In so many ways.
Beatles - I'm So Tired
I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink
I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink
I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink
No,no,no.
My insomnia feels like it's getting worse. If I wake up, that's it for me. I'm up. I think it's stress related, though it could also be medical. Part of it, I will admit, is my own pride. So many people, like Tom, tell me to take prescription drugs to sleep, but if I do that then I am admitting I cannot control my own body. Yes, Virginia, I'm a bit of a control freak when it comes to myself. Funny story. When I had my wisdom teeth out, I just got local. I stayed awake the whole time, talked to the doctor occasionally, and watched the procedure in his safety glasses. I didn't want to be so loopy I'd lose the day. Hell, I went to work on Friday with a temperature of 101.
Is my mind on the blink? It feels like it at times. My brain has been slipping in classes and such. Have you ever been able to think so fast that your mouth can't keep up? That's where I'm at lately. It makes me sound drunk as I say things like, "Odyfeus," as I am trying to talk about Odysseus and Polyphemus (read The Odyssey, book 9, boys and girls).
I've been told that the best thing to do if you wake up is just try to make yourself go back to sleep, but that just makes me miserable. I'm in bed, but my mind is going so fast that I might as well do something (hence the writing...because if I grade like this, my kids will be destroyed). As for a drink...no thanks.
I'm so tired I don't know what to do
I'm so tired my mind is set on you
I wonder should I call you but I know what you'd do
Unlike The Beatles, my mind is not set on someone, but people. There's a hierarchy, but it's not hard to share some of them:
My wife, who I worry is unhappy (I know she doesn't like it here), and is getting stressed. I try so hard to keep her going, but is that damaging me? Is it bad if I think that?
My son, who I worry about because he's just starting. He is unaware of the evils of the world, and I feel this fight in me to both protect him from them but to also expose him to them so he isn't ignorant. What is the world going to be like for him? The world has burned and hurt many of my family members. I don't want him to have that happen to him.
My family, who I worry about for so many reasons. My parents' health and sanity. I see how they are now that they are orphans and I'm not sure I'm ready to be one. My sisters' different lives with different troubles. I want to protect them, but should I? Can I?
Some of my students, who have insane lives. I feel guilty for thinking of myself when they have such troubles to overcome.
Me. If I lose my mind, how will I know? At what point do I stop myself and say, "I can't help you anymore...I need to help myself first," instead of ignoring?
You'd say I'm putting you on
But it's no joke, it's doing me harm
You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain
You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane
You know I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind
It's longer than three weeks, but the message is clear. My father doesn't sleep. That's not true, let me rephrase. He doesn't sleep like a normal person. If he misses a day...no problem, he moves on. He goes to bed around 4 or 5 AM and gets up at 9. He doesn't show the effects of this with other people. We see it in the family because we recognize what to look for, but he keeps going. I sleep around four hours a night, and I'm starting, almost two years later, to hurt. I can't catch up on sleep, and I hate that term. You cannot catch up on sleep. The sleep lost? It's gone.
It's starting to affect me at work. My patience is growing thin with the ignorance of some of my students. I have not yelled at my son or my wife because of this. Should I feel guilty that work is where I'm working it out?
I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset
Although I'm so tired I'll have another cigarette
And curse Sir Walter Raleigh
He was such a stupid git.
Ok, I don't smoke anymore. I did in college. It was actually what I did when I couldn't sleep. Recall that I lived alone in a house. Next door, however were apartments. There was a girl (there always is) who I had a crush on at the time. Alissa. We actually went on a few dates, but it didn't work out (I freaked her out...but that's another story). I used to go out in my back yard and hit the hammock with a cigarette. Alissa's fire escape overlooked my yard, so she would come out and join me. Usually I'd go up to the third floor (where her apartment was) and we'd talk about the randomest things. It was calming.
Now one thing she also liked was that I brought free cigarettes. Yup, I never paid for them. You see the local tobaccoist owed me for helping him woo and marry his wife. He was so grateful, he gave me free cartons. Made me popular until I quit. I brought her cigs as an exchange for the good discussion. Not many people enjoy debating with me, so it was nice.
In all honesty, I hated smoking, but it allowed me to meet and talk with some people, so I didn't quit until long after I wanted to. There are still some times when I want one, but other than a cigarello in Germany in 2004, I haven't had a cigarette since 2000. (Yes, Virginia, I'm no fun. No drinking and no cigarettes.)
Incidentally, the mention of Sir Walter Raleigh is that he introduced Tobacco to England thus helping the Brits to smoke. Of course, I also think of Raleigh in that he was wrongfully imprisoned. That's how I feel with this insomnia.
At least I know that if I go to Hell, I already know my punishment.
That is...if there is a Hell. The Greeks may have been right: Perhaps living here on Earth and having the ability to contemplate the evil ways of everything and everyone around us is hell enough.
This is what happens when a mind starts to get too tired. Rambling.
Then again, what do I know? I'm a stupid git. I'm probably wrong.
Namaste.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Luigi Descending a Staircase
I make my feelings on modern art widely known. Most of it, to me, is utter crap. In fact, it's less about what the artist did and more about defending it. Seriously.
This also applies to magic. David Blaine...you are not a magician. I'm sorry. Being underwater for several days in a glass bubble is not magic. Magic is about illusion. There was no illusion there unless it was the disappearing money to whatever TV station and corporations gave you money for that stunt. However...I digress.
Modern art has gotten odd as of late. However, I found a collection that I really like, and I'm betting Margaret will too.
If you're a fan of video games, in particular Nintendo games, then enjoy i am 8-bit.
Need some good examples?
Ok. How about Donkey See, Donkey Do, Mario's Lament, and Frogger.
If you're an old school video game fan like myself, then enjoy the art. After all...this is art (at least in my opinion).
This also applies to magic. David Blaine...you are not a magician. I'm sorry. Being underwater for several days in a glass bubble is not magic. Magic is about illusion. There was no illusion there unless it was the disappearing money to whatever TV station and corporations gave you money for that stunt. However...I digress.
Modern art has gotten odd as of late. However, I found a collection that I really like, and I'm betting Margaret will too.
If you're a fan of video games, in particular Nintendo games, then enjoy i am 8-bit.
Need some good examples?
Ok. How about Donkey See, Donkey Do, Mario's Lament, and Frogger.
If you're an old school video game fan like myself, then enjoy the art. After all...this is art (at least in my opinion).
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Ramblings For the Evening (2/24/2007)
The theme of tonight's Ramblings is people. Unexpected or otherwise.
Let's do it.
So, without further ado: DESTINY HAS CHEATED ME!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Getting Older:
My wife and I went to see Frank Caliendo last weekend (more on that later). With our neighbors watching our son, and with some time before the show, we decided to head to Solera to grab a drink. Now, I haven't been out to a bar since a few weeks before my son was born. It's not like riding a bike. From the moment we walked in, I felt uncomfortable. Why? I don't know.
Maybe it's because it's been so long since I've been at a bar.
Maybe it's because of the noise.
The more I think about it, however, I think it's because of the faces of the people. The place reeked of a desperation. Hmm...that's not right. It reeked of a need.
The place was packed, so my wife and I made our way to a corner of the bar. One stool was open. As we made our way, the young gentleman sitting next to it turned, saw us, turned back, and threw his jacket on the other stool.
"Are you saving this?" I asked already knowing the answer.
"Yes. It's for a friend who isn't here yet."
"No problem," I said.
My wife and I stepped next to him and ordered our drinks, then we moved to the corner.
It became obvious to me (and a lot faster than my wife) that this guy didn't have a friend coming. How did I know?
-Body Language: He was scoping the bar
-Drink: Certain drinks say, "I have a friend coming." His drink...didn't.
-Position: If you have friends coming, you try and get a position where many people can gather (near a corner or tables). He was in the dead center where he could oversee everything.
The noise was horrible. I used to frequent bars when I was in college. It's how I know I've become older: They don't appeal anymore.
I watched people attempt to pick up other people (oh, and FYI: the final way I know this guy's friend wasn't coming...he ordered a drink for another woman at the bar, who was sitting near my wife and I, and asked the bartender to ask her to join him. When she moved, the jacket went away. Smooth), I watched people use alcohol in order to talk to each other.
The highlight, however, was that my upbringing took over, and I invited an older couple with nowhere to go to join my wife and I at our table. They were nice people, a couple from Rochester taking only their third trip to Minneapolis. Turned out they used to be teachers, so we talked about that (mostly horror stories).
I found it odd. Am I just an old fogey now because I don't want to cram into a noisy bar for overpriced drinks? I can get better wine in my house. I can make better cocktails in my kitchen if you need it.
It's probably just me. After the drink, my wife and I headed over to the show.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lack of Sophistication:
I like comedy alot. Hell, I try to use it when I teach. Frank Caliendo is a very funny man...usually.
Beyond learning that I can no longer really do the bar scene (God help me if I'm ever single again), I also learned when a comedian has an off night, it makes them lose their magic.
In order to get to this show, my wife decided to buy tickets for a birthday present. By sheer luck, she managed to get us front row center. It made the anticipation almost unbearable.
First up was the opener Mike Lucas. The man was incredibly funny. He told a story about being seduced by your bed and hating your alarm clock.
Then it was Caliendo's turn. He's a very funny man, but he was, in all honesty, either drunk or sick this night. He just was off. At one point, he lay down and pretended to be a muppet (and showed off his gut and underwear). This was odd (and he mentioned how the audience should leave), but then it got stranger. He sat up and said, "I forgot the rest of my act. Seriously. I can't believe I forgot my act...." It was unfortunate.
My wife was almost mortified by the fact that Caliendo noticed my laugh and did two things:
1. He noticed it and said, "Some guy over here gets it."
2. He said, "I love this laugh. You're hired."
But the night was not all odd choices and laughs. The audience was not the best, and I was quite frustrated at times.
First, there was the couple who sat next to my wife. They arrived late. Very late. As in ten minutes into Caliendo's act, which means 40 minutes after the show started. The guy was a cheeseball who smelled of bad Stetson cologne and kept pawing his date. And boy was his date interesting. She was obviously a trophy, and had the boobs to prove it. Yup, she really enjoyed showing them off (and she kept tugging at them. How do I know? Because Caliendo made mention of it). The cheeseball also kept grabbing at them and told the security guy, "Best money I ever spent. They're my new best friends." Awesome.
Then there was the rest of the audience. There's heckling, and then there's a rudeness that makes you shake your head in shame. Caliendo did his Madden impression and mentioned Brett Favre. The crowd didn't laugh...they started booing. At one point people started shouting who they wanted the comedian to imitate.
"William Shatner!" one guy screamed.
"No," Caliendo said back.
"Jack Nicholson!" someone else screamed.
"I already did it."
"Yeah," the guy said back, "I was in the bathroom. Do it again."
"No."
The best, however, was some guy who was unhappy. As Caliendo was doing his schtick, this idiot yells, "Hey...HEY! Be funny, jackass."
Caliendo just laughed and said, "I think the rest of the crowd knows I have been."
Still, what the hell is wrong with us as a society? Can't we just enjoy what these people are doing without having to act like idiots?
Could you imagine someone going to the symphony and yelling, "Play better!" at the violin section?
It's like watching people go to the theatre in blue jeans. I understand that times change, but it's an event. You should be dressing up.
Maybe I'm too old-fashioned.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sliding Away:
I'm concerned about my students. They are sliding. Yes, the year is almost over (only about 15 weeks left now), but many of them think that they can just do the minimum and get by. It frustrates me as a teacher because many of them still have a junior high mentality. What do I mean?
Do nothing all trimester, and then come to me and BEG for help at getting the grade up. I can't do it. Responsibility means that you deal with the mistakes you made. It's time to grow up kids. Deal with the consequences of your actions.
And finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Single Parent Goodness:
My wife is leaving for a while for work. Instead of dealing with the snow and cold (like us), she's off to Ireland and Amsterdam for work. This means it's my son and I...and no one else. On the one hand, it'll suck. I'll have a harder time getting work done unless he's asleep. On the other hand, it'll be good for me to understand what some of my students have to go through on a daily basis. How do you balance school and a child? How do you balance the child with anything else? This will be an interesting test.
I look forward to it.
Then again, what do I know? I'm just a crazy dude trying to steal another man's mojo. I could be wrong.
Let's do it.
So, without further ado: DESTINY HAS CHEATED ME!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Getting Older:
My wife and I went to see Frank Caliendo last weekend (more on that later). With our neighbors watching our son, and with some time before the show, we decided to head to Solera to grab a drink. Now, I haven't been out to a bar since a few weeks before my son was born. It's not like riding a bike. From the moment we walked in, I felt uncomfortable. Why? I don't know.
Maybe it's because it's been so long since I've been at a bar.
Maybe it's because of the noise.
The more I think about it, however, I think it's because of the faces of the people. The place reeked of a desperation. Hmm...that's not right. It reeked of a need.
The place was packed, so my wife and I made our way to a corner of the bar. One stool was open. As we made our way, the young gentleman sitting next to it turned, saw us, turned back, and threw his jacket on the other stool.
"Are you saving this?" I asked already knowing the answer.
"Yes. It's for a friend who isn't here yet."
"No problem," I said.
My wife and I stepped next to him and ordered our drinks, then we moved to the corner.
It became obvious to me (and a lot faster than my wife) that this guy didn't have a friend coming. How did I know?
-Body Language: He was scoping the bar
-Drink: Certain drinks say, "I have a friend coming." His drink...didn't.
-Position: If you have friends coming, you try and get a position where many people can gather (near a corner or tables). He was in the dead center where he could oversee everything.
The noise was horrible. I used to frequent bars when I was in college. It's how I know I've become older: They don't appeal anymore.
I watched people attempt to pick up other people (oh, and FYI: the final way I know this guy's friend wasn't coming...he ordered a drink for another woman at the bar, who was sitting near my wife and I, and asked the bartender to ask her to join him. When she moved, the jacket went away. Smooth), I watched people use alcohol in order to talk to each other.
The highlight, however, was that my upbringing took over, and I invited an older couple with nowhere to go to join my wife and I at our table. They were nice people, a couple from Rochester taking only their third trip to Minneapolis. Turned out they used to be teachers, so we talked about that (mostly horror stories).
I found it odd. Am I just an old fogey now because I don't want to cram into a noisy bar for overpriced drinks? I can get better wine in my house. I can make better cocktails in my kitchen if you need it.
It's probably just me. After the drink, my wife and I headed over to the show.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lack of Sophistication:
I like comedy alot. Hell, I try to use it when I teach. Frank Caliendo is a very funny man...usually.
Beyond learning that I can no longer really do the bar scene (God help me if I'm ever single again), I also learned when a comedian has an off night, it makes them lose their magic.
In order to get to this show, my wife decided to buy tickets for a birthday present. By sheer luck, she managed to get us front row center. It made the anticipation almost unbearable.
First up was the opener Mike Lucas. The man was incredibly funny. He told a story about being seduced by your bed and hating your alarm clock.
Then it was Caliendo's turn. He's a very funny man, but he was, in all honesty, either drunk or sick this night. He just was off. At one point, he lay down and pretended to be a muppet (and showed off his gut and underwear). This was odd (and he mentioned how the audience should leave), but then it got stranger. He sat up and said, "I forgot the rest of my act. Seriously. I can't believe I forgot my act...." It was unfortunate.
My wife was almost mortified by the fact that Caliendo noticed my laugh and did two things:
1. He noticed it and said, "Some guy over here gets it."
2. He said, "I love this laugh. You're hired."
But the night was not all odd choices and laughs. The audience was not the best, and I was quite frustrated at times.
First, there was the couple who sat next to my wife. They arrived late. Very late. As in ten minutes into Caliendo's act, which means 40 minutes after the show started. The guy was a cheeseball who smelled of bad Stetson cologne and kept pawing his date. And boy was his date interesting. She was obviously a trophy, and had the boobs to prove it. Yup, she really enjoyed showing them off (and she kept tugging at them. How do I know? Because Caliendo made mention of it). The cheeseball also kept grabbing at them and told the security guy, "Best money I ever spent. They're my new best friends." Awesome.
Then there was the rest of the audience. There's heckling, and then there's a rudeness that makes you shake your head in shame. Caliendo did his Madden impression and mentioned Brett Favre. The crowd didn't laugh...they started booing. At one point people started shouting who they wanted the comedian to imitate.
"William Shatner!" one guy screamed.
"No," Caliendo said back.
"Jack Nicholson!" someone else screamed.
"I already did it."
"Yeah," the guy said back, "I was in the bathroom. Do it again."
"No."
The best, however, was some guy who was unhappy. As Caliendo was doing his schtick, this idiot yells, "Hey...HEY! Be funny, jackass."
Caliendo just laughed and said, "I think the rest of the crowd knows I have been."
Still, what the hell is wrong with us as a society? Can't we just enjoy what these people are doing without having to act like idiots?
Could you imagine someone going to the symphony and yelling, "Play better!" at the violin section?
It's like watching people go to the theatre in blue jeans. I understand that times change, but it's an event. You should be dressing up.
Maybe I'm too old-fashioned.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sliding Away:
I'm concerned about my students. They are sliding. Yes, the year is almost over (only about 15 weeks left now), but many of them think that they can just do the minimum and get by. It frustrates me as a teacher because many of them still have a junior high mentality. What do I mean?
Do nothing all trimester, and then come to me and BEG for help at getting the grade up. I can't do it. Responsibility means that you deal with the mistakes you made. It's time to grow up kids. Deal with the consequences of your actions.
And finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Single Parent Goodness:
My wife is leaving for a while for work. Instead of dealing with the snow and cold (like us), she's off to Ireland and Amsterdam for work. This means it's my son and I...and no one else. On the one hand, it'll suck. I'll have a harder time getting work done unless he's asleep. On the other hand, it'll be good for me to understand what some of my students have to go through on a daily basis. How do you balance school and a child? How do you balance the child with anything else? This will be an interesting test.
I look forward to it.
Then again, what do I know? I'm just a crazy dude trying to steal another man's mojo. I could be wrong.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Ramblings for the Evening (2/11/2007)
Let's get to it.
So, without further ado: I'M BACK, BABY!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An American Tragedy?:
My son woke up last night at 2. Though he went back to sleep, I was up, so I turned on the TV to find something horrible to knock me out (be it Lifetime, News, whatever). I ended up watching the news, because I was in shock.
When Anna Nicole Smith died, the BBC World News gave it a full minute. That's it. Here she is, here's what happened, the end.
Our news, however, is calling it "An American Tragedy." What? September 11th was an American Tragedy. School children being shot and killed by classmates is an American Tragedy. The death of a former Playboy playmate whose life was incredibly screwed up is NOT an American Tragedy. I'm sorry that she died at the tender age of 39, but we are the choices we make in life. She made some good ones, and she made some horrible ones. That's how it works. And you news people should be ashamed. Stop with the damn comparisons. I get that she wanted to be like Marilyn Monroe. She said it over and over again. Yes, she died at 39, and Marilyn died at 36 (and both from what looks like tragic overdoses), but if this is about the loss of potential because of her age, then we should mourn longer whenever a child or teenager is killed.
Seriously, folks, what is the fascination with this? I watched the news channels for a half an hour, and the entire time they talked about her death. On the bottom tickers were stories about deaths in other places. I guess that's not sexy. We rather look at pictures of a blonde chick with large breasts. She's dead. That's too bad, but it's time to move on to other things. Arthur Miller died and no one paid attention. Who you ask? That's part of the problem.
Anna Nicole Smith's death, though very sad, is NOT an American Tragedy. It's just a sad death.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Super Bowl Commercials:
Once again Budweiser and Bud Light won for best commercials this year. Really? Most of the commercials sucked this year. The ones that I liked were almost universally hated. I couldn't care less about the Snickers commercial (now being known as Brokeback Snickers). So these guys kiss and then "do something manly" to show they aren't gay? Who cares? The more you complain, the more press it gets.
The Dog wants to be a dalmation and runs through mud? It was lame. Last year we had the donkey who wanted to be clydsdale. This is a rehash.
The crabs? Eh...not so funny.
I did like the guy who throws a rock. That was funny.
Leab's favorites?
I love the Robert Goulet Emerald Nuts commercial. It's so incredibly random. Plus, it's GOULET.
I like the new Careerbuilder commericals. Especially the one where the guy waits for his meeting and sees his co-workers tortured. That's what it feels like at times.
And though it's incredibly depressing, I love the GM robot commercial.
I'm surprised that more people didn't complain about this commercial. Think about it. The robot represents the people who lose their jobs (like...oh I don't know...here in Minnesota?) at the auto plants. The robot tries all sorts of other jobs it should be qualified for, including working for a realtor and the fast food industry, but to no avail. With no choice left, it makes its way to a bridge and commits suicide. We laugh at the idea of the robot dying because it isn't human, but what if a human takes the place of a robot? Now it isn't funny anymore. Still, it's a brilliant concept, because who would ever fire a robot?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Time Killers:
Outside of the posts that I usually visit screen right, I've visited some great time killers.
If you don't know these, you should check them out:
-Tom Wilson, of Back to the Future fame, is now a stand-up comedian. He sings a song that I believe most celebrities would like to use on the fans.
- Chad Vader. It's a very funny concept and quirky. Enjoy.
These should get you started. However, if you haven't done so, you should be watching Chasing Windmills.
And finally....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
VD:
And so Valentine's Day is upon us. For me, I couldn't care less. However, I love being in a high school on this "holiday." If some guy forgets to get a flower or gift for his girl, then she bursts into tears and talks about how he doesn't love her. On the flipside, many guys think that girls (and I'm quoting a student I know), "have to put out because it's Valentine's Day." Didn't realize that was a written law. Bottom line: It's funny to me because so much stock is put into this one day. Almost more than Christmas. If a gift isn't given, than everyone is supposed to get upset. And when did it become mandatory that parents, siblings, children, and pets get Valentine's gifts? Here's how I always remembered it: You got some cards for classmates (regardless of sex) as well as chocolates. When you got older, you gave your loved one a gift. That's it. When did it change?
I guess I don't get it.
Yes, I have a gift for my wife. Do I want one back? No.
It's just another day, folks. It's just another day.
Then again what do I know? I'm just a cynical and hopeless romantic. I'm probably wrong.
Namaste.
So, without further ado: I'M BACK, BABY!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An American Tragedy?:
My son woke up last night at 2. Though he went back to sleep, I was up, so I turned on the TV to find something horrible to knock me out (be it Lifetime, News, whatever). I ended up watching the news, because I was in shock.
When Anna Nicole Smith died, the BBC World News gave it a full minute. That's it. Here she is, here's what happened, the end.
Our news, however, is calling it "An American Tragedy." What? September 11th was an American Tragedy. School children being shot and killed by classmates is an American Tragedy. The death of a former Playboy playmate whose life was incredibly screwed up is NOT an American Tragedy. I'm sorry that she died at the tender age of 39, but we are the choices we make in life. She made some good ones, and she made some horrible ones. That's how it works. And you news people should be ashamed. Stop with the damn comparisons. I get that she wanted to be like Marilyn Monroe. She said it over and over again. Yes, she died at 39, and Marilyn died at 36 (and both from what looks like tragic overdoses), but if this is about the loss of potential because of her age, then we should mourn longer whenever a child or teenager is killed.
Seriously, folks, what is the fascination with this? I watched the news channels for a half an hour, and the entire time they talked about her death. On the bottom tickers were stories about deaths in other places. I guess that's not sexy. We rather look at pictures of a blonde chick with large breasts. She's dead. That's too bad, but it's time to move on to other things. Arthur Miller died and no one paid attention. Who you ask? That's part of the problem.
Anna Nicole Smith's death, though very sad, is NOT an American Tragedy. It's just a sad death.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Super Bowl Commercials:
Once again Budweiser and Bud Light won for best commercials this year. Really? Most of the commercials sucked this year. The ones that I liked were almost universally hated. I couldn't care less about the Snickers commercial (now being known as Brokeback Snickers). So these guys kiss and then "do something manly" to show they aren't gay? Who cares? The more you complain, the more press it gets.
The Dog wants to be a dalmation and runs through mud? It was lame. Last year we had the donkey who wanted to be clydsdale. This is a rehash.
The crabs? Eh...not so funny.
I did like the guy who throws a rock. That was funny.
Leab's favorites?
I love the Robert Goulet Emerald Nuts commercial. It's so incredibly random. Plus, it's GOULET.
I like the new Careerbuilder commericals. Especially the one where the guy waits for his meeting and sees his co-workers tortured. That's what it feels like at times.
And though it's incredibly depressing, I love the GM robot commercial.
I'm surprised that more people didn't complain about this commercial. Think about it. The robot represents the people who lose their jobs (like...oh I don't know...here in Minnesota?) at the auto plants. The robot tries all sorts of other jobs it should be qualified for, including working for a realtor and the fast food industry, but to no avail. With no choice left, it makes its way to a bridge and commits suicide. We laugh at the idea of the robot dying because it isn't human, but what if a human takes the place of a robot? Now it isn't funny anymore. Still, it's a brilliant concept, because who would ever fire a robot?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Time Killers:
Outside of the posts that I usually visit screen right, I've visited some great time killers.
If you don't know these, you should check them out:
-Tom Wilson, of Back to the Future fame, is now a stand-up comedian. He sings a song that I believe most celebrities would like to use on the fans.
- Chad Vader. It's a very funny concept and quirky. Enjoy.
These should get you started. However, if you haven't done so, you should be watching Chasing Windmills.
And finally....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
VD:
And so Valentine's Day is upon us. For me, I couldn't care less. However, I love being in a high school on this "holiday." If some guy forgets to get a flower or gift for his girl, then she bursts into tears and talks about how he doesn't love her. On the flipside, many guys think that girls (and I'm quoting a student I know), "have to put out because it's Valentine's Day." Didn't realize that was a written law. Bottom line: It's funny to me because so much stock is put into this one day. Almost more than Christmas. If a gift isn't given, than everyone is supposed to get upset. And when did it become mandatory that parents, siblings, children, and pets get Valentine's gifts? Here's how I always remembered it: You got some cards for classmates (regardless of sex) as well as chocolates. When you got older, you gave your loved one a gift. That's it. When did it change?
I guess I don't get it.
Yes, I have a gift for my wife. Do I want one back? No.
It's just another day, folks. It's just another day.
Then again what do I know? I'm just a cynical and hopeless romantic. I'm probably wrong.
Namaste.
Persona
Lately I've been thinking alot about persona.
As a writer, a teacher, a father, and even a human being, my persona changes depending on the situation. We're all like this. Persona, in case you're unfamiliar, is derived from Latin word for mask or character. We have all these different masks that we use on a daily basis.
Leab the teacher
Leab the dad
Leab the husband
Leab the friend
Leab the son
Leab the brother
Leab the neighbor
Leab the blogger
Etc.
Sometimes these come together, but the way I act at school is not the way I act at home. Though I am forthcoming with certain aspects of my life with my colleagues or my students, there are many things that I do not discuss. Same with my family. Same with the blog.
As a side note, I have no idea if any of my students read this anymore, and I really don't care. I know Michele has the same issue. I also couldn't care less which of my colleagues have been or are reading.
Back to the point. Persona. It also spreads to authors.
In particular, I'm thinking of Samuel Clemens, who was better known as Mark Twain.
Several of my colleagues are teaching Huck Finn to their 10th grade students. As we've already seen this year in Lakeville, some folks are not ok with the book. In particular, it's because of the character of Jim. In the book, he's known as Nigger Jim, because he's black.
So in comes the problem: do you allow Twain the use of the term because of the time period, or do you damn him for using a derogatory term?
This is not a debate I can answer, but this is what I have been discussing with some colleagues. I have always looked at the story like this:
Clemens created the persona of Twain so that his alter-ego could say things he couldn't. Twain is a great writer. I admit that I fall in the apologists category. I truly believe Twain is satirizing the deep south in the 1840's to show how idiotic the thinking was at the time. Jim is the only complete character in the entire story. Does Huck Finn have writing conventions? Sure. The fact Tom Sawyer shows up to save the day is coincidental....Almost too easy.
Think of it this way. How do you get people to change the way they are thinking? You have to start by showing them the way they think. Present it to them. Then, you need to show why the way they think is incorrect. This is what, in my opinion, Twain is trying to do. He uses Jim to show the readers that their misconceptions about African-Americans, in particular former slaves, need to be eradicated.
So why use the persona of Twain? Well, and again this is my opinion, Twain is to Clemens as Borat is to Sascha Baron Cohen. A character used to help the real person. That's the idea of persona. A mask that the real person uses to put forth a point that they cannot do themselves. Another example? Bruce Wayne and Batman. Batman is Bruce Wayne's persona.
And then there's Tom and Arthur Willoughby. Again, persona.
Sometime you should watch how you speak to people. Do you talk to your significant other the same way you talk to your friends? What about your parents? Do you talk to them the way you talk to your siblings?
I teach, but I talk to each of my classes differently. It's like knowing your audience. I try very hard to bring "the Real Leab" to the classroom, but, amazingly, I'm a little bit of a private person.
Take a moment and think about it, and you'll understand what I mean. Think about how you deal with people and how different you are.
Leab the person is abrasive because he tells people what he thinks. There's not "politics" or anything like that. The problem is that when you tell people the truth as you see it, they get angry.
That's why we create personas. So we can find ways to truly say what we feel.
Then again what do I know? I'm Leab the crazy person. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
As a writer, a teacher, a father, and even a human being, my persona changes depending on the situation. We're all like this. Persona, in case you're unfamiliar, is derived from Latin word for mask or character. We have all these different masks that we use on a daily basis.
Leab the teacher
Leab the dad
Leab the husband
Leab the friend
Leab the son
Leab the brother
Leab the neighbor
Leab the blogger
Etc.
Sometimes these come together, but the way I act at school is not the way I act at home. Though I am forthcoming with certain aspects of my life with my colleagues or my students, there are many things that I do not discuss. Same with my family. Same with the blog.
As a side note, I have no idea if any of my students read this anymore, and I really don't care. I know Michele has the same issue. I also couldn't care less which of my colleagues have been or are reading.
Back to the point. Persona. It also spreads to authors.
In particular, I'm thinking of Samuel Clemens, who was better known as Mark Twain.
Several of my colleagues are teaching Huck Finn to their 10th grade students. As we've already seen this year in Lakeville, some folks are not ok with the book. In particular, it's because of the character of Jim. In the book, he's known as Nigger Jim, because he's black.
So in comes the problem: do you allow Twain the use of the term because of the time period, or do you damn him for using a derogatory term?
This is not a debate I can answer, but this is what I have been discussing with some colleagues. I have always looked at the story like this:
Clemens created the persona of Twain so that his alter-ego could say things he couldn't. Twain is a great writer. I admit that I fall in the apologists category. I truly believe Twain is satirizing the deep south in the 1840's to show how idiotic the thinking was at the time. Jim is the only complete character in the entire story. Does Huck Finn have writing conventions? Sure. The fact Tom Sawyer shows up to save the day is coincidental....Almost too easy.
Think of it this way. How do you get people to change the way they are thinking? You have to start by showing them the way they think. Present it to them. Then, you need to show why the way they think is incorrect. This is what, in my opinion, Twain is trying to do. He uses Jim to show the readers that their misconceptions about African-Americans, in particular former slaves, need to be eradicated.
So why use the persona of Twain? Well, and again this is my opinion, Twain is to Clemens as Borat is to Sascha Baron Cohen. A character used to help the real person. That's the idea of persona. A mask that the real person uses to put forth a point that they cannot do themselves. Another example? Bruce Wayne and Batman. Batman is Bruce Wayne's persona.
And then there's Tom and Arthur Willoughby. Again, persona.
Sometime you should watch how you speak to people. Do you talk to your significant other the same way you talk to your friends? What about your parents? Do you talk to them the way you talk to your siblings?
I teach, but I talk to each of my classes differently. It's like knowing your audience. I try very hard to bring "the Real Leab" to the classroom, but, amazingly, I'm a little bit of a private person.
Take a moment and think about it, and you'll understand what I mean. Think about how you deal with people and how different you are.
Leab the person is abrasive because he tells people what he thinks. There's not "politics" or anything like that. The problem is that when you tell people the truth as you see it, they get angry.
That's why we create personas. So we can find ways to truly say what we feel.
Then again what do I know? I'm Leab the crazy person. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Back to Life....
"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.
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.
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."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
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