Those five day weeks are killers
Stop! Human time
Way back before Covid (the era my quarantined advisory named The Golden Age) the district created a Length of School Day Committee to figure out how to extend the day in ways everyone would actually want. It featured administrators, parents, school committee members, and a few teachers including your humble narrator. We looked at academic time (math), specials time (music), and my favorite, “human time” (lunch, recess, passing times between classes). The time not teaching, the time not learning. The time to be a human.
I became a big advocate for more human time. We had a short lunch/recess block, and kids often skipped food for more running around time, and I nearly get it. (Dan Tobin does not skip lunch.) Then the pandemic hit and everyone found ourselves with way too much human time. But we also saw maybe it was time to ease up on the pace of the learning time. We’ve ended up with block schedule, which means that after seeing everybody Monday, I see half the kids Tue/Thu, the other half Wed/Fri, all in double blocks. With breaks and a variety of activities, it’s far more humane time and allows for a slower pace.
But it yields quirks like my non-stop Tuesday, which starts with a quick advisory, then three straight hours of English class, then a meeting. After a full 3:30 on stage, I was drained. But I saw the kids lined up for Spanish and realized their schedules were just as relentless. School is hard on everyone.
Two weeks in, the kids are learning what it means to do sixth grade, and I continue to learn how to teach it. Moving that rug across the room turned out to be better in my head than on the floor. Maybe the spot I had it these past ten years ain’t broke? At least it’s in the right place now. And this week we start reading, so I’ll see kids trying fun places, getting comfortable as they settle into a book. Creating that kind of environment is my best attempt at infusing human time into my classroom.
The Week in Dog Poo
Ginger has pooed in some exotic places lately. Nearly the moment she set foot on the beach, she was off to the races. That sand just went right through her! And when we hit the farmer’s market, it was a buffet of sniffs. Ginger was everywhere, we had to pull her out from under nearly every table. So many intriguing scents, so many new experiences. And when she had taken in enough aromas, she synthesized all the farm-grown organic goodness into a steaming pile of something decidedly less so. Good job, Ginger, good job artisan pooing.
Oh, and also the living room. Never ideal to come across in the darkness of 5:45am.
The Urban Blah
Back in 2009-11 I collaborated with the brilliant Lovisa to make a webcomic that failed to become syndicated across the globe. I am pro-recycling.
Academics have long debated: Did she open his package, or did he send her ladybugs? Maybe wise to err on the side of messing with the wife. (Love you!) An all-time fave.
My Back Pages
From “You Never Can Tell,” written for a bill of anti-war one-act plays based on existing works in San Francisco, 2002. Nominated for the National Ten-Minute Play Competition. I used Catch-22 as a jumping-off point to talk about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.
Asimov returns with Farley, a young semi-slacker who exudes no discernible sexuality.
ASIMOV: Sir, this is the new recruit, sir.
BLACKPOT: Ah, welcome. I’m Colonel Blackpot.
FARLEY: Farley.
BLACKPOT: Delightful. So, you want to join the Army, do you?
FARLEY: Actually, that’s why I’m here. I got your invite, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to have to pass. Thanks, though, and good luck with your war.
BLACKPOT: I’m sorry, “invite”? Do you mean your draft notice?
FARLEY: That’s what this meeting process is for, right? To separate the wheat from the chaff. And I’m here to say: I am chaff.
Pot calling the kettle black, Blackpot, see how I did that? Farley runs through all sorts of excuses that are waved off, but when he says he’s gay, the colonel acts as if he didn’t say anything.
BLACKPOT: Now as I was saying, we can provide you with a letter to send to your employer...
FARLEY: Wait, wait, what am I missing here? Do you allow gays in the military now?
BLACKPOT: We do not.
FARLEY: All right. Well, I just told you I’m gay.
BLACKPOT: ...you can’t tell me that.
FARLEY: But I just did.
BLACKPOT: But you can’t.
FARLEY: But I did.
BLACKPOT: But you can’t. The military has a very strict “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, therefore you can’t tell me, which means you didn’t tell me, which means for all I know, you get the same thrill from Playboy as the rest of us. Now, how tall are you?
FARLEY: Look, I’m gay, and if you draft me, you’re letting gays in the military.
BLACKPOT: Oh, but we don’t let gays in the military.
FARLEY: Okay then.
BLACKPOT: Height?
FARLEY: If gays aren’t allowed in the military, how can you draft me?
BLACKPOT: I don’t know that you’re gay.
FARLEY: I’m gay.
BLACKPOT: You can’t tell me that. If you did, it would be in direct violation of military practice and I could be subject to a dishonorable discharge.
FARLEY: (sly) “Discharge”?
A beat.
BLACKPOT: I’m not entirely sure, but that seems like something else you can’t tell me.
Both Farley and the colonel end up making out with the private in the room, and a few of the jokes don’t pass the 2022 Smell Test. But plenty of it still makes me giggle.
FARLEY: So you don’t think I’m gay?
BLACKPOT: That shirt with those shoes? No.