Category Archives: Paffooney

November 12, 2019 · 2:34 am

AeroQuest 3… Canto 68

Canto 68 – Blunderful Voyage

When Tron sent a message to Frieda’s Starbase at Don’t Go Here, he requested Ged himself come to Outpost for little Artran. Frieda, however, knew that Ged was at Gaijin with Xavier Tkriashav. She sent a courier in a brand-new Express Boat to Gaijin. It was listed for Tkriashav or Ged Aero only, but somehow it got delivered to Vince Neill aboard the Megadeath.

Scarpigo Snarcs wore an X-boat officer’s uniform as he gave the message to Vince.

“All right, dude! I’ve heard of this kid-dude. It’d be an honor to serve Ged-dude and the pirate-dude at the same time. We leave immediately!”

“Thank you,” said Scarpigo in his guise as Bill the Postman. “I will just be hitching a ride.”

“Wha…?” said Cold Death, his bright green Mohawk shaking in confusion.

“ME RIDE WITH YOU!” said Scarpigo in that extra loud way you normally talk to stupid people, as if they were deaf rather than merely mentally impaired.

“Okay, Bill,” said Vince. “You can ride if you try to be just a bit quieter. That gnarly voice of yours can surely give me a headache.”

Nikki Sixx looked over the coordinates to Outpost, tried to figure out the navigational logarithms in his head, and then gave up; inserting the computer crystal with the jump program that Bill the Postman supplied him with into the ship’s navigational computer. The Megadeath roared musically to life.

Now, travel between the stars is a miracle of physics and mathematics that only takes place in certain narrow corridors of gravity and space. A space ship creates a field around itself that alters the fabric of space nearby. Space will actually fold itself around the matter the star ship is made of. It appears to disintegrate in one place, and, after a period in which the space-time continuum percolates around it, reforms itself in the new location. The location could be anywhere within a range of six parsecs, even empty space. But spacers only found it useful to travel from star system to star system. Fuel would eventually be necessary and none was available in empty parsecs of space.

Twenty-seven hours after they had taken flight from Don’t Go Here, the Megadeath arrived at Outpost. Immediately they were surrounded by Pinwheel Corsairs.

“Alien ship of unknown design!” called the nearest corsair, “state your business here.”

“Yo, Dude!” warbled Vince Neill from behind his mirrored shades. “We come on a mission of mercy from Ged Aero. We come to pick up little dude Artran and take him to Gaijin.”

“We don’t recognize you and we don’t know any Gaijin. Prepare to be atomized.”

“Whoa, not cool!” said Neill into the communicator. He immediately threw the Megadeath into maneuvers that the corsairs had never seen attempted, let alone being able to catch up with them. The highly efficient ship made with Ancient technology danced out of reach of all Pinwheel weaponry.

“Is this an attack?” rasped Tron’s voice over the communicators.

“No, Dude. I just don’t want my biscuits fried by you!”

“Stop, then, and prepare to be boarded,” said Tron.

“Whatever you say, Dude.” Despite everything that was sensible, the Megadeath and her Rock-and-Roll crew had fallen into the hands of a desperate pirate who faced total annihilation at the hands of the Galtorrian Imperial Fleet.

Leave a comment

Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney, science fiction

Tagged as AeroQuest 3

November 11, 2019 · 5:37 pm

Marketing is My Bane

It’s a good book. It is themed with an interesting idea about hopes and dreams, happiness and sorrow, and life and death. I believe people will like it if they try reading it. In fact, it could become popular if people would allow themselves to fall in love with it and promote it by word of mouth.

The problem is, of course, that even though I am a good writer and storyteller, I suck at marketing.

Seriously, I worked with editors on Catch a Falling Star who had experience with major publishing houses. They told me that my book was competent and better than a lot of very successful novels that were not written with the skill that mine was. The problem that I ran into was how expensive that method was and how little help they actually gave me with the marketing part that was theoretically supposed to make the money back. The professional editing was worth the money. The marketing investment was not.

Amazon and KDP is a free publishing service, but it is almost not worth the price either.

It comes with the stigma of being an Indie writer, so, by definition, a hack who is not very good at writing. There are literally millions of books self-published by people just like me that go a long way towards validating that assumption. So, skill at writing is something to be proven through the actual written product, which is really hard to do if nobody is willing to read your book.

Every review I have gotten on my books so far is a five-star review. Of course, that means little when there are so few reviews. All the reviewers could simply be over-enthusiastic author-likers. And the trolls and the harsh critics haven’t taken their stabs yet.

So, I am stuck trying to brainstorm promotional strategies that I am well enough and financially sound enough to carry out. And all of those my stormy brained has lightning-bolted out so far have been failures. I don’t know how to break through the ice sheet to be noticed. And not even global warming seems to be helping. Ah, well… que sera sera… what will be will be.

3 Comments

Filed under feeling sorry for myself, novel writing, Paffooney, publishing

November 10, 2019 · 7:39 pm

The Blacklight at the End of the Writing Tunnel

The link above is still capable of giving you a free copy of this e-book until midnight on Tuesday, November 12th, 2019. By all means, click on it and get yourself the free Kindle e-book.

I write this plea as my third free e-book promotion is half-way done. It is, as expected, failing miserably. As of this writing, the promotion using Facebook and Twitter has managed to give away six free books. And one of those is me grabbing a free e-book for my own free Kindle reader on my laptop. So, basically, I can’t give away copies of my own book for free.

But writing this book was not a matter of making myself famous or wealthy or even acknowledged as a good writer. Those are not the things I need. I wrote this story because I myself have been badly damaged by life. I was sexually assaulted by an older boy when I was ten. I had teenage bouts of depression that nearly made me end myself. My sex-life did not develop normally and led to chronic prostatitis and the precursor to “Priests’ disease”, a prostate gland the size of a grapefruit. Yes, it may ultimately end in prostate cancer. And then when I finally made a family for myself in my late middle years, I was besieged by depression again, this time not my own, but others in my family. So, in many ways, I have lived a sad life.

The novel itself is a means to self-healing and recording how I rebuilt myself using love, laughter, and artistry. The singing orphan boy wearing clown paint and singing only sad songs is a metaphor for me and my struggle. The clowns that haunt the main characters’ dreams are also a metaphor. I was always known as the laughing teacher, the one who joked around in class, and let laughing grow into a means of instruction in the English classroom. I used humor to make learning painless. I used it to take away many other kinds of pain as well. The book is about how a family can be healed by someone who has nothing, yet selflessly gives everything to make that family come together and be whole. It is a story, just as the introduction claims, about what love really means.

But the world is stacked against lying truth-tellers like me who make up stories only to heal themselves. Facebook stopped me from messaging everybody who is a Facebook friend whom I wanted to send the book link from Amazon. They called it spamming, which really means, “advertising something on Facebook without paying Facebook lots of money.” I discovered on Twitter that sending the link in DMs makes more of my followers stop following me than it makes followers click on the link to obtain a free book. Ah, disappointment again. At least I gave away three more books than I did on the last promotion.

So, this is like a blacklight, shining on my promotional inspiration. It only shows in ultraviolet the opposite of what I thought I would see. And it resigns me once again to be only ignored as a writer of novels. I suppose it is my proper place in life.

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, autobiography, battling depression, clowns, feeling sorry for myself, humor, novel, novel plans, Paffooney

Tagged as Sing Sad Songs

November 9, 2019 · 8:20 pm

The Book of Dreams

Important parts of the book that I am currently promoting by offering Kindle e-books for free are based on dreams that I had years ago. The clowns who are dream denizens of Zoomboogadoo and the white city of Celephais, were first encountered in a dream I had in college. Boz is also named Mr. Dickens. The Bard is known as Mr. Shakespeare. Diz is Mr. Disney. And Poe, of course, is Mr. Poe. The literary references should be as clear to you as they were to me in 1978.

This painting was also from a dream in the 1980’s. I’m not sure exactly when. But in the dream, I was the stag and I believed in my dream that the other deer there were my family. It is also, of course, influenced by the Disney Movie Bambi. Particularly the scene of the forest fire. But, oddly, the dream predicted my future family. I met my wife in 1994. My eldest son was born in 1995. My second son was born in 1999. My daughter was born in 2002. You see their deer selves in the picture.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The entirety of Chapter One of Hidden Kingdom is based on a story dream from 1976.

So, dreams are deeply embedded in my work, especially the imagery in my artwork.

And you don’t even have to tell me that I have weird dreams. I already know.

Leave a comment

Filed under artwork, dreaming, dreams, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life

November 5, 2019 · 4:22 pm

AeroQuest 3… Canto 67

Canto 67 – Scaling the Dragon (This Canto has been re-ordered in the re-write.)

The Dragon Gate of the city of Kiro, Gaijin, was a huge carving of an oriental dragon’s head which allowed a fairly good sized caravan to pass through its open mouth and into the city all at once. The shoulders of the dragon were carved from the south side of the gate in the immense city wall that, like a coiled serpent, circled the city and ended in a gigantic tail that rose up like a tower on the northern side of the gate. The carved dragon itself snarled in that crazed oriental manner and was colored red with gold trim edging each and every individual scale.

Ged and his students walked there and stood looking up at the edifice.

“Is it hollow?” blond Rocket Rogers asked from under the brim of his white cowboy hat.

“No, stupid, it’s obviously one solid piece,” sneered Alec Songh.

“Shut up, Alec!” shouted Friashqazatla. Freddy had become Rocket’s shadow, following him everywhere and imitating everything about him. His worshipful friendship had become indispensable to Rocket.

“How will we get inside?” asked Shu Kwai, ignoring the bickering and concentrating on the problem at hand.

“Can Jadalaqstbr do it for us?” asked Hassan Parker innocently. Hassan was still nude in protest for the group’s rejection of his Classical Worlds’ notions. He wore only the blue felt fez he always had on his head.

“She might teleport inside a solid part, not being able to see inside,” said Sensei Aero. “We don’t want to lose her.”

Jackie stood close beside Alec Songh, blushing as they talked about her, in spite of her dark brown skin.

“Can a clairvoyant look inside?” asked Billy Iowa, pushing up the front of the brim of his own cowboy hat.

“Maybe…” murmured Phoenix. His green snake eyes glazed over for a moment, and then he awoke from his brief trance. “No. I can’t see through some sort of fog inside this dragon.”

“What is it that we think is here?” asked Sarah Smith. The Gaijinese sunshine made her blond hair and snow-white body suit glow with reflected light.

“An alien artifact from the time of the Ancients,” said Ged distractedly, studying the eyes of the great beast.

“Possibly a space ship,” offered Phoenix.

“Some of the other artifacts we’ve encountered had a sort of mind of their own,” stated Ged, more to himself than to his students.

“Should I try to detect a mind?” asked Sarah sweetly.

“She’s a powerful telepath,” added Junior Aero.

While Ged was thinking, Alec Songh put his hands on Jadalaqstbr once again. She melted up against him and began to softly coo with pleasure.

“Alec!” said Shu Kwai sternly. Alec let go of her, both body and mind. He and Shu had talked at length about what was acceptable White Spider behavior in a public place. Seducing someone was not one of things that Shu was willing to allow.

“All right, Sarah. Perhaps that is a good idea,” said Ged at last. He remembered how telepathic Tara had been able to use the Hammer to create an entire downport on Don’t Go Here.

Sarah put her forefingers to her temples and began to concentrate. “Oh!” she said, almost immediately. “It is a dark and powerful mind! I can’t even get close to it!”

Junior took hold of her shoulders, concerned that she might somehow be hurt. His intentions, however, were turned inside out by the dark red mind that came flooding into his inner eye. Swirling patterns of circuitry and resistors flooded into his brain. A series of controls formed in his mind. Stunned, Junior blinked at the others and said, “I have it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ged.

“It is a machine,” said Junior. “I can make it work by telepathy.” He concentrated for a moment on the controls arrayed before him in his inner eye. Red-gold-green-red. The mechanisms awoke for the first time in a million years.

With a rumble, the carven upper jaw of the dragon splintered and the roof of the huge mouth fell out, shattering on the pavement below. A long, thin lower jaw dropped down from the great carven head. The tongue rippled itself into a sort of stairway leading up into the dark throat. The dragon had come to life and now was offering to swallow them if they only decided to take the stairway.

Cautiously, Ged led the way. Rocket Rogers, then Shu Kwai followed him. Looking slightly panicked, Taffy King scanned the others and then followed Rocket up the tongue-stair. Friashqazatla went next. Then Billy Iowa and timid Gyro. Holding hands, Alec Songh and Jadalaqstbr went up. Phoenix, Hassan Parker, and little Mai Ling followed. Finally, Sarah looked at Junior Aero, who had opened this hatch, smiled, and led him, too, up the stair.

Leave a comment

Filed under aliens, humor, novel, novel writing, Paffooney, science fiction

Tagged as AeroQuest 3

November 2, 2019 · 5:56 pm

The Big Picture

Some of the pictures I draw, especially in colored pencil, take hours of time to complete. But they are generally only done because the ideas being pictured are totally worth the effort.

As I get older and older, the deeper meaning of this picture becomes clear.

Magic, mystery, and family are a part of my way forward as a warrior for the light.

Of course, as a retired teacher, I have to believe that class pictures will still be a thing with schools even in the distant future.

And sometimes it’s a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

6 Comments

Filed under artwork, humor, Paffooney

October 31, 2019 · 6:39 pm

No Bad Kids in School!

You know that old saying, “There are no bad students, only bad teachers?” Yeah, that one that Betsy DeVos keeps pinging off of Trump’s brain?

Well, only idiots and educational administrators actually believe that. And I had three full classrooms of proof of this Tuesday while subbing sixth-grade Science classes.

Yes, they were bad kids. And apparently, the last time they had a sub before me, they killed and ate her, after eating her lunch in front of her. They were not merely bad kids. They were vile and noxious, unrepentant Spawn of Hell.

They were, in fact, laying in wait for me, testing every way a vile and noxious sixth grader knows to get the sub off track, dazed and confused, and turned from teacher into a helpless prey animal.

The very first class in the door immediately chased each other around the room instead of having a seat. Jamika stole a package of pencils off the teacher’s desk, ate one, and threw the plastic package in the trash. Seferino chased her around three of the tables and pinched her on the butt. And Jaden threw three different pieces of a pink eraser in three different directions at once at about three different girls, hitting two, in about three seconds of time. These aren’t their real names. But I know their real names because I had them sign my sin-sheet with first and last names before I even went through roll call. I tell them, “Sign your name so I can report what you did and, hopefully, also leave a note for the teacher that you were much better behaved for the rest of the period.” Two of the three were actually better for a majority of the period. Jaden got the Golden Turkey award at the end of the fifty minutes.

The next class had four names on my list before roll call ended, and they never did completely settle down. In fact, the teacher across the hall came in at the end of the period and jumped all over them about “Unacceptable behavior!” and vent a little heat and hatred on a few of the star players whom she knew by name and had for Math class. It wasn’t just that she thought I was an incompetent sub, but she deeply disliked some of the bad behavior that was a part of both the varnish on the surface of these kids, and the taint in the marrow of their bones. Ah, sixth graders! Thy teachers do not love thee, and yet thou keepest on screwing aroundeth! And I know the teacher I was subbing for. She taught number two son and the Princess both. She is no slouch as a teacher and is not to blame for the condition of the class.

And then the last class sauntered in behind Mr. Evil-in-a-small-package. Yes, the last class of 28 kids was under the complete control of one self-centered, manipulative, emotionally-disturbed little man. The teacher I was subbing for had warned me about him and had arranged for the Special Teacher of Special Edwards to come and take him to his special quiet place because they knew he was so special and the special things he would do if they left me at his mercy. And, of course, something went awry with the arrangement. I was left at his mercy (of which he had none.)

He would not sign his name to the paper. Or sit in his assigned seat. Or stop talking. Or stop saying inappropriately sexual things to the girls. I tried to phone the office, but the number of the assistant principal’s secretary would not ring through. I asked the teacher across the hall, also a sub, to call for me. The science teacher next door came in just in time to see Mr. Evil give me the one-finger salute. He immediately began arguing that he would not be removed from “his” class. He wanted me removed instead. Then an assistant principal showed up. He began hollering and screaming about being touched as the AP shoved him out of the classroom through the lab door. It was a total meltdown. And the fumes and melted wax of it affected the behavior of the rest of the class for the rest of the period. I yelled at them (a pointless thing to do, but it made me feel better). The science teacher next door came back in and yelled at them for making me yell at them. And everybody ended the day feeling terrible. A couple of well-behaved girls apologized to me for the behavior of the class, saying that that kind of thing happened almost every day. A cute little black kid who got in trouble too that period ended the day by almost crying and telling me that he was basically a bad kid. I told him I knew him just well enough to tell him he was not, that he only needed a little more self-discipline and he could be among the best kids in that classroom. (And I don’t believe that was completely a teacher-lie either.)

So, I had a bad day at being a sub. Not merely a bad day, but the kind of bad day that makes a teacher want to give up and never sub again. The sub that got eaten before me probably did that very thing. But, me… I’ve had bad days like that before. Worse ones, in fact. So, I will not give up.

I had an excellent day teaching yesterday at a different school. I can still teach, no matter what lasting scars Mr. Evil gave me. And there really are bad kids in the world. Somebody needs to actually feed them to alligators, not just threaten them with being fed to alligators. Then they will finally know how their substitute-teacher victims feel.

2 Comments

Filed under angry rant, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life, teaching, telling lies

October 29, 2019 · 3:00 pm

AeroQuest 3… Canto 66

Canto 66 – Fish-Skin Socks in the Rock Garden

The planet Hyde Park was different than most planets in the Thousand Worlds of the Galtorr Imperium. Where most life in the Orion Spur was made up of carbon-based life-forms, Hyde Park was rife with silicon-based life-forms.

Instead of forests of trees or plants, the countryside was overgrown with gardens of living crystal, quartz, and harmonic stone. The wildlife was made up of electro-energy creatures with crystallized bodies, or even no bodies at all. The amorphous stone men of Hyde Park communicated with no one but each other, taking whatever shape struck their weird fancy. They could constitute and dissolve themselves with the speed of thought.

Nert Cooblegooble felt ridiculous in his red-and-white-striped pajamas. His blond hair was tied up in random pony tails, and red freckles had been added to his face with a paintbrush. He stood next to a table advertising fish-skin socks for sale.

“Stop fidgeting, Nert!” said Mr. Crushcracker, waving his fat, smelly cigar. “You have to look business-like to sell these things to tourists.”

“Why do we have to play these silly pretend games?” complained Nert Cooblegooble, secretly Arkin Cloudstalker. He looked dubiously over at Madame Prong, who was obviously an ugly man in drag wearing a tight blue dress over an overstuffed body and wearing gobs of makeup on his… er, her eyes and cheeks.

“We calls ‘em as we sees ‘em,” said Phineas Crushcracker, secretly Scarpigo Snarcs. “These rubes and yokels are used to seein’ us like this. These secret identities are critical to our roles as agents of the Thin White Duke. Now be quiet, or I’ll buy a supper club and beat you over the head with it.”

Madame Prong, secretly Zero Snarcs, put a swollen white finger to her badly painted red lips and pantomimed shushing Mr. Crushcracker for saying the TWD-word out loud where any stone could hear.

“There are no humans about anywhere!” moaned Nert. “Why the need for secrecy?”

“The rocks have ears,” said Mr. Crushcracker.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

In answer to Arkin’s question, a man walked up to the fish-sock table. He was not like any other man either Arkin Cloudstalker or Nert Cooblegooble had ever seen. He was made entirely of stone, a living statue looking out apparently through carved stone eyes. He was an eerie, zombie-like figure that moved and talked without expression, always a degree or two off of what would be natural for a human man.

“Well, well!” gushed Mr. Crushcracker. “So nice to see you again, Mr. Lazerstone! How have you been? How’s the missus and all the little pebbles?”

The cold stone voice that came from the hollows inside Lazerstone chilled Arkin to the bone with dread.

“I don’t pretend to understand your need for charades, Snarcs. I do understand the position of the White Duke. I am ready to render aid. I can do far more than even Duke Keyser himself realizes. Don’t mock me. I get tired of the human need to maintain personal fictions.”

“Have you met Nert Cooblegooble?”

“You know that this man is different from the last human who you introduced as Mr. Cooblegooble. Don’t play games with me again.”

“Oh, you take all the fun out the whole spy thing! This is the Pirate King, Arkin Cloudstalker.”

“Yes. A noble reputation among those who travel through the Hyde Park starport. I believe you use the Knights as a privateer band working to liberate the people of the Galtorr Imperium, do you not?”

“I do. I like your directness.”

“We are many, Mr. Cloudstalker, but we are one.”

“Wait, I don’t understand again. Is this a riddle?”

“No. It is merely a factor in the differences between your kind and mine.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t. You are like these ephemerals. You do not have the Wisdom of the Stones.”

“Oh!” interjected Mr. Crushcracker, “You mean like, I can’t get no… satisfaction!?”

“Shut up, Snarcs.” Lazerstone turned cold, sightless eyes on Phineas Crushcracker. “This meeting is important.”

“Help me understand,” pleaded Arkin.

“Very well. The crystals of this planet are all alive. They are all capable of thought. In fact, they all share one vast consciousness. We, the Lazerstone, are capable of understanding everything about your kind and what they are doing in our shared galaxy. We have seen the unnatural evil and crimes of your Galtorr Imperium. We understand the need to put an end to that. We also realize that only men like you, Ged Aero, and the White Duke are capable of making your kind turn away from violent animal ignorance and start harmonizing with the galactic symphony of life.”

“That is all very poetic,” said Arkin, still not fully comprehending, “but how are you going to help us?”

“I will fight for you. Soon you will see how important that is for your future Empire.”

“My Empire?”

“Your Democracy if you prefer.”

“Yes, that would be better.” Arkin tried to use mental x-rays to pierce the colorful stone of that impassive face. “Can you see me through those stone eyes of yours?”

“He can see through you, Nert,” said Scarpigo Snarcs. “He’s an all-powerful monster from outer space. Booga-booga! He can even tell what color underwear you have on.”

The humorless stone face turned towards Snarcs.

“At least I have enough respect for his underwear that I don’t feel the need to reveal what it looks like. Not like the silk shorts with printed pink bunnies on them that you have on.”

Snarcs turned stone white. “How did you know about those?”

“Lazer-vision, funny boy. I see by using my perceptions of relative density and wave-lengths of gravitons. Don’t cross me, or I might eat you in the night!”

Phineas Crushcracker and Scarpigo Snarcs both cringed. Madame Prong held a rubber chicken in her hand with less than the usual gusto.

“By the way,” added Lazerstone, “Booga-booga! Scarpigo Snarcs!”

Leave a comment

Filed under aliens, humor, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney

Tagged as AeroQuest 3

October 27, 2019 · 7:52 pm

Teaching Bouncy Band Bunnies

Friday, October 25th was my first full-day substitute teacher job. I was supposed to cover for the assistant band director at Barbara Bush Middle School in Irving, Texas. It was a long day of work, but it was supposed to be an easy day, watching the band director conduct his classes and doing whatever little helpful thing the band director asked me to do.

Easy is not a word that is normally associated with teaching. So, naturally, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong, and a few things that couldn’t go wrong went wrong just for good measure.

The day started with rain. It was a slogging jog from home to my daughter’s high school, dropping her off early to get some extra project work time in before school. Then I had to drive all the way through Coppell to the eastern edge of Irving which somehow gets to be in our school district even though it is two cities to the west away. Dallas drivers in the rain… eeeyaaah! I almost died on the road twice, missing only by inches.

And, of course, when I got there, the secretary in charge of subs was not there. I was given the wrong sub folder by the other secretary. It turned was out that the band director himself was out too. So, there were two non-musical subs for six classes of music and a homeroom. And band directors have no idea how to provide work for kids when they can’t use their instruments. We were given an assignment online for kids to do on their Chromebooks. It was an assignment that, at best, would last for five minutes out of the fifty-minute class periods. Well, they did tell us to let them amuse themselves with games on the Chromebooks when they were finished (because, of course, 6th, 7th, and 8th graders never misuse the internet, meaning lots of walking around looking at screens to identify those things that SHOULD NOT BE THERE).

My co-sub was a very polite Indian lady who was working her first sub job and had no teaching experience.

So, with the potential for total chaos and disaster set, I had to basically take over and manage the baby-sitting festival for the day. We did get one significant break. The high school band director from the high school associated with Bush came in to direct the two concert band classes, and they worked on their music. Band directors of high schools are all masters of the art of teaching. We watched him work for two hours, 3rd and 4th periods. It was fantastic. He could stop off-task behavior with a mere look. He only had one horsey bunny give him any trouble, and he basically stapled that kid to his tuba with mere words and threats of that special band-director-kind that only band students can truly imagine to the full extent of its potential horror. Both of us subs congratulated him on his impressive teaching skills and thanked him for the pain and sweat he saved us from.

In the meantime… that mean time when we had to keep sixth graders full of bouncy-bunny Friday energy in their seats and unable to damage anything, kill anybody, argue with pocket knives and stabby pencils, or any other nightmarish thing that fevered little bunny brains could potentially conceive, we kept them in their seats (mostly), settled disputes (without yelling at them or hitting anybody), dealt with uncharged and non-working Chromebooks (mostly thanks to band hall outlets and the chairs near them), and kept them busy (at one point challenging kids to drawing contests in which I gave them paper and shut them up with my cartooning skills).

It was an exhausting day. But also wonderful, in its own way. One girl thought I looked like Santa Claus on the old Coca-Cola Christmas ads. Two or possibly three kids were smart enough to laugh at my jokes. And the day was completed with no casualties. I look forward to doing it again next week.

2 Comments

Filed under humor, Paffooney, teaching

October 24, 2019 · 2:24 pm