kellementology

life according to me

Category: Politics

  • Patriotic Coffee

    Patriotic Coffee

    Not too much else can be said.

    Except this…

    This…

    Oh, and of course, this.

    I’d say our house is in order.
    Not bad for a Nearly Wordless Wednesday.

  • Sex Ed and Politics

    Yesterday morning after I returned from dropping the MoH off at work, I had the dubious pleasure of listening to NPR report on local attitudes about sex education for 5th graders.  Obviously, there’s been quite a bit of talk on the subject since McCain was forced by the GOP bigdogs to chose Sarah Palin as his running mate.

    In the sound byte, a woman squealed in a key that would rival that of a soprano, that her son was “toooooooooooooooooooooo young for that!”

    That.

    “That” would be learning about his body.  Learning to understand how it works and feels and how not to feel strange or guilty over any of it.

    I believe that parents should talk to their kids about hormonally charged bodily functions, puberty, and sex — preferrably before a teacher does.  In today’s world, that means before the age of 12 in many schools. But I know absolutely that many parents don’t.

    It doesn’t seem to be a conscientious decision on their part not to as much as one influenced by discomfort, although those quoted on the radio had definite opinions about it:

    • 5th graders are too young to hear about “that stuff”
    • “it” will make them uncomfortable about their bodies
    • “it” will make them wonder about it, thereby increasing the likelihood that they’ll become sexually active sooner than they may have had they not heard about it.
    • blah, blah, blah
    • yadda, yadda, yadda

    Give me a break.  I’m thinking that digging a hole in the backyard just big enough for one’s head may help with ignorance of this magnitude.

    Then there’s the other side:  if you don’t speak to your kids about sex, they’ll hear about it elsewhere.

    Okay, so unfortunately, there is some truth to that.  I used to be amazed by what kids brought to school.  Whether it was from their parents, older brothers and sisters, observation, watching television, movies, or surfing the Internet, they knew about “it.”

    When the time for “SEX ED” rolled around each year, I winced and groused about why the P.E. or Science teachers weren’t given the responsibility of teaching the subject matter instead of myself, an English teacher.  After all, I’d have looked forward to eating glass more than yet again having to instruct a room full of snickering adolescents from a giant penis displayed from the overhead projector.

    Kids would peer through the window first thing each morning to see what topic was on the agenda for the day, just waiting to sit down and write their private questions to be put in the box and drawn out to be addressed during open discussion.  I had to censor a few from time to time because I was surprised about what some of my 11-year-olds already knew, and there were distinct limits to what the coursework entailed:  physiology, function, reproduction, and disease.  Absolutely nothing about birth control and definitely nothing about sex.

    At our house, the RTR  learned about the birds and the bees first through informal questions and natural curiousity.  Then, when he was in the 4th grade, he learned what the school described as “human physiology” and was required to give a comprehensive report to the MoH and myself to get credit for his learning.

    The philosophy for why the kids were taught so young was because they wouldn’t deal with the information in a way that was goofy, or silly.  That because they hadn’t reached puberty yet, they wouldn’t be squirmy about the information and would handle it like all the other information they were learning.

    I thought at the time, fine.  And the RTR did stand in front of the two of us with composure and confidence while the two of us squirmed a bit with discomfort about our then 9-year-old talking about penises and breasts, testicles, and vaginas complete with labeled diagrams all tucked nicely in his project folder.

    But I also know that kids can behave in a particular way depending on how something is handled at home.  If something isn’t discussed, or treated as if it’s inappropriate to think about, or worse, joked about, then guess what?  That’s how they often act when it comes up at school.   Big surprise, right?

    When it comes right down to it, even if kids are taught the ins and outs of sex (sorry, I couldn’t resist…)by their parents, at school, or from the now questionable sources I was subjected to when I was fourteen, they’ll do what they want when the time comes — and it won’t have anything to do with any politician that I can think of.

    In fact, I know a lot of adults who behave in the same fashion, and it’s the direct result of NOT thinking with one’s brain.

    Sarah Palin is trying to seduce independent voters. But she comes across like a whip-wielding mistress who wants to discipline a naughty America.
    "Sarah Palin is trying to seduce independent voters. But she comes across like a whip-wielding mistress who wants to discipline a naughty America" (Slate)

  • Back to School: Ho Hum

    The long Labor Day weekend always marks the official end of summer here, with people heading to the beach one last time.  And just like that, it’s over.

    The three days yawned on for what seemed like five with the three of us taking it easy.  Other than spending Saturday at the horse races with the RTR and a cousin (who decided that picking horses is a lot more challenging than playing Texas Hold’em), we made like house potatoes.  I put off the perfunctory school shopping until yesterday when we hit the sales Macy’s advertises so well, and then doubt if we actually picked up anything on sale.  Funny how that works, isn’t it?  The total time to choose and try on four shirts and three pairs of shorts was less than waiting in line to pay for those school clothes.  Nice.  Well, the wait time — not so much the price tag.

    Yes, summer is definitely over.

    There’s more traffic in the morning going past our house and with us in it, the school carpool started up again.  Same kids, new clothes, different school year.  Talk of how it feels on the first day, the first class, and how by the second day, it’s all old news.  By the time we pulled up to the curb, they were talking about when the first three-day weekend would be, then the week off for Thanksgiving.  Then the Christmas break.

    It was pretty funny, actually, because I know that some teachers were most likely feeling the same way.  In fact, during my second student teaching assignment, on the first day of school, I overheard a teacher in the bathroom stall next to mine, talking to a colleague about how many days were left until Veteran’s Day.

    So in celebration of the first day of school, I’ll pass along to you something I was sent in an email yesterday.  Although when I read it, I knew there could be no way it was true (see this at Snopes), I know from experience that the feeling behind it can, for some who work in schools, definitely be true.  Seriously.  Let’s face it — kids have to go to school, kids have parents, and those parents aren’t always delightful humans to work with. Although I have some interesting stories of my own about working with parents, the stories I have about working with teachers are just as interesting.

    People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones…

    SCHOOL ANSWERING MACHINE

    This is hilarious – no wonder some people were offended! This is the message that the Pacific Palisades High School California staff voted unanimously to record on their school telephone answering machine.

    This is the actual answering machine message for the school. This came about because they implemented a policy requiring students and parents to be responsible for their children’s absences and missing homework.

    The school and teachers are being sued by parents who want their children’s failing grades changed to passing grades – even though those children were absent 15-30 times during the semester and did not complete enough school work to pass their classes.

    The outgoing message:

    Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting to the right staff member, please listen to all the options before making a selection:

    To lie about why your child is absent – Press 1

    To make excuses for why your child did not do his work -Press 2

    To complain about what we do – Press 3

    To swear at staff members – Press 4

    To ask why you didn’t get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you – Press 5

    If you want us to raise your child – Press 6

    If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone – Press 7

    To request another teacher, for the third time this year – Press 8

    To complain about bus transportation – Press 9

    To complain about school lunches – Press 0

    If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behavior, class work, homework and that it’s not the teachers’ fault for your child’s lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!

    If you want this in Spanish, move to a country that speaks it.

    (The last line wasn’t in the piece I linked from Snopes, so someone must have added it as it made its way through the email highway.  I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t get political today, so I’ll just leave it there like an elephant in the livingroom.)

    Ah, yes.  Happy Back to School.

  • Pundits and Forum Whackos

    It’s kind of sad how days go by and this space sits waiting to take on the color of my days.  It waits quite a bit now, but not by design.  I haven’t lost interest, though.

    Most of the time, I feel like one of those clowns that shows up at a kid’s birthday party who works his ass off and nobody gets it.  Maybe I should start a link train. Or present poorly written content laced with spelling errors about products and information thinking others will actually read it so I can make millions from the page views.

    Trick.

    I do have quite a bit to say about how obnoxious I find all the pundits backpedaling over McCain’s VP nomination.  You know, Obama doesn’t have experience, but she does.  Blah, blah, blah. I don’t have an issue with “her.”  I have an issue with the extent to which some politicians find voters stupid — women voters in particular.

    That they’ll vote for McCain now because he’s got a woman on his ticket who is pro life and eats moose burgers.

    And maybe some of them will.

    How sad is that?

    Very.

    Even more sad?  The number of whackos who respond to forums and the disgusting content of their comments regarding race and gender.

    And they get to vote.

  • A Cork for Ben Stein’s Mouth, please?

    A Cork for Ben Stein’s Mouth, please?

    As much as I have enjoyed watching men and women athletes compete in the Olympic games over the years, and successfully pushing out the political crap that inevitably surrounds the games, I can say that I’m not sad I will no longer have the sound of the games on our television being the soundtrack of my day to day existence.  Yes I loved Dressage even though I wondered how someone could spend tens of thousands of dollars on having the perfect score composed for her horse to compete to.  And I truly enjoyed all the diving, although the gaunt bodies of some of the young Chinese women was disturbing.  We jumped from our couch potato positions and cheered when Matthew Mitcham of Australia nosed out the Chinese diver for the gold medal in the high platform competition, and grinned each time he smiled and waved at the camera.

    But there’s a political campaign going on.  Still.  At last.  Finally.

    And I’ve kept my eye on it all the way, which has been fairly painful considering all the talking heads I’ve had to sort through, enduring opinions and hair-splitting analysis of nothing.  Trying to know what is really happening.  Waiting.

    I haven’t been one to watch the conventions in past years, because it always appears staged, and forced.  I’ve always pictured a score of producers and marketers, advisors, and aides positioning the political puppets for those who may watch and, they hope, believe that it’s all true.  They don’t think we’re very smart, and sometimes they are right.

    But last night, I watched the before show.  I watched CNN and MSNBC listening for the always present biases each has, and skipped whomever spoke (Pelosi…) until Caroline Kennedy spoke to introduce her uncle.  I had to watch.

    I was seven years old when I first saw Caroline Kennedy, at her father’s funeral, on our small black and white boxy television set.  It’s the first time I realized that the world was bigger than my family and my home, and that sad things happened to people as young as I was.  So when she speaks, I have to watch and think about the life she’s led and how it’s been shaped so differently than mine has been.

    I watched Uncle Teddy, too, and listened to him, thinking more about the effort his presence there took than his words and respecting him for that alone.

    But it was Michelle Obama I wanted to see and hear.  She’s smart.  She’s opinionated.  She says what others think, but won’t say because they’re more comfortable criticizing others instead of standing up for what they believe.  She won’t be someone who smiles demurely for photo ops when the new wing of a hospital opens somewhere or take on Literacy like it was something new that needed to be paid attention to.  Her self-admitted “loud mouth” will be available on a regular basis, and to me, will represent more accurately what matters to me as a woman in today’s world whether I’m a “sister” or not.  I believe her and respect women who are outspoken a hell of a lot more than those who feign disdain and then snark outrageously behind closed doors.

    And for the polled 27%  who are still pining for the loss of Hilary and are holding their potential votes hostage by actually saying they’ll vote for McCain?  Give me a break.  It truly reminds me of a child who, at someone else’s party, can’t deal with not being in the spot light so dumps over the punchbowl.  Constructive if you’d like to spoil the party and leave everyone else remembering you for the giant red stain on your party dress.  Get over yourselves and plug in your brains.  Pull your heads out of your rumps, quit whining, and pay attention. It’s embarrassing.

    To all the pundits who say this election is hinged upon independent votes?  That would be me.  But I’ve been decided for quite some time.  My vote just keeps getting more solid with time, and nothing the GOP’s spin machine comes up with will distract me.

    I will, however, have to quietly pardon myself to violently empty the contents of my stomach if I EVER have to listen to the truly obnoxious Ben Stein who was on CNN last night after Michelle Obama spoke.  It was bad enough have to watch Larry King , but  Ben Stein?

    What a dislikable person.

    This started out so nicely today, didn’t it?

     

  • The effect of Paradise and marine layers on golf.

    I think by now you know that I have a “maybe like – sorta meh” relationship with this palm-laden place I begrudgingly refer to as Paradise. I know that there are many cities I could live that pale in comparison are much more interesting, but my grousing is about more than the monotonous weather that draws people here.

    It’s about mindset — as in the mindset of many long time residents and other self-elected expert representatives of the region as a whole. Somehow, as large as this city has become over the years, the only thing that ever seems to matter to visitors is the weather.

    So why am I on this particular toot this morning?

    (more…)

  • Obama the Dream Boat?

    One of the entertaining aspects of being completely incapable of getting a good night’s sleep these days is being able to remember the dreams I have. I’m actually awake long enough to acknowledge them, think about them, and give each a kind of evaluation. Nothing complicated. Just a sort of, “Whoa. That was interesting…” and it crops up through the day as I’m putzing around. A doozie will actually garner a mention of the dream to someone.

    Like yesterday.

    I was in my less than lovely lounging attire: flannel and beyond silky soft with wear jammy bottoms, a grungy blue tee, and an old Eddie Bauer oversized so not matching blue plaid shirt. It’s day time, or as much daytime as my dreams ever are. It’s my mother’s old neighborhood. The one we lived in the longest in the house right next door to my best friend’s house. I actually wonder whether her mother still lives there in all of this strangeness. There are lots of people standing behind yellow plastic Do Not Cross tape and a tall thin man in a great suit is striding away from where I’m standing with the crowd in the street. They’re cheering and pointing at him as I walk toward him, never quite seeing his face.

    No one tries to stop me as I approach him, catching up.

    I reach around from behind to embrace him as one might someone they care about and haven’t seen in a while completely unaffected by the oddness of this situation I find myself in.

    “I missed you,” I say to him, wrapping my arms completely around until they meet and I clasp my hands at his waist.

    “Why?” he answers softly. “I’ve been here all the time.”

    “Because I spend all day reading and thinking about you,” I tell him, picturing time spent on the Internet seeing his face in a story here and and an article there.

    How romantic, but it’s a bit strange when I consider that the man is not the MoH, it’s Obama.

    Excuse me?

    I had a dream about Barack Obama?

    Okay…

    So, first of all, I don’t spend my day reading about him on the Internet. In fact, I’m quite bad at reading news on the Internet period. My “homepage” is Google. So I see bits and pieces of news on the television in passing if the news is on, or hear snippets on NPR in the car while running errands and shuttling kids to and from school. I do keep my eye on the goings on and do tune in when yet another primary is approaching just so I can make sure I’m still as sick as I was of the pundits and their crap as I have been all along.

    It sounds like a big fat load of excuses, doesn’t it?

    And couldn’t I just dream of maybe seeing him? You know, in passing after a speech or something? That might be a tad more normal, don’t you think? Slightly?

    I actually remember thinking in the dream that I could, clad as I was in my beyond tacky house potato attire, shed a poor light on his quest to be our next president. That people may not vote for him because some deranged woman, who surely must know that Michele Obama would be kicking her ass for touching her man, was, erm, touching her man. Embracing him. In public. With a crowd standing by.

    Of course I had to consult with a dream interpretation source. I filed through the alpha list of “characters,” impatiently looking for what character Obama might represent while on my way to the “P” section. Politician, right?

    Celebrity…Godzilla…Hero…Lawyer…Mummy…President…Wet Nurse? But no politician.

    What does it suggest when one can find dream interpretations for a wet nurse, pervert, or a zombie, but not a politician and I’m dreaming about one?

    Okay, so maybe it’s more about a feeling and not a character. The source mentions that dreaming of love denotes “intense feelings carried over from a waking relationship. It implies happiness and contentment with what you have and where you are in life.”

    Whew. It had me going for a while to think that maybe my subconscious had the hots for the next President of the United States. Let alone that I’d be stoopid enough to go out in public in my slovenly comfies. After all, he does have very nice suits. I would only look that much worse standing next to him.

    Or embracing him.

    Obama.

    Baby.

  • Unfocusedness

    I figured it was time for one of my ADD posts. It should match my brain about now. So much for Wordless Wednesday, right?

    Le Blog: The orange is so not staying so hold on to your shorts. But I do like the layout. I just needed to find something that would run. Internet Explorer SUCKS and IE6 is not loving WordPress 2.5 or something. Well, that’s what I’m thinking, so to make sure I completely ignore Abraham Lincoln’s sage advice about not being able to please all the people all of the time, I’ve become a theme switching maniac. It won’t end anytime soon. But doods. Could you PLEASE upgrade your web browsers? It’s so not challenging. Give it a go. Hell. Splurge and download Firefox. It takes a few seconds. Firefox is terrific.

    American Noodle: Has anyone figured out that Jason doesn’t WANT to be on the show? He’s over it. It’s a game. David Arche-what-ever his shucky darn name is has turned into a male version of Mariah Carey, whom I less than enjoy listening to. I’ve never quite adapted to that whole up and down the register wailing that goes on in her songs. I do get that I’m beyond ancient, and that I am no authority on anything but what I believe sounds exceptional, but still. He’s got a good voice, but the judges are just pandering to whomever the Tweeners will choose. I’ve lost interest in his voice and his no longer believable “who me?” look of surprise when they sprinkle him with their judge-ness. They just want to be recognized as someone who gets credit for his inevitable famousness. The RTR actually got up to take a shower last night when David A was singing because he just can’t stand the hand waving squealing females in front of the stage any longer. David Cook deserves to win. Period.

    Hell’s Kitchen: Are these people for real this year? O. M. G. Do any of them actually know how to cook? I can’t figure out why we actually are spending time watching this disaster. It reminds me of why I don’t like reality shows. But hey, it’s family time. We have to watch something while we’re eating dinner (yes, that late sometimes…). and we can make fun of the nonsense together and the talking doesn’t exactly interfere with the show. Who knows?

    Vacation: Finally booked an apartment near the Campo di Fiore for the first four nights of our time in Rome this summer. I’ve got plans for that kitchen. Now, on to the Amalfi coast…I would love to stay in a little pensione…maybe schedule a trip to Capri…so many decisions, but moving along on the plans and starting to get excited. Finally.

    Politics: I am so tired of all the crap the talking heads are throwing around about the candidates. It’s beyond annoying and I’d love to market some personalized corks for each of their mouths. Big ones. Wouldn’t that be swell? I’m even more tired of people who don’t take the time to find out what they can about candidates, instead believing what the pundits say. How can anyone at this point in time actually think that the decision we’re going to make next November can be taken that lightly. Aren’t things screwed up enough in the country? Hell. In the world? I’m sooooooo looking forward to paying even more money for gasoline. Aren’t you? Yowza. I’m so cranky about it all, I can’t sit down long enough to articulately write anything specific about it. I’m disgusted. And I don’t want to hear Hilary dropping her ing endings or swilling beer with locals. It’s lame.

    Homefront: My mom is settling in here in Paradise. We went on a field trip down to the grocery store yesterday. You know, to show her some places to be familiar with. And while we were there, a rather distinguished elderly man, tall with a nice grey suit, stopped us while we were involved in a brainless discussion on what type of catfood our cats might like, and proceded to tell us four jokes. He was cute. But it was bizarre. Seriously. Then my mother ran into a woman she used to work with years ago and they talked for five minutes or so about life changing decisions like moving and giving away everything. When they were finished, Mom asked me, “Where are we going next?” and a man approaching her from behind leaned over her shoulder and said, “To the liquor store,” and she cracked up because I had just asked her if she wanted some Miller Lite. While in the checkout lane, the checker, someone I see regularly in the store blathered at us the whole time, and then told Mom she was gorgeous and that it was too bad his dad had just remarried. That he and his brother didn’t even like the new wife.

    Totally. Hilarious.

    Dooce: We used up an ENTIRE morning trying to figure out when you were going to be on the Today Show today. It TOTALLY cut into my blogging time. And when you were finally on, were you thinking you’d like to smack Kathy Lee Gifford as much as I did? What is up with women who “don’t like computers” because they can’t figure out how to use them so blame it on the computer. Huh? And you did want to pull her hair over the comments she made about Leta, right? I did. But Heather, your highlights and cut are looking terrific, girl. Way.

    And like I said. ADD.

  • Where does the afternoon go?

    Okay, okay.

     

    So I know the headers are not quite right with the color of the rest of the page. I’m working on it.

    I was never fond of the aqua color that is prevalent in the page and have just tolerated it. Quite the exercise for someone like me. Too bad that exercise doesn’t burn calories. And I’m tired of the font, and the “kellementology” thingy above my header which has to be there. I tell yah.

    But I will be messing around with the font and colors, so if you don’t like something, by all means, let it rip. I can’t promise I’ll listen to a single thing you say, but it’s free to comment on my blog, yanno? And for a small fee will offer suggestions about how you might bump up your authoritative voice if your aim is to actually get someone to hear you.

    I’d be just fine if I could sit up here all night and figure it out. But there are so may have tos, like cooking dinner, and brushing my teeth, and sleeping, and American Noodle. Speaking of which…

    …how did you think the guys did last night? Hmmmm? Any favorites? Anybody you think should be voted off the noodle? Do tell! And will the biker type chickster get voted off this week? I’m thinking yes…

    Because that’s a whole lot more interesting than discussing what happened in Ohio yesterday. What is up? Could we please get everyone out there to vote? What is so difficult about it? All you have to do is make a mark. Or poke a button. It’s not really challenging. Just make sure it’s for the right person.

     

    Obama, Obama, Obama…

  • Bottled Fat Free Opinions and some Sand

    I’ve been in food land. You, gentle reader, should know that by now when the end of each month comes around, I will not be here. Surely you must have come across at least one of the eight trillion loaves of Julia Child’s French bread that are flooding Bloggsville with carbs, haven’t you? Just for grins and giggles, I did a Google search to see where I fell in the mix and actually looked at each page…scanning…searching, and feel not too badly surfacing on page 25 connected to Foodbuzz. I guess I’m not quite famous. Yet. I stopped looking for any mention of my foodblog on page 45 or something. Clearly I either have time to burn, or don’t feel like cleaning my house.

    I’ll keep working on it. Being famous — not cleaning my house.

    But, being the pithy one that I pretend to be, I’ve decided to get that point across with my rendition of Message in a Bottle. The point being that I’m a hopeless foodie and that it does take time when one enjoys much more about food than simply eating. Call it my version of the Slow Food Movement. The incomparable Cooper of Wonderland or Not, Should Be Famous and Darfur, an Unforgiveable Hell on Earth graced me with the opportunity to put my virtual Message in a Bottle and I do have to say that I’m feeling fairly famous about that since she NEVER, EVER even bats an eye at memes or awards.

    It’ll be rough trying to pulling on my jammie top tonight before bed, so fat is my head over this.

    In all seriousness, Message in a Bottle began at Mimi Writes, and from my visit there, I discovered that Mimi also instigated the Band Meme of which I was also a daft lemming willing participant. I do have to say that it was one of the more inspired memes I’ve been smacked with intrigued by and any excuse to open Photoshop is a complete afternoon sucker upper absolutely fine.

    Unfortunately, I just might be one of those mentioned who resides in her dungeon. Mayhaps I didn’t follow those directions either? *sigh*

    The directions for Message in a Bottle are not quite as lengthy (see below) as Julia Child’s recipe for pain francais (17 pages…), but I can feel myself not wanting to attend to them since there isn’t food involved. A hamburger for engaging might be a good idea since I’m on election watch this evening which is on a semi- collision course with American Noodle (and OMG how could the Texting Tweeners not vote off the cool, but not so melodious biker female?). And if I’m not mistaken, New Amsterdam, that show Fox has been dangling in front of us since before the holidays is going to premiere this evening (the one with the hunky guy who lives forever and how awful would that be?)

    Heavens to Betsy. How have I come to this?

    Here is my message in a bottle…kellypea’s message in a bottle

    My message can be taken literally; goodness knows that I live by this advice. But more importantly, it is a message reminding us that if we deny ourselves that which is special, we risk so much of what can make life truly amazing, relatively speaking, of course. If I must also explain — from an analytical angle, dark chocolate and red wine are a source of anitoxidants. The butter? Well, if you’ve been using “spread,” how are those triglyceride levels, hmmmm? It’s all about moderation. *bends over to drag soapbox from under the desk* You have noticed what happens when you really enjoy something and saturate yourself with it, it loses its sparkle, right?

    Okay, so not sex or rock ‘n’ roll okay? Behave. But if you thought about it before you read it, consider yourself seriously tagged.