Paid Time Off Is Hard Work

I've diligently checked the current, extended and long-range forecasts for several days now and things are not looking good. No snow days have been forecasted for the remainder of October. Or for the entire month of November!

I think my co-workers would agree with me that a snow day would be awesome right about now. My snow dance, however many times I perform it, seems to have no bearing on the weather. No snow equals school, or work, for me.

If snow days are out of the question, then what? The answer came to me quickly. Holidays!

Tomorrow is October 24. Tomorrow is also National Bologna Day. Now THAT'S a holiday worth celebrating! That's also short notice. My boss might not be so understanding of my absence.

Monday is Navy Day. Tuesday is Plush Animal Lover's Day. Wednesday is National Frankenstein Day. Thursday is National Candy Corn Day and Friday, of course, is Halloween.

I do have a plush skunk. How can I properly celebrate Plush Animal Lover's Day if I'm at work? If I fail to show up at work Tuesday, my boss and students will surely understand...

While it may be too late for October, I'm hard at work on a plan for November.

While we may have two days off for Thanksgiving in November, that may not be enough. I've started a petition to make World Peace Day a paid holiday like Christmas or Memorial Day. That would free us all up for a mental health day on November 17th.

I won't even touch December for obvious reasons. January and February generally usher in some decent school altering weather, snow dance or not!

And then there's March. There will be some big changes come March. Those changes will be dependent upon my clout as a celebrity, as well as whether or not my paperwork is approved, of course. I'm hoping to hear from President Obama any day now.

He should be signing off on my paperwork to make March 12 an official, nationally recognized, paid day off for everyone. Parades will be held. Future students will be forced to read about it and write reports. You may be thinking "What earth-shattering event occurred on March 12?"

March 12 is the date that the creator of Fuzzy, Black Dogs was born! If that doesn't constitute a full-blown, nationally observed holiday, then I don't know does.

Massive Winter Storm Coming!

My wife and I have taken drastic measures to bring on the forecasted onslaught of horribly cold, snowy weather that is supposed to pummel the east coast.

Snow dance? While I've joked about that one, nope. Cloud seeding? Darn, no pilots license, so I guess not. Pagan weather ritual? I'm a simple Quaker. I've got no time for silliness.

Instead, we decided to go for the gusto. My wife and I broke out the summer clothes!

Already sporting shorts, too, as you can see by my hairy leg.

As you can see in the above photo, I'm already sporting my flip-flops around. Man, that feels good... Next thing you know, I'll be out flailing at some golf balls with metal poles, known as 'clubs.'

"Correlation does not imply causation," is a scientific phrase my son picked up off the Internet that he is fond of saying. 

Whether that's true or not (I suspect it is), there has always been a cold snap that has followed the switching of the clothes ritual in my house.

I've saved everyone the trauma of wondering if we'll get that snowy weather that has been predicted.

Consider yourselves warned. 

Fear Not, Superman. I've a Pocketful of... Chiastolite?

My wife got a ticket recently. It seems there was a slight problem with the back end of the vehicle. After a brief discussion as to whose fault it was, it was decided that I would be the one to take care of it.

While I've already relayed my previous courthouse experience with you, this one was considerably different.

Due to detrimental weather conditions (a nice, slippery layer of sleet), there was no line with which to contend. That turned out to be my only saving grace since no one had to wait on me.

I was smart enough to disarm myself of all pocketknives before leaving the vehicle. I also dumped a couple of pens (all metal, of course) in the car, as well as some scraps of paper with notes scrawled on them.

After a slippery journey from the car to the actual courthouse door, I was greeted at the metal detector by two nice women who looked as though they could kill me with their hands tied behind their backs.

I started the emptying process with my inside jacket pocket. Five minutes later, as I finished with my jacket contents, security lady number one pointed out that my jacket also had to go in a tub. That would have been good to know before I dumped those pockets!

With the jacket off, I took off my school ID which hangs around my neck by a lanyard. I then proceeded to empty all four pants pockets.

"And the belt, honey," security lady number one reminded me.

I started with pocket one, though I should have started with two. Two holds my change, and that takes a while to dig out. Instead, I started with pocket one which contained my cell phone, coupons and several other general scraps of paper. I went counter clockwise from there.

The next pocket yielded some dollar bills, more coupons and more scraps of paper. The next is, simply put, the wallet pocket. It holds nothing of value.

Later that day, after I had emptied half the change in pocket two, I had both security ladies' full attention. I felt their eyes on me, scrutinizing the three buckets I managed to fill. Security lady one's hand grasped a fourth tub, but I had only one last item.

"And that leaves the rock," I announced, pulling a small, blue rock from my pocket and dumping it ceremoniously into the little square tub. Both ladies just stared. "It's chi... A rock my son gave me. I've carried it for maybe three years now!"

If I didn't think I hadn't worn out my welcome by then, I would've explained that the rock is chiastolite. Allegedly, it 'repairs chromosome damage,' as well as some other health benefits.

I never knew my chromosomes required repairing. I'm still not sure if my son was trying to send me a message or just give me a pretty, smooth rock he found on a gem mining excursion.

Whatever the answer, I pondered over the state of my chromosomes as I walked to the clerk of court window. Which ones have been fixed? Which need to be fixed? And how, exactly, do chromosomes get broken anyway?