Let me set the mood: It was homecoming season a few weeks ago. The school was crawling with teenage girls all looking to get up-dos, manicures, and pedicures before their big night. I was washing this girls greasy mane when:
“Are you Japanese?”
Her inquiry was out of the blue, yes, but I get these types of questions quite often. “No, I’m not Japanese.”
“Well, you look like you are,” she said with an audible snark in her tone.
So sorry to have disappointed you, my dear, I’ll try harder to please you the next time you ask such an uncouth question.
I went on to politely explain the smorgasbord of ethnicities that run through my veins but she got bored and called someone on her cell phone. What she didn’t realize is that I had control of the water temperature and, even worse for her, I controlled the direction of the water spray. I could have EASILY shot her in the face with a blast of icy, cold water.
25 October 2007
18 October 2007
Speechless
Did any of you hear about this?
Every school day every student and every teacher in every Illinois public school is legally required to take a moment out of their day to be... silent. That's it. Silent. No talking, no humming, no farting, no nothing. For this moment they can pray, they can reflect on their week, or they can sit silently with their thumbs up both nostrils just as long as their actions are not distracting to others and absolutely no sounds are made. It will allow the kids to “listen to the rustling of leaves, to listen to the chirping of a bird, to listen to the tip-tap of a kid walking.” Tip-tap? Seriously?
Another purpose for this mandatory moment of silence (MMoS); (My interpretation.) It is meant to deter students from the black whole that’s twisted our kids into the depressed, violent, and drugged up little children that they’ve seemingly become.
“Rep. Will Davis (D-Homewood), the bill’s chief sponsor, denied he was promoting school prayer but instead said a moment of silence possibly could avert tragedies like the recent school shooting in Cleveland, where a troubled 14-year-old shot two students and two teachers before killing himself. Just think if that student had an opportunity maybe to sit and reflect,” Davis said.” – Chicago Sun Times
Yes, Mr. Davis, what exactly would that child sit and reflect on? Maybe it would give him a moment to rethink his decision to shoot up his school and himself. Or maybe, just maybe it would give him a moment to think for the elleventy-billionth time how unhappy he is and how he feels like there is no other way to be heard. One moment out of one day will not deter someone that feels so beaten down by society, peers, family, or whatever it is that has a person contemplating such rash measures. It's simple algebra, one undefined variable (aka. MMoS) for every day of the school year will produce an undefined result.
Additionally, who says our children have become these no good tyrants who can't contain their evil behavior? The news? Phooey. Because, last I knew, people have had depression (diagnosed or not) since before the year 2007. People have been gunning down other people prior to the formation of the US of A, It should come as no surprise that children are depressed and, in turn, channel those feelings into violence and rash decisions that they’ve learned from their predecessors.
I have no problem with giving students the opportunity to pray for a moment or to reflect for a moment but don’t cover up a political strategy to put religion back into the public school system by blaming a disgruntled fraction of the student body. Or at least come up with a better cover. Few will accept the BS being offered. Personally, I would have been the student painting her fingernails with a pink highlighter in the back of the classroom until the MMoS was over.
Every school day every student and every teacher in every Illinois public school is legally required to take a moment out of their day to be... silent. That's it. Silent. No talking, no humming, no farting, no nothing. For this moment they can pray, they can reflect on their week, or they can sit silently with their thumbs up both nostrils just as long as their actions are not distracting to others and absolutely no sounds are made. It will allow the kids to “listen to the rustling of leaves, to listen to the chirping of a bird, to listen to the tip-tap of a kid walking.” Tip-tap? Seriously?
Another purpose for this mandatory moment of silence (MMoS); (My interpretation.) It is meant to deter students from the black whole that’s twisted our kids into the depressed, violent, and drugged up little children that they’ve seemingly become.
“Rep. Will Davis (D-Homewood), the bill’s chief sponsor, denied he was promoting school prayer but instead said a moment of silence possibly could avert tragedies like the recent school shooting in Cleveland, where a troubled 14-year-old shot two students and two teachers before killing himself. Just think if that student had an opportunity maybe to sit and reflect,” Davis said.” – Chicago Sun Times
Yes, Mr. Davis, what exactly would that child sit and reflect on? Maybe it would give him a moment to rethink his decision to shoot up his school and himself. Or maybe, just maybe it would give him a moment to think for the elleventy-billionth time how unhappy he is and how he feels like there is no other way to be heard. One moment out of one day will not deter someone that feels so beaten down by society, peers, family, or whatever it is that has a person contemplating such rash measures. It's simple algebra, one undefined variable (aka. MMoS) for every day of the school year will produce an undefined result.
Additionally, who says our children have become these no good tyrants who can't contain their evil behavior? The news? Phooey. Because, last I knew, people have had depression (diagnosed or not) since before the year 2007. People have been gunning down other people prior to the formation of the US of A, It should come as no surprise that children are depressed and, in turn, channel those feelings into violence and rash decisions that they’ve learned from their predecessors.
I have no problem with giving students the opportunity to pray for a moment or to reflect for a moment but don’t cover up a political strategy to put religion back into the public school system by blaming a disgruntled fraction of the student body. Or at least come up with a better cover. Few will accept the BS being offered. Personally, I would have been the student painting her fingernails with a pink highlighter in the back of the classroom until the MMoS was over.
17 October 2007
All Dressed In White
A long, long time ago there was this boy and this girl. The boy and the girl went to the same school and lived in neighboring towns but knew nothing of each other. Then, one day in the middle of a scorching summer they were introduced. The boy had a shaggy mop of brown hair on his head and wore oversized shorts with an equally oversized t-shirt. The girl wore a tiny pair of jean shorts and green, baby doll top and finished the look off with perfectly groomed locks of black hair.
Ignoring the butterflies that filled their bellies, the boy and the girl went on out for their first night on the town together at the tender age of 17. The boy was a perfect gentleman; he picked the girl up to meet her intimidating and large family, he held open every door she went through, he told her how pretty she looked, and at the end he asked her for a second date. The only sounds that crossed the dinner table that night were the clanking of knives and forks and the occasional sounds of nervous laughter when their eyes would happen to meet. The girl knew not to become attached to this relationship; it couldn’t possibly last longer than two weeks.
Eight years later, the boy and the girl are still together. They went to college together, they moved in with each other, and have started a life together. Four days ago the boy asked the girl to be his wife and the girl said yes. One year from now, this girl and her Bridge Boy will live happily ever after as husband and wife.
Ignoring the butterflies that filled their bellies, the boy and the girl went on out for their first night on the town together at the tender age of 17. The boy was a perfect gentleman; he picked the girl up to meet her intimidating and large family, he held open every door she went through, he told her how pretty she looked, and at the end he asked her for a second date. The only sounds that crossed the dinner table that night were the clanking of knives and forks and the occasional sounds of nervous laughter when their eyes would happen to meet. The girl knew not to become attached to this relationship; it couldn’t possibly last longer than two weeks.
Eight years later, the boy and the girl are still together. They went to college together, they moved in with each other, and have started a life together. Four days ago the boy asked the girl to be his wife and the girl said yes. One year from now, this girl and her Bridge Boy will live happily ever after as husband and wife.
02 October 2007
School Buses, Betty Boop, Spinning Wheels, & a Coke
As I drive through my neighborhood in the morning all the little kiddies tra-la-la-la-la onto the big yellow school bus. The school bus that I inevitably get stuck behind as it stops at each…and…every…single…house…on the block. What ever happened to a good old-fashioned bus stop? You know, the kind at the end of the street that you walk to. Is this unheard of anymore?
The only year I ever had to take the bus was when I was in the first grade. We lived in Japan at the time so my sister S and I had to commute to an American school on the island. I remember stepping into the bus to find kids swinging like Kerri Strug from the parallel handlebars that spanned the center isle. Our poor, unfortunate school bus driver, who did not speak a lick of English, would get so angry when kids would pull the windows down past the safety line and stick their heads outside the bus. He would yell. We would laugh at the jibberish noises he made. We would eventually calm down long enough to draw butt cheeks on the fogged up windows before resuming our swing-half-turns on the high bar. Eventually the school rallied up some volunteer parents to sit on the bus with us during the morning and afternoon commutes. There weren’t, however, enough parents to ride with us every day. Poor school bus driver, he never knew from one day to the next if it was going to be a good day on the job or a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. (If you got that reference, you’ve earned yourself some pie!)
I got a little off track with that story… my point; I made some absolutely fabulous friends at that bus stop. We would compare what our mom’s made us for lunch. I automatically envied those who got to eat a hot lunch that day while I carried around my Barbie and the Rocker’s lunch box with matching thermos. (Although, I mist admit, my mom made some pretty kick ass cold lunches.) I often traded my oatmeal cream pie for a baggie of apple slices. Cream filling is just not my thing.
These kids that get picked up at the end of their driveways are missing out on an amazing bus stop experience.
My morning commute continues down a major thoroughfare with nothing of interest to speak of until I turn off onto a route that very few know about. I keep this knowledge to myself in order to keep traffic to a minimum. From this point it’s actually a very picturesque drive. I make my way through a very hoity-toity neighborhood that has their very own clubhouse, golf course, and park. During morning drive times, the fuzz will hang out behind large gates and shrubbery in order to catch you going anything over the allotted 25 miles per hour. I’ve got them outwitted though. I know all of their hiding spots. Red Betty (I named my car after Betty Boop) and I are too smart for the likes of them! Ha ha!
Before I make my way into downtown Springfield, the last of the scenery is a park. It’s just like any old park; trails, swing sets, and dog poop. However, this park has one thing that not many others can lay claim to. About once a month there is a group of women that meet in an open area of the park to spin thread on their (a little fanfare, please) spinning wheels! Real life, honest-to-goodness, Sleeping Beauty, 16th birthday, spinning wheels! Is this a common hobby? I never thought of this as something many people do on their own time let alone an entire group of people in the same community who share this bizarre interest. Where do you even go to purchase a spinning wheel? When and how does one become interested in spinning thread on a wheel? This discovery was so mind-blowing to me the first time I caught a glimpse of their unusual get-together. I stared them down in passing until I realized I had switched lanes and was driving down the wrong side of the street. Sometimes, as I am on my way back to work from lunch I will see the small collection of spinning artisans and think to myself, "I would rather be playing on a spinning wheel than going back to work." What would I spin on that wheel? I can do it, how hard could it be?
As I make my way into downtown traffic gets thicker, the red lights get longer, and the homeless people run amuck. Springfield has major issues with the homeless population. Twice I’ve had run-ins with those in need but so far I’m 0 for 2. The first time, I was running an errand for work. I had to walk about two blocks down the street to drop off some proofs and right outside my office building there was a man. He asked me for anything I could offer. I had nothing on me other than the manila envelope containing the samples. I didn’t think sample pieces of a brochure would be of any use to him so I had to tell him that I had nothing to give. He and I walked in opposite directions and I was wracked with guilt. He probably thought I just didn’t want to give him anything. He probably thinks I’m a bitchy, rich person who is not willing to part with a solitary dime.
This directly leads into my second run-in with a woman who was over-heated, parched, and needed a phone number. Because of my last experience, I was more than willing to help. Bridge Man and I were downtown taking in the sights when she came up to us. She began talking about her car that had just run out of gas. Her kids were with the car and she needed the number for a local women’s shelter because she had to get away from her abusive man. I told her that I would buy her a drink from a nearby ice cream shop where we could also ask to use their phone book. She then proceeded to tell me that she wasn’t comfortable going into that shop and that we should follow her to a bar that was just around the corner. We followed. Bridge Man expressed his concerns. He didn’t think following a stranger to an unknown place was a good idea. We went inside the bar with her. She decided instead of water she wanted a coke. We walked outside where we were suddenly surrounded by people. They all knew her name and she started talking to a few of them. One of them came up to Bridge Man and me and asked if we had any money to give him. This is where I began to feel uncomfortable. The woman then asked if I had any money to give her so she could put some gas in her car. Bridge Man intervened. He said that we had no money and that we were leaving. He grabbed my arm and we were outta there.
Once again, I was unable to help. I know that the situation wasn’t the best but what if her kids were really somewhere with her abandoned car? What if her man really was abusive to her and her kids? I did nothing to help. Strike two.
...
Well, I just reread this entire post. Made changes. Then almost deleted the entire thing. I basically just rambled on for days and days, made no point, came to no conclusion. But after all that work and my nagging bloggers block, I couldn't get myself to hit delete. So, here is my conclusion. I think bus stops should be reinvented. I would like to learn to use a spinning wheel. And I don’t have good people skills with the homeless. I’m done.
The only year I ever had to take the bus was when I was in the first grade. We lived in Japan at the time so my sister S and I had to commute to an American school on the island. I remember stepping into the bus to find kids swinging like Kerri Strug from the parallel handlebars that spanned the center isle. Our poor, unfortunate school bus driver, who did not speak a lick of English, would get so angry when kids would pull the windows down past the safety line and stick their heads outside the bus. He would yell. We would laugh at the jibberish noises he made. We would eventually calm down long enough to draw butt cheeks on the fogged up windows before resuming our swing-half-turns on the high bar. Eventually the school rallied up some volunteer parents to sit on the bus with us during the morning and afternoon commutes. There weren’t, however, enough parents to ride with us every day. Poor school bus driver, he never knew from one day to the next if it was going to be a good day on the job or a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. (If you got that reference, you’ve earned yourself some pie!)
I got a little off track with that story… my point; I made some absolutely fabulous friends at that bus stop. We would compare what our mom’s made us for lunch. I automatically envied those who got to eat a hot lunch that day while I carried around my Barbie and the Rocker’s lunch box with matching thermos. (Although, I mist admit, my mom made some pretty kick ass cold lunches.) I often traded my oatmeal cream pie for a baggie of apple slices. Cream filling is just not my thing.
These kids that get picked up at the end of their driveways are missing out on an amazing bus stop experience.
My morning commute continues down a major thoroughfare with nothing of interest to speak of until I turn off onto a route that very few know about. I keep this knowledge to myself in order to keep traffic to a minimum. From this point it’s actually a very picturesque drive. I make my way through a very hoity-toity neighborhood that has their very own clubhouse, golf course, and park. During morning drive times, the fuzz will hang out behind large gates and shrubbery in order to catch you going anything over the allotted 25 miles per hour. I’ve got them outwitted though. I know all of their hiding spots. Red Betty (I named my car after Betty Boop) and I are too smart for the likes of them! Ha ha!
Before I make my way into downtown Springfield, the last of the scenery is a park. It’s just like any old park; trails, swing sets, and dog poop. However, this park has one thing that not many others can lay claim to. About once a month there is a group of women that meet in an open area of the park to spin thread on their (a little fanfare, please) spinning wheels! Real life, honest-to-goodness, Sleeping Beauty, 16th birthday, spinning wheels! Is this a common hobby? I never thought of this as something many people do on their own time let alone an entire group of people in the same community who share this bizarre interest. Where do you even go to purchase a spinning wheel? When and how does one become interested in spinning thread on a wheel? This discovery was so mind-blowing to me the first time I caught a glimpse of their unusual get-together. I stared them down in passing until I realized I had switched lanes and was driving down the wrong side of the street. Sometimes, as I am on my way back to work from lunch I will see the small collection of spinning artisans and think to myself, "I would rather be playing on a spinning wheel than going back to work." What would I spin on that wheel? I can do it, how hard could it be?
As I make my way into downtown traffic gets thicker, the red lights get longer, and the homeless people run amuck. Springfield has major issues with the homeless population. Twice I’ve had run-ins with those in need but so far I’m 0 for 2. The first time, I was running an errand for work. I had to walk about two blocks down the street to drop off some proofs and right outside my office building there was a man. He asked me for anything I could offer. I had nothing on me other than the manila envelope containing the samples. I didn’t think sample pieces of a brochure would be of any use to him so I had to tell him that I had nothing to give. He and I walked in opposite directions and I was wracked with guilt. He probably thought I just didn’t want to give him anything. He probably thinks I’m a bitchy, rich person who is not willing to part with a solitary dime.
This directly leads into my second run-in with a woman who was over-heated, parched, and needed a phone number. Because of my last experience, I was more than willing to help. Bridge Man and I were downtown taking in the sights when she came up to us. She began talking about her car that had just run out of gas. Her kids were with the car and she needed the number for a local women’s shelter because she had to get away from her abusive man. I told her that I would buy her a drink from a nearby ice cream shop where we could also ask to use their phone book. She then proceeded to tell me that she wasn’t comfortable going into that shop and that we should follow her to a bar that was just around the corner. We followed. Bridge Man expressed his concerns. He didn’t think following a stranger to an unknown place was a good idea. We went inside the bar with her. She decided instead of water she wanted a coke. We walked outside where we were suddenly surrounded by people. They all knew her name and she started talking to a few of them. One of them came up to Bridge Man and me and asked if we had any money to give him. This is where I began to feel uncomfortable. The woman then asked if I had any money to give her so she could put some gas in her car. Bridge Man intervened. He said that we had no money and that we were leaving. He grabbed my arm and we were outta there.
Once again, I was unable to help. I know that the situation wasn’t the best but what if her kids were really somewhere with her abandoned car? What if her man really was abusive to her and her kids? I did nothing to help. Strike two.
...
Well, I just reread this entire post. Made changes. Then almost deleted the entire thing. I basically just rambled on for days and days, made no point, came to no conclusion. But after all that work and my nagging bloggers block, I couldn't get myself to hit delete. So, here is my conclusion. I think bus stops should be reinvented. I would like to learn to use a spinning wheel. And I don’t have good people skills with the homeless. I’m done.
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