PCC '05......WOW

PCC this past summer meant the absolute world to me. The kids were amazing, the staff was amazing and the summer itself was a lot of fun. I loved PCC '05! This update is a bit late in coming but it is heartfelt and is an exact duplicate of the speech I was given the charge to write and deliver as Proctor Speaker during my final year as a proctor at the program. Please enjoy and feel free to send a copy to students or proctors who might want it. There was some interest in hearing it again or seeing it again after the program was over.

PCC, Dr. Gerhart, Mr. Branagan, Mr. Sullivan, RA’s and staff, I can’t tell you what an honor it is to stand in front of you today and speak on behalf of the most amazing proctor staff it has been my pleasure to be a part of. I will try to do them justice as I speak to you today about choices we make in our lives, here and at home. Every day, everyone of us makes countless choices and everyday these choices impact our lives; in many cases more than we realize. Some are as unimportant as what do I put on my toast: peanut butter or margarine…Some as easy as socks or no socks with you fresh kicks…Some as difficult as what do I say to a summer friend who is leaving me for the school year…And some as significant and influential as do I return to PCC to pick up where my proctor left off or do I get a “real job.” The choice to return to PCC for students and proctors alike is one that is fraught with troubled thoughts, to which many in this room can attest.

Returning students will think back on their first year and wonder whether others will be back, will they remember those students, will they like their new hall, their new floormates, or their classes? What will they do at rec? The second year students in this crowd can tell you how to be or what to do, but they will also tell you that it doesn’t matter what you do, or who’s on your floor or you hall or in your room. What matters more is that you choose to make PCC what it can be; actually make the choice to get out and make PCC what you want it to be, not just what it was for you this summer. You must make the choice to come back and you alone can make the choice to be the difference you wish to see here. PCC is ever changing and it relies on its returning students to help shape it and create new aspects. However, without a conscious choice to be proactive, these changes may never come.

As for students who have left the program and are thinking about coming back as a proctor, they go through quite a bit of worrying themselves. When a proctor is hired for PCC a few thoughts and fears go through their heads like: Will I like the kids? Will the kids like me? Can I keep my energy up for 6 weeks? Can I decorate a hall? and will the kids love it? Will they even like it? Can I become what my proctor was for me!? Am I ready for that responsibility? For proctors who never came to PCC, once they realize how much is involved, their response may lie mostly along the lines of, “what was I thinking?” This choice is complicated by new issues one faces when they leave high school, but these people make a choice to come here and work with you. They choose to travel from across the country and across the ocean to be here in June and work with you and help mold you into the students we see before us today. They choose to endure hard work and little sleep and it seems never to be done. Until today when we can see you all together and look back to see how far you’ve all come. That’s what makes it all worth it.

All the effort and everything that comes with it are all part of the choice we proctors make to come here again. The life of a PCC proctor is not an easy one. These proctors choose to befriend many, many students, learn all about them, help them learn about themselves, and help them grow into the students that they want to be. This may all seem very deep and profound, but when you look back at your summer, you will realize how much of an impact your proctors had on you just by being there. They played that cribbage game with you, taught you 4 square or maybe the Cotton Eye Joe Dance, they brought you around with them on duties to meet students or just to chat, they forced you out of your comfort zone and created an environment where that was ok, or maybe they just sat with you at the end of a long rough day and talked about the day itself, the Red Sox or life. They do all these things for you and you hardly realize how they are helping. Many times they don’t even realize when they’ve made the biggest impact on a student’s life; possibly affecting the choices that student will make in their future. They simply work their magic and help you to get to where we are all now, and then when their work is done they have to do the seemingly impossible…and let go.

I do not consider being a proctor a job nor, I’m positive, does any other proctor in this room, to give so deeply of oneself for the students. It is partially our gift we choose to give to this program. That which has given so much to us and so many others. But more importantly, it is the gift we chose to give to you, our students, our kids, our brothers, sisters and friends. To your proctor and many around you, you are all of these things. You touch our life and we choose to give back by being that guiding hand, that shoulder to cry on, or that voice of reason and support that you might need. Long after PCC has ended and you are living your lives in you home towns and your schools, I can guarantee you that something about this program will help you making it all the more valuable. For instance, at the close of PCC 1996, my proctor pulled me aside when I was crying, saying how much I didn’t want to leave, and he said to me, “PCC only ends if you let it.” Think about this for a minute. Nine years ago he said this little bit of information and now, nine years later, I choose to still live by that little phrase. That one statement has helped me stay with this program and continue to become a friend to more and more staff and students alike. I think about it after every week of every summer and it means the world to me, because it helped me make the right choice for me. He may not even remember saying it, but that is the impact a proctor can have on their student. I’d like to thank Mr. Sullivan now for those words all those years ago. His words made the choice to come back to PCC an easy one. He knew what PCC meant to me then and his words guided me back so that I could help you reach the futures you want.

Your link to PCC doesn’t end when you leave these buildings. We proctors will remember you forever, we will be able to name your entire hall 5 years later when someone points to a picture. We will be able to remember how you couldn’t stay in your room for five minutes at a time in study hour, how you look happier every time a certain type of music came on, how you and your roommate never could manage to stop talking and go to bed. These are the stories that we carry with us. Little stories that mean almost nothing to anyone not in the program, but mean so much to we who have lived with you, laughed with you and now cry with you as we say goodbye. On behalf of everyone in this room that you have touched in some way, PCC class of 2005, we thank you. And wish you luck in all that you do. Thanks.

Update alert!

This summer has been very busy thus far. I am at the end of my rope. I need to get a job, to pay for the summer course I’m taking, since I underestimated the cost and was not eligible for a Stafford loan. The problem being that I am a Floor Leader and proctor at PCC and thusly, have no time for a life to myself come June 24^th. You see…The setup of PCC this summer is one of a constant state of fluctuation…How many people just caught the oxymoron right there? I see a couple nods in the back of the room…anyway…PCC is starting on a Thursday this year and since this is the case, proctors have a whole week to get oriented, thus giving us plenty of time to get through the meetings AND making it fun. (more fun anyway) However, the downside exists in the inability for us to stay over in our dorms without Branananana thus rendering the week a back and forth drive daily.

Good Points:

I get to see Amy on the 28^th when she returns to the good ol’ US of A.

I am able to play a game of Wiffleball or two with the fellas before things start to get all ugly from a weird schedule.

I get to know more proctors than previous years before the program starts.

Bad Points:

It’s a lot of driving and I have no money for gas until week 5.

I don’t enjoy staccato orientations.

We don’t have nights to get acquainted.

SO you see, it is not a simple case of like it or not. But rather a continuum of things I love to things I hate. And as such, is a good start to a summer that will contain all of these things.

I am very excited about this summer. I don’t think I have ever been so psyched for a PCC to start other than my first, but even then I was nervous. I think I am going to have the best time and I am so excited for the students to get to know me. I really want this summer to be the one that I love the most. I want to go out on a good note. I am sure everyone can relate to that in some capacity.

Other than PCC, the summer has been a blur of substituting and taking classes. In essence I have had no summer, and will continue to have little to no summer as I progress through August. I am more nervous than ever that I will not have the mental acuity to succeed in next semester’s courses, but I am convinced that my best try will be enough.

An update has struck again…

Until it rises up within me, just one more time….

The Summer Classic of Rockland

Every once in a while, one must take a step back to reflect on their life at present. This is one such moment for this guy right here. In standard Timmy style, I have managed to keep a good tabs on myself of late. The boys and I have been hitting the Wiffleball field on a near-daily clip and let me tell you something. Wiffleball is more than just a child's game or a schoolyard romp...

There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes that there is so much serious stuff going on around him and he has to choose between sitting on his butt and taking it, or get out on that field, be it grass, asphalt or gym floor…..and smack the shit out of a little plastic ball. Wiffleball is not a game for he weak hearted, nor is it a game of shear will and determination…it is just a game; a game that breaks a man out of his everyday surroundings and into a field of dreams. The day a boy picks up a white ball with slits on the side and tosses a perfect slider, fastball, 12-6 curve or even the ever elusive screwball…is the day that boy realizes what will keep him young forever.

Youth is not something to be wasted on the young. It is a gift for all ages. A man of 22, 23 or even………25 dare I say it, can benefit from a summer night under the lights of a high school parking lot with three of his best friends batting against the eternal struggle of hitting one of the slowest change-ups imaginable and trying to not look like you’ve been diagnosed with Down’s halfway through the swing. A night of pure talent taking on brute strength and a Neanderthal wit that couldn’t cut a single strand of human hair. A night of debauchery with the boys out on a warm night, people shouting “swing battah” and “homerun” from their cars.

A night around which nothing is based but a simple and heated game of the Summer Classic series. Team Schpladdough (pronounced shplad-dow) and Team Coathanger (pronounced kote-hang-er) mortal enemies took the field on such a night. A rage of emotion erupts in the first inning, first half, first batter, first pitch…the first batter for team Coathanger, for the season’s greatest fight, belts an uncatchable homerun out of the 60 degree 60 foot field erected on the grounds of the high school parking lot. The game was all out of their hands from that point on. Team Schpladdough took control with a grand slam in the bottom of the first with no outs. You can imagine the emotions….Jubilation, celebration…degredation and humiliation…the game was a one-sided ridicule where the starter for the winning team pitched a complete game with at least 8 K’s (track was lost, but T was on with the sick junk). Working with his NEW screwball, an entirely undpredictable, yet nearly unhittable junk pitch and a changeup that shut down 5 batters and K-ed 4, he managed to escape situations that would drop a gem from a newborn T-Rex in his dinosaur booties.

All-in all, the teams played good ball. A game that will forever pull a man from his responsibilities as a swim coach, a golf pro’s assistant, an after school program director, or a substitute, Wiffleball will always force a good game. Wiffleball games will force you out of your comfort zone and into a new world full of fielding, pitching, and swinging for a base hit. A world entirely comprised of grown men, who refuse to grow up…Grown men who will fight the crushing oppression of the middle class work life…Grown men who know that there is more to life than chasing that average temporary high…oh….uh…Grown men…who know…there is…more…

Team Schpladdaugh, Team Coathanger…play on, young players…play on…

Until the Summer Classic inspires once again…

A touch of Sappiness never hurt nobody

I have decided that all I need to be happy is a girl, a couple friends and a pool table. These three things combined with adequate water and food stuffs could keep me in high spirits for years. I am not quite sure if this announcement will come as a shock to anyone, as I seem to always have a girl (I’ve never really been single for long), I only have a few friends, and I am hardly a terrible pool player (most days). But I have to say that with ne’er a doubt (ya like that?) that I would be close to the happiest man alive were I to obtain all of these things at once. (Close to the happiest man, because I’m just not sure you can be happier than a man named Susan meeting a man named Gertrude. I think knowing someone that feels that pain would be load lifting for sure.)

As far as a girl goes, I think it goes without saying that I’m pretty well off in that area. After two years of me being in Maine and her being in Massachusetts, followed by me in Maine and her in Rhode Island, I love being an hour away from her in Rhode Island with me being in Massachusetts. (That was a long sentence and I for one blame Massachusetts.) Amy and I see each other almost every weekend (as opposed to the occasional weekend every couple months) and we are still good. It’s good to know it wasn’t the distance that made us alright. We still have a plan to live together after we graduate; me from grad school at BC and her from undergrad at Salve. Perhaps move on from there…haha…just kidding, yeah, the plan moves on from there for sure. She is already in the family; we might as well make it official.

As for friends, I have some of the best I could ask for, the down side is that a few are around Rockland, a bunch are in Maine and the rest are scattered throughout Massachusetts (there it goes again…damn state!). My Rockland friends are mostly there, we see each other at least once a week, like a ritual and sometimes we make plans, but not often. Every Tuesday night is video games and Scrubs night with the boys; just me, Dick, Jay and Woody. (That sounds like a night of two guys and their penii but I promise it is nothing like that. Well it’s a little like that.) Although since the Red Sox are playing, it is more like video game and Red Sox night. It is good to have a night where you are not responsible for anything. We forget about school, work and golf respectively and just sit around and do nothing in particular.

As for those who don’t live in the immediate area, I have to say that I don’t see them very often. I blame myself for some but not all. I am not that great at keeping in touch, but I know I’m much better than some people. I try my hardest to keep friends together, but it seems that sometimes, it can’t be done. Now it will be harder for me to swallow, because now we are starting to move on. We are starting to get married and everything is getting weird to me. I realize I haven’t seen them in a while, but I always thought we were close, but I could’ve been wrong. I suppose we weren’t that close; the point is that I won’t be there to see it, and that makes me miss the good times we had in the past. It isn’t a big deal. After all, we were friends in high school…and we fell out of touch, through no fault of my own. (I wish you luck and happiness. As a friend and a twin. J ) [As if she’ll read this.] Still others I try to keep in touch with, a dinner every once in a while, despite the drive. They were the three closest friends I had in high school, aside from Dick and Jay and Dewey. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost them. I’ve lost a few more than I cared to already.

As for Maine, however, I don’t think there is anything that could keep these guys out of my life. They were to me, my lifeline through a rough four years in a state that I knew no one. I miss these fellers and fellets more and more every day. It wasn’t long ago that I didn’t even know them. It is a strange thing, college. From my roommate to that girl I met in November of senior year…they made such an impact and I appreciate it. I hope I will get a chance to see a few of them when I go to Maine for graduation in a couple weeks, but if not, I hope we can find some time soon after to hang out and have a couple drinks for old time sake.

Aside from a girl and friends….I see I’m left with a pool table. I think given some time and a couple pay checks from that first job, I could saddle myself up with one of them.

Haha, so until the check arrives….

And then came an Update...

In a quick summary of that basketball game, I will say this…very little death was made and I had little or no impact in the game. I purposely would give the ball up, after all it was a game for the real faculty, so I had no problem with that. Suffice it to say that I retract my claims of child mutilation and insert into my mouth, my lovely tasting foot.

Well, moving on, here I am in April of the school year and Very close to another summer break, and hence just a little closer to PCC. I have to say, it’s only a blip on the radar screen at this point, however. There is so much going on right now in my life, it’s hard to keep up with. And very little is centered around yours truly. Let me elaborate…

I have just become an Uncle for the first time! My sister, Meaghan and her husband, Greg have just had a BEAUTIFUL baby boy named Glicerio Liam! He is adorable! I have to say that my nephew is going to be SO spoiled by this family. He is cute AND he is the only nephew/niece. I am excited to go visit him, but who knows when I will find the time. My sister and her husband live in California, so it isn’t exactly right next door. I will find the time and money soon enough, I hope. I look forward to playing with a new baby!

Aside from brand new things, there are some things new to me. My brother, Billy is engaged to be married to Maribell this month! I will have 2 sisters-in-law and 1 brother-in-law after the wedding next weekend. This will leave me as the sole “single” person in the family. Although, I am still in a 5 and a half (almost) year relationship with Amy Lee, therefore I’m hardly single, but you get the point. A strange thing to get used to is this expanded family. More gifts to buy, more dates to remember and a lot more things to do to keep in touch and remain in good standing within the family.

What else is new, Ah yes! Amy Lee is 21! Exciting! She is officially old like me (as of 1 minute ago almost exactly at this point)! YAY! I must say that it never really occurred to me that she was young, until a friend would say, “Let’s go to a bar or some such thing and she couldn’t join. Ya know? Well, that is over anyway and she is happy for it, am I! It opens up so many more things to do now and there is less that we can’t do together if I get invited out with buddies.

BC is going to be the death of me. As much as I plan and plan ahead, the school just keeps finding ways to throw me off course. HAHA, oh well. I will beat it eventually! In fact, I’m already trying my best to get out of taking a couple graduate physics classes. I’m taking two undergrad courses (one in Statistical Mechanics and the other in Quantum Physics). I’m so excited about that! After next semester I will be done with physics altogether. Then I will be left with all Ed courses, which I can cruise through. (as hard as the professors may think they are making the courses, or how demanding they pretend their classes are, I have a degree in physics and I’m still taking Grad-level physics, so there is very little an Ed professor could do to scare me at this point.)

Anything else happening? Aside from the Red Sox starting their season at 3-4, I can’t think of anything bad. So I am putting all my efforts into making my boy Kevin Millah show up in big situations as he did in yesterday’s crushing defeat of the Yankees with a seeing-eye single with the bags full.

A new Purpose...

Welcome to today. A day that will live for 24 hours then be forgotten faster than that that guy in that movie with um….crap…what’s his name?...damnit…anyway…Today is one of those ordinary days that make you go a little crazy because you wish something would happen. I can’t explain exactly what I mean but you get the gist I’m sure. You woke up, got in the shower, got in the car drove an hour to school and sat in class for an hour and 15 minutes after your “morning ritual” (for more information see earlier blog entitled “Holy Random Batman”). Now, here you are, waiting from 10:15 until 4:30 for your next class. How many times does this scenario happen to you?

It happens to me every Tuesday. There is nothing exciting about this day other than…BUSTER POINDEXTER! Oh damn that was killing me inside! His name is Buster Poindexter and he was in Mr. Nanny with Hulk Hogan…damn that was close…I was about 6 hours away from a massive aneurism…as I was saying…nothing exciting other than news from yesterday.

I will share since you asked. I was asked to tutor for a kid that got run over by a car and cannot get to school. THEN I was asked how much I would charge to be a private tutor, and THEN, when I got home, there was a message on the machine about participating in the John W. Rogers Middle School Student-Faculty basketball game. This is a game that I was not asked to participate in when I was a student, so clearly my game has improved.

I am not saying that I’m Lebron James, although I’m older and therefore could clearly kick his ass in a game of hoops. I am, however, saying that in order to bring this great gazelle of the hardwood to the ground these kids better bring some elephant rifles and tranquilizer darts. I’m going to rack up more points than the McClure clan racks up STD’s. I’m gonna put up points faster than Dick can turn his head to look inside a carriage. These kids will be begging for a substitution once I start raining down the long balls and stomping on faces as I charge to the hole. This game WILL be called…maybe due to slaughter rule, maybe because I’ve blocked too many shots down other players’ throats!...But it will be called. Every time a ball hits the ground from their dribble, I’m gonna get another steal and take in the length to embarrass them more than Mills after he saw his mother’s website. There will be no player safe from my fury. Kids will dive into the stands like lemmings when I bring the ball into their zone. There will be blood, screaming and plently of carnage…It will be a site.

I’m only sorry that these little midgets didn’t see it coming. Here I am a substitute getting the call to come and end there fantasies of squeaking out with a win. I don’t even care if I get the “take it easy on them” schpeal. I’m going to tear through this game like Vodka through an Irishman. There will be tears at the end of this game. Children mourning their loss of the game. Parents mourning their loss of their children. Teachers crying at the vision of the roundball spectacle that is Tim Fitzgibbon. It will be truly magnificent.

I have a new purpose...I shall write more on the debacle after it occurs...

Until the death-making has commenced….

Ah, the students of Rockland High

Students are funny things. I will elaborate…sometimes, you will be sitting in a classroom with some students and you will be entirely accepted into conversations. It is a strange experience, but they ask questions and you answer them, the next thing you know, they talk to you like a human, without saying, “um…Mr…Um…can I go to the bathroom?” Therefore, they start to consider you to be a real person and stop treating you like the guy who is out to bust them.

Other times, students think you are the antichrist and will go out of their way to make you feel like that guy. They’ll give you attitude, ignore you or throw the look of death your way. You know the look: the one says you must be the one that knocked up their mom or older sister, punched them in the gut and ran for your life to avoid child support. That too is a strange situation. You see, this happens when students feel that you are trying to bust them, OR they think you are going to write them up if they look at you funny or they are just plain antisocial.

Today was a strange day, in that the kids were not talking to me, which is normal, but it was on the same day that I was being a good guy. Let them do whatever they wanted, you know? I let them play cards and students avoided me like the plague. “Can I go to my locker (without a pass)?” SURE! This was how hard ass I was today. Still, I was the school day equivalent of Ebola.

However, I have had my glimmers of goodness known as PCC students. I love PCC kids at school. They may not be the only good kids, but I have yet to meet one that will drop f-bombs in the classroom, just walk out, shout across the room, or do something stupid to get in trouble. These kids always say hello and goodbye to me. It may not mean anything, in fact, they probably say it just to be nice, but that is something too. The PCC program may not make the kids good, but that at least gives me a reason to go back every summer; to know that there are kids like these…somewhere.

Project Contemporary Competitiveness is a summer program I work at. Kids know PCC as the “happiest place on Earth.” And it really is too. The kids are amazing. The proctors are always up and ready to give these kids the best summer or two of their lives. I have worked there for 4 years and will be returning for my fifth and probably final summer this upcoming June.

It is a sad thing for me to think about right now; not going back, that is. It has been a stable thought in my head since I was a student myself. I wait all school year, just to be able to go back in the summer and see the kids that return and see the proctors that I return and meet all the new people. Every year I get a little bit older and a little better at my job, and I get more responsibility and I grow as a person and as a teacher. I don’t teach there, but I deal with students, I work with behavioral problems, and I pass on what I know to them. Every year one or two students make the program for me. I miss them terribly when I go. Sometimes, after the program is over, some students find my screen name and write me updates to their lives. They remember me, and I appreciate the program all the more.

Every time I sub at Rockland, I see at least 5 or 6 students I had at PCC, some I was close to and others I just remember, and some I don’t remember but they remember me. They are all good kids and I love to see them in classes I sub. I know they will be respectful and help me out. And sometimes, I need that assurance to get me through classes. I don’t know how the kids were in school prior to this year or in the prior class. I do know that I can count on them every time.

PCC may not change these kids at all, and I may not change them at all. In fact, many of them are the way they are before I meet them, long after PCC is gone forever. Nevertheless, I truly believe that the program can make people better, and can make high school a little more bearable. If you know there are people like the ones you met at PCC out there, you take more risks, try more things and work on being a better person yourself. It worked for me.

I hope wherever I end up teaching, there is a program like PCC to work with. I can’t imagine going the rest of my life without knowing that there are still kids singing American Pie, dancing every Thursday night and begging their proctors for just one more minute with the lights on so they can play 4-Square in their rooms. Without this assurance, I am almost certain that I will not be a very effective teacher in classrooms of today.

I think the reason for my fear of being ineffective as a teacher stems from students I see daily who make me want to vomit every 5th minute of every period. There are many kinds of these vomit-inducing student at good old RHS and here are a few and a description of each.

Alternateens:
These are students who do not want to be involved in anything considered “mainstream.” In fact, they hate the normal folks so much that they all do the same thing to avoid being like them, ironically. They all sit there quietly in a corner of class with they’re hair all long and/ or dyed and swear to show they know big words. They wear black everything, mascara (guys too), chains, and trench coats made to be worn over business attire. Girls wear a lot of fishnet things and tend to dye their hair black. Guys tend to wear band t-shirts or ones that claim the wearer hears voices. They never look you in the eye unless you have told them they are in trouble. Then and only then are you entirely assured that they know how creepy they look, because they try to use it to sketch you out and into submission. However, knowing Alternateens, is the key to their downfall. Most of these students are big wussies and want nothing more than to be left alone. Any confrontation will dissolve their outer stoicism, and show you the kicked puppy that is their core.

Emokids:
These students are addicted to emo-music, short for emotional. These are typically skinny little boys and larger girls. Now I’m not saying all people who like emo are emokids, just that when kids who like emo let it go to their heads, they become these things. I hate emokids, and I hate them most in class. They are always complaining about one thing or another and I’ve never seen so much eye rolling from white boys. The guys (barely) will wear skin-tight jeans that can only be bought in states beginning with K and ending with tucky due to their sperm-reducing tendencies and Kentucky’s plan to drop pregnancies within families. The gals are a harder bread to spot, but they are normally accompanied by an emoboy (sorta). They tend to think everyone is out to get them and make them cut their hair and dump their boyfriend or girlfriend (yeah right). I’ve come to the conclusion that the emo-music is deteriorating their reality as it is always whining about lost loves, and bad days at school or work and how everyone is Capulet, they are Montagues with no one left on their side. I would just like for them to come to grips with reality and stop the whining. To deal with them…I let them leave when they ask; saves me from kicking them out because they are worthless lay-abouts.

Convicted Felons:
That’s right everyone. I have subbed for convicted felons. I didn’t know it at the time, but it sure does explain a lot. For instance, why the two of them did not care when I was telling them to calm down…after all, I didn’t have a GUN at the time. Or, maybe it could explain why the word “faggot” was thrown around so much. Perhaps too much time in a cell with Bubba? Who knows. What I know is, they better have been joking about that slashing my tires thing.

Aside from these folks, I get along fine with the rest. Students are students in any school I imagine and there is very little you can do to change them.


Until I think of more kids who I love or who piss me off…

A trip to NYC with Ames

In the past few weeks, I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with my girlfriend Amy. The two of us are extremely busy, so it gets to be a lot of fun when we find the time to get together. Not that it is all that tough to find time, so much as for the two of us to decide what to do with it. The two of us are quite possibly the least decisive people on the planet, which makes finding things to do practically impossible. However, one day within the last couple weeks, Ames says to me, “would you want to go see the “Lion King?” I thought about it and said that I had wanted to go see it eventually. And she said that she had gotten us tickets to the show on Broadway. It was an interesting experience, knowing what we were going to do before we did it. So I couldn’t wait.

We decided that the best way to get there would be to drive, since it cost about a billion dollars to take the train and it wasn’t a guarantee that we would get the times we wanted. So we drove. Although the drive wasn’t nearly as uninteresting as all that made it sound. In fact, the drive there was half the fun. You see, neither Amy nor I had ever driven to or through New York City and it was strange to be driving as we got closer, but the adventure actually started before we left Rhode Island. The two of us, who have both driven through that little Ocean State many…many times could not navigate ourselves past Newport.

So the two of us travelers eventually left Rhode Island and made our way through Connecticut. All the while we were just talking and laughing and singing. It was a good day just in the car before we even got to where we were heading. And once we got there, and kept driving down the same road forever looking for parking. Eventually we found a place to park and eventually agreed that paying 40 bucks for parking was still better than 250 dollars to take the train or 100 to take a bus.

So then we went and got food at Applebee’s which was delicious, but the staff was, let us say…a little off. There was very little service speed and when they were around they were making fun of each other without any respect for the customers…It was pretty funny. Amy and I decided that even though it was before noon, it was ok to order a Long Island Iced Tea just because it was like trying the native customs. And I have to tell you, that even at noon, Applebee’s on 42^nd Street makes a frickin ridiculous Long Island. Saying that I couldn’t drink the whole thing would be an understatement. I barely finished one third. It tasted like vodka mixed with tequila and gasoline, and looked like a glass of water with a yellow tint. The entire thing was quite overwhelming.

After lunch we went to the show and entered the building. The play was in the New Amsterdam Theatre, which was so amazing. The artistry and carvings in the wood, the bronze and gold were so intricate. The entire auditorium was designed to look somewhat like a wooden theme and painted with likenesses of nymphs and gods. Downstairs, near the bathrooms there was a rotunda that was painted in various scenes of New York and American history. It was beautiful.

The show itself was absolutely stunning. There was so much to look at that it was hard to stay on top of what was going on. The costumes were amazing. It was like watching the movie of the Lion King without that pesky Jonathan Taylor Thomas. The entire play was adapted to be a more African experience and all the actors, except Scar, Zazu, Timon and Pumbaa were black. The changes were done so well. The animals were all part human and part the animal they were supposed to be. There were elephants in the aisles and some ram-type things in the balconies at the beginning and the animals were so close to me and Ames (who were sitting on an aisle) that they would brush my shoulder as they passed. We were re-freaking-diculously close, too. We were 6 rows back from the stage and on the aisle!? (did I mention we paid 25 bucks each for the tickets?!) I mean, it was just too cool to be true.

During the show I felt like I was one of the little kids that were pointing at every animal saying, “did you see that?” or “look at that elephant.” Ames and I were pointing things out like that all night. It was like being a little boy at the circus. The show was awesome and we had a lot of fun.

Afterwards, we went to take a walk…and walk we did. We must have walked over 20 blocks from the theater and into Times Square and around St. Patrick’s Cathedral. We walked everywhere and were going to try to find “Ground Zero” but a) we had no idea where it was, b) we had no idea where we were going, c) we were cold, and d) it was getting really dark. So we turned back and got the car out of the lot, but immediately fell back into our “bad at reading directions” phase and took a left out of the parking lot instead of the right we were supposed to take. And I know what you are thinking...“so you just turned around and headed back, right?” WRONG!

You see, New York City is arranged such that turning is Illegal. (Which is stupid as hell!!) But it turns out that this is how you think when you root for Knickerbockers and Metropolitans. After all the driving and eventually turning around and then getting through some New York traffic and even worse some Connecticut traffic. We finally returned to Rhode Island and Newport.

It was a great trip and a whole lot of fun. I guess my point is that any time spent with Amy is a lot more fun than time spent elsewhere. I was stuck in traffic, going the wrong way, paying 50 dollars for lunch and a drink I never finished, sitting through a long play (awesome but long), walking until my feet hurt, being told I can’t turn around because I’m not a bus….

And because I was with Amy Lee, it was ALL the best part of the trip.

So, until I feel another episode of sappiness come on….

Holy Random Batman

There are some things in life that can’t just be let go of. Some things happen and, although you know that you should probably just let them go and move on, you simply cannot. Some force, whether it be supernatural, superhuman, blind curiosity, or what have you…pushes you to delve deeper into some things.

For instance, working in a high school, you get the chance to just sit around and listen to children and young adults talk and discuss things. One such occasion arose this past week when a girl was wearing a Camello Anthony jersey. (For those who may not know, Mr. Anthony is the young star of the Denver Nuggets and hence it says “Nuggets” across the front of the jersey. Now the stage is set and our students, who are to be working on 60 square root problems begin the scene.) One child, we shall call her Dee says to the other wearing the jersey (we’ll call her Jen), “who’s shirt is that?”

Jen replies, “Dan’s.” (or we will call him Dan at least).

Dee: “I didn’t know Dan was that small.”

Jen: “Well, it’s his sister’s.”

Now pause with me here and let us discuss the difference between a young boy’s shirt and his sister’s. How pissed would you be if your older brother started lending your stuff out to his friends because, as the student later put it, they “liked the colors”??? I’m sure that wouldn’t go over well. In fact my brother’s friends’ hands would be bloody masses at the end of their upper appendages. But alas I digress. Back to the conversation:

Dee then says, “So who is on the Nuggets?”

(I was expecting a, ‘I dunno, I just like the colors’)

Jen replies, “Carmello Anthony”

Dee: “Is he good?”

(Here it comes…)

Jen: “um….I don’t know…I liked the colors.”

(BULLSEYE! But there was one more line that mattered, and here’s the one that got me)

Dee finishes this question in a manner that sounded as disgusted as it looks:

“So…do you watch these…Nuggets?”

I just about died. This conversation, all paraphrased except for the final line, stayed with me all day. After the day was over, I still had it going through my head. I couldn’t imagine what was keeping me fixated on it. It was an average conversation with a strange but probably typical ending and I couldn’t drop it. I repeated it to myself to the point that I nearly went internally deaf! (A topic that I am sure I’ll discuss later since making yourself deaf to your own inner monologue would be far too hilarious to simply mention once in passing.) I can’t imagine it is a good thing to harp on such inconsequential tidbits like this. I assume my time could be much better spent than mulling over some trite instances that mean nothing to anyone. There is only one victim in this story that overall seems to have no plot never mind protagonist and antagonist. That victim is not either girl in the discussion, nor the poor child that was robbed for fashion, but rather ME, I was robbed of an entire day because of this inane question that isn’t even stated in correct grammatical structure!

“Do you watch this…Nuggets?”

Aside from a lack of subject/ verb agreement, there is nothing wrong with it, but I still, clearly, can’t drop it…

It doesn’t end there however.

Another moment that I should let go of revolves around this morning. A man, college-aged…a rather tall college-aged guy listening to head phones steps out of the elevator and walks past me as I walk toward the bathroom for my BC morning ritual (I realize it’s not needed but this here is stream of consciousness people!). Most of us would see no problem with this small thing and there should be nothing more to tell. But allow me to describe in further detail our antagonist in this story. The man walking by is dressed in untied work boots, baggy work pants that are tucked into said boots, a plaid flannel shirt with a Carhardt jacket on the outside. He is wearing a stocking cap that looked to be from the Gap or some such store and his hair was sticking out from underneath it…not a mullet but given another month or so he could pass as a budding Billy Ray Cyrus pre-“Achy, Breaky Heart.” His music is audible but not comprehendible as he passes and loudly, out of his lips as he passes are the words, “…I’ve been all around this great big world and I…”

That was it. From this as I sat, I mulled over and it occurred to me that he was listening to the Beach Boys’ “California Girls.” The facts didn’t match, it was like having a CSI when the evidence all pointed to the girlfriend and it turned out a cow from out of town did it. This was just odd on a couple levels. The appearance of our musical stranger alone begs to know why he would just belt out ONE line from the song he was listening to, let alone why that song would be from the Beach Boys! I did however manage to just be happy that he was done singing and I was out of his vicinity so I could laugh. But just as I was thinking about it and chuckling to myself, into the bathroom came our favorite vagabond breathing like he just gave a concert to 15, 000 strong in the Conte Forum out back. He stands at the urinal and although his breathing Nearly blocked out the sound, it was clearly audibly the Beach Boy classic “Fun Fun Fun.”

I can’t say I was all that surprised but now, aside from giving me endless ponderings of his personality, he got that damn song stuck in my head and for this there can be no forgiveness. God help him if I see him again. I may just have to grill him about his music choices. But for now, I’ll end this blog….

Until something MORE random arises…

A quick update on Last week

You see, this week started out ok, the same old kind of days in a row. Aside from waking up late everyday, everything went well. I subbed and went to class; I even had a test postponed until later next week. My homework was pushed back to next week and my professor in physics is a really nice guy. The only bad part of the week was sitting through the same class twice.

I will explain. You see, education classes consist of the same kind of information just presented in a different manner within each class. Most classes cover identical material but have their own homily to go on about, in my case, specifically special education referrals and Individual Education Plans (IEP’s). The two education courses I am taking right now are both instruction type courses, so in both we had to go over how to refer and plan for students with special needs. However, as you would expect and as I, in fact, expected, the two teachers would come at the issue in two separate ways. They, being the original thinkers presented the exact same lecture with the exact same handouts. So the second lecture made for the most excruciating night ever when combined with the fact that it is my only class on Mondays and it is at 7pm. That’s right, I drove into Chestnut Hill for a night class full of everything I’ve already learned. I couldn’t believe it.

Aside from all the, what we’ll call “double learning” I did, my week was full of a whole lot of nothing. I subbed a couple of days as usual. The kids were good, and I had very little to do. I had a few kids that need to learn when to shut their mouths though. Man, I tell ya, there are some kids that just keep talking and keep talking and keep talking. They know they should stop; you know they know because they stop when you look at them, or move your eyes toward them they stop and look down like dog that peed on the carpet. I think the best thing any teaching professor told me about classroom management for students who talk too much was to just stay close to the ones that need it. However, in this case, the student only talked more when I was around. The only thing I could do to stop him was to be me. Every time he asked a stupid question, I didn’t say, “don’t you have work to do” or “you are senior aren’t you?” as his teacher did. I did however answer with an equally stupid answer and it seemed to shut him up. And you want to know the funny about it is that kids respond to that. They don’t want you to just push away their attempts to be distracting to you; they see that as a challenge. What I did, that got him to do the work his teacher couldn’t, was to just give him a little back and shut him up with his own humor.

I think if I can get away with being me, I could be a good teacher. I just have to deal with parents of those few children who want to throw out smart ass remarks and not get any back. Once I get through the parents, I think I can do ok with management of my classes.

After the whole week of school I needed a break and a trip to Rhode Island was exactly what I was looking for. So here I sit in Rhode Island and relaxing after a long week. I will write about yesterday’s trip to New York some other time.

Until then….

My Thoughts on Superbowl XXXIX

Super Bowl XXXIX, or 39 for those of us who can’t read roman numerals was perhaps the least exciting or the four that I have watched the Patriots play. (I’m not so sure I was too cognizant of the ‘86 team as I was a whopping four years old.) However, I have to say that watching that game was an experience. The Pats dropped by a touchdown after the first quarter finished scoreless. Donovan looked like he might be getting the hang of the Patriot defense. And just when all was looking bleakest…The Pats throw down a MoNsTeR drive and return the favor. David Givens in the corner for 6 easy ones. Then the Pats played Pats football, 4 drives with scores separated by one punt. They kept it close like every Superbowl they’ve won, unlike their regular season when they almost maxed out the margin of victory stat as they sat with an average win of 11.3 points. With big plays from offense and defense, sometimes both on the same play, like linebacker Mike Vrabel’s impressive circus catch with a “Freak” on his back, the Patriots pulled out a big win on Vinatieri’s leg again, but with somewhat less dramatic flair than his previous two.

Aside from the game itself, the more important thing was the way it was played by my heroes and the role models for countless kids around New England. They played with class. The only time you saw any kind of celebration was in the end zone, or on the game capping pick from Rodney Harrison. And NONE of their celebrations were aimed. Take a look at Greg Lewis after her beat a ROOKIE free safety. How does he respond to his “big play”? He throws a Derek Lowe style “suck it” to the folks that flew thousands of miles to cheer for his sorry ass. {Side Note: The Patriots may have been favorites from the odds makers, but from the sound in that stadium, you could tell there was a loyal contingent of Philadelphia boo-birds that are sure to razz their team again someday when they drop back to mediocrity.} The entire Eagles team, along with most of the teams the Pats played in the post-season celebrates at the dumbest times. If you get the chance to watch any of the games again, pay attention to the defensive backs and what they do after a long reception and five more yards added after the catch on a hit hardly worth mentioning…it is sad to see such highly trained athletes get so excited because they let up a 17 yard catch and run play.

“But, the Patriots celebrated too!” I know, Sally, and thanks for the fodder. Some would say, hey what about the Patriots, they were blatantly making fun of the Eagles and Terrell Owens (who might I add makes himself a target for the mocking). This is true, but where did they celebrate? In the endzone…where did T.O. celebrate? If you said the 17 yard line, you guessed right! And on that drive, they didn’t even SCORE! Ok, lets move on to Mike Vrabel…Ok, I apologize for that dance, it was a sad take off of the Eagle’s flap, but he’s big and awkward and you have to give him points for trying. The jump-bump, made famous by Donovan and his teammates, was copied earlier in the game on the fumble recovery, which although I’m not a fan of the taunt, was deserved as they had changed the complexion of the game. Finally there was the Rodney Harrison flight after his second pick of the night which couldn’t have been cooler. He was saying to the entire Philadelphia bench and fan population…“I think you dropped your ball sir, thanks for playing.” The entire taunt war that occurred was reminiscent of the Falcons-Broncos Superbowl when the entire Bronco sideline started the dirty bird arockin. The moral of this story is to not have a specific dance that you do, or it’ll be thrown in your face after you already fell on your chunky-soup-eating can.

I guess all in all I was happy with the Super Bowl outcome, although I had to go a little crazy to be amused by it at times. The folks I watched it with, my girlfriend, one of my best friends and his girlfriend, all kept giving me weird looks every time I busted out a “YEEEEESS PandaCHI!” or made mention of Tedy Bruschi and Corey Dillon’s locomotive legs being powered by their eating of children (A trick taught to them by a Mr. Bryan Cox). I enjoy my Patriots


Until later…

A week at RHS

Last week was my first time substituting for a particular teacher. I was the sub for a Chemistry teacher and actually had a job to do. I was to teach them about chemical reactions, which I was originally confident about. The other good part about it was that I was the first call when they found out that this teacher was going to be out for a whole week. Nothing says ego boost like, "you were the first person I thought of" from the vice-principal.

It wasn’t until I saw her class room I was to teach in that I realized how organizationally-challenged this woman was. I walked in and there was paper everywhere, and none of it was in a pile, but rather crumpled up and thrown into a corner. These are her class lists and her students’ grades. ALL OVER THE ROOM!! So I figured I could handle the mess, until I realized that her PowerPoint notes were just as messed up as her room and desk. The slides were out of order, half of them were unnecessary and most of them were too packed with information to keep a decent pace.

So long story short, the kids were bored and tired of writing by the time I was done with the first days’ slides and I am convinced that they were no closer to understanding the stuff than they had been when I had started. (Except for the two classes that had already done that particular chapter already). Which leads me to my next point…Perhaps I am not a good teacher…Allow me to elaborate….

I could not get them to attend to me, which could be because I was a sub, but shouldn’t a teacher be able to get people to attend. Then I thought “well maybe it is because I didn’t study chemistry,” but I have 3 years of chemistry under my belt, not to mention everything else I have studied in my strangely eclectic academic career, and should be able to be somewhat interesting with the knowledge I have acquired. After all, I do no a crapload of stuff, however useless, could I not find something that would grab hold of seniors and juniors in high school.

By the end of the week, the only class I had built a rapport with was a study in fifth period because I knew a lot about Saved By The Bell. Man, it was just one headache after another in these classes. I couldn’t get through this lady’s notes without making comments on them myself….and the kids could see how messed up they were, so I think they were even more confused. But alas, I am rambling again.

The only thing that really bothered me was that I couldn’t teach my own way and that was, I think what the problem was. I would hope so anyway. I have wanted to be a teacher for so long, that if I were to find out I’m not fit for it, I would have some serious soul searching to do. I don’t think I could ever be a physicist. As much as I love physics, it would require far too much lab work to ever be worth it to me.

Other than that, last week was alright for me. It went by pretty fast and my schooling didn’t hold me back too much. I am however, falling behind in my readings for physics but I will work it out. I always do. Until I need to vent again…..

So grad school is going...

Rather than sign everyone I know up to my emails, I have decided to update this little blog once in a while, both as a professional journal and as a way to keep me from blowing a gasket and having my grey matter end up on my professors' walls.

That being said, I am sure you could guess from having read the title that I'm beginning grad school. I finished my first semester of two physics courses and one education courses with only minor stress aneurisms. I am in the Masters of Science in Teaching program with a Physics concentration at Boston College. This semester appears to be equally challenging, but with only one physics course and two education courses; the physics course being Classical Electrodynamics.

As with all college students, grad students have this problem with money. We don’t tend to have it. Struggling with financial ruin is one facet of education that I could do without. I suppose it is just as well, as I can’t even begin to fathom what I would do with money had I some to discuss. Well, actually, I suppose the first thing would be to pay off loans, and then help the family get settled. But that is neither here, nor there. My point is that in order to sustain life as I know it, I continue to work. I am a substitute teacher in the town that I grew up in. Sounds quaint, but some of the kids there are ridiculous. From just these few hours a day with some of these kids, I get the feeling that I should just walk away from the entire thought of teaching (being in graduate school for teaching being a major reason I don’t follow this whim, after all it is what I always wanted to do…aside from being a mailman).

I sometimes think about looking for a new job, but I don’t think I could handle two jobs at once, and I enjoy teaching, aside from attitude I get from kids younger than what I’d be teaching anyway. Plus, I see some friends of mine teaching and enjoying it, and I know that I can do it too. I just have to get through some crap first that they don’t need. Once this is over, I’m looking forward to finding a pretty good paying job and paying off some loans. I’m looking into some programs to pay off loans after grad school with my girl. Maybe in Hawaii, who knows?

That’s enough out of me for now, I hope all is well with you all and I hope you stop by once in a while to check on my dementia and seeing how it is progressing.