Thrift Store Shoes

I don't make it to the thrift store too often. I would love to be one of those people who have the patience to revisit the same spot every few days to find the "deals," but I just can't do it. Blame it on having a life, or blame it on procrastination, or a general lack of follow-through I have demonstrated throughout my life. Today, though, I did visit the thrift store, and I bought something I've never even looked at: Thrift store shoes.

That's right, some guy never really wore his Dexter brand suede chucks, the same ones I was going to buy for $60 on amazon.com (best deal).


So these aren't the exact shoe, but they're close enough.


So I washed them, disinfected them with rubbing alcohol, and let some ants crawl over them to munch away at anything that might later touch my feet. To be honest, they're probably now cleaner than any other pair of shoes I own. Should I be doing anything else to prevent the bacterial hordes from taking down the walls of the Helm's Deep of my skin?


Now, I've owned thrift store coats, ties, shirts - you name it - but never, ever shoes. For whatever reason, the idea is still a little icky to me. I think if I wear them a couple of times and put the idea of old man feet out of my mind, then I think I can move on. I feel like it's a Fear Factor event.

I'm going to win this event and get free immunity for the next event (thrift store hat?!?!?!).

Library Finds: Shortcomings

Despite all the good attention and press they're getting, graphic novels haven't quite moved beyond the "comic book" stigma in the mainstream. Case in point: every time I recommend one to my friends, I do so with the caveat that "it's a graphic novel, so, you know, it might not be your thing," which I don't really buy into in the first place. Sorry graphic novels, I'm kinda a douche bag about you, still.

Speaking of douche bags, Shortcomings follows Ben, an Asian-American late twenty-something after his long-time girlfriend, Miko, breaks up with him. He seeks solace in his lesbian best friend and young white women, which his ex thinks he fetishizes. It explores issues of race (cultural assimilation and fetishization) and gender in a subtle way that didn't put me off as too college sophomore liberating their mind in sociology 201.

More importantly, though, the art was simple and beautiful. Tomine manages to do so much with so little. All of the art is in black & white ink.

The graphic novel does get points for the title, which may or may not refer to the stereotype of the asian male wang. Yes, that subject is discussed, briefly.

Library Finds: The Gunslinger

This book marks my first experience reading Stephen King. The last time I encountered Mr. King was in 3rd grade watching The Stand on VHS and drinking Jolt Cola in order to make it through all four hours. It was awesome, and like most things from 3rd grade, not awesome. So, it was with a bit of trepidation that I entered The Dark Tower series.

So why commit so much of myself and my time (seven books long!) with someone I hardly know: LOST. The writers of the show say that the DT series has probably influenced the direction of the show more than any other written works. This being so, I feel it's like the baby I unintentionally knocked up my girlfriend with. As a diehard LOST fan and Catholic-raised man, I have to commit.

Now, I feel the same way about the sci-fi/fantasy genre and women: I like'em a little quirky, but not too quirky. Too much in fantasy direction and you lose me in alternating waves of pity and incredulity; too much in the opposite direction (realism/too serious women) and you lose me in alternating waves of apathy and incredulity.

So, which side does The Gunslinger fall on? Put it this way, if book one of the series were a girl in high school, she'd be the girl that wore one of those beanies with cat ears on it and drew anime on her notebook. It's pretty goddamned nerdy. Luckily, I picked up the revised edition, which King wrote a forward explaining that he wrote the book when he was 19, so he applied a little of what he now knows as a writer to the book. Thank you, Mr. King. I can only imagine what it was like before. Woof. The premise is pretty cool, but the language is pretty difficult to get through at times without gagging or rolling your eyes. I mean, it's still better than anything Dan Brown (The DaVinci Code) wrote. That guy eats my poo.

The premise: Take Clint Eastwood's character from The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly, mix in a little Arthurian legend, and a shake of Cormac McCarthy's American dystopia. Voila. The gunslinger chases down the Man in Black (why, we don't really know yet) until the very end of the book, where he finds a little of his destiny (to reach the dark tower, a nexus of time and space).

If you can make it past some of the stilted language and pacing, it's not a bad read. The end' is promising, and, apparently, the quality of the books improves drastically with each successive installment. I've already got book two on hold.

Let me know what you think of it.

That kind of teacher...

Today is the day before the last day of school. This is typically the last real day of school in terms of student presence and actual learning (though, the latter is unlikely at this time), so it's often the time that those teachers who really connect with their students give a heartfelt send-off.

I apparently, am not one of those teachers.

Now, mind you, I'm not the other kind of teacher, either. You know, the ones that never seemed to give a damn in the first place and invested little to none of themselves in their class or their students; the kind of teacher you forgot you had unless he or she was a terrible person and made your life miserable. Even time seems to erase those names, though. My 7th grade science teacher, the devil's niece, was one of those teachers. Damn. What was her name?

With five minutes left to go I rounded up the troops; these were kids I'd been with from my first day onwards. They'd seen me screw up (though, they might not have known it), succeed, fall on my ass (literally), break up fights, swear, trip, laugh, rock out, make a fool out of myself, and find out I still had a job. I was their lieutenant and, dammit, they were my unit. So here they were, sitting their, waiting. Some were texting, a few talking, a few staring outside, and I started to give a half-planned, heart-felt speech. The talkers continued to talk until someone told them to shut up, because "Ballew's giving a speech!"

And then, I didn't give it.

Well, I kinda did. I wished them well, told them to be safe, the stuff parents tell you, but not a teacher. I just couldn't do it, though. I thought I had the words, the sentiment, the desire, but when it came time, I didn't have any of it. I felt awkward and disingenuous, and had I kept going, I think they would have seen through it right away. Instead, I just gave up and looked for funny stories from over our time together. Maybe that will be my direction: let the stories do the talking. Sure, I could say the same trite thing the students will hear from their other teachers, but as you quickly find out in your first year, a lot of the times kids just aren't listening. Instead, I'll let the stories do the talking, and hope that the class is mature enough to pick up on the idea that we've invested a lot of time and ourselves into room C208.

Author's Note:
I realize looking over this, it's not funny, clever, or particularly relevant to what our normal blog posts have been about, but it was on my mind. It's something that teachers think about; the legacy they will leave behind, though it's the teacher that stays behind. It's nostalgic, corny, and quite a bit arrogant, but those seem to be essential parts of effective teaching.

In the end, I'm comfortable with the fact that I'm not Jaime Escalante or Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society. I don't care enough in the first place, so why should I suddenly care (or fake caring) in the last place?

This doesn't make me a bad teacher, does it? I mean, I don't want to have a heart attack like Escalante, even if he did have Lou Diamond Phillips in his class. Psshh...

Quote of the Day

"It makes you look cool when you're surviving"

The Proof is in the Powerpoint

As a teacher, I have my suspicions of who likes to smoke a joint or two and who doesn't. It's not terribly hard to pick out those Cheech and Chong-ites. They usually exhibit all the cliche traits you associate with stoners: tye-dye, Bob Marley shirts & hats, hobbit-ish hair, a certain proneness to staring throughout the day, interest in hemp, and the desire to do a project on legalizing it. Hell, sometimes you can just plan smell it on them and whoosh, off to the office.

I would imagine they would try to hide it, but I suppose that's against their gentle, relaxed disposition. That's why I was both surprised and not surprised while watching the following student presentation. This person is a notorious stoner, but manages to get by thanks to his elf-like innocence and average grades. The proof, I maintain, can be found in the background images to each of the slides.

Click on the image below to see the subsequent slides.



Slide #1: Hella trippy.
Slide #2: Skating is not a crime. Neither should pot be. It's totally harmless. Legalize them.
Slide #3: Like static on the TV. Dude, did you ever see Poltergeist? It's like that movie! Dude!
Slide #4: Lightning. Tight.
Slide #5: Just thinking about the brain is so trippy, don't you think? That pic is rad, too.
Slide #6: I smoke two joints in the morning, I smoke two joints at night...
Slide #7: Wood, like the skate board ramp my friend's step dad built but I said I built for my project.
Slide #8: A seed. I don't know, it just looked cool.
Slide #9: Pure white. Think about it, dude.

POSTSCRIPT
As if I didn't need any more proof, as I was typing this up, the student attempted to staple two papers together but got stuck. Eventually he figured it out and then asked to use the library. Had he gone, my money says he wouldn't have actually made it there...

Reasons I would be a good Native American

Gross generalizations aside, I feel that I would be a fantastic Native American. Here are few reasons why I feel this way (which have been informed by little reading on tribal culture, art, Sherman Alexie novels, and a 2nd grade field trip):

1. I like nuts and berries.
2. I like salmon.
3. I have similar hair in that water seems to "roll off" my hair, not wet it.
4. I like whiskey and beer.
5. I don't trust the white man.
6. I like to kayak, which is very similar to canoeing.
7. I like Neil Young.
8. I like to dance.
9. I like woodworking*

*Never actually done it, but appreciate it nonetheless

I plan to continue adding to this list. Check back soon.