Spring Break, Yearbooks & Floods

Spring break provided no break from the unrelenting, unforgiving, unfortunate thing we call yearbook.

As I said in my exercise blog, if being a yearbook adviser were a diet or an exercise program, I would be one Skinny Minnie. Instead, I pretty much single-handedly polished off my stash of emergency chocolate in one sitting.

Naturally, I felt a bit queasy afterwards, but I'm not entirely certain that was from inhaling that tasty box of Caramel Chocolate Batons or the fact that I had a gazillion yearbook pages left to do, no photos to pop into those lovely lime-green boxes that denote where a photo is suppose to go, and no one on my current yearbook staff who appeared to give a chocolate baton flip whether we made our deadline.

Yes, it's been one of those years. Yep, a year for the record books, and not in a good way either. No siree, Missy.

So I spent at least half of my spring break working solo on the yearbook, so that the book could final and ensure delivery before the kiddos go home for the summer. 

And, when I finally sat on the couch to relax and drink some coffee with my husband and discuss how we could salvage the rest of my spring break and do something fun, I heard a noise (and not a good one either) and asked, "Do you hear that?" 

He didn't, but I still did, and it was coming from upstairs. I ran up there speedy quick and hot water was gushing out the upstairs bathroom and down the hallway. Although we shut it off pretty quick, well, the damage was done to the hallway, and the water had also seep below through the ceiling into the master bedroom.

Ceiling removed from water damage

Obviously, none of this was my idea of injecting fun into the remainder of my spring break.

Sadly, though, the water disaster and subsequent clean up was better than working 24/7 on the yearbook debacle from earlier in the week. And, I must say I'm not looking forward to the impending doom that awaits me next week in the form of a gazillion page proofs that have to be fixed and turned around speedy quick, or the 40 something photo projects and journalism ad projects I left there to be graded upon my return, or the newspaper deadline scheduled to kick off the week.

And for those of you wondering, Howard the Shelter Cat pretty much remained fairly lackadaisical through it all.

Jeepers Creepers, here's hoping your spring break was more like Howard's than mine.

Picture Day, The Screen & The Witch, Oh My!

I survived Picture Day.

Which, for those of you yearbook types, know was something just short of a miracle.

And which, for those of you non-yearbook types (but fans of this blog), know for me was probably a miracle of sorts necessitating divine intervention.

Even Mother Teresa would have found Picture Day trying.

It certainly tested my resolve to remain Ninja Teacher.

I almost set my hair on fire and ran out of the building when I arrived at 6:30 in the morning and saw the gigantic screen hanging from the auditorium stage.

You know, the stage that roughly 2,000 children, faculty and staff needed to navigate across to get their school pictures made.

Yeah, that stage. The one that was blocked by the giant screen hanging down. The screen that rivaled the dimensions of the green screen in the Wizard of Oz.

Yep, the screen that needed a special password code and either a Phd in technology or some sort of divine intervention in order to raise it. Yeah, that screen.

It took almost two hours before The Screen was raised because apparently only one person knows the super-secret instructions on how to do it.

During that two hour time period, I sort of felt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. I'm fairly certain I probably acted a bit like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. And, I think it's a safe bet that I may have even looked like the witch in the Wizard of Oz.

And just in case you were wondering, I'm not talking about the good witch either.

Senior Superlatives, Bart Simpson & Chalkboards

With sunshine and temperatures close to 70 degrees, I wonder why I'm sitting here slumped in this papasan chair more interested in watching Howard the shelter cat than reviewing my week and trying to figure out anything blog-worthy.

My DIs (Darling Inspirations) haven't provided much fodder lately, and we were even on newspaper deadline last week. I don't even want to talk about yearbook--once again I'm so far behind, I'm not exactly sure how far behind I am. The only thing I'm fairly certain of is that  if yearbook were a race, I'd still be in the locker room searching for my shoes. Yep, that pretty much describes how far behind I am--no hyperbole there.

We finally started taking pictures for senior superlatives, though. (You know, where seniors vote best smile, best dressed, class clown etc.) Shannon, newspaper editor and photographer extraordinaire, agreed to shoot them for yearbook. For the class clown photograph, she wanted to use a chalkboard a la Bart Simpson as a backdrop.

The first big hurdle was actually finding a chalkboard. In an era of computers, whiteboards and smart boards finding a chalkboard proved to be somewhat of a difficult task. We managed to borrow a broken one we located in the band hall. The second big hurdle was finding some chalk. Thank goodness for the art department.

In Bart Simpson fashion, Shannon then meticulously wrote: "I will not stop clowning around" over and over and over again on the chalkboard for the photo shoot.

Even though it said "I will not stop clowning around," I still spent the rest of the day trying to convince my classes that I didn't actually make someone write that. (Although I did once make my newspaper staff write sophomore over and over and over again. (I figured you shouldn't be able to be a sophomore or graduate if you couldn't spell sophomore.)

For a brief moment, I thought about keeping the chalkboard as a deterrent.

Teachers, Distractions & Howard

Most teachers agree it's easy to get distracted.

It's not because teachers are ADD or ADHD either.

I think it's because we have to do a lot of things–yep, those darn tootin' things again–we'd rather not be doing. Usually those things involve papers, grading, meetings, paperwork, duties, blah blah blah blah blah. And, we all know it most definitely involves all things yearbook.

I've always said this job wouldn't be a bad gig if it only involved teaching. It's the teaching part that we teachers love. That's probably why we're called teachers instead of graders, meeters, paperworkers, yearbookers, blah, blah blah blah blah-ers.

So if you are an actual teacher you'll understand why there's a stack of papers to grade on my left and a rather large orange tabby cat on my right.

Meet Howard.

Howard, the latest addition to our household.

Howard, who has spent 40 percent of his 1-year-old life living in shelters.

Howard, the distraction.

As if, I really needed one.

A distraction that is.

Or a cat for that matter.

I met Howard about a month ago during one of our volunteer days at the local animal shelter (remember I'm a sponsor of a student animal loving group). I won't bore you with the  back story to all of that. Let's just say that I thought we had the need for a cat. After a month, I finally picked up Howard and brought him home.

So instead of grading, laundry or yearbook, I've been busy with all things Howard.

I wonder how my Mr. Number-9-On-My-Speed-Dial will feel about all of that when I tell him I didn't quite get to all those yearbook pages over the weekend.

"Geewillikers!  So-o-o-o sorry I didn't get those yearbook pages out," I'll say. "Too busy trying to spring Howie from the hoosegow."

You've got to admit. It has a rather nice ring to it.

Picture Day, Math Humor & Bad Hares

A rather pleasant young math teacher asked me how Underclassmen Picture Day went. You know the day. The day that makes all yearbook advisers shudder, cringe and make them want to set their hair on fire. Yep, the day we have to photograph 1,800 plus children in one day. That day.

"I think I'd rather poke my eye out with a pencil than do Picture Day," I said.

"That would only last two years," he said.

I stared at him blankly.

"You know," he said pointing to his eyes, "you only have two eyes, so two years…so you'll have to find something else…" 

"Ahhh," I said finally getting the math humor.

I'd love to tell you about Picture Day, and why some things made me think of pikes and heads on pikes, but all of that belongs in my "Things That Will Get You Fired" Folder. So let's just say that I survived, and I've decided against poking my eye out because, as my young math teacher pointed out, I would eventually run out of body parts and still have to do Picture Day. Arrgggg.

I'm still undecided, though, about the heads and pike thing.

On a more amusing note, one of my new yearbook staffers came to me asking for an extension on an assignment. For this assignment, staffers had to call a list of senior parents to tell them about our senior ads.  I normally don't grant extensions, but this staffer is one of those really responsible kids.

"Why?" I asked.

"My rabbit ate it," she said, whipping out her half-eaten list.

Talk about a bad hare day. 

I granted the extension.

Spring Break, New York City & Shoe Stores

I spent the first half of my spring break battling my allergies and the demons I call yearbook.

I spent the second half of my spring break battling my allergies, teenagers and New York City streets. (I left the yearbook demons back in Texas. I think attempting to smuggle them into New York City would have put me speedy quick on everyone’s watch list.)

So here I am in New York City with four newspaper staff members–four teenage girls to be exact–winding down our trip from our national journalism convention at Columbia University.

In between the requisite sightseeing, I even taught a little session about this blogging business. When I return to the Lone Star state, I’ll have to remember to do three things…

Thing #1… Smack my friend Sandy upside her head because she told me only one or two advisers would attend my little session. Instead, I had a pretty full crowd, and I didn’t even have to beg them to listen to me. A few had even read my book, and they loved it, too. (Hey, Oprah, are ya listening?)

My four staffers even said I did a good job, but I think they lie a lot, too. (You know, like my friend Sandy.) Since I’m fairly certainly I would get into trouble if I smacked them upside their little heads with the rubber chicken, I didn’t.

Thing #2… Eat Mexican food. Here’s a little tip in life… Never eat Mexican food north of the Red River. You’re just going to have to trust me on that one. (There’s probably a particular longitude and latitude that also applies to barbecue, but I’m not exactly sure where that is. However, I’m pretty sure the state of New York would not be included in the “It’s OK to eat barbecue here” map.)

Thing #3… Perform some sort of fancy, schmancy exorcism on the yearbook demons and try and finalize the yearbook… without injuring any students in the process…or going nuts & crazy…or making my Big Fat Stupid Head timer stop.  I think it will take some sort of divine intervention for the last item not to occur.

But before we get all misty eyed about the impending doom of the BFSH counter, I still have another 24 hours before I have to think yearbook, and I have one more night in the city that never sleeps.

So let’s try and keep these happy thoughts going. A real plus side of this trip was meeting up with one of my former newspaper editors who works at Simon and Schuster.

I told the girls we would be going to Rockefeller Center to meet Christina and that there would be free sodas and free books involved.

As we were walking, one of the girls asked, “Why are we getting free books and sodas from a shoe store?”

Me… “A shoe store?”

Staffer… “Yeah, you said she worked for a shoe store.”

Me…“No, I said she worked for Simon and Schuster. You know, the publishing company.”

My current editor-in-chief (the very cute, affable and matching Carson) did point out what a fabulous experience that would be—to have a store where you could not only buy shoes but read and buy books, too.

I guess we could call it The Shoe Knew…or the Shoe Boo… or The Shoebooka…

Yep, I think it’s time to head on back to Tejas.

Shut Those Eyes

Spring break has arrived.

Again, there should be glee, delight, a dance of joy. Perhaps a bit of confetti.

Instead, I just glare at all the yearbook stuff I brought home and all the stuff I didn't grade from the classes I'm supposed to teach… and now I'm starting to whine, so I'll stop.

I do have a question, though. A conundrum of sorts.

Why do people yearbook staffers think that if they ignore something, it just disappears and I won't notice?

You know, disappears like when a 2-year-old  puts his hands in front of his face and because he can't see you, you are not there.

Ah, if life could be so simple.  I’d close my eyes all the time…and POOF…all those bad things—things like those yearbook pages and ungraded papers would simply disappear.

But this ain't no Harry Potter movie where things disapparate, and I’m not Samantha Stephens where a simple twitch of my nose can make things right. Hails bails, I can’t even wiggle my nose. (I can scrunch it, but I don’t think that counts.)


Perhaps someone knows the answer. I certainly don’t. I told the yearbook staff all 280 pages—as in every blessed one— needed to be turned in on Friday. I’m pretty sure I didn’t lapse into Mandarin Chinese. I’m fairly certain I pronounced the edict in English. I’m almost positive I didn’t have my eyes closed.


Still, one staffer opted not to turn in two pages. Didn’t even have the pages on the server. I guess she just thought it would go away. Disappear. Disapparate.


But doggone it, life just doesn’t work that way.


At least my life doesn’t.


Maybe I just need to squeeze my eyes shut really, really tight. Just maybe…

Spring Break, Yearbook Deadlines & Things That Begin With “Y”

In one week, Spring Break arrives, and you probably think I’d be ecstatic. 

I’m not.

You probably think I’d be in a pleasant, warm, fuzzy mood.

I’m not.

Instead, I’m cranky, tired and miserable.

With spring break a mere one week away, it’s the season for hating my yearbook rep and all things that are yearbook or remotely yearbook.


In fact, at this point, I hate anything that even begins with a “Y.”

Now, before I start getting sales pitches from other yearbook reps, please note that this hating on yearbooks is a generic hatefest.

It’s not my yearbook reps fault.

At any other time of year,  I rather like him. From April to February, he’s really a rather wonderful guy. He brings me Starbucks–a nonfat, three raw sugar latte every time he visits me. He returns phone calls promptly. He’s a problem-solver, and he never, ever yells at me.

He’s all the things I’m not—organized, detail-oriented and pleasant.

He’s even in shape.

I hate the guy.

My yearbook pages are now past due. The yearbook company even has a nifty little pie chart showing our status–as if  I need a colorful reminder of how far behind we are.

I hate pie charts.

At one point last week, we somehow managed to get more than 100 pages behind. (All the pages need to be in before spring break in order to keep our shipping date.)

I called my yearbook rep last week, but didn’t leave a message.

He noticed the missed call, promptly called me back and left me a message about what he thought my message would have been about had I left one.

Of course, he was right, you know.

Jeez Louise, I hate that guy…and yearbooks and yachts and yaks and yams and yellow and…

My Birthday, Crying Over Spilled Coffee & Rocky Mountain Angst

Friday, February 27th marked my 52rd birthday.

Let’s just say on the Birthday Meter, this one registered about a minus three.

Such is my life…and it started out with such great promise. My birthday present from my BFF arrived containing a nifty shirt, pencils and books from the Newseum as well as another emergency chocolate bar to replace the one I ate earlier this month. (You can read about that crisis here.)

So Friday, I donned my nifty new “Got freedom?” Newseum t-shirt, sharpened my Newseum pencils and stashed them in my pocket and drove on to school. I even zipped through Starbucks to purchase a grande non-fat, three raw sugar latte in celebration of my birthday.

It pretty much went downhill after that. Here’s my list…

Top 5 Reasons My Birthday Sucked

Item #5… Right before first period started, I promptly spilled my grande non-fat, three raw sugar birthday latte all over the floor by my classroom. (On a positive note, my hallway smelled like Starbucks for the rest of the day. On a sad note, the smell was a constant reminder of my missing grande non-fat, three raw sugar birthday latte.)

Item #4…I left my emergency chocolate bar at home (which, of course, I needed after spilling my grande non-fat, three raw sugar birthday latte all over the floor by my classroom).

Item #3…I discovered that my new yoga instructor was actually my yearbook editor a gajillion years ago and that her daughter will soon be attending my high school and will probably sign up for yearbook. That little ditty all translates into one of two things: Numero Uno– I’m really getting old because I’m moving into teaching a second generation, or Numero Two-oh–my former yearbook editor must have started having children when she was like 10 years old. I think I’m going with Numero Two-oh. I don’t care what you say.

Item #2a…I discovered that my yearbook staff forgot about six pages. “Forgot?” you ask. Yes siree, Missy. Forgot as in…Hmmmm… never created…never assigned… Nothing. Nadda. Zilch. Zippo. Well, you get the picture. And, of course, this little fact was exacerbated by Item #4.

Item #2b…I didn’t leave school until after 5 p.m. on my birthday. And the yearbook staff? Why they were nowhere in sight, and neither was Item #4.

And, drum roll pah-leese…
The No. 1 reason my birthday sucked…After 149 years and 311 days, the Rocky Mountain News folded on my birthday. People who know me would understand why this would be a source of angst. Read about my despair by going here.

More Stupider, FERPA-ized & Conspiracy Theories

Is it all in my head?
Is it all in my head?
Could everything be all right without me knowing?
Is it all just some game
Where everything stays the same
Is it all in my head....?

–“Is It All In My Head” by Shawn Mullins

Stress has made me exponentially more stupider.

I know I’ve discussed this topic before, but I think I’ve cross the threshold this time. Let’s back up and start near the beginning…

Somewhere the architects of FERPA (Family Educational Rights & Privacy Act) secretly sneer at the havoc this little piece of legislation has wrought for high school publications advisers from coast-to-coast.

Now I know that FERPA supposedly was never intended to apply to student publications. (You can go here and here to read about that.) But that never stopped school attorneys from telling school districts to FERPA-ize everything, and while some may call me crazy, I have chosen not to meet Albert Einstein’s definition of insanity and keep bashing my head against the same brick wall by fighting it. It’s a losing proposition to argue otherwise. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

Still, I’m convinced that those FERPA writers and school attorneys must harbor a secret grudge against yearbooks and publications advisers. Maybe their names were misspelled, or perhaps a pimple was photoshopped onto their noses, or maybe those “theys” are just humorless-naysaying-mean-spirited-Richie-hata-types who plot in little backrooms on how to make hardworking-emergency-chocolate-eating-poor people like me miserable. Sometimes (OK, it’s probably more like all the time), I just want to pinch their pointy little heads off.

Now, you non-advisers probably are clueless as to what all this ranting is about. Let me bring you up-to-date speedy quick. At the beginning of the school year, school districts send home a nifty little form (ours is Christmas-green in color). Parental units check a block granting or denying permission for their kiddos picture/work,/name to be published online, in the school newspaper, in the school yearbook, on the bathroom wall. (OK, perhaps maybe not that last one). Our form gives them several choices. It goes something like this…

• Choice #1–Yes for giving permission for everything (including the yearbook), but not for directory information
• Choice #2–Yes for giving permission for publishing information in a directory
• Choice #3–No for leave my kid out of everything
• Choice #4–And then there’s some other choice, but I can’t remember because I’m old.

Admittedly, it can be confusing. And confusing it was, when I got a rather nice email from one of our very, very nice keepers of the FERPA list telling me to take a kid out of the NOs and move him into the YES list.

So I looked at my NO list and his name wasn’t there and this is how FERPA crumbled my world in one afternoon. Here’s a synopsis…

Me…I’m really confused now. If they are on the “Yes to directory,” then they can be in the yearbook right? I was only taking out the NOs.

FERPA keeper…There are 5 categories…“NO” equals NO, do not release any information. “YES SCHOOL” equals YES to anything and everything school related. “YES DIRECTORY” equals name, address, phone number can be added in a phone book directory, but this was for the elementary schools and should have never been on the High School FERPA form. They just like to make one district form. “NO RESPONSE” equals YES to everything because they never turned in a form.

Me (After I read that last email about a gazillion times, I decided it was time to throw pride down the drain and admit the obvious)…OK. I’m stupid. Just tell me this… does “YES DIRECTORY” mean YES to the yearbook?

FERPA keeper …“YES DIRECTORY” means NO to the yearbook.

I sort of felt like Liza Doolittle in My Fair Lady. (“I think I’ve got it!. I think I’ve got it!” “By George! I think she’s got it!”)

So-o-o-o-o-o NO really means NO, and YES means YES, except when YES really means NO.

See what I mean? I think I’m officially the most dumbest. I think I need to buy the FERPA keeper some emergency chocolate. Her job is crazier than mine because not only does she have to put up with the humorless-naysaying-mean-spirited-Richie-hata-types who plot in little backrooms on how to make hardworking-emergency-chocolate-eating-poor people like us miserable, she also has to put up with me.

So I did what any self-respecting, bat-crack crazy publications adviser would do––I took the four page list and cornered my principal in the cafeteria.

While I explained the whole shebang, one of the assistant principals who was standing nearby sort of took a giant step back. I think it had something to do with the fact that my eyes were a tad crazy-glazed and my voice was about an octave higher (and maybe even a bit screechier), and well, maybe, just maybe, my hands were animated just a smidge more than usual. Oh, and I think I might have had my scary-face on, too, but I was not holding any sharp objects.

At that point, my principal just gently pried the list from my fingers and told me he’d take care of it.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him about that whole Richie-hata conspiracy theory or those “theys” who congregate in backrooms.

Well, maybe next time.

Train Wrecks, Dr. Laura & Throwing Tinkerbell Under the Bus

T-minus 5-4-3-2-1… Ta-da… another school year almost ended… just a few more days left and I am free at last… but before the prospect of summer consumes me, we must address and clarify a few things. I know in some twisted, warped way, you’re dying to know how the entire yearbook distribution thing worked out. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow-mo. You say you don’t want to watch, but you do. You don’t want to know, but I betcha I can catch you taking a sneaky peak.

It’s the reason why I like to listen to such shows as Dr. Laura. While it may suck to be me on any particular day, it sure sucks more to be them… In some twisted way, I find comfort in that. So let’s clear up a few misconceptions…


The Publishing Fairies & the Journalism gods
Typo-seeking Tinkerbell does not live in the publications room waiving her cute little fairy wand banishing all mistakes. If she did, I’d wring her little neck for falling down on the job and publicly sacrifice her to the journalism gods.

But whoa Nellie, before we willy-nilly go throwing poor Tinkerbell under the bus, let’s focus on the fact that with 264 pages, more than 3,000 photographs, 100,000 plus gajillion words and well over 2,000 names something somewhere will be wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

There I feel better.

Oh, dear me, according to my VP of Humor Control, I’m starting to sound, well, a bit bitter and, well, “negative.”

OK, OK, OK… Let’s take a positive look-see at all of this. I think we got about 99 percent right. After all, we really only had two complaints and we did sell out of all our extra books in a record two and half hours. I know that doesn’t make the 1 percenters feel any better. All I can do is say I’m sorry that we were/are such big, fat stupidheads (and, yes, I suppose that does stop the Stupidhead Clock on the right).

And perhaps next time, I’ll suggest that they listen to Dr. Laura, too.

Sad Sacks & Snakebites
OK, OK, OK, I admit it. I spent most of last week feeling sorry for myself and yelling at anyone and everyone who would listen. The staffers just sighed and did what they do best--ignore me--while I continually mumbled how children suck the life right out of you.

And, then the really, really, really (did I say really?) absolutely fab-u-lously nice art teacher who is next to my classroom came to school with her arm in a sling and her hand swollen three times its normal size.

Snake bite.

As in Copperhead… as in poisonous snake.

Suddenly sorting all those yearbooks and listening to the naysayers wasn’t so bad after all, ya know what I mean?

And then my BFF from the east coast called telling my something about how there were goats in her school parking lot and how she had to grab them by the horns and try to toss them back over the fence. Jeez.

Uh-oh gotta go… I think it’s time to listen to Dr. Laura.

Spelling Bees, Yearbook Fumes & Livin’ Large

As we speedy quick approach the end of the school year, I glanced through my half-finished, half-baked drafts of posts I started but got sidetracked and didn’t complete. (Kind of like all those lists I keep starting and losing and starting). So I’ve pieced together a montage for you to peruse. Hopefully, one of these little tidbits will spark a smile or two at a time of the year when things are so hectic.

Newspaper Deadlines & the Synchronized Spelling Bees

A conversation during our final newspaper deadline…

Me… “Hey, quick, someone spell ‘competition’ for me. It just doesn’t look right.”

Pizza Andy & Jessica simultaneously & in perfect harmony… “Competition. C-O-M-P-E-T-I-T-I-O-N. Competition.”

One of them… “Hey, wouldn’t it be great if they had a synchronized spelling bee contest? You know, like synchronized swimming?”

Me… “What?”

Pizza Andy & Jessica simultaneously and in perfect harmony… “Booger. B-O-O-G-E-R. Booger.”

Me & My Newspaper Editor Katelyn… simultaneously and in perfect harmony rolling our eyes.

Yearbook update…

So-o-o-o my 1,200 plus yearbooks arrived right on time––all 70+some gazillion boxes packed full of student greatness. I spent the entire week sorting them and threatening children. (I think the print fumes got to me.)

I even snapped at my unbelievably fab-u-lous newspaper editor Katelyn. I don’t think I’ve ever snapped at her. Yelled at, maybe, but snapped at? I don’t think so. Sigh. Print fumes.

We had only one little glitch where some guy or gal manning the presses didn’t quite get the trimline right so the printer instructions remained along the bottom of the page in some of the books. I told my amazing yearbook rep that it wouldn’t have bothered me… except it was Page 1… you know, the title page… and well, the printer instructions also said, “DESTROY.”

Let’s synchronize spell that…all together now…simultaneously and in perfect harmony…

“Destroy. D-E-S-T-R-O-Y. Destroy.”

Not exactly the kind of message one wants one to have when one opens one’s yearbook.

Well, needless to say, the problem got fixed speedy quick, but all that got me to thinking (never a good thing), and I suggested to my rep that maybe those little printer instructions should be written in some sort of code so that if it happens again, it won’t matter--especially if it says things like…

• Give Richie a raise
• This yearbook is fab-u-lous
• Richie is the best adviser ever
• What a rockin’ yearbook!
• Not It!
  
• Send lawyers, guns and money…

No wait… we probably ought to leave that last one out.

My California Trip & Livin’ Large

OK, OK, OK so I know I didn’t have to fly the 1400 or so miles to California to be living large. (Actually all I have to do is turn around and see my backside.) Nevertheless, most of you know that I recently went to the west coast for a few fun-filled days celebrating the turning 50 milestone for my two BFFs. (My third BFF was stuck on the east coast mumbling something about having to administer AP tests. Sheesh.)

At any rate, we had a fab-u-lous time pretending to be rich old ladies at the spa on the beach at Monterey and then later knocking around San Francisco. I decided that my overall disposition would improve exponentially if only I could begin each and every day with a walk on this beach…

…and, of course, have an hour massage.

One final note… I traveled first class, and on the way back, I sipped my complimentary Mimosa and played with the controls on my nifty seat that adjusted everywhere…legs, back, head. Heck, I could even recline to a sleeping position if I were so inclined.

But I’m sad to report I was afraid to because, as I said before, I started messing with all those controls (and you were expecting more of me? Oh, come now), and somehow I managed to get my legs too high and the back of my seat so askew that I had to put my nifty sanitized little airline pillow behind me.

And speaking of sanitized pillows, I even had my own sanitized blanket (shrink-wrapped in plastic no less) assuring me that no germs lived there. No Siree buddy, all those germs were in the back of the plane jumping around on those non-sanitized, unwrapped red blankets. You know the ones I’m talkin’ about. Can I get an “Amen” brothers and sisters?

Who knew flying first class was so much fun?

Now, least you think that my school district pays me way too much in my little southern suburb south of the big D, rest assured that this little flight cost me all my airline mileage points. Points racked up–not because I’m a jet set traveler–but because of the year’s worth of groceries I ate and charged to my credit card in order to get those airline miles. It’s no wonder I have a livin’ large backside.

Oh yeah, baby, I’m Mrs. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous… no wait, that’s Brittany Spears

********

OK, so enough of that nonsense…Here’s looking forward to summer.

Let’s synchronize spell that…all together now…simultaneously and in perfect harmony…

summer…S–U–M–M–E–R…summer

Spring Yearbooks, the 6 o’clock News & Not It

You would think that after completing our last newspaper deadline, I could breathe a sigh of relief, kick my shoes off, sit on the couch, eat some bon-bons and watch mindless television.

Instead, I live in fear.

It’s May.

And, that means only one thing…

Yearbook delivery for spring yearbooks--and newscasters regaling yearbook disasters and mishaps across the country with live news reports at 5 o’clock, 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. And, of course, just in case you missed it, stories posted at nano-speed across the internet.

It’s enough to make your head spin around faster than Linda Blair in the Exorcist.

“NOT IT, NOT IT, NOT IT!” I find myself screaming (like my students often do when I ask someone to do something), hoping that that little mantra will somehow save me from a yearbook catastrophe.

Every year it’s always something, somewhere. One high school located nearby was IT for two consecutive years--once for some inappropriate ad copy and once for inappropriate placeholder text. Other yearbook advisers have been chastised for allowing inappropriate content and/or photographs. Of course, that’s just the stuff that makes the news.

So far in my area this year, McKinney High School got to be IT and not in a very fun way with almost 600 of its yearbook photos altered by the photography company--with girls’ heads over there on boys’ bodies and boys’ heads on girls’ bodies and necks stretched, arms missing and outfits altered--all like a bad version of Scarecrow Gone Wild in the Wizard of Oz (“First they took my legs off and they threw them over there! Then they took my chest out and they threw it over there!”)

I’m still a bit foggy as to how almost 600 photos get altered and no one in the production/proof process notices it. Scary, huh? It certainly scares the bejeebers out of me.

Here’s a few tips I have for keeping under the radar and off the 6 o’clock news…

Richie’s Tips For Staying Out Of The News

Tip #5…
Anytime a staffer thinks it’s a great idea to put some sort of background as a graphic element to a page, warning bells should ring (and not the Bells of St. Mary’s either). Read all words and look at the background with a magnifying glass. They’re counting on your poor, aging eye sight or lack of street sense to run something by you…And it’s exactly the kind of thing that belongs in my “Things That Will Get You Fired” folder. (You know, the one located in my right hand desk drawer.)

Tip #4…
Beware of drop caps or big Initial letters. They probably spell something (and not a very Good something either). For instance, A student oftentimes Tries to write Something They Usually find Pretty funny but Inappropriate. Your Principal, of course, will fail to Have any sense of humor regarding this matter. Everyone, of course, will blame you, And want to Deliver and sacrifice you to the journalism gods.

Tip #3…
Avoid slang wherever possible… unless of course, urbandictionary.com is your new BFF, but that would mean that you would have to be able to access it. Otherwise, I can guarantee that your day will be worse than a really bad fuel day.

Tip #2…
When proofing pages, always read all names out loud to avoid the inclusion of bogus names that phonetically sound like bad words when combined with regular names. I’ll just give you one example–and only partially, after all, this is a PG site–that happened to a veteran adviser friend of mine years ago–Meoffe. Enough said.

And finally, drum roll-pah-leese, my No. 1 recommendation is…

Tip #1…
Remind your staffers that when they’re proofing pages if they notice someone’s arm missing or a guy’s head on a girl’s body, well, they just might want to say something to someone.

In the meantime…

NOT IT! NOT IT! NOT IT!