25 of the World's Thinnest Books

Today we were like hipsters. Thin and ironic. Perhaps I should explain further...

Currently, my kids are chest-deep in some pretty heavy narrative writing. The natives were getting restless, so today I decided to let them step away from their memoirs to play around. This "quick" write turned into a day of laughter, wit, and irony that we all greatly needed.

"A thin book is a book the author has no authority to write or that is an oxymoron. It's thin because there's nothing to put in it. Come up with 10 titles for books that would have to be thin."

Below are 25 of my favorites from the day. Enjoy!

How to Hit Puberty by Justin Bieber

How to be Social by Boo Radley

Rick Ross's Healthy Cookbook

Natural Beauty by K. Kardashian

Emergency Exits by the crew of the Titanic

Freeing Slaves 101 by Joseph Kony

How to Dress Casually by Lady Gaga

Loving People by Jaws

How to Teach Math by Ms. P

Taking Life Seriously by Buddy the Elf

How to Keep a Girl Safe by Chris Brown

World Peace by Al-Qaeda

10 Tips to Be Tan by Edward Cullen

A Happy Place by Satan

How to Keep a Shirt On by Taylor Lautner

A Guide to Crying by James Bond

How to Grow a Full Mustache by Hitler

Dressing to Please the Lord by Christina Aguilera

Get over your Break Up by Bella Swan

Drama-Free Household by the Kardashians

Intelligence by Mike (The Situation)

Days of the Week by Rebecca Black

What to do When There’s a Terrorist on your Plane by Osama bin Laden

The Bright Side of Life by E. A. Poe

How to Be a Responsible Mom by the cast of MTV’s 16 and Pregnant

Yours truly,

Ms. P

Bonus points? Contribute to our list of thin books in the comments section.

How students are like hostages and bar patrons

Sometimes chuckling at a little irreverent teaching advice is the only thing that can get me through a day of A+ adversity.

"Just yell at your students... Not that they are in trouble, but they are hostages... Beat them with knowledge."

-said by my brilliant friend Bess, who is student teaching, plays in a washboard band, and has a daddy that resembles Mr. Miyagi...a lot

"After lunch the clock moves much slowly than our students do. Your class begins to remind you of a bar full of little drunk people: They want constant attention and often don’t realize how loud they are talking. They have short attention spans; rarely think of the consequences of their actions; and, as you will find out tomorrow, they don’t always remember what happened the day before.” 

-From the brilliant book, "See Me After Class: Advice for Teachers by Teachers" by Roxanna Elden

Cheekily yours,

Ms. P

Eyebrow Emergency: What They Don't Teach You in School

The following post is probably the single-most blog-worthy moment to happen to me since this whole self-indulgent charade began. Let me tell you. It is good. Hold on to your eyebrows.

What Had Happened Was.....

I am not one of those teachers who wakes up at 5:00 AM to walk the dog, do the crossword, and perform twelve sun salutations before making my way to school. I am much more akin to one of my high school Lit survey teachers who occasionally found herself blow drying her hair behind the desk as class began. It's just my way.

Because of this, I recently found myself loaded down with fresh copies and tearing around the corner of the 7th grade hall precisely ten minutes before the morning's first bell. There I ran into a boy who will be referred to Spock. The nickname will click later. 

A little back story....

Spock is the only student that I've ever run into at a roller derby bout. He's less Justin Bieber. More Marilyn Manson. He is less Southern Baptist. More Wiccan. He's more likely to be caught in knee-high, lace-up Converse than Wallabees. He is the only student who's ever asked me, "Ms. P, do you think I could get away with elbow-length fishnet gloves here?" He's less Twilight.  And more Tim Burton. In a word, he's unexpected - as was his coming request.

"Oh, Ms. P, I am SOOOO glad to see you!" he wailed, with an exhale befitting a marathoner crossing the finish line.

As he normally errs on the dramatic side, I continued my hustle to the classroom barely making eye contact. "Okay, what's up? What do you need, Spock?"

"Okay, seriously, this is an emergency. Do you have any eyeliner?"

Aware of his musical leanings and fashion experiments, a certain image flashed through my mind before I continued...

"Now, Spock, you know I'm here for you, but I'm not your cool aunt! I can't give you eyeliner. Talk to your parents about it."

Exasperated, he responded, "Oh, Ms. P, it is SO not like that. This is an emergency." Suddenly, he grabbed my arm with one hand and, with the other, pointed to his eyebrow - or should I say, where his eyebrow had once been. 

                                        

What remained was a sort of half-eyebrow. The remainder ran from the top of his nose to where the arch had once began. The effect left him looking permanently befuddled. It was social suicide. 

Like Lauren Conrad faced with a life-or-death fashion emergency, I cringed. 

I dropped my purse and set my copies down, dragging him into my classroom. "What DID you DO? Did you wax it? Where did you get wax? What was your goal? Were you BORED?!" I fired a barrage of endless questions at him.

He cut through my curiosity with basic brutal truth, "Ms. P, I really can't go into it. No, not wax. I shaved it. But the point is this...I'm 13. I'm in middle school. I cannot, will not go to class with half an eyebrow, or I will never be anyone but the boy with one and a half eyebrows."

He had me there. 

"You're right. But look, Spock. I don't have eyeliner on me. However, I do have something else." I pulled him to the back of my classroom where I have an organizer full of school supplies. I rummaged around and pulled out two Magic Markers. Black and Brown. "Take your pick, buddy."

When they said "preferred by teachers," I'm pretty sure they didn't have this in mind.

Ever the goth, he chose black. 

"Hold still," I demanded, summoning all the eyebrow-sculpting advice I had ever read in beauty magazines. I uncapped the marker, warned him against laughing, and went to town.

In that moment, I thought: No education college in the land could ever prepare its graduates for such a time as this. They really don't teach you everything in The Art and Science of Teaching.

And let me tell you, as I stepped back to admire my handiwork, I realized that I had drawn him an eyebrow that would make a drag queen proud.

With that and a warning to not scratch, itch, or even think about sweating, I sent him off to homeroom. At lunch when he saw me, he pointed excitedly to my masterpiece and asked, "Is it still there?!"

The next morning, he walked proudly into school with a fresh brow, drawn with eyeliner. I grinned and asked, "Oh! Did your mom give in? Or did you walk to the drugstore to buy it yourself?"

He shrugged, "When I came home yesterday looking like I did, she offered to fix it for me until it grows back in."

Apparently Mama Spock didn't appreciate my fine handiwork. 

The Retrospect Project, 2: Hunter Harris's Story

For a little background on The Retrospect Project, read this.

To read the introduction to today's author and his story, go here.

Without further ado...Hunter Harris's hilarious retrospective moment, which I'd like to call...

"The Boy with the Green Hair"

"I’ll be honest—I was not the coolest kid in middle school. In seventh grade, I was 6’4”, and I weighed barely 170 pounds. Needless to say, I was already fairly noticeable. Add large-frame glasses to that equation, and you have a unique combination of nerd. As a gangly, awkward being, I desperately needed an opportunity to put forward the “correct” image that my classmates (namely the girls) could appreciate.

See that kiddo with the goofy grin? Yeah, that would be him.

I had two musical inspirations for my new look. First, boy bands were still popular, though they were starting to decline. Now, I did not personally care for them, but girls loved them. I noted that they especially appreciated the blonde band members like Justin Timberlake, Nick Carter, and Lance Bass (in hindsight, how ironic). 

Backpacks, lunchboxes, and t-shirts with various quartets dominated the hallways. The boys knew that we had to at least pretend to appreciate the boy band genre if we were going to stand as sensitive, caring guys. 

Secondly, Eminem had just released The Marshall Mathers LP. If Eminem is popular now, he was almost god-like in the early 2000s. You had 0 street cred unless you could rap “The Way I Am” or “The Real Slim Shady.” Considering I went to a middle school that had an African American population that equaled upwards of eighty percent, Eminem gave the “white boys” a chance to be cool. I reveled in the opportunity. I had white t-shirts and black, baggy jeans, but I just couldn’t yet pay proper homage. 

As a brunette, I knew that Mother Nature had not blessed me with golden locks at that age, so, like millions of people each year, I planned to bleach my hair. Unfortunately, I had a mother with enough sense to forbid me to do something so ridiculous (I eventually wore her down next year, but that’s an entirely different, ridiculous story). Without the courage to disobey her or the finances to purchase blonde hair dye, I was left with very little opportunity to improve my lot in life. “Fortunately” for me, I was a fairly resourceful kid. I remembered that my brother and I had been given sidewalk chalk the previous Christmas.

Per my logic, yellow sidewalk chalk was just a slight downgrade from peroxide. Without testing how the chalk looked in my hair, I scraped the chalk all over my scalp before strutting to the school bus. Had my bus driver not been so apathetic that he actually looked at the students that rode his bus, my expressionist journey might have ended there. Also, my family lived in a rural area, so I was the oldest student to ride the bus, thus making me automatically cool to the elementary kids. With both of these factors in my favor, I felt like a king by the time we pulled onto campus. 

To make the story a bit more concise, I’ll just say that my hair was a huge hit—just not in the way I expected. When my peers saw my hair during our pre-class congregation, they did not become instantly jealous or attracted, as I hoped. No, they laughed. Uncontrollably. Our assistant principal (thank God for small mercies), hearing the cackling of my friends, found me, and quickly escorted me to the boys’ bathroom. I knew I only had one option to save myself from detention—head dunking. Left alone to my shameful enterprise, I noticed my hair for the first time in the mirror above one of the sinks. Instead of the crisp, golden base I expected, my hair was closer to a lime-green hue. 

Instead of Eminem or Mr. Timberlake, I looked more akin to Joey Fatone. Joey was not cool; Joey was never cool. If the shame wasn’t enough, I had to go to the rest of my classes with the helmet that grows from my wet, unbrushed hair. 

I learned that day that I was better off just accepting my own nerd-dom, rather than trying to cultivate a non-organic persona. Though it was a long road, I learned to appreciate my potential, rather than prop up my deficiencies. And, years later, I found friends, even potential dates, that could appreciate the nerd in me."

I really don't think I could have topped that story. And what a fantastic "moral." Do you have a story to share? If so, email it to Ms. P at bestinclassblog@gmail.com.

The Retrospect Project 1: Carrie M.

If you missed the introduction post for the The Retrospect Project* feature, please catch up here.

I am very pleased to have Mrs. Carrie for our first guest writer on the Retrospect Project. Allow me to introduce her, will you? 

This is Carrie toasting to the fact that she's no longer in middle school.

Carrie is a busy blogger. You can read more from her at The Life and Strife of a Military Wife and From the Mat Up, her yoga blog.

But more on the middle-school Carrie:

Me: Carrie, what CD or tape would we most likely find in your radio in middle school?

C: Regretfully, I must say 98 Degrees. I liked their muscles.

Me: Tell us a fashion trend you participated in wholeheartedly.

C: Sweater vests were cool for about a month.

Me: What was your go-to yearbook sign off?

C: Most likely a heart with my name underneath. The "i" dotted with a heart as well.

Me: Sum up your middle school experience in ONE word.

C: Distressing.

Now listen to her story. 'Cause she's a yogi.

See?

"Out of the 19 years of school, seventh grade had to be the worst year of my educational experience (not to mention, life). I was short, wore glasses, and had an older brother just one year ahead of me. I cannot tell you how many times I was called 'J.P.’s little sister' or told that I looked just like him (Thanks, you just told me I look like a 13 year old boy.) But even that wasn’t as bad as the embarrassment a 12 year old can feel when she falls flat on her face.

Gym class at CMS was dreaded, especially for me. I hated everything about it but one thing: Scooter Day. That’s right, one whole day devoted to riding these four-wheeled pieces of plastic that were only a few inches from the ground. Everyone loved scooter day, and everyone wanted to be first to gym class to get the best scooter. My friends and I had a pact: Whoever got to class first would get the rest equally as nice scooters. 

Gym class was located across campus, behind the high school. It was already intimidating enough walking through all the “big” kids, but my friends had nominated me that day to be the scooter saver. I was honored that they would choose me, but wary because there was a huge crowd of HIGH SCHOOLERS that I would have to push through. However, I was a savvy seventh grader, so I decided to run on the ground beside the sidewalk and cross onto the sidewalk at the last minute to narrowly dodge anyone over the age of 14. It was brilliant! I couldn’t believe how possible I had made an impossible task.

After formulating my plan and noticing fellow classmates on their way to gym, I broke into a sprint. I ran with all my heart, and I actually think Vangelis’s “Chariots of Fire” was playing in the background. I visualized the best scooter and I knew it would be mine that day. Then, it was time for the crossover. I leaped with great faith, but instead of sticking my landing, my legs became tangled and I fell like a sack of potatoes. IN FRONT OF ALL THE HIGH SCHOOLERS! I was mortified and bleeding. 

I did the only thing I knew to do… I got back up and started running. But instead of getting my coveted scooter, I had to get my elbow and knee bandaged. No scooter that day, and my friends didn’t even care to check on me. It took weeks worth of Neosporin to get my wounds to heal and a hell of a lot more time to forget the incident. I still have the scars from that day, but as for those other hussies I called friends, they’re history."

We've got your back NOW, Carrie. (those trollops)

Watching my step,
Ms. P


*Originally called Blast from the Past

8 Snow Day Activities

What students don't realize is that teachers are just as excited about a snow day as they are. Students may think they've got the market cornered on night-before-the-possible-snow-day superstitions (inside out pajamas, ice cubes down the toilet, wooden spoon under pillow), but they would be wrong.

Similar thoughts run through our heads as teachers. If I finish those lesson plans, I bet we will have a snow day. If I'm not prepared, I just know we won't. I'm just not going to look out the window. I'll get ready as usual. If I bound out of the bed and run to the window, it surely won't be snowing. 


The moral of the story is that everybody likes a break, regardless of how much you love your job. However, when the snow day does come (like it did for me today), the magic wears off by about 2:00 in the afternoon. You've run through the laundry list of traditional activities. Snow ice cream. Snow man. Snow angels. Hot chocolate. Golden Girls re-runs. And now you're bored. You're stir crazy. Though you'd admit it to no one, you kind of miss those little cotton headed ninny muggins that you'd normally be teaching in 5th period.

Here are 8 non-traditional endeavors to fill your time (that don't involve that ubiquitous stack of ungraded papers):

1) Make animal masks for your eggs. Sure, it will be harder to scramble those boogers in the morning, but - darnit- they'll be the cutest protein-packed product in your fridge until then.

2) Name a math theorem after yourself.

3) Make Edward Scissorhands winter gloves with hot glue, plastic knives, and a little ingenuity.

4) Make an alien abduction lamp with dollar store supplies.

5) Send snow, frozen in dry ice, to a complete stranger.

6) Make a wager on how many oranges you can balance on your cat.

 

7) B-boy Abe Lincoln, anybody?

8) And finally, design a miniature replica of Stonehenge out of cereal. Rice Krispyhenge.

Perhaps you're more productive on your snow days? I certainly hope not. ;)

Wishing my dogs would stay still long enough for me to stack this last orange,

Ms. P

A Wild Pack of Thesauri

When I landed my teaching job, my grandmothers gifted me with a big ol' box of dictionaries and thesauri.

That's right. It's thesauri, not thesaurusesseseseses. At least, in my class it is.

Don't worry. You're not the first to question my use of the word thesauri. I have to defend the word to the bitter end every year. The conversation normally goes like this.

Ms. P: Okay, guys. Today we're going to come up with some exciting synonyms to replace all those vague, dried up words we've been overusing. Mmkay?

Class: yawns

Ms. P: Don't look so excited. Oh wait, I mean tantalized, riveted, engaged!!!! Mwahaha. Right. You'll find all the thesauri at the back of the room.

Class: The-who-what?

Ms. P: (nonchalantly) Thesauri. You know. Two or more books filled with lovely synonyms.

Class: Isn't that a dinosaur?

Then they promptly disregard the rest of my lesson, as they are too busy drawing thesaurus-wielding dinosaur-dragon hybrids who swoop down to earth in packs to impart synonyms to the lowly Earth dwellers. 

fire-breathing literati

scary..terrifying..frightening..horrifying

He's reading War and Peace, and it makes him feel all gay and happy.

Perhaps we should work on some more politically-correct synonyms next.

You think they're funny now? Just wait until I let them loose with all those flashy, brand-spankin'-new $10 dollar words. Because "That's," as Paul Harvey would say, "the rest of the story."

Wrangling wild thesauri,
Ms. P

Eleven Wikis Leaking

Today was the last day of class before Christmas break. If you're not affiliated with the public school system, you might not be aware that schools must serve lunch every school day. So, although our only matter of business was taking the 4th period exam, we couldn't run the buses until 12:15, three hours after that was already over.


Most students are checked out, but there are a few who stay to ride the bus. It's been theorized by some teachers that many of these students are left behind intentionally by their mothers who just need three.more.hours.PLEASE of peace and quiet before the 2-week Christmas break. Regardless, downtime in a middle school classroom is simply unacceptable. It can and has led to all sorts of cockamamy high jinks that normally end in broken bones and threats of lawsuits...for the teacher.

Thus, I scrambled to find ways to fill the dead time. 

Eventually, we decided to write our own version of the 12 days of Christmas that reflected back over the main events of 2010.


First, we brainstormed all the possibilities, like any good class:

....which resulted in some interesting submissions, like:

After paring down our list to the bare necessities*, we settled on our top 12. I hope you enjoy!

On the 12th day of Christmas, 2010 gave to me...

12 Tigers cheating 

11 Wikis Leaking

10 Saints a' Leaping

9 Chileans Mining

8 Jobs a Losing

7 Earths a Quaking

6 Brakes a Failing

5 BODY SCANS!!!! (strip searches)

4 Ipad Apps

3 Bed Bugs

2 Rappers Jailed

And an oil spill caused by BP!

Don't let the bed bugs bite,
Ms. P


*Now you have The Jungle Book in your head.