This is the last I'm going to say about this topic.
I finished reading a Colorado woman's account of how their meeting with Katie Couric went.
It sounded a great deal like our meeting save for less contradicting.
There was a P.C. crowd, though it seems that their crowd ran the entire gamut of the monetary spectrum (ours did not).
All in all nothing in their gathering that was said was really different than ours.
That's unfortunate. It seems then that this verifies what I thought about the tour: It was never about getting our ideas, but rather validating what they knew already.
We want technology used.
We want our news to be objective.
We want stories we care about or are relevant.
We want to have less sensationalism...or do we?
Coming out of the Minneapolis meeting, it seems that the only thing anyone cares about is Matt Bartel's Pen.
Sadly this is why no one will ever care about the news again, and why we will always have news stations or pundits in charge.
I'm sorry that his pen was taken, but look how he has benefited from it...and look how the story has taken off.
We say we don't want sensationalized news, but then we eagerly await and cheer as a pen being taken away makes it on to the national news circuit.
Don't get me wrong, it's great for MN Speak, but I'm sorry that the main thing anyone will remember is that moment.
Not the fact that the whole thing was really a PR stunt, not the fact that it made the news, however short a time, relevant again. No, people will only remember that a guy's pen got taken away.
This does, as my sister pointed out, mean one other thing: Whereas "blogs" were thought of as only a passing fad, this incident does give them more power and credibility. In essence, the era of the trusted journalist only being from a newspaper or TV has had the coffin lid nailed shut.
If the story is true (and I hate saying it, but in someways it sounds too ridiculous to be true), then the producers of the TV news felt that a guy who writes online can be considered a journalist, which means that his pen was taken away (in compromise) to keep him from writing about the event (which is funny, because they knew I was a blogger as well and never said anything). Nevermind that Matt could have, oh I don't know, borrowed a pen from someone else. It's the principle of the matter.
Bloggers and online news journalists (sometimes called civilian journalists) have been given credibility from this single action.
It's just too bad that all we care about is not the fact that someone, as much of a public relations stunt as it was, actually cared about our opinions, but that a writing instrument was taken away.
And yes, I know I'm just as guilty for mentioning it.
I guess my problem is that we want controversy. We are so desperate for schadenfreude that we look for it anywhere and pimp it hard.
Welcome to the 21st century.
That's the last I'm going to say about the whole Katie Couric affair. I wish her good luck, because she will need it if she wants to compete with other news programs or the internet.
As for the whole pen incident...It was two days ago. Time to move on and get on with our lives.
Namaste.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Hanging with Ms. Couric
The town hall meeting was today. While most people are currently talking about Matt's pen being taken, I can tell you the little guy's story.
Let me make it clear: I am not Lee-Ann Stephens, the Minnesota Teacher of the year, nor am I a member of the press (as apparently Matt Bartell is considered), nor am I a well-known priest, rich business person, or a minority.
I am just some schmuck, who was invited because Jason DeRusha reads my blog.
Imagine being developmentally challenged and being invited to a MENSA meeting. That's how I felt this morning.
So here's my story.
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I woke up early this morning, which I haven't really done in a while. The baby usually sleeps between 4 and 8, so getting up and moving at 6 was kind of hard, to be honest. Moving on.
Since it has been re-opened, I have not been to the Minneapolis Library. I know many people really like it, but I can't help it: I don't. It's really cold. Not in a temperature way, but in a design way. It doesn't feel inviting to me. It's narrow. Instead of saying, "Please...get a book, sit, and read for a while," it says, "You! Get a book and get out!"
The event was on the second floor. There was a nice continental breakfast, yada, yada, yada.
After checking in, I right away felt out of place. First of all, the woman to man ratio ended up being 8 to 1 in favor of women. I have no problem with that, but I somehow knew it would be that way.
Every man I saw was in a suit. I was not. Let me make this clear: I'm a teacher, a new parent, and on break. I wore a polo and khakis. This made me an outsider which was clear by the fact that NO ONE would come near me at my table. At one point a group of people (and I was shocked how many people knew each other) chose to sit on the floor (in really nice clothing) rather than stand at my table. I stood alone for a long time...until a priest named Dale joined me.
Very nice and articulate man. I put aside all of my feelings about religion and the Church while talking to him.
So let's get to the good stuff: the actual meeting.
I sat dead center. The meeting itself? Pointless. Nothing was really accomplished. While Katie Couric and Rome Hartman were well spoken (and sometimes humorous), there was nothing to really be gained. For every single thing one person said, someone else said the exact opposite. At one point it was mentioned that the news needs to be more objective. Thirty seconds later: the next person said the news needs to be "personal."
It was a shame.
I promised DeRusha I would not pull any punches, so here we go:
1. The entire event was amazingly political. I'm sorry, the make-up of the room was a P.C wet dream. I was easily one of the youngest people in the room, but there were African-Americans (I already mentioned Ms. Stephens), Hmong, Hispanic, old, young, intellectual, working man, Native American, etc.
At one point, toward the end of the meeting, a young black man had been holding his hand up for awhile (most people at the meeting forgot the whole "let's hold our hand up" thing and just stood up and talked). A woman walked down the aisle, caught Hartman's eye and pointed at the young man, mouthing, "You MUST call on him." The young man mentioned Africa, and the crowd murmured its approval. The whole event, though intending to get out "real opinions" didn't, which leads to my next point:
2. Minnesota Nice creates too many damn problems. Almost EVERY SINGLE PERSON, except for myself and one other guy, prefaced their thoughts or speeches with, "Welcome to Minnesota, Katie," or "I loved the Today Show." Sigh. Beyond that, they were unwilling to stir it up, yet afterward people were complaining. You had your chance to say something and you didn't. You're not allowed to bitch when you had the opportunity to talk.
One guy, beyond myself, was willing to actually comment on what people were saying and say something controversial. No one wanted to debate (which both Couric and Hartman said they wanted as part of their introduction). It was too bad.
3. Their questions weren't answered. They said, "We want to talk about the news, not ideas for what we should talk about," yet the group spent more time talking about what should be talked about. ("We're a fly-over state," one woman commented. "You should do stories that would make us interested...not just what's important on the coasts.")
What saddened me was that most people there didn't hear the "WORLD" part. They said the world should be talked about, but their ideas were Minnesota-centric.
So I know what you're thinking at this point: "Leab, you can't shut up, so what did you say?"
Well:
4. I did speak. I waited patiently and then said the following:
"My name is Leab, and I'm a high school English teacher. (This immediately had people coughing or talking. I'm not the Minnesota Teacher of the Year, so what does it matter what I say? To continue....)
First of all, you mentioned Murrow. Well, he let the beast out, and it's time to put it back in. The news needs to return to being objective, which it has not been in a long time. It's obviously slanted which is why certain people watch only certain channels. Most people nowadays might say that being objective is being wishy-washy, but they're wrong. This is a chance for you to prove that. (I heard no murmurs at this point, so either they agreed with me or thought I was nuts.) I teach a lesson on propaganda, and my students, more often than not, brought me one of two things: either a political speech, predominantly Bush, or news casts. Many were actually from the Today Show as well. They see it this way, because the news creates fear or tells us who to vote for instead of just reporting the facts.
Now if you ask my students where they get their news, they will tell you blogs, the web, or The Daily Show. Our own WCCO here has people like Jason DeRusha who have blogs, which leads me to ask (and here I turned around to Don Shelby) when are you going to have your own blog, Mr. Shelby?"
Shelby responded with, "Sssssh. Don't give them any ideas!"
I turned back and continued, "You need to embrace technology. Either through a blog, Ipods, or making the website work with the news. We don't really have the time to sit down and watch the news when it's on, so give us the chance to see it when we can."
I didn't get much of a response. The woman sitting next to me made a comment about how, "I shouldn't have said that."
Couric's response to what I said was a frown. She then talked about how blogs really cannot have journalistic integrity and how they are usually emotional and full of anger and hate. She ignored that there are some that aren't that way (again, see WCCO's), but whatever. I wasn't wearing a business suit, I wasn't a minority, and I didn't have a position like Hennepin County Coordinator. I was a nobody, so who cares what I think?
At the end, we were allowed to have pictures taken with Ms. Couric. I was in the final group and was allowed to talk to her. Here is how the conversation went.
"Are you a Mets fan?" She asked me. It was obvious she noticed my hat I had with me.
"Yes. I know you like the Yankees. Both teams are having great seasons."
"That's true, but the Mets are leading their division."
"But you can't count out Steinbrenner's cash and drive. Well, good luck with the rest of your day," I said to her.
"Thanks. May I ask you something?"
"Yes you may," I replied.
"Your students really brought in the Today Show?"
"Yes. One even brought in the Colonoscopy episode."
"Can I ask you another question?"
"Of course."
"Who invited you to this meeting today?"
"A local reporter put in my name. Wanted the 'Everyman' perspective. I'm the 'Everyman' apparently."
"I see." LONG PAUSE. "Well thanks for coming out M." (she used my name here, which was disarming as I said it only once."
I next talked to Rome Hartman.
"Did you really show your class Good Night and Good Luck?" He asked me.
"Yes. They understood it, though they found it slow."
We chatted for a while about news, websites, and blogs (he was surprisingly for them), then he asked me:
"So how did you end up here today?"
It was at this point I realized that I really did look out of place. I didn't kiss anyone's ass, which meant I was not exactly what they were looking for.
I told him the same thing I told Ms. Couric.
"Interesting." LONG PAUSE. "So how long have you been teaching?"
I talked to him for five more minutes or roughly until my bladder started screaming at me. We talked about teachers, how people don't really understand what it's like to be a teacher, and, of course, how everyone compares our education system to Japan's or another country's (and here's a tip folks: Stop doing that. Our system is not like anyone else's, so shut up with the whole, "Why aren't we like Japan?" crap.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the end, there were an amazing amount of Katie fans there. DeRusha had mentioned, at one point, that they wanted serious thinkers, not fans, at this meeting, but so many people fawned over her.
Still, I didn't have my pen taken, so I guess that's something...right?
Thanks to DeRusha for getting me invited, but I just don't feel that ANYTHING was really accomplished. They listened...and then decided they were going to do whatever they were going to do.
The bottom line is this: As one person said, "Until you decide who your target audience is, it's impossible to decide how your show will work."
That's really it. If you aim for older people, you'll need feel good stories. Aim for the younger crowd, and you'll have to explain EVERYTHING.
That's it. Still, I'll email ideas to you, CBS News. I have a lot of them.
Courage.
Namaste.
Let me make it clear: I am not Lee-Ann Stephens, the Minnesota Teacher of the year, nor am I a member of the press (as apparently Matt Bartell is considered), nor am I a well-known priest, rich business person, or a minority.
I am just some schmuck, who was invited because Jason DeRusha reads my blog.
Imagine being developmentally challenged and being invited to a MENSA meeting. That's how I felt this morning.
So here's my story.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I woke up early this morning, which I haven't really done in a while. The baby usually sleeps between 4 and 8, so getting up and moving at 6 was kind of hard, to be honest. Moving on.
Since it has been re-opened, I have not been to the Minneapolis Library. I know many people really like it, but I can't help it: I don't. It's really cold. Not in a temperature way, but in a design way. It doesn't feel inviting to me. It's narrow. Instead of saying, "Please...get a book, sit, and read for a while," it says, "You! Get a book and get out!"
The event was on the second floor. There was a nice continental breakfast, yada, yada, yada.
After checking in, I right away felt out of place. First of all, the woman to man ratio ended up being 8 to 1 in favor of women. I have no problem with that, but I somehow knew it would be that way.
Every man I saw was in a suit. I was not. Let me make this clear: I'm a teacher, a new parent, and on break. I wore a polo and khakis. This made me an outsider which was clear by the fact that NO ONE would come near me at my table. At one point a group of people (and I was shocked how many people knew each other) chose to sit on the floor (in really nice clothing) rather than stand at my table. I stood alone for a long time...until a priest named Dale joined me.
Very nice and articulate man. I put aside all of my feelings about religion and the Church while talking to him.
So let's get to the good stuff: the actual meeting.
I sat dead center. The meeting itself? Pointless. Nothing was really accomplished. While Katie Couric and Rome Hartman were well spoken (and sometimes humorous), there was nothing to really be gained. For every single thing one person said, someone else said the exact opposite. At one point it was mentioned that the news needs to be more objective. Thirty seconds later: the next person said the news needs to be "personal."
It was a shame.
I promised DeRusha I would not pull any punches, so here we go:
1. The entire event was amazingly political. I'm sorry, the make-up of the room was a P.C wet dream. I was easily one of the youngest people in the room, but there were African-Americans (I already mentioned Ms. Stephens), Hmong, Hispanic, old, young, intellectual, working man, Native American, etc.
At one point, toward the end of the meeting, a young black man had been holding his hand up for awhile (most people at the meeting forgot the whole "let's hold our hand up" thing and just stood up and talked). A woman walked down the aisle, caught Hartman's eye and pointed at the young man, mouthing, "You MUST call on him." The young man mentioned Africa, and the crowd murmured its approval. The whole event, though intending to get out "real opinions" didn't, which leads to my next point:
2. Minnesota Nice creates too many damn problems. Almost EVERY SINGLE PERSON, except for myself and one other guy, prefaced their thoughts or speeches with, "Welcome to Minnesota, Katie," or "I loved the Today Show." Sigh. Beyond that, they were unwilling to stir it up, yet afterward people were complaining. You had your chance to say something and you didn't. You're not allowed to bitch when you had the opportunity to talk.
One guy, beyond myself, was willing to actually comment on what people were saying and say something controversial. No one wanted to debate (which both Couric and Hartman said they wanted as part of their introduction). It was too bad.
3. Their questions weren't answered. They said, "We want to talk about the news, not ideas for what we should talk about," yet the group spent more time talking about what should be talked about. ("We're a fly-over state," one woman commented. "You should do stories that would make us interested...not just what's important on the coasts.")
What saddened me was that most people there didn't hear the "WORLD" part. They said the world should be talked about, but their ideas were Minnesota-centric.
So I know what you're thinking at this point: "Leab, you can't shut up, so what did you say?"
Well:
4. I did speak. I waited patiently and then said the following:
"My name is Leab, and I'm a high school English teacher. (This immediately had people coughing or talking. I'm not the Minnesota Teacher of the Year, so what does it matter what I say? To continue....)
First of all, you mentioned Murrow. Well, he let the beast out, and it's time to put it back in. The news needs to return to being objective, which it has not been in a long time. It's obviously slanted which is why certain people watch only certain channels. Most people nowadays might say that being objective is being wishy-washy, but they're wrong. This is a chance for you to prove that. (I heard no murmurs at this point, so either they agreed with me or thought I was nuts.) I teach a lesson on propaganda, and my students, more often than not, brought me one of two things: either a political speech, predominantly Bush, or news casts. Many were actually from the Today Show as well. They see it this way, because the news creates fear or tells us who to vote for instead of just reporting the facts.
Now if you ask my students where they get their news, they will tell you blogs, the web, or The Daily Show. Our own WCCO here has people like Jason DeRusha who have blogs, which leads me to ask (and here I turned around to Don Shelby) when are you going to have your own blog, Mr. Shelby?"
Shelby responded with, "Sssssh. Don't give them any ideas!"
I turned back and continued, "You need to embrace technology. Either through a blog, Ipods, or making the website work with the news. We don't really have the time to sit down and watch the news when it's on, so give us the chance to see it when we can."
I didn't get much of a response. The woman sitting next to me made a comment about how, "I shouldn't have said that."
Couric's response to what I said was a frown. She then talked about how blogs really cannot have journalistic integrity and how they are usually emotional and full of anger and hate. She ignored that there are some that aren't that way (again, see WCCO's), but whatever. I wasn't wearing a business suit, I wasn't a minority, and I didn't have a position like Hennepin County Coordinator. I was a nobody, so who cares what I think?
At the end, we were allowed to have pictures taken with Ms. Couric. I was in the final group and was allowed to talk to her. Here is how the conversation went.
"Are you a Mets fan?" She asked me. It was obvious she noticed my hat I had with me.
"Yes. I know you like the Yankees. Both teams are having great seasons."
"That's true, but the Mets are leading their division."
"But you can't count out Steinbrenner's cash and drive. Well, good luck with the rest of your day," I said to her.
"Thanks. May I ask you something?"
"Yes you may," I replied.
"Your students really brought in the Today Show?"
"Yes. One even brought in the Colonoscopy episode."
"Can I ask you another question?"
"Of course."
"Who invited you to this meeting today?"
"A local reporter put in my name. Wanted the 'Everyman' perspective. I'm the 'Everyman' apparently."
"I see." LONG PAUSE. "Well thanks for coming out M." (she used my name here, which was disarming as I said it only once."
I next talked to Rome Hartman.
"Did you really show your class Good Night and Good Luck?" He asked me.
"Yes. They understood it, though they found it slow."
We chatted for a while about news, websites, and blogs (he was surprisingly for them), then he asked me:
"So how did you end up here today?"
It was at this point I realized that I really did look out of place. I didn't kiss anyone's ass, which meant I was not exactly what they were looking for.
I told him the same thing I told Ms. Couric.
"Interesting." LONG PAUSE. "So how long have you been teaching?"
I talked to him for five more minutes or roughly until my bladder started screaming at me. We talked about teachers, how people don't really understand what it's like to be a teacher, and, of course, how everyone compares our education system to Japan's or another country's (and here's a tip folks: Stop doing that. Our system is not like anyone else's, so shut up with the whole, "Why aren't we like Japan?" crap.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the end, there were an amazing amount of Katie fans there. DeRusha had mentioned, at one point, that they wanted serious thinkers, not fans, at this meeting, but so many people fawned over her.
Still, I didn't have my pen taken, so I guess that's something...right?
Thanks to DeRusha for getting me invited, but I just don't feel that ANYTHING was really accomplished. They listened...and then decided they were going to do whatever they were going to do.
The bottom line is this: As one person said, "Until you decide who your target audience is, it's impossible to decide how your show will work."
That's really it. If you aim for older people, you'll need feel good stories. Aim for the younger crowd, and you'll have to explain EVERYTHING.
That's it. Still, I'll email ideas to you, CBS News. I have a lot of them.
Courage.
Namaste.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Town Hall Times
So I read DeRusha's blog everyday.
I noticed that his latest entry is lovingly sarcastic when it comes to Katie Couric.
My question: Should I feel guilty that I have been invited to be one of the "community members" she is meeting with tomorrow morning?
That's right. Ole Leab has been invited (in no small part thanks to DeRusha) to meet with Ms. Couric and discuss issues, "that are important to you and your community."
I have a great deal of things I could say, but I really don't want to be:
A: Taken into custody, and
B: Beaten to death by Minnesotans who hate transplants (of which there are too many right now...you know...that whole "Murderapolis" thing is being put on the people who aren't from here....)
So, while Jason is "Duluth", I will sing his praises and pimp him out WCBS. Hell, he'd do well in New York.
Right now, I'm thinking about talking about (what else) education issues.
Anyone have anything they'd rather have me talk about with her?
And how funny is it that I, an angry transplant, have been asked to talk about what issues are bothering me.
I assume Ms. Couric, seen here during her cheerleading days, will probably nod her head, appear interested in what we have to say, tell a P.A. to write some notes, and then disappear.
After all, the invite says, "No Press, No Cameras, Just Conversation."
The email also made it clear that WE are not to bring cameras to this thing.
I would imagine that's bad for P.R. Here is America's newest sweetheart and yet we, the general public who CBS hopes will watch her, are being told not to expect autographs or photos.
Personally? I don't care. I don't buy into the whole "celebrity" thing. Never have. When I was a kid, I worked at a fair selling raffle tickets. Then mayor Ed Koch came. I walked right up to him and said, "You're Mayor Ed Koch, you're going to buy some raffle tickets from me."
Both he and his aide (or friend or whoever he was) stared at me in disbelief...then they both bought raffle tickets.
I once met Mark McGwire at a restaurant in St. Louis. Again, it was just like meeting anybody (for me at least).
I've never been one to be star struck.
So if this thing tomorrow turns into a giant "Oh my God, I LOVE YOU!" fest, I'll be pissed. I'm going in order to actually get issues on the docket. That's it.
Plus the free food. I mean old habits die hard, folks.
So thanks, DeRusha, for getting me in to this little shindig. I'll try not to embarass you too much....
No really.
Namaste.
I noticed that his latest entry is lovingly sarcastic when it comes to Katie Couric.
My question: Should I feel guilty that I have been invited to be one of the "community members" she is meeting with tomorrow morning?
That's right. Ole Leab has been invited (in no small part thanks to DeRusha) to meet with Ms. Couric and discuss issues, "that are important to you and your community."
I have a great deal of things I could say, but I really don't want to be:
A: Taken into custody, and
B: Beaten to death by Minnesotans who hate transplants (of which there are too many right now...you know...that whole "Murderapolis" thing is being put on the people who aren't from here....)
So, while Jason is "Duluth", I will sing his praises and pimp him out WCBS. Hell, he'd do well in New York.
Right now, I'm thinking about talking about (what else) education issues.
Anyone have anything they'd rather have me talk about with her?
And how funny is it that I, an angry transplant, have been asked to talk about what issues are bothering me.
I assume Ms. Couric, seen here during her cheerleading days, will probably nod her head, appear interested in what we have to say, tell a P.A. to write some notes, and then disappear.After all, the invite says, "No Press, No Cameras, Just Conversation."
The email also made it clear that WE are not to bring cameras to this thing.
I would imagine that's bad for P.R. Here is America's newest sweetheart and yet we, the general public who CBS hopes will watch her, are being told not to expect autographs or photos.
Personally? I don't care. I don't buy into the whole "celebrity" thing. Never have. When I was a kid, I worked at a fair selling raffle tickets. Then mayor Ed Koch came. I walked right up to him and said, "You're Mayor Ed Koch, you're going to buy some raffle tickets from me."
Both he and his aide (or friend or whoever he was) stared at me in disbelief...then they both bought raffle tickets.
I once met Mark McGwire at a restaurant in St. Louis. Again, it was just like meeting anybody (for me at least).
I've never been one to be star struck.
So if this thing tomorrow turns into a giant "Oh my God, I LOVE YOU!" fest, I'll be pissed. I'm going in order to actually get issues on the docket. That's it.
Plus the free food. I mean old habits die hard, folks.
So thanks, DeRusha, for getting me in to this little shindig. I'll try not to embarass you too much....
No really.
Namaste.
Reality Snaps Back
I had to go to work yesterday. For the first time since June, I walked into the school at which I work. It was hard.
I went for two reasons:
1. I can't seem to check my work email from home (which I need to do in order to prep for a class I have to take in August).
2. In order to drop of a couple of items (tickets for a co-worker, a picture of my son for my principal's "Wall of Hope," and to pick up some books that have been added to next year's curriculum.
The first issue came with the drive. It's been a month since the school year finished, so I had already forgotten how long the drive is from my home to the school. By the time I exited 94 at Snelling, I was almost livid. Having spent so much time at home with my son the last three weeks, I haven't really been out driving with the Minnesota folk.
Here's a quick update: Most Minnesotans still can't drive.
I watched a guy in a Ford truck shoot across four lanes to cut off a 16 wheeler in order to get off the freeway. I watched another person (couldn't see if it was a man or a woman) drive on the shoulder because no one would let his or her car on the freeway.
With anger running through my veins, I entered the school. It was hot. Very hot. Not comfortable.
I started in the office. My principal was gone, so I left the photo with her secretary (who really runs the school, but no one talks about that).
Borrowing a key from the secretary, I headed up to my office (I left my keys with her) to check my work email. As I went, I ran into some of my colleagues who were just standing out in the hallway (there were classes going on, but whatever).
"Hey...did you have to kid?" I was asked.
"Well, seeing as how it's now OVER a month since the due date, it's pretty safe to say yes." I replied.
"Pictures?"
I showed them the two I had (both of which are in earlier posts).
"He's adorable," I'm told.
"Thanks," I reply.
"So are you miserable?" Another colleague asks.
"Excuse me?" I reply.
"Is he keeping you up all the time? I mean you look good, so either you're relaxed, which means all is well, or you're working extremely hard to make it look like all is well."
"Does it matter which?" I asked.
"Testy, are we?"
"No," I replied. "All is well. The Poozer sleeps through the night. WE have to wake HIM up."
"What?" comes the general consensus.
"That's right. He's great."
I watch my colleagues faces fall, which tells me that they were, in some ways, hoping I was going to be miserable. That tells you a great deal about the people I work with at this school.
Leaving the group, I headed over to my office, which was open as people were working in there. It was then I discovered the real reason I'm pissed.
You see I share a room with other people. My desk is in the corner (away from the door which is perfect, because I can hide then). Now I mentioned before that some people tried to take my desk and area for themselves, but were told they couldn't have it by me and the principal.
Well, when I walked in yesterday, I discovered they didn't listen. All of my boxes had been stacked in a different corner, and my desk had been taken over by someone else. One of the boxes had been opened, and my stapler was missing (I later found it on another desk. My name is even on it, folks). There was also note on one of the boxes that read:
"Leab,
Here's your stuff. It will need to move somewhere else by August 1.
We need the key to your desk so [name protected] can use it.
Thanks."
Needless to say, I am not happy. All of my stuff is now stacked in a corner of the principal's office, and I will not be able to figure out where I am going to be until August.
The problem here is not that I have had my desk usurped, but the fact that the people who did were told not to do it by myself AND the principal...and then did it anyway.
I left a note for the principal. Mine read:
"I don't really care that they moved me out. However, whatever room I end up in, I want that desk. It's my desk, and I will not clean it out.
I have the keys to it as well.
Hope you're having a good summer."
And with that, I left.
That's why reality really sucks. When I'm with my son, it's all clear. I feel at peace around him and my wife. The second I step back into my place of work, I feel that dreariness. Yes, if work were meant to be fun, they would call it Super Action Fun Time, but this is different.
My wife is going to be dropping in on her work next week. I have no doubt that she will get a much different reception. I also have no doubt that her desk and her will have been left untouched.
Am I high on the Totem Pole at work? Oh God no, but remember, the Totem Pole needs the lower people in order to stand up. I'm so damn sick of people thinking they can get away with whatever they want. And I can't believe they waited until I was gone for the Summer.
It doesn't make me want to rush back. Hell, my wife and I have been discussing the idea of me becoming a stay-at-home father. Incidents like this don't make me want to rush back to work.
Of course, what do I know? I'm the homeless teacher now. Can you spare a dime for a cart?
Namaste.
I went for two reasons:
1. I can't seem to check my work email from home (which I need to do in order to prep for a class I have to take in August).
2. In order to drop of a couple of items (tickets for a co-worker, a picture of my son for my principal's "Wall of Hope," and to pick up some books that have been added to next year's curriculum.
The first issue came with the drive. It's been a month since the school year finished, so I had already forgotten how long the drive is from my home to the school. By the time I exited 94 at Snelling, I was almost livid. Having spent so much time at home with my son the last three weeks, I haven't really been out driving with the Minnesota folk.
Here's a quick update: Most Minnesotans still can't drive.
I watched a guy in a Ford truck shoot across four lanes to cut off a 16 wheeler in order to get off the freeway. I watched another person (couldn't see if it was a man or a woman) drive on the shoulder because no one would let his or her car on the freeway.
With anger running through my veins, I entered the school. It was hot. Very hot. Not comfortable.
I started in the office. My principal was gone, so I left the photo with her secretary (who really runs the school, but no one talks about that).
Borrowing a key from the secretary, I headed up to my office (I left my keys with her) to check my work email. As I went, I ran into some of my colleagues who were just standing out in the hallway (there were classes going on, but whatever).
"Hey...did you have to kid?" I was asked.
"Well, seeing as how it's now OVER a month since the due date, it's pretty safe to say yes." I replied.
"Pictures?"
I showed them the two I had (both of which are in earlier posts).
"He's adorable," I'm told.
"Thanks," I reply.
"So are you miserable?" Another colleague asks.
"Excuse me?" I reply.
"Is he keeping you up all the time? I mean you look good, so either you're relaxed, which means all is well, or you're working extremely hard to make it look like all is well."
"Does it matter which?" I asked.
"Testy, are we?"
"No," I replied. "All is well. The Poozer sleeps through the night. WE have to wake HIM up."
"What?" comes the general consensus.
"That's right. He's great."
I watch my colleagues faces fall, which tells me that they were, in some ways, hoping I was going to be miserable. That tells you a great deal about the people I work with at this school.
Leaving the group, I headed over to my office, which was open as people were working in there. It was then I discovered the real reason I'm pissed.
You see I share a room with other people. My desk is in the corner (away from the door which is perfect, because I can hide then). Now I mentioned before that some people tried to take my desk and area for themselves, but were told they couldn't have it by me and the principal.
Well, when I walked in yesterday, I discovered they didn't listen. All of my boxes had been stacked in a different corner, and my desk had been taken over by someone else. One of the boxes had been opened, and my stapler was missing (I later found it on another desk. My name is even on it, folks). There was also note on one of the boxes that read:
"Leab,
Here's your stuff. It will need to move somewhere else by August 1.
We need the key to your desk so [name protected] can use it.
Thanks."
Needless to say, I am not happy. All of my stuff is now stacked in a corner of the principal's office, and I will not be able to figure out where I am going to be until August.
The problem here is not that I have had my desk usurped, but the fact that the people who did were told not to do it by myself AND the principal...and then did it anyway.
I left a note for the principal. Mine read:
"I don't really care that they moved me out. However, whatever room I end up in, I want that desk. It's my desk, and I will not clean it out.
I have the keys to it as well.
Hope you're having a good summer."
And with that, I left.
That's why reality really sucks. When I'm with my son, it's all clear. I feel at peace around him and my wife. The second I step back into my place of work, I feel that dreariness. Yes, if work were meant to be fun, they would call it Super Action Fun Time, but this is different.
My wife is going to be dropping in on her work next week. I have no doubt that she will get a much different reception. I also have no doubt that her desk and her will have been left untouched.
Am I high on the Totem Pole at work? Oh God no, but remember, the Totem Pole needs the lower people in order to stand up. I'm so damn sick of people thinking they can get away with whatever they want. And I can't believe they waited until I was gone for the Summer.
It doesn't make me want to rush back. Hell, my wife and I have been discussing the idea of me becoming a stay-at-home father. Incidents like this don't make me want to rush back to work.
Of course, what do I know? I'm the homeless teacher now. Can you spare a dime for a cart?
Namaste.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Neglected Kitties
My cats have voiced their displeasure lately. They're upset over the fact that the humans in the house are fawning over another little human instead of them. So, following Sophe's lead, I placed the cats where anyone can seen them. Thus I present:
Ulysses,
Sam,
and
Oscar.
Enjoy them as I have for the last nine years (Their collective birthday was yesterday).
Because some of you are probably more human fans, here is another picture of my lovely son.
Enjoy.
Namaste.
Ulysses,
Sam,
and
Oscar.
Enjoy them as I have for the last nine years (Their collective birthday was yesterday).
Because some of you are probably more human fans, here is another picture of my lovely son.
Enjoy.
Namaste.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Racism...or Art?
So Sony is running these ads for their new "white" PSP (the system is currently only available in black).These are just a sample of about a hundred pictures that Sony took.
Many people are screaming to high heaven that these ads are blatantly racist, but I'm honestly not so sure. Yes it does feature a white woman and a black woman throwing down, but as I said before there are about 100 pictures of various poses where black is dominant or white is dominant or they are just posing.
Some feel that "The two images comprising the ad are intended to sway sympathies to the 'white' by in some way vilifying the black. There is clearly tension in the imagery that's built upon racial tension. There's an overall feeling of 'white'superiority that stems from the fact that the white model has a sort of rock star, supermodel look while the black model has a more proletarian appearance."(BroBuzz.)
On the other hand, some see it the other way where white is actually vilified because of the way she is treating black, and the fact that black is not shown in the same "rock star" fashion. She is in fact the poor or middle America rising to show the upper class all their evils (I'm not making this stuff up).
Now, these ads were only run in Holland, but people across the world saw these ads online and the debate erupted.
Sony became worried that they would be hit with lawsuits and changed the ads to the one on the right which features only the one model put into two colors. (Which is worse, isn't it? I mean they got rid of the black model all together....)
But are these ads really racist? Or is it all in the interpretation? Could it be that these ads were designed to be merely avant garde and instead people have blown them out of proportion?
What if it was the other way? Look at the DS Lite. It was shown all in white in most of the ads. What if Nintendo started pimping a black DS in the same manner as Sony is doing here? Would everyone still say it was racist?
You tell me, dear readers. Have we all lost our minds? Are these ads racist or not?
Ramblings for the Morning (7/8/2006)
Ok, so I haven't posted in a while. Sorry. Kind of busy with stuff. You know, new kid and all.
I'm making the effort now.
So, without further ado: MAAAATT DAAAMOON!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Fourth of July:
My wife and I took it easy on the Fourth. We didn't really go anywhere. In fact, she and Poozer went to bed early while I stayed up late (I take the late shift and then sleep from 3 to 7. Seems to work).
From where I live, you can see a few fireworks displays (depends on who is doing what). I decided to walk outside and grab some air...plus I had some diapers to take out. The second I stepped outside (and I'm not trying to be crass) I felt like I was in a war zone of sorts. Every direction had sounds of fireworks exploding. Many of my neighbors had them, which was strange as well. So, as I took the walk from my door to my trash can, I heard all of these noises.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Craaaaccckklllle!
Foooooop!
And on and on it went. I half expected for Tom Hanks to pop out of my garden and tell me we had to, "Take that beach!"
I did, at two points, almost jump out of my skin when my neighbors set off fireworks near me (and in one case almost hit me).
As I rounded the corner to go back into my house, my neighbors on my right set off a bunch of firecrackers. Those pops sound an awful lot like gunfire. And, as if that wasn't enough, one of the families down the street had bottle rockets and were setting them off. Well, one of their kids apparently wasn't being careful and either picked up the rocket or knocked it over. All I know is that while I was talking to my neighbors on my other side, a flash hit their house not far from where we were standing. That's right, we were almost hit by a bottle rocket.
It reminded me of a party I had gone to while in college where the hosts thought it would be funny to fire bottle rockets at cars and people who passed by their home. I guess when you're drunk enough that's funny. Well, they did it for two solid hours...until one of the cars they hit was a cop car. Let's just say Leab didn't have bail money that night for anyone.
Back the point, as I heard the fireworks, that's when the whole idea (crass as it may be) about a war zone came into my head. There were flashes everywhere, pops and crackling everywhere. It's no wonder that many veterans have their PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) triggered on this holiday. With all of the noises and such, I suspect that it can remind people of being in a war zone.
On the bright side, though my neighbor's kid was, my son was not afraid of the noises or the fireworks at all.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Snakes in the Grass:
I don't really have a good title for this, but that's ok. I'm quite frustrated with my wife's friends and co-workers. On Thursday night, a few of my wife's friends called and said they would be coming over Friday night. Immediately my wife went into semi-crisis mode.
See, when I have friends or family come, I don't do alot. I pick up shoes, clean the dishes, and make sure the toilet works.
My wife, on the other hand, hands me a list and says, "Get to it." Thus vacuuming is done, toilets are scrubbed, and refrigerators are cleaned out. (And I don't get the last. Why would a guest be going into my fridge?)
So, my wife gets all gussied up as this is the first time she's seen anyone since giving birth to our son. She's actually nervous (whereas I couldn't care less). I, on the other hand, am wearing the clothes that I had on while mowing and weeding.
Evening comes and so do her friends and co-workers...and this is where I get pissed off.
When someone has given birth, you have to, oh I don't know, acknowledge the baby. So, they come in, and my wife is holding Poozer. The first person says, "Yeah, he's cute. Now hand him off to Dad over there." The baby is handed to me. The friends and co-workers then proceed to spend the next ten minutes talking about stuff that they have been or will be doing. Remember: my lovely wife has just gone through pregnancy and labor. It's usually polite to talk to the mother about that first. Don't tell her about how you're jetting off to the Dominican Republic and doing all these things that she (and I quote), "Can't do now that you have Little Leab."
When my wife was finally able to talk about the baby, she was quickly shut down by her friends who instead told a story about a marathon they all ran in together with a whole bunch of in-jokes that made no sense. I was irate. They were in our home supposedly for her, but treated her as nothing more than a spectator.
The final kicker, however, came before they left. They were in our house for less than a half an hour. Everyone was heading out to a meeting at Psycho Suzi's...and they wanted my wife to go. We were just a pit stop on the way. The conversation went like this:
Them: "Come to Psycho Suzi's with us. It's Schnooka's (a nickname) birthday. Come party. We miss you."
My wife: "I shouldn't. He (the baby, not me) eats every two hours. Plus, I'm tired...and a little sore."
Them: "So?! Throw some milk in a bottle and bring a donut cushion. He (indicating me) can stay here with the baby. Come on! We need our drinking buddy back."
(Note: See, my wife is quite a fun drunk. When she drinks, she does and says things she wouldn't normally do. She's also up for almost anything. That's why they want her.)
My wife: "I can't drink yet. I'm breastfeeding. I won't be pumping and dumping yet. Plus there's all that smoke (I'm guessing my wife is unaware of the smoking ban)."
Them: "Excuses. Come on!"
My wife: "You know, after everything he's done today, it wouldn't be fair to him (indicating me) to just leave him with the baby. He needs to rest too. He's only been sleeping around three hours a day."
Them: "It's fine. Look he doesn't care, right?"
Me: "Actually, I do. She needs to rest. Not go off drinking."
Them: "You're biased. You just don't want to watch the baby."
It's at this point that I take the kid with me to put him in his crib. If I'm going to fight, I'm not going to do it in front of him.
When I return, my wife has finished explaining that she will not go.
Her friends and co-workers are angry. "We wasted a trip," one of them says.
I watch my wife's face fall a little. This group has done what birth couldn't do. They have actually broken my wife's spirit a little.
You have to understand that these people standing in my living room upset over my wife's decision are close to forty. They act like children, because (in my opinion) they are afraid to be adults.
They came not to see our child, but to grab my wife and make her go out drinking. I agree with them that she should get out of the house, but heading off to a bar is not necessarily the best choice. What's worse is turning on her, because she won't go. That just pisses me off.
She's a parent now, folks, and unlike the movies, you don't give birth and then get back in the game right away. It takes time.
I made one mistake last night. Tired and angry, I kicked everyone out last night. I was polite, but I still told everyone to leave because, "The kid needs to eat now."
After getting my wife set up, I went outside to water our plants. The group was still standing in my driveway bitching about my wife's refusal to come. Much like high school kids, they started talking in hushed whispers when I came outside.
Again, my problem is not that they asked her to go out. In due time I'd like to see my wife go out with her friends. The problem I have is that they were upset, because she wouldn't go out right then.
Maybe i'm just overreacting....
and finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truth, Justice...and All That Stuff:
My family was in town recently. The came to visit the baby (their first grandson/nephew. They already have a granddaughter/neice). My father and I had free tickets to see Superman Returns, so we left my mother and sister with my wife and took off.
It's a beautiful film...but very disappointing.
I can move beyond the giant Christ allegoy (no less than seven shots with Superman having his arms outstretched, and having his side pierced by Kryptonite), but the film still has some problems. This is, of course, my opinion, so feel free to disagree.
1. Kate Bosworth's Lois Lane does not work. First of all she looks like she's 14. Secondly, you never really buy her being the tough gal that you did with Margot Kidder or even Dana Delany in the cartoon. The youth issue leads to problem number two....
2. The kid. Sigh. Another kid introduced into a series. This is supposed to be Lois' child, but again, she looks way to young to have had a child. Also the kid...is kind of annoying.
3. The plot. Ok, so Luthor wants to create a new island. Great. Here's the problem: From the moment the island starts to be created and is supposed to destroy Metropolis, the film flops. How exactly does Superman save Metropolis? What is the point of the ending? At the end of the original Superman film with Christopher Reeve, Supes saves Lois and puts Luthor in jail. Here we're left with a few false endings and then possibly the most anti-climatic ending. I won't spoil it, but you see it coming from the moment certain characters are introduced. It's annoying.
4. Not enough Luthor/Superman intrigue. They spend five minutes together on screen. That's it. Five minutes. That's not enough for the hero and villain. It's just not enough. They don't even really talk to each other.
5. While the film is lyrical (beautifully shot), it is overly long at points. At over two and a half hours, there are some points that can be cut out. Sadly, most of the points that could be cut are from the Lois/Superman romance angle.
6. Truth, Justice...All that stuff? We can no longer say the American Way? Has it become so taboo to say the American Way because of America's recent actions? Even though we've done some stupid stuff, are we not a great country anymore?
Are there positives? Sure.
1. Brandon Routh is Christopher Reeve as Superman. He is. He does a great Chris Reeve impression throughout the entire film.
2. There are some great inside jokes that you can get if you understand film. Singer borrows some shots from The Day The Earth Stood Still, and more. Plus, Perry White has a great line about Academy Awards.
3. The music. Ok, this only works because they used John Williams' score from the old film.
4. Kevin Spacey and Parker Posey are the best parts of the film. Spacey is obviously having fun, and Parker Posey is always great.
Here's the deal. If you really like Superman and have the time and patience, it's an interesting film and well shot. However, if you're looking for a big action film, this is NOT it. This is more of an art film than an action film.
Of course that's just my opinion, I'm more of a Green Lantern fan....
Namaste.
I'm making the effort now.
So, without further ado: MAAAATT DAAAMOON!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Fourth of July:
My wife and I took it easy on the Fourth. We didn't really go anywhere. In fact, she and Poozer went to bed early while I stayed up late (I take the late shift and then sleep from 3 to 7. Seems to work).
From where I live, you can see a few fireworks displays (depends on who is doing what). I decided to walk outside and grab some air...plus I had some diapers to take out. The second I stepped outside (and I'm not trying to be crass) I felt like I was in a war zone of sorts. Every direction had sounds of fireworks exploding. Many of my neighbors had them, which was strange as well. So, as I took the walk from my door to my trash can, I heard all of these noises.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Craaaaccckklllle!
Foooooop!
And on and on it went. I half expected for Tom Hanks to pop out of my garden and tell me we had to, "Take that beach!"
I did, at two points, almost jump out of my skin when my neighbors set off fireworks near me (and in one case almost hit me).
As I rounded the corner to go back into my house, my neighbors on my right set off a bunch of firecrackers. Those pops sound an awful lot like gunfire. And, as if that wasn't enough, one of the families down the street had bottle rockets and were setting them off. Well, one of their kids apparently wasn't being careful and either picked up the rocket or knocked it over. All I know is that while I was talking to my neighbors on my other side, a flash hit their house not far from where we were standing. That's right, we were almost hit by a bottle rocket.
It reminded me of a party I had gone to while in college where the hosts thought it would be funny to fire bottle rockets at cars and people who passed by their home. I guess when you're drunk enough that's funny. Well, they did it for two solid hours...until one of the cars they hit was a cop car. Let's just say Leab didn't have bail money that night for anyone.
Back the point, as I heard the fireworks, that's when the whole idea (crass as it may be) about a war zone came into my head. There were flashes everywhere, pops and crackling everywhere. It's no wonder that many veterans have their PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) triggered on this holiday. With all of the noises and such, I suspect that it can remind people of being in a war zone.
On the bright side, though my neighbor's kid was, my son was not afraid of the noises or the fireworks at all.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Snakes in the Grass:
I don't really have a good title for this, but that's ok. I'm quite frustrated with my wife's friends and co-workers. On Thursday night, a few of my wife's friends called and said they would be coming over Friday night. Immediately my wife went into semi-crisis mode.
See, when I have friends or family come, I don't do alot. I pick up shoes, clean the dishes, and make sure the toilet works.
My wife, on the other hand, hands me a list and says, "Get to it." Thus vacuuming is done, toilets are scrubbed, and refrigerators are cleaned out. (And I don't get the last. Why would a guest be going into my fridge?)
So, my wife gets all gussied up as this is the first time she's seen anyone since giving birth to our son. She's actually nervous (whereas I couldn't care less). I, on the other hand, am wearing the clothes that I had on while mowing and weeding.
Evening comes and so do her friends and co-workers...and this is where I get pissed off.
When someone has given birth, you have to, oh I don't know, acknowledge the baby. So, they come in, and my wife is holding Poozer. The first person says, "Yeah, he's cute. Now hand him off to Dad over there." The baby is handed to me. The friends and co-workers then proceed to spend the next ten minutes talking about stuff that they have been or will be doing. Remember: my lovely wife has just gone through pregnancy and labor. It's usually polite to talk to the mother about that first. Don't tell her about how you're jetting off to the Dominican Republic and doing all these things that she (and I quote), "Can't do now that you have Little Leab."
When my wife was finally able to talk about the baby, she was quickly shut down by her friends who instead told a story about a marathon they all ran in together with a whole bunch of in-jokes that made no sense. I was irate. They were in our home supposedly for her, but treated her as nothing more than a spectator.
The final kicker, however, came before they left. They were in our house for less than a half an hour. Everyone was heading out to a meeting at Psycho Suzi's...and they wanted my wife to go. We were just a pit stop on the way. The conversation went like this:
Them: "Come to Psycho Suzi's with us. It's Schnooka's (a nickname) birthday. Come party. We miss you."
My wife: "I shouldn't. He (the baby, not me) eats every two hours. Plus, I'm tired...and a little sore."
Them: "So?! Throw some milk in a bottle and bring a donut cushion. He (indicating me) can stay here with the baby. Come on! We need our drinking buddy back."
(Note: See, my wife is quite a fun drunk. When she drinks, she does and says things she wouldn't normally do. She's also up for almost anything. That's why they want her.)
My wife: "I can't drink yet. I'm breastfeeding. I won't be pumping and dumping yet. Plus there's all that smoke (I'm guessing my wife is unaware of the smoking ban)."
Them: "Excuses. Come on!"
My wife: "You know, after everything he's done today, it wouldn't be fair to him (indicating me) to just leave him with the baby. He needs to rest too. He's only been sleeping around three hours a day."
Them: "It's fine. Look he doesn't care, right?"
Me: "Actually, I do. She needs to rest. Not go off drinking."
Them: "You're biased. You just don't want to watch the baby."
It's at this point that I take the kid with me to put him in his crib. If I'm going to fight, I'm not going to do it in front of him.
When I return, my wife has finished explaining that she will not go.
Her friends and co-workers are angry. "We wasted a trip," one of them says.
I watch my wife's face fall a little. This group has done what birth couldn't do. They have actually broken my wife's spirit a little.
You have to understand that these people standing in my living room upset over my wife's decision are close to forty. They act like children, because (in my opinion) they are afraid to be adults.
They came not to see our child, but to grab my wife and make her go out drinking. I agree with them that she should get out of the house, but heading off to a bar is not necessarily the best choice. What's worse is turning on her, because she won't go. That just pisses me off.
She's a parent now, folks, and unlike the movies, you don't give birth and then get back in the game right away. It takes time.
I made one mistake last night. Tired and angry, I kicked everyone out last night. I was polite, but I still told everyone to leave because, "The kid needs to eat now."
After getting my wife set up, I went outside to water our plants. The group was still standing in my driveway bitching about my wife's refusal to come. Much like high school kids, they started talking in hushed whispers when I came outside.
Again, my problem is not that they asked her to go out. In due time I'd like to see my wife go out with her friends. The problem I have is that they were upset, because she wouldn't go out right then.
Maybe i'm just overreacting....
and finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truth, Justice...and All That Stuff:
My family was in town recently. The came to visit the baby (their first grandson/nephew. They already have a granddaughter/neice). My father and I had free tickets to see Superman Returns, so we left my mother and sister with my wife and took off.
It's a beautiful film...but very disappointing.
I can move beyond the giant Christ allegoy (no less than seven shots with Superman having his arms outstretched, and having his side pierced by Kryptonite), but the film still has some problems. This is, of course, my opinion, so feel free to disagree.
1. Kate Bosworth's Lois Lane does not work. First of all she looks like she's 14. Secondly, you never really buy her being the tough gal that you did with Margot Kidder or even Dana Delany in the cartoon. The youth issue leads to problem number two....
2. The kid. Sigh. Another kid introduced into a series. This is supposed to be Lois' child, but again, she looks way to young to have had a child. Also the kid...is kind of annoying.
3. The plot. Ok, so Luthor wants to create a new island. Great. Here's the problem: From the moment the island starts to be created and is supposed to destroy Metropolis, the film flops. How exactly does Superman save Metropolis? What is the point of the ending? At the end of the original Superman film with Christopher Reeve, Supes saves Lois and puts Luthor in jail. Here we're left with a few false endings and then possibly the most anti-climatic ending. I won't spoil it, but you see it coming from the moment certain characters are introduced. It's annoying.
4. Not enough Luthor/Superman intrigue. They spend five minutes together on screen. That's it. Five minutes. That's not enough for the hero and villain. It's just not enough. They don't even really talk to each other.
5. While the film is lyrical (beautifully shot), it is overly long at points. At over two and a half hours, there are some points that can be cut out. Sadly, most of the points that could be cut are from the Lois/Superman romance angle.
6. Truth, Justice...All that stuff? We can no longer say the American Way? Has it become so taboo to say the American Way because of America's recent actions? Even though we've done some stupid stuff, are we not a great country anymore?
Are there positives? Sure.
1. Brandon Routh is Christopher Reeve as Superman. He is. He does a great Chris Reeve impression throughout the entire film.
2. There are some great inside jokes that you can get if you understand film. Singer borrows some shots from The Day The Earth Stood Still, and more. Plus, Perry White has a great line about Academy Awards.
3. The music. Ok, this only works because they used John Williams' score from the old film.
4. Kevin Spacey and Parker Posey are the best parts of the film. Spacey is obviously having fun, and Parker Posey is always great.
Here's the deal. If you really like Superman and have the time and patience, it's an interesting film and well shot. However, if you're looking for a big action film, this is NOT it. This is more of an art film than an action film.
Of course that's just my opinion, I'm more of a Green Lantern fan....
Namaste.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
The Zen of Parenthood
Parenting.
There are thousands of books on the subject. Anyone who has ever talked to a parent knows that each parent in the world has their own take on how to do things (how to soothe, how to feed, etc).
This post is not going to be about my advice to you on how to be a parent. I am not the world's greatest parent, but I'm not the worst either. Yet, the more I think on it, what makes someone the world's greatest parent? I don't know that either. As I said, this is not to be about how to be a parent as I have no real advice to give (I've only been a parent for a little over a week, folks).
No, this entry is about the Zen of Parenthood.
In some ways, parenting is a great deal like meditation. In the world of meditation, one is supposed to push aside all thoughts save for one and concentrate on that one thought into singularity.
Parenting is no different. The means are not the same as mediation, but the outcome is the same: to calm the mind.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so while my wife and son were out cold, I sat and watched Poozer doze. Those of you who are married, have children, or just have a significant other have, at one time or another, probably had that rush of thoughts that comes when you think about the relationship/life/etc.
What will happen tomorrow?
Will he/she still love me?
What If I get hit by a bus?
What will he/she be like when ten/fifteen years old?
How can I protect him/her from the troubles of this world?
On and on it goes.
Your brain runs at a million miles per hour with thoughts going so fast that they appear like those black shadows in the corners of your eye.
So how do you stop it?
You concentrate on one thought: his/her breath.
You watch this little person just breath. Concentrate on that as well as the idea that as long as that breath goes in and out, everything will be fine.
At the same time, you start to move in ways that feel like breathing.
This evening, as I was changing a diaper, my wife noticed that I wasn't looking at the baby while I was changing him. No, I was talking to her. Yet, there I was slapping on the necessary components (wipe, petroleum jelly, new diaper) without pausing.
You begin to move with a flow where you don't need to think. It's almost like second nature.
When I was doing theatre lighting professionally, I had the ability to not even look at what I was working on while doing it. Building a light from scratch, when you've done it enough, is like breathing. The same can be said for teaching (as can be seen with some of my colleagues). The explanation of Poe, the teaching of slope, or the understanding of French can be laid in your head in such a way that talking about them is like waving at someone. Any job can get that way.
Back to the point. After only two weeks, I have changed enough diapers that I can do it all with my eyes closed.
Parenting. It gets to a point where it's all a second nature. I love the fact that I no longer worry or think about what I'm doing when I'm with my son. Instead the time flies as I try to make him smile and learn.
I understand what my parents have been trying to tell me about parenting now.
There are thousands of books on the subject. Anyone who has ever talked to a parent knows that each parent in the world has their own take on how to do things (how to soothe, how to feed, etc).
This post is not going to be about my advice to you on how to be a parent. I am not the world's greatest parent, but I'm not the worst either. Yet, the more I think on it, what makes someone the world's greatest parent? I don't know that either. As I said, this is not to be about how to be a parent as I have no real advice to give (I've only been a parent for a little over a week, folks).
No, this entry is about the Zen of Parenthood.
In some ways, parenting is a great deal like meditation. In the world of meditation, one is supposed to push aside all thoughts save for one and concentrate on that one thought into singularity.
Parenting is no different. The means are not the same as mediation, but the outcome is the same: to calm the mind.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so while my wife and son were out cold, I sat and watched Poozer doze. Those of you who are married, have children, or just have a significant other have, at one time or another, probably had that rush of thoughts that comes when you think about the relationship/life/etc.
What will happen tomorrow?
Will he/she still love me?
What If I get hit by a bus?
What will he/she be like when ten/fifteen years old?
How can I protect him/her from the troubles of this world?
On and on it goes.
Your brain runs at a million miles per hour with thoughts going so fast that they appear like those black shadows in the corners of your eye.
So how do you stop it?
You concentrate on one thought: his/her breath.
You watch this little person just breath. Concentrate on that as well as the idea that as long as that breath goes in and out, everything will be fine.
At the same time, you start to move in ways that feel like breathing.
This evening, as I was changing a diaper, my wife noticed that I wasn't looking at the baby while I was changing him. No, I was talking to her. Yet, there I was slapping on the necessary components (wipe, petroleum jelly, new diaper) without pausing.
You begin to move with a flow where you don't need to think. It's almost like second nature.
When I was doing theatre lighting professionally, I had the ability to not even look at what I was working on while doing it. Building a light from scratch, when you've done it enough, is like breathing. The same can be said for teaching (as can be seen with some of my colleagues). The explanation of Poe, the teaching of slope, or the understanding of French can be laid in your head in such a way that talking about them is like waving at someone. Any job can get that way.
Back to the point. After only two weeks, I have changed enough diapers that I can do it all with my eyes closed.
Parenting. It gets to a point where it's all a second nature. I love the fact that I no longer worry or think about what I'm doing when I'm with my son. Instead the time flies as I try to make him smile and learn.
I understand what my parents have been trying to tell me about parenting now.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Ramblings for the Evening (06/28/06)
Let's get right to it.
So without further ado: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF!
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Religious Animosity:
This is quite funny to me:
(From Imdb.com)
Falwell: You "Got To Be a Homosexual" for Hollywood Success
The Moral Majority's Jerry Falwell, who has campaigned for stronger regulations on racy film and television content, has told a church audience in Lynchburg, VA that the entertainment industry is riddled with "moral perverts." The Associated Press quoted Fallwell as saying during a televised sermon at the Thomas Road Baptist Church, where he serves as senior pastor, "You know, you almost got to be a homosexual to be recognized in the entertainment industry anymore." He suggested that the industry has caused the world to go "sex crazy," then added: "Movie stars not married to each other, having babies and making headlines all over the world as though they were doing some great thing. Big deal! Just another moral pervert. And for them to become heroes for our kids."
So here's my thoughts on this:
1. I got three words for you, Mr. Falwell: The Catholic Church. The headlines part especially. You call them moral perverts. Isn't pride a sin, Mr. Falwell? Don't you push to have people recognize you for your achievements? That would make you a sinner. So shut it.
2. Irony: A televised sermon. That would make him a television star.
3. You HAVE to be a homosexual? Really? Hey, Mel Gibson...how do you feel about that? You've just been outed. Paul Newman...you're marriage is obviously a sham. Oh, and Meryl Streep...you better just fess up, because ole Sheriff Falwell is in town.
Here's the deal, Jerry. Do you mind if I call you Jerry? J-Dog it is then. Look, the world has MANY more problems than this. Homosexuality is not a problem...not like pedophilia, abuse, or even murder. Pick a different target...otherwise I will have to say that the priest doth protest too much. I'm just saying.
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The "No" Prize:
I used to (and I admit I occasionally still do) read comic books. I was a big fan of Batman, Green Lantern, and The Punisher. That's not the point right now.
Marvel Comics, one of the largest publishers along with DC, used to have what was called a "No Prize." Basically, if you found a mistake in a comic book and were able to explain it to the editors, then you got your name in the letters page and no prize (hence the name).
Well, Margaret gets the "No Prize" for being the only person to actually notice that I mentioned there was a big announcement coming and guessing it. All hail Princess Yoshi. Now I must practice my Mario Karting....
And finally:
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The Zen of Parenthood:
There is something very zen-like about being a parent. You learn how to calm your mind in order to concentrate on what your child needs.
As I start to write this, I realize that I will need more space to talk about this, but think about what makes you calm your mind in order to concentrate on what you need to do. What makes you "flow" as it were.
Namaste.
So without further ado: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Religious Animosity:
This is quite funny to me:
(From Imdb.com)
Falwell: You "Got To Be a Homosexual" for Hollywood Success
The Moral Majority's Jerry Falwell, who has campaigned for stronger regulations on racy film and television content, has told a church audience in Lynchburg, VA that the entertainment industry is riddled with "moral perverts." The Associated Press quoted Fallwell as saying during a televised sermon at the Thomas Road Baptist Church, where he serves as senior pastor, "You know, you almost got to be a homosexual to be recognized in the entertainment industry anymore." He suggested that the industry has caused the world to go "sex crazy," then added: "Movie stars not married to each other, having babies and making headlines all over the world as though they were doing some great thing. Big deal! Just another moral pervert. And for them to become heroes for our kids."
So here's my thoughts on this:
1. I got three words for you, Mr. Falwell: The Catholic Church. The headlines part especially. You call them moral perverts. Isn't pride a sin, Mr. Falwell? Don't you push to have people recognize you for your achievements? That would make you a sinner. So shut it.
2. Irony: A televised sermon. That would make him a television star.
3. You HAVE to be a homosexual? Really? Hey, Mel Gibson...how do you feel about that? You've just been outed. Paul Newman...you're marriage is obviously a sham. Oh, and Meryl Streep...you better just fess up, because ole Sheriff Falwell is in town.
Here's the deal, Jerry. Do you mind if I call you Jerry? J-Dog it is then. Look, the world has MANY more problems than this. Homosexuality is not a problem...not like pedophilia, abuse, or even murder. Pick a different target...otherwise I will have to say that the priest doth protest too much. I'm just saying.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The "No" Prize:
I used to (and I admit I occasionally still do) read comic books. I was a big fan of Batman, Green Lantern, and The Punisher. That's not the point right now.
Marvel Comics, one of the largest publishers along with DC, used to have what was called a "No Prize." Basically, if you found a mistake in a comic book and were able to explain it to the editors, then you got your name in the letters page and no prize (hence the name).
Well, Margaret gets the "No Prize" for being the only person to actually notice that I mentioned there was a big announcement coming and guessing it. All hail Princess Yoshi. Now I must practice my Mario Karting....
And finally:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Zen of Parenthood:
There is something very zen-like about being a parent. You learn how to calm your mind in order to concentrate on what your child needs.
As I start to write this, I realize that I will need more space to talk about this, but think about what makes you calm your mind in order to concentrate on what you need to do. What makes you "flow" as it were.
Namaste.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Most Pointless Class Ever!
One week in, and I'm actually having fun.Am I well-rested? No.
Am I smelling like roses? Heck no.
Am I in love with my little 8 pound Poozer (as I call him)? Most definitely.
Everytime I get up in order to change a diaper or help my wife feed him, all my negative feelings go away when I see his face.
And yes, I am changing diapers, dear reader. I promised my wife I would do every diaper for the first two weeks. It's the least I can do after what she went through in bringing Poozer to the world.
This post, however, is not about my son. No, it's about the class that I suffered through the week of my son's birth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So here's the deal: When you are going for tenure, you are required to take certain courses. In my district, it is now required that non-tenured teachers (such as myself) take a course on the "foundations" of teaching. Now, of course I don't begrudge my district for wanting its teachers to have a firm understanding of teaching as well as some tricks, but this "Foundations" class covers the first semester of what I did in graduate school. I'm getting ahead of myself, however.
Day One:
My wife had still not given birth at this point. We were going to have to go in on Monday night to induce (that would have been the nineteenth). Now, I was nervous that I was going to miss the birth of my son, so I called the co-ordinator of the class ahead of time to discuss this. After some pleasantries were exchanged, we got down to the point:
Me: "So, my son is to born on the 20th. He's going to be induced."
Her: "Congratulations."
Me: "Thank you. So, I may have to miss class so I can be there with my wife to welcome in my son. He's two weeks late...."
Her: "I...see."
Me: "So I need permission to miss class on Tuesday."
Her: "Oh no, I can't do that."
Me: "Ummm. I'm sorry? I don't think I understand."
Her response was long-winded, so I'm going to boil it down as well as explain to you why none of her answers worked for me.
Her: "Well, first of all, as you remember from the New Teacher Orientation...."
I never got the invite to the new teacher orientation. I was hired too late.
"We offer the class four times a year. You could have signed up for them anytime before this as I'm sure you know."
My school's co-ordinator spaced on telling me about this. Now she did have a rough year personally, but she forgot. I mentioned this and was told:
"Well...that's your fault for not looking into what you need to know, now isn't it?"
That's a very Minnesota way of answering. She continued on....
"There's also the fact that you need this class in order to work in the district. "
That's true. According to the e-mail I received shortly before the end of the year, the district warned me that failure to take this class would result in termination of my contract. Then she got to my utterly favorite part:
"Besides, you're not the one giving birth, your wife is. You don't need to be there."
At this point I can see the vein in my forehead. That's how angry I am talking to this woman. I can see my own forehead vein throbbing.
I get that my parents' generation and before didn't allow the husband to be there, but I was my wife's coach on this one. Hell, the stirrups in our delivery room were broken, so I had to actually hold my wife's legs up when she pushed (more on that another time). Back to the point. I didn't need to be there.
With no choice, I headed to class on Monday morning.
There were 26 of us. I was the only high school teacher. Everyone else was elementary or kindergarten. That did not bode well.
The two teachers (including the co-ordinator) were elementary teachers. They assured us that everything we did could be used in the elementary classroom.
"What about high school?" I asked.
"Ummm. Some of it can be," is the response.
Oh boy.
We spend the first two hours "getting to know each other." I can hear Maria singing in my head as I walk around the classroom asking people questions about their favorite politicians.
Getting to know you
Really, Paul Wellstone, huh?
Getting to know all about you
Well, Hillary Clinton is a classy lady
Etc. Etc. Etc.
Everything we did on the first day was covered in my classes at St. Thomas. I was so bored that I ended up telling my group during every group work how to make the posters so they reflected what the teachers were looking for in the assignment.
As one classmate would put it on the last day. "From the start it was obvious you were a Gifted/ Talented kid in a special ed class." Ouch.
At one point my phone rang. It was my wife. Her water had broken.
"My wife's water just broke. I need to go."
"You can leave in an hour," I'm told.
"An HOUR?!?!?"
"You need to finish the class first. Class is from 8 to 4, and you have to be here."
Again, the throbbing vein. I have this vision of my wife giving birth and saying, "Where's my husband?" My child wasn't even born yet, and I'm a deadbeat dad.
Class ends with an exercise about classroom management. One teacher mentions ringing a bell for attention. I envision my 9th graders giving the "WTF, Mate" look.
I go to the teacher.
"My child's birth is imminent. What do I need to do?"
"Are you saying you might not be here?"
"I love my job, but I love my wife and child more."
She thinks it over.
"Fill out these sheets and get them back to me before four o'clock tomorrow. Do that, and you get your credit."
I raced to the hospital where I spent the night. As my wife slept, I did my "homework" by monitor light.
Day Two:
My wife had not given birth yet. I asked the doctor how much time I had. Because I had enough, I raced over to St. Paul in time for the beginning of class.
I signed in, handed over my homework, and started to leave.
"Where are you going?" the teacher asked me.
"Back to my wife's side. I did all the homework, including the sheets for today. I'm done."
"How?" She asked me.
"I told you before, this is all stuff I've done in previous classes. You'll find my answers are correct. See you tomorrow."
And with that day two of class ended. My son was born that night. I headed in the next day.
Day Three:
"You look tired," my desk partner says.
"I didn't really sleep much. New baby and all."
"So we heard," he replies.
This class doesn't go much better. My new desk partner is deaf in one ear, has worn the same clothes three straight days, and his cellphone (with a Ricky Martin ringtone) is constantly going off as he is trying to buy a house.
Let's put it this way: I was a new dad who smelled of new baby, and yet, I smelled better than him.
Day Three was dedicated to scaffolding. Not the architecture kind, mind you, but the education kind (works in the same way, more or less).
I spent two years on scaffolding. My lesson plans use the technique. It's old news to me.
Yet there we are, for almost eight hours mind you, looking for ways to show the whole class how to use the technique.
I mentioned before that everyone else was teaching elementary or kindergarten. This is where the problems started. We had to have sample lesson plans. Mine was based on one I actually taught on Romeo & Juliet. The rest of the class couldn't get into it because, "it's too advanced."
It was a typical high school level lesson. No harder than any other.
During our working lunch (I should mention we never took a lunch break. We had to work over lunch, which...well...you get the idea.), I sat alone. Not by choice, mind you. It's just that the rest of class either worked at the same school or worked at the same level. The only guy who talked to me was an elementary teacher who thought his son was going to be in my class next year. He would grill me over the entire four days about IB, texts, and more.
Day three ended with a visit from the president of the school district's teacher's union. Nice lady, but she was a snob. Whether she meant to or not, she bashed high school teachers as being, "a little too unwavering...unlike middle school and elementary teachers who are a little more flexible."
Perhaps it was the fatigue. Maybe it was the anger of being in a class that was teaching me NOTHING, but I said something. It wouldn't be the last time.
"Flexible, huh? Is that why we have to re-teach the kids HOW to be in a classroom. You know, the whole raise your hand, work for your grade, and pay attention thing?"
"You must be a high school teacher," she says.
"Yup."
"I didn't mean to offend you," I'm told.
"Inadvertant or not, think through what you say to us. We are your voting public."
I would not get a response to that one.
I returned to the hospital to be with my wife with more homework. I would later discover that I was the ONLY person made to hand in homework.
Day Four:
The last day. I took pictures of my son to class with me as a way to make me a little happy. The work was forgetable this day. I didn't do anything except present for my group, because I needed SOMETHING to do. What can I say, I'm a showman.
At lunch I was given an impromptu baby shower by a few of my classmates. The leader, it turned out, was the guy whose son was to be in my class (Hey, the kid gets an automatic B+ now). It was very nice, but many of the students walked off, and a few later told me that they thought it was rude that I interrupted class to have a shower (It wasn't my idea...but who cares? Some people just lack humor, dagnabit).
The final hour was atrocious. I can think of no better way to decribe it. The president of the union returned to talk to us...again. This time it was about elections and getting us to sign up. As she sat there talking to us about what was happening in the district and Washington D.C. and such, it dawned on me that the entire class was just a ploy to get us to sign up to work for the union. They needed people to go door to door on voting day, they needed people to make phone calls, and they needed people to mail letters. Our final survey even gave us "the chance to help by signing up for a job."
I was pissed. I was tired, and I was pissed.
On my survey I wrote out some comments (this was what got me in trouble at St. Thomas).
What I didn't know was that the president of the union (and I am intentionally not capitalizing, folks) would read them.
"Would you tell me who wrote this please? I'll read it aloud. 'If I had one suggestion it would be to not take up class time with political aspirations. That is for outside the class. We complain about how we have such little time to teach in class, so why practice what we are angry about all the time?' Who wrote this?"
I had no qualms. That was only one of several things I wrote.
"I did. I mean it as well."
"Explain yourself," she said to me.
"I am told I have to be here, or I lose my job. My child is born, but I can't spend time with him, because I have to be here to learn what I already know. Then rather than let us go early, you take an hour to talk to us about politics and almost require us to sign up for some sort of work. You want to win a politcal battle. Grassroots doesn't work anymore. Go for television.
In all honesty ma'am. I feel you have wasted our time with this and have not fostered a good relationship with your constituency but have, in fact, perhaps turned some against you."
She was silent. Everyone was. I heard a pin drop in Edina...and I was sitting in St. Paul.
"Well," she stammers," does anyone have anything positive to say."
The room remains silent.
After finishing up, I start to leave and am stopped by the president. After exchanging words, she gets to the point.
"Would you like to work for the union?" She asks.
"No. I have a new child. I'm busy. Thanks though."
"I don't mean sending out fliers and such. I mean actually working for us."
"Oh God no," I reply. "I'm happy as I am right now. Get back to me in a few years...like ten.
And I left.
30 hours of completly wasted time. I felt guilty everytime I left my wife in the hospital with my son. "Sorry honey. I have to go sit on my ass for eight hours and learn nothing. Have fun with diapers, feedings, and such."
Did I survive? Sure.
Am I happy? Not even close.
But...now I get a nice vacation until August...then I have another classs. Sigh.
Namaste.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Fatherhood Begins
I'm finally up for some air.
I can't write too much now as the baby is still waking up here and there needing to fed, changed, etc.
In a few days I plan to write out the whole labor story (it's a doozy).
I can also tell you that this summer will see stories about the pregnancy as well as discussing the class I just attended for the last week (and was almost forced to miss the birth, no less.)
So, until I have a little more time to write, I'll just have to leave you with my favorite picture of my son. It's from a few minutes after his birth.
Namaste.
I can't write too much now as the baby is still waking up here and there needing to fed, changed, etc.
In a few days I plan to write out the whole labor story (it's a doozy).
I can also tell you that this summer will see stories about the pregnancy as well as discussing the class I just attended for the last week (and was almost forced to miss the birth, no less.)
So, until I have a little more time to write, I'll just have to leave you with my favorite picture of my son. It's from a few minutes after his birth.
Namaste.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Two New Links
So, I've added two new links over there on the right, and I've removed one.
First of all, there's "The Gone Rick Motel," which has some fun caption contests.
The other is a smashing new writer recommend by ole Admin Worm. I trust Worm's judgement. So, I've added "William Smythe" to the class.
Enjoy.
Nothing new to report.
Namaste.
First of all, there's "The Gone Rick Motel," which has some fun caption contests.
The other is a smashing new writer recommend by ole Admin Worm. I trust Worm's judgement. So, I've added "William Smythe" to the class.
Enjoy.
Nothing new to report.
Namaste.
Happy (other sort of made-up) Holiday!
Today is Father's Day.This is another sort of made up holiday not unlike Mother's Day.
Originally the holiday was created to be celebrated on March 19, but it slowly has made its way to the third sunday of June, and it was officially given that day by Lyndon Johnson. It was not, however, recognized until 1972 when Nixon was in office.
Once again, not unlike Mother's Day, the holiday has been taken over by places such as Home Depot and Sears who offer "dad-oriented gifts." What does that mean? It means that back on Mother's Day I was supposed to by my mother jewelry, and now I'm supposed to buy my father a grill...or power tools...or a big screen TV.
The goal here, is that I'm supposed to spend money to show my father how much I love him. I don't really do that.
Unlike Mother's Day, there's really no guilt involved with this holiday. Now maybe it's just me, but the commercials and ads made it sound like not buying my mom a gift would lead to suffering in Hell, but for Dad...well...a hug and maybe a card is enough. Otherwise just give him a gift card. That'll make him happy.
My father couldn't care less. I did get him a gift, but not because of the holiday. No I did it because he's losing weight like crazy and needs the clothes (apparently a triple bypass and pills will motivate a diet better than anything). I bought him two shirts. No big deal.
His real Father's Day gift is this entry. I know he'll never read it. I know he knows about this blog, but I also know he's extremely busy. I will tell you, dear reader, some stories about my father.
Let me start with the present. Though he is 70 and his kids are all grown up, he still keeps his fathering nature.
My niece is two years old. At her last birthday party, he set up a train set for her and played with her for over an hour. This is a 70 year old man.
He loves his granddaughter. He won't truly admit it if you confront him, but it's just like how he is with my mother's cat. Lucy (the cat) will come into his room and lie on his desk. He doesn't move her, just works around her. If you catch him, however, he gets faux-upset and removes the cat quietly, saying, "Uh...darn white rat...."
I've mentioned before that my father is a Holocaust survivor. He grew up in a very tough situation, but, even though he's had issues showing his emotions, he has always worked hard to be there for us. When I was eight years old, my father was teaching at a university in Cologne, Germany. He was away, but I had time off from school and went out to be with him for two weeks. It was incredible. As busy as he was, my father made time to take me to the zoo as well as Lego Land. He also reassured me as we attempted to drive through the then-present Checkpoint Charlie (I had visions of being arrested or taken away). The highlight of that trip, however, came when my father had a car accident.
Unlike here in America, the cones in Germany are hard and have a concrete base to keep them in place. While swerving to avoid another driver who wasn't paying attention, my father's car struck a cone and lost a tire. He kept the car in control, but had to change the rim.
The next day, he was using a friend's car when a large truck slammed him into a guardrail. (my father has REALLY bad luck when it comes to driving. You have to understand: he didn't get his license to drive until I was born. At that point he was 42.) The police wanted to take him in to give a statement and to talk about what had happened the night before as well. I was left alone. Before he went, my father said to me, "If I'm not back by four, call your mother. The number is on the table by the phone."
While my father answered questions, I watched movies and read books. Soon the clock struck four. My father was nowhere to be seen. I waited two minutes, then I called my mother. As I started to explain to her what had happened, my father walks in with two cops following him. I could see his expression was not happy.
"You called your mother?" He asked.
"You said to wait until 4. It's 4:05."
I knew my father was angry. There was a vein in his forehead throbbing, but he never raised his voice. He wanted to very much so, and he was known for it, but he remained calm. Not because of the cops and not because of the fact that my mother was on the phone. He remained docile,
because he didn't want to yell in front of me. He was trying to be a good role model. To this day it is very rare that my father will yell in front of me. Part of it may be that I can yell as loud as he can, but most of the time it is because he is trying to remain that role model.When I was in college, I had some rough times (as I have mentioned before). The same can be said with high school as well. My father did his best to help. He visited me a few times in St. Louis, and we did what we normally do together: We went to the movies.
The fact that I am a cinephile can be traced to my father. Both Sister #1 and I love films. I remember almost every film I have seen with my father. From the good (The Hunt for Red October, Pulp Fiction), to the bad (Sudden Death), to the annoying (The Long Kiss Goodnight), I have seen many films with that man sitting beside me. Back to the point however.
I used to get a package once every two weeks while I was in college. It contained all of my mail that was still being sent to him and a letter from him.
The letters were nice. How often do people use the written word? I don't mean emails, I mean pen to paper. It's rare that anyone does that anymore.
If it isn't evident by this point, my father is a hero of mine. He has overcome extrem
e adversity, managed to hold down several jobs at once, and raise three kids with my mother.My father has taught me when to fight and when you don't.
He taught me that Hitchcock is a master of using color.
He taught me that sometimes you have to lose in order to win.
He taught me that you never, ever, hit a woman.
He taught me that brains is more important than brawn.
My father taught me that all of our experiences are what make us who we are. Never deny who you are for others.
He taught me that when my children are born I need to take some time away from work and just bask in them.
He taught me that secret conferences are great.
He taught me you have to be a magician in order to be a parent.
He taught me that you can be a parent and love your kids, but you should never forget the mother of your children.
I love my father very much, because he has taught me that you can remain a man but still have emotions.
My father has prepared me as well as he can to be a dad. I stand now on the precipice of fatherhood. Even as I finish writing this, my wife has started the labor process (relax, she's right next to me and ok with me writing).
That would be the one thing I have not truly been talking about: I am about to be a father myself (props to Margaret for being the only person to actually guess it).
That's why I'm so grateful to my father. As I am about to become a father, I can look to how my father raised me to see how I should raise my own son.
So, to you my dad, Happy Father's Day. I'm grateful for everything you've ever taught me. I look forward to you, me, and my son going to the movies together.
If you're a father reading this, then I hope you have a great (other sort of made-up) holiday as well.
Namaste.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Ramblings for the Morning (06/17/06)
I'm back.Life has been hectic and busy, which is life, I guess.
Where have I been? Well...the school year ended, I had frantic phone calls being made to my house, and I have been trying to get my summer together.
I have a class I have to be at all next week, so I've been gathering materials.
Ok, you got me, I've been staring at this rainbow light that dances across my house everyday (it's a refraction of light that hits a lamp I have that was my grandmother's. I love it.
On with the show.
So, without further ado: EAAAAGLE!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Graduation:
I mentioned this before, but I never quite got around to talking about it. My school's graduation was boring. Granted, it was still better than Patrick Henry's (No one pulled a gun) and better than Central's (No brawls among the grads during the ceremony). Still, let me hit the highlights.
1. The Roy Wilkins Auditorium was incredibly hot. There was easily a 15 degree difference between the inside of the auditorium and the hallway. I stood outside pacing out programs at one point, and I could feel the heat pushing at my back. Very nasty. Which reminds me....
2. Originally, I was forgotten by my school. Yes, it was a running theme this year, but they did not put me on the list. I got there after my principal told me to be there..or else, and I discovered that they did not have a job for me nor did they have me on the check-in list. However, because I was there, I could not leave. I had three jobs when all was said and done.
A. I was to setup the area downstairs where gowns were turned in and diplomas were given. I put the tables up, put out the placards, and setup the chairs. Good stuff.
B. Programs. We made 1,500 programs. I was given a stack of 600. I was out very quickly. One woman put her finger on my chest and pushed me against the wall when I didn't have a program for her. "I drove 1,000 miles to see my first grandchild graduate. What do YOU mean you don't have a program?" After thirty more seconds of complaining, I gave her the program I had pulled for myself. No one else complained, just this woman.
C. I was to watch the door over by the men's room to make sure no one snuck in or out. That one was good, because it allowed me to leave, which I did when the ceremony went late.
3. The ceremony went late. We had to start late, because students were arriving late, didn't get in line quickly, and (my personal favorite) the valedictorian speaker...was late. Good stuff. You want more?
4. The ceremony was boring. Incredibly BORING! Oh my. The band was off key, the choir was WAY off key, and the speakers were...well...atrocious. One speech dealt with a woman going down memory lane about what highschool was like when she graduated forty years ago. After ten minutes of "look at how crazy things were in the sixties, the main point emerged: Life will be different in forty years. Good luck. One faculty member near me said, "What?" That was the running theme.
The valedictorian's speech was next. He, I was later told, thought he was being funny as he gave his speech about Aesop's Fables. He was hunched over the podium, too far away from the mic (thus creating lots of feedback), and his speech was boring.
The only good speech came from a faculty member who talked about searching in yourself before searching the world. The only problem, however, was that his speech was extremely dark.
It was boring. The highlight came when a disgruntled student attempted to hit one of the faculty members with a bottle. The student was on the second floor, and the faculty member was next to me. The teacher on her other side and I caught the bottle, and could hear the laughing, but we couldn't find the student.
That's how boring it was. And it was long. I left at 7:15, and it STILL wasn't done. I couldn't take it anymore. I had been there since 3:30.
When I graduated, it was fast. It went like this:
"Good morning" (Quick two minute intro from the head).
"The graduates are...." (Get your diploma.)
"Our speaker" (with a four minute speech offering to buy us dinner).
"Now get out" (and we left).
It was under an hour.
I understand that graduation is a big deal, but cut the pomp and circumstance (no pun intended). Bring them in, give them ONE speaker, call them up for the diploma, and then leave. They don't want to be there for two-and-a-half hours. Neither do the teachers or the families. Make it easy on everyone.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NASCAR Gets a New Sponsor:
Scientology. That's right the RELIGION practiced throughout Hollywood...and parts of the real world is sponsoring a car. The team is going to be called: "Ignite Your Potential" and will be all about Hubbard and Dianetics. Does no one else have a problem with this? Am I the only one?
Let's look at all the elements of this story here:
1. NASCAR is the second most popular sport in the United States (Football is #1). The Cruise Gang is smart as they can reach many people with that car. However, the downside is that most of those people are HARDCORE Christians. That whole "Bible is LITERALLY true" group. Scientologists will have a hard time reaching them.
2. If this works, will the church be next? Will there be a Catholic car or a Protestant car? How great would it be if the Protestant and Catholic car kept trying to run each other off the track? It would be like Ireland on Asphalt.
3. What about the Jewish car? Will it be the color of lox and the driver will have locks on his helmet? Maybe Thomas' Bagels could be the sponsor. (Before you get all "Oh no he didn't" on me, remember that my father is Jewish.)
4. My issue, however, is that a religion is allowed to sponsor something. It's good to know that those Scientologists' money is going to a worthy cause.... Do you remember The Simpsons episode where Homer tries to go to the Super Bowl, while Marge and Lisa see an ad for the Catholic Church? (The episode is called "Sunday, Cruddy Sunday.") In that episode (which the Catholic Church tried to have cut), a man pulls into gas station where sexy ladies fill up his gas tank and wash his car to the tune of "She's Got Legs." At the end, they zoom in on the cross around her neck and say, "The Catholic Church. We've made a few changes." It's brilliant satire on the Super Bowl ads.
Now to the point: Are we really that far away from that? We already have the "Church of Latter Day Saints" ads. Should Christianity or Judaism or Buddhism or Scientology be allowed to put ads out like that? They aren't technically businesses, so should they be putting out ads?
I can't answer this question. Only you can. My opinion is no. We have too much religion out their in the mainstream, so I think we don't need anymore.
I don't have any ill wishes toward the Scientology racer, but I find it suspect that a religion is allowed to sponsor anything. Will there be an ad at the Metrodome next year?
You tell me.
And finally:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Zen of Gardening:
I have a VERY hard time relaxing. I'm one of those people that's always keyed up, because if I relax, my body literally unwinds. Seriously. I tried relaxing yesterday, and suddenly I had back pain.
That's why I love to garden with my wife. When we moved into our house, we discovered that one of the previous owners was a concrete mason, and he HATED grass and gardening. So, he did two things:
1. The entire backyard is concrete. He killed ALL of the grass and covered it with concrete.
2. He ripped out almost all the plants and put in stone. Lots and lots of stone. Mrs. Leab was extremely happy as there was a blank canvas. She could do whatever she wanted as the only plants we had were Hostas (which are green...that's it).
Three years later, we now have several distinct gardens.
First we removed all the stone and piled it up. In the back we placed roses, clematis, and more. The front, however, is where we're really proud of our work. We created a garden on the corner of our lawn (note to anyone who tries to do this: Lay down tarp and kill the grass that way. Digging it all up is a giant pain. Trust me.), and we created an evergreen garden on one side of the house. The other is more like an English garden. It's nice.
So you may ask, "Leab. You're a guy. Most guys...don't garden. What's the deal?"
Well, I like it, because gardening, mowing the lawn, and watering are ways to zen moments. As you mow, the world disappears. It's only you, the grass, and the mower. You don't hear much else but the hum of the engine. As you dig the dirt and place the plants in their new homes, you realize the connections among all of us and the world. Thinking about watering and when you should, as well as how it works, shows the fragility of the world. If you deeply water a plant twice a week, then it learns to dig deep for water and survive without having to watered everyday (which is what you want. You want the plants to be able to need only two days of watering).
I garden, because it can be peaceful. The only time I ever hated what I was doing was when I discovered that the previous owner had put concrete UNDER the entire bed. I had to break up the concrete and dispose of it. That was not fun.
If you don't do so now, get a plant and care for it. It allows for a peace I cannot describe. It's like Bonsai (which I also recommend).
That's all I got for now. More as it comes.
Namaste.
P.S. Ask me nicely, maybe I'll tell you a story about getting phone calls and such.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
End of the School Year (2005-2006) III
There is a bruise on my right hand. It covers my knuckles. There is also a hole in the wall of the building I work in right now. Are the two related? You decide.
The year came to a close at 2:00 PM today, but the frustration continues. Honestly this week has been complete and utter hell. Let's move beyond my personal life issues and go straight to the work ones.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Finals:
I was nice to my students. They had their real final during The Odyssey. Most of them blew it off and paid for it. The final for my class was grammar. Only grammar (Yes, it is ironic that my grammar, at times, is quite atrocious...moving on now). 40 points. That was it.
The scores...not so good. Some kids failed. A few got an "A" from me. Most, however, cruised into the "D" and "C" range. Here's the kicker. They were happy with it. I would have kicked my own ass.
So, after most of the students had destroyed their grades on the project, I offered some easy assignments to help boost their grades. Most of the students blew these off as well. That's why I hate this time of year. I hate having to grab a student and show them, "Well, you got the"D" here, because you blew off these easy 10 point assignments."
Of course I got the, "Can I make them up?" from the students, but I stood firm.
"No. You had the opportunity to do it, and you chose not to."
Look, I don't think grades are the end all, be all of civilization. If the kids were concentrating on the grade for the class, they missed out on almost everything I was saying. I don't care about the final grade. I care that they show me they understand how to use what I've been teaching.
It's why now, as I sit here in my home, I feel as though I failed the kids who did not pass.
I'm torn.
On the one hand, I should have concentrated more on the kids who had problems.
On the other, I have to realize that they have to meet me halfway.
On the one hand, I probably could have cared more.
On the other, how can I care more than them?
I could go on and on.
I watched the kids take their finals, and I realized I could tell, without having to grade, which kids got it and which didn't. I was right as I graded.
My grades, by the way, are finished. Took me one hour this afternoon to get them all in to Campus (online grading). That's about the only positive thing I can say about it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Colleagues:
I freely admit that I am the new guy on the block at my school. So why is it that my colleagues use me as a psychologist?
I had one talking to me about her significant other: "What do you think he's feeling?"
My response: "Well, have you tried asking him?"
WOW, BREAKTHROUGH!
Another was talking to me about being single.
Another was talking to me about how to deal with a child (yeah, I don't have teenage kids, so...I don't know).
I could go on and on. Apparently I'm really only good for help or for procurement. (Hey Leab, I need this, so can you get it for me?)
One of my colleagues is fond of saying, "my anger from teaching comes, more often than not, from my colleagues, not the kids." I can relate.
Everyday the entire last two months, someone on the staff has said to me, "Wow, how can you deal with teaching Freshman all day? I'd go nuts!"
I look at it like a cut on your hand. You ever slice your hand while cutting vegetables or bread or some sort of food? If you cut your hand and just say, "Oops, I cut my hand," and then clean it up, it's not so bad.
If, however, you cut your hand and someone shouts, "OH MY GOD!!!! YOU CUT YOUR HAND!!!!" followed by someone else doing it, then you might feel a little panic.
I do my job, and I don't usually feel tired, but everytime some says to me, "Oh God, how do you stand at the end of the day?" I usually feel one of two things:
1. Exhausted. My body almost screams, "Hey! I'm tired!"
Or
2. Angry. I don't need to be told over and over again that my situation is rough. I know. You don't grab the guy in the wheelchair and say, "Don't you wish you could walk?" That's just mean.
Don't poke the bear, folks. Don't poke the bear.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
End of the School Year...and Beyond:
Sigh.
I had everything wrapped up today. The woman who I am to turn my keys and such into left early today. She promised she would be around, but, after I worked extremely hard to get everything done in under an hour, I went down to the office only to discover she had left an hour early. Why tell me, "I'll be here late, only to leave early."
And no, there was no emergency. She just left.
Sigh.
My anger, however, is not at her. She's great. No, the problem is in my setup next year.
I don't have my own room. I have a cart. That's right, Teacher on Wheels. Moving on.
I have a desk in a shared office. Well, my desk is staying put, but now two major groups (about 8 people) are moving into the room with me. The room isn't huge.
The problem is not that so many people will be in there ALL THE TIME. My problem is that I came in today to find a few of these people trying to take my desk from me.
It was like catching your significant other cheating on you.
There's the moment of shock when you take in what your seeing
There's the denial (I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing).
Then...there's the anger.
I had all three.
The first thing I saw was all the boxes being taken off my desk (we pack up all of our stuff for Summer Break so the school can be thoroughly cleaned (and so stuff won't disappear during summer school). The three people moving my stuff looked like kids being caught in the cookie jar.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"We need this desk," I was told.
"You can't have it," I replied. "That's my desk, and I'm using it."
"This isn't your desk."
"Um, that's my picture of my wife, and that's my name on the papers there."
"Oh....Well, we need the desk, so you'lkl have to move."
"No. I will only give up that desk if the principal herself comes up here and tells me to move from it."
"We need to the desk. Just give it to us."
"No. Put my stuff down, move away from the bookshelf too as that's mine as well, and figure something else out."
At this point, one of the three goes and calls the principal to tell on me. I'm not kidding. This person said I was "being combative and unhelpful."
Now, I am very lucky in that I have a good rapport with my princiapl. She showed up, took one look around, and then asked me what was happening.
I told her they were attempting to pillage my desk.
She looked around and said, "No. (indicating the three people) You will be over there. Leave that area alone."
"But..."
"No. That is HIS desk and his stuff. Leave it alone."
She leaves, and what happens?
THEY GO BACK TO MOVING MY STUFF!
I'm reasonable, so I tell them:
"Drop my stuff, NOW! Back away from my desk. You heard the principal. Take those two desks over there."
Grumble, grumble, grumble is all I get as a response.
I sat at my desk for my whole lunch break in order to make sure they left my stuff alone. I want my corner (because you can't see if I'm in there from the hall).
Of course as I was rushing to finish everything this afternoon, one my colleagues somehow doesn't see me and shuts the lights off. I sat in the dark thinking, "Wow, I really don't rate, do I?"
And then the kicker: I have five classes next year, and, as of right now, it's all freshman again. I had some senior classes, but those are gone now. All freshman, all the time. I can feel the grey hairs. Don't get me wrong, I like working with freshman, but there are times when you need that adult conversation you can't get with the younger kids.
During Romeo & Juliet, they could not stop giggling about how they had sex. That gets kind of annoying.
After all that frustration, I bruised my hand. It hurts.
As for my other frustrations, that's for another day.
I'm just sorry that the graduates didn't come back for the painting.
Oh well.
Tomorrow is our end of year meeting. It's also when we're supposed to finish our grades (but I'm done). This is it, then...two months off. Bring on the Summer.
Namaste.
The year came to a close at 2:00 PM today, but the frustration continues. Honestly this week has been complete and utter hell. Let's move beyond my personal life issues and go straight to the work ones.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Finals:
I was nice to my students. They had their real final during The Odyssey. Most of them blew it off and paid for it. The final for my class was grammar. Only grammar (Yes, it is ironic that my grammar, at times, is quite atrocious...moving on now). 40 points. That was it.
The scores...not so good. Some kids failed. A few got an "A" from me. Most, however, cruised into the "D" and "C" range. Here's the kicker. They were happy with it. I would have kicked my own ass.
So, after most of the students had destroyed their grades on the project, I offered some easy assignments to help boost their grades. Most of the students blew these off as well. That's why I hate this time of year. I hate having to grab a student and show them, "Well, you got the"D" here, because you blew off these easy 10 point assignments."
Of course I got the, "Can I make them up?" from the students, but I stood firm.
"No. You had the opportunity to do it, and you chose not to."
Look, I don't think grades are the end all, be all of civilization. If the kids were concentrating on the grade for the class, they missed out on almost everything I was saying. I don't care about the final grade. I care that they show me they understand how to use what I've been teaching.
It's why now, as I sit here in my home, I feel as though I failed the kids who did not pass.
I'm torn.
On the one hand, I should have concentrated more on the kids who had problems.
On the other, I have to realize that they have to meet me halfway.
On the one hand, I probably could have cared more.
On the other, how can I care more than them?
I could go on and on.
I watched the kids take their finals, and I realized I could tell, without having to grade, which kids got it and which didn't. I was right as I graded.
My grades, by the way, are finished. Took me one hour this afternoon to get them all in to Campus (online grading). That's about the only positive thing I can say about it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Colleagues:
I freely admit that I am the new guy on the block at my school. So why is it that my colleagues use me as a psychologist?
I had one talking to me about her significant other: "What do you think he's feeling?"
My response: "Well, have you tried asking him?"
WOW, BREAKTHROUGH!
Another was talking to me about being single.
Another was talking to me about how to deal with a child (yeah, I don't have teenage kids, so...I don't know).
I could go on and on. Apparently I'm really only good for help or for procurement. (Hey Leab, I need this, so can you get it for me?)
One of my colleagues is fond of saying, "my anger from teaching comes, more often than not, from my colleagues, not the kids." I can relate.
Everyday the entire last two months, someone on the staff has said to me, "Wow, how can you deal with teaching Freshman all day? I'd go nuts!"
I look at it like a cut on your hand. You ever slice your hand while cutting vegetables or bread or some sort of food? If you cut your hand and just say, "Oops, I cut my hand," and then clean it up, it's not so bad.
If, however, you cut your hand and someone shouts, "OH MY GOD!!!! YOU CUT YOUR HAND!!!!" followed by someone else doing it, then you might feel a little panic.
I do my job, and I don't usually feel tired, but everytime some says to me, "Oh God, how do you stand at the end of the day?" I usually feel one of two things:
1. Exhausted. My body almost screams, "Hey! I'm tired!"
Or
2. Angry. I don't need to be told over and over again that my situation is rough. I know. You don't grab the guy in the wheelchair and say, "Don't you wish you could walk?" That's just mean.
Don't poke the bear, folks. Don't poke the bear.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
End of the School Year...and Beyond:
Sigh.
I had everything wrapped up today. The woman who I am to turn my keys and such into left early today. She promised she would be around, but, after I worked extremely hard to get everything done in under an hour, I went down to the office only to discover she had left an hour early. Why tell me, "I'll be here late, only to leave early."
And no, there was no emergency. She just left.
Sigh.
My anger, however, is not at her. She's great. No, the problem is in my setup next year.
I don't have my own room. I have a cart. That's right, Teacher on Wheels. Moving on.
I have a desk in a shared office. Well, my desk is staying put, but now two major groups (about 8 people) are moving into the room with me. The room isn't huge.
The problem is not that so many people will be in there ALL THE TIME. My problem is that I came in today to find a few of these people trying to take my desk from me.
It was like catching your significant other cheating on you.
There's the moment of shock when you take in what your seeing
There's the denial (I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing).
Then...there's the anger.
I had all three.
The first thing I saw was all the boxes being taken off my desk (we pack up all of our stuff for Summer Break so the school can be thoroughly cleaned (and so stuff won't disappear during summer school). The three people moving my stuff looked like kids being caught in the cookie jar.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"We need this desk," I was told.
"You can't have it," I replied. "That's my desk, and I'm using it."
"This isn't your desk."
"Um, that's my picture of my wife, and that's my name on the papers there."
"Oh....Well, we need the desk, so you'lkl have to move."
"No. I will only give up that desk if the principal herself comes up here and tells me to move from it."
"We need to the desk. Just give it to us."
"No. Put my stuff down, move away from the bookshelf too as that's mine as well, and figure something else out."
At this point, one of the three goes and calls the principal to tell on me. I'm not kidding. This person said I was "being combative and unhelpful."
Now, I am very lucky in that I have a good rapport with my princiapl. She showed up, took one look around, and then asked me what was happening.
I told her they were attempting to pillage my desk.
She looked around and said, "No. (indicating the three people) You will be over there. Leave that area alone."
"But..."
"No. That is HIS desk and his stuff. Leave it alone."
She leaves, and what happens?
THEY GO BACK TO MOVING MY STUFF!
I'm reasonable, so I tell them:
"Drop my stuff, NOW! Back away from my desk. You heard the principal. Take those two desks over there."
Grumble, grumble, grumble is all I get as a response.
I sat at my desk for my whole lunch break in order to make sure they left my stuff alone. I want my corner (because you can't see if I'm in there from the hall).
Of course as I was rushing to finish everything this afternoon, one my colleagues somehow doesn't see me and shuts the lights off. I sat in the dark thinking, "Wow, I really don't rate, do I?"
And then the kicker: I have five classes next year, and, as of right now, it's all freshman again. I had some senior classes, but those are gone now. All freshman, all the time. I can feel the grey hairs. Don't get me wrong, I like working with freshman, but there are times when you need that adult conversation you can't get with the younger kids.
During Romeo & Juliet, they could not stop giggling about how they had sex. That gets kind of annoying.
After all that frustration, I bruised my hand. It hurts.
As for my other frustrations, that's for another day.
I'm just sorry that the graduates didn't come back for the painting.
Oh well.
Tomorrow is our end of year meeting. It's also when we're supposed to finish our grades (but I'm done). This is it, then...two months off. Bring on the Summer.
Namaste.
A Clarification
I want to make one thing crystal clear.
This is not a joke nor does it come out of anger. It is solely an explanation.
All references to any certain former members of the Fox 9 morning team have been removed from this site.
Other blogs have been deleted, posts have been removed, and names edited out.
If certain former members do not believe this, do a search for a specific name above at the "search this blog" bar. Then click on the supposed posts. You'll see the references are in fact gone.
This is all I can do.
I have requested that others remove the writings, but I cannot make them.
I, of course, apologize if this has caused any problems, but I have done what was requested of me.
Should I be missing something, please contact me by email at ironicteachings@hotmail.com and tell me what actions you would like me to do.
That's all I got.
The humble writer.
This is not a joke nor does it come out of anger. It is solely an explanation.
All references to any certain former members of the Fox 9 morning team have been removed from this site.
Other blogs have been deleted, posts have been removed, and names edited out.
If certain former members do not believe this, do a search for a specific name above at the "search this blog" bar. Then click on the supposed posts. You'll see the references are in fact gone.
This is all I can do.
I have requested that others remove the writings, but I cannot make them.
I, of course, apologize if this has caused any problems, but I have done what was requested of me.
Should I be missing something, please contact me by email at ironicteachings@hotmail.com and tell me what actions you would like me to do.
That's all I got.
The humble writer.
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