Cheesy Spinach Treats

Do you remember the kid magazine, Highlights? Or the lite version, High Five? You'd see them in doctors' offices usually unless you had a subscription. And if you do remember them, you'll recall that there's a parent/child kitchen activity in every one (be sure to collect them all). Every so often, Kiddo receives one in the mail courtesy of a relative's continuous and annually renewing generosity. We used to read them with her, but she's gotten so stellar at reading on her own over the past year that I'd forgotten about the kitchen activities. That is...until the other day.

Non-interesting story less boring, and what's more, to the point: Kiddo and I made the Cheesy Spinach Treats tonight from the Highlights magazine. Why not? Kiddo will occasionally eat baby spinach leaves and sometimes cheese and eggs. I was thinking positively about the endeavor. Because, you know, get kids to cook with you in the kitchen  and they'll want to eat what they make, right? Sure. I had her read the recipe and tell me what to do too! She liked that a lot.

So here's what you need if you want to make Cheesy Spinach Treats:

Vegetable oil spray

4 cups baby spinach

Olive oil

2 eggs

1 cup sour cream

Salt

Pepper 

Cheese

Here's how you do it:
Heat your oven to 350. None of that preheat shit. It's either heating or not heating, there is no other state of being for an oven. Tear 4 cups of baby spinach into small pieces.

or use a pizza cutter. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

 Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet and saute the spinach for about 4 minutes (until wilted). Remove from heat and cool.

Whisk 2 eggs until the yolks and whites are mixed. Add 2 cups of sour cream, 1/2 teaspoon of salt and 1/4 teaspoon of pepper. Stir well.

Add the cooked spinach and 1 cup of your favorite grated cheese.

Looks like Charleston's Spinach Dip, yum!

Fill 12 muffin cups with the mixture. Top with grated cheese.

Bake on the middle shelf of the oven for 25 minutes. Wait 5 minutes before removing the spinach treat from the muffin tray. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Little quiches!

And the verdict?

Shitty. Absolutely shitty. Where the fuck does Highlights get off calling these pieces of snot, "treats"? Kiddo took one look at them and was all "nope nope nope nope nope". Mommy was not as clever. The smell and taste of these fuckers transported Mommy back to her 2nd grade elementary cafeteria in the OKC School District and remembering not being allowed to go out and play with all the other kids since she didn't eat her cooked spinach slop. Mommy still has evil thoughts about that mustachioed woman.

I just don't know what went wrong! There was a lot of steam that escaped when I opened the oven door and quite a bit of liquid at the bottom of each muffin tincup when I took out the shit. So, no...don't make these... unless you can make it better than this. Or unless you like that shitty flavor. Then, you should and you should also gloat to me about it. I hate you preemptively and curse your mustache.

Why I'm not posting anything about the Queen's Jubilee...or some more inadvertent awesomeness

Because what you are about to see is infinitely interesting compared to an analysis of the flotilla. I did watch the whole pomp and pageantry of the day the Royal Family went to St Paul's for the service and ohmygoodness wasn't the Archbishop of Canterbury a prig?

So this happened...

I have video of this lovely event, but after two days of waiting for it to upload, I declare myself defeated.

C'est la vie.

If you have me in your Google+ circles, you can view the video there.

Here's to random events of frivolity!

Not-so-super-ninja-edit, Sunday 11:03 pm... got it to upload to YouTube. Wheeeeeeh!

Mucking through the abyss- Part 2

If the number of movies I've had on in the background is any indication of how much I didn't want to write the next two entries delineating my experience, then so be it. I'm currently on Star Wars Episode V.

To read Part 1- Foray into the abyss, click the post with the same title to your left, or place your mouse on the designated word and click on it

The "Informal Chat" was over, Mr S took me on a tour of the school. It was a square doughnut layout, similar to my previous school site. And like my previous school site, this school looked old even though it was built sometime in the 2000s. Unlike my old school, this one has a rock climbing wall. I asked if there was a climbing club. There is not. There used to be but no one wants to sponsor it. The PE classes use it on occasion.

I was taken to the next classroom to meet Ms R, the teacher that is going on the pregnancy leave and for whom I'd be tolling the bells. I say goodbye to Mr S and look around for an appropriate place to put my two coats and largish purse. I settle for under the teacher's desk, next to the wall and behind some strategically placed bins.

Ms R asks me if I feel okay about the lesson since it is basically the same one from Mr S's class. I tell her sure. She then reiterates to me what Mr S nattered on about earlier, that this next class was "lower level". I said, "fine, no problem. Can I tweak the PowerPoint a bit?" So I did. She also told me I'd be taking attendance and showed me how to use the computer program attendance is counted on. Ms R also began to describe the personality dynamics of the class. She stressed to me about the set of four girls in the farthest corner of the room that were a bit of a bother and would need to be monitored and "if they act up, threaten them with separation." Immediately, I'm thinking, "What the hell kind of classroom management were you taught?" If you have an admittedly troublesome group, you don't let them stay together, you separate them before there's a problem, not during or after! The bell rang a bit later and I went to stand outside the door, like you do.

Class begins and I take attendance, trying to match names to the voices that come out of the faces. In this class there were only 14 students. And wouldn't you know it, the four girls had a couple in the group that didn't respond to the oral attendance. Now, this program is on the big projector and all of the students can see it. So, they knew what was what. Everyone else answered either "yes, Miss" or "here, Miss".

An aside note: this "yes, Miss" and "no, Miss" and "Miss? Miss?" got old pretty quickly.

I taught the lesson with no real problems other than the girls. Had a bit of an issue trying to get them redirected away from touching each other and refocused on the lesson's objectives which was to label the damn map of Madagascar with its "lower level" requirements. None of my magic touches worked, so I had to devolve and separate them. OH WHAT HISSY FITS WERE THROWN THAT DAY!

When time for the oral assessment, no one got any candy. Turds. I hate 14/15 year old girls.

That class ended and my coats, my purse and I were marched off to the next class where I "team-taught". Team teaching, I think, is a joke when done right, so this was hilarious. I get to the classroom and 40 faces look at me like I'm ... I don't know, ice cream? Anyway, after stashing my stuff, I helped out by passing out the worksheet I was going to teach them after the video. These kids were great. They asked me all kinds of things, like

1. Where're you from, miss?
2. How did you get here, miss?
3. Do you live here, miss?
4. Do you know any cowboys, miss?
5. Do you like beef jerky, miss?
6. Which do you like better, England or America, miss? I bet England.
1. Kid was really disappointed when I said the US.
7. Can you say "sector", miss?
8. How many guns do you own, miss?

So these kids, after reviewing a video on the Amazon, did a worksheet which I did with them. And that was it. Nothing too taxing, just climagraphs and a few questions. I love 6th graders. I think the feeling's mutual.

That class ended and so commenced lunch. I leave Coat, Coat, and Purse in the most important room in the building (teachers' lounge, but that bathroom really was okay) and go get something to eat.

OH THE CHOICES! Fresh made to order sandwiches, hot meal of Yorkshire Pudding as big as your head with vegetables and gravies and mash! Jacket potatoes (in US, baked potatoes) with variety of topping, multiple pizza sizes in cardboard boxes...we're talking delivery or DiGiorno, your pick. Pasta bar, wraps bar, pastry bar... and in the middle, pre-packaged sandwiches. Really, I needed to do an eenymeenyminymo to choose, there was so much sensory overload.

I'd be looking at the choices in each offering, and a line would form up behind me. Tell you what, the British do love to queue. Could be an Olympic sport later this summer. I couldn't decide and I was still having that agonized nervous butterfly feeling from all the anger that was not yet fully realized. So I took a packaged sandwich from the middle and paid for it. Only £1.00. Went back to the VIP room and proceeded to eat sandwich and read John Le Carre's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Was unsuccessful because the sandwich was not legen,,,wait for it...dary. Not legendary! True story. I was eating it and thinking, "where's the flavor?" I looked at the label.

It was a tomato, lettuce, and cress sandwich. No meat. No cheese. No condiments...not even butter. They put butter on every sandwich in this country except for that one. That bread was as dry as the Atacama Desert. It is totally in my personality dynamic to have all these awesome food choices and pick the not very best one. The bell was about to ring so I threw it away and we all wandered off to the next classroom, Coats, Purse and me. To the class that I'm to cover for the teacher who was out sick that day. The class that no other teacher in the building was willing to cover.

Tune in next time for THE CLASSROOM OF ABYSMAL DOOM.


Oh, in case you were wondering... Leia, Han Solo and Chewie are trying to leave Hoth.

Foray into the interview abyss...Part 1

I was called on Tuesday by the agency I'm set up with to go to a school in Hartlepool for a job interview. I knew it was coming because my "handler" had been keeping me up to date with potential teaching jobs here in the reachable (for me) northeast. I knew the interview would be some time in early January because the position was set to begin in February after the midterm holiday. So, no surprises there.

I was told to be at the school at 8:30 am and that I'd have an informal interview with the supply teacher manager on site as well as with the department head. After which, I'd then teach a lesson with possible shadowing of other classroom teachers. Fair enough.

I ask what the lesson would be covering and was told, "it'll be covering the rivers of Britain". So, the night before, I do what little I can to augment what I already knew about river systems. Mainly, just little facts about the island's rivers...which is the longest, the shortest, the deepest.

If you want to know, the longest is the River Severn at 220 miles, running through Wales and England. The Thames is the longest in England proper, holding at a nice 215, give or take a few feet of silting. It's also the deepest. The shortest is the River Bain in Yorkshire, only 2.5 miles...but if taken in terms of the entire island, then that award goes to the River Scavaig in Scotland, with its impressive yardage of 250. I was on the bus, maybe halfway to Hartlepool, when I realized I'd left my river notes at home. No big deal, I have a Google  Phone!

To go the 20 miles from my house to the school's door took me three bus rides and an hour and 45 minutes total travel time. I arrived windblown and late. Waiting for me at the reception desk was Mr. C., the supply teacher manager. He greeted me by saying, "You know you were supposed to be here at 8:20?"

Um, no. No I didn't. Apparently, they had changed their minds the morning of and had contacted the agency via voice mail. I was to arrive by 8:20 to attend the staff briefing and then to proceed immediately to the first lesson in order to teach.

"Oh, before I take you in, do you have any ID?"
"Um, not a picture ID. I don't carry my driver's license since it expired." WHY AM I TELLING HIM THIS? SHUTTUP!
"Well, I really need some form of picture ID."

OH REALLY? I suppose it is quite common for random people to walk in the building saying they're someone who's expected to be there? I showed him my GTC card (a card showing I'm a registered teacher, no photo on it) and my bank card.

"Sorry, I didn't think to bring my old school's teacher ID card."
"Yes, well, shall we?"

Also, I was informed that I would be substituting for a teacher who was ill that day. Mr. C shakes my hand at that point and tells me he'll show me the most important rooms.

This turned out to be the teachers' lounge and the women's bathroom, which I took advantage of. I'd just been thrown a couple of curve balls when I'd been expecting a soft touch straight down the middle. Luckily, there was a little bit of toilet paper left. Shaping up to be a great day at this point.

Mr. C escorts me to Mr. S's room. Mr S is the department head and as I shake his hand, I can hear the roar of the classroom devolve into whispers. "Who's that?" "Is that the American?" Mr C introduces me to Mr S but I don't hear him correctly, accent is funny like that. He leaves and Mr S is left with me staring at him, trying not to smile to desperately.

"So, I'll just get this lot going and then you can take over. I'll finish up with the plenary and then after the period, we'll have a bit of a chat." And like the sound of a gun at the start of the race, Mr S is off. I look around for an appropriate place to put my purse and two coats. It was cold that morning, with a promise of rain. I settle for a spot along the wall and allow myself to feel the anger I tamped down earlier.

And I was angry. I was angry that I was told to do something by somebody I'd never met, without any input by me. By some bureaucratic control freak. Because I was ill-prepared, not only by the agency but by myself. I should know better. It was then that I fully realized that this was not going to be a typical interview and that pissed me off because I was going to be taken advantage of and there was nothing I could do about it if I wanted this job. I couldn't just up and get in a car and leave. I was angry because I'd spent almost two hours trying to get to this place.

Somewhere, I had forgotten I was interviewing them too.

And what was the lesson about? Was it about the mighty small rivers of Great Britain? No. It was about Madagascar. Mr S gave me my portion of the lesson to teach. It wasn't hard, it was map skills. No big deal. At the end, I busted out the bag of fruity Tootsie Rolls and used them as a way to get the students to answer questions as a reward. I also gave a big handful to the four kids who, through the simple assessment, fulfilled all the criteria required for the map activity. If the students have any input on the candidate selection process, then I wanted to stand out. Essentially and quite recognizably, I bought their love.

The class ended and Mr S's plan period began, so that's when we had our informal "chat". In retrospect, I was a little too shiny and brittle, if you know what I mean. If you don't, then you've never interviewed for a job that's in your chosen career and have been out of a job for almost two years. Mr S had my CV (like a resume, but not) and talked with me about the political economy of the school. Basically, I got the insider viewpoint of the policies and procedures not available online. At this point, I'm uncomfortable.

Why? Mainly due to the constant reiteration of how they don't track, but they do track. How they enforce the uniform code, but I saw contrary evidence in the classroom and hallways. How they are a Church of England School but they're an Engineering Magnet. That I might have to teach religious curriculum to those who don't believe. Mr C asked if I used candy regularly in instruction, with a bit of a sneer on his face. So I hedged...possibly, I lied. Pfft. But he did say some nice things too. He said that I have the kind of classroom presence that can't be taught.

Hell, I could've told him that. It's the one of the three things I got going for me in a classroom. It's called "with-it-ness". I'm a badass.

In which I compare the local law enforcement to cats

Here's the 411 from a 405'er... Living in this part of Durham is like living with a cat. Without fail, every night, police sirens go by our window, heading south to Brandon (and Crook, I assume but that's just too obvious).

Making the connection yet? Well, it's like this: you cat owners have a cat. Cat is in a room. Cat decides to run at breakneck speed from that room to another, bottlebrush tail bristling. Cat comes to full stop. Cat sheepishly looks at you as if to say, "What? Haters gonna hate." Yep. That is just how the Durham vehicularly mobile constabulary behaves.



I imagine the police cars in some sort of rank, a la taxis. All of a sudden, they leave at breakneck speed, sirens blaring. They're tearing down the A690 and  upon reaching some chav's terraced council home, come to a full stop.

Having never seen Co. Durham police in action in my sleepy village, I can only infer that this is all they do. I picture it like this: they tear down the road, wahwahing at top volume only to stop abruptly and park the police car.





Oh, it's quite within the realm of possibility that arrests are being made, but riddle me this... why is it that the sirens don't come back?

Bonfire Night 2011...FOR SCIENCE!

source and a symbol of a global movement

From last year; BONFIRE NIGHT 2010 and the pictures and video are nearly the same this year as they were last year. Consistency... the key to life.

Differences this year? Yes. Went with Roo and Big Fella and Michigan Jesse. Hey ladies, are you single and want to long-distance date a cutie pie physicist? No lie, true story. I think Michigan Jesse's around 28-30. Let me know, he's single, smart as a whip, and cute too! I can say that, right? He's new to the area, no kids, and lots of money!

So, activities? Same as last year's, held in the graveyard... only no potato and leek soup was in evidence!! I scored a few homemade cinder toffee knobs even though I took store-bought chocolate covered cinder toffee for Roo and Big Fella. Roo is Ruth because "Ru" sounds like "roo" and she lived in Australia for a time (kangaroo, anyone?). Plus, it's what Big Fella (Brian, her husband calls her).

After that, went to Aykley Heads Police Headquarters for a resoundingly boomer of a time. I'm talking fireworks, people.

The fireworks seemed, to me, more "percussive" and "tympanic" than any I remember... and that might be because it was on November 5th, rather than July 4th. What do you think, after seeing the video?

Yet...The speed of sound v relative to the current in which it is embedded is given by v = (gRT)^1/2 where g is the ratio of the specific heat at constant pressure to the specific heat at constant volume, R is the gas constant for dry air, and T is the temperature. The product gRT is then taken to the one-half power. We see from this equation that the speed of sound is proportional to the temperature and would expect sound to travel faster in a warmer air mass.

Quite right. Which is why the sound of the firework was delayed as long as it was.

According to the resident physicist, how loud something is isn't necessarily related to the speed of sound. Without giving a whole lot of time to think over my question "why?", he merely adds that moisture might have something to contribute to the effect.

I think he was busy when I asked. Guess that's how people are when they're at work.

I kid.

Not really.


And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I leave you to consider the following image taken at the local Makro (similar to Costco/Sam's):
:

Isn't it beautiful? I've never seen that much natural energy pussy in a public place. I wouldn't be up for it all in one go. I think I'd need several rounds. Makes me tired just looking at it. So, since I'm exhausted by all that pussy energy, I challenge you to see who can come up with the best caption.

Unhinged Jaws

A few things...

After ingesting our morning carbs and dairy the other morning, Kiddo, SciMan, and I got to experience the spectator sport of watching "Fee Fi Fo Yum", a children's TV game show. It was really interesting that this is quality programming. It was similar to "Double Dare" but the carrot of the game show's premise is to NOT BE EATEN! BY A GIANT!

Oh yeah. Every so often, there'd be "commercials" like these embedded in the game show...because the show is on a fake network for giants, GTV. In the land of the giants, Hairy Mary is the spokeswoman of choice. Go ahead, take some time to watch them. It's only 3 minutes. Just make sure you don't have a mouthful of liquid.



See?

Now close your mouth. You know we could totally use a "Guff Muffler" to help us be in control of our output.

Want to see more? Try this or this. Totally worth your time, especially if you've got kids.

*******

Came across a few more jawbreakers...

Pay toilet outside of Trencher's restaurant in Whitby. Price?
Adults: 40p = $0.65
Children: 10p = $0.16

I think this is a little pricey to pay for #1 and #2. The pay toilet in the bus station in Durham is just a flat rate of 20p ($0.33)

Yeah. I get the rationale for pay toilets. But cleanliness is not always guaranteed. Neither is the prevention of an assault on your ol' olfactory senses.

 

Kiddo got this as a birthday present from one of her little schoolmates. OBVIOUSLY, schmuck means jewelry.
You paint it, then you bake it.
Heart warming. It warms the cockles of my heart.
There's nothing like hot cockles.

While waiting for Dad and Sis to arrive via train...

The "ice-cream-shoppe-vomited-all-over-baby-seal-boots" look.
I hope this look is catching on in the States... I don't want to be all alone with this.

At least VPL is still vogue.

You KNOW they called each other to coordinate!

Seen on the shelf in the children's library... The Ministry of Niceness

Initially, cute premise... but...

the message of the story is that cool people are not nice...therefore, BE NICE.

And then it becomes a governmental policy.

I can imagine...

...12 months probation for not holding a door open for the person behind you,

...2-4 months jail time for not giving up your seat in the front of the bus to an elderly or disabled person,

...10 years for buying Abercrombie hoodies and wearing them in public*. Plus five more if worn while rioting**.

Okay, okay... so that's really stretching it.

But this... THIS takes my breath away...

We're made of PORK! Our business is our own.

Can you imagine the commercial for this one?

interdental lisping: Yay MEAT!

Thank you so much, Tesco!

*Guilty as charged. Oops. My bad.
**I have nothing more to say about this, just thought there needed to be a double asterisk because that's what my teacher told me when we learned about writing outlines in junior high.