And for me, that means tomorrow is Friday. Thursday is my Friday. I shouldn’t look forward to it the way I do because it inevitably leaves me with the feeling that life is stuck in one of those giant revolving doors that move people in an out of large spaces.
So I remind myself to take a breath, slow my mind down, and appreciate the day.
There’s quite a bit to appreciate.
There isn’t 12 feet of snow on the ground.
I don’t have to scrape ice off my driveway or windshield.
I can wear a single layer to work instead of R-30 insulation.
Everything’s green.
Best Buy finally delivered a new television and the Geek Squad will be here in a couple of days to put it back on the wall.
And American Idol will keep us riveted to the television a few hours a week for a while.
What more could I ask for?
Okay, so it would be great if Hilary and Obama would stop bickering at one another. And Mitt Romney would take over the hosting of Jeopardy! and give Alex Trebek a rest.
Ahhh…what a difference a day makes; it allows the nut inside to cool down a bit so stock can be taken of what matters.
Friday dawned as one should when there’s no work and no carpool duty. I got to enjoy my coffee instead of spilling it down the front of my shirt rushing around. I got to scan the newspaper and not learn anything I didn’t already know because I’d heard it on my car radio.
And then I got to drive my car down the hill to finally have it serviced. Finally. I picked up another coffee at a non-Starbucks joint and proceded to walk back up the hill to begin my day. I wasn’t too surprised to figure out that it is possible to walk up an incline that averages about 15 degrees holding a cup of coffee, occasionally taking a sip, and actually look stupid. No one would do that but me. What a dork. But I walked the distance in about 25 minutes and got my exercise in for the day.
And then all hell broke loose.
Since I was in a “take care of business” type of mood, I’d decided to check in with the authorized service provider we were told to use for our television which is just barely into its extended warranty. We’ve had it for exactly three years and purchased the extension through Best Buy where we bought the LG TV.
So let me back up here.
A bright red stripe about 1.5″ wide that extends from the top to the bottom of the left side of the screen appeared the day before Thanksgiving. Of course I got on the LG website to try and trouble shoot thinking that it may not be quite the big deal. I got out the owner’s manual, too, thinking I could learn something there.
Uh. No.
So the pleasant service guy showed up the Tuesday after Thanksgiving after I called AGAIN because they never called back after the first call. That should have been my warning.
The nice service man said that he’d check about whether parts and service OR a replacement television was in order. Honestly, I didn’t care. I just wanted to not have the red stripe on the screen. OR the pinkish, whitish, greyish conglomeration of tech-snow interference that conveniently did its thang while the service guy was here and thank you very much. For twenty minutes it snowed. Pink.
He said he’d call as soon as he got word on how to proceed. And he did, the very next day saying that parts were to be ordered. They’d come from the Right Coast, take about two weeks to get here, they’d come to collect the TV, install the parts, then keep it a couple of days to make sure everything was fine.
Totally groovy. I was feeling sooooooo efficient.
Just to convince you I’m calm, I waited two weeks and two WHOLE days before I called to check and see about the parts since the authorized people hadn’t called me.
The woman who answered the phone is now my mortal enemy. Her not really connected to this planet attitude and cavalier response about “the parts not being ordered yet” sent me completely through the roof. Her annoying, “Ma’am.” interrupting my request for her to repeat the offending information sealed the deal. She blamed the entire thing on Best Buy saying they didn’t have our information in the blah-blah-bla-dee-dah something or other. And she was, I think, a tad offended when I suggested to her that it was blatantly bad business practice to let something sit unresolved. She had no answer when I questioned her about just how long she’d wait before calling us to say that nothing had been done to service our TV after they’d told us it would be taken care of.
She didn’t like me. She really didn’t like me after 10 minutes of listening to me. But I’ll bet her dislike of me doesn’t approach my less than enthusiastic attitude about her prissy self.
So then I called Best Buy. Or should I say I punched in the number and several hundred others until I actually spoke to a human. I’ll spare you the details. But I did end up with a Manager who did tell me that the authorized people were having trouble getting the parts. Okay, so sure. That story was totally close to the crap the authorized chick on the phone told me. Liar. Great. So I asked the Manager when I might expect to get the parts. Sadly, she didn’t have that information. That maybe in 24-48 hours, I might be able to have that information. Mind you — 24-48 hours and two business days are not the same thing. It was Friday for goodness sakes. Puh-leeeeze.
So I called LG who told me that since everybody was pissing around, I should expect, demand, get a replacement TV. Okay, so the guy didn’t exactly say “pissing around,” but still. So I called Best Buy again, and after speaking with a few other people, got Kayla the Manager on the phone who sounded less than cheerful, in fact, quite resigned when she got on the line with,” Hello Kelly” and I told her what LG had told me. Like she really wanted to hear it.
And then I asked to speak to her Supervisor, Amber, who initiated our conversation with a verbal download of the day’s events so I’d know that she knew what she thought I’d expect her to know to be in the know. Yanno?
But all she could tell me is that it looked like the parts had been ordered.
And I told her that although we’ve purchased many, many things from Best Buy over the years, I was done. That had we purchased the TV from Fry’s, the service people would have taken it off the wall for us so that the MoH and I wouldn’t have had to do it. We are just not quite inclined to do those kinds of things. But we managed to pull the fist full of wires and cables far enough out of the wall to allow the TV to sit on the console below it and reattach it to its stand. Very. Scary. And Oh how I just can’t wait to put it back up there if the damn thing ever gets fixed.
Good thing we have muscles. Feh.
The TV ordeal took a couple of hours out of my Friday. But the good thing about it was that I got a lot of housework done while I was on hold which made it easier to put up the Christmas decorations later in the day.
I’m going to wait until the television is fixed (at the rate we’re going it should be sometime in February…) to write my letters commending the employees of Best Buy who know exactly how to say all the right things in the correct fashion. They’re so well trained. It’s too bad that the content of their comments is worthless. I’ll find a pithy way to extend that particular gem of information.
I’m thinking their goal would be to keep me in a state of suspended animation until the extended warranty time is up. Then they won’t have to do anything about the TV. After all, we already got raked over the coals because we purchased ours so long ago they only cost a fraction of what we paid — one quarter the amount we paid, actually.
So heed my warning if you’re headed out to purchase appliances or electronics this holiday season. Ask lots of questions about the warranties and extended warranties. If we hadn’t purchased the extended warranty, we’d be S.O.L. on our TV right now. LG said had it still been on warranty with them, they’ve have replaced it.
Of course we have a nice Sony in the bedroom that’s years older and has never had a single problem.
Since I officially have a J.O.B. now, I get to brag that I get Fridays off. And since I only work four hours a day the other four weekdays, clearly I’m not taxed here. Actually, I knew that it would be just enough time to throw off my blogging responsibilities. So thanks for your patience as I figure it out. Some of you are gifted in that area and manage to work and blog quite effectively. Show-offs. Or is it that you use that company computer? Only on breaks, right?
So what to do with this Friday and the weekend?
Grousse a bit about DubYah and the ridiculous “bail out” of the home mortgage catastrophe.
How nice that yet again, people who KNOWINGLY got themselves into a mess they can’t get out of get to keep their mess, but have someone else pay for it. Can I get in line for that, please? How can anyone not know that they can’t afford something? No. Way. And the lenders and agents who instigated the whole thing to pad their own wallets and then bail when things began to get soft need to be thrown in the slammer. Losers. They threw Martha in the slammer for something miniscule in comparison, and since this mortgage business is affecting the economy, uh, I’m thinking they need to round the crooks up. The whole “bail out” is a scam, anyway. Sort of along the lines of “Tastes Great! Less Filling.” Serve it up anyway, George. You go right ahead. What. Ever.
B*tch about a hike in our medical insurance because I had another birthday; its high cost must not have been quite high enough.
Mind you, we’ve only had the insurance since this past spring. If Blue Cross would give up sending stoopid statements on high quality shiny paper printed in lots of purdy colors (that just confirm we’re getting hosed monthly because there are only zeros on the statement), they could probably save a zillion dollars. Then they wouldn’t have to charge me the extra money that is just going out the window because we don’t use it. You can’t exactly USE medical insurance with a deductible that rivals the national debt. Welcome to the land of opportunity. The place where you purchase medical insurance just to prevent the loss of a home in the event of a serious medical condition. Wait. I could maybe swing a deal with the banking and mortgage crooks, then not have to pay. Sure.
After you rip everyone off, enjoying their hard-earned cash and credit (sans taxes, of course), why not ask for leniency because you want to turn your life around after you’ve had all this fun? *Can I borrow your spoon so I can stick it in my throat and gag?* If the judge believes these two free-loading ass*oles, I have a terrific chunk of land in Paradise that is a veritable rain forest with unlimited water and city politicians who aren’t liars.
Lest this all depress you, we can look forward to the colors the fashion industry has in store for us all next Spring. Um. I can’t wait. The MoH just may be interested in a nice trouser in Snorkel Blue and a shirt with French Cuffs in Spring Crocus. Wait. On second thought, maybe one of Buckler’s designer swim suits. The gold lame.
A suggestion or two? Tubal Ligation. Condoms. Birth control pills. Strategically positioned stitches. Lobotomy.
But it’s Friday. So I’m going to spruce up my casita and get ready for the weekend. There’s holiday shopping to be done, a tree to be chosen and to decorate, and maybe…just maybe…another performance of yours truly on ustream.tv this Sunday. Don’t hold your breath for it, though.
It’s official. I’ve decided I have the qualifications to become a candidate for President of the U.S.A.
What do you think?
You Are 5: The Investigator
You’re independent – and a logical analytical thinker.
You love learning and ideas… and know things no one else does.Bored by small talk, you refuse to participate in boring conversations.
You are open minded. A visionary. You understand the world and may change it.At Your Best: You are sharp, inventive, and creative. You have the skills to lead the world.At Your Worst: You are reclusive, weird, and a bit paranoid.
Your Fixation: Greed
Your Primary Fear: Being useless or incompetent
Your Primary Desire: Being competent and needed
Other Number 5’s: Bill Gates, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Bjork, and Stephen Hawking.
“Know things that no one else does…” Can you even imagine the number of things DubYah knows that we will never, ever know? Scary.
“Refuse to participate in boring conversations…” Like at press conferences with the media persistently ask why…or how… or when…and DubYah grins and blithely states that he said he wasn’t going to answer those questions. Because he’s just not gonna do it. He doesn’t have to.
“Have the skills to lead the world…” Think about it — his daddy set things up ahead of time. And then he just hired all of his daddy’s people. And he made sure no one ever actually saw Cheney. Ever. And setting up the whole hanging chad thing was a good touch just to make sure.
“Being useless or incompetent…” Who was it that said that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself? Churchill? Actually, it was Eleanor Roosevelt. Okay, so be afraid. Be very afraid. Wait. I already am. (See below)
Dorothy, are we in Kansas yet? I don’t know what day in NaBloPoMo I’m in, but have already figured out that it’s a gonna be a long haul…
November 6, 2007
To Whom it May Concern:
There isn’t one special person I’d like to address today. Blame it on Thinner. You know, that hunk ‘o metal and plastic that I step on once a week just to see how quickly I’m losing the battle of the bulge? Yes, Her. And yanno? She’s just as heartless as she’s always been. Cold, calculating bitc….
The MoH and I started a little health plan a week ago and he has lost three whole pounds as of yesterday and I’ve lost notta-one. Zero. Nothing. Nada. I am so completely sick of this whole thing I can’t see straight. No, I’m not talking about just from this past week. Hell, this goes back months. COULD I GET SOME PROGRESS HERE, WAITER? What kind of establishment is this anyhoo?
I don’t want any advice. I don’t need consoling, or understanding or links to research or plans or anything like that. I read. In fact, if I could figure out how to sustain life by just reading, I’d be in heaven. I read, question, research, examine, wonder. I do all that crap like breathing. I could probably spout off any fact that anyone wants to know about being healthy. But I guess I just am not willing to live on a spa diet and bust my ass an hour a day each and every day of the week. I’m destined to be a dumpling. A morsel.
What I need is a bit fat sucker machine. A giant Flo-bee. One that I can just hook up, and not only will it remove any adipose tissue I’m not overly fond of, but it will suck out the genes I have that have nudged me to this point over the years, fine American Farm Stock that I am. Sheesh. SOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEE….
I don’t want to be skinny. Hell, I don’t even want to weight what I did when I was in my twenties. I just want to be rewarded for:
eating bran cereal in measured quantities (2/3 c.) with nearly fat-free milk — 1%?
eating wraps (whole grain with fiber…)with mushrooms, spinach, onions and other animal feed
nibbling at nuts and prunes
eating cautious quantities of food
skipping bread, or anything with processed white flour
avoiding any kind of fat — even fat that’s good for me — well except that bit of avocado…
exercising, and yes, breaking a sweat (at which I’m exceedingly accomplished)
not even looking at butter
drastically (gasp) decreasing wine consumption and drinking red instead of white with a calorie-less bubbly lime flavored mixer
eating non-fat plain yogurt by itself
eliminating quite a bit of meat from our diet in the past week and what meat we’ve had has been in four oz. portions
not intending to, but skipping a few meals, ( and boy did I pay for that with shaky, trembling legs and drowsiness)
not eating chips, or cookies, or candy, soda, or ice cream (which I rarely, if ever, eat anyway) REALLY.
when we went out last Friday, ordering a salad that I didn’t even eat all of
not being able to remember the last time I had pizza or fast food in any way, shape or form. Wait. I had pizza when the fires were burning — so two or so weeks ago?
having ONE small piece of Halloween candy
walking between 10-12 miles last week
eating only ONE piece of that luscious Bostini that I actually ended up throwing in the trash and isn’t that a complete crime for being so very wasteful…
OKAY? Jeez. Maybe some TNT would help. Just blow the parts off me. But yanno? I think I’ll just nuke the damn scale. She’s a stupid b*tch anyway. And a liar, with that Thinner staring at whomever is brave enough to step on her ugly face. That’s what she gets for lying.
I know. I’m supposed to be patient. Understanding. Do yoga. Feel positive that I didn’t GAIN weight this week. Excuse me? I’m sick of open-minded, positive thinking, too. Seriously. A little hissy fit and some generally nasty thinking has got to be healthy once in a while. Maybe if I get really worked up here, I could burn some calories.
Whatever.
And the thing that is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO annoying about this is that I actually LIKE myself. Honestly. I’m not doing this because I abhor the sight of myself or consider myself to be unsightly. But at some point, I’m smart enough to know that as I age, I need to be very aware of what and how I eat, and the degree to which I exercise because I want to live a very long time. And people in my family do. Very long. And what the hell fun will it be to not be able to move, or think, or write, or create nonsense with my hands? No thanks.
So I’ll just plug along. I’ll just accept whatever comes my way and feel thankful, feel gratitude, feel…calm. Peaceful. I’M CALM. OKAY?
I’m going to organize closets now. At least that way, I can actually see what I’ve accomplished and won’t have to soothe say my way to some level of awareness and understanding that will allow me to exist harmoniously with myself. What a load of horse sh*t.
My journey as a NaBloPoMo-Ho continues into its second day…
November 2, 2007
Dear Retailers (and in particular, Big Box Retailers, but specifically, Walmart):
It has been noted that you have begun to show concern with respect to your sales projections for the upcoming holiday season, and as a result, have begun to slash prices. Evidently, your thinking can be encapsulated in this concept: If the price is low enough, the consumer will want what you want them to want because you want them to and your attorneys always get what you want them to get. Simple.
I do have some consternation about this kind of thinking. It doesn’t exactly keep me awake at night, because not much does other than my relentless hot flashing, but still, I do think about where your narrow minded economics will end. At some point, someone has to lose. With any luck at all, it will be you, and not the consumer.
The average consumer is tired of being the poster child for your faulty thinking. Well, except for the consumers who have figured out that they can purchase until they are bankrupt, and then have all their debts excused in bankruptcy court so that someone else has to pay for it. Okay, so the IDEAL consumer, not the average consumer. You know. Honest ones. Where was I? Oh yes…
However, other considerations force me to acknowledge that if you lose, then you will claim that you will be forced to lay off employees (when all the while your CEOs will reel in massive bonuses even after the Board of Directors gives them a vote of no confidence and asks for their resignation), who are ultimately consumers, who then have no funds to consume consumables in a comfortable fashion. A different perspective could be that if you claim to have high losses, you’ll have fewer resources (minions) to convince consumers (suckers) that they can’t live without a 50″ flat panel plasma television for $998.00 and wouldn’t it make so much sense to get your Christmas shopping done now instead of waiting because wouldn’t you like to impress your holiday guests with this new purchase? Poor, poor unsuspecting consumers will then have to find out that in order to actually see High Def on their newly purchased and initially cheap television, they will have to subscribe for HDTV service and that the industry is sort of dragging in getting more than the basic channels up and running with High Def. Oh, and that warranty? And what about those cables and energy cleaners? Not so cheap. But still. $998.00 does sound good, doesn’t it?
I’d just like to let you know that I am one of the new “increasingly resistant” consumers that you fear. I’m not coerced by sales or advertising. I don’t make impulsive purchases because you expect me to. I have no trouble at all in resisting any remote urge to “keep up with the Joneses.” No sweat. I will not be in line at your heavily advertised 8 AM sales events with the purple kool-aid drinking lemmings who seem to live for the fighting opportunity to get their hands on a limited number of sales items, and then when they fail, shop because they’re now in your clutches, and spend money on other items. Just like you planned. And you will sigh with relief because they are not spending their money on The Dreaded Gift Card that is such a detriment to your reported earnings.
I will be content to shop when I feel like it, purchase what I want and continue to hope that the whole point of giving is just that. And that looking for the “just right gift” isn’t because of a sale, or cutting edge, or newest of the new. It’s just the right match for the person I have in mind.
I won’t be using my home equity like an ATM to fund Christmas, nor do I expect to charge anything that won’t be immediately paid off. I could. But I won’t.
So just a word of advice.
Resist upper management when they tell you they have pro-rated product coming your way. Take a stand. Let them choke on it for buying it without consideration for how much inventory you currently have. It’s really not a big deal because they guy who will get screwed in the proposition is the one who okayed the initial purchase.
Somebody has to be big enough to stop the nonsense. Just say no! Or maybe at least think about it?
Besides. I’ll be forever indebted to you for not having to watch all the ridiculous advertising that is sure to come this year, acting as if it can tempt me to get out my wallet.
Good luck to you and your bottom line in the rapidly approaching season. Perhaps you’ll soon come to realize that the projected 4% increase in sales over last year is really just fine. Just practice what The Ideal Consumer has to practice: restraint.
Thank you for taking the time to consider my thoughts on this matter. I’m off to IKEA.
Ah, moisture in the atmosphere. Nothing like a thick blanket of fog to dampen things and cool a few tempers. A bucket of cold water would most likely work better for some.
So here’s my list of recipients of the “Bucket of Cold Water in the Face” award for a flagrant display of ego during and after a catastrophe.
In a letter to the editor of the local paper, a woman from Imperial Beach (spitting distance to the Baja California border) for suggesting that “the power be shut down in the areas of high winds until they dissipate to the point that they pose little danger to the line.” Life is just so simple to some, isn’t it?
Our city attorney for suggesting that the entire city be evacuated to Yuma. Excuse me? Could someone — anyone — please oppose him in the next election. Please? He’s completely bonkers.
To the illustrious blow hard Rush Limbaugh for asking where all the “environmentalists wackos” are when the place is burning up and asking why they aren’t helping to fight the fires. What? Was he out of material that day? Oh, I forgot. He’s been out of material since Bill Clinton left office. Stupid me.
People who know their homes weren’t destroyed, but who were vociferously complaining that they couldn’t return to their own while their neighbors whose homes are in ashes keep their chins up, smile, and sift through what’s left of their belongings. Ugly Americans, indeed. Douse ’em again for just being a**holes. Okay, one more for the road. Losers.
Dub-yah’s motorcade and entourage for keeping people who had been told they could return to their homes sitting on the freeway for over four hours until he was done touring a burn area, and eating lunch at a fire command post. Sometimes, you just have to check your routines, right? Douse ’em good and then rub some mud on their faces.
Talk radio crazies who began stirring the pot about blame before the fires are out challenging why aircraft weren’t up in winds that exceeded 70 mph in some places dropping water and fire retardant. Skip the water on this one. Drop some fire retardant on their heads instead. Or give ’em a few pills to put them out of our misery.
A woman from Rancho Bernardo who felt that “the president picked a bad time to come.” Okay, so he could have waited a week, but Arnold was here for days, so Dub-yah had to be here, too, or he would have had egg on his face. Hmmm….No. Douse ‘er anyway for being self-centered.
To the woman who applied for food stamps because the power was out and the food in her refrigerator spoiled. How much food is that? And how big is that fridge? And how long does it take meat in a freezer to thaw out if no one opens the door?
To the media and their “helpful” public service advice with regard to the ash on our driveways and sidewalks: Don’t wash it off with the hose because it will end up in the water. (Um…has anyone noticed the large body of saltwater to the west? Do you actually think that it has remained remarkably free of ash to this point and that washing ash from our driveways will create a problem?) Oh, and absolutely don’t use leaf blowers. (Okay, so I agree with this simply because the make an annoying sound and do blow crap into the air — especially if someone hasn’t picked up after their dog.) Do use a broom. But sweep gently so the ash doesn’t go back into the air. By all means, do dispose of the ash in the garbage can. (Where it will go to the dump, get rained on sometime in the next century when it finally does rain, and then wash into the ocean.) Okay, so skip the water on this one. Just dump a truck-load of ash on her head. Or feed her to Rush Limbaugh for lunch.
Yanno, I was going to have a lovely, quiet morning. Feh.
After a much needed eleven hours of sleep last night (evacuated relatives, non-stop fire coverage, no school, no work, and a busy Las Vegas weekend) I stretched, poured my coffee and began to plan my day. Fire coverage is dwindling (thankfully and finally), the Santa Ana winds have completely died, and fire fighters are focused on what’s remaining — still a concern, but nothing like it was even a day ago.
I was cozied up to the MoH’s laptop (instead of my beloved mac since the RT is home and is putting in iTunes time) getting ready to do a bit of research on a recipe I’m going to tackle and I came across this article.
Remember when I had the nuclear melt down over the Jeep Princess a week or so ago? Well, that was mild in comparison to the flare of heat I felt when I read it. The rush of anger, barage of razor sharp opinions, and flow of thoughts bottled for the better part of a year made their presence known. Matilda the Hun is alive and well in the smoke-filled skies of Paradise.
And to put the turd in that caustic punch bowl…
Dub-yah just landed in Air Force One to survey the burn areas.
I was going to go get paint for the RT’s room, which we’ve been sanitizing and organizing together. Miracles do happen. I was going to be physically constructive for the better part of the day instead of exercising my agile fingers and brain. But the article was a serious deterrent. And Dub-yah is guilty by association with NCLB.
Before I really get going, consider this: In his sophomore English class, the RT has to read whatever he wants — at least 100 pages a week. No big deal. He has to keep a list of what he reads and make a couple of entries in a notebook. No guidelines, just a note or two about each item he’s read. At the end of six-weeks, the teacher will go around the class, look at each list, “pick one of the items on the list” then expect the students to write about that item in class for a grade. Can the RT do this? Of course. The kid reads. He always has. And yes, he can write about what he reads, if the teacher is willing to subject herself to his tortuous handwriting. But what is the real point of the exercise? To catch the students who can’t, don’t, or haven’t read? Or to confirm the original assessment that their writing skills are seriously lacking, and that even though you haven’t taught them anything to begin to correct this problem, you’re going to test them? A test is supposed to be a measure of more than just a student’s learning. It’s a measure of the effectiveness of one’s teaching, also. Or the quality of the test. Or the material taught. Or the motivation of the students. Or the motivation of the teacher. Okay, so this is going no where fast. This video sums things up fairly well.
Until everyone — EVERYONE stops thinking that “things” should remain the same as in the good ol’ days, and that what and how you and I were taught should be fine because “we turned out just great…” then we’re part of the problem. Unfortunately, a very large portion of the teaching force is part of the obstacle to change. A huge number of teachers are reaching retirement, and although many have had productive careers influencing countless children in positive ways, the sheer idea of having to learn radically different techniques that involve a strong understanding of how technology works is something less than attractive for many. Not all. Many.
Those interested in learning are facing obstacles caused by the dysfunctional system, the equipment, and the often less than knowledgeable quality of support staff. I’m sure I’ll burn with the politically incorrect in hell for making these statements — another problem. The world of education is quite two-faced. Face to face, it’s all peaches and rainbows. Behind the scenes, it’s all snarking and biting. It would make a terrific reality show.
There are newer, more idealistic teachers coming into the profession, some of whom are from different professions. And yes, they have much to learn from their more experienced colleagues, and should definitely listen. But it rarely works in reverse, and that’s too bad. Why is it that as we age, we close our minds? We think those younger than us, or from outside our system, lack knowledge and ability. We forget how we felt when we were their age, and what we knew. There is a very odd culture within the educational system that is unlike that of others who understand the value of working together, and sharing ideas. Individuals in the medical profession, engineers. There seems to be a fear that prevents the development of an intellectual community within the educational system. That if you gain certain heights, you’ve forsaken the masses, and are to be questioned. What is that called?
No, not all teachers exhibit that level of closed mindedness, but many.
I’ve raised three sons who are pleasant, productive people. They’ve watched some television, played some video games, played some sports, and had to endure some chores to earn an allowance. And they’ve had quite a bit of time to learn to entertain themselves with books and hobbies. To use their imaginations. To feel boredom and develop a willingness to do something about it.
Unfortunately, they’ve also had a fairly lack-luster experience at school with primarily lecture-driven instruction supported by textbooks that are so sanitized it’s a wonder the information inspires any degree of critical thought. They’ve had county schools, city schools, Montessori schools. They’ve had experienced teachers, new teachers, engaged teachers, and people who should have been encouraged out of the profession before their second year. They’ve attended low-performing schools, mediocre schools, and extremely high performing schools. It doesn’t seem to matter. We’re good at perpetuating the notion that learning occurs in a box in this country. Extremely.
It would be so easy to launch into a diatribe on parenting at this point because parents are the primary responsibility for their children. But if society acknowledges that not all parents are capable of raising their children appropriately (and they’re not because anyone can have sex, and unfortunately children can’t choose their parents), then the educational system has got to provide. (Rush Limbaugh is probably choking right now…) And what is provided can’t be the same across a district, or a county, a state, or the country. That thinking persists because it’s easy. That thinking persists because we’ve been doing it for so many years.
That thinking will persist until the people who work in the public education system work together to change their thinking.
It’s not challenging. You just have to be willing to wrap you head around the idea that things are possible instead of not. It’s called optimism. Optimists are shot down in the educational system. Those who stand out and work to achieve different possibilites are frowned upon and talked about. Surely, innovation is suspect. Negativity and snarking about “the pendulum” swinging back again inevitably begin. How nice to be able to act in such a sanctimonious way. To think that the kids are going to hell in a hand basket and that you can’t do your job because you’re not being given the same material you used to be given.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but school is supposed to be a place where you actually learn, and not show up to show what you know. Increasingly, it needs to be a place where students learn HOW to learn — impossible if someone is standing in front of the room talking and then assigning homework. When’s the last time you had to sit in a room and just listen to someone who couldn’t possibly know all he or she should know to teach you? Fun, wasn’t it? And yet we subject our kids to that.
I’m not suggesting that educators aren’t intelligent. No one in any profession can possibly contain all the information necessary to truly teach. Things have changed. Information is available everywhere. Students need their teachers to understand what and where the sources are, teach them how to discern credible information from what is faulty, and push them to develop their own hypotheses and investigate their own theories. Publish their own findings. Constructively argue the validity of their own findings.
Teachers are the key. They have to be. They can’t continue to complain about their administrators, the parents, the students, the lack of materials, lack of technology, support staff, pay, and stress on the job. All of those issues can be part of the problem, but when has complaining accomplished anything?
This rant is far from done. But it’s all over the place today, and god forbid that someone out there correct my choice of syntax and punctuation (which is much easier to do than use the questions I’ve posed to analyze and evaluate their own part of the problem).I respect the fact that anyone can stay in a profession for their entire career. That they can look back on their accomplishments and feel good about them. That they can speak as an “expert” because of that experience and make comments about “what the problem is” without considering that they, too, could have a share in being the problem.
That it can’t possibly be only the students. That it can’t possibly just be their parents. That it can’t possibly be just the administration, or the lack of funding, or the feds. That maybe. Just maybe. They are partially to blame because their thinking, their strategies, their unwillingness to become part of a solution, take action, and let go of their negativity, could be part of “the problem.”
When you examine the lives of individuals who are successful, and listen carefully to what and whom they’ve been influenced by, rarely to they say it had anything to do with their education. And if it does, it’s a dedicated teacher here or there. A coach, a professor, a dance instructor.
Ask a writer whether he or she learned to write in school. Rarely, if ever, are they able to attribute their skill, talent, and passion to any writing teacher — unless one considers a particular author a teacher — and I do. So do they.
Ask yourself to what extent your education inspired you. And not just through the K-12 years, but beyond. And then wonder what works, for whom, and why?
Or just pat yourself on the back that you made it to the end of this.
I know this constitutes the second politically based commentary I’ve made in a single day, but in the spirit of ranting about “the other side,” I thought, what the hell.
So finally Fred Thompson has officially declared his candidacy for the Presidency. And although that isn’t a surprise, it is a bit humorous that he chose to sit out the debate the other Republican wannabees were elbowing their way to in New Hampshire at about the same time, in what New York Times writer Susan Saluny described as “[providing] himself a pleasant, risk-free forum, safe from potential negativity and tough questioning from reporters, a debate moderator or the public.” Oh, yes, that would be terrifying, wouldn’t it.
Uh…are we whining here that someone isn’t playing by the rules? I think it’s pretty funny. Thompson did it because he could. Period. And why not? I’d want to separate myself from that pack as well. I’ve tried to watch them in previous forums, and I just can’t handle it. They’re all so…insignificant. Unimpressive? Typical. Well, except Romney who looks like he should be doing toothpaste commercials. Or selling Grecian Formula for Men.
The Thompson announcement that ran in our local paper from the Associated Press and The Washington Post included reactions from “some New Hampshire Republicans” who “expressed disappointment, even sounding a bit hurt, that the former U.S. senator from Tennessee didn’t show up.” Being empathetic to the obvious plight those republicans are struggling with (knotted panties), I’m will attempt to put myself in their collective shoes. Somehow it comes out similar to the feeling I imagine one may have if, after being given pre-season football tickets, he arrives at the game to discover that a newly signed and much touted free agent won’t be playing. It doesn’t mean you can’t pick up a newspaper, log on to the Internet, or watch television to find out what will be happening as time goes on.
The fact that the article continues, stating that “curiosity is giving way to skepticism and maybe even cynicism about [Thompson] in part because of how he’s handling his grand entrance” is what bothers me. Cullen, the New Hampshire GOP Chairman has a bit o’ the sour grapes as well, and reminds me of someone who’s reacting to being snubbed by a desirable invited to an afternoon tea. Get over it.
I understand that New Hampshire has this bizarre arrogance about their primary and being “first” for eighteen gazillion years, but how many people live there and vote? More importantly, how many of them are people who watch Jay Leno, are inclined to look up a web site to gather information, and then join forums to discuss what they’re learning?
In case you’ve been wondering whether this means I’m happy that Fred’s hat has been thrown in the ring, think again. I’m more interested at this point in watching the goings on while I sit back and gather my thoughts.
And I’m fascinated by George F. Will’s piece on Ford’s ’57 Titanic that ran today and the connections I made between what he had to say about an ugly old car and Americans:
Americans are more discerning and less herdable than their cultured despisers suppose, so what matters most is simple. Good products.
Are there any out there? It’s going to be tough to weed through the sludge encased in this spin or that, but I’m gearing up for the challenge. Funny thing, though. There is a whole group of individuals who will just make their decision without getting too worked up about any of it.
PBS’ Judy Woodruff dubbed them “The Nexters” in their broadcast “Generation Next 2.0.” The program documents Nexters’, or “young people between the ages of 16 and 25” “views on life, the future of the country, social activities, technology, and other topics, comparing and contrasting them with previous generations.”
The conclusion drawn was intriguing: that they are somewhat more conservative than their parents.
It’s interesting to see how the younger set’s inclinations with respect to the election are being tracked…Very.
It’s a little difficult to write when my iTunes playlist is soothing the crabby writing self I was planning on strutting today to commune with my First Day of Not Going to School hangover. No, not that kind of a hang over. Sheesh! It’s more of a recovery from the smackdown all those papers that came home from school by way of the RT dealt me.
Such conflicting reactions I had while reading them all, gauging my emotions all the while, and then getting royally pissed off that I was annoyed. Or maybe it was the other way around. You follow? I can imagine not.
I suppose on some level, I found myself remembering my own class syllabi and the reactions parents must have had reading them. Yes, I was a pain in the ass demanding teacher, but I NEVER wrote things such as:
Students are expected to: attend class daily, learn daily, take clear, organized notes daily, bring pencils and erasers, ask a question if the material presented is not understood, and do each day’s Class Fun and Home Fun each day, i.e. don’t wait and then try to cram a month’s worth of work into a weekend! No eating, candy, mints, chewing of gum, or drinking is allowed in the classroom. Students are expected not to: sit idle, sleep, sweaar, perform personal grooming, do the work of another class, leave the classroom before the bell rings, or wear clothing which is against the dress code. Students may not be out of their seats without my permission. I may confiscate anything on a studnent’s desk which is unrelated or inappropriate. This includes, and is not limited to : cell phones, iPods, CD players, Blackberries, Treos, other classes’ books or work, food, drink, makeup, makeup work, homework, artwork, and personal lettes or ntes. These inappropriate items may or may not be returned to the student.
*GASP* Oh, and yes. We have another paper size freak on our hands. It has to be EXACTLY 8-1/2″ x 11″ which means that the 10 packages I purchased for 69 cents a package which measure only 8″ x 10-1/2″ will not be acceptable for this class. Mind you, the actual writing space of the paper I purchased is EXACTLY the same size as the writing space of the larger paper. The area in the margins has been reduced. One just may consider that it is for the purpose of CONSERVATION, mightn’t one?
And what it hell is “Class Fun” and “Home Fun?” Does she actually think that 10th graders will find this humorous?
And the paper that I had to sign so that he would be able to use a graphing calculator purchased with private donations — but only while in class, and not until I signed and returned the paper I was reading — but couldn’t take home to use for his homework — most of which required the use of a graphing calculator…
The subsequent trip to Staples for the graphing calculator set me back about $250. No, not just for the calculator. Art supplies, planner, additional notebooks. I had already been to Staples for the basics. Ugh. What if I had six kids? Condoms, anyone?
Mothers with young children out there…just wait. Those of you with no children, remember being in high school? It’s just a bit different now. Hell, his crap doesn’t even fit in his backpack. And do you think he got a locker? Nope. He said last year he didn’t use the one he had (he doesn’t like to worry about being late to a class…) so at this rate, I’ll have to steal a shopping cart from the local grocery store.
Wait. They installed those locking wheel guards that clamp when you try and wheel them over the magnetic line so the road agents wouldn’t take them. Not funny? Whatever.
It’s just that when I watch the RT hoist the academic megaload over one of his shoulders, I swear I can see him bend and sway a little in the middle like a twig does when a fat bird sits on it, and I wait to see if he’ll snap in two. I don’t dare say anything or I’ll get The Flat Look. The one that suggests I’m verging on being tiresome at best. Downright a pain in the ass at worst. You know. A mother. Okay, so whatever if your mother was June Cleaver. My mother never had to check up on any of us because we just did what we were supposed to do. Why in hell does it just seem like such a bigger pain now days? It makes no sense. I thought we were supposed to be moving away from industrialization for crap sakes. Consider the continued nonsense from the math teacher:
You are tardy if you are not in your seat when the bell rings. The Paradise High School Tardy Policy is enforced in Ms. Persnickety’s classes, and significantly affects your citizenship grade. I track minutes tardy; these minutes accumulate and count towards “periods absent.”
Read: if you aren’t at your station ready to squirt the eyes on the candy chick when the bell sounds, I’ll dock your pay, you worthless cretin.
You know, when the kids read this, they most likely don’t pay any attention. Their eyes glaze over and they stare out the window. They wonder what’s for lunch even though they’re only in their period one class and have three more to go. They think about everything but what matters to that teacher. Well, not all of them. But still. I’m on a roll, here, okay?
The art teacher sounds great, expecting excellence and organization — WOOT! and I can’t wait to join in on the lessons. Why not? She has all the sketchbook assignments for the year laid out already. How cool is that. I’m gonna get right on it. Maybe that way the RT might consider drawing something other than war machines. And weapons.
The history teacher (who is a coach) didn’t even give him a syllabus. I guess there are no expectations for that class. But the RT says he’s a nice guy, so all righty then. We’re set.
Ahhh…it’s Wednesday.
