Media of the Week - Sony Bravia

Pin It Sometimes in life we find small things which inspire us; at times these things can remind us of our past, and often cause us to reflect on the ever more wondrous future.

A few years ago I was introduced to a short commercial via my younger brother. This advertisement spoke to me.

But a commercial? How can a commercial do that, Teachinfourth?

It just did. Watching this particular clip not only made me feel calm and at ease, but it also helped me to remember that this world is a wonderful place - for contained herein is the beauty and simplicity of a child's ultimate fantasy.

If you've not yet experienced the sublime wonder of this commercial, then I'd like to take the time to welcome you to your brand-new favorite.

You're welcome…in advance.



P.S. Be sure to select the 720p version - it just looks better.

Moments with Joey – The Wasp

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SCENE 1, INTERIOR. AFTERNOON, CLASSROOM. Several students remain in the classroom working on missing homework assignments. The teacher is helping a young boy on a math worksheet. After working a few problems with the teacher, the boy looks up.

JOEY: Mr. Z?

TEACHER: What’s up, Joey?

JOEY: I got stung by a wasp…seventeen times.

TEACHER: Seventeen times?

[The boy nods and sets his pencil down].

JOEY: Yep. He stung me here [points to back], here [points to neck], here [points to arms], and here [points to chest].

TEACHER: Wow, I’m just amazed that you stood there and let it sting you that many times. That’s probably not the smartest thing you’ve ever done…

JOEY: No, I didn’t just stand there, I was running away, but he chased me and kept stinging me…seventeen times!

TEACHER: Seventeen times? Maybe there was more than one wasp; maybe he was attacking you with his wasp gang.

[The boy shakes his head adamantly].

JOEY: Nope, he was the only one.

TEACHER: What did you do to make him mad? Make fun of his mom?

[The boy gives a sorrowful nod and fakes Bambi eyes].

TEACHER: Well, that explains everything. You totally got what you deserved. If I were a wasp and you made fun of my mom, I’d have stung you, too.

JOEY: Seventeen times?

TEACHER: Eighteen

[Fade to black].

Worth a Nook?

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Recently I went to a bookstore. While there I was introduced to the newest invention in literary technology. I had to take a quick nook just to see what the hype was all about.

Heck, it's Tuesday, you know what to do...

Making Magic - The Blogger Challenge

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Everybody loves comments. Everybody loves to see that somebody else has subscribed to his or her blog. Everybody loves to see that they’re being followed (in a totally non-creepy way via Blogger…not in real life by the mustached man driving in a windowless van).

So, to help us all feel the magic and live the dream, here’s the deal.

I would like to challenge you to do two things. Firstly, make a comment on this post, indicating that you’ve been here. Then secondly, click over to two others’ sites via the link on their comments, leaving a comment on their site as well.

Heaven knows we all love to find out that somebody else is reading over what we’ve written, and appreciates us for doing it.

Let’s spread a little blogger magic this week, shall we?

By the way, if you’re the first few people to comment on this post, return in a few hours/days to check out a few others’ blogs as well…you never know, you just might find your newest favorite blogger—only you never knew that they existed up until now.

New Cars and Old Nightmares

Pin It The smell of new car wafted about me as I sat in the driver’s seat at the Honda dealership. I closed my eyes and allowed the feel of the brand-new used CR-V to settle itself over me. It was like arriving at a place and a time that was not only comfortable, but familiar as well.

I liked it.

The price tag? Not so much liked, and the color was not so much liked, either. The dusty blue exterior just didn’t seem quite right. I arrived at this conclusion from the simple fact that I love red. After all, my last two cars have been so, and I’ve driven the same vehicle for the past nine years. It’s a fact for which I’m well-known and recognized. In fact, I’ve had several folks make it a point to tell me, “Hey, Teachinfourth, I saw you today…you drove by and I waved to you. When your car passed I saw that it wasn’t you driving, so then I understood why you didn’t wave, so it really wasn’t your car, but I felt like I saw you today.”

Such is life when I’ve become associated with every little, red CR-V that buzzes around town. My dad has even admitted that he will do a double take when he sees one, just in the off chance that it just might be me—even though we live some five hundred miles from each other.

So blue didn’t feel quite right just now, I needed crimson, baby. Crimson.

I headed up to Salt Lake to take a test drive in a 2007 CR-V. Not only was it my brand and make, it was red. Can I say that again? It was RED. I let the freeway fall behind me and let my excitement rise as I came closer to my destination. This could be it. Like the feeling one gets before taking out a really hot a blind date, the butterflies were doing a number in the bowels of my stomach.

I took the freeway exit and ended up at the dealership in a matter of minutes upon entering SLC. I eased my car into a vacant parking stall and began to walk among the sea of vehicles, which spread about me like Legos after being played with by an obsessive-compulsive child with perfectionist tendencies.

It was only a few moments before I spotted the car, the one that had haunted me since I’d seen its image on the Internet a week ago.

It. was. beautiful.

I walked to the vehicle and ran my fingers over the smooth contours and aerodynamic shell.

I liked it.

Within about the space of ten seconds, a slicked-back salesman straight from the stereotypical hall of fame approached me; a smile as wide as the kid who’s found all the Easter eggs blanketing his face.

“Looking for a car, sonny?” he asked with a gesture toward the car I’d been looking at. He then introduced himself as, Stan ‘the car man’ Schubach. I’m always leery of people who add nicknames and quotes into their introductions, and look like a brother to Danny Devito from Matilda.

Despite his outward appearance of that of a creepy uncle, and his greasy demeanor, I told him that I wanted to take this car for a spin. I also let him know up front that I was not interested in buying something today—but was simply looking and exploring options.

Car Man Stan nodded appreciatively, and let me know that he would need to make a copy of my driver’s license. That is, if I were planning on test-driving today. He handed me a set of keys as I passed over the only physical proof on my person that was indeed who I am.

As he walked toward the office to make the photocopy, I opened the driver’s side of the door of the car which had haunted my dreams and gasped—but not in the way one might imagine. It wasn’t an excited type of gasp, but more like the ‘hold-your-breath-gasp’ because standing at the door of that car was like being hit in the face with the breath of a demon in the sulfuric bowels of hell.

The ebbing excitement I’d felt on the way to my destination died away like the last of the pressure of a shut-off faucet and a front-yard sprinkler. I was deflated. I was depressed even.

The smell from the car was reminiscent to the odor of my aunt’s house, (I’ll not mention her name here so that Janet’s identity will be protected). This was the house I found myself at from time to time when I was growing up. It was depressing and painful; my eyes would sting and my throat would burn at the noxious, choking smell of cigarettes from two chain-smoking relatives. The car—which had once been a dream—was rapidly becoming a nightmarish childhood memory I’d managed to block out for years.

The dealer came back—dealer sounds so bad, doesn’t it? It sounds like I’m taking part in an illegal drug exchange. For how I was feeling at that moment, I might have well just been.

We took the car for a spin around a few blocks with the windows down and sunroof open; however, this wasn’t enough to brush away the dirty feeling which seemed to coat my very skin, like the saran-wrapish layer of skim forming over the top stagnant water.

In a word, I felt icky.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the car when we’d made it back to the dealership. It was at this point that Stan, the Rip-Off Man seemed to realize that his customer was not impressed, and endeavored to bring my attention to the car sitting next to the one I’d just test driven…only a few years newer than the CR-V I have now, and in much worse condition. He smoothed it all over with, “This baby is che—r—ry. You should see the interior, it is flawless leather and a steal at this price!” He proudly waved his hand at the car with its faded paint, rock-chipped hood, and dent in the front fender—rusting.

Wow, all I can say is that Stan and I have inverted opinions on what constitutes a car in cherry condition. This particular ‘cherry’ looked an awful lot like a lemon to me.

I excused myself from Satan Stan, and returned to the comfortable and familiar world I had arrived in. I closed my eyes and allowed the sweet, lingering smell of my last desert trip to wash over me. It felt safe. It felt cozy. It was at this point I realized—that at least for now—I am already home.

Now, I just need to wait for Stan, Driver’s-License-Forgetting-to-Return-Man, to mail me back the license he forgot to return at the dealership.

Media of the Week - Movie Title

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I have decided to add a little weekly something to Adventures & Misadventures of Daily Living; namely, a weekly media share of some type.

What kind of media, Teachinfourth?

Such a good question. This particular sharing of material might come in the variety of music, video, or any form of various and sundry web fodder which brought a smile, a tear, or perhaps even a groan of excruciating pain.

Welcome to the first of many...

Unfortunately, I cannot remember how I stumbled across said video; however, if it was through your blog, please make that known in the comments section so that way everyone knows that you are actually the real hero of the day - demoting me to the rank of trusty sidekick.

Moments with Joey – Confusion

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SCENE 1, INTERIOR. AFTERNOON, CLASSROOM. The teacher moves to a desk where a young boy is patiently waiting for help with his assignment. The teacher kneels down next to him.

JOEY: Mr. Z, I was just doing the assignment and this question perplexed me.

[The boy points to problem number four on his worksheet while the teacher looks at the boy with a surprised expression].

TEACHER: Perplexed? Do you even know what that word means?

JOEY: [Nodding]. Yeah, it means to be confused.

[Pause].

TEACHER: How did you know that word, Joey?

JOEY: I don’t know. [Shrug] I guess I’m just awesome.

TEACHER: Yeah, and it looks like you’ve got lots of humility, too.

[The boy looks confused].

JOEY: Mr. Z? What does that word mean?

[Fade to black].

The Illness

Pin It I didn't think it would ever happen, but I guess it did. I've been diagnosed with Blogvous Sufferous. It's a good thing that I have the remedy.

If I Were A Woman

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If that title didn’t catch your attention, I don’t know what will. In fact, already in my mind’s eye I can see my dad catching his breath as the title of the post shows up in his reader, and his heart skips a beat.

No dad, it’s nothing like that.

For the past several years I’ve had this idea. It’s a perfectly, awfully wonderful idea, too. You see, back in 1983 master storyteller, Roald Dahl, published a delightfully horrible book, The Witches. It’s a story that starts out giving a warning to children about witches and how they are indeed real.

Dahl goes on to give a set of helps so that children can recognize these witches who walk among us. Of the things he says to look for, he lets the reader know that witches are completely bald, and must therefore wear wigs to hide this fact. He lets us know that witches have to scratch their heads continually because these wigs are so itchy. He tells the reader that witches have no toes, and therefore will often wear shoes without points to them, or will be forced to cram their feet into pointy shoes that are quite uncomfortable. He mentions that witches have long, curved fingernails and they hide this fact by wearing gloves. And lastly, he tells us that witches will often crinkle their noses when around children because children smell like dogs’ droppings to them.

Brilliant says I.

The story goes on with the following:

For all you know, a witch might be living next door to you right now. Or she might be the woman with the bright eyes who sat opposite you on the bus this morning. She might be the lady with the dazzling smile who offered you a sweet from a white paper bag in the street before lunch. She might even — and this will make you jump — she might even be your lovely schoolteacher who is reading these words to you at this very moment. Look at that teacher. Perhaps she is smiling at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Don't let that put you off. It could be part of her cleverness. I am not, of course, telling you for once second that your teacher actually is a witch. All I am saying is that she might be one. It is most unlikely. But - and here comes the big 'but' - it is not impossible.

Can you already see the brilliantly, brilliant idea which had formed in my head?

Of course you have. For you also my friend, are nefarious.

Could I just tell you that if I were a female schoolteacher that I’d start the school year off wearing gloves every day? Could I share with you that I’d scratch my head all the time, and try to look like I were being secretive about it? Might I share that I would act like I were around a skunk when standing next to one of my students? Could I let you know that I would wear the most ugly shoes I could possibly find?

Oh, the deviousness of me.

Then, after the first week of school, I’d start read-aloud time; The Witches would be the very first book I would read to them. When I reached the part about the possibility of their teacher being a witch, but how it is most unlikely, I’d laugh—something akin to the Wicked Witch of the West. I’d tell them that it was absolutely absurd—the idea of therereally being anything such as witches. Then I’d scratch my head with my gloved fingers and crinkle my nose.

I’d love to teach second grade just for this.

I know; I’m a terrible person.

Image garnered from geeksofdoom.com

If I Were A Woman

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If that title didn’t catch your attention, I don’t know what will. In fact, already in my mind’s eye I can see my dad catching his breath as the title of the post shows up in his reader, and his heart skips a beat.

No dad, it’s nothing like that.

For the past several years I’ve had this idea. It’s a perfectly, awfully wonderful idea, too. You see, back in 1983 master storyteller, Roald Dahl, published a delightfully horrible book, The Witches. It’s a story that starts out giving a warning to children about witches and how they are indeed real.

Dahl goes on to give a set of helps so that children can recognize these witches who walk among us. Of the things he says to look for, he lets the reader know that witches are completely bald, and must therefore wear wigs to hide this fact. He lets us know that witches have to scratch their heads continually because these wigs are so itchy. He tells the reader that witches have no toes, and therefore will often wear shoes without points to them, or will be forced to cram their feet into pointy shoes that are quite uncomfortable. He mentions that witches have long, curved fingernails and they hide this fact by wearing gloves. And lastly, he tells us that witches will often crinkle their noses when around children because children smell like dogs’ droppings to them.

Brilliant says I.

The story goes on with the following:

For all you know, a witch might be living next door to you right now. Or she might be the woman with the bright eyes who sat opposite you on the bus this morning. She might be the lady with the dazzling smile who offered you a sweet from a white paper bag in the street before lunch. She might even — and this will make you jump — she might even be your lovely schoolteacher who is reading these words to you at this very moment. Look at that teacher. Perhaps she is smiling at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Don't let that put you off. It could be part of her cleverness. I am not, of course, telling you for one second that your teacher actually is a witch. All I am saying is that she might be one. It is most unlikely. But — and here comes the big "but" — it is not impossible.

Can you already see the brilliantly, brilliant idea which had formed in my head?

Of course you have. For you also my friend, are nefarious.

Could I just tell you that if I were a female schoolteacher that I’d start the school year off wearing gloves every day? Could I share with you that I’d scratch my head all the time, and try to look like I were being secretive about it? Might I share that I would act like I were around a skunk when standing next to one of my students? Could I let you know that I would wear the most ugly shoes I could possibly find?

Oh, the deviousness of me.

Then, after the first week of school, I’d start read-aloud time; The Witches would be the very first book I would read to them. When I reached the part about the possibility of their teacher being a witch, but how it is most unlikely, I’d laugh—something akin to the Wicked Witch of the West. I’d tell them that it was absolutely absurd—the idea of therereally being anything such as witches. Then I’d scratch my head with my gloved fingers and crinkle my nose.

I’d love to teach second grade just for this.

I know; I’m a terrible person.

Image garnered from geeksofdoom.com

The Breaking Point

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I’m a fun teacher.

Or so I try to be—fifth graders think I’m a riot.

When I was a kid, I hated some of my years in school. How I felt toward my education had a lot to do with my attitude, but it also had an awful lot to do with the kind of teacher I had when I was in that particular class. Some years were full of great activities and learning, while others were milestones of pain and suffering.

When I became a teacher I vowed never to be the kind who made his students suffer through a school day. I would add in fun character voices to the lessons, interactive activities, and would nearly always put in the extra effort to ensure that the days would fly and that the kids would not only learn, but would love to come to school.

I’ve taught for eight or so years now; and for the most part, the students can handle it. They love to come to school each day, and what started off as a stomach-wrenching first day becomes a classroom they love. Often I get visits from past students, and nearly all of them tell me that my class was their favorite. They tell me that they miss it, and wish they could come back.

Like I said, most years the kids can handle it.

Welcome to 2010.

I have a great class this year. Really. They are an amazing bunch of students and I enjoy being around them each and every day…only they’ve become accustomed to an entertaining school day, and have recently started slacking off in the self-control department.

For example: when asked to come in and get to work—and after being reminded of what they should be doing—many of them ‘forget.’ They come into the classroom, chat with their friends, and lollygag. Even with several reminders, they still ‘forget’ what they should be doing. The volume level rises, and several get far too little done in the time they are granted.

I tried several things to get them to be on their game, such as having each student set daily goals to do better as individuals. We met as a class and talked about their behavior, and what could be done in order to fix it. During class meetings they’ve been the one to bring up the concerns, talk about what should be done, but even after my countless pep talks—nada. Zero. Zilch. When it finally came down to the wire, the class as a whole just couldn’t seem to manage the follow through for more than fifteen minutes on any of the goals they’d set together.

It got old.

Really old.

Today was the day that it became too much.

I decided that a more radical type of action was to be called for with this particular group; after all, the regular methods were not working, and I was not about to allow this class to spin wildly out of control.

It was time for a change. It was time for reform. It was time to do something drastic because I found myself becoming tired, like a man walking up a long, steep hill. I’d been noticing over the past weeks that at day’s end I would be completely exhausted. I was burning out.

I thought of my teachers who came in day to day; those who were just filling time, trying to make it to the end of the day, the week, the school year. Had they been on fire at one time, but then had slowly snuffed out? Like a fire without a fuel source?

I couldn’t let this happen to me, already I was feeling exhausted at the end of most school days. I would find myself coming home, collapsing on the couch, and vegging out until I went to bed, all in order to enter the fray again on the morrow.

It was becoming far too much.

As today’s afternoon wore on, I had yet another student choose not to follow directions, but who instead gave me a look like I was speaking an entirely different language.

Okay, I’d had enough.

Truly.

After some thought on the matter, I made the announcement that the ‘fun’ would now cease. We’d spent well over a month setting goals and discussing the problem. I’d given warnings, cautionings, and far too many chances. It had come to the breaking point.

I cancelled music today.

They freaked.

“What? No music? You’re not going to play the guitar?” I was asked.

“Nope.”

I also let the class know that fun lessons were going to have to become a thing of the past because they were privileges. I would no longer joke around in class, but would instead become just a bit more like my 4^th grade teacher, Mrs. H, a woman who was the spawn of Cruella DeVille and Hitler—or so I thought when I was 10. She was a hard-nosed educator who sucked the fun out of education, and ruled the class with an iron fist.

I was true to my word. This afternoon there was no joking, no funny voices, and I didn’t even try to make the writing lesson fun. There was zero effort on my part to make the day pass quickly. I instead only concentrated on presenting a well-organized lesson, with no classroom disruptions.

The result? The afternoon went unbelievably slow. The kids were quieter than I’d ever heard them before. They were also bored out of their skulls.

It was brilliant.

As the school day ended I had one boy who approached me and asked when I was going to be a fun teacher again. I put my hand on this boy’s shoulder and let him know that this would be entirely up to him and his classmates. I also told him that I could go on this way for the rest of the year if necessary.

One thing I have to admit is that I felt so much more alive and energized at the end of today; it’s amazing what happened when I didn’t put the energy in that I usually do to lessons.

So, what’s the verdict? Well, it’s still out. Hopefully, they’ll learn to pull their acts together for longer than just one day, and earn back a few of the privileges they’ve taken for granted for so long. Tomorrow we’ll start our lesson on entitlements and privileges; after all, one of these things has to be earned.

OK Go

Pin It Could I just share a video with you tonight? Or perhaps three? If one of these doesn't bring a smile to your face, then something must be wrong with your face.

Enough said.

Goodnight





And I couldn't get this one to embed...

Moments with Joey – Secrets

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SCENE 1, INTERIOR. AFTERNOON, HOMEWORK LAB. The students are all working on their varied assignments as the teacher roves about them, helping when they have a question. The teacher pauses as a fifth-grade boy makes a comment about the day’s math lesson inclusive with shoulder shaking and singing. The teacher smiles as he takes a scrap of paper from his pocket; he jots down the interchange he’s just had with the boy for a ‘Moments with Joey’ post for his blog. The boy stops and looks at him.

JOEY: Mr. Z, why do you write on those little sticky notes all the time? What kind of stuff are you writing?

[The teacher looks up from the sticky note].

TEACHER: Secrets.

[The boy’s eyes widen just a little bit].

JOEY: Like what kind of secrets?

TEACHER: If I told you, then they wouldn’t be secrets anymore, now would they?

JOEY: No, really. What are you writing?

TEACHER: Just some notes for things I want to write about later. Remember how I told you that writers always keep something handy for writing down ideas they get for stories or poems?

[The boy nods his head].

JOEY: Like our Salamander books?

TEACHER: Yeah, something like that.

[Pause].

JOEY: So, whadia write?

[The boy casually leans forward and tries to see what is being written on the paper. The teacher turns the note just slightly so that the contents remain out of the boy’s view].

TEACHER: Just some secrets…about you. [The teacher pretends to write furiously].

[The boy sits for a silent beat and then whips out the z-snap with a look of pure attitude].

JOEY: Oh no, you did-unt!

[The boy dissolves into laughter; the teacher smiles at the boy and moves along the table to help a few other students].

TEACHER: Yeah, you got me on that one, Joey. I can’t fake you out, can I?

[The boy shakes his head and then continues on to the next math problem. The teacher silently writes another note].

TEACHER: [Whispered]. Oh yes, he did.

Fade to black.

Poetry on the Streets

Pin It Writing the thoughts of my life...



or so somebody was. You can read those thoughts HERE.

The California Experience - Day 4

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There is so much to tell about the trip to Alcatraz. Too much. I will (for the last time in a while) let the images speak for themselves...

A photoshoot in Alcatraz? Yeah, kind of demented, I know...

Going in...

Solitary confinement…it's a lot darker with the door closed and the camera shutter speed not decreased so much on my camera.

My pathetic prophecy from Zambini in Goonies.

This portion of the trip to Haight and Ashbury was pretty cool, however, you'll need to head to Four Perspectives tomorrow in order to read about it...

The California Experience - Day 3

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Today we ventured out to Los Lobos and saw not only the hole in the rock, but gargantuan waves, and sea lions frolicking in the water.

It. was. awesome.

We also went to the Monterey Aquarium to see all of that good stuff that lies under the ocean, only we didn't have to get wet to do it.

On Saturday we plan to head into the city yet again and visit the infamous Alcatraz Island. I've heard that there are quite the number of occurrences which happen at night; unfortunately, we'll be going during the daytime.

Bummer…

By the way, this one wasn't directed toward you, but rather my friend, Kirsten…just wanted to let you know.