We don't talk about my romantic life, or lack thereof. Frankly, I don't know if she thinks I'm bangin' everyone here, or because I never talk about anything, bangin' nobody here. Also, thinking about my mom thinking about this makes me uncomfortable, as does typing all this.
My friend Alison, who I think is pretty cool, has actually described me as a "catch." Her opinion holds a lot of weight with me. So, I've got that going for me. Which is nice.
I've had female friends and more-than-friends ask me, "How the hell are you still single?" (Not humble-bragging here, I swear.) I realize it's meant as a compliment, but honestly, it makes me feel even shittier about my romance skills.
Why am I still single?
What's wrong with me?
Am I going to die alone?
If I'm such a fucking great score, why am I doing such a shitty job advertising that?
Shouldn't that advertise itself anyway?
I've been relatively successful at most of the things I've tried to accomplish in my life: school, job, living arrangements, travelling experiences, attempts at masonry. But, these are solo pursuits -- and my Great White Whale remains romance.
Valentine's Day is coming up, too.
Actually, my mom has never said that. We don't talk about my romantic life, or lack thereof. Frankly, I don't know if she thinks I'm bangin' everyone here, or because I never talk about anything, bangin' nobody here. Also, thinking about my mom thinking about this makes me uncomfortable, as does typing all this.
My friend Alison, who I think is pretty cool, has actually described me as a "catch." Her opinion holds a lot of weight with me. So, I've got that going for me. Which is nice.
I've had female friends and more-than-friends ask me, "How the hell are you still single?" (Not humble-bragging here, I swear.) I realize it's meant as a compliment, but honestly, it makes me feel even shittier about my romance skills.
Why am I still single?
What's wrong with me?
Am I going to die alone?
If I'm such a fucking great score, why am I doing such a shitty job advertising that?
Shouldn't that advertise itself anyway?
I've been relatively successful at most of the things I've tried to accomplish in my life: school, job, living arrangements, travelling experiences, attempts at masonry. But, these are solo pursuits -- and my Great White Whale remains romance.
Valentine's Day is coming up, too.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Rumblin' along quite nicely, thanks.
Some items of note.
1. Over the break I visited a record store in Woodstock, Record Works. Great stuff there, solid selection, good prices, and most of all, it smells like a used record store. You know that smell -- slightly dusty, like the album cover of your parents' copy of Eagles Greatest Hits 1971-75 (you know, the one with the blue cover). Definitely going back there whenever I'm passing through. Finally got around to playing Double Fantasy by Lennon/Ono... meh. Not terribly thrilling. At least Yoko's songs weren't that bad.
2. Can anyone stop thes Carolina Panthers? Good gravy, they're terrifying. Currently laying waste to the Seahawks; not yet four minutes into the first quarter and they're up 13-0 (extra point to come) after picking off Russell Wilson, after being pressured by their O-line into rushing a pass. And the extra point is good.
3. I've lived a 3-minute walk from a Pizza Hut takeout location for almost ten years. This past week I got food from them for the second time. I mean, it was alright, and the same greasy pizza you've known all your life, but yeah, you can't beat the convenience.
4. I do most of my grocery shopping at Food Basics at East York Town Centre (in the middle of the Thorncliffe Park neighbourhod, amongst a sea of high-rises and a lot of very new Canadians). Normally I'm in there on my way home from work, and I'm usually the only white guy in the place (so it feels like I'm still at work, hey-oo)... but I was in there this morning (Sunday) at about 10:30, and it was about 3/4 white people! It was freaky. I think I saw maybe two hijabs in the whole place. Imagine going to your neighbourhood pub at a slightly different time and having it packed full of, I dunno, nuns.
5. I'm really glad I made (and paid for) hotel reservations for our March Break roadtrip to Florida back when the Canadian dollar was slightly less terrible. YIKES. Actually, an idea just popped into my head just now: wouldn't it be fun to make up "Florida Spring Training Roadtrip 2016" t-shirts for the bro and I? Answer: yes, it would. Hmmmmm. Will look into this.
6. Six more days' worth of classes with my curent kiddies, before exams. It's been a good semester, all in all; two gr12 physics have been fun, and we've actually managed to get right to the end of the modern physics unit for the second time ever in my career. My gr9 science class, well... it's sad that I have about four kids who are nowhere near getting the credit, but when you (a.) show up to school once every two weeks, and/or (b.) are so weak academically you should never have been in this class to begin with, what am I supposed to do? The saving grace is that I have several kids who are repeating the course who will get the credit this time around (some easily, some just barely).
See? It's been ever-so-exciting.
1. Over the break I visited a record store in Woodstock, Record Works. Great stuff there, solid selection, good prices, and most of all, it smells like a used record store. You know that smell -- slightly dusty, like the album cover of your parents' copy of Eagles Greatest Hits 1971-75 (you know, the one with the blue cover). Definitely going back there whenever I'm passing through. Finally got around to playing Double Fantasy by Lennon/Ono... meh. Not terribly thrilling. At least Yoko's songs weren't that bad.
2. Can anyone stop thes Carolina Panthers? Good gravy, they're terrifying. Currently laying waste to the Seahawks; not yet four minutes into the first quarter and they're up 13-0 (extra point to come) after picking off Russell Wilson, after being pressured by their O-line into rushing a pass. And the extra point is good.
3. I've lived a 3-minute walk from a Pizza Hut takeout location for almost ten years. This past week I got food from them for the second time. I mean, it was alright, and the same greasy pizza you've known all your life, but yeah, you can't beat the convenience.
4. I do most of my grocery shopping at Food Basics at East York Town Centre (in the middle of the Thorncliffe Park neighbourhod, amongst a sea of high-rises and a lot of very new Canadians). Normally I'm in there on my way home from work, and I'm usually the only white guy in the place (so it feels like I'm still at work, hey-oo)... but I was in there this morning (Sunday) at about 10:30, and it was about 3/4 white people! It was freaky. I think I saw maybe two hijabs in the whole place. Imagine going to your neighbourhood pub at a slightly different time and having it packed full of, I dunno, nuns.
5. I'm really glad I made (and paid for) hotel reservations for our March Break roadtrip to Florida back when the Canadian dollar was slightly less terrible. YIKES. Actually, an idea just popped into my head just now: wouldn't it be fun to make up "Florida Spring Training Roadtrip 2016" t-shirts for the bro and I? Answer: yes, it would. Hmmmmm. Will look into this.
6. Six more days' worth of classes with my curent kiddies, before exams. It's been a good semester, all in all; two gr12 physics have been fun, and we've actually managed to get right to the end of the modern physics unit for the second time ever in my career. My gr9 science class, well... it's sad that I have about four kids who are nowhere near getting the credit, but when you (a.) show up to school once every two weeks, and/or (b.) are so weak academically you should never have been in this class to begin with, what am I supposed to do? The saving grace is that I have several kids who are repeating the course who will get the credit this time around (some easily, some just barely).
See? It's been ever-so-exciting.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Movie review: Mixed Nuts (1994).
Holy shit, this movie is terrible. I think it can be summed up with the two main characters making out in the bathroom while a dead Garry Shandling is lying on the floor in the entryway.
Just... don't.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Alright, we're good now.
A couple of days ago, man, it wasn't a good scene. As I mentioned, I'd even considered taking a day off work just to give my brain a rest.
After writing up that post, I sat in my ugly pink chair in the corner of my living room, with an issue of Sports Illustrated, and read it until I decided a nap was in order. I slept for maybe an hour or two, woke up, had a bite to eat, and felt a whole lot better.
And I continue to feel better and better. Yesterday was a relatively chilled-out day at work -- two of my classes were doing research for presentations on Monday, and my grade 9s played with bulbs and batteries and wires and switches for half a period after a short lesson on parts of an electric circuit, so they were happy as clams.
The only bummer: my toaster-oven is unfixable, and I have to buy a new one. There's a switch on the inside which acts as a safety device; if the door is open, the heat is turned off. I've fixed it once before, but I don't think I can resurrect it again. That pisses me off; it's a perfectly functional toaster-oven, save for one stupid little switch.
(Actually, y'know what, I might just see if I can fix it one last time: I have a can of WD-40 at work, and I might give that switch a little spray to see if I can get the actuator moving. It's stuck in the depressed position, and isn't clicking upwards -- maybe there's just something on the inside gummin' it all up. And, as the old saying goes... if it moves and it shouldn't, use duct tape; if it doesn't move and it should, use WD-40.)
Such is my life on the eve of 38, I guess.
After writing up that post, I sat in my ugly pink chair in the corner of my living room, with an issue of Sports Illustrated, and read it until I decided a nap was in order. I slept for maybe an hour or two, woke up, had a bite to eat, and felt a whole lot better.
And I continue to feel better and better. Yesterday was a relatively chilled-out day at work -- two of my classes were doing research for presentations on Monday, and my grade 9s played with bulbs and batteries and wires and switches for half a period after a short lesson on parts of an electric circuit, so they were happy as clams.
The only bummer: my toaster-oven is unfixable, and I have to buy a new one. There's a switch on the inside which acts as a safety device; if the door is open, the heat is turned off. I've fixed it once before, but I don't think I can resurrect it again. That pisses me off; it's a perfectly functional toaster-oven, save for one stupid little switch.
(Actually, y'know what, I might just see if I can fix it one last time: I have a can of WD-40 at work, and I might give that switch a little spray to see if I can get the actuator moving. It's stuck in the depressed position, and isn't clicking upwards -- maybe there's just something on the inside gummin' it all up. And, as the old saying goes... if it moves and it shouldn't, use duct tape; if it doesn't move and it should, use WD-40.)
Such is my life on the eve of 38, I guess.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
I am so... burnt... out.
These are the dog-days of fall.
We've been going hard every day, week after week, with one holiday and one PD day, since Labour Day. It's been three months.
And my brain is friiiiiiiiiiiiied.
I even contemplating playing hooky tomorrow, cashing in a fake sick-day, to just stay home, maybe catch up on some marking, and to just give my brain a break. But I ended up not doing it. Haven't done it in 13 years of teaching, and may never do it. We'll see.
My grade 12 physics classes are a bunch of whiners. "Ohhhhh, siirrrrrrrrr, can we pleeeeeeeeease have the quiz tomorrow instead?" My grade 9 science class is mostly okay, except when it's overrun with female-centered drama and this one kid, T, isn't driving me and everyone else in the room absolutely insane.
(I've taught far worse kids than T over the years -- he's actually a funny, interesting kid who's moderately good at science, but holy hell. He can NOT sit still for more than five seconds, asks me questions as if we're the only two people in the room, and says really off-colour things to other people in the class, often not realizing they're off-colour, and this gets other people cranked-up. Countin' down the days with him, that's for sure.)
Plus, my dating life couldn't be going more horribly if I'd purposely set out to make it more horrible. I finally managed to have a nice time with someone on Tuesday... and, as it turns out, she's a pharmacist in the doctor's office in which I'm a patient, and to do anything, she claims, would be a conflict of interest. (We'd never met in person, probably have never seen each other at the hospital, and probably never will.) Or, maybe that's just her creative way to say she's not interested in me. Either way, bleh.
And, I'm turning 38 on Monday, if all that wasn't bad enough.
Hot damn, maybe I really should've taken tomorrow off.
We've been going hard every day, week after week, with one holiday and one PD day, since Labour Day. It's been three months.
And my brain is friiiiiiiiiiiiied.
I even contemplating playing hooky tomorrow, cashing in a fake sick-day, to just stay home, maybe catch up on some marking, and to just give my brain a break. But I ended up not doing it. Haven't done it in 13 years of teaching, and may never do it. We'll see.
My grade 12 physics classes are a bunch of whiners. "Ohhhhh, siirrrrrrrrr, can we pleeeeeeeeease have the quiz tomorrow instead?" My grade 9 science class is mostly okay, except when it's overrun with female-centered drama and this one kid, T, isn't driving me and everyone else in the room absolutely insane.
(I've taught far worse kids than T over the years -- he's actually a funny, interesting kid who's moderately good at science, but holy hell. He can NOT sit still for more than five seconds, asks me questions as if we're the only two people in the room, and says really off-colour things to other people in the class, often not realizing they're off-colour, and this gets other people cranked-up. Countin' down the days with him, that's for sure.)
Plus, my dating life couldn't be going more horribly if I'd purposely set out to make it more horrible. I finally managed to have a nice time with someone on Tuesday... and, as it turns out, she's a pharmacist in the doctor's office in which I'm a patient, and to do anything, she claims, would be a conflict of interest. (We'd never met in person, probably have never seen each other at the hospital, and probably never will.) Or, maybe that's just her creative way to say she's not interested in me. Either way, bleh.
And, I'm turning 38 on Monday, if all that wasn't bad enough.
Hot damn, maybe I really should've taken tomorrow off.
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