Tech (retard)Ed

As you may recall, I've been recently given the job of teaching students 'technology.'

If that sounds vague, that's because it is.  Mucho.

Technically, I'm now teaching something called 'Fundamentals of Design: AV and Print'. . . or something like that.  I've renamed it 'Media Productions and Design,' as we're primarily shooting the Student Announcements and showing students how to plan, film, and edit their own videos.  Since this is the first year this course has been offered at my school, it's fallen onto my shoulders to create the curriculum for the class. . . which, as you can imagine, has been unsettling at times.

One of the requirements for the course was for Yours Truly to become certified in Technology Education for grades 6 - 12.  Currently, I'm certified to teach Middle Grades Social Sciences (Grades 5 - 9) and Middle Grades Integrated Curriculum (Grades 5 - 9). . . the latter more or less meaning I can also teach Language Arts, Reading, Science, and - seriously - Math.  Now, back when I had to take the tests for the two aforementioned certification exams, they cost about $75 a pop.  Pretty ridiculous, right?  I mean, it's not like the State of Florida's Department of Education were going to refund my money if I hadn't passed the damn things.

Well, now those stupid tests run you about $200.  That's just for taking the test, too - it costs an additional $75 to have the certification placed on your professional teaching license.

Seriously, folks - it's a racket.

Anyway, I took my Technology Education exam this morning at one of those fancy-pants Pearson Testing Centers, which was much closer for me than driving all the way out to UCF like I'd done years ago for all those stupid tests I had to take in order to become a teacher down here.  The testing center was over by Sea World, so I got over there in about fifteen minutes.  I had anticipated it taking about a half-hour, and wanted to show up early just in case I had to fill out paperwork, but in the end I had to sit and wait in my car for about a half hour before my testing window opened.

. . . which gave me ample time to play the Simpsons Tapped Out game (or, as I like to call it, Smartphone Heroin) on my phone.

Now, they give you about two and half hours to take one of these certification tests.  I always felt this was stupid, seeing how I always finished my exams within an hour of sitting down (even for the Math segments on my Integrated Curriculum test.)

Fun Fact:  My students don't know what cassettes are. . .

Not the case this time, though.  This Technology Education test, without a doubt, was the hardest exam I've ever had the displeasure of taking.

Holy shit.

I was expecting the test to be somewhat difficult, sure - that's why I had been actively studying for it for two months.  I felt pretty comfortable with myself going into this thing, honestly.  Aside from multimedia and editing software via computers, I'm really not 'down' with technology.  Electrical engineering?  Not a big fan of it.  Biochemistry, thermodynamics, agricultural, construction?  Nope.  Drafting, genetic engineering, robotics, physics, nanotechnology, aerospace?  Never been into it.

?

Out of 245 questions on the exam, there were nine - NINE - that somewhat dealt with teaching or computers, or teaching students about computers.  The other 231 - wouldn't you know it - were from the same random categories above.  Which, as you can ascertain by my earlier witticisms, was not something I was well-prepared for.

Holy shit.

Stuff I'll never need to know in life. . .

I don't plan on ever assembling my own robot, designing a fighter jet, planting multiples fields of crops, or adding on an addition to my house with my bare frickin' hands any time soon.  Nor would I ever assume to be able to teach someone else how to do that.  I know what wires look like, I know what a hammer does, and I've watched Star Wars a time or two.  That's about the extent of my technological expertise, at least according to the State of Florida.

?

I used every, last minute of my allotted testing time.  Jumping back and forth between questions, narrowing down answer choices, skipping over questions I didn't know (all 231 of them!), and eventually guesstimating on a sound majority of 'em.  When the time was called, I was sure that I had just pissed away $200.

I didn't know what to tell my wife or my principal, who were both hoping I passed this stupid test (Kris for financial reasons, my boss for out-of-field certification reasons), so it was a heavy heart that I exited the testing room and approached the Golden Girls at the front desk for my results. . .

Then they gave me this:

BAM

How the hell I managed to pull this off, I'll never know.  It's a huge weight off my shoulders, though - for sure.

This is exactly how I felt walking out of that Godforsaken testing center. . . 

Now I get to drop $75 to add the sum'bitch onto my professional license, just so the State of Florida can sleep easy at night. . . knowing that I'm teaching my students all about irrigating soy beans, programming CAD software, building suspension bridges, and installing electrical circuits in a hydroelectric plant. . .

Holy shit.

- Brian

The Diary of Marion (Heeb) Harte

You guys aren't going to believe this.

So the other day I was in a thrift store, browsing through old books.  I do this a lot, as I like books a great deal and have established a small library collection of my own over the last two years.  And, when not nabbing my books on such sites as Amazon, Ebay, or Half, I enjoy the thrill of the hunt in second-hand antique and thrift stores.  I've found all kinds of treasure there - hundred-year old books, autographed books, first editions, etc.  Sometimes you can get them in mint condition, too.

Diary of Marion Heeb

Yes, thrift stores are a treasure trove for fortune hunters likes Yours Truly.

Anyway, so the other day I was at a thrift store perusing through their hardcovers when I stumbled upon a vintage-looking book that had been tucked in the back.  It was stamped with the date '1945,' so that right there was reason enough for me to pick it up for closer examination (I'm a big World War II fan as well.)

That's when I opened it up and realized what I was looking at.  A woman's diary.  From 1945.

Doodles on the inside cover

Yes, readers - a hand-writtern, first-person account of 1945.  A young woman, living in New York City in 1945, describing her daily life during one of the most pivotal eras in modern history.  Her name was is Marion Heeb.


I've only read a couple pages, and flipped through here and there, but I've come to the conclusion that she was in love with a man named Edwin Harte, who was serving overseas in Europe during the War.  Eventually, this Edwin guy makes it back home to the States and proposes to her. . . so I'm assuming he survived the war. 


The craziest part about this diary is the first-hand, personal experience you get surrounding such important dates in human history.  I mean, this Marion woman talks casually about the fall of the Nazis and the end of the war in Europe.  Even crazier, three months later she talks about how her and a few friends make their way down to Manhattan and just so happen to attend the famous end-of-the-war victory celebration in Time Square that followed the Japanese surrender:

This book is like a frickin' time capsule, folks - it's mind-blowing how different day-to-day life was like seventy years ago.  This Marion chick talks about writing multiple letters per day to friends and family members.  No television, no computers, no iPads, no smartphones - lots of community events, lots of social gathering. . . people weren't so disconnected via technology back then.  It makes you pretty depressed when you stop and think about how dependent and untrusting we've come in such a short timespan.

So what am I going to do with this book, you might ask?  Well,  I thought about it, and the diary really doesn't belong to me.  How could it?  I think I'm going to try and decipher a few more clues and see if I can't find out if this woman is still alive (I'm assuming she would be).  I can then get her address, via cyberspace, and mail it to her.  I'm sure she'd want it back (I know I would).  Honestly, how her diary from such a tumultuous period in history ended up at a central Florida thrift store is beyond me.

I'll keep you posted with what else I uncover, folks - stay tuned. . .

- Brian

The Creepy Drunk

Google creeps me out.

Sure, I utilize components of it on a daily basis, sure - searching, translating, emailing, navigating, stalking, etc. - but they're like that guy at a party who's chugging a bottle of Jim Beam, with everyone around him chanting "Drink! Drink! Drink!" Yeah, everyone's really impressed in his prowess, and everyone loves a good show.

Plus, the whole chant thing brings people together - that's why chanting has been around for so long. Otherwise no one would do it, right?

Well, eventually all that whiskey is going to rush to that guy's brain. And who knows what type of drunk he is.

Is he a mean drunk? Will he rush at the nearest person to him and throttle them? Or is he a frisky drunk? Maybe he'll start fondling all the female party-goers, trying to find one that will go home with him. Or - God forbidding - he's one of those sappy drunks that just starts crying and telling everyone how much he loves them, or, conversely, how nobody will ever love him.

It can go either way. I've seen all those types of drunk, and I'm sure you have too.

So what the hell does this have to do with Google? I'll tell you:

We don't know what type of drunk Google is.

Sure, today they're providing us with mind-blowing services on a consistent basis - so much so, in fact, that we take it for granted. In a day where we can translate languages instantly for free, while accessing any small snippit of information from the darkest corners of cyberspace is, in all actuality, pretty frickin' creepy. Of course, when technology grows so much that it becomes too powerful to control, there's reason to sit up and take notice.

This had me sit up this morning:


Yeah, that's the street view of my house. Google took a picture of my house. From space. What's creepy is that you can zoom in so much that you can read the pictures on the back wall of my garage, determine which load of laundry is being done, and read the labels on the boxes in storage off to the right:

This, for me, is creepy as shit.

Anyone in the world can see my underwear. Just type in my address and knock yourself out.

(You're welcome!)

- Brian