What's Wrong with... Oh, Fuck It!

Look! Wednesday madness!

I'm properly furious, and I've got my raised-in-a-barn colleague to thank for this.

Today, our common whiteboard was fully clean. Hurrah!

BUT... there wasn't a single pen left in the room!

Monday night there were five pens for us, the three teachers who share the room, the plonker was the last in the room, and now all the pens were gone! I can't believe it's not on purpose that all the pens disappeared.

I ran to the Administration building, asked for a pen and demonstrated that I'm working alongside a bully (mental age of a toddler: 'I took the pens! Mwahaha!').

My admin colleagues suggested that I ignore him, but I shan't - not the way they think...

I was given several pens for us all, which I left in the room (one in the common cupboard, three next to the board). If I'm pen-less next Wednesday again, I'll go to the big boss and the unions. I'm not going to allow a little boy to bully me and play with me.

In years of teaching, I forgot to erase the board once (I was quite unwell, and I stupidly felt bad for weeks afterwards) - because I was taught to clean after myself.

If that boy cannot do it (and throws a hissy fit when he's reminded that I'm not his bloody maid!), he's in for a surprise, because I'm not going to be nice and shut up.

The fecking nerve!*

Oh, and if he keeps being a cunt, I'll use his re-arranged name to baptise the stupidest, ugliest plonker in my PI stories.

*: I should probably be sorry about my foul mouth, but I noticed that almost no one listens to nice girls. So that twat had better have his life jacket ready, there's a Dru storm heading his way.

What's Wrong with People? (Still Being Rhetorical Here)

Is it that people don't pay attention? Or that they can't pay attention (as in 'I'm de-evolving, don't be too harsh with me)?

Honestly, I don't know - and I don't care. All I see is that the results bug me - quite a lot.

Just today...

I got to job#1, opened the door to my classroom and... my raised-in-a-barn colleague had moved tables (and not bothered to put them back because that's so bloody tiring and takes soooooo long [insert massive snort and a wish to frell one of his knees here]). That's one thing - incidentally, I left the tables where they are because I'm not a man with a van.

Then, I turned to our common white board, and... [drum-roll, please] both sides had things written on them. In full Carolyn Knapp-Shappey mode, I wiped clean the side with fewer stuff, and I wiped a square on the other side, in the middle, and in a nice red square, I asked him to wipe the thing. Ta, muchly!

If his plonkerish highness doesn't wipe our board next week, the next message shall be: 'I'M NOT YOUR MAID!!!'

He could be the Viceroy of India - I don't care. I wipe the board when I leave, I'm not paid to do it for him. Bloody Neanderthal.

Icing on the cake: the students. Monday's lot was fantabulous; when I told them it was the 200th anniversary of the publication of Pride and Prejudice, they asked me question about it, and we ended up working on Jane Austen, and a bit of Shakespeare and Dickens on the side. It was extremely productive.

Today's lot: chatting, drawing cutesy stuff on the important paper I'd just given them, not taking down notes and using their mobiles whilst I've clearly forbidden it. They're all over 18, but I think it'd be quieter to deal with a whole nursery school!

Next week, I predict some growling - to begin with.

And this week's cherry on the icing goes to job#3 and to the gal who doesn't understand that I told her that I've deleted a few files in one particular folder.

It went:

Her: where's the rest of the stuff?

Me: I deleted a few things.

Her: I thought something was missing, but if you say the folder's complete.

*blink*

Me: *head DESK*

May I move to Vulcan now? Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase!

What's Wrong with People? (Purely Rhetorical)

Things are a little weird these days, and I think it's not because I'm old-fashioned (or even an old bat), but there's something strange in the air.

First, just today, I had an appointment with a colleague. I rushed to make it early to work, and... my colleague was off for the day. I'm not going to start growling just yet, but I hope he'll apologize when we meet next.

Since I don't know why he ended up taking a day off whilst it wasn't planned, perhaps there was something big that happened to him and that made him forget our appointment entirely, but if he took off to go play the ponies, I'll definitely growl.

Yet, pardon me for being old-fashioned, but our other colleagues didn't imply any huge emergency (dead parent or sick child) and I want to believe that I'd have sent a message to warn a colleague and cancel an appointment (the one that went down the drain was rather important, and he'd insisted on planning it - can you read I'm disappointed?).

Then, there's my boiler that's scheduled for a cleaning session next week. When will the cleaning guy come? "Morning". Mind you, it's better than a few years ago when the company that does that in my building just gave us a day and it was basically "expect us between 8am and 6pm". Yet... When does their "morning" start now? 8am? 9am? It'd be nice to know - because it'd be nice, and because I'm not a morning person and I'd like to know when I'll have to drag myself out of bed in order to be ready to open the door to the plumber.

It'd be nice to get a clear window of time, but I guess it'd be too much planning for them (Imagine! Knowing exactly when you'll work in a specific building! *fake gasp*).

And then, there's my students. My own lil' adults to teach and help.

Most of them are absolutely charming, working hard and making me happy to be a teacher.

The others...

Well, when they arrive late for class, they think it's not an issue (a class doesn't start just for you when you finally show up, thirty minutes after the official beginning of it).

When they're glued to their mobiles, they don't see how impolite it is.

When they don't take notes when I give them some vocabulary, some grammar, some data about history/geography/culture/anything, they're wasting my time (I always end up having to repeat these things).

A few of the "weird bunnies" even are as bold as to draw intricate pictures right under my nose (because learning English is so useless in today's world in their minds).

The icing on the cake is when some of them chat in class (because whatever they have to say is so much more important than anything I'm trying to teach them). The cherry on the icing on that cake is that a few look annoyed when I dare to shush them a second time (how dare I interrupt them?).

The "weird bunnies" are a minority, but they're so incredibly irritating. In fact, they're so irritating that I've decided to change the way I work, and I'll punish them (even though they're young adults [*cough* on the paper, at least *cough*]) each time they don't follow my rules. I'd hoped that telling them to behave would kick-start their brains and make them act decently, but I was mistaken.

Apparently, it's past midnight and someone watered my Mogwais. Well, too bad for the class-gremlins, when annoyed, my inner Mrs Hyde gets out [It's hell to get her back into her box, but it's worth it].

Perhaps I'm very tired and I notice odd things and behaviours more... Or there's something barmy in the air.

Well, I seem to have found my inner Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, too, and I'm not putting that one back into any box - I like her.

Permission to Be Scared? (A Bit)

After a look at the "audience" on my Stats page, I know that it could well be a translation problem, but you'll allow me to be just a tad scared, or worried, about the Search Keywords that were used and ended up sending people to this blog.

Here's why:

I must say that I find the first one particularly odd.

Somehow, I fear my sordid fairy tales were not the kind of entry they were looking for...

Welcome to Earth, barmy planet extraordinaire!

Of Plonkers and Cowards

What a beginning for 2013! (Happy New Year, by the way!)

I'm dealing with weird bunnies.

First, one minor thing, but one that's grating on my nerves because I was taught to not do that: one of my colleagues (always the same bloke) cannot be bothered to wipe the white board in the classroom that we share.

I asked the administrative staff if others had complained about him, and it turns out that he's morphing into a weird bloke. I told the gals in the office that I'm very tempted to write on the board "I'm not your maid" and they all approved.

Now... since I'm a silly bunny who's been taught (brainwashed?) to be discreet, I haven't done that yet, but tonight... Tonight I blew a fuse.

He'd left one side of the board (it's one of the ones on "legs" and that can rotate) full. I growled, turned it to the clean side and used that one. Before leaving, I erased my side and turned it back, and then... I read what he'd written, and there, waiting for my red pen, there was a magnificent grammar mistake - and one of my pet peeves in grammar: a decade (plural) with an apostrophe just before the "s" (as if it were a Saxon genitive).

I circled the mistake and admired my work.

I added an exclamation mark for good measure.

And I left.

Now, I'm not sure he'll notice - or he'll see his mistake - or he'll understand the message... and I felt a tad childish, but he bugs me, and so I've decided that if the board isn't clean next time, I shall write that I'm not his maid in order for him to realize that the charming man who cleans the room doesn't deal with the board (perhaps because he thinks we might need the notes for another lesson, or because it's not in his job description, or whatever. Bottom line, he's not erasing my colleague's writing; I am).

Plonker. Off my chest.

Cowards now.

My mother has a heart condition, and all her neighbours know it. What do they do about it? 

C'mon! Make a guess.

They stress her (which might well turn me into an orphan, thanks to their stupidity).

They stress her when I'm not around (one of the local twats has had his nuts half-chewed by me a few years ago, and Mother is convinced that he's afraid of me now - good for him; it shows that he's not completely stupid).

Today, one worker arrived to do some work for another neighbour, but he'd forgotten to warn her, and he took her for granted, and he may have complained to the owner of the neighbouring house about the "mean old lady".

Mother tried to phone the owner (the house is rented, and they live in another area), but the lady she reached assured her that she wasn't the owner.

Mother is going to investigate and try to find the phone number.

If it turns out that it was the correct number and the "lady" is the one I met and she lied to my mother. I'm going to turn into a nice lil' Vesuvius. Again.

Mother said she was getting used to the new house, but there are days when I wish she'd sell and move to a more civilized part of the country. She settled on a nest of nuts (and that's an insult to nuts).

If the happy cowards think they can bother my mother because she's not well and living on her own - they've got a Dru coming. I can growl on the phone and read them the riot act when I'm there - no problem at all.

I think I'm going to need a bit of training, but I think I'm done being nice.

Being nice doesn't work in today's world.

Merry Clicks

T'is the season to be merry... and to make a list of things that I 'recently' discovered and that cheered me up tremendously.

This is when I'm quite happy that my odd habit to hop from link to link and to follow the works of artists I like turns into a very good thing.

When you start learning to fly and you look for... well, everything about planes, you wonder why there are so many things on YouTube about 'cabin pressure'. You click a link, and you start listening to an awesome radio show. Created by John Finnemore, Cabin Pressure is funny, witty, moving, and I love it... even if I do have to keep in mind that "M" is Mike, not - I repeat NOT - Molokai. ;)
Mr Finnemore is very funny, and he sounds quite nice - and he's got many other talents (I'll admit that I'm quite fond of his brain, and the man can draw, too. What's not to like? Seriously... I'd give a lot to be half as funny as he is!). [Note to self: you're good with another style. Deal with it.]

The day I was looking for info about Mark Gatiss (more films or series to watch), I discovered that he's written several novels, and I must say that I often read again his three novels featuring Lucifer Box. I highly recommend The Vesuvius Club (first in the series, and with quite a few - absolutely delicious - twists), but do read them all.

I'm definitely looking forward to some more Sherlock next year.
I did 'click' twice on that one: first, when I opened a friend's e-mail where she very strongly suggested that I watch it, and when I ordered the DVDs of Series 1 (same thing happened for Series 2, minus the e-mail: I now pre-order the DVDs).
Sherlock is so good that it rid me of depression for a few months (before another Real Life explosion made me go back to my plant pills). Just for that, I'd love it, but it's so incredibly good (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes's novels and short stories - in two huge volumes - were among the very first books I read, and they're in my brain forever) and it's made with so much love that it's become very dear to me.
Sherlock is having Holmes and Watson beamed over to our century and updated by a team of fans and devoted people who make it look astoundingly good.

Then, there's CBBC.
Completely by chance, I discovered two series that are very good. The titles caught my eyes, and it turns out that both are quite nice to watch.
Not taking things in order, the second that caught my eye is Leonardo. The plot is completely improbable, but who cares? It's entertaining and good (seriously, I wish the series had been this good when I was a teen... a few aeons ago).
And then, there's my current new addiction. The best surprise (for me) of the end of 2012 was Young Dracula.
I caught Series 4 on the telly, just because I wondered what that was about, and I thought 'Hey, why not give it a try?' (I was hooked before the end of the first episode I saw), and thanks to a cousin who'd saved her old iPlayer files, I was able to catch up on Series 1 to 3 (bless her!).
I discovered this series right after Auntie Beeb decided to release Young Dracula's Series 1 DVDs. I wasn't done watching Series 1 at my cousin's that I was already ordering the DVDs.
Now, our lovely "auntie" needs to wake up in marketing and get the other series on DVD, too; there seems to be a devoted audience - teens and older viewers (*cough* I'm not the only older viewer who finds it really good), and producers need to learn to feed the fans properly - and before the next millennium!
[Note to readers: if you've got an e-mail address to contact Auntie Beeb, share it with me. My hunt on the net was fruitless between CBBC and BBC Worldwide (which was indicated as the site to contact in order to know what DVDs are going to be released)]
So... if you like witty vampires and a stellar cast --> Young Dracula. You're welcome. Enjoy!

The Tale of the Warmongering Boy

Once upon a time, there was a boy who insinuated himself into a town guild. It wasn’t because he was interested in the activities of that particular group, but because he was planning to make himself look good and to profit from the prestige of the guild – and make fun of a few guildsmen as well.

The boy decided to pretend that he was terribly cute and charming; his strategy was to insist on those fake aspects of his personality.

For months, he worked diligently, and his act, combined with a fake exotic accent to ingratiate himself with the head of the guild, worked so well that he was soon welcome to all guild activities.

Yet, there was one member of the guild who’d always found the boy’s accent and behaviour to be suspicious.

One day, during a meeting, the member of the guild was disagreeing with the current politics of their trade, and he was pointing out that he didn’t think they were making the right choice, but he’d follow the decision of the guild.

That was when he heard the boy hiss that he should keep his words to himself because his point of view was useless.

He swirled towards the boy and growled, ‘What did you just say?’

‘Nuttin’, m’lord!’ the boy answered quickly, flustered.

‘How strange! I was under the impression that you wished me to remain silent on the topic,’ the guildsman pointed out.

The boy knew that he was trapped, and his only hope was to attack the man who could show the entire guild how petty and vain he was. He rushed to the side of the head of the guild and willed fake tears to his eyes as he mumbled, ‘Puhliz, m’lord! I was jus’ sayin’ tha’ the guildsman ough’ to tell us more on the topic. Tha’s all yar ‘ighness! I swear!’

The head of the guild looked at the guildsman and shrugged.

The guildsman turned to the boy and said, ‘All right, I’m willing to accept that you didn’t mean that. If you’ve got something to say, speak up and be clear.’

Then, the boy made a dire mistake; in his blind wish to turn the other guildsmen against the trader who was daring to call his shitehawk bluff, he went too far by using standard bullying technique: he tried to turn himself into the victim.

The boy started whimpering and pretended to cry as he wailed, ‘’Onest to Gawd, m’lord! Now it’s yous that’s picking on me because I’m so small, and I ‘asn’t ‘ad the good education that yous ‘ad. So yous’re picking on poor lil’ me. T’is unfair!’

By now, the guildsman had lost all respect for the boy, and he was ready to have him flayed for trying to make him look like a fool when all he’d done was defend himself.

‘And pray, boy! When did I pick on you?’ the guildsman inquired, his anger boiling dangerously up.

‘Right now! You said that I’m stupid!’ the boy shouted. ‘I never deserved tha’! Am a nic’ boy!’

Since all the other traders were silent, and not offering a word, for either side, the guildsman made a decision: he’d read the riot act to the boy.

‘Stop it!’ the guildsman yelled. ‘Even if I were to grant you that you did mean something different when I asked you to explain yourself, it would not change the fact that you’re trying to make me look bad, on purpose, in order to have the others say “Oh, that poor child! That adult is being so mean to him!”, but I can see through your sham. First, you should stop using that idiotic fake accent of yours! It’s childish; and sometimes, you stop using it, which shows that it’s not something natural to you. Then, I can tell a bully when I see one, and right now, you’re just playing the victim card. All bullies do that because most people are going to react to the last thing that was said, and they won’t look too far – or even stop to think!’

‘Bloody bastard! You’re a nuisance, and you should really shut your trap!’ the boy hissed.

The guildsman looked triumphantly at his fellows and said, ‘See! The boy is a bully. Now, it’s up to you all to make up your minds about him.’

The guildsman settled comfortably in his chair, whilst the boys looked daggers at him.

The moral of this story is that if you allow bullying boys to grow up into adults who still have the same mentality, they’ll end up being whingeing wankers of a variety that can start wars by twisting facts.

Think about it.

Fake Definitions: bipedhood

Disclaimer: This is obviously a fake definition.

bipedhood

Pronunciation: /ˈbʌɪpɛdhʊd/

noun

informal

[mass noun]

1 the state of acting like a warranted idiot rather than a human being: Brainless plonkers are extremely good examples of average bipedhood.

• the qualities that can nowadays be associated with stupid specimens of bipeds calling themselves humans, such as stupidity, parasitic behaviour, and complete intolerance: Most of the current nasty things on Earth are due to too many idiots being allowed to give in to their common inner bipedhood. 
• the sad members of the Homo Sapiens /ˌhəʊməʊ ˈsapɪɛnz, ˌhɒməʊ ˈsapɪɛnz/ species as a group: Apart from the fact that it makes the Latin name, 'wise man', look like a pathetic joke, or a blunder, bipedhood is characterised by the fact that its members are utterly incapable of seeing how harmful, bigoted, short-sighted, twisted and generally limited they are. 

2 splendid neologism the condition of being a twat: His bipedhood shows when he attempts to fight against human and civil rights in the 21st century.

 

Origin:
December, 11th, 2012: from Latin bipes, biped- (from bi- 'having two' + pes, ped- 'foot') + -hood

 

My E-Speakers' Corner

[Fair] WARNING: This is not a rant, just a growl. Read at your own risk.

I feel as if I've spent my whole week being angry because of tiny details, but with enough straw all backs break.

I've been annoyed by insignificant things - and yet... They are not that insignificant because, in my book, they reveal much, much deeper things, things that would make most people snort at me, but that I find important.

So, in no particular order, I give you:

-   I’ve caught several articles in Irish, British and American newspapers that were referring to the Duchess of Cambridge as “Kate Middleton”. That’s funny, because I seem to remember some big wedding months ago. 
 So, what is it? Is it that readers are too stupid (lazy?) to adapt to her new surname and title, or is it one of those sexist things where she’ll always be the commoner who married into the Royal family? 
 If you can call Miss X, “Mrs Y”, after her wedding to Mr Y, then you can do the same for the duchess. 
 I know it’s going to sound barmy, but I feel the urge to contact editors and ask them to do their jobs properly and/or volunteer my eyes to edit their papers because, Merlin! I’m not out of work soon if the current state of writing is any indication.

-         I’ve had a few problems in my classrooms this week: one student thought I was too stupid to spot that he’d copied and pasted a full page from the Internet (I’m an adult, so I must be stupid, right?); apart from the fact that he thinks that I wouldn’t notice that his first page was full of mistakes, whilst the second was almost perfect, my classroom rules clearly state that plagiarism is a thing that automatically makes a student fail. Perhaps the student will learn to spell ‘ouch’… 
 Mind you, I caught another one cheating, and the student was barely embarrassed as in ‘Oops, yea, I did that’; I didn’t even get an apology. 
 Icing on the cake, a friend of the cheating student cannot keep his mouth shut, so much that I’m left wondering if the precious one is smoking the bad lawn or inhaling some glue (seriously, there’s something odd). Well, that’s three students who’ll have to come back to class next semester for the same thing – Oh, joy of joys! *headDESK*

-         I see that our victim-blaming culture is alive and kicking. After the tragic death of the poor nurse who put the prank call through to her colleague in charge of the Duchess of Cambridge (if you want to read an excellent account of what happened, go there), I’ve seen a few people say that there was a security/privacy breach and that there was to be more to the story because no one dies because of a prank. Whatever happened to ‘Who gave these idiots the right to call the hospital for so-called fun?’? Um??? 
Let’s not forget that a young woman’s health was in the picture, too (I’ve also seen people says ‘Pfft! She’s pregnant; that’s all!’, but all these twats forget that all pregnancies are potentially lethal and that the condition that had her shipped to the hospital is quite serious). 
Perhaps I’m wrong, but if someone calls, pretending to be her Majesty at 5:30 in the morning, I’d probably go: ‘Yes, Ma’am. Whatever you want, Ma’am.’, which takes us back to the ‘Who gave them the right to do this?!’. 
And to the heartless bipeds that think there’s no reason to die over a prank, I’ll say that they’re not the victim of a callous stupidity that went virally global, that they can’t know how bad the nurse felt for falling for that prank and that they basically don’t know (or care about) how she felt after this. 
Two people thought that it was funny to make a prank call because, somehow, they think that they’re entitled to make fun of and/or profit from a charming young woman only because she’ll be a queen someday. 
Like gossipers, pranksters consider that they’ve got the right to do what they do, but they do NOT, and today the world has lost a woman (a wife and a mother) to heartless arrogance and complete stupidity.

-         On Twitter, I started following the Sea Shepherd group. 
I might have to start buying more tissues: I’m watching the preparations to dolphins’ slaughter in Taiji, Wakayama Prefecture, Japan, live. 
I have to take short breaks, or I’d kill my keyboard by soaking it. Dolphins are either murdered or sold to aquariums. 
In the live feed, you can hear the dolphins’ cries, and it’s so incredibly sad. I’d rather starve to death than harm a dolphin (and yes, I mean that), and I can’t understand how anyone can do that. 
I’ll go a step farther: the murderers are very lucky that I’m not over there because I’d try to stop them. Over the past minutes, I’ve been dreaming of baseball bats, and even if I dream of a Klingon ship coming to help, I know it’s unrealistic… but I do dream of snipers. Awful? Yes, but I’m on the side of dolphins.

There are days when I wonder if my DNA mutated, or something, because I really don't feel related to most of  this Earth's lazy, heartless, brainless, greedy bipeds.
I'm going to stay on my soap box for a while, if you don't mind...