The winning joke this week was a model of understatement:
Q: What did the farmer say when he lost his tractor?
A: Where's my tractor?
Personally, I found it very humorous, but there were some kids who expressed considerable dissatisfaction at the selection. One outspoken young man had submitted a "yo mama" joke that was in his estimation a "million times" funnier than that.
His joke went like this: Yo mama is so fat, that when she wears red, people call her Mr. KoolAid.
As the class listened in on our conversation, we set aside the inherent offensiveness of that type of joke, and I tried to reason with him from a language point of view, suggesting, for example, that maybe including the "Hey Kool Aid!" slogan from the commercials would have made his joke more successful, but he wanted to hear nothing of it.
"You know," I said, "that other joke is a good example of what we're working on in our writing. It really reveals a lot about the character of the farmer. Clearly he's a no-nonsense guy who doesn't mind stating the obvious."
He shook his head in disgust and walked back to his seat.
"Wait," I called after him. "I know how to fix your joke! What did the farmer say about yo mama?" (Is it necessary for me to say that I did not mean his actual mother? We all know that, right?)
He whirled around suspiciously and narrowed his eyes at me.
"She's fat." Everyone laughed, even him.
That farmer could come in handy.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
It Was a Dark and Stormy Prom Night in Mississippi
I have a conflict tomorrow after school; I'm double-booked. The Tolerance Club is showing a movie, Prom Night in Mississippi, and the literary and art magazine staff is supposed to judge the entries for our Dark and Stormy Night contest. I'm sure I'll work it out tomorrow, but tonight, the mash-up amuses me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
What a Character
As we gear up for a little fiction writing in my class, I had the students fill out Main Character Questionnaires today about the protagonist of their stories. They are in varying stages of conceptualizing their stories, but the questionnaire is a good way in for many young writers. It's very concrete, but allows them to use their imaginations.
The class was buzzing as they brainstormed and bounced ideas off of each other. As they worked, I overheard one of my students deciding to write his story about the big stuffed dolphin that hangs from the ceiling in my classroom.
Our sixth grade team is called the Dolphins, and I inherited it from a departing teacher 11 years ago. It's been missing an eye as long as I've had it, and since it's been up there for such a while, it's could certainly use a good cleaning, but rather than bother with that, I just call it Dusty the One-Eyed Dolphin.
I thought it was very cool, kind of funny, and super-original to choose Dusty as the main character for a story; as much of a conversation piece as it is (Believe me, we talk about Dusty ALL the time), no one's ever thought to imagine its history or life. I was astounded, however, when my student announced its full name:
Dusty Dolphina McGee.
No lie.
(You really have to click the link!)
The class was buzzing as they brainstormed and bounced ideas off of each other. As they worked, I overheard one of my students deciding to write his story about the big stuffed dolphin that hangs from the ceiling in my classroom.
Our sixth grade team is called the Dolphins, and I inherited it from a departing teacher 11 years ago. It's been missing an eye as long as I've had it, and since it's been up there for such a while, it's could certainly use a good cleaning, but rather than bother with that, I just call it Dusty the One-Eyed Dolphin.
I thought it was very cool, kind of funny, and super-original to choose Dusty as the main character for a story; as much of a conversation piece as it is (Believe me, we talk about Dusty ALL the time), no one's ever thought to imagine its history or life. I was astounded, however, when my student announced its full name:
Dusty Dolphina McGee.
No lie.
(You really have to click the link!)
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Precipitation Aggravation
Turns out, we had a delay this morning. Despite a solid forecast of all the ingredients for an icy mess sufficient to close schools for the day, evidently we were the victims--or the beneficiaries; I suppose it's how you look at it-- of something called a "snow hole".
Even though that phrase sounds like an epithet, rather, it is a random occurrence of nature: like, literally the clouds just opened up, right over us, in the middle of the storm and stopped producing precipitation. This, despite my inside out pajamas. Hmphh, stomp, stomp, stomp! Snow hole indeed!
Even though that phrase sounds like an epithet, rather, it is a random occurrence of nature: like, literally the clouds just opened up, right over us, in the middle of the storm and stopped producing precipitation. This, despite my inside out pajamas. Hmphh, stomp, stomp, stomp! Snow hole indeed!
Monday, February 21, 2011
Inclement Weather
When I was a kid, I don't remember ever doing anything in particular to bring on a snow day, but these days, there are all sorts of crazy superstitions that are supposed to raise the odds of a school cancellation. Probably the two most common are flushing an ice cube down the toilet and wearing your pajamas inside out. I have also heard that doing all your homework is another good guarantee.
The weather people are predicting a sloppy sleety snowy mix tonight that could accumulate to three inches or so by morning. That would probably be enough to make this into a four day weekend for us school folk. Sometimes I'm indifferent to such a prediction, but not this time-- I really want a snow day tomorrow, even though all my planning and homework is done. How badly you ask? Well, let's just say that some of the ice cubes around here aren't going to make it until tomorrow, and I don't care how uncomfortable those pjs might get.
The weather people are predicting a sloppy sleety snowy mix tonight that could accumulate to three inches or so by morning. That would probably be enough to make this into a four day weekend for us school folk. Sometimes I'm indifferent to such a prediction, but not this time-- I really want a snow day tomorrow, even though all my planning and homework is done. How badly you ask? Well, let's just say that some of the ice cubes around here aren't going to make it until tomorrow, and I don't care how uncomfortable those pjs might get.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Progress is Relative
I've mentioned before that I got Epic Mickey, a video game for the Wii, for Christmas. Make no mistake about it, I do not have the skill set to be particularly successful in such a game. I blame it on my age: when I was a kid the only video game was Pong. I was in college when Space Invaders made the scene, and an adult when the Pac Man craze swept our nation. I never owned a game system until 2007, and let's just say I had better things to do with my quarters.
My five-year-old nephew loves all things Mario, and his dad, just 5 years younger than I am, grew up playing the game. Those guys have some skills. My older nephews had Gameboys before they could read, so joysticks, A, B, C, Z, triangle, square, whatever, buttons are second nature to them. The same is obviously so for the vast majority of my students, but not me, oh no.
Still, there is something about this Disney game that I find interesting and even engaging. (Maybe it's that I heard a series of stories on it on NPR. Now it's beginning to make some sense, isn't it?) So, I play it, even though I know I suck at it. My Mickey staggers through each level like a drunk: the poor guy can not run in a straight line to save his life (literally), and he randomly hops about like he has a bad case of the hiccups. Add to that, that he is saddled with my own anxiety about heights. My palms actually sweat anytime falling might be a possibility for him; that makes the whole jumping thing a lot harder.
It's good for me to do things I'm not good at. As a teacher, I'm always on the look out for the slightest glimmer of improvement in any student, and lately, despite the steep learning curve, I do think I see some hope in my game. I'm reminded of a story that has become legend in our family. When my sister was five, she and my mom flew to California for a week to help a friend of the family who had just had a baby. Every day my sister asked my mom to help her put on a pair of roller skates. After a little while, she would call my mom again to help her get them off. After several days, she called my mom earlier than usual. "Watch me!" she said.
My mother was a little confused. "Courtney, you've been roller skating all week. Why do you want me to watch you today?" she asked.
"Because I can move now!" my sister answered.
See Mickey? There's hope, yet.
My five-year-old nephew loves all things Mario, and his dad, just 5 years younger than I am, grew up playing the game. Those guys have some skills. My older nephews had Gameboys before they could read, so joysticks, A, B, C, Z, triangle, square, whatever, buttons are second nature to them. The same is obviously so for the vast majority of my students, but not me, oh no.
Still, there is something about this Disney game that I find interesting and even engaging. (Maybe it's that I heard a series of stories on it on NPR. Now it's beginning to make some sense, isn't it?) So, I play it, even though I know I suck at it. My Mickey staggers through each level like a drunk: the poor guy can not run in a straight line to save his life (literally), and he randomly hops about like he has a bad case of the hiccups. Add to that, that he is saddled with my own anxiety about heights. My palms actually sweat anytime falling might be a possibility for him; that makes the whole jumping thing a lot harder.
It's good for me to do things I'm not good at. As a teacher, I'm always on the look out for the slightest glimmer of improvement in any student, and lately, despite the steep learning curve, I do think I see some hope in my game. I'm reminded of a story that has become legend in our family. When my sister was five, she and my mom flew to California for a week to help a friend of the family who had just had a baby. Every day my sister asked my mom to help her put on a pair of roller skates. After a little while, she would call my mom again to help her get them off. After several days, she called my mom earlier than usual. "Watch me!" she said.
My mother was a little confused. "Courtney, you've been roller skating all week. Why do you want me to watch you today?" she asked.
"Because I can move now!" my sister answered.
See Mickey? There's hope, yet.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Hard Sell
Earlier in the week, a students asked me to recommend a book for her. I made several suggestions, but none of them sounded quite right to her. As we talked, it turned out that she had just finished a series which she really loved, and she was still in that doldrum period where nothing else could possibly measure up. I understood exactly what she was going through. "I just finished a book I really liked, too," I told her, "and I can't really get into anything else, yet, either." (For the record, it was Moon Over Manifest, the latest Newbery Award winner.) She thanked me and left, empty handed.
Another student overheard the conversation. "Have you read So B. It?" she asked me. I said I hadn't, but I remembered that she liked it enough to write a letter to the author, Sarah Weeks, when we were doing our Letters About Literature assignment. "You have to read it," she insisted." It's the best book ever."
Unfortunately, our library system was being upgraded, and there was no borrowing for two days. On the strength of her recommendation, though, I ordered a copy online. I needn't have bothered though; the next day she brought me her own copy to read. After school, she stopped by my room to see how far I was. I laughed and told her I hadn't had a spare minute to start reading, at which point she picked up the book and read the first chapter to me. It was awesome.
If truth was a crayon, and it was up to me to put a wrapper around it and name its color, I know just what I would call it-- dinosaur skin... The truth is, whether you know something or not doesn't change what it was. If dinosaurs were blue, they were blue; if they were brown, they were brown whether anybody knows it for a fact or not.
This morning I finished the book, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't with a big old lump in my throat. More than anything, though, I'm moved by the adamance of the recommendation, and how right my student was.
Another student overheard the conversation. "Have you read So B. It?" she asked me. I said I hadn't, but I remembered that she liked it enough to write a letter to the author, Sarah Weeks, when we were doing our Letters About Literature assignment. "You have to read it," she insisted." It's the best book ever."
Unfortunately, our library system was being upgraded, and there was no borrowing for two days. On the strength of her recommendation, though, I ordered a copy online. I needn't have bothered though; the next day she brought me her own copy to read. After school, she stopped by my room to see how far I was. I laughed and told her I hadn't had a spare minute to start reading, at which point she picked up the book and read the first chapter to me. It was awesome.
If truth was a crayon, and it was up to me to put a wrapper around it and name its color, I know just what I would call it-- dinosaur skin... The truth is, whether you know something or not doesn't change what it was. If dinosaurs were blue, they were blue; if they were brown, they were brown whether anybody knows it for a fact or not.
This morning I finished the book, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't with a big old lump in my throat. More than anything, though, I'm moved by the adamance of the recommendation, and how right my student was.
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