not a moment too soon

My angry voice, at home, to my four-year old:

You better find a way to share that chicken!

I'm ready to get back to work.

keeping my day job

Twitter done gone make a me cry:

presenting, formally

I'm available for corporate functions, in-service days, Bar & Bat Mitzvahs, and the occasional Bris. I tend to shy away from birthday parties, but if you are willing to provide a complimentary 10-framer, then I'll gladly pay for the rental shoes.

Recent presentation offerings, each 45 minutes long (title, location, door prizes/preso favors):

• "Problems with PowerPoint"; Pennsylvania Educational Technology Expo & Conference; Hyperlinks

• "Daddy, Being"; Southeastern Pennsylvania (literally); StrideRite BOGO card

• "DI&IT: Arriving at the crossroads of Differentiated Instruction and Instructional Technology"; School District of Springfield Township; Chipotle sauce

• "No Hitting Your Sister! Hitting Hurts. And I Know That I'm Yelling and That I Used The Word 'No' and I'm Well Aware That Every Parenting Magazine or Advice Columnist Condemns The Overuse of Negative Words Because Words Like 'No' Lose Their Meaning, But These Rainbow-Coated Parents Espousing Discipline-esque Phrases Like, 'Tumultuous Times Call for Peace and Hugs and Good Deeds So Give Your Sister A Hug That Reminds Her That Love Is The Goal and Maybe, Just Maybe, Your Hug Will Help Cure Cancer. Now Go Play With Homeless Children' Are Unrealistic and Time-Consuming; Anywhere/Anytime; Pez
  

Sometimes, I'll double the time and the repetition up to a 90 minute session, but only for ed-tech workshops. I hear they love those long sessions. And hate the word 'no'.

students without sprinkles

alternately titled: what have we created?

When an incoming senior/would-be college applicant need to craft an essay that addresses:

an event or experience that has left an impact

she desperately wants to shine. She chooses from extra-curricular activities, trips to foreign countries, or kitchen time with grandma...her wizened hands kneading the dough as she passes along memories and experiences with every chocolate chip added to the luscious batter that she learned how to craft in the military kitchens during World Wa -

Sorry.

But she is reticent to write about the first time she ordered a pink frosted doughnut, with sprinkles, without the aide of a parent. She misses that this 'event' is initiative and independence, replete with empty calories. She mistakes the title of 'President' of her youth group as a synonym for 'Acceptance' to her desired colleges.

In short, she misses what writing is all about.

the 5th ministry

Google Opt Out Feature Lets Users Protect Privacy By Moving To Remote Village

I have 17 minutes left.

Thanks to ResourceShelf.

define: advertising

okay, off to do some laundry.

all google-y

Six students. One question:

Do you have a Google Docs account?

Four, from Springfield, say 'yes'. Two, from other schools, say 'no'.

This made me feel good.

Sent through a vast network of cables and satellites.

EPS

I love emails that end with origin stories:

Sent from my iPhone

Very satisfying, but this one's just as good:

Sent via my BlackBerry

No iPhone for me. No BlackBerry, but I feel like I'm leaving people in a void. They don't know what instrument I used to craft electronic messages. No idea as to what tool I used.

So I've made the following to let people know more about my emailing locations:

- Crafted in my kitchen; a kitchen that could use some fresh paint, and perhaps a new range. Viking, of course. Via Lenovo SL500 laptop.

- Composed in the library open lab. Computer #22. The one with the free-standing speakers. Courtesy of Dell desktop.

I hope these help people as much as their origin stories have sated my locational queries.

Sent via public access wifi network at Saxby's in Lansdale.

involuntary mutism

Remember me? There was a time, not too long ago, perhaps around the eeew-aaahh advent of the miraculously wonderful world wide web version two point oh, when I never had a moment’s rest. Talk, talk, talk, that’s all you ever did. You would talk to your friends, coworkers, even select members of your family. Chatterbox, you were. And yes, at times you spoke like Yoda.

But you started blogging. You joined Twitter. Delicious. Diigo. And I hate saying that one, so if you ever choose to talk again, I’m okay if you don’t ever say that non-sensical, meaningless jib-knock of a word. Honestly, any other words with the double i? After Hawaii?

Didn’t think so.

You stopped calling people. Texting all the time. It seems, just from my unused point of view, that you’re afraid to talk. Too much commitment on the, proverbially speaking here, ‘line’. Sure, you’re not alone. You’re living in a terse, scatological world where everyone, at least people like you, mired in technology and education, promote communication in all forms digital. Not a lot of talk about, well, talking.

And that’s one venue, but with your friends and family? Honestly, I’d love to talk to them? Remember awkward pauses? Jokes…with punchlines? Maybe you should pick up the phone, the land-line one. It rings. Real rings.

Anyhow, just wanted to check in. And I had no choice but to meet you in your digital wheel-house. I despise typing. Everything here could have been delivered in a fraction of the time if we could just talk.