I’m Just another Brick in the Wall …

Now, I am being at computer site and writing these words. Fall semester started and I like this picture right now:

Me

Your sickness is within you, though you do not realize

And your cure is within, yet you do not see

You claim that you are nothing but a tiny entity

Yet wrapped up inside of you is the greatest universe

You are the clear book, through whose letters

All that is secret is revealed and made known.

So you have no need for anything outside of you

Your consciousness is within you, though you do not know

Tomorrow is an important day. In Iran 14th Ordibehesht (2th May) called ‘Teacher day’. Many years ago someday same as tomorrow ‘Ostad Motahhari’ the most famous person at humanoid science was martyr by ‘Forgan Group’. Iranian people like this teacher very much and in ‘teachers day’ give a gifts to their teachers. Happy this year to Teachers who live all over the world!

It is may intersting for you:

http://www.inter-sections.net/2007/11/13/how-to-recognise-a-good-programmer

Eddie Guest  was born in Birmingham, England in
1881, moving to Michigan USA as a young child, it was here he was educated.

In 1895, the year before Henry Ford took his first ride in a motor carriage,
Eddie Guest signed on with the Free Press as a 13-year-old office boy. He stayed
for 60 years.

In those six decades, Detroit underwent half a dozen identity changes, but Eddie
Guest became a steadfast character on the changing scene.

Three years after he joined the Free Press, Guest became a cub reporter. He
quickly worked his way through the labor beat — a much less consequential beat
than it is today — the waterfront beat and the police beat, where he worked
"the dog watch" — 3 p.m. to 3 a.m.

By the end of that year — the year he should have been completing high school
– Guest had a reputation as a scrappy reporter in a competitive town.

It did not occur to Guest to write in verse until late in 1898 when he was
working as assistant exchange editor. It was his job to cull timeless items from
the newspapers with which the Free Press exchanged papers for use as fillers.
Many of the items were verses. Guest figured he might just as well write verse
as clip it and submitted one of his own, a dialect verse, to Sunday editor
Arthur Mosley. The Free Press was choosy about publishing the literary efforts
of staff members and Guest, a 17-year-old dropout, might have been seen as
something of an upstart. But Mosley decided to publish the verse, His verse ran
on Dec. 11, 1898.

More contributions of verse and observations led to a weekly column, "Blue
Monday Chat," and then a daily column, "Breakfast Table Chat."

Verse had always been part of Guest’s writing, but he had more or less followed
the workaday road of many newsmen for 10 years. In 1908, standing in the rain as
the solitary mourner for one such journalist who had long since been forgotten
and relegated to the newspaper’s morgue, Guest resolved to escape that fate by
becoming a specialist. From that day forward, nearly all of his writing was in
meter and rhyme.

And readers loved it.

They asked where they could find collections of his folksy verses. Guest talked
it over his younger brother Harry, a typesetter, and they bought a case of type.
They were in the book publishing business.

After supper, Harry climbed the stairs to the attic to set Eddie’s poetry. Harry
could set as many as eight pages — provided the verses didn’t have too many
"e’s" in them — before he had to print what he had and break up the forms for
eight more pages. They printed 800 copies of a 136-page book, "Home Rhymes."

Two years later, in 1911 and still working in eight-page morsels, they printed
"Just Glad Things," but upped the press order to 1,500 copies.

They escaped the limits of their type case with the third book, published in
1914, but Guest had some misgivings about the large press run — 3,500 copies.
It sold out in two Christmases.

More books followed, and before he was done Guest had filled more than 20. Sales
ran into the millions and his most popular collection, "It Takes a Heap o’
Livin’," sold more than a million copies by itself.

Guest’s verses, originally clipped by exchange editors at other papers, went
into syndication and he was carried by more than 300 newspapers. His popularity
led to one of early radios longest-running radio shows, appearances on
television, in Hollywood and in banquet halls and meeting rooms from coast to
coast.

But Edgar A. Guest remained, at heart and in fact, a newspaper man. In 1939, he
told "Editor & Publisher," "I’ve never been late with my copy and I’ve never
missed an edition. And that’s seven days a week." For more than 30 years, there
was not a day that the Free Press went to press without Guest’s verse on its
pages. He worked for the Free Press for more than six decades. Thousands of
Detroiters were born, grew up and had children of their own before a Free Press
ever arrived at their homes without Guest’s gentle human touch.

Shunned by "those highbrow, longhair intellectual critics and writers," Guest
followed a clear and simple formula to journalistic success: "I take simple
everyday things that happen to me and I figure it happens to a lot of other
people and I make simple rhymes out of them."

Father by Edgar Albert Guest

My father knows the proper way
The nation should be run;
He tells us children every day
Just what should now be done.
He knows the way to fix the trusts,
He has a simple plan;
But if the furnace needs repairs,
We have to hire a man.
My father, in a day or two
Could land big thieves in jail;
There’s nothing that he cannot do,
He knows no word like "fail."
"Our confidence" he would restore,
Of that there is no doubt;
But if there is a chair to mend,
We have to send it out.

All public questions that arise,
He settles on the spot;
He waits not till the tumult dies,
But grabs it while it’s hot.
In matters of finance he can
Tell Congress what to do;
But, O, he finds it hard to meet
His bills as they fall due.

It almost makes him sick to read
The things law-makers say;
Why, father’s just the man they need,
He never goes astray.
All wars he’d very quickly end,
As fast as I can write it;
But when a neighbor starts a fuss,
‘Tis mother has to fight it.

In conversation father can
Do many wondrous things;
He’s built upon a wiser plan
Than presidents or kings.
He knows the ins and outs of each
And every deep transaction;
We look to him for theories,
But look to ma for action.

No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows
What it’s like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies

But my dreams they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free!

No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like I do, and I blame you!
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

No one knows what its like
To be mistreated, to be defeated
Behind blue eyes
No one knows how to say
That they’re sorry and don’t worry !
I’m not telling lies

No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man, to be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

TEACHER: Maria, go to the map and find North America .. 
MARIA: Here it is. 
TEACHER: Correct. Now class, who discovered America ?
CLASS: Maria.

TEACHER: John, why are you doing your math multiplication on the floor? 
JOHN: You told me to do it without using tables.

TEACHER: Glenn, how do you spell ‘crocodile?’ 
GLENN: K-R-O-K-O-D-I-A-L
TEACHER: No, that’s wrong 
GLENN: Maybe it is wrong, but you asked me how I spell it.

TEACHER: Donald, what is the chemical formula for water? 
DONALD: H I J K L M N O.
TEACHER: What are you talking about? 
DONALD: Yesterday you said it’s H to O.

TEACHER: Winnie, name one important thing we have today that we didn’t have ten years ago. 
WINNIE: Me! (I Love this kid)

TEACHER: Glen, why do you always get so dirty? 
GLEN: Well, I’m a lot closer to the ground than you are.

TEACHER: Millie, give me a sentence starting with ‘I.’ 
MILLIE: I is..
TEACHER: No, Millie…… Always say, ‘I am.’ 
MILLIE: All right… ‘I am the ninth letter of the alphabet.’

TEACHER: George Washington not only chopped down his father’s cherry tree, but also admitted it. Now, Louie, do you know why his father didn’t punish him? 
LOUIS: Because George still had the axe in his hand.

TEACHER: Now, Simon, tell me frankly, do you say prayers before eating? 
SIMON: No sir, I don’t have to, my Mom is a good cook.

TEACHER: Clyde , your composition on ‘My Dog’ is exactly the same as your brother’s… Did you copy his? 
CLYDE: No, sir. It’s the same dog.

TEACHER: Harold, what do you call a person who keeps on talking when people are no longer interested? 
HAROLD: A teacher