My favorite holiday is just around the corner -- Thanksgiving! In the spirit of giving thanks for all my blessings, I'm writing this entry, but I'm adding all the things that I'm not thankful for as well.
Let's begin on a positive note. The top ten things in my life for which I am extremely grateful:
1. My two children. Watching them grow into the fine people they are now has been the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me. It's cliche, of course, and I'm like every other proud parent out there when I say this, but my kids are simply the greatest, and I couldn't have asked for better children. My son will make a fine coach and P.E. teacher when he completes his college education, and my daughter will do wonders to save the animals someday, I'm certain of it.
2. My parents. I'm blessed to have them nearby, and I'm lucky that they are still active and healthy enough to take part in their grandchildren's activities. They've always been there for me through the good and the bad, and I can only hope they really know how special they are to me.
3. My friends. I don't let too many people get close to me, so when it comes to true friends, I can pretty much count them on two hands. They know who they are. Each is special and unique -- my high school friend who I don't see or talk to enough but who will always be dear to me, my college friend who is vastly different from me in beliefs but the nicest person I'll ever know, my neighbor who lets me vent over beers in her garage, my co-worker who cheers me up when I'm having a bad day, my ex-boyfriend from many years ago who has become a very dear friend and commiserates with me about the trials of surviving a divorce and moving on with my life, and a few others who are important to me in different ways.
4. My very best friend. Even though she lives in a different country, there is nobody that I can rely on more to understand me and to make me laugh about the silliest things. She is my better half in a way no man could ever be. She is the one person in this world that I can tell absolutely anything to and not worry about being judged or misunderstood. She is the one and only person that I know I can trust with any secret.
5. My pets. I've always loved animals, especially the small, cuddly ones. My dog is a large one, though, but he is very good for me because he gets me out walking regularly, and the exercise is beneficial for both of us. My cat warms my lap on a cold winter day while I'm reading, and he warms my heart with his purr of contentment.
6. My family beyond my children and my parents. My brother is often a pain in the ass, but I love him anyway, and his family is very important to me. I have numerous aunts, uncles and cousins that I adore, and I miss my beloved maternal grandmother every single day. I miss my other grandparents, too, as they are all deceased, but she was my special grandma, and I think most people have a grandparent that they single out and love the most.
7. My books. Reading is my passion. Without books in my life, I would not function well. My house is full of books, I can spend hours upon hours in bookstores and libraries, and I can't imagine a world without books in it. No day is complete for me until I've spent some part of it reading.
8. My job. Even though my students annoy the hell out of me pretty much every single day, I still love them, and I especially love when they actually learn something from me. It's nice to know that I make a difference to others -- even when it's often against their will since they'd rather be just about anywhere other than school.
9. My new love interest. He's made me believe once again that good men do exist, and he surprises me each time we are together with new little gestures of kindness that, until he came along, I never believed would be a part of my life. I hope he'll be a part of it for a long time to come.
10. My sense of humor. When it's actually working, it keeps me and those around me entertained and happy, and it helps keep me sane in an insane world.
On the flip-side of things, though, there are many things for which I am not grateful. If I could change the world, these are the things I'd change -- in no particular order:
1. World hunger. Nobody should have to go to bed wondering where his next meal will come from or if he'll even have a next meal.
2. Incurable diseases. People have enough worries without cancer, AIDS, and other life-stealing diseases interfering and making things worse.
3. Wars. Enough fighting already! Get along, and if you can't, then just leave each other in peace instead of in pieces.
4. Religious battles. Everyone should live and let live. Believe what you want to believe and stop arguing about which belief is the "correct" one.
5. Racism. People are people. That's it. Color does not matter.
6. Sexism. Talk down to me because I'm a woman, and I'm going to pop you in the mouth so hard you'll never be able to talk down to anybody ever again.
7. Abuse. Yeah, that's a bit ironic after what I said in number 6, but I'm talking about a person who systematically harms another whether through his words or through his fist or perhaps with both. That type of need to control another in such a twisted way is only something to be condemned and wiped off the planet. This would apply to the abuse of animals as well. Be kind, and live by the Golden Rule.
8. Ignorance. Stop spreading crap that isn't even true. Understand the problem before you go off spouting your uninformed and incorrect opinion for all to hear or see. People who brag about their own ignorance are an embarrassment to all humankind, as far as I'm concerned.
9. Intolerance. We should appreciate each other's differences; otherwise, each of us is not unique, and then what's the point in being you? I embrace the unique quality of each person I meet and know, and I don't care in the least if that person is gay/straight, Christian/Muslim, educated/street-smart, male/female, young/old, black/white, English-speaking/Spanish-speaking, etc.
10. Crime. Get a hobby, learn a new trade, read a book, befriend somebody who lacks friends, volunteer in a shelter, pick up trash along the highway, go for a bike ride, learn to swim, take up juggling, become a dog-walker, do ANYTHING besides rob, pillage and plunder. Our world will be a better place for it.
The one thing that I am the most ungrateful for this year, though, is my ex. Once the divorce -- which is now in it's 9th month of needless suffering for me -- is over, I will write about some of the reasons he's now my ex and some of the reasons for which I'm not grateful for him.
Actually, though, in a twisted, ironic sort of way, I guess I am grateful for him -- for leaving!
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Friday, October 5, 2012
Ban Book Banning!
Nothing gets my blood boiling faster than people trying to prevent other people from reading a good book simply because they find the book offensive for whatever reason. Today marks the end of Banned Books Week, a week meant to highlight the very books that so many people have found offensive over the years.
The irony, of course, is that when you attempt to ban a book (or anything else for that matter), you simply make it more appealing to the masses purely for the illicitness implied by the ban. Instead of banning a book they find offensive, the prudish readers out there should praise its literary quality because that will make it a sure bet that no teenager alive will pick up the book after hearing that it has great literary merit.
Usually that is the audience that the well-meaning, yet misguided, adults are trying to prevent a book from reaching -- teenagers -- because God forbid that they read about anything even remotely bordering upon reality or the facts of life that they will soon have to face head on. I don't understand the need to put a ban upon a book; instead of that, the adults should use the book as a learning tool that can open wonderful discussions with their children. Personally, I think most people who jump on the banning bandwagon haven't even read the very books they find offensive -- they've been told what the book is about, and they don't like it, so instead of doing the work required to actually read the book and process the information within it, it's just easier to demand that the book not be available to their children or to anybody else's for that matter.
My second all-time favorite book is "To Kill a Mockingbird," and it is a novel that continues to be challenged and banned. This is a book that should be read by every high school student in America -- in my opinion, of course. This is not a book that should be denied to others simply because a few adults can't stand the idea of their children reading about rape and racial injustice in the South (because, of course, these things never happened nor do they continue to happen, so why in the world should we read about them --sarcasm dripping here).
The qualities that make a book a candidate for being banned are usually the very qualities that make it a great book and one that should be read and discussed. The discussions that can follow after a group of people read a controversial book are the types of discussions that need to take place in classrooms and in churches and in libraries and in living rooms across the nation.
We are supposed to be a country that supports individual freedom; yet, we have people who deny others the chance to read books simply because they don't like the content of those books -- this behavior goes against everything for which the U.S. stands.
This doesn't mean that common sense can't prevail in classrooms -- we don't need "Fifty Shades of Grey" becoming required reading in high school (but who's to say it couldn't be a great novel for discussion in some university course somewhere) -- however, parents and other patrons should not jump in shouting FOUL every time they hear that a controversial book is being read in their school. Instead, they should take advantage of the situation and read the book along with their child and discuss the themes within it according to their own belief system.
Too often, I believe, strongly religious adults or over-protective parents -- as well-meaning as they might be -- only do more harm when they try to prevent kids from experiencing things. What better way to learn about the horrors of slavery, rape, torture, incest, and other types of brutality or mind-control than through a book? When we read about something, we learn about it, and hopefully, when we see how horrifying something was, we don't repeat the same mistakes. Would they rather that their children learn the lessons the hard way by actually experiencing bad things first-hand and then talking about them with their kids, or would they prefer that their kids see things through somebody else's eyes (the protagonist of the book) and then be able to discuss those things together and understand them?
I encourage my daughter to read any book she wants. She is now a teenager, and she loves to read. She asks me about things she doesn't understand, and I do my best to explain them. This way, she learns something, and I learn about her. I would never think to deny her any book, just as I would never allow anybody to deny me any book I wanted to read.
So, to those out there who believe in banning books, I say -- Shtick This!
The irony, of course, is that when you attempt to ban a book (or anything else for that matter), you simply make it more appealing to the masses purely for the illicitness implied by the ban. Instead of banning a book they find offensive, the prudish readers out there should praise its literary quality because that will make it a sure bet that no teenager alive will pick up the book after hearing that it has great literary merit.
Usually that is the audience that the well-meaning, yet misguided, adults are trying to prevent a book from reaching -- teenagers -- because God forbid that they read about anything even remotely bordering upon reality or the facts of life that they will soon have to face head on. I don't understand the need to put a ban upon a book; instead of that, the adults should use the book as a learning tool that can open wonderful discussions with their children. Personally, I think most people who jump on the banning bandwagon haven't even read the very books they find offensive -- they've been told what the book is about, and they don't like it, so instead of doing the work required to actually read the book and process the information within it, it's just easier to demand that the book not be available to their children or to anybody else's for that matter.
My second all-time favorite book is "To Kill a Mockingbird," and it is a novel that continues to be challenged and banned. This is a book that should be read by every high school student in America -- in my opinion, of course. This is not a book that should be denied to others simply because a few adults can't stand the idea of their children reading about rape and racial injustice in the South (because, of course, these things never happened nor do they continue to happen, so why in the world should we read about them --sarcasm dripping here).
The qualities that make a book a candidate for being banned are usually the very qualities that make it a great book and one that should be read and discussed. The discussions that can follow after a group of people read a controversial book are the types of discussions that need to take place in classrooms and in churches and in libraries and in living rooms across the nation.
We are supposed to be a country that supports individual freedom; yet, we have people who deny others the chance to read books simply because they don't like the content of those books -- this behavior goes against everything for which the U.S. stands.
This doesn't mean that common sense can't prevail in classrooms -- we don't need "Fifty Shades of Grey" becoming required reading in high school (but who's to say it couldn't be a great novel for discussion in some university course somewhere) -- however, parents and other patrons should not jump in shouting FOUL every time they hear that a controversial book is being read in their school. Instead, they should take advantage of the situation and read the book along with their child and discuss the themes within it according to their own belief system.
Too often, I believe, strongly religious adults or over-protective parents -- as well-meaning as they might be -- only do more harm when they try to prevent kids from experiencing things. What better way to learn about the horrors of slavery, rape, torture, incest, and other types of brutality or mind-control than through a book? When we read about something, we learn about it, and hopefully, when we see how horrifying something was, we don't repeat the same mistakes. Would they rather that their children learn the lessons the hard way by actually experiencing bad things first-hand and then talking about them with their kids, or would they prefer that their kids see things through somebody else's eyes (the protagonist of the book) and then be able to discuss those things together and understand them?
I encourage my daughter to read any book she wants. She is now a teenager, and she loves to read. She asks me about things she doesn't understand, and I do my best to explain them. This way, she learns something, and I learn about her. I would never think to deny her any book, just as I would never allow anybody to deny me any book I wanted to read.
So, to those out there who believe in banning books, I say -- Shtick This!
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Talk the talk!
Hola. Me llamo Tammy y soy maestra y escritora.
Confused yet? You wouldn't be if you spoke Spanish, or if you'd paid attention even a little bit in your high school Spanish class. That's what I do all day -- talk in other people's sleep; a.k.a. teach Spanish to teenagers
Actually, I'm pretty blessed with good students overall, and most of them genuinely want to learn at least a rudimentary amount of Spanish; however, there is always at least one kid every year who could care less about learning a language he thinks he'll never need to know outside of my classroom. Ahhhh, the ignorance of youth.
Sadly, though, this ignorance is not just a product of our youth. Way too often the truly ignorant ones are the adults I meet who, upon learning I am a Spanish teacher, immediately lash into the worn out and completely idiotic litany of complaints -- "Why can't they (meaning Hispanics, I assume) learn English? They're in our country, so why don't they speak our language? Why would anyone ever need to know another language when they live in the U.S., the greatest country in the world?" Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Ad infinitum nausea.
First of all, there are many reasons that you should learn a different language, and one of them is simply that it will make you a better person. Stop whining and bitching about what other people should know how to do when they come to "our" country, and focus on making yourself a more well-rounded and educated human being. How about when you want to travel to "their" country to enjoy one of "their" beautiful beaches or "their" nightlife? Don't you think you should know "their" language for that? Of course not. You'll be just like the multitude of privileged people from the U.S. who travel south of the border and expect the Mexicans to speak English to you even though you're in "their" country. Don't be a hypocrite.
Also, there are soooooo many people right here in the U.S. who speak another language besides English that while you remain stubbornly locked into your insular attitude that the U.S. is only an English-speaking country, you are denying yourself the opportunities to get to know some incredible people and to visit some incredible places simply because you refuse to learn something that could benefit you.
Another language opens up doors for you that otherwise will remain permanently shut or, at the very least, will be very hard to budge. More jobs come your way if you can speak at least one other language because, face it, this is a global society nowadays and not just an American one. The more languages you know the less things you'll fear because you'll understand what signs say and what a food is in an ethnic restaurant and what that strange-looking man is saying to you when he's simply trying to warn you that there is an open manhole in front of you and you should watch where you are going, etc.
I'm also completely baffled by the Midwestern attitude that English is our only language and that it always has been. There were hundreds of languages and cultures in place here before any white guy ever set foot on this land, and we, in our arrogance, wiped most of them away. Also, most of us descend from nationalities besides English, so why the heck are we speaking English in the first place? I should be speaking German if I were going to stick to my guns and go with my roots, but that is a language I have yet to master, so I'll stay with English, Spanish and the little bit of Italian I know so far.
Why are these Midwestern white Americans so threatened by an influx of Hispanics? Back when my great-great-grandparents came from Germany, the Germans were despised, and they were mistreated for only speaking German; yet, here I am all these years later a full-blooded English-speaking American citizen. Nobody is the worse for it that my ancestors did not speak English when they came to this country. If anybody is worse off, it is me because my family did not continue to speak the language of their heritage and I would really like to know German. It's a hard language to pronounce, and the few times I've tried to do it in front of my former German exchange student, he busted a gut laughing at me, so clearly I have a hard road ahead of me to learn a language that should have been mine by my German ancestry connection.
Basically, I am tired of the complaints from adults who whine about the Hispanics and attack the Spanish language in the process. Spanish is a beautiful language, and it is actually much easier to learn than our crazy English language as far as the pronunciation and spelling are concerned. I'm sure a part of their complaints is based in the fear that Spanish may replace English someday as the main language of our country as the number of Hispanics living here increases, but English is a powerful language in the global-scheme of things, so that fear is largely groundless. I just wish more people in the U.S. would understand the importance and the benefits of being, at the very least, bilingual.
So, if you meet me and learn that I am a Spanish teacher, save your whining and complaining for somebody who agrees with you because that person isn't me, and stop asking me if I can understand what the Mexicans in Wal-Mart are saying. I don't give a damn what they are talking about while they are doing their shopping, but one thing I know for sure is that they are not talking about you, so put your conceit and your fears away. Rather than moving away from them in fear, learn a little Spanish yourself and follow them around the store listening in on their conversation. I can guarantee that while they were not talking about you originally, if you follow them around, they will definitely be talking about you then.
If you don't want to learn another language, that is your own concern, but if you only want to complain about others who do speak a language that you don't understand, then I invite you to Shtick This!
Hasta luego. Si puedes leer esto, agradece a una maestra.
Confused yet? You wouldn't be if you spoke Spanish, or if you'd paid attention even a little bit in your high school Spanish class. That's what I do all day -- talk in other people's sleep; a.k.a. teach Spanish to teenagers
Actually, I'm pretty blessed with good students overall, and most of them genuinely want to learn at least a rudimentary amount of Spanish; however, there is always at least one kid every year who could care less about learning a language he thinks he'll never need to know outside of my classroom. Ahhhh, the ignorance of youth.
Sadly, though, this ignorance is not just a product of our youth. Way too often the truly ignorant ones are the adults I meet who, upon learning I am a Spanish teacher, immediately lash into the worn out and completely idiotic litany of complaints -- "Why can't they (meaning Hispanics, I assume) learn English? They're in our country, so why don't they speak our language? Why would anyone ever need to know another language when they live in the U.S., the greatest country in the world?" Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Ad infinitum nausea.
First of all, there are many reasons that you should learn a different language, and one of them is simply that it will make you a better person. Stop whining and bitching about what other people should know how to do when they come to "our" country, and focus on making yourself a more well-rounded and educated human being. How about when you want to travel to "their" country to enjoy one of "their" beautiful beaches or "their" nightlife? Don't you think you should know "their" language for that? Of course not. You'll be just like the multitude of privileged people from the U.S. who travel south of the border and expect the Mexicans to speak English to you even though you're in "their" country. Don't be a hypocrite.
Also, there are soooooo many people right here in the U.S. who speak another language besides English that while you remain stubbornly locked into your insular attitude that the U.S. is only an English-speaking country, you are denying yourself the opportunities to get to know some incredible people and to visit some incredible places simply because you refuse to learn something that could benefit you.
Another language opens up doors for you that otherwise will remain permanently shut or, at the very least, will be very hard to budge. More jobs come your way if you can speak at least one other language because, face it, this is a global society nowadays and not just an American one. The more languages you know the less things you'll fear because you'll understand what signs say and what a food is in an ethnic restaurant and what that strange-looking man is saying to you when he's simply trying to warn you that there is an open manhole in front of you and you should watch where you are going, etc.
I'm also completely baffled by the Midwestern attitude that English is our only language and that it always has been. There were hundreds of languages and cultures in place here before any white guy ever set foot on this land, and we, in our arrogance, wiped most of them away. Also, most of us descend from nationalities besides English, so why the heck are we speaking English in the first place? I should be speaking German if I were going to stick to my guns and go with my roots, but that is a language I have yet to master, so I'll stay with English, Spanish and the little bit of Italian I know so far.
Why are these Midwestern white Americans so threatened by an influx of Hispanics? Back when my great-great-grandparents came from Germany, the Germans were despised, and they were mistreated for only speaking German; yet, here I am all these years later a full-blooded English-speaking American citizen. Nobody is the worse for it that my ancestors did not speak English when they came to this country. If anybody is worse off, it is me because my family did not continue to speak the language of their heritage and I would really like to know German. It's a hard language to pronounce, and the few times I've tried to do it in front of my former German exchange student, he busted a gut laughing at me, so clearly I have a hard road ahead of me to learn a language that should have been mine by my German ancestry connection.
Basically, I am tired of the complaints from adults who whine about the Hispanics and attack the Spanish language in the process. Spanish is a beautiful language, and it is actually much easier to learn than our crazy English language as far as the pronunciation and spelling are concerned. I'm sure a part of their complaints is based in the fear that Spanish may replace English someday as the main language of our country as the number of Hispanics living here increases, but English is a powerful language in the global-scheme of things, so that fear is largely groundless. I just wish more people in the U.S. would understand the importance and the benefits of being, at the very least, bilingual.
So, if you meet me and learn that I am a Spanish teacher, save your whining and complaining for somebody who agrees with you because that person isn't me, and stop asking me if I can understand what the Mexicans in Wal-Mart are saying. I don't give a damn what they are talking about while they are doing their shopping, but one thing I know for sure is that they are not talking about you, so put your conceit and your fears away. Rather than moving away from them in fear, learn a little Spanish yourself and follow them around the store listening in on their conversation. I can guarantee that while they were not talking about you originally, if you follow them around, they will definitely be talking about you then.
If you don't want to learn another language, that is your own concern, but if you only want to complain about others who do speak a language that you don't understand, then I invite you to Shtick This!
Hasta luego. Si puedes leer esto, agradece a una maestra.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Superstitious? Don't be stupid!
I was born on Friday, the 13th. Now, usually when I tell my students this, they pause and look at me, and then they say, "That explains sooooo much." Hmmm, I'm not exactly sure what they mean by that, but I'll take it as a compliment.
Actually, they are most likely referring to my dark and evil side when they say that, but while they are wallowing in their silly superstitious fears, I am simply going on with my life unimpeded by such stupidity. You see, being born on Friday the 13th has left me impervious to superstitions -- they have absolutely no sway over my life.
In fact, I revel in debunking others' silly fears or in taunting them by using their fears against them. If there is a ladder leaning against a building, I walk under it simply to hear the gasps of the other passing pedestrians. One time, though, a slightly hysterical woman pursued me and demanded I walk back under the ladder to "undo" the harm I'd caused myself. I humored her, and then I walked back under it once more and then again and again until she hurried off in complete horror and disbelief at the risks I was taking with my life.
I spill salt all the time, and I've never tossed it over my shoulder. I deliberately kept a small broken mirror I'd dropped taped inside my high school locker to annoy my superstitious friends. I constantly open umbrellas inside and even opened one on stage while doing a stand-up comedy bit about the stupidity of superstitions -- one drunk guy about fell off his stool as he sloshed his beer out of his mug while yelling at me "You're not supposed to do that! Don't you know it's unlucky?!" (apparently, he missed the whole point of my five-minute bit).
When I was sixteen, I was the front seat passenger in a car that my best friend (at the time) was driving. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes and flipped a U-ie (not sure how to spell that, and maybe you can tell I was an 80s girl). My head smashed into the side window, and as I rubbed it, I yelled, "What the hell was that about?" She looked at me in utter disbelief and said, "Didn't you see the black cat in the middle of the road? I had to turn around before it crossed our path." Well, duh, of course. We must avoid the dangerous black cat at all costs -- even the cost of our lives as we swerve from one lane to another into oncoming traffic without even checking to see if someone is behind us or if somebody is coming toward us. We simply must avoid the cat! Good grief. Needless to say, for that reason and others not concerning her superstitious ways, that girl was soon my ex-best friend.
I now have a black cat. He is wonderful, and he crosses my path multiple times every day. I'm the first to admit, though, that sometimes I think he's evil, but I love him anyway.
I feel sorry for superstitious people. Actually, no, I think they are stupid. And clearly, since they are superstitious, then they are stupid since a superstition is a belief based upon a completely irrational presumption. They are not using their brains; thus, they are stupid -- no offense intended if you are one of those people (well, maybe a little bit).
In addition to having no superstitions at all, I think that being plagued by people offering me pity every year when my birthday falls on a Friday has had another odd effect on me -- I love cemeteries. I think they are the coolest places in the world after used book stores and tropical beaches. However, despite my love for cemeteries, I do not want to end up in one -- I want to be cremated with my ashes scattered over a beautiful tropical beach. But I digress. Cemeteries fascinate me while they tend to frighten others. Could be because those others are irrationally frightened by things that don't exist -- like superstitions . . . and ghosts.
Most likely I am not superstitious because I was born on Friday the 13th and have had to put up with people's shit about it all my life, so my lack of superstitions is more of a rebellion against those who do have them, but I'd also like to think that I'm smarter than the average superstitious person and that I use my rationality to understand that walking under a ladder will not bring me bad luck -- unless I trip and knock it over and injure the guy using it or something like that.
Sadly, people's superstitions go beyond the combination of Friday with the 13th and seem to concentrate heavily upon the number 13. I love that number. It is my birthday number after all, so I am annoyed that so many places do not have a number 13. Most hotels, tall buildings, airplanes, etc. Check them out and you'll see that the number 13 is usually absent. I would live on that floor and in that apartment number. I would sit in that seat number and in that aisle. It is just a number.
I, for one, embrace all Friday the 13ths as the best of days. I love black cats. I fear no salt (except the ocean salt that gets in my eyes while I swim -- ouch), and I do not believe in luck whether it is good or bad. We make our own luck. No umbrella or ladder decides it for us.
My birthday is on a Thursday this year, so my students can't give me too much crap about it, but I'll probably dress in black and laugh maniacally just to remind them that they should fear me anyway. I might not be a slave to superstitions, but they are. Mwau-ha-ha-ha-ha . . . . . .
Actually, they are most likely referring to my dark and evil side when they say that, but while they are wallowing in their silly superstitious fears, I am simply going on with my life unimpeded by such stupidity. You see, being born on Friday the 13th has left me impervious to superstitions -- they have absolutely no sway over my life.
In fact, I revel in debunking others' silly fears or in taunting them by using their fears against them. If there is a ladder leaning against a building, I walk under it simply to hear the gasps of the other passing pedestrians. One time, though, a slightly hysterical woman pursued me and demanded I walk back under the ladder to "undo" the harm I'd caused myself. I humored her, and then I walked back under it once more and then again and again until she hurried off in complete horror and disbelief at the risks I was taking with my life.
I spill salt all the time, and I've never tossed it over my shoulder. I deliberately kept a small broken mirror I'd dropped taped inside my high school locker to annoy my superstitious friends. I constantly open umbrellas inside and even opened one on stage while doing a stand-up comedy bit about the stupidity of superstitions -- one drunk guy about fell off his stool as he sloshed his beer out of his mug while yelling at me "You're not supposed to do that! Don't you know it's unlucky?!" (apparently, he missed the whole point of my five-minute bit).
When I was sixteen, I was the front seat passenger in a car that my best friend (at the time) was driving. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes and flipped a U-ie (not sure how to spell that, and maybe you can tell I was an 80s girl). My head smashed into the side window, and as I rubbed it, I yelled, "What the hell was that about?" She looked at me in utter disbelief and said, "Didn't you see the black cat in the middle of the road? I had to turn around before it crossed our path." Well, duh, of course. We must avoid the dangerous black cat at all costs -- even the cost of our lives as we swerve from one lane to another into oncoming traffic without even checking to see if someone is behind us or if somebody is coming toward us. We simply must avoid the cat! Good grief. Needless to say, for that reason and others not concerning her superstitious ways, that girl was soon my ex-best friend.
I now have a black cat. He is wonderful, and he crosses my path multiple times every day. I'm the first to admit, though, that sometimes I think he's evil, but I love him anyway.
I feel sorry for superstitious people. Actually, no, I think they are stupid. And clearly, since they are superstitious, then they are stupid since a superstition is a belief based upon a completely irrational presumption. They are not using their brains; thus, they are stupid -- no offense intended if you are one of those people (well, maybe a little bit).
In addition to having no superstitions at all, I think that being plagued by people offering me pity every year when my birthday falls on a Friday has had another odd effect on me -- I love cemeteries. I think they are the coolest places in the world after used book stores and tropical beaches. However, despite my love for cemeteries, I do not want to end up in one -- I want to be cremated with my ashes scattered over a beautiful tropical beach. But I digress. Cemeteries fascinate me while they tend to frighten others. Could be because those others are irrationally frightened by things that don't exist -- like superstitions . . . and ghosts.
Most likely I am not superstitious because I was born on Friday the 13th and have had to put up with people's shit about it all my life, so my lack of superstitions is more of a rebellion against those who do have them, but I'd also like to think that I'm smarter than the average superstitious person and that I use my rationality to understand that walking under a ladder will not bring me bad luck -- unless I trip and knock it over and injure the guy using it or something like that.
Sadly, people's superstitions go beyond the combination of Friday with the 13th and seem to concentrate heavily upon the number 13. I love that number. It is my birthday number after all, so I am annoyed that so many places do not have a number 13. Most hotels, tall buildings, airplanes, etc. Check them out and you'll see that the number 13 is usually absent. I would live on that floor and in that apartment number. I would sit in that seat number and in that aisle. It is just a number.
I, for one, embrace all Friday the 13ths as the best of days. I love black cats. I fear no salt (except the ocean salt that gets in my eyes while I swim -- ouch), and I do not believe in luck whether it is good or bad. We make our own luck. No umbrella or ladder decides it for us.
My birthday is on a Thursday this year, so my students can't give me too much crap about it, but I'll probably dress in black and laugh maniacally just to remind them that they should fear me anyway. I might not be a slave to superstitions, but they are. Mwau-ha-ha-ha-ha . . . . . .
Saturday, September 1, 2012
I'm a Walking Disaster!
As I write this post, I am sitting with my left ankle propped on a chair and wrapped in an ice pack for the sixth day in a row. Why? Because I am an idiot, that's why.
I'm not really much of an exerciser. In fact, I pretty much avoid anything that makes me sweat for more than a few minutes at a time (if you get my drift -- wink, wink). However, I do love to swim, and I do love to take long walks with my dog.
I also like to keep records and set goals, so during the summertime, I attempt to walk 60 miles every month with the dog. This isn't an impossible goal considering that he and I walk 3 miles each time we go out, so if I were able to take him walking every single day, then I'd easily walk 90 miles in a month's time. Life and shitty weather conditions often interfere, though, so I aim for 20 days of walks in any given month to make my 60 mile goal.
In July, the insane heat prevented me from making my goal because I simply couldn't do that to my dog. He is a large Labrador mix, and he lives outside, but he simply panted off all his excess winter weight and left small puddles of drool everywhere he went that month. I couldn't bring myself to make him walk with me in the evenings when the temperature was still in the high 90s, and without him making me feel guilty for not walking, I generally don't walk. So, I barely scratched the 40 mile mark that month.
I was all set to not only make the 60 mile goal in August but to actually surpass it when a week from the goal, I did something incredibly stupid. I stepped in a hole in my own back yard -- a hole that I knew was there because I'd stepped in it before. Not just once, not even twice, but many times. I'd even filled in the hole a few times to avoid stepping in it, but the dirt magically disappears after a few days, so I'd given up on that.
This time, though, I twisted my ankle in a way that I've never twisted it before. I heard a nasty "pop" and then my left foot instantly went numb and a sharp pain shot up the outside of my leg to my hip. I immediately collapsed to the ground (on top of a pile of dried doggie do-do I later learned) and lay there on my back crying out in agony while my daughter and my dog, who was on his leash and ready to go on a walk, looked down at me for about 10 minutes or so.
Once the feeling returned to my foot, I rotated my ankle a few times to be sure it wasn't broken. It wasn't. However, a sane and rational person would have abandoned the plan to go walking and would have gone inside to ice her ankle. That person is not me. Nope. Remember, I was determined to make my 60 miles in August, so the dog, my daughter and I set out on our 3 mile walk anyway.
By the time we got back home, I thought that my ankle was fine actually. It only hurt a little bit. This was a Sunday evening. The next morning was a Monday, and I had to go to work as a teacher where I stand all day teaching kids -- on a concrete floor. By the end of the day, the outside of my ankle was swollen excessively and I was walking with a very noticeable limp.
I've been icing it daily since then. This is day 6. The swelling goes down, the pain lessens, and then I do something stupid like stand and teach all day or take my dog for a 3 mile walk again, and the swelling and pain return.
I have finally taken measures to insure that I don't step in that hole in my back yard again. I placed a pot of flowers (well, dead flowers thanks to the stupid July heat) in it. That is my fix for now -- a pot of dead flowers protruding from a hole in my back yard. I said "Shtick This!" to the hole in my yard, and I stuck the pot in it. It will have to do until somebody can help me figure out where the dirt magically disappears to. At least I won't be stepping in that hole anytime soon. Unfortunately, I'm a well-known klutz, so I'm sure I'll find another hole to step in or another way to injure myself.
I ended up 3 miles short of my 60 mile goal for August; however, I figure that I can factor in all the walking around my classroom, to and from the school building and my car, and up and down the grocery store aisles to easily meet that 60 mile quota I set for myself.
I'm setting my goal a bit lower for September since the ankle is still pretty sore and since many of my evenings will be busy with school activities. Let's try for 50 miles in September, and let's hope that I don't trip over that pot that's in the hole in my back yard and break something next.
I'm not really much of an exerciser. In fact, I pretty much avoid anything that makes me sweat for more than a few minutes at a time (if you get my drift -- wink, wink). However, I do love to swim, and I do love to take long walks with my dog.
I also like to keep records and set goals, so during the summertime, I attempt to walk 60 miles every month with the dog. This isn't an impossible goal considering that he and I walk 3 miles each time we go out, so if I were able to take him walking every single day, then I'd easily walk 90 miles in a month's time. Life and shitty weather conditions often interfere, though, so I aim for 20 days of walks in any given month to make my 60 mile goal.
In July, the insane heat prevented me from making my goal because I simply couldn't do that to my dog. He is a large Labrador mix, and he lives outside, but he simply panted off all his excess winter weight and left small puddles of drool everywhere he went that month. I couldn't bring myself to make him walk with me in the evenings when the temperature was still in the high 90s, and without him making me feel guilty for not walking, I generally don't walk. So, I barely scratched the 40 mile mark that month.
I was all set to not only make the 60 mile goal in August but to actually surpass it when a week from the goal, I did something incredibly stupid. I stepped in a hole in my own back yard -- a hole that I knew was there because I'd stepped in it before. Not just once, not even twice, but many times. I'd even filled in the hole a few times to avoid stepping in it, but the dirt magically disappears after a few days, so I'd given up on that.
This time, though, I twisted my ankle in a way that I've never twisted it before. I heard a nasty "pop" and then my left foot instantly went numb and a sharp pain shot up the outside of my leg to my hip. I immediately collapsed to the ground (on top of a pile of dried doggie do-do I later learned) and lay there on my back crying out in agony while my daughter and my dog, who was on his leash and ready to go on a walk, looked down at me for about 10 minutes or so.
Once the feeling returned to my foot, I rotated my ankle a few times to be sure it wasn't broken. It wasn't. However, a sane and rational person would have abandoned the plan to go walking and would have gone inside to ice her ankle. That person is not me. Nope. Remember, I was determined to make my 60 miles in August, so the dog, my daughter and I set out on our 3 mile walk anyway.
By the time we got back home, I thought that my ankle was fine actually. It only hurt a little bit. This was a Sunday evening. The next morning was a Monday, and I had to go to work as a teacher where I stand all day teaching kids -- on a concrete floor. By the end of the day, the outside of my ankle was swollen excessively and I was walking with a very noticeable limp.
I've been icing it daily since then. This is day 6. The swelling goes down, the pain lessens, and then I do something stupid like stand and teach all day or take my dog for a 3 mile walk again, and the swelling and pain return.
I have finally taken measures to insure that I don't step in that hole in my back yard again. I placed a pot of flowers (well, dead flowers thanks to the stupid July heat) in it. That is my fix for now -- a pot of dead flowers protruding from a hole in my back yard. I said "Shtick This!" to the hole in my yard, and I stuck the pot in it. It will have to do until somebody can help me figure out where the dirt magically disappears to. At least I won't be stepping in that hole anytime soon. Unfortunately, I'm a well-known klutz, so I'm sure I'll find another hole to step in or another way to injure myself.
I ended up 3 miles short of my 60 mile goal for August; however, I figure that I can factor in all the walking around my classroom, to and from the school building and my car, and up and down the grocery store aisles to easily meet that 60 mile quota I set for myself.
I'm setting my goal a bit lower for September since the ankle is still pretty sore and since many of my evenings will be busy with school activities. Let's try for 50 miles in September, and let's hope that I don't trip over that pot that's in the hole in my back yard and break something next.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Back to School!
Wow! Another school year snuck up on me fast and goosed me a good one! Totally unprepared to go back. It's sort of a sad commentary on my life that I've been going to school for just about 40 years straight. You'd think I would have learned enough by now that I could move on to something else, but my life revolves around the cycle of a school year.
I've been teaching now longer than the years I spent as a student, and I've learned a few things along the way. Not much, but a few things. There is a famous book that shows that all a person really needs to know in life are the lessons that she learned in kindergarten. Well, for the teachers out there, all the really important teaching takes place in the first few days of school, and the rest is just biding your time until summer vacation comes around again.
Don't believe me? Let's consider some things. First, you have to lay down your ground rules, and without those rules and the consequences you'll enforce if the rules are broken, then your room will simply become a haven for chaos, and we all know that learning will not take place amid chaos. Secondly, the first few days of school are the only days in which your students are even remotely interested in being in school, so you have to grab them while they're even slightly attentive and pump them with as much knowledge as possible and just hope it lasts through the remaining eight months of the year. Thirdly, and most importantly, the beginning week or two of school is the only time of the year not interrupted by sporting events, pep rallies, assemblies, standardized tests and any other thing that cuts into your teaching time; so it is the only solid block of time in which to get some quality education accomplished.
Since I've been teaching so long, I've been assembling a guidebook for first year teachers. Mostly, it's a compilation of some of my venting after long days beating my head against the marker board in defeat, but it's intended audience is that group of first year teachers who start out their careers all rainbows and roses and end their careers nine months later looking like the walking dead with glazed eyes and missing pieces of their hair where they've pulled it out in frustration. Teaching is not for the faint of heart. It is a profession that will try the most decorated combat hero, and it's one where over half of those entering the field leave it in a mad dash for freedom and sanity at the end of that first year. So, since I'm a hard-ass and a smart-ass, I decided that I'd be a good person to give those eager newbies a dose of reality with some old-fashioned words of wisdom thrown in to help guide them through that arduous first year. Lord knows we need more good teachers out there -- after all, who is going to replace me in a few years?
Here are some of my chapter ideas to give you a taste of my warped sense of humor in action:
The First Day (or: Run Now Before It's Too Late!)
Lesson Plans (or: Those Things You Never Follow)
Problem Students (or: Every Student)
Extra-Curricular Duties (or: Free Time? Kiss That Good-bye)
Parent/Teacher Conference (or: One Night in Hell)
Hopefully you get the idea. Maybe some day I will actually finish my ranting and raving and actually edit what I've written and then get it published, so it can do some future first year teacher a little good and give him the motivation to return for a second and even a third year. After that, it's smooth sailing . . . uh, who am I kidding?
Good luck to all the teachers out there! And remember when you're having a bad day, just take a deep breath and mentally (not aloud for all to hear) tell your students or your boss to Shtick This!
I've been teaching now longer than the years I spent as a student, and I've learned a few things along the way. Not much, but a few things. There is a famous book that shows that all a person really needs to know in life are the lessons that she learned in kindergarten. Well, for the teachers out there, all the really important teaching takes place in the first few days of school, and the rest is just biding your time until summer vacation comes around again.
Don't believe me? Let's consider some things. First, you have to lay down your ground rules, and without those rules and the consequences you'll enforce if the rules are broken, then your room will simply become a haven for chaos, and we all know that learning will not take place amid chaos. Secondly, the first few days of school are the only days in which your students are even remotely interested in being in school, so you have to grab them while they're even slightly attentive and pump them with as much knowledge as possible and just hope it lasts through the remaining eight months of the year. Thirdly, and most importantly, the beginning week or two of school is the only time of the year not interrupted by sporting events, pep rallies, assemblies, standardized tests and any other thing that cuts into your teaching time; so it is the only solid block of time in which to get some quality education accomplished.
Since I've been teaching so long, I've been assembling a guidebook for first year teachers. Mostly, it's a compilation of some of my venting after long days beating my head against the marker board in defeat, but it's intended audience is that group of first year teachers who start out their careers all rainbows and roses and end their careers nine months later looking like the walking dead with glazed eyes and missing pieces of their hair where they've pulled it out in frustration. Teaching is not for the faint of heart. It is a profession that will try the most decorated combat hero, and it's one where over half of those entering the field leave it in a mad dash for freedom and sanity at the end of that first year. So, since I'm a hard-ass and a smart-ass, I decided that I'd be a good person to give those eager newbies a dose of reality with some old-fashioned words of wisdom thrown in to help guide them through that arduous first year. Lord knows we need more good teachers out there -- after all, who is going to replace me in a few years?
Here are some of my chapter ideas to give you a taste of my warped sense of humor in action:
The First Day (or: Run Now Before It's Too Late!)
Lesson Plans (or: Those Things You Never Follow)
Problem Students (or: Every Student)
Extra-Curricular Duties (or: Free Time? Kiss That Good-bye)
Parent/Teacher Conference (or: One Night in Hell)
Hopefully you get the idea. Maybe some day I will actually finish my ranting and raving and actually edit what I've written and then get it published, so it can do some future first year teacher a little good and give him the motivation to return for a second and even a third year. After that, it's smooth sailing . . . uh, who am I kidding?
Good luck to all the teachers out there! And remember when you're having a bad day, just take a deep breath and mentally (not aloud for all to hear) tell your students or your boss to Shtick This!
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Reading Suggestions
I write a bi-monthly column about books and literature-related topics for a newspaper. My focus is on older books that merit the attention of today's readers for reasons of enjoyment and not just for classroom study. I have a personal obsession with Pulitzer-prize winning novels, and I also hit on books considered to be classics as well as more current books that I find to be especially praiseworthy. I keep my own annotated list of books I've read, and I'd like to share a few from 2011. Some of them have been the subject of one of my columns while others I have just read for my own sake.
1. "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon: I bought a Spanish copy of this at a book fair in Madrid a few years ago. Once I started the novel, though, I couldn't read it fast enough in Spanish to satisfy my fascination, so I checked out an English translation and finished it in a few days. Imagine if there were such a thing as a Cemetery of Forgotten Books! This novel spoke to my deep-seated love of literature and the need to preserve books for all eternity.
2. "The Shipping News" by Annie Proulx: This novel won the Pulitzer in 1994. I've read it twice now and each time I am captivated by the author's word choices and her poetic, choppy style that is simply beautiful to read. Who would have thought that a novel would make me want to visit Newfoundland someday?
3. "Watership Down" by Richard Adams: Why this book is always filed in young adult literature I'll never understand. It deserves to be read by people of all ages. Sure, it's about rabbits, but the things that happen to them and the tactics they use to solve their problems are very much adult themes. It has everything -- adventure, danger, love, death, birth, conflict, humor and so much more.
4. "Water for Elephants" by Sara Gruen: The one book I read all year that I literally could not put down. I read it in only a few hours, and I was so disappointed when it ended and I had to close it. The research that went into this book to bring it to life for the readers is astounding. I felt like I was living on that circus train and enduring all the hardships right along with the characters in the book. I also fell in love with Jacob and didn't even mind that he is 93 years old!
5. "Dracula" by Bram Stoker: If I'm going to read a novel containing vampires, it better be a good one like "Dracula" where the vampire is really a terrifying, evil creature and not somebody that the heroine falls in love with. Sad to say that I hadn't read this novel until last year despite knowing the literary figure my entire life. I was most surprised to learn that Van Helsing is an elderly professor and not some sword-swinging, muscular vampire slayer as the movies have long portrayed him. I like his true persona so much better.
6. "Now in November" by Josephine W. Johnson: The author was very young when she wrote this Depression-era short novel, and she won the Pulitzer for it in 1935 despite the fact that she was both young and female in a male-dominated society. I read online (I forget where, sorry) that this novel is one of the five least read and remembered of all the Pulitzer prize winning books for fiction. I find that sad after reading it because it is well-written and tells a tragic yet beautiful story of a family struggling to survive in a world hit hard by the Depression.
7. "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham: This novel rightfully won the Pulitzer in 1999. The confusion you first feel at trying to figure out why it's a story about three different women living at three different times in history is blown away by the understanding and amazement you feel by the end of the novel when you see how the writer masterfully pulled it all off. I am now reading "Mrs. Dalloway" by Virginia Woolf, and then I plan to reread "The Hours." It's simply a great book.
8. "The Name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco: This was a hard yet enjoyable read for me because I love books so much. I was in awe of the scope of the labyrinth-like library that the monks had created, and then I was saddened when it all burned up. Even though it was a fictional library, the thought of all those important manuscripts being lost forever was torture for a bibliophile like me.
9. "Spanish Word Histories and Mysteries" by the editors of the American Heritage Dictionaries: As both a high school Spanish and linguistics teacher, this book was extremely educational for me. It also contains many humorous insights into the common words we use that we took from the Spanish language. Well researched and well explained. I appreciate that as a teacher and a word-lover.
10. "How Fiction Works" by James Wood: As an aspiring novelist myself, I am always looking for insight into how to write better. Wood had a unique approach to offering writing advice, but what I most liked about this book was the wealth of examples. From it I have greatly expanded my list of books to read in the coming years. This also is one of those books that bears a thorough reread to glean more insight from the abundance of advice contained within its pages.
Thank you for reading my list. These are what I would consider to be the top ten books from the fifty I read in 2011. If you have any interest in knowing what other books I read, feel free to contact me.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Hot, hot, hot!
Damn, it's been hot lately! I'd like to tell Mother Nature to "Shtick This!" but in a not so nice way. However, I'm not exactly sure where to tell Mother Nature to put it. Does she have an ass? Doubtful.
We all know that Mother Nature is a fickle bitch, but enough with the heat already! She has other tricks up her sleeve, so why not throw us a thunderstorm or a cold spell for a change. This constant heat is not even creative on her part. Yawn. Come on, woman, it's time for a change.
We all know this drought is going to drive up the cost of our food for the foreseeable future along with other complications it's bringing us. However, I'm more annoyed with how it's affecting my ability to get outside and actually enjoy my summer.
As a teacher, I value my summers because the rest of my years are so jammed full of activities and responsibilities that I never have a spare moment to do something fun for me. Here I am with a couple months free, and I have to spend most of one stuck in my house to keep cool.
I can't stand being cooped up long, though, so I inevitably end up outside at some point each day, but lately it's mostly just been to move my sprinklers in a pitiful attempt to save my lawn -- there are parts, now, that are beyond salvation I fear. I can't walk my dog at all some days because it doesn't get cool enough for him to walk very far until it's already dark, and the swimming pool during the afternoon when it's over 100 degrees isn't even refreshing because the water is actually too warm, and the cement surrounding the pool is too hot.
Everything is suffering in this heat -- the plants, the animals and the people -- so I say we all join in a revolt against Mother Nature and demand that she bring us a reprieve of some rain and a cool snap. Who among us has any pull with the woman? I don't -- not after I mocked her pathetic attempt at a winter this past year and then ridiculed her for not bringing any snow for a snow day out of school. Sorry, M. N. If this here is about my snarkiness, then please forgive me and bring us some rain. (But if it really is, then get over yourself, woman. Geez. Can you say "petty?" . . . Oops, sorry, I'm doing it again.)
I guess, for now, all we can do is grab a fan, a cold beer, and strap on our shortest shorts and our tank tops because I hear that there's no chance of rain for a long time yet. So, until the rain comes and the days cool off, I invite Mother Nature to literally stick this up whatever orifice she has!
We all know that Mother Nature is a fickle bitch, but enough with the heat already! She has other tricks up her sleeve, so why not throw us a thunderstorm or a cold spell for a change. This constant heat is not even creative on her part. Yawn. Come on, woman, it's time for a change.
We all know this drought is going to drive up the cost of our food for the foreseeable future along with other complications it's bringing us. However, I'm more annoyed with how it's affecting my ability to get outside and actually enjoy my summer.
As a teacher, I value my summers because the rest of my years are so jammed full of activities and responsibilities that I never have a spare moment to do something fun for me. Here I am with a couple months free, and I have to spend most of one stuck in my house to keep cool.
I can't stand being cooped up long, though, so I inevitably end up outside at some point each day, but lately it's mostly just been to move my sprinklers in a pitiful attempt to save my lawn -- there are parts, now, that are beyond salvation I fear. I can't walk my dog at all some days because it doesn't get cool enough for him to walk very far until it's already dark, and the swimming pool during the afternoon when it's over 100 degrees isn't even refreshing because the water is actually too warm, and the cement surrounding the pool is too hot.
Everything is suffering in this heat -- the plants, the animals and the people -- so I say we all join in a revolt against Mother Nature and demand that she bring us a reprieve of some rain and a cool snap. Who among us has any pull with the woman? I don't -- not after I mocked her pathetic attempt at a winter this past year and then ridiculed her for not bringing any snow for a snow day out of school. Sorry, M. N. If this here is about my snarkiness, then please forgive me and bring us some rain. (But if it really is, then get over yourself, woman. Geez. Can you say "petty?" . . . Oops, sorry, I'm doing it again.)
I guess, for now, all we can do is grab a fan, a cold beer, and strap on our shortest shorts and our tank tops because I hear that there's no chance of rain for a long time yet. So, until the rain comes and the days cool off, I invite Mother Nature to literally stick this up whatever orifice she has!
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Swimming
I love to swim laps, and I have an almost perfect freestyle stroke which I taught myself after flunking the one and only swimming lesson class I ever took as a child. Why did I flunk? Because I wouldn't swim across the deep end. Why wouldn't I? It wasn't because I couldn't; it was because I was afraid. At that depth, I was absolutely positive there was something lurking at the bottom of the pool that would rise and eat me as I splashed my way across to the other side. Silly? Yes, now to the middle-aged me, but not to the five-year-old me. That me was 100 percent certain that I would be devoured. So, instead of flunking me and making me feel humiliated, why didn't the lifeguard instructor simply have me swim across the shallow end of the pool?
Anger at the injustice and stupidity of the one and only class I've ever flunked (even at the young age I was when it happened) flooded me, and I refused to ever take another swimming class. I can be extremely stubborn when I latch onto a cause, so my mother didn't press the issue with me, especially since I loved swimming and went often and eventually mastered many aspects of it on my own.
However, later as a teenager, I realized that in order to become a lifeguard and pool manager, I'd actually have to take another swimming class designed to teach me survival skills. The instructor I had was an intense man who was very demanding that we be able to swim all the strokes correctly, so once again I suffered humiliation at never having even tried a butterfly and looking like a total ass doing it, but eventually I got the hang of it enough to meet his exerting demands. The one stroke that I thought I was doing correctly prior to the class, though, was the breast stroke. Turns out I was totally wrong! He made me do that stroke hundreds of times outside of the water and then in the pool while he walked alongside yelling at me until my technique was near perfect.
Prior to that class I had always enjoyed swimming laps while doing the crawl stroke, or freestyle, but after that class I absolutely LOVED swimming laps and being able to integrate the various strokes I'd mastered from that domineering teacher. A lot of people think I'm strange because I simply love to swim laps. They see laps as boring and even as too difficult, but it's those two aspects that I love the most.
First of all, laps are not boring -- they are therapeutic and meditative. I go into a deep inner place that calms me as all I hear are my breathing and the muffled sounds that reach me through the water. I also concentrate completely on what my arms and legs are doing and timing my breaths to the movements, so for about an hour all my exterior worries and problems melt away.
As to lap swimming being difficult, it isn't once you master the strokes, but even then, it is the perfect exercise. It's also one I should do way more often, and then maybe I'd actually be in shape. If anything is difficult about lap swimming for me, it is appearing in public in a bathing suit! Ouch! Now that is what I call painful and difficult. Of course, if I did more laps more often, I wouldn't have that problem either. Hmmmm, something for me to think about, wouldn't you say?
Lap swimming is also a great metaphor for life because you almost literally swim in a circle (it's really a straight line, but you come back to where you start, so you get my drift, I hope). We all know the feeling of swimming and swimming and never really getting anywhere in our lives, and that is exactly how lap swimming works. I swim an hour and end up exactly where I started. Also, sometimes I like to go to the deep end and tread water for half an hour (no, I'm no longer scared of something rising from below to eat me -- should I be?), and we all know that sensation of paddling like crazy to keep our head above water either in our jobs or financially-speaking.
For me, the love I have for swimming and that I've always had despite that one embarrassing moment in the deep end of a pool in Papillion, Nebraska when I was five shows that we can all rise above our failures because often our failures are not really failures at all.
Anger at the injustice and stupidity of the one and only class I've ever flunked (even at the young age I was when it happened) flooded me, and I refused to ever take another swimming class. I can be extremely stubborn when I latch onto a cause, so my mother didn't press the issue with me, especially since I loved swimming and went often and eventually mastered many aspects of it on my own.
However, later as a teenager, I realized that in order to become a lifeguard and pool manager, I'd actually have to take another swimming class designed to teach me survival skills. The instructor I had was an intense man who was very demanding that we be able to swim all the strokes correctly, so once again I suffered humiliation at never having even tried a butterfly and looking like a total ass doing it, but eventually I got the hang of it enough to meet his exerting demands. The one stroke that I thought I was doing correctly prior to the class, though, was the breast stroke. Turns out I was totally wrong! He made me do that stroke hundreds of times outside of the water and then in the pool while he walked alongside yelling at me until my technique was near perfect.
Prior to that class I had always enjoyed swimming laps while doing the crawl stroke, or freestyle, but after that class I absolutely LOVED swimming laps and being able to integrate the various strokes I'd mastered from that domineering teacher. A lot of people think I'm strange because I simply love to swim laps. They see laps as boring and even as too difficult, but it's those two aspects that I love the most.
First of all, laps are not boring -- they are therapeutic and meditative. I go into a deep inner place that calms me as all I hear are my breathing and the muffled sounds that reach me through the water. I also concentrate completely on what my arms and legs are doing and timing my breaths to the movements, so for about an hour all my exterior worries and problems melt away.
As to lap swimming being difficult, it isn't once you master the strokes, but even then, it is the perfect exercise. It's also one I should do way more often, and then maybe I'd actually be in shape. If anything is difficult about lap swimming for me, it is appearing in public in a bathing suit! Ouch! Now that is what I call painful and difficult. Of course, if I did more laps more often, I wouldn't have that problem either. Hmmmm, something for me to think about, wouldn't you say?
Lap swimming is also a great metaphor for life because you almost literally swim in a circle (it's really a straight line, but you come back to where you start, so you get my drift, I hope). We all know the feeling of swimming and swimming and never really getting anywhere in our lives, and that is exactly how lap swimming works. I swim an hour and end up exactly where I started. Also, sometimes I like to go to the deep end and tread water for half an hour (no, I'm no longer scared of something rising from below to eat me -- should I be?), and we all know that sensation of paddling like crazy to keep our head above water either in our jobs or financially-speaking.
For me, the love I have for swimming and that I've always had despite that one embarrassing moment in the deep end of a pool in Papillion, Nebraska when I was five shows that we can all rise above our failures because often our failures are not really failures at all.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Shaft and Balls!
Now that I have your attention with my title, you dirty-minded little sicko, let's talk about baton twirling. Yep, that's right -- baton twirling. You know, that long shaft with a ball at either end (and one ball is bigger, just like in real life, right fellas?!).
I've twirled and taught baton for most of my life -- I'd say for about 36 years now. I realize it's a skill most closely linked to either beauty pageants or half-time shows at football games. I've never taken part in either one of those activities, but I've loved to twirl since the first time I wrapped my pudgy five-year-old fingers around that skinny metal shaft.
What is it about twirling a baton that I find so enjoyable? Perhaps it's the fact that I can take a long, hard, non-pliant item and make it do what I want it to do -- unlike the obstinate and non-pliant people I work with. There is something about a spinning baton as it spins through the air that is beautiful to behold -- the light sparkles off the silver shaft, and the effect can be mesmerizing.
Another thing about twirling a baton is that you come to know the tricks of the trade, and you learn that what looks really complicated isn't all that difficult after all. I find that to be true of most things in life -- sometimes you just have to dive in and find out how something works to realize that you can do it, too. Some of the twirls are very complicated, though, but you don't attempt those until you can do the easier ones with ease.
A baton is metaphorical in other ways as well. If you take it for granted and stop paying attention to what you are doing with it, you will either drop it and look foolish, or you'll smack yourself in the head with it and look even more foolish. The baton needs and demands your full attention.
Learning to twirl a baton is like learning any other valuable skill -- it demands time and dedication. It is a good activity for any young kid; although it is one mostly performed by young girls. It reinforces and develops coordination and dexterity, and it teaches young kids discipline.
When I first picked up a baton as a little girl, I never imagined I'd still be twirling one into my 40s, but I am. Of course, I only do it now as an instructor, but every now and then I admit that I will grab my baton when I'm at home and twirl it around my house. That is until I lose my concentration and smack myself in the head.
I've twirled and taught baton for most of my life -- I'd say for about 36 years now. I realize it's a skill most closely linked to either beauty pageants or half-time shows at football games. I've never taken part in either one of those activities, but I've loved to twirl since the first time I wrapped my pudgy five-year-old fingers around that skinny metal shaft.
What is it about twirling a baton that I find so enjoyable? Perhaps it's the fact that I can take a long, hard, non-pliant item and make it do what I want it to do -- unlike the obstinate and non-pliant people I work with. There is something about a spinning baton as it spins through the air that is beautiful to behold -- the light sparkles off the silver shaft, and the effect can be mesmerizing.
Another thing about twirling a baton is that you come to know the tricks of the trade, and you learn that what looks really complicated isn't all that difficult after all. I find that to be true of most things in life -- sometimes you just have to dive in and find out how something works to realize that you can do it, too. Some of the twirls are very complicated, though, but you don't attempt those until you can do the easier ones with ease.
A baton is metaphorical in other ways as well. If you take it for granted and stop paying attention to what you are doing with it, you will either drop it and look foolish, or you'll smack yourself in the head with it and look even more foolish. The baton needs and demands your full attention.
Learning to twirl a baton is like learning any other valuable skill -- it demands time and dedication. It is a good activity for any young kid; although it is one mostly performed by young girls. It reinforces and develops coordination and dexterity, and it teaches young kids discipline.
When I first picked up a baton as a little girl, I never imagined I'd still be twirling one into my 40s, but I am. Of course, I only do it now as an instructor, but every now and then I admit that I will grab my baton when I'm at home and twirl it around my house. That is until I lose my concentration and smack myself in the head.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Spoiler Alert!
Spoiler Alert: For those who prefer not to know
the outcomes of their bad decisions, don’t read beyond this line.
Scenario 1. You let your young son eat whatever he
wants because you want him to learn at an early age how to make his own
decisions (and deep down you are simply too overworked or lazy to make him eat
healthily). He “decides” that he only wants to eat French fries, fried chicken
and frozen ice cream cakes, so that is his diet for the next fifteen years. One
day, you walk through the living room to find a 400 pound comatose stranger reposed
upon your broken couch. You cry when you realize it is your son and that his
poor decision-making has led to his downfall and severe diabetes. You vow to
help him turn his life around by belatedly teaching him how to make sound
nutritional choices, but you are sad that he has to spend a month in the
hospital. You dive into a bag of chips to drown your sorrow.
Scenario 2. You tell your young daughter that she
can have anything in the world she wants and that it is all there for the
taking. You pat her affectionately on the knee, glad you had this nice
father/daughter chat. The next week, you are unhappy when her Principal
suspends her for stealing an iPod from another girl’s locker. You explain that
you meant that if she works hard she can have whatever she wants. Another knee
pat and you are off to your office to watch some more online porn. She returns
to school and considers each of her classmates and realizes that most of their
parents live off the system, as does her own father. She decides that you are
full of shit, so she steals again and again until she is finally caught and
sent to a juvenile detention facility. She is okay with that, though, because
now she is far away from your hypocritical lectures. Soon she is pregnant with
the first of five children she’ll have by five different men, and she learns to
milk the system for every dime she can get without ever having to work a day in
her life. She smiles, showing her four remaining good teeth, because she has
proven her father wrong.
Scenario 3. You set a pound of frozen hamburger out
on the counter to defrost. You know you are supposed to let it thaw out in the
refrigerator, but you need it for supper tonight, so you think just this once it will be all right. You
leave to do a bit of shopping and while you are out, the temperature slowly
climbs into the high 90s. You forget that your air-conditioner isn’t working
properly. While opening your car door, you break a nail and decide to visit the
manicurist for a quick fix. There you run into an old friend and decide to go
for a drink. The drink becomes six, and you have to have a local good-ole-boy
drive you home. He decides to try his luck with you in your driveway, but you
fight him off, breaking that nail you just had fixed. You stumble inside and
realize that your house is a sauna. You see the hamburger packet lying in a
congealed pool of its own blood. You poke it and are pleased to find that it is
completely thawed. You begin to make meatloaf. You serve it to your family, but
since you are feeling ill after those six margaritas you knocked back with your
long-lost friend, you decide not to eat. In the morning, you awake to the sound
of four people vomiting. Good thing you are now sober and can call the
paramedics.
Scenario 4. You give in to your seven-year-old son’s
whining in the electronics department at Wal-Mart and buy him the latest
handheld gaming system. This is followed in quick succession with the purchasing
of hundreds of games to keep his now ADHD-addled mentality occupied on those
long 20 minute drives across town to his therapist. Later, you buy him the
complete home gaming system and soon forget he even exists as he now spends
hours and even days at a time behind his closed door “competing” against other
“pro-gamers” across the world. One day, your husband asks, “Where’s Billy?” to
which you reply, “Who?” Don’t worry. The stench of his decomposing body will
lead you to him. At least he beat
BlAsTeRbOy2227 before he kicked the bucket. You can be proud.
Scenario 5. You tell your precious toddler that she
is a princess and deserves to look pretty every single day. You buy her fancy
clothes and dress her up like a doll. Everybody “oohs” and “aahs” over how cute
she is. You let that go to your head and buy her even fancier clothes. You put
makeup on her when she’s four, and you pierce her ears and buy her diamond
necklaces and earrings. You get her weekly pedicures and spray-on tans. As the
years go by, her body changes and so does her taste in clothing. She’s used to
being the center of attention, and since she’s no longer little and precious,
she starts using that credit card you gave her for emergencies to buy a whole
different style of wardrobe. Forget cute and frilly; she’s now into skimpy and
slutty. She pierces other parts of her body – some that you can’t see. She dyes
her hair and bakes her skin to a crisp. Since she’ll always be your precious
little girl, you don’t see her the way others see her. You also think that she
has more of a fashion sense than you do, so you start trying to dress like her.
You lose your job, and since you are now penniless and can no longer pay for
her trashy wardrobe and she is embarrassed by your attempts to emulate her dress,
she moves out of your house and in with her sugar-daddy.
Scenario 6. You’re born. You learn all sorts of neat
things. You get a college degree and a great job. You make a lot of money and
buy yourself all sorts of fancy things. You get a bigger house to hold all your
neat things and a three car garage for all that stuff you need to maintain your
lavish yard. You die. They hold an auction. Other people have your stuff now.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cut. Fade to black.
Monday, June 18, 2012
It's a zoo out there!
For the past two summers, my daughter has been a youth volunteer at one of the best zoos in America (it's actually the best, so you can figure out which one easily enough), so I spend three hours every week walking around the zoo while I wait for her. It is great exercise, and after seeing every exhibit multiple times, I now know the animals so well that I find myself mentally correcting every inane comment I overhear. For example, just the other day I heard a mother trying to entice the cheetahs to growl for her two children. Cheetahs don't growl! They chirp, which I realize is an odd sound for a large cat to make, but even I knew that about cheetahs well before I started living at the zoo part time, so why didn't this woman know this?
Since I enjoy writing, I use it to express my impressions when I am either very much in awe of something or very much disgusted by something -- and sometimes for a combination of the two. Often, I write a poem, albeit not a wonderfully literary poem, to more succinctly verbalize my thoughts.
Here is a poem I wrote about the zoo last summer. I am reminded of it every time I return to the zoo.
Since I enjoy writing, I use it to express my impressions when I am either very much in awe of something or very much disgusted by something -- and sometimes for a combination of the two. Often, I write a poem, albeit not a wonderfully literary poem, to more succinctly verbalize my thoughts.
Here is a poem I wrote about the zoo last summer. I am reminded of it every time I return to the zoo.
Lessons learned from the zoo
Big cats can urinate up to six feet BEHIND them.
A rhino's head alone weights 1,000 pounds!
The correct pronunciation is o-KAH-pee.
Burmese pythons do not belong in Florida.
A giraffe's tongue is almost two feet long.
Sea lions have ear flaps, seals do not.
Zebras are actually white with brown stripes.
Fruit bats are freakishly beautiful to watch.
Ostriches will not walk on large rounded rocks.
A polar bear's skin is black and its fur is clear.
Peacocks do not like being chased by ignoramuses.
Other lessons learned:
Americans, as a whole, are grossly overweight.
Children, too often, are spoiled and naughty.
Tattoos do not look good on anyone anywhere.
Too many people are lacking common manners.
A child on a leash isn't really under control, now is he?
If the sign says "Birds bite," it doesn't mean:
"Birds bite other people, but not you -- you're special."
I wonder which species really belongs in the zoo,
Caged for the other to mock, pity, observe and ponder.
The "civilized" ones are on the wrong side of the enclosure
Surrounded by bars, fence, glass wall, water barrier or ditch.
They watch us, as we watch them, and are happy not to be human.
Take offense at my poem if you like -- that only means you are one of the types I mock. The main things I've come to notice about the people at the zoo is that they seem to be there primarily to share the experience with their children. I use the word "seem" on purpose. They seem to want to teach their children about the animals and to share the wonder of seeing a meerkat or a shark up close while still keeping themselves and the animals safe from harm; however, they spend the vast majority of their time rushing through the zoo in order to see everything, and this causes them to NOT really see anything at all.
In addition, their children get tired and cranky, so then the parents end up yelling at their children and yanking on their leashes to pull them back to their sides. Sorry, I can't get over the fact that parents put their children on leashes. I managed to raise two children without every having to tie them up at any time. And, seriously, if a parent has a child who is so wild that she fears that he will run off and jump a fence to join his brethren monkeys, then perhaps she should wait until he is older to bring him to the zoo.
Here are my tips for those going to the zoo:
1. Take your time and really look at the animals. Read the information cards and don't make asinine assumptions about them out loud because you just look like an idiot to those of us around you who actually have read the cards.
2. If your kid is a brat, do everybody else at the zoo a favor and DON'T GO!
3. For the love of God, wear something decent. Others have come to see the animals, not your saggy and exposed cleavage or the belly hanging out from under the t-shirt that maybe fit you in fourth grade.
4. Act like people. Try, please try to be more civilized than the creatures you've come to gawk at.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Non-readers
I don't get non-readers, or perhaps I should clarify that I don't get people who not only claim they don't read but also freaking brag about it as well. So this tirade that you're about to witness is for those people.
First of all, dumb ass, it is physically impossible to be a non-reader in our society. The only way to be a non-reader is to be completely illiterate, and if you're illiterate, then I either apologize for calling you a dumb ass or I want to further yell at you for not taking the initiative in your life to get the necessary education to become literate (of course, the only way you are hearing me yell at you is if a literate person is actually reading this to you.) As long as you actually CAN read, then you are a reader. There is no getting around it. Seriously try to get through a day without reading anything. It ain't happening, my friend. Not with our reliance on social media, not with the need to read the street signs to find your exit, not with hunger gnawing at your belly and urging you to hurry up and read the menu and choose something, not with all the inane reports we have to fill out every day at work, not with the constant scroll of words flowing by at the bottom of our TV screens updating us on the weather and breaking news, and not with the plethora of other things we do every single day that REQUIRE us to read something.
So, now that we know and acknowledge that it is, in fact, impossible to be a non-reader as long as you can actually read, let's move on to the real thing that grinds my gears -- the morons who BRAG that they don't read -- they are usually referring to the fact that they don't read books. You might as well slap a sticker on your forehead and announce to the world that you are a pathetic loser and you prefer to remain an ignorant idiot in the sea of knowledge all around you. Reading is what separates us from every other species. Reading is what empowers us, teaches us, helps us grow and continually raises us to new heights with each generation.
When they want to subdue a people, they burn their books. Think about that. Why burn the books? They're just books, right? Wrong! They are the bastion of freedom and of everything that truly matters to a culture. Saying you are a non-reader is like saying you are not an American, or whatever nationality you claim. Saying you are a non-reader is like saying you are a non-Christian, or whatever religion you embrace. Saying you are a non-reader is like declaring that you simply don't give a damn about anything. And, since you probably wouldn't go around bragging to the world that you don't care about anything, not one damn thing, then you should stop announcing that you don't read books.
Rather than wasting time telling everyone you don't read and thus verbally sharing your stupidity with all who even care to listen to you, you should try picking up a book and actually reading it. You just might surprise yourself. After all, to paraphrase a really smart man, if you're not reading books then you might as well be illiterate because it has the same result.
If you don't know the true quote or who said it, then pick up a book of quotes and look it up! If you've read this, then you're not a non-reader, and if you still try to claim you are, then I invite you to truly "schtick this!' Only put it where the sun don't shine. I'll be in my hammock enjoying a good book and the feel of the sun on my skin while you're walking around with a large tome shoved up your ass. Have fun.
First of all, dumb ass, it is physically impossible to be a non-reader in our society. The only way to be a non-reader is to be completely illiterate, and if you're illiterate, then I either apologize for calling you a dumb ass or I want to further yell at you for not taking the initiative in your life to get the necessary education to become literate (of course, the only way you are hearing me yell at you is if a literate person is actually reading this to you.) As long as you actually CAN read, then you are a reader. There is no getting around it. Seriously try to get through a day without reading anything. It ain't happening, my friend. Not with our reliance on social media, not with the need to read the street signs to find your exit, not with hunger gnawing at your belly and urging you to hurry up and read the menu and choose something, not with all the inane reports we have to fill out every day at work, not with the constant scroll of words flowing by at the bottom of our TV screens updating us on the weather and breaking news, and not with the plethora of other things we do every single day that REQUIRE us to read something.
So, now that we know and acknowledge that it is, in fact, impossible to be a non-reader as long as you can actually read, let's move on to the real thing that grinds my gears -- the morons who BRAG that they don't read -- they are usually referring to the fact that they don't read books. You might as well slap a sticker on your forehead and announce to the world that you are a pathetic loser and you prefer to remain an ignorant idiot in the sea of knowledge all around you. Reading is what separates us from every other species. Reading is what empowers us, teaches us, helps us grow and continually raises us to new heights with each generation.
When they want to subdue a people, they burn their books. Think about that. Why burn the books? They're just books, right? Wrong! They are the bastion of freedom and of everything that truly matters to a culture. Saying you are a non-reader is like saying you are not an American, or whatever nationality you claim. Saying you are a non-reader is like saying you are a non-Christian, or whatever religion you embrace. Saying you are a non-reader is like declaring that you simply don't give a damn about anything. And, since you probably wouldn't go around bragging to the world that you don't care about anything, not one damn thing, then you should stop announcing that you don't read books.
Rather than wasting time telling everyone you don't read and thus verbally sharing your stupidity with all who even care to listen to you, you should try picking up a book and actually reading it. You just might surprise yourself. After all, to paraphrase a really smart man, if you're not reading books then you might as well be illiterate because it has the same result.
If you don't know the true quote or who said it, then pick up a book of quotes and look it up! If you've read this, then you're not a non-reader, and if you still try to claim you are, then I invite you to truly "schtick this!' Only put it where the sun don't shine. I'll be in my hammock enjoying a good book and the feel of the sun on my skin while you're walking around with a large tome shoved up your ass. Have fun.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Weeds!
If I could tell anything in the world to regularly "schtick this," it would be the weeds of this world. I'm not only referring to the actual weeds that grow in my yard in abundance, but I'm speaking of anything that chokes the life out of something else and takes the space in which the good things were meant to grow. I have just come in from pulling a small portion of the nasty buggers -- some hardy strain of clover, I think -- from my yard, and in doing so, I've uncovered the brown, dead grass below. I can only hope that once free from the evil weeds, the lovely grass will revive, but who knows. I'm not very good at maintaining my yard, and now that I'm beginning a new phase of my life (minus one giant weed), I've made a commitment to do a better job of taking care of everything. The grass is me, and I'm ridding it of all the weeds that prevent it from being as good as it can possibly be.
If you think about it, who couldn't benefit from a weed-free life? And, no, I'm not talking about the kind of weed that one smokes, although it's best to stay away from that as well. What I'm talking about is getting rid of every weed that tries to get a hold on your lush greenness. Yank it out as soon as you can, and be sure to get its root, so it doesn't come back. I know I'm better off already without a certain giant weed that once cast its ugly shadow over my life, and since I'm no longer concentrating on getting rid of the one monster-sized weed, I'm now noticing the other weeds that I barely saw before, and it's time for them to go as well.
Nasty comments from certain "friends" about anybody for any reason at all -- toss them to the curb for the garbage man to pick up with the rest of the trash. Excess weight due to eating wrong and watching too much TV at night with "the big weed" -- eat a lot more fruit, walk every day and write this blog in twenty minutes instead of sitting on my ass on the sofa for three hours. Worries about money -- save a little each month and watch it grow like a beautiful flower. Old friends who only grew in the shadow of the "big weed" -- plant new friends to fill in the gaps in the lawn.
The world would be a better place to live if all the weeds could be eradicated. Racism, sexism, wars fought over religious beliefs, wars of any kind really, ageism, stereotypes that debase others, animal cruelty, alcoholism, drug abuse, physical abuse, theft, greed, pettiness, stupidity, and many other weeds that choke the otherwise beautiful landscape of our humanity.
This might have become a bit deeper of a blog than I originally intended, but I see symbolism in almost anything, and, to me, a weed that covers and kills what is growing beneath it is something that needs to go just like the things in our lives that cover and kill the good in us need to go. This summer while I work to improve the appearance of my lawn, I will also be working to improve myself. I like who I am, but I know I can be better with some tender loving care. So, "schtick this!" you damn weeds!
If you think about it, who couldn't benefit from a weed-free life? And, no, I'm not talking about the kind of weed that one smokes, although it's best to stay away from that as well. What I'm talking about is getting rid of every weed that tries to get a hold on your lush greenness. Yank it out as soon as you can, and be sure to get its root, so it doesn't come back. I know I'm better off already without a certain giant weed that once cast its ugly shadow over my life, and since I'm no longer concentrating on getting rid of the one monster-sized weed, I'm now noticing the other weeds that I barely saw before, and it's time for them to go as well.
Nasty comments from certain "friends" about anybody for any reason at all -- toss them to the curb for the garbage man to pick up with the rest of the trash. Excess weight due to eating wrong and watching too much TV at night with "the big weed" -- eat a lot more fruit, walk every day and write this blog in twenty minutes instead of sitting on my ass on the sofa for three hours. Worries about money -- save a little each month and watch it grow like a beautiful flower. Old friends who only grew in the shadow of the "big weed" -- plant new friends to fill in the gaps in the lawn.
The world would be a better place to live if all the weeds could be eradicated. Racism, sexism, wars fought over religious beliefs, wars of any kind really, ageism, stereotypes that debase others, animal cruelty, alcoholism, drug abuse, physical abuse, theft, greed, pettiness, stupidity, and many other weeds that choke the otherwise beautiful landscape of our humanity.
This might have become a bit deeper of a blog than I originally intended, but I see symbolism in almost anything, and, to me, a weed that covers and kills what is growing beneath it is something that needs to go just like the things in our lives that cover and kill the good in us need to go. This summer while I work to improve the appearance of my lawn, I will also be working to improve myself. I like who I am, but I know I can be better with some tender loving care. So, "schtick this!" you damn weeds!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
The Name
So, why did I choose to name my blog "Shtick This!"? That's a good question, and I'm glad you asked. It's nice to know there are still clueless yet inquisitive people out there.
Basically, it came down to a couple of things -- choosing a theme and finding the best eye-catching yet relevant name for the blog. First, I've been thinking for some time now of starting and keeping a blog, but the more I looked into the process, the more I realized that I needed (or should have) a regular theme. Thus my conundrum. I couldn't decide on one issue that I wanted to devote my time on a daily or weekly basis because I have many interests. I knew that if I went with travel, as I originally considered, I'd have many things to talk about, but that somewhere along the line I'd surely veer off into the need to know another language which would lead me to why you should study another language which would lead me to another possible area I considered -- teaching. I've been a foreign language teacher for over twenty years, so I could go on forever about the ins and outs of teaching, the problems of public schools, dealing with (and expertly avoiding) parents, etc., but the point of writing, for me, is often to escape my problems, and, let's face it, teaching causes A LOT of problems in my life, so why would I want to devote all my blog time to writing about it? Another thing I'm passionate about is reading, but I already I write a regular column devoted to books and book-related topics for a local newspaper, so I have that area pretty well covered. Another topic I love to discuss is writing, but I don't consider myself to be any sort of expert in that area, and I don't want to have a blog that only deals with my rejection in that department. I could go on and on, but I think you get the point.
So, after a lot of thought and a lot of time, I realized that the one thing in my life that covers every above-mentioned topic and any other topic I'd care to address is comedy. I've dabbled in stand-up comedy for many years now, but I live in an area that is far from stand-up venues, so that makes it hard for me to branch out and have what I'd consider to be success in the comedy world; however, I use comedy every single day because I am, without a doubt, a grade-A smart-ass. I joke in my classroom, in my travel, in almost every conversation I have with friends and strangers, in my writing -- really, comedy pervades my life. So, while this isn't a blog about comedy, it is intended to be a comedic blog, and a "shtick" is a piece of comedy meant to gain a laugh or draw attention to oneself, and that is exactly what I hope to do not only with the title of my blog but with the content as well. A "shtick" can also be understood as a person's special interest or talent, and in this blog I will use my talent of making people laugh (or mildly chuckle; heck, I'll even accept an eye roll and a groan) to discuss many of my special interests.
Here are a few things to know about me from the start, so you'll know what you're getting into should you choose to join me on this adventure into the blogging sphere.
1. I'm a bit of a Luddite, so the fact that I'm even doing this blog goes waaaay against my basic nature. Don't know what a Luddite is? Look it up. Learn something new today! See, there's the teacher in me; there's simply no escaping her.
2. I'm in the midst of a divorce, but hopefully that will be over before too long, and then I can delve into the mind-boggling world of middle-aged dating. Can't tell you how excited I am about getting back on that horse. Of course, at my age, it's a run-down gelding covered in saddle sores.
3. I have two kids -- a son who is about to leave for college; thus giving me all sorts of new shit to worry about, and a daughter who is about to be a teenager; thus giving me even more new shit to worry about.
4. I've hosted five exchange students over the years, and you're bound to hear about my visits abroad to see them. I love to travel when I can afford it -- like every other year -- and I keep detailed accounts of where I go and what I see.
5. I live in a very small town -- very, very small town. So small that we have to combine with another town to have enough students to even have a school. I've taught here for 20 years. That's a long time to be in Hell. Did I mention that my parents live about five blocks away?
6. I love to read, walk my dog, swim, do puzzles, ride motorcycles, drink beer, visit new places and talk in
Spanish to people who don't know the language just to piss them off.
You'll learn lots more about me and my rather warped views of things if you visit often. Until we meet again, I invite you to "Shtick This!" in your pipe and smoke it!
Basically, it came down to a couple of things -- choosing a theme and finding the best eye-catching yet relevant name for the blog. First, I've been thinking for some time now of starting and keeping a blog, but the more I looked into the process, the more I realized that I needed (or should have) a regular theme. Thus my conundrum. I couldn't decide on one issue that I wanted to devote my time on a daily or weekly basis because I have many interests. I knew that if I went with travel, as I originally considered, I'd have many things to talk about, but that somewhere along the line I'd surely veer off into the need to know another language which would lead me to why you should study another language which would lead me to another possible area I considered -- teaching. I've been a foreign language teacher for over twenty years, so I could go on forever about the ins and outs of teaching, the problems of public schools, dealing with (and expertly avoiding) parents, etc., but the point of writing, for me, is often to escape my problems, and, let's face it, teaching causes A LOT of problems in my life, so why would I want to devote all my blog time to writing about it? Another thing I'm passionate about is reading, but I already I write a regular column devoted to books and book-related topics for a local newspaper, so I have that area pretty well covered. Another topic I love to discuss is writing, but I don't consider myself to be any sort of expert in that area, and I don't want to have a blog that only deals with my rejection in that department. I could go on and on, but I think you get the point.
So, after a lot of thought and a lot of time, I realized that the one thing in my life that covers every above-mentioned topic and any other topic I'd care to address is comedy. I've dabbled in stand-up comedy for many years now, but I live in an area that is far from stand-up venues, so that makes it hard for me to branch out and have what I'd consider to be success in the comedy world; however, I use comedy every single day because I am, without a doubt, a grade-A smart-ass. I joke in my classroom, in my travel, in almost every conversation I have with friends and strangers, in my writing -- really, comedy pervades my life. So, while this isn't a blog about comedy, it is intended to be a comedic blog, and a "shtick" is a piece of comedy meant to gain a laugh or draw attention to oneself, and that is exactly what I hope to do not only with the title of my blog but with the content as well. A "shtick" can also be understood as a person's special interest or talent, and in this blog I will use my talent of making people laugh (or mildly chuckle; heck, I'll even accept an eye roll and a groan) to discuss many of my special interests.
Here are a few things to know about me from the start, so you'll know what you're getting into should you choose to join me on this adventure into the blogging sphere.
1. I'm a bit of a Luddite, so the fact that I'm even doing this blog goes waaaay against my basic nature. Don't know what a Luddite is? Look it up. Learn something new today! See, there's the teacher in me; there's simply no escaping her.
2. I'm in the midst of a divorce, but hopefully that will be over before too long, and then I can delve into the mind-boggling world of middle-aged dating. Can't tell you how excited I am about getting back on that horse. Of course, at my age, it's a run-down gelding covered in saddle sores.
3. I have two kids -- a son who is about to leave for college; thus giving me all sorts of new shit to worry about, and a daughter who is about to be a teenager; thus giving me even more new shit to worry about.
4. I've hosted five exchange students over the years, and you're bound to hear about my visits abroad to see them. I love to travel when I can afford it -- like every other year -- and I keep detailed accounts of where I go and what I see.
5. I live in a very small town -- very, very small town. So small that we have to combine with another town to have enough students to even have a school. I've taught here for 20 years. That's a long time to be in Hell. Did I mention that my parents live about five blocks away?
6. I love to read, walk my dog, swim, do puzzles, ride motorcycles, drink beer, visit new places and talk in
Spanish to people who don't know the language just to piss them off.
You'll learn lots more about me and my rather warped views of things if you visit often. Until we meet again, I invite you to "Shtick This!" in your pipe and smoke it!
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Introduction
Hello! Hola! Ciao! Aloha! and as my drunk uncle always says, "Welcome aboard, asshole!" I'm Tammy, and to let you know from the get-go, I'm a smart-ass. I'm a teacher by trade, and a writer/stand-up comedian at heart, so prepare to be schooled by a true wiseacre in all sorts of shit. I've got 43 years of material just aching to be heard. Most will deal with the things I love like traveling, reading, walking my dog, doing stand-up, writing, being a parent, drinking beer, riding motorcycles and even teaching (but don't tell any of my pain-in-the-ass students that I actually like them.) Sometimes I'll be serious and other times you'll notice the sarcasm -- if you don't recognize sarcasm when you see it, though, you'd best move on to a different blog because I might just piss you off (of course, that might be kind of funny, so what the hell, stick around.)
That was just a quick introduction of what is to follow, so for now and until we meet again, "Shtick This!"
That was just a quick introduction of what is to follow, so for now and until we meet again, "Shtick This!"
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