A couple weeks ago, we were reading the story, "On The Sidewalk Bleeding" by Evan Hunter, which is about a gang member who gets stabbed and is lying in the street, dying, and contemplating the life decisions that led him to this point. I was trying to teach my students how to use context clues to determine certain details about the story that the author doesn't just come out and say. We read the following passage...
He wondered if Laura would be angry. He had left the jump to get a package of cigarettes. He had told her he would be back in a few minutes, and then he had gone downstairs and found the candy store closed. He knew that Alfredo's on the next block would be open. He had started through the alley, and that was when he had been ambushed.
...and then I asked my students who they thought Laura was to the main character, Andy. Based on very little information, guesses ranged from girlfriend to fiancee to cousin to sister. All were legitimate guesses because this is the first time we had heard about Laura. We then read...
He could hear the faint sound of music now, coming from a long, long way off. He wondered if Laura was dancing, wondered if she had missed him yet. Maybe she thought he wasn't coming back. Maybe she thought he'd cut out for good. Maybe she had already left the jump and gone home. He thought of her face, the brown eyes and the jet-black hair, and thinking of her he forgot his pain a little, forgot that blood was rushing from his body.
Someday he would marry Laura. Someday he would marry her, and they would have a lot of kids, and then they would get out of the neighborhood. They would move to a clean project in the Bronx, or maybe they would move to Staten Island. When they were married, when they had kids.
...and I re-asked the question: "Who is Laura." Everyone shouted out that it was his girlfriend.
I asked, "How do we know it wasn't a family member?" A student replied that he would never talk about marrying a family member or fantasize about her hair or eyes.
I then said, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, "Great answer, at least I hope he's not talking about his sister."
One student who is pretty funny, but pretty quiet and doesn't say a whole lot, raises his hand and I call on him, thinking he has something good to add to the conversation. I was wrong, but couldn't stop laughing at his response.
AB: "Mr. Lowe, I get what you're saying about context clues, but don't you think it would change depending on where you read the story?"
Me: "Yeah, I guess so, why?"
AB (completely serious for humor's sake): "Well, we in Tennessee think there's no way it could be his sister. But have you ever been to Arkansas? I bet they read this in Arkansas and think, 'Yeah, that could probably be his sister.' "
The classroom erupted and I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't help but bend over laughing because the joke was set up so well and the delivery was phenomenal.
Being a smart-alec myself, I can appreciate a good joke at Arkansas's expense.
Which leads me to my dad's favorite joke:
"How do you know toothpaste was invented in Arkansas?"
"How?"
"Because if it were invented in any other state, it would be called teethpaste."
Cue the laughtrack.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
My Mini Michael Jackson
We just finished up our short story unit, where we learned about the parts of plot diagram (introduction, rising action, climax, etc.). To introduce plot summary, we took notes on each part and then we watched the entire 13-minute version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller."
All of the students LOVED it because they were familiar with the song and it's one of the coolest videos of all time. Throughout the day, I'd see students mouthing the words and getting into it, but all of that paled in comparison to one student, DJ, who is in my last class and got to groovin'. It's my last period of the day and I was sitting at my desk when he began dancing. It was so good that I had to pull out my phone discreetly and put it behind a stack of books to capture the greatness.
I'd like to especially note how he's still dancing even when he's filling out his plot diagram. Also, the twitching about the 0:23 mark is mirroring the beginning of the "Thriller dance." Hilarious.
Enjoy.
All of the students LOVED it because they were familiar with the song and it's one of the coolest videos of all time. Throughout the day, I'd see students mouthing the words and getting into it, but all of that paled in comparison to one student, DJ, who is in my last class and got to groovin'. It's my last period of the day and I was sitting at my desk when he began dancing. It was so good that I had to pull out my phone discreetly and put it behind a stack of books to capture the greatness.
I'd like to especially note how he's still dancing even when he's filling out his plot diagram. Also, the twitching about the 0:23 mark is mirroring the beginning of the "Thriller dance." Hilarious.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
I Better Watch My Back
Today, my classes took their first unit test of the year. On the test I included a section that assessed the vocabulary words that we have covered so far this year. A question required the students to use the word "hesitate" correctly in a complete sentence.
I didn't have any hiccups until one boy, HK, an honors student, raised his hand while taking the test.
HK: "Are you going to be grading these?"
Me: "Of course I'm going to grade them."
HK: "Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure."
It struck me odd that he would ask that, but I moved on with my day. As I was grading his class's tests during a later period, I figured out why he wanted to know if I was grading them.
Response: "Before TPing Mr. Lowe's house, we all hesitated for a moment to think of the possible consequences."
I better get my hose and flood lights ready for the assault. Except that I have his address, but he doesn't have mine, so I might go on the offensive. HK won't even know what hit him.
Other funny responses:
TP: "I predict that we will beat Snowden on Monday because I'm sick and tired of losing." (He's the starting quarterback of the 0-3 football team)
KJ: "I predict that B & R will win homecoming king and queen because they are the perfect couple." (Young love)
And DR's gems...he mos def got an F.
Question: "What does AIMS stand for?"
Answer: "Am I Missing Something?"
DR's Response: "It's a disease."
Question: "What does ISLAND stand for?"
Answer: "I'm So Lost And Need Details."
DR's Response: "Where ppl go for vacations."
Question: "Find two examples each of direct and indirect characterization."
Answer: "Anything remotely associated to ANY character in the story."
DR's Response: "Yes."
Oi vey, he's got some work to do.
I didn't have any hiccups until one boy, HK, an honors student, raised his hand while taking the test.
HK: "Are you going to be grading these?"
Me: "Of course I'm going to grade them."
HK: "Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure."
It struck me odd that he would ask that, but I moved on with my day. As I was grading his class's tests during a later period, I figured out why he wanted to know if I was grading them.
Response: "Before TPing Mr. Lowe's house, we all hesitated for a moment to think of the possible consequences."
I better get my hose and flood lights ready for the assault. Except that I have his address, but he doesn't have mine, so I might go on the offensive. HK won't even know what hit him.
Other funny responses:
TP: "I predict that we will beat Snowden on Monday because I'm sick and tired of losing." (He's the starting quarterback of the 0-3 football team)
KJ: "I predict that B & R will win homecoming king and queen because they are the perfect couple." (Young love)
And DR's gems...he mos def got an F.
Question: "What does AIMS stand for?"
Answer: "Am I Missing Something?"
DR's Response: "It's a disease."
Question: "What does ISLAND stand for?"
Answer: "I'm So Lost And Need Details."
DR's Response: "Where ppl go for vacations."
Question: "Find two examples each of direct and indirect characterization."
Answer: "Anything remotely associated to ANY character in the story."
DR's Response: "Yes."
Oi vey, he's got some work to do.
Friday, August 19, 2011
..........And We're Back!
So, after a terribly boring summer on the Trentoblog, packed full of random funny things that I put up just to keep you reading to fill that horrible void in your life, SCHOOL IS BACK IN SESSION!
It's the end of the second week of school and I feel pretty good about things. I've moved to a new school due a demon in Memphis City Schools called "surplussing." Basically, a school receives a projection of how many students they'll have the next year and if that projection is lower than the current number, teachers have to go. I really loved my old school, Kingsbury Middle School; it was run incredibly efficient, which is a testament to the great administration and teachers there, but all good things must come to an end. I was the least senior teacher on staff, so I got my packing orders. I am now at Kate Bond Middle School, a brand-new school in northeast Memphis and it's a dream come true. Wonderful facilities, great resources and great kids. They're all (well, not all, but a good chunk) so well-behaved, it's kind of scary that I'm not more stressed out. Oh well, I'll take it. But, more behaved means less hilarious stories from kids who speak without thinking about it first. But I'll do my very best to bring you the funnies.
Journal Prompt: "Where do you see yourself in 5 years? In 10 years? What can you do now to ensure that you get there?"
AJ's Response: "I see myself being a biomedical engineer. A biomedical engineer makes leg implants and hip implants. In five years, I see myself in high school preparing to go to Princeton..."
Way to go, A, way to go.
Journal Prompt: "If you could fly somewhere for 7 days, where would you go and why?"
DR's Response: "I would go to Mexico to visit all of my family there...The last day I would get me some nice intelegent fine looking girls & party with them."
Well, at least they're intelligent.
It's the end of the second week of school and I feel pretty good about things. I've moved to a new school due a demon in Memphis City Schools called "surplussing." Basically, a school receives a projection of how many students they'll have the next year and if that projection is lower than the current number, teachers have to go. I really loved my old school, Kingsbury Middle School; it was run incredibly efficient, which is a testament to the great administration and teachers there, but all good things must come to an end. I was the least senior teacher on staff, so I got my packing orders. I am now at Kate Bond Middle School, a brand-new school in northeast Memphis and it's a dream come true. Wonderful facilities, great resources and great kids. They're all (well, not all, but a good chunk) so well-behaved, it's kind of scary that I'm not more stressed out. Oh well, I'll take it. But, more behaved means less hilarious stories from kids who speak without thinking about it first. But I'll do my very best to bring you the funnies.
Journal Prompt: "Where do you see yourself in 5 years? In 10 years? What can you do now to ensure that you get there?"
AJ's Response: "I see myself being a biomedical engineer. A biomedical engineer makes leg implants and hip implants. In five years, I see myself in high school preparing to go to Princeton..."
Way to go, A, way to go.
Journal Prompt: "If you could fly somewhere for 7 days, where would you go and why?"
DR's Response: "I would go to Mexico to visit all of my family there...The last day I would get me some nice intelegent fine looking girls & party with them."
Well, at least they're intelligent.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
A Shout-out to Office Space, an Apple Hipster and a Comcastastrophe.
To preface my remarks, a cinematic representation of my feelings toward technology and the people who make that technology go.
Since it's my birthday, I feel like I'm allowed to vent a bit about the technological/interpersonal issue I've dealt with in the last week.
Wednesday, June 29:
The iPhone that was supposed to change my life was actually making my life more difficult because it didn't want to work correctly. My earpiece just stopped working, so I had two options:
A) Walk around talking to myself on my headphones looking like a lunatic until people realize that I'm not actually talking to myself, but just talking into my headphones to someone really important, OR
B) I could put my conversation on speakerphone for all the world to hear, which, actually, is even awkward when you're having just a normal conversation because EVERYONE around you feels the need to listen to how your wife's day is going.
So I go to the Apple store and see (no exaggeration) 17 sales associates roaming the floor helping no more than 6 customers. I'm numero seven. Nobody offers to help me. I awkwardly walk up to a group of four hipster salespeeps chatting - I felt inferior because, in the back of my head, I knew I only had a MacBook at home and not the MacBook Pro and, no, I don't have the latest app for that and, no, I haven't yet bought the super-exclusive Kate Spade iPhone cover and, no, I don't know who that band is and, no, I didn't go to that latest gallery showing that hipsters love - and asked for some help.
The following is actually gonna be pretty funny because of the irony of it all. As I walked in, there was a huge Teach for America display prompting people to donate their old iPads so that we TFAers can change the world one worthless app at a time. It being an Apple store and these being hipster associates (important to note that within the hipster culture, it's cool to be educated because how could you ever think to look down your nose at someone someone about a Jackson Pollack painting or an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel if you hadn't actually learned about them yourself?), I thought that they could solve my problem or at least explain to me in an intelligent way what I was to do to solve my problem. So she pulls out her iPhone to take down my information; she asks me for my e-mail address. My address begins with the word "chronicle" because it's the e-mail I used when I was an editor at my college newspaper, The Daily Utah Chronicle.
Girl: "Can I get your e-mail address?"
Me: "Yeah, it's 'chronicle'..."
She writes "cronical."
Me: "Oh, actually, it's 'le' at the end."
Girl: "Oh, duh, haha."
cronicale
Me: "No, I meant it ends 'cle,' not 'cal.' "
Girl: "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry."
cronicle
Me: "Oh, and there's an H after the first C."
cronichle
Me: "Uh, nope, how 'bout we just start over and I'll spell it? C..H..R....."
Girl: "Okay, so now that I've got this, you'll have to set up an appointment to see someone at our Genius Bar. Does 5:30 tonight work for you?"
It was 11:15 a.m.
Me: "Well, it's something so small, can I just ask someone really quick?"
Girl: "No, we only have two technicians, so you'll have to make an appointment. Does 5:30 work?"
Me: "No, I have a meeting. When's the next appointment?"
Girl: "Tomorrow at 10:10 a.m."
Me: "Alright, just give me that one then."
Girl: "Well, sir, I actually can't make the appointment for you, but you can do it! Do you have the Apple Store app?"
Me: "What? The app? No, I don't come here often enough to necessitate an app on my phone that doesn't work."
Girl: "Well, all you need to do is download the app, put in our store number, check available times and then register your information! Or you can go on to Apple's website, type in our store, check available times and then register your information!"
Me (pretty frustrated at this point): "I don't want to download an app. Can't I just have you make the appointment for me in your system's computer? Doesn't that seem easier?"
Girl: "Um........I guess we could log into a computer here and have you do it.....I guess that would work."
I was appalled. Now, I think technology is wonderful and I can't imagine my life without constant GPS and Internet capability, but this is ridiculous. They have completely outsourced paper and pens for iPads and iPhones and useless apps to make an effing appointment.
So I made my appointment and never received the confirmation e-mail that she promised because my e-mail address is chronicle., not cronicaldot.
Friday, July 1:
We just moved, so we had to take care of all the moving responsibilities that nobody loves to do: switching over our mailing address to EVERY organization that has your old address, turning on the lights and water, and getting your Internet and cable set up.
Now, the cable wasn't so important, but we definitely needed Internet because my wife is doing a teaching program over the summer and needs the Internet to plan lessons every single night, so it is an absolute necessity. So I called Comcast and they set everything up to be installed on Friday from 11-2. We were set to drive up to Pittsburgh (a 12-hour journey so we needed to leave as soon as possible). So I asked the girl if they could come closer to 11 than 2 and she said that she'd put a note on there for me and that they would call an hour before to give me a heads up. Well, it gets to be 12:30 and still no call and we gotta hit the road, so I have my wife call just to see when the guy will be here. After 15 minutes on hold, we finally get a human on the line who tells us that we actually rescheduled the appointment for Monday, July 4 (when we're in Pittsburgh). I inform her that we didn't do that at all and that we need someone out here in the next half hour to get our stuff turned on. She tells us that because of the mix-up, they can't get someone to our house until July 8 and that she's "really sorry about the misunderstanding."
Long story short: I get her manager and flip the F out, so he tells me that he can get someone here on Tuesday, July 5, but it's not guaranteed, it's only possible if someone else cancels their appointment. I proceed to tell him to cancel some other poor soul's appointment to set up my service and then he can have the exact same conversation with that person about why nobody showed up at their house. We agree that they'll be there the 5th or I'm burning the place down.
Four hours later, I get a confirmation call that an installer will be there on July 5 from 8-11 a.m. Great news.
Monday, July 4
Driving back from Pittsburgh, my wife and I decided to call just to confirm our appointment for the next day. The woman confirms my appointment, but not for the next day, but the 6th. I tell her that's absolutely wrong and she gets her manager. Her manager proceeds to tell me that the technician must have called in sick, but nobody will be there the next day. I demand some kind of credit to my account for the hassle and we set up for Wednesday, July 6 from 8-11 a.m.
Wednesday, July 6:
10:30 a.m., doorbell rings. Tarvis the Comcast Man is here to save the day.
Tarvis: "So where's everything going today?"
Me (in the living room): "The Internet and DVR will go in this ro...."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it doesn't have me listed as installing a DVR, just an adapter."
Me: "Well, you're installing the adapter in the bedroom."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it says I'm only setting up one TV with an adapter, not a DVR."
Blood begins to boil. I start to see red. I've already called my backcountry terrorist friend from West Virginia to inflict injury on Comcast.
Me: "No, no, no, this is the fourth time I'm getting bent over by Comcast. Call them and fix this."
So Tarvis calls - and to his credit, Tarvis was a great guy, very helpful, but it wasn't his fault, he was just the messenger. He tells me that he brought all the equipment necessary because the notes on his invoice list a DVR, but the charges don't, BUT that Comcast can't add the DVR unless I want to reschedule my appointment. Uh. Hells no. If I do that, at this rate, they won't show up again until October. So he set everything up, but I had to go to the Comcast office and exchange the stuff he installed for the DVR after 4 p.m.
So, really, what should have taken an hour on Friday, July 1, ended up taking six days of constant hassle, two missed appointments, one screwed-up appointment and a trip to the Comcast store nowhere near my house.
Sorry for the length, but I had to get it off my chest.
So, to conclude where I started, a clip from Office Space.
Since it's my birthday, I feel like I'm allowed to vent a bit about the technological/interpersonal issue I've dealt with in the last week.
Wednesday, June 29:
The iPhone that was supposed to change my life was actually making my life more difficult because it didn't want to work correctly. My earpiece just stopped working, so I had two options:
A) Walk around talking to myself on my headphones looking like a lunatic until people realize that I'm not actually talking to myself, but just talking into my headphones to someone really important, OR
B) I could put my conversation on speakerphone for all the world to hear, which, actually, is even awkward when you're having just a normal conversation because EVERYONE around you feels the need to listen to how your wife's day is going.
So I go to the Apple store and see (no exaggeration) 17 sales associates roaming the floor helping no more than 6 customers. I'm numero seven. Nobody offers to help me. I awkwardly walk up to a group of four hipster salespeeps chatting - I felt inferior because, in the back of my head, I knew I only had a MacBook at home and not the MacBook Pro and, no, I don't have the latest app for that and, no, I haven't yet bought the super-exclusive Kate Spade iPhone cover and, no, I don't know who that band is and, no, I didn't go to that latest gallery showing that hipsters love - and asked for some help.
The following is actually gonna be pretty funny because of the irony of it all. As I walked in, there was a huge Teach for America display prompting people to donate their old iPads so that we TFAers can change the world one worthless app at a time. It being an Apple store and these being hipster associates (important to note that within the hipster culture, it's cool to be educated because how could you ever think to look down your nose at someone someone about a Jackson Pollack painting or an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel if you hadn't actually learned about them yourself?), I thought that they could solve my problem or at least explain to me in an intelligent way what I was to do to solve my problem. So she pulls out her iPhone to take down my information; she asks me for my e-mail address. My address begins with the word "chronicle" because it's the e-mail I used when I was an editor at my college newspaper, The Daily Utah Chronicle.
Girl: "Can I get your e-mail address?"
Me: "Yeah, it's 'chronicle'..."
She writes "cronical."
Me: "Oh, actually, it's 'le' at the end."
Girl: "Oh, duh, haha."
cronicale
Me: "No, I meant it ends 'cle,' not 'cal.' "
Girl: "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry."
cronicle
Me: "Oh, and there's an H after the first C."
cronichle
Me: "Uh, nope, how 'bout we just start over and I'll spell it? C..H..R....."
Girl: "Okay, so now that I've got this, you'll have to set up an appointment to see someone at our Genius Bar. Does 5:30 tonight work for you?"
It was 11:15 a.m.
Me: "Well, it's something so small, can I just ask someone really quick?"
Girl: "No, we only have two technicians, so you'll have to make an appointment. Does 5:30 work?"
Me: "No, I have a meeting. When's the next appointment?"
Girl: "Tomorrow at 10:10 a.m."
Me: "Alright, just give me that one then."
Girl: "Well, sir, I actually can't make the appointment for you, but you can do it! Do you have the Apple Store app?"
Me: "What? The app? No, I don't come here often enough to necessitate an app on my phone that doesn't work."
Girl: "Well, all you need to do is download the app, put in our store number, check available times and then register your information! Or you can go on to Apple's website, type in our store, check available times and then register your information!"
Me (pretty frustrated at this point): "I don't want to download an app. Can't I just have you make the appointment for me in your system's computer? Doesn't that seem easier?"
Girl: "Um........I guess we could log into a computer here and have you do it.....I guess that would work."
I was appalled. Now, I think technology is wonderful and I can't imagine my life without constant GPS and Internet capability, but this is ridiculous. They have completely outsourced paper and pens for iPads and iPhones and useless apps to make an effing appointment.
So I made my appointment and never received the confirmation e-mail that she promised because my e-mail address is chronicle., not cronicaldot.
Friday, July 1:
We just moved, so we had to take care of all the moving responsibilities that nobody loves to do: switching over our mailing address to EVERY organization that has your old address, turning on the lights and water, and getting your Internet and cable set up.
Now, the cable wasn't so important, but we definitely needed Internet because my wife is doing a teaching program over the summer and needs the Internet to plan lessons every single night, so it is an absolute necessity. So I called Comcast and they set everything up to be installed on Friday from 11-2. We were set to drive up to Pittsburgh (a 12-hour journey so we needed to leave as soon as possible). So I asked the girl if they could come closer to 11 than 2 and she said that she'd put a note on there for me and that they would call an hour before to give me a heads up. Well, it gets to be 12:30 and still no call and we gotta hit the road, so I have my wife call just to see when the guy will be here. After 15 minutes on hold, we finally get a human on the line who tells us that we actually rescheduled the appointment for Monday, July 4 (when we're in Pittsburgh). I inform her that we didn't do that at all and that we need someone out here in the next half hour to get our stuff turned on. She tells us that because of the mix-up, they can't get someone to our house until July 8 and that she's "really sorry about the misunderstanding."
Long story short: I get her manager and flip the F out, so he tells me that he can get someone here on Tuesday, July 5, but it's not guaranteed, it's only possible if someone else cancels their appointment. I proceed to tell him to cancel some other poor soul's appointment to set up my service and then he can have the exact same conversation with that person about why nobody showed up at their house. We agree that they'll be there the 5th or I'm burning the place down.
Four hours later, I get a confirmation call that an installer will be there on July 5 from 8-11 a.m. Great news.
Monday, July 4
Driving back from Pittsburgh, my wife and I decided to call just to confirm our appointment for the next day. The woman confirms my appointment, but not for the next day, but the 6th. I tell her that's absolutely wrong and she gets her manager. Her manager proceeds to tell me that the technician must have called in sick, but nobody will be there the next day. I demand some kind of credit to my account for the hassle and we set up for Wednesday, July 6 from 8-11 a.m.
Wednesday, July 6:
10:30 a.m., doorbell rings. Tarvis the Comcast Man is here to save the day.
Tarvis: "So where's everything going today?"
Me (in the living room): "The Internet and DVR will go in this ro...."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it doesn't have me listed as installing a DVR, just an adapter."
Me: "Well, you're installing the adapter in the bedroom."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it says I'm only setting up one TV with an adapter, not a DVR."
Blood begins to boil. I start to see red. I've already called my backcountry terrorist friend from West Virginia to inflict injury on Comcast.
Me: "No, no, no, this is the fourth time I'm getting bent over by Comcast. Call them and fix this."
So Tarvis calls - and to his credit, Tarvis was a great guy, very helpful, but it wasn't his fault, he was just the messenger. He tells me that he brought all the equipment necessary because the notes on his invoice list a DVR, but the charges don't, BUT that Comcast can't add the DVR unless I want to reschedule my appointment. Uh. Hells no. If I do that, at this rate, they won't show up again until October. So he set everything up, but I had to go to the Comcast office and exchange the stuff he installed for the DVR after 4 p.m.
So, really, what should have taken an hour on Friday, July 1, ended up taking six days of constant hassle, two missed appointments, one screwed-up appointment and a trip to the Comcast store nowhere near my house.
Sorry for the length, but I had to get it off my chest.
So, to conclude where I started, a clip from Office Space.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Just a few years in Italy.
Well, as most have assumed, the school year is over and I'm filling you in with fun things that are going on post-munchkins.
As I was going through and organizing my lesson plans and files, I found these videos from the two-year religious mission I served in northern Italy from August 2006-August 2008. A couple might interest you for the mere sake of being interesting, but others might not be funny and/or make sense, so just pass over those.
1. I found an old suit jacket in the closet of one of the apartment in which I lived. It was some type of greenish-yellowish-tanish-all-sorts-of-"ish" and it was tweed and itchy. The person who left it in the apartment is probably dead or dying by now because it was bleeding 1962. I put it on and all of the sudden felt like a 1960s missionary, so I decided to act the part. I also was making jokes about zealous missionaries from ALL religions - mine included - who automatically assume that you're a terrible person just because you're a member of another faith. This was all done on the spot while a camera was running, so it's a bit choppy at times. Enjoy the 1962 Trent Lowe.
2. In a tiny city called Merate, there is a woman who defies all logic, meaning, she's crazy. She has a long, hot-pink rat tail surrounding by really short hair that doesn't lend itself generally to females. Every time we would go there, she would shout for her son Massimo. And when I say "shout," I mean she would scream at the top of her lungs for her son, Massimo, and her other twin sons to stop playing video games and come say hi to us. I never actually saw Massimo until my last visit when he came out dressed all in black with eyeliner and a Playstation controller in his hand. He had long black hair that went over his eyes and he just mumbled that he didn't want to see us. But...before we actually met the kid, we had only heard his voice yelling back that he "didn't care about" us. We kind of imagined him being a hunchback that was allergic to sunlight and would hobble around yelling at people when he wasn't playing his Playstation or XBox.
3. The other companionship in our apartment met these two guys at the hospital in Bergamo. The guitarist is an Italian hippie who was just along for the ride. Apparently, he had an infection and was at the hospital to get it checked out. If you know anything about Italian healthcare, it's that a simple infection can take you a VEERRRRYYYY long time to fix. Socialists. The fiddler is an American kid who lives in Oregon and was, at the time, applying to world-renowned Juilliard School of Music in New York City. He goes to Europe each summer to just roam and be a street performer for money. Go Mr. Oregon.
Just a few years in Italy.
As I was going through and organizing my lesson plans and files, I found these videos from the two-year religious mission I served in northern Italy from August 2006-August 2008. A couple might interest you for the mere sake of being interesting, but others might not be funny and/or make sense, so just pass over those.
1. I found an old suit jacket in the closet of one of the apartment in which I lived. It was some type of greenish-yellowish-tanish-all-sorts-of-"ish" and it was tweed and itchy. The person who left it in the apartment is probably dead or dying by now because it was bleeding 1962. I put it on and all of the sudden felt like a 1960s missionary, so I decided to act the part. I also was making jokes about zealous missionaries from ALL religions - mine included - who automatically assume that you're a terrible person just because you're a member of another faith. This was all done on the spot while a camera was running, so it's a bit choppy at times. Enjoy the 1962 Trent Lowe.
2. In a tiny city called Merate, there is a woman who defies all logic, meaning, she's crazy. She has a long, hot-pink rat tail surrounding by really short hair that doesn't lend itself generally to females. Every time we would go there, she would shout for her son Massimo. And when I say "shout," I mean she would scream at the top of her lungs for her son, Massimo, and her other twin sons to stop playing video games and come say hi to us. I never actually saw Massimo until my last visit when he came out dressed all in black with eyeliner and a Playstation controller in his hand. He had long black hair that went over his eyes and he just mumbled that he didn't want to see us. But...before we actually met the kid, we had only heard his voice yelling back that he "didn't care about" us. We kind of imagined him being a hunchback that was allergic to sunlight and would hobble around yelling at people when he wasn't playing his Playstation or XBox.
3. The other companionship in our apartment met these two guys at the hospital in Bergamo. The guitarist is an Italian hippie who was just along for the ride. Apparently, he had an infection and was at the hospital to get it checked out. If you know anything about Italian healthcare, it's that a simple infection can take you a VEERRRRYYYY long time to fix. Socialists. The fiddler is an American kid who lives in Oregon and was, at the time, applying to world-renowned Juilliard School of Music in New York City. He goes to Europe each summer to just roam and be a street performer for money. Go Mr. Oregon.
Just a few years in Italy.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
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