Is anyone else bothered by all the gangland shootings that have been going on in Toronto over the last few months? I'm bothered by it. Of all US culture we import, do we really need THAT? It disturbs me. It troubles me. I just don't understand it. *sigh*

My feet really hurt tonight. Walking back and forth to the bus several times a day, plus walking up and down through an exhibit for two hours, and elsewhere in the museum, on a daily basis is hard on the tootsies. They've got that slightly burning feeling of skin that is threatening to blister. Having doffed my shoes (can you doff a shoe as you can a hat?) they are still tender. I wish I could tell them that they get to sleep in tomorrow, but I'm training on the switchboard at work so I'll be back at it in eight hours time. They won't get a day off until this coming Friday. I've already decided on what I'll be doing, too. NOTHING. Oh baby.

I had an entertaining night riding up Dufferin on the bus. It isn't often that I enjoy a ride on that route, but for some reason, tonight the mix of people was kind of fun. This probably had something to do with it being Friday night and people were out. There were some girls at the back of the bus, probably around fourteen years of age, and rather than being the obnoxious, noisy things that teenage girls can be, they were fairly interesting. They were talking about other people at school, but without the nastiness that so many of the 'fairer' sex exude. There were two gangly, gawky teenage boys standing in front of me, somehow oblivious to the girls, but probably only because they were discussing one of the few things that can distract as much as boobs - music. There were some adults around me, many clearly coming home after a post-work drink. There were also some couples doing their Friday night bus snuggling and the smattering of stylish single twenty-somethings that only seem to ride the bus after dark. And, what route would be complete without the requisite drunk guy arguing and staggering around up near the driver. He seemed to have gotten hold of two long-stemmed roses, which just gave him a weird surreal appearance.

I think I'll take a moment to reflect on my first week doing schoolgroup tours at the ROM. For the most part, the grade fives are the most engaged of all the grade that have come through. The grade nines, of which there still have only been one class, were the worst. I have great hopes that at some point I'll be able to engage them. Generally, the grade elevens are really hard to interest. They are at that horrible age when they don't want to look smart - God forbid - or even mildly interested. Today was the exception. Today was a wonderful exception, actually. Most of the groups coming through were grade elevens and with the exception of one class they were all very enthusiastic. They came from, mostly, highschools with intensive arts programmes and "gifted" classes. And, I am happy to report that my old school was one of these. Unfortunately, the ten-year-olds that came through afterward were really unruly and hard to keep focused.

One thing that I've learned is that the teacher, more even than the kids' backgrounds, makes the biggest difference. If your teacher is fun, smart, engaging, can talk to his/her students on their level without coming off dumb or trying to hard - those kids will eat out of his/her hand. Of course, I knew this from my own school experience, but it's really amazing to see it at work. The highschool teachers coming through today were really good. Another thing I've learned is that if you challenge your kids, especially the younger ones, they will rise to the occasion, regardless of whether the curriculum believes they can. On Wednesday, I asked a class of nine-year-olds, "Can anyone tell me the name of the Egyptian cat goddess?" Their teacher, an older, probably jaded woman, piped up from the rear, "Um, they're only grade fours, you know," in an offensively condescending tone. I didn't skip a beat when I answered her with, "Actually, you'd be surprised to discover how much nine-year-olds know about subjects like Egypt, compared to adults." She smirked at me, but her face was wiped clean when one little black girl raised her hand and offered a tentative, "Bastet?" BINGO. Stupid teacher. It was obvious that she needed a reminder, but it was probably lost on her. I bet she can't even remember why she went into teaching in the first place.

Anyway, I'll wrap up now. I need a shower and my feet desperately want off the floor.