gotta question

Latent Frustration Level Three has moved into Overt Frustration Level One, thanks in large part to posts by Peter and Will.

What really irritates my knuckles, gnaws mercilessly upon my less-than Promethean-like liver, is the gut feeling that if there are schools that want to transform, that want to see change, then they need to do something drastic about their hiring practices.

There's a question that schools could ask teaching candidates. It's a question that must be asked:

How do you plan to evolve and grow as a proponent of, and an example of, life-long learning?

Study their reaction, their body position, their eyes (thanks, Dina).

And hire accordingly.

of choices 2.0

Quick:

You are leaving. You are never coming back. You are allowed to bring your laptop. You are guaranteed enduring internet connectivity, BUT...

The Devout Network Administrators (DNA, which when you think about it, is both creepy and telling) will only provide/grant/unblock access to one social networking app,tool,thingy.

what notes may come

In his first sixth months of pre-school, Mark returned home every one of those days with one or more of the following:

• odd-shaped contruction paper-based items posing as art
• things laminated, accessorized with ready-to-mount-on-fridge magnets
• leaves, pine cones, rocks, pebbles

But only twice have hand-written note by his teacher made the journey from school to home. They've included, in highlight fashion:

• anecdotal retelling of negative behaviors evinced by Mark
• recounting of steps used by the teacher to allay behaviors
• request for parental assistance in curbing the behaviors

I don't condone the behaviors identified; the lack of sharing or the tantrum that rendered him inconsolable for over an hour.

But just six months into his school career, and already, the pattern of recognition has been established.

It's just so disappointing.

strollers on escalators - v.1

The Bugaboo Bee is replete with features. It boasts a reversible seat, a retractable sun-cover, and a ventilated backrest that provides "a safe, ergonomic fit". Additionally, the Bee possesses a "swivel-wheel system and one piece handlebar" that makes steering nothing short of simplistic.

In stroller circles, the Bugaboo is a top-notch product. It screams status, shrieks prestige. But silent is the Bee when confronted with the inexorable movement of your garden-variety down escalator.

Just beyond the off-ramp of the escalator is a large fountain, a circular piggy bank that collects penny thoughts and nickle fetishes. We are sitting on the edge of the fountain pool, struggling to maintain conversation as the jet-powered sprayers vaulting up and down, up and down, dance their aquatic routine.

I'm social-gawking, watching people travel the concourse, and having a splendid time predicting who will enter particular retailers.

- You sir, portly and bearded, surely you are in the market for a retro Randall Cunningham. Why, Champs is the place for you. Just past the Yankee Candle. Pick up a tea light for your wife. Purify her olfactory glands with a pleasant scent, lessen the severity of the hundreds you just unloaded.

- The shoes are BOGO, for a limited time only. Don't think, just enter. ALDO, ALDO!, ALDO! It's fashion you seek, all leathery and heeled, and it's just beyond the Chick-fil-A. There you go, I knew you could do it.

- Money's no issue for you, young mother, pretty and well-fed. Time is important to you. It's obvious, for surely you would have taken the elevator. A stroller on an escalator is an idea not worth-

The front wheels pause, then they jostle left and right, but they are rooted firmly against the edge of the escalator off ramp. The downward angle of the escalator, the hockey-rink smoothness of the concourse, and the constant forward pushing of the handlebar by the mother ratchets immobility up to somersault, and the stroller leans forward. The mother, still gripping the handlebar, still pushing forward, exacerbates the inevitable. She is almost on top of the stroller, and the baby, five-point harnessed to the ventilated backrest, is staring at the floor.

call huxley, rand

Oh, to be back in the classroom.



How I miss the dystopias.

eyes like chocolate

Vendor Village is all about call-backs. The proliferation of blue eyes. Intermittent green eyes. Women, tall and slender, promoting interactive white boards, network security software, and projectors. Lots and lots of projectors.

They smile, teeth shimmering with techy glee. Heads titled by design, psycho-sexual angles that have been studied, pre-packaged, and practiced at training sessions. They are alluring, captivating, and they're standing close to trays and trays of chocolate.

I smile in kind, head tilted, but at a lesser degree; a practical angle; approximately four degrees.

I'm looking past them, eyes on the prize.

Thank you, blue-eyes, beacons calling me in from afar, providing refuge, security, and what matters most of all:

chocolate

filling a cavity

As he's about to leave your class, here is the best line to use if you want to gut the thoracic cavity of your Tech Coach:

Thanks, coach. Now students, let's get back to some real work.

Can someone pick up my inferior vena cava, please?