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Since the captcha didn’t seem to function properly, I am taking the drastic step of recreating my blog altogether. If all goes well, things will be pretty much back to normal in a matter of minutes (or possible hours).
If all does not go well, obviously there will be some sacrificial offerings and voodoo rituals.
I will make this work, dammit. Yes, I will.
In the meantime, if you’re so inclined, please feel free to post a comment so we can test the new site and the captcha plugin.

I’ve been enjoying Rhymes with Orange for a few months now, and this morning’s strip made me laugh out loud.
It also reminded me that I really have to get started on my first journal entry for the Philosophy of Education course I’m taking this term. And so the laughter stops.

Ah, the life of a non-tenured teacher.
Before the Christmas break, I was assigned two back-up courses for the winter semester in Continuing Education. ‘Back-up’ means courses that don’t open until the first section is full, and since registration happens until the first day of classes, ‘back-up’ really means you might not know until literally the last minute whether or not you have a course to teach.
Shortly after the break, our department chair called to let me know that one of our more veteran colleagues was taking a leave for the semester for personal reasons* – tada, two courses open up in the regular day section, and everyone moves up a notch. This works out to… THREE back-up sections. So depending on registration, this means I have anywhere from zero to a full load, given that an assignment of three English courses works out to full-time work.
Here’s what hinges on the outcome: since I taught a full load last semester (plus one, for that matter), I need three courses to make a full year, which means a full salary, not to mention solidifying my place on the seniority list.
A partial load this term would be OK, since I can make up the balance teaching a summer course – but that means getting paid hourly for this term, with retroactive pay in the summer once my CI (the magic number that determines my status, based on the number and variety of courses taught and student numbers) hits the full-time mark.
No courses this term would be a little scary, because I’d have to hope for really huge summer classes, or try to teach three in a compressed semester of 6 weeks (as opposed to 15 for fall/winter). No courses would also raise the spectre of collecting employment insurance, which I have learned (the hard way) is complicated if I end up with any substitution work, not to mention retroactive pay in the summer.
So you can imagine my relief when two extra courses opened up in the day section, thus moving us all up a notch again, and I got the good news: three evening courses.
Yes, after all that anxiety and math, I am teaching a full load, I’ll be getting my full salary, and I won’t have to teach this summer!
Of course, now I have to, like, work and stuff, but hey, c’est la vie d’une English prof.
*which doesn’t make me feel like an ambulance chaser at all

We had to giggle this morning when we read an item about new regulations under Quebec’s consumer laws about selling used cars. The giggling had nothing to do with the new rules – it was induced by this:

“Now we’re all working with the same rules, we’re all in the same boat,” noted Richard Cliche, head of the provincial group of used-vehicle merchants.

Cliche no doubt went on to say that when used car salesmen ‘give you lemons, make lemonade.’
*sting*
Anyway, this got me to pondering that phenomenon of people whose last names match their occupations. For instance, the doctor who delivered me was Dr. Borne. The guy who writes the birdwatching column in the Gazette is David Bird. And so on. (I am aware that Cliche matches his statement, not his profession, but I’m hoping the logic leap is obvious.)
Is there a name for this name/profession thing? And more importantly, got any examples for me?

The boys are at home today because their school is closed for disinfection.
Yes, it’s… THE GASTRO… da da dum
I got a call yesterday – in the middle of lunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in months – asking me to collect the kids no later than 2:30, since there weren’t enough healthy daycare workers to keep students after school. According to the school secretary, more than 50 kids are home sick, and the school is rapidly running out of teachers.
When I got to the school, I found…
~ the principal, whose face was a lovely shade of green, clutching her stomach and saying “I can’t believe I have to drive home” over and over;
~ the day care administrator also clutching her stomach and running down the hall;
~ a guy, wearing a white mask and rubber gloves.
So this is what it’s like to be in a Michael Crichton book.

Please stand by as I figure out our new Moveable Type thingie.
We apologize for the inconvenience – but comment spam was driving me nuts… eventually, all will be well, and I will have time to post actual content. I may even update the banner.
Alright, calm down. I said “may”.

A dead bat in your trifle bowl, that’s what.

So the good news is that I submitted the last of my final grades this afternoon.
The bad news is that I cannot, technically, breathe, thanks to the cold my body has elected to spring upon me, now that I have time to be sick.
The middling news is that I officially have two back-up sections of continuing education for the winter semester. I won’t know my real fate until after registration in the second week of January.
In the meantime, however, I’ll be concentrating on holiday baking, cooking, catching up on laundy, and knitting a whackload of last-minute presents (and yes, “whackload” is indeed the collective noun for last-minute presents)…
…Oh, and researching and writing a literature review for my M.Ed. course…
…and blowing my nose.
Stupid sinuses.

So I can’t use my wireless mouse at home because Heidi sits between the mousepad and the receiver and blocks the signal with her big furry butt.

How to spot an English teacher:
I just mixed my White Russian with a pencil.