Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Pointless.
Today's amazing encounter was with a young lady who in a perfectly delightful manner told an utterly pointless story. Allow me to explain.
The young lady in question has an honest diagnosis of ADD/ADHD. She is not a slacker or dirtbag, and in fact I have had trouble with her before, but today I loved her for having an honest disability, rather the the Socialist diagnosis of any fuckhead with some kind of social problem being coddled as 'disabled' and having wasted money spent on them as 'disabled'. Anyway.
The amazing thing about her story was that it reflected her mental disability, and her story was not, surprisingly, random, but utterly pointless. Like I say, it did not miss a point, and was completely not unintelligent, but every time her story would reach a crescendo or culmination or resolution it digressed into something else. It was amazing. And she had, charmingly, no sense of irony about it at all.
I now have seared into my brain an unforgettable mental image of a McDonald's employee chasing a homeless man clad in flapping coat and hat with earflaps, riding a pink stolen girl's bicycle, equipped with training wheels, across a WalMart parking lot in a snowstorm, the employee shouting, "STOP, THIEF!"
It got more absurd from there. It was amazing. You know, Franz Kafka spent years polishing his stories so as to communicate chaos, anarchy, and diabolical nonsense; this girl did it with no effort at all.
When she finished, other students complained, "Mr. LN, that story didn't make no sense!" I responded, "I know. Thank you, Ms. L, thank you. Bravo". And I applauded her with forthright honesty.
The young lady in question has an honest diagnosis of ADD/ADHD. She is not a slacker or dirtbag, and in fact I have had trouble with her before, but today I loved her for having an honest disability, rather the the Socialist diagnosis of any fuckhead with some kind of social problem being coddled as 'disabled' and having wasted money spent on them as 'disabled'. Anyway.
The amazing thing about her story was that it reflected her mental disability, and her story was not, surprisingly, random, but utterly pointless. Like I say, it did not miss a point, and was completely not unintelligent, but every time her story would reach a crescendo or culmination or resolution it digressed into something else. It was amazing. And she had, charmingly, no sense of irony about it at all.
I now have seared into my brain an unforgettable mental image of a McDonald's employee chasing a homeless man clad in flapping coat and hat with earflaps, riding a pink stolen girl's bicycle, equipped with training wheels, across a WalMart parking lot in a snowstorm, the employee shouting, "STOP, THIEF!"
It got more absurd from there. It was amazing. You know, Franz Kafka spent years polishing his stories so as to communicate chaos, anarchy, and diabolical nonsense; this girl did it with no effort at all.
When she finished, other students complained, "Mr. LN, that story didn't make no sense!" I responded, "I know. Thank you, Ms. L, thank you. Bravo". And I applauded her with forthright honesty.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Anger Management and blogging
So for the last several months, my big problem has been walking through my life in a state of almost uncontrollable fury. I don't mean a sort of lame, stamp-your-feet fury, but the kind of homicidal rage that got me into so much trouble earlier in my life.
I've successfully frightened my kid, alienated everyone who knows me at all, and am personally miserable trying to control a basic, murderous aggression.
Honestly, a lot of it was making a totally ill-advised effort to 'clean up' a blog so as to present a decent front, but I've realized that if my writing here can't be honest, I'm fucked. All the invective, nuttiness, violence, and horrible behavior is really just how I am. I'm pretty scary. I spend a lot of my time talking myself out of doing bad things, not all the time with any kind of success. However, I was successful today in the following exchange:
Buck Banger, idly flipping his pencil while slouching Diddy-fashion: "What the fuck you looking at, motherfucker? I don't like motherfuckers lookin at me".
Me, sitting and writing in a journal: "Huh? I'm just waiting for the bell to ring. I'm not looking at anything in particular".
Actual, mental conversation :
Buck Banger, thinking: "God DAMN I be bored wid dis motherfuckin shit! Why I gotta do dis shit? Dis here shit be wrong. These mothafuckas be treatin me! What the fuck dis White boy be fuckin lookin at?"
Me, thinking: "Is there any way at all I can use his handling of that pencil as interpreting it as him using it as a weapon? Because I want to kill this piece of shit. I have my heavy metal pen in my right hand, faking writing down notes, and I want to jam this motherfucker into his eye, then subclavian artery in front of his motherfucking homies. And they won't jump on me, because they think I'm some pussy teacher and won't be ready, and I'll be able to take them one at a time to fuck them all up. I bet I can kill two and cripple the other three".
My decision: Remembering old cops I've met for whom all invective and verbal abuse was water off a duck's back, and simply... this is hard, son of a BITCH! let it go.
Just let this motherfucker's shit go. Let it go, Joel. Let it go. 20 more minutes. Deal with it. Sit tight. Let it go. Don't fuck up your life by killing this worthless punk. Wait. Ah, there we go. Maybe he'll do some stupid shit on the outside, later on, and you can kill him there and no-one will know. Yeah, that's it. Wait. Just wait. Maybe the wait will fade the hate.
Maybe.
I've successfully frightened my kid, alienated everyone who knows me at all, and am personally miserable trying to control a basic, murderous aggression.
Honestly, a lot of it was making a totally ill-advised effort to 'clean up' a blog so as to present a decent front, but I've realized that if my writing here can't be honest, I'm fucked. All the invective, nuttiness, violence, and horrible behavior is really just how I am. I'm pretty scary. I spend a lot of my time talking myself out of doing bad things, not all the time with any kind of success. However, I was successful today in the following exchange:
Buck Banger, idly flipping his pencil while slouching Diddy-fashion: "What the fuck you looking at, motherfucker? I don't like motherfuckers lookin at me".
Me, sitting and writing in a journal: "Huh? I'm just waiting for the bell to ring. I'm not looking at anything in particular".
Actual, mental conversation :
Buck Banger, thinking: "God DAMN I be bored wid dis motherfuckin shit! Why I gotta do dis shit? Dis here shit be wrong. These mothafuckas be treatin me! What the fuck dis White boy be fuckin lookin at?"
Me, thinking: "Is there any way at all I can use his handling of that pencil as interpreting it as him using it as a weapon? Because I want to kill this piece of shit. I have my heavy metal pen in my right hand, faking writing down notes, and I want to jam this motherfucker into his eye, then subclavian artery in front of his motherfucking homies. And they won't jump on me, because they think I'm some pussy teacher and won't be ready, and I'll be able to take them one at a time to fuck them all up. I bet I can kill two and cripple the other three".
My decision: Remembering old cops I've met for whom all invective and verbal abuse was water off a duck's back, and simply... this is hard, son of a BITCH! let it go.
Just let this motherfucker's shit go. Let it go, Joel. Let it go. 20 more minutes. Deal with it. Sit tight. Let it go. Don't fuck up your life by killing this worthless punk. Wait. Ah, there we go. Maybe he'll do some stupid shit on the outside, later on, and you can kill him there and no-one will know. Yeah, that's it. Wait. Just wait. Maybe the wait will fade the hate.
Maybe.
Today's Super Excellent Fun
Classrooms of 'behavioral special ed' (read: criminals). These are the punks just out of juvenile hall, halfway houses, detention facilities, and suspensions over ten days. Their universal characteristic is total worthlessness. In the wisdom of everyone, they are being 'taught' by special education teachers, who are indoctrinated with the belief that all 'children' are salvageable, that there is good in everyone, and that bad behavior is due to negative influences and ignorance, not evil.
I beg to differ.
Anyway, I had a n episode today in which I had to quickly gobble a fistful of happy pills to avoid attacking an inmate oops, I mean 'student'.
However, I decided what I would do in the same circumstances, without simply violating every single one of them back into the criminal revolving door oops, I mean justice system. I would: Allow a grace period of two days for all the dumbasses to figure out the rules. The rules are simple:
No gang colors.
No electronics, of any kind.
No profanity.
No hand gestures.
No negative comments to teachers.
No arguing with teachers' decisions.
Basically, the rules would be posted clearly and permanently, for all to see. Any argument about a rule, arguing, electronics, etc. hey motherfucker, THE RULES ARE POSTED. Hence, the grace period to start or for new arrivals.
Things that are to be done:
Some work must be accomplished, and I will help.
Some work must be turned in.
You must learn something, and I will do everything I can to help that along.
Essentially, my argument in favor of the rules is this:
"All of you are here due to an inability to follow, or a hatred of, rules and of being told what to do. However, as a condition of your release you must attend this short version of school, to stay outside and to work. It is a condition of your parole, probation, or of your school suspension. So, knowing that NONE OF YOU WISH TO BE HERE IN THE SLIGHTEST, and I don't want to fight you every God-damn day, we are going to come to an understanding. We have these simple guidelines to satisfy your conditions of freedom. I will not violate (send back to jail) anyone without a clear infraction of the above rules. But if you fuck with me, play games, or fuck around or lip off, I don't care if you're having a bad day or whatever the fuck, if you fuck with me after knowing the rules and your grace period, motherfucker, you are violated. This classroom is a short period out of your day, and it is temporary. I am making this as pleasant as possible for everyone, and if you get in my way on the road to inner peace, I will destroy you".
On the plus side, the inmates oops, I mean students, started the rumor that I am some kind of horrible jailbird fulfilling his community service by working with kids. I like this rumor, it makes me laugh. And it is uncomfortably close to the truth.
I beg to differ.
Anyway, I had a n episode today in which I had to quickly gobble a fistful of happy pills to avoid attacking an inmate oops, I mean 'student'.
However, I decided what I would do in the same circumstances, without simply violating every single one of them back into the criminal revolving door oops, I mean justice system. I would: Allow a grace period of two days for all the dumbasses to figure out the rules. The rules are simple:
No gang colors.
No electronics, of any kind.
No profanity.
No hand gestures.
No negative comments to teachers.
No arguing with teachers' decisions.
Basically, the rules would be posted clearly and permanently, for all to see. Any argument about a rule, arguing, electronics, etc. hey motherfucker, THE RULES ARE POSTED. Hence, the grace period to start or for new arrivals.
Things that are to be done:
Some work must be accomplished, and I will help.
Some work must be turned in.
You must learn something, and I will do everything I can to help that along.
Essentially, my argument in favor of the rules is this:
"All of you are here due to an inability to follow, or a hatred of, rules and of being told what to do. However, as a condition of your release you must attend this short version of school, to stay outside and to work. It is a condition of your parole, probation, or of your school suspension. So, knowing that NONE OF YOU WISH TO BE HERE IN THE SLIGHTEST, and I don't want to fight you every God-damn day, we are going to come to an understanding. We have these simple guidelines to satisfy your conditions of freedom. I will not violate (send back to jail) anyone without a clear infraction of the above rules. But if you fuck with me, play games, or fuck around or lip off, I don't care if you're having a bad day or whatever the fuck, if you fuck with me after knowing the rules and your grace period, motherfucker, you are violated. This classroom is a short period out of your day, and it is temporary. I am making this as pleasant as possible for everyone, and if you get in my way on the road to inner peace, I will destroy you".
On the plus side, the inmates oops, I mean students, started the rumor that I am some kind of horrible jailbird fulfilling his community service by working with kids. I like this rumor, it makes me laugh. And it is uncomfortably close to the truth.
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