The A-Team: Mr. Hough Returns to School

Hi fans,

So once again, the state government is demanding I 'work' in order to receive a paycheck... no more paid summer vacation for me.

(frown face.)

While sitting around the house playing video games, tending my yard, soaking up sun, and (not) sleeping is fun and all, the State has convinced me that working is, in fact, 'where it's at.' We'll see. I get to jump back into a classroom and, once again, attempt to teach the indifferent youth of America a bunch of stuff they'll end up forgetting the minute they step out of class when the bell rings.

Hooray.

This year, my school is placing me in charge of what I like to call 'The A-Team,' or 7th Grade, Team A (I personally like 'A-Team' better... sounds more explosion-y). The A-Team is made up of all the kids that scored a 1 or 2 (but mostly 1) on Florida's infamous, standardized disaster, the FCAT. This is the lowest score possible, so these kids need the most help in school.


Enter Mr. Hough.

My administrators tell me that this position of mine was established due largely to my 'visual, hands-on style of teaching.' I do a lot of projects, too, and I do I think this is part of the reason... but only to a small extent. I think the real reason they stuck me in this spot and not, say, one of the veteran, senior-ranking, teacher-of-the-year types was because they did not want to lose any of those veteran, senior-ranking, teacher-of-the-year types.

The A-Team has the sound majority of the discipline problems, it has the sound majority of the students with learning disabilities, and it has the sound majority of the students who are ESL (speaking English as a second language). With all this in mind, it's easy to see why some people get burned out relatively quickly working with this sort of roster. Our school, like the loving parent that it is, shielded their favorite children (those teacher-of-the-year types) from the A-Team, and instead placed their red-headed, stepchild-from-a-previous marriage (Yours Truly) in the thick of it to handle the situation.

Booya for me. I guess that's what I get for not submitting my lesson plans in a timely manner.

Now, oddly enough, I tend to enjoy the organized chaos that comes with working with kids like this, though - I hate quiet classrooms. They're creepy.

Anyway, the administration decided that if I were to be wrangling kids of this nature, and seeing how I'm so project-based and all, they'd upgrade my room to something larger than the broom-closet I've been teaching in for the last two years. So that right there's the silver-lining to this ol' posting: Mr. Hough has some new digs. Cowabunga.


Behold the pics. Enjoy.

- Brian

- From the front door of the classroom -

- Art and project displays from previous years, set up for the parent open house -

- More of the same -

- From my desk in the back of the room-

- Another shot from the front of the room -

Planet Crap

Dearest Foodery Patrons,

Lately, Kris and I have been going out every Saturday with the kids and eating out like we used to before we had kids. It's a 'hit or miss' sorta thing. Usually the kids do really well, too - which is surprising seeing how the Cannonball's two and everything.

So tonight we once again went out to eat, and this time decided to hit up Downtown Disney since we hadn't been there in awhile and figured one of those restaurants down there would be cool with the girls. We hadn't eaten at Planet Hollywood in probably three years or so, and so we settled on that one.

I'm going to stress 'settled' here.

The first red flag we should've picked up on was the fact there was an hour-long wait. That's the sort of thing you're supposed to acknowledge prior to eating out at a sit-down restaurant. I get that. Why we didn't pick up on this, I don't know. Perhaps it had something to do with the two screaming kids we had with us at the time. Who knows.

Anyway, the place was packed full, and our clan was sat next to a large table of tourists, tucked away on the second floor balcony. This was the second red flag. For starters, being significantly off the waiter beaten path almost guarantees that you're going to be getting your food luke-warm at best. Secondofly, being sat next to a large table of tourists both a.) creates an atmosphere that makes you want to kill yourself, and b.) distracts your waiter, who is trying to get the most of his tables as humanly possible.

...and if you're a waiter, who are you going to try and get a bigger tip out of? The two parents ordering entrees and beers, with their kids picking at the side-dishes, or the twenty-person, multiple-course, touristy-souvenier glass-purchasing, booze-flowing, feasting table? Its a no-brainer, and we're not getting on the waiter's case about showing more love to the tourists than us.

What did piss us off about this particular dining experience was that we ordered our food, and spoke not a word to our waiter until he picked up our credit card when we paid. He never once asked us how things were, what we needed, if we were finished, etc. I didn't even get the opportunity to order a beer with my meal - me! The waiting itself was almost even worse - it took twenty minutes to get our waters and the kid's chocolate milk, and then an additional hour to get our food.


Well, long story short, it ended up running us something like $25 total... which was pretty cheap, seeing how we didn't get the opportunity to order half the crap we wanted to. And real quick, I'd just like to say that there are very few instances where I tip less than 30%, as I like to think of myself and someone who can truly understand and appreciate just how crappy it can be working for serving the collective stupidity of the United States. Those in service have it rough, and if I see effort I reward it graciously. But when I don't see effort, I'm like Sherman the frickin' Sea.


Having said that... what did I leave this particular waiter for his (lack of) services? I gave him $1.


He got a buck from me and he was lucky to get it. After all, he did bring our food to us (eventually). The bottom line is this, though: if you know you're going to be busy, set up a routine beforehand so that you're making sure you're covering your bases... that's your job. Otherwise, be ready to be screwed tip-wise.

- Brian

Grog!

Grog

Hot booze. Rum. In the 21st century, civilized world, we add spice and a touch of lime juice. I opted to give the 18th century royal navy/pirate standard a whirl, as a genuine fan of both rum and 18th century nautical history.

First, I needed a mug worthy of holding the concoction. Fortunately, Yours Truly keeps plenty of pirate mugs about...

Now, I had most of the ingredients lying around the house (with the exception of the rum, which I had to drive out later and pick up). Here's what goes in 21st century Grog:

1 teaspoon brown sugar/cinnamon

2 ounces dark rum (I opted to try something else besides my standard Sailor Jerry's and Captain Morgan's - the folks at Knightly Spirits recommended Abuelo's)

1/2 ounce fresh lime juice

4 ounces hot water (Hot booze? I know...)

Step #1: Stir spices into your flagon of awesomeness until dissolved.

Step #2: Pour in the booze, twist with lime.

...moment of truth...

Booya!

Back to the Grind

Hey again, gang...

Well, I decided I couldn't stand to be away from work any longer. A month of summer without having to shout over the voices of others and stop kids from doing things that I wasn't doing until college wasn't all what it was cracked up to be. Or whatever.


My school invited me to take part in the Jumpstart Program, which is a week-long, get-to-know-the-school program for incoming sixth graders. Our first days were pretty good - it's mostly a bunch of science experiments and other camp-ish type of stuff, which is fine by me. This program's funding my upcoming Christmas tattooing sessions with the Sausage Pad and my brother.

Speaking of school, my own kids are heading back to Primrose... which is so awesome I begin to well up just thinking about it. As cool as my kids might be at times, it's still pretty awesome having them kicked out of the house and letting someone else get headaches dealing with them. Besides, I'm sure the Cannonball misses socializing with kids her own age, and it'll be nice having Abby adhere to somewhat of a stricter schedule.


Kris is going off maternity leave this week as well, which means her four month super-summer vacation has officially come to a close. She also celebrated her birthday (Aug. 3rd) in a relatively low-key fashion - just a cheesecake (decorated by yours truly) and dinner with the Fam, seeing how we sprung for the desk a little earlier in order to make sure we had ample time to set it up before we all headed back to our respective occupations.



Speaking of occupations, if mine ends up not panning out, I think I might be able to fall back on cake-decorating. The Pirate vs. Hippopotamus cake I made Kris this year was, I think, a major success. There is definitely a little cake-smith in these, old veins...

- Brian