Comedy Journal

On lunchroom duty I noticed a lonely, purple, spiral-bound notebook laying on the side counter. The cover said "Comedy Journal." Naturally, I opened it up. There was only one entry and I include it here, verbatim:

Once there was this girl who said she couldn't watch SpongeBob. I said why. She said because its the house rule. Well its just a sponge, that's why they call him SpongeBob. Plus it's not like sponge could comit a crime. "OH" SpongeBob just killed a guy.

From the moment I saw the cover of this "comedy journal" I knew there would be gold inside. In fact, I started thinking about coercing my students into writing material and then performing it for an audience. Just like the time I asked my 2nd/3rd graders to make the bass drum cover for a Sensory Overlord concert. That was the origin of the "be a robot" slogan that garnered such acclaim from our fans. I would never have thought of such a genius sound byte, but give some 9 year olds a few minutes on the job and voila!

YurtDay Party on the Coast

Folks, if you didn't get to join us on the coast for Devin's 32nd, you can sing along with the photos I posted on flickr here.
Highlights include:

• Countless hours of unadulterated, damp gameplay in the party yurt.
  
• Two evenings of rain drenched pyrophilia.
• Tons of awesome friends.
• Windiest trip to the beach ever.

Voici.

Happy St. PackRat's Day

Prior to Chicago, I never lived in a town that cares too much for St. Patrick's Day. Never had too much care for the bloke myself, neither. In fact, in fourth grade I decided that St. Patrick was an easy target of my ire toward Christianity and by not showing any interest in his day (not wearing green, refusing to pinch others who avoided green) I could somehow take a stand against Christian holidays in general. The "He chased the snakes out of Ireland" claim always made me a little nervous. Maybe I am a snake. Is some bloke going to come chase me off? Turns out he was most likely chasing off the Druids or the Gauls by proselytizing them. I suppose there are worse ways one might chase off Gauls or Druids. I like the old trick-them-into-thinking-I-am-a-powerful-sorcerer-then-threatening-to-turn-them-into-fish routine. That chases 'em off good.

Back to Saint P.

Here in Chicago, I have come to learn, we take our celebrations very seriously. For instance, nothing shows the true god-fearing religious devotion of a city like pouring millions of gallons of green dye into the river.

The banks of the Chicago River were so thronged with people I had to climb up on some construction scaffolding to see the water.



But if that doesn't get the Almighty's attention, make sure you pass out enough cheap green plastic hats (which, by the way, double as plastic, green-vomit receptacles later in the evening) to make sure your parade can be seen from space.




And lastly, make sure you consume overpriced, imported beer (preferably dyed green - see previous caption) until you are "speaking in tongues" (slurring and cursing) and "step-dancing" (stumbling drunkenly) through the shopping district.






On a final note... wait, I think I see a Druid. Don't make any sudden moves and pass me my slat draíochta (Gaelic for magic wand)