Here is a little snapshot of this moment:
I just heard about how, in the highrise building directly in front of my classroom window, a father threw his month-old baby down the trash chute from the eleventh floor apartment of its mother. The baby is miraculously unharmed, or I wouldn't have told you. No one needs a dead baby story smacking them unexpectedly in the face. Which happened to me the past two times I've read Katie Granju's blog, one of which was this morning. WTH, Katie?
I just listened to a boy ask a pregnant girl in my class this question: "When your baby is born, is that going to be its birthday or just its birth date?"
My speech class is supposed to be working up opening statements for a debate about the fact that a Mississippi high school has chosen to cancel prom rather than permit a lesbian student to bring her girlfriend as her date, because they know they have no legal grounds. So far the team arguing in favor of the school's decision has nothing. Which is good in a way, but also has more to do with the fact that they haven't bothered to do any research.
Out of the five classes that took a very simple, 25-question practice ACT as their quarter exam, five students passed it. Five. The test questions are identical to the warm-ups we do every. Single. Day. Five. 5.