This is the point in The Great Gatsby unit where I pull up Zillow and go “house shopping” on the Gold Coast of Long Island where the novel takes place because my students and I have a spare 45 million to spend. This is meant to illustrate the extravagant wealth of our characters and it’s fun. For 13.8 million we can buy a plot of land on Gatsby Lane, but everyone will have to bring tents. Indoor and outdoor pools were the norm. We found an indoor basketball court. One house had an insane 14 bathrooms which we determined was two weeks worth of pooping.
We were talking about redecorating—because for 9.8 million that plaid carpet had to go!—and bearskin rugs. One student strongly advocated for leaning into the retro carpet and adding a bearskin rug with the head on it. Amazing.
Student (not the redecorator) stating with great authority: “If you have a bear in your house, you’ve gotta be rich,.”
Me joyfully shrieking: ” I HAVE A BEAR IN MY HOUSE! HE’S IN MY KITCHEN. I’M RICH!”
Student clarifying that, no no, I needed more than the head although they agreed that Maury was nice and appreciated that he came with a hat.
That should be the logical, common sense end to the discussion, but noooooooooooooooooooooo.
Fireworks are loud, flashy, and unpredictable. None of that is appealing to animals. Fear makes US unpredictable and we really tap in to that flight instinct.
Let us stay home. Crowds create anxiety, people suck, and it’s July so it’s as hot as Satan’s balls in polyester booty shorts. If you HAVE to take us with you to big crowded events, then this might be more about YOU, and you might be a douche bag. Find some other way to get attention from strangers. (I’m talking to you as well, lady who brings her parrot on a baby stroller to festivals.)
Let us stay home. Better yet, bring us indoors. Let us panic within the safety of solid walls. Protect us from the neighborhood asshole who thinks it would be funny to light firecrackers near us…or worse.
We’re getting ready to read the play No Exitwhich means establishing a basic understanding of existentialism.
Hell is— trying to explain existentialism to high school seniors. I’ve never done well with philosophy myself. Life has meaning, but is completely pointless. Well, fuck.
I told them that my clearest memory from Philosophy 101 was a T-shirt my professor wore at least once a week. It had a Groucho Marx quote on it: “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” Good stuff.
They survived a visual demonstration of the Allegory of the Cave so we could totally tackle Sartre and Camus, right?
One Hank Green Crash Course video on existentialism later, and half the class made the finger gun gesture to their heads. Solid start.
Honestly, I was a little concerned that some of them might immediately latch on to ideas within existentialism. I mean, Hank Green is telling them that only they can create meaning in their lives regardless of what authority figures like teachers and parents want them to do. We just want them to graduate, but that idea sounds like a built in excuse to get high and do nothing. Suddenly they’ve discovered their essence; they’re all existentialists!
I had them holster their finger guns and we tried some guided notes to simplify.
1. Existence before essence. You’re born and then you figure it out. Only YOU can determine your essence/passion/purpose/importance in life and prevent forest fires. This basically sounds like 3/4 of today’s high school curriculum. We spend so much time trying to reflect on you-iest version of you. Find your path. Group hug.
2. We are condemned to be free. Sounds good, right?! Unfortunately, it means that we are free to make millions of minute choices-turn left vs right, set your alarm for 6 am instead of 6:01am, have the chicken instead of the fish- and suffer the consequences of all those choices. No matter what it’s your fault, kids. I am their daily dose of sadness. The finger guns were back.
I accidentally demonstrated the third point through a classroom supply mishap. I gave everyone a half sheet of paper and told them they had 5 minutes to draw me a picture of Hell, knowing that their drawings would lead to a discussion of archetypal imagery: flames, devils and pitchforks, oh my.
They started digging into the perpetually dried up marker box for just the right shades of Hades. It doesn’t matter that our department orders a few boxes of new markers every year, I think they send us dry, uncapped markers with the colors picked over from the start.
Within a few seconds, a cry went up.
“THERE’S NO RED! IT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT COLOR IN HELL!”
And here concludes our intro to existentialism.
3. Life is absurd. The final downer for the day is that “absurd” means pointless and meaningless. All those choices? Whatevs. Draw Hell with red markers or don’t. Same same.
There are no red markers. Enjoy drawing Hell, Sisyphus. Insert maniacal laugh here.
(I can’t even plan shit like this.)
I’ll leave this here just as my high school French teacher would after reading The Stranger.
(But hear my voice -or Samuel L. Jackson’s– when you come wandering into my classroom with time on your hands while I’m staring at the computer wondering who needs strangled next.)
Tomorrow is the last day of school. It has been a glorious and terrible week of exhaustion, panic (failing students panicking, not me), and universal done-ness. Tomorrow my colleagues will have an adult meeting with adult beverages and ramble on about their own done-ness.
I am not done.
If I can get the publication kids done, that’s a positive step, but that rarely happens in time for attending the adult meeting.
I am never done.
Miles and I will just leave this here. Whoever wrote it didn’t get the quote quite right, but it is my favorite desktop graffiti. Found during yearbook camp– yes, that’s a thing- that I attend and teach at during the summer.
Once in a while a student will remind me that I’m not entirely evil, and that some people find sarcasm and snark endearing.
This was a belated Christmas gift because she didn’t get it done in time. A girl after my own project-based heart. I used to cross-stitch, so I know this was a labor of love, knots,and crossed eyes. The student used to knit during class; it kept her hands busy and mind calm. I might have secretly had a bag of yarn anonymously delivered to her one year. Can’t help but love a dedicated crafter.
“Purr more, hiss less” could be a pointed message on her part as I tend to be hissier than needed most days. It’s a good reminder for my classroom.
President Cheeto Skin Butthole Mouth appears to be more incompetent on a daily basis,but no one seems to be stopping him. I wonder what would happen if I tweeted “You are a bad man” at him daily.
There hasn’t been any REAL snow all “winter.”
Ipads just give the asshole in my class more opportunities to be an asshole and continue to say, “What? I didn’t do it. He he he he” Some children want to be left behind.
My skin is crawling and I keep dropping everything. Can’t even nap successfully.
I suspect 3-5 glasses of wine plus sinus medication might even things out… or not.
Birdie: “Why don’t you have this shit graded yet?”
Me, weeping into hands: “BECAUSE YOU WON’T MAKE DINNER OR RUN THE VACUUM!”
Brain:”Plus I spend the school day cleaning my government provided gun just in case bears show up. I just thought I was teaching a Dystopian unit, not living it.”
*”All Summer in a Day” awesome little heart string puller from Ray Bradbury.
**With my 20 years of experience in public education, I can solidly say that any teacher carrying a firearm at school is a phenomenally bad plan. I cannot participate.
*** Just Google Devos and bears. The new Sith Lord of Education will probably send the secret education police out for me at midnight.
Choosing one toy from the nip bin is not enough to get crazy high.
Getting high on catnip leads to rational behavior. It does not lead to exposed cat nipples.
Olivia nipples
I only feed three of the four cats. I force the black one to forage and dominate the other cats for food. This isn’t racist. He likes it. It is what it is. He has the same opportunity as the other cats.
Miles is actually a dog.
He sings in the litter box because he’s bragging about his poo size. (I don’t really know WHY he sings in the litter box so this could be a real fact not an alternative one.
Mum’s favorite dog.
Side note: I look forward to failing the first kid who suggests using “alternative facts” during the research unit. Wikipedia full speed ahead!
Day 1 back from almost two magical weeks of doing whatever (mostly) I damn well please. Little to no sleep. Because why would my body go to sleep, knowing that the alarm would go off at 5:45 am? Yeah!!!
I’m so tired, I’m pretty sure I hallucinated most of my work day.
This was an impulse buy at Target after school because ….caffeine.
Sadly, it did not smell like coffee.
And my hair is super crazy.
Multiple students today:”Hey, your hair looks nice. Did you do something different? Did you color it?”
Me multiple times today:”I ironed it because I can’t remember when I washed it last. Ironing it kills whatever is going on in there. The color is ‘old lady gray’ with ‘you need to dye your roots red.'”
Kids these days will cry at the drop of a hat. Weak.
MY KIDS took it upon themselves to make snacks today while I was at work.
I came home to an open cabinet, a gutted bag of relatively expensive cat food, and four guilty looking cats all sitting in the living room instead of meeting me in the kitchen as per usual.
Oddly enough, no one has asked for dinner, and I have not brought it up.
I tried to be a good and supportive teacher by attending a high school play. I can’t stomach sports or concerts, but I can generally enjoy a play.
By the time I left my desk at 4, and sat in 40 minutes worth of Friday traffic for my normally 15 minute drive, I had just enough time to get in the house, feed the cats, go to the bathroom, then get back in the car. I made it back for the 6pm show with 20 minutes to spare.
A torturous hour and a half later, there were some questionable choices in this production, I set out to find my own dinner and return home.
Home where chaos had ensued. Four cats on the verge of starvation had all opened their annotated copies of Lord of the Flies to wreak havoc.
In my rush to get back to school, I forgot to put the canned cat food back in the fridge. I imagine that the revolution began as soon as the door closed behind me.
There was no rationing of supplies just in case I was never coming back. They did try to open a food container, but no one has extra toes to get the job done.
They told me a band of raccoons were to blame, but I have my doubts.
possumscatsthingsgnawingatme 