Things that make you go, "@#$^%&!!"

Last night I went to see Toy Story and Toy Story 2 in 3D--good times. Though I can agree with a friend of mine that they are not my favorite of the Pixar crew (pretty sure Up will go uncontested for quite a while), but these two flicks are still pretty sweet. First of all, I haven't watched either in years, so to revisit them in a theater with the bonus of 3D was a great little outing. The downside to the evening is that it led for a later night than usual, and with that, my day has decided to seize me.

I woke up late. I was expecting that. I rushed to get ready and was about to get out the door when I noticed a funk steaming from my take-home-stuff-from-work bag. I think I had noticed it the night before when I went to the basement to feed the cats, but I couldn't identify a source, so I thought nothing of it. Now, with me fighting to get out the door, the smell was unmistakably familiar--urine.

"You've got to be kidding me."

In my bag, a folder full of graded papers and my school laptop marinated in a puddle of piss. It was a moment when I couldn't even think of a swear to fit my irritation. My wife felt horrible for me, but obviously her sympathy was all she could offer. I wipe the machine free of most of its foul feline coating and popped the battery out figuring that it could be anywhere among the cracks. Eventually I wrapped it in a grocery bag and headed for work.

Couple of hours later, and nothing has improved much. People have asked me if it still works. "I don't know," I tell them. "I'm afraid to check." Eventually, I did. I clicked the battery back in, plugged it into a wall, and it squealed at me. The sound was like a whale song, but higher pitched and furious. I picture a guy listening to the sounds in a room and interpreting. "Mmm...she's angry."

I'm angry.

Parent teacher conferences are tonight and that machine has my student records on it. Luckily, I know my students fairly well by now and we can talk about character and work ethic more than assignments.

The only other joy of today is that the computer guy at school was very cool about the who thing. I'm on a list to get a new computer by the end of the month anyhow, so my old one was going to be gotten rid of anyway. I'll be without a laptop now for a couple of weeks, he says, but after that, I'll have a better machine.

Nine and half hours to go before I head home...

Rage is Sad

On the corner next to the downtown movie theater, there frequently stands a man with a cross. Every Saturday night, members from a local church stand downtown and preach out warnings to those who might indulge in the less classy forms of entertainment. Typically, I hear a cross-wielding man say things like, "Think of the things you can catch from just one night of pleasure. Is it worth it?"

I've always thought it a weird thing to preach about in front of the movie theater. If that's the message, I'd mosey down to the strip club a few blocks away.

Regardless of the message or the methodology, I feel a sense of pity and admiration. First of all, they are acting on something they feel is right. In a way they have deemed appropriate, they stand at the corner and throw out John the Baptist's message of "Repent." For that, I admire.

This last weekend, though, I began the feel the pity. Often, this preacher is approached by the rudest of the rude. They laugh, swear, mock, question. As my wife and I walked by on the way to see X-Men Origins: Wolverine (I'll talk about this tomorrow), I heard the voice of the angriest observer.

"Where the fuck did Adam and Ever come from?"

There was nothing casual about the question. It was yelled, spat out in contempt. A friend added, "Where did God come from?"

"Yeah," the antagonist yelled. "Where the fuck did God come from?"

The man with the cross (more admiration) didn't get angry at all. He responded with quick little bits that his attackers wouldn't hear.

As I walked on, the pity fell on me. These scoffers won't listen. They never will. They are likely to never accept the idea that God has always been and will always be. They aren't looking for truth. They search for the lies and the lies only. For what reasons I don't know. Unless the receive a Paul-esque experience (the Almighty Christ knocking them to the ground and blinding them), they are likely to stand outside of the new Jerusalem and still bellow, "Where did you come from?"

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

But really, there's not a reason to stop making me angry. I take this break from my Adventist Education series to contemplate how utterly not wrathful I can be. I have a class in which students are horrible, disrespectful, little whelps that I can't imagine being successful in life if they act outside of my class like they act inside of my class. And it grew today. I now have 27 kids in the class that should be capped at 20. Last year, the same classes were never larger than 15. It doesn't bother me so much, but it is overwhelming often.

As for me being angry, it frustrates me more to not know how to take that anger out. I'm a sulker, a brooder. I take life as it is, laugh off what is annoying, and write off the infuriating as something that can not be helped and only complete ignoramuses will ever actually be so ridiculous. Nevertheless, I am trapped with these ignoramuses for one class period a day. I keep expecting to pop, explode, scream...anything. But nothing happens. I don't know where the line is or what I should do when that line is crossed.

Sigh.