Spring break this year was spent out of state, visiting with my dotter and g’son. We had some excellent adventures together, making memories to replace some that need to be put away. To wit:
I forced my dotter to bond with me during Enchanted, which we both enjoyed watching together, although dotter chided me for talking too much during the movie. I gleefully plugged in my own headphones for the in-flight movie on the trip home: Enchanted! I enjoyed watching it the 5th time as much as I enjoyed it the first time, and will probably watch it again this summer.
G’son and I went shopping and scored some major book buys, as well as a replacement chiminea for the one that literally fell apart on the outside deck. We added 2 bags of chiminea wood and had the first fire of the season, complete with a bottle of wine and a visit from the neighbor who saw the fire and couldn’t resist joining us.
G’son glommed onto a pair of my hand-knit slippers in my suitcase and sent me an email request for 2 more pairs, one in red and the other in mustard. I’ll work on that this week. He also loved the crocheted washcloths I made to match the kitchen, which was repainted a year ago, so I made him 3 new washcloths for his bathroom. It’s nice that someone enjoys the fruits of my labors so enthusiastically.
We played pirates with the 3-year-old from next door, an exhausting experience for a young sitter and damn near fatal for this worn out g’ma! I also took care of him while his dad helped dotter replace the furniture and reconnect the electronics in the living room, for which she had prepared by tagging all of the cords. I talked him into watching Free Willy, which he loved. He turned the carpeting into the ocean, made a fish tank out of an afghan, and convinced himself that a soccer ball was a huge ocean rock. Even though he didn’t understand the part when the fish tank broke, when Willy jumped the breakwater to freedom, we both cheered!
G’son’s guitar playing is pretty darned good, so I filmed him during practice one day and am sharing the amateur video with both G’pa and Uncle J. There are also some now-current photos of both dotter and g’son that can be printed and hung on the wall. Hint-hint.
Dotter and I repainted the deep red living room, a process that involved spackling the holes, covering the deep red with tinted primer, painting the first coat of the chosen color, and then custom mixing our own version of the chosen color when it turned out to be more yellow than gold. Fortunately, both of us are HGTV enthusiasts, so we added brown to the yellow and achieved the perfect gold we thought we bought in the first place with nary a twinge of worry whether it would work.
We stopped by an Amish furniture store and I bought a stool. It’s going to live in the kitchen, where it appears to serve several functions quite nicely, but when I’m there, it’s MY stool! I also now have a free calendar that features photos from the area, a nice bonus.
We ate chicken for almost every meal, including the special chicken dinner barbequed by the Boy Scouts the day before my departure. When I cut up left-overs, I realized that we had 3 different preparation methods in the storage bags, as well as some Chicken Caesar Salad. The lasagna served one night was a refreshing change of food group, as was the total pig-out dotter and I shared at the Outback the night before I flew back home.
We also talked about the summer adventure g’son and I are planning, making some changes to the original ideas and then drawing up a contract that we both signed. As I explained to him, I’m investing some serious money in airline tickets, rental car, hotels and food, so don’t want the day to arrive and find out that he doesn’t want to go with me after all. He used the camera I bought for our trip to document the living room project, some of it from underneath the piles of stuff moved to the middle of the room, but the movies he took didn’t turn out, so we’ll have to work on that skill.
Dotter’s neighbor cut about 6” off my hair, which feels funny and doesn’t look right (yet), but I’m sure it was necessary and probably looks better than it did before it was cut.
We talked as there was much to talk about this trip. I continue to wish I lived closer, but that isn’t going to happen at this point in time, so we’ll have to continue our conversations via media. It’s important for us to stay connected—and we will do so, one way or another.
And, although one flight was 1/2 hour late arriving at its destination, the connecting flight left 1/2 later than scheduled, so it worked out just fine. My ride was waiting, my bag arrived on time, and I slept in my own bed. Mia came home this morning, spent an hour sprawled across my lap, and then retired to her old, smelly floor pillow, where she is still snoring away the afternoon.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Raising an Alarm
It's alarming to be on the other side of the country and be informed that the home security system is detecting an intruder via the motion sensor.
This was the news not once, not twice, but five times during three successive days of my trip. Of course, there was nothing I could do about the situation and the police were dispatched to secure the scene, but I was concerned that my emergency contact was not called by the alarm company. She would have gone to my home immediately, key in hand, to surveille the situation, and then call me to see what I wanted done.
As a matter of fact, when I called the alarm company to complain that my contact had not been contacted, the rep claimed that there was no emergency contact listed with my information.
"That's strange," I replied. "The last time I was out of town my alarm went off too, and you contacted her that time to resolve the situation." I immediately requested that her name and 2 phone numbers be added to my information and verified that the information is correct. I left instructions to contact me at both phone numbers, then her 2 numbers if there is a next time.
I now have to account for a total of five false alarms, each one of which will cost me a $75 fine payable to the local police department.
I called the alarm company before I flew home yesterday, and the reps showed up this morning to determine what caused the situation. Sure, it cost me a $25 trip fee, but I was vindicated when the technician discovered that the motion sensor was installed incorrectly, which caused the false alarms! I'm sure I'll still have to pay the police department for deploying deputies to my home each time the damned alarm went off, but perhaps they will cut me some slack when I present them with the written documentation that it was an equipment failure?
The only aspect of this situation that concerns me is that the alarm went off at the same time 3 days in a row, 7:30 pm. It did not go off the first 2 days I was gone, but then went off 3 days in a row, and 3 separate times the third day of that sequence. I don't believe in coincidence because it's all too often cause and effect, but I'm stumped to figure out the cause for this series of events.
This was the news not once, not twice, but five times during three successive days of my trip. Of course, there was nothing I could do about the situation and the police were dispatched to secure the scene, but I was concerned that my emergency contact was not called by the alarm company. She would have gone to my home immediately, key in hand, to surveille the situation, and then call me to see what I wanted done.
As a matter of fact, when I called the alarm company to complain that my contact had not been contacted, the rep claimed that there was no emergency contact listed with my information.
"That's strange," I replied. "The last time I was out of town my alarm went off too, and you contacted her that time to resolve the situation." I immediately requested that her name and 2 phone numbers be added to my information and verified that the information is correct. I left instructions to contact me at both phone numbers, then her 2 numbers if there is a next time.
I now have to account for a total of five false alarms, each one of which will cost me a $75 fine payable to the local police department.
I called the alarm company before I flew home yesterday, and the reps showed up this morning to determine what caused the situation. Sure, it cost me a $25 trip fee, but I was vindicated when the technician discovered that the motion sensor was installed incorrectly, which caused the false alarms! I'm sure I'll still have to pay the police department for deploying deputies to my home each time the damned alarm went off, but perhaps they will cut me some slack when I present them with the written documentation that it was an equipment failure?
The only aspect of this situation that concerns me is that the alarm went off at the same time 3 days in a row, 7:30 pm. It did not go off the first 2 days I was gone, but then went off 3 days in a row, and 3 separate times the third day of that sequence. I don't believe in coincidence because it's all too often cause and effect, but I'm stumped to figure out the cause for this series of events.
Atonement
Many times an excellent book becomes an average film because a reader’s mind visualizes the setting, interacts with the characters, participates in the unfolding conflict, becomes entangled in the emotional engagement in a way that simply cannot be captured on film. Some stories have to be enjoyed intimately, one reader at a time, stories that can be seen only with one’s imagination. Atonement is such a story.
The film is not the story told by the author, it’s the interpretation of the story told by a screenwriter who accommodated the vision of the company that put up the money for the film. Atonement is an intensely personal story that does not translate well to the big screen, but it is too “big budget” to fit the small screen. The lush setting, the costumes, the massive war scenes have to be larger than life to work well for the film, but the intimacy of the story is lost in the process.
I know I’m not buying the finished product when my mind is more focused on not only how unhealthily thin the female lead (Keira Knightley) is, but also how incredibly flat-chested she is for being such a major “hot” movie star. The costumes she wore were meant to be sexy, but I found them odd choices for her body type, especially the green “sex” gown worn in the library. I was distracted by the male lead’s (James McAvoy) huge nose and wondered if the old wives' tale about nose size and male genitalia is true in his case. He also looked short in some scenes and taller in other scenes, which I found disquieting. The eyes of many of the actors were a startlingly blue color, which finally led me to consider whether they were true blue, contacts, or a process I could access through Adobe PhotoShop. The cigarettes had a major role in the film and stole some scenes from the actors who pretended to smoke them. I saw the overgrown fields of the country estate and wondered why someone didn’t either mow them or groom them. And each time the film cut between past and present, I contemplated turning off the DVD player and picking up a good book, rather than watching to the bitter end a film I was not enjoying.
Conversely, when I read the book, I stayed awake long past my bedtime because I didn’t want to close the covers until I finished reading. It was hard to find a good place to stop for the night, and my mind continued to live the story as I slept and dreamed about what would happen. I had high expectations for the film interpretation of the novel, but it appears that the filmmakers’ expectations were confined to big names, big budget, and big film.
Needless to say, Atonement goes on the “skipit” list.
The film is not the story told by the author, it’s the interpretation of the story told by a screenwriter who accommodated the vision of the company that put up the money for the film. Atonement is an intensely personal story that does not translate well to the big screen, but it is too “big budget” to fit the small screen. The lush setting, the costumes, the massive war scenes have to be larger than life to work well for the film, but the intimacy of the story is lost in the process.
I know I’m not buying the finished product when my mind is more focused on not only how unhealthily thin the female lead (Keira Knightley) is, but also how incredibly flat-chested she is for being such a major “hot” movie star. The costumes she wore were meant to be sexy, but I found them odd choices for her body type, especially the green “sex” gown worn in the library. I was distracted by the male lead’s (James McAvoy) huge nose and wondered if the old wives' tale about nose size and male genitalia is true in his case. He also looked short in some scenes and taller in other scenes, which I found disquieting. The eyes of many of the actors were a startlingly blue color, which finally led me to consider whether they were true blue, contacts, or a process I could access through Adobe PhotoShop. The cigarettes had a major role in the film and stole some scenes from the actors who pretended to smoke them. I saw the overgrown fields of the country estate and wondered why someone didn’t either mow them or groom them. And each time the film cut between past and present, I contemplated turning off the DVD player and picking up a good book, rather than watching to the bitter end a film I was not enjoying.
Conversely, when I read the book, I stayed awake long past my bedtime because I didn’t want to close the covers until I finished reading. It was hard to find a good place to stop for the night, and my mind continued to live the story as I slept and dreamed about what would happen. I had high expectations for the film interpretation of the novel, but it appears that the filmmakers’ expectations were confined to big names, big budget, and big film.
Needless to say, Atonement goes on the “skipit” list.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Gone Baby Gone
Allowing a movie to end on a thought-provoking note is an unusual way to finish a film; however, in Gone Baby Gone, it’s what makes the movie better than it could have been.
The storyline involves the abduction of a beautiful young girl being parented by a drug-addicted negligent single mother who enjoys the company of a long string of one-night stands. The cops are not totally engaged in the search process, but the media is hyping the situation thanks to the child’s aunt, who also contacts two private detectives and begs them to locate the girl. As the police tell the detectives, there isn’t much hope as it’s Day 3, and everyone knows how critical it is to find a lead—or the missing child—well before that much time elapses.
The story takes place in Boston and uses many neighborhood residents as extras in the film, an unusual casting decision that works. The actors look, act, and talk like real people because they are! The pace is slow as the two detectives work the neighborhood, talking to old high school classmates, neighborhood hookers and pimps, and familiar criminals as they try to find out who took the child, but the film constantly moves toward whatever is coming. Without realizing it, suspense builds, and it’s not just will they find the little girl or is she already dead, but something else that remains just below the surface of the story.
When the film finishes, it leaves a question for the viewer to resolve: is it better to do the right thing for all the wrong reasons, or to do the wrong thing for all the right reasons? I watched the film a week ago and plan to watch it again because now that I know how the film ends, I want to wrestle with that question from within the storyline.
Casey Afflect underplays his leading role, which is surprising as his older brother, Ben, who is the writer/director of this film, often overplays his parts and distracts from the storyline, rather than becoming one with it. Casey is totally believable as the neighborhood guy who’s sort of making it in the adult world, but living on the fringes of being successful. Amy Ryan is the washed-up high school has-been whose daughter goes missing, and she plays the role as if she were born to it, understanding how to look skanky and cry an addict’s tears as she promises God that she will give up drugs if she gets her daughter back alive. Ed Harris and Morgan Freeman are cast in supporting actor roles, but Ed Harris’s performance sells the storyline and adds credibility to the premise of the movie.
The cover promises that “this edge-of-your-seat crime drama … will have you talking long after it’s over,” and, for once, I agree! Although the story is not “edge of your seat,” it will warrant a second look and a serious discussion.
The storyline involves the abduction of a beautiful young girl being parented by a drug-addicted negligent single mother who enjoys the company of a long string of one-night stands. The cops are not totally engaged in the search process, but the media is hyping the situation thanks to the child’s aunt, who also contacts two private detectives and begs them to locate the girl. As the police tell the detectives, there isn’t much hope as it’s Day 3, and everyone knows how critical it is to find a lead—or the missing child—well before that much time elapses.
The story takes place in Boston and uses many neighborhood residents as extras in the film, an unusual casting decision that works. The actors look, act, and talk like real people because they are! The pace is slow as the two detectives work the neighborhood, talking to old high school classmates, neighborhood hookers and pimps, and familiar criminals as they try to find out who took the child, but the film constantly moves toward whatever is coming. Without realizing it, suspense builds, and it’s not just will they find the little girl or is she already dead, but something else that remains just below the surface of the story.
When the film finishes, it leaves a question for the viewer to resolve: is it better to do the right thing for all the wrong reasons, or to do the wrong thing for all the right reasons? I watched the film a week ago and plan to watch it again because now that I know how the film ends, I want to wrestle with that question from within the storyline.
Casey Afflect underplays his leading role, which is surprising as his older brother, Ben, who is the writer/director of this film, often overplays his parts and distracts from the storyline, rather than becoming one with it. Casey is totally believable as the neighborhood guy who’s sort of making it in the adult world, but living on the fringes of being successful. Amy Ryan is the washed-up high school has-been whose daughter goes missing, and she plays the role as if she were born to it, understanding how to look skanky and cry an addict’s tears as she promises God that she will give up drugs if she gets her daughter back alive. Ed Harris and Morgan Freeman are cast in supporting actor roles, but Ed Harris’s performance sells the storyline and adds credibility to the premise of the movie.
The cover promises that “this edge-of-your-seat crime drama … will have you talking long after it’s over,” and, for once, I agree! Although the story is not “edge of your seat,” it will warrant a second look and a serious discussion.
Travel Time-Out
The good news is that this time the flight was canceled before I arrived at the airport. The bad news is that there are (allegedly) no other flights to my destination until the day after tomorrow, so I lose a vacation day to the vagaries of the travel gods.
I made the mistake of checking in on-line, a mistake I will NEVER repeat. First, the prompt led me to “sign up here” to facilitate the process, and I ended up becoming a member of the mileage plus club. I’m not sure how that happened, but it did. However, when I tried to use the new number to actually check in on line, it didn’t work at all because … I got the number after booking the flight two months ago. Once I back-pedaled to the original sign-in page, I used the confirmation number to access my itinerary and that’s when I discovered that my flight is canceled.
Guess I’m glad I checked on it tonight as I would have been totally pissed to find this out tomorrow when I arrived at the airport with luggage in tow! In the course of accessing other flight options, I pressed the “continue” button—and was arbitrarily confirmed on a flight leaving from the airport tonight—in an hour! There was no way to make that connection, so I called customer service, waded through the damned friendly sky’s voice guiding me through the options menu, waited on hold for 20 minutes of endlessly recycling Rhapsody in Blue musak, and then was greeted by a foreign-speaking man who tried to pack as many words into 10 seconds as he possible could.
Whoa, big fella: slow down or we don’t have a chance in hell of getting through the tough stuff!
I explained what had happened, but he happily assured me that I was confirmed on the flight leaving … now … in about 25 minutes. Nope, not going to happen, I explained, and went back through how this happened again. The third time through the explanation, he found it in his heart to stop assuring me I was leaving in minutes, and decided that what I really needed was to rebook the originally canceled flight—tomorrow.
Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, even after being offered a variety of other airports for departure so I could be at my destination by tomorrow night. I finally caved in and asked about Saturday, and there is a flight that gets me there a day late and probably another dollar short. The good news is I wasn’t charged to change my flight, which I suspected was going to be the next discussion with the airline rep. As a matter of fact, for the inconvenience of waiting an extra day to depart, I am upgraded to economy plus for the longest leg of the flight. It isn’t much, but it’s the best offer I’ve had recently, so I graciously accepted the extra 4”.
I’ve finished rearranging all the little details associated with travel and will figure out tomorrow what I’m going to do to celebrate this unexpected change in my vacation plans. Perhaps there is a movie in my future?
I made the mistake of checking in on-line, a mistake I will NEVER repeat. First, the prompt led me to “sign up here” to facilitate the process, and I ended up becoming a member of the mileage plus club. I’m not sure how that happened, but it did. However, when I tried to use the new number to actually check in on line, it didn’t work at all because … I got the number after booking the flight two months ago. Once I back-pedaled to the original sign-in page, I used the confirmation number to access my itinerary and that’s when I discovered that my flight is canceled.
Guess I’m glad I checked on it tonight as I would have been totally pissed to find this out tomorrow when I arrived at the airport with luggage in tow! In the course of accessing other flight options, I pressed the “continue” button—and was arbitrarily confirmed on a flight leaving from the airport tonight—in an hour! There was no way to make that connection, so I called customer service, waded through the damned friendly sky’s voice guiding me through the options menu, waited on hold for 20 minutes of endlessly recycling Rhapsody in Blue musak, and then was greeted by a foreign-speaking man who tried to pack as many words into 10 seconds as he possible could.
Whoa, big fella: slow down or we don’t have a chance in hell of getting through the tough stuff!
I explained what had happened, but he happily assured me that I was confirmed on the flight leaving … now … in about 25 minutes. Nope, not going to happen, I explained, and went back through how this happened again. The third time through the explanation, he found it in his heart to stop assuring me I was leaving in minutes, and decided that what I really needed was to rebook the originally canceled flight—tomorrow.
Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, even after being offered a variety of other airports for departure so I could be at my destination by tomorrow night. I finally caved in and asked about Saturday, and there is a flight that gets me there a day late and probably another dollar short. The good news is I wasn’t charged to change my flight, which I suspected was going to be the next discussion with the airline rep. As a matter of fact, for the inconvenience of waiting an extra day to depart, I am upgraded to economy plus for the longest leg of the flight. It isn’t much, but it’s the best offer I’ve had recently, so I graciously accepted the extra 4”.
I’ve finished rearranging all the little details associated with travel and will figure out tomorrow what I’m going to do to celebrate this unexpected change in my vacation plans. Perhaps there is a movie in my future?
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Tennis Anyone?
Sometimes it is good to step out of one’s comfort zone, which I did last night. A friend is friends with the daughter of a famous, famous movie star, and the woman has box tickets to the PacLife that she couldn't use last night. The courtside seats are always available and offer an incredible view of the action on the main stadium court at The Tennis Gardens, a world-renown venue that will also host an outdoor NBA game this October.
This time when she asked, I agreed to go with my friend to the men’s match, Baker versus Cinquel. It was a fairly evenly matched game until the Frenchman gave up and let Baker win. Prior to that fold, each man fought for and won points, some of which were actually exciting to watch. Baker is ranked 9th in the world, but Cinquel could probably hold his own against him if he displayed more disciplined play. When he missed a shot, he reacted with temper, rather than determination, and it cost him his focus. To be fair, Baker missed a few that clearly irked his ire, but he came back stronger after the misses and made some incredible shots.
I think the match ended so quickly because it was so darned cold! The wind was howling yesterday and blew a massive storm front into the desert, which lowered the temps significantly once the sun set. I had on layers, so should have been warm inside the stadium, but the wind crept over the top of the seats and affected not just the comfort level, but the ability of the player whose back was to my seat to return the ball accurately to his opponent. The wind inside the stadium was so strong that many, many of the shots went long! And had I been the one wearing the shorts and the sleeveless top, I might have been tempted to get the game over quickly.
I wrapped up in the blanket I brought, which helped, but my asthma does not like cold wind and I started coughing (a big no-no at tennis!). I used the inhaler and sat through the men’s match, but asked my friend if we could leave before the women’s match began—unfortunately, a plan shared with thousands of other very cold tennis fans. At least half the audience streamed out of the stadium to head for home, leaving the women to deal with not just the cold weather and wind, but an empty stadium.
On the ride home the winds continued to buffet my car, and when I headed to my little piece of the valley, I drove through rain that continued throughout the night. The good news is that the air is clear today, the winds have died down significantly, and it should be a great day for tennis in the desert.
Addendum: I headed to the post office this morning--and saw that the surrounding mountains are smothered in snow! It's apparent that the snow encompasses the aerial tramway, the ski resorts, the small community at the top of the grade, and then passes through the national park. Wow. It's beautiful and such a contrast to the summery weather a week ago, when we were all basking the in high 70s and low 80s.
This time when she asked, I agreed to go with my friend to the men’s match, Baker versus Cinquel. It was a fairly evenly matched game until the Frenchman gave up and let Baker win. Prior to that fold, each man fought for and won points, some of which were actually exciting to watch. Baker is ranked 9th in the world, but Cinquel could probably hold his own against him if he displayed more disciplined play. When he missed a shot, he reacted with temper, rather than determination, and it cost him his focus. To be fair, Baker missed a few that clearly irked his ire, but he came back stronger after the misses and made some incredible shots.
I think the match ended so quickly because it was so darned cold! The wind was howling yesterday and blew a massive storm front into the desert, which lowered the temps significantly once the sun set. I had on layers, so should have been warm inside the stadium, but the wind crept over the top of the seats and affected not just the comfort level, but the ability of the player whose back was to my seat to return the ball accurately to his opponent. The wind inside the stadium was so strong that many, many of the shots went long! And had I been the one wearing the shorts and the sleeveless top, I might have been tempted to get the game over quickly.
I wrapped up in the blanket I brought, which helped, but my asthma does not like cold wind and I started coughing (a big no-no at tennis!). I used the inhaler and sat through the men’s match, but asked my friend if we could leave before the women’s match began—unfortunately, a plan shared with thousands of other very cold tennis fans. At least half the audience streamed out of the stadium to head for home, leaving the women to deal with not just the cold weather and wind, but an empty stadium.
On the ride home the winds continued to buffet my car, and when I headed to my little piece of the valley, I drove through rain that continued throughout the night. The good news is that the air is clear today, the winds have died down significantly, and it should be a great day for tennis in the desert.
Addendum: I headed to the post office this morning--and saw that the surrounding mountains are smothered in snow! It's apparent that the snow encompasses the aerial tramway, the ski resorts, the small community at the top of the grade, and then passes through the national park. Wow. It's beautiful and such a contrast to the summery weather a week ago, when we were all basking the in high 70s and low 80s.
Friday, March 14, 2008
"I'm Just Sayin'"
Whoopi Goldberg offended me with her warning to the white folks: you white folks have to watch what you say when Obama becomes President because what you say is often taken differently by black people. She clarified for both the panel on The View and the audience, using her favorite phrase, "I'm just sayin'," that there is no way we white folks can understand because … we’re white.
Of course, there is no rebuttal opportunity because she’s based her conclusion strictly on her personal perception that color is the definitive quality in judging a person's character, motive, and intent. If anyone challenges her premise, we're back to the racism argument: if a white person disagrees with a black person's perception, the white person is a racist.
Whoopi took offense because a white person used the word “articulate” in referring to Whoopi's informed discourse on a topic they were discussing. Whoopi believes that the compliment implied that blacks are usually not articulate and that the white person who made the comment was surprised that Whoopi is articulate! "Articulate” is not a secret white code for ignorant, it’s a function of clarity of thought and syntactical construction in expressing one's self in written or spoken communication.
The way Whoopi explained the incident, one would think that calling a black person "articulate" is tantamount to a racial epithet!
Whoopi's inference is a huge leap of the alleged racist chasm that exists and will be widened and deepened if all blacks share Whoopi’s characteristic of inferring meaning from innocuous comments made during social conversation. An articulate person is simply well-spoken, regardless of the color of the person's skin.
I am appalled by the condemnation and the threats of black people who seem to have forgotten Martin Luther King, Jr’s articulated philosophy of judging people on the content of their character, not on the color of their skin. That philosophy goes both ways, and as a white woman, I’m not liking the content of some of the black characters in the media these days.
I am no longer considering voting for the first black president. Oprah’s overtly racial “this man, this time” speech, in my opinion, sold Obama solely as a black man, not as the most well-qualified person for the job. The tapes of Obama's minister condeming all white people for hundreds of years of alleged racism, followed by Whoopi’s “you white folks” warning that once a black man occupies the White House, we white folks better watch what we say or deal with the consequences, leads me to believe that the country--and we white folks--are better off passing on this historic opportunity.
Of course, there is no rebuttal opportunity because she’s based her conclusion strictly on her personal perception that color is the definitive quality in judging a person's character, motive, and intent. If anyone challenges her premise, we're back to the racism argument: if a white person disagrees with a black person's perception, the white person is a racist.
Whoopi took offense because a white person used the word “articulate” in referring to Whoopi's informed discourse on a topic they were discussing. Whoopi believes that the compliment implied that blacks are usually not articulate and that the white person who made the comment was surprised that Whoopi is articulate! "Articulate” is not a secret white code for ignorant, it’s a function of clarity of thought and syntactical construction in expressing one's self in written or spoken communication.
The way Whoopi explained the incident, one would think that calling a black person "articulate" is tantamount to a racial epithet!
Whoopi's inference is a huge leap of the alleged racist chasm that exists and will be widened and deepened if all blacks share Whoopi’s characteristic of inferring meaning from innocuous comments made during social conversation. An articulate person is simply well-spoken, regardless of the color of the person's skin.
I am appalled by the condemnation and the threats of black people who seem to have forgotten Martin Luther King, Jr’s articulated philosophy of judging people on the content of their character, not on the color of their skin. That philosophy goes both ways, and as a white woman, I’m not liking the content of some of the black characters in the media these days.
I am no longer considering voting for the first black president. Oprah’s overtly racial “this man, this time” speech, in my opinion, sold Obama solely as a black man, not as the most well-qualified person for the job. The tapes of Obama's minister condeming all white people for hundreds of years of alleged racism, followed by Whoopi’s “you white folks” warning that once a black man occupies the White House, we white folks better watch what we say or deal with the consequences, leads me to believe that the country--and we white folks--are better off passing on this historic opportunity.
Fairy Tales Can Come True; It CAN Happen to You!
I am absolutely Enchanted with the wonderful Disney film that captures the essence of what young women in my generation hoped for from life: a handsome prince to love them endearingly and unfailingly! We would fall in love with a look and live happily ever after, and it sounded like such a wonderful life plan that I am still wondering what happened? Why am I still waiting for my prince charming to rescue me from the daily drudge!
Enchanted is at the dollar movie house, so it must be in video, too, and I’ve added it to my purchase list for viewing on my daughter’s absolutely huge screen in the basement media room. It will be such a romantic adventure with the Bose surround sound and a big tub of freshly-popped corn. I will be able to slurp soda and sing along, both of which are not allowed in today’s movie theater. I kept getting the giggles throughout the film, and cringed and groaned when the cockroaches and rats swarmed the apartment to help Giselle with the housekeeping chores, but perhaps it was not as naughty to interact with the film when there were only a half-dozen other patrons, rather than a full house.
I remember when Disney released Cinderella as one of the highlights of my life! I remember being totally awestruck at the beauty, the singing, the costumes, the wonderful creatures of the world who helped to make life a bit easier for the girl destined to become queen. There were other movies based on fairly tales that captured my heart, including The Princess Bride, an all-time favorite, but I guess we always remember our first in a special way.
Today’s women scoff at the “Cinderella Syndrome” of wanting to be the princess who meets and marries Prince Charming, but if I have to choose between that ideal and selling myself for sex to a governor to achieve my career goal, I’ll leave the reality show for those women who choose that path to self-actualization.
Someday, my Prince will come! He may be in a wheelchair and wearing someone else’s teeth by the time he rings my doorbell, but I’m not going to give up the dream that easily.
Enchanted is at the dollar movie house, so it must be in video, too, and I’ve added it to my purchase list for viewing on my daughter’s absolutely huge screen in the basement media room. It will be such a romantic adventure with the Bose surround sound and a big tub of freshly-popped corn. I will be able to slurp soda and sing along, both of which are not allowed in today’s movie theater. I kept getting the giggles throughout the film, and cringed and groaned when the cockroaches and rats swarmed the apartment to help Giselle with the housekeeping chores, but perhaps it was not as naughty to interact with the film when there were only a half-dozen other patrons, rather than a full house.
I remember when Disney released Cinderella as one of the highlights of my life! I remember being totally awestruck at the beauty, the singing, the costumes, the wonderful creatures of the world who helped to make life a bit easier for the girl destined to become queen. There were other movies based on fairly tales that captured my heart, including The Princess Bride, an all-time favorite, but I guess we always remember our first in a special way.
Today’s women scoff at the “Cinderella Syndrome” of wanting to be the princess who meets and marries Prince Charming, but if I have to choose between that ideal and selling myself for sex to a governor to achieve my career goal, I’ll leave the reality show for those women who choose that path to self-actualization.
Someday, my Prince will come! He may be in a wheelchair and wearing someone else’s teeth by the time he rings my doorbell, but I’m not going to give up the dream that easily.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Sensible Syllables
Several years ago, while teaching a poetry unit, I handed out a formatting worksheet for the students to use to write a haiku. My standard practice is never to ask anyone to do that which I am not willing to do myself, so I modeled the use of the worksheet by writing my own haiku, which I recently found in a stack of "what should I do with this" papers.
Education
Students in the rows
Watch me like a T.V. set.
Engage: don't observe!
In 17 syllables, I summarized my philosophy of education: the student has to participate for the process to work.
It's time for the annual exit exam debacle, with districts, site admin, and teachers in an absolute frenzy of preparation geared toward one goal: to make sure that students pass the test, especially seniors, who cannot graduate without passing both the English and the math. The clock is ticking for the Class of 2008.
However, that's the problem in my mind: the district, the site admin and the teachers bear the brunt of failure, not the students! Students who cruise through school, doing the bare minimum, attending when they feel like it and refusing to complete homework assignments that cut into their personal time become the focus of the frenzy. The students who are there, who are participating in the process, usually don't have to worry about whether they will pass the test because it's an 8th grade level skills' test and the test is given for the first time in 10th grade.
The student who does not attend, who does not engage, who does not participate will not pass the test--and should not pass the test. It is NOT the fault of the institution, of the teacher, of the curriculum: it is a choice made both by the student and the parent who refuses to do the daily job of monitoring attendance, checking homework, listening to reading assignments, signing worksheets, requesting weekly progress reports. A passive parent often nurtures a passive student, and when it comes down to the wire and the student is not going to graduate, they both blame the system, rather than accepting their own failure to perform.
Districts, sites, and teachers can throw time, effort, and financial resources at these students ad infinitum, but these students often effectively quit school about the 7th grade. Is the institution required to go back and recreate the educational experience for the student who has been in abstentia for 4-5 years? I don’t think so, but that’s what’s happening.
I laughed when my former district paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to purchase software programs guaranteed to skill and drill (senior) students to pass the exit exam. Computers were dedicated to the process, teachers were trained and paid extra to mentor the remedial sessions, ad campaigns sold the entire package to the parents--but the students didn't show up! The computers sat idle; the teachers waited for the hungry masses to log on; the parents complacently waited for confirmation of the passing score--but the students who don't attend school, who don't complete homework assignments, who don't write essays, who don't participate in the educational process also don't show up for tutoring.
The educational process cannot be passive observation: it must be active participation. Until students not only realize the difference, but are held accountable for their own failure to be part of the solution, rather than being the problem, nothing is going to change.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Howlin' Good Time
The family behind me has at least 2 new dogs, but judging from the sound, it could be more than that. I have no idea what breed of dogs these are, but I do know that every time an emergency vehicle runs with sirens, these dogs howl loudly enough to drown out the sirens!
Sound travels in the desert; hence, I usually have to keep my front door closed because I can hear other people’s music from several surrounding blocks, especially if it’s either a live band or a pumped up stereo system from a car parked in the driveway with the door left open for the concert. I literally cannot hear my own TV from the couch when some of these music fans are listening to their music! A couple of times I’ve walked to the house and asked that the music be turned down and, so far (thankfully), the neighbors have been cooperative. Usually, however, it’s just easier to keep the front door closed and turn up the TV, or retire to my room with a good book and TiVo what I wanted to watch.
There are also a couple of emergency responders in the neighborhood, as well as a major thoroughfare about 6 blocks due west, on which the majority of emergency responses either occur or take as the fastest route to the location. The noise from sirens is loud, very loud, and the new neighborhood dogs drown it out. The dogs don’t stop baying until they no longer can hear the sirens, so they can howl for a steady 5 minutes!
I’ve never complained about dogs barking because I want my dog to bark when there are other animals in the yard or people on the street. I like Mia’s early warning system and take heed when she barks in the middle of the night, especially if she won’t shut up or come into the house. I have called the police based on her barking a couple of times, and wished I had her when the burglar broke my window several years ago.
Therefore, I won’t complain about the baying dogs, but it is truly annoying when they crank up the volume. I may not be as nice if I have to contend with both the howling dogs and the wailin' music simultaneously. That combo would surely violate the sound ordnance!
Sound travels in the desert; hence, I usually have to keep my front door closed because I can hear other people’s music from several surrounding blocks, especially if it’s either a live band or a pumped up stereo system from a car parked in the driveway with the door left open for the concert. I literally cannot hear my own TV from the couch when some of these music fans are listening to their music! A couple of times I’ve walked to the house and asked that the music be turned down and, so far (thankfully), the neighbors have been cooperative. Usually, however, it’s just easier to keep the front door closed and turn up the TV, or retire to my room with a good book and TiVo what I wanted to watch.
There are also a couple of emergency responders in the neighborhood, as well as a major thoroughfare about 6 blocks due west, on which the majority of emergency responses either occur or take as the fastest route to the location. The noise from sirens is loud, very loud, and the new neighborhood dogs drown it out. The dogs don’t stop baying until they no longer can hear the sirens, so they can howl for a steady 5 minutes!
I’ve never complained about dogs barking because I want my dog to bark when there are other animals in the yard or people on the street. I like Mia’s early warning system and take heed when she barks in the middle of the night, especially if she won’t shut up or come into the house. I have called the police based on her barking a couple of times, and wished I had her when the burglar broke my window several years ago.
Therefore, I won’t complain about the baying dogs, but it is truly annoying when they crank up the volume. I may not be as nice if I have to contend with both the howling dogs and the wailin' music simultaneously. That combo would surely violate the sound ordnance!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Cha-Ching!!!
A friend and I enjoyed the "all you can eat" buffet at the casino downtown today, an always delicious decision for lunch. I topped off my high protein/low carb meal with a generous slice of sugar-free cheesecake, which was good, but there is no way to obtain that substantial rich, creamy cheesecake texture and taste without sugar.
On the way out, I flashed my $20 bill brought along for the gambling. I don't like to waste money, but ya never know if today's the day--ya know what I mean?
The first machine, a nickle machine, took me down to $14.50, at which time I printed my chit and went looking for another challenge. I found a quarter machine that was not being used, so inputted my credit for $14.50 and got down to serious business.
I watched the pot dwindle to just under $6 when CHA-CHING! I hit a triple whatever that took me all the way to $36.00! Yippee!
No fool I, I hit "pay out" and walked out with $16 free money in my pocket, nestled next to my original $20 gambling pot. When the doorman opened the door for me, I acknowledged that he must have known right off I was leaving a BIG winner for the day--to which he agreed with a huge smile on his face.
Yeah, it's living good in the neighborhood.
On the way out, I flashed my $20 bill brought along for the gambling. I don't like to waste money, but ya never know if today's the day--ya know what I mean?
The first machine, a nickle machine, took me down to $14.50, at which time I printed my chit and went looking for another challenge. I found a quarter machine that was not being used, so inputted my credit for $14.50 and got down to serious business.
I watched the pot dwindle to just under $6 when CHA-CHING! I hit a triple whatever that took me all the way to $36.00! Yippee!
No fool I, I hit "pay out" and walked out with $16 free money in my pocket, nestled next to my original $20 gambling pot. When the doorman opened the door for me, I acknowledged that he must have known right off I was leaving a BIG winner for the day--to which he agreed with a huge smile on his face.
Yeah, it's living good in the neighborhood.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Get a Queue
For some people, the power of personal entitlement is their driving force, and it demands that lesser individuals (read me) step to the side so they can actualize their self needs and meet their goals—at my expense, if need be.
This morning I set aside for my blood work, fasting blood sugar to check my A1c, which happens every 3 months. I left the house at 7 AM to be in line when the lab opened at 7:30, and was a bit put out to realize at 7:15 that the doors don’t open until 8 AM on Saturday (6:30 AM during the week). Oh, well, I’m reading a good book, so I sat on the wall outside the lab to wait. It wasn’t long before I was joined by 3 others who also thought the lab opened at 7:30, so we talked as the lines behind us grew longer as the time crept toward 8 AM.
At about 7:55, a woman arrived with 2 boys in tow, stepped in front of me, and created a new front of the line, a brazen act indeed. I’m not sure what she processed about the more than 2 dozen individuals in the line behind me, but her step-up to the front was clearly not to be questioned.
Except, of course, by me.
“If you think you’re going to cut the line, you may want to reconsider your decision,” I told her. “All of us standing in line have been here for at least 1/2 hour, and we are not going to take kindly to your wanting to be first in the door.”
She looked at me dismissively, and said, “You don’t understand. My son here is a real bad diabetic who’s been fasting and needs his blood work done so he can go eat.”
“Really,” I said, then turned to the line and asked, “Who is a fasting diabetic waiting for blood work this morning?”
That would be almost everyone waiting in line, judging by the show of hands.
“Okay,” she said, “I get it,” and turned away to talk to her boys. She directed her sons to go to the end of the line—and then started down the line one person at a time until she was able to find the weakest link to let her take cuts. She signed in about 9th, rather than waiting her turn from the last spot in line.
It’s okay for someone else to let her into the line—but then that person should have gone to the end. That person didn’t ask all the others behind her how they felt about adding to the middle of the line, putting them back one turn. That person just assumed she would be nice and let the poor little boy get his bloodwork done—but didn’t consider the other fasting diabetic people behind her who also wouldn’t eat until their bloodwork was done.
What irritates me more, however, is that the mother’s assumption that her needs were more important than anyone else standing in line was validated not just by the person who allowed her to cut the line, but by every other person in line who also let it be okay.
I’ll stand up for myself, but if you won’t stand up for yourself, then you get what you get.
The lesson to the sons was powerful: do not let anyone tell you that you have to go to the end of the line. If you can't get to the front of the line by arriving early and waiting for the doors to open, just work the crowd: someone will let you go ahead of them if that's what you tell them to believe ...
and why would anyone willingly wait at the back of the line if they can make themselves the front of the line with so little effort?
This morning I set aside for my blood work, fasting blood sugar to check my A1c, which happens every 3 months. I left the house at 7 AM to be in line when the lab opened at 7:30, and was a bit put out to realize at 7:15 that the doors don’t open until 8 AM on Saturday (6:30 AM during the week). Oh, well, I’m reading a good book, so I sat on the wall outside the lab to wait. It wasn’t long before I was joined by 3 others who also thought the lab opened at 7:30, so we talked as the lines behind us grew longer as the time crept toward 8 AM.
At about 7:55, a woman arrived with 2 boys in tow, stepped in front of me, and created a new front of the line, a brazen act indeed. I’m not sure what she processed about the more than 2 dozen individuals in the line behind me, but her step-up to the front was clearly not to be questioned.
Except, of course, by me.
“If you think you’re going to cut the line, you may want to reconsider your decision,” I told her. “All of us standing in line have been here for at least 1/2 hour, and we are not going to take kindly to your wanting to be first in the door.”
She looked at me dismissively, and said, “You don’t understand. My son here is a real bad diabetic who’s been fasting and needs his blood work done so he can go eat.”
“Really,” I said, then turned to the line and asked, “Who is a fasting diabetic waiting for blood work this morning?”
That would be almost everyone waiting in line, judging by the show of hands.
“Okay,” she said, “I get it,” and turned away to talk to her boys. She directed her sons to go to the end of the line—and then started down the line one person at a time until she was able to find the weakest link to let her take cuts. She signed in about 9th, rather than waiting her turn from the last spot in line.
It’s okay for someone else to let her into the line—but then that person should have gone to the end. That person didn’t ask all the others behind her how they felt about adding to the middle of the line, putting them back one turn. That person just assumed she would be nice and let the poor little boy get his bloodwork done—but didn’t consider the other fasting diabetic people behind her who also wouldn’t eat until their bloodwork was done.
What irritates me more, however, is that the mother’s assumption that her needs were more important than anyone else standing in line was validated not just by the person who allowed her to cut the line, but by every other person in line who also let it be okay.
I’ll stand up for myself, but if you won’t stand up for yourself, then you get what you get.
The lesson to the sons was powerful: do not let anyone tell you that you have to go to the end of the line. If you can't get to the front of the line by arriving early and waiting for the doors to open, just work the crowd: someone will let you go ahead of them if that's what you tell them to believe ...
and why would anyone willingly wait at the back of the line if they can make themselves the front of the line with so little effort?
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