Skool is kool.

What I learned in SkOoL.

Did you know I'm going to school? Probably. Well, anyway, I am. I'm taking an education class, a philosophy class, and English class and a history class. Short summaries:

Education: we are learning to teach small children by observing, teaching through experience and showing compassion and care. My teacher scares the crud out of me. I feel like any minute she's going to look at me and just say "Get out, you fail."

Philosophy: Pointless. No offense to all the philosophers out there, maybe it's just my teacher. He's constantly talking in circles, which I get the feeling that a lot of philosophers do. It's like saying "Let me play the devil's advocate for a minute." all the time. So in the end, no one knows what your actual opinion is- and you have no idea what to write your paper about. Stinkin'.... Plus he's always talking about "what I wrote my thesis on..." and "I work 5 jobs, so you have no excuse." I just want to throttle him. I'd like to say "How do you know we have no excuse? Maybe someone in here works six jobs and is going to school full time?" --and perhaps likes to sleep a lot. Then he says this thing- "Yes, no? Does that make sense?" ALL THE TIME. He says it even if he doesn't expect us to answer back, which if he still expects us to answer back, he shouldn't get his hopes up. A total of 1 person talks in that class, and since I sit behind that person, I'm pretty sure he's just trying to distract from the fact that he's playing "Angry Birds" most of the time.

History: Not much to report. I did find out that John Smith was about 5 foot, had a gum disease which caused him to have bad breath and may or may not have ever even met Pocahontas, who was about 7 when he was in his forties. So... that kind of ruins that movie.

English: I like to write. Obviously- I can write about nothing for hours. But last week we had to have our rough drafts for a paper in, and since I hadn't written it, I cranked it out, knowing that it would be crud, but I just wanted to have something to show so I didn't get in trouble. Turns out, a week later, I turn in that same paper, with some revisions, as my final draft. I don't really know what happened. I don't really like writing about stuff that doesn't really speak to me- as you can tell from what I write about here. My teacher asked me a couple of weeks ago what the last book I read was. I said, "I don't remember... I read a lot." She then said "See, she reads so much she can't even remember the title of the last book she read." Actually I couldn't remember the title of the last book I read because it had been such a long time since I had read a book. However, I do read a lot. One of the guys in my class said that he had only read one novel in his whole life. Wow. Not ok. How did he get through high school? I'll tell you how- cheating.

Fairy vs. Faerie.

I think Fairies are American, while Faeries are European. However, I know for a fact that the books I read that have "Faeries" are all written by Americans who just want to be European. What's with that? Well since the lines have been blurred, here's my take: Fairies look like this:

They are cute and have big eyes and happy little wings. They are in books that are happy and have a good ending without all that drama.

"Faeries" are always moping around. They look like this. See, this picture isn't cute. It's supposed to "speak" to you. She's not smiling, and you know she knows she's being painted, she just wants that dramatic effect. "Faeries" wear dull colors and have creepier wings- like a bug.

Creepy

Speaking of creepy things- a word of advice: don't watch a thriller movie trailer in the middle of the night. I just watched a trailer for the movie called "The Raven", and let me tell you, it's not a documentary of Edgar Allen Poe's life. Creepy. A few months ago I watched the trailer for a movie called "The Lady in Black" or something like that, and I couldn't close my eyes for days without thinking a zombie hand was going to reach out and grab my shoulder. I don't even think it was a zombie hand in the trailer.

Sigh.

Here's something to think about: What would you do differently if you saw a sign on the road that said "Guardrail Damage Ahead"? My guess is nothing. There is one on the way to Kelsey's house, and I don't get it. "Ooh look honey, there's guardrail damage ahead! So please don't swerve off the road until we get past it ok?" Come on. The only way that sign has a point is if some blind guy is running down the road BY HIMSELF and is using the guardrail for a guide, but oh, by the way, he's blind so he can't see the sign anyway.

The only sign I can think of that has less point is "Falling Rocks". Ummm, so what am I gonna do about it? I can't stop the rocks from falling. Plus if you're trying to tell me to slow down, that's not gonna happen either- I'm hauling off the mountain as fast as I can. Falling rocks- psh.

Excipointed.

Dad and a whole bunch of guys at works got prizes for going so long without incident. He brought this big box home with the word YETI on it. I was kind of excited. Was it Yeti bait? A Yeti foot? An Ipad for his youngest child? No. It was a cooler. A Yeti brand cooler. Whatever. Inside there was a pamphlet, and I'm not talking three-fold sheet of paper with the company's mission statement- it was a 10-15 page cardstock booklet of all the wonderful things about a Yeti cooler (which probably cost as much as an I-pad). Inside it had photos of "famous" people (I'm talking fishing channel famous. Not REAL famous.) with quotes about how great the Yeti cooler is. How before the Yeti, they "spent thousands on ice". Really? Thousands? You don't need ice made from champagne sir. But the crowning jewel was that this was one of the toughest coolers around because-ta da!- it was Grizzly bear proof.

At first I thought that was pretty cool. Then I thought, if I walked into my camp and there was a grizzly bear there, what would be my first thought? "SAVE THE FISH!" would not be on my top ten list. I'd be out of there in a heartbeat, hauling my be-hind down the trail to the car which I'd drive ten miles down the interstate in before I remembered I left my wallet in the tent.