my canada includes zombies
I figured out a way to watch Futurama in class. We're reading "Flowers for Algernon" and I found the episode in which the Professor engineers a superintelligent monkey named Gunther, who finds his increased IQ a social burden. The Bender/Animal House subplot is a bonus.
I finally went with the zombie librarian costume, to the delight of many and to the dismay of Blake, who refused to hug or kiss me when I dropped him off this morning. He kept insisting that should be a vampire, which I find confusing. I refused on the basis of "been there, done that" but I don't get what's less scary about a vampire. Maybe the lad is simply showing an early interest in capes and bats, proving that I was right to take him to the Garden when he was yet unborn.
But the point is, I'm a zombie librarian today, carrying around my new/old copy of "Dame Curtsey's' Book of Novel Entertainments." It's been great fun - I'm getting a tonne of comments, appreciative looks, smiles, and screams of shock. Reprimanding students in the hallway is the most fun it's ever been: they hear a voice, they turn with a sneer, the arrogant look turns to shock, they make some comment. It's wholly awesome. The only thing I don't like about it is the itchiness as the fake blood dries and the even itchier feeling that if they knew how awesome the zombies were on the walk, they wouldn't think twice about my late attempt to be like the cool dead kids.
Mason has decided on ex-con, wearing his "I learned to knit in prison shirt" and sporting a variety of fake tattoos drawn by one of my most intense and furiously artistic students. (Me, seeing this student wandering the hall first period: "Do you want to go downstairs and draw tattoos on Mr. Mintz?" Him: "Do I?!?!" If it were in his vocabulary, he would have been squealing and giggling all the way down.)
As for little Cranberry Juice, he was very unhappy last night when we figured out that the Boy still had Blake's favourite Spiderman costume (Blake has two.) He pitched a fit, clearly feeling that it was my fault that he couldn't be Spiderman in class tomorrow (yes, I did propose wearing the lesser of the two suits, and was tearfully rejected). He has decided to wear his Buzz Lightyear costume, despite the fact that it is too small and sort of dirty from all the times he's worn it around the house. He actually thought it was hilarious when I called him a dirty spaceman, and was happy to clump off in his flood spacepants. (Won't I look foolish when the seasonal rains soak his shoes but his pants stay relatively dry.) He even had a wholesome pumpkin muffin for his snack, which will probably travel to school and back without molestation. That's okay. I love them muffins, and nobody's giving me candy anyway.
Travelling into the past, on Monday I gathered up Dirk and Mason to join Henry Rollins on his Recountdown Tour. I love hearing that man speak. He's one of the few people I know that's getting more interesting (and interested) as they age. I was glad to hear that his friendship with William Shatner is continuing well. Plus, I now know not to hug him if I ever chance across him in an airport, as the temptation to snap necks is apparently quite strong.
I was very pleased to be able to see Dirk that night. Dirk has more or less lost the last two years of his life to depression, and nine times out of ten, we make plans only to break them at the last minute. He had asked me to buy him a ticket for this tour, but that doesn't mean he'll make it, it just means that I might have a third ticket to get rid of. But he came, resplendent in his viking beard and craving his customary half orange juice, half cranberry juice. No, not that Cranberry Juice.
Tonight I'm handing out candy to neighbourhood tots and trying to finish all of my projects in time for tomorrow's wedding. I have a gift to finish and a shawl to crochet (I keep yelling, "be a shawl!" at it, but that isn't helping.) I have warned my students not to go out collecting if they're not willing to dress up; my crusty attitude will probably result in a good egging. We shall see.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*