Tracing the Footnotes

Preface

The phrase "tracing the footnotes," or something very much like it, was first introduced to me by Ted Smith. Ted is the director of the Theology and Practice program at Vanderbilt University. But before that he was one of the best professors I had during my time at the Candler School of Theology. (Ted received his doctorate from Emory not too long before I met him but his punk rock mentality precludes him from allowing any of his students to call him "Dr. Smith.) Tracing the footnotes means actually paying attention to all those books and articles that are cited within a piece of academic writing, and then actually committing some time and energy toward exploring those other materials yourself.

So, for example, if you were tracing the footnotes in a book written by R.C. Sproul, you'd likely be sticking your nose in the works of Martin Luther, W.G.T. Shedd, or James Montgomery Boice. And if you were tracing the footnotes of Jacques Derrida, this masochistic exercise would plunge you into a world occupied by Emmanuel Levinas, Martin Heidegger, and no doubt a goodly number of continental literary scholars whose names I couldn't even begin to tell you. Wherever a particular author's footnotes take you, her or his footnotes are a means by which s/he may publicly identify whose works s/he values most highly and counts as significant influences.

Where I Start Getting to the Point

Within the blogosphere, I have identified a phenomenon which parallels that of tracing footnotes. I call it "perusing the links." When a link is placed in the sidebar of a blog, it serves as a means by which the author of the blog may publicly identify the blogs that s/he enjoys reading and recommend them to the author's own readers. As someone who keeps a blog, I find that there are often brief periods where I spend more time authoring comments on other people's blogs than I do updating my own little corner of cyberspace. Now is such a period. So, if for some reason my readers are presently eager to read my most recent reflections, they will need to peruse my links to find them.

In the last week, I have been commenting on other people's blogs more often than usual. I have joined discussions about the best holiday movies, the use of creepy clowns in evangelism, and the relative "Christian-ness" of the U.S., both yesterday and today. I've made some especially substantial contributions on this last matter. My comments on "What's Wrong with the World?" have been the type of serious minded fair I have only rarely penned here in The Kingdom.

At the end of the day, this blog entry is really supposed to be a signpost with arrows pointing multiple directions. (The Jesus pictures are strictly for entertainment.) Go check out some other quality blogs!

...except for Mark's Blog because Mr. Schwartzkopf hasn't updated the damn thing in nine months.

The Week in Sub-Land

Beth recently asked me if I had any more cute stories about the school kids I've worked with since the last time I shared. I thought others might be intrestest in the tales I just e-mailed to her so I'm posting them here. Whether or not they truly constitue "cute stories" will be up to you to decide. I haven't proof read what follows so, to Erin and anyone else annoyed by typos, I apologize in advance for those that may appear below.



-On Wednesday, I was with a class of 1st graders. In the afternoon, they were becoming particularly unruly and I had to start using my "mean voice." Apparently this voice is a fair bit more intense for 6 year-olds than it is for the 10 or 11 year-olds I work with most of the time. After one stern admonishment to be quiet while the teacher is giving a lesson, one girl named Daija raised here hand immediately afterwards. With great trepidation she said, "Mr. Scott...When you said that your voice was really loud." My response was, "If you children would be more quiet I wouldn't have to be so loud." For the rest of the day, every time I raised my voice, Daija would immediately cup her hands over her ears.

-On Friday, I was working with a class of 3rd graders. One boy named Carlos approached me at my desk and asked, "Mr. Scott, may I go get some aqua?" "Aqua, huh?" I replied. "Yeah, sometimes I speak Spanish. I'm half Mexican. Alan uses Spanish words sometimes too. He's also half Mexican."

In the same class, a kid named Noah (who apparently has a ridiculous amount of access to automatic weapons and other highly deadly firearms) asked, "Do you have any kids, Mr. Scott?" "Nope, no kids." "We are you at least married?" I showed him my ring-free left hand. "Nope, no wife either." His response made me laugh out loud: "Maaaaaan, you need to get married." Apparently a girl in the class named Jessica also thought I needed a female companion. She kept asking if she could walk next to me in the halls and when we went out to the buses she put her hand in the bend of my arm like we were prom dates or something. Before another teacher saw this and mistook me for a sexual predator I had to say, "Excuse me, Jessica but I need to be at the front of the line so I can make sure everyone's behaving."

-On Monday I was with a 5th grade class. Our last order of business for the day was to read an issue of Time Magazine for Kids as a group. One article was about Pope Benedict XVI praying in a mosque in Istanbul and meeting with several of the local Muslim leaders. As I attempted to explain the full historical significance of the head of Catholic Church a) praying in a mosque that b) is in Istanbul, I realized these kids couldn't have cared less about what I was telling them. But then a girl named Amberly raised her hand. "Finally! Student interest!" I thought. "Yes, Amberly. You have a question about this article?" "Yah, I do. What's a muslim?" What I wanted to say in the moment was, "Are you fucking kidding me?" Instead, I did my best to explain that it was another religion that many people in the world practice as they worship God and try to show love to other people.

Those are the past week's highlights.

In Receiving Mode

I'm very low on output these days.

That's not to say I've been especially lazy or inactive in recent weeks. I just find myself more inclined toward reception, consumption, and digestion than I am creation, production, or construction.

My blog testifies to this fact. Other than a short run of daily activity at the end of last week, the kingdom has been relatively quiet in the past month. I simply haven't had as much to share. It's not that I've ceased thinking "share worthy" thoughts or lost passion for the usual hobbies and interests I tend to ramble on about. I simply haven't felt compelled to log on and post those things. I'm confident this is a spell and I'll move out of it sooner than later.

That all being said, I'm going to resume the model of sharing a few random thoughts to keep you at least a smidge up-to-date on what's been happening in my interior and exterior life.

1) What's Wrong with the World? This is the name of my buddy's new blog. Those of you who read the comments on my blog may have noticed the username "Indy Rider" before. This handle belongs to Mr. Nick Tranbarger, one of my dearest friends in the world. It appears that his blog will serve as a message board of sorts where Nick will regularly prompt us to approach the title question from various different directions. After I publish this post, I will add his blog to my links. So, please, check it out.

2) Ph.D. applications. I really need to start finishing these things up. I finally narrowed my list down to two candidates: the Graduate Departement of Religion at Vanderbilt University and a joint doctoral program offered by the University of Denver and the Iliff School of Theology. I spent a sizeable chunk of the weekend trying to decide on a third and final school to pursue, but couldn't decide on one I was genuinely interested in. I need to push myself out of receiving mode because I need to right a statement of purpose for these applications quite soon. I just find it highly intimidating to write a short essay about where I think I'm going in my education and, eventually, my career.

3) The UFC is adding some big time talent. If the reports are true, "Rampage" Jackson and Mirko "Cro Cop" are both going to be signed to the UFC roster very, very soon. That would be like the Colts signing Ray Lewis and Troy Polamalu at the same time, if not better. These are exciting times for the MMA fan, and things keep getting more and more intriguing.

TTFN, MF!

Assessing My Quirk Factor

Thanks for sharing this page, Beth. The quiz was quick and fun. Although, it seemed to me that some of the multiple choice answers did not quite fit the question to which they ostensibly corresponded. (Think: "Have you ever tried sugar...or P.C.P.?")

Your Quirk Factor: 63%

You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal. No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average."

How Quirky Are You?

Early Thoughts on the Grammys

This year's batch of Grammy nominations were just released. I'm glad to say that I don't find them to be nearly so nauseating as I did last year's. Here are some brief notes I made while browsing the full list of nominees:

+ This could be the year of Rick Rubin. This producer has been a major force in the careers of a wide variety of artists, including Run DMC, Slayer, and Johnny Cash. Two of the albums he produced in 2006 are up for Album of the Year- the latest releases from The Dixie Chicks and The Red Hot Chili Peppers.

+ Gnarls Barkley, James Blunt, Mary J. Blige, Justin Timberlake, and John Mayer all received an ample number of nods.

+ Even though U2 didn't release an album or a single this year, they still managed to get nominated. An updated version of "One" with Mary J. Blige on lead vocals was released on her latest album. The Grammy's sure love the fuck out of Bono, don't they? I bet a member of the nominations committee gives him a rusty trombone every day just because they appreciate the fact he's still alive. At least if they win this year, it'll be for a time tested song that's worth a damn.

+ On a similar note, Paul McCartney had a song nominated. Has anyone even heard it?

+ Nick, you'll love this one...."My Humps" has been nominated for Best Pop Performance by Duo or Group with Vocal.

+ Apparently the powers that be no longer recongize Tool or System of a Down as metal bands. Both acts have been nominated under the Best Hard Rock Performance category. If Buck Cherry beats them both out, I very truly might kill someone.

+ As for Best Metal Performance, Mastodon, Slayer, and Lamb of God are all nominated. These quality bands are in, and there's no sign of wannabes like Slipknot or Mudvayne? Thank you, Jesus!

+ Peter Frampton is nominated for an instrumental rock track entitled "Black Hole Sun." This simly has to be a cover of the Soundgarden radio hit of yesteryear. First, Johnny Cash covers Soundgarden and now Peter Frampton. I guess they're a band so good even established legends want in on their action.

More Random Stuff

1) "Those are not for eating! Those are weapons of death."

I wish I could say that I came up with the above quote. However, my honest bones compel me to confess that its author is none other than Mr. Aaron Homoya. Usually a subdued personality, Aaron still has a healthy sense of humor. He crafted this gem during a conversation we had at church a couple of weeks ago.

The church we attend, Redeemer Presbyterian, shares its facilities with the Harrison Center for the Arts. In fact, the time of donuts and fellowship that follows each morning service takes place in one of the Center's galleries. One display that has been up for many weeks now is comprised of 6-8 grenades made of sugar. They essentially look like giant grenade-shaped gumdrops. Because they are equally as colorful as gumdrops, children are often drawn to the pedastel on which they are displayed. Aaron and I facetiously say that one day a kid's going to reach up, pluck a candied grenade from the cluster and attempt to take a bite out of it. This is the context that gave birth to Aaron's hilarious utterance.


2) 24 is one of the best shows in the entire history of television!

When I was a kid, about 10-12 years old, I thought Kiefer Sutherland was one of the coolest actors on the face of the planet. I was a particularly big fan of Flatliners and The Lost Boys. For some reason, I grew out of my infatuation with the younger Sutherland soon thereafter. And I apparently wasn't the only one. Kiefer didn't get many big ticket roles throughout the 90's, doing primarily small, cult films like Freeway and Truth or Consequences, NM.

But Kiefer returned to mainstream glory via TV in the innovative action/drama series 24. I must confess, I never watched an episode of the program until last year's Season 5. Because I knew one season equalled one mammoth adventure, I was always reluctant to just jump into a season already in progress. But thanks to some 24 loyalists from Kentucky, I was urged to watch last season from the premiere and I caught nearly every single episode after that.

And, as you can tell, I'm so happy I've rediscovered the Son of Donald. Counter-Terrorism agent Jack Bauer epitomizes the kick-ass, man's man action hero that the supersensitivity of politicial correctness had all but killed off. (Will this American patriot negotiate with terrorists? Hell no, bitches!) I am presently two-thirds of the way through the DVD set for Season Three, and I'm loving it just as much as Seasons One and Five. In the near future, I'll have to watch the even numbered seasons as well.

3) A sore throat and teaching grade school is a bad combination. After spending the weekend feeling like my throat tissue had magically converted to sand paper, I though I was well enough yesterday to go back to work. I was mostly right. When the kids were good, I felt fine. But after these 10 and 11 year-old brats flipped out on me in the afternoon, all the yelling at them I had to do did a number on my still recovering throat. I spent the morning hacking up the bloodiest mucous I have ever seen come out of my physical person.

I'm feeling much better now, thank God.

...I'm off to watch a few more episodes of Season 3 before bed. Adios.

Ending an Extended Absence

Hello friends,

I apologize that it's been so long since my last update. The primary reason you haven't heard from me in so long is that I was without internet access from Thanksgiving day until Wednesday evening. Since my return to cyberspace, I've simply been negligent to post something new. Here's a few written snapshots of what I've been up to in the last ten or so days:

+Over the past six workdays, I substituted for a developmental kindergarten teacher. DK was a interesting place to be. It's my understanding that this class was originally created to give those kids with lower IQs or other learning disabilities an extra amount of care and attention to get them ready for first grade. However, this developmental kindergarten class is a disparate mix of these types of children with those most often labeled as "special." Three of the seven children are just that little bit slower than your typical kindergartener. The other four children consist of two autistic children (one of which truly does live in his own little world), a Hispanic boy who's essentially mute speaking neither English nor Spanish, and a little boy named Kyle who has Downs Syndrome and leukemia.

The classes went fairly smooth. I had much more fun than I had headaches. The only real problems I had were with Carl, a boy with an IQ so low he consistently confuses circles and squares and struggles to trace dotted lines. Carl decided on our second day together that he was really going to test his limits by yelling at me and then hitting me several times after I put him in time out. His actions landed him the distinction of being the first "special" student I've sent to the principal's office.

I also have several interesting Kyle stories. Unfortunately, most of them require me to act out his maneurisms so they can't be told here. One that can be shared happened just yesterday. Kyle had a rough day on Thursday. He was out of school the entire day receiving various treatements, including chemo and a spinal tap. The pain medication he was given Friday morning led him to act out quite a bit, whereas he is usually one of the best behaved students.

One thing that always amuses Kyle is to go limp like a noodle and force his caretakers to pick him up off the floor. And though the smile he gives you as you lift him is adorable, the whole affair can become annoying after his fourth or fifth straight refusal to stand. The truth of the matter is he knows better, so the regular teacher and the paraprofessional of the classroom will put him in time out every now and again. After Kyle had staged his limp noodle act for the second time on Friday, I felt compelled to send him to the time out chair. That gave him the distinction of being the first terminally ill student I've ever punished.

+A week ago Tuesday, the latest Killswitch Engage album came out. This band is definitely one of my favorite "new" bands on the scence today. I put new in quotation marks because the band has been around for nearly a decade although they've only emerged into the mainstream over the past three years. I also picked up their concert/documentary DVD last weekend, so I have been enjoying all manner of KsE material the past couple of weeks. I'd recommend the purchase of their albums, but I don't know that most readers of this blog would even entertain such a purchase. So I'm content just to testify that I love this band.

+Starting late Thursday night, I began feeling a bit under the weather. My energy continued to flag throughout the school day yesterday. And now I'm in a situation where it hurts to swallow anything. The silver lining here is that I have no fever, nausea, or body aches so I think I can rule out strep throat or mono. Whatever I've got, it's been kicking my butt the last thirty-six hours and all I've really done is sleep poorly, drink many fluids, chew food into a fine paste, and watch most of 24, Season One on DVD. I can only hope I'll be back in good health before Monday morning when the new workweek arrives.

That's all I have for now, friends. Again, I apologize for taking so long to update this blog. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

A Holiday Classic Revisited

I bet there's one big ass wishbone inside that bird.

A Quick Follow Up

Behold the leg kick that spelled the end for Matt Hughes's second title reign. I can only hope that it did not also signal the end of his ability to compete at an elite level.

Dustin, thank you for your comment on my last post. You're very right- One significant loss cannot undo the astounding career that preceded it. Matt's a NINE-TIME UFC Champion! (He would be an 11-time champion if Joe Riggs and Royce Gracie would have made the cut down to 170 lbs.)

To give some perspective on how truly significant it is to be a 9-time champeen, consider the following trivia: Randy Couture won a strap 6 times (or 7 if you're the type that recognizes interim titles); Tito Ortiz won 6; Frank Shamrock, Pat Miletich, and Tim Sylvia tie with 5; and Chuck Liddell has won 4 thus far. If Hughes is ultimately able to reclaim the welterweight crown, he'll add another stellar achievement to his resume by becoming the first fighter in UFC history to win the same title three times.

The now former champ is already eager to get back on the road to glory. Here's what Matt himself said today (See www.matt-hughes.com):

First off, I'd like to say that Georges fought a heck of a fight. He's a nice guy and a well-rounded fighter and he's going to be tough to beat. Number two, I'd like to thank everybody for all their support and I've already talked to the UFC about getting a rematch sometime and they said that's fine. I don't know when that will be or if I will fight anyone before that, but I anxiously await a rematch with Georges because I just think I can do so much better.

Going into the fight I felt very confident. Even up to the point where I lost, I really felt God was going to have me win that fight, but it wasn't His plan. I always pray that God's will is done before a fight and, as long as that's done, I'm happy and I'll definitely fight again. Even with a loss, I can't be anything but thankful for all that God has done in my life.

For those who might be worried about me, I'm fine. I've got some color to my face - a black eye and a few scabs and bruises; but this is not one of those things where I have to go out and 'redeem myself' so I can look myself in the mirror. I just got beat by a guy who was better than me that night and I can live with that. So, physically and mentally, I'm fine.

I have so much respect for this man. Even though some fighters and fans consider him to be arrogant, statements like this one reveal that Matt can also be quite humble. Even if we should learn that his best days as a competitor are indeed behind him, I'll never jump off his bandwagon.

New Champions and Fallen Heroes

[Blogger's Note: This essay is yet another entry using sports as a foil for discussing deeper dimensions of human existence. As long as you're interested in topics like joy, perseverance, and existential meaning, you don't have to share my sports allegiences to find the following eight paragraphs to be worth your time. ...At least I hope that's the case.]

In recent posts, I have used both the UFC and the NFL to help me think about how my existence as a social creature is shaped by the professional sports I enjoy. Several commenting friends agreed with my thoughts concerning the way that one's emotional life and relationships can be edified by one's involvement with a favorite athlete or team. I noted how it does my soul good to see "my guy(s)" be victorious and (even in defeat) perform at an elite level. Many entries on this blog have been devoted to my strong appreciation for Mixed Martial Arts and fighters like Matt Hughes and Randy Couture. I've expressed my anxiety and anticipation leading up to an important fight, and I've done my best to articulate my satisfaction when "my guy" prevails.

This post is my attempt to express the other side of the coin: the letdown when my favorite athlete falls short. Last night at UFC 65, Matt Hughes- the most dominant champion in UFC history- was himself dominated by the new 170-lb champion of the world, George St. Pierre. That Hughes lost is not itself shocking. On a day when the top two teams in college football went head to head in Columbus, OH, the #1 and #2 welterweights in the entire fight game threw down last night in the Octagon. And the unofficial margin between these rankings was widely regarded to be razor thin. So when the #2 man toppled the competitor who had held the #1 spot for so many years, the new king's victory did not come as a tremendous surprise.

What was surprising was the way Georges St. Pierre owned Matt Hughes. For roughly seven minutes St. Pierre had his way with the defending champion. He continually scored with punches and kicks on the feet and convincingly stuffed the two or three takedowns Hughes attempted. When St. Pierre's left high kick connected to the right side of Hughes' head, the pit of my stomach dropped out. Seconds thereafter, St. Pierre was on top of his floored opponent putting the exclamation mark on his performance. He hit Hughes with punches and elbows until the referee pulled him off and called a stop to the fight. Days ago, I was debating whether Matt Hughes might retire with the title belt still wrapped securely around his waist. Now I genuinely doubt that my favorite active fighter will ever hold championship gold again.

Joy and pain indeed go hand-in-hand with being a devoted sports fan. At the end of the day, however, they are the byproducts of deeper processes and structures. One's sports commitments help to shape not only one's activities and relationships at the micro level. These commitments, in degrees that vary from person to person, also play a role in shaping the understanding one has of the past and one's expectations for the future at the macro level. The struggle to lead a meaningful and rewarding life in a harsh and seemingly arbitrary world requires us to dangle the proverbial carrot in front out ourselves to keep up pushing forward from day to day. At the same time, we need to know the carrots we once pursued were objects truly worthy of our attention.

Sports serve as one source of these carrots. Our incentive for making it through the day, the week, the month, the year is often to make it to tip off, kick off, the first pitch or the opening bell. We can endure many nuisances and trials because these carrots assure us that something potentially invigorating and validating awaits us if we can get there. Whether one prefers to view it as a form of community building or vicarious living, even the mere anticipation of cheering on "my guy(s)" to victory can sweeten an otherwise sour stretch of existence. That sweet taste can linger for year upon year if we can conscientiously maintain that history has validated the accomplishments of our favorite team or athlete. (Recall my previous G.O.A.T. rant.)

But a sweet taste can turn bitter if the ever-unfolding events of this life compel us to reinterpret accomplishments that until now have served as a source of satisfaction. In the sports world, a poignant loss in the the big game can ruin an entire year's worth of joy. For example, the adulation and excitement that accompanied the Colts' 13-o start last year were quickly forgotten after the team dropped three of its last four games and didn't even come close to championship glory. For the tried and true, White and Blue faithful who had selected the Colts as an important locus of their hopes and satisfaction from September through January, the team's unceremonious exit from the post-season flat out hurt.

I'm trying to determine the nature and depth of the hurt I feel over Hughes' loss last night. Unlike the NFL, accomplishment in the UFC is measured from single bout to single bout rather than in terms of an entire season. I've already documented the extensive success Hughes has had as an MMA competitor. One championship loss to St. Pierre cannot undermine the legacy he's built over the past six plus years. But what his loss does do for yours truly is cast a bit of darkness over the future. It limits, if not outright precludes, many of the hopes and aspirations I held dearly on Friday.

One of my heroes had his ass handed to him, and I'm more than a little bummed about the whole thing. The new champion is an amazing fighter, a great guy, a humble guy. But he's not "my guy." I wonder how what has happened to Matt Hughes will shape my interest in and enthusiasm for the sport of MMA- what has long been a great locus of enjoyment and satisfaction in my life. Only time will tell.

The Roaming Teacher: What's in a Name?

After two months of work as a substitute teacher, I'm still discovering new aspects of the job. I've presided over every grade in elementary school (including preschool), and yet I sense that I have not even begun to exhaust the remaining possibilities for novel classroom experiences.

Case in point: Just this week I began excepting a peculiar type of assignment. The assignment I speak of is that of the roaming teacher. I had seen it listed many, many times before but never accepted such a position because I was under the impression that I would receive less pay it than I would for a "regular" job. Having recently learned from a veteran sub that this belief is an ill-begotten fallacy, I decided to explore the world of the roamer.

[In order to make sure the reader and I are on the same page, perhaps I should say a few words about the duties of roaming teachers. These teachers are substitutes who are brought in to cover multiple, partial assignments in the same day. So if a particular school was going to have one teacher gone for the first half of the day, and another who would be absent for the second half, the administration has the option of bringing in a roaming teacher to cover both absences rather than dealing with the potential hassle of bringing in two separate subs.

Another common instance where this position is offered is when a school needs its faculty to attend certain important meetings. In this situation, the regular teacher leave their classrooms for a few hours, and a roaming teacher is brought in to cover for them until their return. When that regular teacher returns, the roamer goes to another class and the process repeates. This is the scenario of which Dave Scott was a part these past two days.]

I don't know who chose the name "roaming" teacher, but I think they made a poor choice. Reasonably enough, these subs can be regarded as "roaming" insofar as they move from one classroom to another throughout the school day. So the term is certainly appropriate. But I still don't like it.

To me, "roaming" has a pejorative connotation. When I think about of "roaming teacher," I think of "wandering" teacher, "aimless teacher" or, to push the creepy factor up a bit, "lurking teacher." I have the image in my mind of an discombobulated individual weaving through the halls of an elementary school committing random acts of education. As long as the point of the term is to note the movement of the substitute, I think "mobile teacher" would be more appropropriate nomenclature. "Mobile" is neutral in connotation. It's sterile, safe. Even still, "mobile teacher" sounds a bit too stodgy.

That's why I've invented my own unique term for the position I've held the past two days. The roaming teacher goes has no prior knowledge of which grade levels one will work or how many. This sub must go where the front office tells them, when the front office tells them. Thus I call the roaming teacher "The K6 Bitch." Granted, being called a bitch isn't any less negative than being a roamer, but it sure is a lot funner. And there's certainly nothing uptight or white bread about it.

"Bitch" most often smacks of condescension and misogyny, but it can also indicate submissiveness and obedience. Aren't these qualities administrators would want in their subs? Especially ones as dependent on the office for direction as the roamers are? So K6 Bitch strikes me as not only simultaneously offensive and entertaining, but a fundamentally fitting descriptor. And it'd look great on bumper sticker:

"Proud to be a K6 Bitch in Wayne Township!"

In a future report, I'll share some bitchy anecdotes with all of you. But, because this post is already too long, I'm gonna put the subject to rest for the time being. I hope this read has been more entertaining than burdensome.

All good things...

The following article was posted on Sherdog.com this morning.

Hughes: Two More Fights Before Retirement
by Greg Savage

There have been rumblings from the Miletich camp for several months that UFC welterweight champion Matt Hughes was considering winding down his extraordinary career. Hughes recently confirmed to Sherdog.com that he indeed plans on fighting out his current UFC contract, which will have one bout left following his title defense against Georges St. Pierre on Nov. 18, before retiring from active participation in the sport of mixed martial arts.

The question was first broached when Hughes was asked where he saw himself a year from now. "Hopefully retired with my family back home," the UFC welterweight champion responded. "In a perfect world" Hughes declared that he would "fight a couple more times, retire, [and] go back home." Hughes cited the strain of being away from family, including a newborn daughter, as motivation for hanging up his four-ounce gloves. The two time UFC champ, who stands at 40-4-0, made it clear he has come to a point where the benefits of fighting are far outweighed by the negatives that come along with it.

Hughes, 33, did leave open the possibility, should he get past a very tough St. Pierre, of moving up in weight to face UFC 185-pound champion Anderson Silva in hopes of becoming the first fighter to concurrently hold UFC titles in multiple weight classes.

Now I know many of you who check my blog are in the habit of skipping over my posts on the UFC. But even those of you who only skim the titles and pictures of such posts should have gathered that I have a great deal of admiration for Matt Hughes. As I said in September, he is my favorite active fighter, and his name must be mentioned whenever the subject of MMA's G.O.A.T. is being debated.

Given that he will only be about 34 years-old when his current contract is up, I'm a bit surprised that Matt has already finalized his plans to walk away from the sport. I can't help but feel a certain measure of disappointment. Of course, as Michael Jordan demonstrated for us, retirement need not be permanent. But given the reasons Matt cited for his retirement, it will likely be a few years before we see him compete again. Whether he returns or not, the fact remains that Hughes' run of dominance will soon come to an end.

What remains to be seen is how Hughes will exit the sport. Will he retire as champion, the UFC Welterweight belt still around his waist? For that to happen, he first must prevail against the uber-tough St. Pierre next Saturday evening. Greg Savage mentions what Matt's next move might be if he retains the title. Yet if he should falter against the present No. 1 contender, who will stand across the Octagon from him for his swan song? That fight would have to be meaningful. Would this be the ideal time for a rubber match with B.J. Penn? Or might the UFC place their living legend against a hungry, young lion like Diego Sanchez? Many fans would go crazy over that match up, and it would fit into the "Old School vs. New School" format the UFC brass seem to be in love with.

Whatever the near future might hold for Mr. Matt Hughes, I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to observe his career. I am also thankful for the privilege of having been able to cheer him on during some of his most memorable contests. He is the type of champion that can only be succeeded, never replaced.

Thank you, Matt. If any one has earned the right to retire on top, it is you. Now go out in style and kick some French Canadian ass on the 18th!

You're My Boy(s), Blue!

Marvin Harrison, I love you! Your amazing and critical catch saved our collective ass. That's why they pay you the big bucks, sir.

Over the last eight weeks, I have experienced much joy and frustration on account of the Indianapolis Colts. This past Sunday night, I experienced a lot of both. The Boys in Blue played visitors to one of their most heated rivals- the New England Patriots. The game was competitive throughout. Despite the fact that the Colts never trailed through four quarters of action, tension remained thick until the final minute as the Patriots offense kept pace with Peyton Manning & Co. In the end, my team was victorious and they walk off of the field that night as the only team in the NFL that remains undefeated (8-0). I'm doing my best to enjoy these elating moments. Not only because this calibre of success is fleeting in the tempestuous world of professional sports, but because I have not always had the luxury of witnessing these moments with my own two eyes.

About a year and a half ago, I made the decision to take some time off from school after completing my Master's degree at Candler. I knew there would be several benefits to this break. First and foremost, I knew this would be an opportunity for me to rest up and recover from the last six years of hard, academic work. I place a lot of pressure on myself to perform at a top level and the stress that pressure creates was burning me out to the point that my passion for my studies was flagging. Many times over the last two months, I've repeatedly thanked the good Lord for the absence of papers and exams in my life right now. There are many things about the school experience I presently miss, but the continual worry is definitely not one of them. (Even the great stress I felt preparing the GRE was still considerably less than what I ususally feel over a significant paper.)

A second and wonderful benefit of this break is that I have REAL weekends. Saturday and Sunday are an opportunity for fun and fellowship free of the burndens of assignments or other such responsibilities. In graduate school, weekends are the time to do all the homework you don't have time to do during the days you have class. During my time in Atlanta, there were very few weekends that I didn't spend half my waking hours with my nose in a book or my fingers on a keybord typing something school-related. Consequently, Sunday afternoon and evening were usually anthing but a time of rest. And from September to late December, setting aside three hours of my Sunday to watch a football game wasn't something I could do in good conscience.

This, in turn, meant that I saw very little of my hometown Colts before final exams were over. During the 2004 and 2005 seasons, I did not watch an entire game of football until Thanksgiving break. This meant that I missed most of the games when Peyton was setting the single season record for touchdowns thrown, as well as most of last year's 13-0 start.

NO MORE! This year is different, my friends. This year I have alread watched six Colts games in their entirety (as well as 4 or 5 other whole games that didn't even involve my team). As I said before, I know this is a luxury- a blessing, to use more theological language. Even though I've never been any good at athletic competitions, I've always derived great joy from watching them and cheering my favorite teams. When I was small lad growing up in Bloomington, my family dressed me in Cream and Crimson and instilled in me a love for Indiana basketball. So deep was my love for the men's basketball team that I literally wept when Duke eliminated the Hoosiers from the 1992 Final Four. As I grew to adulthood, familial and regional ties led me to cheer on other teams with comparable fervor. The Indiana Pacers, Greenbay Packers, and San Antonio Spurs are prime examples. Not too long after I moved to Indianapolis in 1994, the Colts were added to that short list.

As I see it, there are three noble reasons to watch sports teams like the Colts. First, sports can be appreciated deelply for their aesthetic value. My football I.Q. is rather low, but my ignorance does afford me a great opportunity to learn more about the details and dynamics of American football. I love to see top athletes performing the astonishing and difficult feets that only competitors of their formidable skill could perform. Similarly, I love to see the testing of superior minds and wills against one another, as the coaches and players on one side attempt to out maneuver the opposing coaches and players. Sporting events by nature are far from shallow and empty; they possess a richness and depth that can never become passe for those who have eyes to see these qualities.

Second, sports are an excellent form of entertainment. One needn't understand the intricacies of a game to feel authentic satisfaction while watching it. Again, I embody the truth of that reality when it comes to the Colts. Even for folks that have a solid master of all the X's and O's, the drama created by tradition, rivalries, and the promise of championship glory make competitions all the more interesting to observe.

Last but not least, sports can be a highly effective means of building community. The truth of this observation is self-evident to those who have experienced it. (For another stunning example, use the "Resonance" link to check out Erin Miller's recent posts about what the St. Louis Cardinals' World Series victory has meant to their fans.) Over the last six weeks, I have spent quality time with The Tranbargers, Aaron Homoya, and Perry as we watched the Colts together. The highs and the lows I experience as a fan take on greater significance when I share them with friends and family.

And now I get to have these experiences on a weekly basis again. Not only do I have a chance to watch the games but I get to watch them in Indy with other hometown fans. It's good to be back. Especially when the team we're all committed to keeps on winning. :)

What Are the Chances?

So I was just visiting the Candler School of Theology homepage to look up a professor's e-mail address. As the page appeared in my browser window, I was surprised to see a picture of yours truly (among others) attending a chapel service. Seeing as that happened a grand total of about 5 times during the two years I attended Candler, I found it peculiar that an image of this rare event now greets those who access the school's website.

I'm sure the page is set up so that there is a cycle of different images appear, but just in case you'd like to see Dave Scott participating in worship, here's your chance to see a snapshot of it.

http://candler.emory.edu/

Thanks Friends

After my last couple of posts about the GRE, I felt I should thank all of you- my wonderful friends -who have been bearing with me over the last couple weeks. To Erin, Dustin, and Aaron: Thank you for patiently withstanding all my anxious questions about how you studied for the exam, your experience taking it, and what you've heard professors say about the test's importance.

In addition to these three friends, I also thank Dana, Beth, Susan, Perry, and anyone else who has made the effort to encourage me during my preparations. One way in which my soul is polarized is that one of the areas of life where I excel the most (academics) is also one of the areas of life where I am at my least confident. I greatly appreciate all of you who have continued to stand beside me as I've struggled with self-doubt and anxiety over the challenges I'm facing. I hope to take your strength into the testing room with me tomorrow morning.




To close, I'll offer one last update on my studies for the GRE. This morning I took a practice test to see what kind of score I might expect to get on Friday. The result was a score of 680 on the Quantitative (Math) Section and 630 on the Verbal.

I have a few quick observations to share on these stats:
1) It cracks me up that I did better on the Math section than the Verbal. Apparently I am more competant in subject matter I've been away from for 6 years than I am in the material I need to master for this exam. At this amusing tidbit, I can only shrug and move on.

2) If I didn't have the concerns I expressed yesterday, I would be perfectly content with these scores.

3) A verbal score of 630 is below the "Johnson Cut Off" of 700, but it is still respectable. The truly worrisome part of me expected to score somewhere in the high 500's. If I can do this well tomorrow, hopefully that result won't to keep me out of the programs I will apply to.

I'll be sure to share how the real test goes down. Once more, thanks again for your unwavering support of Dave Scott.

"I'm Not Dead Yet"

After a few hours and several deep breaths, I'm feeling more optimistic than I did this afternoon. I just spent about 90 minutes going through a study book I picked up at the local library. I did rather well answering the exercises in the chapters on Antonyms and Analogies...hence my increasingly positive outlook. Now if I could only boost "more optimistic" up to full-on "optimistic," then we'd really be getting somewhere.

36 hours to go.

GRE = The Death of Me

I apologize for this kingdom's recent lack of activity. Since Monday, about 70% of my daily energy has been going into preparation for the GRE (not the GED, mind you), which I will take on Friday morning. I registered for this time slot back in September, when November 3rd felt years away. Sadly, I didn't begin studying for this exam until this week due to a potent combination of procrastination and a surprisingly busy work schedule. In an attempt to "cram" as effectively as I can, I have stayed home from work all week. Doing 7 to 8 hours of GRE prep has been my sole job the past three days. Tomorrow will be more of the same.

Standardized tests have never been my strong suit. Only on the ACT, when I scored in the 99th percentile, have I ever done an impressive job on such an exam. I took the SAT only once, and I loathed the entire experience- the preparation, actually taking the exam- all of it. I more or less vowed to never take it again. So when I discovered my score (a 1300) was the absolute minimum SAT score I could have and be considered for the top academic scholarships, I was more than happy to settle for being in the 89th percentile.

But now my academic future may hinge on the score I receive on the verbal section of the GRE. This test appears to matter more than all the other standardized tests I've ever taken. So I'm feeling more than a little bit anxious about how I will perform on Friday.

Why do I think this test matters so much? When a friend of mine from Candler spoke with widely respected New Testament scholar Dr. Luke Timothy Johnson about how much of a factor one's GRE score is when one's Ph.D. application is under consideration, Dr. Johnson said that the verbal score is how the admissions committee decides whose transcripts, letters of recommendation, etc. they will even examine. Supplementing such a report is the rumor I've heard that a great GRE score won't get you admitted to a graduate department of religion, but an average one can keep you out. And what, according to Dr. Johnson, is the cutoff score for the verbal section? Seven-freaking-hundred! That's no modest number, my friends.

My three days of practice and review have not left me with any assurance that I can achieve this lofty goal. The study software I have been using to prepare provides sample questions from past exams. As I've worked through these problems sets I'm averaging about 8 for 12 on both the Antonyms and Analogies sections. That's a "D" in the school sytem I work in. Thankfully, I'm doing much better on the Reading Comprehension and Sentence Completion problems, averaging about 14 out of 15 on the former type and better than 9 out of ten 10 on the latter. Whether those four averages could possibly produce a 700 verbal score I have no idea. But my less than impressive track record in half those categories only feeds my natural pessimism.

At this point, you may be saying, "So what, Dave Scott? Why get so worked up about merely one of many things you will submit with your applications?" Why? First of all, I don't need much to get my academic anxiety going. Second, and more importantly, if what Dr. Johnson told my friend is true, that single thing could keep the powers that be from even looking at the other things I submit. Thus a sub-700 score could very well render my grades, recommendations, and past degrees invisible and kill my chances of being accepted. That would mean at least one more year outside of the academy, spinning my wheels with the same two unprofitable degrees under my belt.

I have two other friends whose common area of study is the physical sciences. Apparently the test didn't mean nearly so much when their applications were up for consideration. One of these friends even described the GRE as a cakewalk and its score as mostly unimportant. Oh how I wish I knew that to be true for religious studies. It would really take the edge off of my anxiety and paranoia.

Failure sucks, and the anticipation of possible failure is worse. But even flat out failure isn't the end of the world. I guess even if I mess up and Vanderbilt or Princeton won't have me, there's always Dallas Theological Seminary.

"...when the lights go down."

"We read to know that we are not alone" (C.S. Lewis). I believe that many of us listen to music for the same reason. The following words come from a song that, for me, allows that noble objective to be realized.

Listen to the tales and romanticize,
How we follow the path of the hero.
Boast about the day when the rivers overrun.
How we rise to the height of our halo.

Listen to the tales as we all rationalize
Our way into the arms of the savior,
Feigning all the trials and the tribulations;
None of us have actually been there.
Not like you.

..................................................................

Who could deny you were the one who illuminated
You'll have a piece of the divine.
And this little light of mine, the gift you passed on to me;
I'll let it shine to guide you safely on your way,
Your way home ...

Oh, what are they going to do when the lights go down
Without you to guide them all to Zion?
What are they going to do when the rivers overrun
Other than tremble incessantly?

High as a wave, but our eyes are upon the ground.
You were the light and the way, they'll only read about.
I only pray, Heaven knows when to lift you out.
Ten thousand days in the fire is long enough,
You're going home.

You're the only one who can hold your head up high,
Shake your fists at the gates saying:"I have come home now!
Fetch me the Spirit, the Son, and the Father.
Tell them their pillar of faith has ascended.
It's time now!
My time now!
Give me my, give me my wings!"

..........................................................................

Please forgive this bold suggestion:
Should you see your Maker's face tonight,
Look Him in the eye, look Him in the eye, and tell Him:
I never lived a lie, never took a life, but surely saved one.
Hallelujah, it's time for you to bring me home.


Lyrical excerpts from the song "10,000 Days" as performed by Tool (words by Maynard James Keenan).

Test Run

I'm having issues publishing a post I just threw together. As a way of testing whether the problem is with the post itself or my entire account, I am creating this superfluous post. If this test run goes off without a hitch, at least you will be entertained by this picture of two little people playing basketball.

Brief (Bloody) Thoughts on Classroom Discipline

I know a post about school runs against my aformentioned concerns about being a one-trick, blog pony but it's what I have to offer you today.

In the microcosmic kingdom of the madness that is my imagination, I have spent much time the last few weeks mulling over potentially effective (even if altogether extreme) tactics of classroom discipline. The following scenario I have shared with several of you already. I call it "the 25th Hour approach."

In the film 25th Hour, Edward Norton plays Monty- a mid-level drug dealer connected to one of New York most powerful, Russian mobsters. Monty is busted by the DEA and offered a deal to lighten his own punishment IF he is willing to provide them information about his boss. Monty refuses, and choses instead to "do his time like a man." As a gesture of gratitude towards Monty, the Russian kingpin offers advice to help the other man survive his stint in prison: "Find the man with no friends, and beat him until his eyes bleed." This is to send a message to the other prisoners that Monty is a little crazy and not to be messed with.

My modification of this advice for dealing with elementary school kids, by contrast, calls for me to go for the biggest and/or most popular kid in the class. When executing the 25th hour approach, I wait until the student I have selected disobeys or disrespects me, and then I strike him (or perhaps her (Why discriminate according to gender?)) repeatedly upside one side of his (her) head with whatever textbook happens to be most handy. I will stop once I am mostly sure the child has lost sight in one eye. Then, still possessed by the heat of my indignation, I will turn to the rest of the class and yell:

"Do you see this, class? Do you see?! X is now blind in one eye. X will never be able to use a View Finder again. All because s/he wouldn't respect me and obey my instructions. Do you wish to share X's cycloptic fate? No?! Then I suggest that everyone pay better attention to what I say for the rest of the day. Are we clear? Good. Now that that's out of the way...Everyone, please turn your attention to our next lesson."

Of course, I would never ever seriously consider such a brutal and inappropriate course of action. However, it does exorcise my id to entertain such thoughts briefly now and again.

A second reflection on classroom discipline developed just this afternoon in discussion with some of the full-time staff at Chapelwood Elementary. This week I am serving my first week-long assignment, subbing with a class of twenty some-odd 4th graders. Two of the regular 4th grade teachers came to my room to check in on me after the students were dismissed. As is often the case, I was still not entirely clear how the discipline/reward system worked by the end of the day. As these two teachers answered my questions, one teacher fetched some forms for me from the office. This is the setting for the following conversation:

Mr. Markley: Here are those forms you asked about. (To the other regular teacher, Mrs. Padgett.) I just grabbed him some Level 2's and some Level 3's.

Mr. Scott: Just so I'm clear...What do Level 2 and Level 3 mean?

Mrs. Padgett: Level 2 is a time out. You send the student to another teacher's room for 30 minutes to an hour so they can cool down. If they come back from time out and they're still giving you problems, then you give them the Level 3 form. Then they have to go to the principal's office for a consulation.

Mr. Scott: Is there a Level 4?

Mrs. Padgett: Why, yes. there is.

Mr. Scott: What does that entail? Instant execution? (All laugh.)

Mrs. Padgett: Perhaps it should.

Mr. Scott: Should there be a note in my sub plans? "Dear Sub. There is a box under your desk which requires a 4-digit code. There is a revolver inside. There is only one bullet, so use it wisely." (All laugh again.)

On the drive home from school, I thought that such a hardnosed discipline system would have to have the consent of the parents. A teacher can't just going around shooting troublemaking kids without a legal release to do so.

Angry parents: We are outraged that Mr. Scott has taken our darlin' Billy from us. He had no right!

Principle: Actually, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, he did have the right. Every teacher in Wayne Township is allowed to execute one student per semester...provided, of course, that said execution is in compliance with certain guidelines stipulated by the school board. It's all right here in the release form you signed at the beginning of the school year. Now I admit that the execution clause is tucked away in the fine print. But it is in there, and you indicated by placing your signature on this form that you had read and consented to all the disciplinary procedures detailed herein.

Angry parents: This is terrible! How can you have such a monstrous policy?

Principle: Monstrous though it may be, the threat of a violent death has been proven to be an effective deterrent in most of the schools where case studies have been done. And as long as parents such as yourselves keep releasing us to make use of such a threat...knowingly or not...our schools will continue to utilize it. Now are there any other matters I can help you with while you're here?


Remember in my first post when I said that, at some point, I would have you shaking your head in disbelief. I suspect that today is "some point."

A New Voice Weighs In

Today, as my students lined up to dismiss, one little girl told me that I reminded her of a character in a movie she had seen. Who, you might ask, did this child say I looked like?

Mr. Incredible

Here It Is

Back when I posted a report about my first day as a substitute teacher, I mentioned that a student presented a somewhat scandalous drawing to me as a gift. It's only scandalous insofar as it was made by a 4th grader. It is my hope that this is a picture of some kind of pop queen or fashion model and not what it appears to be...which, quite frankly, is a prostitute.

Whatever the young artist intended it to be, this drawing is clear evidence that adult sexuality has now pervaded the consciousness of children. That all being said, I think it's hilarious that a little girl was drawing this in class and thought, "You know, I bet Mr. Scott would appreciate this." Without further ado, here is a scanned image of the drawing (I apologize that it's a bit faint):

I wonder if I could get fired for accepting a picture like this from a 9 to 10 year-old girl.

Bringing the Point Home

Dave Scott, April 2005

Dave Scott, October 2006

Now that I've beat this subject to death, I promise my next post will be about something that amuses more people than merely myself.

You Lucked Out

Most of you did anyway.

This afternoon I spent about an hour writing a post about this picture:




However, I lost my internet connection as I went to publish it and my wonderful words dissipated into cyberspace, never to be recovered. So if you care to know what I had written, just ask me about it the next time you talk to me. As for the rest of you, you now have one less UFC-related reflection to skip over.

Call Me Moby

Over the last 10-12 months, I have become a white whale. I'm not exactly blubberous these days, but I'm at least a continent or two removed from the Land of Svelte. I've been aware of this fact for several months now but two incidents yesterday brought the reality of the situation back into the forefront of my mind.


I. Facing My Face

First and foremost, there was a little girl in the class I subbed for Monday afternoon that drew a portrait of yours truly during reading time. The picture's actually fairly flattering, and I was encouraged to see the thinness of face borne by this friendly caricature of myself. For several hours, I optimistically contemplated how my overall body composition may have been improved by my recent return to an active workout program, as well as the increased physical movement that has come with working 5 days a week.

Sadly, this optimism was quickly curbed by the cold hard truth of a photograph. During our evening workout together, my good friend Aaron Homoya took my picture with his camera phone so that he would have a image to accompany the calls I made to his cell. Let me just say folks that this picture showed me to be borderline jowly. It is the one-two punch of my stocky body and ghostly pale skin color that has inspired the comparison between myself and the iconic seabeast of classical literature, Moby Dick.

Dave Scott has always been larger then the average bear. But when I tipped the scales at 275 lbs at one point this summer, I realized I was the heaviest I had ever been in my entire life. Even though this initial state of affairs first led me to feel a bit depressed, I quickly reminded myself that this was not, in fact, the worst shape I'd ever been in during my twenty-four years on this planet.

II. A Brief History of Fat

The Dave of today walks around with a respectable amount of lean tissue clinging to his bones. And because muscle weighs more than fat, I could still very well be in better shape than I was as a 245-lb college freshman. That incarnation of yours truly had not adjusted well to dormitory life and a potent combination of home sickness, near-suicidal pessimism, and excessive comfort eating made me quite squishy.

And I'm certainly more fit than the 11 to 12 year-old version of myself who grew pudgy during the 22 month marathon run of television watching I had used to distract myself from the recent loss of my parents.

So I suppose you could consider this the third "fat period" of my life. On the positive side of things, this fattiness seems to have little to no connection to depression or harsh changes in the personal sphere. On the negative side, however, I'm undeniably caught in a fat period and, as my metabolism continues to slow down with age, I can't help but wonder if this fall from the fitness wagon is for keeps. Just this past Saturday, a certain incident caused me to be literally embarrassed at my recent weight gain.

III. The Tightness of Pants and Its Probable Causes

Here's the incident in a nutshell: I mentioned in a previous post that I was searching for casual pants in the impossible size of 40W-34L. The pair of 40w-36L I have been wearing to work during the last two weeks have fit quite comfortably. If the legs weren't so long, they'd be a perfect fit. So I assumed that 40-34's would be the ideal fit for me right now. WRONG! On Friday, I receives two pairs of such pants I had ordered from the JC Penney webpage. When I tried them on the next day, it was obvious that even these large pants, these relaxed fit pants, were still a tad tight on me. (Susan informed me that my pockets were "gaping.") So there I was, I had just bought two pairs of "fat pants", and I am still too fat to wear them.

"What was it, Dave," you might ask, "that brought you to this looowly state?" Well, I should admit that I am always on the verge of my next period. My body's percentage of body fat tends to fluctuate with the academic calendar- at its lowest in about April and its highest in August. During the 05-06 school year, however, I just kept getting heavier from about November forward. The highest academic demands I've ever faced kept me from exercising as consistently as I should and then a knee injury in mid-January only exacerbated the problem. At graduation, I was about 162 lbs. Then the summer brought with it a great deal of physical inactivity as I searched for work. And, in the absence of any daily routine, my laziness regularly won out over my desire to pump the iron.

Now it is fall, and I am lifting weights three time a week. I have a daily routine and a workout partner to keep me accountable, so things are improving. Subtitute teaching has kept me from being sedentary for much of the day, which has helped "stop the bleeding" in terms of gaining further unhealthy pounds. Sadly, this is the first time in 6 years that I am without the cardiovascular benefits of walking all over a college campus. And, I begrudgingly admit, if I really want to slim down, I will have to incorporate some cardio into my weekly schedule. Meanwhile, the No. 1 demon to be slain is that evil imp Gluttony. My eating habits have never been great, and my body is reflecting that fact as much now as it ever has.

IV. Hopeful Conclusions and Anxious Motives

So the grounds for hope in the long-winded, self-indulgent report is that I am doing many of things I'll need to do to bring my weight down. I'm paying closer attention to what and how much I eat. I'm regularly pushing my body to burn calories with a consistent workout routine. And I've already seen some early gains in my quest for loss: this morning the scale read 268.

I think the reason the matter of excessive pounds is weighing so heavily on me right now has everything to do with the fact that I'm now back on the market, as they say. Like most other Americans, I'm worrying too much about my appearance as I reapproach the world of dating relationships. Of course I endorse the time-tested maxim that true beauty lies within, but I also know that potential buyers are unlikely to check out the gorgeous interior of a house if its exterior appears dilapidated or unkempt. You're likely to attract more flies with honey than blubber.

And on top of the dating concerns, there's simply the fact that my self-image will certainly improve alongside my body composition. I'd rather have the body type of the Hulk than that of Moby Dick. (Yes, I'd even prefer the Hulk's skin tone. Being green would mean having some color even if it's an unorthodox one.) In the vein of trying to classify my body type, I'll end this thing by sharing the comment a friend made to me a couple weeks ago.

"Dave, do you know who you remind me of?" my mildly inebriated friend asked. "From Lord of the Rings. What's it called? The Mountain Troll!"

"You mean the Cave Troll?" I replied.

"Yeah, that. Your build reminds me of the Cave Troll."

I guess that's not too bad. At least it's a more flattering characterization than a whale.

My Present Time Sponge

So there are three reasons why I haven't been posting much on my blog as of late:

1) Being busier than I have been in months.
2) Fatigue/counter-laziness from being busy.
3) Devoting large chunks of my spare time to watching Curb Your Enthusiasm on DVD.

Prior to Tuesday, I'd seen most the episodes of this wonderful series. Thanks to the fact that I was able to get Seasons 1 & 2 at (where else?) Best Buy for just twenty bucks each, I can now say I've seen every single one.

Simply put, I love this show. On one hand, it fills the void left by the cancellation of Larry David's previous series Seinfeld. Curb Your Enthusiasm has essentially the same style of humor as its predecessor, yet it is also a distinct enough product so as not to feel like a simple retread of the "nothing" we've seen before.

What I especially enjoy is the way in which this pseudo-real depiction of Larry David's life continually draws attention to the absurdity that exists at the very core of every day social practices. Equally as engaging is the way in which it demonstrates that the misfortune that befalls each of us from time to time is only rarely pure misfortune. Most often it is the result of unpleasant circumstances beyond our control converging with our own poor choices.

Maybe some day I'll write a more extended post about what deeper merit I find in the show. However, tonight I am quite tired and ready to stop typing. I just wanted you all to know that I've had (what I consider to be) a high quality excuse for not being so chatty as of late.

Don't worry...I now have three partial drafts of more substantial reflections fermenting in the cellar of my blog. Thank you for your patience.

"D"...for "Doughnut"

While I know my Tales of a Substitute Teacher have been amusing many of the readers of this blog, I am a bit worried that my posts are becoming predictable. So in the not-too-distant future I have plans to tackle other themes and issues. I presently have a half-completed draft on the film The Proposition that's been simmering on the back burner for almost two weeks now. I also am still developing ideas for a post on how The Gilmore Girls have led me to reflect on the phenomenon of trends within popular culture, as well as a post on how I struggle to "own" my theological career.

But those posts are still under construction, and all I have for you today is a couple of brief reflections on Pre-K.


So if you thought the idea of Debbie Scott's baby boy working with kindergarteners was entertaining, then it will probably thrill you to know that I spent today with an elementary preschool class. As you would expect, there's not too much school work going down in Pre-K. My most difficult responsibilities included moderating a Concentration style matching game, serving as a human easel for a Disney read along book, and distributing goldfish crackers.

The day was quite fun and the presence of a teacher's aid made my job so easy I almost feel guilty for being paid to be there. (Until I remember how last Monday went. Then all that guilt fades more quickly than Parisian courage.) If I was pressed to pick my favorite moment of the day, I would have to cite the brief instant that the education of 4 and 5 year-olds subtley intersected with the work of one of my favorite comedians:

Mitch Hedberg

Every morning in Miss Cinda's Pre-K class, the letter of the day is announced. Today's letter was none other than "D," the beginner of such beloved words as dog, daddy, and dysentary. After introducing the letter of the day, the teacher (or in this case the teacher's aide Miss Nicole) leads the students in composing a short note that features this letter as often as possible.

My moment of choice occured when Ms. Nicole asked young master Coby if he'd eaten anything for breakfast that began with a "D" sound. Coby's answer? "I had a doughnut." "Very good, Coby!" responded Ms. Nicole. "'D' begins the word 'doughnut.'"

Immediately I began to rehearse a familiar bit in my head. Most of you who read this blog will know it. It goes something (but not exactly) like this...

The other day I bought a doughnut. And the cashier tried to give me a receipt for the doughnut. I said, "Man, I don't need a receipt. I give you the money. You give me the doughnut. End of transaction. There is no need to bring ink and paper into this.

I can't imagine a situation where I would have to prove that I bought a doughnut. Some skeptical friend would be like, "Hey, man! Did you pay for that doughnut?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit!"

"Hold on. I got the proper documentation right here. Oh wait...it's at home in the file. ...Under 'D.' ...For 'doughnut.'"

I never expected to be reminded of Mitch Hedberg in such an innocent context. But then again, my depraved mind rarely misses an opportunity to spin some dirt into a pristine conversation.

Of course, I did not corrupt the children's minds with this adult comedy. There'll be plenty of time later in their lives for their vocabularies to be sullied. I needn't speed the process along during my cameo in their lives.

There weren't too many other noteworthy moments to share with you all. Recess was interesting. Half the children decided to start calling me "Mr. Stranger," which was, well, strange. And then three of them (2 girls, 1 boy) independently decided to subject me to a double-handed goose during the course of this 30-minute activity time. Needless to say, I gave three short lectures about the importance of keeping one's hands to oneself.

Before I'd left Robey Elementary School today, Ms. Nicole recommended that I be her sub while she was absent this coming Friday. So I will end my work week by mixing it up one more time with this same baker's dozen of preschoolers. Sounds like a top-notch day of work to me.

Know Your Audience

This is the teenie beanie baby that Shiloh gave to me yesterday during my kindergarten adventure. As promised, I returned this token of appreciation to her this morning. Not wanting to hurt her feelings by giving it back, I made sure to attach a small note to Liberty Bear (or Libearty, if you prefer) that her regular teacher could read to her to let her know why it's best that she keep the toy herself.

Much as I have with any academic paper I've written, I struggled to choose the words that would best convey my thoughts to my target audience. Even though this note fit on a 2" x 2.5" piece of paper, it went through about five drafts before I felt confident I was using the kind of language a girl her age could buy into and understand. It appears I was successful. I saw Shiloh in the hallway after her class' lunch period today, and she still liked me enough to say, "Hello, Mr. Scott!" at least three times.

So without further ado, here is the note that Dave Scott, 24 year-old theologian-in-training, wrote to Miss Shiloh Ruby, 5 year-old kindergarten student:



Dear Shiloh,

Thank you for giving me Liberty Bear yesterday. It was very kind of you to do so. But I think it would be best if you take him home with you today. After spending the night at my house, Liberty Bear missed you and wanted to go back to your house. I enjoyed borrowing him for a little while, but he belongs with you.

Thank you for making my day as your guest teacher so special. :) Have a good weekend!

-Mr. Scott

"Is this your homework, Larry?"

Every class has a "problem child." In my short experience as a substitute teacher, I've seen it's fairly common for a class to have 3 or 4. Today, my Grade Zero problem child was Larry. Capped with a Caucasian Afro of curly brown hair and standing a couple inches taller than every other kindergartner in the school, Larry caught my eye even before the other children warned me that "Lawwy don' lissen to duh teacha."

Truth is, Larry isn't that much of a problem to handle. He's just three shades more ornery than your average 5-6 year old. Sure, he threatened to mess himself if I didn't let him go to the bathroom the very moment he demanded to leave the room, but that problem was easily solved by a little alphabet bingo. I did, however, have a noteworthy moment with the youngster when he was inexplicably out of his seat for the umpteenth time and searching through his cubby for God knows what. When I went to the back of the room to see what was afoot, I saw what seemed like an entire month's worth of homework strewn around the floor near said cubby.

"Whose papers are these, Larry?" I asked, trying my best to be a sensitive corrector of wayward children.

"I don't know," he responded as (for the first time that day) he returned to his table unprompted.

Resisting the urge to call Larry a liar in front of the other kids, I simply picked up the worksheet nearest to me and read the name that had been written in green crayon at the top of the page. At that point in the day, I'd had enough exposure to the bizarre hieroglyphics that pass for English characters in kindergarten that I knew with 100% certainty that this Crayola chicken scratch was Larry's name.

So with a strong and confident tone I said to the boy, "I know these are your worksheets Larry because your name's on this one." It wasn't until the drive home that I realized I'd missed a golden opportunity to toss out a verbatim quote from The Big Lebowski ("We know this is your homework, Larry!").

My experience as a kindergarten teacher went much more smoothly than it did for Arnold, but it still wasn't a cakewalk. I can now tell you, Erin, that children that small are not too shy to tell you when they need a potty break. In fact, they're so eager to piss that they'll invent the urge to go if it's not already present. They also looooove to sharpen pencils. Third and fourth on a 5 year-old's list of "Things I'd rather be doing than learning" are getting a drink of water and washing their hands. It was so demoralizing trying to keep these little suburban achievers on task that I spent the last hour of the day doing nothing with them but playing bingo and eating goldfish crackers.

I can also tell you, Nick, that children don't need to be asked whether they have any questions before they start pouring on the autobiographical trivia. "My brother's name is Scott." "I have a pencil this color at home." "Guess what! I had three cats once, but they all died." And that's why kids this small could never be undercover narcotics officers. "Guess what, Manuel duh Cwack Dealuh. When I was weeeeeally little, I won da sack wace at da police picnic." Cover blown. Game over.

Despite all the irritations that came my way, I did enjoy many good moments with these wee persons. One girl decided to give me a little toy bear she had in her cubby. When her friend saw this, she decided to give me an empty plastic bag. After the children had left for the day, I realized the first girl had given me a teenie beanie baby, so I'll be returning this potentially valuable collectable to her tomorrow.

Another quality moment came during Activity Time. We joined the other kindergarten class to watch the last half of The Little Mermaid. I sat in chair behind the children to keep an eye on them while the other teacher graded some papers. A blonde tike named Chelsea pulled up a chair next to mine, sat in it, and then crossed her legs in a mirror reflection of my own.

One last highlight: This morning I finished a certain set of activities with 10 minutes to spare before the next scheduled lesson. So I grabbed a random story book and instructed my young disciples to sit at the feet of their teacher. The book, When the Leaf Blew into the Barn, is a tale of cause-and-effect that ends up circling back on itself. The leaf makes a cow sneeze which blows a spider onto a owl, etc., etc., until finally a robin chased by a squirrel into a tree causes another leaf to fall and drift into the barn. The book took only 6 minutes to read, so I killed the other four by asking the kids to review the story with me. When we'd finished revisiting each event in the sequence, I concluded with, "And that why the story starts over again." Then a boy named Jeremiah called out, "Noooo! Not again!"

The bottom line is that nearly every single kid in that class would be a joy to hang out with outside of school. But their respective cuteness levels drop a fair bit when they're keeping you from meeting your learning goals for the day.

Takin' It Down a Notch

So, as I was saying, I spent yesterday and today working with the same 3rd grade class. These kids were much better than the class I worked with on Monday but even then they weren't that great. But this gig was exponentially easier than my previous assignment. I worked side by side with a student teacher, Ms. Geisler, who handled at least half of the teaching duties. And I received comprehensive lesson plans for both days. The icing on the cake was that the teacher, Ms. Ramey, was actually in the building tending to other business on Tuesday, so yesterday I had the opportunity to talk with her face-to-face before and after the school day.

Once again, quite a few interesting things happened in the relatively short time I was with these 8 and 9 year-olds...more than I care to tell in detail here. But what I will do is offer some brief notes on the more interesting or funny moments from the last two days. Here goes:

a. For the record, Kelli Ramey is a fox. It wasn't until I arrived at Stout Field Elementary yesterday morning that I knew I would be filling in for Ms. Ramey or that she would be there herself to welcome me to her class. It was upon meeting Ms. Ramey that I also discovered she was a beautiful blonde not much older than myself. But before I could get any ideas about working an angle on this particular chicky mama (as if that's something Dave Scott ever does), I saw an impressive rock on her left ring finger that told me, "Not only is she taken, but she's with a dude whose financial situation is much better than -$30,000." The disappointment that came over me at the sight of that ring was accompanied by the voice of Dr. Gonzo saying, "Goddamn what a bummer." It's a good thing I only had about 30 seconds to get my hopes up.

b. Ms. Ramey was kind enough to send one of her problem children to another class for the last two days. However, after the group's misbehavior on Tuesday, she left me a Post It note this morning informing me that two other kids had been relocated. Before lunch, I'd personally relocated yet another.

c. One of the kids that was left in my care just happened to be a boy with high functioning autism who was obviously off his meds. He developed a slight distaste for yours truly when I confiscated his ball of blue putty during yesterday's reading time.

d. Both days, the grammar lesson was on antonyms. Ms. Geisler informed me that the kids had learned about synonyms the week before. So while I was leading the kids in coming up with antonyms for the word "cold," I made the observation, "If you figure out one antonym for a word you can easily come up with more antonyms by thinking of synonyms for that first word you figured out." This helpful trick was lost on them. I might as well have asked them to consider the causal efficacy of the past upon the self-determination of immediate occasions of experience. That's how lofty my spontaneously formed pearl of wisdom seemed to them.

e. I've never heard the sound of a monkey on quaaludes, but I'm pretty sure it would sound something like the noises one little girl continually made as I walked by or sat near her.

f. Upon confiscating Yu-Gi-Oh! cards from one child, I soon found out that they didn't even belong to him but to one of the boys that had been moved to another class.

g. This latter boy had gotten into trouble the day before for dropping the f-bomb on the playground. His reason? When he found out that a girl told Ms. Geisler that he had pushed one of her friends, he called her a "f---ing tattletail." Unfortunatley for him, I was standing two feet away when he said it. When he tried to deny it and neither of us teachers believed him, he revealed his anger management problems. He never screamed at us but he did roll on the ground and convulse like some Gallilean demoniac. Sadly, neither the Son of God nor a herd of pigs were in the area.

h. I got another picture from a student...a boy this time. It was considerably less scandalous than the one I received on Monday. Impressively, he's already capable of drawing cubes. Far less impressive is his ability to draw a three-dimensional triangle. The picture he gave me was a "house" composed of these two shapes. Maybe I can get Susan to scan this drawing as well.

i. This little boy was also excessively eager to be my friend. He got too casual too quickly and started calling me "Scott" instead of "Mister Scott." I guess he thought Scott is my first name. After I told him that, as his teacher, he had to call me "Mister," he started calling me Mr. Scottie. I put the kibosh on that reeeeeal quick.

j. Yesterday afternoon, one little girl kept asking me if she could show me and/or the class something she had wrapped up in her sweatshirt. At the end of the day, I finally agreed that she could, and it turned out to be a trophy she won at a beauty pagent. Today I found out on the playground that this little girl "liked" a boy named Daymond who, in turn, liked her back. I knew I'd been drawn too deeply into their little world when my initial reaction to this turn of events was, "C'mon, Ciera! You can do better than him." Thankfully for all of us, I didn't say that out loud.

k. Finally, my favorite funny moment. During Social Studies today, the kids had to read an essay about El Paso, Texas and complete the accompanying worksheet. When I acknowledged that Kennya Santiago has her hand up, the following short exchange ensued:


Dave Scott: Kennya, do you have a question?
Kennya: No, Mr. Scott. I just wanted to tell you that I know the answer to question one without even looking in the book. [The question asks for the English translation of El Paso.]
Dave Scott: Is that so?
Kennya: Yes. I know Spanish because, well, I am.



That's all the annecdotes for today, friends. The subject of my next report:

kindergarten.

Baptism by Fire

As I stated in my previous post, my first assignment as a substitute teacher was Monday morning. I was placed in charge of about twenty-five 4th graders at Garden City Elementary School. And as the title of this post indicates, my day was anything but a smooth entry into the world of public education. For once I'll spare you all the gritty details and hit the highlights.

The day was off to a tumultuous start when I discovered that the regular teacher had left absolutely no lesson plans. "No worries," I thought. "This situation was covered in orientation. Just go find the other 4th grade teacher and ask for help." This teacher, Mrs. Moler, informs me that, as of that very same day, the entire school had shuffled the order of classes and that she wasn't even sure what her own lesson plan was going to look like that day. She gave me whatever ideas she could, but those ideas weren't going to fill up 6.5 hours of class time.

Thanks to what was certainly nothing less than an act of divine intervention, the kids' first class was "special class." On Mondays they have music with Mr. Miller for the better part of an hour, giving me some free time to track down a neighboring teacher to seek further advice. Ms. Grimmet, the 3rd grade teacher next door, was exceedingly helpful. Together, she and I pilferred through the scant few notes the front office had left us, along with my class' regular text books, and patched together a respectable itinerary. Now I had a schedule of lessons to teach, and my confidence that this day would pan out well began to build.

Then came the unnounced bus safety presentation. As I was leading my kids back from music to what I thought would be math class, Ms. Grimmet intercepts me and tells me that we're all supposed to meet in her room for said presentation. Neither she nor Mrs. Moler had been told this event would be going down. So before I've written my first sample problem on the board, these children are triply exicited by the morning's manifold novelties...there's a new schedule, a spontaneous informational meeting and, finally, the baby-faced Irishman ostensibly leading them through this transgression of routine.

I never got the kids calmed down. Only a handful were outright disrespectful. Several were a actually big help, but several more were simply a pain in the ass. And then the unexpected just kept breaking in.

By days end, I had written up two kids for fighting and one of those same kids for defiance. I'd sent four kids to the nurse, two of which were sent home. I had one kid who felt compelled to beat box during our review of compound subjects. I had another girl who felt inclined to call people "crackhead." Then there was little Xavier, an adorable Mexican boy (and by Mexican I mean, barely spoke english) who nevertheless lacked the ability to respect the personal space of others. Ultimately, nothing caught fire and the room looked clean when everyone left for the afternoon. I guess that means I did my job well enough.

The day was not good but it wasn't awful either. The other teachers were wonderful and the helpful children were an invaluable asset for a first-time substitute at an unfamiliar school. I did experience the short-lived buzz that comes with the discovery that a 10 year-old feels validated by your attention. I also experienced the awkward flattery of 4th grade girls flashing me goo-goo eyes.

(You won't believe the picture this one kid drew for me. I'm going to have Susan scan it for me at her work so I can post it later in the week. It should be up by Friday.)

Today's class went much better. I'll tell you about it tomorrow after I've spent another day with the same group of 3rd graders.

I will close this rushed and disjointed post by sharing the most entertaining exchange I had with a student during Monday's adventures.


Mr. Scott: Ok class, please open your math books to Lesson 18.
Kid: But Mr. Hiatt don't want us to use our math books no more.
Mr. Scott: Are you serious? Why not?
Kid: He don't believe in it.

Maybe by that point in the day I was desperate for laughter but, at the time, I thought that last line was hilarious.

Would you trust this man with YOUR children?

Finally! Dave Scott...has secured...employment.

And no its not being a Serious Pimp. I'll leave that to Quinton Jackson.

As of Thursday afternoon, I have officially been hired by the Municipal School District of Wayne Township in Indianapolis to be a substitute teacher. Yes, you read that correctly. When the full-time teachers on the westside of Indy become ill or take vacation, the strange face the children will see that morning may be the large, pale, expressive mug of this guy.

This hire comes as a relief, not only because I've been out of school and work since mid-May, but also because it took almost three weeks for the school offices to process my application. The major hold up is that they waited a whole week to call my personal references, and then spent another 10 days playing a lazy game of phone tage with one of them.

But the most important thing is that I can now earn a respectable paycheck and gain valuable classroom experience. Given, my teaching goals are aimed at college students but, seeing as I have virtually no previous track record of teaching any age group, this brand of experience could only help me out in the long run.

I have already found out that the rumors that local schools are always in serious need of subs is quite true. At my orientation on Thursday, I was told I should be incorporated into the SubFinder database sometime on Friday. Little did I know how early on Friday that would be.

At about 7:30am, no more than 5 minutes after I'd wiped the sleep from the corners of my eyes, a real live human being (not simply an automated calling service) telephoned my home and asked if I'd be available that day. She offered me numerous positions ranging from 4th grade to 7th to 9th. There was just one considerable problem with me working that day. I'd yet to buy my school "uniform."

I was not surprised to learn at orientation that the dress code for school teachers is business casual. However, I had not bought a new pair of slacks since the summer of 2003 and I've gained about 25 pounds since then. That means I need to hunt down what is seemingly the most rare breed of men's pants- the relaxed fit 38W-34L. And seeing as 10 of those 25 pounds have been gained in the last ten months, I may need to seek out that even rarer specimen- the 40W-34L.

Needless to say, I didn't think I had time in the next 30 minutes or so to capture my desired prey. To be perfectly frank, all I had on during my conversation with this woman was a pair of boxer shorts with sharks printed on them. So I declined the work she had offered, figuring that the last thing Wayne Township wanted in front of a classroom of their students was the great, white Mr. Scott in nothing but his Great White undies.

However, I hope to secure some viable pants over the weekend (although my trip to Kohl's yesterday was fruitless). And even though I passed on my first official job offer, that does not mean I'm hesitant to get started. Yesterday, I used SubFinder's online resources to book myself an assignment for every day next week. On Monday and Friday, I will teach 4th grade. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I will be with the same 3rd grade class. And on Thursday, my friends, Dave Scott will teach kindergarten...or as SubFinder identifies it...Grade Zero.

So say a prayer for these children. They have they dubious honor of being the first children to be taught by the ruler of this mad kingdom. And say a prayer for me as well. I have to admit that I'm more than a little nervous at the thought of being put in charge of a room full of small humans for 8 hours. Hopefully I will adjust quickly and learn to enjoy the substitute experience thoroughly. I've got the better part of 8 months to make the adjustment.


...If ya smeeeeeeeeee-le-le-le-LEL!...what Dave Scott...is...cookin'.

A Hymn of Pride

Combining the themes of three previous posts together (church, incorrect lyrics, and fighting), I thought I would offer this brief post. As several of you know, Dave Scott continually entertains himself by creating ridiculous, alternative lyrics for the songs that get stuck in his head. Thanks to my friend Wes Homoya's wedding, one of my all-time favorite hymns has been rolling around in my head for the last week.

Its new words describe the outcome of a MMA fight from Pride 22: Beasts from the East 2, which happened about 4 years ago. I conjured them up during one trip to the bank and one vocal session in the shower. So without further ado...

Shungo Oyama lost to an armbar.

Crazy Ryan Gracie bent it back quite far.

Though Shungo did not tap, the ref stopped the fight.

For his arm was damaged: not the left, but the right