'Twas the day before Christmas break.

And all through the school, the lights were flicking on and off BECAUSE WE LOST POWER FOR MOST OF THE DAY.

I'm certainly not going to rhyme for all of this.

It's no surprise that I was bitter to have had school yesterday. The morning started out okay--I figured the day might go by fast enough. But five minutes before the first bell, when I was in the middle of an email, the power died. Szoom. Kids in the hall screamed and started running into each other and lockers--on purpose--as a back-up generator left some light in the hallway. I couldn't see anything in my room, since it was dark outside still. But I felt my way to the hallway. Found some teachers, joked about how messed up it was (this has never happened before!) and said a little prayer that maybe we'd all just get to go home early.

5 minutes later, the lights came back up. 2 minutes later, they went back down.

First hour came in. I, of course, had scheduled a computer lab day for the entire 3 of my freshman classes. And because I'm a shit teacher and didn't anticipate half of the town losing power, I did not have a back-up plan. So, we sat in the dark. I told kids to get out their cell phones for the light. I let them text. I gave them the candy canes I'd brought (none of the gross mint ones, of course), instructed them not to suck them into a point and stab people with them, and asked who wanted to play a game, who wanted to color. Some kids grabbed some crayons. Six kids formed a circle and we played Trivial Pursuit. Other kids just sat in a circle and texted everybody they could, updating us with more information: half the town is out! ... My house isn't out! ... None of the schools have power! ... My friend said we were getting out early! ... The sinks in the bathroom aren't even working!

And every once in awhile an administrator or secretary walked by with an update: we think it'll be on in ten minutes. Keep the kids here until we figure out what's going on. I took the information, gave it to the kids: okay, everyone, listen up. Looks like we've officially entered survivor mode. So we're gonna have to hurry up and vote about which one of us we're going to eat first. (To which kids volunteered.) And we kept doing nothing, I kept doing damage control. And an hour later the lights came up.

And an administrator walked by and said keep them until 9:30. So I had to deal with first hour, my most dysfunctional hour, for another solid 45 minutes. And I had to get them to do work. And I couldn't get on my computer, because one of the computers at the school had already fried due to a power surge, and I certainly couldn't go into the computer lab. So I made it an independent reading day for their independent reading books. And let me tell you: trying to get a room of 14-year-olds to shut the fuck up after an hour of running around in the dark is near-impossible. It was damage control babysitting for the next half an hour. It was please be quiet every 2 minutes, if not more. It was a kid throwing his book across the room when the power went out again (you could hear the entire school cheer when it happened) and then complain and complain when I asked him to retrieve it, three seconds later, when the power came back on (you could hear the entire school whine when it happened).

It was the longest first hour of my life. It felt ready to go home right after. But there were 5 hours of the day left.

In between classes, I spoke with a teacher who said that they'd have to wait to cancel school until all of the elementary busses had arrived at the other school. He said that the cooks weren't able to turn on the ovens in the kitchen--how would we feed everybody?--and this conversation gave me some hope.

Then, in 2nd hour, a kid said something about having to wait until 12:00 to cancel school, and that gave me hope. And that hour, the lights went out twice--and came back on. You could hear the entire school cheer at the dark and groan about the light. In my room, when we lost light, kids jumped out of their chairs and started touching each other in any way possible. Headlocks, punches to the upper arm, kicking in the shins.

3rd hour, my prep, and I still couldn't turn on my computer. But I did get some papers graded. 4th hour, my seniors, I'd essentially lost all hope. And I couldn't even go forward with my plans for that class, because the students had to print off papers to hand in to me. (Ah, yes, because none of the printers in the three computer labs were working yesterday and the computer lady was nowhere to be found. Nor was the student network working, so kids weren't even able to save their work to the server.) One, gracious group, had their work done. They'd printed from home. (They will be successful in college.) They performed their Canterbury Tales skit--"The Reeve's Tale"--and used my Curious George stuffed animal as the baby in the crib. When the characters in the skit had sex with the daughters, they pretended to pounce on each other and disappeared behind the giant science island in front of the room. It was fantastic. In the middle of their skit, they turned off the lights for effect, and I'd assumed we'd lost power again and said, keep going! and the entire class laughed at me. No, we turned out the lights on purpose, Ms. Prokott. And then we played Guesstures.

And we all bitched about how ridiculous it was to stay at school, what a waste of the day, because no classes had done anything but what I was doing, that half of the rooms still didn't have power. And the lunch ladies fed the kids cold lunches. And midway through 4th hour, my last hope died when the principal said everything was up and running over the finally-working intercom. I could even turn my computer back on. And I let the seniors leave for lunch 3 minutes early, even though some snuck out beforehand, I'm sure. At least three of them thanked me for the candy canes.

But my favorite part of that hour was when one of the kids, so randomly, said in all seriousness: no you guys, really though--you know what's a really good rap group? Bone Thugs 'n Harmony.

I laughed out loud for a good five minutes. See you at the crossroads, crossroads, crossroads.

Fifth hour, I think I could've gone to the computer lab. But, given that the computers only half work on a regular day when we haven't lost power 14 times, I didn't take the chance. Plus, how impossibly annoying when one class gets ahead of the others, even for a day. So we voted to have a reading day or to play Guesstures, and they voted for the game and screamed the entire time, and I ended the day with a massive headache and then drove home to Albertville behind people who decided to drive 40 miles an hour even though the snow had barely started.

Ah, Merry Christmas. Three students gave me gifts, which was remarkably sweet. I don't even quite know these students yet. We're only three weeks into the trimester; but a Special Education kid, J, stopped by after school late last week and plucked a small bag onto my desk and walked away. Thank you! You didn't have to! I called to him on his way out. It was a giant coffee mug and two handmade potholders, which I love. A little card, just his name signed. You know his mom was the one doing it all, but still.

And then, on Monday, he did the same thing: plopped a little bag on my desk. You already gave me something! I said. He said, I know, and walked out. This time, an entire bag of candy. (Did I eat it all at once? Yes, yes I did.) A girl, the one who I worry has problems at home and who wrote her entire essay about kissing her boyfriend (in detail) and who talks about sex more than necessary, laid a poorly wrapped gift in front of me. Thank you so much! I said, as she walked away. Later, I opened a picture frame and a little bottle of soap.

And yesterday, at the end of the hour, another girl (I'd had her sister as a senior) handed me a card that said Mrs. Prokott and then just walked away from me as I was saying thank you! It was a gift card to a local coffee shop--but she hadn't written anything on the card. Just a blank card.

Students are so bizzare. And then they just walk away.

Mostly, I hate kids.

What really sucks is that I have half of a post called "the semester in review" written and that I haven't had time to do the rest. Now it's going to be all out-of-date and backwards and shit.

But it still makes sense to keep plowing forward. My goal is to write here more, write about the little things, so when I go back to look at the first year of teaching I remember what my day was like day to day. When I was so, so tired.

The 2nd trimester, so far, has been what I expected. The third week in, and I finally know everybody's name. This weekend I graded a paper from every student--100 some papers--and by the time I was done, I wanted to shoot myself in the face. There's only so much one can say to a freshman's descriptive paragraph. Like "use more detail here" or "you really organized these ten sentences quite nicely" or "double space" or "rough draft?" or "I like this simile".

And as for the seniors, well. I have about six of them who have yet to hand in any sort of homework assignment, and we have 77 points (like out of 400) in that class so far. I don't know what the fuck they're thinking, or if they have any prospects of graduating. Guess what? I said after two homework assignments, they don't offer this class third trimester. Either you pass it now, or congratulations! You have night school. And they still won't fucking hand in their work. I truly, truly don't understand. Even that one smart girl that I really like didn't hand in her college essay. I guess I'm just done asking. And then, when they say, hey, can I hand in my college essay and still get full credit? I'll be all like, no. I feel helpless. I don't know how to get them to do their work. And there are so many of the lazies. An abnormal percent.

Last week I went to the doctor, and I hooked myself up with some Ambien. He was all, trouble sleeping, and I was all yup. And then I snuck in, casual-like, that I was once on Ambien to help with my sleep problems. Then, before I left he said that maybe we'd try Ambien again? And I had to hide my excitement. And I didn't take it last night and I got no sleep. And I'm so tired.

Also, he's decided that I need to have a sleep study. So on the 6th of January, I'll be asleep at Meeker County Memorial with a bunch of shit attached to my face. I'm pretty sure I don't have sleep apnea, but I guess I do wake up with headaches, and I'm notorious for being tired. One could blame the whiskey, though.

A student in my first class makes a whistling sound a couple of times every hour. I don't know if he does it with his mouth, or if he does it with some sort of whistle. The problem is that I don't know who it is, exactly, because I'm bad at catching things like that, so I'm not sure what to do about it. But it drives me fucking crazy, and certainly one day I'll just lose it and scream FUCKING STOP WITH THE WHISTLING. But I can't, because kids like when teachers lose it like that, and I don't want to give them the pleasure. First hour, blech. Blech on you, first hour.

And it's hard starting over, because I just want to know these kids better than I do. I want to know who needs more attention as we're reading, who the strong and weak writers are, who can give me faith for the future of kids, who needs a little more care and attention. But I see kids in the back of the class, kids I just sort of forget who are there, and I think, oh yes, that girl is in my class. She seems like she knows what's what. How did I forget about her? And since the first day of the trimester, I've already had about four kids drop out of my classes. Small class sizes are fantastic, but I wonder where they're all going. Perhaps there is a kid-eating monster who lives in the scary basement of the school. If so, I should get to choose which kids are sacrificed. I can give a list of about 20 names. Hope he's hungry for assholes.

This week is so long. It was hard to go home last weekend, and then hard to come back for this three day week. It's hard to not be teaching college, thinking of that glorious month-long break I used to have; it's hard to come to school the day before Christmas Eve; it's hard to think about the trimester that will find me in March, the one where I'll have so, so much work again, new preps, new kids, new beginnings. It's hard to think about looking for new jobs during this time, figuring out how to get letters of recommendation, figuring out what to do with the next year of my life. It gives me a headache. Where are my anxiety meds.

At the end of the day today, I found at least three of the handouts I'd asked students to keep either in the recycling, garbage can, or folded into a paper airplane on the heating vent. The folded airplane had so many creases, it looked like an accordion of paper, and the air from the vent blew the paper enough that it danced on the grate. In an independent movie, it'd be the one moving thing in the scene, the camera zooming in on the innocent movement of the paper, the repeating, annoying movement that made the main character finally crack and lose her goddamned mind. I think of the students who will ask me for another handout when that assignment is due, and I want to squeeze something until it pops.

They take time to destory, but they don't take time to read. They don't take time to think. They take everything in as quickly as they can, and then they spit it out as quickly as they can. They won't hold onto anything--papers, assignments, information, criticisms, ideas--any longer than they absolutely have to. Can I throw this away? Do I have to keep this? Do I need this, Ms. Prokott? They're bulimics. Before they even get the nutrients of this information, they spew it back up. Repeat.

And on the floor today, next to the vent, was one of my crayons, one that I bought for school, shattered. And other parts smashed and squished into pieces. Red-orange, little flecks on the linoleum floor. And next to that, a mechanical pencil, the plastic shattered like glass, the little orange clip busted off, the empty casing, useless without lead.

Part II.

Forgive that the pictures are out of order.

On Saturday night was hotel party goodness. The night ended with the circle of death and bad TV. Alongside the night in the hotel: a run to the downtown Target in our pajamas for cheese balls which they did not have, pillow fights with penis-shaped pillows, a trip to the Hollidazzle parade at the Nicollet Mall (my favorite part was the walking lightbulbs, but I argued they should've had sexy legs), champagne, egg nog, vodka, Matt's and burgers at Matt's--ordered alongside a crazy man who called me "Chun-Li," asked for a ciggy, and then was kicked out, a travel around the hotel lobby at night and pictures of Christmas fun-time, a glimpse at the parking garage elevator that was filled with a splashy pool of vomit (I thought the vomit got off on the second floor!), jokes about getting raped by the Bengals, whose entire team was staying at our hotel, a new-formed car band called "3 Idiots in a Car" and with hits such as "I Have Low Self-Esteem," offensive comments toward fat people at the mall of America, and a whole lot of parking garages. It was magic.

On Saturday morning, Jenny and I watched movies. We started on our way to the cities, and out of Hutchinson, we saw the sign. Oh, the sign. KETTLE CORN. So we stopped. And--whatever this Hutchinson celebration was, who knows--but the kettle corn was free. Free. And there was a man dressed as a penguin, and there was a short, fat Santa, and there was free cider. And so we got our goods and headed East. Picked up Darren, stopped for booze, found the mall, and let the night move on.

Again, I like to end when the weekend started. It makes it less sad. Less sad that Jenny was gone when I got home, less sad that I have a long, exhausting week of work ahead of me.

And these are the pictures:

And then Jenny came to Hutchinson. And it was good.

Right now, she's in the shower. Have I showered today? Pffft. Are you fucking retarded? No, I have not showered. It's a Monday off. Today I woke up, and after listening to a new Glenn Miller record with Jenny, had a discussion about what happened to him, which led to this. For two hours, we read Wikipedia, each from our own computers. It was like Highland, but what we had to do because Unsolved Mysteries wasn't on.

And then we made banana bread. And then we watched The Office Christmas special. And then we decided to make pumpkin and spinach pasta for dinner. And then we watched Home Alone 2. And now, well we're going to go the grocery store to buy the garganzola and garlic. And we're making a dessert with apples and brandy and ice cream. Because there is some brandy left over.

And yesterday. Well, yesterday we woke up with little hangovers. And we packed the hotel room, and we watched the American Presidents special on TV. They were on Lincoln, and then on Johnson. That selfish, stupid Johnson.

And she and Darren and I went to Target, and then we went to eat at Blackbird in Minneapolis. And then I said Roadrunner Records! Roadrunner Records! and I hunted for Carole Kings Tapestry and I found Nat King Cole's Christmas album, and I found a near-perfect, in plastic copy of All Things Must Pass. With George and the gnomes on the front. And I thought it was $20, but it was 20% off, and now it is mine. I also bought Dylan's first and second volumes of his greatest hits. And Born in the USA for two dollars. And Jenny bought The River. And Darren bought some fucking record from Bob Seger's Silver Bullet Band, and suggested that there be love-making alongside. To which I replied, I will never make love to Bob Seger. And I meant it in every way possible.

And so, as the day went on, we found The Road playing in Edina. And then we found ourselves in a kitchen store to kill time, and then we found ourselves in the theatre with chocolate and Coke Zero. And then we found ourselves on the way home sans Darren, and then in an abandoned grocery store in Hutchinson on a Sunday night, buying bread crumbs and cider and cheese for baked macaroni and cheese. And then we found ourselves doing crosswords, because we'd spent Friday night watching Wordplay, the documentary about crosswords which starred Will Shortz and Bill Clinton wearing a hemp bracelet on his wrist. That crazy Bill. So laid back.

And that's Part II. I'll give you Part I later. If you've earned it.

Coming soon! Shit Jenny and I did on Saturday and Friday!

Two hour late start.

The two-hour late start is a cocktease of the snow day.

*

I said this in an email to some of you, but here's what made my day today:

Today I asked my seniors about fang vs. tail, and they were all pissed at me because I was not “serious” about the two-minute debate and that we should do something serious, and then they all got ticked at me for arguing about a tail, and one kid even mocked me (like repeated what I’d said in a sassy voice) and another said “yeah, well if this was a serious question, then maybe we’d think about it.”

And then I said: Yeah, well let me tell you something. I’ve just read a study about “geniuses” and I found that actual IQ has little to do with success in life. The study took the top IQs in the country, and it turned out that intelligence didn’t predict their future success—but you know what did? Their answer to the questions: “Name all the things you can do with a blanket. Name all the things you can do with a brick.” And the creativity of those seemingly lame answers to that seemingly lame question told what kind of people they were and how successful they would be in life.”

And I thought they’d give me some sass back, but they all just looked at me wide-eyed—and in awe—really, like that look that says “she’s really smart and holy shit she’s right” and I realized that I had totally, utterly, and completely SCHOOLED THEM.

It's the blog I've been wanting to write since August.

Before reading this, please remember that there is no laughing in school.



First of all, I have to say this.


I FUCKING LOVE MY NEW COMPUTER.


This is such an amazing computer. It's fast. It uploaded my new pictures in 30 seconds instead of 2 hours. I just pop my CDs in to upload my old music into itunes and then they just upload. I don't have to "end programs" or book half of my day to check my email.

This is like living a whole new life. I have all this free time and shit. I'm motivated to start taking pictures again. Because, let's be honest. The pictures on my camera were from yesterday, yes, but also from last October. That was last-October ago. 14 months.

Sure, I miss the old computer. I wrote my thesis on that bitch. I started blogging on her. The imprint from my sweaty palm is forever faded into the space in front of the keyboard. But I fucking love my new computer. And the backpack carrying case that came with it, and the portable mouse that came with it. And all of its beautiful, beautiful space. Space! Space.


To set the scene, it's Saturday. It's cold, but the sun is out. It's a December Saturday like if somebody said: Saturday in December that would come to mind. I woke up and did the dishes and made Malt 'o Meal and finished wrapping the presents I started yesterday. I listened to Bing Crosby singing Christmas songs all morning, I went for a 3ish mile run (while listening to the same running mix that took me around Lake Nokomis back in January through March 2008) and came home and my thighs were red and stinging. And when I took a shower and washed them with the hot water, they just turned numb. It was fabulous. This town looks better in the day than it does in the night, but I don't see it that often in the day. When I go to and leave school it's dark. And I like to spend the weekend with people, so I don't often spend the weekend here. Once again, it wouldn't be a bad place to live if you were here with me.

But you're not, so I still sort of hate it. Even though I've found myself comfortable today--working on some crafts at home, watching movies, sitting at the Dunn Brothers coffee shop and laughing out loud at old pictures that I've been sifting through. Plus, Christina called this morning, and that was sort of nice. (Bitch, I said sort of.)

My hair is starting to grow out again, which makes me happy. It makes me look like the self from all those grad school photos, and so when I look in the mirror I get a sense of comfort that I'd lost when I cut it. It turned blonde again even though I tried to dye it dark back in August. That always happens--even with the permanent dye. It just goes back to blonde on its own. But it's comforting too. And I think I'm meant to be the blonde one.

Plus, I just spilled coffee down the front of my shirt, so if you're wondering if I changed, I haven't. Still the same ol' Jeano.

Yesterday the first trimester of school officially ended. I am 1/3 of the way done with my first year of teaching (well, my third first year of teaching) and it seems like it's gone slow and fast at the same time. Mostly slow, I think.

And with some free time yesterday, I went around and took the pictures I've been wanting to take for a long time. Of my room, of the classroom. So hold on, folks. Here's a tour of the building where I work. Some things will amaze you. Some things will disgust you.

The tour costs $7. Please send checks to me at home.



This is the door to my classroom! C'mon in, friends! You never know! You might just learn something along the way.


There's my name and shit. The Braille is for 113. There are no blind students in the school, but if there were, I'm sure most of my students would tease them for being blind or tape signs to their back that said I'm fucking blind or would wave their hands in front of the poor kids' faces.

This is the front of my classroom. That's my desk. That's my chalkboard. That's the overhead projector.

This is one of my bulletin boards. Please notice the electrical wire hanging from the wall. It's not live, but I sort of wish it was.

The sign for the "presentation" trait of writing says: your project reeks of professionalism. You didn't write it in crayon. You didn't spill crap all over it.

This is the bulletin board above my desk. That word of the day with the #12 on it is sprachgefuhl, which means a sensitivity to language, esp. for what is grammatically or idiomatically acceptable in a given language. It reminds me of poets and Liz. That article was given to me by a student's dad about the importance of reading classics. That Orwell quote says you have learned something. That always feels at first as though you have lost something. That handwriting chart was a joke gift from Phil last year. That bird is holding a gun, and I love it. The one student who told me that the bird with the gun was awesome is the student I've chosen for Student of the Month.

This is a close-up of a poster on the bulletin board. It is amazing. The fact that I found this in the copy room because no other teachers wanted it suggest that I am, by far, the coolest fucking teacher in the entire school. Nay, universe. (Sorry about the flash.) Go, Nora, go! You leave Torvald! Seach for your feminist rainbow!

Here is the side view of the classroom. That's a poster of a half-naked Romeo and Juliet. Those are some blinds. That's the 3-hole punch I had to bring from home because the school didn't have one. That's the file folder that had a mouse in it when I took it out of James's shed last summer. That sea green counter thing drives me crazy and is a huge waste of space. Unless I'm drinking at it, I don't need a bar in my classroom.

This is the Berryman poem I put next to my pencil sharpener. The first line reads life friends, is boring.

This is the giant heater in my room. One time, a senior turned it up to 90+ for the entire weekend because the control is available for anyone to touch. When I came to school Monday morning, I almost burned my hand on the metal of my desk. I was irrate. And the freshmen sweat and stunk all day.

This is the back of my classroom. (Note that my desks are not usually organized this way. Just for finals.) Those are some laminated maps that cost $25, the homework board and some posters I found in the copy room. I put the one that said FEAR under the homework board on purpose. That's a poster of Romeo and Juliet from 1968 that another English teacher did not want. Those wood-looking strips on the wall are meant to hold up shelves that did not come with the classroom. Well, one shelf came. It didn't fit on the wall supports.

Here's a side view. That blue square in the back is the magnetic poetry board where students write inappropriate phrases with the words "shelf" and "bound" and "dream". Those are the returned textbooks. Note the fire blanket. The eye wash. The sink.

This is the eye wash. I have no idea if it works.

This is the eye wash sign I will steal when I leave. That post-it I stuck on there says to be used for misconceptions about literature ONLY and nobody thins it's funny. I like that it says eye wash yet the pictures shows an eye and chin wash. Fuck! I hate when I get chemicals all over my goddamned chin.

This is my bookshelf. That container is the old sewing kit I use for my markers. Not pictured on the bookshelf: The copy of Black Boy that was stolen by my only black student. No comment about that.

This is where the gas comes from.

This is the sink.

These are the most amazing posters in the world. I would hang these in my house. I found them in the copy room because none of the other English teachers wanted them. This suggests that I am amazing and they are not amazing. Just to remind you.

How Public Like a Frog. This is my favorite one. Can you believe somebody didn't want these. How stupid like a frog. How lame-ass like a frog.

This one is also amazing. These might officially belong to the school, but when I leave they're coming, too.

Here's a desk.

Here's what is carved into the back seat of that desk. Was it carved in 1970? 1986? 2001? Who knows. Nerd.

Hm. Was that fun or what? There's where I teach! Now let me show you some gems of this school. The picutres are really fuzzy, but if you ask me, it adds to the entire Hutch experience. It's all sort of fuzzy.

Now. In the hallway there are 11x17 pictures of All-State athletes and musicans posted above the lockers. These are some of my favorites:

"Naked guy on a cart." This kid is obviously a swimming champion. But does that mean he has to take a picture in his suit? With his leg all bent and shit? Known forever in the Hutch hallways as the picture of that naked guy. Shit. Gross. Doesn't he wake up everyday and think holy shit there's a naked picture of me hanging up in my old high school. What if somebody recognizes me on the street and only knows me as the naked guy.

"Track star, 1971."

"Baritone Stud 1988" The amazing thing about this kid is that if he went out--looking exactly as he does, baritone and all--in Uptown Minneapolis, he'd be popular as shit. He'd be the coolest motherfucker you've ever seen.

"Hairless legs 1994" No, this picture isn't for doubles tennis champs. It's for the first gay couple to be out in Hutchinson. They were given medals and then severely beaten with their own tennis rackets.

"Best bear wrestler and sock-wearer 1980." The directions for the picture were look scared as shit.
"Best vest in Minnesota State, 2004." Runner up for best haircut. (This kid confuses me. He's the only one not in an outfit that lets anybody know what the hell he did. Sure, you could read that little plaque, but who has time.)

And the rest of the school.

This is the giant Tiger mosaic by the cafeteria. It's scary.

And, I really wish the quality of this picture wasn't so awful: but this is the sign next to it. How does nobody else at the school see that this sign is absolutely ridiculous? Holy shit. Somebody explain to me why be the best you can be is part of this sign. Be the best ghosts you can be? YOU'RE DEAD.

The bathroom for the girls is PINK. Because girls piss in there.

This is where "Tigers" has been spelled out with all of the homecoming buttons for the last 40-some years. Sometimes they put the mascot's head in this glass case so it looks as though we've proudly and brutally killed a polyester cartoon tiger.

There are murals throughout the school--painted by students. But there is no rhyme or reason to the murals. Consistency would make sense. But these are just on their own in random sections of hallway. This is the one I pass on the way to my room everyday. I like the "books" on top of the lockers. And that MacBeth looks to be about 6,000 pages long.

This is the other one by my classroom. High school kids like Dylan? No shit. I like that the girls who painted it made their names as big as his. Also: to round out the cliche, the unpictured quotation at the other end of the hallway is by Green Day. GUESS WHICH SONG.

This is the sign on the teacher's lounge. Watch out for that microwave! No preggos better come in. That includes you, slutty knocked-up sophomores.

I have no idea why a Korean flag is hanging outside the office.

This is the senior class motto. My theory is that nobody knew whether Hendrix spelled his first name "Jimi" or "Jimmy" or "Jimmie" so they just went ahead and called him Jim. Or, they're quoting some lame unknown guy named Jim. I think they should've only put "--Jim." That'd be amazing. Get ready, world, for the class of 2010.

I saved my favorite picture for last--it comes from a flier for senior class portraits:

Soccer prom! Soccer fucking prom.

Well, that was the best 2 1/2 hours I've spent in this town. Get ready for the next installment of Jeano's life in Hutch including "my sweet ass apartment" and "other crazy shit about this town like the phone booth and the park called 'Popcorn Plaza'".

...(I was going to write a sentimental blog that wrote about my first trimester as a real teacher, but I suppose I'll have to do that tomorrow.) Making fun of shit is much, much more important.