The b'fast club discussed my reaction to the total frontal nude sex scene at the beginning of The Reader, with the frowner being the exception to my yuck reaction: she always wants to condemn me for being so prudish, but because I always know what her reaction is, I ignore her. The rest of the group agrees that it's probably the older female/young teen boy that triggered my reaction as we're all former teachers who find that sort of sexual situation abhorrent.
One 'faster explained that the actress, Kate Winslet, revealed in an interview that it didn't "bother" her to do the scene as she felt it was essential to the movie and what happens later, but there are ways to establish that relationship without its being so in-your-face! Another 'faster said that she, too, would have walked out because, in her mind, that's bordering on pornography disguised as art, and once the line is crossed and accepted, the boundary ceases to exist for other filmmakers. She doesn't want to look forward to full frontal nude sex scenes in other movies, just because it's okay in this movie.
We talked about that concept: far too many lines are crossed to see if society will allow them to be crossed, but once the lines no longer exist, it becomes a free for all of one-upmanship to see who can push the boundaries farther. The distinct difference between decency and obscenity become obscured under the guise of art, leaving (once again) parents with the troubling task of defending their parenting choices when the rest of the world has gone laissez faire as it's too much work to be the one parent who still believes in the difference between what's right and what's wrong. It's no longer just that all the other kids, but all the other parents aren't holding the line between what's right and what's wrong.
For instance, Britney Spears began her career with an all-American image that parents not just appreciated, but supported; however, to ramp up her image (translate: income) she became less all-American and much more trampy. She began with subtle costume changes that morphed her into the cheap bar girl persona, and then she began living out that lifestyle. There is an entire generation of girls who followed her lead and headed down a path their parents never dreamed their little girls would travel. The mantra became, "Britney does it," and rather than stand up for what the parents' wanted for their children, the parents caved. Not far behind is Justin Timberlake for the boys: clean-cut, all-American boy gone gangsta, with his posse of 10-year-olds dragging along behind him, ball caps turned backward and one hand on the waistband of pants many sizes too large.
And, sadly, when the parents sent the children off to school looking like little hooker Britney and miniature gangsta Justin, the schools caved. Dress codes in CA are a thing of the past and pretty much anything a child wears is okay because it's what their parents have approved by purchasing it for them -- whether they know it or not.
The media's influence over our lives is far stronger than many people are willing to admit. If we see it on TV, we want it for our own lives, whether we like it, need it, or can afford it. We see a home makeover that changes out the kitchen appliances and countertops, and that's what we have to have, too. A refigerator or stove works as well with an enamel surface as it does with a steel surface, but if the TV designers show stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, we install stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, often just in time for the look to change on next season's designer shows.
And, contrary to the ads, an enamel fridge can be as energy efficient as a stainless steel fridge because being a "green" appliance is all about the construction and the motor used to run the appliance, not the material used for the decorative exterior panel.
It's all about the boundaries that society needs to function in an orderly manner, but which the shock-meisters want to flaut to make another dollar off a society that functions on a herd mentality. Regardless of how Kate Winslet felt about having total naked sex with a teenager for a film her husband was directing and in a scene he was intimately involved with, it's not appropriate in my world. With her husband the one behind the filming, it almost becomes prostitution: he films a big-budget porno sex scene starring his wife -- and they both get paid for it. The publicity brings in the public, who want to see the total nudity/total sex scene, which is another financial plus for the director and his wife.
The buzz sent the film into the awards show season, but I'll always wonder how many people would have seen the film based on its merits, rather than on a desire to see, for the first time, this shocking soft porno given legitimacy.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Big Box Business
An offer popped up on my computer for printer ink at what seems to be a ridiculously low price. When I bought the new Canon all-in-one, I bought a replacement cartridge because it comes with a "sample" toner cartridge, not a "real" one. It cost me $79.99 plus tax.
I just placed my order at Simplyink on line for 3 toner cartridges for my new Canon printer -- less 10% with the coupon, with a special discount of another $10 for ordering 3 at a time, and free shipping and handling.
Total: $105.22, and my order will be delivered to my door within 3 business days. I did not have to order online to receive the products, the discounts, and the free shipping, as is required at some online merchants.
When I'm tempted to feel sorry for failing big box businesses, I think instead about how they could be cutting cost and meeting consumer needs. Instead, they build bigger, more ostentatious retail outlets that never have what I want on the shelf, but will order it for me -- and it takes 2 weeks and another trip to the store for me to purchase it. When they do have what I need, it ALWAYS costs more than it should, and something in me thinks that's because I'm paying for the dead stock on the shelves and the inflated salaries of the consumer sales rep, who often has no idea about the job because (s)he is working to pay rent and gas, and the cashier who no longer even has to know how to make change or, heaven forbid, count it back to the customer.
If the big box stores want to compete, they have to streamline their merchandise and their service, becoming hybrid retail outlets that showcase the merchandise on the floor and retrieve it from the warehouse out back, rather than stocking upteem of one toner cartridge and not reordering the ones that have sold out until ALL of the cartridges need to be reordered. The excessive merchandising of say, a Wal-Mart, needs to stop: no store needs to display a thousand choices in a thousand sizes, shapes and colors just to entice one consumer to buy one pair of sneakers, or one CD or DVD. Cut the square footage in half, warehouse the back stock, and display what is available. Let the consumer browse, make a selection, go to the sales desk and request it, and let the consumer service representative go pick it up and deliver it to the cashier. Done, done, done. Businesses have become as complacent as consumers have become aggressive, and when balance is restored, the marketplace will revitalize and life will go back to a commerce we all know and love.
Until then, I shop on line: it's at my leisure, I don't waste my gas, my time, or my patience with snippy sales staff, and, unless I have to try it on to see if it fits, it's a better option for me than any brick 'n mortar mall.
I just placed my order at Simplyink on line for 3 toner cartridges for my new Canon printer -- less 10% with the coupon, with a special discount of another $10 for ordering 3 at a time, and free shipping and handling.
Total: $105.22, and my order will be delivered to my door within 3 business days. I did not have to order online to receive the products, the discounts, and the free shipping, as is required at some online merchants.
When I'm tempted to feel sorry for failing big box businesses, I think instead about how they could be cutting cost and meeting consumer needs. Instead, they build bigger, more ostentatious retail outlets that never have what I want on the shelf, but will order it for me -- and it takes 2 weeks and another trip to the store for me to purchase it. When they do have what I need, it ALWAYS costs more than it should, and something in me thinks that's because I'm paying for the dead stock on the shelves and the inflated salaries of the consumer sales rep, who often has no idea about the job because (s)he is working to pay rent and gas, and the cashier who no longer even has to know how to make change or, heaven forbid, count it back to the customer.
If the big box stores want to compete, they have to streamline their merchandise and their service, becoming hybrid retail outlets that showcase the merchandise on the floor and retrieve it from the warehouse out back, rather than stocking upteem of one toner cartridge and not reordering the ones that have sold out until ALL of the cartridges need to be reordered. The excessive merchandising of say, a Wal-Mart, needs to stop: no store needs to display a thousand choices in a thousand sizes, shapes and colors just to entice one consumer to buy one pair of sneakers, or one CD or DVD. Cut the square footage in half, warehouse the back stock, and display what is available. Let the consumer browse, make a selection, go to the sales desk and request it, and let the consumer service representative go pick it up and deliver it to the cashier. Done, done, done. Businesses have become as complacent as consumers have become aggressive, and when balance is restored, the marketplace will revitalize and life will go back to a commerce we all know and love.
Until then, I shop on line: it's at my leisure, I don't waste my gas, my time, or my patience with snippy sales staff, and, unless I have to try it on to see if it fits, it's a better option for me than any brick 'n mortar mall.
Death and Dying
Wednesday, January 14, my friend called and asked me to come right over. She was sobbing and rapidly losing control because her dog appeared to be in the final stages of life. He was diagnosed with liver cancer last May, but she’s been keeping regular vet appointments, changed him to a special diet, and has been pumping pills, blood tests and other treatments into him since the diagnosis. When I arrived, Grady was barely life-like: he was inside a scooped out hollow in the sand near the backdoor of his home, his eyes were cloudy, and he didn’t move. I had brought Mia over, perhaps to say her final farewell, and she stood over him, groomed the top of his head, and then bounded off to explore the backyard when Grady never acknowledged her presence.
Grady was shivering, so I suggested that his mom cover him with a blanket, keep him comfortable, and wait for the inevitable: there was no way Grady would live through the night.
The next day, I went with the two of them to the vet. Grady had to be carried into the building and he cowered at my feet. The vet came in and pronounced that the time had come to put Grady down: he has liver cancer and other issues, he’s old, and it’s the humane action to take. My friend was hysterical and could not wrap her brain around the death of her beloved dog, so I suggested that she take him home, spend the long MLK weekend saying goodbye, and then call the vet to come to her home for the final farewell.
Grady had to be carried into the vet’s office, but he walked out under his own steam! He visited the grassy area, lifted his leg, settled in for the ride home, and seemed to have undergone a miraculous improvement in his health. I assumed it was the result of the adrenalin from being at the vet’s office, as well as the shot he was given, based on the vet’s conversation about both. Over a very long weekend, Grady continued to improve and seemed like his old self. Of course, the fatal phone call to the vet’s office never took place because how does an owner put down a dog that appears to be … just fine?
When my friend had to return to work Tuesday, I offered to sit hospice care for a dying dog, which I did every day last week. It was completely stressful to think that any moment Grady could die, but he seemed fine. I mentioned several times that if Grady is sick and dying, I’m not seeing it. I suggested that maybe on the “day of the dead” he had eaten something at the park down the street where he had taken his early evening walk an hour prior to his vomiting, diarhhea and deathlike behavior. Repeatedly I was told that he has cancer and this is symptomatic of the “cycle” associated with it: some good days, some bad days, then he dies.
Over the weekend, we went out to eat and I talked to my friend about Grady’s incredibly improved health, again expressing the position that I think he ingested something at the park that worked its way out of his system and is no longer at death’s door. She didn’t agree, but did agree to call the vet. Yesterday, she came to pick Grady up after she returned home from work and told me that she had contacted the vet, who told her that he may NOT have liver cancer, but a liver condition, and that it sounds as if maybe he was poisoned or made deathly ill by something he ingested during the walk at the park on Jan. 14.
I was stunned. I had been in the vet’s office, heard the death knell, encouraged my friend to take Grady home so she could say goodbye, rather than having him put down that Thursday morning! What if she had said no, I want it done now. He’s suffered enough.
I’m angry at the vet and thinking about the thousands of dollars and the mental anguish this has been for Grady’s mom – and me. She is an emotional wreck during her good days, and this has almost pushed her over the top. The good news is that Grady seems fine, but the bad news is that she’s going to have to go through this again for reals: how is she going to know which time will be the time?
Grady is going to stay with me during the days and spend time with Mia, his best dog friend. I’m not comfortable with him staying at home alone, especially because there is no doggy door, but also because I don’t know which diagnosis is the correct one: Grady has liver cancer and is dying or Grady has a liver condition and we can tug on your heart strings, pile on the office visits, and cash the checks for the endless blood tests, the special diet, the medications, using the absolute terror of thinking that if you don’t go along to get along, Grady may die.
Grady was shivering, so I suggested that his mom cover him with a blanket, keep him comfortable, and wait for the inevitable: there was no way Grady would live through the night.
The next day, I went with the two of them to the vet. Grady had to be carried into the building and he cowered at my feet. The vet came in and pronounced that the time had come to put Grady down: he has liver cancer and other issues, he’s old, and it’s the humane action to take. My friend was hysterical and could not wrap her brain around the death of her beloved dog, so I suggested that she take him home, spend the long MLK weekend saying goodbye, and then call the vet to come to her home for the final farewell.
Grady had to be carried into the vet’s office, but he walked out under his own steam! He visited the grassy area, lifted his leg, settled in for the ride home, and seemed to have undergone a miraculous improvement in his health. I assumed it was the result of the adrenalin from being at the vet’s office, as well as the shot he was given, based on the vet’s conversation about both. Over a very long weekend, Grady continued to improve and seemed like his old self. Of course, the fatal phone call to the vet’s office never took place because how does an owner put down a dog that appears to be … just fine?
When my friend had to return to work Tuesday, I offered to sit hospice care for a dying dog, which I did every day last week. It was completely stressful to think that any moment Grady could die, but he seemed fine. I mentioned several times that if Grady is sick and dying, I’m not seeing it. I suggested that maybe on the “day of the dead” he had eaten something at the park down the street where he had taken his early evening walk an hour prior to his vomiting, diarhhea and deathlike behavior. Repeatedly I was told that he has cancer and this is symptomatic of the “cycle” associated with it: some good days, some bad days, then he dies.
Over the weekend, we went out to eat and I talked to my friend about Grady’s incredibly improved health, again expressing the position that I think he ingested something at the park that worked its way out of his system and is no longer at death’s door. She didn’t agree, but did agree to call the vet. Yesterday, she came to pick Grady up after she returned home from work and told me that she had contacted the vet, who told her that he may NOT have liver cancer, but a liver condition, and that it sounds as if maybe he was poisoned or made deathly ill by something he ingested during the walk at the park on Jan. 14.
I was stunned. I had been in the vet’s office, heard the death knell, encouraged my friend to take Grady home so she could say goodbye, rather than having him put down that Thursday morning! What if she had said no, I want it done now. He’s suffered enough.
I’m angry at the vet and thinking about the thousands of dollars and the mental anguish this has been for Grady’s mom – and me. She is an emotional wreck during her good days, and this has almost pushed her over the top. The good news is that Grady seems fine, but the bad news is that she’s going to have to go through this again for reals: how is she going to know which time will be the time?
Grady is going to stay with me during the days and spend time with Mia, his best dog friend. I’m not comfortable with him staying at home alone, especially because there is no doggy door, but also because I don’t know which diagnosis is the correct one: Grady has liver cancer and is dying or Grady has a liver condition and we can tug on your heart strings, pile on the office visits, and cash the checks for the endless blood tests, the special diet, the medications, using the absolute terror of thinking that if you don’t go along to get along, Grady may die.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Ill-Informed
In an effort to view and discuss each of the nominees for Oscar, I found myself buying a ticket for The Reader today. I stayed less time for the movie than I did for the trailers preceeding it!
I did not know about the total nudity, male and female, full frontal, and full contact sex scene between a 30-something woman and a teen male. My stomach clenched, I left the theatre, and the ticket seller had to call someone so I could get a "see another movie" chit. To say I was appalled would be understating my reaction.
Imagine my surprise to learn that the full frontal female actor (Kate Winslet) is now the proud recipient of a SAG award. I'll never know for what as I'll never watch any part of the film. What I saw was more than enough to know that there has to be another way to convey the story than starting it with that kind of scene. I wonder how many of the other patrons knew what was coming, or was I the only one totally repulsed by the scene?
My friend who stayed to the end later told me it is a "beautiful" film, Kate Winslet totally deserves an Oscar, and I should have stayed for the rest of the movie.
Uh, that would be NO!
I did not know about the total nudity, male and female, full frontal, and full contact sex scene between a 30-something woman and a teen male. My stomach clenched, I left the theatre, and the ticket seller had to call someone so I could get a "see another movie" chit. To say I was appalled would be understating my reaction.
Imagine my surprise to learn that the full frontal female actor (Kate Winslet) is now the proud recipient of a SAG award. I'll never know for what as I'll never watch any part of the film. What I saw was more than enough to know that there has to be another way to convey the story than starting it with that kind of scene. I wonder how many of the other patrons knew what was coming, or was I the only one totally repulsed by the scene?
My friend who stayed to the end later told me it is a "beautiful" film, Kate Winslet totally deserves an Oscar, and I should have stayed for the rest of the movie.
Uh, that would be NO!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Writing Assignment
Many of my current students have set up their on-line journals and are discovering the fun of blogging. As I read each one each day and offer a comment, I am asked to write the tricky made-up word to verify that I'm not phishing.
Here's the way my mind words: how about collecting all these totally random collections of letters, use them legitimately in writing, and see what happens?
If it's your word, you get to decide the definition and usage, so it could totally perk up an otherwise dull email or blog entry!
I wonder if that's how someone came to start using "twitter" as a form of wireless communication? If you don't know twitter 'n tweets, go to [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o]
Here's the way my mind words: how about collecting all these totally random collections of letters, use them legitimately in writing, and see what happens?
If it's your word, you get to decide the definition and usage, so it could totally perk up an otherwise dull email or blog entry!
I wonder if that's how someone came to start using "twitter" as a form of wireless communication? If you don't know twitter 'n tweets, go to [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o]
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Dining Out
It' not a fancy place, just the local P-Hut, but I was tired after a long week of getting the classes into place, figuring out the logistics, and trying to solve the copy issues as I live 60 miles from the campus copy machine, but my class is 1/2 there, which makes me go too far out of my way ... it's an issue that needs resolution, but not tonight.
I called my friend whose dog I'm keeping this week and asked her if she'd meet me for a quick dinner, and she was happy to do so, suggesting the P-Hut down the block from my house. We've made this same bad decision before, but we always think that this time, the service will be better than last time, but so far, it's worse.
We both ordered water and we both got water; however, getting silverware was another story. We both wanted salad bar, but I wanted wings, too, and after waiting for the server to return to our table so I could order them, I finally found silverware off another table and began eating my "make your own" salad while we waited, and waited, and waited for our server to return to the table and take the order. I counted 4 employees in the restaurant, one cooking, one guarding the take-out order desk, one who appeared to be a manager, and our server. There were 6 patrons in the restaurant, so it seemed, on the surface, that service should not be an issue this time.
When she finally came by the table to ask if she could take our order, I ordered 10 chicken wings to go with my water and salad. I finished the water and the salad and still no sign of the chicken wings. Our server swooped by and crashed plates to the floor, bouncing one off my hand, accompanied by a "Whoops." Still no wings. A group of 3 came in and occupied the table next to us, and they got water and their order taken, but still no wings.
Finally, the wings came. Well, that would be 5 wings and 6 jelly-bean sized fried drops of whatever. I said to the server, "Uh, what is this? I ordered a 10-piece chicken wing appetizer."
She replied, "Yes, there is one extra, but you won't be charged for it."
"What?????" sayeth I. "The problem is that there are 5 wings in this order, not 10, and I'm not sure what these little chunks of fried batter are."
"Well," she responds, "I didn't cook them!" and turned to walk away.
I picked up the plate, marched over to the counter and directed someone to find me the cook. When he turned toward me, I asked him what the hell this was on my plate. Of course, he told me it was my 10-piece wing order, and that simply was not going to be an acceptable response no matter who gave it. I directed him to call his manager, who was standing right there next to him, mute, and asked her how she was going to make this order right.
She suggested that the cook could prepare a new order, to which I said, "I don't have all night to wait for it. How 'bout I take these and you charge me for 5 wings, which is exactly what is on this plate, and you can have back the little bits of fried whatever."
She agreed because I think she knew that this conversation was not going to end well if she chose any other option.
My friend and I finished eating, stacked our plates, put our money on the table, and then waited and waited and waited for the server to come with our bill. She took a small plate of something to the table next to us, scooted back over to the counter and drew one glass of soda and delivered it to the same table, and then strode over to check out the salad bar. I had already suggested to my friend that we just walk out the door to see if that would get someone's attention, but she did the "Bring us our bill NOW" thing in her teacher's voice and sent our server scurrying.
I left a dollar tip on the table, paid the bill, and when the manager asked the gratuitous question, "How was everything," I responded, "Are you serious?" She ignored me, handed me my change, and we left.
As we backed out of the parking space to head for home, my friend said, "That went well," and we both laughed.
"Yeah," I said, "isn't that the definition of insanity: going to P-Hut knowing we'll have the worst service possible and still expecting good service this time?"
And, she replied, as she always does, "Well, it's not too bad if they have a different server," but we ALWAYS get the same girl! The only difference this time is that she's dyed her hair black, probably because she got tired of the dumb blonde jokes.
I vote for not returning to P-Hut as it just isn't worth the aggravation, but I'm sure that next time, we'll have a different server or this one will have learned how to do the job for which she was hired.
I called my friend whose dog I'm keeping this week and asked her if she'd meet me for a quick dinner, and she was happy to do so, suggesting the P-Hut down the block from my house. We've made this same bad decision before, but we always think that this time, the service will be better than last time, but so far, it's worse.
We both ordered water and we both got water; however, getting silverware was another story. We both wanted salad bar, but I wanted wings, too, and after waiting for the server to return to our table so I could order them, I finally found silverware off another table and began eating my "make your own" salad while we waited, and waited, and waited for our server to return to the table and take the order. I counted 4 employees in the restaurant, one cooking, one guarding the take-out order desk, one who appeared to be a manager, and our server. There were 6 patrons in the restaurant, so it seemed, on the surface, that service should not be an issue this time.
When she finally came by the table to ask if she could take our order, I ordered 10 chicken wings to go with my water and salad. I finished the water and the salad and still no sign of the chicken wings. Our server swooped by and crashed plates to the floor, bouncing one off my hand, accompanied by a "Whoops." Still no wings. A group of 3 came in and occupied the table next to us, and they got water and their order taken, but still no wings.
Finally, the wings came. Well, that would be 5 wings and 6 jelly-bean sized fried drops of whatever. I said to the server, "Uh, what is this? I ordered a 10-piece chicken wing appetizer."
She replied, "Yes, there is one extra, but you won't be charged for it."
"What?????" sayeth I. "The problem is that there are 5 wings in this order, not 10, and I'm not sure what these little chunks of fried batter are."
"Well," she responds, "I didn't cook them!" and turned to walk away.
I picked up the plate, marched over to the counter and directed someone to find me the cook. When he turned toward me, I asked him what the hell this was on my plate. Of course, he told me it was my 10-piece wing order, and that simply was not going to be an acceptable response no matter who gave it. I directed him to call his manager, who was standing right there next to him, mute, and asked her how she was going to make this order right.
She suggested that the cook could prepare a new order, to which I said, "I don't have all night to wait for it. How 'bout I take these and you charge me for 5 wings, which is exactly what is on this plate, and you can have back the little bits of fried whatever."
She agreed because I think she knew that this conversation was not going to end well if she chose any other option.
My friend and I finished eating, stacked our plates, put our money on the table, and then waited and waited and waited for the server to come with our bill. She took a small plate of something to the table next to us, scooted back over to the counter and drew one glass of soda and delivered it to the same table, and then strode over to check out the salad bar. I had already suggested to my friend that we just walk out the door to see if that would get someone's attention, but she did the "Bring us our bill NOW" thing in her teacher's voice and sent our server scurrying.
I left a dollar tip on the table, paid the bill, and when the manager asked the gratuitous question, "How was everything," I responded, "Are you serious?" She ignored me, handed me my change, and we left.
As we backed out of the parking space to head for home, my friend said, "That went well," and we both laughed.
"Yeah," I said, "isn't that the definition of insanity: going to P-Hut knowing we'll have the worst service possible and still expecting good service this time?"
And, she replied, as she always does, "Well, it's not too bad if they have a different server," but we ALWAYS get the same girl! The only difference this time is that she's dyed her hair black, probably because she got tired of the dumb blonde jokes.
I vote for not returning to P-Hut as it just isn't worth the aggravation, but I'm sure that next time, we'll have a different server or this one will have learned how to do the job for which she was hired.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Fixing the Economy
Received a long letter of explanation about the restructured water rates, effective March 1, just as the desert sun begins to heat the sand. It seems that operational costs have risen, while revenue has declined, perhaps, in part, due to the change-overs to more desert friendly landscaping that requires less water less frequently.
Therefore, thanks to the conservation efforts of the desert's eco-friendly homeowners, our water rates will be increasing significantly, with a hefty penalty for exceeding the allowed amount of water, based on the size of the parcel and the use of the building.
I feel so validated, knowing that all my hard work is not going ... unpunished!
Therefore, thanks to the conservation efforts of the desert's eco-friendly homeowners, our water rates will be increasing significantly, with a hefty penalty for exceeding the allowed amount of water, based on the size of the parcel and the use of the building.
I feel so validated, knowing that all my hard work is not going ... unpunished!
The Third Wall
In the theatre, there is a third wall, the allusion of reality that is never to be breached during a performance. It separates the actors from the audience, while allowing the appearance of a relationship. The audience knows that it's a performance, but engages with the actors who create a believable stage reality. When the final curtain falls, the actors leave the stage, change their costumes, remove their make-up, and go about their personal lives.
Such is teaching. An effective teacher must also be an effective actor who actively engages the students in a relationship that allows the instructional process to flourish. However, when the class period ends, the teacher exits the stage and resumes his/her real life, a life wherein the audience, the students, are not part of the teacher's personal circle of friends.
Students, however, seem not to understand that being friendly within a professional relationship does not make the student/teacher friends. Today, it's all about being friends and liking one another, rather than establishing a relationship that is friendly, supportive, and effective to accomplish our mutual goal: education. Students want to call teachers by their first name, feel free to contact them on their personal phones, and engage in social interaction outside the classroom as part of the student/teacher relationship. Students don't understand that assuming that relationship is actually counter-productive to the business relationship of the classroom because it becomes personal, not professional.
I do allow students to contact me via email so they can ask questions, send drafts for response, write on-line journals, and receive electronic copies of materials I use in the classroom. I do not expect and/or accept personal emails from them, a differentiation that I make very clear and reinforce with my actions, the same way that I would if we were in the actual classroom, rather than a virtual classroom. If it's business, we conduct it; if it's personal, they lose their email privileges.
As funny as this sounds, I move past the teacher-student relationship when the course ends and another course begins. I don't remember; I don't pick up where we left off when I see the former student on campus. I separate myself from each year's worth of students, replacing one group of hundreds with another. There have been so many thousands of students that, for me, maintaining the third wall is a survival skill: I cannot continue the relationship as each of us goes his/her separate way.
As the students are younger and younger, this concept is more challenging for them to understand. It is as if they have to be friends -- or we become frenemies: friendly enemies. It is the projection of their personal relationships onto their business relationships, a projection that makes me uncomfortable because it assumes a level of intimacy that I don't want to accept. Sometimes I wonder if it is this inability to separate relationships that leads young people to come onto a campus and shoot to kill: if the only columns they have are "friends" and "enemies," it somehow becomes easier to obliterate perfect strangers simply because they aren't on one's "friends" list.
I do have friends, hard to believe, from my professional life and some who sat in the seats as students, but these are individual decisions based on a complex matrix that we all [used to] have for delineating between family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Students seem to have two columns in their lives, very little delineation of quality indicators, and the assumption of too much too soon in personal relationships. They are socially presumptuous in a way that transcends boundaries that serve a purpose, and I'm not sure whether that's good, neutral, or wrong.
The times they are a-changing, aren't they, and if I cannot or will not change with them, it's time to retreat to the rocker with my knitting in my lap and my snoring dog at my feet, peering out the living room window once in a while to see what the world is up to today.
Such is teaching. An effective teacher must also be an effective actor who actively engages the students in a relationship that allows the instructional process to flourish. However, when the class period ends, the teacher exits the stage and resumes his/her real life, a life wherein the audience, the students, are not part of the teacher's personal circle of friends.
Students, however, seem not to understand that being friendly within a professional relationship does not make the student/teacher friends. Today, it's all about being friends and liking one another, rather than establishing a relationship that is friendly, supportive, and effective to accomplish our mutual goal: education. Students want to call teachers by their first name, feel free to contact them on their personal phones, and engage in social interaction outside the classroom as part of the student/teacher relationship. Students don't understand that assuming that relationship is actually counter-productive to the business relationship of the classroom because it becomes personal, not professional.
I do allow students to contact me via email so they can ask questions, send drafts for response, write on-line journals, and receive electronic copies of materials I use in the classroom. I do not expect and/or accept personal emails from them, a differentiation that I make very clear and reinforce with my actions, the same way that I would if we were in the actual classroom, rather than a virtual classroom. If it's business, we conduct it; if it's personal, they lose their email privileges.
As funny as this sounds, I move past the teacher-student relationship when the course ends and another course begins. I don't remember; I don't pick up where we left off when I see the former student on campus. I separate myself from each year's worth of students, replacing one group of hundreds with another. There have been so many thousands of students that, for me, maintaining the third wall is a survival skill: I cannot continue the relationship as each of us goes his/her separate way.
As the students are younger and younger, this concept is more challenging for them to understand. It is as if they have to be friends -- or we become frenemies: friendly enemies. It is the projection of their personal relationships onto their business relationships, a projection that makes me uncomfortable because it assumes a level of intimacy that I don't want to accept. Sometimes I wonder if it is this inability to separate relationships that leads young people to come onto a campus and shoot to kill: if the only columns they have are "friends" and "enemies," it somehow becomes easier to obliterate perfect strangers simply because they aren't on one's "friends" list.
I do have friends, hard to believe, from my professional life and some who sat in the seats as students, but these are individual decisions based on a complex matrix that we all [used to] have for delineating between family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Students seem to have two columns in their lives, very little delineation of quality indicators, and the assumption of too much too soon in personal relationships. They are socially presumptuous in a way that transcends boundaries that serve a purpose, and I'm not sure whether that's good, neutral, or wrong.
The times they are a-changing, aren't they, and if I cannot or will not change with them, it's time to retreat to the rocker with my knitting in my lap and my snoring dog at my feet, peering out the living room window once in a while to see what the world is up to today.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I Have a Dream
I know today is all about the inauguration of the FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT of the United States of America, but the same way that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. became more well-known for his accomplishments than his color, I hope that we get past race and focus on our 44th President of the United States.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Catharsis
My mom always used to warn her six children that "you can do a hundred things right and I'll never hear about them, but you do one thing wrong -- and I'll know about it before you get home." It was amazing how often she did know -- not about the accomplishments, but about those things that children do that they probably should think about re: consequences. Former President Nixon is seldom remembered for any of the positive contributions his presidency made to the country; instead, his legacy is the one overwhelming wrong, Watergate, and his failure not just to accept responsibility for his part in it, but his refusal to accept the consequences.
The film Frost/Nixon is outstanding, almost a puff piece in a sense, as David Frost comes across as a gadabout, a player who wants the face time on the tube, but who relies on this cuteness, rather than his intellect. His team does the work and he ... sits back and is entertained by former President Nixon. Nixon agrees to four interviews, each with specific parameters, and he easily and skillfully handles the first three, making Frost look like a lightweight in the process.
And then came the (alleged) phone call, the one Nixon made late one night, when he talked about how he and Frost were alike in that no one had high expectations for their accomplishments, so they had to work harder than others to succeed. "We showed the bastards" seemed to be the message Nixon sent to Frost during that phone call, vowing to be well-prepared and aggressive for the last interview, the one that would focus on Watergate.
And then came the final interview, the one where Frost put Nixon into a box and the former President admitted his mistakes, his transgressions, his flauting of presidental practices, but with an attitude of "What I did was wrong, but to err is human, and I am, after all, just human." In my mind's eye, watching the film, Nixon led Frost to that moment so the former President could finally purge himself of the knowledge that yes, he did do it. There, I said it. Now, can we just move on?
There was a pathos in the presentation of the mea culpa, the desolation of a man who was (and remained) persona non grata. No one forgave him: no one. Nor did he ever forgive himself.
I don't know how accurate the presentation is, but the portrayals are excellent and transcend the script, especially, of course, the portrayal of Nixon's arrogance and aquiescence. Frost is a "johnny one note" and Nixon is forever tainted by Watergate, but the film is more than that, a meeting of minds that for all the overt differences share intimate similarities. Frost was his persona, and so, he learned, was Nixon, although both were skilled on the surface at seeming real in whatever role life presented them.
There's a sadness to both men, in spite of the constant smiles they share with the world. Nixon lived out his life in a self-imposed semi-exile, and Frost seemed to rest on his laurels of the one unforgettable -- and almost ungettable -- interview of a lifetime, a direction neither expected life to take after such an historic TV moment. Nixon's catharsis should have been another beginning for both of them, a closing of the door and opening of a window, but it wasn't: it was just the denouement of another chapter in the nation's history.
The film Frost/Nixon is outstanding, almost a puff piece in a sense, as David Frost comes across as a gadabout, a player who wants the face time on the tube, but who relies on this cuteness, rather than his intellect. His team does the work and he ... sits back and is entertained by former President Nixon. Nixon agrees to four interviews, each with specific parameters, and he easily and skillfully handles the first three, making Frost look like a lightweight in the process.
And then came the (alleged) phone call, the one Nixon made late one night, when he talked about how he and Frost were alike in that no one had high expectations for their accomplishments, so they had to work harder than others to succeed. "We showed the bastards" seemed to be the message Nixon sent to Frost during that phone call, vowing to be well-prepared and aggressive for the last interview, the one that would focus on Watergate.
And then came the final interview, the one where Frost put Nixon into a box and the former President admitted his mistakes, his transgressions, his flauting of presidental practices, but with an attitude of "What I did was wrong, but to err is human, and I am, after all, just human." In my mind's eye, watching the film, Nixon led Frost to that moment so the former President could finally purge himself of the knowledge that yes, he did do it. There, I said it. Now, can we just move on?
There was a pathos in the presentation of the mea culpa, the desolation of a man who was (and remained) persona non grata. No one forgave him: no one. Nor did he ever forgive himself.
I don't know how accurate the presentation is, but the portrayals are excellent and transcend the script, especially, of course, the portrayal of Nixon's arrogance and aquiescence. Frost is a "johnny one note" and Nixon is forever tainted by Watergate, but the film is more than that, a meeting of minds that for all the overt differences share intimate similarities. Frost was his persona, and so, he learned, was Nixon, although both were skilled on the surface at seeming real in whatever role life presented them.
There's a sadness to both men, in spite of the constant smiles they share with the world. Nixon lived out his life in a self-imposed semi-exile, and Frost seemed to rest on his laurels of the one unforgettable -- and almost ungettable -- interview of a lifetime, a direction neither expected life to take after such an historic TV moment. Nixon's catharsis should have been another beginning for both of them, a closing of the door and opening of a window, but it wasn't: it was just the denouement of another chapter in the nation's history.
Racism or Reality?
Photo mydesert.comIn the Valley, there is a mobile home park nick-named Duroville, where 3-5 thousand residents are housed in 300 mobile homes, some of which are 1 bedroom. Yes, that is correct: 3-5 thousand residents occupy 300 trailers. This community has been the target of the court system for several years as it is not just a health and safety issue, but a quality of life issue. Many, many of the residents are young children, children who should not be living in those conditions in the first place.
This mobile home park has no sanitation facilities; there are literally deep trenches into which the trailer portapotties empty and along which the children play. There is no electricity, save for that which is illegally run from a couple of major power poles to the rabbit hutch of family dwellings. There are few paved streets, no trash pick-up, no public services provided. There are approximately 1500 dogs sharing space with the human population. This is a place no one should call home.
To accommodate the seasonal influx of additional workers, those who rent/own the primary residence have tacked on (literally) wooden structures that serve as additional living space. Thus, one mobile home may be encompassed with wooden structures front, sides, and back to accommodate additional campers, putting all of the residents at risk for a massive fire to decimate the area within minutes if it once begins. There are men, women and children living like rabbits in a hutch, living with the stench of sewer in the streets and drinking tainted water, in conditions that rival the darkest slums of any third world nation.
However, it is home to the residents, a point made vehemently by some who are more offended by the attitude that they live in substandard conditions than they are by living in them! All attempts to literally burn this camp to the ground have been met with charges of racism because it is home primarily to migrant workers, and the majority of the residents are illegal aliens. The local judge currently faced with this massive social bombshell once again agreed not to shut it down and, instead, mandated efforts to bring the park up to code, which is laughable as no one has the money to install and maintain an appropriate infrastructure in the best of times, which these are not.
In the past month, the residents have been dismantling the wooden structures, leaving not just the bare metal boxes to stand alone in the winter elements, but forcing all the people who occupied the wooden add-ons to crowd into the trailers to avoid the recent freezing weather. If the situation is not corrected by summer, the temps will soar into the hundreds and there will be no shade provided by temporary wooden awnings that took the place a shade trees and have now been removed. The clean-up of Duroville has already been dragged through system for the past 5 years, with deadline after deadline given to the park owners: isn't it time to be done with it?
People who cannot -- or will not -- provide for themselves sometimes must accept the actions of the society in which they live and have it done for them. The living conditions are not just primitive, but breeding grounds for diseases that flourish in those kinds of environments and then make their way into the general population as the children begin attending school. These residents are already living on public assistance and obtaining free medical care, but the Valley community may also have to pay the ultimate price of this slum when their medical issues become the Valley's.
My theory of life is to lance the boil so it can heal, rather than allow it to fester and become a bigger problem than it would if it were dealt with in a timely fashion. Duroville is a boil that needs to be lanced, regardless of the criticism that action causes in the court of public opinion. If the residents don't know what's best for them, the system has to assure that it happens. Yes, provisions need to be made for housing these people, but many of them can be deported back to their own countries. The documented citizens can be provided with alternative housing, such as the FEMA trailers sitting in vacant lots in Louisiana, even if those trailers are brought into the same area after an appropriate infrastructure has been developed.
Just because people can live like this does not mean they have to or should, or that the surrounding communities must be forced to accept the situation. Americans are afraid to do the right thing because it may be construed by the courts to be the wrong thing to do. The hundreds of thousands of dollars that have spent on the legal system over the past many years could better have been spent dealing with the problem, one way or another.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Score
As part of the ongoing accreditation process, the college used a campus-wide writing assignment re: persistence v. ability, based on a quotation adapted from Tom Morris, True Success: A New Philosophy*. The students' writing task was to develop a point of view on the issue of persistence as more important than ability in determining a person's success.
There were 12 faculty members present, a blending of full- and part-time staff. The one prereq for attending was that if you gave the assignment, you had to participate in the holisitic scoring session, but 3 of the original dozen had to leave after the first 2 hours and 1 person came in for only the last hour. Other than that, we went through the norming process and then began the task. Although I don't have an accurate count of how many essays, I'm going to guess that there were probably 500-600, based on the stacks I saw.
Holisitic eval requires that the essay is read for focus on the writing task and development of relevant ideas and appropriate support, with the actual skills of writing a lesser part of the process. However, there were 2 scorers who were "grading" the papers by marking grammar, spelling, vocab and mechanical mistakes. Our task was simply to mark the appropriate class level for each essay based on the quality of the writing, and assign it a 1-2, 3-4, or 5-6 score.
Once the scoring panel got into its groove, the process ran smoothly. The only issue I saw develop was that one scorer consistently marked papers with a 5-6 that a second and, therefore, a third reader marked as a 1-2-3 paper. That is a wide discrepancy that shows that the 5-6 marker may have completely over-looked the skills aspect -- or is a teacher everyone wants as (s)he is probably an easy grader. I sat next to a man whose profession is lawyer and with whom I switched the first stack of papers. He and I scored identically on every essay save one, which he gave a 2 and I gave a 4. When I asked him why he scored it so low, he remarked that the writer didn't address the prompt, but when I pointed out the use of the key words in the thesis, as well as throughout the paper, he recanted and allowed the score to be a 3.
My observation is that there are far too few 5-6 essays, the quality that is necessary for college-level work across the curriculum that requires critical thinking and development of a thesis that is sustained with appropriate analysis and explanations. The majority of the essays scored 3-4, which is what used to be the expectation for a grade-level high school graduate. Far too many essays scored 1-2, which means these writers should not have high school diplomas, much less be attending college.
Some of the phrasing hit my funny bone, such as the writer of a 2 essay response whose goal is to become a "trama sergon," a goal I fervently hope is NOT achieved. A young man who arrived from China in September with limited English language skills wrote simply, "a single drop of water will go through rock," an understanding that is far beyond what so many students comprehend. This writer may not (yet) be able to express himself in English, but I'm going to guess that within a year, he'll be able to write rings around any of the other essays I scored, proving his point about persistence.
My final observation is that all but perhaps 10% of the papers were approached as personal narratives, a story all about I. The prompt should have led the writers to a discussion about persistence and ability, not about their own life struggles, because college writing demands objectivity and factual information. Personal experience can (sometimes) be used to augment an essay with support/examples, but the majority of the writing at the college level is factual and objective, not fictional and subjective. My major recommendation for the writing classes is more focus on the objectivity and development of factual examples and explanations and less emphasis on telling one's own story. The students who used these skills far outreached the rest, which paled in comparison because they became so commonplace.
When a teacher has high standards for students, the teacher gets the rep as being a hard-ass and websites (such as RateMyProfessor) tell students to avoid his/her classes. When students consistently fail to meet expectations, the expectations are lowered to accommodate the lack of ability. The students I served during the first 10 years of my career include some of the brightest and the best, students who have gone on in their lives to make a difference in a wide range of professions and arenas. During the second 10 years, I chose to work with the continuation kids, kids whose personal issues interferred with their school success, an assignment that remains the best teaching I've ever done.
My third 10 years were marked with roadblocks and failure in a school that refused to hold students accountable for any aspect of their education, beginning with the ability to speak English (even minimally). The site admin persistently condemned the teachers as failures who, if they could be fixed by yet another endless in-service presentation, might be able to keep their jobs. If students do not have to attend school, do not have to complete assignments, do not have to behave appropriately -- they don't, and the process falls apart, which it has done in my geographical area. And when the educational process does not demand that students speak English, we're done before we can begin.
Society can make all the excuses it wants for the failure of teachers to do their job, but until we regain the value of education as the basis for this country's future, and parents once again put their children's education as the number one FAMILY priority, it is talking to a brick wall. Paraphrasing Jim Morrison, it isn't that we don't need no education, it's that we don't got no education.
What does the staff do with the data and where do we go from here? I don't know. The product we receive every year grows less and less able/capable. Persistence cannot overcome the lack of ability unless/until the student is willing to take the hard-ass, well-qualified teacher's class and do whatever it takes to overcome the deficits in their educational preparation for a certification program, an AA degree, or a transfer program to a 4-year college/university. This isn't about the teacher, it's still about the student, and I know that the man from China is going to develop his ability to read, write, speak, listen and think in English because I already know, having met him once, that his inner core is strengthened with persistence. Whereas other students use their heritage language as an excuse to fail, he realizes that his language is his reason to succeed, and I suspect he will.
*"The biggest difference between people who succeed at any difficult undertaking and those who do not is not ability but persistence. Many extremely talented people give up when obstacles arise. After all, who wants to face failure? It is often said about highly successful people that they are just ordinary individuals who kept on trying, who did not give up."
There were 12 faculty members present, a blending of full- and part-time staff. The one prereq for attending was that if you gave the assignment, you had to participate in the holisitic scoring session, but 3 of the original dozen had to leave after the first 2 hours and 1 person came in for only the last hour. Other than that, we went through the norming process and then began the task. Although I don't have an accurate count of how many essays, I'm going to guess that there were probably 500-600, based on the stacks I saw.
Holisitic eval requires that the essay is read for focus on the writing task and development of relevant ideas and appropriate support, with the actual skills of writing a lesser part of the process. However, there were 2 scorers who were "grading" the papers by marking grammar, spelling, vocab and mechanical mistakes. Our task was simply to mark the appropriate class level for each essay based on the quality of the writing, and assign it a 1-2, 3-4, or 5-6 score.
Once the scoring panel got into its groove, the process ran smoothly. The only issue I saw develop was that one scorer consistently marked papers with a 5-6 that a second and, therefore, a third reader marked as a 1-2-3 paper. That is a wide discrepancy that shows that the 5-6 marker may have completely over-looked the skills aspect -- or is a teacher everyone wants as (s)he is probably an easy grader. I sat next to a man whose profession is lawyer and with whom I switched the first stack of papers. He and I scored identically on every essay save one, which he gave a 2 and I gave a 4. When I asked him why he scored it so low, he remarked that the writer didn't address the prompt, but when I pointed out the use of the key words in the thesis, as well as throughout the paper, he recanted and allowed the score to be a 3.
My observation is that there are far too few 5-6 essays, the quality that is necessary for college-level work across the curriculum that requires critical thinking and development of a thesis that is sustained with appropriate analysis and explanations. The majority of the essays scored 3-4, which is what used to be the expectation for a grade-level high school graduate. Far too many essays scored 1-2, which means these writers should not have high school diplomas, much less be attending college.
Some of the phrasing hit my funny bone, such as the writer of a 2 essay response whose goal is to become a "trama sergon," a goal I fervently hope is NOT achieved. A young man who arrived from China in September with limited English language skills wrote simply, "a single drop of water will go through rock," an understanding that is far beyond what so many students comprehend. This writer may not (yet) be able to express himself in English, but I'm going to guess that within a year, he'll be able to write rings around any of the other essays I scored, proving his point about persistence.
My final observation is that all but perhaps 10% of the papers were approached as personal narratives, a story all about I. The prompt should have led the writers to a discussion about persistence and ability, not about their own life struggles, because college writing demands objectivity and factual information. Personal experience can (sometimes) be used to augment an essay with support/examples, but the majority of the writing at the college level is factual and objective, not fictional and subjective. My major recommendation for the writing classes is more focus on the objectivity and development of factual examples and explanations and less emphasis on telling one's own story. The students who used these skills far outreached the rest, which paled in comparison because they became so commonplace.
When a teacher has high standards for students, the teacher gets the rep as being a hard-ass and websites (such as RateMyProfessor) tell students to avoid his/her classes. When students consistently fail to meet expectations, the expectations are lowered to accommodate the lack of ability. The students I served during the first 10 years of my career include some of the brightest and the best, students who have gone on in their lives to make a difference in a wide range of professions and arenas. During the second 10 years, I chose to work with the continuation kids, kids whose personal issues interferred with their school success, an assignment that remains the best teaching I've ever done.
My third 10 years were marked with roadblocks and failure in a school that refused to hold students accountable for any aspect of their education, beginning with the ability to speak English (even minimally). The site admin persistently condemned the teachers as failures who, if they could be fixed by yet another endless in-service presentation, might be able to keep their jobs. If students do not have to attend school, do not have to complete assignments, do not have to behave appropriately -- they don't, and the process falls apart, which it has done in my geographical area. And when the educational process does not demand that students speak English, we're done before we can begin.
Society can make all the excuses it wants for the failure of teachers to do their job, but until we regain the value of education as the basis for this country's future, and parents once again put their children's education as the number one FAMILY priority, it is talking to a brick wall. Paraphrasing Jim Morrison, it isn't that we don't need no education, it's that we don't got no education.
What does the staff do with the data and where do we go from here? I don't know. The product we receive every year grows less and less able/capable. Persistence cannot overcome the lack of ability unless/until the student is willing to take the hard-ass, well-qualified teacher's class and do whatever it takes to overcome the deficits in their educational preparation for a certification program, an AA degree, or a transfer program to a 4-year college/university. This isn't about the teacher, it's still about the student, and I know that the man from China is going to develop his ability to read, write, speak, listen and think in English because I already know, having met him once, that his inner core is strengthened with persistence. Whereas other students use their heritage language as an excuse to fail, he realizes that his language is his reason to succeed, and I suspect he will.
*"The biggest difference between people who succeed at any difficult undertaking and those who do not is not ability but persistence. Many extremely talented people give up when obstacles arise. After all, who wants to face failure? It is often said about highly successful people that they are just ordinary individuals who kept on trying, who did not give up."
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Pre-Inauguration
First, let me be perfectly clear: I do not believe that anyone who cannot either spell correctly and/or pronounce the word "inauguration" deserves to use it. With that said, listening to interviews on NPR this morning, as part of the "pre-inauguration celebration," I heard comments that gave me cause to pause. One woman ranting, "I love him, I love him, I love him," about the President-elect. Does she not know that she does not know him? She may admire/ respect/ support the politician who has been elected to office, and that is good, but how can she (so adamantly) love anyone she does not know? It scares me that we have generations of people who incorporate complete strangers into their lives via the media, MySpace, FaceBook, et al, and other public forums. We bring strangers into our homes, trust them with our most intimate secrets, and then cannot cope with their betrayal of us. People, we need a reality check.
Obama is also not a hero and/or a super-hero, as so many Americans are averring. He cannot fly faster than a speeding bullet and/or leap buildings with a single bound: he's just a poltician who has been elected President. We've been hero-ing again this week, not just with Obama, but with the pilot of a plane who, thank God, somehow spash-landed in the Hudson River without any of the expected results: plane cartwheeling, breaking apart, sinking like a stone, passengers thrown into the freezing water, chaos. It worked, which makes it a damn fine landing, but heroic? I'm not sure. If it hadn't worked well, the lawsuits would already be filed and the pilot would be the no-good bastard who killed all those people. And, by-the-by, listening to the news readers mispronounce Chesley's name drove me crazy! Your hero is CHES-ley, NOT CHEL-sey! Get it right, already.
But getting back to the pre-inauguration build-up, a conversation was conducted with political pundits offering their take on Obama, and, at one point, I guffawed. The gist of the conversation was the expectations for Obama, or, as Oprah announced to the world, "THE ONE." The question followed, "So, when can we expect to see water turned into wine? Or the waters of the Potomac parted?"
This witty repartee led me to think about our mostly unrealistic expectations for our Presidents, none of whom can live up to their hyped public persona because they have to work within a framework of our political system. Currently, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid have turned the spotlight on themselves and away from their positions as servants of the people who elected them to office. The power that these two politicians exercise is frightening. Pelosi and Reid completely denied support to any Bush policy or practice, creating a hostile political environment for even good programs to be adopted. I still believe that their purpose was to discredit any/all Republican candidates for office in the run-up to the national election, and, more specifically, to elect Barack Obama. Their strategy worked, but in the process, created a power base that may become a hindrance to the Obama presidency, rather than a help.
If Obama gets on their bad side, he can expect to experience first-hand their political clout because these two politicians have become the decision-makers in Washington politics. Obama will have to tread softly -- or wield a big stick -- if he wants to actually become the most powerful leader of the free world. Perhaps his philosophy is to keep friends close, and enemies closer? I'm sure there will be a political pissing contest, and I sincerely hope that the President will win it, because as long as Pelosi and Reid wear the crowns, Obama will have to dance to their tune.
I looked, along with the rest of the world, for the change that has been promised, and I'm disappointed that the Obama presidency seems to be headed toward a mirror image of the Clinton presidency. I wanted to see fresh faces, names I didn't recognize, hear new ideas, be challenged by new strategies; instead, I'm seeing the reruns of a past presidency, and I'm not sure why. Obama disappointed me with his selection of Joe Biden for VP, and he continues to recyle good ole boys from past administrations. I know he believes in going green, but Obama is taking his zest for repurposing and reusing a bit too far.
Is Obama going along to get along, establishing his willingness to make nice, until he has his power base established and can head in his direction? Time will tell.
Estimates are that millions of people will crowd into the Washington, DC area for the Inauguration, standing room only, during a very cold winter. If that happens, not only will public transportation be brought to its knees, but there will be total gridlock on the surrounding roadways both coming in and leaving the event. Five thousand portapotties have been put in place, but ... how much toilet paper? There is NEVER enough toilet paper in a portapotty. Twenty giant screens have been placed around the Mall so people who insert themselves personally into this historical moment can watch it on TV because, let me tell you, I've been on the Mall on the 4th of July, and only those sitting on the uphill side of the massive open space see anything! And there isn't much uphill side.
It's the beginning of change in the US of A, and change isn't bad or good, it's just different. We all have our own agendas, our own expectations for the future, but we share a collective set of expectations, too. We want this new administration not just to be different, but to make a difference, and the only way that is going to happen is if it's change we can believe in, change we can help make happen, and change that is going to lead us toward, rather than away from. I'm still hoping for the best, but I always prepare for the worst: I always have extra rolls of toilet paper, just in case!
Obama is also not a hero and/or a super-hero, as so many Americans are averring. He cannot fly faster than a speeding bullet and/or leap buildings with a single bound: he's just a poltician who has been elected President. We've been hero-ing again this week, not just with Obama, but with the pilot of a plane who, thank God, somehow spash-landed in the Hudson River without any of the expected results: plane cartwheeling, breaking apart, sinking like a stone, passengers thrown into the freezing water, chaos. It worked, which makes it a damn fine landing, but heroic? I'm not sure. If it hadn't worked well, the lawsuits would already be filed and the pilot would be the no-good bastard who killed all those people. And, by-the-by, listening to the news readers mispronounce Chesley's name drove me crazy! Your hero is CHES-ley, NOT CHEL-sey! Get it right, already.
But getting back to the pre-inauguration build-up, a conversation was conducted with political pundits offering their take on Obama, and, at one point, I guffawed. The gist of the conversation was the expectations for Obama, or, as Oprah announced to the world, "THE ONE." The question followed, "So, when can we expect to see water turned into wine? Or the waters of the Potomac parted?"
This witty repartee led me to think about our mostly unrealistic expectations for our Presidents, none of whom can live up to their hyped public persona because they have to work within a framework of our political system. Currently, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid have turned the spotlight on themselves and away from their positions as servants of the people who elected them to office. The power that these two politicians exercise is frightening. Pelosi and Reid completely denied support to any Bush policy or practice, creating a hostile political environment for even good programs to be adopted. I still believe that their purpose was to discredit any/all Republican candidates for office in the run-up to the national election, and, more specifically, to elect Barack Obama. Their strategy worked, but in the process, created a power base that may become a hindrance to the Obama presidency, rather than a help.
If Obama gets on their bad side, he can expect to experience first-hand their political clout because these two politicians have become the decision-makers in Washington politics. Obama will have to tread softly -- or wield a big stick -- if he wants to actually become the most powerful leader of the free world. Perhaps his philosophy is to keep friends close, and enemies closer? I'm sure there will be a political pissing contest, and I sincerely hope that the President will win it, because as long as Pelosi and Reid wear the crowns, Obama will have to dance to their tune.
I looked, along with the rest of the world, for the change that has been promised, and I'm disappointed that the Obama presidency seems to be headed toward a mirror image of the Clinton presidency. I wanted to see fresh faces, names I didn't recognize, hear new ideas, be challenged by new strategies; instead, I'm seeing the reruns of a past presidency, and I'm not sure why. Obama disappointed me with his selection of Joe Biden for VP, and he continues to recyle good ole boys from past administrations. I know he believes in going green, but Obama is taking his zest for repurposing and reusing a bit too far.
Is Obama going along to get along, establishing his willingness to make nice, until he has his power base established and can head in his direction? Time will tell.
Estimates are that millions of people will crowd into the Washington, DC area for the Inauguration, standing room only, during a very cold winter. If that happens, not only will public transportation be brought to its knees, but there will be total gridlock on the surrounding roadways both coming in and leaving the event. Five thousand portapotties have been put in place, but ... how much toilet paper? There is NEVER enough toilet paper in a portapotty. Twenty giant screens have been placed around the Mall so people who insert themselves personally into this historical moment can watch it on TV because, let me tell you, I've been on the Mall on the 4th of July, and only those sitting on the uphill side of the massive open space see anything! And there isn't much uphill side.
It's the beginning of change in the US of A, and change isn't bad or good, it's just different. We all have our own agendas, our own expectations for the future, but we share a collective set of expectations, too. We want this new administration not just to be different, but to make a difference, and the only way that is going to happen is if it's change we can believe in, change we can help make happen, and change that is going to lead us toward, rather than away from. I'm still hoping for the best, but I always prepare for the worst: I always have extra rolls of toilet paper, just in case!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Take a Deep Breath
Today was another blizzard of constant activity, but I not only covered a lot of ground, but accomplished every item on the to-do list.
To wit:
I am now wearing a watch. I remembered to stop at Wal-Mart on my way to class and purchased a man's watch with a big face that does nothing but tell the time!
I also stopped by my bank and asked why I was humiliated at the grocery store yesterday when the clerk had to inform me --3 times-- that I was over my limit, especially when I KNOW how much money is in my checking account. According to the nice lady at the desk closest to the entryway, no one knows that there is a $1k limit on a debit card, and I spent that much prior to arriving at the grocery store. Hence, my card was denied, but, ironically, it paid for the purchase as a charge! I told the nice lady at the bank that I really would have liked to know that limit BEFORE I encountered it in a business, and she assured me that it's probably in the paperwork I've received over the years in little tiny print that no one ever reads. She said most people find out about the limit when they go over it, not exactly a good information system if you ask me.
I have the new book and will revise the syllabus.
I gave my printer to a colleague who is thrilled, especially since he thought it was one of the other ones, with the little ink cartridges that have to be replaced weekly, not one with the big toner ink cartridge that lasts longer. He scratches my back often enough that I owed him payback.
And, I packed up a box of electronic equipment to send to my son! Hurrah on that task being completed. Now, I just have to get a window for shipping so he'll be positioned to drive to the states to pick the box up at the post office.
Finally, my persistance paid off: the installers are coming back to make my wireless option work. They are to be here tomorrow before noon as I have a meeting up the hill from 3-7 pm. They have promised not to leave until it's working, but I'm not confident that is actually going to be the practice if it doesn't work no matter what they do.
To wit:
I am now wearing a watch. I remembered to stop at Wal-Mart on my way to class and purchased a man's watch with a big face that does nothing but tell the time!
I also stopped by my bank and asked why I was humiliated at the grocery store yesterday when the clerk had to inform me --3 times-- that I was over my limit, especially when I KNOW how much money is in my checking account. According to the nice lady at the desk closest to the entryway, no one knows that there is a $1k limit on a debit card, and I spent that much prior to arriving at the grocery store. Hence, my card was denied, but, ironically, it paid for the purchase as a charge! I told the nice lady at the bank that I really would have liked to know that limit BEFORE I encountered it in a business, and she assured me that it's probably in the paperwork I've received over the years in little tiny print that no one ever reads. She said most people find out about the limit when they go over it, not exactly a good information system if you ask me.
I have the new book and will revise the syllabus.
I gave my printer to a colleague who is thrilled, especially since he thought it was one of the other ones, with the little ink cartridges that have to be replaced weekly, not one with the big toner ink cartridge that lasts longer. He scratches my back often enough that I owed him payback.
And, I packed up a box of electronic equipment to send to my son! Hurrah on that task being completed. Now, I just have to get a window for shipping so he'll be positioned to drive to the states to pick the box up at the post office.
Finally, my persistance paid off: the installers are coming back to make my wireless option work. They are to be here tomorrow before noon as I have a meeting up the hill from 3-7 pm. They have promised not to leave until it's working, but I'm not confident that is actually going to be the practice if it doesn't work no matter what they do.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I'm B-A-A-C-K!
I don't know if it's solely the chromium, but something is working and working well. My sleep cycle has reset itself, so I'm back to going to bed at 10 and waking up about 5:30 am without waiting for the alarm to ring. The days are flying by and I feel energized, alert, and focused. Thankfully so, I might add.
Today, I kicked some serious to-do's off the list and spent a cool $1k before 9 am. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Now, 1/2 of that paid off the crown, which was glued in this morning, and the other 1/2 is a new combo printer/copier. My old copier is giving up the ghost and I need a new cartridge, so rather than throwing $387 at it for a housecall (yes, that's what it costs), I put that money toward the new equipment. And, yes, I installed it and it's working just fine. I didn't connect the fax aspect because I don't want that -- and I'm sure T-W would charge me an additional $10 a month to hook a fax into "their" system. I'm still without wi-fi for my little laptop, but I'm not giving up yet, even though the tecs won't return my phone calls.
I also stopped by the school district office and spoke to the person in charge of my Cobra. When I explained that I had contacted "our" carrier and been told that I will not qualify for insurance with them because I have pre-existing medical issues, she made a call. I'm good. I transition the first of March to CalCobra and should receive a letter this week outlining what's involved and how much it's going to cost me. It's hard to pay for insurance, but one oops without it brings sharply into focus how vital it is to have insurance -- whatever it costs. So, I work as long as I have that bill.
Then, I requested and was granted 2 room changes as neither location was appropriate for the content of the class and/or the number of students who walked in the door. By next week, this will all settle down, but until then, it's a bit stressful. I fixed the completely incorrect syllabus and sent it electronically to the campus printer. I'll get it tomorrow when I also pick up the correct edition of the teacher's text for the class, another cross-off from the to-do list.
But the best part of the day was setting up all the email addresses for the 2 comp classes and receiving responses from a half-dozen students that they have already set up their blogs! For most of the students, this is a first, but if they want to grow as a writer, they have to write. I set aside time to read every blog every week and write a response, and they may grant permission for other class members to read their blogs, too, but they may keep it private (as far as the class goes). I don't correct grammar, spelling, mechanics, but I focus on responding to their critical thinking skills, so it's a safe zone for them to experiment and develop their thoughts.
It's almost as much fun to see how they set up the blogs: colors, accessories, personal profile all help to reveal who they are. One gal posted a great picture of herself and then wrote her first blog entry -- one long humongous sentence! I now know her skill area that needs targeting. Another guy wrote about losing his book on the way home from class, but realizing it in time to walk back along his route and find it, coming across a dead bunny on the way, so he stopped and gave it a proper burial.
With all this energy and enthusiasm, I'm glad something led me to stop by the health food store and ask for help. I finally feel good again.
Today, I kicked some serious to-do's off the list and spent a cool $1k before 9 am. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Now, 1/2 of that paid off the crown, which was glued in this morning, and the other 1/2 is a new combo printer/copier. My old copier is giving up the ghost and I need a new cartridge, so rather than throwing $387 at it for a housecall (yes, that's what it costs), I put that money toward the new equipment. And, yes, I installed it and it's working just fine. I didn't connect the fax aspect because I don't want that -- and I'm sure T-W would charge me an additional $10 a month to hook a fax into "their" system. I'm still without wi-fi for my little laptop, but I'm not giving up yet, even though the tecs won't return my phone calls.
I also stopped by the school district office and spoke to the person in charge of my Cobra. When I explained that I had contacted "our" carrier and been told that I will not qualify for insurance with them because I have pre-existing medical issues, she made a call. I'm good. I transition the first of March to CalCobra and should receive a letter this week outlining what's involved and how much it's going to cost me. It's hard to pay for insurance, but one oops without it brings sharply into focus how vital it is to have insurance -- whatever it costs. So, I work as long as I have that bill.
Then, I requested and was granted 2 room changes as neither location was appropriate for the content of the class and/or the number of students who walked in the door. By next week, this will all settle down, but until then, it's a bit stressful. I fixed the completely incorrect syllabus and sent it electronically to the campus printer. I'll get it tomorrow when I also pick up the correct edition of the teacher's text for the class, another cross-off from the to-do list.
But the best part of the day was setting up all the email addresses for the 2 comp classes and receiving responses from a half-dozen students that they have already set up their blogs! For most of the students, this is a first, but if they want to grow as a writer, they have to write. I set aside time to read every blog every week and write a response, and they may grant permission for other class members to read their blogs, too, but they may keep it private (as far as the class goes). I don't correct grammar, spelling, mechanics, but I focus on responding to their critical thinking skills, so it's a safe zone for them to experiment and develop their thoughts.
It's almost as much fun to see how they set up the blogs: colors, accessories, personal profile all help to reveal who they are. One gal posted a great picture of herself and then wrote her first blog entry -- one long humongous sentence! I now know her skill area that needs targeting. Another guy wrote about losing his book on the way home from class, but realizing it in time to walk back along his route and find it, coming across a dead bunny on the way, so he stopped and gave it a proper burial.
With all this energy and enthusiasm, I'm glad something led me to stop by the health food store and ask for help. I finally feel good again.
There's Never Time to Do It Right, but ...
Monday night's last-minute class seemed to go well; however, yesterday's 2 classes were, uh, awful comes to mind. I thought I was prepared, but ...
Twice as many students came to the comp class than expected, so not only were there no materials for them, but no desks/chairs either. The classroom is set up to handle 25 and 32 students arrived for the class. The roster I was given had 17 students enrolled. It was cozy, but not really conducive to composition, for which each student needs a tabletop! They were supposed to do the college-wide norming essay, but that was out of the question, so we'll do it tomorrow. I'll take their writing samples to the scoring seminar Friday, along with the Frosh Comp samples.
Then, I dashed out of the room, dragging my cartful of materials, jumped into my trusty white pick-up, and headed for the base, where the reading class is held. In a computer lab. The tabletops are already occupied by computer monitors. When we read, we read together and discuss/complete assignments as we go along. Students seated in rows of bolted-to-the-floor furniture already occupied by computers aren't going to be able to do much peer work, are they. I'm not going to complain about the Spanish teacher, whose lecture was clearly a part of our class, too, or the fact that the only way to enter/exit her classroom is through mine. Yes, really. Each time a student left to smoke a cigarette, they trailed the smoke fumes through my room on their way back into their room. Nasty, nasty, nasty.
And, to just put that one perfect frosting rose on the cake -- I had the wrong edition of the book. I'm supposed to be provided with the appropriate materials, but I was not notified that there had been a book upgrade, so I prepared the syllabus based on the edition I do have. It not only has been replaced with colorful pictures, graphics, and artwork, but the pagination is completely changed. I pretty much came across as incompetent as the students fumbled to figure out what the heck I was talking about because NOTHING I presented matched their textbook.
Great day, huh? The good news is that the students were outstanding. They understood the totally crowded room, as well as the inappropriate setting in the computer lab for the other class. I apologized for the book mix-up and told them I will email a corrected syllabus no later than Friday. I also told both classes that I will investigate room changes -- but I should not have to even go there with any of this had I simply been informed about significant enrollment changes and required texts.
Oh, well. Suck it up and make it work: that's what I do so well -- and far too often.
Twice as many students came to the comp class than expected, so not only were there no materials for them, but no desks/chairs either. The classroom is set up to handle 25 and 32 students arrived for the class. The roster I was given had 17 students enrolled. It was cozy, but not really conducive to composition, for which each student needs a tabletop! They were supposed to do the college-wide norming essay, but that was out of the question, so we'll do it tomorrow. I'll take their writing samples to the scoring seminar Friday, along with the Frosh Comp samples.
Then, I dashed out of the room, dragging my cartful of materials, jumped into my trusty white pick-up, and headed for the base, where the reading class is held. In a computer lab. The tabletops are already occupied by computer monitors. When we read, we read together and discuss/complete assignments as we go along. Students seated in rows of bolted-to-the-floor furniture already occupied by computers aren't going to be able to do much peer work, are they. I'm not going to complain about the Spanish teacher, whose lecture was clearly a part of our class, too, or the fact that the only way to enter/exit her classroom is through mine. Yes, really. Each time a student left to smoke a cigarette, they trailed the smoke fumes through my room on their way back into their room. Nasty, nasty, nasty.
And, to just put that one perfect frosting rose on the cake -- I had the wrong edition of the book. I'm supposed to be provided with the appropriate materials, but I was not notified that there had been a book upgrade, so I prepared the syllabus based on the edition I do have. It not only has been replaced with colorful pictures, graphics, and artwork, but the pagination is completely changed. I pretty much came across as incompetent as the students fumbled to figure out what the heck I was talking about because NOTHING I presented matched their textbook.
Great day, huh? The good news is that the students were outstanding. They understood the totally crowded room, as well as the inappropriate setting in the computer lab for the other class. I apologized for the book mix-up and told them I will email a corrected syllabus no later than Friday. I also told both classes that I will investigate room changes -- but I should not have to even go there with any of this had I simply been informed about significant enrollment changes and required texts.
Oh, well. Suck it up and make it work: that's what I do so well -- and far too often.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Taste Test
In an effort not to eat and add to my already cumbersome girth, I've been doing a bit of web surfing, reading articles about this 'n that until it's time to take on Day 2 of the first week of the new semester.
My wandering took me to the worst-dressed winners at last week's Globes: who doesn't like to see fashion disaster in a designer label? I've often wondered if the dressee ever looks into the mirror before catching the limo ride to the event. If she does, is she looking into a magic mirror that always assures that she's is the fairest of them all because one look into my bathroom mirror would have sent her scurrying for a do-over.
So, here are my comments on a few of the winners.
It is obvious that no one told J-Lo that from the back, she rolls. My guess is that she hasn't been working out as the flab is obvious and exposing miles of it to the cameras wasn't a good decision.
Rene Zellwegger looked absolutely awful. Adding to the ugliness was the white support bra worn under the thoroughly transparent hooker's outfit someone convinced her would be edgy (or whatever the current term is). And her lips! The plumper is one thing, but pouting her lips to maximize the swelling is so unattractive. Just say cheese, Rene.
So much for Heidi Klum's integrity as a fashion expert. Honest to God, she looks like a refugee from Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory: big, round, and bright, shiny blue.
Laura Dern is also wearing one of those see-through lingerie dresses, the ones with obvious boning to add shape, but not much else. Her painful expression pretty much captures the only comment necessary as she must have realized too late that the outfit should have stayed home.
Whoever Madeleine Martin is, I hope someone else decided to dress her for this event so she can fire the person and make her own decisions in the future. Much too short, much too colorful (in a shade I describe as blue vomit), a huge pattern -- and she looks like she's built like a brick outhouse (no offense to brick outhouses).
Two of the worst dressed, however, I think were stunning.
The first is Drew Barrymore, who looked absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous from head to toe. The stunning gown, elegant posture, and beautiful hair all created a princess effect that Drew pulled off perfectly. I have no idea why the critic who dissed her thought to add her to the worst dressed list.
The other is Marisa Tomei, who was, indeed, dressed simply, but appropriately. She didn't dazzle, she just looked nice. I wasn't as taken with the hair, which appeared to be newly-dyed too black, scraped back from her face, and puffed a bit too high above her forehead. It wasn't a party-do, it was a working in the yard do, but the rest of her was quite acceptable.
My endeavors took me an hour away from food, which is good, but now it is time to start pulling instructional materials together, go gas up the truck, and head for the classroom.
My wandering took me to the worst-dressed winners at last week's Globes: who doesn't like to see fashion disaster in a designer label? I've often wondered if the dressee ever looks into the mirror before catching the limo ride to the event. If she does, is she looking into a magic mirror that always assures that she's is the fairest of them all because one look into my bathroom mirror would have sent her scurrying for a do-over.
So, here are my comments on a few of the winners.
It is obvious that no one told J-Lo that from the back, she rolls. My guess is that she hasn't been working out as the flab is obvious and exposing miles of it to the cameras wasn't a good decision.
Rene Zellwegger looked absolutely awful. Adding to the ugliness was the white support bra worn under the thoroughly transparent hooker's outfit someone convinced her would be edgy (or whatever the current term is). And her lips! The plumper is one thing, but pouting her lips to maximize the swelling is so unattractive. Just say cheese, Rene.
So much for Heidi Klum's integrity as a fashion expert. Honest to God, she looks like a refugee from Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory: big, round, and bright, shiny blue.
Laura Dern is also wearing one of those see-through lingerie dresses, the ones with obvious boning to add shape, but not much else. Her painful expression pretty much captures the only comment necessary as she must have realized too late that the outfit should have stayed home.
Whoever Madeleine Martin is, I hope someone else decided to dress her for this event so she can fire the person and make her own decisions in the future. Much too short, much too colorful (in a shade I describe as blue vomit), a huge pattern -- and she looks like she's built like a brick outhouse (no offense to brick outhouses).
Two of the worst dressed, however, I think were stunning.
The first is Drew Barrymore, who looked absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous from head to toe. The stunning gown, elegant posture, and beautiful hair all created a princess effect that Drew pulled off perfectly. I have no idea why the critic who dissed her thought to add her to the worst dressed list.
The other is Marisa Tomei, who was, indeed, dressed simply, but appropriately. She didn't dazzle, she just looked nice. I wasn't as taken with the hair, which appeared to be newly-dyed too black, scraped back from her face, and puffed a bit too high above her forehead. It wasn't a party-do, it was a working in the yard do, but the rest of her was quite acceptable.
My endeavors took me an hour away from food, which is good, but now it is time to start pulling instructional materials together, go gas up the truck, and head for the classroom.
Monday, January 12, 2009
A Knack for Timing
I read my horoscope this morning to learn that there would be some change in my job, perhaps even a new job or a new twist on an old job. Hmmm. I then posted my blog on Slumdog and the phone rang. I could have not answered, but I had not left to do my long list of errands, so "Hello?"
The computer created two classes with the same title, the same time/location, and the same instructor; hence, a section of students showing up tonight with no place to meet and no teacher. Would I please take this extra computer foul-up class? Yes, it starts today, but it's the same class I taught last semester, so ... please?
It's now 9:30 and I've been home for about 15 minutes. I left the house this morning at 9 am as I had already planned a pretty full day before starting my teaching load tomorrow, including driving up to the campus to work, as well as visiting the 2 off-campus sites where I'll be teaching. I also had luncheon plans with one friend and a visit with another, but now I had to find time to update the syllabus, pack my teaching materials, stop at the copy room, and find food before the 6 pm class.
Sure, it all worked out: that's what I do. I make it work, whatever it takes. I just wish that once my life was so filled with fabulous people, interesting places, and wonderful things to do that I could honestly say, "I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly fit another class into my schedule this semester."
I haven't figured off if it's better that I'm available and accommodating or appalling that I have nothing else to do/nowhere else to go.
I don't want to know the answer to that one.
The computer created two classes with the same title, the same time/location, and the same instructor; hence, a section of students showing up tonight with no place to meet and no teacher. Would I please take this extra computer foul-up class? Yes, it starts today, but it's the same class I taught last semester, so ... please?
It's now 9:30 and I've been home for about 15 minutes. I left the house this morning at 9 am as I had already planned a pretty full day before starting my teaching load tomorrow, including driving up to the campus to work, as well as visiting the 2 off-campus sites where I'll be teaching. I also had luncheon plans with one friend and a visit with another, but now I had to find time to update the syllabus, pack my teaching materials, stop at the copy room, and find food before the 6 pm class.
Sure, it all worked out: that's what I do. I make it work, whatever it takes. I just wish that once my life was so filled with fabulous people, interesting places, and wonderful things to do that I could honestly say, "I'm sorry, but I cannot possibly fit another class into my schedule this semester."
I haven't figured off if it's better that I'm available and accommodating or appalling that I have nothing else to do/nowhere else to go.
I don't want to know the answer to that one.
Slumdog
My movie buddy and I went to the early show yesterday, along with a dozen other older people, to see the movie everyone has been talking about, Slumdog Millionaire. We both enjoyed it on many levels, so I'm just going to toss about random reactions.
It's dark; it's sad; it's depressing. The overwhelming poverty and endless slums weigh heavily on my heart as hearing about the conditions in other countries is easier than seeing them on the big screen. Literally millions of people inhabiting space meant for a fraction of them, wall-to-wall shacks with tin roofs, no sanitation, fouled water sources. I've never thought of India as a third-world nation, but that is how I reacted to the location shots. For all of the colorful clothing, the movie seems totally black and white.
The story is surprisingly good, told through a series of life moments shared by the three main characters. Is it meant to be, meant to happen? That's the question the audience explores. The actors, shown at 3 stages of their lives, are also very good. Many children who act are not believable because they lack life experience; these children know the life they are portraying and play it perfectly. For once, the story is presented just the way it is: you can like it or not, but the truth resonants.
The music is a distraction as it's anathema to the mood created by the story, especially the Baliwood finale. Jarring. Inappropriate. Unnecessary.
This is not a film that the masses will enjoy, and it takes work to engage from beginning to end, but it's worth the time and the effort. The subtlety of the message is important, but some of the overt scenes are neither subtle nor important.
Comparing Slumdog to Buttons, I'll take Slumdog as much more realistic, more well-acted, more engaging and meaningful, and a deeper, more lasting experience for the viewer.
It's dark; it's sad; it's depressing. The overwhelming poverty and endless slums weigh heavily on my heart as hearing about the conditions in other countries is easier than seeing them on the big screen. Literally millions of people inhabiting space meant for a fraction of them, wall-to-wall shacks with tin roofs, no sanitation, fouled water sources. I've never thought of India as a third-world nation, but that is how I reacted to the location shots. For all of the colorful clothing, the movie seems totally black and white.
The story is surprisingly good, told through a series of life moments shared by the three main characters. Is it meant to be, meant to happen? That's the question the audience explores. The actors, shown at 3 stages of their lives, are also very good. Many children who act are not believable because they lack life experience; these children know the life they are portraying and play it perfectly. For once, the story is presented just the way it is: you can like it or not, but the truth resonants.
The music is a distraction as it's anathema to the mood created by the story, especially the Baliwood finale. Jarring. Inappropriate. Unnecessary.
This is not a film that the masses will enjoy, and it takes work to engage from beginning to end, but it's worth the time and the effort. The subtlety of the message is important, but some of the overt scenes are neither subtle nor important.
Comparing Slumdog to Buttons, I'll take Slumdog as much more realistic, more well-acted, more engaging and meaningful, and a deeper, more lasting experience for the viewer.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Jumping the Gun
I don't want to say the supplements are going to solve my issues, but I've already experienced a total cessation of the sugar cravings -- really. The change that Boyd suggested is in supplementing the chromium that's part of my diabetic pack of daily vitamins. Chromium addresses pancreas function, which regulates insulin, and obviously my pancreas isn't processing correctly for whatever reason. Boyd said that supplementing the amount of chromium reveals quickly whether it works or not, and it appears to me that it's helping with the symptoms I've been experiencing.
Of course, diet and exercise are vital components of diabetic maintenance, and I've not been in control of either aspect of my life. It's hard to take a walk when I'm dizzy, my eyes are blurry, and my body feels sluggish. My diet has been off because I've not been able to regulate my sugar, and the physical symptoms are a result of the sugar issues, including the incredibly dry skin that is constantly peeling off my body. All in all, it's a continual loop and I needed something to interrupt the looping process and get back in balance.
Yesterday was one of the better days I've had in about 2 months. I felt awake, energetic, had no dizziness, no mood swings, no blurry vision, and a lot less itchy, dry skin. I was able to accomplish in about 5 hours that which has been taking me 8-10 hours a day to do as I prep materials for the classes that start this week. With one of the classes a night class 60 miles one way, I was concerned about the drive home after class ends at 9 pm, based on recent physical conditions. Today, I am confident it won't be a problem, especially as I continue to control my diet and can again begin to walk.
I will monitor myself closely and make a follow-up appointment with my primary care provider to discuss the steroid shots as I still think that was the trigger for the past 2 months' of just not being myself. Of course, I provided my medical history to the plethora of medical facilities, and I expressed concern about this procedure affecting either my asthma and/or my diabetes, and I was assured there would be no problem. But there has been a problem and that's the only cause I can pinpoint.
I may be wrong, but I may be right.
Of course, diet and exercise are vital components of diabetic maintenance, and I've not been in control of either aspect of my life. It's hard to take a walk when I'm dizzy, my eyes are blurry, and my body feels sluggish. My diet has been off because I've not been able to regulate my sugar, and the physical symptoms are a result of the sugar issues, including the incredibly dry skin that is constantly peeling off my body. All in all, it's a continual loop and I needed something to interrupt the looping process and get back in balance.
Yesterday was one of the better days I've had in about 2 months. I felt awake, energetic, had no dizziness, no mood swings, no blurry vision, and a lot less itchy, dry skin. I was able to accomplish in about 5 hours that which has been taking me 8-10 hours a day to do as I prep materials for the classes that start this week. With one of the classes a night class 60 miles one way, I was concerned about the drive home after class ends at 9 pm, based on recent physical conditions. Today, I am confident it won't be a problem, especially as I continue to control my diet and can again begin to walk.
I will monitor myself closely and make a follow-up appointment with my primary care provider to discuss the steroid shots as I still think that was the trigger for the past 2 months' of just not being myself. Of course, I provided my medical history to the plethora of medical facilities, and I expressed concern about this procedure affecting either my asthma and/or my diabetes, and I was assured there would be no problem. But there has been a problem and that's the only cause I can pinpoint.
I may be wrong, but I may be right.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Wow; What a Week
It is my own uneducated, presumably medically incorrect presumption that the steroid shots in my neck to deal with the spinal stenosis messed up my entire being. Some days, I can barely function, falling asleep at 6 pm; other days, I'm up for 20 hours with no signs of sleep anywhere in my future. Some days, my head is buzzing and fuzzy to the point that I refuse to leave my home; other days, I'm sharper than a tack. And underneath it all is a sudden intense craving for sugar in any and all forms, a craving that I have not had in almost a year.
Additionally, my eating habits have gone to hell: some days, the thought of food makes me nauseous, and other days I check the street for fresh road kill as I've eaten everything else in sight! Needless to say, I've ballooned to an all-time high that is totally unattractive and, quite soon, unclothed. I am so out of balance that it's not funny or medically safe.
I had been doing so well, but no one will ever know that seeing me today, so I stopped at a health food store, explained my current issues, and asked for help in getting me back into balance. When I'm craving sugar, sugar, sugar, I know my pancreas are not happy and my insulin is way out of whack, so I decided that rather than giving it another week, one of my favorite coping mechanisms, I'd deal with it TODAY!
I'm going to take some meal-associated supplements and let Boyd know when I go back up the hill next Thursday how it's working for me. He also outfitted me with some better protein bars, bars that are actually protein, rather than hidden sources of sugar that only make matters worse. He says I should know by this weekend if the supplements are going to do what they are supposed to do, so I'll let you know when/what I know.
Additionally, my eating habits have gone to hell: some days, the thought of food makes me nauseous, and other days I check the street for fresh road kill as I've eaten everything else in sight! Needless to say, I've ballooned to an all-time high that is totally unattractive and, quite soon, unclothed. I am so out of balance that it's not funny or medically safe.
I had been doing so well, but no one will ever know that seeing me today, so I stopped at a health food store, explained my current issues, and asked for help in getting me back into balance. When I'm craving sugar, sugar, sugar, I know my pancreas are not happy and my insulin is way out of whack, so I decided that rather than giving it another week, one of my favorite coping mechanisms, I'd deal with it TODAY!
I'm going to take some meal-associated supplements and let Boyd know when I go back up the hill next Thursday how it's working for me. He also outfitted me with some better protein bars, bars that are actually protein, rather than hidden sources of sugar that only make matters worse. He says I should know by this weekend if the supplements are going to do what they are supposed to do, so I'll let you know when/what I know.
I Felt the Earth Move Under My Feet
Last night, we shared a 4.5 magnitude earthquake with its epicenter in nearby San Berdoo. I counted to 15-one hundred before it settled down, but there were little tremblings thoughout the night as Mother Earth settled herself.
Often these quakes come in clusters, so I'm anticipating a few more shakers before winter gives way to spring.
Often these quakes come in clusters, so I'm anticipating a few more shakers before winter gives way to spring.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Shift the Paradigm
I finally finished reading a book that offends me, upsets me, and articulates my worst fears: Generation Me, by Jean M. Twenge, Ph.D. Anyone who works with young people knows how self-centered, selfish, uncaring, disengaged, dishonest and entitled they are in their teens, but it drives the nail home to read the results of fourteen years of study into today's Me generation. As a secondary educator for the past 30+ years, my fervent hope and prayer has always been that they will outgrow that stage, develop caring and compassionate natures that allow them to transcend the egocentric "me, me, me," and flourish as mature, responsible adults who know and adhere to The Golden Rule.
Well, that isn't going to happen anytime soon, according to this author, which is a shame because the focus on self to the exclusion of anyone else is a dead-end to life in many ways, usually beginning with a sense of despair and ending with full-blown depression which no amount of shopping/spending/partying can overcome. If you have pretty much had anything you ever wanted -- and more -- by the time you turn 18, what else does life have to offer? Who is going to sustain the materialistic gratification you have come to expect? Certainly not the self-empowered young person who has never had to earn anything that has come into his/her life, including food, clothing, housing, transportation, education, recreation, and discretionary income. Why work for it if you can get it without lifting a finger?
The media has created an affluent lifestyle that is the expectation for today's young people. When an individual graduates from college, it is expected that a starting salary will be, minimally, $50k, with full benefits and paid vacation, an expectation that cannot be met in today's tough economic times. Gone are the days of starting at the bottom and working one's way up the ladder of both responsibility and success because that does not pay for the fully-furnished apartment, the hot car, the hip wardrobe, the happening clubs, and the endless array of electronics it takes to keep today's young person tuned in to the world.
Whereas you and I keep our work and our home lives separate, today's young people bring the outside into the work place and take offense when told to turn off the blue tooth, the IPod, the Blackberry, and stop texting. Young workers today think nothing of doing personal business on the company computer and resent being told to conduct personal business on personal time and equipment. There are no technology boundaries in a wireless culture that sincerely believes that if I want to do it, I'm going to do it. My college courses are constantly disrupted by students who take personal calls and/or keep up a running stream of texting during class. When a student brings a laptop to class for notetaking, I have to devote additional time to monitoring the screen to be sure that the student is not surfing the web in what (s)he considers downtime during class, but I call class discussion, group work, or an in-class assignment.
Watching TV during the past few weeks has opened my eyes to just how conspicuous consumption is these days, with the luxaholics, the high-end weddings, the expensive nightlife, the designer clothes, the incredible vacation destinations, the indulgent beauty salons, spa treatments and cosmetic surgery, the wives living it up on their husband's corporate image, the Super Sweet Sixteen parties that cash out at half a mil and a new $50k vehicle. The refrain is "I want it," and the answer is always "I got it." It's all about me, seldom about you, and the concept of there even being an us is laughable. Any TV show that involves multiple people quickly degenerates into total dysfunction, as if no one learns how to behave in kindergarten these days.
I've always believed that it is the order of life for the younger ones to step into the shoes of the old-timers, knowing that they will do it differently, but they will get the job done just the same. I no longer am as firmly convinced that is so because they not only don't know what has to be done, but far too few of them have the skills for doing it if they do figure out what to do. The old saying about who's going to build and repair the electronics applies to far more than just the tekkie toys.
On the back cover of the book is the sentence: "GenMe has created a profound shift in the American character, changing what it means to be an individual in today's society." My response is "that's not good" because they've also forgotten how to be part of that society. It cannot be all about me because there is an us, too, and one cannot survive without the others.
Well, that isn't going to happen anytime soon, according to this author, which is a shame because the focus on self to the exclusion of anyone else is a dead-end to life in many ways, usually beginning with a sense of despair and ending with full-blown depression which no amount of shopping/spending/partying can overcome. If you have pretty much had anything you ever wanted -- and more -- by the time you turn 18, what else does life have to offer? Who is going to sustain the materialistic gratification you have come to expect? Certainly not the self-empowered young person who has never had to earn anything that has come into his/her life, including food, clothing, housing, transportation, education, recreation, and discretionary income. Why work for it if you can get it without lifting a finger?
The media has created an affluent lifestyle that is the expectation for today's young people. When an individual graduates from college, it is expected that a starting salary will be, minimally, $50k, with full benefits and paid vacation, an expectation that cannot be met in today's tough economic times. Gone are the days of starting at the bottom and working one's way up the ladder of both responsibility and success because that does not pay for the fully-furnished apartment, the hot car, the hip wardrobe, the happening clubs, and the endless array of electronics it takes to keep today's young person tuned in to the world.
Whereas you and I keep our work and our home lives separate, today's young people bring the outside into the work place and take offense when told to turn off the blue tooth, the IPod, the Blackberry, and stop texting. Young workers today think nothing of doing personal business on the company computer and resent being told to conduct personal business on personal time and equipment. There are no technology boundaries in a wireless culture that sincerely believes that if I want to do it, I'm going to do it. My college courses are constantly disrupted by students who take personal calls and/or keep up a running stream of texting during class. When a student brings a laptop to class for notetaking, I have to devote additional time to monitoring the screen to be sure that the student is not surfing the web in what (s)he considers downtime during class, but I call class discussion, group work, or an in-class assignment.
Watching TV during the past few weeks has opened my eyes to just how conspicuous consumption is these days, with the luxaholics, the high-end weddings, the expensive nightlife, the designer clothes, the incredible vacation destinations, the indulgent beauty salons, spa treatments and cosmetic surgery, the wives living it up on their husband's corporate image, the Super Sweet Sixteen parties that cash out at half a mil and a new $50k vehicle. The refrain is "I want it," and the answer is always "I got it." It's all about me, seldom about you, and the concept of there even being an us is laughable. Any TV show that involves multiple people quickly degenerates into total dysfunction, as if no one learns how to behave in kindergarten these days.
I've always believed that it is the order of life for the younger ones to step into the shoes of the old-timers, knowing that they will do it differently, but they will get the job done just the same. I no longer am as firmly convinced that is so because they not only don't know what has to be done, but far too few of them have the skills for doing it if they do figure out what to do. The old saying about who's going to build and repair the electronics applies to far more than just the tekkie toys.
On the back cover of the book is the sentence: "GenMe has created a profound shift in the American character, changing what it means to be an individual in today's society." My response is "that's not good" because they've also forgotten how to be part of that society. It cannot be all about me because there is an us, too, and one cannot survive without the others.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
What is the Problem?
Senators Durbin and Reid just concluded a press conference during which they explained to their satisfaction that Senator Burris is not going to be seated because they say so. If they change their minds, Burris may be allowed to accept the appointment, depending on his willingness to accept some terms and conditions imposed upon his acceptance by ... someone in the Senate. Or his appointment may be subjected to a vote of the full Senate for some obscure reason. As far as I can recall, there are three qualifications to be a Senator: the person must be 35 years of age, a legal resident of the United States, and live in the state that (s)he represents. Burris meets all those qualifications, was appointed by the sitting Governor of the State that he'll represent, so seat him and let's move on.
Okay, the Governor of Illinois has been accused of some fairly common political practices in that state, the most egregious of which seems to be influence peddling, which lawyers call quid pro quo and we common people translate to "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." Meanwhile, this governor, who has not been tried nor found guilty in a court of law, in the course of performing his gubernatorial duties, appointed Burris to fill the junior senator position and represent the state of Illinois in the Senate. President Clinton was tried, convicted, and impeached -- and continued his presidency with all the rights and responsibilities thereof until the end of his second term, including making political appointments to fill vacancies.
What is the difference? Blog may be guilty in the court of public opinion and/or in the minds of Senators Durbin and Reid, but legally -- he's the Governor of the State of Illinois, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof, including appointing a replacement to fill a political vacancy.
I was amazed to hear a political pundit ask the question, what if the current governor is impeached and the lieutenant governor steps into the job and wants a different senator to serve out the term? Well, isn't that too bad? What if Obama doesn't like Bush's appointments to the Supreme Court? He waits until a new vacancy occurs and makes his own recommendation. That is what we simple folk call life: you don't always get what you want, but you still have to deal with it!
What if Gov Blog is NOT guilty of the allegations and Burris is denied his place in the Senate? Isn't that a bigger issue than allowing a well-qualified, well-respected politician to be seated and represent his state in the Senate? If there truly is no problem with Burris, why is he being held accountable for the uncertain future of the current governor? Because Blog IS the govenor of the state and the appointee for the senatorial seat is qualified by law to hold the position, it should be a done deal, no matter what anyone thinks about the person who legally made the appointment.
Okay, the Governor of Illinois has been accused of some fairly common political practices in that state, the most egregious of which seems to be influence peddling, which lawyers call quid pro quo and we common people translate to "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." Meanwhile, this governor, who has not been tried nor found guilty in a court of law, in the course of performing his gubernatorial duties, appointed Burris to fill the junior senator position and represent the state of Illinois in the Senate. President Clinton was tried, convicted, and impeached -- and continued his presidency with all the rights and responsibilities thereof until the end of his second term, including making political appointments to fill vacancies.
What is the difference? Blog may be guilty in the court of public opinion and/or in the minds of Senators Durbin and Reid, but legally -- he's the Governor of the State of Illinois, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof, including appointing a replacement to fill a political vacancy.
I was amazed to hear a political pundit ask the question, what if the current governor is impeached and the lieutenant governor steps into the job and wants a different senator to serve out the term? Well, isn't that too bad? What if Obama doesn't like Bush's appointments to the Supreme Court? He waits until a new vacancy occurs and makes his own recommendation. That is what we simple folk call life: you don't always get what you want, but you still have to deal with it!
What if Gov Blog is NOT guilty of the allegations and Burris is denied his place in the Senate? Isn't that a bigger issue than allowing a well-qualified, well-respected politician to be seated and represent his state in the Senate? If there truly is no problem with Burris, why is he being held accountable for the uncertain future of the current governor? Because Blog IS the govenor of the state and the appointee for the senatorial seat is qualified by law to hold the position, it should be a done deal, no matter what anyone thinks about the person who legally made the appointment.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Journey or Destination?
Some days something strikes a chord, as with today's saying, "Don't compare your life to others: you have no idea what their journey is all about." This self-centered attitude about life disregards the commonality that allows us to better ourselves by sharing the journeys of others.
Twice last week I shared a meal with a person who accuses the rest of the world of mental disorders as she talks about herself in a continual stream of vanity and self-affirmation. If, God forbid, I try to interject a comment or share an observation, I am rudely shut down as inconsequential and out of touch with today's issues! The last time we spent together, she complained loudly and much too long about another mutual acquaintance who accused her of refusing to process other people's feelings, an insult to which she took huge umbrage. It was not my job to point out how true the other person's observations are as that would simply lead to another vociferous justification of herself and her lifestyle, rather than to any insight into her own shortcomings. She is the embodiment of the "all about me" philsophy with which I have serious issues, a philosophy that is embedded in today's saying.
One of the ways that we all make meaning for ourselves is by examining the lives of others, trying to figure out if what works for them will also work for me. I don't always want to walk a mile in their moccasins, but sometimes by knowing their journey, I can improve my own. My mother used to scrape the butter wrappers and then store them in the 'fridge to use to grease the cake pans so the cake wouldn't stick. I don't do that as I didn't think then, nor do I think now, that it is an effective use of either my time or the butter wrapper. However, I'd give anything to have back paper bags, especially when I am baking and/or need book covers! My mother was extremely vocal about the conversion to plastic bags for grocery shopping, to no avail at the time, but now her point about the plastic fouling the environment has come full circle. Thus, I learned from observing my mother's life what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to change in my own life far beyond butter wrappers and paper bags.
My observation is that far too few people take the time to compare their own journey to the journeys of others in an effort to understand how "we" share life, and that self-centeredness has led to many of the issues with which society must now deal. My life has been influenced by my parents, who had to endure a long depression that tested the strength of the individual, the family, and society. There was a make-do philosophy, accompanied by a can-do attitude, and those who could not either make-do or simply do fell by the wayside. I learned to spend wisely, save for the future, pay my bills in full when they come due. I learned to do without, a concept that is foreign to far too many people of the generations who have lived a greater distance from the Great Depression than I, but, perhaps, a lifestyle we should revisit.
Past generations also seemed to hold onto a common core of values, those little commandments that originate in religious belief, but provide the foundation for civilized behavior that allows all of us to maintain our individual cultural traditions, but celebrate our shared humanity. One of the easiest to implement is the Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Today's society seems to have perverted that homilie into "I'll do it to you before you can do to me," with everyone going their own way, rather than sharing and celebrating "our" way.
Pretty is as pretty does: the way a person acts pretty much shows how the person is, and how the person is becomes how the society is. Wishing it weren't so doesn't change it. If I observe another person's journey, rather than focusing exclusively on my own, I can not only influence my own journey, but, possibly, influence their journey in the process, and that may not be all bad.
Twice last week I shared a meal with a person who accuses the rest of the world of mental disorders as she talks about herself in a continual stream of vanity and self-affirmation. If, God forbid, I try to interject a comment or share an observation, I am rudely shut down as inconsequential and out of touch with today's issues! The last time we spent together, she complained loudly and much too long about another mutual acquaintance who accused her of refusing to process other people's feelings, an insult to which she took huge umbrage. It was not my job to point out how true the other person's observations are as that would simply lead to another vociferous justification of herself and her lifestyle, rather than to any insight into her own shortcomings. She is the embodiment of the "all about me" philsophy with which I have serious issues, a philosophy that is embedded in today's saying.
One of the ways that we all make meaning for ourselves is by examining the lives of others, trying to figure out if what works for them will also work for me. I don't always want to walk a mile in their moccasins, but sometimes by knowing their journey, I can improve my own. My mother used to scrape the butter wrappers and then store them in the 'fridge to use to grease the cake pans so the cake wouldn't stick. I don't do that as I didn't think then, nor do I think now, that it is an effective use of either my time or the butter wrapper. However, I'd give anything to have back paper bags, especially when I am baking and/or need book covers! My mother was extremely vocal about the conversion to plastic bags for grocery shopping, to no avail at the time, but now her point about the plastic fouling the environment has come full circle. Thus, I learned from observing my mother's life what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to change in my own life far beyond butter wrappers and paper bags.
My observation is that far too few people take the time to compare their own journey to the journeys of others in an effort to understand how "we" share life, and that self-centeredness has led to many of the issues with which society must now deal. My life has been influenced by my parents, who had to endure a long depression that tested the strength of the individual, the family, and society. There was a make-do philosophy, accompanied by a can-do attitude, and those who could not either make-do or simply do fell by the wayside. I learned to spend wisely, save for the future, pay my bills in full when they come due. I learned to do without, a concept that is foreign to far too many people of the generations who have lived a greater distance from the Great Depression than I, but, perhaps, a lifestyle we should revisit.
Past generations also seemed to hold onto a common core of values, those little commandments that originate in religious belief, but provide the foundation for civilized behavior that allows all of us to maintain our individual cultural traditions, but celebrate our shared humanity. One of the easiest to implement is the Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Today's society seems to have perverted that homilie into "I'll do it to you before you can do to me," with everyone going their own way, rather than sharing and celebrating "our" way.
Pretty is as pretty does: the way a person acts pretty much shows how the person is, and how the person is becomes how the society is. Wishing it weren't so doesn't change it. If I observe another person's journey, rather than focusing exclusively on my own, I can not only influence my own journey, but, possibly, influence their journey in the process, and that may not be all bad.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
At Your Service
Early yesterday morning, a friend from up the hill had a medical appointment in YV, so we decided that we would have b'fast following her appointment. I had something to give to her and she had something to give to me, so we would meet in the middle, share some quality time, and then go about the rest of our day. We agreed to meet at a restaurant at 10 am, so I was there about 9:55. After waiting in the reception area until 10:15, I decided to get a booth and a cup of coffee while I continued to wait ... and wait ... and wait. When I called to see what was the matter, I got voice mail. Finally at 10:45, the call came that "we are on our way and should be there in a few minutes." I'm not sure how "a few minutes" is defined, but they walked into the restaurant at 11:00 am, a full hour late for b'fast.
Now, that would have been okay, but I was also picking up a friend from the PS airport at 4 pm, and she wanted to get a bite to eat after her arrival because she would have been traveling all day, which is not conducive to eating a meal. I agreed, but now was off my schedule for the day because b'fast had been so late and an early dinner was not sounding so good.
Come to find out, dinner was also later than I thought.
Our plan was for me to park across the street from the airport and wait for her to call me to pick her up, confirmed by a phone call the night before her flight home. Pretty simple, right? Well, I heard the big airliner land at 4 pm, but had no way of knowing it if was her flight or another flight, so I sat in the car and watched the dogs in the dog park while I continued to wait ... and wait ... and wait. I tried calling her phone, but it went to voice mail. I figured something had gone awry with the flight, and just sat tight as the clock continued to tick off the minutes.
Finally, my phone rang, but it was her mother, calling from the east, wanting to know where I was because my friend has been standing outside the airport waiting for me for the past 45 minutes.
I responded, "Well, I've been sitting across the street, waiting for her for the past 45 minutes." I didn't add that I was ready to drive back home and leave her to find her own way home (it's maybe 2 miles), but had decided to give her until 5 pm before taking that action.
Mom said, "Her cell phone quit working, so you need to go pick her up," which I did.
When she settled into the car, my rider started in on me for leaving her standing outside for almost an hour! I drove back across the street to where I had been waiting for 45 minutes for her to call me to pick her up, stopped the car, turned to her, and asked, "Are you for real?"
I then told her that I had been waiting since 5 minutes before 4 for her to call and tell me she landed -- as per the plan put in place before she flew back east and confirmed the night before. I said, "You were supposed to call me from Phoenix to let me know if the flight was on time, which you did not do. I came to the airport on time and have been waiting to hear from you for almost an hour, so don't go there with your attitude about me leaving you stranded at the airport." I told her that I was determined to drive back home at 5 pm and leave her to find her own way home, and she was flabbergasted.
"You'd do that to me?" she asked. "You'd just leave me after you promised to pick me up?"
I was totally pissed that somehow her failure to call me to pick her up was my fault and easily could have dumped her ass in the parking lot and gone back home. She again told me that it wasn't her fault that her phone quit working in Phoenix, but as I said to her, I not only did not know that, but it did not change the fact that I was committed to waiting in the parking lot until she contacted me, so why the hell didn't she find a pay phone in the airport and call me.
You're going to love this: she only had a $20 and didn't have any change for the phone. I just stared at her in awe, finding it hard to believe that anyone can be this dysfunctional and live to their mid-40's. After suggesting that perhaps she could have either traded the twenty for change for the phone and called me or walked across the street from the baggage claim to my car so I could take her home, it got pretty darned quiet. Yeah, she literally could see the parking lot where I was waiting from the baggage claim area, so it's not like that 5-minute walk would have done her in, but the thought never entered her mind.
I did take her home; we did go out for a quick bite to eat; I refused her kind offer to sit and visit for a while; and I came back to my oasis of sanity where life is lived on my terms and conditions. It still irritates me this morning that somehow this whole fiasco was my fault and, believe me, there won't be a next time.
Now, that would have been okay, but I was also picking up a friend from the PS airport at 4 pm, and she wanted to get a bite to eat after her arrival because she would have been traveling all day, which is not conducive to eating a meal. I agreed, but now was off my schedule for the day because b'fast had been so late and an early dinner was not sounding so good.
Come to find out, dinner was also later than I thought.
Our plan was for me to park across the street from the airport and wait for her to call me to pick her up, confirmed by a phone call the night before her flight home. Pretty simple, right? Well, I heard the big airliner land at 4 pm, but had no way of knowing it if was her flight or another flight, so I sat in the car and watched the dogs in the dog park while I continued to wait ... and wait ... and wait. I tried calling her phone, but it went to voice mail. I figured something had gone awry with the flight, and just sat tight as the clock continued to tick off the minutes.
Finally, my phone rang, but it was her mother, calling from the east, wanting to know where I was because my friend has been standing outside the airport waiting for me for the past 45 minutes.
I responded, "Well, I've been sitting across the street, waiting for her for the past 45 minutes." I didn't add that I was ready to drive back home and leave her to find her own way home (it's maybe 2 miles), but had decided to give her until 5 pm before taking that action.
Mom said, "Her cell phone quit working, so you need to go pick her up," which I did.
When she settled into the car, my rider started in on me for leaving her standing outside for almost an hour! I drove back across the street to where I had been waiting for 45 minutes for her to call me to pick her up, stopped the car, turned to her, and asked, "Are you for real?"
I then told her that I had been waiting since 5 minutes before 4 for her to call and tell me she landed -- as per the plan put in place before she flew back east and confirmed the night before. I said, "You were supposed to call me from Phoenix to let me know if the flight was on time, which you did not do. I came to the airport on time and have been waiting to hear from you for almost an hour, so don't go there with your attitude about me leaving you stranded at the airport." I told her that I was determined to drive back home at 5 pm and leave her to find her own way home, and she was flabbergasted.
"You'd do that to me?" she asked. "You'd just leave me after you promised to pick me up?"
I was totally pissed that somehow her failure to call me to pick her up was my fault and easily could have dumped her ass in the parking lot and gone back home. She again told me that it wasn't her fault that her phone quit working in Phoenix, but as I said to her, I not only did not know that, but it did not change the fact that I was committed to waiting in the parking lot until she contacted me, so why the hell didn't she find a pay phone in the airport and call me.
You're going to love this: she only had a $20 and didn't have any change for the phone. I just stared at her in awe, finding it hard to believe that anyone can be this dysfunctional and live to their mid-40's. After suggesting that perhaps she could have either traded the twenty for change for the phone and called me or walked across the street from the baggage claim to my car so I could take her home, it got pretty darned quiet. Yeah, she literally could see the parking lot where I was waiting from the baggage claim area, so it's not like that 5-minute walk would have done her in, but the thought never entered her mind.
I did take her home; we did go out for a quick bite to eat; I refused her kind offer to sit and visit for a while; and I came back to my oasis of sanity where life is lived on my terms and conditions. It still irritates me this morning that somehow this whole fiasco was my fault and, believe me, there won't be a next time.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Tidbits
When I opened the kitchen closet in the corner this morning, it struck me that not only was it in disarray, but I had no idea what was in the closet, which meant it was time to clean it out.
I found some treasures, 3 bottles of wine I didn't know I have, as well as some really cool kitchen gadgets still in the boxes, never used. I must have been taken with a thermal pitcher as I bought 2 of them, still in their boxes. A Sam's Club-sized bottle of dish washing liquid had seeped through its seam, creating a weird bubbly, thick, white, gooey mess on the outside. And, I have far too many rags in the closet for wiping up floor messes.
I'm donating the box filled with party paper supplies; the very large aluminum disposable baking pans; the really cool kitchen gadgets that have never been used; the matching thermal bottles; and some miscellaneous stuff. I've already discarded that which had no other purpose, and organized and arranged what's left.
Now, there are 2 other dark corner closets that need exploring -- another day. Doing one cupboard a day is about my limit, with the reaching up and bending down, as well as all the washing of that which comes out, as well as that which goes back in. I did cook up the last 4 cups of macaroni in a canister and made some mac 'n cheese for the freezer, with enough left over to make a Mediterranean salad tomorrow. Not sure how long those noodles had been in the canister, but I figured it's dry, I boiled it, and I'll cook it again before I eat it, so what's the problem?
At this rate, I'll never make it to the garage as I'll run out of time and steam long before I tackle that project!
I found some treasures, 3 bottles of wine I didn't know I have, as well as some really cool kitchen gadgets still in the boxes, never used. I must have been taken with a thermal pitcher as I bought 2 of them, still in their boxes. A Sam's Club-sized bottle of dish washing liquid had seeped through its seam, creating a weird bubbly, thick, white, gooey mess on the outside. And, I have far too many rags in the closet for wiping up floor messes.
I'm donating the box filled with party paper supplies; the very large aluminum disposable baking pans; the really cool kitchen gadgets that have never been used; the matching thermal bottles; and some miscellaneous stuff. I've already discarded that which had no other purpose, and organized and arranged what's left.
Now, there are 2 other dark corner closets that need exploring -- another day. Doing one cupboard a day is about my limit, with the reaching up and bending down, as well as all the washing of that which comes out, as well as that which goes back in. I did cook up the last 4 cups of macaroni in a canister and made some mac 'n cheese for the freezer, with enough left over to make a Mediterranean salad tomorrow. Not sure how long those noodles had been in the canister, but I figured it's dry, I boiled it, and I'll cook it again before I eat it, so what's the problem?
At this rate, I'll never make it to the garage as I'll run out of time and steam long before I tackle that project!
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Page Turners
I bought the two-inch thick new novel, Scarpetta, hoping that it would be as engaging, interesting, and clever as all the other Patricia Cornwell novels that feature Dr. Kay Scarpetta. It's not. Watching Patricia Cornwell hype her new novel in a TV ad, I fell for her hook: you'll never figure it out. I now know that I won't ever figure it out because I'll never finish reading it!
One of Cornwell's strengths is her storytelling, which is glaringly lacking in this tome. I'm sure that there's a great story buried in the 500 pages of the hard-cover edition, but I've restarted my reading three times now, and I'm not motivated enough to read the unread 400 pages and find it. To phrase a teen reader: this is b-o-r-i-n-g! I especially became bogged down when I read a conversation that was so phony, so forced, so unnatural that I found myself reading word-for-word, as a two-year-old novice would read. Perhaps I'll never know the denouement, or perhaps I'll simply read the last 100 pages and figure out the middle for myself. Either way, the novel is a huge disappointment.
I also bought Kathy Reichs' newest, Devil Bones, as I've enjoyed some of her other work, as well as the TV show based on her writing, Bones. Again, the pace is so slow that it's hard to stick with the book night after night. Maybe my lack of interest has to do with the inclusion of devil worship and Satanism, but I think it's just a story that bogs itself down with too much detail, too much description, too much trying to make a point that may not have to be made to finish the story. I'm half-way through the 300-page story and may not make it the rest of the way. [Updating: I did finish the story and it gets much better as it picks up steam. Clever plot temporarily side-tracked by the Santeria, which is pretty much what the characters have to figure out, too]
On the other hand, I picked up an original in paperback, Six Seconds, written by Rick Mufina, that is dynamite. The story caught my attention and kept me reading long past my bedtime, which is the sign of a well-crafted plot. The characters are real, their conversations natural, and the revelation of details is short, sweet, and to the point -- so the story keeps moving toward the climax. It's intricate, not obvious, which is another facet of a novel that I appreciate.
I'm going to weed out all the books I have stashed here and there, which I usually pass on to reader friends. This time, I'm going to donate them to my friend's favorite library, a small library in a small town that can benefit from doubling their fiction section with my contribution. And before I plunk down my cash to purchase future hard cover editions, I'm going to sit and read at least the opening 20 pages and see if it's worth paying more now or waiting for the less expensive soft cover edition to be disappointed.
One of Cornwell's strengths is her storytelling, which is glaringly lacking in this tome. I'm sure that there's a great story buried in the 500 pages of the hard-cover edition, but I've restarted my reading three times now, and I'm not motivated enough to read the unread 400 pages and find it. To phrase a teen reader: this is b-o-r-i-n-g! I especially became bogged down when I read a conversation that was so phony, so forced, so unnatural that I found myself reading word-for-word, as a two-year-old novice would read. Perhaps I'll never know the denouement, or perhaps I'll simply read the last 100 pages and figure out the middle for myself. Either way, the novel is a huge disappointment.
I also bought Kathy Reichs' newest, Devil Bones, as I've enjoyed some of her other work, as well as the TV show based on her writing, Bones. Again, the pace is so slow that it's hard to stick with the book night after night. Maybe my lack of interest has to do with the inclusion of devil worship and Satanism, but I think it's just a story that bogs itself down with too much detail, too much description, too much trying to make a point that may not have to be made to finish the story. I'm half-way through the 300-page story and may not make it the rest of the way. [Updating: I did finish the story and it gets much better as it picks up steam. Clever plot temporarily side-tracked by the Santeria, which is pretty much what the characters have to figure out, too]
On the other hand, I picked up an original in paperback, Six Seconds, written by Rick Mufina, that is dynamite. The story caught my attention and kept me reading long past my bedtime, which is the sign of a well-crafted plot. The characters are real, their conversations natural, and the revelation of details is short, sweet, and to the point -- so the story keeps moving toward the climax. It's intricate, not obvious, which is another facet of a novel that I appreciate.
I'm going to weed out all the books I have stashed here and there, which I usually pass on to reader friends. This time, I'm going to donate them to my friend's favorite library, a small library in a small town that can benefit from doubling their fiction section with my contribution. And before I plunk down my cash to purchase future hard cover editions, I'm going to sit and read at least the opening 20 pages and see if it's worth paying more now or waiting for the less expensive soft cover edition to be disappointed.
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