When Engineers Have Babies...

One of the few items Matt insisted we purchase for our then-unborn baby was a jumper that could be hung in a doorway.  He became pretty insistent about it, so we got one.

Now that August is sitting up on his own, we decided to let him give the jumper a go.  We realized when we took it out of the box that it had to be hung in a door frame.  That meant that the only places it would work were in bedroom doorways, not at all convenient for hanging out with our little dude.  And what's the point of having an August in the house if you can't have him around all the time?

I thought the jumper would have to go back.  Matt thought otherwise.  If a door frame in the kitchen was what we needed, then a door frame in the kitchen was what we would have.

August was grateful for his daddy's ingenuity.

And fascinated by it.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

"I'd like to adopt a second identity.  I think I'd enjoy being a part of the criminal underground."

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Matt and I are not big dessert eaters.  Matt especially dislikes anything that's too sweet.  So even when I make a pie or a cake, we always end up throwing at least a quarter of it away.  The other day Matt was lamenting the mold that had grown on a Baltimore Peach Cake I made just days before.

Matt: It's totally impossible for two people to eat an entire cake.  Impossible.

Rachel: Well, it's not possible for us, but maybe for some---

Matt: Impossible!

Teacher Rickrolling: The Aftermath

As a follow-up to my last post, I have to share first the beautiful video Matt made to help me trick my students:

Before I started the video, I handed out the essay questions found in yesterday's post and told them they had the last 15 minutes of class to work on this supplementary final exam.  It's sad, really, how many of them actually thought they would be writing two essays on "The Divine Existentialism of Cyrano de Bergerac" in fewer than 15 minutes.  Some even became openly hostile.  It was delightful.

A couple of my favorite students did something I hadn't planned for, however: they actually answered the stupid question.  Keep in mind that these are not the students Baltimore County has labeled as "gifted," and that they had maybe 10 minutes to write these essays.

Student 1
On Professor Puetner's follow-up lecture on Roxane's love interests, he dispels the myth that the Don Juan complex flourished at the time of the Musketeers.  I believe that, yes, it would have flourished in the pre-Raphaelite age at that time because of the many events in world history, including (1) the French Revolution during the 18th century with the conflict between the ruling class and the bourgeoisie on voting on important issues and (2) the European colonization and use of the sphere of influence of China's cultures as it relates to not controlling their own government.

Student 2
The Professor's follow-up lecture on Roxane's love interest in Christian dispels the myth that the Don Juan complex flourished at the time of the Musketeers.  The historical evidence of Charlie Sheen relates to this because of the way he treats women and his true love.  Roxane is actually Charlie Sheen in disguise.  I do not believe this is appropriate to read about in a 10th grade English class.  Thanks for being a great teacher, Mrs. Scherer!

The students have become the masters.  Mission accomplished.

Rick Rolling, Teacher Style

As their final project each year, my students create Facebook pages for the characters in Cyrano de Bergerac.  They typically have a lot of fun with them and ultimately show a greater understanding of the text than if they had simply written a paper.

This year, I've had a uniquely close relationship with many of my students.  As a result, they felt it would be okay to Rick Roll me through these projects.  For those not aware of the act of "Rick Rolling," it involves tricking people into hearing the lyrics and/or music of Rick Astley's 1987 painful classic "Never Gonna Give You Up."  Said listener wasn't expecting to hear the song, and he or she then curses the prankster as the song (rick) rolls through his or her head all day.  Allow me to Rick Roll you now as a demonstration:



I'm not one to sit back and let teenagers have the last laugh.  After they've taken their final exams this week, I'm going to tell them we're listening to a recording of a lecture about Cyrano de Bergerac and that they will be expected to respond to it with two formal essays, each of which will count for 50% of their final grade.  After they've received the instructions below, I'll begin to play the text of the "lecture."  And then Mr. Astley's song will kick in, thus effectively Rick Rolling my sophomores.  Last word: Mrs. Scherer.

The Divine Existentialism of Cyrano de Bergerac

Final Exam Supplementary Essays  

Directions: As you listen to Oxford University professor Raymond Logue's lecture on the existentialism of the divine actions of Cyrano de Bergerac, write a well-organized and detailed essay on the professor's assertions that dichotomy of Cyrano's perfunctory nature is in direct contrast with his stouthearted actions. 

Further analyze the professor's opinion on the protagonist's archaic actions as contrasted with the coquettish nature of his fraternal cousin and the play's heroine, Roxane.

In a second essay, predict how Professor Logue's follow-up lecture on Roxane's love interest, Christian, seeks both to support and dispel the myth that the Don Juan complex flourished at the time of the Musketeers. Would such a complex have flourished in the pre-Raphialite age as it did at that time?  Or are the two inherently mutually exclusive? Support your answer with at least six historical examples, including direct quotations from Sigmund Freud's early theories (references to later theories or other psychologists' refutations of such theories will result in zero credit).    

In both essays, support your position with exact quotations from Cyrano de Bergerac and at least three other texts read this year. Paraphrasing is unacceptable and will result in zero credit.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Matt and I were at a hardware store this weekend, searching for parts to he could jimmyrig his grill.  Nothing says "Scherer" like jimmyrigging something that involves gas and fire. 

Anyway, he looked around at the other customers, then looked at me with his sideways, contemplative look and said, "Judging by the number of crazy old guys around here, I'd say this is a pretty good hardware store."

2BBLESS

I recently saw a second in what seems to be a new series on ridiculous license plates.  They're just so self-serving and perplexing.  I'm as mystified by the people who choose to display such vanity as I am by the puzzling plates themselves.

This plate read "2BBLESS," and it has had me perplexed ever since.

Was the driver telling us to frequent bed and breakfasts less frequently?

Does she enjoy a place called "Bobbles," and does she want to go there?

Or, as was my first instinct, is she just too boobless?

If "your" not good with grammar...

Don't make shirts with words on them:

(Thanks for the heads-up on this one, Garrett.)

Every time I feel the spirit...I make a fool of myself

The Holy Spirit can move anything--even chapstick.

It had been a while since Matt and I attended our church's formal service.  We went back this morning.  I think it's best we stay away.

This morning, we came in late.  Actually, we were right on time, but at the formal service, that's "late."

During the opening hymn, Matt asked to borrow some chapstick.  I spent the next two verses rummaging through my purse, much to the annoyance of the elderly woman sitting behind us.

At the end of the hymn, Matt was getting irritated that the organist was slowing down too much.  I was trying to explain that he was doing this for dramatic emphasis, but as I made the universally acknowledge hand gesture for "dramatic emphasis," my chapstick flew up into the air, fell onto the pew in front of me, took a mammoth bounce (who knew chapstick could bounce?), and rolled under the foot of the person in the row in front of us.  He looked around with "Did I just hear something?" puzzlement, but, thankfully, remained confused.

We're going to back to the noisy come-as-you-are contemporary service.

RUAFRK?

Our neighbor has a license plate that reads "RUAFRK2."  Every time we walk by it, I have to wonder if the driver realizes how ambiguous this seemingly clever message really is.

Perhaps it means, "I have another car in which I am a freak.  This is an additional freak car."

Or does it mean, "I'm a freak, and I hope you're one as well"?

If both answers didn't frighten me so much, I'd ring the bell and ask.

Fighting Sirens

Whenever a fire engine passes within earshot of our house, Barley's hound dog instincts kick in, and he does his best to warn us.  He's so helpful.

Jock Juxtapositions

Kickball...
Each teacher in our school has an assigned "duty."  Some stand in the cafeteria during a lunch shift.  Some monitor the parking lots before or after school.  I drew a short straw this year, so I'm on "coverage duty."  When a teacher is out for less than a full day, another teacher is sent to cover for him or her.

Usually I'm sent to cover in the foreign language department or for another English teacher.  I once had to cover for the Dance teacher, but she left her students wonderful busy work.  Then last week, I was notified that I would be covering for a gym teacher.  This teacher left me the following instructions: "After the girls change, take them out to the field hockey field.  Lead them in stretching and running, then start a game of kickball."  We have a field hockey field?  We used a random field behind the school instead.  What kind of stretching and running warms you up for kickball?  We skipped that part.  That left us 27 painful minutes of kickball.  The only contribution I made was when a girl yelled, "Our team is doing good!" and I replied "Your team is doing well!"

Football...
I spent much of yesterday at our first Speech competition of the year.  During one intense round of Exposition speaking, a very nervous sophomore was trying to convince us that "David Miliband will not, in fact, make the Labour Party less electable."  Meanwhile, the equally intense Baltimore City College High School football team was going through its pre-game grunting and hollering just below our classroom.  I don't remember much after, "David Miliband will not, in fact, make the Labour Party less electable."

Bureaucracy Conspiracy

I've been spending a lot of time at our local Post Office lately.  I know.  Envy me my summer vacation.  Slowly but surely, I've been unloading some of the dozens of books we've accumulated while Matt finished his Master's degree and I plug away at mine.  Now the pile that used to look like this

...is about half the size. 

About a week ago, our local Post Office started inspecting all packages that customers claim are media mail (the books, music, etc. that ship at a lower rate).  If a customer has already sealed the package, the employee at the counter opens it and inspects it.  If it really is a book or music, the customer fills out a form, the employee fills out a form, and a certificate authenticating this bureaucracy is mailed with the media in question.  If the item wasn't really a book or music, the customer has a good deal of egg on his or her face and he or she pays the normal rate.  The first time this happened, I was told that it was new protocol from the Postmaster General.  Not being a stranger to bureaucracy in my own line of work, I didn't question it.

A few days after that first encounter, I visited a different local Post Office.  I left my package open so it could be inspected, and the employee sealed it without looking inside.  I told her it was media mail; I paid the media mail rate.  Since it's summer and I have little else to do, I tried this experiment at two other Post Office branches at different points in the Baltimore area.  Neither of them made me fill out a form or even questioned that I was sending a book.  Take a look at the size of some of the books in that picture, and you'll see why it wasn't an issue.

I went back to the first Post Office this morning, questioning this alleged memo from the Postmaster General.  So as not to arouse suspicion, I left my mailing envelope open so it could be inspected.  While I was at the counter and the employee began to inspect my envelope, I asked why this is the only Post Office of the four I've visited that inspect media mail so thoroughly. 

The employee paused.  He looked at my envelope.  He looked at me.  He appeared nervous.

"This isn't media mail."  He handed the envelope back to me. 

"Yes, it is.  It's a book."

"No.  What's this?"  He pulled out the packing slip that I was shipping with the book.  The single sheet of paper that was tucked in between the pages.

"That's just the packing slip."

"Sorry.  You can only ship the book.  If you ship anything with it, it's not media mail."

He was on to me.  And I'm on to you, local Post Office.

This isn't over.

Education Irony

This weekend, I ordered the textbook for the class I'm taking this fall.  The book is on its 9th edition, which means it's been edited nine times.

Nine times.

Take a good look at the cover and find the irony.  Recall that this book is required reading for an education class.

An education class.

Customer Service Snafuus

I love a good customer service confrontation as much as the next person--probably more. But I've had two in recent days that have just been bizarre.

Matt and I went to Dairy Queen this week, and I ordered one of their new mini Blizzards. They're the perfect size--just enough ice cream, but still way too many calories. I ordered a banana split Blizzard, my personal favorite, and the cashier (who resembled a 16-year-old Shaun White) started into a diatribe that was apparently intended to convince me to order something else.

Mr. White: "Are you sure? That Blizzard comes out really runny. Like Blizzard soup."
Me: "That's okay."
Mr. White: "I mean, are you really sure? It tastes like ass."
Me: (Slightly more baffled) "Yes, I'm sure."
Mr. White: "Seriously. It's disgusting."
Me: (Totally confused. Can they not make it, or does he just not want to?). "But this is what I want."
Mr. White: "Fine. Our pain is your pleasure, I guess."

The fact that he just didn't want to make my mini banana split Blizzard was confirmed when the Blizzard-making employee behind him let out an audible groan when he saw my order (to which Mr. White replied, "Sorry, dude. I tried to talk her out of it.").

Had I realized what was happening sooner, I would have enjoyed one of my now-infamous confrontations with a cashier. But because the situation was so bizarre, I had to resign myself to contacting Dairy Queen when I got home. Just a few days later, the owner of that particular Dairy Queen franchise called me at home. She knew the employee just from my description of the incident, and she wanted to apologize. Her husband also used the opportunity to perform a little market research on the mini Blizzard, but that's beside the point. The three of us had a lovely conversation about the immaturity of teenage boys, and she even sent me a few coupons.


Later this week, a call from Sears woke me up far too early. They were calling to confirm my order and asked that I call them back to set up a time for delivery. They used my name in the message and obviously called my number--but I never ordered anything from Sears.

So I called the toll-free number left in the message, imagining some poor person out there not getting his or her washer, dryer, refrigerator...who knows? The woman on the phone took my name, telephone number and zip code. She said, "I'm finding no deliveries with your name to your zip code. I promise, nothing will be delivered to you." I tried to tell her that I was more concerned about the poor person who wasn't going to get this order, to which she replied, "I'm finding no deliveries with your name to your zip code. I promise, nothing will be delivered to you." Because that seemed to be the only phrase they taught her at the Indian call center, I had to let it go. Stay tuned for an anticipated post about where to store the sub-zero refrigerator I never ordered.

Magical History Tour: Silly Signs

The only low point of my history vacation was my tour of the Battle of Lynchburg. Unlike other Civil War battlefields I've toured, none of this battlefield was the same. It was hard to imagine soldiers marching through a field when the field is now a K-Mart parking lot.

Still, there was a bright spot to the tour: some ridiculous signs. First, the sign in the battlefield's visitors' center:

This appears to be helpful; however, the parking lot I pulled into looked like this:

Thank goodness there was extra parking. The inside of the visitors' center was even more ridiculous. I tried to buy a battlefield audio car guide from a man who I thought worked there...since he was the only other person in the building. Apparently, the center was actually closed. The man was preparing for a Civil-War-era music concert he was playing there that night. He was nice enough to take my $10 anyway. He even broke my 20.

One of the stops on the Battle of Lynchburg tour is now a synagogue. I don't remember what that parking lot was during the Civil War, but I do remember what the "No Parking" sign looks like now.

Take my advice: Thou shalt not waste $10 on a tour of the Battle of Lynchburg.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

I was walking behind two teenage girls during a recent trip to a local mall. They couldn't have been more than 15 years old. At one point, one of them turned to the other and said:

"It's not that I'm closing myself off to all future relationships. I'm just taking some time to figure out who I am. I mean, who is 'Becky,' anyway?"

I wanted to tell her that "Becky" is a melodramatic teenager, but she didn't ask.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

While we were in Minnesota, Matt's mom gave us a bunch of mementos to take home. I know I'm biased, but I think young Matt was about the cutest kid ever. Cases in point:

1. We were reading a story that young Matt wrote in elementary school. On the dedication page, he wrote, "To Matthew. Because he rote [sic] this book."

2. Another story young Matt wrote was called, "My life as a pickle jar." Even today, picky eater Matt hates even the smell of vinegar, so it shouldn't have been surprising that young Matt wrote, "I smell like vinegar, so everyone hates me." When Matt read that, he said, "A-ha! Even then I knew."

3. But my favorite moment was when Matt read some sort of science experiment that young Matt was probably quite proud of. He got to the conclusion at the end and proclaimed, "Well, duh, dumbass."

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Matt and I are getting some new appliances, so we're taking the old ones to our local Habitat for Humanity ReStore. I was looking through the list of accepted donation items to see if we have other things to give away...

Me: "Matt, they also accept tools."

Matt: "Great! We can get rid of you. Bazinga!"

Monkey see...

I always thought I was a good driver--a bit aggressive, yes, but good. But while driving home late on the highway one night last week, I may have caused a little traffic problem.

A few lanes of the highway were closed due to construction, so I became a little confused about where the lane ended and the shoulder began. I pulled into what I thought was the far left lane, only to realize quickly that I was careening down the shoulder. I pulled back into the correct lane right away. Okay, fine, I passed the car that was irritating me, and then I pulled back into the correct lane.

For several more miles, I watched in my rear-view mirror and saw car after car pull into the shoulder...and not go back. The shoulder ended rather abruptly after a while with some construction equipment and a concrete wall. I found myself vacillating between yelling at the other cars ("It's not a lane! I'm sorry!") to reminding myself that covering my eyes so as not to see an accident would just create another series of problems.