Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite
jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a
thousand times, and now how abhorr’d in my imagination it is!
My gorge rises at it.

Modified:

We all die.

Little Known Fact:

In high school, my friend Kristi and I turned our classroom copies of Hamlet into choose-your-own adventure books. This was much harder than you might imagine.

Sometimes I just like worksheets. They make me feel like I’m getting things done, whether I am or not. At the end of the day, I feel accomplishment.

“What did you do today?”

“Why, I finished these worksheets.”

Anyway, because I’m creatively blocked today, here on this blog, I’m re-purposing this worksheet, pulling it from my old blog and bringing onto this one. I’d fill it out myself but I know how it ends.

Download.

Get the worksheet. (PDF)

Sure it does, I thought a few weeks back, hearing my friend explain how his iPad would lock up and he couldn’t get it to pick up the WiFi signal.

Nevertheless, I acknowledge the buggy nature of the PC. This morning, I received a digital greeting from Bill Gates via his patented “blue, the color of hope and joy” greeting card series. My father refers to the middle finger as “digital greeting” and really, I think that’s an apt description.

Still, I love my newer laptop even if it is a PC. The older one was getting to the point where the processor was practically able to cook a hot dog on the touchpad as I put it through its paces.

Last night at the squadron meeting, the fellow sitting next to me had his brand new iPad out, and was busy capacitiving all over the place with a stylus, checking email, finding YouTube videos of a Cirrus deploying its BRS parachute, following along during training for the online eServices usage members must understand… sigh. I had a pen and paper. The instantaneous ability to pull all that content and distraction into being in that moment was a point of envy for me. I will grant that in an EMP event, I was going to be in the better place. It’s just hard to remember such things when faced with Gadget-itis.

“You should really get one of these,” he said.

“Yeah, they’re nice,” I replied.

“It’s Apple, and you can’t beat that,” he went on. “Apple just works.”

That’s fine.

Does Apple periodically send you blue greeting cards? No?

Ha. Who’s the winner in that contest?

Anyway, he followed along and took notes on the iPad, and I followed along and doodled on my paperPad.

I created the cartoon on my paperPad for your reading pleasure. It kind of reminds me of the Favre drinking game.

I admit that extended periods of teaching leave me exhausted. It involves planning, supplies, breaking down the lesson for a variety of skill levels and interest — there’s a lot of things to consider and cajole and coerce and compliment and critique…a person could invade a country on less preparation.

I have a friend who has taught in some form or another since college, and I don’t know how she’s kept up the level of classes, projects, and involvement that I’ve seen. It truly is impressive.

Me?

I guess I got worn out a few years back. It takes more than being able to draw to teach an art class. People are sometimes a bit vulnerable when they are creating outside of their comfort level, so it takes a kind of people-skill that I don’t always have in spades. With kids, particularly in summer programs, I sometimes dealt with students who weren’t as much interested in art as much as their parents were interested in someone watching their child for a few hours.

For all the hard-core art teachers out there — I salute you. You have my respect.

There’s not much to say about the actual game, other than if you mix in a few beers as a spectator, a larger variety of behavior is apparently acceptable. (I only had Diet Coke.) At one point, player number 44 from the Defenders, whose last name was Clark, received a technical foul for “giving the business” to a Wizards player. From that point on, those around me would holler out the name “Clark!” whenever he had the ball, shot a free throw, entered or exited the game, or basically inhaled or exhaled oxygen.

“Claaaaark!”

“Claaaaaaaaark!!”

“Clarrrrrk!”

“You are going to get seriously pounded when this game is over,” I warned my friend, sliding lower in my seat.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No,” I said, slumping lower and covering my face as the next round of Clark started.

Clark was a tall and muscular individual. A sufficient beat-down was entirely possible.