Posts Tagged ‘comically vintage’

Daily Batman: Why? … Why?

June 21, 2010

In Batman’s nightmares, he is not well-liked and he doesn’t understand why.

I had troubling, thickly plotted nightmares last night but too much was going on immediately after I woke that I didn’t have time to make a note of them. The last dreams like that I can remember happened while I was subbing for the Scamps, and I told them about it the next day:

I dreamt that my daughter was being held in this large industrial building and I was using the stairs to get to a certain floor before the elevator, and a dude started pursuing me and I turned around and first wrestled him, then kicked him down a short flight of stairs, then ran briefly down after him for, you know, “suresies” and threw him over the edge and heard him come down all wet and broken on a landing several flights below. I totally did not even lean over the rails to check on him after that because I was only focused on getting the kidlet and getting out.


Scamps in bio class action, but I chose a blurry picture for privacy.

The kids were shocked and exhilarated by this vivid story of unmerciful ass-kicking and I said it was all on their heads because they’d asked me anxiously the day before during Social Studies what would happen if the President’s daughters were ever to be kidnapped. I’d reassured them and theorized that not only would the Secret Service prevent such a godforsaken thing from ever happening, but that my guess was Michelle and Barack Obama, besides being loving parents, are pretty hardcore and good at taking things in their own hands, and that I definitely would not want to be in the shoes of an attempted kidnapper of their girls were he to be caught.

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have told a classroom of ten-year-olds that I dreamt I straight up dropped a motherfucker, but, on the other hand, it could be part of why I had practically zero discipline problems in that class.

Talk nerdy to me: Art of the Nerd

June 18, 2010

‘Nam-native Beetle-Bailey ear-necklace update: I still suck.

But seeing me hunched over and going through a ream of paper trying to do studies inspired kidlet to grab one of her own most recent “commissioned pieces,” the last assigned coloring project she had before school ended. Speaking of Jurassic Park and bloodthirsty drawings:

When she first brought it home, knowing what a girly-girl she can often be, I asked naively, “Is your T. Rex a girl dinosaur? With lipstick and fingernails?” She gave me a long-suffering, how-sad-that-my-mother-is-Grimace-from-Ronald-McDonaldland expression and said, “Mommy. Tyrannosaurus Rex was a killer. That is blood.”

Check. It was already all cut out so we put it on a couple popsicle sticks so she could use him as part of her various paper puppet shows.

Think about it: wouldn’t every single puppet show you’ve ever seen have been improved by the introduction of a tyrannosaur? It’s like a recipe for Imaginary Awesome and you just kicked it up a notch. T. Rexes are truly the paprika in the potato salad of the toybox.

So I was trying my hand yet again at drawing Beetle. The problem is I want his shirt open to display the necklace to best advantage as well as convey how unhinged he’s become, but both the open shirt and his chest itself are giving me trouble as far as drawing them as simply but representatively as possible, and I can only imagine my plan for his right hand to be flashing a peace sign will also end in tears. Meanwhile, kidlet, like I said, went and fetched her T. Rex puppet.

She made “Blarrrghhh, Gahrrrrr, Rawrrrrr” kind of noises at me from the other side of the table, kneeling so only the puppet showed and, when that did not sufficiently distract me, she snuck up beside me and pounced, pretending the dinosaur was biting my hand (very convincing flesh-tearing noises accompanied this move), and I said, “You’re very scary, but I’m kind of in the middle of this. Why don’t you go eat a Barbie? We can play later. Promise.”


First the T. Rex turned his cap backward, then they started the arm-wrestling. If you do not understand this humorous reference and you want to get in on the cheesey action flick joke, rent Over the Top (Menahem Golan, 1987). Don’t necessarily buy it though, heh.

Kidlet danced the dinosaur away, making stomping noises with her feet to simulate his weight stalking out of the room, then stuck the puppet back around the corner and said loudly in a deep, ominous voice, “You haven’t seen the last of Tyrannosaurus Rex!!”

I said, “I’m pretty sure I have, actually.” Extinction is a bitch. But the whole exchange cracked me up and lightened my mood. She’s so wonderful. I don’t know where she came from but I’m damned lucky she’s here.

Lastly, the best thing I have ever seen, a comic panel that never fails to cheer me up:


via

Everything is right in that picture. Especially how psyched the tyrannosaur pilot looks. I told you: they are the paprika in the recipe of AWESOME!

They go together like a horse and carriage

June 17, 2010

Hey, that’s kind of how my husband proposed.

Today is my wedding anniversary.

It’s an institute you can’t disparage.

At last I shall return to the work I love.

June 2, 2010


via comicallyvintage on the tumblr

New job starting today: tutoring one of the Scamps on the reg for the Summer. According to her absolute battleaxe of a mother — who if you ask me is the sole author of all her daughter’s insecurities in academics and anywhere else as, if my conversations with this mother have been any indicator, the poor girl is never able to get a word in edgewise and the mother decides every detail of her life down to making her write it on a calendar, and I empathize with her 1000% — other Scamps’ parents’ calls will be coming in soon. Also, in mid-August, I agreed to put on a 2-day workshop for them to help them prepare for sixth grade vis a vis setting up notebooks, discussing notes and organizational skills, and hopefully developing some strong test-taking strategies.


Fast Times via moviecritic, Australia ed.

Though they will still be at the same K-8 school as they have always been, beginning in the sixth grade they will switch classes for different subjects. Not only will their homeroom guy, my old buddy from That Day, J–V–, be their first male advisor, but he will also teach them math. And the science teacher is a man, too.


I wish. Neither J–V– nor Mr. N. looks a thing like Dr. Jones. Maybe Mr. N., a little. But only a little.

So, for a class that is predominantly girls, most of whom have declared openly how unprepared they feel they are for middle school math after their fifth grade experience, there is the concern that they will follow statistical patterns and slip behind in those subjects through a combination of lack of confidence in their own skills, societal conditioning, and intimidation about talking to a male instructor.


The lovely and talented Mrs. Edna Krabappel.

The Scamps are mainly marvelous geniuses and neither they nor their folks need to worry at all about their academic prospects in my estimation, but if those anxious parochial school parents want to pay me to hang out with their kid and prepare them for pre-algebra or read Harriet the Spy with them all Summer, I am totally for it!


via legaljuice.

Tomorrow I have an interview for a position teaching in the third grade at this same school, it is actually the position my dear Sarah-fina recently abdicated in favor of staying home full-time with my favorite Baby Ginger, and though I don’t hold out much hope that I’ll get it because I know one of the other candidates is far more qualified than I am and has spent the last seven months as the temporary instructor filling in for S-f at that grade level, my application and interview are at least I hope a demonstration to the administrators that I am passionate about pursuing education for my life’s work and that I am committed specifically to the kids at this school. So wish me luck with all my edu-ma-cating and I will catch you on the flip!