You want funny? I'll give you funny: [link] The Pig Latin Song. Brought to you by the same guy that does The Mean Kitty Song.

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Or Sean's 10 million plot point perfect shot.

Man, that was a good shot.

Clandestine meeting with questionable characters, possibly even the bad guys, goes south when Aimee's character announces that one of these shady thugs is, in fact, the bad guy. Everybody on both sides starts shooting, running for cover, all that sort of stuff. Most everybody else on my side is worried about the big thugs with guns shooting at us. All I can pay attention to is the bad guy, simply trying to escape the firefight in a hover mule, and doing a pretty good job of it. I dump all my plot points into a single, long range shot, and blow his off. Fight over (more or less). I never took cover. Never even ducked.

I love doing things like that to my gamemasters.

I love doing things like that to Joe.

Okay. I'll shut up about gaming now.

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I love doing things like that to Joe.

I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM. I will not slash Sean and MM.

But ... um, I might let Sean do it for me.

(I am so sorry. I am sooo sorry.)

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defending the defenseless

omnis, my soulmate in spiritual warriordom!

Now I'm missing the game. Sigh.

Me too! and the wicked cool GM we had for it. Bonny, you should read the character background I made up. I like it. I think I did an all right job, creatively speaking. Especially as it was my 1st RPG, and I'm not much of a writer and all.

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Meara:

He felt horrible and shaved the goatee he'd been growing because he felt it made him "evil."

Is it really inappropriate that this sentence is making me giggle a lot, despite the seriousness of our current conversation?

God, me too. Cracked my shit UP, even though I was all teary-eyed with vicarious owch for Steph.

Of course, then he noticed his great-grandmother's corpse and looked at her and yelled, "WAKE UP, GRANDMA!"

That is pure comedy gold. Pure. Comedy. Gold. Of the profoundly bleak and tasteless variety, but - bless.

I've got a tiny but very heavy cast-iron Doctor Zoidberg, claws and tentacle-mandibles at your service.

Awesome! My turquoise sqeaking-dragon handpuppet (Klaus) and fluffy pink yapping poodle handpuppet (Dorian) will gladly join Doctor Zoidberg and the assorted other items in attacking The Boy if need be. Also, I am armed with 20 6-year-olds and a cat whose claws make Edward Scissorhands feel inadequate.

Tep, Hope things get better.(Not that I understand, exactly, cause I'm in the Fears She is An Undateable Freak corner with LisaH.) LisaH, maybe we can put testers on our corner?

sidles into Erika's corner.

Yes. God, Tep, everyone's already said the things I'd say, so I'll not reiterate. But - holy mother of owch. Yes. God. I'd be just wrecked. Because - no. freaking. armour. None. Argh.

I wonder what my Apocaplyse Skill Set would be?

Oooh! Me too! Er. Wrangling/educating small people. Some skills in mediating/negotiating/peacekeeping type talky stuff. Er. Er. Cooking! Yes, cooking. And, er, making paper snowflakes. And telling stories/entertaining the masses/leading jolly singalongs.

Aw, who'm I kidding? I'd be taken out in the first wave, along with Gris. Or, if left, then my valiant attempt to trek across the globe in search of the Buffista compound would be the stuff of legend. Plus, my God, I'd be skinny by the time I finally made my way to Buffistopia.

(apropos of nothing - God, one of my very favourite scenes in ANY movie EVER is the little bit with the two fellas re-enacting the Darth Vader/Luke lightsabre battle for the entertainment of the community's kids in Reign of Fire. Best. Scene. EVAH.)

Can I join the cult? Wait ... haven't I *already* joined the cult?

It is certainly one of the most courteous and well dressed of cults.

I'm hoping the letter Windsparrow got was really incredibly wrong.

Me too! Crumbs, Andi!

I am so seeking out the buffista compound after the apocalypse. IF i survive it

See you there, then. If I manage to cross the landmasses of Asia and Europe and then the mighty ocean. Or maybe I should just head around the other way? Hmm...

I will not slash Sean and MM.

Hey, I still remember my head exploding at the slashiness of the two of them being told to wrap around each other, or some damn thing, by Pete, for a photo, at the SF2F.

Head. Go. Boom.

Meanwhile, in mememe news, have just had a one-hour-long parents' meeting with the mother of one of my French kids. It went well, and I'm feeling slightly less OMG about the whole nation being out to get me. Slightly. Although apparently another French family just phoned up to say they want their Year 2 child to join us, but to join us in Year 3, because they understand that we've already moved (Camille) up into Year 3.

head desk.

Seriously - send your kid to a French school. Or to an American school. Because the UK system? Places your child in a year group according to when they were born. End of freaking story.

And my Year 2 colleague is doing my head in again, or on the brink of it. We need to plan together - this is because I got all this stick from Camille's family. So he's supposed to be helping me plan.

And - I appreciate that he is a more experienced teacher than me. I do. He's been teaching for several years longer than me, and more to the point he's been working in the UK, where one gets inset days, cross-training, professional development etc.

But.

I haven't been in a box for 34 (continued...)

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( continues...) years, you know?

I'm now in my fifth year of teaching Primary, and prior to that I have done things like taught EFL with no support, planning or resources provided to classes of up to 40 Romanian children in a school with no windows or toilet paper or what have you, at a time when the country didn't know what blue tack or washing up liquid were; I've designed and implemented training systems for my University Telephone Counselling volunteer service; I've run said service, comprising 40 adults who between them staffed the service every night of term from 8pm to 7am...and that's leaving aside all the various other things I've done in the course of my working life, you know? I mean, when I make a decision about how or why to teach something, I'm not just guessing at random. It is a conscious choice based on what their learning goals are and my judgment about how they're doing/what support they need/what their present abilities are.

I don't think he gets that. I mean, my boss and our Key Stage leader have told him that he needs to support me, but I think he hears that as "You know what to do/how to do things. She doesn't. Tell her what to do, because you are Oh So Much More Experienced."

And - I don't see it that way. I'm t monstrous ego demonstrably better educated, arguably more intelligent and I'd venture also more creative than he is.

pauses to cringe and cringe and cringe

But, damn it. Yes. I think this is so. I think there are gaps in my professional development, and that there are facets of teaching that I've not been able to concentrate on properly because of lack of resources/support in my first school, and I defer to his broader experience. But - that doesn't mean I just automatically assume that he is right.

So long as we leave each other the hell alone, I feel that we've been ticking along nicely. He's very methodical and organised and he learns things well, then implements them the way he was taught.

I prefer to adapt things. eg there's a game for mixing kids up in a circle - he calls this 'oranges and lemons' and plays it by going round the circle making one kid an orange, the other a lemon, the next an orange and so forth, and then yelling 'oranges!', at which point all the 'orange' kids run around and swap places with each other. Then 'lemons' ditto. Then 'fruit salad' everyone runs around and swaps.

I play this by calling it 'fruit salad', and I pick 3 kinds of fruit according to whim - generally local fruits. Or else I call it 'animal salad', and pick 3 kinds of animals, and when I call 'elephants!' they have to hurry off to a new place while moving/acting/sounding like an elephant. Or else I use it to reinforce learning about our nutrition topic, and give each kid a different thing - but some of them are vegetables, some of them are carbohydrates, some of them are proteins, so when I call 'proteins' I'm expecting the kids who were told 'fish', 'beans', 'bacon' etc etc to jump up.

I mean, you know, I pretty much think this is a good thing about my teaching. Obviously.

He? It's becoming increasingly clear to me that all this Fay-ness just gets on his nerves. He assumes that he knows best, he's irritated and threatened when I perversely do things differently.

And I don't mind being persuaded to change my mind about something. Really. I just - I expect there to be persuasion and demonstration of why X idea is superior to what I'm doing, and if I counter with such-and-such then I expect that to be considered and refuted.

Which is obviously something I need to get the hell over.

Ngah.

Anyway, doing my head in a bit; he came in and asked when we should plan together and I suggested tomorrow lunchtime. And then he said that his kids (he's teaching top set Maths) had been crap at today's topic (money). And I said that I'd really like to get to do more work on addition with my lot, because after today's lesson it was clear to me that I need to help them with learning some strategies for adding 2-digit numbers.

And he just closed me down. (continued...)

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( continues...) Didn't want to look at their work, didn't want to find out why I thought this was a good idea - just assumed that I was wrong, and that I needed to keep on hammering away at adding small numbers together.

But - I've seen their work. I was working with them. My concept of where they are at, and where they need support, is based on KNOWING WHAT THEY ARE DOING SUCCESSFULLY, damn it. Most all of them were able to do the simple addition stuff we did today, and were successfully using the 'put the big number in your head and then use your fingers to count on the little number' strategy for adding things like 12 + 6. More than half of them were also able to successfully add things like 18 + 15, despite the fact that this uses totally different strategies. So I'm thinking that it would be good to look at these strategies, consolidate what they're doing right and throw a bone to those few kids who stared in horror at the trickier sheet and had no clue how to do it.

It sort of kills me that he seems to have so little respect for me as a professional. He's 29. I'm 34. And although, yes, he may find me eccentric and quirky and eye-rollingly odd, ho ho, that Miss Fay, what silly thing is she doing now...you know, it would behove him to take on board the fact that I'm not deficient in understanding, and that in fact I have a shitload of transferable skills and experience, even though I didn't just go straight to Uni to train as a teacher and then go straight into a UK school.

t /snippy self-involved baggage

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Skipped ahead to request major Buffista~~ma.

Em has two teachers, K and L. L's husband (mid-thirties) got up around 3am today to take their 5 year old to the bathroom. He passed out cold. L got up because she heard him fall and their 5 year old screaming her head off. He was on the floor, unconscious, eyes open. They called 911 and took him to the hospital.

Brain aneurysm.

He's alive, but not "with it" and they're trying to get him over to the U or Beaumont to do surgery.

He's a really sweet man - when Joe lost his job back in October, he was the first to say "Send your resume my way." and the whole family is just so awesome. A, the five year old, is a total sweetie-pie and N, their 14 month old, is the cutest little boy. And Em LOVES L. Really attached to her. Please vibe, pray, ~~ma~~ them if you wouldn't mind. They are a great family and he's way too young for this shit. Seriously.

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Sox and I were taught at a young age to shoot to kill or don't bother pulling the trigger.

yah, yah. I usually sided with the 'don't bother' part though. Still - apocalypse skills:

- can keep us from going back to olde englyshe spelling. - can fit in tight places and HIDE. - can join in the baby wranglers. - can reassemble a querty keyboard (though, really, I think there's a better one out there).

also,
- can use a compound bow, aforementioned firearms, tie almost any knot one handed, splice, sail, climb a tree, float for hours, swim a mile, fish (if they're not all boiled or walking), pitch a tent, make teenagers think that they really want to do something, CPR, First Aid, WSI, and do amazing things with popsicle sticks and gimp.

... oh wait, that's summer camp.

ION - Erin McK concert last night was a howl. Very small room - acoustic, which is ok, but she has a really talented drummer. Everyone put requests (including U2's 'with or without you') and questions in a bowl and she picked at random. One of the questions was 'how short are you?' and her response was: "6'4", motherfucker". Which I loved because she's just a touch taller than me (which is a way under 6 feet), and had said something at the bar long before the show about height that just rocked. She has an amazing voice. The woman who opened for her was also really good - Nicole Reynolds? (asking DH for the last name) - and very funny...

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