Saturday, October 31, 2009

Happy Halloween, loser.

In which Emily Is. Not. Scared. and reads some Poe to her cat, in continuing of a several year long tradition.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Road Rage! Speed Racer.

I was just on my way home from watching The Office with my mom. I could get off exit 7 or 6 to get home, and as I drove around the ramp onto alternate 7, I wondered why I hadn't chosen the other exit. I decided that the convenience of either is probably equal, as one involves more stoplights at the beginning part, and the other at the end. As I waited at a stoplight on 6th, I noticed the vehicle next to me creeping forward. I know exactly what it's doing...I tend to do it myself. The right hand lane becomes a right hand turning lane, so if you want to pass the line of cars in the left lane, you've gotta step on it. I inch forward also, letting the driver know that I'm awake and not planning to hesitate when the light turns green. A right hand turning arrow lit up and said vehicle (which happened to be a Jeep Cherokee) almost drove through it. When the light really did turn green, we both stepped on it, nose to nose, with the Jeep pushing me into the other lane. Finally I decided that winning was not worth crashing my new car, so I slowed up. But I was angry. Doing the right hand speed up lane thing is a jerk move. I know, because I often do it. For some reason, however, I think that it should only be employed and pushed if the other person is old or slow and would thus be in the way. So, in my view, this Jeep was being a jerk. I lay on my horn for...I don't know, probably about a minute. I would have laid on it longer had we not been approaching the police station. I high-beamed on and off, figuring that my station wagon was most likely not tall enough to have any effect. As the Jeep took a right on route 2 (congress? fulton? the west bound one) I started to dread the fact that I would have to be turning left soon, and this is another two laned road and said Jeep would probably try to race me again. Instead, the Jeep pulled into the first left hand turning lane and took a left on 5th. As he waited for the opportunity to turn, I honked again as I drove by. I got a look at him, he looked angry and confused. I mouthed an angry word at him. Small white boy. Why would you race a girl in a station wagon? It's like beating up your grandma. Just because you can do it, doesn't mean you should. I took my left up third and thought about how my car isn't made for racing, how I was afraid the offender might work for a school, things like that. When I pulled in front of my house, I took a minute to gather the things in my car, being sure to remove dirty tupperware so I don't have a disaster zone like I left in my last car. I get out, lock my car, and am startled when a vehicle drives by and honks at just the moment it passes me. I get a glimpse as it rounds the corner closest to my house. Sure enough, a Jeep Wrangler. I present my one leg no wing greeting, and go inside.


He knows where I live.


I feel safe in this city because I don't have any enemies. It seems I've made an enemy. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Every car that pulls up freaks me out a bit. Why would one drive up Fifth and then down Second? Down my block? Was this guy LOOKING for me? Did this guy know where I live? Is this a supposed friend of mine? One of the RPI guys? I think they all drive little cars.

Are you the jerk who tried to race me? Show yourself! They don't call me Brazofuerte for nothing!!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

it's nice to be appreciated

Subbing is not for the faint of heart.

Yesterday I was subbing in this middle school. Apparently, many teachers were out on some sort of conference, and the kids were going berserk. There was an announcement early in the day stating that any kid getting kicked out of class would be suspended for the rest of the week. The previous day I had subbed in the same classroom, and I only attempted to kick one kid out. He walked out of the classroom, and a monitor never came to escort him anywhere. The monitor showed up 24 hours after the fact, looking for him. When I said that he never showed up to class that day, the monitor said something about that student threatening to beat someone up. Maybe I'm glad he didn't show.

At the very end of the day, I kept an eye on the clock. When I sub art classes, I like to give 5 minutes for cleanup. There was 6 minutes to go. A janitor peeked in and said "it's chair time, isn't it?" because she wanted the student to put their stools up before they left. I tried to say 'no, no, not for another minute' but it was too late, the kids already put their stools up, and refused to keep working, because, after all, they'd already cleaned up. A minute may not seem like a big deal to you, but a full sixty seconds of trying to make sure students aren't sneaking out into the hallway, beating each other up, or doing any other terrible thing that I see them get into when they're not otherwise occupied is rather stressful. The janitor recognized her mistake and apologized profusely. After the bell rang, she came in and apologized some more. "Yea...people do this to me a lot," I told her flatly. Several days prior, a T.A. called clean up 3-4 minutes earlier than I had intended. When I explained that I was waiting for a certain time, and that I was going to let the students leave at the time specified on the teacher's plans, she had said, yea yea it takes them a long time to clean up. Then she excused herself and slid out the door as the entire class stared at me expectantly for a full 4 minutes. Jerk.

So this janitor must be trying to make up for the grief she caused me, because she starts complimenting my classroom management. I would take this as just an attempt to make up, but then she told me that 5 of the subs there that day had (threatened? requested?) wanted to leave soon after they'd arrived. (There had been almost 20 subs there that day).

"It sounds like they don't have any cajones," I reply.

And it does seem that they're lacking in that department. Seriously? If you can't handle the heat, get out of the middle school.

Someone tell me why I don't have a real job yet?

Saturday, October 24, 2009

wolf suit discusses Where The Wild Things Are

In which Emily puts on her wolf suit, and goes into perhaps a little more depth than she did here.

Harvest Time

Thursday, October 22, 2009

This is Why I'm Single.

I met this guy the other day. He was nice enough, and from our initial awkward interaction, I figured we wouldn't have much of a conversation. Of course, I was mostly wrong about this as he soon began asking me questions about myself and telling me a bit about him. Soon we got onto the topic of gardening, which, apparently, we both do a little of. He talked about how his tomatoes didn't do well this year, and I said: "Oh, yea, we had the blight," but he continued on about how he wasn't affected by this and talked about all the rain, and how the only thing that did well were squash. I told him about how last year I grew a lot of carrots, all in one plot and they did really well, but this year I interspersed them with everything else and I didn't get as many. He explained to me that carrots like sandy soil, and I already was aware of this, but didn't feel like making sure he knew that. Then he started talking about how slugs have been eating his zucchini plants, how they eat the flowers (which I didn't know) and then explained how the flowers are necessary, because the zucchini grows from them. Seriously? I think I've known this since I was 10. And honestly, are you not listening to me when I say that I have a community garden plot? That I grow things? That I've been growing things? Why are you assuming that I don't know this stuff?

Later in our conversation, he started talking about things he's studying in school, and before explaining something, he would ask if I was familiar with it. I think he would have been safer assuming I didn't know anything about his area of expertise, and asking about my familiarity with gardening.

No one likes being talked down to.

Also, the other night, I asked one of my good friends six years, if no one loves me, if he would assist in my having children. After a brief discussion as to why I would want or need him for this and not some hobo, he recognized the query as a compliment, and stated that he has six years to think about it. I added that our children would be really cute. He agreed.

I've been thinking about asking him this for some time now. Of course, I hope that within six years, I can be married and planning my own kids with my husband, but things haven't been looking too promising lately, and I have to be serious about things and not put all my....uh, eggs in one basket. I'd put off asking him because I figured it would freak him out and he wouldn't want to be my friend anymore.

Luckily, this wasn't his reaction. He actually even added that we should talk more.

It's a miracle that I have any friends in the first place.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Make your house feel like a home: Living Room / Bedroom edition.

Ch ch ch changes

Do you remember that song / hand game: Where is Thumbkin?

It has to be british. Thumbkin? We would never have come up with that. Also, "very well, I thank you..."

I don't know. Today I was imagining small British children singing the song instead of the American children who reminded me that it existed.

This year I'm subbing in the same districts that I subbed in last year. This is the first time that my subbing has spanned the gap of a summer break in a given district. It is less comforting that I would think it to be, as schools move classrooms around, and make other changes.

This morning I subbed in my favorite elementary school. They apparently changed the part where they're my favorite. Generally, with this school, you sign in when you arrive, tell the woman in the office who you are, and she tells you what classroom to go to. Then you go to the classroom, where there are plans on said teacher's desk, a detailed schedule, specific tasks for that specific day. Generally, when I sub for a special ed teacher in this school she (it's always a she) has a lunch, a plan period, and then ludicrous amounts of free time in between the students she works with.

Today I was to work two half days at the same school. The morning would be for a special ed teacher, and the afternoon for a regular classroom teacher. When I arrived not only was the sign in book missing, but the whole table where it had sat was gone entirely. Also hiding was the woman who tells me where to go. They had apparently given her her own office, which may or may not come with increased responsibilities. Also changed was the ease of exchanged we generally have. She looked pained as she sifted through e-mails and papers trying to figure out where I was supposed to be. She went and found me sub folders. Now, these are a staple in some schools, but not once last year was there made even a mention of these. She handed me a nearly empty one from the special ed teacher, and one that contained nearly a half ream of paper (literally) from the classroom teacher. The woman in the office told me that the special ed teacher works with these two rooms, but did not think she had a room of her own, and knew nothing of a desk. Someone else said her desk might be in this one room, so I went there, and the woman in that room said that the teacher I was covering for never comes in that room, and that she doesn't have plans, and that I should just go to this one room and stay there until I had to go to the other room. Great. No plans, no tasks, no breaks.

The teacher in this classroom shook my hand but didn't tell me what to do. I filled in and opened muffins, tied shoes where necessary. I even listened to a little girl hold up a black crayon and say "my daddy's black!" (Black like this crayon?) "Yep!"
This little girl had chocolate colored skin. Weird.

Then the teacher decided that all the kids were going to draw a picture and write a sentence. She wrote an example on the board for them to copy. One little boy asked me for help, and I crouched down and told him which letters he needed to make the words he was trying to make. All of a sudden I hear the teacher loudly saying that no student was going to be getting help on this, she wanted to see what they could do on their own. Great. Thanks. Way to tell me.

They go to lunch ten minutes before I'm supposed to be to the next classroom. I sit down for three minutes in the teacher's lounge and the report to the next classroom. This teacher has plans for me. These plans say this like: 11:30 - 12:20 English

Instead of writing down what I was to have the students do, she tells me. She shows me a million worksheets with a million different instructions, and then tells me all about different rules for detention and lunch and go home time and this and that and nothing is written down. Then, as she's leaving, she threatens the kids that if she receives a phone call from me, they will be in major trouble. She looks at me and asks if I still have her number, in such a way that I can't tell if I'm supposed to play along. It is soon apparent that she isn't joking. "No...I..." I stammer. She insists that I should have this information because it was included in the special instructions online. I half lied and told her that I didn't have internet access the night before, and she wrote it down for me. I have a special gripe with this part of the sub caller system. You get phone calls asking you to work, and then the phone calls tell you to go online and look at these special instructions. You'd think they could read them to you (some computer-sub-callers do so), but no. And many times, the instructions same something obvious like "plans will be on desk in room 214"

Buhhhh. I have practically broken myself in half to get online to read waste of time special instructions like this. So I'm sorry half-ream teacher who thinks she is over prepared but doesn't leave helpful notes. You will be part of the reason my hair falls out early.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The wrong gender pronoun.

Dear Socially Progressive Parents who allow their son's hair to grow long,

Please don't cut your son bangs. OR, if you do, please accept that, in many situations, your little boy will be mistaken for a little girl. I don't regret making the mistake, but I hope I didn't cause him humiliation.


Lying to Children

Sometimes it is necessary to lie to children. I don't generally advocate it. Mostly, what I do is tell the truth, however relatively that may be.
Sometimes I lie out of annoyance. After getting asked at least 10 times daily if I'm related to Lance, Louie, or Neil, I just start answering flatly: "yes."

The student asking will then grin, look at me and exclaim: "No, you're not!"

So if you didn't really think so, why'd you ask?

Yesterday I was subbing in an elementary art room. I was reading a book to the class, and having the students make predictions. I would take these until it started to get a little redundant or silly; then I would move on. One little girl started crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she whined: "IIII didn't get a tuuurrrrnn!"

"Neither did I!" I said, exasperated.

This is less of a lie, and more just incongruous.

In the same elementary art room, with an older class, I found one student had made it his mission to be a thorn in my side. After 20 minutes of distruption and insubordination, said student started asking to go to the bathroom. I would tell him no, and he would accept this, returning a while later with the same question. At one point he pressed further why I wouldn't let him go.

"Maybe I would have if you weren't being such a wiseahhh...."

I almost said it. But I didn't. I didn't look for his reaction, I didn't want him to see the look of horror on my face that comes with almost swearing at a little boy.

He turned, and quietly asked: "Did ...did you just...say the a w-"

I cut him off: "crack. I said Wisecrack."

Sometimes I lie to children because it is less complicated than confessing.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Subbing you is easy 'cause you're beautiful.

Doot-n-doot-n-doo doo, AHHH!

I wouldn't know that song if it weren't for South Park. Yesss middle school.

Also, sort of related but not really, after years and years of searching for people to teach me to play Dungeons and Dragons, I found one in my friends circle... so I think I'm going to be making a trip to Flights of Fantasy in Colonie sometime soon to buy some dice....four sided, six sided, ten, twelve, and twenty.

You don't know how excited I am.

What is art? A video essay in two parts.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Where The Crying Things Are

Tonight I went to see Where The Wild Things Are with my parents. My dad hated it. My mom thought it was mediocre. I thought it was great. Perhaps I'm partial, as a Karen O and Dave Eggers fan (Eggers who has been criticized for being overly twee), but I'm not sure that this was it. I was annoyed by the large amounts of kids in the theater, and I wonder if they enjoyed the film as much as I did. The score was melodic, mysterious, and whimsical in a way that felt very Arcade Fire-ian (though was actually Yeah Yeah Yeah's Karen O plus a team of indie rock's finest, and a choir of children). The film was very nuanced, which I told my father was the reason he didn't like it ( he complained it had no plot). I appreciate a film that respects its audience as intelligent enough to not have to be told where to draw the connections. That being said, I could see clear connections between the Wild Things and issue's in Max's real world. The characters were complex, and I think that the audience, along with the main character have learned something about themselves by the time the film is finished.

I wonder if two weeks is enough time to make a costume.

Not-In-Balloon boy pwns national news.

Buck pwns not-in-balloon boy.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Three Line S

You know the ones, the thing you drew when you knew you were so cool. You know you wrote: $chool $ucks but replace the dollar signs with those angular doodles.

Georgia Who?

Monday, October 12, 2009

distorted self-image

We know that doing damaging things to our bodies has been in high fashion for many years. (Consider the corset or perhaps chinese foot binding). Though these were physically damaging, were they as emotionally damaging as the impossible ideals our society has set?

I once spent a good six months trying to convince a close friend that the girls in myspace pictures were not more pretty than her, they just were wearing more makeup.

Thanks computers.

And take a look at this monstrosity.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

50 Book Challenge, continuted

35. An Abundance of Katherines - John Green
35 a. (AB) Feed - M. T. Anderson
36. Paper Towns - John Green
37. YouTube: An Insider's Guide to Climbing the Charts - Alan Lastufka & Michael W. Dean
38. Essays on the Blurring of Art and Life - Allan Kaprow


The other night at my small group, someone brought up Aslan, who was apparently clearly God when Narnia is I haven't read them. Anyhow, right at the time when Sam was saying "...the Chronicles of Narnia..." right exactly at that time, Dave said "What?"

At first, this seemed unmiraculous, and then it struck me as very funny, and I looked over at Dave to see if his timing was intentional. His straight face revealed nothing.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

New Suzuki: a feature feature.

If this was canned, it would either be something outside of my creativity level, or maybe just not that funny. But I legitimately found this, last night, in just the way I describe. Win the for?
This video will make more sense if you've watched the "clutterbank" video I embedded a few weeks ago.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

How do you know Crazy?

I was subbing in a special ed classroom, and I was warned about a boy I was to be working one-on-one with. "He's crazy. Like actually crazy. He just says random things. He hears voices."

Going with this information, I was not phased when he would stop me and say "hold on a sec--" and then make some strained facial motions whilst moaning some almost-sensical phrases. He would then conclude this by saying "Sorry, that was from [name of a movie I know exists but have not seen]."

This was the most crazy thing he did to me, in the several days I worked with him. I wonder if this is really evidence of a reaction or response to voices in his head, or if this is an attention-seeking / ADD / Autism Spectrum thing. I know that higher functioning kids on the autism spectrum will sometimes memorize lines from movies and employ them when it seems fitting, as a way of trying to be part of common conversation.

Perhaps they've taught me about too much for my own good, and all my special-needs education forces me to diagnose every quirky kid I meet. Or perhaps I'm right.

Cliché High

Today and yesterday I worked in the same school. Over the course of two days, three things happened that I thought only really happened in movies or books. I suppose clichés come from somewhere, but I honestly didn't think I would run into them.

1. There was a food fight in the cafeteria. I'm talking at least 150 kids involved. As I was walking down to the cafeteria to get some additional snacks, I saw some of the fallout - notoriously bad kids being escorted away by monitors, black hair smattered with white mashed potatoes or ranch dressing. Shirts splashed with juice. A disgusting mess.

2. There was an un-planned fire-drill (I don't know what to call this). This was not because there was a fire, or even because someone pulled the alarm. This was because a chemistry class made some smoke in an experiment that set off the alarms.

3. This was only rumored, I hope it never came to pass -- students were apparently armed with urine-balloons.

Seriously, is this Cliché High School?

Monday, October 5, 2009

I love you as a sub

Seriously, what is it with people asking me a question, and arguing about my response? If you'll only accept one kind of answer, you need to specify. "What should I have for dinner, Mac & Cheese or Mac & Cheese?" Don't say "Mac & Cheese or Pizza?" if you've got your heart set on one.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Decent Friendship

.and I would like to make decent friendship with you.

...for a moment there, I thought Sonya (bless her heart) had figured out I was stealing her wifi and WEPd me. It looks like that's not the case. Phew!

Thursday, October 1, 2009

The value of telling the truth

I believe I rambled about my issues with getting this new car. Perhaps I mentioned the big dent that appeared between the time when we said we'd take it and when we came to sign the papers and pick it up? Russ, the guy who was selling us the car had insisted that the dent must have been there, because *he* drove the car from the K-mart parking lot back to the dealership.

I know 2 things: 1) A dent can happen to a car when no one is inside it. 2) My dad has the eagle-eye when it comes to car exteriors. I wouldn't have even noticed something on my car, and when I pull up into his driveway, he'd yell out the window: HEY! What'd'ya hit?

So, to appease my family, Russ said that we could make an appointment with the "dent doctor" and at that time they'd also re-detail my car (it hadn't been done well at all). So when I finally called to make the appointment, I talked to the receptionist (who asked how she may direct my call): "Yes, I recently purchased a car from your dealership. I worked with Russell Frost. When I picked it up, there was a new dent and Russell Frost told me to call and make an appointment with the dent doctor. Russell Frost."

She decided to redirect my call to the body shop, who didn't answer, so I left a message: "Hi, yes, Russell Frost told me to call and make this appointment yaddah yaddah Russell Frost."

About an hour later, I get an angry call from Russell Frost, who essentially conveys to me that he thinks I'm an idiot.

"You need to call ME for that. I'M the one that sold you the car."

Dude, like I know how a dealership works. I shouldn't even need to be doing this. GAH.

"How's 2 on Wednesday?" he inquires. Did he ask me when I was available? No.

" about 4," I reply, and he agrees.

When he first told me about this, he said it would take about 2 hours. I decided that since I was going right after work I would just bring a book and sit in the waiting room for that time. It wasn't really enough time to try and get someplace else. Also, the weather was crappy. At 4, when I walked into the dealership and handed him my keys, he says: "ok, you're dropping this off?"
"Nope, I'm staying here." He repeats this in a slightly-concerned manner. He tells me he'll be back soon.

I settle into the waiting area and it isn't even 20 minutes before he calls me over to a desk. "Alright, so they've taken a look at your car, and now we just need to make an appointment for the dent doctor."

"WHAT? This WAS my appointment with the dent doctor!!" Can you feel my tension rising? This would have been two whole wasted hours had I dropped it off!!!

"Yea, but the dent is too big to do in-house and it's too late to get the professional today. When are you available next week?"
He asks this as he dials the phone. I scowl. ", anytime after 4, but just not Tuesday.."

As he speaks to someone on the phone, he turns to me and says: "How about 3?"

"No, absolutely not. I can't do that." What the heck dude? SERIOUSLY? Are you trying to make it so I can't ever work, so I can't pay for this damn thing?

"Can't you drop it off before work and pick it up after?" By this point, he has told the person on the phone that he will call her(?) back.

"How'm I supposed to get to work?"

"Can't someone bring you?"

"No! I live in Troy, I work in Troy or Schenectady, my parents live in Saratoga, they work full time, they've got their own thing going on. No."

Then he mentions that they're going to need the car for two full days.

"You said this was going to take TWO HOURS!"

At this point he tells me to calm down, that we're going to figure this out.

"I'm sorry, this has just become a huge hassle."

"But it's got to get done, so when can you do it?"

"Can you please just acknowledge the fact that this has become a huge hassle?"

"Fine. Yes. It has."

He is being very short with me, and is clearly annoyed with the exchange. I have resented this guy since he wrote down the trade-in value for my saturn ($100). I hate him.

"How'm I going to get to work those days?" He does not offer any sort of help on this. Saturn of Albany always drove me where I needed to be when they were working on my car. "Well, maybe I can drive my Saturn. It's a good thing I didn't trade it in He starts telling me that this is impossible, as it doesn't have plates. This notion is false. My Saturn is sitting in my parents driveway in Saratoga, just as drivable as it was two weeks ago. Then he remembers putting new plates on the suzuki. Also, he does not understand why my parents can't just drive down and drop off a car, yadda yadda. I'm not just going to make plans and ASSUME my parents are going to be available and willing to follow through, and I REALLY don't appreciate someone else making plans for me with that same set of assumptions.

"Also, it has been very difficult to work with you. You've been treating me like you don't respect me at all."

Somehow, this personal attack was biting enough to change his demeanor. He takes out a business card and writes "Maria" on it in sharpie. He apologizes and says he didn't realize that I'd felt that way, and if I wanted to just call her and not have to deal with him anymore, then that would be fine. I tell him I just need some time to talk to my parents and discuss what will work for us. I call my mom. Her schedule is certainly not wide open. My uncle is coming to visit from Utah next week. I think they usually let him use one of their cars. She says she'll help me drop off the car on Sunday night so they can work on it Monday. I go back into the dealership to tell him this. All of a sudden, he is offering to have me pick him up, drive him to Saratoga, and he will drive one of the cars back to Albany.

"That's OK, but thanks." We make the appointment, and I bring him outside to show him the place in my car where it looked like much soda was spilled and never cleaned up. The problem with fold out armrest cup holders is that they can be hidden and left a mess. I tell him that the bit of dirt not vacuumed up didn't work me up much, but that armrest thing was completely disgusting and unacceptable. He agrees. "It certainly is disgusting." He explains that at these sales, they sell such a quantity of cars in such a short amount of time that some quality, especially in their already-crappy detail department, declines. I share my year experience as "detail technician" at Hoffman's Carwash. "This would have gotten me fired," I say.

This is a hyperbole. It would have gotten my hours cut down so I was forced to quit.

He asks what he could have done differently to do right by me, and where he went wrong. I try to be vague when answering him, but he pries for specifics.

I recount the phone call where he was mad at me for not calling him directly. He does what you shouldn't do when apologizing: tries to defend himself. He starts explaining that he was the one who sold me the car so why would I talk to anyone else yadda yadda. (Back me up here. If he was the one fixing the dent, then I would understand his frustration. But he is just the middle man.) I explain to him that though I mentioned his name a million times, I was connected to the body shop. "Ohh, so it was a receptionist..." he ponders. As though someone else typically answers the phone? I tell him that quite frankly, even as early as that Monday, when-I-absolutely-couldn't-spend-time-doing-anything-but-my-school-work and yet I was made to go to the dealership, I was pissed. He explained that he had remembered about my paper but my father had told him it was OK.

"It was conveyed to my parents that the car absolutely had to be picked up by Tuesday, and Tuesday I had a doctors appointment and Literacy Volunteers training and we couldn't do it earlier."

Though I stated that in that way to not blame him for anything, he starts rambling that he was the only one who ever talked to my parents, and that picking it up Wednesday would have been fine, it was only important that it was out by the end of the month. Now he is calling my parents liars. Smooth move.

He explains to me that most of the sales reps only last for three months, and he has been there for three years, and he doesn't want me to think he's a sleazy sales guy (he's a different kind of sleaze...he had his sleeves pulled up during this interaction and I could see his painful tattoo). I told him that he'd remedied the situation, and that I'd drop the car off on Sunday.

I called my mom on the way home. "He said WHAT? There's no way! Wednesday would have been better for us too!!

So even if he is some sort of a sleaze or an idiot, I'm no longer so angry at him. Instead of violence or screaming, it is really effective to directly state the truth. I find this also works with students. Some people need to hear that their actions truly do effect others, and watching someone's face drop (in this situation) is really really satisfying.