Ms. RBR asks the class: What is the shape of a DNA molecule?
*For reference, the lesson plans of the previous two fucking weeks included, but were not limited to: 3 lectures on DNA structure, a film on DNA structure with note sheet that we went over as a class, and an activity where they built a 3-D model of the fucking thing.
Class shouts out answers: because raising your hand is for squares and when I gently ask them to raise their hands and wait to be called upon no one participates and the room goes mute. In fairness, I usually "gently ask"with a very prominent vein bulging from my forehead and froth forming at the corners of my mouth because goddammit, they learned that particular bit of classroom etiquette in the third goddamn grade. I digress...
Class shouts: hydrogen bonds!
Ms. RBR: No, those help form the shape, what is the shape called?
Class shouts: Covalent bonds!
Ms. RBR: No, those also help form the shape, what is the shape called?
Ms. RBR: No, those are part of the molecule, what is the shape called? Guys, this is review! You learned this in 6th grade.
*Reminder: I "teach" sophomores in high school.
Class shouts: Replication!
Ms. RBR: *sigh* You are just shouting out vocabulary words. Someone look it up in your notes.
Class shouts: Mitosis!
Class shouts: cell division!
Ms. RBR (now, banging head on desk): Wrong notes. That is the last chapter.
Some variation of this was repeated for 4 of my 5 classes. What exactly do I DO all day? Clearly, it is not teaching. They are not stupid. (Well, most of them aren't. Let's face it stupid adults come from somewhere.) They just do not care enough to process ANYTHING.
I am too tired to even continue this rant. I do not care enough to process it right now. Apparently that is fine. It must be because I am a kinesthetic, left-brained, red-green visual, auditory learner with processing difficulties. Maybe if my teaching credential professors had explained it with interpretive dance I could complete my diatribe. It is clearly their fault.
Today's run - 5 miles, 10:30 min/mile, 47 trail user character assassinations, but only 3 lives were actually threatened:
1. Pick up your dog shit, asshole. Yes, it is my fucking business.
2. Not only is your parked, double wide stroller blocking the trail, your loose and uncontrolled kid is about to get squashed like a fucking toad by
3. an iPod deafened, no helmet wearing, riding 25 mph on the fucking bike trail, asshole.
As you can tell I was a Positive Polly heading into the damn thing, so it was a little doomed from the start.
It was one of those runs that with each step you feel
My training partner and her perky fucking pony tail bee bopped alongside of me (two strides ahead, of fucking course) chatting away since she "guessed we were running at cruising pace today." *giggle*
Oh, and one last rant about today, Fuck you Jenny Craig. Kiss my fat ass!
I am going to bed. I need a do over.
16 hours ago