Making do...

Well, looks like the Headmaster is sleeping in the Main Hall.

Guess we'll just have to make the best of it.

All Partied Out

When the Headmistress plans a party, the Headmaster tries to help out as best he can. It is the least I can do, after all the Headmistress does schlep off to work everyday, and her efforts do represent the Academy's entire stream of income. So you can just imagine how she felt - how loved, how supported, how positively blessed she felt - when she arrived home from a difficult week at work, and an even more difficult commute from Virginia, to find that I'd gone through all the trouble of starting a living room remodel project. I even skipped making dinner just to make more progress in my demolition. I mean, there are tarps covering everything in sight, there are gaping holes in the ceiling, through which the room is filled with the cold January air, there is drywall and insulation dust all over EVERYTHING, and there are exposed wires everywhere. Gosh, its enough to make a woman positively blush with pride!

And she certainly did blush. She walked in to the living room, gasped, gaped, staggered, stared for a while, and then ran off to the bedroom. I've never quite seen such a deep color of red in a human face. Wow, it certainly is true that 4" Insulated Small-Aperture Air-tite Recessed Light Housings are a girl's best friend.


Think I'll just set here a spell until she's had a chance to digest it all. I've got a feeling the Headmaster is getting lucky tonight!

Dumpin' on Virginia

On the 8th of September, 1862, General Robert E. Lee, commander of the confederate Army of Northern Virginia, entered Maryland on a campaign to lure a disorganized Army of the Potomac away from the Capital and defeat them on their own turf. He carried a document titled "Lee's Proclamation to the People of Maryland". In it, he described his army's actions as an attempt to free Maryland from transgressions committed by the U.S. Government, and asked that Maryland consider aiding them in their efforts. In conclusion, he declared:

"This army will respect your choice, whatever it may be; and, while the Southern people will rejoice to welcome you to your natural position among them, they will only welcome you when you come of your own free will."

Needless to say, he went home empty-handed. (Thanks, in large part, to someone in their ranks dropping Special Order 191 for the Union forces to find. Doh!) Of course, it is no surprise that Fredericktown (today's Frederick) gave them the cold shoulder. So there you have it - even though they apparently agreed on point of secession, if not slavery, the two states still couldn't get along even then. And over the ensuing years the Maryland/Virginia rivalry has flourished.

So which is better? Tough to say. Traffic is a wash - the two worst commuter snarls in the area, according to the Metropolitan Washington Council of Governments, are 495 in Montgomery County, between 270 and Conn. Ave, and 395 in Arlington, near the District line. Virginia comes out ahead on Business Growth, due in large part to aggressive tort reform. According to a study commissioned by the Wilson Bridge project, Marylanders have longer commutes, and generally leave for work earlier than do Virginians. According to the Washington Post, Maryland receives more press coverage than does Virginia. According to an independent study, Marylanders pay less in taxes. Virginia executes minors (strange factoid). After the Marriott Corporation was wooed by Virginia and decided to stay in Montgomery County, Casper Taylor, the speaker of the Maryland House of Delegates, said "Our team is red hot. Virginia's team is all shot." So clearly Maryland has the advantage in catchy slogans.

Since I've lived just about everywhere around the Beltway (Alexandria, Arlington, Springfield, Falls Church, Cathedral Heights, Rockville, Crystal City, Huntington, Crofton, Bowie, Highland), and I've worked just about everywhere around the Beltway (Annandale, Shirlington, Marlow Heights, Cherry Hill, Glendale, Herndon, Springfield, Washington D.C., Rockville, Gaithersburg, Laurel, Columbia), I have been on both sides of the struggle. When I lived in Virginia, I bashed Maryland. When I lived in Maryland, I bashed Virginia. And when I lived in the District, I never saw the likes of either, and didn't give a crap.

We've all heard the arguments. [Fill_in_the_blank] has too many drugs and too much crime (check out Va's flag). They pay too much in taxes. There is too much traffic. People there drive like idiots. The roads are confusing. Etc. etc.

In the end, it seems to be a draw. But having straddled both sides of this fence, I feel that there is one distinct advantage that has drawn me to Maryland forever: cops here don't give a crap. I mean, come on! You pretty much have to be hanging out a window firing certain types of automatic weapons to get pulled over. Cops in Virginia are so... cop-like. They're all like "This is the city. Fairfax, Virginia. I carry a badge.". Forget to put your blinker on and you are BUSTED.

And the thing I hate most about Northern Virginia? The "Best In Show" mania they all seem to have with their kids. The competition is FREAKING FIERCE. Whenever we get together with our NoVa friends, its all about junior's accomplishments, the TAG programs he's sailing through, the extracurricular programs he is excelling in, and the college scholarships he is lining up.

Junior is 6.

I show up with my two socially-stunted, ragtag-looking kids, and hide in the corner.

Today I took those kids to the dump for school (actually, we conducted school en-route). Now that's living the life in Maryland. But after talking with the gate attendant, I did take one interesting piece of information away. It seems that all household trash from Howard County's Alpha Ridge Landfill is shipped to Virginia's King George County.

Ha! Take that Virginia!

Don't Judgementate Me

Judgementative (juj-men-ta-tiv)
Origin: unknown
Function: adjective
1: marked by the pronouncement of a formal, authoritatative opinion
2: of, relating to, or involving judgement
3: characterized by a tendency to judge harshly

- Judgementatively [E-] adverb

- more at Condemnativical

Today's school session involved some physics experiments. We wanted to use velocity to predict the range of a moving object, when movement is expressed in 3-dimensional terms. Of course, velocity is defined as the rate of change of distance per unit time, but is generally expressed in a single dimension. Often, trajectory will be used in tandem with velocity to predict range, but we wanted to eliminate the parabolic effects of gravity upon the trajectory of a moving object - in other words, eliminate trajectory altogether by testing the velocity of an object on a level plane.

We began by constructing a launch platform, which consisted of three straight sections of PVC pipe, each with a diameter of 5.08 cm, and a length of 1.219 meters. Next, three projectiles were selected randomly from a box containing a wide variety of objects. Each participant was asked to use their knowledge of the properties of 3D velocity to predict the ultimate outcome of the launch. These projectiles were then simultaneously released down the pipe, results were recorded, and then compared with the Headmaster's prediction of outcome. The process was repeated for several hours.

The Headmaster is pleased to report that he did, in fact, kick some student ass.

(how are we ever going to get the the real Homer?)

Homer's Lesser-Known Works

The headmaster took up reading "The Well-Trained Mind" by Jessie Wise and Susan Wise Bauer this evening, trying to get some mid-year inspiration. Somehow we must find a way to get the students from "this is a pencil", to "applied elocutio in How Antiochus the Great lost control of Syria".

Shouldn't be too difficult, right?

When the headmaster got to Chapter 34, "Some People Hate Homer", he had something of an epiphany, since he can certainly relate to Homer. He went straight to his collection of beer bottle caps, and rounded up the students for a rousing game of "Beer Cap Challenge"!

It seems that the Headmaster has been collecting unique beer bottle caps for some time, and is rather proud of his collection. This is a game he made up on a night when his bottle cap collection grew considerably.

Each student reaches into a coffee can full of beer bottle caps, and selects one at random, keeping it hidden from others' view. When all students have made their selection, they deliver them to the Headmaster, who mixes them up, looks them over, and then chooses the best beer of the bunch. Whoever selected that cap gets to keep it. After the entire collection of caps has been depleted, the one with the most bottle caps wins.

Now if that doesn't get them in the mood to study Homer Simpson, the Headmaster doesn't know what will.

One of those days

The Headmaster has locked himself in the laboratory this afternoon. One wonders what happens on those days when the simplest of things - say, a journal entry - seem to take hours. When students forget how to write a date properly. When they forget how to spell the word "T-H-E". When, with pencil in hand, they ask the teacher "how do I erase this?"

Sometimes you just need to begin class by saying "Good morning students. This is a pencil...."

Isn't God's Org-Chart Flat?

Church this morning was less than inspiring. I've become a Rick Laribee brat. 'Cuz if he ain't there, I'm having difficulty getting my God on. Apparently others feel the same way, because the 11:00 service was nearly empty. But still, there were some enlightening moments.

I am no expert in church rituals and etiquette, and even less so in the Episcopalian-flavored varieties. But some things about this church have puzzled me. First, when we arrive we usually have to make our way past a virtual brigade of men and women of the cloth. I'm not sure which cloth though. Or perhaps a better way of phrasing that is I'm unsure what their particular cloth means. They look something like Catholic altar boys. Their garb consists of a white robe worn over street clothes, with a black tab-collar shirt underneath. I see this shirt and I automatically want to say "Hello Fadda". But I just don't know - are they Faddas? And what on earth do I call the women? "Muddas"?

See, that's one of the things I actually like about the Catholic Church - I know my place. I understand who is who, I know how to address them, and I know where I fit into the enormous Catholic org-chart: squarely at the bottom, below and to the right of "Administration and Maintenance".

One of the curious things about these particular people at our church is that they all have the blank stare of a Stepford Wife. On lithium. Their demeanor seems designed to discourage any attempt to make eye contact.

This morning they were milling, as a group, around the nave's entry when we walked in. We must have caught them by surprise because I actually succeeded in making eye contact with one of them. I smiled at him, nodded and mouthed the words "good morning" - it just felt best to merely mouth the greeting, since it was likely that any conversation with this person might require an accompanying bow or curtsy, and in the absence of that, you might be forgiven if you'd only mouthed the words. At any rate, my greeting was received as warmly as one might receive an offering of cheeze whiz, when expecting Boursin. Undaunted, I tried another greeting, in the same fashion, with the unfriendly-looking chap standing next to him. He merely stared through me in such an intense manner that I actually turned around to see what he might be looking at, behind my transparent self.

Finding nothing there, I decided to move on.

These people always travel as one - the entire group. Where one goes, the others follow. During service, they generally congregate with the organist in the north transept. It finally dawned on me, during today's service, that these people were the choir. Well, that explains the empty stare - its connected to their handsome voices. Because they've each received the gift of an angelic voice, they feel as though they're guaranteed a place among the ultimate flock. They don't even try anymore. I personally don't sing in church, because I figure that if God had meant for me to sing in church, he'd have given me one of those voices.

Satisfied that I'd solved that little mystery, I settled in to hear today's gospel reading of John 2:1-11, The Wedding at Cana. Jesus and his disciples are mingling at the wedding feast when the bridgegroom runs out of wine for his guests. No wine at a Jewish celebration?! Mary calls upon her son Jesus to rescue the situation. Like any good son, he initially cops an attitude. Eventually though, he transforms several large vessels of water into wine, and saves the party. The servants bring a saucer of wine to an anxious chief steward, who, upon tasting the wine, remarks to the bridgegroom "Wow! Most people serve the good wine first, and then serve the bad wine after the guests have become drunk. But you serve the good wine now."

Ok! Now here is some scripture that I can relate to. The water had obviously been transformed into Layer Cake Shiraz.

The minister's sermon focused on the symbolism of the vessels overflowing with wine, as related to God's abundance. I was still thinking about that nice Layer Cake, but did manage to catch some of what she was saying. In conclusion, she reflected upon her own relationship to this story of a wedding in Cana, in an allegorical sense. She asked (rhetorically, I later figured out) "Who am I in this story?" Before I could answer her, she went on, concluding that she was, symbolically speaking, the character of Mary. (Doh! I'm glad I didn't speak up, 'cuz I'd have been wrong.)

In the seconds that followed, one could sense, by the sitting-up and squaring of the shoulders, that the choir fancied themselves as perhaps the chief steward, the bridegroom, or maybe even better. Thus, with all the plum roles apparently spoken for, the rest of the congregation was left to assume that they were the drunken guests.

Except for me. I'm well below them, further down and to the right of "Administration and Maintenance".

Inside my Drawers

Ever since I began to entertain thoughts of being a homeowner, I've always imagined having a library packed with expensive, leather-bound books that I'd never read. The 20' tall bookcases support a sliding ladder for reaching the tallest tomes. You know, to dust them off, or something. An Irish Setter sprawls on an oriental rug in front of the crackling fireplace.

But this is all just backdrop for the REAL centerpiece - the desk. 'Cuz the whole purpose of the room is to showcase the expansive, inlaid mahogany desk where I would sit and calculate my golf handicap and my net worth. The large set of drawers on the right-hand side glide open to reveal my portfolios, a passport and a leather valise with cash. The drawers on the left-hand side would contain some.. obscure important papers - I never really thought that part through. Anyway, this desk would be so solid that special concrete footers would have to be poured under the foundation to support the weight. I'd have to hire an engineering firm just to calculate load distribution and sheer values. In fact, they'd probably have a permanent trailer in the back yard (with a concrete crèche in front of it), to house the engineers.

I was thinking about all this today as I gazed wistfully upon the desk in my bedroom. It is solid mahogany, but there is more of trailer home to this desk than engineering trailer. I got the desk at an auction held by a former employer. It had a busted leg and was missing some hardware, but I got it for a little under $20. I fixed the leg, replaced the hardware, stripped the finish, and coated it with tung oil. For a 20-something, it was a good find. For a 40-something, its beginning to get that aged patina of yard sale material. The tung oil is a distant memory at this point, the hardware is dated, and there's a gouge on the right side where one of the kids ran into it with an axe. (it is fairly alarming that the previous sentence didn't strike me as at all concerning)

Rather than anchoring a room full of expensive leather folios, it barely supports the weight of 7 books arranged haphazardly on its left side. Add in the weight of an artificial poinsettia, two small framed pictures and a candleholder, all illuminated by the glow of a 7-watt accent lamp, and its a miracle that the desk is still standing at all.

A quick inventory of the books finds five that no one in this house has ever read, including one titled "Memorial Addresses on the Life and Character of Garret A. Hobart, January 10 and 26, 1900." On the inside cover is a small, sepia-infused card imprinted with a picture of someone on a ladder dusting the books at the top of his 20' bookcases, and the words "From the Library of Jim Chandler". When the hell did I do that? I don't even remember where this book came from. I suppose its a good thing I put that card in there though. You know, in case someone ever wants to borrow the book.


Back to the desk. A sharp tug opens the stubborn right-hand drawer (noun, singular form). The following items are revealed inside:

• A pair of tweezers


• A single athletic tube sock


• Some Yu-Gi-Oh cards


• An eclectic collection of elastic hair bands, most with hair in them


• A pack of gum, likely from the estate of Garret A. Hobart

I decide not to look in the left-hand drawer.

You know, I suppose I should feel depressed, inadequate, let-down. But really, I don't even care. Now that I find concerning.

A Box It Ain't

What with all the talk recently about the superiority of boxed wines, I'm a little hesitant to post a recommendation. But a new wine shop opened up in the Maple Lawn shopping center near Highland. Its called I.M. Wine. LOVE this place! I made this purchase the other day. It breaks the $9.99 rule, but only by 7 bucks. Highly recommended - its One Hundred Percent Pure! I'm going to risk all my credibility and say that its the best wine I've ever tasted. I'm risking it all, baby!

**hollow clinking sound as a single plastic poker chip hits the betting table, followed by an awkward silence**

Recently, our play group was held at Rynn-Mason Preparatory in Columbia. And we all know play group, like Sunday service, is all about the wine. Gloria, Opening Prayer, Creed. Homily. Ok, got it. Uh, what's in the carafe there, Fadda?

Well the Headmistress at Rynn-Mason uncorked a bottle of Cakebread Cellars Pinot Noir. Most excellent! Given the duration of curriculum discussions, a bottle of Rodney Strong Cab was then opened. Another winner! Of course, the Academy's endowment won't allow us to hang with that crowd too long.

So it appears that the word "CAKE" on the label is probably an indication of an excellent vintage. For box wine fans, anything by Betty Crocker should do.

And now, let us all face East and bow to the mecca of malolactic fermentation - Sunny Spring Secondary.

Really Plastered

If you have no interest in faux venetian plaster, or anything with the word venetian in front of it, or anything with the word faux in front of the word venetian in front of it, please skip this entry. You have my unending admiration.

For all others, do please read on.

(Thank God we got rid of those losers. Can you imagine?)

So anyway, I guess I lied. The treatment is more difficult than I'd remembered. I think this is due to the fact that time heals old wounds, and I'm a LOT older than I was the last time I tried this.

If you missed the post on applying the plaster, check that out first.

Once you've got all that done, and you've painted it first with a primer and then with an eggshell-finish paint, then you're ready for the glazing. Helpful hint: Where possible, apply the primer and eggshell paint with a roller, not a brush - the end result will be much smoother.

Get the temperature right. Don't let the house be too hot and dry. And make sure there is no draft on the wall where you'll be working. You don't want the glaze drying too fast.

Ok, now you're ready to begin. Having some glaze is a good place to start. I get mine at Lowes. In this case, its American Tradition Translucent Color Glaze, Mocha. Its "Satisfaction Guaranteed!"

You'll need a brush at least 4" wide, a small pail to hold the glaze, and a bunch of cheesecloth. (whatever you do, don't run out of anything in the middle of the job) You'll also need to put a tarp of some sort down on the floor, 'cuz the glaze'll be flying.

Be aware that once you start, you can't stop until you come to a corner. So look at your work area, and strategize the best place to start. Hint: if its a large wall, you may need to take a break at some point - a good place to do that is above a door. This should tell you that large areas are a bitch, so starting with a smaller wall will help you get the hang of things. Now here is the thing about corners - you'll need to tape the opposing wall, so that no glaze gets on it. This is true even if you plan on glazing that wall also, because you don't want to get any glaze on that wall until you are ready to start that wall.

Now here is the part I forgot. You need two people. Don't the best things in life require a partner anyway? Well, it doesn't get any better than faux venetian plaster! Check your Kama Sutra. Can't find a partner? I am really sorry about your situation. You may want to go join the other losers who skipped this post altogether.

Cut the cheesecloth so you have half a dozen or so 3-4' sections, folded over to the size of a large sponge.

If you haven't already worked this one out at some point, you and your partner will have to decide who will assume which position. One will have to be the applicator, and the other will have to be the rubber. As in, rubbing the glaze off, for chrissakes. You'll need to put on some latex gloves before you start.

The applicator begins by slathering the glaze onto the wall. It will look VERY dark.


After the applicator has covered about 3-5 feet, the rubber will have to get involved. By now the glaze that was first applied should be starting to dry. Dry is bad, so you have to work fast at this point. Begin rubbing the glaze off. If it appears that its just wiping right off, stop and let it dry some more. It should wipe off, but still leave a good deal of the mocha color.


Continue wiping until you are satisfied with the look of it. At some point, it may be necessary to discard a soaked piece of cheesecloth and get a new one. When you do this, you'll have to be careful since it will take more glaze off than the previous soaked one. But keep that soaked one handy, 'cuz you may need it to "add" more color as you go. The more you rub, the better it is. I mean, you know, the better it will look. So keep going over it, while minding not to let the leading edge of your work dry out - in other words, you've got to keep going.

Just keep working it, trying to keep up with your partner. You know, the one applying the glaze. If you need to stop, do it above a door where it will be less noticable. And it will be noticable, so try to keep going - if people can sail solo across the Atlantic, you can make it to that damn corner with a partner.

The great thing about this is that it doesn't have to be perfect - in fact, imperfections make it better. The finished product should look something like this (hand inserted for scale).


Sigh... a cigarette would be great right about now.

Go To Your Room!

The Headmaster has observed that no two school days are alike. It isn't entirely clear what the variables are, but some combination of food (or lack thereof), drink (or lack thereof), drugs (or lack thereof) and sleep (or lack thereof) - on the part of the students and the Headmaster - conspires to set the tone for the day.

Some days, ain't nothin' workin'. No one is focusing, and everyone is pissed. Only chemistry can fix that situation, and on those days you'll find the Headmaster checking the inventory of the laboratory's chemical locker. Fortunately, we don't have too many of those days. Usually someone is on the ball, and that's enough to build on. But when one of the students is completely zoned out, what to do?

Back in the "Real World", with 20-30 students, teachers simply can't stop to deal with this situation. If the teacher did stop to call one of them out or put them on the spot, that student invariably emerges from the confrontation as a hero to the rest of the class. Therefore, as the student, you are allowed to let your mind wander to whatever happy place it seeks; you're permitted to check out. Sure, it eventually catches up with you, and you pay the price. But for today, in the here and now, relaaaaax - go ahead and check out.

This real world method - putting the decision in the student's hands - has its advantages and disadvantages. Over the long run, hopefully the student learns to temper his/her distractions. They'll learn how to overcome them and stay focused. This certainly promotes responsibility. Of course, it can also be disastrous. Too much time goes by, too much material is missed, and the parents might not even be aware until its too late. Back in the day, the Headmaster certainly attended his share of remedial math and english classes.

Can you imagine if parents could see how their kids behaved in class? What if, for example, a parent could navigate to the class webcam and see their kid snoozing with his head on the desk? Talk about getting cut down at the knees when you arrive home and walk through the door. Or even better, what if the parents were watching from behind a two-way mirror? Think of the embarrassment of having your mom march into your class and whack you on the back of the head.

That's why, here at the Academy, things aren't quite as simple as the real world. If a student is permitted to check out, chaos rules. Sure, the teacher knows the student is distracted, but so does the parent. And the parent can react immediately. That poses a unique problem for the Headmaster, since he shares both roles. And around here, we do assume roles. We've been role-playing since the very beginning, and we continue to this day. Dad gets them ready for school, then kisses them goodbye and waves as they walk around the corner to the classroom. The next person to enter the classroom is the Headmaster.

"Good morning students."
"Good morning teacher."

Is that weird, or what? Somehow, it helps us shift our paradigm from parent/child to teacher/student. And they will call me "teacher" for the duration of the school day. When classes are over, they'll exit the classroom and head "home". The next person they see is Daddy. And we'll actually talk about their school day.

Sounds great, if not a little strange. But a real problem arises when discipline is required. Usually, the Headmaster can handle it. But sometimes, Dad has to get involved. And the transition isn't always a smooth one. Take yesterday for example. One of the students simply would not focus, and everything seemed to be very funny to him. He began to distract the one student who was paying attention. The poor Headmaster tried to rectify the situation time and again, but alas, he failed. Remember those scenes from "Incredible Hulk" when David Banner would cower behind a bookcase, get transformed, and emerge as a big green monster? Well, its kinda like that, but without the cowering part, and without the bookcase. Its pretty instantaneous.

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

Is that bad? Well, of course it is, dumbass. Hey, think you've got a better way? That's awesome, 'cuz the Academy is accepting applications for teaching positions. The hours are great, but the pay sucks.

The Headmaster wishes students came with a remote control. Student acting a little sluggish? Just press the fast-forward button. Got a Ritalin candidate on your hands? Slow-Play works great. Are they getting on your nerves? Hit Pause. Having a rough spot in the day? Press the Skip button and see if it gets any better. Having a particularly GOOD day? Hit REC, then play it back during the review session with the Howard County Review Board.

Hey, when all else fails, just hit the Smart button.

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postscript - When a student of the Academy is sent back to the dorms, there are no video games for the rest of the day. Ooh, that's gotta hurt.

Oops

On an earlier post, I mentioned that I'd noticed someone from Germany hitting the Academy's blog, having navigated there from a porn television blog. I must clear up three things.

1. I can't tell who is hitting my site. For example, everyone from this area looks virtually the same, except for IP address. And while I love y'all, I don't have your IP addresses on speed-dial.

2. The referring link only shows me where someone is coming from when they hit my site from blogspot.com. So, for example, I can see that someone is navigating to my blog from http://sunnyspringbliss.blogspot.com (yes, do go check that blog out), but not from actual porn sites. Really. I've tested this extensively. In fact, its virtually all I've been doing for the past several days.

3. I had to go back and modify that post. It seems that folks in Europe searching for the blog in question were being directed to my post. And while there is an element of humor in the contrast, that was just too cruel. Talk about buzz kill.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some more testing to do.

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Extra Credit - do you know which 80's album cover featured the picture above?