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My humorous thoughts about life.
"My Humorous and Helpful Thoughts About Teaching / Educational Resources for Your
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I flipped through HBO's movies on demand and found a twelve minute preview of Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter that happened to be 11½ minutes too long. I mean really. Honest Abe doing fancy kickboxing while slicing blood suckers with his hatchet? What will they come up with next?
*George Washington wrestling the Abominable snowman in the Florida Keys?
*John Adams wearing a hula skirt and singing Bali Hai?
*Maybe they can dye Thomas Jefferson's hair black to turn him Goth!
Is there not any respect for our past presidents?
The writer obviously knew little about Lincoln because a true movie about him would surely be a comedy. I kid you not. Lincoln was funny! Here's my favorite anecdote about him.
A visitor once asked Lincoln how many men the rebels had in the field. Lincoln replied seriously, “Twelve hundred thousand, according to the best authority.”
The visitor turned pale and gasped, “Good Heavens!”
Lincoln continued: “Yes, sir; twelve hundred thousand. You see, all of our generals, when they get whipped, say the enemy outnumbers them three to one, and I must believe them. We have four hundred thousand men in the field, and three times four makes twelve. Twelve hundred thousand; no doubt about it.”
Long ago when we were sparkless neutrons, Volta, Franklin, and others experimented with my brothers, sisters, and me in their quest for understanding. Many, however, refused to relate to our story as they turned up their lethargic noses at our science. For youngsters take us for granted as their eyes gloss over when teachers discuss what defines our very existence.
My electrifying journey began with me swimming in a gigantic can of chemicals. What was even worse than drowning in sludge was not knowing if I’d have a positive or negative experience. I merely floated between the two terminals and basked in a strong negative energy.
I wanted to sink to the bottom of the battery, but a magnetic pull wouldn't allow it. With a click from above, a wire appeared and forced me to float toward the positive side of the terminal.
It connected me to my polar opposite andZAP! I got sucked through the wire.Floating! Zinging! Charged with life!I performed exhilarating back flips as I flowed along a magnetic field. Reaching the end of the journey, I dove into the light--and we were one. Once electricity radiated through my aroused nucleus, I found my true purpose and tasted life as never before.
I am the glow that attracts and zaps pesky insects. The gleam that keeps one from bumping knees as would have happened when walking through darkness. I am, I was, I'll always be electricity.
I may be a week overdue, but here goes a post about my favorite time of year, Summer. This go around, I'm spending summer recuperating from surgery behind books, those of others and the one I'm writing.
I've read five books so far this summer. One was a silly little kid read I'd somehow missed over the years. I'm talking about Frindle by Andrew Clements. This author has never been one of my favorites, but Frindle is pretty good. I admire the author's ability to create believable characters and challenge them to grow. Plus, who would of thunk of a kid causing a school revolution over what to call a pen. It's downright stupid of the teacher to play this challenge. As a teacher, I would've just gone along with the thing and call it small stuff.
Next, I read the dirty series that I mentioned a few posts back. Knowing the freakish nature of Christian Grey, what would he do with a pen? Oh, I can't go there but am wiggling at the thought. And I finally made up my mind. I want him! Armie Hammer has got to take the role of this dark, sexy character. Yep! They'd be swooning in the theatre. He's almost as hot as my dear husband. I say almost.
My latest read was a salute to Ray Bradbury with his fireman story. This was a bit deep for a post surgery gal. I guess I read kid's books and trash because I can't wrap my head around literary works.
So what's next? Hmm. I have a stack of books on my nitestand. (No, I didn't misspell this word. My dad was in the furniture business and that's what the tags always said). I've always wanted to read Bud, Not Buddy yet StanfordWong has been waiting for a year. Vicky's book Cleopatra's Moon is another possibility as is Uprising. I love Margaret Peterson Haddix, so maybe I should grab her novel.
I've got a plan. I'm going to read the first page of each of these. The one that won't let me go wins. Done. Oooo. Bud, Not Buddy was so tempting and I even went two pages in, but alas, Depression Era. I don't know after just reading the dark, depressing novel Fahrenheit 451. I need something light and uplifting, so I'm going with Lisa Yee's story about a goofball kid flunking English.
On June 7, I had a hysterectomy and hospital stay.
I was in that bathroom every 1-2 hours thanks to a drippy IV.
The nurses kept a board with medical notes. When they wrote morning blood test, I threatened to erase the red pen.
To keep from getting pneumonia, I had to do regular breathing exercises. Keep the blue ball bobbing. I messed up by leaving the torture device at the hospital--feeling raspy.
I received beautiful flowers.
I'm home, but our power had been off for a full day. We just got it back.
This topic is supposed to be filled with the age old wisdom of one who's tasted the ups and downs of life and has now matured to a quiet understanding. Yeah, right!
If I had my life to live over, there are a few things I might do differently:
(1) I would not have cried softly in Kindergarten after not getting to pet the snake but rather stood up boldly and announced, "Hey! You missed me!"
(2) Everyday in second grade, a classmate asked me to lend her a dime. Being timid, I gave it to her while knowing she'd never give it back. I probably gave her at least $2 - $3, with the interest rate from the sixties and adjustment for inflation... Hmm. I need to send her a bill or at least link this post to her Facebook page to prove I'm no longer that wimp.
(3) In a do over, I would have pitched a fit and refused to wear that polyester, light blue gym uniform because my mom didn't want to spend $7 to buy me a new one. In my childhood, a parent's "No" meant no without an argument, but that was important enough that in hindsight, I should have fought it or paid for a red one myself. That embarrassing uniform with my sister's initials scarred me for life! This morning, I searched the internet for a uniform as ugly as that one. I couldn't find anything THAT bad.
(4) I didn't need to date him or be intimate, but I wish I would have gotten to know him as he stood in the corner with his fraternity buddies and radiated his handsomeness. It might have been enriching to have become his good friend and vicariously enjoyed his rise to fame and fortune. He missed his chance. Brad Pitt and I went our separate ways.
I should have said, "Hello" as she sunbathed in front of her sorority house across the street, but Sheryl Crow also missed the chance to know me. We were all just kids not knowing which one of us was going places. If I would have listened to my professor and majored in education like he told me to do, I probably would have known her well. Ironically, I'm a teacher and she is not.
I know Yakov Smirnoff, and he's more fun than Brad Pitt and Sheryl Crow put together.
(5) When my husband gave me a compound sentence, "Will you marry me and live in Memphis?" maybe I should have negotiated the Memphis thing. Yes, I love him, but back when, I didn't quite get the full picture of what he was asking for. This red state of Tennessee can be a bit much. At least as of last Thursday, I no longer have a uterus for them to mess with.
Oh, Beth meant big stuff like career decisions, etc? I'm sure I never interpret her challenges the way she intends us to. Honestly, I don't have a clue about that. It's far too deep for me.
When I was a wee little girl, I ate two things: hot dogs and jello. The hot dogs had to be peeled of skin and cut into little round pieces while the jello was usually red.
My frantic mother rushed me to the doctor and asked, "What do I do?"
"Feed her hot dogs and jello," the doctor said.
(Reminds me of the old joke, "Doc, it hurts when I do this!"
"Don't do this.")
So Mom left me alone and with little fanfare, my food jag slipped away. Today there are very few foods I don't like. Don't get me wrong, there are many things I won't eat, but it's due to diet, health, or religious issues, not from stamping my feet like a two year old.
I still love hot dogs (even after the events from my A-Z hot dog post). Here is a picture of my lunch. Yes. That's a hot dog hiding behind asparagus, mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes. I count carbs, so you're not seeing a slice of bread, but I did eat a delicious 13 carb fiber brownie for dessert. The vegetables are about 5 carbs per serving, and I probably have at least four servings on the plate, so I think I'm good. If not, I will instantly balloon out and have to throw out the few things that didn't shrink in my hot closet, but that's okay too because my kids have directions via Rita Rudner.
They've grown up hearing, "If I'm ever on life support, don't pull the plug until I'm a size six."
"Yes, Mother." They roll their eyes and never find me even slightly funny.
Back to the carbs. I started counting carbs in April and since then I've shed about twenty pounds. I don't eat much in the way of sugar, but that's nothing new. The thought of a glazed donut makes me want to gag, which is ironic because my WIP is a story called MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS and involves a little boy who's deprived of these and other delectables from his over protective mother.
I don't eat pork as a poor attempt to follow at least one kosher law. If I were truly a good Jew, I'd give up my favorite traif, shrimp, but it ain't happening. At least not outside the home.
I like wine, but every time I drink a glass, my blood sugar spikes. I'm not a Diabetic but the disease runs heavily in my family and that's the main reason I'm carb counting. I have a pre-Diabetic diagnosis and don't want to take it any further than that, so I figure I have a choice: Eat healthy and lose weight or get the disease and lose the weight of a leg or two. I choose the former. Yay! Blood sugar was 93 this morning.
As for foods I don't like, I hate liver, olives, sweet pickles and relish. I'm not a big fan of okra, but it has more to due with the slimy texture than the taste. It looks like snot and doesn't score too well on my appetizing meter.
Now that you know my food issues, I leave you with a musical number on the topic. Signing off from the Methodist Germantown Hospital. Surgery was a success, and I'm going home today. I hope the dogs don't attack me when I head through the door.
Beware of Dogs
Enjoy one of my favorite songs about a yummy food that I won't be eating for awhile.
You know there's trouble when a school has an open lunch policy, a park next door, and a school full of spoiled rich kids with enough money to buy whatever they want. That was my 1970s high school.
Although I never partook in the afternoon escapes of my high school, I have vivid memories of the aftermath. Each day after lunch, I'd sit in English class and stare at the boy across the room. His handsome face was marred by bloodshot eyes and a faraway expression. He never spoke nor seemed to be a part of the class. Did the teacher not notice his drugged out appearance or did she just not care? It was scary to think someone could be that high in a high school class. It was even scarier to think of a good looking kid being so screwed up.
I know this is a humor blog, and I'm sure there is plenty to make fun of when it comes to high kids. I've included funny pictures because it's better than crying, but it just isn't funny to have recently attended TWO funerals for young men who over dosed.
I attended "high" school without even a buzz. I survived, as did my stoned classmates, without any red ribbon weeks or "Just Say No" assemblies, so why are today's kids dying? Are the drugs containing dangerous fillers that my classmates didn't encounter? Is it a social class thing? Maybe my classmates bought purer drugs with their abundance of money.
I know today's schools have a lot more control on kids than my school did. No open lunch policies and no smoking lounge for kids nor teachers. Is that the problem? Has too much restriction caused a youth rebellion? I don't know the answer to this.
I'd say it's all about good parenting, but the parents mourning their kids are top notch! Seriously. These are wonderful parents who were there for the kids throughout.
I know this is not the direction Beth expected when she wrote "High School," but in lieu of what's been going on in my community it's what on my mind.
I can certainly tell the kids to "Just Say No," but I already did that. They didn't listen. So what now?
Just last week, I read about a fifth grade boy who decided to defy his teacher by calling a pen a "Frindle." This is the typical read for me, not too risky in the big picture but such a good book. This week, I read something a bit different. Oh, my.
Perhaps the party conversation made me curious, or maybe it's the #1 on The New York Times Best Seller list that caught my attention. Could I have been drawn to the book because it was banned in multiple book stores? The final truth: I read it.
*blush*
This week's Writer's Post topic is Ethos, Pathos, Logos which means, I'm supposed to convince you to read this book. I'm not going to. Half of you would call it trash and be mad at me for leading you down this dark path. If you do read it, you might not want to admit. It's downright naughty.
Ethos - You've got to wonder about the knowledge of the author. Since this is a world I will never enter, I'll just have to trust her as she takes me through my vicarious thrill. I imagine writing a story like this would be even more embarrassing than reading one.
Pathos - Appeals to the emotions? Oh yeah. Take one super hot male and combine him with a twisted mind, and you've appealed to the emotions. The book contains fear for the heroine as well as a sick curiosity for what his next "room of pain" trick will be. Oh, and did I mention: Christian Grey is extremely hot. ; )
Logos - It was on sale for $10 at Costco when I passed the dirty little novel that has this country talking. It's summer vacation, and I have plenty of time to read, so why not?
Okay, I confess. I'm ready for the sequel.
*blush* *blush* *blush*
I've just got to know why Christian is so weird and what he's going to do to win Ana after he royally messed up. With my G rated life, this vicarious venture turns me fifty shades of red. What's it about you ask? Oh, no. I'm not going into detail on my innocent little blog. You'll just have to read it yourself . . . but don't say I didn't warn you.
On another note, the movie rights have been sold. The success or failure of the movie is all about picking the best man to play Christian. The women have got to be absolutely swooning over him or nothing is going to work. Who do you vote for?
Or maybe you prefer one of these choices.
Sorry, but the best looking man is not up for the part, and is a little older than 27. Plus, he's married to me, so you can't swoon over him.
I hate reality TV. It's more than just the obvious fact that I'd be the first one voted off the island due to my tactless thirst for honesty. The queen bee would make a heartless remark about the fat chick, and I'd be the one to say, "You arrogant dog! You're just saying that to turn everyone against her." Then it would be over for me.
I've never been good at people games. If someone treads where they shouldn't, I don't give subtle hints. Instead I boldly yell, "Get out of there!" My son calls it a lack of filter and sites it as the main reason all of his girlfriends and sibling's boyfriends have been afraid of me. I'm not that scary, unless you're trying to hide the truth–I'll find it.
The other night, I woke to a running toilet and found my youngest daughter poised in front of the television watching brides who were competing for plastic surgery. Individuals claimed to have noses that were too big or breasts that were too small, but in my mind, the only thing they needed was a psychologist's bench.
What sort of message do these shows teach our kids? First off, you are not okay the way you are and must have plastic surgery in order to look good for your future husband. I don't know about you, but if my fiance supported my doing this, I'd tell him to take a hike.
As for my son, if I saw a future Mrs. Lansky embarrassing the competition with twisted remarks on national TV, I'd work hard to break the engagement.
Of course, my kids only date drop dead beautiful people anyway, so they'd never be on this plastic surgery show. But wait a minute, these girls weren't ugly either. It's not like they were 60+ years old and wanting a little botox to remove a wrinkle. Nor, were they victims of fire or accidents that had facial deformities. Absolutely nothing was wrong with the way any of them looked, so I have to question a doctor putting them through the surgery. Perhaps it was all about making money?
A Beautiful Bride
The winners of these shows are those who outsmart the others through cold, calculated, shrewdness. I don't know about you, but these are not the way I want people to act. Nor, am I in favor of humiliating individuals on national TV. It's as if we're telling our children that it's good to be cruel to others.
If this is any indication of the world to come, I'm glad I'll be checking out in thirty years or so.
A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana, and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: 'Talking Dog For Sale.' He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the backyard.
The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting there.
"You talk?" he asks.
"Yep," the Lab replies.
After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says "So, what's your story?"
The Lab looks up and says, "Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all, they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping."
"I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running. But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.''I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired." The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog. "Ten dollars," the guy says.
"Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?"
"Because he's a liar. He never did any of that shit."
"Hop. Hop. We like to hop. We like to hop on top of Pop."
"Stop! You must not hop on Pop."
This week's GBE2 prompt is to pick a line from a book and write about it. Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss is a strong story with well developed characters who like to skate on the dark side. The riveting plot places kids in extreme danger when they resort to Pop hopping.
But let's face it, one should not "Hop on Pop," and here's why. First off, if you're still calling your dad "Pop," chances are, you passed childhood a long time ago. Let's face it. How many kids do you know who call Daddy "Pop?"
So now that we've decided you're quite mature, Pop must be ancient--I mean hairs in the ears, false teeth, cane carrying old! The weak bones of senior citizens cannot handle being hopped on, especially if you're an American. Surely, you've heard the latest studies in the news. Obesity is at an epidemic in the states. With the width of average Americans, do grown fat people really need to be hopping on old men? Then again, there might be more to hop on if Pop is a butterball too. None the less, you might rupture Pop's spleen, break his bones, or God only knows what else.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named told me it is a biblical sin for an adult to make a parent bleed or to bruise one's dad. In fact, historically this was punishable by death. Many doctors will not operate on their parents for this reason. So, why in the world would you hop on Pop? Take my advice. Give it up, learn respect, and DON'T HOP ON POP!
Last night we returned from my daughter's graduation from The University of Maryland. Here is a small sampling of some of the humorous photos that were taken.
