SpongeBob, where’s my order?
Did you look under the tray?
Oh. No I didn’t, sorry.
Actual Quotes from my Dad (An English Teacher)
- Dad: Why the hell did you put a comma there?
- Dad: Do you even know what a participial phrase is?
- Dad: Omg. He's like my favorite character of all time.
- Dad: Who should I dress up as for the movie premier?
- Dad: Hey are you awak? I know it's late, but you read Animal Farm, right? Yeah. I need you to read this report. I can't tell if I am just super tired or if this is actual bullshit.
- Dad: Alesha wouldn't be able to spell 'definitely' right if wrote it down for her. She would fucking erase it and then write 'defiantly', because she doesn't care. I hate her.
- Dad: I need you to bake brownies. I lost a bet.
- Dad: Omg. You cannot ship me with Gilcher. You know I don't like tattoos and he's like twenty-five. And for Christ's sake, he teaches math.
- Dad: Omg. Gilcher said the funniest thing today.
- Dad: Mrs. Ashworth and I have decided to start a band. It'll be called Great Expectations.
- Dad: It's like you didn't read the fucking book.
- Dad: Okay. So this week you're reading this book I stole from Mrs. Ashworth's. It's like sixty pages long, but you'll love it.
- Dad: *puts books on my bed for me to read everyday and demands that I read them*
- Dad: My son doesn't like reading. I have not only failed him, but society. You aren't my son. Leave.
- Dad: Okay. So you're getting books for Christmas. All of you. I get discounts on them since I'm a teacher, and since I'm a teacher, it's all I can afford, so...
- Dad: Fucking standardized testing can go fuck itself in the ass.
- Dad: I have to teach for the required testing instead of what they really need to know.
- Dad: Fuck the government.
- Dad: Fuck the school board.
- Dad: Close the door.
- Dad: Charles Dickens was so fucking pretentious, and I hate him, but he also caused change, but he's such a Dick. Ha. DICKens.
- Dad: I love puns.
- Dad: People who say sarcasm is the lowest form of humor are assholes.
- Dad: Please shut up.
- Dad: Catching Fire was the worst book but the best movie and that feels weird.
- Dad: I wouldn't get so mad when you call me at school if you didn't change your ringtones to inappropriate rap music.
- Dad: I fucking hate Alesha. She asked what countries were apart of Austria-Hungary today and I almost told her to get out.
- Dad: You cannot visit my school in a dress that short. There are boys there.
- Dad: Barbra Parks is fucking Queen.
- Dad: I need you to make me a good, relaxing playlist for silent reading. I'm too lazy.
- Dad: If I have to watch two of my students grind on each other at one more dance, I will kill them both.
- Dad: They act like I care what they think.
- Dad: I hate homework.
- Dad: I have decided to become a politician.
- Dad: What's the one book with the guys and the one kills the other and the chick without a name who dies and the short angry man? Mouseman? Oh my fucking gosh. Of Mice and Men. I have failed.
[Image description: Helen Keller sits by a radio, with her hand over it, in order to feel the vibrations of the music playing]
Helen Keller wrote the following letter to the New York Symphony Orchestra in 1924, describing listening to the “Ninth Symphony” composed by Beethoven - who was also deaf - over the radio:
I have the joy of being able to tell you that, though deaf and blind, I spent a glorious hour last night listening over the radio to Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony.” I do not mean to say that I “heard” the music in the sense that other people heard it; and I do not know whether I can make you understand how it was possible for me to derive pleasure from the symphony. It was a great surprise to myself. I had been reading in my magazine for the blind of the happiness that the radio was bringing to the sightless everywhere. I was delighted to know that the blind had gained a new source of enjoyment; but I did not dream that I could have any part in their joy. Last night, when the family was listening to your wonderful rendering of the immortal symphony someone suggested that I put my hand on the receiver and see if I could get any of the vibrations. He unscrewed the cap, and I lightly touched the sensitive diaphragm. What was my amazement to discover that I could feel, not only the vibration, but also the impassioned rhythm, the throb and the urge of the music! The intertwined and intermingling vibrations from different instruments enchanted me. I could actually distinguish the cornets, the roil of the drums, deep-toned violas and violins singing in exquisite unison. How the lovely speech of the violins flowed and plowed over the deepest tones of the other instruments! When the human voices leaped up thrilling from the surge of harmony, I recognized them instantly as voices more ecstatic, upcurving swift and flame-like, until my heart almost stood still. The women’s voices seemed an embodiment of all the angelic voices rushing in a harmonious flood of beautiful and inspiring sound. The great chorus throbbed against my fingers with poignant pause and flow. Then all the instruments and voices together burst forth – an ocean of heavenly vibration – and died away like winds when the atom is spent, ending in a delicate shower of sweet notes.
Of course this was not “hearing,” but I do know that the tones and harmonies conveyed to me moods of great beauty and majesty. I also sense, or thought I did, the tender sounds of nature that sing into my hand-swaying reeds and winds and the murmur of streams. I have never been so enraptured before by a multitude of tone-vibrations.
As I listened, with darkness and melody, shadow and sound filling all the room, I could not help remembering that the great composer who poured forth such a flood of sweetness into the world was deaf like myself. I marveled at the power of his quenchless spirit by which out of his pain he wrought such joy for others – and there I sat, feeling with my hand the magnificent symphony which broke like a sea upon the silent shores of his soul and mine.”This woman just described the art of music more perfectly than most hearing musicians.