The theme of the day was employment, or lack thereof; I mistakenly thought that making (rather short) lists of past accomplishments and attempting to find gainful employment for the 4 sunniest months of the year would be preferable to more usual forms of cerebral self-torture. As per usual, I was wrong, and this is why I have something to write about. Here goes the bourgeois rant, as though the prospect of unfulfilling employment was even half the worry of billions of others out there; why support groups haven't been set up for student prostituting themselves to economic cycles is beyond me, if only other than the obvious reasons that a) everyone would be there, and b) all potential funding has gone towards rehabilitating all those people who live life through the 56 support group websites for pet loss, or something equally bizarre. (What can I say, I'm a callous person; I came back from a orchestra retreat -- not band camp, you sick people -- to seven dead goldfish, and I guess I'm going somewhere nasty after death for not mourning each of their fishy lives, but I'm better adjusted for it.)
The ritual of "picking up" siblings at school for the express purpose of checking out how the Board has decided to misappropriate money this year -- a charming new library, resplete with new furniture, an official opening worthy of the Cannes, and the same fifteen books, is the latest addition -- proved rewarding, yet again. How discomforting it is to realise that all high school teachers would much rather be somewhere else. Makes for good conversation, granted, but when your Calculus 12 teacher (with an Honours degree in Applied Mathematics from Waterloo) would rather go live on a kubbutz (in Israel, in the middle of another Middle Eastern conflict, for six months) rather than return for another year of work, even wheels as rusty as mine start to clank.
Anybody want to crash a high school dance?
Somebody recap the first half hour of West Wing for me, please -- I've been away for so long that it took thirty-odd "SAM!!"s before I clued in that Rob Lowe was back, albiet slightly shaggier (do Hollywood types only get haircuts if they're paid for by a production compay?). That's a weak ending, so look! I taught myself enough HTML to make links. Sharp as a tack, this one...
The ritual of "picking up" siblings at school for the express purpose of checking out how the Board has decided to misappropriate money this year -- a charming new library, resplete with new furniture, an official opening worthy of the Cannes, and the same fifteen books, is the latest addition -- proved rewarding, yet again. How discomforting it is to realise that all high school teachers would much rather be somewhere else. Makes for good conversation, granted, but when your Calculus 12 teacher (with an Honours degree in Applied Mathematics from Waterloo) would rather go live on a kubbutz (in Israel, in the middle of another Middle Eastern conflict, for six months) rather than return for another year of work, even wheels as rusty as mine start to clank.
Anybody want to crash a high school dance?
Somebody recap the first half hour of West Wing for me, please -- I've been away for so long that it took thirty-odd "SAM!!"s before I clued in that Rob Lowe was back, albiet slightly shaggier (do Hollywood types only get haircuts if they're paid for by a production compay?). That's a weak ending, so look! I taught myself enough HTML to make links. Sharp as a tack, this one...
