I spent my entire academic career on the Honors track. Aside from math, which seems to be the one subject my brain processes at the speed of paint drying, I took the Honors and AP courses available in every subject. Yet I never really thought of the implications of separating out the smart kids until I read this editorial by Judy Jones.
The advantage of Honors courses was we could drive dragsters while everyone else puttered about in sedans. We could blow through material faster than the regular classes. When teachers knew everyone in the class could absorb material quickly, they could cover more ground and still fit in time for the students to explore their own interests.
At the same time, I recall being in those classes with a lot of the same people. The “gifted” students stuck together because, let’s admit it, it’s very fun to hang out with people who are at the same geek level you are. It’s great to be able to crack jokes about math or physics and have people laugh so hard that soda rockets out of their nose. Everyone else would just give you a look that asked “so what Star Trek dimension are you from?”
But that environment doesn’t reflect the working world.
When cats get bored, they get curious.
And by curious, I mean stupid.
Behold, a cat who has never gotten himself stuck in a tree managed to find an indoor equivalent.
Per the trope, he couldn’t get himself down.
I fell asleep on my couch, and unlike some people (meaning YOU crazy, couch-loving Worsham sisters), I don’t sleep particularly well on couches.
Last night’s couch sleeping brought on a dream of travel to Europe, which would have been a great dream except I missed my connecting flight AND I forgot to pack my underwear.
A security guard felt the lack of underwear in my bag was suspicious and pulled me out of line for questioning. So I was stuck in some random German airport, trying to convince a guard whose English sucked that a lack of underwear wasn’t sufficient grounds to accuse someone of being a terrorist.
As illogical as it was to be labeled as suspicious due to a lack of undergarments, my dream self was very distressed by the whole mess. I woke up agitated and was ready to pen a nasty letter to the Chancellor of Germany.
I also woke up to this:
I don’t like using the flash on my phone camera, but the cuteness would have been wrecked if I had to get up and switch on the lights. Plus, his squinting makes the picture even cuter.
I forgot about the letter pretty quick, and eventually I picked up the cat and went to sleep in my real bed. There were no more dreams about Europe or crazed security guards.
Still, if you’re planning on travelling to Europe any time soon, double check that you have underwear packed in your bag.
I just finished the Batman: Death in the Family trade paperback yesterday. A lot of folks care to discuss the death of the second Robin to appear in the series, Jason Todd–whether it was necessary, whether it should have stayed permanent, so on and so forth.
But the trade also includes the origin of Tim Drake, the third boy who became Robin in the Batman series. The authors go to great lengths to make Drake the opposite of the Robin they just killed, a jewel that is supposed to gleam so bright that it would forever outshine the angst-ridden jewel-in-the-rough that was Jason Todd. Yet I think they were trying so hard to polish Drake’s image that they failed to stamp out an aspect of the boy’s character that made me (and likely many others) cringe.
The kid is a total creeper.