Category Archives: School

Mono-nuke-your-showsis

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Stress, anyone?

Seems the theater gods are having a bit of fun at the Fink’s expense.

We open five weeks from tomorrow, right? OK. We’re two weeks behind schedule because of my irritating, infuriating illness the week after the Super Bowl, and also because of several snow days in a row. That’s all right, I suppose, because I do always try to build an “emergency” week into the rehearsal schedule.

But this is stretching the limits of funny.

Two weeks ago: one cast member out with mono. Yesterday: another cast member’s mother calls — he has mono as well. Out for two weeks. I was told at rehearsal last night that another cast member’s girlfriend is exhibiting symptoms and has to be tested. I don’t want to complicate things with the extremely dangerous power of suggestion, so I’m keeping basically quiet about it at school.

This morning, in an effort to make sense of it and to prepare myself for what could lie ahead (and since I’ve been up since 3:17 a.m.), I did some light research on mononucleosis:

  1. The contagion is not airborne, but rather transferred by mouth. However, that can be tricky. Aside from the kissing issue, you can also have problems if you’ve taken a drink after someone, or shared a cookie, or even touched a door knob after the infected person coughed into his hand and used the door before you.
  2. People can have symptoms or not — which means you can be a carrier of the virus (called Epstein-Barr) and not know it. According to the CDC information on it, a true school-wide outbreak would be rare — although I wonder why they’d say this. Seems counter-intuitive to me. Am I missing something?
  3. The jury is apparently out on the issue of exactly how long the contagious period lasts. Some say days; others say weeks and months. Therein lies the problem…

Years ago, Mavis was out of school for a month with it. It means business, and you can’t get back to your life too soon without having a relapse, which is what is happening with the boy who contracted it first. I wonder how my friend Bando is doing with her show and sickness. B, if you’re reading this — how goes Godspell? Any problems outside the “normal” range? (Heh heh.)

Regardless, this thing is a deal breaker; a potential production killer.

Hey, I know — I should buy a bunch of these. Pass ’em out in choir.

Fink out (gee, I’m not feeling like myself…I’m really exhausted…my throat hurts…)

(kidding)

Fun gig

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Ridiculous driving conditions on the way home couldn’t ruin it (hugs to #1 Son for trading cars with us because we wouldn’t have made it home otherwise). Nor can the fact that schools are closed today — which means I’ll likely cancel yet another rehearsal because I won’t be able to get the Ranger out of my driveway — ruin it. Nope, it was fun.

For those of you who may not know, my vocal jazz ensemble sang the national anthem at the Cleveland Cavs game last night. Now, if you’re a teacher, you know that scheduling “field trips” can be a complete and utter nightmare. You’re worried about accidents, behavior problems, venue issues, missing paperwork…it can all combine to make you pretty miserable.

Not so with these people. They’re the Anti-Stress Bunch (well, with a couple of exceptions now and then). I always feel relaxed and confident with them. No worries about what they’ll say or do, or if they might behave in a way that would embarrass the district, or me, or themselves.

I also know that not one of them would ever consider, oh, skipping school, text-messaging from inside a jacket pocket, driving like a maniac, or thinking that the teacher is utterly clueless…heh. Gotta love it.

Still, to go to an arena with 20,000+ other people, and stand on the event floor having a conversation while 14 teenagers mill around freely — and not worry for one minute what anyone’s up to — is a blessing indeed.

All right, enough drippy sugar already. Story time.

So the Thriller and I get to Cleveland, right? We’re not any too early. I told the kids and their parents that we’d meet up at 5:30, and it was 5:25 when we got in line to pull into the parking garage. Before we left home, I said, “Did you get cash for parking?” He said, “Well, I have a ten in my billfold.” I said, “Cool – I have a five that I stuck in my blouse pocket; let’s go.” I figured anything extra we wanted to eat or buy could be bought with the debit card, so off we went.

We drive up to turn into the parking garage, where it’s fifteen bucks to get in, and T gets out his $10 bill. I reach in my pocket…nothing. Gone. The $5 bill I did have was sitting on my dresser, where I’d put it when I changed my sweater. And, of course, the garages only accept cash. It’s now 5:31 and I’m sitting in the Beast, having a meltdown.

So we drive. We find an outdoor parking lot — one of those small ones where they cram as many cars in as they can, and charge you $15 for the pleasure. I pull in and ask the guy, “Could you please let me wait here while my husband finds an ATM so we can pay you?” Fortunately, he says “sure,” and points us towards a downtown bank. T gets out and beats feet to the ATM and comes back to pay the guy his $15, and the man says, “Oh, yeah. An SUV is $20.” An SUV is $20. In a self-parking lot with spaces all the same size. Explain this to me. (Actually, don’t bother. I get it.) Whatever. We’re off and (literally) running.

After a minor issue with our tickets at will-call (they couldn’t find mine, but they were right there all along), and making sure the Thriller could locate the smoking porch, we were all set. Met the kids and our super-nice Cavs reps, went down to the event level, and all was good.

Little inconveniences aside, it was indeed a great gig, and they sang beautifully.

Now, off to get more coffee and start reading my next quantitative article. Real life is a gas.

Fink out.

Well this is just great.

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And tonight, of course, 14 of my students are scheduled to perform the national anthem at the Cavaliers game. The Thriller and I have to leave town tonight around 4 p.m. to meet everyone at the Q to check in and warm up before we go on at 7.

We should be OK, though. As much as I love the Mighty Ford Ranger, it is murder in the snow — pretty much like you’re driving a feather. So, thanks to #1 Son, we’re trading cars and driving his beast with 4-wheel drive and a lot more weight to it. Should get us through just fine.

Unless, of course, there’s ice. But hey, life’s an adventure, right?

I have threatened my singers within an inch of their lives: Do NOT arrive late to school on Wednesday. They will likely get home after midnight tonight from the game, and they have explicit instructions to suck it up and get to school on time tomorrow. But…with 4-6 inches of snow on the way, it might not matter. (I can hear the wanton rejoicing from here.)

FO

Statistically speaking

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I’m not a fan of statistics as a field of study. Not only because of the math (actually, math is only a part of the stats picture), but because I struggle to find the key elements that combine to point a researcher to the desired statistical method for collecting and analyzing his or her data.

Was that ambiguous? Poorly stated? Yeah, I know. Let’s try this:

On my comprehensive exams coming up in April, I will be given two educational scenarios or problems, and two hours. My job is then to design a complete research proposal on each one. I will need to know what kind of research “lens” to use, and which of a dozen different tests will most accurately measure the data and facilitate the interpretation of my findings. This is all apparently an effort to test my synthesis abilities when it comes to the two basic divisions of research (qualitative and quantitative).

I know: this is boring, get to the point. Right.

The quantitative stuff is pretty scary to me, so I bought a book at the suggestion of some classmates. I started it last night, and I’m on chapter 3. It’s actually not too bad.

For instance, why didn’t my prof say in his lecture months ago that, simply, measures of central tendency are also called “averages,” and that they come in 3 flavors: mean, median and mode? How simple is that? But noooo…we’re doctoral students so we had to take the long way around and avoid such elementary statements that I would have understood immediately. Maybe that’s a bad example, but you get where I’m going with this.

When I read the reviews for Salkind’s book (“It really is easy to understand,” “This is the book that will finally open up statistics for you”), I thought, Yeah, yeah, right. But they haven’t met me.

Well, surprise surprise: actually, I do get it so far. So there is hope for the mathematically — and in some cases, logical-thinking — challenged. If you’re taking a stats class now, or you plan to in the future, I highly recommend the book.

In fact, I will save it for you and you can buy it from me. Such a deal.

Now, back to X bar equals sigma X over N. Cuz, you know, that’s how I roll.

Fink, waitin’ for the blizzard to get here (it’s started already…photos tomorrow for the Florida, Texas, or otherwise snowless people).

PS — Aw. I just read that the other Hager twin died. I didn’t even know the first one passed away. :-(

Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these…

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You might have read that Michael Vick, former NFL quarterback doing 2 years at Leavenworth, plans to file for reinstatement to the league after pleading guilty to running a dog fighting ring. He hopes that his admission of guilt will shorten his sentence.

Now I believe that someone can do wrong, then rehabilitate. If NFL commissioner Roger Goodell thinks Vick has paid his debt and it’s all right for him to go back to playing football, then that’s his call. I do wonder if the ticket-buying public will completely accept him back, but then again, I’ve heard it said that pro football is more about revenue than football, so…

But why did Vick (and his pals) do this? Certainly it wasn’t because he needed the money — although I guess he needs it now because he’s broke, which makes me wonder how anyone could go through $130 million in such a short time. Still, how could anyone do this and sleep at night?

This is Lucas. He was Vick’s #1 champion fighting dog. His face is torn up with scars. He’s being rehabilitated by some great folks at Best Friends Animal Society in Kanab, Utah, along with 21 of the 47 Pit Bull Terriers seized from “Bad Newz Kennels.”

Georgia, seen here taking a siesta with her handler, was likely one of the most abused of all Vick’s dogs, according to the feature I read. Vick hired a veterinarian (who should have his/her license revoked forever) to pull all 42 of Georgia’s teeth, presumably so she would not bite the male dogs she was repeatedly given to for breeding purposes.

The New York Times article also tells about another Vick-tim named Cherry, who…

…is so terrified of people that he won’t walk on a leash. He just prostrates himself and refuses to budge, so he has to be carried everywhere. Later, when he is finally persuaded to take short walks, he skulks, pressing himself against the nearest wall or fence, as if trying to be invisible.”

It is thought that Cherry was used as a “bait dog.”

Again, I ask: Why would someone do this to an animal? I’m no extremist, but to me, torturing a living being that cannot defend itself, or that does not know what is happening to it or why — for entertainment, fuh cripesake — is the lowest, most vile form of cruelty. The whole mess just makes me seethe with rage.

I believe that the people who did this lack a specific chip in their brain circuitry. The empathy chip; the human decency chip; the Dear-God-Don’t-Make-Me-A-Sociopath chip. Seriously, something is wrong with these guys. And they’re not alone.

In my life, I’ve seen people slap, punch, kick, scream at, and basically try to scare to death innocent dogs. I’ve heard of people feeding them alcohol until the dogs pass out, vomit, or stumble around and hurt themselves. To those folks, I say c’mere. Gotta tell you something. Take your dog to the nearest animal shelter. Then get a cat-o’-nine-tails, remove your shirt, and flog yourself unconscious. Have a friend coat your bed with salt and place you in it. Simmer. Wake up. Scream. Rinse. Repeat.

I think all dog owners should live by this list:

The List of “Nevers”

  1. NEVER hit or kick a dog — ever, for any reason — unless it’s attacking you and you fear for your safety.
  2. NEVER, upon realizing that your puppy has torn up a magazine or had an accident on the floor while you were gone, rub his snout in the mess or shake the magazine in his face while yelling at him. Want to turn your dog into a psychological mess? Then do that Jekyll-and-Hyde song and dance. Did you ever know someone — maybe a family member — whom you loved and wanted to please, but whose moods were so erratic that you feared him/her walking in the door? Then you know what I mean. Your dog adores you; don’t slap his face for it. There are other ways to redirect bad behaviors. Learn them and do what’s right by your pet. There are lots of great sites, like this one, with excellent information, for free.
  3. NEVER assume your dog knows that you’ve had a sucky day at work or school, or a fight with your significant other, or that you’re in a bad mood. Be an adult and put it aside; don’t take it out on your pet.
  4. NEVER blame your dog for what is your fault. If you don’t let him out for 12 hours and he has an accident on the floor, clean it up without comment and learn from your mistake. How would you feel if you weren’t allowed to go to the bathroom for 12 hours at a time, or if you had no water to drink all day long because someone was afraid you’d have to go to the bathroom?
  5. NEVER assume that since you’ve given this dog a home, he should be grateful to be completely ignored. Dogs can feel loss, depression, boredom, anxiety and loneliness, the same as you and I. If the novelty of having a pet has worn off for you, then give the dog to someone who will treat him with the love and respect he deserves.

Our dogs probably think the sun rises and sets on us, and they want nothing more than to please, and be loved by us. We need to give them the chance to do that.

Sure, release Vick early. But release him to a halfway house and give him a job, lasting for the remainder of what would have been his prison term. Put him to work in a local shelter, or in a vet hospital where abused animals are treated.

Fink out.

PS – National Geographic produced a special about Vick’s dogs. I’d like to see it when it comes around again.

PPS – Browns fans: interesting article off the AP wire yesterday (although I don’t know where ESPN gets off coding the link I clicked to say, “Browns owner puts Crennel, Savage on notice”).

Photo credit: New York Times