Last week a city high school teacher got busted for blogging about the bleakness of his place of employment. I found the Trib story fascinating because of its portrayal of a totally FUBAR school. Sez the Trib:

He labeled his students "criminals," saying they stole from teachers, dealt drugs in the hallways, had sex in the stairwells, flaunted their pregnant bellies and tossed books out windows. He dismissed their parents as unemployed "project" dwellers who subsist on food stamps, refuse to support their "baby mommas" and bad-mouth teachers because their no-show teens are flunking.He took swipes at his colleagues, too--"union-minimum" teachers, literacy specialists who "decorate their office door with pro-black propaganda," and security officers whose "loyalty is to the hood, not the school."

Needless to say this pissed off a whole lot of people. The writer stopped going back to work because he said he feared for his safety.

I spent some time in the K-5 version of this, back in (you guessed it) B-more. The part about the security guards really hit home. One of the sadder experiences I remember was when we had to cancel a Halloween party because one of the parent aides (they handled security, maintenance and all sorts of odd jobs) stole all of the refreshments. His soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend later saw him hawking 2-liter Pepsi bottles out on the corner.

So while his description is mean-spirited and unfair, I wouldn't call it made-up. Also familiar were the students' and teachers' objections:

"Although many of our students adopt tough facades and insist they are grown, they are still children: sensitive children who still crave guidance, encouraging words and positive reinforcement," wrote teacher Gina Miski.

They used to say this about the second-graders I worked with. That's pretty bad, when you have to sell people on this idea and you're talking about 7-year-olds. 

¶ 8:59 PM

  At the gym My work got less crazy about a month ago and now I can actually go to the gym again.

I go to the gym next to my work. So there's always the risk of being naked around all the people I work with. On the one hand, I really don't care, and I certainly don't want to be all weird about it. But then I can't be sure if they're all weird about it, and I don't want to make them feel weird, especially the people who report to me. So I avoid getting dressed anywhere near them, and if I avoid it then there's definitely weirdness being generated.

There are some people who are totally not self-conscious at all, and around them I'm not bothered because there's no feedback loop of weirdness.

Whenever I can, I go to step class. Until recently I was completely in awe of the steppers. They're stringy, they're face-lifted, they all have 2 or 3 steps stacked up, and they do the most amazing combos without any trouble whatsoever. I'm like, WTF is wrong with me that I'm 30 years old, I've been stepping for years and still can't pick up the combos like these crazy oldsters? I'm not the only one, either -- no one from my work EVER goes to step class. One time my boss went and the instructor actually kicked her out for being a beginner.

Then one day I got there and everyone was totally clumsy. They didn't know what the hell they were doing and for once my pitiful, out-of-shape efforts made me the big prodigy. That was when I figured it out. There are only 3 or 4 different routines, and all the regulars have them memorized. They're complicated, hourlong routines, and they take weeks or months to learn. So on this day, the instructor was trying to teach everyone a new routine. Take that, oldsters!

UPDATE: I just looked at Blogger to see if my blog would be one of the scrolling blogs they featured. It wasn't -- that thing is totally fixed! -- but I did come upon this entertaining find: http://monchiii.blogspot.com/ 

¶ 9:46 PM

  What a gem! Thank ye, Ianqui, for sharing this gem. When Chevy asks people to make ads for their incredibly honkin' new SUV, subversive inspiration is the result.

What else is new? Spring has come to Chicago. It's just like winter, but the days are 13 hours long and the birds sing all the time.

I finally managed to get contacts. Woo-hoo!! 

¶ 10:58 PM

  I became the freak-of-the-week I was leaving the gym, heading toward Michigan Avenue a half-block or so away, when the light turned green. How could I miss the light? I was wearing gym clothes, after all! So I sprinted for the light.

I had a big plastic bag of my work clothes on one arm, a bright green suede jacket on the other (full of bezippered '80s style), and an orange-and-black backpack on my back. All were bouncing around like mad. But I would not, could not slow down.

I had meant to tighten my drawstring pants at the gym, but forgot. Now they began making their way down my ass. They were maybe a third of the way down as I entered the intersection. I extracted two fingers from my belongings so I could hold them up. My bags and my half-bare ass now all bounced together. Still I ran.

Topping it all off, by the time I was halfway through the intersection I was grinning like a maniac because I just knew I had to look completely, completely ridiculous. 

¶ 10:26 PM