Pizarro is Here!

Hey JLP gang, let’s welcome in our old friend Francisco Pizarro!

Hooray!

I assume he has come to bring toys and Spanish happiness to us all! What a glorious day this is!

What’s that, Francisco Pizarro? When you say, “the time of the JLP is over,” what do you mean? Do you mean that you have brought us all fake mustaches so we can prance about in a spirit of frivolity?

Why are you holding aloft a Bible, Francisco Pizarro? What do you mean by this? Are you requesting a brief moment of silent prayer before we hold hands around the mirthberry bush and sing songs of friendship and innocence?

Look, JLP friends, Mr. Francisco’s friends with the silver hats are gathering together in a line facing us! They want to play red rover!

Let’s send little Billy O’Houlihan on over!

NO! The Spanish men with beards cut little Billy O’Houlihan open with their steel blades and have thrown his severed, red-haired head back to us!

This is not fun at all! Why would the gods turn against the JLP like this? Our blogprophets who foretold apocalypse were right! I should have heeded their word instead of spitting half-chewed Cap’n Crunch in their faces!

My precious JLP friends are now scrambling for their lives from Pizarro and his men mounted atop their terrifying demon-steeds! The JLP’s hubris is collapsing down upon us all like a stone pyramid of whimsy!

I suddenly feel cold and feverish. My skin has grown sallow and is newly blemished with pustulous sores. I am about to die a pitiful death at the hands of Francisco Pizarro!

I will throw myself into the ravine instead!

Franciscooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Hooray?

Posted in Ramblings | 1 Comment

Socks and Me

And now I will describe how my socks are coded for the chapters of my life.

Tiptoe sock.

White socks are for living the good life. Whether worn with a favorite pair of jeans to watch football during the crisp weeks of fall or with my workout gear when I’m out on a run, I am most myself when I wear my white socks. My white socks are soft and thick, like Santa’s beard, while also being sensible and affordable, like a Chevy Malibu. When I pull those comfortable sons of bitches on in the morning, I know I’m about to have an awesome day, same as if Kent Hrbek gave me a gun.

Brown socks are no fun at all. My brown socks are worn exclusively for work to match my brown pants and brown shoes. Brown socks are for days when I park in an assigned spot and write lesson plans and eat a sensible sandwich for lunch. While I love working with young people, my brown socks create an austere distance between them and myself. I am ever the dapper, professional counterpoint to their slovenly shiftlessness. The dynamic seen by my brown socks is like in The Odd Couple, except that in my case Felix can give Jack an in-school suspension.

Black socks are for fancy occasions. I like putting on black socks with my trim suit and a snappy tie for a nice formal occasion. My black socks allow escalate my overall level of sophistication to impress my wife and my friends and my wife’s friends. Black socks help me slip words like ouvre and sui generis into casual cocktail conversation. Members of the educated elite, recognizing me as one of their own, then pass along a knowing smile. I respond to them with a cocked eyebrow and gesture toward my socks, to which they quickly break eye contact and wander away in confusion. The black socks have done their job.

Sometimes I don’t wear socks at all. This is often at the behest of my wife who prefers me in summertime flip-flops to the raggedy old tennis shoes I would otherwise prefer. The flip flops can chafe the skin between my toes, but it is worth it for the gentle times that follow. The other times that I don’t wear socks are when I’m going to the bathroom or kicking the cats barefoot style like NFL great Rich Karlis.

There you have it, my developmentally delayed readers – 400 words on socks, and four hours well spent by yours truly. Come back in a few days, when the JLP tackles the important issue of what kind of shampoo I like.

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Disjointed Thoughts on School’s Return

Around here, the school year is off to a rousing start. I have met with all my students, and was sure to devote much of my time to an extended Marxist analysis of the social stratification and class exploitation seen in Saved By The Bell. I noted how Mr. Belding’s thinning hairline paralleled his labor alienation at the hands of the the ownership class, and suggested that Slater’s muscle shirts perhaps represented the enforcement of bourgeois ideology by the capitalist superstructure. Also we talked about that time that Screech had a sentient, wise-cracking robot that never appeared on the show again.

Capitalist swine.

Though my inclination would be to greet each of my returning students with a friendly handshake and a playful hair-tousle, for litigious reasons I have chosen instead to welcome students with a faint nod as I vacantly stare off into the middle distance. This will help my school avoid damaging lawsuits and disabuse my students of the notion that I am a caring and reasonable person.

Now, as I listen to the teenaged babel of the hallways, I rock back in my chair and knowingly stroke my beard. I know what is to come over the next ten fateful months, for I am the bearer of the pacing charts. Better to ration my energies now for use in the dark days of February, when the days are short, the cafeteria food is gray, and the lesson plans about the legal and political systems of the Byzantine Empire are hopelessly dreary.

School is, after all, a largely miserable experience populated with terrible people. I accept this with stoic dispassion; if I should lose this equilibrium, I will have a faithful 8th grader take my sword and run me through. Better to be dead than plunged into unacceptable agitation. This is the life of a social studies teacher.

Posted in Ramblings | 3 Comments

Augustus by Anthony Everitt

During this summer’s uncluttered final few weeks, I had the pleasure of reading Anthony Everitt’s fine biography Augustus: The Life of Rome’s First Emperor.

The book is a brisk, exciting tour through the life of Rome’s great re-founder, set against the incredible events in the empire from about 50 B.C. to 50 A.D. Facinating figures like Julius Caesar, Cicero, Mark Antony, Cleopatra, Ovid, Tiberius and others come to life in Everitt’s prose while the shadow of Augustus towers over them all. This is no hagiography, however. Augustus was an intelligent, ambitious, hypocritical ruler who did terrible things to return peace to Rome and set it on a stable path to growth and prosperity. This is a warts-and-all look at a man who rose from young Gaius Octavian born of humble origins, to his years as the adopted heir of Julius Caesar, to his rule of Rome as the emperor Augustus where he changed history dramatically.

He wasn't actually this handsome.

Here are a few noteworthy tidbits from the text:

-The ‘divine family’ of Augustus did not have a happy history under his thumb as princeps (his preferred title, translating roughly as “First Citizen”). Simply put, he demonstrated a bad habit of treating family members cruelly until they turned on him. Daughters, granddaughters and nieces were treated as pawns to be married off to political friends and rivals regardless of their wishes. His daughter Julia embarrassed him with her brazen sexual proclivities to the point where he banished her to a distant island (she would not be the only member of his clan to receive this treatment). His adopted sons and stepsons bore the heavy burden of his expectations while also being forced to delicately avoid being seen as a threat. In the end, his male heirs either met a premature end, broke down mentally, or in the case of his eventual successor Tiberius, carried out Augustus’s wishes competently, but in a sullen manner.

-If Augustus were an animal, he would be a huge, muscular lion that punched bears.

-Physically speaking, Octavian was not the most remarkable specimen. He was sickly, had terrible acne, and did not have to shave until he was 24. As a military commander, he had a bad habit of coming down with mysterious incapacitating ailments on the on the morning of battle, leaving his loyal (and more militarily capable) advisor Agrippa to do the dirty work.

-The princeps practiced oratorical sleight-of-hand that would be familiar to followers of modern presidential administrations. In addition, his proxies regularly appeared on Roman Sunday morning political talk shows where they forced opponents to commit suicide.

-Mark Antony comes across in the text about how one thinks he would – a popular, skilled military leader, true to his word and politically cunning. At the same time, Antony was prone to make mistakes out of impatience, while his weakness for booze and women hindered him even further. He did not anticipate how his alliance (both political and sexual) with Cleopatra of Egypt would hurt him in the Senate and with the Roman people (sentiments fanned by Octavian’s propaganda). The uneasy alliance and eventual war between the hot-blooded, disdainful Antony and his young, calculating rival make for a fun stretch in the text.

-Though Augustus enacted laws enforcing some traditional Roman norms concerning family life, his own extramarital dalliances were routine and well-known. His personal life made Bill Clinton look like Gandhi Billy Graham.

-Everitt details the so-called proscriptions decreed by Octavian and Antony during the years of their co-rule of Rome. This basically amounted to a list of people who were to be killed for having aided or sympathized with the killers of Julius Caesar. Thousands of names were on the list, including many of Rome’s wealthiest and most prominent citizens. They no longer had any protection under the law, their property was forfeit, and soldiers and mobs went on the hunt for their heads to claim their prize. It’s hard to imagine how horrifying this must have been, even by the incredibly violent standards of the ancient world. The wonderful HBO miniseries Rome depicted the death of Rome’s most famous statesman, the orator Cicero, which was called for by Augustus. It hauntingly details the Roman matter-of-fact attitude toward death as well as their philosophy of stoicism. It’s the scene that has stuck with me after the series ended – watch it here

-Augustus was able to proactively build brand equity using best practices and sustainably achieve value-added enrichment for the Roman empire.

-Augustus hated fat people.

-Much mystery surrounds Augustus’s death in 14 A.D. The Roman historian Suetonius describes rumors that he was poisoned by his wife Livia (a crafty political mind in her own right, but unpopular with other political figures). Everitt argues that there was little in Livia’s past to suggest such a betrayal. She had always been a loyal confidante and advisor to Augustus. Undaunted by a general lack of evidence one way or the other, Everitt posits that perhaps she poisoned his snack (of figs – no thanks) acting in accordance with her husband’s unspoken wishes. We know that Augustus had been in declining health, and plans for the transfer of power had already been set in motion, so perhaps she reasoned (not unreasonably) that the process would be much more smooth and less prone to factional civil war if the princeps was, in fact, dead.

-If Augustus were alive today, he would be Toby Keith.

Posted in Scholarly Reviews | 3 Comments

New Bulletin Boards

A familiar rite of passage for teachers marking a new school year is putting together new bulletin boards.

A teacher's grandest achievement.

There is something so pert and refreshing about the sight of a new bulletin board. Their vibrant colors and crisp corners are a reflection of the energized hopes of the teachers who summoned them into existence. They brightly convey welcoming messages of optimism and achievement through the whimsical personification of textbooks and googly-eyed owls.

Yes, these new bulletin boards assembled during teacher’s workshops are are as unblemished as the milky white skin of my upper thighs.

Of course, by late September, these same bulletin boards will be frayed and fractured by the unbridled energies of 14-year old boys on a sugar rush. Words that once embraced the new year with glad reception will feel like a cruel curse amidst a gray season of ceaseless tedium. While the notion of ripping apart the aforementioned googly-eyed owl might be fantasized over in a moment of despair, the notion of having to whip up an entirely new bulletin board will have become too painful to even consider.

In a painful twist of irony, the very googly-eyed owl that once welcomed us with fresh enthusiasm now crushes our defeated spirits with the oppressive weight of its happiness.

This is the circle of life that Elton John once sang of so eloquently. It is the grim, inexorable attrition of the school year. Today, I played my part by assembling my new bulletin boards. In only a few short months, I will hate them. I have accepted all this with stoic calm.

Welcome back to school, America!

Posted in Rants | 3 Comments

This Apple

Man, this apple is GOOD!

Succulence

I’ve eaten a lot of apples in my day – probably about 200 – but I don’t know if I’ve ever tasted one this crisp, tangy, and handsome. It’s a Honeycrisp, grown by the hot-blooded migrant laborers working the fertile fields of Chile. Chile, if you don’t know, is man’s country. For instance, if you pull out a container of yogurt for a snack in Chile, you’re liable to get your neck snapped by a cross-eyed pitfighter. If don’t go 110% every day in Chile, you might as well just mutilate your own genitals and cut your losses.

But back to my topic, this apple. I’m seriously loving this apple. Each bite is a flavor explosion all over my oily face. Other apples, if you haven’t noticed, are terrible. I don’t what type they are – Red Delicious, Granny Smith, or Satan’s Knuckle – my experiences with apples are usually dread-ridden, Kubrickian nightmares ending with cold sweats and me hugging the toilet.

Until this apple. This apple made me a believer in apples.

Now I understand why people love apples so much. They’re all crunchy and sweet and silent. They’re obviously so much better than pears. Apples make pears taste like gross apples. Each time I blast this apple into my mouth, I love it more. Then I chew it up a bunch and swallow it, just like I do for other foods, but it’s better with this apple because it is mighty and pure, like America.

Whenever I used to hear people mention apples, I would get so mad inside that blood vessels in my eyes would burst. Not anymore though. Now I only get mad at cops.

Thanks for being so awesome, apple. Hope you didn’t mind getting torn apart by my teeth until flecks of apple spittle cover my beard, because it happened. It is probably immoral what I just did to you. I’m like R. Kelly, but with apples.

Posted in Raves | 3 Comments