I just started my internship in a high school special Ed classroom. This is my last step before I can officially teach. If you’ve never been in a school during the weeks before school starts, you should rejoice and be glad. Let’s just say there can be a lot of wailing and gnashing of t… Oops, I meant AV and DG, (operationally defined as vocalization that is audible to others, and dental grinding).
I’ve learned a lot about PLC, CTE, ISS, MLP, CEU, ICT, SAU, IEP, RtI, LRE, MFE, FAPE, 504, IDEA, PBIS, SW-PBIS, BSP, ABA, BIP, UDL, ASD, EH, SST, ESY, LEA, AAC, OHI, BD, ADHD, LD, NLD, ID, OT, PT, SLP, IT, EMT, SRO, ACLU, IBM, FBI… Wait, what was I talking about?
(BTW, these are all real and off the top of my head.)
Is there no respect for art in this house? I drew this lovely piece for a post on introversion, but my son insisted that it needed captions to “show what the mama and daddy were saying.” And what, you may ask, were they saying? “Fleega fliga floooooog!” of course. It’s my son’s favorite thing to yell.
The other day I wrote a post in which I wondered what the deal was with Ludwig Bemelmans, the author of the Madeline books. Turns out he actually lived a pretty colorful life. He was born in Austria-Hungary to a German mother and Belgian father. His mother took him to Germany after his father ram off with the family’s own miss Clavel. But he soon moved to America to escape prison. You see, it seems he shot a waiter in his uncle’s hotel. I have to say, I’ve found the waiters at hotel restaurants do ask for it sometimes.
And I guessed right about salad. It comes from salata, short for herba salata, salted greens.
We won! Market basket is now in the hands of Arthur T. If you live in the New England area, you should go shop there to show your support. They lost a lot of capital during the strike/boycott; we need to help them get back on their feet. One good way of doing that is stocking up on dry goods that you know you’ll use eventually. Go buy a hundred cans of soup, Arty T. will be sure to pass it forward.
I just read most of The Highly Sensitive Person in Love: Understanding and Managing Relationships When the World Overwhelms You by Elaine Aron. I was hoping so much that it would be good. It was definitely interesting, but it was based on a sort of Frankenstein’s monster cobbled together from old studies and eastern mysticism. You want so much for it to be true, but then she starts talking about levels of spirituality and finding your own path. As I read it I got the distinct impression that as a scientist she knew that some of what she was saying was bogus, that some of what people were doing was just not going to make them happy, but that she didn’t want to offend anyone. She’s too sympathetic. She’s too forgiving. She’s just a little to sensitive to be really helpful.
This keeps happening to me: I keep looking for conservative books to counter the fact that I’m turning more and more into a bleeding heart liberal, but every book I pick up turns out to actually be super liberal! I just read American Panic: A History of Who Scares Us and Why by Mark Stein thinking it was by Mark Steyn. It’s about mass panic from the Salem Witch Trials to the McCarthy Era to the racial violence against anyone suspected of being Arab or Muslim after 9/11. It’s a really interesting book. He’s pretty balanced until you get to his more recent examples of panic. He gives plenty of examples of how some Tea Party members and pro-life activists fit his definition of panic, but only gives enough space to the Occupy and Pro-Choice movements to be able to give lip service to neutrality. While I do believe he is telling the truth, I don’t think he’s telling the whole truth.
We just watched The Love Bug. Movies used to be so clean, so innocent. Gone are the purer days when women could say they sympathized with a car because they wished they were owned by its driver. Gone are those simpler times when being drunk was hilarious. Gone are the magic moments when it was OK to say you understood how to “unscrew the inscrutable” Chinese. Oh for those happy hours when hippies could watch a woman apparently being held against her will be an unknown man and simply remark that “we’re all prisoners, chicky baby.” Ah well, enough reminiscing, back to the vulgar and degrading present.
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