Fairy Tale Assignment

[Ok, I'll admit I got a little bored and carried away last night. You see, I was typing up a simple assignment for my students--write a fairy tale. I wanted the write-up, though, to be at least mildly amusing (I never give assignment write-ups without at least one joke in them). It seemed fitting to begin 'Once upon a time..." and present the write-up in a brief, fairy tale story form. What resulted was definitely longer than the two paragraphs I had imagined, and I'm not entirely sure my students will know what to do after reading it. Still, it did achieve the goal of offering mild amusement. So, here it is. There are a couple of inside jokes that only my students will get, though you could probably get a few of them if you refresh yourself on the story Blue Beard and the Grimm's version of Cinderella. Enjoy.]

Fairy Tale Assignment

Once upon a time, in a golden brown land where enchantment was as ubiquitous as the dust, there lived a teacher. Because of his shapely ears, his toned calf muscles, and a penchant for brushing his teeth, he was known as Mr. Charming.

Mr. Charming, though, decided one day to grow a beard, and to everyone’s shock, that beard was the color of congealed blood. The students were so frightened that they all dropped his classes. But fate would not be trumped by such a bunch of smelly cowards. The counselor reenrolled them, and they returned, trembling before the ghastly vision in the front of the room, to their seats in Mr. Charming’s classroom. They crowded toward the back of the room. Mr. Charming’s once beautiful face, flushed in rage and embarrassment at the students’ betrayal, had turned as red as his beard.

But he decided to give them one more chance.

“Children,” he said, “I give you this assignment that may be your last. You are to write for me a fairy tale. Make it at least 1.57 pages long. Use correct grammar. Think about it before you write it. And entertain me. If you fail to receive a 100 on the paper, you will have betrayed me again, and the consequences may not be pleasant.”

The students were shaking so mightily from fear that a few of them had difficulty staying in their seats. When the bell rang, they all had to crawl from their desks to the hall, so unsteady were their legs.

Upon arriving home, the students began to write their stories. But fate would not be trumped by such a bunch of smelly fools. TBS, as it turned out, was having an all-night Family Guy marathon, and one-by-one, the students’ imaginations turned from their homework toward the siren screen.

They all attempted, during second period, to cobble together some sort of coherent story, but they had not so much as proofread their tales once they got to Mr. Charming’s room.

He took up their papers immediately and began grading them. He shocked the students by writing with one sharpened fingernail that he would periodically dip into his beard. The mysterious ink that coated the nail when it emerged was, of course, blood red. Mr. Charming refused the students restroom passes, even though all of them suddenly had to go bad.

When he was done, he passed back the papers and told all of the students to proceed out the window onto the roof. The highest grade was a 99. The students were instructed to stand on the roof’s ledge or else they would fail the class. They feared death less than failing and submitted willingly.

Mr. Charming prepared to push the students from the ledge to their just deaths. He notice a flock of buzzards and pigeons already circling overhead, preparing to swoop down to pluck out organs as the bodies fell groundward and then devour the splattered carcasses.

But suddenly, all of the students’ siblings showed up on the roof for a social studies experiment. They were releasing a flock of doves in support of world peace. The doves, upon release, flew straight to Mr. Charming’s beard and plucked the whole thing out for use in their nests.

At this, everyone rejoiced. The true, charming Mr. Charming had returned, and everyone lived happily ever after and never had homework again.

Due March 4^th

the lesson of the moth

This poem needs a little background information.
Don Marquis was this humorous poet whose poetic
voice was as his creation Archy the Cockroach.
Hence, the lack of capitalization. A roach hopping
around the typewriter couldn't hit the shift key.
Anyway, this poem is about a conversation between
Archy and a moth. 

the lesson of the moss – don marquis

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

Reminder #36

Add the sauce packet. Hamburger Helper sucks without it. So does Rice-a-roni.

Poems Composed Upon Accidentally Shaving Off My Beard and Not Accidentally Growing It Back

I made my students write a whole bunch of those formula poems that they often make you write in high school (you know, a cinquain, a "why" poem, a poem where you have to pick something and decide what seasons it's like, a comparison poem). It was sort of fun, and they actually produced some neat stuff.

Anyway, yesterday was our poetry reading day, and I thought that if they had to write all those formula poems, so should I. So, this is what I came up with--a cycle of poems inspired by the accidental shaving of my beard. They liked them, but if you've read my last post, you know that that may not mean much.

Poems Composed Upon Accidentally Shaving Off My Beard and Not Accidentally Growing It Back

My beard
Spreading always over the surfaces of my face
the wide plains, the rolling hills, the tiniest crevices.
Never ceasing to grow…
Except for that one time when I accidentally shaved it off.

-----------------------

My beard, spreading over the surface of my skin,
Like moss growing on the north side of the tree,
Like barnacles clinging to a new hull,
Like skin closing over the opened wound.
Things return to their rightful places.
I think this is the better of my faces.

----------------------

My beard is like the fall.
As autumn leaves cascade groundward at the faintest breeze,
So fell my beard into the sink. One errant touch of the trimmer.

My beard is like the spring,
Awaking from a bare and chilly sleep,
To put forth full foliage
Despite the fallen hair…
Despite the fallen hair.

------------------------

My beard,
warm, fuzzy-goodness,
shining, shimmering, seducing,
Man, I really missed you—
O Beardy.

A Teaching Tale

One thing I've discovered this year is that my sense of humor never quite progressed out of high school.

This is fortunate at the moment, since I'm back in high school. I guarantee you that my students currently think I'm funnier than pretty much anyone else has ever considered me (perhaps that doesn't say much, but it says something). They definitely consider me a lot funnier than my college students ever did. Even my best jokes there could only get, at best, about two students in the room to wake up.

Anyway, an example of my high school (or pre-high school) sense of humor at work:

(I hope this doesn't get me in any trouble.)

I overhear one student making fun of another one struggling to read aloud a passage of poetry: "You can't read crap!"

My response: "Yes you can read crap. It just depends on what shape it's in.......It probably helps sometimes if you know Braille........And if you believe in yourself."

Well, they laughed. Maybe someday I can teach them to know better.

Lent

I gave up coke for lent (not the illegal kind, fyi). That's sort of normal, I guess, but man is it hard.

This is like the ninth day of Lent, and I think I've messed up five days (maybe just four--I can't quite remember). Anyway, I guess lent is supposed to make you more thankful for the things you normally have and is also supposed to help you work on your ability to discipline yourself.

My problem with coke, though, isn't so much a matter of willpower. I could stop myself from drinking coke--if I could just remember to.

That's the problem. I'm in such a routine of Coke drinking that I just go buy the coke at my normal
times and drink it. And then I remember that I wasn't supposed to do so.

So it goes.

So, I guess that's another value of Lent, even though I'm not succeeding particularly at it. Lent helps you to be less of an idiot.

Check this out. Really.

The Poem - Franz Wright

It was like getting a love letter from a tree

Eyes closed forever to find you--

There is a life which
if I could have it
I would have chosen for myself from the beginning