Monday, June 29, 2009

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Seattle: A cappella performance

A cappella Seattle from Emily Armstrong on Vimeo.

Travel Vlog: Seattle, WA

In which Emily recounts her time in Seattle, kindergarten friends for life, Pho, bike contests, classy and trashy tributes to MJ, thinks about tiny cities and eats some figs.

They were delicious.

Travel Vlog: Eugene, OR


For some reason, I didn't expect to like Seattle. Maybe this was intensified by my mother insisting that I would. Maybe not.

I got in late Friday evening. Alyssa and I sat on the couch, chatting and catching up. We went to Kindergarten / 1st grade together. I then moved away, and we would see one another sporadically. Alyssa is now married to a Navy guy, living in Seattle, going to school. Her husband is a homebrew fanatic. There is a kegorator in their kitchen. Alyssa has become interested in eating healthy. She has been reusing the spent grains from his beer-making to make muffins. Maybe we do have more in common than 1st grade.

Saturday we got up early and took the bus to the Space Needle. She has a season pass, which means she gets to bring a guest each time she goes up. Sweet free Space Needle.

I always find myself at the top of things. If there is something to climb for a great view, I do it. I've found that great views don't differ in huge ways. Perhaps the type of buildings that are tiny are different. Perhaps the colors are different. If you have climbed a structure of get a view, you are probably viewing other structures. Tiny.

We stopped by an amazing record store. Two days after the passing of MJ, they had the appropriate homage.

We went to Pike's Market. AMAZING. It is a farmer's market on steroids, and maybe speed.
Produce is delicious and inexpensive. Some fruit sellers told us that they were "fruit pushing fruit." I believe this was their selling point.

I was especially enamored with the neon.

The first Starbucks, and the quickest exploitation of MJ's death:

Alyssa told me about the city wide compost. WTF? Why can't we have this? They just put compostables in with the sticks and leaves. It is all one, with a special trash bin. Why is this system not in place everywhere?

Some other things we saw en route to the bike drawing:

Please notice the sweet Scubacide leg tat. Scubacide. You can't hang yourself underwater.

Alyssa, her husband and I all entered our names into a drawing for the chance to win a bike. You had to be present, at the optometrist's office, when the drawing was held in order to win.

They had a reception, complete with wine, beer, grapes, fancy cheese and crackers. It felt very much like an art opening. This was only intensified by the art work on the walls.

A woman was selected to draw an entry. She spun around. The woman holding the container of entries spun around.

We were not selected.

I took some pictures of myself in the bathroom.

Things seen on the way home:

When we got on the bus, a crazy woman turned and shouted toward the back of the bus: "WATCH YOUR F***ING MOUTH!"
Ironic? Crazy. The pink sweatered woman:

On the way back to their home, we stopped and got Pho (Fuh). This is a vietnamese soup that is quite ubiquitous in the Seattle area. I have made this before, maybe eaten it at Van's....but maybe not. There are enough Pho restaurants in Seattle that they get cute with the names.

Example: What the Fuh.



I like Seattle.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Travel Vlog: Missoula, MT

Missoula, MT

I woke up early (probably when the sun rose) in Bozeman and drove to Missoula. I parked in what may be a government building lot (city hall?) and fed the meter some quarters.

I went in a Bagel cafe to charge my laptop and use the internet.

I asked a question about a house bagel (turned out to be an "everything" type) and admitted that I was not from around here. I got into a little conversation with the cashier about my road trip. I told her that I'm from NY. "I went to NYC once," she said. "I sat down on the curb and whined: 'I miss my mountains!'"

I've had quite the opposite, complimentary experience. As I drive through the mountains I whine: "I miss my buildings!"

My friend had asked me to bring her a tiny bison she could sew onto a headband, so I decided that Missoula would be the place to find it. I asked someone in the bagel place where I could find this sort of souvenir. He directed me to the "Missoula Mercantile," and I drove my car a few blocks away, according to his directions. Though I didn't find the Missoula Mercantile ("That's Macy's now, it hasn't been Missoula Mercantile for 100 years!"), I DID find a million amazing antique shops.

One I found was packed, every square inch. It was a treat for the eyes, and for the camera. There were so many antique tools I wanted to bring home. So many knicknacks. Oh well.

I walked around a bit, and found a giant antique mall. I picked out a butter churn - $10, paddle, glass jar and all, some vintage maps of the west for myself and for presents, and a hand-crank meat slicer - $50. I approached the counter and asked if I could set my items down while I continued to look. The people at the antique mall talked to each other about what an idiot they think Al Gore is, and how An Inconvenient Truth is filled with loopholes and how he makes things seem urgent when they aren't ever going to effect humans. (I of course judge these folk in this mountain town because of this, and am later surprised to discover EcoGeek Hank Green lives in the same town, and is certainly of the opposite camp).

I ask the woman if she can do better on the meat slicer. She tells me that because it is below a certain amount, she cannot. I tell her that I will not take it, then. I watch her writing up my receipt, and I notice something that I hadn't noticed before ---the true price of the butter churn: $110.

Needless to say, I left only with maps.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Bozeman, Montana

Montana is aptly named. It is mountains. Driving through this state is exhilarating and beautiful. It was especially scary to drive down hill around a curve next to a truck. The nice thing about this area of the country is that the truckers are courteous and move out of your way.

As it gets darker, the drive becomes even more terrifying. Uphill and downhill steep grade curves aren't my favorite in bright daylight....when I can hardly see in front of me? Yea.

So I'm getting really tired, but I'm, it seems, in the middle of nowhere. I have to pee; I have to sleep; I have to stop driving.
Imagine my delight when I see a sign for civilization. Bozeman 1 Mile.

Bahhh zuh mun? Boozemen? I decide I will pull off and pee in the first gas station.

I pass a gas station, two, three...all closed. Eff.

I drive until I find a bar. I park directly in front, parallel, on the street. I walk inside. The bar is full. It is...Thursday night? Maybe Friday. Unlike the crowd in Sioux City, this bar is full of kids my age. Furthermore, they don't appear to be hicks or squares, but kids that I would maybe be friends with.

This is the first thing I notice on my quest for a bathroom. I have to squeeze by them on my beeline to the back of the bar, where the bathroom should be.

There is plastic billowing from the ceiling of the very back, and a bare bulb illuminates the space. It feels almost cave like.....subway tunnel maybe?

A guy sitting near this instructs me to walk all the way out the back door, to where the port-a-potties are.

Three small port-a-johns labeled "men" and one large one "women." Conveniently, the women one is the only one that says "vacant."

I open the door on a dude. He is standing up and his pants are on, but his rear is toward me, so I assume he is peeing. Guys don't really have to remove much to do this. "Oh sorry!" I splurt, clearly flustered.

"Oh, no, I'm just washing my hands," he explains, quickly exiting. This seemed like a reasonable enough explanation for about 20 seconds. Washing your the port-a-potty? Hmmm.....

While I'm peeing, I notice the Purell dispenser on the wall. Ohhhh, "Washing."

On my way back in the back door and through the bar, I can't help but take in the scenery. The building is tall enough to have two stories, and all but one wall are wood, even the ceiling. The remaining wall is brick. Not that you could notice the walls, beneath all the rows of tap handles, deer heads, and collections of bras covering nearly every surface. Scattered on the floor are a million colorful straws. There is a lot to take in. I definately feel like I am in an old mining town / saloon, but with a contemporary twist (neon?). I get stuck making my way around the pool table, there is a people wall on either side. I don't try too hard to get around either, I cherish the moments to notice the details. Hanging above the pool table is a pair of granny panties so large I could fit in them fifty times over.

A pudgy kid with dark hair and dark rimmed glasses "double fisting" cups of liquid adorned with colorful straws catches my gaze. "How's it goin'?" He inquires. He explains that between 11 and 12 drinks were $1. He offers me one and I take it. Jack and Ginger? Some booze with some light colored soda. We chat for a while and I tell him a bit about my trip. I ask him for a tip on where to park my car for sleeping. He gives me elaborate instructions about a parking lot, and to park on the left hand side so I don't get towed. Soon I'm in a circle of his friends, chatting with different ones, each at a time. I talk for a while with a pretty, unskinny girl with straight dark shoulderlength hair and a warm disposition. I ask her how there are so many kids my age in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, Montana. She proudly tells me that we are in the fourth biggest city in Montana. I ask her how to pronounce the name, and she responded matter-of-factly: "BOWSmen.", with a very round "O" sound. Their group of friends is going to relocate to go to some reggae show at a bar down the street, and I oblige to go with them, on the condition that I will only stay out until 1:30. On our walk, she tells me that this is a city with a population of 20,000, but when college is in session, the population is double that. I was assuming Bozeman was a town of a population 1,000 or less. (Population now means something real to me, and I notice that when a town has a population of about 300, it is practically a ghost town).

We go into another bar. This bar is a lot of wood as well, but it is quite new and modern feeling, clean, with one of those center bars. A socially awkward kid from the group of friends approaches me and tells me that he has been listening to my conversations with everyone and that he has some questions for me. There had to have been a better way to start that conversation, but for some reason, he made himself out to be a creepo, labeling himself a "conversation leech" or something. As I am answering his questions, he stops me, apologizes, and explains that he can't possibly listen to my answers right now because he is distracted by this puppy behind me. I turn around to see a woman sitting at the bar holding a charles spaniel puppy. I reach my hand out to stroke its soft face and the woman HANDS it to me. The whole puppy. I feel like people are more trusting and friendly out here. I am in a bar, in the middle of the mountains, in the middle of the night, holding a puppy. WTF?

I later found out that the crazy old west bar is the Crystal Bar. I found some of other people's pictures. I didn't bring my camera in to pee. I suppose that was a mistake.

I can't find pictures of the inside of the second bar, but I figured out that it was Montana Ale Works, and they have a changing picture doohickey on their site. The woman with the puppy was sitting on the last seat of the left hand side of the bar, the one closest to the front of the picture.

Road Trip Vlog: Bozeman, MT

I have a lisp?!?


I was only in Wyoming for a little bit. I did not go to Cheyenne. I did not go to the sheep ranch where my future friend Nick Reid grew up. I was just cutting through, really...cutting the north east corner.

And then an unfortunate thing happened. A bird decided to cross the road by flying about a foot above it. When you have the entire sky, you think you might use it. I suppose this bird was multi-tasking: traveling and foraging.

So, of course, my car and this bird collided. It was one of those moments where you realize that if you made any attempt to avoid it, you would probably still kill the bird AND get in an accident. So I just hit it.

I know that I hit it because I heard the sound of it hitting the underside of my car. Vehicular slaughter isn't something I like to partake in. Like my mom, I covered my mouth. Unlike my mom, I only used one hand, so I was still able to control my car.

After a half hour or so, I started to feel OK again. Soon I was thirsty, so I took the opportunity to pull off at a rest station. As soon as I got off the highway I noticed that my car sounded really loud. (Expletive), I thought.

"Sounds should be muted by the muffler," I thought, "so perhaps I've got a hole in mine."

I parked and walked to the back side of my car, crouch down. I look where my muffler should be. Dust bunnies.

I sat puzzled for a few seconds, and then quickly realize that my muffler is missing.

I went inside the rest area and called my mother as I filled up my water bottle. "Is a muffler something I can install myself?" I ask her.

"No, you've gotta find a shop to repair that. Did you hear about Michael Jackson?"


Mt. Rushmore

Everyone talks such trash on Mt. Rushmore. Quite honestly, if everyone hadn't talked such trash, I probably myself would be doing so. I had such low expectations of the place that the reality of it was pleasantly surprising. Though it would cost something like $10 to park, I drove around a curve and put my car in (what I later realized to be) a staff parking lot.

Mt. Rushmore is always pictured without the surrounding structures, as though you have to hike somewhere or go to some field to find it. There is a gift shop, a museum, a theatre in the little complex. And unexplained flags.

People hype up Crazy Horse. I wasn't impressed. I am 99% convinced that my reactions to these sculptures are a result of false expectations because of the stories of others. Maybe Crazy Horse would be impressive, if they had gotten more of it completed.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Sioux City

Driving north from Omaha, I stopped in Sioux City, IA. The reasons were twofold.

1. Buy a Flip camera like Ally's.

2. Go for a run.

Task number one successfully completed, I drove out of the strip-mall-burbs and back into the legitamite "city," complete with buildings. I parked my car on some street, popped my trunk, and changed out of the sandals I was wearing into a pair of sneakers. It didn't seem worth it to try and change out of the dress I was wearing, so I just slipped a pair of bike shorts on underneath. I grabbed my water bottle and my keys and started my jog. A few blocks down the road, I had nearly finished the small amount of water in my canteen, so I was relieved to see a business that was open -- a bar.

A bar will totally fill up my water bottle, maybe even give me ice.

So I enter this bar. It is entirely filled with weathered farm workers. They all look at my as soon as I enter, as though I have five heads. I walk up to the bar and make my request. While waiting for the bartender to give me ice water, one of the farmers (maybe a rude assumption to make, but I was in Iowa) started a conversation with me.

"Don't worry that they're all making fun of you. You do your own thing and that's great!"

'Oh?' I said

'Is that what's happening?' I thought.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009


I met up with Brett Vaida and his friends some time after 11pm on Tuesday. I left my things in my car and went with him and his roommates back to the bar right down the block. This bar is called the 49r, and according to them, Connor Oberst used to hang out there before he got famous. As they finished their pitcher and I nursed my vodka-cran-mostly-vodka, they told me all about their relationship with the bar (also a venue, the Super Colliders – their band- play there), and about the area of Omaha we were in. The neighborhood is called Dundee, and apparently, it stretches in its nice hipsterness until Saddle Creek Blvd (?), at which time it becomes the ghetto.

At about 1, the bar closed, so we went back to their apartment and drank a bit more. We alternated between the couches inside and the porch outside, depending on if they felt like smoking or not. I gushed over their boxer, Jackson. I rubbed his ears and kissed his face and pulled on his jowls. I did this until we all went upstairs so Will could show us something on the computer.

I then heard that tell-tale noise that says “stay away from this dog’s mouth.”

Toilet drinker. Gross.

The next day, responding to Brett’s roommate (Dirty Dan)’s joke about having to work for my stay, I raided the fridge and made bacon and eggs. I was given permission to do this.

Brett had to work (in a sushi bar of the Whole Foods?) so I went with Will and Dirty Dan to a “recording studio” several blocks away. Before driving to the studio, we drove to a vintage store several blocks in the other direction – Scout Dry Goods. I bought a dress.

Apparently, no one ever walks anywhere in Omaha.

Dirty Dan informed me that the kid we were going to meet was blind, because he was diabetic. Also, Dirty Dan informed me that he likes to pick on said kid because of this.

So we drive over to a different kid’s house. This kid is small and looks like a Connor Oberst fan. He is attractive, from Detroit, and clearly dating the plain, attractive, red haired girl who would occasionally stroke his arm.

The blind kid, whose name escapes me, might as well be from Blink 182. He has a lip ring, and a ridiculous California – Surfer- Duuude accent that seems supremely out of place in Omaha. He is a really nice guy.

We get nothing done. We listen to three or four of his songs, most likely inspired by Blink-182. It is decided that what is needed is not Will’s guitar, but a few random notes by some other instrument. We sit on the front porch and everybody smokes. I do the smoke detector. Just kidding.

A light haired lanky kid bounces from off the street. “Do you still know how to fix MacBooks?” he inquires of Detroit Boy.

This lanky kid has an amazing Nebraska bicep tattoo.

Disgusting songs are played on laptops and Dirty Dan discusses how he would really like to hit a bird with his car. I tell him a story about being small, and my mom hitting a bird.

She screamed into both hands, and my father had to grab the wheel.

Apparently, this desire is spawned by a story Dan heard a comic tell. Apparently this comic saw a hobo punch a bird out of the air. Perhaps you’ve heard this skit? It is apparently true.

This is foreshadowing.

Dirty Dan wants to go home, Will has to pick up his friend Bre, and I want to check out the shopping area, so we part ways. Later, I get a call from Will and meet up with him and Bre. We go to the Saddle Creek complex. (This is a new building created for the record label. Their apartments and offices are above, with their favorite shops, a venue, and a movie theater below). We go into the American Apparel. Bre is now modeling for them, and they are going to use one of her pictures on their website. They are giving her gift certificates for this.

Bre is a tall, attractive girl, whose looks would generally be dubbed “exotic,” meaning: Not strictly of European, Black, or Asian descendence.

Bre asks the kid working the counter how much she has spent there. Her total is over $600 since December.

We go to the coffee shop in the Saddle Creek Complex. On the door is a smattering of gig posters. I comment on the design of a Connor Oberst one. “I went out with him” Bre says quietly, to herself...sort of blushing. This is so bizarre to me, but I am in Omaha, and this girl is a model, so I believe her. She says this was when she was 19, and she is 25 now. She says he used to live with her friends. I think she said she asked him to make out.

“That only works for me half the time,” I tell her.

Monday, June 22, 2009


So, Detroit...I tried to find your good parts. I really did.

Maybe it doesn't help that I only spent a few hours in Detroit, and just wandered around by myself. Maybe.



Pierogies at the Old World Polish Cafe (or something like that)

Weird Record Shop / Thrift store / Screen printing place

Wig Shop

East Market:

Cheap Charlie's

Potential Michael Cera sighting?

Apparently they were filming a movie called "Irishmen."

I stopped, turned to somebody sitting near one of the movie tents. "Is that Michael Cera?"

He paused. He looked over his shoulder for a few seconds. He looked back and me for a few seconds. "No," he said flatly.

The guy at the counter at Cheap Charlie's asked me if I'd heard about the new bike trail. Apparently, they've just finished it. They're even going to pipe in music, apparently. There was a third attraction that he mentioned, but I can't recall it.

Also, the speed limit heading into Detroit is a frightening 75mph. Motor city, indeed.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Why do I secretly wish it was me at that Permaculture Guild Meeting?

a dark haired beauty, at the Capital District Permaculture Guild meeting two weeks ago at the Biergarten. Over beer and peanuts, we invisioned a permanent-culture full of sweet strawberries, wood heated hot tubs and and fullfilled needs. Lets sweep the peanut shells off the floor, use them as a browns and get our compost pile really steamy. Is growing hops in our future? Come over to my chicken shack and lets find out!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Very much out of the loop.

How on earth did I miss this?

Just when I thought seventh graders were bad...

Yesterday I worked at the middle school in Troy. There were no sub plans. Last week of school and I haven't even been given a task to TRY and keep the students on. I found a word search in her filing cabinet, and to my great relief, most of the students attempted it. There were the typical arguments. You give an inch, they take a mile.

After work, I spent some time in my garden and drove up to Saratoga, dodging a possible tornado to go get some road trip supplies with my mom. We went into Wal-Mart, which would be my alma-mater, if that somehow was latin for significant high school / freshman year place of employment.

Walking on the right side, as we have so carefully been taught to do in America, my mother and I found ourselves head to head with a woman pushing a shopping cart. We moved over to the far right, assuming she would do the same, and we would awkwardly bypass one another. However, this was not what happened. The woman with the cart, as though we were invisible or perhaps this was some sort of game, came right at us with her cart. She did not slow down or make any attempt to not run us over. My mom said it felt like she actually was trying to push her cart into us. Having to lean far to the right, and lift up a leg for safety, I shot the woman an incredulous glance.

"This is the EXIT, ladies," she scolded, with a self righteous smirk.

I lost my mind right there. Scraping it off the black corrugated rug, I paused, rotated back in the direction of the woman, pushing her cart into the parking lot. "B*tch!" I said, though she could not hear me. A guy about my age behind us gave us a sympathetic glance and gesture. I talked for about twenty minutes about violently hurting her, or verbally abusing her.

"That was theee RUDEST thing I've experienced ALL DAY! And I subbed at Doyle today, so that's gotta be PRETTY rude!"

My mom told me that I have to let it go. The next time someone does something like that to me, I'll pull it together quick enough to react in a constructive way. I am going to follow whomever and politely inform him or her of why his or her actions are entirely unacceptable. Sort of like when I'm subbing.

Sorry, Mom. I can no longer agree with you that the people in Saratoga are sweet, kind, and polite. I have NEVER had such an experience in the public in Troy.

A non-crass substitute story.

Friday I subbed at Guilderland Elementary School. If you are from this area, you will understand that this is a suburban district, where even the black kids are white. (Coming soon: contemplation on the term "black"). All of the classes of the day were third grade.

The task of the day was to make origami dog and cat heads. I panicked a little. "This won't possibly be enough to amuse them for 40 minutes."

Luckily, I was wrong. They were psyched to fold little dog and cat heads and color them in. Some students finished early, and I allowed them another piece of paper or two to make a second animal.

I overheard one little boy, talking to himself. "Now for a duet!" he declared.

Thinking that this couldn't possibly be what he meant, I tried to clarify: "Did you mean duel?"

"No, duet!" He answered confidently.

"Well, maybe first a duel," he said, no longer to me.

After sparring several paper cat heads together, it was time for his original intentions to be realized. "Now, onto the duet."

As he danced the cat heads across the table, he sang: " col-ors an-y-more they all will turn to black.."


Why The Believer is the greatest non-glossy mag.

1. The perfect mix of intellectual exercise with snark with ridiculousness.

2. These excerpts from Jack Pendarvis' "The Fifty Greatest Things That Just Popped Into My Head":

42. Lists of fifty things in magazines - Thought provoking! Not a waste of time at all.

40. Bacon -I know a vegetarian who eats bacon. That's how good bacon is.

31. Flags of the world

22. Monocle

15. Velvet

9. Cheese - From brie to cheddar, there is no denying the wide-ranging appeal of cheese.

7. Blog - Do you want to know what someone is thinking? Simply read his or her blog!

6. Autumn - The classy name for fall.

4. Unicorn

2. A magic top hat

3. Amazing illustrators.

I don't think I need to provide any more reasons.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

...where nobody knows you and nobody gives a damn.

Today, after watching the Coasters and the Platters (the bands, not the things to set your consumables on) and crossing some train tracks, my mom and I went to get into her car. Some people, parked too close to us on the passenger side, attempted to get into their car at the same time I tried to get into my mom's. Fumbling with my cell phone (SubFinder calling, as always), I replied a confused "why?" to the apologies of these fellas.

"Because we're in your way," said one.
"You're cute!" said another.

"Thanks," I said, as if he had complimented my haircut or outfit.

Once inside the car, I recounted the conversation for my confused mother.
"..and then the one told me I was cute, and I said thanks."

"Oh," she remarked, "that's because you have hair."

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Treasures Purchased Recently

This is just the highlights, mind you.

1. Necklace, Art on Lark: The Sea Robin's Song
2. American Family Scale, Albany / Church-Sale-Fill-a-Box-for-$5
3. Metal Citrus Squeezer, Ditto
4. Sewing Paraphernalia, Ditto
5. Some sort of Grinder or Juicer? Ditto
6. Suite Porch Light, Ditto
7. A Present for Ian, Ditto
8. Vintage Patterns, Guilderland / 10 for $1
9. Patterns, Ditto
10. Metal Canisters, Albany / $2 for all (because I wasn't taking them if it was $3)
11. Spools of Thread, Guilderland / I have no idea how much these were individually, I had a heap of things (a spool of piping, patterns, pocket clock) for $6
12. Rusty Thermometer / Scarf Albany, 50c (I'm fairly certain it does not work. / $5 Box
13. Vintage Patterns(10 for $1 Guilderland)
14. Hanging planter $5 box-o-crap.
15. Plastic Letters?Guilderland $1
16. Pocket Clock Guilderland, $6 heap-o-crap (I'm fairly certain it does)

I think I might start selling vintage patterns on Etsy. Then maybe people searching for a specific something might be excited by my earrings.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Why am I soft in the middle?

Some people just don't recognize a good Paul Simon quote when they hear one.


Sometimes someone says or does something that is so wrong that I just loose my mind.

Like, today, for instance.

In a certain middle school in Schenectady where kids are generally OK.

I begin my sub-routine, take attendance, explain the task at hand, let them have at it. In this particular school it is important to take attendance as quickly as possible because they send the monitors in to pick it up in the beginning of the period. I have finished this part and I am explaining the packet to the class. One girl, sitting near the door, is reading a book. Not the end of the world, so I let her go. However, she is reading out loud. Some kids have to. I just talk over her, she isn't talking very loud....but she is the only student talking. Toward the end of my explanation I notice that she isn't reading anymore, she is talking to another student. I begin to pass out packets. I walk up to her and say: "shhh, shhh shhh shhhhhhhh."


"I wouldn't have to ask you to be quiet in ANY way if you just WERE being quiet," I offer, softly.

She continues to belligerently yell, and I warn her that if she doesn't settle down, I'm going to give her lunch detention.

I don't make empty threats. This was a punishment the teacher told me I could give, if a student does not comply after a warning. However, she wasn't having it.


I begin to explain that I can indeed give her lunch detention, that I will leave a note for her teacher who will assign it. I am no longer being quiet and gentle.

A little later in the class this girl and someone else were discussing something I knew something about. I offered a thought.

"WHO ASKED YOU? NOBODY ASKED YOU SO DON'T TALK!" instructed the baby/future dictator.

Now I'm really heated. "Subs can talk whenever they please, they do not need your permission to do so..." Not that she heard me, because apparently we are now in a yelling match.

Side note: I do not like yelling matches. They are lame. I don't like to loose my cool either, but sometimes I also don't like that my desire to be a teacher negates my ability to inflict bodily harm upon some students.

When I get really mad and frustrated, I turn bright red and sometimes cry. The emotion has to come out somewhere.

Thankfully, I didn't cry, but I did turn bright red. And this student is yelling that I am embarrassed.

"Embarrassed?!?" I gawk, "More like FURIOUS! YOU ARE THE MOST RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL PERSON I HAVE EVER MET! I feel bad for the other boys and girls in here who have to deal with this, as they've actually been pleasant and respectful!"

"Furry-us? Furry-us? Rrriight. You'se embarrassed. Furry-us. Ha."

"THE WORD IS FURIOUS! FYYYURIOUS!" I yelled, scrambling to call the office.

The phone was busy.

She'll get lunch detention, alright. I just wish I was there to see it.

Um, and if you happen to be seeking employment in a field that isn't hindered by your violence against minors (tattoo artistry, graphic design?) , please do me this favor:

Slap a seventh grader. Preferably a female. Preferably one in Schenectady, after she sasses you. It shouldn't be hard to have her sass you. Just politely ask her to stop doing something.

I'm So Happy

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

The week is getting better.

I will not sub for Jan again this week, even though I heard she will be out the rest of the week. Her ninth period classes are so terrible as to make up for the rest of her sweet classes.

David Sedaris tonight at Borders!

Honestly, I hate his voice....but I love me a free event!

Tomorrow: Blues Traveler at Alive at 5!

Who said Albany sucks?