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Posted by at 08:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Enchanted Hawaii had early attracted the attention of Americans. In the morning years of the nineteenth century, the breeze-brushed islands were a way station provisioning point for Yankee shippers, sailors, and whalers. In 1820 came the first New England missionaries, who preached the twin blessings of Protestant Christianity and protective calico.

When I came across this phrase last night I had dad look up protective calico on google, and know what he found? 3 sites, all which quoted my text book. I even asked my teacher what it meant, and he has no earthly idea.

So when it came time to take a quiz, and I had a question to answer on Hawaii missionaries, I quoted the text book word for word. That was one of the only short answer questions I got right. And from now on I think "Protective Calico" is going to be the little keyword that my mind will use to recall the Hawaii annexation crap.

So If you know what protective calico is, please share the wealth of knowledge.

Posted by at 05:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

History isn't my favorite subject, mainly because I haven't had really good teachers. I've had decent ones but few good ones, I think the downhill trend started in 7th grade.

For 7th grade I had a man named Mr. T. And for some inexplicable reason (mainly the alphabet... damn concept that) I was always stuck sitting next to a kid named Nick. Now Mr. T. had a bad temper at times, and it was understandable sometimes, I mean come on, the guy had been teaching at the school for 5 years and they made him move out into the trailers, I'd be mad too (and was when ever there was snow on the ground), and Nick wasn't what you would call a "good student". In fact he was often called a horror. The importance of Nick is simple, A) he sat next to me in class, B) this was the kid that lit an overhead projector on fire (but that’s another story), and then once he switched schools lit a dumpster on fire. And Mr. T. hate Nick like he hated none else. I swear, at least once a month I had to duck because a trash can was getting kicked at Nicks head, and like normal, Mr. T. had bad aim.

The next year I had a teacher full of paradoxes. He was a Frenchman named Mr. German who served in the U.S. Marines... tell me how that works out? Well to be frank, Mr. German was just plain boring! Everyday was the same thing, walk in, do a worksheet, read a section in the book, take a quiz, leave. With a minor change on Friday when we would have a chapter test. Ugh, not fun.

Freshman year, 1st block, history. Immediately I knew I was in for it, just by the previous two years track record. I knew I should have switched teachers when I had the chance. Mr. P is quite psycho, and not in a good way either. He also didn't approve of my friends and made it quite clear that he didn't like me. I spent 90% of the year dodging poker chips flung at my head (His form of participation points) and enduring comments and him implying that I was an Atheist and an Anarchist. Every time either one of those topics would come up he would say "Now, Ms. [Insert my last name here], Atheism is when a person doesn't believe in God." You could hear him pronounce the capital G on the word, one of my friends that saw him at church onetime said he was a serious bible thumper and holly roller (not that that’s bad, just not around me.. it makes me antsy). So Mr. P thought I was Atheist, Anarchist, hated my friends, and there was one more piece of damning evidence about me in his eyes...

10th grade was Government and as the teacher soon found out, I have no tolerance for stupidity and have nothing against calling the National Front leader in France a "Quack Pot".

So that brings me to the current year. And for American History I have a teacher from Nicaragua named Mr. Q, who also was a marine. Now Mr. Q is a political scientist and not all that great on History, he got pushed into teaching the class because he was the only teacher the IB program considered qualified (AHH! I HATE YOU IB!), and Mr. Q doesn't agree with them. In part because of all the stuff I do (as in drama stuff and IB/AP) I've stopped being a "teachers pet" in 9th grade and will (politely-usually) speak my mind about anything because I don't have the patience for subtleties usually. As such Mr. Q and I are constantly messin' with each other. For example, one day he was talking about Reconcentration Camps in Cuba during the Spanish-American War, and he was explaining how a teacher could recommend which students went to the camps. And he said "Now... Mr. W, he's good.. he should be a military officer! But Ms. [Insert my last name here], she needs to go to a ReEducational camp to learn to be a proper peasant woman! And so does Mr. L here". I looked up at him, and in the middle of class said "Oh great, so not only do I get to go to a hell whole to learn to be "Proper" but I get to go with James? Thanks Mr. Q." The whole class started cracking up. That was one of my favorite comments. Lately Mr. Q has been raggin' on me a lot more then normal, and I have 2 theories to explain this: A) He's been talking to the aforementioned Mr. P (whom Mr. Q worships, complete with Poker chip usage and all) or B) He's decided that he's going to give as good as he gets (which is quite a bit since I'm fairly merciless-mwah).

I don't like History or Poker Chips, but i'm going to have fun messing with Mr. Q for a while yet.

Posted by at 07:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I love the smell of fresh dirt -- but I wish my nose didn't hurt. He opened his eyes a little, and saw--- Brown. Oh. I'm lyring facedown in it. That must be why it's a little difficult to breathe. He tried to roll over onto his back, and failed. He tried again, then gave it up as hopeless. S'okay. I really don't want to go anywhere, anyhow. I've always wanted to be a worm, anyway. Worms can have a good time all by themselves and never know the difference. "Oh, your my tail? I thought you were my girlfriend." He lay there in the dirt and oak leaves, imagining a beautiful red-haired woman smiling at him. A particular beautiful red-haired woman who dumped him in public and led him to drink. He sighed.

Posted by at 08:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)