Doodle Syllabus

One time I was in a very boring class right after lunch. Because there were no toothpicks with which to prop open my eyelids, I came up with this idea for a course I'd like to teach.  I wrote these notes while pretending to listen intently to the presentation. I've never been a very good student.

Course Name: 

Faking It ~ How to appear interested in a presentation which you care nothing about.

 

Course description: This course teaches the tricks & tools needed to make it through any boring presentation with 3 or more people and give the illusion that the attendee is interested in and taking notes about what is being discussed. *please note, students will be expelled if found to be using these tactics during MY class.

Expectations of Student Learning:  By the end of this class, students will be able to successfully sit through a group meeting (of which they are not a presenter), pretend to take notes and convince the other attendees that they actually gave a shit about what was being said.

Course Outline:        

Week 1 – Introduction to class. Getting to know you.

Week 2 – Curly doodle patterns which make it look as if you are taking notes:

•          a series of hearts with intricate designs inside and around edges

• an entire snake family with ornate patterns on their skin

o   May also include prey, molting & reproduction scenario

•  line of elephants connected trunk to tail

o   possible addition if time allows: horrific safari stampede scene

• student free-for-all

o   find your inner Bob Ross – make a happy little bush

Week 3 - Facial Expressions & Timing

• appropriate amount of time to wait between non-chalant glances towards other attendees

• how long to gaze off as if in thoughtful contemplation

• key words you should listen for which should trigger nodding in agreement with speaker

Week 4 – How to do cool pencil tricks (like the Iceman/Slider from Top Gun) under the table without looking like you are playing with your genitalia.   

    

Week 5 - opening candy/snacks without rattling paper

Week 6 – how to print and then re-write in cursive, all the lyrics to lengthy songs:

(cursive refresher app will be available on line)

• Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin

o   Includes short idea-workshop on how to spell flute-ish parts in the beginning and mouth-guitar parts in middle.

• American Pie by Don McLean

• A Hole in the Bucket from elementary school music class. 

Week 7 – treating the backs of your teeth like a xylophone with your tongue as the stick.

• Hot Cross Buns

• Don' Worry Be Happy

• Pachelbel’s Canon in D (for advanced students only)

Week 8 – Final Exam.

• Entire class will sit through a Biology Power Point Presentation and I will observe and grade individual skills.

Farmer's Market

It was autumn during my freshman year of college. My two favorite friends and I landed jobs at a local Farmer’s Market where they sold pumpkins, cider, donuts and caramel apples.  The market also dished up seasonal family memories for no extra charge.  The most popular crowd-pleasers of this quaint little shop were the warm cinnamon & sugared pumpkin donuts on Saturday morning. Weekend after weekend, all morning long for the entire season, folks would wait in line for the hot and fresh donuts to be bagged up by the dozen.  If the crowd realized that the “hot and fresh” part basically meant “fresh out of the boiling oil drum”, they must’ve looked beyond it.   

My friend and I were working donut duty one particular Saturday.  Our job that day was to plop some dough into the vat of boiling grease, coax the cooked donut on to the conveyor belt, then roll that hot little nugget of love in a delicious mixture of cinnamon and sugar.  The donut preparation area was set up as an attraction where the drooling crowd could observe and wait. Anxiously, the swarm would watch and yearn for the donuts like a bunch of kids choosing a puppy at a pet shop.  I had grown complacent about the donut hype.

My friend and I were situated on either side of the donut machine, facing towards each other and gossiping about college life. Completely ignoring the gathering crowd, we would take turns grabbing the donuts to roll in the sugar. Suddenly, I heard a lady from the crowd yell, “I am so appalled!” I looked up to see her pointing my way and I thought, “Wow, whoever she’s pointing at is in BIG trouble!” I glanced behind me but there was no one there. She was pointing at ME. The woman said (in a voice that was too loud in my opinion) “that girl has been licking her fingers between every donut she touches!” 

My mind rewound and she was right!  Moments ago, I had been on autopilot completely unaware of my actions: grabbing a donut, rolling it in the sugar, gossiping to my friend, “and so I says to him ‘oh, no you didn’t’ and can you believe what he said back to me…”, licked the cinnamon and sugar off my fingers, grabbed another donut off the conveyor belt and repeat. I would have denied it, but I had cinnamon and sugar all over my mouth and the breath of a candy whore.  I was sent to the back of the kitchen to think about what I’d done and needless to say, that was my last day at the ole farmers market.

Story Time

When I first moved back to my hometown, I had to move in with my parents until I could get on my feet.  I tried to busy myself with activities that both the kids and I could enjoy. This mostly involved walks in the fresh air and trips to the beach, but occasionally I would take the boys to the local public library where there was a children's hour on Wednesdays in the middle of the morning. There, I would situate myself with the nannies and other mothers who weren’t currently working outside their homes. Children’s story hour was always a great way for me to gauge my children’s normalcy and intelligence as well as social skills and patience. We would sit and listen to the librarian tell a story, then sing silly songs and do goofy dances. It was a great time! 

After story hour, we were encouraged to linger in the kids section, socialize with other mothers, rent puppets and borrow books. I was gossiping with my friend when I noticed something in the middle of the children’s book section. It looked like a pair of adult thong underwear…wait a minute, I thought, "that is a pair of MY adult thong underwear." In the middle of the children’s book section. On the floor. For everyone to see. I said to my friend in a hushed tone, “I think those are my underwear in the middle of the children’s book section!” Understandably, she was confused. “Why is your underwear on the floor in the middle of the children’s book section?” she asked. That was a very good question, but more importantly, I had to get those things out of sight before some kid grabs them and starts using them as a slingshot or something. 

I very slyly walked over to the underwear, placed my foot on top of them and nonchalantly dragged my foot back to wear my friend was standing. I bent down to pick them up and shove them in my jacket pocket while I tried to piece together in my head WHY my thong was outside of my pants. 

Clearly, what had happened was this: Because I was too big to fit into any of my pre-baby clothes, I only had one pair of jeans that fit me. I wore said jeans the day before, took them off (along with my underwear) and threw them on the bedroom floor. THEN, the next day, in an effort to get to children’s story hour in enough time to get prime seating, I rushed back into my only-pair-of-fitting jeans with new underwear on. But yesterday’s underwear was still harbored in the pant leg. So I went walking through the library and my day-old underwear slowly shimmied its way down my pant leg and out the foot hole, plopping itself directly on the floor in the middle of the children’s book section at the library. Go me.

Unpacking

We all have things that happen to us which are very embarrassing.  I think it’s smart to tell these stories so that others can feel secure in their own embarrassment knowing that someone else has been in a more awkward situation than them.  I’ll do this for you now and you can thank me later.

One time, long ago, after I moved into a new place I thought it would be best to store all the unpacked boxes in the spare room. I had no time to unpack all that stuff and this would be a good test to see if I should actually even keep it. One day, while I was working, my mom decided to do me a favor. When I arrived home, all of the boxes were unpacked, the cardboard sent to recycling and the contents of the boxes were put away wherever my mom saw fit. This actually was a huge relief and I really couldn’t thank her enough. Having that room cleared out was just one less thing nagging in the back of mind.   

Later that night as I was falling asleep and recounting the day’s events I started to imagine those boxes and all of the things inside them.  Things that I’ve lugged around from house to house, from life to life - some of it very useful, most of it completely useless. Then it hit me…like a ton of bricks!   I sat straight up in my bed with a feeling of dread in my gut.   My vibrators! In one of those boxes were: a stash of socks I hardly ever wore and 3 or 4 adult toys! Oh shit. What did my mother do with my vibrators?! (I know what you’re thinking: good Lord, why does a girl need so many vibrators?! That is neither here nor there. I still had to find the sons o bitches.)

I lunged out of bed and stood in the middle of the room with my hands over my face, trying not to imagine my mom handling these private goods. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” I thought as I paced back and forth in my room. If I were my mother, where would I put them…I checked my underwear drawer – not there, I checked the bathroom cabinet – not there. I checked the top of the closet and felt a strange box that did not belong to me. “Oh Jesus,” I thought. I pulled the box down from its place and there…organized in order by size, from biggest to smallest were my vibrators in a Rubbermaid lunch box container.   

In a flood of emotion, I just started laughing. Imagining my mom finding the vibrators in those boxes and trying to think of the best place to store them~ how humiliating! For both of us!  I called her the next day and jokingly said, “Mom, I feel violated! You organized my vibrators?!” and she just chuckled and said, “Well that’s ok, honey, did you find where I put them?”  

My Alarm Clock

I have had the same alarm clock since 1983, no joke.  (A gift for my 9^th birthday) A Realistic Chronomatic –  234 from Radio Shack.  She’s decorated with fake wood-paneling, bright red digital numbers, and a dial to ease through station choices.  This baby has the ability to switch from FM to AM and Hi dim to Low dim. And the snooze button…Eight sweet minutes of stolen time.

Prior to owning this gem, I used a big old white unit that only transmitted one really shitty AM station.  Listening to talk radio at night as I fell asleep, I remember feeling just a little bit smarter for having heard what people thought of Reagan, God and poorly maintained potholes.  At age eight, I had no clue what any of it meant and unfortunately, I still feel that way when I listen to NPR at age thirty seven. But after I received my new gift, those talk-show listening days were over.

After hearing how long I’ve had my alarm clock, a friend of mine said, “if that snooze button could talk…” and she’s right.  My hand has touched that radio everyday starting from my Juice Newton-Strawberry Shortcake-Cabbage Patch Kids phase through Clearasil-hand jobs-Whitney Houston phase and beyond. That snooze button has been scratched by my Lee Press-Ons, watched me scrawl in journal after journal about heavy-petting and observed many-a practice make-out sessions with the back of my own hand.

I won’t go into a list of all the unmentionables that clock has seen, but I always pictured contacting the manufacturer and suggesting my commercial to promote the longevity of their product…My hand reaching over in various stages, location and ages.  My youthful hand with a Ring Pop, then smeared bar stamps on the back of my hand, wedding ring, hospital bracelet, breast pump next to it, aged/seasoned and experienced hand, liver spots…you get the idea. I never did contact them.

The reason I’m even discussing my alarm clock is because a young tech-savvy co-worker of mine wanted to show me how to set an alarm on my iPhone today.  I immediately got a huge knot in my stomach. First I told her no, I didn’t want to learn. I felt like I was betraying my trusty old fake-wood clock.  But then I decided I shouldn’t be so stubborn so I begrudgingly let her show me. I will continue to use my faithful friend until it no longer shows time - which I fear is getting near.

just another list

·     sorry, but for me, tonight's "super"moon is just further proof: even though everyone is swooning over something and heavily anticipating its arrival - the real beauty is usually found in a not-so-super-average-everyday-something that nobody was watching or waiting for and never really expected at all.

·     I’ve learned not to put all my eggs in one basket. Never put ANY of my eggs in someone else’s basket - just hold my own. Scramble the broken ones and eat ‘em. Decorate the rotten ones. (And maybe save a few of the big ones to sit on for when the nights get lonely.)

·         Pretty sure I just saw a robin standing in the snow, texting his friend: "FML"

·     "If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude." ~ Maya Angelou

·     I'm sorry, I don't know your struggles. But please don't leave your baby in a garbage bag or backpack or anywhere else to die. There are OTHER options. You can leave your baby, up to 3 days old, with a staff member at any hospital, fire station, police station or any emergency service provider.

·      I currently have a creepy & lethargic housefly that has been trapped in my house for a few days. He lops around and lingers in my personal bubble causing me to momentarily question my hygiene. I DO try to swat him but he’s like some kind of Super Freak

·     The type of men our boys will become can rely on something as simple as our response to: “Mom, I’m scared.” Heavy is the mind of a mother (and light is the sleep) when recognizing this at 4:40 a.m.

·     I am here to announce: if you buy the same body wash for your kids that your lover uses you WILL have system confusion at several points in the day or night. Stay focused.

·     "Boys, why is this Dora bowl stuffed between the freezer and the wall in the back room?" I said to my 8 & 9 year old sons, to which they replied: "MOM, its embarassing and its interfering with our socializing. Please get rid of it!"

 Apparently, when listening to my boys play wheelbarrow down the hallway, the unmistakable sound of my son's jaw chomping through his tongue can send me into a full sprint. 

Hey, closet, what's with shrinking all my Spring pants?!