* I DID NOT WRITE THIS. IT CAME AS AN EMAIL AND THEN A FRIEND OF MINE POSTED IT ON HER FACEBOOK PAGE. I AM NOT TAKING CREDIT FOR THIS, BUT I DO THINK IT IS WORTH SHARING. THE AUTHOR IS ANYNOMOUS*
All right, let me see if I have this straight...
* If you grow up in Hawaii, raised by your grandparents, then you're 'exotic, different,' but...if you grow up in Alaska shooting wolves, caribou and moose from an airplane, and selling the rights to claim the kills as trophies to tourists for a fee, then you're the 'quintessential American story.'
* If your name is Barack you're a 'radical, unpatriotic Muslim, ' but...if you name your kids Willow, Trig and Track, and you're a 'maverick” you’re a patriotic Christian
* If you Graduate from Harvard Law School then you are 'unstable,' but...attend five different colleges before graduating, and you're 'well grounded.'
* If you spend three years as a brilliant community organizer, become the first black President of the Harvard Law Review , create a voter registration drive that registers 150,000 new voters, spend 12 years as a Constitutional Law professor , spend eight years as a State Senator representing a district with over 750,000 people, become chairman of the state Senate's Health and Human Services committee, spend four years in the United States Senate representing a state of 13 million people while sponsoring 131 bills and serving on the Foreign Affairs, Environment and Public Works and Veteran's Affairs committees, you 'lack real leadership experience,' but...if your total résumé consists of: local weather girl, beauty queen runner-up, four years on the city council and six years as the mayor of a town with less than 7,000 people, 20 months as the governor of a state with only 650,000 people, then you're 'qualified to become the country's second highest ranking executive.'
* If you have been married to the same woman for 19 years while raising two beautiful daughters, all within the Protestant church, then you're 'not a real Christian,' but...if you cheated on your first wife with a rich heiress, then left her while she was fighting cancer and married the heiress the next month, that's behaving like a 'good Christian’ and good future President
* If you teach responsible, age-appropriate sex education, including the proper use of birth control, and how to avoid becoming a victim of sexual predators, you are 'eroding the fabric of our society,' but...if, as governor, you staunchly advocate abstinence-only, with no other options for sex education in your state's school system, while your unwed teen daughter ends up pregnant, you're praised as someone who is 'very responsible.'
* If your wife is a Harvard graduate lawyer who gave up a position in a prestigious law firm to work for the betterment of her inner city community, then gave that up to raise a family, then your family values 'don't represent those of most Americans,' but...if your husband is nicknamed 'First Dude', with at least one DUI conviction and no college education, who didn't register to vote until he was 25 and once was a member of a group that advocated the secession of Alaska from the United States, then your family values are considered 'extremely admirable.'
Did I miss anything? Just wanted to make sure!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
The Broken Dictionary
Many of you know that I teach regular 8th grade English with special education kids mixed in. All-in-all my experiences co-teaching mixed regular/SpEd classes have been rewarding and, most days, I have a lot of fun at my job. Sometimes, however, things happen that even perplex me.
A few days ago my students were working on a writing assignment where they were allowed (even encouraged) to use a dictionary. As most of my students were diligently writing away, I noticed one of my slower workers thoughfully plodding along, deliberately selecting the best word to put on his paper. After a few minutes, however, he appeared to be stumped by something. He stopped, looked at his paper, and reached underneath his desk for a dictionary. After a few minutes his hand raised in the air and he said "Ms. D, your dictionary is broken."
Please imagine the look of curiousity that washed over my face.
"Excuse me?" I queeried.
"Your dictionary. It's broken." He replied matter-of-factly, like he was delivering a very important message which required my immediate attention.
Genuinely confused, I walked over to where he was sitting and asked him to explain what he meant.
"You dictionry's broken. It's missing all the U words."
"The U words?"
"Yes. Your dictionary does not have the U words. Do you have another one?"
In all my years as a student, a writer and a teacher and of all the dictionaries I've come across, I can't say I ever come across a "Broken" dictionary that was missing a group of words from one of the letters. So I looked down at the dictionary.
The dictionaries we use in school are hard back dictionaries with thumb tabs that seperate the letters and create an easy reference guide. The second-to-last thumb tab is labeled "U-W," which indicates that both before and after the tab itself are words beginning with the letter U to the letter W. The tab itself, however, falls smack dab in the middle: in this case, it falls among the W words.
This diligent student was flipping furiosly forward--which means he was going from wash to water to whistle to Wyoming to Xylophone to yak, to yellow and finally zebra. He looked at me triumphantly and on his face was written the words "Aha!"
Then I had to gently explain to this hard working child that the "U" words come before the "W words and that he had to flip backward.
After explaining the logistics of the dictionary, I finally just asked:
"Honey, what are you trying to spell that needs the dictionary?"
"Utah."
Uh huh.
*M*
A few days ago my students were working on a writing assignment where they were allowed (even encouraged) to use a dictionary. As most of my students were diligently writing away, I noticed one of my slower workers thoughfully plodding along, deliberately selecting the best word to put on his paper. After a few minutes, however, he appeared to be stumped by something. He stopped, looked at his paper, and reached underneath his desk for a dictionary. After a few minutes his hand raised in the air and he said "Ms. D, your dictionary is broken."
Please imagine the look of curiousity that washed over my face.
"Excuse me?" I queeried.
"Your dictionary. It's broken." He replied matter-of-factly, like he was delivering a very important message which required my immediate attention.
Genuinely confused, I walked over to where he was sitting and asked him to explain what he meant.
"You dictionry's broken. It's missing all the U words."
"The U words?"
"Yes. Your dictionary does not have the U words. Do you have another one?"
In all my years as a student, a writer and a teacher and of all the dictionaries I've come across, I can't say I ever come across a "Broken" dictionary that was missing a group of words from one of the letters. So I looked down at the dictionary.
The dictionaries we use in school are hard back dictionaries with thumb tabs that seperate the letters and create an easy reference guide. The second-to-last thumb tab is labeled "U-W," which indicates that both before and after the tab itself are words beginning with the letter U to the letter W. The tab itself, however, falls smack dab in the middle: in this case, it falls among the W words.
This diligent student was flipping furiosly forward--which means he was going from wash to water to whistle to Wyoming to Xylophone to yak, to yellow and finally zebra. He looked at me triumphantly and on his face was written the words "Aha!"
Then I had to gently explain to this hard working child that the "U" words come before the "W words and that he had to flip backward.
After explaining the logistics of the dictionary, I finally just asked:
"Honey, what are you trying to spell that needs the dictionary?"
"Utah."
Uh huh.
*M*
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Back on the Dating Scene...or am I?
The woman who does my manicures is a very nice elderly woman. We have been seeing each other twice a week for the past year and during the course of the year we've actually grown quite close. Like a hair dresser, she has become a confidant, someone I can confide in, and more importantly, someone I can gossip with. Another one of her clients, also a very nice elderly woman, is frequently there right before me. Well, she has taken a liken to me as well. The two of them have made it their mission to find me a boyfriend in Vegas.
Elderly woman #2 told me there is a very attractive, very nicem normal Black man in her office. She insists that we would hit it off really well. After weeks of badgering, I finally give in and give supposedly attractive, nice and normal Black man a call.
Supposedly attractive, nice & normal Black man and I have a conversation. Conversation is good. Miah is happy. The planets are aligned.
Then supposedly attractive, nice & normal Black man starts calling 3,4,5,6,7 times a day and sending multiple text messages.
Supposedly attractive, nice & normal Black man becomes supposedly attractive, nice and potentially crazy stalker Black man.
Supposedly attractive, nice and potentially crazy stalker Black man and I have another conversation that begins with him saying "I'm not a stalker, but..."
Supposedly attractive, nice and potentially crazy stalker Black man becomes supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man.
I stop answering the phone. (Thank God for untraceable cell phones).
Supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man sends me a text asking about my plans for Friday night and if I'd like to go out to dinner. I weigh the odds: supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black many may redeem himself with a free meal so my ears perk up. I say that my plans are negotiable for Friday. He texts back that we should meet for dinner. I politely oblige. He then texts back with "I don't have a car."
Supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man becomes supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks everywhere.
One afternoon, supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks everywhere calls and I answer from my blue tooth without looking at the phone. I get suckered in a conversation.
He then says to me "I'm so glad we got paid on Thursday! I cashed my check and went to the casino where I won $283. I'm about to go see where I can put a down payment on a car."
Let me get this straight. You don't have a vehicle, so after you get paid you cash your check (which means you have no bank account), promenade (which means walk) to the casino, and use your check to try to win money to put a down payment on a car? Imagine my eyebrow raising.
Supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks everywhere becomes supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks every and has poor fiscal management.
Needless to say we haven't talked again.
Signing off,
Truly happy definitely sane hard working Black woman with a Masters' degree and no desire to be "hooked-up."
*M*
Elderly woman #2 told me there is a very attractive, very nicem normal Black man in her office. She insists that we would hit it off really well. After weeks of badgering, I finally give in and give supposedly attractive, nice and normal Black man a call.
Supposedly attractive, nice & normal Black man and I have a conversation. Conversation is good. Miah is happy. The planets are aligned.
Then supposedly attractive, nice & normal Black man starts calling 3,4,5,6,7 times a day and sending multiple text messages.
Supposedly attractive, nice & normal Black man becomes supposedly attractive, nice and potentially crazy stalker Black man.
Supposedly attractive, nice and potentially crazy stalker Black man and I have another conversation that begins with him saying "I'm not a stalker, but..."
Supposedly attractive, nice and potentially crazy stalker Black man becomes supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man.
I stop answering the phone. (Thank God for untraceable cell phones).
Supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man sends me a text asking about my plans for Friday night and if I'd like to go out to dinner. I weigh the odds: supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black many may redeem himself with a free meal so my ears perk up. I say that my plans are negotiable for Friday. He texts back that we should meet for dinner. I politely oblige. He then texts back with "I don't have a car."
Supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man becomes supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks everywhere.
One afternoon, supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks everywhere calls and I answer from my blue tooth without looking at the phone. I get suckered in a conversation.
He then says to me "I'm so glad we got paid on Thursday! I cashed my check and went to the casino where I won $283. I'm about to go see where I can put a down payment on a car."
Let me get this straight. You don't have a vehicle, so after you get paid you cash your check (which means you have no bank account), promenade (which means walk) to the casino, and use your check to try to win money to put a down payment on a car? Imagine my eyebrow raising.
Supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks everywhere becomes supposedly attractive definitely crazy stalker Black man who evidently walks every and has poor fiscal management.
Needless to say we haven't talked again.
Signing off,
Truly happy definitely sane hard working Black woman with a Masters' degree and no desire to be "hooked-up."
*M*
Oil Change
Today I walked in the mechanic's to get a $20.00 oil change and walked out with a bill for $217.63.
My tires needed to be rotated.
My airconditioning unit was not working properly and had to be flushed, checked, topped off, screened, kissed, hugged, massaged, oiled, baked and stir-fried.
Yay.
My tires needed to be rotated.
My airconditioning unit was not working properly and had to be flushed, checked, topped off, screened, kissed, hugged, massaged, oiled, baked and stir-fried.
Yay.
Hurricanes and Pets
So this past Friday, as I was waiting on my $217.63 oil change, Fox News was doing a play-by-play of Hurricane Ike--aka Hurricane Catastrophe--and was interviewing the people who refused to leave Galveston, TX, which was in the direct path of the storm. Many of the good people of Galveston had taken heed to the many, many warnings and began trekking north, to higher ground and safety. Evidently they had taken the official word from the good mayor of Galveston seriously: "If you choose to stay, please tattoo your name and SSN on one of your forearms so we can identify your body later" Yet, for some reason, some of the good people of Galveston were still going to "ride out the storm."
Let me just say, that would not have been me.
This next part is really going to upset the sensibilities of my wonderful co-teacher, but I'll live. The broadcasters managed to find a woman who was remaining in Galveston, in the direct path of Hurricane Catastrophe, with the warning to tattoo identifying marks on her forearm, while the wind was whipping furiously from the ocean, and as the sea devoured the land, because she did not want to leave her two dogs.
Yes. The two dogs.
Now, here's what I don't know if she knows: dogs can swim. Dogs can swim better than people. Here is how I imagine the conversation going, if the dog also has the ability to talk.
"Rover, because Hurrican Ike is coming, and I don't want to leave you, I'm going to keep you in the house where we'll be safe. It won't matter that our house is 30 feet below sea level or that I live in a one level ranch house. I"m staying with you."
" I can swim."
I'm sure the poor dogs were staring outside, at all the other animals dashing to safety, and plotting for a way to get out. I'm sure, that in the dogs' heads, the only thought was a way to get to the water, not staying in a locked house that was sure to fill up with water and keep them all trapped inside. I'm sure the dogs were angry at this well-intentioned, poor misguided woman and wanted her to just open the door a smidgen, so they could bark for other dogs to help them get to safety.
I'm all for throwing the pets in the back of the car on our way to safety; but, if the pets won't fit, I'm also all for leaving out a bag of kibble, attaching two flippers to the back feet, and saying a prayer on their behalf--while I dashed out the door, and headed north to higher ground.
I wonder what happened to her.
*M*
PS--I totally support dogs for pets and I thought about getting a puppy last week. Dogs bark at intruders and will possibly eat one. I am 100% for single women having dogs.
Let me just say, that would not have been me.
This next part is really going to upset the sensibilities of my wonderful co-teacher, but I'll live. The broadcasters managed to find a woman who was remaining in Galveston, in the direct path of Hurricane Catastrophe, with the warning to tattoo identifying marks on her forearm, while the wind was whipping furiously from the ocean, and as the sea devoured the land, because she did not want to leave her two dogs.
Yes. The two dogs.
Now, here's what I don't know if she knows: dogs can swim. Dogs can swim better than people. Here is how I imagine the conversation going, if the dog also has the ability to talk.
"Rover, because Hurrican Ike is coming, and I don't want to leave you, I'm going to keep you in the house where we'll be safe. It won't matter that our house is 30 feet below sea level or that I live in a one level ranch house. I"m staying with you."
" I can swim."
I'm sure the poor dogs were staring outside, at all the other animals dashing to safety, and plotting for a way to get out. I'm sure, that in the dogs' heads, the only thought was a way to get to the water, not staying in a locked house that was sure to fill up with water and keep them all trapped inside. I'm sure the dogs were angry at this well-intentioned, poor misguided woman and wanted her to just open the door a smidgen, so they could bark for other dogs to help them get to safety.
I'm all for throwing the pets in the back of the car on our way to safety; but, if the pets won't fit, I'm also all for leaving out a bag of kibble, attaching two flippers to the back feet, and saying a prayer on their behalf--while I dashed out the door, and headed north to higher ground.
I wonder what happened to her.
*M*
PS--I totally support dogs for pets and I thought about getting a puppy last week. Dogs bark at intruders and will possibly eat one. I am 100% for single women having dogs.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
White Girls...
Before you get offended, let me set the record straight. I like white girls. I'm friends with some white girls. White girls have some great and very handy characteristics,especially when you ask one to come pick you up from the airport--they'll be on time, even early.
I have white friends.
My co-teacher is white. I love her to death. She's absolutely wonderful, a fantastic educator who is incredibly creative and unnaturally kind. We eat sushi and Thai together. We occasionally engage in a glass of wine. All things considered, I frequently consider myself honored to be in her presence.
She's absolutely fucking nuts.
She's one of those tree-hugging, eggplant-eating, feral cat-saving, protesting do-gooders who are making life difficult for plant-slaughering, meat-eating, feral cat-hating, MAC wearing self centered Americans like me. When I mentioned the intensity with which I HATE the feral cats that congregrate outside my neigbor's door waiting for their next meal, she mentioned that she had thought of bringing them a can of food so they won't be hungry at night.
Right.
She then expressed her disgust with me for calling feral cat social service (also known as animal control) and requesting cat traps so the disease carrying kitten breeders that urinate on every package that comes to my door can be trapped and sent to kitty playland (aka, euthanaisia).
Well today, this friend of mine was teaching a lesson on synonyms to my most rambunctious class. I was sitting at the desk taking attendance. I look up and notice her absence from the classroom. Quite startled, I call her name. Then I hear kids sniggering and busting a gut. Ms. Leon is on her hands and knees, crawling on the floor. Imagine my suprise. I thought she was plugging something in, looking for a contact, praying...something reasonable.
No.
She was trying to rescue a cricket.
Yes, dear readers: she was trying to RESCUE a CRICKET.
This same cricket I saw the hour before and I tried to stomp on. It was too quick. I, being a benevolent human, let the cricket live as long as it was not near my foot. She crawled on the floor, diligently trying to catch a cricket between two cupped hands. I sat there, stunned, and watched the circus unfold.
She caught the cricket, then scurried outside to the hundred degree weather and sent the cricket off on its merry way. (as a side note, today it was over 100 degrees...the cricket was better off being quickly stomped on by my foot than it was cooking to death in the desert or being eaten by one of the many many sparrows which congregrate in the parking lot.)
White girls.
I have white friends.
My co-teacher is white. I love her to death. She's absolutely wonderful, a fantastic educator who is incredibly creative and unnaturally kind. We eat sushi and Thai together. We occasionally engage in a glass of wine. All things considered, I frequently consider myself honored to be in her presence.
She's absolutely fucking nuts.
She's one of those tree-hugging, eggplant-eating, feral cat-saving, protesting do-gooders who are making life difficult for plant-slaughering, meat-eating, feral cat-hating, MAC wearing self centered Americans like me. When I mentioned the intensity with which I HATE the feral cats that congregrate outside my neigbor's door waiting for their next meal, she mentioned that she had thought of bringing them a can of food so they won't be hungry at night.
Right.
She then expressed her disgust with me for calling feral cat social service (also known as animal control) and requesting cat traps so the disease carrying kitten breeders that urinate on every package that comes to my door can be trapped and sent to kitty playland (aka, euthanaisia).
Well today, this friend of mine was teaching a lesson on synonyms to my most rambunctious class. I was sitting at the desk taking attendance. I look up and notice her absence from the classroom. Quite startled, I call her name. Then I hear kids sniggering and busting a gut. Ms. Leon is on her hands and knees, crawling on the floor. Imagine my suprise. I thought she was plugging something in, looking for a contact, praying...something reasonable.
No.
She was trying to rescue a cricket.
Yes, dear readers: she was trying to RESCUE a CRICKET.
This same cricket I saw the hour before and I tried to stomp on. It was too quick. I, being a benevolent human, let the cricket live as long as it was not near my foot. She crawled on the floor, diligently trying to catch a cricket between two cupped hands. I sat there, stunned, and watched the circus unfold.
She caught the cricket, then scurried outside to the hundred degree weather and sent the cricket off on its merry way. (as a side note, today it was over 100 degrees...the cricket was better off being quickly stomped on by my foot than it was cooking to death in the desert or being eaten by one of the many many sparrows which congregrate in the parking lot.)
White girls.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
I'm (finally) Back! and Hurricanes
So for the people who have been clamoring for my return to the blogosphere, here it is. I've taken a month long vacation and it was wonderful.
Evidently we didn't get the message the first time, because Mother Nature is sending another fast and furious message. Hurricanes Gustav, Hanna and Ike have been pummeling the South. Once again, people are fleeing as fast as their eco friendly cars can take them away from the disaster area. But, for every four people with good sense who leave, there is some idiot on a shrimp boat in the middle of the gulf who refuses to take heed to the warning.
I think part of the problem is the way the hurricanes are named. Quite frankly, there is nothing alarming about "Katrina" or "Hanna" and the only person "Ike" might bother is 1970s Tina Turner. Those names do not scream impending disaster; instead, the sound like "Church Picnic on Sunday."
I propose the the National Weather Service do the citizens a favor and rename the hurricanes accordingly.
Level 1-"Don't Bother to Worry about This" or "Big Thunderstorm, Nothing Serious"
Level 2- "You Might Get more Wet than Normal" or "Bring the Dog Inside"
Level 3- "Stock up on Water" "Buy Candles" or "IF You Live in Your Parent's Basement, Ask for A Temporary Upgrade to the Attic"
Level 4-"Get the Hell Outta Dodge" This May Kick Your Ass" "or "Don't Bother to Pack when you Evacuate"
Level 5- "Killer!" "Instant Death" "Catastrophe is Immient" "Are You Fucking Serious? You're STILL in Town?"
I think if the hurricanes were named more according to the system I've established, the idiot on the shrimp boat in the middle of the gulf might take the warning a little more serious.
*M*
Evidently we didn't get the message the first time, because Mother Nature is sending another fast and furious message. Hurricanes Gustav, Hanna and Ike have been pummeling the South. Once again, people are fleeing as fast as their eco friendly cars can take them away from the disaster area. But, for every four people with good sense who leave, there is some idiot on a shrimp boat in the middle of the gulf who refuses to take heed to the warning.
I think part of the problem is the way the hurricanes are named. Quite frankly, there is nothing alarming about "Katrina" or "Hanna" and the only person "Ike" might bother is 1970s Tina Turner. Those names do not scream impending disaster; instead, the sound like "Church Picnic on Sunday."
I propose the the National Weather Service do the citizens a favor and rename the hurricanes accordingly.
Level 1-"Don't Bother to Worry about This" or "Big Thunderstorm, Nothing Serious"
Level 2- "You Might Get more Wet than Normal" or "Bring the Dog Inside"
Level 3- "Stock up on Water" "Buy Candles" or "IF You Live in Your Parent's Basement, Ask for A Temporary Upgrade to the Attic"
Level 4-"Get the Hell Outta Dodge" This May Kick Your Ass" "or "Don't Bother to Pack when you Evacuate"
Level 5- "Killer!" "Instant Death" "Catastrophe is Immient" "Are You Fucking Serious? You're STILL in Town?"
I think if the hurricanes were named more according to the system I've established, the idiot on the shrimp boat in the middle of the gulf might take the warning a little more serious.
*M*
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