I haven't written anything I feel comfortable posting publicly lately. That's right. I even do writing I choose to keep to myself. Unlike Alanis Morissette, there are thoughts and events that occur in my life that I do not have to turn into song.
Speaking of which, how would you like to be one of Alanis Morissette's ex-boyfriends? Would you be relieved that she hasn't publicly ridiculed you in song yet or would you be insulted that she hasn't gotten to you yet?
*****
My Pimp Car, ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-pimp-car-is-strong.html ) broke down after only a week. The water pump went kerblooie. I knew I should have gotten that 200 miles or 8 days warranty. I will give the name of the dealership because they did right by us. Halbinsel in Escanaba sold us the car. A water pump is one of those things that can appear to be working fine one minute and go all Hiroshima on your engine's ass the next minute so there is no way they could have known that was going to happen. They covered us for 100% of the repairs. It has been so long since any retail establishment gave me a fair shake I was totally expecting to get hosed on this deal, too.
So anyways, I want to thank Halbinsel in Escanaba for apparently running an honest shop. Times are tough for the Harrises right now and the amount of stress they saved us by doing the right thing was greatly appreciated. I don't want to ruin the surprise, but there may be a gift of the single malt variety headed your way at some point.
That being said, I wont' fall all over myself because it also was the correct long range business decision to make as well. I will be buying many more vehicles in the years to come and now, by default, they get first shot at making me a deal. So, I guess extra credit goes to Halbinsel for not being as shortsighted as the boys down at Riverside in Escanaba. BTW, Riverside...if you are listening...I have purchased five more vehicles since you fucked me on my warranty on my truck and you didn't have a hope in hell of selling me a single one. Keep up the good customer relations boys.
*****
I started my Christmas shopping at the end of October. Thank you, ebay. You have saved countless lives by keeping me from having to deal with the smelly unwashed hordes in the shopping malls. Every year it seemed I was always just one more dumbass cashier, one more whiny kid, one more rude adult, one more price check away from hiding in the food court ball pit with a sniper rifle. Merry Christmas to me.
*****
Thanks to my cohorts at work who talked me down from the ledge a couple times this week. You are good, patient folks.
*****
Of course, thanks to all the veterans this week and every week.
*****
Thanks to you, Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, none of this would be possible.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
My pimp car is strong.
After three weeks of playing phone tag with banks, lien holders, insurance companies, and lawyers (Oh my?)...we finally seem to own a car. It is an ultra-sexy, ultra-hot car with a cool factor rating that makes Einstein's IQ look like a shoe size.
Here you go.
It's a 2003 Buick LeSabre Limited. It has bells and whistles that I thought only existed on devices in Willy Wonka movies. For example the mirrors automatically adjust when you put it in reverse so you can "better see obstacles in the rear," according to the manual. Plus it has seat heaters, an LCD compass, auto darkening rear view mirror...jacuzzi, porta-potty, and it comes with a full time soda jerk replete with one of those funny paper hats.
Check out these photos of the dash if the dazzling sexiness of the exterior already hasn't blinded you to all other awesomeness.
I'm trying to trick you. Only one of the two pics above is actually from my car. Can you guess which? That's right. It's the much cooler bottom one. The top one would have looked almost as good as the Buick dash if it had come with some awesome plasticky looking faux wood grain like the dash on the LeSabrator.
But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?
Fucking ay right it is.
Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?
Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.
We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.
I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.
So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")
It will fit an entire fraternity party in the trunk, and the soda fountain in the back will seat the population of your average Honduran family. The car is big, American, strong, and everything I always wanted in a vehicle minus the disco ball. I'm thinking of putting a pair of truck nutz on it, too because...I mean, why wouldn't I?
Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.
The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.
Here you go.
 |
| Is it a car or an aphrodisiac? |
 |
| Actual view of LeSabre's back seat. |
But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?
Fucking ay right it is.
Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?
Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.
We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.
I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.
So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")
 |
| These seats ...are an orgy launching pad just waiting for clearance from Phallus Central. |
 |
| Truck nutz...Bush/Cheney bumper sticker. Somehow that doesn't seem like a coincidence to me. |
Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.
The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Mickey Redmond Drinking Game
I believe this came from the “Abel to Yzerman” blog from KuklasKorner.com a year or two ago. Everyone sorta chipped in with ideas on the Mickey Redmond Drinking game. I am reposting a version of it here.
Next Red Wing game, take a drink every time you hear Mickey Redmond use one of these phrases. I know one of them isn’t a Redmond-ism, but I think you’ll figure it out.
“Happy” Hudler |
Wait ‘til you see this replay! |
Holy Jumpin’ |
Hey Gang! |
Holy Mackerel! |
That was a bang-bang play |
Hold it right there, gang! |
That’s the way it’s done boys and girls! |
You be the judge. |
Katie, bar the door |
Datsyukian |
There it is! |
Lookout! |
Oooohh, geez!” |
Oh-my-goodness |
Taking liberties |
Well that’s the new NHL for ya. |
He barely touched'em! |
In the old days... |
He never had a chance on that play. |
Bingo Bango |
Every time you hear Mick chuckle |
Larry Murphy starts a sentence and fails to finish it coherently |
Oh Boy |
Mick says anything about composite sticks |
You could’ve thrown a blanket over ‘em! |
Chintzy |
Monday, October 18, 2010
UPWP
A few summers ago I was lucky enough to be accepted into the U.P. writing project. I learned a lot and loved the experience. The main thing I learned was that writing begets more writing. Just like anything else, if one doesn't write, it gets harder to write. If you don't use it, you lose it. I'm full of trite adages. I could keep going, but for your sake I won't.
At any rate, I got to spend several weeks concentrating on writing and I wrote amongst a group of peers. A group of peers who also fancied themselves amateur writers. What was good about that is that I think I held my own with them. At least if I didn't, they didn't tell me. Either way, same effect. I gained a little confidence.
Then came the culminating night. The final UPWP retreat. We all had to write one more piece for the retreat, share it in a small group to know what did or didn't work about it and do with it what we amateur writers do. Sometimes at that point we let the idea go away or sometimes we realize the idea needs to steep in the back of our brains until it is ready for consumption.
I had often gotten some raised eyebrows for the types of things I wrote. Apparently stories about cute cuddly woodland creatures getting their comeuppance ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com /search?q=children%27s+story ) were mildly amusing to some, but no one really wanted to admit it. I remember always being startled at how shocked some were by what I penned. I mean had these people never read Poe? Never picked up a Stephen King novel? Alfred Hitchcock? What I had been doing...to call it a pale comparison would be an injustice to any of them. My stuff wasn't good enough nor lethal enough to deserve being called a pale comparison.
So I eventually tried to keep my writing as ....what's the opposite of off-color?....I kept my writing as on-color as possible which mystified me a little bit. I mean the one thing I have always wanted to accomplish is to write what I want to write. The UPWP was my first chance to write for adults and not have to fear admonition from a college professor.
So for the final writing, I decided, to let it go a little. I wrote a true recounting of a night at a strip club in the middle of nowhere. The strippers' bus had apparently broken down and the club was stripper free that night. Or I should say the club was professional stripper free. Hilarity ensued, culminating in varied attempts to earn free drinks by dancing ourselves, a frostbitten ball sack (not mine for which I thank the sweet baby Jesus), and an afterbar party where a random four year old walked into a room with porn playing on the television and apparently the only people horrified by that were me and my buddy.
So there were definitely events there that were story worthy, but I knew I had totally missed the mark in writing it. Far and away it was the worst piece I had written for UPWP. I knew my story was very one dimensional and I was trying to figure out why my voice hadn't come through and why the story didn't work. At all. I mean, not a whit. When I read the story out loud at UPWP, I didn't get any help.
No one told me that perhaps there were two short stories there. No one said I should perhaps write from a different point of view. No one said that the horror of the afterbar porn scenario was just too dark to go hand in hand with all the preceding Animal House type events up to that point of the story...nothing. They were just appalled that I had put these things on paper.
By the end of the evening I was hearing whispers of people being worried that I may have lost my sanity. I hadn't even known my sanity's leash had been so frayed that people were worried about it becoming lost. Between you and me, I have never lost my sanity. I've just misplaced it from time to time. I almost always find it again right away. Usually under the couch cushion.
What were they all so bothered by? Not every genre is everyone's cup of tea. Were they worried my lost sanity was going to run amok through the retreat? Were they worried it was going to trample over all the other stories brought to the retreat? All those pretty little stories about crunchy autumn leaves and poems about their grandmother's penchant for crosstitch, and touching stories of their daughter's first lost tooth and all of them, all of them, all of them at the mercy of an adult writing for other adults. Infecting everyone with the idea that not all stories are happy. Spreading adult thoughts like rabies throughout every page of every participant?
I was so horrified about adults being so politically-correctly-crippled that either they were either horrified that I had engaged in such hedonistic behavior or they felt that in order to fit in, they had to pretend to be horrified by it. I found the whole gig so unsettling in that I realized I had totally underestimated how people willingly limit their points of view. I had vastly missed the mark in guessing just how much of a wall people had built between their honest selves and society in an effort to convince the world they don't have dark, dirty, inane, shameful, naughty, violent thoughts. They had covered everything that was interesting about themselves in a hypoallergenic plastic sheen like the covers your weird aunt puts on all her furniture. I knew then it was the time for the UPWP and myself to part ways.
I thank them for their help, but I knew I could no longer be part of it. Perhaps someday again, I can find a writing group to be a part of. A place where if I want to write a story that is a cross between David Sedaris and David Lynch I can do so without being suspected of being Charles Manson with a word processor.
Sometimes, just for fun, I imagine what would have happened if I had introduced myself to the UPWP as a writer of equine erotica. In my mind's eye I see them calling the men in the white coats and having me hauled away so that they could finish their pinots respectfully. They could finish their conversations about the weather; maybe swap a recipe or two and at the end they could all get in their Subarus and drive back home and forget I had ever existed.
At any rate, I got to spend several weeks concentrating on writing and I wrote amongst a group of peers. A group of peers who also fancied themselves amateur writers. What was good about that is that I think I held my own with them. At least if I didn't, they didn't tell me. Either way, same effect. I gained a little confidence.
Then came the culminating night. The final UPWP retreat. We all had to write one more piece for the retreat, share it in a small group to know what did or didn't work about it and do with it what we amateur writers do. Sometimes at that point we let the idea go away or sometimes we realize the idea needs to steep in the back of our brains until it is ready for consumption.
I had often gotten some raised eyebrows for the types of things I wrote. Apparently stories about cute cuddly woodland creatures getting their comeuppance ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com /search?q=children%27s+story ) were mildly amusing to some, but no one really wanted to admit it. I remember always being startled at how shocked some were by what I penned. I mean had these people never read Poe? Never picked up a Stephen King novel? Alfred Hitchcock? What I had been doing...to call it a pale comparison would be an injustice to any of them. My stuff wasn't good enough nor lethal enough to deserve being called a pale comparison.
So I eventually tried to keep my writing as ....what's the opposite of off-color?....I kept my writing as on-color as possible which mystified me a little bit. I mean the one thing I have always wanted to accomplish is to write what I want to write. The UPWP was my first chance to write for adults and not have to fear admonition from a college professor.
So for the final writing, I decided, to let it go a little. I wrote a true recounting of a night at a strip club in the middle of nowhere. The strippers' bus had apparently broken down and the club was stripper free that night. Or I should say the club was professional stripper free. Hilarity ensued, culminating in varied attempts to earn free drinks by dancing ourselves, a frostbitten ball sack (not mine for which I thank the sweet baby Jesus), and an afterbar party where a random four year old walked into a room with porn playing on the television and apparently the only people horrified by that were me and my buddy.
So there were definitely events there that were story worthy, but I knew I had totally missed the mark in writing it. Far and away it was the worst piece I had written for UPWP. I knew my story was very one dimensional and I was trying to figure out why my voice hadn't come through and why the story didn't work. At all. I mean, not a whit. When I read the story out loud at UPWP, I didn't get any help.
No one told me that perhaps there were two short stories there. No one said I should perhaps write from a different point of view. No one said that the horror of the afterbar porn scenario was just too dark to go hand in hand with all the preceding Animal House type events up to that point of the story...nothing. They were just appalled that I had put these things on paper.
By the end of the evening I was hearing whispers of people being worried that I may have lost my sanity. I hadn't even known my sanity's leash had been so frayed that people were worried about it becoming lost. Between you and me, I have never lost my sanity. I've just misplaced it from time to time. I almost always find it again right away. Usually under the couch cushion.
What were they all so bothered by? Not every genre is everyone's cup of tea. Were they worried my lost sanity was going to run amok through the retreat? Were they worried it was going to trample over all the other stories brought to the retreat? All those pretty little stories about crunchy autumn leaves and poems about their grandmother's penchant for crosstitch, and touching stories of their daughter's first lost tooth and all of them, all of them, all of them at the mercy of an adult writing for other adults. Infecting everyone with the idea that not all stories are happy. Spreading adult thoughts like rabies throughout every page of every participant?
I was so horrified about adults being so politically-correctly-crippled that either they were either horrified that I had engaged in such hedonistic behavior or they felt that in order to fit in, they had to pretend to be horrified by it. I found the whole gig so unsettling in that I realized I had totally underestimated how people willingly limit their points of view. I had vastly missed the mark in guessing just how much of a wall people had built between their honest selves and society in an effort to convince the world they don't have dark, dirty, inane, shameful, naughty, violent thoughts. They had covered everything that was interesting about themselves in a hypoallergenic plastic sheen like the covers your weird aunt puts on all her furniture. I knew then it was the time for the UPWP and myself to part ways.
I thank them for their help, but I knew I could no longer be part of it. Perhaps someday again, I can find a writing group to be a part of. A place where if I want to write a story that is a cross between David Sedaris and David Lynch I can do so without being suspected of being Charles Manson with a word processor.
Sometimes, just for fun, I imagine what would have happened if I had introduced myself to the UPWP as a writer of equine erotica. In my mind's eye I see them calling the men in the white coats and having me hauled away so that they could finish their pinots respectfully. They could finish their conversations about the weather; maybe swap a recipe or two and at the end they could all get in their Subarus and drive back home and forget I had ever existed.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Scatterings
I'm not sure where I'm going with this one. Buckle in. This could be a bumpy ride on the tilt-a-wedge today.
Cross your fingers for me. I found a rotten log in my cabin the other day. None of the other logs around it are compromised so to me it is something that happened that wasn't the fault of poor maintenance. From what little (oh so little) I do understand, it's not too often that an insurance company will cover a rotten log, but since I am only about $4,990 away from being able to afford a $5,000 repair, any well wishes would help.
Returning the loaner car today and picking up my loaner pick-up from a friend. Man, am I gonna drive the shit out of that truck. I won't take a curve, corner, or jump any slower than 35 mph before I return that sonuvabitch. Actually, I will treat the truck rather well. I respect other people's stuff. I just wanted to show people that my sarcasm is equal opportunity and I do it to friends and strangers alike. If I never make fun of you at all, then I probably don't respect you, or I believe the force in you is not strong enough to handle my dark side jibes.
Tonight is the first camp night in several years. I am looking forward to it. Tomorrow I will feel like I swallowed a carcass and probably feel and smell like one, too. It's not often I get together with that crew though and it's one of those nights I don't have to worry about driving home nor worry about how late to stay because my designated driver might want to go home. It's win-win for everyone except for whoever owns the camp because there is a 50/50 shot of at least some of my bodily fluids getting into some part of the camp they aren't supposed to. Nature of the beast. I apologize in advance.
That's all the brain squeezings I've got for you today. Have a good weekend, kids.
Cross your fingers for me. I found a rotten log in my cabin the other day. None of the other logs around it are compromised so to me it is something that happened that wasn't the fault of poor maintenance. From what little (oh so little) I do understand, it's not too often that an insurance company will cover a rotten log, but since I am only about $4,990 away from being able to afford a $5,000 repair, any well wishes would help.
Returning the loaner car today and picking up my loaner pick-up from a friend. Man, am I gonna drive the shit out of that truck. I won't take a curve, corner, or jump any slower than 35 mph before I return that sonuvabitch. Actually, I will treat the truck rather well. I respect other people's stuff. I just wanted to show people that my sarcasm is equal opportunity and I do it to friends and strangers alike. If I never make fun of you at all, then I probably don't respect you, or I believe the force in you is not strong enough to handle my dark side jibes.
Tonight is the first camp night in several years. I am looking forward to it. Tomorrow I will feel like I swallowed a carcass and probably feel and smell like one, too. It's not often I get together with that crew though and it's one of those nights I don't have to worry about driving home nor worry about how late to stay because my designated driver might want to go home. It's win-win for everyone except for whoever owns the camp because there is a 50/50 shot of at least some of my bodily fluids getting into some part of the camp they aren't supposed to. Nature of the beast. I apologize in advance.
That's all the brain squeezings I've got for you today. Have a good weekend, kids.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
So, how has your week been?
Let me just start with this picture:
That was this past Thursday. We live on top of a hill and the river lives on the bottom of the hill. Apparently the parking brake decided to quit or go into retirement without telling us and this is what happened. Thankfully this pic was taken after my wife got into the car and tried to back it up onto land. Otherwise it would be a little further out into the wet still. It is now the following Wednesday and the insurance company just called to let us know that the car will be considered totaled. Apparently water and all the electronicky gadgets get along like Crisco and rock climbers so it is the insurance company's practice to put floater cars out to pasture.
I would have liked to take pictures of the tow truck taking it out of the river, but I had to chip in and get into the driver's side and steer it as they hauled it out. This just in: river water is cold in October. I could hardly tell which way the tow guys were telling me to turn the wheel because they were laughing so hard.
So now I am caught in limbo. Begging rides home from work from my coworkers who only just two weeks ago stopped bringing me home after my truck was being repaired. I have to wait to coordinate several factors before I lay money down on a new vehicle because I recently went through a pretty rough patch of life that left me in bankruptcy. Whee. No pity. My choices. I did it. No shame. It's just going to add about twenty-leven more steps to the car buying process which was already a process that I thought was akin to having an impacted molar removed through my ear canal.
On Friday, I found a dry rotted log in my log cabin. I was hoping to use my coaching check this coming Spring to rebuild my porch, but instead I will use it to try to keep my house from falling over. What's another year with a cinder block porch anyways? Nobody likes them fancy folk with them there wood porches.
Onto Monday and my daughter insisted on becoming sick...again. Rotten kid. Sure she knows her times tables and thinks I'm the greatest dad who ever owned a Ford Focus-raft, but I had to stay home from work last Mon and Tues to tend to her after taking the previous Thursday off to tend to wet wheels. Kid's cough sounds like someone giving Godzilla the Heimlich. It's downright painful to listen to. Kim took over kid duty for me on Wednesday and we are going to split Thursday so we can both still get some work done while also tending to our spawn. Basically between the kid's two illnesses, and the car thing, I will have burned up almost half my sick days before winter has even set in. Not really what one would call a best-case-scenario.
Now is when it is therapeutic for me to think of a list of my blessings:
The Focus Kneivel did miss wiping out my dog who was chained in the area right through which the car caught about four feet of air before splashing down.
Kid made it to the doctor's today so hopefully she will be back at school by Friday. At least she better or I'm gonna have to punch her in the belly. I mean, hey...if the kid won't get better, it's time to give her some extra motivation. I mean look at her:
That's not even her posing. That's just what she looks like if I don't feed her on time.
Hmmm...where was I? Oh yeah...positives...
Just got word that the payout for the totaled S.S. Focus was higher than I anticipated so that is good.
Um...only two students got caught cheating during the days I was away from school. *sigh*
I did get a partial workout in today which I haven't done in ten days.
Somehow this isn't cheering me up. Perhaps a good night's sleep will do the trick?
Check in with you later folks.
Friday, October 8, 2010
The best defense against an anonymous detractor? ....blogging
This post is a direct follow up to my last post. This here free bloggity thingy also lets my facebook friends know when I create a new blog post. I am fortunate enough that some of my past students wrote some unbelievable things about me. Most days I try to do my best and most days I'm pretty happy if I can go to bed and say to myself, "Ha, I fooled them again and no one found out I don't really know what the hell I am doing." Apparently, by hook or by crook I'm not a total failure. I re-post these comments from facebook not to brag, but in direct defense of my teaching practices which were called into question and prompted my preceding post. All of these have come from past students. All of them were unsolicited and I did get permission from each before posting.
Aside from trying to prove a point to some naysayers within the community, I really honestly give each of these folks a heartfelt thank you. I never really had a teacher in high school I ever thought enough of to say things like this about. I should be humbled every day already by the idea that parents are trusting me with their children and... these comments...well they serve as a reminder that I should never take my job for granted.
Jon Damaschke But in all seriousness, your classes were great. One of my favorite things about them were the journals you assigned us to write in. (I don't remember if it was one class or more than one.) There is nothing better for an antisocial kid, especially in the weird-est time in his life. The opportunity of opening up without the fear of judgement and/or embarrassment made my life a little easier.
Aside from trying to prove a point to some naysayers within the community, I really honestly give each of these folks a heartfelt thank you. I never really had a teacher in high school I ever thought enough of to say things like this about. I should be humbled every day already by the idea that parents are trusting me with their children and... these comments...well they serve as a reminder that I should never take my job for granted.
Amber Lynn Spehar
and when/if that person does try to contact you, please give them my name. So I can explain to them why your former students would and do want to remain friends with you after gratuation. So that one of your former students can talk about the first time they sat in your class room and actually had her mind opened up to a thought process she could have never conceived of before having an open and honest discussion with you. You say that you hope you can reach your students and touch their lives, well YES SIR, YES SIR YOU HAVE. I'm sure that there are many other students that would agree with me, I'm sure they have had a different experience with you that had a very similar outcome. You Sir, are a rare and dying breed of Teachers. *starting applause*
*******************************************
Adam Damaschke
A large part of the reason I continued with the early versions of my novel was because you made us write entries in our journals every week in preparation for our Senior paper. It made me write, it gave me a deadline, and your comments, and teachings, helped me develop my story and intimacy with my characters. I don't think even I know exactly how big a part you were in me finishing my first novel and will be as I continue to work on my trilogy and whatever else in the future.
And to whoever complained, get a life. Please. Your children are in capable hands.
And to whoever complained, get a life. Please. Your children are in capable hands.
*******************************************
Kaitlyn Kirby
Loved the blog, dale. First of all, being able to free-write at any given moment has been a key part of my success at the university level. If I ever had to force my self to sit down and write while hastily pulling things out of my head, I wouldn't have received the scholarships, achievements, or grades that I have thus far. Writing is a critical skill that I don't feel many other teachers have emphasized. So, bravo for seeing the bigger picture and motivating students to attain that finesse. That shows you aren't just pushing students through the system. Second of all, touching on the level of respect, your students,former and current, do hold you in the highest regards. Not many other teachers are willing to give that level of respect to students and allow them the privilege of being treated like adults. I think that plays a large role in the transition of child to adult. I know I personally responded better to that method than other teachers who expected me to never make mistakes. I think the fact that students still like to keep in contact with you speaks VOLUMES of your character. The student-teacher relationships that continue past graduation is what makes Carney so different from other public schools.
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Jon Damaschke But in all seriousness, your classes were great. One of my favorite things about them were the journals you assigned us to write in. (I don't remember if it was one class or more than one.) There is nothing better for an antisocial kid, especially in the weird-est time in his life. The opportunity of opening up without the fear of judgement and/or embarrassment made my life a little easier.
Now the only thing left for me to do is say the secret word and watch as my secretly brainwashed Carney grads all rise up in legion to burn and pillage in my name and fetch for me all the neighborhood cats. *sinisterly rubbing hands together*
Muuuuhahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa*cough**hack**ahem*haaaahaaahaahaahahahahahaa!
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