You keep saying that word...

I have this problem with the idea of the SAT.  It's supposed to be a measure of aptitude.  Aptitude is an innate ability or a natural talent.  That makes the idea of test prep for an aptitude test seem kind of crazy.  Should it really be called an aptitude test?

SAT prep is a pretty substantial industry.  There are tutoring services, study books and lots of structures in place designed to boost scores. Unless they rename the test, it should not  be a score that can change based on your work.

Apparently, though, the SAT carries on despite my thoughts about its poor adherence to the meaning of its own name.  I had plenty of time to think about this today. Plenty. 

I proctored the SAT today on campus.  One of my teacher friends made an observation a while back that proctor and proctologist probably have the same root word.  I imagine that must be true.

It's a grueling test to administer as a proctor.  The first seven sections last for 25 minutes.  Sections eight and nine last 20 minutes.  Section ten lasts ten minutes.  There are three scheduled five-minute breaks.  The time must be monitored very closely.

The day started annoyingly enough.  I had gathered up and put together assignments for the three different things I teach.  Someone else took care of four sections of classes for me, spanning three different courses over most of the day.  I had to essentially prepare for a substitute teacher, then I had to actively monitor testing from the start of the school day until 2:30 in the afternoon.  Prior to that, I got the work together for my not-testing kids, attended a faculty meeting, picked up the testing materials and seated the students in the testing room.  From there, it was time to stand and actively monitor.  I managed a bathroom break about an hour or so into the ordeal, which was my first real opportunity to sit down.  I never got a lunch break.  I am so irritated about that.  My 47 minute conference period didn't happen.  My lunch didn't happen.  Any time to be still and think or eat a meal was gone.  I got back to my own classroom at the start of 6th period, around 2:30.  I was so grumpy and hungry that I ate my lunch at my desk during class.  Just under half of the students in the room were juniors (the whole junior class was the group who was testing today).  They completely understood.  The juniors barely had a chance to eat.  They did that while the teachers went to turn in the test materials.  Not cool, employer.  Not cool.

Blegh.  I need to shake this one off.  I may just be able to have a normal day tomorrow.

Damn you, autocorrect!

A year or two back during a phone conversation with my mother, she said she had to hang up and pick up some prescription eyedrops. We weren't finished with whatever we were discussing, so she was going to call me back after the transaction was complete. It took longer than I thought it would, so I sent her a text message. What I wanted it to say was: how long does it take to get eyedrops? 

Autocorrect does not recognize eyedrops as a word unless you've used it before, so it chose a word it understood. I caught the mistake before I hit send, but I nearly asked my mother: how long does it take to get erectile? 

Autocorrect. Half hilarious and half horrifying. I hadn't really committed a great autocorrect error until this evening. I usually manage to correct the mistaken correction before I send something stupid. Until tonight. 

Enjoy the message I sent Cas:

He called to tell me he had no interest in seeing the tingling brothers. I concur. 

Opa!

I slept so much on Friday that I woke up at a reasonable hour on Saturday. I decided to tidy up my house a little bit, then I tried to take a nap for an hour before Cas showed up. I laid down to attempt to get a little more sleep. I couldn't do it. I guess I had finally slept enough, and just in time, too.

Cas arrived and we headed downtown for our Segway tour. We had a great time cruising around downtown. 

In a truly strange moment, I saw one of my students downtown while I was rolling around in front of a piece of art. 

Here we are in front of some cowboy stuff:

Ah, good times. 

We had fun on the tour, and we decided to follow it with a trip to Stratos Greek restaurant. I had a groupon that we tried to use during spring break, but we went on a day when everything was half off, provided you don't use a groupon. So we went back on a Saturday with the deal in hand. 

Fun fact: they have a bellydancer there on Saturdays. 

We had gyros and watched a wiggling woman. That place is truly bizarre. There are disco balls all over and multi colored accent lights that strobe. They have a hodgepodge of wall art- there was a couple's portrait where the people in it were older than me, wearing white, looking up and slightly to the left and holding their mouths so their lips were slightly parted. There was a longhorn head mounted on the wall. There were also masks hanging that were sort of African looking. I mean, here's the front of the place:

By the end of the meal, I was pretty tired. It was a full day, and I was asleep before midnight. 

I'll be back at work on Monday. I'm feeling much better today. I just need to clean myself up and head over to mom and dad's house. It's Sunday, after all...

Chicken soup for the soul

I woke up at seven this morning, ate breakfast, showered and went back to bed. I had put in for a sub just after lunch yesterday. I was so dizzy-feeling when I was driving to work yesterday that I questioned if I should have been driving at all.

I'm usually too dumb and stubborn to call in sick, but I thought about how I wasn't doing anyone any favors by actually showing up yesterday. I was way off my game as a teacher, so the kids didn't benefit from my presence. If my evaluator happened to stop by for my last spot observation of the year, I would have tanked it. The only benefit to being there was that I don't have to develop elaborate plans for a substitute when I just show up. That laziness had to arm wrestle with the exhaustion from this current ear-nose-and-throat funk. In the end, I threw a few things on my webpage and left a seating chart for a stranger. 

When I woke for the day, it was 1pm. I checked my email, and apparently, they still have school when I'm not there. Who knew? 

Here was my so-cliché lunch: 

Hopefully, that does the trick. I have boyfriend-related plans tomorrow, and I feel like I need a win. 

The rule of thirds

I could use my voice today! It's a pretty handy thing for a teacher to be able to talk. Maybe yesterday had to happen so I wouldn't take speaking for granted.

Because I could not speak yesterday and because it managed to rain (and hail for a moment) in the morning, my initial plan to drag my digital media classes outside so they could take photos to demonstrate their understanding of some principles of photography was pushed to today. As I was marching my second period monsters from the stairs to the courtyard I had chosen for these photos, my principal walked by with the superintendent of the school district. So, Wednesday was interesting. 

Enjoy a photo that demonstrates the use of s-curves:

And diagonal lines:

Or the rule of thirds: 

I know- it's thrilling. I've covered the whole curriculum already with these kids. I decided to throw in what had previously been my pre-spring-break lesson on photos for this week. 

I scrapped it at the regularly scheduled time because of the distinguished teacher review evaluation. I didn't want to risk dragging my three-member evaluation team down three flights of stairs and into the courtyard. That could have gone well, but it was more likely to have spectacularly failed. 

So I did it in front of the superintendent. 

I did have my objective and such stuck to a file folder that I taped to a wall outside. The kids laughed at me, but I knew what I was doing... 

As for my recovery, I'm better today than I was yesterday, though I'm not great yet. I slept a ton yesterday, and I've already managed an hour and a half of sleep this evening. I'll be back in bed by nine. Hopefully, that will do the trick. Either that, or I'm going to have Amazon start shipping Kleenex directly to my doorstep. 

Fever all through the night

I checked my paid time off balance on the District payroll website earlier this year. They list available time off in hours, forcing the mathematically challenged among us to bust out a calculator and divide the total hours listed by eight. I have 936 hours available. So math and stuff makes that 117 days. I should have used one today.

I feel like crap. My voice was gone this morning. I used a text-to-speech website  to talk to my students. I even found one with a lady robot voice. My muscles all hurt and I have a headache, which is very unusual, because my head typically feels fine. I chalk that up to limited use. 

I spent my day with a cup of tea in my hand. Kind of glad I had some laying around in my classroom. 

So, not a red-letter day for me. I'm pretty sure my classroom maintained a consistent temperature, but I was feeling that interval of hot and cold that only comes when you're way off your game. 

I got home and went to sleep until Cas called. I'm ready to go to sleep again, too. I have to shake this off, because actually taking one of my 117 days requires a level of prep work that I simply don't have the energy to do right now. I'm too tired to prepare lessons for a sick day. That is exactly why I have so many. 

Where's the money, Lebowski?

Fun iPhone quirk: when you try to type "Ghengis Grill," autocorrect thinks you're referring to the lesser known restaurant, "Ghetto Grill." I'll let you guess which establishment served Dinner to me and Cas yesterday.

For extra fun, we got to hear the musings of a bartender who self-identified as a mixologist. While technically true, it's pretty pretentious. He's a mixologist like I'm an educator. Can it, kid- I'm a teacher and you're a bartender. I know. I was a bartender before I was a teacher. Whatever he called himself, he had a $2 drink special, and for bonus points, the mixologist broke a glass and dumped some vodka and juice on his shoulder while mixing. Still, it was a good drink special and a nice dinner with a great guy. 

We have a lot of things planned in the next month or two that require clear skies, so with yesterday's weather being uncooperative, we chose a movie. Alamo Drafthouse was showing The Big Lebowski last night. That film really ties the room together... 

Aside from the brief meal at happy hour on Friday, we hadn't seen each other in over a week, which is actually a pretty long time for the two of us. 

I practiced my selfie-taking before the movie. Cas always takes our selfies together. It's not our best photo, but it's not bad: 

It was a great night- pretty low key for us, but I'll take it. 

Timing is everything

I went to the first half of "dance explosion" at my school this evening. I walked out of the auditorium at intermission for a bathroom break and kept going. About two minutes after I got into my car, the rain began. Timing is important.

It was one of those painfully long weeks. The paper went to press Monday night. I had to cover for another teacher during my only free moments of time on Wednesday. I had a meeting during lunch on Thursday. I was far to occupied all week. Annoying. 

Even my date night was too much. Cas was totally exhausted on Thursday, and I was tired enough not to mind that he wanted to sleep instead of get together. Man, we're both ready for the summer. 

He came out for a light dinner this evening between school and dancing, and I had the decency to tell him that he was not expected to attend the dance show. He appreciated my low expectations. I just don't love dance all that much. It's probably great exercise, but I'm not entirely sure it's art. I know that makes me a jerk, and I'm not sure I care. 

Honestly, I wouldn't have gone if my colleagues and I hadn't guilted one another into attending in what professionally mirrored a suicide pact. I'm only going because you're going. 

Okay, I guess I'm going. Blegh. Joke's on you, significantly younger teachers, I left while there was still time to get into my car all dry. Enjoy the rain, ladies. 

I'm going to bed early tonight. I don't even think I have it in me to stay awake for a glass of wine. I may read a little or press play on some DVR offering, but I'm not promising anything. It's clearly time for sleeping, and timing is very important. Heck, timing is everything. 

Commandments- at least most of them

My traditional Sunday beer outing with Dad provides a study break when I have a lot of weekend work to accomplish. I've been staring down my laptop for the better part of my waking hours last night and today. Newspaper. Of course.

It's good to have some scheduled time with the folks. I was having a conversation yesterday with a woman who is married to a Minnesotan. We talked about Midwestern values. That's what this boils down to for me. I was raised by people who taught me it is a good idea to pay attention to your parents. They did it through example. 

As Dad and I were enjoying beers today, we got to talking about this discussion I had yesterday and about Midwestern values.  Somehow, that bled into a discussion of the Ten Commandments. I ended up lining out the ones I'm really good at accomplishing. 

I have never murdered. I don't covet my neighbor's ass. I honor my mother and my father like a champ. 

Dad concurred. I excel at not murdering, not coveting and honoring the folks. 

As we were enjoying our time at The Flying Saucer and I was honoring my father and all, we noticed the sheer number of people who were staring at tiny phone screens in lieu of talking to the people near them. 

Pathetic. Pa-freaking-thetic. 

So, a new commandment, everyone. Thou shalt acknowledge the humans in front of you instead of your phones. It seems like a reasonable commandment for the times in which we live. I couldn't find a table of people who looked at each other for more than a minute without staring at a phone screen.  I am just sad that I had to use my phone in order to take the picture on the phone addicts.

Maybe, if the 11th commandment is that thou shalt acknowledge humans in front of you, the 12th one should be something about always maintaining your appreciation of irony.  

Win some, lose some...

Today, my students went to UIL competition.  It was about as exciting as it sounds.  Kids showed up, they competed in events and life went right on...

I wish there was more art to it.  There was a schedule, and students went to classrooms.  Big deal.  I did this last year, and one student advanced to regional competition.  I had to drive her to Waco, and from there, we went exactly nowhere.  It just sucked a day out of my springtime and got her hopes up.  Maybe I'm cynical.  Okay, I'm cynical.

I must be, because I was pretty okay with the fact that none of the kids today placed in third or higher.  That means no regionals, and that also means I don't have to find my way to Waco with one or more children in May.

So, I am sad for those who didn't fare well today.  However, I am happy I have no immediate plans to head to head halfway to Austin next month.

As for my personal life, I have a wholly Cas-free Saturday.  Upsetting, really.  He is at his school's prom this evening.  I'm told that this particular prom is super-fancy.  It's at the former location of the Ghost Bar located in The W hotel.  I can't afford to stand in the parking lot of that place, let alone buy a drink in the lobby bar- or, God forbid, sleep there.  

Of course, Cas sent me a selfie to show me a pretty view from the window.

Prettiest thing in the picture is the man in the tie.  Of course.  He also sent me a photo of the children prom-ming.  Woo-hoo!

Anyhow, that's not nearly as fun looking to me as the happy hour we went to yesterday with our friends Jerone and Julie.  Cas knows those two, but he may have been unfamiliar with Mariah.  That would be the woman in this photo with the scarf on her head:

Julie wanted to try out her phone's reverse-panoramic photo feature. Seems it worked, though she was so focused on the task that she forgot to smile. 

Anyhow, that's all I have for this evening.  I have been working on newspaper stuff for several hours on end, now.  I do, however, have these lovely tulips to keep me company.  It's a beautiful type of flower- I mean, look:

The darn things look like they couldn't possibly have grown from dirt. 

It goes to eleven

Cas said somehow he was very impressed with the fact that we'be been together for 11 months. He also admitted that he had no idea why this particular milestone impressed him so much. Later on in the evening, he uttered the classic line from This is Spinal Tap, "It goes to 11."

That must have something to do with it. 

When I got to his place with a pair of Subway sandwiches, he had a bottle of wine ready. It was named Fleur. Flower. Because I got flowers today. Cute. 

In other news, Frank and Claire Underwood remain, as ever, horrible people. 

I'm happy and exhausted. One more day at work this week, though I have to head to UIL competition this weekend, and Cas has to go chaperone his school's rather ostentatious prom that night. This weekend is conspiring to rob us of our together time, but we managed a whole lot of it last weekend, so I think we will muddle through.

I'm pretty thrilled that we go to 11, though. 

Tulips are so pretty. Really.

Tulips are my favorite flowers.

Well done, Cas. Well done. 

We're 11 months into our time together. A month from today, we will have been a couple for a year. 

I'm at a loss for extensive prose right now. I'm just really happy. 

I should get myself ready for Netflix night. Maybe a quick shower... My classroom was warm again today. I can't show up and thank Cas for the flowers while all yucky and sweaty. 

He nice, the Jesus

On the way to Chad's church today, I decided it was time to acquaint Cas with my favorite Easter story.  David Sedaris writes many of my favorite short stories.  He wrote one about Easter called Jesus Shaves.  In this story, Sedaris was in a French language class trying to learn conversational skills.  He was in this class in Paris with people from several other countries.  A Moroccan woman was in the class, trying to improve her grammar, and in the end, becoming an unbearable know-it-all.  When the subject of Easter arose, this woman who was raised in a Muslim country had no idea.  The people in the class tried, in broken French, to explain the occasion.  They said wonderfully funny things in very messy and child-like language.  One of the people in the class summed it up, "He nice, the Jesus.  He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."

I read that story to him in the car en route to the church I'd never visited.  I'm not a church regular, and I haven't been to a Presbyterian service in recent memory, so I had no preconceived notion of what to expect.  It was one of those cool contemporary churches.  There was a rock band drum kit at the front, which tells me that they generally try to do a rock-and-roll-Jesus kind of service.  There were data projectors showing Power Point slides up at the front of the church.  I guess I was raised in a more buttoned-down way.  Church is simple.  Sit, stand, kneel.  Speak only when spoken to.  Don't wiggle or make unnecessary noise.  Enjoy the organ music and sing from the hymnal.  There were some parallels, but not a bunch.

The sermon bothered me.  It felt a little man-centric.  The pastor talked about how it was so amazing that Mary Magdalene was the one who witnessed the resurrected Jesus.  Apparently, the pastor would have been happier if someone like Peter was there.  But no such luck- just Mary.  (a girl, and not even a particularly great one, from the sound of things).  The thing that happened in the midst of the discussion of the astounding fact that Mary saw the resurrected Lord was a sports metaphor.  I guess that, while we should be amazed that a mere woman was present at the resurrection of Jesus, we should also talk a little bit about football.  Because Texas.  Jesus.  Football.

Maybe I am a Minnesotan at heart.  The Jesus I learned about in my childhood wasn't particularly known for his sports skills.  And I wasn't raised to be stunned when a mere woman was able to do something big.  Stupid feminism.  It wrecks your whole sense of self doubt as a lady-American.

Still, Chad and Becky were in an amazing choir, and we got a few opportunities to hear them sing.  I told Cas that I was just like an overgrown kid, though, and I spent far too much of my time watching the person playing the big kettle drum.  He admitted the same.  What kind of adults are we that we focus on the big, cool drum instead of the choir, the service, and the girl-person who talked with the resurrected Jesus?

After the service, we went to the very pretty flowers at the front of the church and took photos.  Here we are:

We even had someone else take a whole group picture:

After that, we went out to eat.  Cas and I packed some jeans and casual shirts before we left this morning, and from the restaurant, we went to my parents' house.  We had dessert there and a few glasses of Ouzo.  I mentioned Ouzo to my mother a while back when Cas and I had our big Greek dinner, and Mom reminded me of how much she liked it.  I decided to bring over a bottle today and share it.  She was quite happy.  

After dessert and Ouzo, Cas, Danny Dad and I went out for beers.  Cas doesn't make it out for Sunday beers with Dad that often, but it's really nice when he can be there.  Dad appreciates spending time with the man who chose his favorite (only) daughter.  I appreciate that Cas seems happy to be around my parents.  He reminded me today that he really likes my people.  I do, too, and I am happy that they like him back.  

Whiskey River, don't run dry

As I was getting all ready for my distillery tour with Cas today, I decided that the most prudent course of action would be to turn on my Bluetooth speaker, open YouTube up and find Whiskey River by Willie Nelson. For a pre-distillery tour song, it doesn't get much better than that.

We arrived just in time for the tour and saw the moving parts necessary to make bourbon and rum. I give you the still selfie:

I sent a copy to mom, and she said I looked like I was wearing the tin man's hat from The Wizard of Oz. 

So, without our heads in the way: 

The tour wound up with a little taste test of three different kinds of rum and their bourbon whiskey. We had a few mixed drinks afterward and a piece of their rum cake. We also took home a few bottles of cinnamon infused rum. 

We had a great time. We even played a game of giant Jenga. 

We got the darn thing so tall that we were afraid it would hurt someone when it fell, so we decided to call it a draw and put it back how we found it. 

When we finished floating down the whiskey river in Lewisville, we made our way back south, stopping at the Twisted Root Burger Company we had visited back in January. 

It was a great day, and by the time we got back to our own neighborhood, we actually needed a nap. Too much food and drink, I'm afraid. 

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. We are going to Chad and Becky's church. Jeanne and Dave will be there, and it's entirely likely that Zoey will do cute kid stuff related to colored eggs and bunnies. When we leave there, we're changing into jeans and heading to my parents' house in Richardson. I haven't seen my parents in a few weeks, and there haven't been any beers with Dad in that long. Certainly, a visit is in order. 

Good Friday? Meh. It's an okay Friday...

So, here we are. It's Good Friday. Cas has slept in, I'm sure. He has the day off. He also has Monday off. Apparently, when you work at a school with the name of a major Protestant religion in its title, they don't mess around with Easter weekend. I'm at work, because we had this day scheduled as an inclement weather make up day. I knew I would be pissed about this. I knew it the moment school got called off for snow in February.

But, it's Friday nonetheless, and at least I get to work in blue jeans today. Pretty lame solace, but it's something. 

Last night, it was extremely pretty out. Cas and I skipped Netflix and headed to a patio for dinner. A few enchiladas and blue margaritas later, I had nearly forgiven him for his days off. I also showed him an email I got from the good people at groupon. Sometimes, they notify me about spa packages or liposuction. Sometimes, it's a message that tells about doggy day care or something else I'd never want. Occasionally, they send out a winner. This one was for a business that allows patrons to swing on a trapeze. 

Honestly, I was on the fence. Interesting? Yes. Do I want to do it? Not sure. I'll go if he goes. He was down to clown. 

He is so often down to clown that I set up a keyboard shortcut on my phone. Whenever I type in dtc, my phone displays:

That's how much fun we have. I put in a shortcut for it. 

Tomorrow, we're doing a distillery tour. Because whiskey. Sunday, I believe we have church with his brother's family. Easter for the one-year-old. Perhaps, she will attempt to locate eggs. We shall see...

April is the cruellest month

When TS Eliot wrote The Waste Land, he started it all off with an indictment of a whole month. According to Eliot, April's first crime was breeding lilacs out of the dead land. I started my own April this year with an April Fool's prank.

I used to do great pranks in my classroom, but I suppose I have mellowed a bit in recent years. This time around, I went to work with no prank in mind. Before I left the house, though, I managed to fool myself. 

I usually leave my house between 7:45 and 8 am. I was cooking my breakfast as I do most mornings around 7:30 when I looked down at my wristwatch. Here- have a look: 

If I hadn't already cracked the egg I was holding, I would have dropped it on the floor. My watch was showing it to be 8:30. By 8:30, I am typically seated at my desk in my classroom, preparing for the day ahead. 8:30 is an hour after I make eggs. 8:30 could not be. 

Oh, April, why so cruel? I guess if a watch battery has to die, April Fool's day is pretty good timing. 

Ah, you got me, wristwatch. Good one. 

Later on in the day, a student asked me to help her prank her mother. I was to write up a discipline referral for a crime that never was. I obliged. I said that a very sweet and even-tempered young lady stood on a classroom table and let loose a stream of profanities that would embarrass a sailor on shore leave. All the while, I reported, the young lady pounded her fist against her chest and admonished her classmates in a display of sheer rage. I wrote at the bottom that it was an April Fool's joke. I hope her mom has the sense of humor that the child says she does. 

I'm done for now, though. Time to make some dinner and pop open the laptop. I'm certain I have work to do, and even though it feels earlier, my wristwatch says it's already 8:30.