Meet the Glog

So, I guess I haven’t completely inundated you with education blogs, womp womp.  If you fear education discussion with your innermost being, please flee now, for it shall only get more educational as this post goes on.  Ready?

One of the projects that I did (that is unspeakably embarrassing) was a video.  It was a green screen video with me talking about Oh Captain My Captain, by Walt Whitman.  The backdrop that I used was a video of a civil war veteran reunion (one of the last ones, obviously, because video cameras and civil war veterans did not have a long cross over).  The backdrop was Civil War veterans because Whitman wrote this poem after the assassination of Lincoln.

Now that all those education fear-ers are gone, are you disappointed in all those people who fled?  Me too, a little.  But I’ll introduce you my favorite project I’ve done this semester.  It is called a Glogster.  Weird name, I know.  Glogster is essentially an online poster that you can use in your classes.  For one of my projects in another class, I ended up using this technology.  Obviously, any kind of technology works better when you have a tech-savvy school, but it can be used in any school with projector-capabilities.

The project that we made focused on creating a class that would help struggling students learn to love reading.  There are crap loads of statistics on how literacy helps students succeed in all areas of life.  Google it, I’m not your mom.
The unit focused on allowing students to choose their own book to read.  Then, the students apply the analytical approaches and concepts they learned in a previous unit to actively and critically read their book.  The students would review the glog, do the steps, and then blog.  At the end of the unit, we would compile the blogs and clean them up for a formal paper.

You can see my glog here.  Try to contain your literary enthusiasm.


No thank you, Ociffer.

I am lucky enough to be a part of my dear friend Nancy’s bridal party.  I adore Nancy, so it’s fabulous to see her so excited and happy.  This was our little crew, before we head out into the heat of Virginia.

nanceNotice the lack of fluffiness in our hair.  Cherish it, it barely lasted.  We went out to a burger joint, and then to an Asian restaurant where they have something called The Volcano.

nance2This was the volcano.  It was a mixed beverage with alcohol that was on fire in that center.  It was intense, and meant for multiple people.  Between the seven of us, we ordered two of these bohemiths.  I promised Nancy that I would have one drink at the beginning of the night, but only took a few sips of it because it was a little too sweet for my tastes, and clearly had copious amounts of alcohol.  I really never drink anything if I’m going to be driving, because I’m 100 percent convinced I could NEVER pass a field sobriety test stone sober.  I had sparkling water with lemon for the rest of the night, which is SUPER fun to order at a bar.  I always get a look of “Seriously?”  But whatevs, you don’t know my life.  You don’t know me, bartender.

We had a fabulous night celebrating Nancy, and I ended up heading home a little after midnight.  I was exhausted.  I’d been up cleaning and running around all day, and I was feeling it.  Since I live very much in the boondocks and the roads back to my house are very windy.  I turned onto a side road about halfway home and saw the dreaded flashing lights behind me.

I am terrified of the police.  I don’t know why; I’ve never been in any trouble or anything.  I just see the cops and clench my wheel with fervor.   I have friends that are cops, but man.  Not cool if you’re driving behind me, clearly typing my info in.  Don’t bro me like you know me.  I also have a tendency to cry when I get pulled over.  I got pulled over in a national park once because the cop said I should have “yielded to the oncoming vehicle rather than go around the cyclist.”  I started to cry.  He awkwardly scolded me a little more and then fled, clearly afraid of tears.  No ticket. All that to say, when I am normally rested, I notice the police fairly quickly.

Complicating matters,  I have a bit of an honesty issue.  I’m too honest.  And your sitting there saying, “That’s a virtue, Andrea!”  OH no.  Not me.  I’m the type that can’t tell a lie.  I might not say “Yes” when asked “Do I look fat in this dress?”  But I might say, “Wellllll, it’s not a very flattering cut.”  I’m just honest.  If I don’t like you, you know it.  I do not fake it.  At least you know where you stand with me, right?  Right.  I’m gonna tell myself it’s a virtue-ish.  Now, had most people been pulled over and had what was literally four small sips of a mixed drink more than FIVE hours before, they probably would have simply told the officer, “Nope, not a drop.”  Unfortunately, I am me.  SO when the officer came up to my window, it played out differently.

“Good evening ma’m, I pulled you over tonight because you crossed the double yellow line a few times.”
“Oh…did I?  I’m really tired…”
“Uh huh…where you coming from?”
“Bachelorette party…” (I said that smiling, because I didn’t want to start crying.  In retrospect, it may have appeared a drunk-smile)
“I see.  Have you been drinking tonight, ma’m?”
“I ummmm…I had a few sips of my friend’s drink.” (Again, a smile.)
“Ok ma’m, I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.  (Here he said something really fast that I couldn’t understand cause he turned his head away, but it was something about the legal level of alcohol cause I heard him say .8) Do you mind taking a breathalyzer?”
“No…are you gonna give me one?”
“Yes mam.  Have you ever had one before?”
“Nope!  New experience for me.”  (My excitement was probably a little too evident here, because as previously stated, I’m not going to be able to say the alphabet backwards under any circumstances.)
“Ok ma’m, please blow into this tube.  BLOWBLOWBLOWBLOWBLOW”
BEEEEEEEEP.  The readout said, “0.0″
“Ok mam…you really didn’t….(awkward silence here)  Well, thanks for being honest.”
He looked a little disappointed.
“Did I blow a 0.0?” I asked, chuckling.
“Yeah.  Have a good night, try and keep it on the right side of the road.”
Yeahhhh I wasn’t drinking.  But dang, I suck at driving.  I thanked him (I’m not sure for what) and he double checked that he gave me my license back.  It was truly uneventful, other than to remind me yet again, that I’m a terrible driver.

Aliens. It is clearly aliens.


I love our new house.  Is it bragging to say I love it?  Whatever, I love this house and it’s my blog, so if I’m bragging, I’m bragging.  Our houseguests keep wanting to photograph us in front of it, so I’ve been doing my Tyra Banksing it for the past few weeks.


One of my favorite things to do in our new home is to go out in to the back and enjoy the deck. When I decided to meander my way into the backyard on Saturday morning, I was confounded to find a huge pile of dirt next to the deck.  I was utterly and completely baffled by it.  My house is back in the woods and this spot behind the deck is not easily accessible.  I didn’t see tire tracks or anything like that, so I could not figure out where on earth (get it) it came from.  It looked as if it had been dropped on the ground from on high.

I came off the deck and looked at it, like the Sherlock Holmes of landscape attacks.  I walked down with my dog in tow (you know, because it could be a rabid ROUS or something).  I crouched down, poking the dirt with a stick, ready at all moments to flee.  You don’t know what’s under that I thought to myself, It could be a tremor beast.  A bear!  Bears don’t burrow.  Do they?  OMG WHAT IF I’VE DISCOVERED A BURROW BEAR?!  I was simultaneously becoming an anthropologist and Jacques Cousteau .  And Reba.  I have the guns.  It was clearly a stressful situation.  I googled “mound of dirt shows up overnight” and saw numerous links on lawn issues.  Ignorant fiends.  Don’t they know this is NOT the mount belonging to a mole.  Don’t play with me, google machine, this is not a game.


So naturally, I went to my other font of knowledge, facebook.  If (and most of you are) a facebook friend of mine, you probably saw this magnificent post.  The ideas for the mound circled around aliens, animals, and murderers.  My mother, of course, accused my husband of murder and burying the body.  I was siding with aliens.  If for no other reason than this meme.

home3Disappointingly, I found this note on the board shortly after walking out of my front door.


I would say I felt dumb, but I was so tickled by the mystery dirt that I just about passed out from laughing.  Turns out that our new home had been bought with a bit of a landscaping warrantee, and the landscaper was addressing some erosion that had occurred over the past few weeks.  Lucky us.  We didn’t hear him cause I had been gone for a good portion of Friday afternoon/evening.  But I still think aliens and/or Reba’s little friends are a better story.  Although, surprise landscaping doesn’t suck either.