5 pieces of nonsense.

1. Twitter: I refuse to do it. I can’t decide if it’s because the people using Twitter are called “tweeters,” or if it’s because you have to keep your updates to 50 words or less. I do know there’s this whole “Cult of Twitter,” in which you can become a micro-celebrity if you get enough followers who care what you have to say (in 50 words or less) ten or more times a day.

I’m sure there are many sad psychological observations to make about this, along with much Freudian snark. But I won’t attempt any of it, because I’m here. Writing. And there’s this whole “Cult of Blog,” in which you are called a “blogger” and can become a micro-celebrity. If you get enough followers who care what you have to say 1 or more times a day and/or week. Or, in my case, you can develop enough followers who care enough to read what you write sporadically about what you’re doing or thinking. Sporadically being once a week which sometimes stretches to once a month…depending on how healthy I am, whether I’ve gotten enough sleep that week, if my roots are sufficiently highlighted, if I feel pithy enough to write, or if it’s sunny enough because I don’t write if it looks like rain.

So I really think it’s the term “tweeter.” Tweet, tweeting, and tweeter. No, thanks.

2. Yet I’m perfectly okay with yelp. Being a yelper. Do you know about yelp? It's fabulous. I'm totally addicted to yelping.
   

Which I know means I’m weird, with a dash of moron. But then, so are tweeters.

3. We have a new assistant principal coming next year. The entire school is buzzing with excitement: our first man administrator! And even more exciting, he reminds us all of a young Denzel Washington, with a smidgeon of Taye Diggs. This is a GOOD thing…for the teachers. But for our 5^th grade “O.G. Club?” Probably not. Have I written about the 5^th grade “O.G. Club” before? I’m only aware of it because my friends Ms. C and Ms. W had to work with them this year in the After School program, and the OG-ers were a piece of work. One hot mess, times ten. One afternoon, one of them let Ms. C and Ms. W in on their group’s major secret: they formed an exclusive club, but you can only be in it if you’re an OG. When Ms. C asked them what an OG was, not one of them could really define it, but they’re pretty sure 50 Cent and Li’l Wayne are OGs.

Um, no, silly ten year olds with unrealistic life aspirations. 50 Cent is not an OG. Neither is Li’l Wayne. Sydney Poitier? OG. Barack Obama? OG. Bill Cosby? OG. Richard Pryor, Denzel Washington, Martin Luther King, Jr., even Al Sharpton…all OGs. But 50 Cent and Li’l Wayne? Wannabe OGs. Just like a good handful of our 5^th graders.

What the heck’s an “OG,” you ask? It’s an “Original Gangsta.” And by Original Gangsta, I mean someone who: refuses to wear their jeans hanging down to their calves, thinks bling is a watch and a wedding ring, is respectful to teachers and other adults, and they know how to dance. To real music that actually gets sung, not rapped with hateful thoughts towards women and swear words all over it. I watched the OG Clubbers dance last month at the Spring Dance…I’m not sure what that was, but Gregory Hines (OG) wouldn’t have done it.

Man. It’s a sad, sad day for little wannabe OG-ers from the Georgia suburbs when a 37 year old white girl from Hickville, KY knows what an OG is and they don’t. In fact, I think that should be the O.G. Club’s new rule for next year—you can only be in the OG Club if you’re a 37 year old white girl from Hickville, KY with a big appreciation for classic Poitier movies. And you have to be able to recite lines from the movie TO SIR, WITH LOVE. And say it like you mean it.

4. There are exactly 4 weeks (and 2 days) left of teaching children. Of those 4 weeks (and 2 days), 5 of my days will be spent administering (and bubbling in codes) a most ridiculous test to children who still struggle to tie shoes (Velcro, I curse you) and remember that Georgia is the name of the state (not the country, not the planet) we live in.

The other day, I had a conversation about this test with a little girl in one of my morning groups. She’s a cute, super smart, sweet little Indian girl and I have no idea why she’s still in ESOL. I’ll be shocked if she didn’t ESOL test herself out of the program for next year. Anyway, to give you an idea of what it’s like to be a small, school-age child in the United States of America today, here’s how our conversation went:

Little Girl: Did YOU have to take the CRCT when you were a first grader, Ms. S?

Ms. S: Nope.

Little Girl: What was the name of the test you had to take?

Ms. S: They didn’t make us take big end of the year tests, C.

Little Girl: Why didn’t they make you take big tests when you were in first grade?

Ms. S: Um, you know what? I don’t know.

Little Girl: But then why do they make us take so many big tests now?

Ms. S: Because they want to make sure you’re learning what you’re supposed to learn.

Little Girl: But then, how did they know if YOU learned what you were supposed to when you were in first grade?

Ms. S: I think they just trusted the teachers to teach us what they were supposed to.

Little Girl: Did your teachers teach you?

Ms. S: Yup.

Little Girl: Did you learn good?

Ms. S: Yup.

Little Girl: But you and Ms. T teach us and I learn good from you. Why don’t they trust you like they trusted the teachers when you were in first grade?

Ms. S: That’s a good question, C. I don’t really know why. I think the people who make our country’s laws think that if they make us give kids a lot of tests they’ll feel better about paying teachers. Or something like that. It’s really confusing, even to teachers.

Little Girl: Why do they do so many confusing things, though?

Ms. S: C, have you thought about learning to be a philosopher when you go to college?

Little Girl: What does a philosopher do?

Ms. S: Think up questions to ask.

Little Girl: Do they get famous?

Ms. S: Sometimes.

Little Girl: I want to be famous when I grow up.

Ms. S: Well, how about politics? Politicians can get really famous. Have you thought about running for the U.S. Senate when you grow up?

Little Girl: What’s “the U.S. Senate”? What do they do?

Ms. S: They’re the ones who make the testing first grader laws and give speeches to people.

Little Girl: Oh, no! I don’t want to do THAT. That’s sounds boring and too hard. And people who make up tests are mean to us. I want to be a dancer.

Ms. S: I’m with you—I think dancing is a much better job.

Little Girl: So I will do good on the CRCT?

Ms. S: You’re very smart. You’ll probably get Super Excellent on all the tests.

Little Girl: Cool! And then on Saturday I will dance at my auntie’s party!

5. Some days I miss being a little kid. Except for the testing part. I’m pretty sure all the big end-of-year tests would make me want to be a dancer at auntie parties, too.