Friday, August 28, 2015

Smarter Than I Look

I understand that most teenagers believe teachers (hell, adults) behaved differently when they were teenagers.  We went to sock-hops. We loved school.  If we felt like rebelling, we wore racy clothes and drove our cars too fast. Maybe smoked a cigarette; maybe took a couple sips from a beer occasionally. Honestly, I don't blame them.  I thought the same thing too.
                
What strikes me is that they think we are not akin to their subterfuges.
                
The high school I teach at starts a half-hour later on Fridays; combined with the fact that this occurs at the end of their week makes hitting Starbucks a must for adolescents.  I  sympathize and have no problem with that as long as students arrive to class on time and don’t spill that Venti, blended goodness all over my floor.
                
But this morning, a little lady told me a bold-face lie so that she could retrieve her beverage after class had started.  One thing I have no patience with or tolerance for is lying.  She asked me is she could go to the restroom. I gave her permission.  She came back with a Venti passion tea.
               
Really?
                
I hauled her tush outside and said, “Samantha, don’t ever lie to me. You ask to go to the bathroom and you come back with Starbucks. Did you really think I wouldn’t catch that?”
                
Her eyes get real big.  “I didn’t lie. I just happen to run into my friend, and she had an iced tea for me. I swear.”
                
My response: “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
                          
“I swear that’s what happened.”

Yes, she thinks I'm that stupid.
               
“So, you expect me to believe that the exact same moment you had to ‘go to the bathroom’ your friend happened to be walking the halls with an ice tea for you? You really think I am going to believe that?”
                
“I swear.”
                
“I don’t believe you.”
               
 She stands there blinking at me. 
                
“Don’t ever lie to me again.”
                
She huffs and storms into the classroom.
                
(Little does she know that next time --or the next dozen times-- she asks to go to the restroom, the answer will be “no.”)
                
I tell my students from the beginning of the year that they will always win with honesty and never win with lying. Honestly doesn’t mean no consequences, but they will come down soooo much easier.  All Samantha had to do was say, “Hey Ms. Vance, my friend just brought me an iced-tea. Can I go grab it?”
                
It’s Friday. We are just doing some leisurely reading.  She’s playing it straight. I would have said, “Sure, but this is an exception. Don’t make this a habit.”  The end.
                
Instead, she lies. Instead, she assumes that I’m not going to catch on.  She assumes that I am stupid. I’m a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of ‘em.
                
Trust me, I was not a straight-laced kid. I rebelled. I rebelled hard.  And I used the same tricks they try to use on me.  When I set my watch back 20 minutes so that when I arrived home after curfew I could raise my little doe-eyes to my parents and show them how my watch says I’m on time? When I forged my own notes to get out of school early (I had an “injured knee” my junior year and had many, many doctor’s appointments) did the attendance workers know I was lying and just didn’t have a way to call my bluff? (They never called my mom, which is good, because then I’d be well . . . dead).  My parents never have been push-overs.  If I got caught doing wrong, punishment was severe and swift.  Yet I still ditched; I still snuck out; I still lied. I wonder how much they actually knew and just didn’t address because I was still bringing home good grades and treating them with respect?  Were they just worn by the demands of their daily lives so they would allow a few transgressions?
               
The message I’d like to send to all teens is this: we know a lot more than you think we know.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

I'm Baaaaaaaaaack!

Why did I drop off the blogosphere for last nine months?

No, I did not have a baby (unlike my friend over at Missed Periods and Other Grammar Scares who also took a hiatus).  The idea of me procreating could be it's own horror novel.

No, it's not because I ran out of material. Trust me, being a 40-something, techno-challenged, even more man-challenged, teacher of high school English provides enough for this writer.  I didn't take a hiatus from writing (my seventeen-page essay on Ratchet is currently submitted to several literary journals); just from blogging.

To be honest, I don't have a good reason. Nothing concrete. No family illness, no change of career, no loss of career that left me homeless: no special marker that called for an end to my blogging career. I just lost the motivation. The passion was gone.  For a while, I thought my three-and-a-half-year relationship with Blogspot had run its course.  I didn't want to leave it for Word Press or Tumblr. I didn't give it an ultimatum like, "get me published or get out."  Quite simply, I just lost that loving feeling.


Ya, I'm coming back with cliches after nine months, dammit.

So, why am I back?

The catalyst was about a week ago when I was discussing with the department chair at the junior college I teach at about the possibility of apply for a full-time position. I wanted to make sure all that I would be giving up by leaving my nearly twenty-year career with my high school (primarily in the form of seniority and job security) would be worth it. Getting a full time job at the junior college level is nearly impossible. One would have to sleep with as well as kill several people to just get an interview: it is extremely competitive. As my department chair and I discussed what would help me pop as a candidate, one item that came up was to "make sure that [I] mention the blog."

It's ironic: my high school administration quivers in fear over my blog; my college one encourages it. I say absolutely nothing about it to my high school students. Nothing. Hell, I pretend to not even know what a blog is (and they believe me because as far as they are concerned I wrote my high school essays on parchment). I know it's been found; much to my surprise, some students have nothing better to do than google their teachers. As for my college students, I provide them with a link on the second day of class. Most of my posts analyze language; it will enhance their education, dammit. I also send links to my colleagues at the junior college.

Another little nudge came from a colleague at the junior college as well. While chatting with a lovely woman in the lounge a few days ago, we both realized that even though we knew each other's faces we weren't quite sure of each other's names. When I formally introduced myself, she replied with: "Your Holly Vance?! I am such a fan."

Even though it was a nice little spit-shine to my ego, I was a bit confused. When she didn't immediately mention that it was because of my blog, I began to panic. I never have, nor ever will, google myself, so who knows what's out there about me. What was she a fan of?

As it turns out, she knew about me through my high school teaching history. (And if you are waiting for the details, I ain't gonna provide 'em.  No need to give my high school an aneurysm before the new year even starts.) It had nothing to do with my blog, but it made me think about it.

All that matters is that I'm back. I feel the old spark of love for Blogspot. Hopefully, it will take me back with open arms. And roses. And chocolates from Godiva. And a flood of agents dying to market me to major publishing houses.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Not as Turn't Up as I Hoped

As previously posted, I hate grading papers,but there is an exception: my students' personal statements for college. I enjoy these papers because I get to learn about who my students are as young men and women.  It is often enlightening, sometimes heartbreaking, and once in a while didactic.

One young lady wrote about her struggles making a new group of friends when changing high schools--quite a formidable one for a teen. (We all know the critical role our homies play during the adolescent years). She shared that unlike most of her peers, she doesn't like to get "TUed (turn't up)" on the weekends, so finding like-minded peers was difficult.

I had encountered "turn't up" before: the first time was a couple summers ago when one of my college students used it to help me understand "ratchet" when I was investigating that word (my investigation led to an article still in the revising process), but using slang to help define slang only increases confusion. Most recently, a student asked me how my weekend had been, and in response to my assurance that it had been good, asked "did you get turn't up?"

It doesn't take a linguist to figure out what it means. Hell, it only requires rudimentary understanding of teenage rebellion. But, I thought that the word's longevity might allude to a deeper meaning. (As with all things, the Internet speeds up the spread and burn-out of slang terms.)  I decided to do a little investigating.

I had a few minutes of class left after finishing one of my lessons, so I asked a group of seniors what "turn't up" meant.  After the laughter that inevitably results from my questions on slang died down, I get a mixture of voices yelling, "Partying," and "Getting wasted" paired with raise-the-roof gestures and bodies dancing behind desks.

I focus on the young lady sitting closest to me and hear her say, "It's like getting crazy."

"In my day, we called it 'getting amped', is that what you mean?"

"Exactly!"

I need to read my own blog posts. Not only was I trying to use slang clarify a definition of slang, but I was using slang of my generation. I probably could have said, "we called it 'getting ugga-bugga'" and would have gotten the same response. At least she wouldn't have known that "getting amped" ususally mean consumption of methaphentomine.

Fortunately, I went in with a pretty good idea what "turn't up" meant: increasing the energy level of a social situation through being more boisterous and less inhibited, usually with the assistance of drinking, drugs,and music. Nevertheless, I wanted to clarify if, getting "turn't up" required drinking and drug use. Could one drink too many espressos, throw on the Motely Crue, and get "turn't up?" Do teens who do not experiment (or become dependent on) drinking and drugs use the term?

Several students said, "no" but with some hesitation.  My guess was that the answer was really "yes," but they were trying to protect me from the iniquities of teenage life. You know, because when I was in high school I didn't nothing more devious than drinking Diet Rite Cola and playing Candyland. On nights I really wanted to take it to another level, I busted out the Monopoly and regular Rite Cola.

Lil Jon
While trying to get a consensus on the role of illicit party favors in the definition, a student said, "It's because of the song!"

Lil Wayne
"What song?" I asked.

" 'Turn't Down for What' by Lil Jon."

This brought on a couple more questions from me:  "Do you use 'turn't down' too?" and "I thought it was Lil Wayne."

No on both accounts.  Apparently there is a Lil Jon as well as a Lil Wayne, a Lil Kim, a Lil Fizz, a Lil Bibby, a Lil Boosie, and a Lil Bub. And while using "turn't up" is cool, "turn't down" is lame.

My students exhorted me to look up the lyrics to the song.  I did and they provided no further insight. In fact, the entire song is a repetition of these three lines:  Fire up loud/ Another round of shots/ Turned down for what?

"These lyrics aren't saying anything profound," I said.  "In fact, they aren't saying much of anything at all."

I am assured that if I listen to the song, it will enrich my understanding. I was not sure how, but I played the song.  As it turned out, I had heard the song before, quite a bit actually, but since my clubbing days are quite over and have been for several years, I related it to a funny cat video on Youtube called ""Kitten Jam Turned Down for What."  I admit, it does have a good beat.

But the lyrics = lame.

"Fire up loud" means smoke weed.

"Another round of shots" means another round of shots.

"Turned down for what?" has a couple interpretations.  One is "I am not turning down any weed or shots;" another, "why not get wasted?" If Lil Jon could let Lil Ol' Holly know which interpretation he meant, I would greatly appreciate it.

And the next time anyone makes fun of Whitesnake, Poison, or Warrant, I am just going to turn up Kitten Jam on Youtube.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Thought of That THOT and Then I Moved On

I have some major linguistic knowledge to throw down.

Major. Linguistic. Knowledge.

This new slang term for an old label might revolutionize the English language.

Found on Pinterest Quotes
Teens today have created a new way to call a girl a whore, and thank the goddess because pop culture does not have enough ways to pigeon-hole females. Refer to my post "Whore's Offspring"

Whore's latest addition is the eloquent, sophisticated, and innovative term "thot." 

Originally an acronym for the phrase "that ho over there," T-H-O-T became the texting translation so that the youth can communicate their socially relevent commentary faster and easiter. "THOT is talking to my ex" is far less cumbersome than "That ho over there is talking to my ex-boyfriend." 



Found on Kevin Gurlides' Twitter
A new twist texting contributes is acronyms that have a slightly different definition. National Aeronautics and Space Administration, NASA, always means National Aeronautics and Space Administration, while That Ho Over There, THOT, doesn't.

Considering culture's obsession with developing a myriad of ways to call a woman a whore, I would think that it would assume that a whore's life is always interesting. So, to save oxygen and finger muscles, why not just say (or write or text) "thot?" I'm not too worried that it will be confused with "thoughts?" Problem with the verbal use, is that "THOT" sounds too much like "thought" so that whoever is receving the question doesn't know if she is being asked to share the escapes of her body or her mind. But at least without the inflection of voice needed to ask a question, a woman will know when she is being insulted: "THOT."


NASA was developed to expedite communication, but not by teenagers.My high school students use "thot" frequently; my college students have "heard of it" but didn't know what it meant (until I told them). Unlike with BOGO, I am slightly ahead of this verbal trend instead of way behind. 

By telling my college students about it, I might have just hastened the spread of its use. Life is full of irony.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

BOGO or Bobo?

A whole lexicon of acronyms is multiplying faster than I can keep up.

I thought that teaching high school students, teaching college students, and a penchant for action films and hard rock music would keep me abreast of Generation I's lingo, but I seem to be falling behind.

One night while indulging my guilty pleasure of watching Investigation Television (Homicide Hunter and Deadly Women are two of my favs), I saw a commercial for a sale at Payless shoe store.  Here was this cutesy, twenty-something blonde loading up her trunk with a bundle of shopping bags saying that it was the best "bogo" sale ever.

What in the hell is a "bogo" sale?

Since the commercial didn't present the term in all capital letters, it technically didn't qualify as an acronym. I didn't bother to look it up (or pay enough attention to the commercial), so I didn't learn what it was until I was shopping online and saw the phrase again: BOGO sale.  This time, it was capitalized correctly and below it was written "Buy one, get one 1/2 off."

Ah-ha: BOGO sale.  I am quite familiar with the concept; it's the new terminology that was, well, new to me.

Now that I am enlightened, I must criticize. Technically, BOGO just stands for "buy one get one," which could cause confusion.  Is the retailer reminding me that if I buy one of whatever that I will be getting just one item? Or is the retailer reassuring me that if I buy one of whatever, I will indeed get what I bought? The more accurate acronym for a "Buy one, get one 1/2 off sale" would be a BOGO HO sale. And the can of worms that advertising could open up could be cataclysmic.  Or at the very least, illegal.

My pedantic analysis aside, the phonetics of the BOGO (HO) sale are problematic. I don't know about other shoppers, but asked if I wanted to go to a BOGO sale, I'd be inclined to say "no" because it sounds too much like a sale of stupid people. Or a sale for stupid people. 

I commend advertisers for keeping it fresh, for incorporating the language the youth into your ads, for contributing to the degradation of the English language. But, I do recommend that you say your new, catchy phrases out loud to make sure that the older, less hip Gen Xers go to those sales as well.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

I Say Colon; You Hear Butthole

Even though I teach English, not all of my friends are teachers. I do have a handful of friends that also teach, but neither of my best friends work in fields remotely related to academia. They are intelligent, accomplished professionals, but like most people, they are not grammarians.

Knowing the intricacies of English grammar is not a survival skill; it isn't even the key to success (a friend is currently padding her bank account by doing workshops related basic writing for very accomplished audiences, for example, the Navy Seals) but because I spend so much time contemplating and teaching grammar I assume that my knowledge is common knowledge: I often forget that the average person doesn't understand the function of the colon.

The colon, the two periods on top of each other as my students call it, has three basic functions: to introduce a list, to signal an elaboration or example of what came before the colon, and to build up anticipation.The colon (:) can be replaced with the words "for example," "to elaborate," or "wait for it!"

Recently, while engaging in a round of Crabs Adjust Humidity (an off-shoot and addition to Cards Against Humanity) with my group of non-teacher friends, as Card Czar I drew the following "question" card: "_______________________: Ain't nobody got time for that."

I thought that sharing the use of the colon (:) would help my friends come up with witty answers, so I said, "Blank colon (:) Ain't nobody got time for that." By doing so, I thought my friends would grab onto the "wait for it" aspect of the punctuation in order to construction a witty response. I waited in anticipation for the rhetorical genius to come my way:
  • "Micropenis: Ain't nobody got time for that."
  • "Breeding elves for their priceless semen: Ain't nobody got time for that."
  • "Two midgets shitting into a bucket: Ain't nobody got time for that."
The kind of wittiness I envisioned was not what I got.  When I said colon (:) they heard

My friends were so excited for me to read their answers: they were laughing before I even flipped their cards over.  When I began to read them, I put down the question card for them all to see and the miscommunication was immediately seen.

"You meant the punctuation," a friend said.  "I thought you meant the other colon."

Of course, I extemporized on the ridiculousness of that assumption. I know that CAH is a crass, bathroom-humor type of game for twisted minds, but in what world does "_____________ colon: Ain't nobody got time for that" make any sense?  Mircropenis: makes sense; breeding elves for their priceless semen: makes sense; two midgets shitting in a bucket: makes sense.

My friends proved me wrong.  The answers they provided actually did make sense in both contexts: the punctuation and the anatomy.
  • "A butt-plug in the shape of a rolled-up copy of the U.S. Constitution"
  • "A tossed salad"
  • "Struggle Snuggles"

Which one did I pick as the winner? Struggle Snuggles, just to be spiteful. 

Monday, August 4, 2014

Booze and Books

My sister texts "Super drunk. Making my way back" at 3 a.m.

Recently I did a turn-around trip to Las Vegas with my sister, Kelli. The occasion that prompted the trip was that her two best friends, Kyle and Todd,  from high school would be staying there for a week in a time-share. Between the guys' military service and moving to different states, Kelli doesn't have many opportunities to see them so this was not to be missed. We left on a Sunday, but she had to be back by Monday evening because she had a very important meeting for her job on Tuesday.

Now, my sister is very responsible. She didn't need me to keep her out of trouble (I'm usually the one who needs bailing out). I was basically her designated driver for the ride home.  Kelli hadn't seen Todd and Kyle in a few years; she is a mother to a toddler and career driven. 24 hours - kid + her high school BFFs = party, party, party until the breaka-breaka dawn. I would be hauling a very hungover sister home.

I packed yoga pants and tanks-tops, flip-flops, and a book. Kelli packed three pairs of shoes, two pairs of jeans, several blingy tops, and a dress.

A few minutes after she informs me that she's wasted and working her way back to the hotel, I get "Can you come get me?"  As I am sliding out of bed, I get "I'm getting a cab."

Good thinkin' sis.

I meet her and her friends in the casino of the hotel.  The guys are wide-eyed and jovial; Kelli is slouched over an empty Blackjack table.

Been there; done that.

The guys make sure that I know what a "trooper" she was.  If two career military men claim that a "civilian" can keep up with their drinking, that makes one's badass status official.

I escort Kelli back to the room and pour her into bed.

She wakes up at around 8 a.m. saying, "I don't feel that bad."

That's because she's still drunk, but I decide not to burst her bubble.

By 10 a.m., she's near death. She anticipated this condition so she arranged for a late check-out time. See what I mean? Responsible.

I knock around the casino for a bit, return to the room to see if Kelli is up for lunch.  My suggestion of a meal sends her scurrying to the bathroom; I am on my own.

Grabbing my book, I head down to the America cafe, belly up to the bar and order a cheeseburger. As I am reading, the host cruises by, stops short, looks at me and says, "Wow, you don't see much of that anymore."

At first, I think he's referring to my hotness. Then my heart sinks as I realize that he's referring to my reading. The monologue of how the decline of civilization is because nobody reads is scrolling through my head.
Well, this is Vegas. It's not like people come here to read. Only nerds like me.

He saunters over, leans on the bar next to me and says, "All you see these days is people with their electronic books. I haven't seen an actual book in a long, long time.

At this point, I'm near suicide. Only recently have I acquired and electronic reader and I've yet to use it.

Both Kelli and I were moaning in agony on the way home.