Mt. Airy Days

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Location: United States

I am an animation producer, director, designer, and animator. This is a blog-folio of some of my artworks. Contact me:

Monday, September 24, 2007

More junior high school

Okay, so I'm in 7th grade, and the math teacher is a real pip. He had us do our homework on tablet paper, 5x8, vertically held, and it had to be set up in a cetain way. Name at the very top. Section, or class number next line down. Date. Number one, with a circle around it for the first problem. The solution is to be written like this: ans.,_______. This he read to us, like this, "A-N-S, period comma, and a line for the answer." If you miss this on any problem, that answer is wrong. Now comes the hard part, he calls on you to come up to the blackboard to write an answer to a problem. If you got the answer right, no problem. But if you got it wrong,.... He would look at the blackboard from his desk, then he would look at you, standing there waiting for his decision. He would then look down at his grade book, and tell you and the class, in a very loud authoritative voice, "Zero recitation, "E" cooperation, and you're a failure." The first time he did that, I think we were in a state of shock. After that, it changed to hurt, then it became a joke that we repeated over and over again. What kind of statement is that to make to students? He must have been some kind of monster. He was really tall and evil loking, you've seen my drawing of him on my drawing blog.
One Monday, he did not show up to school, we had a substitute teacher. The next day, still no Mr Abrams.
Wednesday, he showed up. We walked into the classroom for advisory, and he was seated behind his desk. We sat down in silence, he had no patience for kids who spoke out of turn, and looked at him. He was there alright, but there were crutches behind him leaning in the corner against the wall. Then, he had to get up for some reason or other, and he reached back for the crutches, and hobbled across the room. He had a cast on one leg, up to the knee. We all almost broke our faces trying not to laugh out loud.
And he was looking at us too. He sat down, put the crutches back in the corner, and went back to his paper work.
The next week, he still had the cast on his leg. During math class, David London did something to get Mr Abrams angry, and instead of just telling David to come back after school for detention, he decided to walk out from behind his desk to physically grab David. But he had the cast on, so he dragged his foot behind him as he walked. David jumped up and ran to the other side of the room. Mr Abrams gave chase, dragging his foot the whole time. Everytime he got close to grabbing David, David would walk a few steps out of reach. Then David started to drag his foot like Mr Abrams, just to entertain us. Up and down the aisles of the classroom the chase continued. It was like something out of the Little Rascals. The whole class was laughing up a storm. I think Mr Abrams gave up and sat down, red faced from exhaustion.
Mr Abrams was probably the worst teacher I ever had all through school. He most likely got his teaching degree from a matchbook cover, and I'll bet he took the test 20 times before he passed.

Saturday, September 22, 2007


I was going to write about how I hate the month of September. But decided I would write about only one year in particular, the year I started junior high school. A new school, more homework to do, and a bigger school. There were 17 or 18 classes of each grade. 7th, 8th, and 9th grades. I really did not want to be there. I wanted to do something else, anything else, rather than be in school. I wished I was already a grownup so I would be past all the schooling rigamoroll. Then I could watch cartoons all day. Hmmm, sounds like working at Cartoon Network. But junior high school was not fun in September. I remeber the science teacher, Mr Tracton, had a daily assignment of work for us to do, and I did not want to do it. What threw me for a loop was the fact that he wanted to see that daily work a week before report cards came out, to see if we did it or not. And I didn't do it, so I had to scramble to find out what daily work entailed, and try to do eight weeks worth in 2 days. I gave up, turned in what I had, and basically failed the class. My first time failing a class. I remember that he kept telling us that our daily work began on 9-9, and went to mid-October. I asked the girl next to me, Nanette Perotto, what all this work was, and she told me to look back in my notes and see what we wrote done the first few days of school. I saw some chicken scratches I made back in September, and had no memory of what it meant. I asked the teacher, and he explained it to me, but I think I fell asleep whaile he was talking to me. It was just, "blah blah blah blah, your final grade." Then came report card day, and I was a little nervous. Our advisory teacher handed out the report cards. I did not look at mine, I just put it into my briefcase. My family went to my grandparents' house for dinner that night. I still did not look at my report card. When we got home that night, I went to my room, opened my briefcase, and pulled out the envelope. I pulled the card out, saw my name at the top, so I knew it was mine, and opened it up. There in front of my face was a row of bad grades I had never seen before. E was a failing grade. And I had 3 of them. D was the next worst grade, two of those. A couple of C's maybe one B. I had never had a report card like that in my short school life. I almost cried, I thought I was going to get punished by my parents that night and everyday of my life thereafter. My mother called to me to show her my report card. I took the long walk down to the kitchen. I handed the card to my mother, waiting for her to yell at me and tell me what kind of punishment she had in mind for me. Maybe I would have to shovel snow for the entire neighborhood for the rest of my life for free. Or mow lawns for the entire town. Or just have everybody in school line up and laugh at me for all eternity. But none of that happened. She just told I would do better next time. Wait, no yelling? No punishments? Was it because she didn't love me anymore? And my brother and sister would do better than me anyway? Nope, just that she thought I would do better next time. I felt a sigh of relief running around inside my head. I was going to be alright after all. Till next report card. Hoo boy.

Monday, September 10, 2007


This is my cat, Ming, 1975. We had Ming from 1974 to 1987, when we had him put to sleep. He had kidney failure. I was trying to scan the negative of this picture, but for some reason I can't seem to get the negative scanner to work. But I found this print
I made in Photography class back in the old days. This was from my very first roll of 35mm film, and I processed it and made the print. It was very enjoyable making prints, watching the image come up in the chemicals. All of that is lost with the digital age. I had lots of prints from back then, but they were damaged by a small flood some years ago, and had to be tossed out.
Ming was the cat who attacked people that tried to pet him. I made him that way by teaching him to fight. I used to wear a leather glove to make him fight, after he tore my palm up with his rear claws. I did not know he would get so ornery and bite everybody. I have more pictures of him, and when I get the negative scanner to work, I will post them.