Hey,
Ca fait longtemps. It’s been a while. It’s currently 3:15 a.m.; after a brief return to local hours, I’m back on Chicago time, as they keep telling me not to come to work. I actually mean it when I say that I wish I had work today (Or at least I did upon starting the sentence, but I am now shaking my head back and forth. Join me in this head-shaking, and if possible, perhaps if you are in a university library, turn your gaze upon a sorority babe who is speaking loudly about how she has just finished at/is going to go to the gym, because no, she has not earned that body pumping 4 pound dumbells), but given the counsel of Theoretical Future 9:00-5:00 Dan, I’m going to enjoy this day off.
On the program for today are four to five hours of sleep, to permit me to break out of the cycle at night. I shall then, weather permitting, bike along the rivers of Lyon. “What are the Rhone and the Saone?” Very good. I shall perhaps stop at a café, where I will read the free Lyonnais newspapers and keep hammering away at those sudokus (I’m obsessed). A beautiful barista will approach me with the bill, and I will lean in and whisper, “Tu ne peux pas commencer un feu sans etincelle” (You can’t start a fire without a spark), and bam! Montage of us traveling throughout Europe, and the rest is history. That’s the tentative plan for today.
Moving on:
The Pants Paradox
I am harshly unforgiving and rigid towards those who do not check their pockets before throwing pants in the wash. To complain to me of having erred in this task would be akin to complaining about the weight of your backpack to your four-star general, Vietnam veteran father. Will not even feign consolation. I may not be the most immaculate, handy individual on the domestic front (as I currently draw looks of sheer amazement from my two female roommates on a daily basis), but to check your pants pockets is just engrained in me.
If I could bring this pants-in-the-laundry attitude to the classroom, I would be fit to be a teacher for life. But I just don’t have this intrinsic desire for order. I am not going to berate a student who does not have a piece of paper for an exercise, because at the end of the day, it just doesn’t irritate me too much. Some of the teachers I work with…when a student so much as drags a chair leg on the floor, they lay into him/her with a level of anger that I have not experienced since my terribly sore loser days in college, on the hardwood and on the beer pong table.
In the under-privileged environment that I happen to have been placed in, these teachers are dead-on in their approach. Their classrooms are more well-behaved than mine (although I’ll grant myself a slight handicap, as my students look upon a 24-year old who speaks their language with a goofy accent… not ideal for garnering respect of these ruffians.)
Furthering the paradox, I like what I hear about the olden days. Nuns beating children senseless with yard sticks. I think this raises the bar and forces a level of respect and accountability.
I just won’t be the one to administer these beatings, physical or verbal.
***
Text Message of the Week:
“Take care of your bottom in the basketball.”
Received from a French girl when I told her last weekend that I was going to a basketball practice. Earlier that day I had informed her of my previous physical therapy to get my glute muscles to activate so as to avoid added stress on my back. Bring out the “lazy ass” jokes. Not funny. Goodnight.
