Time-Sensitive Prayers

Obligatory poster for a discussion on time travel... check.

     A while back some Chinese dudes informed us that it is not possible to travel back in time; the math doesn't add up. According to them, it might be possible to go forwards in time, but definitely not backwards (the article I link seems to think differently). I have known this for a long time, though, by this simple logic: If it was possible to travel back in time, then someone would have traveled back in time already. We'd know. He'd show up and say "Hey guys! It's possible! I did it! I traveled as far back in time as I felt safe, just so I could tell you that, hey! It's possible! It turns out all you have to do is have two video cameras recording each other as they record each other, and maybe a solar flare or something! Don't let McDonald's do that pink sludge thing they did-or-will-do for a while!!"
     I understand that logic isn't foolproof, but I think it's pretty close. I do have this one nagging question, though:

     Can prayer travel back in time?

     Do you ever tell someone you'll pray for them, and then forget about it? I have done this several times. One time I had a friend going in for surgery. I told him I'd pray for him during the surgery. I did not. I was probably doing something important like saving Princess Peach or not grading papers at the time. When I remembered that my friend was having surgery, it was like 4 hours after his surgery. I panicked. What do I do?
     Well, I prayed for him. "Dear God I hope his surgery went well."
     Then I thought about that prayer. "Dear God I hope his surgery went well." Besides the fact that it was pretty thin and almost selfish, it had one big problem: It was past tense. I was praying for something that already happened, hoping it happened in a certain way. Was that remotely valid? Did it accomplish anything? Was God laughing at me?
     I guess when I see someone who just came back from vacation, I say "I hope the weather was nice" or "I hope you had a good time." Those are sincere feelings and expressions. But at the same time, I am not trying to impact or change anything about their trip, I'm just expressing that I am pulling for them. Whereas, when I pray for someone's surgery, or job interview, or, I dunno, root canal, to go well, I believe at some level that prayer can actually make a difference in the events that unfold. That is fundamentally different from hoping that the sun was out yesterday.

     So I continued to think about that specific prayer, and prayer in general. Prayer is weird and I don't really get it. If I ask for something, often, and for the right reasons, in the right way, I might get what I ask for? If praying about something causes that thing to happen - and let's pretend that if I hadn't prayed for that thing than it wouldn't have happened - does that mean that prayer can change God's mind? Can God change his mind? Are there things of less consequence that God can decide on at the moment, while others are pretty set in stone?

     (In my opinion, for those last three questions: yes, yes and yes)

     So, say that Joe had a successful surgery. It was successful because so many wonderful, handsome people like myself were praying for him. Except I prayed for him after the fact. But God knew that I would pray for him, so Joe met his prayer quota. So God had the surgery go well at the last second. Whew! Good thing I still prayed even though I thought it was too late, huh!
     No, not a good thing. If I were to pray, today, that 9-11 never happened, it would still have happened. Or if I were to pray that I had never dislocated my shoulder, to grab a much smaller and more reasonable example, it still would have happened. In effect (while dealing with this "Joe" hypothetical), me praying for Joe's surgery didn't change the outcome of his surgery, the outcome of Joe's surgery dictated that I would pray for his surgery!! Don't you see! If God were to make a decision, based on a prayer that I had yet to make, He was really forcing me down a path that I would pray my prayers! What!? No free will!? I don't like that.
     Now, maybe I would have prayed anyways, and sure He could have known that, and thus counted the prayers for that surgery throughout time, but then shouldn't we just devote ourselves to praying for all things past, present, future, but especially in the past?
     What happens if I pray "God I pray I don't pray this prayer." ??

     Conclusion: My prayers cannot go back in time.

     That is okay, because I think the essence of prayer is the heart, and God knows my heart was with Joe, at some pathetically incompetent and selfish level. So even though I didn't pray for his surgery, God might have counted it anyways. Or He might not have cared.

     For what it's worth, I don't think God is looking for a prayer quota, or the right words or conditions for Him to agree to things we ask for. I think it's primarily a method for getting us to talk with Him. I think He just likes having us invite Him in our life. Like when my parents allowed me to be dead broke and starving hungry throughout college; they knew it would bring me home to ask for food and eat dinner, and they were still at point that they liked having me around. (They didn't think I was aware of this sordid little plot but I was.)

     So we cannot go back in time, and our prayers probably can't either. This is undoubtedly a good thing.

    Also, for what it's worth (FWIW as the kids say): I now, whenever I tell someone I will pray for them, pray for them right then. Like, as we are talking I think "Dear God I pray for that thing I just said I'd pray for."
    On a related note, I am not as good of a prarer as I used to be. (Isn't it weird how sometimes we say "pray-yer" and sometimes we say "prare?") So, I guess it's not surprising that I have to resort to praying for someone immediately, and in such a wanting fashion as "I pray for what I just said," but I'll get it back.

How To Be A Fantastic Facebooker

I use this picture for lots of things (obviously, look around). It epitomizes what I want you to think about me: relaxed, adventurous, hammock-owning, water-loving, hat-wearing. Etc. 

     I start off a lot of my blog posts with a lie. A statement along the lines of "All of you ask me all the time, how are you so great at knitting?!" and then I dive into my blog post on knitting. Of course no one has ever actually said anything like that to me.

     This one, however is not a lie. I have had a fair amount of people comment that I am a great facebooker. A friend recently told me that, by commenting on her status update, I had validated her status. Another friend, who I consider a terrific facebooker, once told me he reads everything I put on the book (Wow! What a great feeling. This must be what it feels like when you are following someone on twitter and they follow you back!!).

     I tell you this not (entirely) to boast, but to establish my credentials: I am a good facebooker. You can be a good facebooker too. Follow these important rules:

     1) This is the most important facebook rule of all time. NEVER EVER EVER POST SOLELY ABOUT THE WEATHER. Is it snowing outside? Everyone knows. Everyone else is posting about the snow. The cool kids don't have time to post about the snow because they are out playing in the snow. You look like an idiot. You can post about something you are doing in the weather. If it is sunny out, and the sun inspired you to write a classic rock song, awesome. Tell the world. If the sun is out and that is the entirety of your day, make something up.

     2) You are allowed to be too cool for punctuation. No one is too cool for proper spelling. This isn't twitter. You don't have a tight character limit, you have a keyboard or a smartphone, take the time to re-read your post. If you misspelled a word, that becomes the focus of your post instead of what a great time you had with the grils last night! Wooo! It's not worth it.

     3) Post things that make you look like a loser as well as things that make you look awesome. Too much of either is very transparent. We all know you have a lot of loser in you (how do we know this, you might ask? Because you have a facebook and you check it.) So your profile picture can be you on top of a mountain or in hawaii or something, but you can also explain that you are afraid to dive head-first into water. Find the balance.

    4) Don't use facebook primarily to promote your band or your blog or you art or your photography. Sure, let it seep through, because it's who you are, but when you turn the book into your personal advertising platform, your "friends" start to think they are your "demographic" and will unsubscribe.

     5) In general, don't "share" links often. Instead, go to the source, copy and paste the link and place it as your status update. People will think you found it on your own, and for some reason they think that's cool. I stumbled onto this recently. In the picture above, a friend (and sucker) credited me for sharing something "first," when really I originally saw this video on someone else's page. (Also, the video is really worth watching if you haven't already). This ties in with the next one:

     6) Don't participate in a meme unless you personally started that meme. It's just too risky. Those things have a shelf life of about 42 minutes before everyone realizes it's about to be cool to be sick of them.

     7) I will never judge anybody for the games they play. If you want to Farmville, feel free to Farmville away. But for the love of my feed do not have the game you play send me requests and invites. I don't care how many baby cows you raised today or that if I click a link I can earn you 5 gold coins. I don't care. No one cares.

     8) Limit your status updates. Maybe one or two a day. And take a day off frequently. You need to have people clamoring for more. I am constantly in a state of trying to decide which status update to post (as I always have like five floating around my brain. That's normal, right?), because some are time-sensitive and some are gold whenever. The above Coscto post? I've wanted to share it for months. (I've really been crushing it there for months, to be honest). I've let some gold updates fall through the cracks, just because I don't want to overwhelm the world.

     I'll be the first to admit that when Wyatt was born I was facebooking like crazy. Had to tone it down. It'll happen.

     9)  Comment rarely. The stuff you have to say is not very profound or important. It's just not. If you only say your unprofound thoughts rarely, they might seem a bit more important. I struggle with this one. I can't tell you how many times I have typed something and promptly deleted it. If a comment survives you thinking it over, it's worth commenting.

     10)  Follow facebook etiquette. There are a few basic rules:
            - If your post or comment is one sentence, you don't need to punctuate. If it is more, general grammar rules apply.
            - Know when to post to someone's wall and when to send them a message. If you want the world to see it, send it to their wall. If you are saying "let's hang out" or "how you doin?" then make it a message. Otherwise you look desperate.
            - If one person you know is in a conversation that comes up on your feed, and you are not a part of the conversation but want to be, check who first started the topic. If you know that person, feel free to chime in. If not, take a moment to introduce yourself and then chime in.
            - Just stop and think about who and what you are tagging before you tag it, okay?

     You see, having a facebook is all about projecting the illusion that you have a life, and important thoughts and ideas. You do have a life and important ideas, but your life and ideas aren't that cool or unique. You are not LeBron James or Mel Gibson. You certainly aren't Daniel Tosh. (In fact, since you are still reading this I can pretty safely assume you are my mom, or at least related to me. Hi mom and/or aunts!!). The illusion of cool can come from some simple, tactful facebook techniques. It's simply about supply and creating demand. If you limit the supply, over time people will find your facebooking more valuable and gravitate towards it more. Thus, you seem cool when in fact we are not.

     Not at all.

The Chronicles of Rehab: Interacting With Nurses

     I dislocated my shoulder while skiing three years ago (almost to the day). I never had surgery on the shoulder because I was cheap and I could live with it. It wasn't impacting my day to day life. This past August I tore my ACL. It immediately impacted my day to day life. I decided to operate on both, in the same insurance year, so that I could "buy one get one free" for surgeries and rehab. These experiences will likely dominate this blog for the foreseeable future.

     Recently, I admitted to the world that I am a fainter who wets himself and then rubs his hands in his urine. It is a good thing I am already married, because a blog post like that (and a picture like the one at the bottom of this page) would never see the light of day otherwise. But it gets better. Apparently I am an embarassing ass when drugged.
     When I am in a right state of mind, I think I am a pretty friendly and entertaining person. I put forth extra effort to be relaxed and of good humor when I'm around people that usually don't interact with a lot of happy people, like cops, doctors, nurses, pharmacists, dentists, door-to-door salesmen, and customer service reps who actually try to be helpful. So when my nurse is asking me questions to get to know me and do her job, I try to ask her some too. When my anesthesiologist says "I am going to give you a shot in your groin" I reply "oh gosh, I am very nervous about my groin in general" and he laughs. When the surgeon says "surgery went well" I say "you're welcome."
     All of that sincere, genuine kindness? No good when I'm medicated.
     I don't know if this will make sense unless you have experienced and then reflected on it, but when I was coming out of my induced sleep after surgery, I was awake before I was awake. I was saying and doing things I have no recollection of doing. At some point, next thing I know I am sitting up, actually awake, and people are laughing and talking to me, but in a sort of forced, maybe-not-totally comfortable way. Looking back I see they were laughing at me, of course. But at the time, I don't know it. I was all of a sudden awake and people were having a good time and I was just loose enough to roll with it.
     So I got louder. I tried to get funnier. I playfully told my nurse I was going to give her a bad evaluation. I called another nurse by the wrong name, because that's hilarious too. After a couple of minutes of this, a nurse asks me what my job is and I say "I teach math."
     "Oh, I bet you are one of the cool teachers, huh?"
     "Definitely. The coolest. That's all I care about. I don't care if they are learning math at all, just as long as they think I am cool. In fact, I try to teach them how to be cool. Because coolness, that lasts forever."
     "Oh yeah, how do you teach them to be cool?"
     "Oh it's all about looks. Obviously. I mean as you are taking off my scrubs you can tell that I am super good looking, so I'm cool."
     "Yeah, I need to dress cooler" one nurse says.
     "No no no, you're fine."I turn to another nurse. I honestly can't remember if I complemented her or insulted her, but I think I landed on "you'd be cool if you had a different haircut."


     These are a few of the things I remember saying. Apparently I said other things too. For example, Cara saw someone in the Operating Room she knew, so they stopped and chatted. As she tells it, their conversation went like this:
     -exchange pleasantries-
     Him (pointing to Wyatt): Is that your baby?
     Cara: Yeah, this is Wyatt
     Him (pointing to me in the bed): Is that yours too?
     Cara: Yes, he's mine too.
     Me, to no one in particular: I BELONG TO NO ONE!! <throws fist in the air>


     According to my mom, who was there towards the end: When the nurse was taking off your scrubs and putting you in your clothes, you were very concerned. You kept saying things like "Should you be doing this in front of my wife? This isn't okay, it's very inappropriate." The nurse would say, "no, she's okay with it, she's right there." I would insist "she would not be okay with this, this isn't appropriate."
     Apparently the nurse then made fun of my chest hair? "Chest fuzz" is the term my mom said the nurse used. Point of the story: I'm a catch.

     Also according to Cara: She's on one side of the bed and I see her and reach out my hands to touch her face or something, but I am looking at her and grabbing at someplace far off to the left. Then, a moment later, she is on the other side of the bed. I ask "Who are you?" Cara still hasn't made it clear to me if I was being playful or if I was confused. 
     One of the nurses says "That's your wife!"
     I look her up and down and proclaim "I can do better."


     Now, you are fully aware that I am a faint-then-pee-then-stick-my-hand-in-my-pee kinda guy who looks like this and who apparently can't hold his pain meds the way mormons can't hold their liquor. I'd like to make this very clear to everyone: holy crap no I cannot do better. Cara and I got engaged 17 days after we started dating for a reason. I had to lock that down. I needed to get her married before she realized what a loser I am. Whenever someone asks me about my wife, like a coworker or someone who hasn't met her, I explain that she's a beautiful smart pharmacist who definitely married down. They tend to think I am being falsely modest (so they obviously don't know me well, false modesty is not my thing). Then one day they meet her. Later on I say "see, I wasn't kidding when I say she married down" and they politely agree.

Cara and Scout and I at Blue Pool

The Chronicles of Rehab: Accidents

     I dislocated my shoulder while skiing three years ago (almost to the day). I never had surgery on the shoulder because I was cheap and I could live with it. It wasn't impacting my day to day life. This past August I tore my ACL. It immediately impacted my day to day life. I decided to operate on both, in the same insurance year, so that I could "buy one get one free" for surgeries and rehab. These experiences will likely dominate this blog for the foreseeable future.

     Note: This post contains some pretty graphic "toilet humor" that many of you may find offensive. I am going to use blunt and uncomfortable words like "pee," "urine," "apple juice" and "framsham" to describe bodily functions. I apologize for any issue this may cause you in your life.

This is how the adventure started.

     "You see, Grant's a fainter."

     There are few things more old-timey-embarassing than fainting. It's what you see overwhelmed housewives do on black-and-white tv shows when something shocking happens. Today, my dad explained to my wife that I am "a fainter."
     Today was my ACL surgery. We scheduled the surgery the day after I gave finals so that I would have almost two weeks to recover without work. Cara and Wyatt and I drove to the orthopedics center at 6:00am, braving ice and cold. I was admitted promptly, operated on smoothly, and sent home around 10:00 am. I am currently lying on the couch with a TV remote, wireless PS3 controller, laptop, DS and a copy of The Hobbit. I chose to leave the Wii in the bedroom so that when we go to bed I can play there too.
     Moments ago, I was lying on the bathroom floor looking at the ceiling, thinking to myself "Wow I am hungry."
     At about noon I really had to pee. I had to pee so bad it woke me from my nap. I told Cara, she got my crutches ready and helped me to my feet. I crutched to the toilet, centered myself, braced myself against a wall, and urinated. As I was peeing I felt a lot of relief. Then I felt weak. Then I realized I was going to faint and had one thought: "Don't hurt your knee." So I rotated, fell back against the wall, and took a nap.
     I woke up about a minute later. Cara was nervous and asking me questions. She was sure I had concussed. Apparently she saw me just as my eyes were rolling back into my head and I was losing consciousness. I was quickly able to reassure her that I was fine, that I remember my back hitting the wall and not my head, that I was very hungry, that I had drunk some apple juice I think, that I felt fine, and that everything was okay. She called my dad to come help me up, and just be around in general. She was very shook up.
     After she had relaxed a bit she was sitting on the toilet (not using it!!) and talking with me, trying to keep me awake just to be safe. She said "You know you peed your pants, right?" I knew my shirt was wet and assumed it was sweat. I did not know I had peed my pants.
     "Yeah, I know," was my reassuring reply. "Poop!!" I thought while lying on the bathroom floor, lying to my wife. "I haven't wet myself since the last time I was in a pool! And I haven't accidentally wet my self since 2008! I really wanted to make it a whole decade for once." (sorry, I guess I should have warned you that I used the word "poop" too).

Apparently Wyatt and I look identical after peeing on the floor: comfortable. (Picture NSFW)

     Dad arrived (after having gone to get some food. Seriously.) and nonchalantly told Cara "Grant's a fainter." You see, I have used to get "head rushes" all the time. Do you ever stand up fast - so fast that your vision fades away except a small circle, you feel dizzy and weak, and have a slight headache as everything goes back to normal. That's a head rush. I have had hundreds, most of them in high school (not when I was high).

     In college I went to see the dentist once (like, literally, I think I only went one time). They didn't give me any anesthetic or knock me out or anything, just numbed my mouth. I hadn't eaten all day (which happened quite often back then. Breakfast was a luxury.) When they finished doing whatever they were doing, they said "okay, you're good to go!" and I said "really?" I felt weak and like it was sudden. I got up, walked outside and got one of those head-rushes. This time, as it was happening I thought "Wow, this is a bad one!" Then I thought "Wow! I think I am going to faint!"
     Next thing I knew I heard two people walking up, a little girl and her mom. The daughter was very sweet and talkative. I heard her, without being able to distinguish any words, in the distance, and then thought "I am outside a dentist's office lying on my back, fainted (I still couldn't see at this point). She is going to be so nervous and hate the dentist."
     She said "Mommy he's sleeping!"
     Mommy said "No, um, honey, he's not."
     I started to sit up and look around and said "I'm fine, I'm fine, I think I fainted but I'm fine. The dentist is nice."
     The dentists and hygienists were mortified. They were very helpful and gave me some of their lunch. My mommy picked me up, bought me food and drove my home. I was fine.

     I guess now I am "a fainter." And a, I don't know, a "faint-pee-er."

     Funny conclusion: (at least I think it's funny) You know how I was more concerned about that little girl at the dentist than myself? Well, today while on the bathroom floor, I was also more concerned about Cara's than myself. She was actually in tears at some point. Apparently, when I was unconscious and relieving myself, my hand fell into a pool of urine. When I was conscious, I put my hand up to touch Cara's face or grab or hand and she - having seen the previous dip in the pool I took - was not very receptive.


Number of times I used italics in this post: 5
Number of times I used parentheses in this post: (11)
Number of pictures in this post: 2
Adam Sandler refrences in this post: none

March Drives-Me-Mad-Ness

    Clever title!!

Yet another year where I won't need to follow March Madness. Go Ducks.

     I can't bring myself to do March Madness. There are two vital, essential pieces to enjoying and participating in March Madness: You either have a team you care about in the tournament (nope), or you fill out a bracket and enter some sort of a betting pool. I can't bring myself to do the latter.
     You see, I hate being wrong. What I hate even more than being wrong is being factually, demonstrably wrong. Usually if I am wrong about something I can weasel, lie, manipulate, distort and blame to deflect my wrongness. I can't do that with a busted bracket. So I don't make brackets.
     I've tried. I've looked at them and tried to imagine how they will shake down. But I don't watch college basketball and I don't know anything except for who the powerhouse names are. So I'll have a bracket with teams like Duke, North Carolina, Kentucky, Indiana (what?!) Arizona (huh?) UConn of course, and a token SEC/Big East team make their elite eights and go from there. Of course I am wrong somewhere. I am more wrong than most other people. I hate it.
     If a team I care about is in the dance (read: Oregon), than it's almost worse. Should I play favorites and put them in the Elite Eight? Should I understand that they are never that good and knock them out in the first round? These decisions stress me out. There's two main options: 1) I put them deep into the tournament. This means I am either rooting for my team to win, knowing that when they lose I will be doubly let down, or knowing that if they go farther than I predicted I will have some amount of disappointment and can't fully enjoy their success. 2) I have them lose in the first or second round, which results in me just rooting for my favorite team to lose and that's annoying.

Ugh. What about this isn't stressful?!

     Do you see how impossible this is!?
     This is an issue with sports in general. Your team will ultimately lose, unless they win it all, and your team won't win it all. It's a guaranteed disappointment. I guess this is an issue with most of life. Louis CK does a stand-up bit about how marriage, like buying a puppy, is an investment in disappointment. When you bring a puppy home, you are telling your family "Someday soon, maybe in 3 years or 12 years, we are going to be sad!" This is how I feel with March Madness

     It causes me to miss out. I am not drawn to watch the games, because I don't have any vested interest, and the basketball isn't really that good. I didn't get to see Stephan Curry blow up 5 years ago, I generally missed out on the Butler runs, and I just avoid conversations for a couple of weeks. The rest of the world is having fun and excited and has an outlet until we hit spring, and I am just glad that no one will know how little I know about college basketball these days.
     This is honestly part of why I love math. I can do a problem and be right. There's no question as to whether or not I am right, most of the time. Additionally, it has taught me how to argue and use logic to my advantage, so when I am wrong, it is probably due to some gray area of some sort, and I can deflect.
     Also, I am a very healthy, normal person with no social issues.

Gilchrist Christmas Card

     Cara and I have taken a Christmas picture or written a Christmas card every year for the last six (we've been married four). They are always super popular with everyone! We say clever things and take great photos and everything. One year we borrowed a friend's baby (we weren't even dating).
     This year was no exception. Our Christmas Card picture was phenomenal! It is going to be staying on everyone's fridge for years.

     ... Except we didn't mail them. Not a single one. We gave a few to some family members and we made a string of them through our house, but that's it. So! Since winter here in Eugene is rapidly fading into post-winter (which is followed by half-winter-half-spring, then fake spring, and then three glorious weeks of summer before early-fall), I thought I would give you all the gift of us via the internets.

     I had to take a picture of the picture to get it onto the internets. It's the only way.

...This one has an artsy sun rising in the middle of it. 

     I can make it a bit more clear what these picture are of with some artsy closeups.

Here's two-month-old Wyatt in a cute little hoodie. It's in black and white.

There was a... uh... solar flare 

     And here it is again when the sun has risen a bit further.

     If you want one of these photos for your fridge (and they are even more charming in real life), then you have a few easy options! And one complicated option!

     Option 1) Let me know! If you give me your name and address, and a stamp and a self-addressed envelope, I will gladly send you a picture! Make sure the envelope you give me will fit the standard, Costco-printed Christmas Card form.

     Option 2) Right click one of these pictures, and "Save As" to your desktop. Then, all you have to do is print the picture, or load it up to your favorite store's printing website, print it up and go pick it up. Easy and convenient.

     Option 3) Come on over to my house and grab one! I am not going to post my address online, so you can email/call/write me a letter if you want.

      Option 4) Head down to the corner of 5th and Broadway. There's a guy. Tell the guy that you want the package. Make sure you say it just like that. You don't want "a package" or "the thing." The guy (his name is Lenny but don't tell him you know his name) will invite you in through the side door. He's going to give you directions on a map. Flip the map over. There will be five words that form a jumble. Actually, I am pretty sure that it's just that day's jumble. Ask Lenny (don't say his name!) what the answer to the jumble is. He'll give you the answer. The answer is "He wanted to jump over it." Oh crap I shouldn't have told you that. I guess now you can skip like the first five steps. Anyways, something something, mailbox, underneath it, another clue, something happens, you get a Christmas Card.

     If you can think of any other way to get our Christmas Card that doesn't involve me actually writing down a bunch of addresses, stamping and mailing them, I'd be all for it. Just let me know!

    

Criticism

     "Can I just say, you can be a real ass."

     I haven't been the best teacher this term. I've noticed that my energy and patience are much lower than usual. I respond less frequently to emails. I am finishing my grading more slowly, and have made a lot more mistakes in grading (and while teaching) than I am comfortable with. This hasn't sat well with me, as the term has wore on, but I haven't really dealt with it either.
     The day I gave my first test in one of my classes, about three weeks ago now, I got a note from a student (which stated it was written on behalf of at least a couple of students). These students felt that I moved too quickly when teaching, and that I needed to give more time on the test I had them take. I considered their arguments (I feel that I often do move too quickly), but in that scenario there were extenuating circumstances.

     Today, however, I was approached in back-to-back classes. In my math 65 course, a student told me about how he was struggling. He was a very frank, honest and mature person. He told me he thought I was a fine teacher and that if I taught anything but math he'd be "all about" my class, but that he needs more hand-holding and coddling in math (his words). I get this from students a lot. I think all teachers of entry-level math do. Students come in with such a fear of the subject, and a history of frustration, that we are both losing the battle before class starts.
     He explained that he didn't find me approachable. That it took him a lot of nerve to talk to me after class. And that he didn't think he was the only one that felt that way. Okay.

     A couple of weeks ago, in another class, a student did very poorly on her test. She talked to me after I returned the graded tests and asked if she could retake it. I asked her why she thought she would do better the next time, and she told me she met with a tutor (after the test) and understands things better now. I told her she could re-work the test, and if she did improve I'd give her a retake. She didn't improve. I think she felt that I was being dismissive of her (which, in all honesty, at that point I was). I asked her what she was in school for, and she wants to be an elementary school teacher.
    About a week later I tried to talk with her again about her plans and her future. I was trying to get a read on the sort of help she needed, or if it was worth an investment of my time. (It's kind of hard to view someone as "worthy" of extra help, but it happens). She told me she was going to have to quit school after this term because of her baby that was coming soon.
     Well, today in her class I gave a quiz. She finished last, and as she finished she said, to no one in particular, "Math takes me a while, but I'm not stupid at math." I had made no suggestion of impatience or frustration that I was aware of, so I said "Oh yeah, I understand." She followed with "Can I just say, you can be a real ass."
     I wish I could say I was caught off guard.
     "I apologize, that's not my intention. Can you help me? I don't want to be an ass to you or anyone else, so can you tell me what I did that made you feel that way?"
     "When we had that conversation, you made me feel retarded."
     "I'm sorry, I would never try to make you feel retarded, and I don't think you are retarded. Which conversation was it? Was it the one about the test?"
     "No, the one after that."
     I assume she is referring to the one I described above, where I was trying to determine if I should be helping her more. I've run it through my mind several times, and I thought I was being understanding and genuine and showing concern. Apparently I was not coming across that way.

     In the span of about two hours, from two extremely different personalities and backgrounds, I had been told I was an unapproachable ass. Not the qualities of great teachers.

     I have been less approachable this term. I am a bit more - how do I say this - myself this term than I normally let myself be in front of the class. It's not like I am trying to be less approachable, but I am not putting forth the effort that I used to to make it clear that I am happy to help people and take any question. Like I said, I haven't been the best teacher this term. So I guess these two students have confirmed what I have been feeling for a while.
     But here's where I struggle: those tests that my students complained about? This class averages were 74% (good) and 80% (great!) - and I don't give easy tests. I have lots of students in all my classes that ask lots of questions. I crack jokes and they laugh, they crack jokes and I laugh. I am connecting with a strong majority of my students. That's a good thing. I used to work to connect with the others, and this term I am not. That's a problem.
   
     The term is now half over. Five weeks down, five to go. I am going to work at being more energetic, approachable, and not-assy. I think I can do better.

Stuff That Happened To Me Today

     I subbed at the high school today for the first time in like two months.I've learned a couple of tricks in my last couple subbing adventures that I'd like to share with you.

     If the class has no homework assigned, I will lie to them. I should point out, I lie to students all the time. It's one of my main teaching strategies. I tell students I like them when I don't or that I don't like them when I do, or that their test is going to be hard when it's easy, or that I once hit a squirrel in the face with a rock. Things like that. Well, if the class doesn't have any homework, it's because they have a test that day. So I tell the students, "After you finish your test I'll put the homework on the board." When they all finish the test, I say, "You know, you worked real hard on that test and were a good class, so I am just not going to assign the homework. If your teacher has any issue with that, she can take it up with me."

     You should see the smiles on these kids' faces. They call me a hero and applaud me and give me high-fives and handshakes. It's wonderful.

     I wanted to feel that feeling more often. The feeling of being more-than-tolerated. So now, when classes do have homework, I lie. Say they are supposed to do problems 25 - 45 odd. I will write on the board "Page 312, problems 25 - 45 odd, 53 - 61 odd. Then, after a few moments, say, "no, that's too long," and erase the made-up stuff. They get much more confused and stressed, and aren't really relieved or proud of me at all, but I am still having fun. I think that's what matters most.

     I've always been kind of fascinated that I can just say stuff and people do it. Not even in teaching, but in life in general. I have a pathological addiction to lying, I think, kind of like the janitor. Everything written here is totally true, though.

     Another sub trick, although it is really more like a life trick, happens when reading names. I'll read, out loud, about 130 names a day when I sub, and I always feel bad for the kids that always have their names pronounced wrong. I've learned that you are much more likely to say a name right if you say it as fast as you possibly can. This works especially well with Asian names, if I am allowed to say that. Also, I will somewhat randomly alternate between first and last names, so that if a person has one name I am comfortable with I can say it and not look like I am singling anybody out. Still, I really butchered like 5 names today...

     I was walking Wyatt around the loop trying to get him to fall asleep. After a few laps, I burped, then he burped, then he farted and I farted before he was done farting. Then he peed.

     

The Five Stages of Housewifery

(Seen Through Facebook)

   I am a man and I work hard and have a job, but I imagine it's hard for a woman to stay home with the baby all day long. Women that sacrifice careers and self-fulfillment to raise a baby are heroes, which is better than being a heroine. Recently I experienced first-hand the struggles of being a housewife: The five stages of housewifery. The stages are well documented of course: excitement, fear, sharing, emptiness and other pursuits, exhaustion - all of them are ultimately cries for help, and they are common among stay-at-home moms, and need to be addressed. I recently experienced all six of the stages of housewifery in a very public manner: The Facebook. I've taken my housewife life and pulled it from the pages of The Facebook, then break it down below, trying to raise awareness for this important issue.

(In order to protect other people that commented on my The Facebook posts, pictures were copied and cropped. Please bear with the blurry, raw, startling images that follow. Also, all comments come in a third-person form to make it seem more real or something.)

Stage 1: Excitement

     As you can see, at around 12:00 noon at the start of this day, the housewife is excited to spend time with his baby. This is common and usually lasts for several weeks. Changing diapers is a joy. Every new look, smile and accomplishment is a treasure. Experiences are happening daily. It is truly a wonderful time that should be treasured. Still, it is plain to see in Grant that he has some fear setting in already (cluing us in to his accelerated rate of progression through these stages).

Stage 2: Fear

     It is natural for any new mother to question his ability to raise a child. There is a lot of pressure and a life is at stake. Additionally, this man is burdened by the legitimate fear that from a physical standpoint he might not be able to fully nurture his child. The fear stage tends to pass quickly, as the baby continues to grow and doesn't die. (What isn't shown here, due to the need for protecting other's privacy, is Grant later asks how to tell if a baby is full. He'll get there! Be patient!)

Stage 3: Sharing

 

     These are four of the pictures he added to The Facebook, each with increasingly worse captions (the one in the top right said "look what Santa left under the tree!" for crying out loud). It's natural for the housewife to want to share the cute, fun, memorable moments of his child's life, but he fails to realize that not everyone on his The Facebook feed cares. It becomes a bit much (and when he realizes he is overwhelming his friends, another solution is found, as we will see). This stage has no clear beginning or ending time, and can last FOREVER.

Stage 4: Emptiness and Other Pursuits

     How can the desperate housemom occupy his time? Facebook, feeding, cooking and cleaning aren't fulfilling. The man feels that there needs to be some real accomplishment in his personal life. He will become a "gardener," "chef," "photographer," (a natural extension from the "sharing" phase he may still be in), some sort of an interior or exterior designer. He might try to do some research or reading to keep the mind sharp. Maybe watch some documentaries to stay informed. Whatever it may be, his Other Pursuits culminate in a blog.

     The blog. This is the time when loved ones should become concerned. A truly worthwhile and important endeavor - raising a child - can be supplanted by a trivial, waste-of-time, never-going-to-profit, no-one-cares blog. It is a cry for help. "Please! Give me attention! Let me know I am loved for something more than storytime and milk! Why am I so alone!?" It is a sad and challenging time for all involved.

     Notice that middle post above, the blog that our hero (remember, that's inarguably better than "heroine") has started. He goes to the point of writing My Kid Is Special!! and posts incredibly embarassing pictures. He intends to continue updating this blog with the pathetic, depressing events of a housewife's life. Tragic.

Stage 5: Exhaustion

     The exhaustion phase is less obvious. Cracks start to show. Patience declines. Less effort is given to be polite, or to keep up appearances. He is just tired. A girls night out is a welcome break, but he feels guilty for leaving his son (and wants the world to know he's still a good, loved mom). He expresses his insecurities as a mother to the whole world. Maybe tomorrow will  be better? The hope he shows towards the end feels empty - as empty as taking up cross stitching. He's just flat tired.

     If you read through his posts quickly, you can see the decline of his temperament. He moves from happy, energetic and hopeful, to ultimately stressed, unhappy and probably on some sort of FBI lists. Usually this decline takes years and several children. Today it took ten hours. Truly an interesting case.

     Being a mom is a tough job. Again, I don't know that first hand, as I personally fulfill all of my manly duties as a manly husband. But I am trying to relate here. Those poor women. Do what you can to help any you might know. Heed their cries for help. A friend, a night out, a funny video with cats, anything. Be aware of the five stages of housewifery.

This Post Not Written Due to Legend of Zelda

Proof that I have been busy
not playing video games.

... I mean Wyatt. I've been taking such good care of my new son Wyatt that I haven't had time to write a blog post (although I do have a couple drafts that I'm cleaning up, one on aliens and one on variables, so, um, those sound interesting, right?).

     I've also been posting some things prematurely without knowing it, drafts that aren't complete or are in an old state, and that's annoying, so I am going to be more careful. You don't care about any of this.

So I leave you with this: Hugh Laurie (of House fame) singing his song "Mystery" from his British sketch comedy show A Bit of Fry and Laurie back in the day.

I Am An Idiot.

     My beloved cousins up in Portland get together and make frozen burritos. Lots of them. I'd be exaggerating if I said they make thousands of them, but they certainly make hundreds. They brought some down to Eugene right after Wyatt was born (I like to pretend that I got the most out of all of the Eugene Gilchrists, due to my favored status, but I don't think it's true).  I've been taking a frozen burrito to work for lunch every day ever since. It's been a lifesaver and the burritos are delicious.

It's proof of my idiocy

     The burritos are individually wrapped in wax paper and are filled with chicken, pork, or beef.
     The kitchen where I am working this fall is pretty bare. No plates or napkins (no sink to wash them), no silverware, no cups and no faucet. There is a fridge, freezer, microwave and coffee maker. So, I microwave the burrito on top of its wax paper. Usually I do this for about three and a half minutes. Sometimes the wax paper gets stuck to the burrito a bit but I can live with it.
     Today, eating THE LAST burrito that I was given, I microwaved it for about four and a half minutes for some reason. That's a long time. When I picked up my wax paper, the burrito fell through it, making a big hole in the middle. Again, for some reason, I didn't think much of this and took it into my office. I looked at the bottom of it. It was kind of slimy, but almost in an appetizing way. I thought to myself, "is there any chance there is wax on this?"
     I took a bite.
     I chewed for a few seconds.
     Something hard started crunching.
     I pulled out a bunch of hard wax from my mouth.
     I am an idiot.
     I took the burrito and ate into just the top of it, trying to avoid the wax, and made a mess.
     It still tasted like wax.
     I am an idiot.