I’m not made of puppets, so you can’t blame me for Youtube

As I said the other day, it’s chaos (be kind). Well certain recent events have compromised my kind nature, gentle spirit and otherwise cherublike demeanor. I will not go into it here, as it is not my own personal business.

I had the kind of day where you just want to throw yourself on the floor and roll around like a dust bunny, but you can’t because even though you only got 5 hours of sleep, you still have to corral and herd and possibly teach 9 year olds.

Highlight 1: One of my ELL’s, a sweet but intense Burmese boy who doesn’t quite have a grip on euphemisms and idioms, decided he would bust out with an Elvis impersonation to Santa Claus is Comin’ to town. Even better, this is apparently a dance that he does with his brother.

Low spot: One of my other students who has more angst than a 13 year old girl, was really down so I let his parents know because the same parents are very, very concerned. (this is not a bad thing.) However, I used half of my lunch talking to one parent, then the other parent showed up, which took the other half of my lunch.

In the conversation with the other parent, it was implied that this child did not have any interest in Social Media (re:Youtube and that vines/videos that feature Jake and/or Logan Paul) before this year because of the way last year’s teacher managed the classroom differently.

The teacher they had last year is a nun, and last year all of the kids were a year younger.

Somehow, this parent managed to imply that I am the one who is responsible for the social media that he is interested in and that I should stop any exposure the child may have to any of it.

I called The Mom to vent and she said that I should bring my puppets ( I have a full set of puppets) to do a story time. I told her, “I’m not made of puppets, Mom.” This of course made both of us stop for a minute. Then I realized that I definitely need more sleep.

And I’m not responsible for Youtube.

Lichen to the truth-Digging in the moss of the memories, Es Verdad continued

I know Lichen is not a moss. I was bending the definition to suit my nefarious purposes and to be funny. (Lichen is not the only Fungui around here!)

I’m a little punchy today. I got rid of my satellite TV because I am trying to save money, and Dish costs as much as my internet does and I must have internet because of you know, the job thing, and the desperate need for information available round the clock thing.  (I’m ok, so far, although yesterday as I was trying to get the digital antenna to get more than one station on the TV I did hiss epithets that included something like” that person wrecked my whole life and I can’t even get TV.” I know that’s unreasonable, but I’m old and I was crawling around while the cat mocked me.)

So anyway, about the truth.

The next book that I’m examining in my quest for truth is “Denying History-Who says the Holocaust never happened and why do they say it?”

You can see why I was drawn to this. It appeals to my need to ask questions and to my need to know why people think the things they do. So far, I have gotten through the first twenty-seven pages. I read really fast and have been know to whip through a James Patterson book while waiting for a NCIS marathon to end so I could watch SVU.

I am going through this book slowly with tape flags and notebook, not because I expect to be incendiary or defensive. (I must admit, that is the attitude with which I approached The Heavy.)

One of the first things I wrote in my notebook (I hadn’t started flagging yet.) is “You miss so much when you don’t read everything carefully.”  I don’t know why I made this observation, and it’s possible it didn’t have anything to do with the book, but it has influenced ever subsequent word I have read. This is slowing me down quite a bit and the subject matter doesn’t make me want to zing through it in a jaunty romp.

One thing that is giving me pause is the concept of defining and revising history. It not only pauses me, it makes me stop and blip back to the default screen. (I’ve been watching a lot of DVDs to fill in the gap left by the constant stream of noise made by infomercials.

The idea that  truth is accepted both with and without evidence blows my tiny little mind.  If you can prove it , does it make it so?

How do you define history?

Take a minute or several. I will take comments from the crowd, and any joke where the punchline is “Lemur!”

I thought I knew where my head was

The brain damage thing, you know that time my head blew up and all I got was a bunch of medication (and a bad attitude?)  has made me hyper-aware (I would have loved using “hella” there, but No Doubt wrecked that for us.  Thanks Gwen!) of my head.  As you read this, or have it read to you, I shouldn’t assume that everyone who has access to the internet can read (If you’ve ever read any dating website profiles will know that sadly, this is not the case.) picture your actual head as it rests on your neck or however it is you are holding it up to experience this written word.

Now you can’t stop thinking about your head, right?

I mostly know where my head is, but I keep crashing it into things, mostly because I’m not paying attention.  This morning I sliced a wedge into the tip of my finger when I knocked a glass off of the counter while I was trying to make coffee.  I did not knock it off with my head, that would be difficult even for me.  No, I have a Keurig which is next to the bookshelf because I had to move it when the sink was fixed six months ago. I haven’t moved it back because I am a sack of slack.  So as I was adjusting the water level so I could wait for the wonder machine to extrude my coffee, I knocked over a glass as I was trying to avoid smacking my head on the shelf.

I lacerated my finger so badly that it actually dripped blood on my face as I put on makeup.  I had it wrapped in a tissue because I couldn’t bandaid it with my non-dominant hand.

As I was daubing the blood off of my face, and smudging said make-up, I noticed that my jaw-line is breaking out in weird little bumps. Just on one side.

I thought both sides of my head go to the same places so why would just one side be breaking out?

So even when I’m aware of my head, I can’t seem to face what it does.  (I know, terrible pun, I couldn’t resist.)