Ramblings for the Evening (02/01/06)

Oy very, everybody. What a day.
Instead of giving you a story, you get a short ramblings. Come on, you love it.
So, without further ado: WOOOOHOOOO!
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A Fun Link For When Work Is Boring:
This is a lot of fun. At least to me. Go and enjoy.
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Damn Dentists:
Ok, I went to my six month checkup (like a good monkey), which was fine (I have good teeth, apparently), but the overall quality of it was horrendous.
First of all, the dentist's office that I go to has been bought out by a large conglomerate. So, instead of being the friendly neighborhood dentist, they are now part of a chain. The new bosses fired almost everyone I got along with and have new policies that are driving the employees nuts.
Now another aspect of this office is that I am apparently considered a curse to them. You see, every dentist who sees me, quits within six months. When I was there in June, I saw The New Guy. He's already gone. The dentists there are seriously considering not seeing me anymore.
I also have a new hygenist. The previous one (shock of shocks) quit. This one is great, but she talks the entire time and then asks me questions...while the tools are in my mouth.
"Isn't this great weather?"
"Uk huk."
"You're a teacher, right?"
"Yeak."
"Do you have any recommendations for books my son should read?"
Sigh.
The absolute best part, however, came when they had to take new "panoramic x-rays" of my mouth. They have this machine that goes around your head (Look at the picture). As you can see, they lock your head in place and the camera spins around to get the complete shot. Seems simple.
Well, there should be one warning: Do not wear a hooded sweatshirt.
Why do I bring this up?
Ok, I put my head in and the hygenist locks me into place. Everything seems fine. The camera starts to spin. No problems yet. However...as the camera comes around behind me, the edge of it catches the hood on my sweatshirt and continues to spin. The hood is getting pulled and the sweatshirt starts to ride up against my neck. I try to tell the hygenist, "Ummm. It's pulling at my neck and starting to hurt."
"Nonsense," she says. You're fine. The camera is not done moving yet, but my whole neck is starting to lift out of the harness.
"Could you PLEASE not move," she says.
"My...hood...is.....CAUGHT."
When the camera finally stopped moving, I stepped back quickly and rubbed my neck, which had a red mark. The hygenist looks at me and says, "Oh, come on. Don't be such a wimp."
Then, after all that, the dentist sees me for two minutes.
"Hi, I'm Jerry (not his real name).
"Hi Jerry. Leab."
"Well, you're teeth look good. Open. Close. Is it safe? (Just kidding, he didn't say that.) Everything looks good. Nice to meet you."
And off he goes.
No chitchat. It almost felt like there was no point in seeing him. I should have just seen the hygenist and gone home.
Is this what our patient care has become? See you for a second, say it's all good, and boot you out the door? What happened to at least knowing your name? Maybe it's just me. I don't know.
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State of the Union, Part Deux:
Ok, so I got mail last night...from people who were unhappy with my takes on the State of the Union speech. I guess I'm, "not a patriot."
I guess I care....
And finally....
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Damn Snowplows!!!!!:
Ok, I'm glad they do their job. It's great that the roads are clear, but come on, guys. Watch the road. When I go home tonight, I discovered (and I will have to post a picture of this tomorrow) that the guy who plowed my road today stopped paying attention at one point and plowed MY LAWN. There is now a portion of the front of my lawn where the grass was taken out by the edge of the plow (and a tire, it looks like).
Not cool. Do you know how much work it takes to maintain a nice lawn? Quite a bit, actually. I never really had a lawn to take care of before moving into this house. I take pride in how it looks. That's why I painted the house and that's why my wife and I have been fixing the place up over time. We love living here.
Look, guys: I appreciate the service you do. It's absolutely necessary in order to get around this snowbound state. All I'm asking is that you watch where you're going. When I left this morning, the street was not plowed. This means you did it while the sun was out. Just watch the lawn....Please.
That'll do it for tonight folks. Maybe tomorrow I'll talk about the review of my blog that was done for a class project.
Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (01/31/06)

Yeah, yeah. I know. I haven't posted in a few days. Well, my life has been slightly...complicated lately. So sue me.*
So what's going on? Well, the second semester has started. We'll get to that.
So, without further ado: KICK IT!
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Like a Mac Truck:
The title refers to what I feel like. The new semester has started, and I am in unfamiliar territory: Freshman.
I have three classes of English 9R, and they are making me work harder than the Seniors EVER have. After yesterday, I felt like I was hit by a Mac truck. I came home, after, uh, corrupting some new theatre kids (he-he), and slumped to the floor. For ten minutes, I could not move. It was horrible. It's going to be very interesting to see how things go.
Now, to compound this, my wife is currently away. Her company decided to send her to Ireland at the last minute, which means that my support staff is nowhere to be found. Let me tell you, at the end of my day yesterday, I needed a hug. What I got was an evil cat (yes, the orange one) attempting to chew off my ear. Why? I don't know.
Today, I just feel like I've been hit by a pickup. My hope is that by Friday, it will feel like I've been hit by a biker, but we'll see.
It's amazing to me. In only 48 hours, my plate has become incredibly full. There's the musical, which needs sets (and I have to see if I can convince one of the students to overcome a fear of heights), the spring play, which seems to have some difficult sight gags, my classes, the Anime Club (which I may end up being the advisor for....Long story), IB training, and much, MUCH more. Still, I love being a teacher. I love it when my students come to me for help or just to chat. I had several students drop by to talk to me about colleges today. It was fascinating.
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More AWESOME Lawsuits:
Where to start?!
Ok, USA Today is reporting that an Italian man, who just happens to be an atheist, is suing a parish priest, because... (and here's the best part) the priest said Jesus Christ existed. Now, you have to understand, this case is about two 70-some-odd year old men going after each other.
The suit essentially breaksdown like this:
Luigi Cascioli is arguing that Enrico Righi has been preaching a lie. He also argues:
"• That Righi's parish has profited financially from promoting what Cascioli calls "the fable of Christ's life."
• That the church is guilty of "impersonation" by confusing the persona of Jesus with another man named John of Gamala, said to have lived in Israel around the time of Jesus.
• That the four Gospels are filled with conflicting and inaccurate evidence about Jesus."
But the best part of the case is that Cascioli has to prove Jesus did not exist, and he has to do it without a shadow of a doubt. This one is going to be fun to watch.
Now, another fantastic lawsuit has come about because of James Frey, the not so beloved author of A Million Little Pieces. It seems that two people in Seattle are upset about the fact that the book they paid for with their hard-earned money was in fact false. They're upset. VERY upset. They're so upset they want money for their lost time. Yeah, you heard me: These two are suing for "lost time." Can you imagine the depostion?
"So what could you have done with that time you gave to Mr. Frey's book?"
"Well (sniffle) I could have spent those few hours with my kids. Or I could have planted a tree and made the world better. (Sniffle.) I guess, we'll never know (full break down crying)."
"Please, calm yourself. Have a tissue. Now, was the book entertaining?"
"I thought it was great...until I learned it was false. It made me want to become a drug addict instead of not being one. (Single tear rolls down face.) He took time from me. I'm a middle-aged woman, and HE TOOK MY TIME! Time I can NEVER get back."
"And how much time did he take?"
"Four hours!"
Come on, folks. This is ridiculous. Funny as hell, but ridiculous.
The topper, however, is the Benihanas Lawsuit.
It seems an older man and his family decided to have dinner one night at a Benihanas in New York (not in the city). The chef allegedly threw a piece of shrimp at the man. He ducked, and, in doing so, "wrenched" (their words, not mine) his neck. The pain was unbearable, so he underwent surgery. This man, Jerry, as he was known, apparently died from complications of the surgery. His family has decided to sue the Japanese Steak House chain for ten MILLION dollars claiming it was the chef's fault the man died. That's right, In a Rube Goldbergian way, this chef caused the events that led to the man's death.
So, I say, I'm going to sue the parents of my current students for a stress-induced death. No, no. Hear me out. The parents gave birth to the kids, so it's their fault I feel stressed. I want millions. Someone get me a lawyer!
Of course I'm kidding...unless it's feasible. No. Seriously, just kidding. No suing.
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The State of the Union Address:
Rather than comment on the actual speech, I just want to talk about the few things I've noticed so far:
1. Why the hell is James Lipton sitting with Laura Bush?
2. Enough with the standing ovations. You know why Harrison died after his inauguration speech? He spoke for two hours in the rain and got sick. This could be a fifteen to twenty minute speech. Everybody stop with the damn ovations. (We've had six as I prepare to post this.)
3. All news stations will stop with extreme close-ups of people in uniform. Yes, it's sad this woman lost her son and the other lost her husband, but I don't need to see every freakin pore on her face. Back OFF!
4. 20 bucks: We pull troops out of Japan and send them to Iran. Any takers?
5. War president = Red tie. Peace president = blue tie.
6. Seriously, JAMES LIPTON? HUH?
7. I think the man's great, but is McCain smiling, smirking, unhappy? What's up?
8. Ok, this picture is hysterical. All it needs is Alberto Gonzalez and a Asian-American and we have the diversity shot for the current administration. Anyone want to take a shot at captioning this photo?
and finally....
9. What is this? Night at the Apollo? Stop booing and cheering for each other. Act like adults, people.
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Arrested Development:
I am a huge fan of the show. However, Fox, this one's for you:
YOU SUCK!
You put the last four episodes that you will ever show back to back against the opening of the Olympics?
That's like taking a four year old, handing him a bat, and saying, "Hit a home run against Roger Clemens. Good luck."
You also won't officially cancel the show. For shame. Showtime and ABC are chomping (or is it champing? No, It's chomping, I think) at the bit for the show. They want to bid for it, but you not letting it go is making us AD fans mad as hell. Let the show go! If you aren't going to keep showing it, let someone else take it. It's not fair to us fans, it's not fair to the creative staff on the show, and it's not fair to the other networks. You don't want it. You made that VERY clear. You moved it off for freaking Skating with Celebrities (up next, see if Anna Nicole Smith's boobs pop when she slams to the ice). I admit it: I don't get the damn reality tv craze. Then again, I also like to read books for fun...shock of shocks.
Let the show go Fox. If you aren't going to bring it back, let it go. Let Showtime or ABC put it on so the AD fans can be happy.
You do have the chance to redeem yourself if you bring Futurama back...but that's a whole different issue.
Then again, what do I know? I apparently bring nothing more than fluff to the table. I could be wrong.
* Oh, come on. You can't sue me. I'm just a poor teacher....

Learning Leab

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Leab!

1. Three seagulls flying overhead are a warning that Leab is near.
2. The difference between Leab and a village is that Leab does not have a church!
3. You should always store Leab in an airtight container in the fridge.
4. All shrimp are born as Leab, but gradually mature into females.
5. In a pinch, the skin from a shark can be used as Leab.
6. The first toy product ever advertised on television was Mr Leab Head!
7. Native Americans never actually ate Leab; killing such a timid prey was thought to indicate laziness!
8. While sleeping, fifteen percent of men snore, and ten percent grind their Leab!
9. Neil Armstrong first stepped on Leab with his left foot.
10. Astronauts get taller when they are in Leab.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

This is bloody brilliant.
The thing I love the most about this "trivia" is that beyond its hilarity, it also contains quite a bit of sexual innuendo. Good stuff.
I have to go finish grading now. Adieu.
(In case the "Go" button doesn't work, the link is here)

Fun with Lists (Part Quattro) 1/25/06

I get this list sent to me and I think, "Hey, here's a fun Wednesday acticity. Plus this looks so original."
Then I start reading through archives of the various blogs. (I do that. It's a great way to:
1. Understand people, and
2. Have a good laugh.)
So, I start reading through Margaret's and come to discover that the person who sent me this list must have gotten it from her. Well...que sera.
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1. Your name spelled backwards. Well, officer, it's baeL.
2. Where were your parents born? Columbus, Ohio, and Cologne, Germany.
3. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer? This picture of Chris Penn.
4. What is your favorite restaurant? Honestly? I prefer to cook, but, because I have to choose, Aquavit.
5. Last time you swam in a pool? September. At my parents' place.
6. Have you ever been in a school play? Too freakin many. Before college, I was most memorable as Pedro, the rapist...oops, I mean "abductor" in Man of La Mancha. I was greased up with baby oil...not a good night.
In college...well, I was mostly backstage, but my voice was used in many productions, and I played a crooked cop in a movie. Good stuff. Moving on....
7. How many kids do you want? I'm not sure I would be a good father, but again, I have to answer, so two (a boy and a girl).
8. Type of music you dislike most? Hick-Hop. 'Nuff said.
9. Are you registered to vote? Yes, under three different names....I love this country. Oh...uh...hi Secret Service...are you enjoying my blog? Of course I'm kidding.........
10. Do you have cable? Yup. Channel upon channel of TV that I don't really watch.
11. Have you ever ridden on a moped? Yup. Even drove one once in a foggy Guinness-induced haze.
12. Ever prank call anybody? Yup. I'm a baaaaaaad monkey.
13. Ever get a parking ticket? Funny story. Uh, yes, and I once had to eat one because I lost a bet.
14. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? Sure, why not?
15. Farthest place you ever traveled? Hmm. From where? From here? Well, I guess it would be the Galapagos Islands or Germany.
16. Do you have a garden? Yup. I grow many things, but I love my roses.
17. What's your favorite comic strip? Zits. Look, I work with HIGHSCHOOL STUDENTS!
18. Do you really know all the words to your national anthem? Yes, and the Canadian Anthem as well. It pisses off the people around me at hockey games that I can sing it.
19. Best movie you've seen in the past month? One? Crash and Good Night and Good Luck.
20. Favorite pizza topping? Bacon. (I'm a bad half-Jew...thanks Dad).
21. Chips or popcorn? Where? Movies? Popcorn. Game? Chips. Home? Popcorn
22. What color lipstick do you usually wear? I'm glad you asked. None.
23. Have you ever smoked peanut shells? COUGH...COUGH. Next question.
24. Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? Yes. It was...bad.
25. Orange Juice or apple? Apple juice
26. Who was the last person you went out to dinner with and where did you dine? My wife and some of her friends went to Azia. Great food. That's ALL I'm saying.
27. Favorite type chocolate bar? I prefer Starbursts, but if you want a chocolate bar: 5th Avenue bar.
28. When was the last time you voted at the polls? Three times last November...oh...hello again Agent..uh...Mathers.
29. Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? Three nights ago. My neighbors have a huge indoor garden.
30. Have you ever won a trophy? Ja. A few. Last one was for tech work.
31. Are you a good cook? I try to be. My wife and I make a killer team.
32. Do you know how to pump your own gas? Let's see. I turn on the gas and use a lighter, right?
33. Ever order an article from an infomercial? Yup. I was drunk and ordered a George Foreman Grill back when you could only get them on TV.
34. Sprite or 7-up? Neither. Wait, It's with Seagram's? 7-up.
35. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to work? Yes. The Techie Uniform! (Also known as all black).
36. Last thing you bought at a pharmacy? Two magazines and a Coke.
37. Ever throw up in public? Yup. I was out of the hospital and threw up on the doorman of the hotel at which my parents were staying.
38. Would you prefer being a millionaire or find true love? True love. I found it. It's better than money.
39. Do you believe in love at first sight? Yes, but the feeling isn't always right. (A story for another time).
40. Ever call a 1-900 number? Yes. Won a contest too.
41. Can exes be friends? Yes, but only if the relationship doesn't end really badly.
42. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital? My father. Wait, does my doctor count?
43. Did you have a lot of hair when you were a baby? Mom? What's that? The normal amount? What does that mean?
44. What message is on your answering machine? "You've reached the Leab residence. No one can take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number, someone will get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks."
45. What's your all time favorite Saturday Night Live Character? Either Ed Grimley or Tommy Flanagan.
46. What was the name of your first pet? Mimsie Jo Frank (thanks a lot Mom).
47. What is in your wallet? Credit cards, some business cards, a picture of my wife, and an emergency key for my car.
48. Favorite thing to do before bedtime? There might be children reading this, so read.
49. What is one thing you are grateful for today? That my family is alive and well.
Namaste.

Chris Penn was Sassy's Secret Crush

Ok, this is for Pile of Sassy.

This is Chris Penn in Footloose.

And here he is twenty years later just before he died:
He was great in Reservoir Dogs.

Rest in Peace Mr. Penn.

Ramblings for the Evening (1/24/06)

Let's just get right to it.
So, without further ado: OOOOHHH DOCTOR!
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The Most Depressing Time of the Year:
So a British psychologist created a formula to decide what the most depressing day is:

[W + (D-d)] x TQ
M x NA

The equation is broken down into seven variables: (W) weather, (D) debt, (d) monthly salary, (T) time since Christmas, (Q) time since failed quit attempt of resolution (such as stop smoking, to diet, etc), (M) low motivational levels and (NA) the need to take action.

Apparently, the average equation comes out to January 24. That would be today.
With the day almost over, how was everyone's day? Mine was a giant pain in the ass, but we'll get there.
I find it fascinating, however, that many people took stock in this guy's equation.
The people who took it super seriously? Travel agents. Why? They said that today is great day to book a trip somewhere nicer (like say a $1000 cruise).
Still, I talked to both my sisters, my wife, and my mother and learned that three out of the four were not really having good days.
I myself was not aware of this equation until I started reading the paper.
So I ask again: How was your day?
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Wine Ban:
Ok, I have, for some reason, been banned from leaving comments on my fellow Aggregator neighbor Winecast. I left a comment once about screw top wines, and it was well received.
The next time I attempted to comment (and every time since) I have been told I am spam. That's right: I AM SPAM!
I cannot leave my thoughts on a nice merlot, because I'm Spam.
Fine.
So, because I cannot even leave ANY of my thoughts on the website, you, dear reader, get to read some of my thoughts on wine.
(Hopefully this does not scare you off forever from reading this little part of the blogosphere.)
I would like to give you some recommendations:
1. Domaine Laroche Chablis: Les Vaudevey. It's a little more expensive (around $40), but it has a crisp taste and firm finish.
2. Whitehaven Sauvignon Blanc (from Marlborough, New Zealand) has a clean finish and a nice citrus taste. It's a great summer wine.
3. The 2003 Alexander Valley Cabernet from Blacksmith cellars is divine. If you can find it, drink it.
4. Screw cap wines can be really good. Conundrum, for example, is a wonderful white wine in a screw cap bottle. Check it out.
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Promises, Promises:
A colleague and I were supposed to be heading to Los Angeles at the beginning of February for training. We were told, "Everything is set."
I make a hotel reservation.
I then call my sister who lives close to L.A. and say, "Hey dude, I'm going to be in Cali. We should get together."
"Awesome," she says. "I'll bring my boyfriend down. You can finally meet him."
"That would great. I can't wait to see you."
This is great. I haven't seen my sister in about a year.
Then, at about 12:30 today, I learn I'm not going to L.A.
It seems that paperwork was filed late, and the training session I was supposed to go to is now full.
What does this mean?
It means my sister is out $100.
It means that I don't get to see my sister.
It means I now have to go to Niagara Falls instead of L.A. (Another way to put this is going to 20 degree weather instead of 70 degree weather...sigh.)
Biggest issue here, however, is that I heard about this problem from a colleague. That's right. The teachers were discussing this before I heard it.
"Hey Leab, I just heard you're not going to Los Angeles. Bummer."
"Huh? Where'd you hear that?"
"Oh (insert teacher name here) told me."
It's one of the only problems of being a teacher: You're whole life is on display for your colleagues.
Plus, the place I'm staying in Niagra? Yeah, there's NOTHING THERE!
Dammit.
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Karma...She is Evil:
Poor Jason Lee.
He of My Name is Earl fame has been stricken with: Adult Onset Chicken Pox.
Because of this, production on the show has to be halted. Sure, there will be a second season (it is a funny show), but what no one is talking about is how Lee could be in trouble.
Has no one heard about the fact that getting Chicken Pox when you're an adult can be potentially fatal?
On the flip side, how funny is it that a man on a show about getting better karma is struck with Chicken Pox which makes his life worse?
Anybody think maybe Karma had something in store for Mr. Lee?
Anyone?
And finally....
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Birthday Boy:
Happy birthday to Jason DeRusha.
Everyone should write him tonight (jrderusha@wcco.com)
and wish him a happy 31.
Do it.
Right now!
Ok, not right now, but soon.
May you have a fantastic year.

That's it for this evening folks.
There may be a story tomorrow (it depends on how grading goes. I mean the semester does end in...48 hours).
Namaste.

Mail Mondays (01/23/06)

First semester is almost at an end.
The students, the teachers.... Hell, even the cleaning staff are anticipating the change that comes next week.
I didn't get a great deal of mail this week (only a few letters). That's ok though...SIGH (Oh, I'm just kidding).
Yup.
So. Mail time.
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Dear Mr. Leab,
I'm not sure what to say.
Many times over the years someone has made fun of me, but never like this.
Who uses real quotes?
You do know that while you're making fun of my acting, I DO have a building named after me at McGill.
You better be careful who you make fun of in the future. Some of us have GREAT lawyers.
Sincerely,
William Shatner

Dear Mr. Shatner,
Um.
Yeah.
I looked this over for a long time (and I only put in an excerpt. There was a whole part about having quotes out of context, etc, etc).
I was really buying it for a while, but then something struck me:
Why the hell would William Shatner write a stupid schmuck like me?
So I investigated.
It's not William Shatner.
I know who it is, and he's in trouble.
Still, he's right about one thing:
William Shatner does have a building named after him.
It's the William Shatner University Centre.
Nice work, sir.
If it really was him. I'm honored, but I REALLY doubt it.
I'm just not that important
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Leab,
You teach English, so I assume you like to read.
(Most teachers like to read.)
Recommendations for a book to read?
Reading Reader

RR,
I can name a few.
It depends on what you want to read.
Animal Farm by George Orwell is one of my favorite books of all time.
Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gold is an awesome fictional story about a real person.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams is funny...if you open up to it.
On Bullshit by Harry Frankfurt is quite brilliant.
There you go. If you want more, let me know. (See address at bottom.)
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That's all you get for tonight folks.
Want to comment, bitch at me, ask for advice (though apparently SOME people think I'm not so good in that department), or just have a question, write me. ironicteachings@hotmail.com
Have a good night.

Slander a la Leab (01/19/06)

Thursday, Thursday, Thursday.
Tomorrow brings the second sweetest day of the week: Friday.
Friday, of course, comes from the Latin word Fridas, which means freedom.*
So, seeing as it's Thursday, I bet you want slander? Do you? Huh? Huh?
Ok, I guess I can help you.
Let's get to tonight's SLANDERAMA.
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An Interview with William Shatner:
(Author's Note: Any quote followed by a # is an ACTUAL quote from Mr. Shatner and can be found at this site.)

Captain Kirk. T.J. Hooker. Denny Crane. All of these names are the alter egos of one man: William Shatner. Beloved by many nerds, this vituoso of acting, writing, and singing (two albums. How many do you have Nimoy?) was recently in town to promote his show: Boston Legal. We had the chance to catch up with Mr. Shatner.

Ironic Teachings: Thank you for agreeing to meet with us Mr. Shatner. I'm a big fan.
William Shatner: Oh for God's sake....Get a life, will you? #
IT: Fair enough. What are you doing in town?
WS: MY...new show, Boston Legal is...looking for extras in the Twin Cities. Plus, we're...not really being watched here, so we want to increase viewership.
IT: That's great. Still, my readers want to get to know the REAL William Shatner. Let's start with your...trademark way of acting.
WS: Look, first of all, Captain Kirk never burped out his lines, nor did he simply SPEAK! as IF! Every! Other! SYLlable! WAS! of DIRE! ImPORTance! # I don't DO that.
When I started out, I actually was trained...to do SHAKESPEARE. McGill (University in Toronto) still has a picture of me as Hamlet. I can still feel it now....
"TO be or NOT to be. THAT...is the question. WheTHER it is NOBLER...." Oh those were the days.
IT: Was it the famous Twilight Zone episode that got you noticed by Gene (Roddenberry)?
WS: I hate flying, flat out hate its guts. # I was able to use that hate and create the most realistic looking fear of flying ever seen on SCREEN!
IT: Please, Mr. Shatner, refrain from jumping up on your chair.
WS: Sorry. The old days get me so excited.
IT: You were on Star Trek as most people's favorite captain: James Kirk. What was that like?
WS: One of the advantages of being a captain is being able to ask for advice without necessarily having to take it.# But the best part about Kirk? That's easy. We were basically one and the same, although Jim was just about perfect, and, of course, I am perfect.# I was able to take a poorly written character, no thanks to Gene, and make him into a superstar. Not everyone knows Kirk or my other characters....
IT: Like Hooker?
WS: Right, like Hooker, but EVERYONE knows William SHATNER! Look:
I am not a Starfleet commander, or T.J. Hooker. I don't live on Starship NCC-170...or own a phaser. And I don't know anybody named Bones, Sulu, or Spock. And no, I've never had green alien sex, though I'm sure it would be quite an evening. I speak English and French, not Klingon! I drink Labatt's, not Romulan ale! And when someone says to me 'Live long and prosper', I seriously mean it when I say, 'Get a life'. My doctor's name is not McCoy, it's Ginsberg. And tribbles were puppets, not real animals. PUPPETS! And when I speak, I never, ever talk like every. Word. Is. Its. Own. Sentence. I live in California, but I was raised in Montreal. And yes, I've gone where no man has gone before, but I was in Mexico and her father gave me permission! My name is William Shatner, and I am Canadian!”#
IT: You like being a Canadian?
WS: It's ok.
IT: What makes you so loved by people?
WS: Are you asking me how do I stay so healthy and boyishly handsome? It's simple. I drink the blood of young runaways.#
IT: I see. Do you have any mantras or thoughts on life you'd like to share with the people?
WS: Sure.
1. Stop and smell the garlic! That's all you have to do.#
2. Remember-you can't beam through a force field. So, don't try it.#
3. Don't just shove food into your mouth. Taste the flavor exploding in your mouth. Appreciate the texture. Honor your food with the time you take.#
4. Babies have big heads and big eyes, and tiny little bodies with tiny little arms and legs. So did the aliens at Roswell! I rest my case.#
I think that will cover most of it.
IT: Tell me about the singing.
WS: I love singing. I am actually preparing for my third album right now.
IT: Have you ever had a hit?
WS: One. In the world that we inhabit, having one hit is a lot better than having no hits.#
IT: Um, you never had a hit song. You had a hit show, and a hit movie, but no songs.
WS: What about "Mr. Tambourine Man"?
IT: Peaked at 90, sir.
WS: No. NOOOOOOO! KHAN!
IT: Mr. Shatner, stop that please!
WS: I'm............................sorry. I lost my head there for a second.
IT: You mentioned a third album?
WS: Yes, I wanted to cross over. I've done rock, rap, country, and even techno. So what do you think is left?
IT: I don't know. What?
WS: Show tunes. I want to do a whole album of Sondheim.
IT: I have no response to that, sir.
WS: It'll be great. I could be like a male Streisand.
IT: All right, let's shift gears here. You just sold your Kidney Stone for $25,000. Why?
WS: The money goes to charity. My stone is forever enshrined at a casino for EVERYONE to see.
IT: I see. Well Mr. Shatner, I'd like to thank you for your time and wish you continued luck in your career.
WS: Thank you...whatever your name is.
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Well, that's your slander for this week. Hopefully the Shatner fans out there won't come after me with guns blazing.
Have a good night, folks.
Namaste.
*Of course this is a lie. Did you really even need to check here?

Story Time with Uncle Leab: Furry Children

You get two posts today, folks. Joy.
During my sophomore year of college, I was with my Ex (I never use her name, I just refer to her as, "my Ex.") walking around the neighborhood we both lived in (I was at 6652, she was at 6625). As we stroll around the neighborhood, we find this cat all alone with no tags. Now, I know better than my Ex, but she doesn't listen to me.
"Honey, it belongs to someone. Let it go home."
"No," she says, "It's a lost cat. We can take care of it. It can be OURS."
"But it IS someone else's cat."
We start walking away, but this cat, a beautiful Chartreux, follows us.
"See?" she says.
"It's just wanting attention. Keep moving."
We do, but the cat follows us ALL the way back to her apartment. So, we take the cat in for the night. However, we need to go get a litter box and cat food I am told. So we do, and the cat stays with us for that night. The next morning, as I leave for class, the cat comes outside with me and bolts across the way to another apartment complex. I watch as this cat climbs the fire escape and scratches at a window. My Ex and I had been played. The cat was just looking for a free meal.
I relayed this information to my Ex that evening.
"I want a kitten."
"I'm sorry," I say. "Could you repeat that?"
"I WANT a KITTEN," she tells me forcefully.
"Uh-huh. Is it going to stay with you?"
"No," she tells me. "Libby (her roommate, but not her real name) is allergic. I thought it could stay at your place."
"Um...."
Obviously my Ex could tell I was not really in favor, so she started telling me about how I had more space then she did in my apartment (I was in a whopping 500 square foot apartment, she and Libby were in a three bedroom 1,200 square foot apartment). I was young, stupid, and in love. I made a poor decision.
"All right. We'll go tomorrow and get a kitten."
I had never owned an animal by myself before. While other kids had a turtle, or fish, or whatever, I shared a dog with my other family members. Usually my mother took care of the pets. She was used to them. We have bad luck in my family when it comes to dogs. Over the course of my life, my family has owned nine dogs. They were unlucky. A few run over, some cancer here and there, and one that my mother hated so much she put a concrete slab over where he was buried. This dog was the only dog I have ever seen walk up to my father and pee on him. Funny, but also dangerous.
When it came to cats, however, there were only ever two. Cats are incredibly easy to take care of and very independent. Still, I had never really had a pet that was just mine.
The next morning, I read in the paper about an animal shelter that was bringing cats for adoption to a pet store. Armed with this knowledge, we headed to that store in the afternoon. It was surprisingly empty. Most people did not want to adopt a cat (no, they wanted puppies).
I head to the back with my Ex and look at the place where these kittens are supposed to be.
Inside of a glass case with three levels is a small grey and white kitten and an orange tabby kitten.
"LOOK AT THE ORANGE ONE!!!!" My Ex screams so loud a child turns and looks at us.
"He's cute, but I like the other one. He seems playful."
It's at this point the Humane Society member, who has been lurking, sweeps in to me.
"You know," the gal says, "if you get both, they can play with each other instead of the furniture. They'll take care of each other, which means you won't have to worry."
"That sounds great," my Ex says.
I was not sure, however. The gal from the Humane Society could tell I was wavering.
"Look," she says. "You adopt these two cats, and I'll do this: This cat (the grey one) full adoption price. This one will be halved."
I don't want two cats. "I'm still not sure."
My Ex could tell what the problem was. "Look, graduation is only a few months away. I'll take the orange one with me when I go, and you can keep the grey one."
That sounded good, but I wanted more from the Humane Society (yeah, I'm going to Hell).
"Ok," I said. "Throw in two bowls, some food, and a litter box, and you got a deal."
"Great!" she says.
The gal opens the case and hands the tabby to my Ex, who squeals with delight. Then she takes out the grey one. As he leaving, a little black head appears and mews at me.
"I didn't see this one," I say.
"Oh. These three came in together," the gal tells me.
Immediately, I am wracked with emotion (it sucks, let me tell you).
I don't want three cats. I don't really even want two, but I get this feeling I cannot split them up.
The black cat mews again. My heart rips itself into pieces at that sound and then comes together again.
"What about the black one?" I ask.
"Weeeelll," the gal starts. "How about this? You pay full adoption fees on the grey one, half on the orange one, none on the black one, aannnnnd you get a free food bowl, but you have to pay for litter, litter box, and food. I will, however, pay for your first vet visit."
I mull it over.
My Ex is giddy at this point and squeezing my hand so hard it might break.
"Deal."
It's at this moment, on October 10th, 1997, I become a pet owner.
The first few months would be difficult but very fun. All three cats stayed with me at my little apartment.
It wasn't long before hair was on my clothes, and people who dropped by would lift their noses to the air and say, "You have cats, don't you?"
My father was worried sick about it. "He's a theatre major who owns cats? That's not good."
It was amazingly fun watching this little beings with giant heads scurrying around my apartment. They would all cuddle with me in the bed and would lie all over each other all the time.
Their names were hard to come by. My Ex and I argued, and I was able to strike a compromise: I would name two of them, she would name the one she was to take with her (the orange cat). She had her name right away. The orange cat became Oscar, named after her uncle.
I named the grey cat Ulysses (yes, I am a bibliophile).
The black cat was given the name Sam Spade (still a bibliophile).
I even came up with ways to remember their names.
Oscar the Orange was a mighty viking.
Sam Spade wore a black trenchcoat.
Ulysses S. Grant fought the Grey Coats.
Yes, I am a nerd.
The plan stopped working when my Ex graduated. Instead of taking Oscar, she looked at me and said, "I only liked him when he was a kitten. Now, he's not pretty anymore."
Thus I was left with three cats.
Many of my friends would joke we were like The Brady Bunch.
This is the story of a man named Leab
Who was bringing up three boys on his own.
All of them were really hairy, like their father.
The youngest one was grey.
I heard it a great deal. It was funny, but slightly annoying the six hundredth time.
I have now had my cats for almost nine years. My wife graciously accepted the fact I had cats. When we started dating, she had lovebirds, but she gave them up for the cats. They love her as much I do. In fact, Ulysses cares for her more than me.
They say cats cannot think, but survive on instinct alone. I disagree. I have seen my cats work up plans.
I once was so drunk that my cats talked to me about life and what I was doing wrong.
Let me introduce you to them:
Ulysses:
The unquestioned alpha cat. He is now totally my wife's cat. She calls, he runs.
My wife likes to say he is the most human of the three. He's done the following:
1. Learned how to open doors. It's creepy, but he can reach up and turn a handle.
2. Tries to use silverware. We had fish the other night. He really wanted some, so he started pawing at my wife's fork in order to try and use it. It's still the damnedest thing I have ever seen.
3. Gets in the shower. This is a cat. Cats usually hate water. He's not super keen on it, but he'll try to shower with me most mornings. I think he just wants the attention.
4. He goes limp like a baby when you pick him up. He loves being held by my wife.
The greatest Ulysses story deals with when he tried to catch a bird. My wife and I were living in a second floor apartment in Brooklyn Center and used to let our cats out on the balcony. A bird lands on the railing, and Ulysses REALLY wants it. SO he jumps...and misses. He plunges down to the ground. My wife sees this and freaks out. She bolts out the door and runs to the front of the building. Ulysses is fine. He's just obviously mad at missing the bird. She brings him in the building, where another tenant brings out her dog, he freaks out and bolts up the steps. The owner pulls the dog outside. Ulysses, still panicked, runs away from my wife's loving arms and bolts back down the steps to try and get back outside. One problem: it's a glass door. Though I wasn't there, my wife tells me it was the ultimate accordian cat. He crumpled up and then expanded again. Still, he wasn't willing to show he was in pain, so he tried to play it off. That's this cat.
Oscar:
This is the trickster cat and the beautiful one. My nickname for him is The EVIL Cat! If it's Saturday, and I'm trying to sleep, he'll be there to wake me up.
If I'm, oh let's say, typing, he has to get into my lap. This cat has to be whereever I am. As I sit at my computer right now, he is the chair next to me sleeping. Should I leave to do anything, he'll follow.
When I wake up in the morning and go to shower, he is already sitting on the sink. He drinks from the faucet for a few seconds and then takes off (usually when Ulysses comes in to hop in the shower).
Oscar is the cat my Ex was supposed to take and, indeed, when I first got him, he was with her all the time. He slept on her side of the bed and would always want her to feed him.
Now, he's mine. It's kind of ironic.
Oscar is also the troublemaker. He doesn't want fighting, but when it starts, he jumps in and makes things worse. He likes to pick on Sam a great deal, which is unfortunate.
And finally,
Sam:
He is the most cat-like of the three cats. I know, that sounds odd, but Sam is afraid of new people, lies around all day on the bed, and pretty much avoids the other cats. He also, unlike the other two, is desperate to be outside all the time. Even when it's raining, snowing, or freezing, he finds a way to walk around outside. The others will hang back, but he blazes the trail.
Sam is the biggest of the three cats. (He's a whopping 20 pounds, but seems to be all muscle, which kinda frightens me at times.) However, he is the only cat that can go anywhere near my neighbors' cats. Again, I don't know why, but he can approach them. The other cats get hissed at and occasionally swatted.
I knew Sam was special the moment he attacked a Doberman Pincher. I know what you're thinking. "Oh my God, Leab, that's awful." It's not what you think.
When I lived in St. Louis, the guy across the alley from me owned a Doberman. This dog was mean. Well, one night while the cats were in my yard, the guy's dog gets away and comes right at my cats. While Oscar and Ulysses bolt for the house, Sam just stands there. The dog approaches, and Sam whacks him. It's almost like Cat-Fu. He just hits this dog full force in the nose, and the dog stops. I am finally able to pick up Sam at this point. The dog (his name was Brute, pronounced Bruteh) is still standing there feeling his nose.
Like I said before, I'm coming up on nine years of owning these cats. I love them. They take care of me, and I of them. If I've had a horrible day, they're there for me when I walk in the door.
I used to be a dog person, but now, I'm not sure I'll ever own a dog. I didn't want these cats when I first saw them.
Now, I'm not sure I can really be happy without them.
So it goes.

Acting Out

Frustration.
It's the hardest feeling to deal with at any given time.
We may not understand love, but the feeling of love makes us elated. Anger can fuel us to do amazing things (like build an entire set in a night).
Frustration, however, weighs on us. It invades every pore of our being and pulls us down to the ground. I feel like Gulliver lashed to the land.
(Incidentally, the picture...makes me think of Tom with his computer at work.) So why am I frustrated?
It started out as anger, but it became frustration due to reponse. Let me explain:
I'm the Tech Theatre guy at my school. My college degree is in lighting, I have a grasp of sound, and I can design and build a set (though non-warped wood would be nice...I'm just saying). When a show comes up, I am expected to be on call. Fine. Currently, there are two shows running at once. This means two different sound setups, two different lighting setups, and two different stage setups. So today, I had to run back and forth between the booth and backstage to get everything for show 1 ready. Between that, and coverage, dealing with a fellow faculty member who was talking my ear off, and a person unwilling to work with me, I started feeling that tug on the back of my brain. Frustration was waking up in my head and stretching out.
When setup 2 came, it got worse. With only a few minutes to put that show together, only a few students actually listened or even moved. As I'm jumping off the tops of ladders trying to move quickly and help them, I see students just standing there. I ask them to help me, and they just look at me as I'm talking to them in Russian. Fine. I get it done, but frustration is now awake in my brain and having coffee. Before the show starts, I explain, "No one leave afterward, we need to put everything back."
With no one to run the opening, I have to bolt back up to the booth and get the lights ready and going. I'm lucky at this point because there is one person who ends taking over the board for a few minutes, but still: my knee is throbbing, my back is killing me, and not a single person has talked to me other than to say, "We have to get the set up." or, "Make sure you hit the blackout at...."
So, show 2 ends, and I ask for help in getting the stage back to setup 1. Not much is needed for this, just clearing the stage. So, I end up watching as almost everyone leaves. Frustration now sticks out it's arms and grabs my spine slowly working toward my stomach. There are only a few students left now. A couple actually help me, but most just sit there and watch. Even after asking for help, they just sit there. Frustration starts to fill my stomach and make it feel like lead. My entire body is now slumping because of the new weight. Two students and myself are doing all the work.
In an attempt to calm myself down and remove the feelings I was having, I ducked into the scene shop. We call it a scene shop, but realistically, it's nothing more than a closet. Now, when I was in high school, I was part of a crew (of three) that made sure to go to the shop at our school and clean it up once a week. Tools were put in their proper place, paint check, trash taken care of, and floors cleaned. It would like this picture. We took pride in it, and we made sure it was always easy to get into and get what we needed.
As I walked into the shop today, I was mortified. Tools strewn about the floor, trash EVERYWHERE, and, worst of all, things were missing. Last year, I bought several hundred dollars worth of tools for the department. I made a clear edict: when not in use, the tools go in their cases and are stored. This has not been happening. What's worse? All the drills I got are now missing. I presume stolen as the shop has been left unlocked several times, unbeknowst to me. Having seen this, the feeling of frustration took over almost all my body, but I kept fighting against it. What finally put me over the edge was the most simple thing: I did not get a single thank you for the amount of work I did. Nothing. I gave up my prep period for one show. Nothing. I gave up my lunch for the other. Nothing. So, realizing this, frustration took over my whole body, and I snapped. Did I yell at the students? No. I would prefer not to do that. I know they haven't taken care of the theatre, but I'm just as guilty for not pushing them to do so. No, I just told them to leave. I kicked them out of the theatre so I could clean up without them around and then search for my missing tools. I never found them, though I was tipped on where to look (and need to talk to a few people tomorrow).
I eventually overcame my frustration by breathing and, honestly, by teaching the fourth hour class. Concluding Cloud Nine allowed me to turn my frustration into sarcasm then into humor. Laughing is always the best way to overcome and negative emotion. We take in more air which then makes us feel better. It sounds strange, but for some reason it works.
I know they mean well, but damn. When you do favors or bust your ass for someone, all you ask is for two words. I didn't say anything when I bought tools for them. I didn't say anything when I stayed late and skipped classes to build them sets. I didn't even say anything when I called in sick in order to spend a full day painting or building or whatever. I'm saying something now, because I watched almost a full class of students twiddle their thumbs while a few people did all the work. Then they gave me grief.
Maybe I'm off base. I don't know. I just know that my freshman, who sometimes act like idiots, thank me for working with them.
Then again, what do I know? I'm just some schmuck teacher, folks. I could be wrong.

Ramblings for the Evening (1/17/06)

Oy vey everybody.
Long weekends are REALLY hard to bounce back from in schools. Students sometimes haven't seen each other or talked to each other so they talk and talk and talk. My first hour was insane trying to keep them quiet and work on multi-paragraph essays.
Still, fourth hour today...very odd. I'll get to that. There's so much fun stuff going on in the world.
So, without further ado: A COW...ONSTAGE?!
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Axing Reporters:
Now, I'm not one for going after reporters (I mean, one of my most loyal readers is a local reporter), but after seeing this story, I don't think I would blame the guy for grabbing a chair and administering a beatdown. Check it out and let me know what you think.
Now, this leads to my next question: What the worst thing you've ever seen a reporter do? Let me clarify: on air. I don't want to hear about Geraldo and hookers. Old news. What do I mean? Well, here's an example:
I went to college in St. Louis. Now, Fox 2 in St. Louis had a reporter out in University City (actually down the street from where I lived at the time) doing a story about the aftermath of an ice storm. The reporter is walking down the sidewalk to show how bad the ice is. This is live. Think DeRusha in November at that Best Buy. I wish I could remember the name of the reporter, but it was a guy. He's walking LIVE on the nightly news and loses his footing. His hand shoots out to try and catch something. Instead, he punches threw a car window, thereby breaking his hand and setting off a car alarm. What made it better was the fact that the lights around him shot on as concerned college students thought it was THEIR cars being broken into by some maniac. The camera guy cuts the feed, and the audience is left seeing the two anchors who look shellshocked. The male anchor says, "Oh jeez, I sure hope he's ok." The female anchor, however, is desperately trying not to burst out laughing. They moved to the next story with the male anchor doing all the work. The female anchor suddenly disappeared. Gotta love Missouri.
Another one I remember which is similar to the Leaning Tower story (again click on the link and thanks to Rick for that), was a guy in New York setting up dominoes for charity. A reporter stepped in the wrong place and started them going. Now, they were lucky the guy who set up the dominoes had in fact put in protective dividers. Still, when it was done, the reporter looked at Domino Man (his given title for this job) and DM said, "You need to leave right now." Classic.
Anyone seen something similar?
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We the Jury Find the Defendant...NOOOOOOO:
Ok, so I couldn't think of a better title for this. In essence, a TWO year old was brought in for jury duty. Now a few things bother me about this:
1. The reason she was summoned was because the census information about her was incorrect. It had July 4, 1776 as her birthday. That would make her 230 YEARS OLD! Would you really want that person on your jury? If I had a 230 year old coming in, that person would be a teacher. Ok, ignore the census for a second then and let's move on to....
2. She gets a 16 year reprieve (insert fake laughter here). I get hatemail about my humor and this judge gets a laugh on the news? Fine. Moving on....
3. Would this girl really be any worse than typical juror? Seriously:
A. Free daycare for mom and dad. SCORE!
B. Other jurors usually act like two-year olds. She has an excuse.
C. It might expedite the process. "Your Honor. We have a verdict."
"You only met for a few minutes. How?"
"Well Your Honor, we couldn't take all the 'NOOOOOO' from Juror 8. We decided to give into her...oh and she needs a change and a nap."
Maybe it's just me, but wouldn't that be a great way to punish kids? No detention, you get jury duty. Enjoy! Or is that too mean?
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Shatner's Stoned:
Ok, William Shatner sold his kidney stone to Goldenpalace.com (I'm not linking to them. Just type it in, Lazy) for $25,000. Let me think about that for a second.......I'm sorry, my brain just died a little. This is a kidney stone, ladies and gentlemen. For all intents and purposes, it's substances that break off from urine and crystalize in the kidney. Yes, they hurt. Kidney stones and gall stones are apparently the closest in terms of pain a man can get to actually understanding the pain of birth (so swears my doctor). There are two different aspects of trouble here. So let's hit them one at a time:
1. William Shatner: Oh, Captain Kirk. You won an Emmy recently. You did put out two albums ("Mr....Tambourine....Man.......Playasongforme! KHAN!"), and you are an accomplished writer.
Still, selling your kidney stone? I applaud that MOST of the money is going to charity, but still, sir, you're supposed to be better than this. What's next? Will Captain Kirk sell his sperm like Vincent Gallo? (Don't even get me started on Gallo...Bastard. Brown Bunny was basically a giant excuse for him to get a blowjob from Chloe Sevigny, and his demands to "buy" his sperm are ridiculous. Don't believe me? Check it out. Bottom of the page.) You wanted $100,000 for the damn thing. You probably would have gotten it from some rich Star Trek fan, but you decided to sell to the Golden Palace instead. Nice work. Now...
2. Golden Palace: You're a real piece of work. Let's review:
You bought a cane that was supposedly haunted by its former owner.
You bought a cheese sandwich which supposedly had the Virgin Mary in it. (And I'm sorry, but I see Rita Hayworth. Is that wrong?)
You paid a woman to have your logo TATOOED to her forhead.
You have paid SEVERAL women and men to streak sporting events in your name.
You bought a species of monkey...ok then.
And, my personal favorite:
You bought a woman's baby's name. Yes, you did pay her $15,000, but now this kid is forever named Goldenpalace.com. I sense therapy in the future. (Oh, and I haven't forgotten about you, Melissa. You tell people to call her Goldie. I can't wait to see the marriage invite....)
Have we become so desperate for money that we will let companies like Golden Palace buy our bodies, minds, and souls?
And finally....
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Cloud Nine (Or where the boys are women, and the women are men...yeah:
Two years in a row I have taught the play Cloud Nine to the Theatre IB class. Both classes LOVED the play. Honestly, part of me is shocked, and part of me isn't.
For those of you who don't know the play, here's a quick summary:
The play starts in 1879 in Imperial Africa. We have men playing men, men playing women, and women playing boys. Oh, and a white man playing a black servant (I love Theatre of the Absurd...look it up). Now, as the characters go through the ideas of colonialism and gender roles (and their inequality), many sexcapades ensue. Married people cheat, boys play with dolls and love their "uncles". As one students explained it today (or maybe it was me, I don't remember) this has everything but "Man on Goat" action. (Cue walk a chicken.)
Now, in the second act, everything changes. The play jumps forward a hundred years to 1979, but, the characters only age...25 years.
While things have gotten "looser" than the Victorian era, Caryl Churchill (the playwright) suggests that things haven't changed as much as people think. While women and homosexuals have gained more favor, men still rule the world.
Now, I like some of Churchill's work, because she influenced by Bertolt Brecht (look it up. I can't do it all for you). This means her work is off-kilter. The whole "Butter scene" in Vinegar Tom is poignant, hysterical, disgusting all at once.
So why do the students like this play? It's outrageous. It's full of sex and swearing. It also does something that Shakespeare (at this point) has stopped doing: the play challenges them. Instead of nice neat package, the students are given a Rubic's Cube of a play. Several students commented to me about how they want to do Cloud Nine for their Spring play. While I'm all for it (I love challenging material), I somehow cannot see the district or even the school giving us the go. It's too bad.
Check out the play. Seriously. Go and get some culture. It's a real thinker.
That's all I got for tonight.
Namaste.
Ok, ok. Here's a kitten, you gluttons.

Ok, I just wanted to see if I could make you laugh.
Here's a real kitten:

Mail Mondays (01/16/06)

Ok, so we came back early.
The weather sucks, and, with the Wild down and both of us out of it, we left early. I've only walked out of one game before tonight. The St. Louis Blues gave up six goals in the first period. It was over.
I've also only ever walked out of one film. Go ahead and try and guess it (send you ideas to ironicteachings@hotmail.com).
So, how about some mail?
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Leab,
You really aren't funny. I bet you're the kind of guy who tells a joke and then laughs at it.
I bet you think you're really funny, don't you funny guy?
Is that why you started copying Slanderous Minneapolis?
You're not funny.
A New Reader

Dear New Reader,
Nope. I make fun of myself a great deal. Much of my humor is self-deprication. Why? It's funny because it's true.
I started doing the slander on Thursdays, because I miss Slanderous Minneapolis. To me, it's one of the funniest sites I have ever read. Very smart, yet bitchy.
The whole "You're not funny" thing. I'm an acquired taste like (insert your food item here). Ask the students I work with on a daily basis. I make some of them laugh hysterically, but not right off the bat. At first, I was "really weird." Later on, it was "tee hee, you're sorta funny." Now they can laugh.
Sorry if you don't like it. Don't come back then. Think of my blog as a restaurant. Don't like the service? Not a fan of the food? Hate the decor? Don't return then. Put it in the "Oh God, never again" pile.
Don't come back over and over and then bitch. That's just silly.
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Leabenstein,
Are your three cats named after authors?
I mean, you ARE an English teacher.
Jumpin' Jiminy

JJ,
Nope. Good guess though.
You'll have to wait.
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Leab,
Are you aware that the mouse story was fake?
Frankie V.

Frankie,
Yeah, it saddens me that this gentleman would make up such a great story just to cover the fact he may have burned down his own house.
I just loved the idea of a kamikazee mouse taking this man's house as revenge.
Oh well.
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Leab
Red or white?
Don

Don,
Uh, I am assuming you mean wine. Otherwise...uh...I have no idea what it could be. I prefer white. Not because I'm a snob, not because red makes me feel sick. I just like the taste of white better.
Granted if I'm going to eat red meat, it's red wine (I'm not a heathen, you know). However, if I'm going to have wine for the sake of wine, I would open a bottle of Whitehaven Sauvignon Blanc. It's buttery, but has a hint of fruit taste to it. Very nice. Otherwise it's Toasted Head Chardonnay. Ah, Toasted Head. It's a wine I originally picked up for it's label. I mean a flaming spitting bear? That's freaking awesome. I know that's not really a reason to pick up a wine (I'm expecting the guys at Winecast to continue banning me as spam because of what I just said), but I got lucky. It ended up being an affordable wine that was quite tasty. Try it and let me know what you think. (ironicteachings@hotmail.com)
If you want ideas of wines for pairings, let me know. Always happy to help.
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That's it for this week.
Tomorrow, Ramblings about things such as the two year old jurist and Wednesday brings a story about my cats.
Hope you like it. Otherwise I may jump off a cliff *
Namaste
*An empty threat...or is it? It is...isn't it? Sure...perhaps...no it is.

Monday, Monday

Sorry, boys and girls.
It's monday, so we should have Mail Mondays, buuuut I'm tired, going to a hockey game, and really busy prepping for second semester.
So here's a puppy.
Have a nice night.

Quick Fix (01/12/06)

Ok, so here's a quick image to make you laugh.
Regardless of how you feel about Brokeback Mountain (and many people are chiming in with their feelings), this poster, for anyone who grew up in the 80s, is hysterical. I could imagine a whole line of these with Cobra Commander and one of the G.I. Joes, or two of the Transformers.
Enjoy.

Slander a la Leab (01/12/06)

The triumphant return of Slander a la Leab. Why do I hear crickets...and an echo? Wow, that's weird.
Oh well, let's get to tonight's SLANDERAMA!
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Camp Fox 9
With the demise of Camp Snoopy coming in just a week, a new suitor has already swooped into the Mall of America and bought the camp. Preparations have begun on the new FOX 9 CAMP FOR KIDS.
That's right.
Not content with creating buzz via the blimp, Fox 9 wants to start grabbing younger viewers.
"We've been number one with adults in the Twin Cities," Jeff Passolt remarked, but it's time to start doing what Big Tobacco does: Grab them while they're young!"
To that end, the Fox Corp has bought out the park and is in the process of designing or renaming current rides.
The Twister is going to be renamed The Fair and Balanced Coaster. "The news can twist and turn with every fact or secret learned," Passolt commented. "This ride will show that."
The log run is going to be removed. In it's place will be a giant water slide on the back of a giant replica of Passolt's head. Riders will climb up the side and then ride down the back into a giant pool of creamy water.
"It's supposed to be like the hair gel he puts in his hair," co-anchor Robyne Robinson commented. "They'll see what I deal with everyday. Have you ever picked up the copy after he's touched his hair? It's NASTY!"
The merry go-round will be stripped and re-covered in Robinson designed jewelry. It's new name will be Rox Go-Round. In addition, riders will be able to purchase jewelry right off the ride. That's getting the kids AND parents involved. Something they can even share.
Other areas include:
The Chef Andrew Zimmern Chowhounds! stage. Kids can learn how to cook their favorite foods and bully restaurants into free meals. Every Friday night the Chowhounds! show will come from the stage with audience participation.
Janie Peterson Weather Center where kids can fire snow, rain, or even hail at each other. Oh, and they can also learn how weather works...and stuff.
The Fox 9 Minnesota Sports Area. Just like the real Minnesota teams, there's enough flash and pizzaz to make you think it's going to be good. Then the lack of spending disappoints and sends the kids home angry and cursing professional sports. Nothing like getting kids to understand the real Minnesota sports scene.
And, to tie them to the parent corporation, the Bill O'Reilly Virtual Desk.
The park expects to be ready to open sometime in March.

Fun With Lists (Part Drei) 01/11/06

I had a list thrown at me in my mail this morning. I do have a story, which I'll get to later, but I thought this list was pretty funny. So, enjoy, and please, feel free to use it as well. I have searched this list and found it on multiple blogs, so others have definitely done it first.
A is for age: A lady never tells her age. Wait...I'm a guy! Damn! 27.
B is for Booze of choice: Wine. White wine to be exact. You need names? Sigh. Toasted Head Chardonnay, Whitehaven Sauvignon Blanc, and Conundrum White Table Wine. Damn...now I need a glass. Excuse me.
C is for career: I'm a teacher. Yup. High school English teacher. I'm the one that you end up either loving or hating by the time you leave. I also do tech work, but that's another issue all together.
D is for your dog's name: No dog, folks. I like to travel, and that's hard with a dog. I have three cats, however. They would be Oscar, Sam, and Ulysses. Good luck trying to figure out where the names come from, folks. (Mmmm. Smells like a challenge.)
E is for essential items you use everyday: Hmm. How to answer this.... Pants? Hmm. Ok, Two bottles of water, a computer, a pen (usually purple), annnnd sarcastic wit. The last one is the most essential.
F is for favorite song at the moment: Right now? Hmm. Ok, there's two:
1. Overkill by Colin Hay (the acoustic version of the Men at Work tune.
2. Lovetown by Peter Gabriel.
G is for favorite games: Trivial Pursuit, The Tick Boardgame, Blackjack, and The Movies.
H is for hometown: New York, New York, it's a hell of a town! Though my parents now live in a small town in Connecticut now.
I is for instruments you play: Cello, then Bass Guitar.
J is for jam or jelly you like: Can I answer this with music? Yes? No? Hello?
K is for Kids: Not yet. I sure hope they look like my wife....
L is for last kiss: Hang on....2 seconds ago.
M is for most admired trait: You tell me. Hang on. "Honey...." She says my humor and my heart. I trust her.
N is for the name of your crush: My beautiful wife.
O is for overnight hospital stays: I had a concussion in high school and had to be observed. When I was seven, I had to have several teeth removed at once (some of which were located almost inside my jaw. I apparently did two things wrong that day:
1. I was told to count down from 20 when the anesthesia started. I managed to do it. Then I was told to go from 100 and made it to around 50. The doctors thought it was weird.
2. I was injected with a chemical to calm me down. It didn't work, and entertained the doctors. I'm told "Like mother, like son." Awesome.
P is for phobias: None really. Oh wait! Umm...uuhhhh. Nope.
Q is for quotes you like: "The reasonable man attempts to adapt himself to the world. The unreasonable man attempts to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." -Ralph Waldo Emerson.
R is for biggest regret: I would say it was my first Ex, but she taught me a great deal about life.
S is for sweets of your choice: Twizzlers.
T is for the time you wake up:6:02 am CST. At least that's when the alarm goes off. Sometimes I'm in bed for it, most times I'm already up. I love insomnia.
U is for underwear: Boxers. Yup. I was briefs until high school, then I wised up.
V is for vegetable you love: Carrots. I love em (using love here folks). Broccoli too. Just started getting into asparagus. My sister once ate SO many carrots that she had an orange tint. That's awesome.
W is for worst habit: I'm really blunt, I like to joke around, and I have no problem telling people about their issues when I see them struggling with the same problems I used to have.
X is for x-rays you've had: Are we including MRI or CT scans? If so then the entire body. Mouth, knees, arms, legs, feet, head, etc.
Y is for yummy food you make: We cook a great deal. Mostly from Rachael Ray's books. Favorite dish would have to be what I made for my wife on our second date: Swiss Chicken with rice, carrots, and hot fudge cupcakes.
Z is for zodiac sign: Scorpio! Water sign, baby. Those of you who understand and/or believe in the zodiac will love this: I married a Sagittarius. Mull over that one for a while.

Ramblings for the Evening (01/10/06)

Tuesday.
Tomorrow is hump day (for those of you with a high school mind, that's another term for Wednesday).
I have to tell you, I love the sitemeter.
Looking over the number of people who looked for Sherno today, I found a few people had been to the blog by searching for, "Mr. Leab's Blog."
What does this tell me? It means more students have been googling my name.
Am I nervous? Does this face look nervous?
How about we get to tonight's ramblings. It's short.
So, without further ado: PUNCH IT!
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It's like the Necronomicon:
Anyone who reads this blog a fan of H.P Lovecraft? Ok, then how about Ash from the Evil Dead series? I'm betting for more of you it's the latter. There's nothing wrong with that. I, myself, am a big fan of the Evil Dead series.
For those of you unfamiliar with the series (or with Lovecraft), the films revolve around The Necronomicon, or the Book of the Dead. Essentially, the book, which is, "written in blood and bound in human skin," has the power to raise the dead (called Deadites...seriously). Now, throughout the three films, Ash, played by Bruce Campbell, has to deal with his friends being possessed, his friends (and girlfriend) dying, and with a malevolent demon that casts him back in time. While the first film was supposed to be horror, the lack of budget actually made it quite funny. The direcetor, Sam Raimi, was able to capitalize on this and made two sequels that were both cult hits and quite funny. For example, the best gag in Evil Dead 2 finds Ash (our hero) having to cut off his hand (which has been possessed. Just go with it). Now, his hand attacks him, etc, etc. He grabs his cut off hand and beats it with a book, then throws it in a trash can and throws that book on top of it. The book? A Farewell to Arms. How brilliant is that?
At this point you're asking: "Leab, why the hell are you talking about this? What's the deal?"
Well, I read an article today about a bunch of books in Brown's library that are bound in human skin. That's right, boys and girls, human skin of the "bring out your dead" variety.
Does it make sense? Sure. Bibliophiles, if you're out there, back me up.
Skin makes a great binding because of it's ability to last. When we embalm a person, the fluid keeps the skin from rotting. Binding a book in the 1500s was probably the same way.
Even better? The books Brown has are medical texts. It works out perfectly.
There are several people who have picked up the text and freaked out at the fact it's made from us (IT'S PEOPLE!!!). I asked my wife:
"Honey, would you ever pick up a book made of skin?"
"What? Ewwwwww."
"Oh come on. How is that really any different from leather?"
"It's people."
"Yeah, but it's not like they went to a prisoner and flayed him, then threw the skin on a book. They probably tanned it, and such."
"It doesn't matter."
See, even rationally thinking people are frightened by it.
I'm not, but then again, maybe it's just me....
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You know what? That's going to be it for the night.
Tomorrow, I'll tell another story...maybe. I've noticed story time doesn't generate any comments (or real mail). One student did ask me today if I was almost married (yup).
Still, that student also has goyum issues. It works out.
Until tomorrow.
Namaste.

Ramblings for the Evening (01/09/06)

I know, I know, dear reader, it's Monday, and usually it means mail time, but I was unhappy with the mail I received this week. Mostly angry mail, which isn't worth even repeating (lot of the "you'll burn in Hell, yada, yada, yada" kind of mail).
So, I present a special monday ramblings. Love it or leave it.
So, without further ado: GRASSHOPPER!
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The Legality of Stamp Scalping:
On Sunday, the post office went to its new 39 cent stamp. Dozens of people stormed the post offices around the metro area attempting to pick up 1 and 2 cent stamps. I...was one of those schmoes. That's right, at 11:30 am on Saturday, I stood in a long line that reached out my post office's door. What was amazing to me was how people reacted in that line. Why does the post office lower our manner and tolerance levels? As we intrepid postal customers braved the 40 degree weather in order to use our remaining stamps (such cheapskates we are), the man at the front of the line made a large purchase. "That'll be 200 dollars, please," the clerk said.
After a quick transaction, the clerk whispered something to another clerk. A small pow-wow took place. Suddenly three pieces of paper were produced from behind the counter:
"We're sorry for the inconvenience, but we no longer have 1 or 2 cent stamps."
All hell broke loose among the crowd.
"I've been here for a half an hour! How could you run out of stamps?!"
"What the hell, lady?!"
"I think I pooped my pants!" (This wasn't said, but the woman behind me smelled like she did.)
"What do I do now?"
Murmurs arose as the back of line started breaking off and going toward the man who had the 200 dollar purchase.
Slowly what happened dawned on those of us toward the front of the line: The man had bought ALL of the 1 and 2 cent stamps this post office had.
After purchasing some 39 cent stamps (I always buy the Breast Cancer Stamps. Do some good, people), I made my way outside only to see the guy who had bought the stamps standing across the street. I had some time to kill (my lovely but sick wife was passed out at the time), so I went over to see what the hub-bub around this guy was.
A large crowd had gathered around him, and as I stepped on the curb, I found out why.
"1 cent stamps are 5 cents, and 2 cent stamps are a dime."
That's right. He was selling stamps at a higher price, and he was making that profit.
Now, I don't know the rules, but I assume (someone correct me if I'm wrong) selling stamps at a higher price is...what's the word...hmmm...oh yeah...ILLEGAL!
Seriously, how horrible is it to prey on the people who don't think about how they're being gouged?
I know, you're thinking, "Leab, if they're stupid, it's they're own damn fault. I mean look at Benny Hinn's followers."
Well, you're right, but it's still preying upon older people who may not be able to make the leap between the price gouge and just buying a sheet of 39 cent stamps ($7.80).
I've seen this kind of trick with gas stations in New York, I've seen this during storm season in Missouri (after a particularly bad tornado, several mini-marts raised the prices of "the essentials" accordingly), and I've seen this with art and books after someone dies.
Inevitably, someone will figure out how to make money on something. A person is smart. People are dumb, but a person is smart. This guy, whoever he is, probably made a ton of money. He did it in a smart way. Not necessarily a good way, but he was smart about it.
Still, I want to know: Is what he did illegal?
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Conversations with my Wife I:
It's up to you to figure out who is who in this conversation:
"What about love?"
"What about it? There are two kinds of love in this country."
"Oh?"
"Sure. There are those who love each other unconditionally. They cherish their time together, and they work as a unit to make the daily grind hurt less. That's the first."
"What's the other?"
"Easy, divorce."
"What?"
"Relationships without trust or love can't last. That's why we're still together. We love each other. We trust each other. We back each other up when going to war."
"Huh?"
"Sigh. Look, 50% of the relationships in this country end in divorce or actually just end, because the two people involved don't overcome the initial inertia."
"Nice alliteration."
"Haha. Seriously. When a relationship starts, it's all fun and new, but soon it's starts to hit the the bottom of the run (I'm using the rollercoaster analogy here). So what happens? The work has to begin to get the coaster back to the top for the drop. Overcoming the inertia."
"What about hot and heavy couples? Or what about bed buddies?"
"Ah, eventually it either ends or becomes more serious. Inertia."
"You're insane."
"But I love you. And you love me. Isn't that what matters?"
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Burning Down the House:
So there's this guy in New Mexico. He's burning leaves (tra la tra la tra la) and discovers a mouse. He looks at the mouse and ponders, "How shall I deal with this? Hmm. Ah, fire seems to be the mortal enemy of mice, thus I shall pitch this little vermin into the physical manifestation of Hell!" (Translation: Mousey go in the fire.)
So, Genius (as I call him) picks up the mouse and tosses it into the fire.
After a few seconds, the man returns to gathering leaves.
Our mouse, however, is not ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.
The little vermin, ablaze and all, bolts out of the pile of leaves and runs back into the man's house. Faster than our little 81 year guy can move, the house...catches on fire.
The mouse died, but it took this man's house with him.
This is one of those stories that makes you laugh, but at the same time, you feel bad for the guy...and the mouse.
and finally....
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Emu: It's a Real Bird:
There are people out there who really don't believe certain animals exist.
"There's no such thing as an emu, Leab. It's a made up bird."
Yeah. Well, here's proof. Look at this beautiful (yet extremely volatile) bird.
Are they pretty? Sure.
Are they mean? Oh most definitely.
So, to the students who were SO sure Emu's don't exist: Here's proof.
Oh and penguins. Yeah. Penguins CAN'T FLY. Get over it.

Ok kids. That's it for tonight.
Have a good evening and take care of yourselves.
Namaste.
Oh, and seniors. You're not out yet, so don't give me that "Too cool for school" crap.