man, junior high was easy living.
for 7th and 8th grade, the kidz of argyle junior high were required to take 4 electives, one for each quarter. unlike normal schools with choices in curriculum, we argylians got a chunk of "AG," aka agriculture (b/c let's face it, this is what 95% of my fellow schoolmates really needed to learn after 12th grade), art (which c'mon, why was this restricted to a single quarter??), shop, aka "tech ed," aka technical education (this class REEKED of wood chips) and last but not least, home economics, with the one and only Mrs. Dralle.
Mrs. Dralle has a mole on her face by her smile in the shape of a heart. She has brown sally jesse raphealesque glasses--except Dralle's may be larger than Sally's. . . She liked to pronounce the word measure (which she used much more frequently than you would expect, even for a class teaching sewing, cooking and cleaning) like MAY zhur. "ok class, lettuce MAY zhur abowt a cup and a haff ov SHUG er. MAY zhur it correctly, now. in the MAY zhuring cups, no eyeballing!"
Oh, Mrs. D, you sure kept it real. You taught me how to set my table, how to sew bell bottom polka dot pajama pants, how to wash the dishes and best yet, make poop cookies. Most of you have eaten poop cookies at some time or another, without even realizing it. You may refer to them as "no-bake" or "campfire" or "peanut butter chocolate oatmeal." Well, screw that. I was 12 and my friend Ryan and I buddied up to tackle this recipe and we thought it looked like feces. We were classy like that, still are, actually.
The cookies are delicious. In fact, I just made a batch for my company's xmas potluck party tomorrow afternoon. They're ridiculously easy to make and they're full of chocolately, peanutbuttery goodness. Ask me and I'll send you the recipe, 4 realz.
When I was a junior at uw-oshkosh, studying radio/tv/film and journalism, Mrs. Dralle had sent me a letter in the mail. She got ahold of my dorm address from my mom who still lived across the street from my old high school. Mrs. D heard word that I was doing something other than agriculture (where really the only memories I still have were "making" paper (more like pulp on a window screen), and letting the pet bunny loose in the room and lying about it), and that I wasn't pregnant or married (at age 20, believe me, this was against the norm), she asked me to come speak to the kids of Argyle High for Career Day.
It turns out Career Day was over some sort of break, I think maybe xmas break (UW-O had extremely long winter breaks), so my mom guilted me into doing it. I remember I got stuck my old math classroom, with about 12-15 attention deficit kids staring at me, eyes glossed over after coming down from their daily sugar high. Dudes did not want to be there. Neither did I. But Mrs. Holland, smiled and "how good to see you jodi!", nodding encouragingly, man. I dont' even remember what I talked about. I just passed out clippings of old reviews and played a couple PSAs and a snippet from a specialty show. Showed a clip of my tv news work. "see kids, you can get out of argyle. lookat me, i got tattoos, piercings, and i'm a freak!!!! stay here forever!!!" that was probably what they got out of it anyway. . .
i dont think i ever want to visit Argyle schoolz ever again. . . but at least mrs. d sent me a certificate in the mail the next month. just like in grade school, "you guessed the correct number of tootsie rolls in the jar!" or "spelling bee champion" "100% on your math quiz". the certificate of thanks was on the exact same certificate. good to know us working professionals received the same merit badges as the 5th graders. . .
home ec was almost as rad as shop. shop, i got an A. i'm pretty sure the teacher gave everyone A's, especially the girls. our teacher was some jock dude who didn't want anything to do with instructing 13 year old girls how to wield a jigsaw (he was more into the 16 year olds). all i did was sniff the wood glue and let the boys in my class make my projects for me. i came up with the genius idea of making a penstand in the shape of wisconsin, hence calling it "little wisconsin" and carving the letters in with the burner all asinine with a sick, cheap pen. i gave it to my brother for xmas and he laughed so hard, i thought he was overjoyed. it must have meant something to him despite the mockery though, b/c he still has it on his desk. (as well as the red lips pillow i stuffed in home ec the same year). i also made a nightstand (or maybe it was justin paulson or aaron granberg who cut the wood for me, i may have actually screwed it together and stained it), and that also still exists, sitting in my mom's bedroom next to her bed.
skillz. i got em. i can make a mean batch of poop cookies, i possess the knowledge (somewhere) to make pulp, nightstands, little wisconsins with shitty pens, animal activism (bunnies) and i learned how to draw in art. i cant' really mock art though, that class was rad.
now to go taste test the poop cookies. . . how i pray for the youth of argyle, wisconsin. . .
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