"To get back up to the shining world from there
My guide and I went into that hidden tunnel;
. . .Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars."
These final lines of Dante's Inferno truly express my feelings.
Hell week ended...finally...and late at that.
Let's summarize:
The district classes were a waste of time. The material was repeated three times in a row.
Then there was...Parent/Teacher Conferences. They weren't bad...but I was frustrated by the parents who showed up right as conferences were ending.
It becomes this horrible situation: You really don't want to tell a parent,"I'm tired, and I want to go home," because you're really happy they just showed up, but at the same time, you've been at the school for over 12 hours...and you've got papers to grade...and a kid you want to play with before he goes through a whole day without seeing you (ok, maybe it's just me, but you get the idea). Finally, at 7:30 (we finished at 7...officially), I told the last parent waiting for me that everything was fine. That was it. No long discussion, just, "your child is doing fine."
And yet, more was to come. I spent all day Friday without students, which sounds good, but I had to spend the entire day getting grades in and organizing all of my documentation. That's like a mini form of torture.
With all of the stress of work and such, it really wasn't until tonight that I finally had the chance to look up at the stars. With all of the observations, quizzes, discipline issues, and such, I discovered that I wasn't relaxing. Tonight, I stopped, went outside (cold as it was), and just looked at the sky. The moon was gorgeous. It was so full and round. It made me truly understand what Dante meant at the end of his metaphorical journey. That moment he saw the stars reminded him of God's love for his children. That doesn't apply to me, but the stars represented a freedom from Hell. That's what I got today. A freedom.
I didn't work at all tonight. I returned inside the house in time to find my son waking up from his nap. He smiled at me with nothing behind it. There was no desire to get food or get me to do a favor for him. It was just a smile that said, "I'm so glad you're here...funny guy."
That's worth more than anything. Those are my stars.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Dante? Are You There? It's Me...Leab.
I have descended into Hell.
Dante and I began our walk on Sunday night, and we have worked our way down into the cold depths.
On Sunday, my wife and I got a call telling us that my son's daycare would be closed on Monday for live clean up. It seems that a parent brought his or her kid to the building without properly taking care of the child's hygiene. It's a long process to clean the whole building (which includes furniture, rugs, and more). So Poozer was to be home on Monday. "No problem," I thought. "My wife will be able to stay home with him." I forgot, however, that Hell has a way of changing the rules.
At about three in the morning, my wife rolled over...and vomited into the trash can.
By 5 am, she had a fever of 100. I stayed home with my son, but had to work and had to take care of my wife, whose fever hit 102 by noon. So Monday went like this:
Change trash bags to remove puke
Balance kid and sick wife
Grade
Get grades into computer
Take cats to Vet for shots and teeth cleaning
Sounds easy, right?
Complications arise in the form of a class I have to take. My wife has to watch my son.
Today, I taught all day, followed by another class I have to take.
But Hell is colder and continues to go down. Tomorrow, another class. Thursday...PTC's (yup it's Parent Teacher Conference time). Friday, professional development. Saturday, I start teaching an ACT/SAT preperation class. That leaves me...carry the 2...divide by Pi...five minutes of free time around 2 a.m. on Sunday.
The lucky part is that my wife's fever has broken, but the flipside is that my insomnia has become worse.
It's a hell week. That's just par for the course.
Hug your teachers, boys and girls. It's going to be a rough week for all of them.
Namaste.
Dante and I began our walk on Sunday night, and we have worked our way down into the cold depths.
On Sunday, my wife and I got a call telling us that my son's daycare would be closed on Monday for live clean up. It seems that a parent brought his or her kid to the building without properly taking care of the child's hygiene. It's a long process to clean the whole building (which includes furniture, rugs, and more). So Poozer was to be home on Monday. "No problem," I thought. "My wife will be able to stay home with him." I forgot, however, that Hell has a way of changing the rules.
At about three in the morning, my wife rolled over...and vomited into the trash can.
By 5 am, she had a fever of 100. I stayed home with my son, but had to work and had to take care of my wife, whose fever hit 102 by noon. So Monday went like this:
Change trash bags to remove puke
Balance kid and sick wife
Grade
Get grades into computer
Take cats to Vet for shots and teeth cleaning
Sounds easy, right?
Complications arise in the form of a class I have to take. My wife has to watch my son.
Today, I taught all day, followed by another class I have to take.
But Hell is colder and continues to go down. Tomorrow, another class. Thursday...PTC's (yup it's Parent Teacher Conference time). Friday, professional development. Saturday, I start teaching an ACT/SAT preperation class. That leaves me...carry the 2...divide by Pi...five minutes of free time around 2 a.m. on Sunday.
The lucky part is that my wife's fever has broken, but the flipside is that my insomnia has become worse.
It's a hell week. That's just par for the course.
Hug your teachers, boys and girls. It's going to be a rough week for all of them.
Namaste.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Taming of the Roo Part III
As Little Leab continued his journey toward becoming a person outside the womb, my wife and I were frantically preparing on the outside. One of the ways we had to prepare was through educational classes. Yes...while the pioneers and many people over the course of human existence have managed to produce children without attending classes, we decided that we wanted some information if we were going to do this right. We signed up for a childbirth class. The more information, the better.
Our instructor was a free spirit named Jane. While the still-cooking ladies and significant others sat on chairs, Jane would kick off her shoes and sit on the floor (nothing weird there), or she would do handstands (never understood why), or she would do movement almost like interpretive dance (imagine seeing childbirth as this whipping movement with your arms and legs).
It was entertaining.
What I found fascinating, however, was the other couples in the class with my wife and I. None of the men smiled. It was almost as if they had been brought along kicking and screaming like a five year old. The men looked like this was a community service. Deal with watching videos on birth and do some fake breathing and you're off the hook.
There was one night when the girls had to go to one side of the room, and the guys had to do to the other. Immediately the women were talking to each other as if they were sisters. The men were silent...and this is with me in the center, too! These guys just stood there with their hands in their pockets staring at the floor. I couldn't take it. The teacher in me took over, and I started whipping these guys into shape. It really did become like a class for me.
"All right. Names first. I'm Leab. My wife is the Strawberry Blonde over there. Go around the circle. You first. Name."
Each guy introduced himself as well who his baby mama was. Then we got to the task at hand (different roles that the partner will take on during the birth).
It worked out pretty well. The next class, however, it was same old, same old. I was the only guy willing to wear...The Empathy Belly (and no, there are no pictures). That's right, I walked around and did "chores" all while wearing the belly. Jane was even shocked at the fact that I bent at the knees instead of at the waist, because, apparently, that's where most guys bend over while in the belly.
It was nice to feel what my wife was feeling, but strange at the same time.
At this point we were ready. My son was supposed to be born on June 6, which many of my colleagues thought was hysterical as my son would have been, "the Anti-Christ." (6/6/06...Day of the Devil anyone?)
He was late. Two weeks late, so he had to be induced.
This was a problem, because, even though the school year was over, I was in school.
To be concluded in Part IV.
Our instructor was a free spirit named Jane. While the still-cooking ladies and significant others sat on chairs, Jane would kick off her shoes and sit on the floor (nothing weird there), or she would do handstands (never understood why), or she would do movement almost like interpretive dance (imagine seeing childbirth as this whipping movement with your arms and legs).
It was entertaining.
What I found fascinating, however, was the other couples in the class with my wife and I. None of the men smiled. It was almost as if they had been brought along kicking and screaming like a five year old. The men looked like this was a community service. Deal with watching videos on birth and do some fake breathing and you're off the hook.
There was one night when the girls had to go to one side of the room, and the guys had to do to the other. Immediately the women were talking to each other as if they were sisters. The men were silent...and this is with me in the center, too! These guys just stood there with their hands in their pockets staring at the floor. I couldn't take it. The teacher in me took over, and I started whipping these guys into shape. It really did become like a class for me.
"All right. Names first. I'm Leab. My wife is the Strawberry Blonde over there. Go around the circle. You first. Name."
Each guy introduced himself as well who his baby mama was. Then we got to the task at hand (different roles that the partner will take on during the birth).
It worked out pretty well. The next class, however, it was same old, same old. I was the only guy willing to wear...The Empathy Belly (and no, there are no pictures). That's right, I walked around and did "chores" all while wearing the belly. Jane was even shocked at the fact that I bent at the knees instead of at the waist, because, apparently, that's where most guys bend over while in the belly.
It was nice to feel what my wife was feeling, but strange at the same time.
At this point we were ready. My son was supposed to be born on June 6, which many of my colleagues thought was hysterical as my son would have been, "the Anti-Christ." (6/6/06...Day of the Devil anyone?)
He was late. Two weeks late, so he had to be induced.
This was a problem, because, even though the school year was over, I was in school.
To be concluded in Part IV.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Ramblings for the Evening (1/17/07)
I'm not very happy. After a whole song and dance where I went through and removed all this material in order to please his bosses, a certain newsman returns to television. I'm angry and feel that I have been lied to at the same time.
So, without further ado: NOW THAT...IS...IIIIRONY!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Religious Issues:
Well here is a doozy of a story shared with me.
It seems that an English teacher at my school is currently teaching The Odyssey. Yes, the Greek classic is still haunting students in schools across the country. Why? Because mythology is an essential part of understanding literature, and because stories about epic heroes still resonate today.
So here's the issue. The English teacher (who we'll call Fry to protect the innocent) recently had a student say the following:
"I cannot read The Odyssey as it is a religious text, and that is against my religion."
Now Fry was apparently quite suspicious of this, so he challenged the student on this.
The parent of the student became involved. It seems that the family's religion prohibits them from reading anything that is religious...including any religion that may have been practiced in previous cultures.
Another way of saying this: If the story mentions any kind of religious idea that MAY have been practiced, then the family cannot read it as it may affect their faith.
Fry had NEVER heard of this before (neither had I for that matter). The Odyssey is technically full of religious material as the story (though read by Fry's department as history) finds the Gods affecting everyone's decisions.
So here's the other problem Fry has. There are no back-up books for The Odyssey as Fry sees it. If the student is supposed to learn about mythology, then almost all readings will have a religious aspect to them (mythology is based in myth which has forms of supernatural, more often than not, which can be considered religious).
I have no idea how to solve Fry's problem. None of the other members of the department can solve the problem either.
My issue stems from Fry's third problem. When the parent was asked if the student could read stories from the family's religious beliefs, the parent balked.
"You are not of our faith, so you cannot teach it correctly."
When asked what could be done, the parent balked again.
"I know what my child cannot read. YOU must find what she can read without affecting her faith."
This is an unwinnable situation for Fry. If Fry lets the child off, then an important part of the curriculum is missed and the student's education is marred. If, however, Fry forces the student to read the text, then major reprecussions could happen.
My gut tells me that the problem is not that the book is full of religious imagery, but that the student understands the text, but the parent does not.
The bottom line, however, is this story saddens me. If a teacher cannot challenge a student's beliefs, if a teacher cannot make a student think about ideas that he or she may never have really given consderation to, if a teacher cannot show a student cultures outside their own, then how is the student going to be able to learn? Part of the point of education is to help students learn by making them create new theories and ideas instead of blindly following what has been instiled in them by media, religion, or even their parents. To Fry's story saddens me as I now worry about my own classroom.
"Sorry, Leab. I can't read Heart of Darkness because it deals with Africa, and my family feels that's a place we don't talk about out loud."
Or maybe,
"I can't read Romeo and Juliet as teenage romance will only lead to problems for my overall psyche."
Go beyond English. Can History teachers no longer talk about The Crusades? World War II?(There was a part of the war that dealt with the Holocaust...which is kind of religious...isn't it?)
I know...I'm ranting while rambling, but I worry about the future of our curriculums as teachers when we can no longer challenge the students' perspectives.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Midnight at the Oasis:
The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists says that we are now at five minutes to midnight, with midnight being when the world will end due to nuclear war fallout. I find this fascinating. Scary, but fascinating. Many people believed that the world would end seven years ago (nerds felt it would be six, but whatever). The world didn't end, but now many people are saying that we, in fact, started the end run of the world. If seven years is the timetable, as some argue, the world will end sometime this year. I don't think it's going to happen, but I do worry about the way the world is going. Not for me. I could care less about myself. If the world ends, then the cockroaches and I will be playing cribbage. No, I worry for my son's sake. I worry about the world he will grow up in where more and more people live in a virtual reality than in reality itself.
I'm not worried about nuclear war. I'm more worried about the fact that the younger generations cannot talk to each other unless they are using a keyboard or a phone. Face to face conversation is dying.
Example? Two students, sitting next to each other, could not find the proper words to talk to each other as they faced each other. However, when one of the students left the room, the other student's phone starts making noise as the text messages roll in from...student #1. The words flowed as the two were in separate rooms. THAT makes me nervous. If we can no longer communicate face to face, then the very evolutionary trait that makes us the higher mammals (the ability to form words with reasoning) passes away. Can't wait to see those candidates debate. It'll be quiet except for all the beeping on the phones.
and finally
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Turn, Turn, Turn:
This will sound bad, but it has to be said.
I really do like MN Speak. It started as a way to find interesting blogs as well as learn about what was going on around the Twin Cities. It was also the first real step in new media where ideas could be freely shared.
As most sites/ideas often will, it has evolved. However, in this case, it has become a place where it feels as though free ideas are no longer really welcome.
What do I mean?
* Unless you're part of the clique, your posts or thoughts are ignored for the most part (that's a Minnesota thing, so I don't truly begrudge).
* Topics lately have been either overly political or down right odd. (Helium? Really?)
* Comments don't really add anything. It becomes a stupid, high school argument where people take sides and instead of creating constructive arguments, the comments become childish.
*The posters who often tried to create an open opinion environment have moved on to greener pastures.
Again, it probably sounds like I'm whining. I'm not. I'm just sad to see something that I really quite like change to a point where you don't know it anymore. It's like a restaurant that you really like changing its menu to something completely different. You'll try, but after a while...you really start to miss the old food.
So I'll end with this: If you haven't been watching it, click on the link for Chasing Windmills. Brilliant production.
Upcoming posts here will include more about my son's birth (which I'm behind on talking about), Christmas at the Grand Hotel...with the Chicago Bulls, and more.
Then again what do I know? I'm just some blogging schmuck. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
So, without further ado: NOW THAT...IS...IIIIRONY!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Religious Issues:
Well here is a doozy of a story shared with me.
It seems that an English teacher at my school is currently teaching The Odyssey. Yes, the Greek classic is still haunting students in schools across the country. Why? Because mythology is an essential part of understanding literature, and because stories about epic heroes still resonate today.
So here's the issue. The English teacher (who we'll call Fry to protect the innocent) recently had a student say the following:
"I cannot read The Odyssey as it is a religious text, and that is against my religion."
Now Fry was apparently quite suspicious of this, so he challenged the student on this.
The parent of the student became involved. It seems that the family's religion prohibits them from reading anything that is religious...including any religion that may have been practiced in previous cultures.
Another way of saying this: If the story mentions any kind of religious idea that MAY have been practiced, then the family cannot read it as it may affect their faith.
Fry had NEVER heard of this before (neither had I for that matter). The Odyssey is technically full of religious material as the story (though read by Fry's department as history) finds the Gods affecting everyone's decisions.
So here's the other problem Fry has. There are no back-up books for The Odyssey as Fry sees it. If the student is supposed to learn about mythology, then almost all readings will have a religious aspect to them (mythology is based in myth which has forms of supernatural, more often than not, which can be considered religious).
I have no idea how to solve Fry's problem. None of the other members of the department can solve the problem either.
My issue stems from Fry's third problem. When the parent was asked if the student could read stories from the family's religious beliefs, the parent balked.
"You are not of our faith, so you cannot teach it correctly."
When asked what could be done, the parent balked again.
"I know what my child cannot read. YOU must find what she can read without affecting her faith."
This is an unwinnable situation for Fry. If Fry lets the child off, then an important part of the curriculum is missed and the student's education is marred. If, however, Fry forces the student to read the text, then major reprecussions could happen.
My gut tells me that the problem is not that the book is full of religious imagery, but that the student understands the text, but the parent does not.
The bottom line, however, is this story saddens me. If a teacher cannot challenge a student's beliefs, if a teacher cannot make a student think about ideas that he or she may never have really given consderation to, if a teacher cannot show a student cultures outside their own, then how is the student going to be able to learn? Part of the point of education is to help students learn by making them create new theories and ideas instead of blindly following what has been instiled in them by media, religion, or even their parents. To Fry's story saddens me as I now worry about my own classroom.
"Sorry, Leab. I can't read Heart of Darkness because it deals with Africa, and my family feels that's a place we don't talk about out loud."
Or maybe,
"I can't read Romeo and Juliet as teenage romance will only lead to problems for my overall psyche."
Go beyond English. Can History teachers no longer talk about The Crusades? World War II?(There was a part of the war that dealt with the Holocaust...which is kind of religious...isn't it?)
I know...I'm ranting while rambling, but I worry about the future of our curriculums as teachers when we can no longer challenge the students' perspectives.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Midnight at the Oasis:
The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists says that we are now at five minutes to midnight, with midnight being when the world will end due to nuclear war fallout. I find this fascinating. Scary, but fascinating. Many people believed that the world would end seven years ago (nerds felt it would be six, but whatever). The world didn't end, but now many people are saying that we, in fact, started the end run of the world. If seven years is the timetable, as some argue, the world will end sometime this year. I don't think it's going to happen, but I do worry about the way the world is going. Not for me. I could care less about myself. If the world ends, then the cockroaches and I will be playing cribbage. No, I worry for my son's sake. I worry about the world he will grow up in where more and more people live in a virtual reality than in reality itself.
I'm not worried about nuclear war. I'm more worried about the fact that the younger generations cannot talk to each other unless they are using a keyboard or a phone. Face to face conversation is dying.
Example? Two students, sitting next to each other, could not find the proper words to talk to each other as they faced each other. However, when one of the students left the room, the other student's phone starts making noise as the text messages roll in from...student #1. The words flowed as the two were in separate rooms. THAT makes me nervous. If we can no longer communicate face to face, then the very evolutionary trait that makes us the higher mammals (the ability to form words with reasoning) passes away. Can't wait to see those candidates debate. It'll be quiet except for all the beeping on the phones.
and finally
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Turn, Turn, Turn:
This will sound bad, but it has to be said.
I really do like MN Speak. It started as a way to find interesting blogs as well as learn about what was going on around the Twin Cities. It was also the first real step in new media where ideas could be freely shared.
As most sites/ideas often will, it has evolved. However, in this case, it has become a place where it feels as though free ideas are no longer really welcome.
What do I mean?
* Unless you're part of the clique, your posts or thoughts are ignored for the most part (that's a Minnesota thing, so I don't truly begrudge).
* Topics lately have been either overly political or down right odd. (Helium? Really?)
* Comments don't really add anything. It becomes a stupid, high school argument where people take sides and instead of creating constructive arguments, the comments become childish.
*The posters who often tried to create an open opinion environment have moved on to greener pastures.
Again, it probably sounds like I'm whining. I'm not. I'm just sad to see something that I really quite like change to a point where you don't know it anymore. It's like a restaurant that you really like changing its menu to something completely different. You'll try, but after a while...you really start to miss the old food.
So I'll end with this: If you haven't been watching it, click on the link for Chasing Windmills. Brilliant production.
Upcoming posts here will include more about my son's birth (which I'm behind on talking about), Christmas at the Grand Hotel...with the Chicago Bulls, and more.
Then again what do I know? I'm just some blogging schmuck. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Breathing
I am still alive.
Yes, it has been a month since a real good post has been placed on here, but, much like Margaret, I got swamped with work and reality.
The blog isn't dead. I'm not one of the people from the New York Times article who's walking away from it. Nope.
I just need to find the time.
Part of the issue is wanting to write good, worthwhile pieces, and that takes time.
So where have I been?
With family. Both mine and in-laws.
Working. I had a crate full of documents to grade.
Thinking. It took a visit from Wayne Newton. Long story.
There are posts coming. I promise. Don't delete me just yet.
I hope you're all well.
Namaste.
Yes, it has been a month since a real good post has been placed on here, but, much like Margaret, I got swamped with work and reality.
The blog isn't dead. I'm not one of the people from the New York Times article who's walking away from it. Nope.
I just need to find the time.
Part of the issue is wanting to write good, worthwhile pieces, and that takes time.
So where have I been?
With family. Both mine and in-laws.
Working. I had a crate full of documents to grade.
Thinking. It took a visit from Wayne Newton. Long story.
There are posts coming. I promise. Don't delete me just yet.
I hope you're all well.
Namaste.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Happy New Year (2007)
I know.
I've been gone.
I'm actually still gone, but I wanted to wish you all Happy New Year.
Be happy and be safe.
Namaste.
Leab
I've been gone.
I'm actually still gone, but I wanted to wish you all Happy New Year.
Be happy and be safe.
Namaste.
Leab
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
God's Boxer
It goes without saying my insomnia is keeping me up. I got in bed early tonight, because my body is really hurting (mostly from stress...our department meetings today really took a great deal of energy). My wife? Asleep. My son? Asleep. Me...not so much.
However, when I can't sleep, I start watching bad TV. Tonight, I watched Pat Robertson interviewing Sylvester Stallone about Rocky Balboa.
Let me start by saying that I am a fan of the Rocky movies. They are, in some ways, allegories for America and its way of life.
Rocky: The American Dream. Given the opportunity, anyone has the ability to achieve a goal.
Rocky II: Neo-American Dream: Desire and perspiration will win out over ego and flash.
Rocky III: Complaceny: If we become complacent and stop trying to achieve, we will lose our dreams.
Rocky IV: We're better than the Russians (that's very simplistic).
Rocky V: If we forget where we come from and who we are, we are doomed.
Now, this is just my opinion on the matter. However, in watching Sly talking to Robertson, I learned the original Rocky is actually Christian allegory. Yup. I had no clue.
The film starts with a shot of Jesus, then pans to the ressurection, then shows Rocky.
I figured that was an artistic choice, but it's actually to show that Rocky will be a Christian Warrior. A man who begins with nothing and fights for an ideal, not glory. Beyond that, it's not the championship that is important but the idea of family.
Recall the end of the film: He's lost the title, but that's not what he cares about at all. He calls out to Adrian and feels pride in making it into a fight instead of a drubbing.
Each of the films is about needing and asking for help from those around you as well as understanding that family and friends are more important than anything else (though I would argue part IV is more about appealing to a patriotic audience instead of the original crowd).
Stallone went on to explain that the new film is the bookend to the original. Both deal with a man coming to terms with his God.
I just find this fascinating. In the course of my life, I have seen the original Rocky four times, but never had I thought about the God aspect. I really thought the point of the film was the American Dream. A man taking advantage of his chance to better himself.
You, dear reader, may decide to see Rocky Balboa (which is opening tomorrow). Go for it (to use a Rocky term).
I'm going to need to re-watch the original Rocky to see this allegory.
Namaste.
However, when I can't sleep, I start watching bad TV. Tonight, I watched Pat Robertson interviewing Sylvester Stallone about Rocky Balboa.
Let me start by saying that I am a fan of the Rocky movies. They are, in some ways, allegories for America and its way of life.
Rocky: The American Dream. Given the opportunity, anyone has the ability to achieve a goal.
Rocky II: Neo-American Dream: Desire and perspiration will win out over ego and flash.
Rocky III: Complaceny: If we become complacent and stop trying to achieve, we will lose our dreams.
Rocky IV: We're better than the Russians (that's very simplistic).
Rocky V: If we forget where we come from and who we are, we are doomed.
Now, this is just my opinion on the matter. However, in watching Sly talking to Robertson, I learned the original Rocky is actually Christian allegory. Yup. I had no clue.
The film starts with a shot of Jesus, then pans to the ressurection, then shows Rocky.
I figured that was an artistic choice, but it's actually to show that Rocky will be a Christian Warrior. A man who begins with nothing and fights for an ideal, not glory. Beyond that, it's not the championship that is important but the idea of family.
Recall the end of the film: He's lost the title, but that's not what he cares about at all. He calls out to Adrian and feels pride in making it into a fight instead of a drubbing.
Each of the films is about needing and asking for help from those around you as well as understanding that family and friends are more important than anything else (though I would argue part IV is more about appealing to a patriotic audience instead of the original crowd).
Stallone went on to explain that the new film is the bookend to the original. Both deal with a man coming to terms with his God.
I just find this fascinating. In the course of my life, I have seen the original Rocky four times, but never had I thought about the God aspect. I really thought the point of the film was the American Dream. A man taking advantage of his chance to better himself.
You, dear reader, may decide to see Rocky Balboa (which is opening tomorrow). Go for it (to use a Rocky term).
I'm going to need to re-watch the original Rocky to see this allegory.
Namaste.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (12/18/2006)
Let's do it.
So, without further ado: YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sick Kid:
My son was really sick over the weekend. Nothing makes you feel like a terrible parent like your kid being sick.
He would cry, I had no idea what to do.
We tried feeding him, that didn't help.
We'd cradle him, but that didn't help.
On Friday, I left school early, because my son had a fever of 101. That's grounds to send him home. One doctor appointment later, I learn he has an ear infection, breathing issues (they think it's an infection too), and a stomach virus. Awesome.
He barely ate over the weekend, barely slept, and his fever finally broke today.
I stayed home with my son today, and I'm honestly more exhausted from that than from a full week of teaching. He constantly needed to be held, which meant I couldn't get any work done (hard to grade with a kid on your shoulders).
After another appointment today, the doctor confirmed the original diagnosis: The kid is really sick.
I just really hope he doesn't get what I had as a kid: Febrial Convulsions.
I would get really hot and then have to take an ambulance ride to hospital to help me breathe and cool down.
My sister (#2) was actually angry at me when she was a kid, because she was supposed to get ice cream...but I had a convulsion...which meant no ice cream.
As for my son...well...he's sleeping right now, but for the last two nights, he's slept for twenty minutes, wakes up, looks at my wife and I...and then throws up all over the place. It's fun.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
New Nickname:
Every single in the Twin Cities better start calling Jason DeRusha "White Chocolate". Did you see his recent story on "pimping" rides? The way he hangs with Pat Williams? Dude's become White Chocolate.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Random Thoughts:
* I miss Margaret.
* My wife and I wrapped one the trees in front of our house with all blue lights. As such, our neighbors now think that we are trying to celebrate both Christmas and Channukah. Apparently, so I am told, all blue lights means Jew. Yup...forget the yellow star, folks, it's all about the blue lights now.
* I find it fascinating how Target has put ALL of its holiday decorations on 30% clearance the week before Christmas. I was picking up my son's prescription tonight and listened to this old couple talking about how cheap everything was now.
"I really like that moving bear....We should buy three of them. It would look nice."
"Yes, Doris."
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Gas Station People Watching:
For some reason (call it luck of the draw) it seems I am always having to fill up the cars my wife and I drive (we switch off everyday).
Whenever I go to fill up the car now, there's a long line with people using their passive-aggresive driving skills to yell at people at keep other drivers at bay.
So, with nothing else to do, I start watching people while I'm waiting.
There's the couple who are arguing while filling up the car. Even better, with people waiting to get up to the pump, the girl slams the car door and walks off...and the guy has to chase after her. That means he's left the car...and pump unattended. It also means we have to wait until they return so the next car can fill up.
The best moment, however, comes from the guys who pull up on the pump opposite from me.
"Smokey" (apparently his real name) and "Dodge" (no idea) talk about how slow the pump is working...for ten minutes.
"This MUST be the slowest pump EVER," I hear no less than six times.
Then Smokey (this isn't a joke) lights up a cig. Dodge freaks out.
"Get that thing away from here, Smokey. I don't want to die."
"What's your problem? It's not a real warning...they just don't like smokers."
Here's my thought on this: "Let me finish filling up before we explode."
I keep telling my kids: just stop anywhere there's a crowd and just listen. You'll hear amazing things and learn a great deal about life. Try it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That's all I got tonight.
Namaste.
So, without further ado: YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME?
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Sick Kid:
My son was really sick over the weekend. Nothing makes you feel like a terrible parent like your kid being sick.
He would cry, I had no idea what to do.
We tried feeding him, that didn't help.
We'd cradle him, but that didn't help.
On Friday, I left school early, because my son had a fever of 101. That's grounds to send him home. One doctor appointment later, I learn he has an ear infection, breathing issues (they think it's an infection too), and a stomach virus. Awesome.
He barely ate over the weekend, barely slept, and his fever finally broke today.
I stayed home with my son today, and I'm honestly more exhausted from that than from a full week of teaching. He constantly needed to be held, which meant I couldn't get any work done (hard to grade with a kid on your shoulders).
After another appointment today, the doctor confirmed the original diagnosis: The kid is really sick.
I just really hope he doesn't get what I had as a kid: Febrial Convulsions.
I would get really hot and then have to take an ambulance ride to hospital to help me breathe and cool down.
My sister (#2) was actually angry at me when she was a kid, because she was supposed to get ice cream...but I had a convulsion...which meant no ice cream.
As for my son...well...he's sleeping right now, but for the last two nights, he's slept for twenty minutes, wakes up, looks at my wife and I...and then throws up all over the place. It's fun.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
New Nickname:
Every single in the Twin Cities better start calling Jason DeRusha "White Chocolate". Did you see his recent story on "pimping" rides? The way he hangs with Pat Williams? Dude's become White Chocolate.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Random Thoughts:
* I miss Margaret.
* My wife and I wrapped one the trees in front of our house with all blue lights. As such, our neighbors now think that we are trying to celebrate both Christmas and Channukah. Apparently, so I am told, all blue lights means Jew. Yup...forget the yellow star, folks, it's all about the blue lights now.
* I find it fascinating how Target has put ALL of its holiday decorations on 30% clearance the week before Christmas. I was picking up my son's prescription tonight and listened to this old couple talking about how cheap everything was now.
"I really like that moving bear....We should buy three of them. It would look nice."
"Yes, Doris."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gas Station People Watching:
For some reason (call it luck of the draw) it seems I am always having to fill up the cars my wife and I drive (we switch off everyday).
Whenever I go to fill up the car now, there's a long line with people using their passive-aggresive driving skills to yell at people at keep other drivers at bay.
So, with nothing else to do, I start watching people while I'm waiting.
There's the couple who are arguing while filling up the car. Even better, with people waiting to get up to the pump, the girl slams the car door and walks off...and the guy has to chase after her. That means he's left the car...and pump unattended. It also means we have to wait until they return so the next car can fill up.
The best moment, however, comes from the guys who pull up on the pump opposite from me.
"Smokey" (apparently his real name) and "Dodge" (no idea) talk about how slow the pump is working...for ten minutes.
"This MUST be the slowest pump EVER," I hear no less than six times.
Then Smokey (this isn't a joke) lights up a cig. Dodge freaks out.
"Get that thing away from here, Smokey. I don't want to die."
"What's your problem? It's not a real warning...they just don't like smokers."
Here's my thought on this: "Let me finish filling up before we explode."
I keep telling my kids: just stop anywhere there's a crowd and just listen. You'll hear amazing things and learn a great deal about life. Try it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That's all I got tonight.
Namaste.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Definition of Ironic: Holiday Edition 2006
You may recall this item I presented to you last Christmas. The irony then was turning the very meaning of the Christmas special and perverting it.This year, however, Urban Outfitters is selling a companion piece: The Linus Blanket. If you don't recall the special, Linus, after the tree has been "trimmed" by the gang, lays his blanket around the tree. It's quite a touching moment really, especially if you understand how hard it would be for Linus to do that.
So why is this ironic and what's my issue with it?
For starters, the blanket is thirty-four dollars ($34 for the word challenged). That's one pricey blanket to lay around your twenty-four dollar "pathetic tree" from the same store. I found it almost horrifying last year when they sold the tree, now comes the blanket. What's next? What else can they milk from the special except for action figures and a stage? Imagine:
You, too, can pretend to be Linus delivering the meaning of Christmas to the masses. Maybe you'd rather relive your bad days as (good grief!) Charlie Brown. Only $100 for the set...buy it now!
Now...there is a positive side to this irony. Some of the blanket's proceeds do go to charity, and that's great, but it still seems to be polluting (for lack of a better word) the very essence of the special.
The tree? You can still get one, but the blanket is sold out, boys and girls.
Then again what do I know? I'm still waiting for my Channukah Harry Channukah Bush. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
(Insomniac) Ramblings for the Evening (12/10/2006)
My insomnia is back. I haven't slept much this weekend. On the plus side...well...I have my students to direct my anger at all week.... Ok, I wouldn't do that. No really.
My wife's birthday was on Friday. Every year, I plan a new surprise for her. One year I showed up at her work, and, while she was in a meeting, I laid rose petals all over the floor of her cubicle and then put some roses in a vase on her desk along with some music and a food she wanted.
This year, because of my schedule, it would be impossible to sneak into her work. So...the following ramblings all relate to her birthday and events around them
So without further ado (haven't done this in some time): THE PRICE IS WRONG!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Gift:
I have found something I hate more than going to the movies (pay attention, Tom): Shopping at a mall.
I wanted to get my wife something special, so, way back in January, I started to pull money from every paycheck. I had enough to buy her something from Tiffany's.
Last Monday, when school was over, I headed over the Edina Galleria.
I have never, in my whole life, felt more out of place than when I was in the Galleria. Even though I had some cash in my pocket, and even though I was wearing my work clothes, I could tell that not wearing a truly "hot" name made me stick out. Several people just stared at me as I passed by.
Beyond that, what is it about shopping that makes people like the living dead. I know that what's George Romero was getting at in Dawn of the Dead, but I didn't get it until that day. People walking in front of me would stop and stare at windows. Then they would walk very slowly while contemplating the most random things. Worse still was when people would be on their phone and walk in the dead center of the lane. How do you go around those people when they weave? See...when a person talks in a movie theatre, you can ask them to shut up, but when a person walks in a way that holds everyone up, you can't just say, "Hey! Walk over there." They just stare.
Even worse, however, is what happened when I made it into the actual Tiffany's store. Every store, if you've never been to one, has security personnel. As soon as I walked in...the guy started following me around. Of course one look at the clientle made it clear why. Suits, expensive dresses, and even tuxedos could be seen around me. There I was in khaki pants and a striped, button-down shirt. I could almost hear the song buzzing in my head:
"One of these things is not like the other....which one is it...LEAB!"
When the guy in front of me finished his purchase, I felt sick. I wanted to spend what I thought was an exorbanent amount, but the guy in front of me spent, and I wish I was lying, $16,000. For those of you who are afraid of numbers, that's sixteen thousand. The price of brand new Hyundai...or something like that. Even worse, however, was the way he bragged about the money he was spending (which shows no class...it's not gentleman-like). He felt compelled to announce to the rest of us that he had bought all this jewelry. When I stepped up and started haggling over price and size, I felt stupid.
I won't tell you how much I spent, but I will tell you that I bought my wife a nice necklace with a diamond centerpiece. This led to part two of the plan....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Surprise:
With gift in hand, I moved to the next step: surprising my wife. I called her boss (the last person she would think of) and convinced him to help me. His only demand was not to tell his wife, because she would think he's a horrible human being for not being, "so romantic."
So, last Thursday I made my way to her work after the school day (and my club duty) were over. I had everything I needed:
1 mylar balloon
3 dozen roses (yellow, orange, and light green)
1 gift from Tiffany's
1 card (with an evil clown on it...long story)
1 box of chocolates
1 trash bag to hide all evidence
1 bottle of wine (payment to my wife's boss for his help)
1 bottle of water to put in...
1 vase for the flowers
Her boss let me in the building and showed me where her new cubicle is (she moved recently). He left me to go to work.
I tied up the balloon, cut the stems on the flowers and put them in the water, hid the gift, and left some notes around her cube.
After all that work and finding a way to keep my wife from being suspicious, the response I get on her birthday is as follows:
That was nice.
Her co-workers flipped out. One woman asked me if I could teach her husband. Suffice to say, I was hoping for a little more than, "That was nice." I know she was happy, but she also told me she was embarrassed to have all that stuff there in front of her co-workers and boss. Makes it hard to separate home and work.
When work was over, my wife came home to prepare for part three:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Dinner:
I want to do this in a separate post. I had planned a nice dinner months ago. I had setup a table at Vincent (in downtown Minneapolis) with my wife's favorite wine (a bottle of 2003 Blacksmith Cabernet Sauvignon) as well as flowers spread out all over the table (I have this thing about rose petals). It was canceled on Tuesday of this past week. Why? Because of my wife's boss' Christmas party that was to be held on the same night. That's a whole different post however. Still, I was crushed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bottom Line:
My wife had a good birthday. She was happy. I, however, was just tired and discovered that a ton of hard work can lead to a, "That was nice."
Still, it's about her not me.
Namaste...and happy birthday, honey. I know you'll never read this.
My wife's birthday was on Friday. Every year, I plan a new surprise for her. One year I showed up at her work, and, while she was in a meeting, I laid rose petals all over the floor of her cubicle and then put some roses in a vase on her desk along with some music and a food she wanted.
This year, because of my schedule, it would be impossible to sneak into her work. So...the following ramblings all relate to her birthday and events around them
So without further ado (haven't done this in some time): THE PRICE IS WRONG!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Gift:
I have found something I hate more than going to the movies (pay attention, Tom): Shopping at a mall.
I wanted to get my wife something special, so, way back in January, I started to pull money from every paycheck. I had enough to buy her something from Tiffany's.
Last Monday, when school was over, I headed over the Edina Galleria.
I have never, in my whole life, felt more out of place than when I was in the Galleria. Even though I had some cash in my pocket, and even though I was wearing my work clothes, I could tell that not wearing a truly "hot" name made me stick out. Several people just stared at me as I passed by.
Beyond that, what is it about shopping that makes people like the living dead. I know that what's George Romero was getting at in Dawn of the Dead, but I didn't get it until that day. People walking in front of me would stop and stare at windows. Then they would walk very slowly while contemplating the most random things. Worse still was when people would be on their phone and walk in the dead center of the lane. How do you go around those people when they weave? See...when a person talks in a movie theatre, you can ask them to shut up, but when a person walks in a way that holds everyone up, you can't just say, "Hey! Walk over there." They just stare.
Even worse, however, is what happened when I made it into the actual Tiffany's store. Every store, if you've never been to one, has security personnel. As soon as I walked in...the guy started following me around. Of course one look at the clientle made it clear why. Suits, expensive dresses, and even tuxedos could be seen around me. There I was in khaki pants and a striped, button-down shirt. I could almost hear the song buzzing in my head:
"One of these things is not like the other....which one is it...LEAB!"
When the guy in front of me finished his purchase, I felt sick. I wanted to spend what I thought was an exorbanent amount, but the guy in front of me spent, and I wish I was lying, $16,000. For those of you who are afraid of numbers, that's sixteen thousand. The price of brand new Hyundai...or something like that. Even worse, however, was the way he bragged about the money he was spending (which shows no class...it's not gentleman-like). He felt compelled to announce to the rest of us that he had bought all this jewelry. When I stepped up and started haggling over price and size, I felt stupid.
I won't tell you how much I spent, but I will tell you that I bought my wife a nice necklace with a diamond centerpiece. This led to part two of the plan....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Surprise:
With gift in hand, I moved to the next step: surprising my wife. I called her boss (the last person she would think of) and convinced him to help me. His only demand was not to tell his wife, because she would think he's a horrible human being for not being, "so romantic."
So, last Thursday I made my way to her work after the school day (and my club duty) were over. I had everything I needed:
1 mylar balloon
3 dozen roses (yellow, orange, and light green)
1 gift from Tiffany's
1 card (with an evil clown on it...long story)
1 box of chocolates
1 trash bag to hide all evidence
1 bottle of wine (payment to my wife's boss for his help)
1 bottle of water to put in...
1 vase for the flowers
Her boss let me in the building and showed me where her new cubicle is (she moved recently). He left me to go to work.
I tied up the balloon, cut the stems on the flowers and put them in the water, hid the gift, and left some notes around her cube.
After all that work and finding a way to keep my wife from being suspicious, the response I get on her birthday is as follows:
That was nice.
Her co-workers flipped out. One woman asked me if I could teach her husband. Suffice to say, I was hoping for a little more than, "That was nice." I know she was happy, but she also told me she was embarrassed to have all that stuff there in front of her co-workers and boss. Makes it hard to separate home and work.
When work was over, my wife came home to prepare for part three:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Dinner:
I want to do this in a separate post. I had planned a nice dinner months ago. I had setup a table at Vincent (in downtown Minneapolis) with my wife's favorite wine (a bottle of 2003 Blacksmith Cabernet Sauvignon) as well as flowers spread out all over the table (I have this thing about rose petals). It was canceled on Tuesday of this past week. Why? Because of my wife's boss' Christmas party that was to be held on the same night. That's a whole different post however. Still, I was crushed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bottom Line:
My wife had a good birthday. She was happy. I, however, was just tired and discovered that a ton of hard work can lead to a, "That was nice."
Still, it's about her not me.
Namaste...and happy birthday, honey. I know you'll never read this.
Trash Can Buddy
I hate being sick. I REALLY hate it. The aches, the cough...ugh.
I'm not sick now, but a few weeks ago, I was in really bad shape.
My son is currently in daycare, which means that he's bringing home colds all the time. He comes home one day and coughs. That night, my wife pulls me over and suddenly I'm on hair duty....As in hold her hair while she pukes.
The next morning, I'm hurting. I'm already tired, because I spent the whole night taking care of my wife.
As I walk out to my car to drive to school, I feel that wave of nausea. I'm going to be sick. I had to do something. There was no way that I would make it to a toilet, so I bolted to trash can in the garage. It became my buddy.
Having thrown up, I convinced myself it was just stress.
"Oh...I'm not sick. I'm just stressed. The end of the trimester is coming, I have so many grades to get in, and I have to write tests. That's all this is: stress."
One teeth brushing later, off to school.
First class: no problems. I think I'm in the clear. I'm wrong.
I head over to the Chemistry Lab in order to talk to a colleague about one of my advisee's grades. The lab the kids are performing has them attempting to replicate specific smells. My stomach becomes upset, but I power through it.
After the bell has rung, I quickly get to my classroom and start my Senior English class. The deaf and hard of hearing interpreter I work with comments that I, "appear to be very green." I'm feeling it. Immediately I get the kids to work in groups and bolt from the room. I'm thinking "get to the staff bathroom," over and over again in my mind. I don't make it. When I hit the second floor, my stomach says, "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more."
I hit...another trash can. Here's the embarrassing part: this very can is outside the teacher's lounge and near a classroom...that has it's door open. The kids can hear me. They can't see me, but they can hear me wretching into the can.
The teachers try to convince me to go home, but I can't do it. The logic part of my brain is stupid, because I'm sick.
My rationalization: I drove a half an hour to be here. I'm already here, so I'm not leaving. Made sense at the time.
I return to the class, but stop short of the door noticing that I'm slightly covered in my own vomit, but I hide that fact by spilling water on myself as I enter through the door.
The rest of the day was nearly impossible to make through, but I did stay. During my prep period, I had to vomit again, but I made it to the bathroom this time.
The final two periods of the day, however, were a test of strength. I was close to passing out during my fifth period. Had I not had a podium to lean on, I would have collapsed to the floor at one point.
Sixth period was worse. I told my T.A, "If I pass out, make sure I'm not bleeding...then call the nurse." She stared at me as if I had just told her that I had killed her mother.
"Why are you here?" she blurts.
"Couldn't leave," I respond.
Then comes the part where I show how I'm really an idiot. I stayed for the club I advise. Luckily the kids didn't notice when I passed out sitting at the desk. Fifteen minutes passed with me asleep at the desk, but no one noticed.
That night my wife and I each had a trash can with us. The unfair part was that my son felt great and had a ton of energy. It's hard to play with a baby when your shivering with cold sweats, and the room is moving at the speed of light (damn that's fast). I also had to take the next day off. That angered me more.
So what's the lesson here, kids? If you're sick, don't try to be Superman or Supergirl. Just roll over and let your body heal. Otherwise...you might find yourself needing a trash can buddy.
Namaste.
I'm not sick now, but a few weeks ago, I was in really bad shape.
My son is currently in daycare, which means that he's bringing home colds all the time. He comes home one day and coughs. That night, my wife pulls me over and suddenly I'm on hair duty....As in hold her hair while she pukes.
The next morning, I'm hurting. I'm already tired, because I spent the whole night taking care of my wife.
As I walk out to my car to drive to school, I feel that wave of nausea. I'm going to be sick. I had to do something. There was no way that I would make it to a toilet, so I bolted to trash can in the garage. It became my buddy.
Having thrown up, I convinced myself it was just stress.
"Oh...I'm not sick. I'm just stressed. The end of the trimester is coming, I have so many grades to get in, and I have to write tests. That's all this is: stress."
One teeth brushing later, off to school.
First class: no problems. I think I'm in the clear. I'm wrong.
I head over to the Chemistry Lab in order to talk to a colleague about one of my advisee's grades. The lab the kids are performing has them attempting to replicate specific smells. My stomach becomes upset, but I power through it.
After the bell has rung, I quickly get to my classroom and start my Senior English class. The deaf and hard of hearing interpreter I work with comments that I, "appear to be very green." I'm feeling it. Immediately I get the kids to work in groups and bolt from the room. I'm thinking "get to the staff bathroom," over and over again in my mind. I don't make it. When I hit the second floor, my stomach says, "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more."
I hit...another trash can. Here's the embarrassing part: this very can is outside the teacher's lounge and near a classroom...that has it's door open. The kids can hear me. They can't see me, but they can hear me wretching into the can.
The teachers try to convince me to go home, but I can't do it. The logic part of my brain is stupid, because I'm sick.
My rationalization: I drove a half an hour to be here. I'm already here, so I'm not leaving. Made sense at the time.
I return to the class, but stop short of the door noticing that I'm slightly covered in my own vomit, but I hide that fact by spilling water on myself as I enter through the door.
The rest of the day was nearly impossible to make through, but I did stay. During my prep period, I had to vomit again, but I made it to the bathroom this time.
The final two periods of the day, however, were a test of strength. I was close to passing out during my fifth period. Had I not had a podium to lean on, I would have collapsed to the floor at one point.
Sixth period was worse. I told my T.A, "If I pass out, make sure I'm not bleeding...then call the nurse." She stared at me as if I had just told her that I had killed her mother.
"Why are you here?" she blurts.
"Couldn't leave," I respond.
Then comes the part where I show how I'm really an idiot. I stayed for the club I advise. Luckily the kids didn't notice when I passed out sitting at the desk. Fifteen minutes passed with me asleep at the desk, but no one noticed.
That night my wife and I each had a trash can with us. The unfair part was that my son felt great and had a ton of energy. It's hard to play with a baby when your shivering with cold sweats, and the room is moving at the speed of light (damn that's fast). I also had to take the next day off. That angered me more.
So what's the lesson here, kids? If you're sick, don't try to be Superman or Supergirl. Just roll over and let your body heal. Otherwise...you might find yourself needing a trash can buddy.
Namaste.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Patriotic Poozer Peruses Pawlenty
I just needed an alliteration.
About a month ago, my wife and I did our patriotic duty and voted. Seeing as how we live in Robbinsdale (a smaller suburb), the voting place was in one of the local churches.
There's nothing stranger than running into your entire neighborhood in one room. Though a smaller polling place (when compared to Minneapolis or St. Paul, for example) they didn't have enough privacy booths (again, for lack of a better term...I'm talking about the desks with flimsy wings to hide your pencil movements). As such, my wife and I had to sit at a table in the corner. As I approached the table with my ballot in one hand and my son's carseat in the other, many people began lowering their bodies toward the table and putting out their arms. The gist was clear: Don't look at my ballot.
The only chairs available were in the corner, so I set Poozer up next to me, and my wife and I began the voting process.
Halfway through filling in the bubbles, the people to my right cleared out. This meant space was available. This meant someone was going to be sitting next to me...and Little Leab. It was after filling in the bubble for the first judge that I saw the gentleman who would be sitting next to me. He was on a cell phone, carried a bag of McDonald's, and was openly and loudly angry about having to be at my table. He moved toward me without paying attention. He reached the table and swung his foot out to sit down, and, in doing the action without paying attention, his foot barely missed my son's carseat.
"Who the hell put that kid there?" He asked loudly. "There's a kid next to where I'm voting," He says into his cellphone. "No wonder people don't like to vote."
"Excuse me," I say. "Could you keep it down, please?"
"What?" the guy retorts, "Am I ruining your concentration?" He then laughs one of those self-serving, "I'm so damn funny" laughs.
I don't retort. I just want to make sure he doesn't wake up Little Leab.
As he starts to fill out the bubbles, my new buddy pulls out a cheeseburger. The wrapper comes off (loudly), and he starts to talk to himself about which person shall get his vote.
As I'm finishing the water commission section, he kicks out his leg (maybe it was a cramp, maybe he was stretching) and kicks my son's seat, which flies up almost perpendicular to the way it was sitting.
My eyes go wide.
"You shouldn't have had the kid there," I'm told by the guy as he bites into his cheeseburger and gets ketchup on his ballot.
I say nothing as I'm almost finished. My wife, however, says, "Be quiet, please."
Finished filling in the bubbles, I stand up, pick up my son, and start to go.
"Who'd you vote for?" He asks me.
"That's none of your business," I reply. Here's the fun part.
With my ballot on the table along with my son's diaper bag, the guy GRABS MY BALLOT AND STARTS READING IT.
"Gimme that!" I say.
"I can't believe you voted for (CLASSIFIED). The way you don't care about your state...I should have stepped on your son."
The roar of the room has lowered enough that everyone has heard this guy and is now staring at us. The older woman sitting across from my wife is shaking her head, and the guy at the desk nearby says, "That's just too far," under his breath.
Again...I say nothing, but I see my neighbors all staring at me. They all now know who I'm voting for and it's not who most of them would have picked.
After placing my ballot in the machine, I wait for my wife. I'm embarrassed. Should I be? I have no clue, but I was beet red. Usually I have snappy comebacks and such, but I was stupefied as to what I could say without being an offensive prick.
Finally, my wife gets up and comes over. At that point, one of the volunteers comes over and tells the guy to be quiet. When he argues, they tell him to finish his vote quietly and to not talk to the other patrons. "Disorderly conduct," I hear said, "can make your vote invalid."
I have no idea if that statement is true, but it worked.
Now, one month later, my neighbors still ask me: "How could you vote for (CLASSIFIED)? That's...just...wrong."
Still, that's better than the last time I voted when the group of old people in front of me freaked out because I was talking about how there was a Communist Party candidate.
Then again what do I know? I'm the guy who quietly votes. I could be wrong.
About a month ago, my wife and I did our patriotic duty and voted. Seeing as how we live in Robbinsdale (a smaller suburb), the voting place was in one of the local churches.
There's nothing stranger than running into your entire neighborhood in one room. Though a smaller polling place (when compared to Minneapolis or St. Paul, for example) they didn't have enough privacy booths (again, for lack of a better term...I'm talking about the desks with flimsy wings to hide your pencil movements). As such, my wife and I had to sit at a table in the corner. As I approached the table with my ballot in one hand and my son's carseat in the other, many people began lowering their bodies toward the table and putting out their arms. The gist was clear: Don't look at my ballot.
The only chairs available were in the corner, so I set Poozer up next to me, and my wife and I began the voting process.
Halfway through filling in the bubbles, the people to my right cleared out. This meant space was available. This meant someone was going to be sitting next to me...and Little Leab. It was after filling in the bubble for the first judge that I saw the gentleman who would be sitting next to me. He was on a cell phone, carried a bag of McDonald's, and was openly and loudly angry about having to be at my table. He moved toward me without paying attention. He reached the table and swung his foot out to sit down, and, in doing the action without paying attention, his foot barely missed my son's carseat.
"Who the hell put that kid there?" He asked loudly. "There's a kid next to where I'm voting," He says into his cellphone. "No wonder people don't like to vote."
"Excuse me," I say. "Could you keep it down, please?"
"What?" the guy retorts, "Am I ruining your concentration?" He then laughs one of those self-serving, "I'm so damn funny" laughs.
I don't retort. I just want to make sure he doesn't wake up Little Leab.
As he starts to fill out the bubbles, my new buddy pulls out a cheeseburger. The wrapper comes off (loudly), and he starts to talk to himself about which person shall get his vote.
As I'm finishing the water commission section, he kicks out his leg (maybe it was a cramp, maybe he was stretching) and kicks my son's seat, which flies up almost perpendicular to the way it was sitting.
My eyes go wide.
"You shouldn't have had the kid there," I'm told by the guy as he bites into his cheeseburger and gets ketchup on his ballot.
I say nothing as I'm almost finished. My wife, however, says, "Be quiet, please."
Finished filling in the bubbles, I stand up, pick up my son, and start to go.
"Who'd you vote for?" He asks me.
"That's none of your business," I reply. Here's the fun part.
With my ballot on the table along with my son's diaper bag, the guy GRABS MY BALLOT AND STARTS READING IT.
"Gimme that!" I say.
"I can't believe you voted for (CLASSIFIED). The way you don't care about your state...I should have stepped on your son."
The roar of the room has lowered enough that everyone has heard this guy and is now staring at us. The older woman sitting across from my wife is shaking her head, and the guy at the desk nearby says, "That's just too far," under his breath.
Again...I say nothing, but I see my neighbors all staring at me. They all now know who I'm voting for and it's not who most of them would have picked.
After placing my ballot in the machine, I wait for my wife. I'm embarrassed. Should I be? I have no clue, but I was beet red. Usually I have snappy comebacks and such, but I was stupefied as to what I could say without being an offensive prick.
Finally, my wife gets up and comes over. At that point, one of the volunteers comes over and tells the guy to be quiet. When he argues, they tell him to finish his vote quietly and to not talk to the other patrons. "Disorderly conduct," I hear said, "can make your vote invalid."
I have no idea if that statement is true, but it worked.
Now, one month later, my neighbors still ask me: "How could you vote for (CLASSIFIED)? That's...just...wrong."
Still, that's better than the last time I voted when the group of old people in front of me freaked out because I was talking about how there was a Communist Party candidate.
Then again what do I know? I'm the guy who quietly votes. I could be wrong.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Passive-Agressive Hybrids
Saving the environment and running down neighbors. Thanks Toyota!
My neighbors are former nuns, and we get along quite well.
Two years ago, they moved here from a Wisconsin farm. They're...well...a little crunchy, but we get along very well. Years of dealing with a Granola sister has taught me how to speak the language. It's pretty easy.
Last year, after one of their 15 year old cars died, they bought a new Toyota Prius. Beautiful car, and pretty Earth-friendly. It also hurts like hell when it hits you.
Saturday...a day of rest for most teachers. My wife and son were inside asleep after a big day of playing.
I went outside to finish cleaning out the garage for Winter (who knew we'd have a heat wave).
As I walked back up the shared driveway toward my door to my house, my neighbors came home from...well...I have no idea where they were. We didn't discuss it.
The Toyota was headed right for me. I thought she was kidding, so I kept walking toward my door. It wasn't until they got closer that I saw that the driver (we'll call her Penny) wasn't looking at me, but at her roommate (who we'll call Lori).
I'd love to say that in a heroic move, I dove out of the way...but I can't.
Now, I attempted to lessen the blow by jumping up on the hood of the car as it hit me doing maybe 10 to 15 MPH.
Here's the thing: If you've ever been hit by a car...it hurts. Regardless of the speed, the sudden impact hurts. It's physics. An object at rest that is struck by an object in movement will feel or show an impact.
Let's try it another way:
Whether the stone hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the stone...it's going to be bad for the pitcher.
I'm the pitcher.
I lay across the hood sprawled out like a dead and gutted deer. Penny screamed and slammed the brakes, but I was clutching onto the top of the hood, so I did not go flying.
"OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD!!!!" I hear screamed. "Are you ok? OHMYGOD!!!"
My pride, once again, is hurt. It was only two days before that I was hit in a car...now I was hit...by a person.
My brain's first thought was actually not the pain I was in, but the thought about the deer.
"I wonder if this is how the deer feels," I thought.
The screaming continued from inside the car, but I stil couldn't get the image of the deer out of my head.
Penny, obviously flustered, tried to get out of the car without putting it in park. Her foot came out, and the car lurched forward again. Luckily Lori moved quickly to hit the brakes and put on the emergency brake.
The pain started to creep in to my body. I could tell the my right leg took most of the damage.
"Are you ok?" Penny said to me while trying to help me off the car.
"Leg hurts...and my back is starting to as well," I told her.
Lori, meanwhile, having put the car in park, proceeded to inspect the car. "Car looks ok..." she mumbled.
Penny, meanwhile, had turned white. I think she was afraid that I was really hurt.
Being the stupid, macho guy I am (I can admit it), I told her, "I'm fine."
But I wasn't. In fact I still have a slight limp today.
What's even funnier is that my wife and son didn't know until a few hours later (when I had trouble moving around) that something had happened.
Still...days later and I can't get that image of me as the deer out of my mind. I couldn't tell you why, but it's odd.
I mention the John Glenn Principle all the time, and this speaks to that principle. I got in a car accident, and I was fine. Doing the most mundane thing (walking up my driveway, for Pete's sake), I get hit by a car.
Then again, what do I know? I'm a Prius Hugger. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
My neighbors are former nuns, and we get along quite well.
Two years ago, they moved here from a Wisconsin farm. They're...well...a little crunchy, but we get along very well. Years of dealing with a Granola sister has taught me how to speak the language. It's pretty easy.
Last year, after one of their 15 year old cars died, they bought a new Toyota Prius. Beautiful car, and pretty Earth-friendly. It also hurts like hell when it hits you.
Saturday...a day of rest for most teachers. My wife and son were inside asleep after a big day of playing.
I went outside to finish cleaning out the garage for Winter (who knew we'd have a heat wave).
As I walked back up the shared driveway toward my door to my house, my neighbors came home from...well...I have no idea where they were. We didn't discuss it.
The Toyota was headed right for me. I thought she was kidding, so I kept walking toward my door. It wasn't until they got closer that I saw that the driver (we'll call her Penny) wasn't looking at me, but at her roommate (who we'll call Lori).
I'd love to say that in a heroic move, I dove out of the way...but I can't.
Now, I attempted to lessen the blow by jumping up on the hood of the car as it hit me doing maybe 10 to 15 MPH.
Here's the thing: If you've ever been hit by a car...it hurts. Regardless of the speed, the sudden impact hurts. It's physics. An object at rest that is struck by an object in movement will feel or show an impact.
Let's try it another way:
Whether the stone hits the pitcher or the pitcher hits the stone...it's going to be bad for the pitcher.
I'm the pitcher.
I lay across the hood sprawled out like a dead and gutted deer. Penny screamed and slammed the brakes, but I was clutching onto the top of the hood, so I did not go flying.
"OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD!!!!" I hear screamed. "Are you ok? OHMYGOD!!!"
My pride, once again, is hurt. It was only two days before that I was hit in a car...now I was hit...by a person.
My brain's first thought was actually not the pain I was in, but the thought about the deer.
"I wonder if this is how the deer feels," I thought.
The screaming continued from inside the car, but I stil couldn't get the image of the deer out of my head.
Penny, obviously flustered, tried to get out of the car without putting it in park. Her foot came out, and the car lurched forward again. Luckily Lori moved quickly to hit the brakes and put on the emergency brake.
The pain started to creep in to my body. I could tell the my right leg took most of the damage.
"Are you ok?" Penny said to me while trying to help me off the car.
"Leg hurts...and my back is starting to as well," I told her.
Lori, meanwhile, having put the car in park, proceeded to inspect the car. "Car looks ok..." she mumbled.
Penny, meanwhile, had turned white. I think she was afraid that I was really hurt.
Being the stupid, macho guy I am (I can admit it), I told her, "I'm fine."
But I wasn't. In fact I still have a slight limp today.
What's even funnier is that my wife and son didn't know until a few hours later (when I had trouble moving around) that something had happened.
Still...days later and I can't get that image of me as the deer out of my mind. I couldn't tell you why, but it's odd.
I mention the John Glenn Principle all the time, and this speaks to that principle. I got in a car accident, and I was fine. Doing the most mundane thing (walking up my driveway, for Pete's sake), I get hit by a car.
Then again, what do I know? I'm a Prius Hugger. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Black (and Blue) Friday
I'm back.
I know I teased great stories...which I'll get to, but I have to talk about the rest of my weekend. There's just...so much.
I'm starting to believe that Mr. Willoughby is right: The world is coming to an end. Not in the whole "Jesus comes down from the mountain" way. No...I think the end is coming from us. Black Friday is the perfect example.
I usually make it a rule: The day after Thanksgiving, I board up the house and hide. Unfortunately, my wife forgot to pack my son's saline spray which he needs for his nebulizing (He has lung issues right now). This meant that ole Leab had to go to Target (where his prescription is) to get it.
You have to understand: the town my wife's parents live in is a Wal-Mart town. There is a Target, but it's behind the Home Depot and only the "fancy rich-folk" go there. Much like King of the Hill, there are people who stand outside the Target talking about the death of the Mom and Pop Shops.
"Yep...place like this takes away our jobs....I'm out of chips...be right back."
Because I had to go out anyway, my wife's mother asked me for a favor:
"Could you please stop at Big Lot's and look for this camera? It's for your father-in-law's mother."
Now I get along pretty well with my mother-in-law, and I like my father-in-law's mother as she understands the feelings I have about Missouri, so I said yes...like an idiot.
8 AM on Friday. The store looks empty as I park.
Once I walk in, however, it's a different story. There are people literally crawling up the walls (on the shelves, of course) to grab the sale items. I don't see the camera, so I ask the store clerk by the door.
"Oh my...we sold out of those by 6:15. You should have been here like everyone else. The REAL shoppers were here then."
"Oh well," I replied. "Doesn't hurt to try."
"You snooze you lose," the clerk says. "You should have been here at 5 like everyone else."
"I really couldn't care. I just thought I would ask," I say, but the clerk has already moved on to someone else.
As I start to move around to leave the store, I see a DVD setup that's cheap. It's a Progressive Scan player marked down to $30. I know my brother-in-law wants one, so I pick it up to look at it.
After a few seconds, I hear a whoosh, and then my head starts to hurt. WHAM! Then again, WHAM!
"I saw it first, you fucker!" I hear screamed.
WHAM!
"What the hell?!" I scream back.
I turn and see a woman a half a foot shorter than me sizing me up with her purse for another hit. My hands shoot out to block her, but she's too quick, and she hits me in my groin. I'm not kidding.
"What...the...FUCK?!" I breathe out.
"I SAW IT FIRST! You took it out of my hands! It's mine!" She screams. She points to the DVD player I am clutching because my body is seizing while trying to get through the pain.
She rips the player from my hands and starts toward the checkout.
Here's the amazing part: NO ONE DOES ANYTHING!
The manager comes over and helps me up.
"Are you all right?" He asks me.
"Yeah," I say as the wave of nausea passes, "But why didn't you or anyone else help me?"
"Look," he starts, "It's our biggest shopping day. You aren't bleeding either. Were you planning on buying the player?"
"No, but..."
"No. You weren't. Look, I saw you pull up in the car from...what is that...Minnesota? You're not from here. If I file a complaint, if I call the cops...you'll probably lose. You aren't from here...and she is. She's a well-known resident and well liked. Her husband's an ex-Fire Marshall. Just....Just let it go."
That's life on Black Friday.
But wait...it gets worse.
With my dignity hovering around my stomach, I hobbled back to my car and drove to Target.
It's here that I see humanity at its worse. People were pushing around packed carts buying stuff they would never need or use. Who buys fourteen bottles of Shampoo? Just because they're on sale? Sigh.
The creme de la creme, however, is when the partrons discovered the one unbought Playstation 3 (shows you how backwoods or off the beaten path this place is). Two customers saw it and each grabbed a worker to try and get it. They arrived at the same time. It started as a shouting match.
"I was here first."
"NO, I was!"
Then it degenerated.
"If you think you're getting the machine, I'll fucking kill you!"
"Is that a threat? I'm calling the cops!" and out comes a cell phone.
The other person saw the phone and slapped it out of the first person's hand.
I was transfixed. It was like watching a car accident. You want to look away, but your have to see it.
Slowly, the phone spun on the floor. As it stopped, the phone's owner looked at the phone on the floor...to the person who hit it...to the crowd...to the machine...back to the floor...then, as if overcome with a bloodlust, he screamed as he tackled the other person. The hands flew from both people. The two Target workers were screaming into their radios.
The rent-a-cops...uh...I mean Security Detail...moved as fast as their fat bodies could move them, but even they weren't sure what to do.
I went home and told my wife and mother-in-law this. To her credit, my wife hugged me, my son cooed, and my mother-in-law gave me an ice bag.
So why does this illustrate Tom's point?
Because we go to "war", we shoot each other, we beat each other over material goods that will be forgotten rather quickly after December 25th (or after the Eighth Day). Parents pay 300% on a Tickle Me Elmo in order to not disappoint little Johnny or Joanie.
I love my son, but I'm not getting up at 2 in the morning in order to get him a toy. He can deal. Plus, I really hope he'll learn why that toy isn't the end all be all of life.
We lament when we don't get the things we want. You can't really get all of us to vote or help the homeless, but we'll destroy others in order to get that cheap DVD player.
Isn't apathy the beginning of the downfall of civilization?
Am I overreacting here?
Have the multiple blows to the head left me without a true perception of life?
You tell me. All I know is the following:
1. NEVER again am I going out on Black Friday (and I couldn't even get my son's Saline as the damn pharmacy shut down for the day to, and I quote, "keep the aisles from being cluttered").
2. I wish I could have kicked the crap out of both the people in Target, taken the PS3, and donated it to the battered kids shelter nearby.
3. Hit the woman back. I don't care if she's old, you hit below the belt, and I believe in equal rights. I see you again, you go down, bitch!
4. If we value the material possessions of our life more than the intangibles, we start to forget who we are. I'm not talking about God here, folks. I'm talking about family, love, sunrises, pets, intelligence, etc.
Then again, what do I know? I'm the guy rolling in pain in aisle five. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
I know I teased great stories...which I'll get to, but I have to talk about the rest of my weekend. There's just...so much.
I'm starting to believe that Mr. Willoughby is right: The world is coming to an end. Not in the whole "Jesus comes down from the mountain" way. No...I think the end is coming from us. Black Friday is the perfect example.
I usually make it a rule: The day after Thanksgiving, I board up the house and hide. Unfortunately, my wife forgot to pack my son's saline spray which he needs for his nebulizing (He has lung issues right now). This meant that ole Leab had to go to Target (where his prescription is) to get it.
You have to understand: the town my wife's parents live in is a Wal-Mart town. There is a Target, but it's behind the Home Depot and only the "fancy rich-folk" go there. Much like King of the Hill, there are people who stand outside the Target talking about the death of the Mom and Pop Shops.
"Yep...place like this takes away our jobs....I'm out of chips...be right back."
Because I had to go out anyway, my wife's mother asked me for a favor:
"Could you please stop at Big Lot's and look for this camera? It's for your father-in-law's mother."
Now I get along pretty well with my mother-in-law, and I like my father-in-law's mother as she understands the feelings I have about Missouri, so I said yes...like an idiot.
8 AM on Friday. The store looks empty as I park.
Once I walk in, however, it's a different story. There are people literally crawling up the walls (on the shelves, of course) to grab the sale items. I don't see the camera, so I ask the store clerk by the door.
"Oh my...we sold out of those by 6:15. You should have been here like everyone else. The REAL shoppers were here then."
"Oh well," I replied. "Doesn't hurt to try."
"You snooze you lose," the clerk says. "You should have been here at 5 like everyone else."
"I really couldn't care. I just thought I would ask," I say, but the clerk has already moved on to someone else.
As I start to move around to leave the store, I see a DVD setup that's cheap. It's a Progressive Scan player marked down to $30. I know my brother-in-law wants one, so I pick it up to look at it.
After a few seconds, I hear a whoosh, and then my head starts to hurt. WHAM! Then again, WHAM!
"I saw it first, you fucker!" I hear screamed.
WHAM!
"What the hell?!" I scream back.
I turn and see a woman a half a foot shorter than me sizing me up with her purse for another hit. My hands shoot out to block her, but she's too quick, and she hits me in my groin. I'm not kidding.
"What...the...FUCK?!" I breathe out.
"I SAW IT FIRST! You took it out of my hands! It's mine!" She screams. She points to the DVD player I am clutching because my body is seizing while trying to get through the pain.
She rips the player from my hands and starts toward the checkout.
Here's the amazing part: NO ONE DOES ANYTHING!
The manager comes over and helps me up.
"Are you all right?" He asks me.
"Yeah," I say as the wave of nausea passes, "But why didn't you or anyone else help me?"
"Look," he starts, "It's our biggest shopping day. You aren't bleeding either. Were you planning on buying the player?"
"No, but..."
"No. You weren't. Look, I saw you pull up in the car from...what is that...Minnesota? You're not from here. If I file a complaint, if I call the cops...you'll probably lose. You aren't from here...and she is. She's a well-known resident and well liked. Her husband's an ex-Fire Marshall. Just....Just let it go."
That's life on Black Friday.
But wait...it gets worse.
With my dignity hovering around my stomach, I hobbled back to my car and drove to Target.
It's here that I see humanity at its worse. People were pushing around packed carts buying stuff they would never need or use. Who buys fourteen bottles of Shampoo? Just because they're on sale? Sigh.
The creme de la creme, however, is when the partrons discovered the one unbought Playstation 3 (shows you how backwoods or off the beaten path this place is). Two customers saw it and each grabbed a worker to try and get it. They arrived at the same time. It started as a shouting match.
"I was here first."
"NO, I was!"
Then it degenerated.
"If you think you're getting the machine, I'll fucking kill you!"
"Is that a threat? I'm calling the cops!" and out comes a cell phone.
The other person saw the phone and slapped it out of the first person's hand.
I was transfixed. It was like watching a car accident. You want to look away, but your have to see it.
Slowly, the phone spun on the floor. As it stopped, the phone's owner looked at the phone on the floor...to the person who hit it...to the crowd...to the machine...back to the floor...then, as if overcome with a bloodlust, he screamed as he tackled the other person. The hands flew from both people. The two Target workers were screaming into their radios.
The rent-a-cops...uh...I mean Security Detail...moved as fast as their fat bodies could move them, but even they weren't sure what to do.
I went home and told my wife and mother-in-law this. To her credit, my wife hugged me, my son cooed, and my mother-in-law gave me an ice bag.
So why does this illustrate Tom's point?
Because we go to "war", we shoot each other, we beat each other over material goods that will be forgotten rather quickly after December 25th (or after the Eighth Day). Parents pay 300% on a Tickle Me Elmo in order to not disappoint little Johnny or Joanie.
I love my son, but I'm not getting up at 2 in the morning in order to get him a toy. He can deal. Plus, I really hope he'll learn why that toy isn't the end all be all of life.
We lament when we don't get the things we want. You can't really get all of us to vote or help the homeless, but we'll destroy others in order to get that cheap DVD player.
Isn't apathy the beginning of the downfall of civilization?
Am I overreacting here?
Have the multiple blows to the head left me without a true perception of life?
You tell me. All I know is the following:
1. NEVER again am I going out on Black Friday (and I couldn't even get my son's Saline as the damn pharmacy shut down for the day to, and I quote, "keep the aisles from being cluttered").
2. I wish I could have kicked the crap out of both the people in Target, taken the PS3, and donated it to the battered kids shelter nearby.
3. Hit the woman back. I don't care if she's old, you hit below the belt, and I believe in equal rights. I see you again, you go down, bitch!
4. If we value the material possessions of our life more than the intangibles, we start to forget who we are. I'm not talking about God here, folks. I'm talking about family, love, sunrises, pets, intelligence, etc.
Then again, what do I know? I'm the guy rolling in pain in aisle five. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Tryptophan Tidings
Happy Thanksgiving to you, my dear readers.
I am currently sitting in the living room of my in-laws writing to you on my wife's laptop. Everyone is asleep except for me. Maybe that's why it's so quiet.
Yes, I am once again at my in-laws, despite the fact that I was promised I wouldn't have to be here.
However, unlike my last trip, I am not physically able to fight back...though I did have to defend myself at dinner.
Let's start with my frustration.
When my son was born in June, my wife promised me that I would not have to go anywhere for this year's holidays.
"I promise," she told me, "that we will spend Christmas and Thanksgiving here in Minnesota." Awesome. That's what I wanted.
However, over the course of the last few weeks, the pressure has been laid on thick by the in-laws. The clincher? My wife's grandmother calls and explains that she, "is dying, and who knows when I can see my grandson again?"
Sigh.
My wife caved and agreed to bring Little Leab down to Missouri. She forgot, however, to check in with me. My protests fell on deaf ears as her parents, grandparents, et al were ready for Poozer and that was that.
Angry, I started driving yesterday at four. No problems until we hit Iowa. The small town of Mason City across the border is pretty much the only place you can stop to fill up until you get farther into the state (like Des Moines). When I got off the highway, it was packed full of cars. Instead of a quick fill up, I waited 30 minutes to fill up the car (I had to, I was empty).
The real fun started today.
My wife's grandmother who talked about dying kept calling me Eric. The problem? That's not my name. She also kept referring to me as, "Our Jew."
I kept my mouth shut through dinner as many of my in-laws used the term "nigger," but when it switched to politics, I was done for.
During the course of the week, I warned my wife I would be ambushed. She scoffed.
I was ambushed.
"It's the fault of Liberal teachers...not unlike my son-in-law...that our kids are dumber."
On and on it went. I got to hear about how the Democrats are destroying the country, and how only Bill O'Reilly can save us.
On and on it went.
Finally, after hearing that teachers aren't teaching kids what they need to know, I snapped.
"What are kids not learning that they need to?" I asked.
"Why we're in Iraq for one thing."
"Why would we talk about that in an English class? We want kids to be able to read and write, but we have so many problems because of YOUR NCLB," I responded.
On and on it went.
When it was over? My wife asked me to calm down. Did she defend me? No.
Then we went to the second dinner, which was at my wife's aunt and uncle's house.
This is where my wife's cousin and new baby would be. They were hyper competetive, which I didn't have the energy for.
"Well...Brayden is talking. He's sleeping through the night. He's fill in the blank for annoying comment."
"I don't care," I finally responded. "My son doesn't look like he's the product of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome."
A hush filled the room. My wife kicked me hard under the table.
It's just sad. I really hate the holiday season. My wife doesn't understand. I love my family, and they love me, but we don't feel the need to see each other around this time of year. My wife's family cannot deal if they don't put up the lights and tree and have all the food for Thanksgiving. My wife knows that my family doesn't do this, but she refuses to see why it makes me uncomfortable. We, of course, don't want to the see the foibles of our families, but they should not be ignored. The fact that some of her family talk about how much the problems of America are because of anyone not white is a problem.
I wish I was asleep like the rest of them.
I wish I actually liked this time of year.
I wish that my wife understood why I really don't like to make the drive down here.
I wish I was more tolerant of this.
Again, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope your holiday is fantastically plain.
Namaste.
I am currently sitting in the living room of my in-laws writing to you on my wife's laptop. Everyone is asleep except for me. Maybe that's why it's so quiet.
Yes, I am once again at my in-laws, despite the fact that I was promised I wouldn't have to be here.
However, unlike my last trip, I am not physically able to fight back...though I did have to defend myself at dinner.
Let's start with my frustration.
When my son was born in June, my wife promised me that I would not have to go anywhere for this year's holidays.
"I promise," she told me, "that we will spend Christmas and Thanksgiving here in Minnesota." Awesome. That's what I wanted.
However, over the course of the last few weeks, the pressure has been laid on thick by the in-laws. The clincher? My wife's grandmother calls and explains that she, "is dying, and who knows when I can see my grandson again?"
Sigh.
My wife caved and agreed to bring Little Leab down to Missouri. She forgot, however, to check in with me. My protests fell on deaf ears as her parents, grandparents, et al were ready for Poozer and that was that.
Angry, I started driving yesterday at four. No problems until we hit Iowa. The small town of Mason City across the border is pretty much the only place you can stop to fill up until you get farther into the state (like Des Moines). When I got off the highway, it was packed full of cars. Instead of a quick fill up, I waited 30 minutes to fill up the car (I had to, I was empty).
The real fun started today.
My wife's grandmother who talked about dying kept calling me Eric. The problem? That's not my name. She also kept referring to me as, "Our Jew."
I kept my mouth shut through dinner as many of my in-laws used the term "nigger," but when it switched to politics, I was done for.
During the course of the week, I warned my wife I would be ambushed. She scoffed.
I was ambushed.
"It's the fault of Liberal teachers...not unlike my son-in-law...that our kids are dumber."
On and on it went. I got to hear about how the Democrats are destroying the country, and how only Bill O'Reilly can save us.
On and on it went.
Finally, after hearing that teachers aren't teaching kids what they need to know, I snapped.
"What are kids not learning that they need to?" I asked.
"Why we're in Iraq for one thing."
"Why would we talk about that in an English class? We want kids to be able to read and write, but we have so many problems because of YOUR NCLB," I responded.
On and on it went.
When it was over? My wife asked me to calm down. Did she defend me? No.
Then we went to the second dinner, which was at my wife's aunt and uncle's house.
This is where my wife's cousin and new baby would be. They were hyper competetive, which I didn't have the energy for.
"Well...Brayden is talking. He's sleeping through the night. He's fill in the blank for annoying comment."
"I don't care," I finally responded. "My son doesn't look like he's the product of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome."
A hush filled the room. My wife kicked me hard under the table.
It's just sad. I really hate the holiday season. My wife doesn't understand. I love my family, and they love me, but we don't feel the need to see each other around this time of year. My wife's family cannot deal if they don't put up the lights and tree and have all the food for Thanksgiving. My wife knows that my family doesn't do this, but she refuses to see why it makes me uncomfortable. We, of course, don't want to the see the foibles of our families, but they should not be ignored. The fact that some of her family talk about how much the problems of America are because of anyone not white is a problem.
I wish I was asleep like the rest of them.
I wish I actually liked this time of year.
I wish that my wife understood why I really don't like to make the drive down here.
I wish I was more tolerant of this.
Again, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope your holiday is fantastically plain.
Namaste.
Monday, November 20, 2006
"You Jumped Out of the Ether"
Car accidents suck.
I take the same route to pick up my son. Because his daycare is in Maple Grove, I get on 494 and take it all the way around to 94.
Sounds easy right?
The only problem is traffic. By the time I reach Rockford Road, the speed drops to 2 MPH. That's not an exaggeration.
On the 9th, I got off to a late start to get my son. The crew and I worked late to try and get the set for the show ready.
Traveling north bound, I was in the left lane doing my lovely 2 MPH. Suddenly, there was the screech of tires. Before I knew it, the screech got closer, the car rocked forward, and my head snapped back.
I was hit.
With quick reflexes (I was lucky), I grabbed my emergency brake. Didn't matter; the person who hit me pushed forward into the car in front of me.
Scorecard:
Guy behind me: front end damage
Woman in front of me: slight (and I do mean slight) damage to spare tire cover
My car: front AND rear damage
Suffice to say, I was unhappy. Still, much like my last car accident, I was the first out of my car. I walked to the guy behind me.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
He stared at me sheepishly. "Yes. You?"
"Depends on how much money you have," I said.
"What?" he replied.
"I'm fine, but you hit me. I'll need your insurance info. I'm going to check on the woman you pushed me into."
With that, I walked to the other car.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"My car!" the woman screamed. "Look what you did to my car!"
I had no idea what the woman was pointing at and why she was screaming. I stepped closer.
I found a small scratch on the top side of her spare tire cover. It was nothing compared to the tire imprint on the front of my car.
She continued to freak out.
"Ma'am? I'll need your insurance," I said.
At this point, I walked back to my car to get my insurance.
There's something funny about a group car accident in how people react with one another. If it's one person's fault, that person will have a hard time looking in the eyes of everyone else.
In this case, the guy who hit me kept his eyes either looking straight up or looking straight down.
"Do we need to call the cops?" I asked.
"No," the woman said.
"No one's hurt, right?" the guy interjected.
"Plus," the woman added, "It's rush hour. I don't want to be here for another hour."
It was agreed. No cops.
I tried to call my wife, but couldn't get through.
The worst part wasn't the car accident or the fact that my neck was hurting. It was knowing that I was going to be very late to pick up my son.
"I just can't believe it," the guy kept saying. "You jumped out of the ether. I never saw you."
It was such a strange description. To jump out of the ether. The truth, he would admit later to the insurance company, was that he was on his cell phone and wasn't paying attention. He was in the middle lane and almost hit a car there. While talking to the person on the phone and looking over at the car he almost hit, he looked back to see mine and started to break, but it was too late.
$3,500 worth of damage to my car later, I'm riding around in a rental car sans truck (which would have helped in transporting wood for building platforms.
The kicker? The guy who hit me is a born and bred Minnesotan. You can talk all you want about how the bad drivers here are not from the state, but it was the Minnesotan who hit me...not the other way around.
Of course, that would only be my first car accident of that week. The second would come on the following Saturday...but that's a story for another time.
Namaste.
I take the same route to pick up my son. Because his daycare is in Maple Grove, I get on 494 and take it all the way around to 94.
Sounds easy right?
The only problem is traffic. By the time I reach Rockford Road, the speed drops to 2 MPH. That's not an exaggeration.
On the 9th, I got off to a late start to get my son. The crew and I worked late to try and get the set for the show ready.
Traveling north bound, I was in the left lane doing my lovely 2 MPH. Suddenly, there was the screech of tires. Before I knew it, the screech got closer, the car rocked forward, and my head snapped back.
I was hit.
With quick reflexes (I was lucky), I grabbed my emergency brake. Didn't matter; the person who hit me pushed forward into the car in front of me.
Scorecard:
Guy behind me: front end damage
Woman in front of me: slight (and I do mean slight) damage to spare tire cover
My car: front AND rear damage
Suffice to say, I was unhappy. Still, much like my last car accident, I was the first out of my car. I walked to the guy behind me.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
He stared at me sheepishly. "Yes. You?"
"Depends on how much money you have," I said.
"What?" he replied.
"I'm fine, but you hit me. I'll need your insurance info. I'm going to check on the woman you pushed me into."
With that, I walked to the other car.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"My car!" the woman screamed. "Look what you did to my car!"
I had no idea what the woman was pointing at and why she was screaming. I stepped closer.
I found a small scratch on the top side of her spare tire cover. It was nothing compared to the tire imprint on the front of my car.
She continued to freak out.
"Ma'am? I'll need your insurance," I said.
At this point, I walked back to my car to get my insurance.
There's something funny about a group car accident in how people react with one another. If it's one person's fault, that person will have a hard time looking in the eyes of everyone else.
In this case, the guy who hit me kept his eyes either looking straight up or looking straight down.
"Do we need to call the cops?" I asked.
"No," the woman said.
"No one's hurt, right?" the guy interjected.
"Plus," the woman added, "It's rush hour. I don't want to be here for another hour."
It was agreed. No cops.
I tried to call my wife, but couldn't get through.
The worst part wasn't the car accident or the fact that my neck was hurting. It was knowing that I was going to be very late to pick up my son.
"I just can't believe it," the guy kept saying. "You jumped out of the ether. I never saw you."
It was such a strange description. To jump out of the ether. The truth, he would admit later to the insurance company, was that he was on his cell phone and wasn't paying attention. He was in the middle lane and almost hit a car there. While talking to the person on the phone and looking over at the car he almost hit, he looked back to see mine and started to break, but it was too late.
$3,500 worth of damage to my car later, I'm riding around in a rental car sans truck (which would have helped in transporting wood for building platforms.
The kicker? The guy who hit me is a born and bred Minnesotan. You can talk all you want about how the bad drivers here are not from the state, but it was the Minnesotan who hit me...not the other way around.
Of course, that would only be my first car accident of that week. The second would come on the following Saturday...but that's a story for another time.
Namaste.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Crawling Out of Purgatory
"Where the blue blazes you been, Leab?"
Here's the deal:
the last two weeks have been difficult.
"Why? Writing isn't that hard!"
Ok, I was in two car accidents.
The first had a man rear-ending my car.
The second was my neighbor hitting me. Not my car, me.
"Ok...that's a start. What else?"
All righty then. My "Hell Week" came and went. That's a term for tech week of a show.
I also got very sick, dealt with my sick wife and son, AND have been putting out fires left and right.
Oh yeah...and I voted and had to deal with a guy almost stepping on my son.
Oh, and I have to leave in two days and drive to Kansas City to see my in-laws for the holiday. Why? Because my wife's memory is terrible.
And I missed the vita.mn party, which I'm not happy about, thank you very much.
On the bright side, I have plenty of stories, including something I hate more than modern movie attendance (trust me, Tom).
"Is that all?"
No, I've also been trying to keep up with my grades as the end of the trimester comes up.
"Well, there's no need to be unprofessional."
I hate you disembodied voice. I hate you so much.
"That's what I'm here for."
Whatever....I'll post more when I can.
Namaste.
Here's the deal:
the last two weeks have been difficult.
"Why? Writing isn't that hard!"
Ok, I was in two car accidents.
The first had a man rear-ending my car.
The second was my neighbor hitting me. Not my car, me.
"Ok...that's a start. What else?"
All righty then. My "Hell Week" came and went. That's a term for tech week of a show.
I also got very sick, dealt with my sick wife and son, AND have been putting out fires left and right.
Oh yeah...and I voted and had to deal with a guy almost stepping on my son.
Oh, and I have to leave in two days and drive to Kansas City to see my in-laws for the holiday. Why? Because my wife's memory is terrible.
And I missed the vita.mn party, which I'm not happy about, thank you very much.
On the bright side, I have plenty of stories, including something I hate more than modern movie attendance (trust me, Tom).
"Is that all?"
No, I've also been trying to keep up with my grades as the end of the trimester comes up.
"Well, there's no need to be unprofessional."
I hate you disembodied voice. I hate you so much.
"That's what I'm here for."
Whatever....I'll post more when I can.
Namaste.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Repetition...It Keeps Repeating
Here's a lovely story from my fellow teacher Ted.
Today his classes were visited by the local health clinic to tell the students all about their options.
Questions about STDs? Come to the clinic.
Other health issues? Come to the clinic.
You get the idea.
Here's where the story gets better.
The clinic supervisor, who was there to speak to the class, asked the students to name five "uncurable" STDs.
The students were quiet for a minute...then the ice was broken.
"HIV?"
"That's right," the supervisor said. "Can you name some others?"
It goes quiet again.
"HIV?" another kid puts forth.
"We've already heard that one. Can you think of another?"
Again...silence.
A hand shoots into the air and is called upon.
"Um...AIDS?"
"Well, AIDS comes from HIV, so we already have that one. Any others?"
"Oh...Oh!" a kid starts from the corner.
"Yes?" the supervisor says quietly.
"HIV?"
"Are you kidding? We've had that one already. Haven't you been listening? There are four others to name."
Two other hands shoot into the air.
"Bearing in mind that we have already named AIDS and HIV, name one of the other four."
The two hands slowly slink back to the depths.
Dead silence, Ted explained to me. They had dead silence for another thirty seconds while the supervisor prayed for an answer not tied to HIV.
It never came.
There are two sad factors here as I see it.
1. It shows that the kids didn't listen to the supervisor at all.
2. It shows that kids didn't listen to each other as well.
Even sadder? After the supervisor left, Ted asked his class if they could name any of the other diseases besides HIV. The first answer? "HIV."
Repetition...it keeps repeating.
Namaste.
Today his classes were visited by the local health clinic to tell the students all about their options.
Questions about STDs? Come to the clinic.
Other health issues? Come to the clinic.
You get the idea.
Here's where the story gets better.
The clinic supervisor, who was there to speak to the class, asked the students to name five "uncurable" STDs.
The students were quiet for a minute...then the ice was broken.
"HIV?"
"That's right," the supervisor said. "Can you name some others?"
It goes quiet again.
"HIV?" another kid puts forth.
"We've already heard that one. Can you think of another?"
Again...silence.
A hand shoots into the air and is called upon.
"Um...AIDS?"
"Well, AIDS comes from HIV, so we already have that one. Any others?"
"Oh...Oh!" a kid starts from the corner.
"Yes?" the supervisor says quietly.
"HIV?"
"Are you kidding? We've had that one already. Haven't you been listening? There are four others to name."
Two other hands shoot into the air.
"Bearing in mind that we have already named AIDS and HIV, name one of the other four."
The two hands slowly slink back to the depths.
Dead silence, Ted explained to me. They had dead silence for another thirty seconds while the supervisor prayed for an answer not tied to HIV.
It never came.
There are two sad factors here as I see it.
1. It shows that the kids didn't listen to the supervisor at all.
2. It shows that kids didn't listen to each other as well.
Even sadder? After the supervisor left, Ted asked his class if they could name any of the other diseases besides HIV. The first answer? "HIV."
Repetition...it keeps repeating.
Namaste.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Gimme That Card!
Oh how times have changed.
Have you seen the new Visa Check Card commercial where a guy attempts to buy lunch with (horror of horrors) CASH!!!!!!!!
Yes, it seems all is a well-oiled machine until Oliver Old-Fashioned decides to pull out a few George Washingtons instead of just handing over his card. When he reaches for his wallet, food goes flying, drinks spill, and industry grinds to a halt.
Just five years ago, you wouldn't see a commercial like this.
I can remember going to a restaurant, pulling out my card to pay, and hearing the sighs and groans from the people behind me. Their brains were almost screaming, "Why doesn't this schmuck have cash."
I wonder if those same people would get pissed off if I pulled out cash now.
It is strange, however. The other day I was in Target, and I paid cash for my purchase.
First there was the cashier, who looked angered and amazed at the green paper being handed to her. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I also got the sense she was angry about having to count out change.
Then there were the people behind me. The wait was obviously longer for them, because the cashier needed more time to count out the change.
In all honesty, I don't mind using my check card now, because the companies have made it unnecessary to sign unless over a certain amount. So when you head to your local McDonald's now, you use your card.
It's a brand new world, folks. We're becoming paperless. Still, cash, not credit, will help you out of many jams. Remember that.
Namaste.
Have you seen the new Visa Check Card commercial where a guy attempts to buy lunch with (horror of horrors) CASH!!!!!!!!
Yes, it seems all is a well-oiled machine until Oliver Old-Fashioned decides to pull out a few George Washingtons instead of just handing over his card. When he reaches for his wallet, food goes flying, drinks spill, and industry grinds to a halt.
Just five years ago, you wouldn't see a commercial like this.
I can remember going to a restaurant, pulling out my card to pay, and hearing the sighs and groans from the people behind me. Their brains were almost screaming, "Why doesn't this schmuck have cash."
I wonder if those same people would get pissed off if I pulled out cash now.
It is strange, however. The other day I was in Target, and I paid cash for my purchase.
First there was the cashier, who looked angered and amazed at the green paper being handed to her. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I also got the sense she was angry about having to count out change.
Then there were the people behind me. The wait was obviously longer for them, because the cashier needed more time to count out the change.
In all honesty, I don't mind using my check card now, because the companies have made it unnecessary to sign unless over a certain amount. So when you head to your local McDonald's now, you use your card.
It's a brand new world, folks. We're becoming paperless. Still, cash, not credit, will help you out of many jams. Remember that.
Namaste.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Ramblings for the Weekend (11/4/2006)
I know. It's been a week. I've been busy with life and such. You know...a four month old and all.
So, without further ado: GRIM!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doogie Yowser:
Neil Patrick Harris announced this week that he is gay. In other news: humans breathe, and the sky is blue. Maybe it was just me, but some of us knew for a really long time. Like Rock Hudson.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And No Flexing Either:
A man in upstate New York was booted for grunting at a gym. Expulsion. Now I understand the reason why they have these rules, and good for the Planet Fitness gyms, but this is a little much. Cops had to escort the man out? That's a big deal.
Grunting seems to be a big problem lately.
First there's this guy who was escorted out.
Next, the Women's Tennis Association (WTA) has been receiving complaints about one of its members: Maria Sharpova. Apparently her "extremely loud" grunt is throwing off the other players. Wimbeldon (the premeire tennis venue) may place a ban on grunting all together...on all the players.
Have you watched tennis lately? One of the fun aspects of the modern matches is to listen to who can grunt louder and with more purpose. I will admit, however, that Sharapova sometimes sounds like a rhino in heat...and that's saying something.
I feel bad for grunters. Can you imagine a no grunting policy at UPS around Christmas time? Many workers would be fired.
It's a strange world we live in nowadays.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Political Moment:
You all know how I feel about politics, so the fact that I'm writing something speaks to how huge this is.
My lovely wife announced to me tonight that she will not be voting in the upcoming election. After the beef stew in my mouth fell to the bowl below with a soft splat, I asked her why not.
And I quote:
"What's the point? All of the candidates suck. The people we can vote for (we live in Robbinsdale, so some races have nothing to do with us) couldn't care less about us, and it doesn't matter which of these three guys becomes governor, they all stink."
Many rebuttals ran through my head.
"But we have to vote. We have the right to do it, so we have to do it."
"Then choose who the least evil person is and vote for them."
"Vote for the Communists!!!!"
On and on it went. Luckily my brain was kicked back into reality by my sleeping son shifting to find a comfortable sleeping position on my lap.
"Honey," I started, "We have to vote. We have the luck to be able to do it."
"But there's no good candidate," she responded.
"Think of our son," I tried. "Who's going to help him the most?"
A small "harumph" came across the room. "Not a single one of them," she said.
I bring this up because I'm not sure she's wrong. This year Minnesota's candidates are...well...pathetic. They're bland. They're mostly white. They're not really for us (in my humble opinion).
I'm just going to vote for Tom. Sadly, I didn't realize this was a real deal until I started reading all of the links. Now I really hope Tom wins. We may not agree on everything, but the man sure is eloquent.
As for the upcoming elections? Hell, I'll take my lucky quarter in with me.
and finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bumped:
(Warning: A very unprofessional and angry section ahead.)
Regardless of what recent readers have said, I'm going to talk about the event that really angered me last week. The IT woman at my school was told she was going to be bumped last week. Bumping, for the unfamiliar, is when someone with more seniority (and tenure) decides to take your job (is there more to it? Yes, but this is the short version). Our gal was told that someone would be taking her job. There are a few problems here:
1. The gentleman who is to replace her is not versed in Macs. Why is this a problem? Most of the school's computers are Macs.
2. The IT gal and I have an idea to simplify many of the technical issues the teachers have: create a manual. That's right, an honest to goodness manual that explains the FAQs from most teachers. If she goes, how can we finish?
3. I work very well with the current IT gal. That, in my book, counts for something.
It's the nature of the game of teaching. Again, these are the things you rarely hear about (we never talked about it in grad school), but bumping occurs. Hell, my job is nowhere near safe. I might be bumped at the end of the year. It just means that I go somewhere else to get a job.
That's why I've been trying to get everything organized. If I'm going to go, it's not going to be like a bomb going off. I want the school, the students, the faculty, and such to function well even without me.
Am I planning to leave? No. But it happens. I've talked about John Glenn before, but how about a refresher course?
John Glenn did the most dangerous thing a person could do in the 1960s. He placed himself inside of what was basically a gas can with a rocket on it and shot himself into space. He circled the Earth after being told he may not survive, and when told he may not survive the landing, he landed safely in the ocean. He had completed the most dangerous task at the time.
After a ticker-tape parade and such, he wakes up one morning and goes to the shower, a mundane task that most people do everyday (or every other day). What happens? He slips and hurts his back and was laid up for a while.
The point? Much like the characters in Slaughterhouse Five, so it goes. If I'm around, then I will work my ass off. If I'm bumped, then I go somewhere else.
Of course what do I know? I'm the Jesus Christ of my highschool. Could you pass me my nails? I could be wrong.
Namaste.
So, without further ado: GRIM!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Doogie Yowser:
Neil Patrick Harris announced this week that he is gay. In other news: humans breathe, and the sky is blue. Maybe it was just me, but some of us knew for a really long time. Like Rock Hudson.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And No Flexing Either:
A man in upstate New York was booted for grunting at a gym. Expulsion. Now I understand the reason why they have these rules, and good for the Planet Fitness gyms, but this is a little much. Cops had to escort the man out? That's a big deal.
Grunting seems to be a big problem lately.
First there's this guy who was escorted out.
Next, the Women's Tennis Association (WTA) has been receiving complaints about one of its members: Maria Sharpova. Apparently her "extremely loud" grunt is throwing off the other players. Wimbeldon (the premeire tennis venue) may place a ban on grunting all together...on all the players.
Have you watched tennis lately? One of the fun aspects of the modern matches is to listen to who can grunt louder and with more purpose. I will admit, however, that Sharapova sometimes sounds like a rhino in heat...and that's saying something.
I feel bad for grunters. Can you imagine a no grunting policy at UPS around Christmas time? Many workers would be fired.
It's a strange world we live in nowadays.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Political Moment:
You all know how I feel about politics, so the fact that I'm writing something speaks to how huge this is.
My lovely wife announced to me tonight that she will not be voting in the upcoming election. After the beef stew in my mouth fell to the bowl below with a soft splat, I asked her why not.
And I quote:
"What's the point? All of the candidates suck. The people we can vote for (we live in Robbinsdale, so some races have nothing to do with us) couldn't care less about us, and it doesn't matter which of these three guys becomes governor, they all stink."
Many rebuttals ran through my head.
"But we have to vote. We have the right to do it, so we have to do it."
"Then choose who the least evil person is and vote for them."
"Vote for the Communists!!!!"
On and on it went. Luckily my brain was kicked back into reality by my sleeping son shifting to find a comfortable sleeping position on my lap.
"Honey," I started, "We have to vote. We have the luck to be able to do it."
"But there's no good candidate," she responded.
"Think of our son," I tried. "Who's going to help him the most?"
A small "harumph" came across the room. "Not a single one of them," she said.
I bring this up because I'm not sure she's wrong. This year Minnesota's candidates are...well...pathetic. They're bland. They're mostly white. They're not really for us (in my humble opinion).
I'm just going to vote for Tom. Sadly, I didn't realize this was a real deal until I started reading all of the links. Now I really hope Tom wins. We may not agree on everything, but the man sure is eloquent.
As for the upcoming elections? Hell, I'll take my lucky quarter in with me.
and finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bumped:
(Warning: A very unprofessional and angry section ahead.)
Regardless of what recent readers have said, I'm going to talk about the event that really angered me last week. The IT woman at my school was told she was going to be bumped last week. Bumping, for the unfamiliar, is when someone with more seniority (and tenure) decides to take your job (is there more to it? Yes, but this is the short version). Our gal was told that someone would be taking her job. There are a few problems here:
1. The gentleman who is to replace her is not versed in Macs. Why is this a problem? Most of the school's computers are Macs.
2. The IT gal and I have an idea to simplify many of the technical issues the teachers have: create a manual. That's right, an honest to goodness manual that explains the FAQs from most teachers. If she goes, how can we finish?
3. I work very well with the current IT gal. That, in my book, counts for something.
It's the nature of the game of teaching. Again, these are the things you rarely hear about (we never talked about it in grad school), but bumping occurs. Hell, my job is nowhere near safe. I might be bumped at the end of the year. It just means that I go somewhere else to get a job.
That's why I've been trying to get everything organized. If I'm going to go, it's not going to be like a bomb going off. I want the school, the students, the faculty, and such to function well even without me.
Am I planning to leave? No. But it happens. I've talked about John Glenn before, but how about a refresher course?
John Glenn did the most dangerous thing a person could do in the 1960s. He placed himself inside of what was basically a gas can with a rocket on it and shot himself into space. He circled the Earth after being told he may not survive, and when told he may not survive the landing, he landed safely in the ocean. He had completed the most dangerous task at the time.
After a ticker-tape parade and such, he wakes up one morning and goes to the shower, a mundane task that most people do everyday (or every other day). What happens? He slips and hurts his back and was laid up for a while.
The point? Much like the characters in Slaughterhouse Five, so it goes. If I'm around, then I will work my ass off. If I'm bumped, then I go somewhere else.
Of course what do I know? I'm the Jesus Christ of my highschool. Could you pass me my nails? I could be wrong.
Namaste.
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