But In This County...

Our school just held its annual Miss ______ High School pageant a couple of days ago, and because I share planning and curriculum with one of our newer teachers who was helping with the pageant, someone who fortunately grew up in the socially-intellectually-materially advanced (wink-wink) town on the southwest side of Raleigh, I have heard quite a bit of the scuttlebutt surrounding the whole thing.

Of course, over the past few weeks there has been the predictable girl drama, the backbiting, the selectively leaked utterances of overconfidence, and the fake friendships (including, it seems, among the teachers organizing the event). But what was most interesting about the whole event was the girl my colleague really was hoping would win. Seems the girl is a great student, more of an intellectual than the other girls, a nice person, and someone possessing a most unusual talent: she played the sitar. Turns out, by the way, that this girl did win.

Granted, it sounds like I would have preferred her to win as well, had I been subject to daily helpings of pageant preparation. If you've spent much time around the pageant girl crowd - and if you are like me (that is to say, a typical man) - your patience has been tried early and often. Plus, as a rule, the dancing and singing "talents" these girls typically rely on are, to put it delicately, God-awful. So, good for this girl and her mighty sitar playing for laying 'em low.

But for the last few weeks all I've heard are how the rubes "in this county" might find something like the sitar too bizarre, or how people "in this county" don't think to ask the caterers of the event for vegetarian plate optiions, or how the people "in this county" aren't too concerned about proper syntax in the girls' addresses to the audience.

We should feel sorry for ourselves, I guess, living out here in the armpit of the state - a whole 20 minutes or so from civilization.

Why Lent Matters

We've been reading Greek stories in my honors class, and the story of Perseus and his many heroic feats (in heroic sandals, I might add - get it? get it?) was one of the most popular with the group. As an extension assignment, I asked the class to write about the "Medusas" in their life they need to slay, and how and why they need to do this. I also told them that I wanted them to be totally honest about this, but if what they had written was too personal, they could put it in an envelope marked "Do Not Read", and I would trust that they did it (and honor their request of course).

Well, I did get about five envelopes - and yes, I believe that they really wrote the paper - but most everyone else was willing to share. Much of what I got was standard teen anxiety, such as worries about measuring up to expectations, or figuring out which social groups are the right fit. But there were also much darker stories shared, the kind of stories that almost make the world stop for a few moments.

I read a long paper from a girl who hasn't seen her mother in a year. This is the same mother who has been through four boyfriends over the course of this girl's sixteen years, who once had to go to the hospital after one of the boyfriends beat the crap out of her, which her girl vividly remembers. Upon last seeing her daughter, this mother showed more affection for her latest boyfriend's children than for her own, leaving the girl in tears. That will never go away.

And there was a beautifully written paper from another girl telling about how her life has fallen apart since only October, when she moved in with her mother. She writes about finally facing "reality", which for her means that people are essentially selfish and that the best way to make it through is to "not care about anything or give a crap about anyone." She's been in therapy, is taking antidepressants, has been in fights, and has failed classes. From her demeanor in class, I never would have guessed any of this.

So we come to that time of year when we give special heed to our own sinfulness, our own damned and damning selfishness, and when we do, we need to pay heed to the "least of these" who always suffer the most for it. But we do so not out of morbidity, not because of allegiance to death and darkness. We do so because there is Hope on the other side, blessed Hope. I hope our lost children, despite our best efforts, still know it's there.

Coincidence by Design?

Honestly, I had no idea last week marked a Darwin anniversary of some sort until I saw a note about how Google had changed their homepage design to commemorate the date. It was pure coincidence then, I'm sure (?) that I was at the time delving into a fascinating read: John Carroll's The Wreck of Western Culture .

Carroll, an Australian intellectual, begins with the Renaissance and proceeds to march down the centuries until the 9/11, showing how humanism's first assertions of the great I ("we can become what we will") eventually led to the total unraveling of western culture in all but material aspects. Humanism, he posits, is now dead, and we live in its ruins, awaiting a new chapter. He utilizes brilliant readings of certain paintings, pieces of literature, and pieces of music to narrate his tale, and his heroes are the painter Poussin and the composer Bach, both of whom offered visions of life which still led to cogent answers for the three great questions: where did we come from? what is the meaning of our lives? where do we go when we die? Unfortunately, few others living under humanism's roof could address these questions - which tends to happen when we make ourselves the measure of all things.

Yesterday I read Carroll's chapter on Marx and Darwin, the final twin wreckers of the west. Marx, he points out, was full of rancor and bitterness (he actually never even toured a factory, and lived as a conventional bourgeois). Darwin's story is, to me, even more disconcerting - he wrote with no rancor, but with stereotypical scientific coldness, all along explaining how, in essence, the only god is the god of skulls (ape and human).

Now, whenever I read about the full Darwinian explanation for EVERYTHING (as opposed to the demonstrable portions of his observations), I'll admit a chill runs up my spine. Partially it is the worry that the largescale implications of his theory are correct, and that life is an absurd accident, ending merely in negation of being. Partially, it is the way so many embraced (and continue to embrace) this dead end, quite gleefully.

How to deal with this? How to answer Darwin, for those of us who stare out into his abyss, but recoil from it, not believing we do so in an effort to delude ourselves?

Well, I guarantee I have nothing profound to add, and can only speak for myself, but I find it amazing that all my Darwinian anxiety tends to lift as soon as I find myself in the company of others, working within the context of my relationships with them. Relations with my family, my friends, my students - they all put the lie to the nihilistic worldview, and for a Christian this should not be a stunning revelation. At its core, our faith is a faith in relationship - THE Relationship.

Perhaps it doesn't seem much to stand on, especially among the ruins of western culture. But from relationship comes a knowledge that the intellect, I believe, can only stand in awe of, and must follow. Darwin, when he overstepped his bounds, be damned.

New Semester Rising

Because of our snow days last week, our new semester didn't start on time, so now tomorrow is the day. When I was in high school, there was no such thing as a "block schedule" semester calendar, so you stayed in the same classes from August until May. As a teacher, this mid-year changeover has always felt odd to me.

For some reason today I was thinking about the feel of this new semester versus the feel of a new school year in August. There is a touch of hope and optimism attached to the newness, but it is far more muted than it normally is after summer's end. Of course, it is the middle of freakin' winter, which is hardly conducive to joyous moods. Also, students and teachers alike have just finished last semester in a rush of activity, emotion, and exam angst, so none of us feel completely recharged to start over again, I suspect.

There is an upside, I think, in that I can still be hopeful about what lies ahead, but in a more realistic (chastened?) way. When I'm away from students for all those weeks of summer, I tend to get a little too "pie in the sky" about all my big plans and all the GREAT THINGS THAT WILL HAPPEN IN CLASS EVERY DAY!! AHHHHH!!!

Yeah. Well, some of those things did happen, so I'm thankful for them, and for the tiny miracles that will somehow occur even in this less-than-eagerly-anticipated semester about to begin... wish me luck, as always.

"All Changed, Changed Utterly."

(With a hat tip to W.B. Yeats for my post title)

Snow, at least in measurable quantity, doesn't find its way to the central piedmont of N.C. very often, so it was a cause for celebration at our house when we got about six inches on Tuesday.

Especially during a morning storm, as the snow really kicks in, nothing seems quite itself anymore (I'm sure those in northern climates who are used to the routine would beg to differ!)

Added bonus - it only takes two days for it to disappear 'round these parts!

I'll Take This...

How about a little self-pat on the back? Here's an excerpt from a student's "Farewell to English II" journal entry, which I took up after exams today:

"...I am going to miss you and this class SO FREAKIN'BAD!!! I had so much fun in here and I read more often than I have for a while - loving the Shakespeare! You helped me to start reaching out for bigger things and pushing myself to figure out what my limits really are. Thank you."

"The Absent Thing Alone is Real"

Before he died last week, my wife's uncle (as we were told at the funeral) expressed that he was ready for death, tired after many a good fight, and ready to "go home." Two days later the author and priest Richard John Neuhaus died. Today I opened up the latest, now-melancholy issue of First Things to find the last words Neuhaus would ever publish in his column there. As he revealed a new bout with cancer, he wrote, among other things, "Be assured that I neither fear to die nor refuse to live. If it is to die, all that has been is but a slight intimation of what is to be."

I have nothing profound tonight to add on the subject of death (have I ever?). Only to note that the conjunction of these two deaths last week, one of a relative and one of a favorite author and thinker, greatly impacted my household, in different ways, of course. I'll also note the bravery, mentioned above, of each as they faced the final hours, knowing all the while they must have felt, at moments, less than brave. Which is to say they were human.

My wife's uncle was - will continue to be - described as "larger than life", and for good reason. He was a Marine who survived the hell-hole of Okinawa, a public servant and political force in his home county for decades, and a man who never met a stranger, nor, apparently, an excuse to throw a charitable fundraiser (preferably involving barbecue) that he didn't like. I usually only saw him once a year at Christmas, so for the fifteen years I knew him my perspective was somewhat unique - rather than the public man, I almost always witnessed the private man, often when eating breakfast with him at his kitchen table before the larger family gathering had commenced. He had me by almost fifty years, but we found we had similar interests and similar viewpoints, and I considered him my friend. He was generous with his attention and always ready to swap stories, the old Southerner par excellence. And, he didn't leave this world without teaching my son something - he taught the Boy how to salute! I, in turn, salute a long life lived well.

As for Neuhaus, I simply would say that whether or not you agree with his political stances over the years (and they were strong and principled), even if you never had the pleasure of reading his monthly "The Public Square" column, you would be doing yourself a disservice by not seeking out two books of his that have consoled me numerous times through rough patches - even crises - of faith. Death on a Friday Afternoon should be read often, but most especially, I would recommend, during Lent. And then there is Neuhaus's remarkable, luminous As I Lay Dying, his account of being at death's doorstep during his first bout of cancer, including the humble account he gives of an astounding encounter he had while lying semi-conscious in his hospital room. I remember going out to buy this book right after I had read William Cullent Bryant's alluring, nihilistic poem "Thanatopsis", and suddenly feeling the cold fear that all there is to life is this world. Neuhaus's writing has consoled me in the face of such fears many times now.

For all the consolations, though, there is still the grief of this world, always present, easy to find every day. We feel our losses deeply, and that can never change. I love this quote from Joseph Bottum in his obituary of Neuhaus:

"Grief doesn't conjure up ghosts. Grief renders the world itself ghostly. The absent thing alone is real, and in comparison, all present things are pale, gray, and indistinct: a vague background to the sharp-edged portrait of what is gone."

And The World Continues Apace...

After a very long, very relaxing break, you can imagine I had certain trepidations about jumping back into the classroom today, especially with this being the last week before semester exams, and my having to return to grumpy teens their research papers, replete with notations along the lines of, "Make the following 15 corrections, redo your entire works cited page, and then resubmit."

One girl, in fact, got EXTREMELY angry that I told her to better paraphrase certain passages or else be in danger of the accusation of plagiarism, which was a heavy hint that she was, in fact in danger of the accusation of plagiarism. Well, she whined and fumed about how this is really the way she writes, and maybe she hasn't shown it all year but she could write like a stupid 5th grader if that's what I wanted, etc. So, I took her over to my computer, looked up a website from her works cited, found a passage from said website, and pointed out to her how she used the exact same sentences without quotation marks in her paper and just slapped an endnote on them.

I'm still waiting for my apology...

Later in the day, I also intercepted the following note, which I reproduce exactly as written:

What happened with you and Shotgun?

nothin I was just askin if you saw him. do you think he misses me?

I don't know, why? didn't u see him over the break

I told you already that Im not allowed to see him he will get sent to jail duh!

What? Why?
(end of note, as Mr. P took it)

There is definitely a Jeff Foxworthy joke or two just waiting to happen there, I know. Let's just hope ole' Shotgun, whoever he is, stays out of the pokey.

Standing Athwart Facebook Yelling "STOP!"

That's me.

I know Facebook went mainstream and ceased being only for the acne crowd lo many moons ago. I know adults my age and older are using it to keep track of old friends, classmates, etc. I know it is used for social networking in an age of dispersion and alienation.

But most of all I know that I don't care. I declare here and now that I will never, never, ever, never have a Facebook page.

This all comes up because the Wyfe is finally making noise about creating her own page so she can keep up with old high school and college buddies. She has been informed, however, that I want no part of it. A partial list of reasons includes:

1. I cannot disassociate Myspace and Facebook from the pernicious effects both have had on many a teenager I have taught.

2. I don't want to be found, or contacted by those who don't already know how to find me (for reasons only the CIA and I know about).

3. It would just be one more damn thing to keep track of.

4. Younger teachers tell me about students trying to "friend" them on their pages all the time.

5. I resent the de facto formation of verbs like "to friend" that have arisen as a result of these sites.

6. Deep down (well, Hell - not so deep down) I have always enjoyed playing the part of the crotchety old man who likes to be contrary, just because.

True, there is irony in the fact that I'm publishing this rant on a blog. But blogs are practically Victorian at this point, and could survive a Burkean analysis of established social traditions, I'm sure. (right? right?)

In any case, I'll have a Facebook page when they register me by tapping my cold, dead fingers on the keyboard.

Advent Diary #1

Probably like most who hope (very often, in my case, not strongly enough) to live the faith in word and deed, I've never been a terrific keeper of Advent - Lent has always been an easier time of year for me to discipline myself, put off instant gratification, reflect on shortcomings and sins, and learn to wait.

This year I decided to keep all of this in mind more often, and focus more intently during Advent on the fallen world all around us, and within us, before Christmas Day. Frankly, I haven't been doing so well, but I have had many things going on that are serving as very ugly reminders. To wit:

1. Major, major girl conflicts going on in yearbook, which brings with it the exciting baggage of a psycho mom calling me on my cell phone and another mom expressing "disappointment" over my consideration of removing her daughter from the class before taking intermediate steps.

2. Major, major seven year-old conflicts going on with my son's basketball team (luckily he's not one of the problems) between a bully whiner kid and another kid who wants to quit because of him (I'm asst. coach again, natch).

3. A member of my teaching team avoiding the other two members of my teaching team at all turns, with no one knowing why or being brave enough to ask (she's not mad at me, I'm certain, but I think I'm going to have to play detective/mediator at any rate).

So there you go - high school girls and moms, seven year-old boys, and mid-twenties teachers served up in a big, happy Advent pie. Then again, I asked for it this year, didn't I? I trust God has His reasons.

Acknowledging An Unacknowledged Sabbatical

Here's the thing this year- school begins at 7:10, which means I have to be up at 6:00 and moving quickly. We finish at 2:20, and can leave at 3:15, at which point I head straight to the elementary school and get in line so I can pick up the Boy. We get home, I help with homework, maybe get in a short snooze, then cook for the three of us before Wyfe arrives just after 6:00. Then it's clean the kitchen, maybe get in some exercise, and get the kid to bed. By that point, my blog motivation is hanging by a thread (and none of this even takes into account nights for baseball, and now basketball, both practices and games). So...

Yeah, the blog has been a big desert, as has out of school grading time, putting me way behind on everything. ARRRGHH!

But, I'm going to try and return from my month-long sabbatical somehow or another. I'll try to squeeze in some things as soon as I get home, at least on certain days and see how it goes.

It is true, by the way, that I did run over a deer last week, if you've heard the rumor. Not a reindeer, at least!

Forgive Me Father, I Have Sinned.

I did the unthinkable, the unmentionable this week: I quit on Shakespeare!

Well, sort of. You see, I've been doing The Tempest with my sophomores the last couple of years, to nice (if not resounding) success. No worries - I'm still doing it this semester. However, earlier this year, when putting together the final reading list for my honors class, I gave the smartie-pantses a vote on one reading. We could invest about $2.00 a piece and buy enough additional copies of Cyrano De Bergerac to do that, or add Othello to the list, with no need for a purchase to be made. The cheap-o's voted Othello, but frankly I was excited about this since it meant being able to do two Shakespeare's in a semester.

Well, I had forgotten that Othello was a much more difficult play, with much more dense and intricate language, and scenes that are long and less easily-digestable. Plus, we are at that point in the semester where kids' motivations are waning, and laziness has settled in like an epidemic. Things were not going well at all with the noble Moor, so after we slugged through Act III, I decided to pull the plug.

If it was just a matter of their laziness, I wouldn't have done it, but I was getting no interest or traction at all, except from about three exceptionally bright girls. A senior honors class would have been able to handle Othello better perhaps, but I'm not going to try it with sophomores again. Given the time left in the semester, and that I want to get in The Tempest and another novel, I made the tactical decision to withdraw from this battle in order to win the war.

And, I warned them, it will be war next week with The Tempest, a play even my standard English classes get through without scrapes. It's just that the honors crew will be responsible for a whole lot more... uh... enrichment activities to do.

Still, there is the guilt of letting ole Willie down, and at least one of the girls who was actually enjoying the play is angry because we quit. Oh, "The expense of spirit in a waste of shame!"

Craziness Doesn't End At The Finish Line

Well, no the election did not go the way I wanted it to, but I already knew that was going to happen a while ago. And no, I'm not bitter, and certainly have high regard for the historical whopper of electing a black man as president (who also ran a much better campaign, frankly). Mostly, though, I'm just so freakin' relieved it is over with...

Alas, there were landmines to attend to at school today, where I've heard it all in the past few weeks. I knew today would be full of rude euphoria and full of bitter brooding, full of bad sportsmanship on both sides, so to speak. And yes, I suppose I anticipated the Crazy showing up as well. Just to give you a taste:

-Earlier in the day, apparently, 15 students had to be escorted to the principal because they almost got in a post-election fight in their class.

-Some black students were in the hall saying, in defiant tones, "Black people are gonna' be able to do anything we want to now!" On Monday, many of these same students were saying, quite seriously, they wouldn't leave the house the day after the election if Obama won, because they didn't want the "dogs being set on them!"

-I heard from more than one yearbook student how eerie it is when you compare Obama with what you read in Revelations. (I think it's eerie when you compare any human being, including yours truly, with Mrs. Turpin in Flannery O'Connor's Revelation and find so many similarities, but that's a different topic).

-Someone said their Mama remarked that "The morals in this country are really going to go downhill now." (Is there still lower ground to be found?).

Be careful out there folks. Human nature is still alive and well.

Three Terrific Things About Today

1. I seamlessly moved from giving instructions to my honors class about a writing assignment, to blistering, Marine style, an impertinent little bratty girl who got up out of her seat for the second time in the middle of my lecture, to moving back into lecture mode, all while barely drawing a breath or missing a beat. Outstanding!

2. Early voting! I voted today, and it was the most pleasurable presidential-year voting experience I've had since those great absentee-ballot days of my college years. Serioulsy - no lines, no annoying people, in and out in 10 minutes. There is nothing romantic about actual election day at the polls. Since we have an optional workday, I'll now be spending Nov. 4th in leisure, with the Boy. As for the t.v.? When it's on that day, it'll be limited to cartoons or sports stations (at least until around bed time).

3. With our seven-year olds down by a run, in a blowing rain storm, against a hyper-competitive rival team whose coaches always send their kids for extra bases even when it goes beyond the bounds of sportsmanship, I sent the tying runner home from third base under potentially dubious circumstances. The next hitter struck out for out three, and then the game was called due to rain, so we secured a non-loss, at least. Those guys really wanted to beat us, too, so our head coach and I shared a nice chuckle after the game.

Don't look at me that way... they totally deserved it. I swear.

The Old Standby

In the midst of English departmental strife, misbehaving kids, sordid tales about things the adults in the school building do (both in and out of school), and that upcoming voting-related event which shall henceforward remain nameless in this space, it lifts my spirits a little to know that tonight begins yet another World Series, which is the huge sporting event I always look most forward to. The older I get, the more sentimental I get about baseball, moreso than any other sport.

Ah, yes, at least there will always be The World Series to count on... except for, uh, that one year back in the 90's, but never mind that.

Carpooling: A Cautionary Tale

So, at the end of last year three English teachers and a science teacher decided that in 08/09 they would meet up at a central location in Raleigh and drive together for the 20-some miles it takes to get to school from there, for all the usual reasons of saving money and going green(er). The cinching criteria that the science teacher met, since the other three had already planned this, was that she could speak in similarly glowing terms of their preferred presidential candidate, thus ensuring their ability to speak openly and freely about the topic that sooooo commands most of their attention outside of school, namely politics, politics, politics. But, I happen to know, they are also pretty fair shots when it comes to trashing others, complaining about their personal lives, and deciding to stop for drinks, occasionally, on the way home.

Well, I share a first block planning period and a planning lounge with the other sophomore English teachers, including the youngest of the carpooling foursome, and we have been pretty good friends since last year, when we were both newbies at our current school. She is quite mature for her age, but she is just 24-25, and lately around her I've been reminded just how impressionable an age that still can be. You see, at first it seemed the carpooling was going swimmingly, but after a few weeks we noticed her coming in grumpier and grumpier, swearing more than usual. Soon she was prone to mini-rants (personal or political) every other day, some of which included harsh trashing of other school employees (notably, the science teacher mentioned above). She would also volunteer what others on the car rides were saying, and intentionally or not, painting not-so flattering portraits of them (two of them are my age, by the way, and I have been present for savage rants of theirs before as well).

A couple of weeks ago my young friend blurted out that she realized she had become quite cynical and negative, and wondered aloud if it was because of all the time she spent with her largely cynical and negative carpool buddies (Ding! Ding! Ding!). Last Thursday she came in looking sunken, had a rough day at work, and on the ride home had to hear about how one of the other riders was called onto the carpet by the principal for a lost temper at some meeting earlier in the week. On Friday, my friend was not at school, and the other teachers said she was taking a "mental health" day. Then, on Monday, upon her return, she told us she was no longer carpooling, and instead would live with the higher gas costs.

I will venture a guess that she will seem much happier within a week or two.

Wonders of the eZine

It is a rare occasion, indeed, when I can tout my groundbreaking work (ha!) in using technology for the classroom. However, over the summer with the Writing Project, I learned about how to set up a private class "eZine" at Writing Matters, and so decided to give it a whirl with my honors class. I'm certain that more advanced teachers having been doing this sort of thing for years, but this was a bit of a plunge for me.

What you do is set everyone up with a password (so you can track deviant behavior), and then allow them to post a variety of academic, creative, rhetorical, or informal writings, which all others in the class can then post comments about. Of course, once I set it up, explained the rules, and displayed it for them, I didn't get the instant, "Oh, Mr. P this is the most wonderful, inspirational, rad, awesome idea ever! We're all going to post ten writings and comments tonight!!" reaction I was looking for, so I had to rely on one of my ingenious motivational techniques to get them going. Namely, I told them to post something, or get a "0".

Well, it worked, and the eZine really has taken off. There are something like 60 or 70 pieces of writing now up, and a plethora of comments. Fortunately, these have all stayed within bounds, and have been positive. I was hoping for a little more in the way of communal constructive criticism, but perhaps that will come as they get more comfortable sharing their writing and participating in give-and-take commentary.

In any case, I am so pleased with the results. Each week a few new things pop up there without prompting from me, and the kids seem to be into it. Now, the next frontier is to try it out with my standard English class, where many a reluctant writer presides. Still, I want to see how it goes with them, if I don't murder them for their fifth-grade mentalities beforehand...

Those Given To Us

Well, they include those we work with, and we all know those folks impact our lives in a multitude of ways.

My immediate co-workers (English teacher subset) are eminently talented teachers, and eminently intelligent; most are truly fun to know, and blessings to their students. The majority of them (or at least the vocal majority), are also quite different from me in two key areas: politically, and religiously. Their politics, as one might expect, are mostly quite liberal; their religious beliefs are hard to categorize without deeper conversation, but suffice it say they display either a contempt for, or at least an ambivalence toward, religious institutions and church attendance.

If I had my way, it would never occur to anyone to bring these areas up in the workplace; and yet (especially as election fever has been rising over the last year) in my time at School #2 I've been stuck in the middle of countless English teacher break room/lunch break/after-the-bell-hanging-out gatherings that have, seemingly spontaneously, broken out into political/religious harangue sessions (today at lunch was the latest example). The language always seems to turn bitter and salty, and the certitude more, well, certain. And I have been the lone one in the room who might disagree with them. Last March, when I finally admitted I was refusing an offered cookie because chocolate was one of the things I gave up during Lent, the room suddenly turned into a funeral parlor. I don't conflate religion with politics, but imagine if I had added a positive comment about the surge in Iraq while I was at it.

Hard to say this without sounding like a braggart, but it's funny that in the department I'm probably the most scholarly, the most egg-headed, and the most seriously read of them all. Not a feather in my cap; it's just the way I roll, and my particular experience. But I'm also the most likely to hang out with, in fact to be one of, the petty bourgeouise who mows his yard, helps coach baseball, and doesn't cringe when someone says grace before a meal. Others who don't share my politics or religious beliefs do the same, but I find these folks much more like me than like my colleagues.

The everlasting question is, what to do in these awkward work situations, which, if I had my way, would never arise in the first place? To this point, I've basically remained silent. I feel neither the energy/interest to engage in political office debates, nor feel I possess the skill for them (the Wyfe might serve as a wonderful stand-in for me in such matters). It seems I am much less inclined to view my fellow man in political terms than they are, anyway.

Still, part of me believes I'm a wimp, pure and simple

I suppose I would be more comfortable with religious conversations, but I'm not one to bring these up, and don't feel my colleagues would engage in good faith anyway. To them, it seems, non-lapsed Christians fit all the worst caricatures of dumb redneck gay-haters.

Mostly, I wonder at their contempt and bitterness. I don't think they are idiots or rubes, and try to see their religious hang-ups, in particular, through compassionate eyes. Not everyone like them says what they do, or behaves as they do, so I try to resist engaging in caricaturing them the way they do to others. But they sure don't make it easy.

O.k., enough whining, Schoolboy.

Want to Know What My Friday Morning Was Like?

We've been working on five-line poems in the past week: two nouns joined by a conjunction, prepositional phrase, subject and verb, and participial phrase - all meant to evoke more than explain. See what you can sleuth from this self-portrait (not as bad as it sounds, I promise!):

Neglected zipper,

and a morning beard untended,

upon his shirt red marker stains,

teacher of writing lost in words,

composing himself into a mug shot.

Informal Poll For You

To attend a potential 20th year high school reunion, or not to attend a potential 20th year high school reunion? That is the question.

Pretty sure I already know my answer, but I would love some input and brief explanations for your answers.