Why can't you just do what I told you?

Grrr...

I went downtown today with several students to attend a Mass in memory of the late Coretta Scott King celebrated by our local archbishop. The setup was all very last-minute, and the need for chaperones was dire, so I volunteered my services and left three of my classes to the able hands of my colleagues.

The Mass was quite lovely; one of the intown parishes sent their exquisite gospel choir to augment the liturgy. Normally I disapprove very strongly of "Communion meditations," which strike me as a means of introducing performance into a prayer that should be focused on the community, but I'm very willing to make an exception for such glorious music as this group made. They sang "Straight and Narrow Way" with a soprano soloist who sounded like Leontyne Price. It absolutely sent chills down my spine.

When I returned to school in time to substitute for another teacher's last-period class, I discovered that some of my students in one class had made the executive decision that the in-class writing assignment I had left for them was a suggestion and not a command. They had opted not to write the essay, and they turned in Free Rides in lieu of their essays.

A Free Ride is a pass I issue each student at the beginning of the term. My class rules are strict (no bathroom trips unless it's a medical emergency, no locker trips, no gum-chewing, no sleeping, etc.) and my reading assignments can be long. I like to give the students a bit of personal responsibility and freedom of choice -- hence the Free Ride. It's good for one bathroom/locker trip, one reading quiz, one minor homework assignment, one extra night to work on a paper...but once it's gone, it's gone. And the catch is that the Free Ride, if stapled to one's final exam, is worth 5 bonus points on the raw score of the exam. (Since my exams are usually out of 200 points, and the exam is worth 20% of the final grade, the Free Ride can only mathematically make a difference of 0.5% in the actual grade (if my math is correct). But the kids think it's a big deal and they treat those Free Rides like they're gold-plated.) Basically, the Free Ride is worth about 5 points any way you slice it.

The assignment I left today was a 50 point assignment. And they blithely decided that it would be okay for them not to do it, despite clear and specific instructions that the assignment was to be completed and turned in at the end of the class. One student out of the seven or eight who didn't do the assignment came to me after school to question whether or not it was all right for him to have ignored my instructions. When informed that it most certainly was not all right and that he owed me a paper, he asked for an additional copy of the instructions so that he could write a paper and turn it in tomorrow. Fine.

My knee-jerk reaction was to give the miscreants zeros on the assignment and to keep the Free Rides. But then the voice of reason and the voice of mercy piped up in my mind. (Inconvenient conscience and compassion!) I'm going to give the students who did what I asked a study day tomorrow and give the students who didn't do it the chance to write the essay for full credit. The Free Rides that they turned in will excuse the lateness of the assignment, as under most circumstances our departmental policy is that late papers may receive a grade no higher than C.

*sigh* Well, they wouldn't be teenagers if they didn't do wild and wacky stuff that confounded adults, would they?

Happy birthday, Rabbie...

The auld lad's still sounding wonderful a mere 210 years after his untimely demise.

I need a break between finishing Paradise Lost and starting Frankenstein, and I usually try to schedule that break to coincide with Robert Burns' birthday on 25 January. It's a good excuse to have a party that also has some cultural and educational merit: a Burns Supper.

Burns Suppers (or Burns Nights) vary in tone from quite elegant evenings with scholarly speeches and silver spoons to raucous events down the pub. The first year, I described the Burns Supper and had the students read "To a Mouse" and "Red, Red Rose." Last year, I brought in cakes and asked each student to read a Burns poem of his or her choice aloud.

This year, I decided that it would be good to have as fully-developed a "supper" as possible. No John Barleycorn and no haggis, but plenty of food and everything as student-driven as possible. So my students and I spent the last week planning the parties (one in each of the four sections of the course I teach), inviting other teachers and friends to join us, choosing and rehearsing poetry, and writing speeches and toasts.

I'm always slightly amazed by how much students can accomplish when they're given some clear directions and some flexibility in choices. Not only did they lay out some very impressive spreads (including two very authentic and delicious trifles!), they all did very well with their poetry readings -- even the students who read in Scots. (Although they did complain quite a bit that "this isn't English," to which I replied, "No, it isn't. The dictionary link is on your handout.") We had outside guests in all but one of the classes, and the students seemed to have a good time. Particularly in the class that discovered the poem entitled "Cock Up Your Beaver, Johnny," which is a completely innocuous poem about putting a feather in one's hat, but has the opportunity for all sorts of vulgar jokes in modern parlance.

As much fun as it all was, I think that next year I'm just going to do one big supper as an on-campus field trip. I'll pull all my classes out for the middle of the day, serve an authentic Scottish lunch, and augment the poetry by some Scottish dancers and pipers. Doing three parties in three periods on an accelerated schedule day was just too much running around.

On sportsmanship and high expectations

On Tuesday night, I ventured out in the torrential rain to attend the girls' and boys' basketball games that my students were playing against the archrival diocesan Catholic high school. Most sporting events between our school and this school are more or less cordial and generally well-attended.

I arrived midway through the girls' game due to traffic difficulties, and when I got there, we were leading by 22 points. As the game progressed, the lead shrank to 10 at times, then widened back to 14-16 points for most of the second half. The outcome was never really in any doubt.

Engrossed as I was in the game, I had hardly noticed the cheerleaders on the sidelines till an opposing player went to the line to take some free throw shots. The entire time that she was shooting, the cheerleaders were performing a "Miss It!" cheer. The first time they did it, I was nonplussed. But after the ninth, tenth, and nineteenth times they did it, repeating it with increased vigor every time an opposing player took foul shots in both the girls' and boys' games, I was dismayed. Even more disheartening was the fact that the opposing school's cheerleaders did not do such a cheer when our players went up for free throws.

As a school, we profess to value sportsmanlike conduct. There's a large banner in the gym that says "Sportsmanship is an expectation." I know that the cheerleaders were, at heart, just cheering on their friends and classmates, but I also know that there are many ways to cheer on one's team without tearing down the opponents. I also feel that we ought not have been shown up by our archrivals on our home court.

Even though we won both games by the scoreboard, we didn't walk away with the class and sportsmanship trophies.

Best one-liner of the day...

When discussing blood sugar levels and the necessity of a balanced diet:

"Yeah, I tasted my blood the other day...it tasted like Hawaiian Punch."

Buon Natale e Felice Anno Nuovo!

Hodie Christus natus est;
hodie salvator apparuit;
hodie in terra canunt angeli;
laetantur arcangeli;
hodie, exultant justici, dicentes:
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Alleluia!
--Text from the Latin Christmas Mass

Today Christ is born;
today the savior appears;
today the angels sing on earth;
the archangels rejoice;
today, the just exult, saying:
Glory to God in the highest!
Alleluia!

Have a blessed Christmas season!

O magnum mysterium

This past weekend was busy to the point of madness; in addition to my singing in four concerts in three days, my husband and I hosted my parents and one sister for the weekend and had a Gaudete Sunday brunch for our visitors and my husband's parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. I'm tired today, but it was truly wonderful to spend time with family and to participate in such beautiful concerts.

Years ago, Robert Shaw started the tradition of Christmas concerts with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Choruses. When Shaw passed, the baton went to another local conductor who was less sensitive to the very religious nature of the programs Shaw had always selected and chose instead to do a more secular concert. It was nice enough, but attendance waned and the concerts lost their luster.

The baton passed again this year to Norman Mackenzie, the ASO Director of Choruses. I could go on for a really long time about how wonderful Norman is as a conductor and as a person, but that's another post. Suffice it to say that I count myself very privileged to sing under his direction.

It's always been fascinating to me how the same group of singers and instrumentalists can behave and react so differently to different conductors. There was a spirit present in this year's concerts that wasn't there in the three previous years I sang in this concert series. I can't explain it, but it was there nonetheless. People understood that this was something special and holy -- much of the music had the aching Advent sense of longing for Christ and/or marveling at God's incredible love and humility.

The two best pieces on the concert were, to me, Morten Lauridsen's "O Magnum Mysterium," sung a cappella by the ASO Chorus, and Olatunji's "Betelehemu," sung and accompanied by the Morehouse Glee Club. Two more completely different pieces of music it's hard to find, yet both of them were so beautiful that I found myself choking up at the same point in each song during each performance. (If you know the pieces, it was the soprano descant alleluia in the Lauridsen and the final refrain after the solo verse in "Betelehemu.") The Lauridsen was just piercingly exquisite, and "Betelehemu" was so full of joy.

As a member of the ASO chorus, I've had multiple opportunities to sing beautiful music with a chorus that sings beautifully well. I love and enjoy many of the works we've performed over the past several years, but there's very little that touches me in the same way that this concert of predominantly sacred music touches me. The only thing that saddens me is that for most people, the only time they'll hear music of this caliber is in a concert hall, not in a church.

Pranks and cruelty

Fair warning -- this isn't going to be a happy post.

A student's home has been vandalized three times in the past two months. Not that vandalism isn't bad enough, but these particular miscreants have spray-painted homophobic epithets in several places on the house (including the garage door), causing thousands of dollars worth of damage to the house and untold emotional damage to this young man and his mother.

Right now, there's no reason to believe that it is another student who is committing these crimes. But there's also no reason to believe that it isn't, and that's what has me feeling heartsick.

I looked at the pictures of the words "GAY (Student's Name)" spray-painted in eight-foot high red letters on the garage door that our principal showed the senior class this morning in an assembly discussing the problem and wanted to vomit. I still can't wrap my head around why somebody would do something like this. I don't know if the kid is gay or not, and frankly, I don't really care. It's none of my business. He's a successful kid with an amazing athletic talent -- he could conceivably go to the Olympics someday -- who makes good grades, isn't a troublemaker or a clown, and is just generally a nice, serious, decent young man. Not that it would somehow be okay if he were a total jerk, but his being a good guy just adds insult to injury.

What is so wrong with someone that he or she feels the need to tear another human being down? To be so incredibly cowardly and hateful? To rob someone of the right to feel safe in his own home? Why should this young man's memory of his senior year of high school include this?

I don't know what to say or what to think. How can people be so hateful?

Another gem from the pen of a student...

Seen on a final exam today:

"'The Wife of Bath's Tale' teaches the reader how to be truly gentile."

N.B. The noun form of "gentility" is "genteel."

"Contemporary"* music and divine liturgy

I've been thinking much lately on the current cultural trend toward so-called "contemporary" music in liturgy, and the more that I think on it, the more discomfited I become.

A frequent argument cited by proponents of "contemporary" music is relevancy. "We need to be more relevant if we're going to reach people effectively" is the philosophy which translates in practice to the adoption of Top Forty-esque music in liturgy. This argument is frequently cited in discussions involving youth and liturgy.

The premise seems flawed to me on two levels: one, a misunderstanding of the proper function of liturgical music; and two, a reversal of the attitude with which liturgy should be approached.

As for the first, the function of music in the liturgy is to be an organic part of the celebration of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Raucous instrumentation, whooping and hollering, hand-clapping and motions are all at odds with the formal, elegant, highly structured rituals of Mass in the Catholic church. Not that there is not a time and a place where all of those things are not inappropriate, and not that those things are intrinsically bad; they're just the liturgical equivalent of redecorating the entire White House with Pucci prints and Ikea furniture. Whenever something jars my focus away from the celebration of the Mass, it becomes liturgically problematic. If the congregation feels unsure whether or not it should applaud after a piece of music, it is liturgically problematic. The focus has shifted from the communal celebration of Mass to a performance, which reduces the congregation to the role of audience.

"But the people can't sing Gregorian chant!" is another frequent complaint, to which I reply "Nonsense!" I've taught a group of teenagers who can't read music how to sing the chant "Ave Maria" in under fifteen minutes. I find that the structure and tessitura of chant is easy to understand even for non-musicians -- people who can't read music can still see on the page whether a line rises or falls and feel naturally where a line resolves. Chant is simpler to sing than 95% of "contemporary" music, which generally has irregular rhythms, uses odd harmonic structure, and has a broad or uneven tessitura. Much of it is sung in a range that's very uncomfortable for women's voices, as it's too low to be sung comfortably in the range where it's written but high enough that singing it up the octave isn't pleasant, either. The lower male voice suffers, too, as the music as written is too high but down the octave is too low. In the services I've attended where I have not had a hymnal in front of me, I've found it easier and faster to catch on in a chanted service than I have in "contemporary" services where the words to the songs are flashed up on a large screen.

To the second, the idea of relevancy, when explored by its proponents, seems to entail an injection of God into the modern culture. I believe this raises two questions: one, is God not already present in our culture, at least liturgically speaking; and two, since God is timeless, why the necessity to make His worship "timely"? I submit that the driving force in the relevancy argument is actually the reverse: an attempt to inject secular culture into sacred liturgy.

As Paul instructed us, we are not to be conformed to this world. Using the musical language of secular culture conforms our worship immutably to worldly standards. Liturgy should be sacred -- set apart -- in all its components so that we understand just what it is that we do.

One of the theological concepts I so love in the Eastern Catholic Church is the knowledge that the liturgy is where Heaven and Earth meet, and the liturgical space and music and prayers all acknowledge that reality. The Western rite could certainly use a dose of that uniformity of purpose and intention. The Divine Liturgy in the Melkite church I regularly attend feeds my soul in its embrace of the mystery and sanctity of God in a way that pop-culture Masses are simply incapable of doing.


*I chose to put the word contemporary in quotation marks because as it is a term of art as applied to liturgical music. Contemporary comes from the Latin con tempore, meaning with the time. Arguably, the work of living composers is contemporary by definition, but I have yet to hear someone calling for Arvo Part's "O Antiphons" in the name of contemporary music! Contemporary, in the current discussions of liturgy, is applied solely to music which shares the lyrical style, structure, and setting of pop/rock/Top Twenty hits.

Update from last week...

The student who chose not to do her Shakespeare project (very uncharacteristic of this young lady!) came back on Monday, apologized for her abrupt behavior, and asked if she could have another opportunity, which I was pleased to give her. She recited perfectly; it must have been une attaque des nerfs on Friday that got to her.

It makes me feel better that she did come and get her "do-over" of her own volition. I think it's important for me as a teacher to respect the decisions of my students -- there is great learning to be had from unwise choices and none from insulating students from the consequences of their poor decisions -- but it's very difficult to step back and let these precious people suffer the effects of their own choices.

Ora et labora

Yesterday was an absolutely gorgeous and unseasonably warm (78 degrees in November!) day. When I got home from work, I noticed that the yard, deck, and driveway were covered with leaves, so I changed clothes, brought the dog outside with me, and grabbed a rake.

As I raked, I was mindful of the gift that work is. My husband and I are currently involved in a Bible study that focuses on financial stewardship, and the past week's study was about work. One of the verses in the study was Genesis 2:15 -- "The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it." The principle in the lesson was that God created work before sin entered into the world. Work is made difficult by sin, but work itself is not a punishment for sin.

In the spirit of that verse, and in the spirit of stewardship (all that we have belongs to God and we are temporary caretakers of His gifts), I began to be thankful for the gift of strength and ability to do manual labor. I was thankful for the ability to care for the home that my husband and I share. I was thankful for the amusement of watching our silly dog bound ecstatically through the leaf piles.

I worked and thought on a Benedictine motto: "Ora et labora" (pray and work). Both essential elements of the Christian life, they felt to me artificially separated by the "and". A twist on the motto sprang to mind: "Labora est ora" (work is prayer). If our work is for God, as Paul states in the Epistles, then it is, indeed, prayer and not punishment.

All things counter, original, spare, strange...

Today was the last real day of classes for the term. Tomorrow is the day that I'll be spending at school grading papers and preparing the final exam.

The term went by, as is usually the case, far too quickly. This term seems to have been sped on its merry way by a marked abundance of special schedules, accelerated days, and approximately twelve hundred assemblies and Masses and whatnot. I know that my original syllabus had far more time spent on Shakespeare than what actually occurred. Next year I will plan for four weeks of Shakespeare and perhaps get the three that I want.

The students presented their live performances of scenes from Henry V in class yesterday and today. Some were better than others. Some were amazing. Some were heartbreakingly rough. One chose not to do hers at all. I haven't decided whether or how to respect that choice, since it will mean a failing test grade and possibly a failing grade in the course.

I'm always surprised by what this assignment reveals about the students. It's not that complicated: memorize and perform 30-60 lines of Shakespeare. There's a written component that consists of turning in a copy of the script with the blocking written on it, a few sentences about their costume/production concept, and a rewriting of their lines into their own words. Not, to me, a massive assignment.

Some students embrace it wholeheartedly. Others fear it worse than they'll fear anything else in their whole high school experience. Students who like to "play the game," as it were (figure out the Magic Combination to the Teacher's Brain and Make an A!) go all to pieces over this assignment. Students who don't find much redeeming value in test-taking and paper-writing suddenly produce amazing results.

Every year, a few kids get stage fright so badly that they just freeze and forget their lines; I let them come and get some points back by reciting for me alone. Usually, if the student knows the lines, he or she will be able to do it for the audience of one with no stress.

I had something different this year, though. A student had a real mental block with the assignment. I've had him in class for twelve weeks, and he's always been a very quiet, reserved young man. He came in this afternoon after school to try to finish his speech for me, and he just couldn't do it. After a few abortive attempts, he suddenly started talking about how he was having trouble with the memorization and how it was confusing and frustrating for him, not like math which comes easily to him. He kept talking about how he "sees" what he has to do in a math problem, and he couldn't see anything in the lines he had been desperately trying to memorize for the past week.

We had a great conversation about math and English, different learning styles, what was happening in the lines he had to read, and what's interesting or important in Shakespeare for a modern audience. He finally read his lines (not entirely correctly, but with a smile on his face) and left.

I'm still not sure why I decided to go back to my classroom this afternoon instead of racing to beat the Friday afternoon rush hour, but I'm glad that I was there for him when he stopped by.

Dogs are strange.

Mine is right now lying on the floor on his back, waving his hind feet in front of his face, and trying to bite them.

It's sort of like watching a baby attempt to eat its own foot and is strangely entertaining.

Random thoughts on high school dances and "financial decadence"

In the abstract, I don't have a problem with high school dances or social events. God knows that teenagers need all the chances they can get to develop social skills (including but not limited to the ability to say five words without interjecting "like", but I digress).

However, it's been my experience that over the past ten years, high school dances have devolved from social events where kids dress nicely and play grown-ups for an evening into debauched orgies of excess. Prom isn't treated like a nice opportunity to wear lovely clothes and enjoy an evening with friends and classmates; it's become an Event that's second only in scope to a wedding and is beginning to assume much of the conspicuously consumptivist trappings of a wedding.

Much of the behavior at the dances is objectionable for an educational setting. I know what people do at clubs and at private parties and on MTV, and while I personally find people humping in public squicky, I won't quibble with their right to do as they please in those places. At schools -- where students are supposed to be held to a certain standard of behavior conforming to public decency -- and particularly at religious schools, most of which have mission statements that use moral language and speak about forming the character of the student -- erotic dancing has no place. Social intercourse doesn't mean sexual intercourse!

I also find it deeply problematic (as a teacher at a religious school) that lack of rules or lack of enforcement prohibiting such dancing paints the faculty, staff, and administration in a hypocritical light in the eyes of the students. We tell them in class that they're supposed to be chaste and respect their sexuality, but then we sponsor events and let them grind to their hearts' content? It's a very mixed message! As for financial decadence, the expenditure of staggering amounts of money for proms and after-prom parties is a sanctioned replacement for the decadence of going out and getting wasted in a hotel room. Worse, people think they're doing something praiseworthy -- "I don't want Little Johnny to drink and drive, so I'll rent a limo with a fully stocked bar for him and his buddies!"

I'm all for having a good time, but spending hundreds and thousands of dollars for a dance is positively disgusting. When people spend thousands on weddings, at least there's something to show for it at the end -- a married couple. What's to show for all the money spent on proms? A crushed corsage and an expensive dress that'll never be worn again?

Today's Deep Thought

(Note: my students have a daily journal-writing assignment where they write for five minutes on a question/quote/topic that's on the board when they come in. Some days we discuss them; some days we don't. Today, we discussed.)

Me: "So, what makes a lady or a gentleman?"

Student: "Well, good manners and stuff."

Me: "What constitutes 'good manners'?"

Student: "Helping little old ladies and making sure your fly is always zipped."

Me: "Setting that bar really high, aren't you?"

Get your freak on, junior high style

Yeesh. I chaperoned the seventh and eighth grade "social" last night. (The term "dance" is seen as too intimidating and too encouraging to the "come with a date" phenomenon. Ergo, social. But it's the same thing...D.J., chips and Coke, boys on one side and girls on the other for the first hour.)

The kids generally had a blast, and the peer leaders (juniors and seniors who act as mentors to groups of 6-8 7th or 8th grade girls or boys) came and helped get the dancing rolling. Several peer leaders hosted sleepover parties for their peer kids after the social, which I thought was fabulous, although I'll admit that the thought of spending a Saturday night with 17-20 thirteen-year-olds seems like the seventh circle of Hell to me!

Even though the dress code was casual, the kids were all told what was and was not appropriate attire for the dance. We went over it with them in homeroom. Still, we had girls show up in WAY short (read: barely covering everything that needed covering!) skirts and uber-tight tops. The tight, low-cut, belly-baring tops look completely obscene on girls who still have baby pudge and no breasts. Thirteen-year-olds who look like they're going clubbing just scare me.

The kids who showed up in inappropriate attire got a verbal reprimand, but nothing else. I think it sends a mixed message, but we don't have a protocol for what we do with inappropriately dressed kids. (Note to self: bring this up at next faculty meeting.)

And then there was the freak dancing.

I'm used to breaking up freaking, because I've done it for two years at the high school dances. What they do in their own homes with their parents' full knowledge and blessing is one thing, but at a Catholic high school dance, it's just not right. I did not expect to have to do it at the junior high dance.

The little boys weren't interested in dancing with the little girls. So the little girls just went and freaked with each other. That's a whole new level of icky.

I love dancing, and I do think it should be about as much fun as you can have with your clothes on, but I don't think it needs to look like what you do with your clothes off!

Reasonable accommodation

At our department meeting this morning, the subject of reasonable accommodation for students with learning disabilities came up. One of the new things that we're doing, spearheaded by the assistant academic dean and the counseling department, is the creation of a notebook with a page for each student with a documented learning disability that details the student's strengths, weaknesses, and needs. Teachers are expected to look up those students who are in their classes and read the students' profiles, then make accommodations accordingly.

That opened up a whole can of worms. Some teachers were all in favor of accommodating students; others thought that students used the accommodations as crutches. Some felt the one-page reports were asking too much of the teachers. I pointed out that were we a public school, we'd be required by law to do IEPs (Individualized Education Plans) for all students with documented learning disabilities or disabilities that influenced their learning (like hearing impairment). An IEP can run to 10+ pages and involves an annual meeting with each student, the student's parents, the counselor, and the teachers. Comparatively, we're getting off easily.

Still, people brought up the following: Students may be uncomfortable asking for extended time in public. Students get diagnosed by family friends or others who may or may not have a stake in the students' academic success. Students who are from wealthier families may have greater access to testing since we don't do it in-house. Students who do not have documented learning disabilities don't get teacher continuity or requests for specific teachers honored. Parents try to work the system to give their children unfair advantages. Teachers aren't included in the process to the extent that perhaps they ought to be. And so on.

I know that people try to game the system. Heck, I've seen people do it. There isn't much to be done about that. However, should all the students suffer because a few take advantage?

I just don't know what's reasonable and what isn't.

Dein ist, dein, ja dein...

The Atlanta Symphony Orchestra season is officially underway with this weekend's performances of the Mahler "Resurrection" Symphony #2.

I'm not a big Mahler fan (or actually a fan of German composers in general, probably because I don't have the correct voice type for singing great big loud Germanic music), but I enjoyed the "Resurrection" Symphony more than I thought I would. Like the Beethoven 9th, it's got a long period of chorus-sitting-onstage-and-waiting-to-sing that can be a bit uncomfortable on the ASOC's folding chairs. Between every movement, there were massive not-quite-surreptitious stretching and shifting position sessions in the chorus, including a completely spontaneous synchronized leg-cross in the back row between movements 2, 3, and 4.

Despite the discomfort, I found that the Mahler grew on me more and more each night. By the third performance of most concerts, I find it very hard to pay attention to the non-chorus parts and the concert usually seems longest that night. Last night's concert seemed to be over quickly, and the chorus part had improved since the previous two nights (which, again, is not always the case. Saturday nights can get fatigued and sloppy.) Robert Spano (ASO principal conductor) spoke to us during our warmup and said, "I'm in a mood tonight, so...as Donald [Runnicles, ASO principal guest conductor] says about Scottish foreplay, 'Brace yerself, lassie!'"

And we did. It was a great night, and the audience was as enthusiastically appreciative as they had been the two previous nights.

Now if I could only get the florid German poetry out of my head, I'd be a lot better off.

And another gem from the mouth of a student...

Student: "So the moon is a place in the world, right?"
Me: "I'm going to hazard a guess and say, by definition, no."

More overheard today...

Student: "So, like, Beowulf is, like, the, like, hero, because he, like, is, like, honorable..."
Me: "Whoa. I'm cutting you off of 'likes.' One 'like' per comment."
Brief pause.
Student: "That's, like, hard."
Me: "My point exactly. And that was your one 'like.'"