Best in Class

How to be Popular, Part I

2012-08-25T23:36:00.000-07:00

Last week, I projected the following Quick Write on the board:

It's from this tumblr which is my favorite source for thought-provoking, visual writing prompts.

So, when I first read them this prompt, they looked at me like this -

So then we googled "hierarchy," "algorithm," and "variables". Myriad was already a vocabulary word. They were still unsteady. They needed more scaffolding, which is a fancy education word for what I was about to do - reference Mean Girls. I reminded them of this scene where Cady is informed of the tribes in the cafeteria.

We identified who we thought would be at the top of the hierarchy at North Shore High School and the bottom. Then we talked about the variables that pushed the Mean Girls to the top of that peak. After which, they were ready to write. I told them they could write a narrative or informative piece on this theme - that directly answers the questions or just touches on them.

Several of their Quick Writes were post-worthy, but I'll start with this one from the younger brother of a boy I taught my first year. Enjoy.

"Formula of Popularity"

Some people would say, “John Grisham*! What do you know about popularity?”, and I would say EVERYTHING because I am very interpersonal; it’s just that I don’t care enough to put it in action. But for those of you that are conceited enough to want to become popular, here you go.

The formula of being popular: [height (chest hair)² - grade point average / athletic abilities + 2(wit + immaturity) (muscle size)³ + shoe size / waist size – inability to talk to women (drugs that will ruin your life) + (swaggin’ vocabulary x texting grammatically incorrectly) + stupidity] how “bad” you are = Popularity.

I know some of this stuff only comes from time/puberty, but some of this stuff you can control. For instance, if you work out a lot, your waist size will go down, and your muscle size and athletic ability will go up, thus raising your popularity.

Keep in mind that if any of you are like me, you won’t really care about this stupid thing called popularity, and you life will be a whole lot simpler. And if you read this, but don’t use it (like me), you will be classified as a dork or nerd, but you will be very popular in my book.

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

You Foul-Mouthed Trollop

2012-08-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

So, this is the week of school when I look at the children and say, "Hey, that whole summer reading thing was not a suggestion, so how about you actually go buy the book at least." Luckily, this very timely news article made a showing in my Facebook feed before we had that nasty little conversation.

Long story, short -

A student logged into Yahoo Answers, where dumb questions go to fester and die, and asked the internet to do his summer reading for him:

Note that sahweet username, by the way.

Unfortunately for said student, the author, D.C. Pierson, is one of the few Americans who has access to wifi. And, basically, Pierson took this kid to the mattresses:

I saw this story as a golden, learning opportunity for my little angels, and promptly ran off a class set of the article. After I gave them time to read it, I assigned the following Quick Write -

"Fast forward to when you're a published author. You're trolling the internet one day like D.C. Pierson and see a similar post where a student is trying to avoid reading your masterpiece. Do you confront him? If not, why not? If so, write your response."

Curious, I peered over their shoulders as they worked. One student raised her hand, "Ms. P, can we use the word 'trollop' in this class? Is that appropriate?"

If I played soccer and my classroom was the Olympics and word choice was like a goal (follow that metaphor, and you deserve an A), this is what I would have done right then...

But, alas, I maintained professionalism AND dress code and just said, "Um, sure?"

Interest piqued, I traveled to her desk to skim what she had so far. And promptly had to apologize to the student across to her when I almost spit my Diet Coke in his face in violent laughter.

This is the stuff sarcastic, English teachers' dreams are made of. I'll be reading her piece to students until I retire.

Her Quick Write -

Well this is awkward. Hi, Dorothy Parker* here. That’s right. The author of the “but it’s so long, how can I finish this in 2 months with my ‘social life’ going on” book. Well, first of all, whatever social life you have won’t crumble and collapse at the astounding miracle that you read a book. It might, just might, better your social skills by providing you with the pride that you are the sixty-six percent that actually read and gain knowledge from reading. Heck, reading actual books might just teach you words other than ‘swag’, ‘YOLO’, and worst of all, ‘cool.’

And with those new big-kid words you just might get a real job with better pay and better people. And, who knows? Your new job probably won’t require a hair-net. We want to keep those luscious locks free and flowing in the breeze, right?

"Reading equals Freedooooomm."

And if some dope walks into your new office saying, “My swag is enough to land me this job, brah,” you can just calmly say, “You foul-mouthed trollop, go read some real literature.” So all I’m typing is, if you read, you might just learn something.

At this point, remembering I taught her last year, I promptly pulled a Tina Fey. And high-fived myself.

*Name changed to protect the brilliant.

Didgeridoos and "Dencher" Glue

2012-08-15T15:17:00.002-07:00

When the students came into class on the second day, this Quick Write was projected on the board:

In order for me to monitor who finished when and to get to know them a bit better, I had them write their favorite piece of advice on a sticky note and post it on a piece of chart paper.

There our collective advice sits - ready for tomorrow's Meet the Parents night. I'm pretty sure their folks are going to go wild when they see what they wrote.

(Note - I tried to maintain their original spelling/punctuation. Do forgive us. It's early in the year.)

We are dealing with middle schoolers here, so oftentimes their advice touched on the theme of "Lookin' Fly". You know -

Keeping up Appearances:

"And if you don't wear your braces prepare not to have a wife. My teeth are so jacked up, when I smile, I scare every woman I see."

"One more thing, don't play bingo, you'll get bingo wings."

(...bingo wings...)

"Don't bathe and bake in your own self-made puddle of oil sheen and UV rays - you have been warned. You WILL be pale and wrinkly like a sun bleached raisin - dry and shriveled."

(She took Creative Writing last year, and it shows.)

"Use wrinkle cream so the 50 year old men will like you."

"Enjoy having no wrinkles, and eat as much candy as you can before you get diabetes or lose all your teeth."

Another common theme was

Love and Marriage:

"If you ever feel drawn to cats ignore it."

"Ohh!! and don't get married, all they do is nag all day everyday."

"Don't ever have kids."

"Make sure you have a cat or some kind of animal as a backup plan just in case your husband does get tired of our shananigans."

And finally, like middle schoolers, much of their advice defied any sort of categorization whatsoever...

Grab Bag:

"Don't quit your job to fofill your lifelong dream of becoming a didgeridoo player. You didn't make it in the business. Now I live on the side of highway 51 and have a pet racoon names Chester."

(Note: Kid...how do you know how to spell didgeridoo, but not "fulfill" or "raccoon"? Also, this child started his letter with something to the effect of, "That bachelor party in Vegas seems like a good idea. It's not.")

"Always! Always! Remember your dencher glue!"

Translation:

"Make sure you know hoe to play checkers and bingo. That's about all you can do with a bad hip!"

"Your gonna get put in the crazy house."

(Note: With handwriting and spelling like that, YOU'RE going to put Ms. P in the crazy house.)

"Do me a favor and don't be lazy."

"When you get a chance to buy a library, please do. Because it turns out the library can be a pretty snazzy place to live, and there's only things like Early Arthritis to read here."

"By now technology has taken over. I'm sitting beside by holographic Border Collie hovering in my elevated chair."

And my personal favorite.....

"When the lady that drives the nursing home bus drops you off at Kroger...

Make a run for it."

Love and prune juice,

Ms. P

P.S. Any advice you'd like to give my middle schoolers? Please share.

Are you digital or tangible?

2012-06-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

   Matthew Glover, who maintains a digital library for a living and just happens to be my real-life, down-the-street neighbor, wrote the perfect blog post to juxtapose against my recent post, "I Believe in Real Books".
   You can view it here at his tumblr. It's entitled "Digital Books are Real Books, Too". I love that ten to fifteen years ago Matthew and I, two voracious readers, would not even be having this conversation.
   Though we both love reading in equal amounts, we have different preferences about how we do it. I love spines and pages. He loves eReaders and digital libraries. What about you?

Are you digital or tangible?

I believe in real books.

2012-06-07T16:01:00.002-07:00

This post isn't directly about teaching, but it is about something that made me the teacher that I am.

I believe in real books.

Do you remember the kind I'm talking about? The ones with the spines and the pages. The ones that smell of ink and basement. The ones that you can dog-ear, even if it feels a little rebellious. Even if you hear the librarian, mother, teacher in your head blurt, "Use a bookmark, missy! That book didn't buy itself!"

Admittedly, from birth to present, I have held seventeen different residences. My uncle has called me a gypsy, and on each of those moving days, the back-bending labor of lugging cardboard boxes spilling with stories has nearly driven me to a Kindle or Nook.

It would certainly make more sense for a semi-nomad to condense, but once I settle into the new apartment, dorm room, or house, the first thing I unpack are my books. It's a sacred ritual. I run my fingers along their spines, flip through dog-eared pages, and am transported back to the first, second, third time that I read that story. Inevitably, a memento or two will fall to the floor as I scan the text - a note from a neighbor in 10th grade English, my sister's posed picture at a Sadie Hawkins dance, a receipt for twenty dollars worth of gas which used to fill up my car, or one of the bookplates that my grandmother gave me.

When I see oily stains splashed across the recipe for Nutty Apple Loaf in my Hummingbird Bakery cookbook, I think of Sarah. She was my college confidante who once sat beside me on London's Portobello Road as we stuffed our faces with two Hummingbird Bakery cupcakes each - embarrassing our country and validating the "gluttonous Americans!" stereotype.

I remember when she called me crying from graduate school, four states away because of the suicide of her close friend. In a rush to comfort her, I grabbed the cookbook off the shelf, and quickly baked Hummingbird apple bread to send in the mail - a reminder of better times. In the hasty process of greasing a loaf pan, I spilled oil on the pages - a reminder now, to me, of our friendship and how long distance has yet to stain it. My collection of "real" books preserves my scattered personal history. Each one of them holds more than the author's original text. It holds my yesteryear. Though to uninformed on-lookers, they're merely marked with smudges and chicken scratch.

Last week, I moved into house number seventeen after the burglary at house number sixteen. Of all my worldly possessions, the crooks only deemed one worthy of their time - my computer. I laughed to myself as I noticed that, although they had lugged most of our belongings on the floor, they hadn't laid a finger on a bookshelf - where my most treasured effects are housed. Hidden in plain sight.

Now, a Nook might have peaked their interest, but the joke's on them. What I've learned from those books has made me, as my Dad reminded me, "grateful that I'm not the one having to do the robbing."

When I glance at my collection on the green built-ins in the living room of house number seventeen, I see a timeline of my life that no one else can see. Once when stepping back after arranging them in an order that would make Dewey's head spin (summer reads, expatriate authors, cookbooks for carnivores), I was interrupted by my housemate who asked me my favorite question, "Can you recommend a book for me to read?" I turned around, sized her up, then furiously went to work. Me Talk Pretty One Day? Check. She's Come Undone. Perfect. Sandra Cisneros? Amy Hempel? Malcolm Gladwell? Of course. At seven books, she interjected, disrupting my literary fervor, "Okay, okay! I said a book. A book."

I just know it will happen one day. It might be a birthday or Christmas, but someone I know who did not read this essay is going to give me an eReader. I'll smile, thank them, and I might even use it when I travel. But I will never deny my loyalty to the real books. When I crawl in bed at night, I want to pick a book out of the stack of them that teeters on my nightstand - threatening the lamp in a contest of height. I want to walk through a library and judge them by their covers. I want to shove off one too many novels on my friends. I want to grab my copy of One Writer's Beginnings by Eudora Welty that I bought at her birthplace - two blocks down from house number fourteen - and read the words I've highlighted:

"Yet regardless of where they came from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them - with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself."

Ms. Welty's home library

The Hiding Place, part 1

2012-06-05T15:34:00.002-07:00

Much to my dismay, teachers don't stop working in the summer. Especially the summer before they start teaching new subjects. Especially the summer before they work towards National Boards. Especially the summer before they start teaching Common Core. Especially the summer that they participate in a National Writing Project summer institute.

No, I'm not stressed at all. Just tired after typing all that nonsense out.

But, there are blessings that come from all this hard work. One being that I'm reading and writing about teaching on a daily basis. What follows is part one of a narrative piece about my middle school experience, and more importantly, one of my most influential teachers. Do enjoy, my dears.

And think of me while you work on your tan, and my skin turns an unsettling shade of schoolmarm beige.

"The Hiding Place," part 1

You haven't lived until you've been crammed into a 25-square-foot bathroom with fourteen of your 7th and 8th grade classmates.

It was the most ridiculous thing any teacher had ever asked any of us to do. But that's what we had begun to expect from Mrs. Morris. The unexpected. In retrospect, she actually had even more gall to tell us that, while in the sardine can that was the preschool bathroom, we were not to talk, cough, laugh, sneeze, or even whisper. That is, not if we wanted to remain "hidden." If you've ever met a middle schooler, you know that their silence - especially when the situation demands it - is as elusive as a Mississippi snow day.

Furthermore, upon leaving our classroom to hole up in the bathroom, we were expected to squirrel away all traces of our previous presence there. No math worksheet or lunch box left behind. Which, yet again, if you've ever met a middle schooler, you know that they normally trail more debris behind them than a fleet of floats at a Mardi Gras parade.

There I found myself with a frizzy bob and I'm guessing, if I had to bet money on it, wearing a sweater vest, in the darkness of the preschool bathroom with fourteen remarkably silent adolescent confederates - long after its three-year-old rugrat residents had gone home to juice boxes and naps. I squeezed my eyelids closed, then open, closed, then open again - willing my pupils to adjust to the darkness. With my back pressed to the cool tiles that lined the wall, I surveyed the scene. Miles took this unchaperoned opportunity to perch in the sink "to make room, of course". Kevin was crossing his eyes - his sole mission to force someone, ANYONE, to break Mrs. Morris's command of "No laughing." Sandy and Claire were dangerously close to fulfilling his wish - their shoulders bouncing up and down in silent, girlish giggles. Jonathan, the too-cool-for-school type, stood nonchalantly against the wall - well, as nonchalantly as one can stand when relegated to two yellow bathroom tiles of personal territory. The rest of the class filled in the rectangle of space that was beginning to smell of the quintessential pre-teen odors - too-sweet perfume, Chap Stick, Teen Spirit deodorant, and the sweat of those who had forgotten to apply it. Which is understandable, as it was a new hygiene habit for the bulk of us.

In an instant, our thoughts and antics were halted by urgent voices. We had been warned that this might happen. When Mrs. Morris reviewed us on the protocol of the activity, she said that sometimes our hiding would pass without disturbance. And then, as if nothing had ever occurred, we would return to the classroom and resume the math, science, or history lesson that it had interrupted. But on the other hand, she said, we couldn't rest in the fact that the hiding would always be that easy. Sometimes we might actually be found.

So, in a way, we expected what happened next. But, none of us expected it to affect us like it did.

_____________________

Stay tuned for "The Hiding Place", Part 2. Truth be told, I haven't even written it yet. So I'll be tuning in as well.

25 of the World's Thinnest Books

2012-04-24T18:22:00.002-07:00

Today we were like hipsters. Thin and ironic. Perhaps I should explain further...

Currently, my kids are chest-deep in some pretty heavy narrative writing. The natives were getting restless, so today I decided to let them step away from their memoirs to play around. This "quick" write turned into a day of laughter, wit, and irony that we all greatly needed.

"A thin book is a book the author has no authority to write or that is an oxymoron. It's thin because there's nothing to put in it. Come up with 10 titles for books that would have to be thin."

Below are 25 of my favorites from the day. Enjoy!

How to Hit Puberty by Justin Bieber

How to be Social by Boo Radley

Rick Ross's Healthy Cookbook

Natural Beauty by K. Kardashian

Emergency Exits by the crew of the Titanic

Freeing Slaves 101 by Joseph Kony

How to Dress Casually by Lady Gaga

Loving People by Jaws

How to Teach Math by Ms. P

Taking Life Seriously by Buddy the Elf

How to Keep a Girl Safe by Chris Brown

World Peace by Al-Qaeda

10 Tips to Be Tan by Edward Cullen

A Happy Place by Satan

How to Keep a Shirt On by Taylor Lautner

A Guide to Crying by James Bond

How to Grow a Full Mustache by Hitler

Dressing to Please the Lord by Christina Aguilera

Get over your Break Up by Bella Swan

Drama-Free Household by the Kardashians

Intelligence by Mike (The Situation)

Days of the Week by Rebecca Black

What to do When There’s a Terrorist on your Plane by Osama bin Laden

The Bright Side of Life by E. A. Poe

How to Be a Responsible Mom by the cast of MTV’s 16 and Pregnant

Yours truly,

Ms. P

Bonus points? Contribute to our list of thin books in the comments section.

"Whatever you do, wear underwear."

2012-04-19T20:44:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week, I assigned a quick write that required my students to write a letter of advice to their future dates - particularly advising them on how to survive meeting the family. They didn't hold back.

Below are some of my favorite excerpts from their letters - just the tip of a very humorous, awkward iceberg. Enjoy!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

“My mom would want you to make right choices and not act like a hooligan. My dad would just like the fact that I got a date.”

“Whatever you do, wear underwear.”

“Don’t let other people tell you you’re not beautiful.”

“My parents aren’t going to let us sit on the loveseat.”

“My brother Chris will be pretty disgusting, so bring a gas mask in case we have beans.”

“You may deny it now, but as soon as I hit five foot, you won’t be able to resist me.”

“If you break my heart, I’ll be out for blood. Good luck.”

“I hope that you exist. Few people get my jokes, but I hope you would if you exist.”

“Dear please – be – a – Hollister – model boyfriend,”

“Before I begin, I just wanna let you know that my family is in fact normal. Some of us.”

“Future date, you go on the list along with unicorns and non-stick glitter. So yeah, you’re pretty rare.”

“If you hear us speak in Russian, it’s probably about you…or the food.”

“If, and that’s a very big IF, she lets me date at 16 or 17, she’ll insist on knowing A: Your life’s history, or B: Your entire future.”

“Watch out for flying knives.”

“Don’t share anything with my mother. If you do, she’ll use it against you.”

“My father will probably ask you if you know anything about guns. My grandfather will ask you if you have ever been threatened by a gun. Then tell you that you have just been threatened by a gun as he holds it out in front of you.”

“If my mom asks if I kissed you yet, say no. Or she won’t shut up.”

“My dog will try to protect me from you, but after she gets to know you, she will leave you alone.”

“Don’t get discouraged if my step dad yells at you. That’s just the way he talks.”

“My mom will have you brain dead by the time you leave. She might even give you a math sheet to complete. She might even give you a physical.”

“Your personal bubble will be invaded.”

“You will leave with some kind of animal hair on you.”

“Dear Beyonce, since you are rich, you are paying for dinner. So be ready to spend a lot of money because I like to eat a lot.”

“I want to take you on a fancy date, like to the movies.”

“You might see my mom dancing. She watches Ellen.”

“There might be kitty litter down the hallway. Watch your step.”

“My mom will just probably stand there and look at you, and it will be weird.”

“I’m writing to make sure you understand the terms of agreement in our relationship. Usually, I just click, ‘I have read and agreed to these terms of agreement’, but you actually need to read these this time.”

“My dad…he already hates you, but we might can change that. If you don’t eat his deer sausage, he’ll be offended. Just do it.”

“Dear Snooki, We will have to escape to Cuba to get away from my dad. We will have to change our names to Chico and Maria. I will be Maria.”

“Meet me at Hooters!”

“If my dad sees a strange guy in the house, he will not hesitate to shoot.”

“If you feel a sharp sting, my brother just shot you with an airsoft gun. He will keep doing it, so grab his arm and twist it. If he says he’ll stop, twist a little more – then he might actually quit.”

And to sum it all up....

“You need to take into account that you will have the worst time of your life meeting my family.”

How students are like hostages and bar patrons

2011-03-01T17:06:00.000-08:00

Sometimes chuckling at a little irreverent teaching advice is the only thing that can get me through a day of A+ adversity.

"Just yell at your students... Not that they are in trouble, but they are hostages... Beat them with knowledge."

-said by my brilliant friend Bess, who is student teaching, plays in a washboard band, and has a daddy that resembles Mr. Miyagi...a lot

"After lunch the clock moves much slowly than our students do. Your class begins to remind you of a bar full of little drunk people: They want constant attention and often don’t realize how loud they are talking. They have short attention spans; rarely think of the consequences of their actions; and, as you will find out tomorrow, they don’t always remember what happened the day before.”

-From the brilliant book, "See Me After Class: Advice for Teachers by Teachers" by Roxanna Elden

Cheekily yours,

Ms. P

The Retrospect Project 3: Beth Kander

2011-02-27T08:09:00.000-08:00

That’s What Friends Are For

By Beth Kander

(Read her introduction here.)

Ah, thirteen. The age of secret crushes, awkward body changes galore, and insecurities so pumped up it’s like they’re on ‘roids. Thirteen is basically a year you want to survive, and then erase. What makes the whole survive-and-erase tactic difficult for those of us who number among the Chosen People is the fact that thirteen is also the year of the Bat (or Bar) Mitzvah. Thus, in my middle school years, many hours were spent studying for my own Bat Mitzvah, and attending the B-Mitzvah ceremonies of my handful of Jewish friends. I had Torah verses to learn, orthodontia to work around, and inevitably, an epic crush on one of my Hebrew School classmates.

He had a biblical name; for purposes of anonymity, let’s say it was Abel. (It wasn’t. No one is named Abel.) He had giant glasses and perfect teeth – the lucky bastard! – and sandy-colored hair that fell onto his horn-rimmed frames. He wore Cosby sweaters and a watch. He looked like a miniature grown-up. The consistent cracking of his voice did mar the illusion, but only a little.

While the other two boys in our class drew boobs on the matriarchs in our textbooks and looked up swear-words in the Hebrew dictionary, Abel sat with the other brainy girl (let’s call her Peninah, because how many Peninahs do you know?) and me, and the three of us actually went over the prayers we were supposed to be learning. We were the Goody-Goods, but it was more than that: we each carried some extra adolescent baggage. Abel was bullied at school; Peninah was painfully shy; I was enrolled in an “alternative distance learning” program (aka hippie version of homeschooling). In other words, we were the hard core nerds.

Once, for a class project, we had to film a news segment covering “Breaking News of the Bible.” Of course, Peninah, Abel and I worked together. We borrowed a giant old camcorder the approximate size and weight of Texas, created a set for the news desk of WJEW (I wish I were kidding), and filmed our segment. I don’t remember what Breaking Biblical News we covered. I do remember that Abel and I were the news anchors, and when we sat down behind the desk, he complimented my haircut. It was the early 90s; I had just gotten The Rachel; I thanked God and “Friends” that Abel finally noticed something about me beyond my mad Hebrew skills.

December 10, 1994: Abel’s Bar Mitzvah. His was the first in our class. We all attended the service, watching in terror, knowing we were next. He wore a bright red suit with a black tie. I’d never seen anyone but Santa wear a red suit before, and I seriously doubted that Santa attended many Bar Mitzvahs. Still, Abel pulled off the red suit with aplomb. His voice cracked its way through the service and he did all his nerd friends proud. After the luncheon, there was a recess; his party wasn’t starting until dinnertime, so I went over to Peninah’s to hang out for the afternoon. We curled each other’s hair, put on our fanciest dresses (hers had sequins, mine probably incorporated a vest of some kind), and she assured me over and over that Abel would DEFINITELY ask me to slow-dance at his Bar Mitzvah party.

The party was in the synagogue’s social hall. Red and black balloons, matching Abel’s distinctive suit, crowded every table. There was pizza, there were glow sticks, and there was a deejay with a ridiculously big moustache, who was playing Ace of Base like they were going out of style. (They were.)

The slow dances were few and far between – and though Abel enthusiastically bounced around the dance floor flailing his glow sticks during the fast numbers, he seemed to disappear for the slow ones. Finally, it was midnight, December 11, 1994: my thirteenth birthday. Peninah came up to tell me that her parents were ready to leave – and they were my ride, so I had to go, too. We went to find Abel to say one last mazel tov. Right as we walked up to him, something magical happened.

“Let’s slow it down for a minute,” said the deejay, smiling beneath the ‘stache.

“Want to dance?” Abel asked me.

I looked wildly at Peninah. She nodded, go for it! Her parents would wait! This was THE MOMENT! Abel put his hands on my waist. I put my hands on his red-suited shoulders. There was definitely plenty of room between us. We began to sway, stiffly, moving rather like migrating penguins. I wanted to tell him I liked him. That I LIKED-HIM liked-him. Instead, I said: “It’s my birthday.”

“It is? I didn’t know today was your birthday,” Abel said.

“Not today – I mean, tonight – like, right now – because, y’know, it’s after midnight – and my birthday is the eleventh, so technically I’m thirteen now…” Dear heaven above, why do I sound so stupid?

“Oh, I gotcha,” said Abel. “Well. Happy birthday, Beth.”

I pictured a birthday kiss, a confession of his love, my own first moment as a teenager somehow managing to transcend the requisite angst and instead be a moment of something beautiful. But there was nothing; he just smiled at me, I smiled back, and we continued our awkward-penguins routine until the last notes of the song. Then I ran off to find Peninah so we could get into her parents’ mini-van and begin dissecting every moment of what had just happened.

I never did tell Abel how I felt about him, which wound up being okay, because a few years later, he told the world how he felt about men: turns out, he felt like sleeping with them. That would be true of many of my closest male friends in the coming years – but luckily, after Abel, I only fell for guys who were actually interested in persons of my gender. And now, looking back at my awkward unrequited love, I have to smile. The song Abel and I danced to that night was “That’s What Friends Are For.” I mean, seriously. The truth was right in front of my eyes, jumping around with glow sticks, wearing a bright red suit. Thirteen-year-old-me would have been humiliated to learn that my epic crush was probably checking out the guys snorting Faygo at the table behind us as we danced. But almost-thirty-year-old me is glad that we nerds had each other … even if we didn’t really know who we were yet.

"Like" Beth's professional Facebook page for a chance to win a free copy of her book.

The Retrospect Project 3: Meet Beth Kander

2011-02-26T08:50:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I'll run the 3rd installment of The Retrospect Project. I feel extremely lucky to introduce this next Retrospect Project writer. Meet Beth Kander, a writer from Jackson, Mississippi.

This girl has some serious writing credentials...

from plays...

to a children's book.

Recently, she was voted "Best Jackson Writer" in the Jackson Free Press's Best of Jackson awards. Do you know what that means? She received more votes than The Help's Kathryn Stockett, Sweet Potato Queen Jill Connor Browne, and icon Ellen Douglas.

See the Jackson Free Press write-up below.

Best Jackson Writer: Beth Kander

Author, playwright and educator Beth Kander won this title amid stiff competition including Jacksonian Kathryn Stockett, author of the No. 1 New York Times bestseller "The Help." Kander's latest play, "Unshelved" is about a women suffering from Alzheimer's disease, and just finished a run with the Fondren Theatre Workshop at the Eudora Welty Commons. Her life and history shines through her writing, as does her penchant for creative prose, imagery and even the occasional groan-inducing pun. While she acknowledges the importance of writing what you know, Kander believes the imagination can paint just as poignant of a picture.

--Carl Gibson

Second: Kathryn Stockett / Third: Jill Conner Browne / Good Showing: Ellen Douglas

And, now for the official Best in Class Interview:

CD or tape most likely found in your radio in middle school- The Beatles: Abbey Road
A fashion trend you participated in wholeheartedly- Overalls (sad, but true)
An outfit we would find you wearing at the time of the story- Overalls. I meant it when I said overalls. Probably accompanied by black tennis shoes, a plaid and/or flannel shirt, and a bright, colorful scrunchy. Did I mention I also had braces? Sigh.

A poster on your wall or a celebrity crush – Dean Cain. I still love you, Clark Kent/Superman.

What you thought you “would be when you grew up” – A writer. Or, failing that, Vice President of the United States. But not in a Sarah Palin kind of way.
Sum up your middle school experience in 1 word – Over-thought (is a hyphenate word okay?)

P.S. If you're the 500th person to "like" Beth's professional Facebook page, you get a free book! Only four likes to go. It could be you!

Looking forward to tomorrow's harrowing tale,

Ms. P

Get This Kid a Book Deal, 2: Ghost Town-

2011-02-24T19:36:00.000-08:00

I never let my kids write fiction in class. Perhaps it's a personal hang up. I know all my adolescent experiments in fiction were filled with stereotypes and cop-outs like "And then I woke up. It was all a dream."

But they beg and beg. So this week, I finally gave in...a bit. We've attempted spurts of fiction. For example, when working on describing setting, I gave them the following prompt:

"A group of teens are exploring dark woods when they stumble upon an abandoned village."

Here are some of their sentences:

"The trees in the woods looked like skinny arms grabbing for lost visitors."

"The grass acted as spikes on the ground, protecting the land from intruders."

"The woods were so dark, it was as if God forgot to turn on the lights."

(Another variation of this one was, "It was so dark that it was as if someone had forgotten to pay the light bill.")

"The dark clouds swirled above them like moths as they stared at the abandoned village."

"The radiant moonlight skimmed over their heads like flashlights in the trees."

"The animals were as terrified as two-year-olds at the dentist."

"You could almost hear the forgotten hum of the villagers."

They make the hard work of original writing look so effortless.

Basically, I issued up the fiction challenge, and they responded with a, "Ain't no thang, lady."

Yet again, they prove me wrong. Each day, they show me how very little adults, like myself, truly understand about their capabilities.

Slack-jawed,

Ms. P

Eyebrow Emergency: What They Don't Teach You in School

2011-02-21T20:13:00.000-08:00

The following post is probably the single-most blog-worthy moment to happen to me since this whole self-indulgent charade began. Let me tell you. It is good. Hold on to your eyebrows.

What Had Happened Was.....

I am not one of those teachers who wakes up at 5:00 AM to walk the dog, do the crossword, and perform twelve sun salutations before making my way to school. I am much more akin to one of my high school Lit survey teachers who occasionally found herself blow drying her hair behind the desk as class began. It's just my way.

Because of this, I recently found myself loaded down with fresh copies and tearing around the corner of the 7th grade hall precisely ten minutes before the morning's first bell. There I ran into a boy who will be referred to Spock. The nickname will click later.

A little back story....

Spock is the only student that I've ever run into at a roller derby bout. He's less Justin Bieber. More Marilyn Manson. He is less Southern Baptist. More Wiccan. He's more likely to be caught in knee-high, lace-up Converse than Wallabees. He is the only student who's ever asked me, "Ms. P, do you think I could get away with elbow-length fishnet gloves here?" He's less Twilight. And more Tim Burton. In a word, he's unexpected - as was his coming request.

"Oh, Ms. P, I am SOOOO glad to see you!" he wailed, with an exhale befitting a marathoner crossing the finish line.

As he normally errs on the dramatic side, I continued my hustle to the classroom barely making eye contact. "Okay, what's up? What do you need, Spock?"

"Okay, seriously, this is an emergency. Do you have any eyeliner?"

Aware of his musical leanings and fashion experiments, a certain image flashed through my mind before I continued...

"Now, Spock, you know I'm here for you, but I'm not your cool aunt! I can't give you eyeliner. Talk to your parents about it."

Exasperated, he responded, "Oh, Ms. P, it is SO not like that. This is an emergency." Suddenly, he grabbed my arm with one hand and, with the other, pointed to his eyebrow - or should I say, where his eyebrow had once been.

What remained was a sort of half-eyebrow. The remainder ran from the top of his nose to where the arch had once began. The effect left him looking permanently befuddled. It was social suicide.

Like Lauren Conrad faced with a life-or-death fashion emergency, I cringed.

I dropped my purse and set my copies down, dragging him into my classroom. "What DID you DO? Did you wax it? Where did you get wax? What was your goal? Were you BORED?!" I fired a barrage of endless questions at him.

He cut through my curiosity with basic brutal truth, "Ms. P, I really can't go into it. No, not wax. I shaved it. But the point is this...I'm 13. I'm in middle school. I cannot, will not go to class with half an eyebrow, or I will never be anyone but the boy with one and a half eyebrows."

He had me there.

"You're right. But look, Spock. I don't have eyeliner on me. However, I do have something else." I pulled him to the back of my classroom where I have an organizer full of school supplies. I rummaged around and pulled out two Magic Markers. Black and Brown. "Take your pick, buddy."

When they said "preferred by teachers," I'm pretty sure they didn't have this in mind.

Ever the goth, he chose black.

"Hold still," I demanded, summoning all the eyebrow-sculpting advice I had ever read in beauty magazines. I uncapped the marker, warned him against laughing, and went to town.

In that moment, I thought: No education college in the land could ever prepare its graduates for such a time as this. They really don't teach you everything in The Art and Science of Teaching.

And let me tell you, as I stepped back to admire my handiwork, I realized that I had drawn him an eyebrow that would make a drag queen proud.

With that and a warning to not scratch, itch, or even think about sweating, I sent him off to homeroom. At lunch when he saw me, he pointed excitedly to my masterpiece and asked, "Is it still there?!"

The next morning, he walked proudly into school with a fresh brow, drawn with eyeliner. I grinned and asked, "Oh! Did your mom give in? Or did you walk to the drugstore to buy it yourself?"

He shrugged, "When I came home yesterday looking like I did, she offered to fix it for me until it grows back in."

Apparently Mama Spock didn't appreciate my fine handiwork.

Thirty Dollar Throwdown: Leopard Cardigan

2011-02-15T16:58:00.000-08:00

Today's Thirty Dollar Throwdown still incorporates the inspirational wedges, but this is a casual Friday outfit.

Even though I'm not much of a holiday sweater lover, like your traditional teacher, I do adore a good cardigan. It's classic English teacher without looking dowdy.

Throw some red, patent-leather heels on this matronly 'marm!

A conservative estimate of how many I own would be in the 20s. Rain, sleet, snow, sun...I find a way to work a sweater into my outfit.

Today's look features one of my favorite knit finds in a long time - this TEN DOLLAR leopard number from Wal-Mart. That's right, Wal-Mart. It's got to be a scientifically-proven fact that wearing leopard makes you happier. Just ask this girl:

"This leopard leotard is makin' me feel fierce."

And middle school teachers need all the fierce they can get on Friday.

Some less adventurous dressers may fear that a leopard cardi wouldn't get a lot of wear. Au contraire! The trick is this: Treat leopard like a neutral.

You can mix it with any color:

Blue

Black

Other neutrals

Yellow

Subtle prints

Red, etc.

My second favorite thing about today's outfit is the Nancy Drew t-shirt from Out of Print, a brand that sells t-shirts emblazoned with classic book covers. How teacherrific!

P.S. Out of Print tees are for sell in my store's Teacher Apparel category.

Behold: the Outfit

30 Dollar Throwdown, 2

Walmart.com: George - Women's Print Long-Sleeve V-Neck Cardigan: Women, $10
BDG Slim Straight Leg Jean - Grey, $20
Women's Mossimo® Pilar Strappy Wedge Sandals - Brown : Target, $30
Cathy Shoulder Bag, $17
Fabric Embedded Ring, $3.80
Forever21.com - New Arrivals - 1000014445, $4.50
Nancy Drew book cover t-shirt $28
Vintage Glasses Frames with Silver Deco Silver *PRICE REDUCTION! * -...

Feening for Friday Fashion,
Ms. P

P.S. What was your favorite Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys mystery? I devoured The Hidden Staircase.

Conflicting Feelings of Nyeeehh

2011-02-13T14:25:00.000-08:00

Lately, my students have been writing persuasive essays on these topics. While they've been doing an incredible job writing persuasive anecdotes to sprinkle throughout their arguments, they have had trouble stating their opinions with conviction.

For instance, I've gotten a lot of sentences that start like this:

"It's possible that..."
"One might think..."
"It could happen..."
"I can't promise..."

I want to scream the famous (within my family at least) line from the Brady Bunch, "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN, GREG BRADY!"

Why are they afraid to write with conviction? If they're not convinced, their readers will never be. Luckily, people exist who are more eloquent than me. One of them is Taylor Mali.

Poet and Teacher Taylor Mali

If you are a teacher, a poet, a thinker, a breather, he and his words are going to be your new best friends. He wrote an incredible poem entitled, "Totally, Like, Whatever" that beautifully illustrates the point that I want to make to my students about using convicting language.

Watch it here:

Typography from Ronnie Bruce on Vimeo.

Perhaps, watching and discussing this video tomorrow will help us eliminate those invisible question marks, ya know? Hopefully, his words will encourage them (and me!) to be, like, personally invested in our own opinions.

And if that doesn't work, then I'm going to have to hang this poster on my classroom door. I am SO not above it.

I would be remiss if, as a teacher blogger, I did not direct you to Taylor's most notorious poem "What Teachers Make." You can watch it below. His words and delivery will have you laughing appreciatively and nodding in agreement.

"Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that

(asked me to be honest)

because, you see, I have a policy

about honesty and ass-kicking:

if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

If you are a teacher and happen upon a down day, watch this and get rejuvenated. Take account of all the important things you do that cannot be measured or quantified.

Power to the poets,

Ms. P

Drunk Ladies and Expired Licenses

2011-02-09T19:26:00.000-08:00

The kids were funny today. Really funny.

Exhibit A: Pre-writing for persuasive essays

Student 1: Ms. P, can we start persuasive essays with a short narrative that makes a point?

Me: Sounds like a pretty good idea. Use your creative license.

Student 2: (mutters) Mine expired last month.

Exhibit B: Working on similes

Me: I'll write the beginning of a simile, and you write the end. Okay, let's see...."The endless dripping noise was as irritating as...."

Student: ....a drunk lady at a golf tournament!

He does have a point.

What do teachers do....

2011-02-07T21:20:00.000-08:00

When you google "what do teachers do," the search engine auto completes the question for you:

You'll notice that two of the top ten completions wonder about what teachers do in the summer. Thus, I surmised that you're sitting at home just DYING to know my summer plans. Before I reveal them, let me take you a little further down the Google rabbit hole where internet users answer the aforementioned query.

"buy more sweaters with prints on them and denim skirts and bad perfume."

"They drink a lot."

Note the teacher under her said, "Read yahoo answers saying what horrible people we are and how overpaid and underworked."

HILARIOUS, internet-ers. On to my summer plans. I could do something definitively useful like enrolling in grad school classes or tutoring children. But, I'm going to fulfill a lifelong dream instead. I'm going to turn my converted garage into my own personal home library.

It's so Sherlock Holmes. So Virginia Woolf. So Jo March. So Ms. P. And I'm thrilled.

Right now my garage serves as a holding pen for the dogs when I'm at work. They have a doggie door that lets them out and dirt, gravel, and sticks in.

It looks a lot like this, but with more dirt, which is why you aren't seeing the real thing:

But, I have a vision! It is going to be divine.

MY MASTER PLAN:

1) All white surfaces....

....except for one chalkboard wall for recording memorable lines from favorite books:

2) Classic Persian rug

3) A black and white striped couch with good bones

4) A tweed chair - the professor's blazer of furniture

5) A side-table that looks like I chopped it down myself

6) Literary-themed throw pillows...in case I run out of reading material

7) A wall of letters - being careful not to situate the wrong ones together...yikes!

8) Floating shelves that look like an art-collector with full hands just happened by them - so casual.

9) On those shelves will be (and this is my favorite part) black and white photos of people reading framed in black frames with white mats.

10) And, of course, books. Tall books. Small books. Musty books. Fresh books. Dearly beloved books.

END OF MASTER PLAN. TAH DAHHH.

Basically what I'm saying is, I'll buy a Kindle just as soon as I can figure out how to design a room around it. Nothing inspires me like scores of lovely, bound stories. But don't worry, I'm not a total elitist. I'll let you lounge in my garage/library with your eReader. I'll even serve you eCoffee.

Watching Craigslist like a hawk,

Ms. P

QUESTION:

1) What is your dream room? A home gym? A chef's kitchen? A ~~meth lab~~?

Thirty Dollar Throwdown 1

2011-02-05T07:14:00.000-08:00

When most people think of "teacher clothes," images like these spring to mind:

Let's be honest. We all had teachers who sported such flashy duds. However, young educators, don't fret. You do not have to partake in the traditional teacher dress to be able to mold young minds. And I'm here to help you.

My students tell me that I have a unique, bold style. Of course, they don't use those words exactly. Here are a few of their real-life comments about Ms. P's fashion:

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't dress like a normal person."

"Ms. P, I'mma steal your style this summer. I like it. You all mismatched."

"You dress all Anthropologie."

(Clearly, that last student isn't aware of the scope of the teacher salary.)

Okay, sure, they're mixed reviews. But I'd take comments like these any day over none at all. Like Coco Chanel (who would surely not approve of my outfits, but that's beside the point) once said, "In order to be irreplaceable, one must be different."

All of this to say....today I'm introducing a new feature on Best in Class - The Thirty Dollar Throwdown - where I will put together school and age appropriate outfits with items that cost $30 or less.

The first outfit was inspired by my latest Target purchase - these shoes. They're a little "fashiony" for me, but I was sold when I tried them on because they have padding! A wedge is also much easier on the feet while teaching. They do not look comfortable, but they feel nearly orthopedic. Trust.

All items are under $30, even the vintage eyeglasses! Of course, I'm sure your eye doctor would charge more for the lenses. Details. Details.

$30 Throwdown 1 by blacksheepish featuring black sunglasses

Draped Handkerchief Skirt
$12 - forever21.com
Pleated skirts »

Gap Herringbone tights
$9.99 - gap.com
Herringbone tights »

Women's Mossimo® Pilar Strappy Wedge Sandals - Brown : Target
$30 - target.com
Brown sandals »

Monday Morning Bag
$36 - canada.forever21.com
Structured handbags »

1950's Cats Eye Glasses With Faux Tortoise Shell Frames | Vintage...
$30 - blackmarketantiques.com
Black sunglasses »

Merona® Women's Thermal Top - Mochachino/Polar Bear : Target
$15 - target.com

Forever21.com - Outerwear - 2081257342
$20 - forever21.com

Forever21.com - Accessories - 1088152337
$7.90 - forever21.com

Forever21.com - Accessories - Jewelry - 1062098158
$3.80 - forever21.com

Tuck the shirt in. Wear the motorcycle jacket open. And, yes, there are times you can wear tights with open-toed shoes. Just not around your Southern mama.

Sartorially yours,
Ms. P

All Hot and Bothered

2011-02-01T17:33:00.000-08:00

We're gettin' all political up in Ms. P's class this week. We're starting persuasive essays. The only problem is EVERYONE keeps catching the flu.

But that is a(whole)nother tale. I've spent my last few days brainstorming what hot topics will get them talking. What do they care about enough to generate an essay that's chock full of their personality? What will make them spirited enough to cause spontaneous researching?

Here are the 12 topics they can choose from with mentor essays for them to peruse:

1) Are standardized tests valuable?

2) Should adults be able to ban books from school libraries?

3) Should those charged with animal cruelty face harsher penalties than they do presently? (a current local debate)

4) Should the United States continue to fully fund NASA?

5) Is spanking an appropriate punishment for children?

6) Should fast food restaurants have to post nutritional information for their meals on the menu?

7) Is graffiti art? Should graffiti artists be harshly penalized?

8) Some cities have proposed bans on sagging pants. Is this fair?

9) Does having a Facebook account negatively or positively affect your academic life?

10) How should Major League Baseball deal with steroid use, particularly with respect to the Hall of Fame?

11) Do adults praise and encourage your generation too much? Does this affect your ability to accept criticism?

12) Does texting affect your academic life? How?

Just in case, I posted this on the board....

"The views stated in these essays do not necessarily reflect the the views of Ms. P or our school district."

A girl has to cover all her bases.

Now it's your turn to answer the questions:

1) Which one of these 12 issues is most interesting to you?

2) Which one of these do you care the least about?

The Retrospect Project, 2: Hunter Harris's Story

2011-01-31T15:38:00.000-08:00

For a little background on The Retrospect Project, read this.

To read the introduction to today's author and his story, go here.

Without further ado...Hunter Harris's hilarious retrospective moment, which I'd like to call...

"The Boy with the Green Hair"

"I’ll be honest—I was not the coolest kid in middle school. In seventh grade, I was 6’4”, and I weighed barely 170 pounds. Needless to say, I was already fairly noticeable. Add large-frame glasses to that equation, and you have a unique combination of nerd. As a gangly, awkward being, I desperately needed an opportunity to put forward the “correct” image that my classmates (namely the girls) could appreciate.

See that kiddo with the goofy grin? Yeah, that would be him.

I had two musical inspirations for my new look. First, boy bands were still popular, though they were starting to decline. Now, I did not personally care for them, but girls loved them. I noted that they especially appreciated the blonde band members like Justin Timberlake, Nick Carter, and Lance Bass (in hindsight, how ironic).

Backpacks, lunchboxes, and t-shirts with various quartets dominated the hallways. The boys knew that we had to at least pretend to appreciate the boy band genre if we were going to stand as sensitive, caring guys.

Secondly, Eminem had just released The Marshall Mathers LP. If Eminem is popular now, he was almost god-like in the early 2000s. You had 0 street cred unless you could rap “The Way I Am” or “The Real Slim Shady.” Considering I went to a middle school that had an African American population that equaled upwards of eighty percent, Eminem gave the “white boys” a chance to be cool. I reveled in the opportunity. I had white t-shirts and black, baggy jeans, but I just couldn’t yet pay proper homage.

As a brunette, I knew that Mother Nature had not blessed me with golden locks at that age, so, like millions of people each year, I planned to bleach my hair. Unfortunately, I had a mother with enough sense to forbid me to do something so ridiculous (I eventually wore her down next year, but that’s an entirely different, ridiculous story). Without the courage to disobey her or the finances to purchase blonde hair dye, I was left with very little opportunity to improve my lot in life. “Fortunately” for me, I was a fairly resourceful kid. I remembered that my brother and I had been given sidewalk chalk the previous Christmas.

Per my logic, yellow sidewalk chalk was just a slight downgrade from peroxide. Without testing how the chalk looked in my hair, I scraped the chalk all over my scalp before strutting to the school bus. Had my bus driver not been so apathetic that he actually looked at the students that rode his bus, my expressionist journey might have ended there. Also, my family lived in a rural area, so I was the oldest student to ride the bus, thus making me automatically cool to the elementary kids. With both of these factors in my favor, I felt like a king by the time we pulled onto campus.

To make the story a bit more concise, I’ll just say that my hair was a huge hit—just not in the way I expected. When my peers saw my hair during our pre-class congregation, they did not become instantly jealous or attracted, as I hoped. No, they laughed. Uncontrollably. Our assistant principal (thank God for small mercies), hearing the cackling of my friends, found me, and quickly escorted me to the boys’ bathroom. I knew I only had one option to save myself from detention—head dunking. Left alone to my shameful enterprise, I noticed my hair for the first time in the mirror above one of the sinks. Instead of the crisp, golden base I expected, my hair was closer to a lime-green hue.

Instead of Eminem or Mr. Timberlake, I looked more akin to Joey Fatone. Joey was not cool; Joey was never cool. If the shame wasn’t enough, I had to go to the rest of my classes with the helmet that grows from my wet, unbrushed hair.

I learned that day that I was better off just accepting my own nerd-dom, rather than trying to cultivate a non-organic persona. Though it was a long road, I learned to appreciate my potential, rather than prop up my deficiencies. And, years later, I found friends, even potential dates, that could appreciate the nerd in me."

I really don't think I could have topped that story. And what a fantastic "moral." Do you have a story to share? If so, email it to Ms. P at bestinclassblog@gmail.com.

The Retrospect Project: Hunter Harris

2011-01-30T12:11:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I'll post the second installment of The Retrospect Project. This one is particularly hilarious. I read this witty gem to my students last week, and these were some of their questions and comments for the author, Hunter Harris:

1) "Is he an adult now?"
2) "I felt like he has been where I am now."
3) "Is he married?"

4) "I like his word choice. I especially liked the big words I didn't understand.

5) "I like how he knows he's a nerd."

Interview with Hunter to whet your appetite:

Ms.P: Describe an everyday outfit for you at the time of the story.

Hunter: I was a JNCO jeans fan. Being abnormally tall, my pants weren't as baggy as some of my peers. In fact, they actually fit properly, much to my chagrin.

Ms. P: Who was your middle school celebrity obsession?

Hunter: Even though she was a little bit ahead of my time, I crushed Lisa Loeb pretty hard. Oh, I also remember being in love with every member of 3LW at some point or another.

Ms.P: What was your dream job at the time?

Hunter: I wanted to go to Harvard and become a chemist. I distinctly remember telling my parents that I didn't want to go to Harvard during one of my pubescent blowups. Geez, I was such a vindictive dweeb.

Ms. P: Sum up your middle school experience in one word.

Hunter: Well-intended.

Baby Hunter says, "Read Best in Class tomorrow. I will not let you down."

Teachers: Cat Hoarders or Villains?

2011-01-28T17:33:00.000-08:00

Today's assignment: Students were to freewrite for half a page on any topic, as long as they included their spelling words.

Freewriting may sound like a bit of a cop-out on my part, but you have no idea how much they beg me to do this. They love being able to write in any mode on any topic, and of course the results always surprise me.

Like today's featured piece. The student CLAIMS that her piece is purely fiction, but I have my...ahem...doubts. Decide for yourself....

"The leisure time people have is mostly there (sic) sacred time to do what they want. As I sit in class, I wonder what my crazy teacher does in her free time. I receive papers from her. I see her everyday and eat lunch with her. I picture her in a library or a house filled with cats.

She could be a thief or a villain. But that’s impossible because she flinches when a pencil hits the ground. I look to the ceiling imagining what she would do -

read books, write books, talk to her mom, call her seemingly limited amount of friends. As I review the options waving in my head, I realize I might just have had too many protein bars this morning for breakfast. My teacher roams the room taking up the test, and I just drop the subject. I guess I will never know what she does."

Damn Good Sentence Contest, Part 2

2011-01-26T19:26:00.000-08:00

I debuted the Damn Good Sentence Contest on Monday. It's a bit of a competition where you vote for your favorite one of my students' sentences in the comment section OR on facebook.

Sentences that make you say "Then What?!"

1) I walked out of the room feeling confident that today was going to be easy, but if that was true, then turtles hunt bears with ray guns.

2) Two fatal gunshots rang out.

3) Right before I opened my mouth for disapproval, his furious, hungry scissors ate away at my hair like a parasite.

4) Uncertain, I started to creep forward, but with all my best efforts I still couldn’t help from snapping a few dried up twigs.

5) I would rather give The Count the wrong number of the day. I’d rather be lactose intolerant and try the gallon milk challenge than be by this kid. I would rather watch Glee. I’d rather clean a gas station bathroom. I would rather staple my eyes shut and run around busy streets.

Pick your favorite. I know mine.

Just a thought.

2011-01-26T18:46:00.000-08:00

In Mississippi, the average daily cost per inmate for 2010 was $39.56. Multiply that by 365 days, and that equals $14,439.40 for one year.

Mississippi's average yearly cost per student? $7,890.00.

I went to college.

2011-01-26T17:11:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not. Want proof?

I was recently interviewed about Best in Class on my alumni association's blog. Read the interview here.