And now, for something completely different....

Okay, so I've bailed on the nerds. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But now? Not so much. Because either you "get it" or you don't. I will never be able to change your mind. I just happen to like nerds. They are not as scary as the cool guys.

The BV blondes got a LOT of commentary last year. And, since it's almost summer, it's again time for BV Bootcamp.
A lot of folks last year wanted to know how exactly a person like me (small town girl, livin' in a lonely world) got into the BV. Like there's a secret handshake or something. So, I thought I'd address that in my first 2010 installment. (Honestly, if you want to read the old stuff, go to 2009 and click on July. It's there. But I may--in my abject laziness--re-post some of them. You have been warned.)

I grew up in a house that had been built in 1876. My parents bought it in 1957 (or roughly therabouts) and for the next 20+ years it was one continuous "project." I remember (in no particular order): a half bath being added under the stairs (with an accompanying 'bad girl closet' where I used to stick my sister--love you, Kik!), TWO (count 'em--two!) new wallpaper choices for my bedroom, wall-to-wall carpeting in the family room and guest room, an extreme makeover (complete with 1970-era paneling!) of the playroom, and (the piece-de-resistance!) an addition of a "back room" (being a mis-nomer of sorts, as it was probably 14' x 14' and had a really kick-ass fireplace) and one-car garage.

The house, in a nutshell, was NEVER 'done.' And if my parents hadn't decided to build something smaller, the kitchen would have been next. Even though it had already been completely gutted and redone once.

Sheesh.

So apparently, until I became a grown up (which was sometime around the age of forty-five), I though all houses had to be "projects." I didn't understand that there were beautiful, nice, new houses out there waiting for someone just like me to move in, sit down, and relax. Someone who didn't have to strip wallpaper, refinish floors, rip out cabinets, or tear out a toilet.

Nope.

Instead, we bought "fixer-uppers."
The first house--gold shag carpeting! Really? WTF were they thinking!

The second house--no central air! In North Carolina! Where it doesn't just get a bajillion degrees in the summer, but the humidity hovers somewhere around 99%! Heck yes! One step away from a tropical storm at any given moment! (Why did we buy a house with no central air? Because, being from the Buffalo area, we didn't think we needed it. Plus, the carpeting was pee stained, the kitchen cabinets and appliances were avocado green, the trim was termite infested, and the mailbox was full of black widows! What's not to love?)

Our next house was new...but it had a basement just begging to be finished. We were there just long enough to do that, but with nothing left to work on...

We moved on to a 3,750 square foot project. Four bathrooms, a kitchen, a den, a basement, a sunroom and paint in every room--it was the mother of all projects. But it was the house where our kids grew up, and we loved it, until my knees started to object to three flights of stairs. And 3,750 seems a little excessive for just two people.

So we began looking for our "home before the home." And I wanted something new and bright and beautiful. I most certainly did NOT want another "fixer-upper." Been there, done that, bought not only the tee shirt but also some postcards and a really cute Coach bag at the outlet center! Nope! It was new or nothing!

And I tried. I really did. "Come look at this really great house," I would say, for the hundredth time. "If you need a project, we can strip the wall paper and repaint."
But no, it was never 'just right.' And when I finally figured out that I was NEVER going to get a nice new house, I decided, instead, to negotiate for a house with character.

And that's how I ended up in the BV. In a house with a name (Brandywine) fercryin'outloud.
And that's how I ended up in the BV.
Stay tuned.

Back to the Business of Being Thirteen

And taking a look at the Nerd Boys.

These are not like the Backstreet Boys.

These are nerds. The common, garden-variety nerds.

Why nerds? Nerds are hot. I don't mean physically (although there are a few with that particular anomaly), but culturally. Go ahead and check Amazon.com. There are pages of books with "nerd" in the title. It is quite literally one of the fastest growing segments in popular fiction as well as non-fiction.

Those of you who keep up with "Kirb Appeal" in both print and non-print form (there are four of you--thanks, D, C, M, and N) know that I have a vast array of experience with nerds as a species. So for the next few blogs, I am hoping to de-bunk any mythology that may be out there.

Because I know nerds.
I am related to a few.
And there have been many over the years who have tried to impress me.
So, sit back....relax....and get ready to learn all about nerds. Kind of like the Discovery Channel, but not really.

So, the testing is over....

and I guess it's time to "--- up or shut up."

Because we all know how easy it is to be a teacher, right? I mean, come on...I get paid the big bucks to work 10 months out of the year. I work 6:30-3:30, Monday through Friday. Granted, I usually get to school by 6:15 and some afternoons I'm there 'til 4:30, and I invariably end up spending a few extra hours on the weekend and sometimes grade papers at night. But let's just say 6:30-3:30.

I spend a good deal of the time outside the classroom dealing with various "fun" activities: kids who are failing, parents who are irate, legal paperwork, and meetings that have little/no relationship on what I actually SHOULD be doing--which is teaching the kids.

I also spend four days out of my life on a field trip to Washington DC and the surrounding area. That basically entails being responsible for every child I teach--their health, safety, and well-being. I take this time away from my own family, load up on first aid supplies for them and xanax for me, then take a "paid vacation" to the metro DC area with 13 & 14 year olds! What a perk!

And then there's always the chance that I could get "let go" at any moment, determined by how well my students score on one test on one day! No pressure there! Never mind that the rest of the year, 95% of them are engaged, and successful, and actually learning something that will NOT appear on the test, because most of what I teach isn't going to appear on any standardized, multiple-choice test.

But no, I could run right out and find another teaching job, because I have an undergraduate degree in English, a graduate degree in Education, and graduate classes in Creative Writing. The fact that they're cutting teaching jobs across the country--closing ENTIRE SCHOOLS in some cases--means that the plethora of teaching jobs are just there for the taking! Because it's a GREAT idea to have 30 kids in a class! Heck, the more the merrier! Why not make my classroom "Standing Room Only?" Or make it like Psych 101 in college--150 kids in a auditorium and I'll just lecture all day. Surely they'll learn then. I mean, if it's good enough for college freshmen.....

And let's not forget the fact that even though the state is broke and can't afford to give local school systems any more money, we're still going to pay zillions of dollars for programs that already overworked teachers have to integrate into their curriculum, even though they tend to just be another re-hash of the five point lesson plan....which we all learned back in "teacher school." But, hey! Our buddies/former colleagues/university gurus say that these programs will help decrease the dropout rate, which is currently somewhere around 25%.

You know what will decrease the dropout rate?
Retaining teachers. Give them smaller class sizes with more time and energy for individualizing relevant instruction and fewer restrictions regarding curriculum. Don't throw "ready made" mandatory programs at them unless they ask for them. Give them the opportunity to be creative and to find their own ways to reach ALL kids, not just those who are 'average.' Give them an opportunity to get to know the kids, so that each child feels like they have a connection with someone in the school. Kids are less likely to drop out if they think someone cares.

But who am I to tell them how to fix things?

The secret life of the American middle schooler

Reason #2 why EOG week is stinky:

The test itself.
Not that I believe that testing is bad. I get it; I really do. It's just that the test they use is, well....not necessarily right for all eighth graders.
I mean, let's face it. Not all eighth graders are the same. There are 8th graders with a 4th grade reading level (oh, don't look so shocked. You know it happens...back in the day they were in the "yellow bird" reading groups. Everyone knew who the "yellow birds" were. They didn't 'get it' the way that the blue and red birds did)as well as 8th graders who are reading well-above grade level. So how do effectively test kids with such a differentiation?

You can't.

Because while we're trying to teach kids to "think outside the box", we're testing them on how well they color in the bubble.

A week in the life of a 13 year old.

In our county, this week is End-of-Grade tests for grades 3-8. These students are expected to show growth in Reading Comprehension and Math. They are also expected to show proficiency in other areas. I'm not exactly sure what these areas are, but they are not X Box or kissing, which seem to be the preoccupations of the moment.

Let me be straight: I do not oppose this testing in theory. I know we have to have certain measures in place, and I know this is the easiest way to see if (a) teachers are doing their jobs, and (b) kids are learning. But I do object to the one test/one day theory.

There are several reasons for my objection:

1. Middle Schoolers are famous for their inability to tune out outside stimuli. They may be looking at the test, but their thoughts are not on it. Their thoughts are in places such as: the bus that morning, where there was an arguement with a friend; their pocket, where the cell phone they forgot to leave in their locker now feels like a cement block; the t-shirt of the girl sitting next to them, which is just low cut enough to suggest cleavage; their purse, with its stash of feminine hygiene products and am I going to make it without leakage?
***Honestly, with all these crises arising, you expect them to concentrate on the printed word?

Stay tuned for reason two!

So, as if thirteen year old girls didn't have enough to worry about...

I was (sort of) encouraged by PARADE magazine's interest in what Barack Obama would say to all the graduates this year. He implies that he just wrote a speech and kind of put it out there, because he couldn't be at all the graduations in the land, unless, of course, he has mastered the art of time travel and has kept it to himself, which would be incredibly selfish, if you ask me. Anyway, he only has time to go to graduations at cool schools; he went to Notre Dame last year, which did not go unnoticed at my house, believe you me. No sir! Let's rub salt in the wound a little more! Go ahead and point out that in 1981, then-President Ronald Reagan chose Notre Dame's graduation to be his first public appearance since the assassination attempt! Yeah! And while you're at it, point out that a minister from Pittsburgh spoke at mine! Sure! But that's another story for another day. (The day when I tell all the stories.)

And that led me to think about what American politics has to offer our young ladies of today (the ones I teach, not the one I used to be). And the answer I came up with is: not much.

Sure, we can run for school board or town council...we might even win if we have enough friends. But as far as national politics go--we're pretty much screwed. Because to be successful in the national arena, you must be willing to be called one of the following:

1. A Lesbian, or
2. A Bitch.

Yep--those are your choices, ladies. Because you don't have a place in national politics if you aren't considered one or the other.

Why is it, if we want to play with the big boys, we have to put up with name-calling? You don't hear women calling men homosexual just because their suits fit well or they dare to flair. But because Elena Kagan has short hair and dresses conservatively, she's gay? I have short hair and wear slacks most of the time....so what?
And then there's Nancy Pelosi. She's attractive, so apparently she's not gay. However, she is strong, decisive and intelligent, therefore she must be a bitch. Am I going to automatically decide that a strong, decisive, intelligent man is a turdball? No. I'm going to wait and get to know him first. (Then I'll call him a turdball, if necessary.)

When I think of the intelligent, thoughtful, dynamic young ladies in my class, I want to tell them that the world is their oyster. That they can do anything they want. That they can make a difference.

Then I remember what it's like out there, among the turdballs.

Annual EOG poem

When I belonged to another blog (where the kids have taken over), there used to be writing challenges. I loved those writing challenges. They elicted some of my snarkiest work. But they also elicted the wrath of the anorexics, and I had to leave. But I made some awesome friends (Mark, Nancy, Ed, Jeff, Mary Ann, Ruby, Lin)and only a few followed me here. Okay--only two followed me here. Thanks, Nance and Mark! But here, where fifty is the new thirteen, I'm still going to carry on some of the traditions of the former blog. Because if I don't write her a scary story on Halloween, Nancy will find a way to destroy me. The other is my response to a challenge called "Food and Paperwork." I wrote a poem (knowing full well my limitations as a poet). So, in honor of EOGs and the unofficial start of gin and tonic season, here it is:

Food and Paperwork

We are about to start the Reading Comprehension

section of the North Carolina

End-of-Grade test.

(I am sorry if you had a bad morning.

I know some of you had to get yourself

out of the bed

and to the bus this morning

because your mom is working

third shift

because your dad left and took all the money

--but not you--

with him.

I am so sorry if you were up

most of the night

listening to people fight.

I know some of you did not

have breakfast.

Everyone else will try to ignore

your rumbling stomachs.)

You have

eighty-five minutes to finish.

Diction--not just for weenies!

Today's lesson for 13 year olds (or those who have been thirteen, but may have missed it the first time):

Diction. And no, it's not slang for a body part. (Although most 8th graders can turn ANY word into slang for a body part. Let's face it--it can be amusing.)

Now that we've finished placing the stress on the first three letters of the word and we're done giggling, let's talk about what diction really means.

In the world of Mrs. C's English class, it means the author's choice of words and how he or she uses them. Maybe you've never really paid attention to them, but there's a reason the author chooses to use words. Because, after all, that's an author's stock-in-trade. Words.

So, I'm using different words with the same meaning, to see if they elicit a "positive,' 'negative,' or 'neutral' response. And the words for 'thin' are creating much conversation.
Apparently, you can call a boy 'skinny,' and he is insulted. Girls, on the other hand, are thrilled, but only if they're white. White girls even consider "anorexic" flattering.
But I'm in trouble with the anorexics, so I guess I'd better stop here.

Adventures of the new thirteen

So, being fresh out of ideas, I have decided to post what it's like to be thirteen. Sort of. (I am inserting my comments where relevant. Or irrelevant. Whichever.)

Here's a note I found (not confiscated) which gives some insight as to the thirteen-year-old-girl mind. Perhaps it sounds familiar.
And I quote:

"Kayy well firsttttt (does she understand that adding extra consonants does NOT make the vowel sound longer?) of all you got me in trouble with Jenkins because i guess he thought i wrote the letter so yeahh, thanks a lot :) OMG i would totallllyyy L-O-V-E to go to the game with you Jake read "the part"?! (This is where I want to say "what part? Was it about David Cassidy? The Jonas Brothers? Sneaking cigarettes behind the furniture store? Inquiring minds want to know!)
Okay, you need to show me what his face looked like :) (What the he%% does this mean? Because if she doesn't know what he looks like, why does she like him? I mean, thirteen is all about cute, not future earning potential.)

OMG, I'm like starving (notice that there's a capital 'I' here. Is there a rule where you can use a capital sometimes and a lower case others? Is that in the MLA handbook?) but that's because like i (now lower!) skipped dinner & breakfast so i haven't eaten in like a LONG time :/ Plus, theres like 50 minutes until lunch, so I'm (I notice that the 'I' is capitalized if it's used in a contraction. Perhaps that's the rule.) positive I'm going to STARVE! Okay, so like for the past 15 minutes i was supposed to be "reading" but i was writing you :)awwwww, I (wait! she used a capital 'I'!) know that Jake & I are just like out of this universe CUTE (: (WTF is this supposed to mean? Really? Cuter than I am? I highly doubt it.) okay so at that honors thing (this girl is in HONORS? That does not bode well for our future, Baby Boomers.)Jack was asking (okay....is he Jack or is he Jake? Or are they two different guys? Inquiring minds...) where my mom was & yeah that was random, but i just wanted to share that with you. (Actually, it was a strategic move on Jack/Jake's part. He wants to know what you'll look like in 30 years.)
ahhh okay so while I was reading my "novel" after the writing test, i was reading "Walk to Remember" (I can't take it any longer. First, what kind of grade is this child going to get on a writing test? In her words, OMG! Second, I agree with the whole concept of "novel"--in quotes--when referring ot Nicholas Sparks. Because, seriously??? Yeah.) & then Landon said he loved her & then...she said she was dying because of cancer! (and like he totally ripped off Erich Segal's Love Story fercryin'outloud) I started tearing up like NO joke! awwww Jake (or is it Jack?) should have been there :) Kayyyy well i've gotta gooooo! loveyoubay-bay (This is where she draws a little heart. Typical)

Get ready, America! This is your future!

Good Morning, Viet Nam!!

You can ask anyone in the Piedmont area of NC this morning....it's like living in the tropics. Muggy.....heavy....warm. So this morning I went into the jungle.

I realized I lucked out in the house department. It's a great house with a great pedigree, and the people who have lived here took pretty good care of it. Until the last couple got old. (I can call them old because I don't think they read this blog.)And they couldn't take care of it any more.

So, while I realize that having a walled garden is amazing and way cooler than someone like me actually deserves....it's a mess. And today, in the tropical weather, I went to my own private Viet Nam.

The aucuba in my yard is ridiculousy overgrown. For those of you unfamiliar with aucuba (like most of my northern friends, 'cause it won't grow up there), it grows on long shoots, sort of like bamboo. It's about seven feet tall, and most of the leaves are at the top. Seriously? I could hide in it and no one would find me for a week. It's planted up against the brick wall and it has grown up over the top. Today's goal was to thin it out from the back.

No one told me I needed a machete. It was like I was Martin Sheen, having an "Apocolypse Now" moment. Or building a brige over the River Kwai.

No wonder the old people didn't want to keep up with it.