peachyteachy

For realsies

Doggy Intelligence Debate February 1, 2014

Despite the fact that cats obviously trump dogs on the internet, there is still a debate raging within the hallowed halls of my house: is our dog smart, or is our dog stupid? Does she emulate her owners and live that duality to a full extreme?

Here’s what my dog can do:

*Stuff that will result in a dog cookie.  She will sit, and lay down and go to her crate.

What she can’t do:

*Shut up when told to shut up.

*Not jump on people when they first arrive.

Before you start sharing your wisdom and suggest upping the dog treat factor, understand that if I gave a treat every time she shut up when I said to, she would become morbidly obese.

Let’s investigate this barking thing.  My dog is the Anti-Watch dog.  This is the dance broken down into dog behavior vs. actual situation.

Dog: WOOO WOOO WOO WOO WOOOO GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR WOO WOO WOOOOOOOOO!

Situation: Alert the authorities! The neighbor came home and opened the car door!!!!!!!!!

Dog: WWOOOOOOO WOOOO WOOO WOO WOOOO WOOOOOO WOOOOOO!

Situation: Call 911! There’s a leaf out on the driveway and it moved!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dog: Snores loudly.

Situation: It sounds like the zombie apocalypse with a hundred jack hammers is coming down the street.

She can, interestingly, sit and bark simultaneously.

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Survival sans Food Processor and Deep Fryer April 25, 2013

What?!

How can it be? How can someone who bloggingly refers to baking on at least a bi-monthly basis not own a food processor OR a deep fryer? I have asked myself that same question over the years, more times than I care to admit.  Usually this question arises directly following the gift-giving  holidays, when I come to terms with the perpetual reality of not having received a food processor. Again. Many couples receive food processors as wedding gifts, right? I got a “Footprints in the Sand” wall clock.  So you see how it is. (Just so you know, clock gifter, that one ended in a divorce, so. . .)

That’s cool, I tell myself.  Processed food is frowned upon.  Paleo dieters certainly can’t employ a food processor in their pursuit of pre-historic living.  Tell them that, will you? Tell them, while I mortar and pest the hell out of my fresh pesto, in preparation for my upcoming woolly mammoth hunt.

As for the deep fryer, that would definitely be a deep-sixed item in my house.  I understand that many wedding gifts meet a similar fate.  Do they still have the Fry Daddy (by Presto), and the Fry Baby (by Presto)? I don’t think that the Fry Mommy ever made the cut.  Fry Mommy would never let them eat all of that fried crap anyway. Fry Mommy doesn’t bow to Presto, either. She’s more of an Abracadabra kind of girl.  She’d be sneaking the shredded zucchini into every frittie-fried thing she would turn out.  You know it’s true.

The way I imagine it, there are so many lonely wedding food processors out there, languishing on the shelf, like unloved Velveteen Rabbits, waiting for just one new, special, forever home in my kitchen.

Preferably a Cuisinart.

I will pay the shipping.

 

Yeah, “OnlyTuesday” is a Thing January 16, 2013

Filed under: dogs,education,humor,inspiration,school,shopping,teaching — peachyteachy @ 7:40 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Oh, what? You’re one of those sunny individuals who, on Tuesdays (or “Tooz-deez” if you are old school and midwestern), says something like, “Hey, it’s almost Hump Day!” Every day is Hump Day if you’re my dog.  TODAY is, allegedly, Hump Day. The downhill “Wheeee!” has not kicked in.  The looming deadlines have.

One sunny side of this hallowed Hump Day is that, this year, we only have to draft a school supply order for seventy-six cents to outfit our classrooms for the following year.  If you are a special ed person, I’m sorry—you get thirty-one cents to spend.  Paper clip frenzy! In addition, you must complete your order form online in a format that is impossible to save. . .while a webcam records your every click, I am pretty sure. Yes, Ms. Crabapple (we’re all named after tree fruits), you have been–er—humped!

I commend you and tip my non-existent hat to you as well, my optimistic reader.  I’m guessing that your Toozdee (or Hump Day)  did not include witnessing a ten-year-old cussing out a sweet lady who is pushing seventy.  At the end of such a day, one occasionally reflects upon the soul-crushing reality that it is, indeed, OnlyTuesday.  Or, in today’s case, Lumpin’ Hump Day.

Hey! Here’s a happy Hump Day tale to tell!  One of my overflowing handful of students who view schoolwork as strictly optional, asked me if the word “wheat” is pronounced, “Hweet.”  To which I responded that, yes, technically, it is pronounced “Hweet.”  I was thinking of the early Woody Allen film, “Love and Death,” in which there is a very artsy wheat-themed soliloquy-ish thing (my favorite moment is Woody’s heartfelt, “CREAM of wheat!”). My student, on the other hand, was inspired to spend the next twenty solid minutes saying “Hweet” over and over again, to my delight.  It was a high point in my career as a life-changing, inspirational educator.

” What do you remember about fifth grade, Skippy?’

“I remember one day I said  ‘Hweet’ three thousand times.”

And then I started to think about regionalisms and then I watched this video about state stereotypes and then I decided to write the end of my post in the style of my students, but without misspelling stuff because I love you all too much to take it out on you…

Image: stickyegg.com

 

Hospitality Man-The New Face of Star Wars August 25, 2012

"Hospitality Man"

Hospitality Man wishes he was Han Solo.

Our dog, Bob Marley (no relation to that heart-wrenching retriever that made someone a successful writer awhile  back), used to enjoy chewing stuff.  A lot.  Isn’t that cute and unusual? No, I know.  Settle down.  The mildly interesting angle that I want to share with you here is how she had a preference for certain items. Yeah, Bob Marley is a girl dog.

Bob Marley did have a varied diet, and took to heart the nutritionists’ admonition to all of us that we should Eat a Rainbow Every Day!  What a sunny reminder to help us back into Oz when we veer off into the brown-and-beige-based food groups, such as oatmeal chocolate chip cookies (transformed to healthier Rainbow Eating by the strategic addition of M & Ms), mashed potatoes, and the breads in all their glory.  Bob Marley managed it by eating toys, especially Legos (always the coolest ones from the expensive kits, not the basic bricks) and action figures.  Star Wars action figures.  She could be surrounded by toys all over the floor, and she would be cheerfully chewing away on a Storm Trooper, not blinking an eye when you came in the room.   Many tears were shed, you can be sure.  The number one super fave, though, was the Clone Troopers–the ones from the animated series that we Star Wars purists poo-poo as illegitimate.  Like Cheez Wiz, it should be written “Star Warz the Clone Warz.”

None of that pure Star Wars propaganda holds any sway with my son.  “There’s too much conversation in the original Star Wars.  There’s more action in the prequels and in the Clone Wars,” he blithely states, while my older son and I gouge our eyes out with Lego light sabers that have missed the Bob Marley scourge.  Yeah, we have kept a lot of the damaged troopers, so the action figure collection in this house might not be suitable for younger viewers.

As a matter of fact, we came across one of the amputees this morning.  Grisly.  As you can see, both legs just clean gone.  “Does this guy play as the wounded one?” I asked (see  Ambling and Rambling’s Stupid Questions for more like this).

“Yeah, he’s Hospitality Man.  Cuz he has to go to the hospital so much.”

Hospitality Man.  Defiantly hospitable. Coming soon to a theater near you.

 

 
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