When you have a dog that’s half part husky who sheds all year round, and a cat who seems to pull hair out in clumps, you need a good vacuum. Thanks to me and my, “Let’s see what this baby will pick up!” philosophy of vacuuming, our old vacuum lived a rather hard life.
After being used like a shop-vac for the last few years, our old vacuum wasn’t working very well. She was getting a little loose around the joints and we were beginning to find it harder and harder to actually get the floors clean.
My brother has been known to use his shop-vac to vacuum his house. I tried using mine and found that while it did do a really good job of cleaning the floors, it also more than doubled the amount of vacuuming time necessary to clean my entire house, as well as gave me back pains from all the stooping required to lug the canister around without tipping it over.
With purchases like this, I would usually just head to the store and get whatever looked the best in my price range. However, this time I went on-line and did some vacuum research. I found a site that rated hundreds of different vacuums and even had reviews written by owners.
This site proved to be quite useful, as I was able to eliminate several different brands and models before ever going to the store.
Then I found the Dyson Bagless Upright Cyclonic Vacuum. The little boy inside of me who took apart everything he could get his hands on fell in love. I was quite sure that the Dyson Bagless Upright Cyclonic Vacuum was designed and built with me in mind. I tried everything I could think of to justify spending over 500 dollars for a vacuum, but in the end the Dyson Bagless Upright Cyclonic Vacuum was just nowhere near my budget.
I ended up getting a Bissell Cleanview Bagless and it’s a nice vacuum too. It has a built in hose with several attachments, a real long cord, and even a headlight. (although I don’t think I’ll be vacuuming much with the lights off) I’ve only used it once, but it works much better than our old vacuum.
So for now I’ve got a Bissell, but maybe someday I’ll get my Dyson.
I’ll keep you posted…
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Is it math or is it reading???
I gave a district math test the other day. The district gives these tests every few months to help teachers determine what areas of the current curriculum are giving the students trouble. As I was looking over the test, I noticed that all of the 29 problems were word problems and it caused me to wonder: Is it math or is it reading?
I’m 40, and when I was in elementary school math was just math. You learned how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. You completed each of these math skills with both large numbers and small numbers. Success was based on your ability to actually “do the math.”
These days, however, doing math is something very different. Sure, you have to be able to add, subtract, multiply and divide, but children are expected to master those seemingly simple skills long before third grade, because that’s only a small part of what the modern math student is required to do.
Gone are the days of rote memorization of multiplication facts and page after page of ciphering. It is no longer good enough to simply have students who can do pencil and paper mathematics.
Oh no, today’s young mathematicians must contend with an ever-changing mathematical world. A world in which “doing the math” means reading paragraph long story problems, extrapolating the important information, organizing the relevant date, deciphering the correct combination of thinking skills necessary to arrive at a reasonable solution, and then being able to write well enough to defend their answer.
I remember a time in the not too distant past, when there were some students who were good in math and some who were good in reading. However, due to the fact that reading comprehension is so deeply ingrained in modern mathematics, today’s student who struggles in reading is woefully ill prepared to handle the rigors of his daily math schedule.
Is this a bad thing? I don’t know.
On the one hand, shouldn’t the ability to read and understand what is being read be of the utmost importance in today’s scholastic setting?
On the other hand, a student who’s reading is below grade level can’t possibly hope to find any academic success in math due to the required reading.
This quandary is a daily source of anguish to a teacher who desperately wants to help each child find academic success in at least one area.
I just want the state of Texas to let me know…is it math or is it reading?
I’m 40, and when I was in elementary school math was just math. You learned how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. You completed each of these math skills with both large numbers and small numbers. Success was based on your ability to actually “do the math.”
These days, however, doing math is something very different. Sure, you have to be able to add, subtract, multiply and divide, but children are expected to master those seemingly simple skills long before third grade, because that’s only a small part of what the modern math student is required to do.
Gone are the days of rote memorization of multiplication facts and page after page of ciphering. It is no longer good enough to simply have students who can do pencil and paper mathematics.
Oh no, today’s young mathematicians must contend with an ever-changing mathematical world. A world in which “doing the math” means reading paragraph long story problems, extrapolating the important information, organizing the relevant date, deciphering the correct combination of thinking skills necessary to arrive at a reasonable solution, and then being able to write well enough to defend their answer.
I remember a time in the not too distant past, when there were some students who were good in math and some who were good in reading. However, due to the fact that reading comprehension is so deeply ingrained in modern mathematics, today’s student who struggles in reading is woefully ill prepared to handle the rigors of his daily math schedule.
Is this a bad thing? I don’t know.
On the one hand, shouldn’t the ability to read and understand what is being read be of the utmost importance in today’s scholastic setting?
On the other hand, a student who’s reading is below grade level can’t possibly hope to find any academic success in math due to the required reading.
This quandary is a daily source of anguish to a teacher who desperately wants to help each child find academic success in at least one area.
I just want the state of Texas to let me know…is it math or is it reading?
Saturday, February 05, 2005
End of an Era
The drive home was silent. The ride seemed longer this time, both of us trying to wrap our minds around this new truth about what we were doing. When we finally spoke, we agreed that Big Mama had been fun to make and an intriguing learning experience, but we vowed to never make anything anywhere near that big again.
What I didn’t tell you earlier, because it seemed a bit off topic, is that when we made our first visit to the chemical supply room to procure the needed chemicals, we also happened to leave with some additional chemicals that weren’t needed for the Frictional Impact Explosives. You see, the pamphlet that had the recipe for the explosives also had a couple of other recipes that we thought looked interesting.
Besides the explosives, what caught our attention was a recipe for smoke bombs. The smoke bomb recipe seemed more like it might actually work than the other. We decided that it would be a nice consolation prize if in fact the main focus of our adventure turned out to be a dud.
I don’t recall much about these, because we really never paid much attention to them after the explosives worked so well.
When we rediscovered these chemicals, that we had all but forgotten about for several months, we decided that we should give the smoke bombs a try. Without using any of our newfound “Big Mama” wisdom regarding the size of the toys, we quickly got to work and prepared a gigantic smoke bomb.
Unlike the explosives that had to dry overnight, this baby was ready in an instant. We took it out in the backyard and lit the fuse.
In a matter of seconds our entire backyard was full of greenish-blue smoke. It was so dense that we couldn’t see more that a foot in any direction. Once again, the results were quite impressive. This pamphlet was turning out to be a goldmine.
Seeing as we had used all the chemicals we had on hand to build this one smoke bomb, (I told you it was big) we decided to make a second trip that very night to the chemical supply room to get some more.
This is the point at which our careers as outlaw chemists made a 180-degree turn in the wrong direction. You see, up until this point all of our somewhat shady maneuvers were well thought out and planned with meticulous detail. This mission, however, had several poorly planned elements, as well as more than its fair share of stupid heat-of-the-moment decisions. For the sake of this story we’ll call them all mistakes.
Call it pride, call it arrogance, call it stupidity, call it whatever you want, but we decided that we didn’t need to wait until the wee hours of the morning to make our chemical run. Oh no, we decided that we could easily sneak into the building at about 10:30 that evening. (Mistake #1)
Having checked the bathroom every time we were in the science building, we were quite certain that the window in the bathroom would still be unlocked. We packed a bag with the empty chemical containers needed to make the smoke bombs and not the frictional impact explosives. This decision would turn out to be the only good decision we made the entire evening. Then we waited for 10:30.
We entered the building without a hitch and quickly made our way to the second floor. Heading down toward the science classrooms, we were passing a second stairwell when down below we heard the sound of jingling keys. It was one of the school’s graduate student security guards. For the most part what they did was make rounds through each of the buildings making sure doors were locked.
The guard looked up and saw two students standing at the top of the stairs glaring down.
We took off running (Mistake #2) down the hall and around a corner that led into an area of the building that was unfamiliar to either of us. (Mistake #3) It turned out to be a row of locked offices, a pair of bathrooms and a dead end. Panicking, we slid into the men’s room.
Realizing that even if the window would unlock, we were on the second floor and staying put meant getting caught for sure, we decided to stash the backpack (Mistake #4) behind a trashcan, run out past the guard, down the stairs and out of the building. Based on the rather large waistline of the security guard, we were both quite sure we could easily outrun him.
We stashed the backpack, peeked cautiously out the bathroom door and took off toward the nearest stairs. It worked like a charm and the guard didn’t even have time to turn around, much less follow us.
We had gotten away again…or so we thought.
Safe at home, we set our clock of 3:00 am, intending to head back, retrieve the backpack and put an end to the night’s fiasco. However, it wasn’t our clock that woke us up at about midnight, it was the phone.
Seems the university police had found a backpack in the science building with a name on it, and the chief of police wanted to know if we had time to come have a conversation with him down at the campus police station.
Now there’s a good reason why our university’s police chief was nicknamed Barney Fife. Among other things, this guy was running across the court at a basketball game to break up a fight between spectators when his gun fell out of his holster. If that’s not bad enough, he didn’t even notice that it had happened and a second fight broke out between students who were trying to grab the guy’s gun. So, it was no big shock that Barney wasn’t taken all that seriously.
All the same, we were terrified.
We told him we’d be there in 15 minutes, but Barney insisted on picking us up. I had never been to, let alone seen, the university police station, but as we pulled up in front I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
As it turned out, the police chief and his one deputy were pretty low in the pecking order when it came to office assignments. The university had an old house that used to be the president’s home back in the 1920’s. Being stuck in that old house would be just about the worst location on the entire campus. However, Barney would have given his single bullet to be in the old president’s home. You see, even old textbook storage ranked higher than the sheriff and his posse, because they were stationed, not in the actual house, but out back in the dilapidated old garage.
We walked in and an officer showed us to some chairs and pulled the garage door down with a crash. I felt like I was stuck in a really bad movie, as we just sat there waiting for someone to say something…anything.
The chief took a seat behind his desk, and shuffling though a huge stack of papers he produced a five by seven inch note card. Looking up he said, “I just want to make sure I get this right.”
Clearing his throat he read the card, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” and we both snapped to attention.
I’m sure he read the rest but I don’t remember anything more.
When I finally regained my mental composure, he was firing off questions about the contents of the backpack and what we were doing in the science building.
Turns out that the university had been searching, rather unsuccessfully, for the person or persons responsible for leaving tiny bombs, as he called them, all around campus. It evidently had not taken the science department long to determine the ingredients being used to make the explosives, but they had no idea where the culprits were getting the chemicals from, since as far as they could tell, no unauthorized personnel had been in the chemical supply room.
I don’t remember much about the actual interrogation, seeing as my mind was still spinning from having just been read my rights. I know it was a lengthy discussion, in which we were both quite scared and said maybe all of five words.
After what felt like an eternity, we were told not to leave town and that we would be contacted after the science department had determined if the chemicals we had in our backpack were the ones being used to make the bombs. (Which of course they weren’t since we hadn’t brought those containers with us)
The deputy took us home and we immediately washed all the remaining frictional impact explosives chemicals down the drain, got rid of the containers, and burned the pamphlet. We were sad to see it go, because it was the end of an era…a frictional impact era.
Note:
We were contacted about a week later and told that, due to a lack of evidence, nothing more was going to be done regarding the chemicals we had, but we were sternly warned not to be in any building after hours without permission. A warning that we took seriously and heeded for the rest of our time at the university…well, kind of.
What I didn’t tell you earlier, because it seemed a bit off topic, is that when we made our first visit to the chemical supply room to procure the needed chemicals, we also happened to leave with some additional chemicals that weren’t needed for the Frictional Impact Explosives. You see, the pamphlet that had the recipe for the explosives also had a couple of other recipes that we thought looked interesting.
Besides the explosives, what caught our attention was a recipe for smoke bombs. The smoke bomb recipe seemed more like it might actually work than the other. We decided that it would be a nice consolation prize if in fact the main focus of our adventure turned out to be a dud.
I don’t recall much about these, because we really never paid much attention to them after the explosives worked so well.
When we rediscovered these chemicals, that we had all but forgotten about for several months, we decided that we should give the smoke bombs a try. Without using any of our newfound “Big Mama” wisdom regarding the size of the toys, we quickly got to work and prepared a gigantic smoke bomb.
Unlike the explosives that had to dry overnight, this baby was ready in an instant. We took it out in the backyard and lit the fuse.
In a matter of seconds our entire backyard was full of greenish-blue smoke. It was so dense that we couldn’t see more that a foot in any direction. Once again, the results were quite impressive. This pamphlet was turning out to be a goldmine.
Seeing as we had used all the chemicals we had on hand to build this one smoke bomb, (I told you it was big) we decided to make a second trip that very night to the chemical supply room to get some more.
This is the point at which our careers as outlaw chemists made a 180-degree turn in the wrong direction. You see, up until this point all of our somewhat shady maneuvers were well thought out and planned with meticulous detail. This mission, however, had several poorly planned elements, as well as more than its fair share of stupid heat-of-the-moment decisions. For the sake of this story we’ll call them all mistakes.
Call it pride, call it arrogance, call it stupidity, call it whatever you want, but we decided that we didn’t need to wait until the wee hours of the morning to make our chemical run. Oh no, we decided that we could easily sneak into the building at about 10:30 that evening. (Mistake #1)
Having checked the bathroom every time we were in the science building, we were quite certain that the window in the bathroom would still be unlocked. We packed a bag with the empty chemical containers needed to make the smoke bombs and not the frictional impact explosives. This decision would turn out to be the only good decision we made the entire evening. Then we waited for 10:30.
We entered the building without a hitch and quickly made our way to the second floor. Heading down toward the science classrooms, we were passing a second stairwell when down below we heard the sound of jingling keys. It was one of the school’s graduate student security guards. For the most part what they did was make rounds through each of the buildings making sure doors were locked.
The guard looked up and saw two students standing at the top of the stairs glaring down.
We took off running (Mistake #2) down the hall and around a corner that led into an area of the building that was unfamiliar to either of us. (Mistake #3) It turned out to be a row of locked offices, a pair of bathrooms and a dead end. Panicking, we slid into the men’s room.
Realizing that even if the window would unlock, we were on the second floor and staying put meant getting caught for sure, we decided to stash the backpack (Mistake #4) behind a trashcan, run out past the guard, down the stairs and out of the building. Based on the rather large waistline of the security guard, we were both quite sure we could easily outrun him.
We stashed the backpack, peeked cautiously out the bathroom door and took off toward the nearest stairs. It worked like a charm and the guard didn’t even have time to turn around, much less follow us.
We had gotten away again…or so we thought.
Safe at home, we set our clock of 3:00 am, intending to head back, retrieve the backpack and put an end to the night’s fiasco. However, it wasn’t our clock that woke us up at about midnight, it was the phone.
Seems the university police had found a backpack in the science building with a name on it, and the chief of police wanted to know if we had time to come have a conversation with him down at the campus police station.
Now there’s a good reason why our university’s police chief was nicknamed Barney Fife. Among other things, this guy was running across the court at a basketball game to break up a fight between spectators when his gun fell out of his holster. If that’s not bad enough, he didn’t even notice that it had happened and a second fight broke out between students who were trying to grab the guy’s gun. So, it was no big shock that Barney wasn’t taken all that seriously.
All the same, we were terrified.
We told him we’d be there in 15 minutes, but Barney insisted on picking us up. I had never been to, let alone seen, the university police station, but as we pulled up in front I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
As it turned out, the police chief and his one deputy were pretty low in the pecking order when it came to office assignments. The university had an old house that used to be the president’s home back in the 1920’s. Being stuck in that old house would be just about the worst location on the entire campus. However, Barney would have given his single bullet to be in the old president’s home. You see, even old textbook storage ranked higher than the sheriff and his posse, because they were stationed, not in the actual house, but out back in the dilapidated old garage.
We walked in and an officer showed us to some chairs and pulled the garage door down with a crash. I felt like I was stuck in a really bad movie, as we just sat there waiting for someone to say something…anything.
The chief took a seat behind his desk, and shuffling though a huge stack of papers he produced a five by seven inch note card. Looking up he said, “I just want to make sure I get this right.”
Clearing his throat he read the card, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” and we both snapped to attention.
I’m sure he read the rest but I don’t remember anything more.
When I finally regained my mental composure, he was firing off questions about the contents of the backpack and what we were doing in the science building.
Turns out that the university had been searching, rather unsuccessfully, for the person or persons responsible for leaving tiny bombs, as he called them, all around campus. It evidently had not taken the science department long to determine the ingredients being used to make the explosives, but they had no idea where the culprits were getting the chemicals from, since as far as they could tell, no unauthorized personnel had been in the chemical supply room.
I don’t remember much about the actual interrogation, seeing as my mind was still spinning from having just been read my rights. I know it was a lengthy discussion, in which we were both quite scared and said maybe all of five words.
After what felt like an eternity, we were told not to leave town and that we would be contacted after the science department had determined if the chemicals we had in our backpack were the ones being used to make the bombs. (Which of course they weren’t since we hadn’t brought those containers with us)
The deputy took us home and we immediately washed all the remaining frictional impact explosives chemicals down the drain, got rid of the containers, and burned the pamphlet. We were sad to see it go, because it was the end of an era…a frictional impact era.
Note:
We were contacted about a week later and told that, due to a lack of evidence, nothing more was going to be done regarding the chemicals we had, but we were sternly warned not to be in any building after hours without permission. A warning that we took seriously and heeded for the rest of our time at the university…well, kind of.
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