So, the following story is not actually a teaching story. Rather, it is a story about a teacher: my husband, who, for various reasons, will be referred to as "The Butler". This story takes place about...3 and a half minutes ago.
I was singing. You may be asking, Why were you singing? Well, you see, for those of you who don't know me outside of my secret identity, I sing constantly. I sing about what I am doing (i.e. a little ditty I like to call "Getting Dressed"), things I see (i.e. "Waaaaaamart"), random things (i.e. "Epic Ballad on Types of Sauce"), and I also make up parodies (i.e. "Butter Face", although I am pretty sure I got the tag line from Video on Trial, and then added the "She's got no legs or body").
Anyway, tonight I was not singing anything I invented. I was singing the amazing track from Rent that goes, "500, 25 thousand, 600 minutes. 500, 25 thousand, moments so dear" etc. Why was I singing this? Well, I had just heard a character on Moulin Rouge yell, "La Vie Boheme". This reminded me of Rent because of the song "La Vie Boheme".
To back track, and to give The Butler credit, we were watching Moulin Rouge because the other night he took me to see the ballet version, which was awesome. Thanks, love!
So, here I am singing. The Butler scoffs, "I bet that isn't even the right calculation."
"Let's see," I respond and keep singing as I open the calculator on my laptop.
"Do 60 times..."
"I know how to calculate this..."
I punch in the numbers. 60 x 24 x 365.
I am a math wiz.
The answer comes up.
"Ha, I knew it wouldn't be right!"
"Um, it says 525, 600."
"Oh. Right," The Butler blushes.
The point of this story is, ladies and gentlemen, my husband is a world renowned math teacher. He has a degree in astro-physics. He cannot read six digit numbers. Unconventional? Yes. Non-traditional? Oui. What question does this lead us to? Is this bohemianism or is this bohemianism?
La Vie Boheme!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Insert Foot in Mouth
I think all people have those moments directly after flapping their chops when they wish they would have ran the statement through a preview to see how it would sound out loud. Then, after the statement has been said, we cringe, back-peddle, look wide eyed around you in anticipation of something pointing out the thing you just said.
Now, when you are a teacher, there are 30 people starring back at you ready to point out any mistake you make and/or laugh at you. And of course, if you say anything at all inappropriate or that can be interpreted in a perverted way, you will never live it down. Every slip of the tongue, Freudian or otherwise, comes back to bite you.
And, for teachers as well as every single living human being, once the thoughts have become words, there is no replay button, no do-overs, and no mute.
So, it was the first day with my new class. This class is all international students who are in Canada to learn English, have an adventure, get away from something at home, or a combination of those things.
I haven't seen a class list for this class yet. There are eight kids in it. I am joking around with the group, who are from a variety of countries: China, Japan, Brazil, Mexico, Macao. We are getting to know each other as I am working on calming their nerves. They are all worried about fitting in, making friends, etc: you know, the usual things that teenagers worry about. I couldn't imagine being as brave as these kids are: being 14-17 years old, leaving your support system (friends, family, school), and going to a new school where you don't speak the language.
We have another student; let's call her Sailor Moon. Sailor Moon has made many Canadian friends, as well as dating may Canadian boys. I have always joked with her that her English has improved by leaps and bounds because she speaks to these boys.
So, as I am talking to my new class, I joke, "You guys know the best way to improve your English?"
"How?" they chime in eagerly.
"Get a Canadian boyfriend," I deliver the punch line, and then expand to the student sitting furthest away, "Or, in your case, a Canadian girlfriend."
The student sitting furthest away responds, "But I am a girl."
"Wwwhaaaatttt?" I stammer before I can stop myself, barely holding in the following statement of "YOU ARE?" Instead, I continue with, "Oh, I'm so sorry."
Later that day, I tell T-buck about what happened. "Oh, sorry," he laughs. "I should have told you. I asked her to see her passport in the summer so I could check for sure." You see, the only feminine aspect of the girl in questions is her name, which can be simply because the family accidently picked a name usually not applied to the gender when they recently selected English names. But, no, not in this case. She is actually a girl.
Now, when you are a teacher, there are 30 people starring back at you ready to point out any mistake you make and/or laugh at you. And of course, if you say anything at all inappropriate or that can be interpreted in a perverted way, you will never live it down. Every slip of the tongue, Freudian or otherwise, comes back to bite you.
And, for teachers as well as every single living human being, once the thoughts have become words, there is no replay button, no do-overs, and no mute.
So, it was the first day with my new class. This class is all international students who are in Canada to learn English, have an adventure, get away from something at home, or a combination of those things.
I haven't seen a class list for this class yet. There are eight kids in it. I am joking around with the group, who are from a variety of countries: China, Japan, Brazil, Mexico, Macao. We are getting to know each other as I am working on calming their nerves. They are all worried about fitting in, making friends, etc: you know, the usual things that teenagers worry about. I couldn't imagine being as brave as these kids are: being 14-17 years old, leaving your support system (friends, family, school), and going to a new school where you don't speak the language.
We have another student; let's call her Sailor Moon. Sailor Moon has made many Canadian friends, as well as dating may Canadian boys. I have always joked with her that her English has improved by leaps and bounds because she speaks to these boys.
So, as I am talking to my new class, I joke, "You guys know the best way to improve your English?"
"How?" they chime in eagerly.
"Get a Canadian boyfriend," I deliver the punch line, and then expand to the student sitting furthest away, "Or, in your case, a Canadian girlfriend."
The student sitting furthest away responds, "But I am a girl."
"Wwwhaaaatttt?" I stammer before I can stop myself, barely holding in the following statement of "YOU ARE?" Instead, I continue with, "Oh, I'm so sorry."
Later that day, I tell T-buck about what happened. "Oh, sorry," he laughs. "I should have told you. I asked her to see her passport in the summer so I could check for sure." You see, the only feminine aspect of the girl in questions is her name, which can be simply because the family accidently picked a name usually not applied to the gender when they recently selected English names. But, no, not in this case. She is actually a girl.
Monday, February 1, 2010
S**t Money
The title gives this entire entry away. In fact, the title is the most comedic part of what I am going to say. If you are here for a chuckle, stop reading now because it only goes downhill after the title. Can't you tell yet?
Okay, okay. I will get on with this teaching tale now. I refer to this as the Tale of the S**t Money.
The only character in this is me. My SS9s were also there, but they had very little to say. It was one of the many days when I lecture. The topic was a fabulous lesson (nawt!) called Why Everyone Hated Charles I. Okay, it wasn't really called that, but I need to give it a name and that was the general topic I was at when this event occurred.
So, there are tons of reasons that Charles the First--at least I hope it was Charles I, the more I write the more, I am doubting my over-exposed memory. There were terrible deeds, taxes, and even the Secret Court of Star Chamber, which I always mess up and call the Chamber of Secrets. He collected money by charging tonnage, poundage, and ship money.
Yes, you read that right. SHIP (S, H, I, P) money. Not s**t money; ship money.
But, like how you just reacted, my class was also positive I said s**t money. Clearly, what sane person's mind does not automatically hear s**t money when someone says ship money? 1) Whoever says ship money? and 2) What the heck is ship money anyways? (Look it up if you really want to know; I am not going to pollute my blog with that information. Oh, wait, no, I am talking about s**t money again.) Anyway, tomorrow slur the phrase "ship money" and see what people hear. I guarantee that they will hear s**t money.
So, my class exclaims, "What did you just saaaaaay?"
And I reply, "Ship p p p p p money."
They respond, "Oh, we thought you said...."
"I bet I could guess. No shippppp money. But actually, interestingly enough, in ancient Rome, there was actually a urine tax." I then detoured for about 5 minutes talking about urine tax and the Roman Empire. So, when I am done, I turn back to the board to write the last point I just spoke about, ship money.
I turn and write.
I turn back to the class and continue with the lecture.
I notice that the kids who can see the board are sniggering. I turn and look at what I just wrote. Plain as the nose of Adrian Brody's face, there is what I just wrote. All caps. S**t money.
"Eiiyia," I moan, scream, mumble as I fumble for the eraser. I finally manage to erase the word.
"Aw, I already wrote that down. In pen," a kid whines.
But, needless to say, on the next unit test, they all got the question about ship money correct.
Okay, okay. I will get on with this teaching tale now. I refer to this as the Tale of the S**t Money.
The only character in this is me. My SS9s were also there, but they had very little to say. It was one of the many days when I lecture. The topic was a fabulous lesson (nawt!) called Why Everyone Hated Charles I. Okay, it wasn't really called that, but I need to give it a name and that was the general topic I was at when this event occurred.
So, there are tons of reasons that Charles the First--at least I hope it was Charles I, the more I write the more, I am doubting my over-exposed memory. There were terrible deeds, taxes, and even the Secret Court of Star Chamber, which I always mess up and call the Chamber of Secrets. He collected money by charging tonnage, poundage, and ship money.
Yes, you read that right. SHIP (S, H, I, P) money. Not s**t money; ship money.
But, like how you just reacted, my class was also positive I said s**t money. Clearly, what sane person's mind does not automatically hear s**t money when someone says ship money? 1) Whoever says ship money? and 2) What the heck is ship money anyways? (Look it up if you really want to know; I am not going to pollute my blog with that information. Oh, wait, no, I am talking about s**t money again.) Anyway, tomorrow slur the phrase "ship money" and see what people hear. I guarantee that they will hear s**t money.
So, my class exclaims, "What did you just saaaaaay?"
And I reply, "Ship p p p p p money."
They respond, "Oh, we thought you said...."
"I bet I could guess. No shippppp money. But actually, interestingly enough, in ancient Rome, there was actually a urine tax." I then detoured for about 5 minutes talking about urine tax and the Roman Empire. So, when I am done, I turn back to the board to write the last point I just spoke about, ship money.
I turn and write.
I turn back to the class and continue with the lecture.
I notice that the kids who can see the board are sniggering. I turn and look at what I just wrote. Plain as the nose of Adrian Brody's face, there is what I just wrote. All caps. S**t money.
"Eiiyia," I moan, scream, mumble as I fumble for the eraser. I finally manage to erase the word.
"Aw, I already wrote that down. In pen," a kid whines.
But, needless to say, on the next unit test, they all got the question about ship money correct.
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