No, I wasn't trying to be snarky, I was trying to play off that "10 Things I Hate About You" which I just now remembered had a very young, extra cute Heath Ledger in it. With....oh god, what was her name that improbably popped up in a Bourney Identity movie - or was it a Mission Impossible movie?
ANYWAY, so here's my "long awaited" Top Ten Things I Miss From Sonomarin; I'm combining the counties coz I lived in Sonoma but worked in Marin.
1) The parking. Sorry SueLin, but my recent hideously expensive towing incident bumps you out of the top spot. I sometimes, maybe had to walk 3-4 blocks when I parked in downtown Petaluma. And of course at home, I had a garage.
2) My friend SueLin. I realized the other night that even tho we've known each other for TWENTY-SIX YEARS now, this past year was the first time we'd lived in the same city since 1991. Although I already knew this about her, it was, of course, awesome to be able to spend time again with someone so smart, funny, generous......excuse me I have something in my eye! :)
3) My friend Lorrie. My only other friend in Petaluma. You could say, "How sad," OR you could say, "Well, how lucky you were to have two such fantastic people as SueLin and Lorrie for friends that you didn't even need any more friends!" I prefer to think of it as the latter.
4) My friend Mary. Mary is a ROCK STAR at Conservation Corps North Bay, and I am lucky that, for my year plus there, I had her there not only for support for my rants about Kyle and Sonomarin drivers, but also as a VERY helpful friend when Kyle and I lost our cat.
Break: the good thing about the above three, is I can still see them - but they're on the list coz I don't get to see them as much!
5) The wine. I mean, I can get wine here, and I'm trying to get back in the habit, but when you live up in Sonoma, you just kind of HAVE to drink wine more often! :)
6) The townhouse I had. Don't think I've ever lived in a place that was three stories before. It was kinda cool just for that, but also had a fabulous kitchen - probably the best I've ever had, and great amenities in the complex. Something that size, with the garage and those amenities, would probably run at least $2700 here. Welcome back to the City!
7) CCNB. Conservation Corps North Bay is an awesome organization doing amazing work and having a significant impact on the earth and our youth. I'm glad I got to be a part of it for awhile!
8) The quiet. While I love the bustle and hubub and vibrancy of the City, and have acclimated to the not-really-so-bad-most-of-the-time sound from the streets, it's still annoying on those nights when more than one siren goes by. Of course, I could live in the Sunset or Richmond if I wantedzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. :)
9) Papa John's. Yes, SueLin, there are some good restaurants in Petaluma, as well as in Marin, but I miss most the convenience of the Papa John's right down the street coz baking it yourself is not only cheaper, but taste better/fresher. Wow, I could do a commercial for them! Oh, wait, I guess I just did.
10) My boy. I saved him for last coz he's really, actually, the most important. Although Kyle still has some, er, life lessons to learn, I still love the little brat something fierce and miss him every single day!
So it may not be a very glamorous list, and of course is half-populated with people, but I did enjoy my time in Sonomarin overall. Word.
10/26/09
Sign me up!
So with Kyle doing more to join the Army than anything else he's ever tried to do on his own, I was thinking how horrible it would be if he went to Afghanistan, etc. I mean, truth be told, I would have been all for going, hard, after Bin Laden right away, but NOOOO, it was more important to go into Iraq. And, again, simply for going along with Bush on, Hillary doesn't deserve to be President, but ANYWAY, I got to thinking, what would I go to war over?
And I thought of something. If I knew it would help, and there'd be a decent chance, I'd totally take up arms to separate this country and get me away from the gap-toothed, slack-jawed, in-bred, racist yokels that ask/allow/provide for the following:
* the 46% of White Americans who find Fox news "credible" (5% of African-Americans do, and 11% of Hispanics)
* the outrageous, not to mention insanely stupid disconnect, of allowing guns in national parks or no credit card reform.
* speaking of guns, the just as outrageous, etc. of allowing guns on Amtrak or no federal funding
* those stupid teabaggers - "Duh! Me no want something good if brown or poor person gets it, too!"
* this totally un-shocking fact: U.S. states whose residents have more conservative religious beliefs on average tend to have higher rates of teenagers giving birth, a new study suggests. The relationship could be due to the fact that communities with such religious beliefs (a literal interpretation of the Bible, for instance) may frown upon contraception, researchers say. If that same culture isn't successfully discouraging teen sex, the pregnancy and birth rates rise. Mississippi topped the list for conservative religious beliefs and teen birth rates, according to the study results, which will be detailed in a forthcoming issue of the journal Reproductive Health.
* the fact that the GOP actually tried to spin the fact that Franken's rape amendment got 30 nay votes - all Republicans.
Check this out and sign me up for the war; at this point, I'd almost rather be dead than live in a country with such evil and stupidity:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/15/jon-stewart-takes-on-30-r_n_321985.html
And I thought of something. If I knew it would help, and there'd be a decent chance, I'd totally take up arms to separate this country and get me away from the gap-toothed, slack-jawed, in-bred, racist yokels that ask/allow/provide for the following:
* the 46% of White Americans who find Fox news "credible" (5% of African-Americans do, and 11% of Hispanics)
* the outrageous, not to mention insanely stupid disconnect, of allowing guns in national parks or no credit card reform.
* speaking of guns, the just as outrageous, etc. of allowing guns on Amtrak or no federal funding
* those stupid teabaggers - "Duh! Me no want something good if brown or poor person gets it, too!"
* this totally un-shocking fact: U.S. states whose residents have more conservative religious beliefs on average tend to have higher rates of teenagers giving birth, a new study suggests. The relationship could be due to the fact that communities with such religious beliefs (a literal interpretation of the Bible, for instance) may frown upon contraception, researchers say. If that same culture isn't successfully discouraging teen sex, the pregnancy and birth rates rise. Mississippi topped the list for conservative religious beliefs and teen birth rates, according to the study results, which will be detailed in a forthcoming issue of the journal Reproductive Health.
* the fact that the GOP actually tried to spin the fact that Franken's rape amendment got 30 nay votes - all Republicans.
Check this out and sign me up for the war; at this point, I'd almost rather be dead than live in a country with such evil and stupidity:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/15/jon-stewart-takes-on-30-r_n_321985.html
10/22/09
Apoplectic With Rage
Disclaimer: Yes, I made a mistake and understand I should be "punished," but I would really like folks' honest feedback as to whether or not I still have the right, after my stupid mistake, to be so apoplectic with rage after the following events.
So I was excited to find a parking space on Sutter, just on the other side of the street from my apt., when I got home from work yesterday and saw no street cleaning until next Wednesday. I happily parked it there and decided to BART to work today and tomorrow coz I had late afternoon meetings and the bridge is a NIGHTMARE basically any time after 4:30 p.m.
But what I stupidly forgot was that side of the street has NO parking whatsoever every day from 4-6 for rush hour, and so of course when I got home the car had been towed. Because I went and got it wthin four hours, I didn't have to pay "storage," but still had to pay effing $373.75 to get it! There's no way I could describe the rage I am in.
The fees included $155.75 for the "SF Administrative Fee," $174.25 for the towing, and $43.75 for an "Extra Dolly or Flatbed Fee" - and for those who may have forgotten, or may not know, I have an effing MINI. A MINI needs an extra dolly or flatbed?
PLUS there were TWO tickets on it totaling $186, for a grand total of $560! I mean, seriously, can you believe that? And when I'm already so broke. GAWD!
Oh and of course one of the tickets was for "Towaway." I mean, seriously, this is just disgusting beyond belief. I mean, what kind of "human beings" make these policies?
How on earth would anyone with very little income afford something like this?
So I was excited to find a parking space on Sutter, just on the other side of the street from my apt., when I got home from work yesterday and saw no street cleaning until next Wednesday. I happily parked it there and decided to BART to work today and tomorrow coz I had late afternoon meetings and the bridge is a NIGHTMARE basically any time after 4:30 p.m.
But what I stupidly forgot was that side of the street has NO parking whatsoever every day from 4-6 for rush hour, and so of course when I got home the car had been towed. Because I went and got it wthin four hours, I didn't have to pay "storage," but still had to pay effing $373.75 to get it! There's no way I could describe the rage I am in.
The fees included $155.75 for the "SF Administrative Fee," $174.25 for the towing, and $43.75 for an "Extra Dolly or Flatbed Fee" - and for those who may have forgotten, or may not know, I have an effing MINI. A MINI needs an extra dolly or flatbed?
PLUS there were TWO tickets on it totaling $186, for a grand total of $560! I mean, seriously, can you believe that? And when I'm already so broke. GAWD!
Oh and of course one of the tickets was for "Towaway." I mean, seriously, this is just disgusting beyond belief. I mean, what kind of "human beings" make these policies?
How on earth would anyone with very little income afford something like this?
10/19/09
Blue Light Special on Breast Scaffolds & Skull Pegs!
Attention ladies! I said attention! Blue light special from the FDA! For those of you who feel larger breasts are a MUST to get ahead in our hurly-burly, hustly-bustly world, there’s good news. It seems that researchers have discovered that they can remove a tissue sample from a woman’s thigh or abdomen and use it to grow additional cells, which they can then implant into your breasts! But wait, there’s more!
They will implant these growing cells in a biodegradable breast-shaped SCAFFOLD. It’s true! The scaffold is then (hopefully) metabolized within a few weeks while the cells multiply and mature into real breast tissue. These cells will fill the space left for them by the scaffolding and then SOMEHOW know when to stop growing. This is what scientists expect, at least. That these cells will SOMEHOW know when to stop growing.
Excuse me, but how? Granted, I may not know much about science (or breasts, actually), but this strikes me as, well, SCARY. What happens if they DON’T “somehow” know when to stop growing? Will doctors then inject little cell army men into the breasts to track down the out-of-control growth cells and kill them? Will they use tiny cell nuclear weapons? What a great excuse this gives a woman for those nights she’s not up to being pawed by her husband.
“Please, honey, not tonight. My new cells have overrun their scaffolding and are currently being beaten back by an army of containment cells. Ooooooh!! Excuse me.”
The flip side to this is that men will be all over this advancement like.....well.....like manipulated thigh cells on biodegradable breast scaffolding. And you know where they’ll want theirs. “Take some of these beer gut cells and slap some scaffolding on to my little buddy and turn ‘em loose in there, kay doc?” And will the guy be upset if the cells don’t “somehow” know when to stop growing? Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Um, I mean, possibly.
Now, if the thought of uncontrollable cells enlarging parts of your body isn’t scary enough, there’s something even better; and this one IS for men (who, of course, by birthright deserve the better of everything). We all know that for every woman who wants larger breasts there is a man who wants more hair. So they try minoxidil, hairpieces, implants, transplants, and yes even those spray cans if they can afford them.
But now, instead, they can have tiny metal pegs imbedded into their skulls!! It’s true. A cosmetic surgeon in......no, wrong! NOT in Los Angeles! A cosmetic surgeon in New York has come up with a SNAP-ON hairpiece. After Dr. Frankenstein inserts these little metal pegs into your head, you wait a scant three months for the skin and BONE to grow back and then you can have a hairpiece to just “snap on” to the pegs. Words fail me. Almost. I mean, I had thought the skull bone does not just simply grow back; is that not right? I barely got C’s in Science.
So, anyway, the doctor says that for the first several months it will feel like somebody has nailed a nail into your head (Ouch! Remember what THAT feels like?). But then you’ll get used to it. Kind of like the way you get used to having your breasts grow uncontrollably, I guess.
Fortunately, with all of the other, equally appalling, hairpiece options available to men, I can’t see this one becoming too popular. And, of course, what happens in airports? Or when you walk through a field of loose, extremely heavy, but still easily flyable through the air magnets? These are only two examples of why a scientist can never get a date. They’ve got it all backwards. What they should be working on are snap-on breasts and uncontrollably growing hair. I mean, if your hair keeps growing (duh, like REAL hair does) you just go get it cut. And for the woman who decided later that she didn’t like having larger breasts after all, she could just UN-SNAP THEM! If I weren’t so busy dating, I’d become a scientist myself and help to rectify this matter. In the meantime, countless poor souls will undoubtedly fall for these new wonder “improvements.”
After all, the woman with the small breasts--who is padding her bra--wants the “real” thing so that she can get the cute guy who, at the same time, is wearing a hairpiece while saving up for a better one so that he can then land the woman with the padded bra. Of course once each of them gets their respective “improvements” they then decide that they can set their sights higher and continue remaking themselves until they hit 50 and all of the tinkering boomerangs on them and they end up with the very first person they were chasing after, bitterly cursing their bad luck for “having to settle.”
They will implant these growing cells in a biodegradable breast-shaped SCAFFOLD. It’s true! The scaffold is then (hopefully) metabolized within a few weeks while the cells multiply and mature into real breast tissue. These cells will fill the space left for them by the scaffolding and then SOMEHOW know when to stop growing. This is what scientists expect, at least. That these cells will SOMEHOW know when to stop growing.
Excuse me, but how? Granted, I may not know much about science (or breasts, actually), but this strikes me as, well, SCARY. What happens if they DON’T “somehow” know when to stop growing? Will doctors then inject little cell army men into the breasts to track down the out-of-control growth cells and kill them? Will they use tiny cell nuclear weapons? What a great excuse this gives a woman for those nights she’s not up to being pawed by her husband.
“Please, honey, not tonight. My new cells have overrun their scaffolding and are currently being beaten back by an army of containment cells. Ooooooh!! Excuse me.”
The flip side to this is that men will be all over this advancement like.....well.....like manipulated thigh cells on biodegradable breast scaffolding. And you know where they’ll want theirs. “Take some of these beer gut cells and slap some scaffolding on to my little buddy and turn ‘em loose in there, kay doc?” And will the guy be upset if the cells don’t “somehow” know when to stop growing? Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Um, I mean, possibly.
Now, if the thought of uncontrollable cells enlarging parts of your body isn’t scary enough, there’s something even better; and this one IS for men (who, of course, by birthright deserve the better of everything). We all know that for every woman who wants larger breasts there is a man who wants more hair. So they try minoxidil, hairpieces, implants, transplants, and yes even those spray cans if they can afford them.
But now, instead, they can have tiny metal pegs imbedded into their skulls!! It’s true. A cosmetic surgeon in......no, wrong! NOT in Los Angeles! A cosmetic surgeon in New York has come up with a SNAP-ON hairpiece. After Dr. Frankenstein inserts these little metal pegs into your head, you wait a scant three months for the skin and BONE to grow back and then you can have a hairpiece to just “snap on” to the pegs. Words fail me. Almost. I mean, I had thought the skull bone does not just simply grow back; is that not right? I barely got C’s in Science.
So, anyway, the doctor says that for the first several months it will feel like somebody has nailed a nail into your head (Ouch! Remember what THAT feels like?). But then you’ll get used to it. Kind of like the way you get used to having your breasts grow uncontrollably, I guess.
Fortunately, with all of the other, equally appalling, hairpiece options available to men, I can’t see this one becoming too popular. And, of course, what happens in airports? Or when you walk through a field of loose, extremely heavy, but still easily flyable through the air magnets? These are only two examples of why a scientist can never get a date. They’ve got it all backwards. What they should be working on are snap-on breasts and uncontrollably growing hair. I mean, if your hair keeps growing (duh, like REAL hair does) you just go get it cut. And for the woman who decided later that she didn’t like having larger breasts after all, she could just UN-SNAP THEM! If I weren’t so busy dating, I’d become a scientist myself and help to rectify this matter. In the meantime, countless poor souls will undoubtedly fall for these new wonder “improvements.”
After all, the woman with the small breasts--who is padding her bra--wants the “real” thing so that she can get the cute guy who, at the same time, is wearing a hairpiece while saving up for a better one so that he can then land the woman with the padded bra. Of course once each of them gets their respective “improvements” they then decide that they can set their sights higher and continue remaking themselves until they hit 50 and all of the tinkering boomerangs on them and they end up with the very first person they were chasing after, bitterly cursing their bad luck for “having to settle.”
10/15/09
Youth Court Night!
So the "highlight" of McCullum Youth Court, my new job, is Court Night. We usually have it twice a month, on Wednesday nights, at the Alameda County Superior Courthouse in Oakland. In some ways, it was about as I expected; but in most ways, it was even better! :)
First of all, we've got some rock star attorneys (the attorneys, clerks, and bailffs are all youth--some of whom came through the program initially as an offender), and it was both cute and inspiring to see them up there arguing for or against the offender (these kids have pled guilty, so basically it's a sentencing hearing). Each youth juror gets to also ask 1-3 questions before going into deliberation.
Deliberation is awesome to watch. The kids take it seriously and totally get into defending and explaining their positions. Again, many of the jurors have come through as offenders, as one of the sentencing options they have is to require the offender to "volunteer" for 1-3 court nights on jury duty.
There's interesting sociological stuff going on in the deliberation room. I observed this boy's high school-age case (we have 4 courtrooms: 1 middle school, 1 high school girls, and 2 high school boys coz boys are, well, boys). This guy had been with a friend who'd waved around a replica of a handgun in a mom & pop store in Chinatown (Oakland). The young man is African-American.
As it so happened, the jury was split between 3 white kids and 3 black kids. One of the black kids had come through as an offender himself, and he basically wanted to throw the book at this guy. Wanted the maximum jury duty, maximum community service hours, maximum workshops to attend, etc.
These two white boys (probably from Piedmont), were all "progressive" and were arguing for the minimum sentence, saying the guy had basically been arrested for being Black in Chinatown. The truth, of course, was somewhere in between, and after much TORTURED negotiation, they reached an agreement.
One kid made me almost laugh out loud, coz as the two sides kept arguing over the number of hours of community service the boy should do, this juror kept insisting that the most logical, and fair, thing to do was to total up everyone's suggested hours and then divide by the number of jurors.
But the "hawk" on the juror then hiked his number to skew the results and when the Piedmont boys dropped theirs to zero, the hawk smugly pointed out that now he could just make a number that would then average out to whatever he wanted. I felt badly for logic boy. That kind of anal-retentive approach always appeals to me. :)
The other thing that was kind of a surprise, is I figured the youth offenders wouldn't be taking it so seriously, but they were seriously scared/worried. But of course I realized it WOULD be scary to be facing a group of your peers, firing questions at you, and holding your fate in their hands. This middle school boy was just terrified as the prosecuting attorney ripped into him for stealing a bike.
While there's some structural changes that need to be made at McCullum, and the culture needs to improve in some areas, I lucked out in that it's an awesome, awesome program that is having a serious impact on at-risk kids' lives at a critical juncture. Yay!
First of all, we've got some rock star attorneys (the attorneys, clerks, and bailffs are all youth--some of whom came through the program initially as an offender), and it was both cute and inspiring to see them up there arguing for or against the offender (these kids have pled guilty, so basically it's a sentencing hearing). Each youth juror gets to also ask 1-3 questions before going into deliberation.
Deliberation is awesome to watch. The kids take it seriously and totally get into defending and explaining their positions. Again, many of the jurors have come through as offenders, as one of the sentencing options they have is to require the offender to "volunteer" for 1-3 court nights on jury duty.
There's interesting sociological stuff going on in the deliberation room. I observed this boy's high school-age case (we have 4 courtrooms: 1 middle school, 1 high school girls, and 2 high school boys coz boys are, well, boys). This guy had been with a friend who'd waved around a replica of a handgun in a mom & pop store in Chinatown (Oakland). The young man is African-American.
As it so happened, the jury was split between 3 white kids and 3 black kids. One of the black kids had come through as an offender himself, and he basically wanted to throw the book at this guy. Wanted the maximum jury duty, maximum community service hours, maximum workshops to attend, etc.
These two white boys (probably from Piedmont), were all "progressive" and were arguing for the minimum sentence, saying the guy had basically been arrested for being Black in Chinatown. The truth, of course, was somewhere in between, and after much TORTURED negotiation, they reached an agreement.
One kid made me almost laugh out loud, coz as the two sides kept arguing over the number of hours of community service the boy should do, this juror kept insisting that the most logical, and fair, thing to do was to total up everyone's suggested hours and then divide by the number of jurors.
But the "hawk" on the juror then hiked his number to skew the results and when the Piedmont boys dropped theirs to zero, the hawk smugly pointed out that now he could just make a number that would then average out to whatever he wanted. I felt badly for logic boy. That kind of anal-retentive approach always appeals to me. :)
The other thing that was kind of a surprise, is I figured the youth offenders wouldn't be taking it so seriously, but they were seriously scared/worried. But of course I realized it WOULD be scary to be facing a group of your peers, firing questions at you, and holding your fate in their hands. This middle school boy was just terrified as the prosecuting attorney ripped into him for stealing a bike.
While there's some structural changes that need to be made at McCullum, and the culture needs to improve in some areas, I lucked out in that it's an awesome, awesome program that is having a serious impact on at-risk kids' lives at a critical juncture. Yay!
10/12/09
None For Me, Thanks - Or So I Thought!
And yet just a few years after this....
For the new millennium, I resolve to shriek like a banshee, flap my arms madly about, and roll my head in the largest possible circular motions I can whenever someone starts a sentence that even vaguely resembles the following in meaning/interpretation: “you know, you’re not really complete until you’ve had children.”
Don’t get me wrong: I think people who choose to have children, choose to raise them in a way that at the very least doesn’t leave them mentally or physically scarred due to parental negligence by the time they’re ready to head off into the “real world,” hey, I think those people are HEROES.
But just because I am physically capable of having children, does not necessarily mean I automatically need to “obtain” any. While I honestly believe I’d be a WONDERFUL parent if forced to (and it'd probably have to be at gunpoint), I know I’d also worry incessantly--that is, worry that I’d start sounding like everyone else I know who have had children.
“Gee, it’s so wonderful, David, you really should have one,” says my good friend, oh let’s call her Happy. Happy is always saying stuff like, “Oh, David, it’s just so incredible, you can’t imagine.” Or, “Oh, David, you really should try having one; you’d be amazed at the feeling.” Um, first of all, let me just say, yes, I can imagine I’d feel MORE than amazed if I tried having one, but still...
I invariably answer with stuff like, “Well, yes, Happy, it certainly is incredible; I mean the smell, the noise, the demands on your time...” And of course she replies with something noble like, “Oh, but you learn to forget all about YOURSELF. Your entire life is wrapped up in this extraordinary little person that YOU helped create. All of your thoughts center around her and oh my god it’s so wonderful and meow meow meow meow.”
“Meow meow meow meow?” I ask politely/confusedly.
My friend Happy giggles. “Oh, I’m sorry, I sometimes find myself now lapsing into ‘Henrietta Kitty’ speech--she’s on the ‘Mister Rogers’ show.”
“I see,” I nod fearfully while backing for the door.
The problem is, I want my entire life wrapped up in THIS extraordinary creature right now. And I’m pointing at myself. Me me me me me me. Again, I’m not dissing others’ rights to have children and enjoy them--nay, even IMMERSE themselves in them if that’s what they want. Truth be told, I LOVE all of my nieces and nephews. They are an incredibly beautiful, fun, smart, charming group of kids and I spend about a week with them each year--around Christmas--and love almost every minute of it. But that’s because, for me, it’s kind of like having a toy. I play with it all I want and then when I’m tired of it, I just go put it in the toybox (or give it to my brother, whatever). No dirty diapers. No having to instill values. No dealing with tantrums and the terrible twos and theatrical tirades and any other awful t-words connected with children.
And since I have few friends that have children, I’m hardly around them, which works for me because outside of your own and possibly your relatives, I firmly believe all other children are horrible demons who exist only to annoy old people. So I’m luckier than another friend of mine.....oh, let’s call him Unhappy. Unhappy, for some reason--some punishment from above for something he must have done as a child but which he, conveniently, cannot remember--seems to have this aura about him that attracts hateful, unruly children to his general area, no matter where that general area may be.
Unhappy can be in a restaurant, a movie theater, a BAR, it doesn’t matter. If there are evil, riotous children within scent, they will all close in on him--instantly--whenever he goes somewhere. Sometimes he tries being nice to them, perhaps attempting to disarm them, I don’t know, but it never works.
I made the mistake of going to see a movie with my friend Unhappy the other day, temporarily forgetting about his Pied-Piper-For-Horrid-Children tendency. Sure enough, we were barely into the previews of the movie when Nameless Brat #1, sitting behind us, starts kicking Unhappy’s seat. And I mean kicking it violently, not accidentally. Unhappy glances, gloweringly, at me, and then turns around to face Nameless Brat #1 and says, quite pleasantly considering, “Please stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 stares blankly at Unhappy, who glowers again at me as he swivels his head back around to catch the movie, but of course Nameless Brat #1 is at it again about 2 minutes later. Still, Unhappy tries to be polite. (please grind your teeth as you read the next sentence, to get the full effect) “PLEASE stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 again stares blankly.
Two minutes later, Nameless Brat #1 kicks Unhappy’s chair AGAIN, but also kicks MY chair as well. Nameless Brat #1 has now become Vile, Hideous Beast-Child From Hell and I whirl around and sigh/huff indignantly at both vile child and his, apparently, vile-habits inducing parent. Which brings up the only good reason I can think of to have a child. To show people how one should be raised.
Yes, my child would still be fun, spontaneous, charming, happy, gracious, etc. But he would also be WELL-BEHAVED. And I would take my well-behaved child all over town to places where maladjusted parents were forcing THEIR children on the general populace and I would plop my child down next to theirs, who would all promptly have to shield themselves from the glare, and I would say/screech: “You see! Do you see this? THIS is how a well-behaved child acts in public!” Then I would huff indignantly, take my wonder child by the hand and head home for a treat before putting him back in the toy box.
For the new millennium, I resolve to shriek like a banshee, flap my arms madly about, and roll my head in the largest possible circular motions I can whenever someone starts a sentence that even vaguely resembles the following in meaning/interpretation: “you know, you’re not really complete until you’ve had children.”
Don’t get me wrong: I think people who choose to have children, choose to raise them in a way that at the very least doesn’t leave them mentally or physically scarred due to parental negligence by the time they’re ready to head off into the “real world,” hey, I think those people are HEROES.
But just because I am physically capable of having children, does not necessarily mean I automatically need to “obtain” any. While I honestly believe I’d be a WONDERFUL parent if forced to (and it'd probably have to be at gunpoint), I know I’d also worry incessantly--that is, worry that I’d start sounding like everyone else I know who have had children.
“Gee, it’s so wonderful, David, you really should have one,” says my good friend, oh let’s call her Happy. Happy is always saying stuff like, “Oh, David, it’s just so incredible, you can’t imagine.” Or, “Oh, David, you really should try having one; you’d be amazed at the feeling.” Um, first of all, let me just say, yes, I can imagine I’d feel MORE than amazed if I tried having one, but still...
I invariably answer with stuff like, “Well, yes, Happy, it certainly is incredible; I mean the smell, the noise, the demands on your time...” And of course she replies with something noble like, “Oh, but you learn to forget all about YOURSELF. Your entire life is wrapped up in this extraordinary little person that YOU helped create. All of your thoughts center around her and oh my god it’s so wonderful and meow meow meow meow.”
“Meow meow meow meow?” I ask politely/confusedly.
My friend Happy giggles. “Oh, I’m sorry, I sometimes find myself now lapsing into ‘Henrietta Kitty’ speech--she’s on the ‘Mister Rogers’ show.”
“I see,” I nod fearfully while backing for the door.
The problem is, I want my entire life wrapped up in THIS extraordinary creature right now. And I’m pointing at myself. Me me me me me me. Again, I’m not dissing others’ rights to have children and enjoy them--nay, even IMMERSE themselves in them if that’s what they want. Truth be told, I LOVE all of my nieces and nephews. They are an incredibly beautiful, fun, smart, charming group of kids and I spend about a week with them each year--around Christmas--and love almost every minute of it. But that’s because, for me, it’s kind of like having a toy. I play with it all I want and then when I’m tired of it, I just go put it in the toybox (or give it to my brother, whatever). No dirty diapers. No having to instill values. No dealing with tantrums and the terrible twos and theatrical tirades and any other awful t-words connected with children.
And since I have few friends that have children, I’m hardly around them, which works for me because outside of your own and possibly your relatives, I firmly believe all other children are horrible demons who exist only to annoy old people. So I’m luckier than another friend of mine.....oh, let’s call him Unhappy. Unhappy, for some reason--some punishment from above for something he must have done as a child but which he, conveniently, cannot remember--seems to have this aura about him that attracts hateful, unruly children to his general area, no matter where that general area may be.
Unhappy can be in a restaurant, a movie theater, a BAR, it doesn’t matter. If there are evil, riotous children within scent, they will all close in on him--instantly--whenever he goes somewhere. Sometimes he tries being nice to them, perhaps attempting to disarm them, I don’t know, but it never works.
I made the mistake of going to see a movie with my friend Unhappy the other day, temporarily forgetting about his Pied-Piper-For-Horrid-Children tendency. Sure enough, we were barely into the previews of the movie when Nameless Brat #1, sitting behind us, starts kicking Unhappy’s seat. And I mean kicking it violently, not accidentally. Unhappy glances, gloweringly, at me, and then turns around to face Nameless Brat #1 and says, quite pleasantly considering, “Please stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 stares blankly at Unhappy, who glowers again at me as he swivels his head back around to catch the movie, but of course Nameless Brat #1 is at it again about 2 minutes later. Still, Unhappy tries to be polite. (please grind your teeth as you read the next sentence, to get the full effect) “PLEASE stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 again stares blankly.
Two minutes later, Nameless Brat #1 kicks Unhappy’s chair AGAIN, but also kicks MY chair as well. Nameless Brat #1 has now become Vile, Hideous Beast-Child From Hell and I whirl around and sigh/huff indignantly at both vile child and his, apparently, vile-habits inducing parent. Which brings up the only good reason I can think of to have a child. To show people how one should be raised.
Yes, my child would still be fun, spontaneous, charming, happy, gracious, etc. But he would also be WELL-BEHAVED. And I would take my well-behaved child all over town to places where maladjusted parents were forcing THEIR children on the general populace and I would plop my child down next to theirs, who would all promptly have to shield themselves from the glare, and I would say/screech: “You see! Do you see this? THIS is how a well-behaved child acts in public!” Then I would huff indignantly, take my wonder child by the hand and head home for a treat before putting him back in the toy box.
10/7/09
Won't somebody please think of the liability?
Okay, so I'm doing another rare "blog suggestion." I barely have time to read my own, let alone someone else's, but this Lenore Skenazy deserves kudos for "Free Range Kids." This woman caused a sensation awhile back for letting her 9-year-old son ride the NYC subway alone! You know what THAT calls for:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs
Anyway, she makes some good points about the fact that the crime rate today is actually LOWER than in 1970, and thus it's actually SAFER for kids today. But because those fewer crimes are broadcast and twitterized 24/7, well...then that explains why people can nod knowingly and/or shake their head sadly and say stuff like, "Yes, well, you know, things are different these days."
Um, yeah, it's safer.
Anyway, Ms. Skenazy just wrote about this community that will not allow children under 16 to even play outside w/o supervision! Somewhere in Florida, I think. Oh God, I just remembered! It's Code Orange! I just remembered from the airport 3 months ago! OMG, WTF, WDWD when it's Code Orange? Is this the one where we take off our shoes and do what with the toothbrush and take a picture for the hotel maid? (google toothbrush, picture, maid if you miss the reference)
And very closely tied to the whole fear FEAR FEAR thing: Is there anything more tiresome now than the word "liability?" You can't INSERT RANDOM SEMI-BIZARRE THING HERE w/o someone warning you about liability--most always in terms of ensuring you understand "they" won't be held liable. The cable guy can't tack the cable, snaking throughout the house and over the river and through the woods to make it from the stupidly placed entry point in your closet to the TV, because of "liability." Our summer campers, for an outdoor experiential environmental camp for God' sake, can't go in the ocean because of "liablity issues." You can't host a party in your own home unless you're willing to ensure that either no one gets drunk, or that if they do, they don't drive--otherwise you'll be held "liable." Roller coasters strap you in like an Air Force fighter pilot to protect the park's "liability."
OMG, random aside: fortunately, the Cyclone still operates on Coney Island. I swear, if you've never ridden this thing, and you're a coaster fan, it MUST be on your MUST list! My friend Brian and I rode it back in '94, and I swear, when we got off, I was literally shaking and slobbering and afraid to ride it again!
Don't make 'em like THAT anymore. Coz who'd be liable?
Humph.
Check out the Cyclone:
http://www.coneyislandcyclone.com/about_us.php
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajz-tzyp3FQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs
Anyway, she makes some good points about the fact that the crime rate today is actually LOWER than in 1970, and thus it's actually SAFER for kids today. But because those fewer crimes are broadcast and twitterized 24/7, well...then that explains why people can nod knowingly and/or shake their head sadly and say stuff like, "Yes, well, you know, things are different these days."
Um, yeah, it's safer.
Anyway, Ms. Skenazy just wrote about this community that will not allow children under 16 to even play outside w/o supervision! Somewhere in Florida, I think. Oh God, I just remembered! It's Code Orange! I just remembered from the airport 3 months ago! OMG, WTF, WDWD when it's Code Orange? Is this the one where we take off our shoes and do what with the toothbrush and take a picture for the hotel maid? (google toothbrush, picture, maid if you miss the reference)
And very closely tied to the whole fear FEAR FEAR thing: Is there anything more tiresome now than the word "liability?" You can't INSERT RANDOM SEMI-BIZARRE THING HERE w/o someone warning you about liability--most always in terms of ensuring you understand "they" won't be held liable. The cable guy can't tack the cable, snaking throughout the house and over the river and through the woods to make it from the stupidly placed entry point in your closet to the TV, because of "liability." Our summer campers, for an outdoor experiential environmental camp for God' sake, can't go in the ocean because of "liablity issues." You can't host a party in your own home unless you're willing to ensure that either no one gets drunk, or that if they do, they don't drive--otherwise you'll be held "liable." Roller coasters strap you in like an Air Force fighter pilot to protect the park's "liability."
OMG, random aside: fortunately, the Cyclone still operates on Coney Island. I swear, if you've never ridden this thing, and you're a coaster fan, it MUST be on your MUST list! My friend Brian and I rode it back in '94, and I swear, when we got off, I was literally shaking and slobbering and afraid to ride it again!
Don't make 'em like THAT anymore. Coz who'd be liable?
Humph.
Check out the Cyclone:
http://www.coneyislandcyclone.com/about_us.php
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajz-tzyp3FQ
10/5/09
Braces
There is only one thing in the world worse than having to wear braces as an adult. And that’s people who won’t give you enough sympathy for having to wear braces as an adult. Oh, they may PRETEND to be sympathizing at first, but that lasts only as long as it takes them to remember some horror story from their youth about their OWN braces. And that usually takes about 3.2 seconds.
Granted, this is human nature. You talk about having your tonsils out, and everyone who had their tonsils out has a story to share about it. You talk about some place you went on vacation, and if people have been there they can’t wait to tell you what THEY did when THEY went (which is always 10 times more fun than what you did, even though the memory of yours is fairly fresh while theirs is STALE). You tell a horror story about how your latest boyfriend stopped the car he was driving on the interstate in the middle of an argument with you and started jumping up and down on the hood of the car, then by golly everyone else that’s had this happen to them tells about it, as well.
But it’s DIFFERENT with adults having to wear braces. I mean, at least one way in which it’s different is that *I* am the adult having to wear the braces. I pitched such an incredibly furious fit when I was a child that my parents just said, “Okay FINE, we WON’T spend $3,000 on your stupid old teeth and you can just pay for it yourself when you’re in your thirties and THEN you’ll be sorry!” At least, this is how I remember it. And yes, the money is a very annoying part of it. I can think of tons of more entertaining things I could be spending $100 a month on (e.g., gooey sweets, jawbreakers, apples, celery, popcorn, peanut butter, ice, etc.).
But the more annoying thing is simply HAVING ALL THIS METAL IN MY MOUTH ALL THE TIME. Digging into my gums. Impressing itself into my inner cheek while I sleep, leaving a painfully deep ridge in said cheek that I have to pry the wire out of in the morning. So anyway, I show up at work all full of metal and self-pity, and do I get any, “Oh, David, how awful to have braces as an adult” lines? No. How about any “How hideous of your evil parents not to have offered to take care of this when you were a child” comments? Nooo. What I get is stuff like, “Oh, god, well when *I* had braces the wires were always coming LOOSE in the middle of the night and just cutting my cheeks to RIBBONS.” And of course they also had to walk ten miles in the snow uphill, both ways, to get to their orthodontist.
And I say, “Yes, I empathize. I understand how awful it must have been, BECAUSE IT”S HAPPENING TO ME NOW.” This, to me, is the crucial part. Yes, the Spanish-American War was awful, but guess what? It’s OVER. My personal war is going on RIGHT NOW, and should thus be the sole focus of any terrifying braces stories. By ANYBODY. So then I say, “The really annoying thing is this bite plate I’ve got in here,” and I’ll be damned if someone isn’t right on it, totally disregarding everything I’ve so patiently (and did I mention painfully) told them, and saying, “Oh, yes, but what about ME? What about when *I* had a bite plate, and me me me me me me me.”
Although, I will admit, the bite plate has been a plus on occasion. You see, sometimes, if I’m getting in a really heated argument with someone, and start talking very quickly, well, then, the bite plate isn’t quite as, shall we say, STABLE as it otherwise may be. In fact, you could say it even becomes so loose that during a crucial point in the argument when I’m spitting out an, “Oh, yeah?” I’m spitting the bite plate out right along with it. And, of course, since this is an argument we’re talking about here, and since the closest thing to me is another person’s face, well you can just imagine where that drool-enrusted little thing is gonna hit.
Now the plus here (Yes, that’s right, hitting them in the face with your slobbery bite plate isn’t even the plus!) is that no matter what you’re arguing about you instantly win because the other person’s response will be either:
1) “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww” and they will run from the room, forgetting all about the argument. OR
2) To begin screeching hysterically while clawing at their eyes because they’ll believe you’re possessed and are spewing organs at them (did I mention that the bite plate is pink and rubbery?) and the argument becomes the furthest thing from their mind. OR
3) “Oh, wow, you’re into that, too?” (in which case the argument becomes the least of YOUR worries)
Still, this is not enough of a plus, I feel to offset all of the other negatives. Fortunately, I am just a little more than half way through with the treatment. My orthodontist, Dr. Mengele, tells me that the next time I come in, I will be at the end of the first phase, and could lose the bite plate as well as one of the many, many heavy wires damaging my cheek tissue. Unfortunately, this also implies that there is a NEXT phase, and I didn’t even bother to ask him about that. Head gear. Some kind of other hideous “appliance,” which--while I know some people don’t like that term, thinking it’s a little too “heavy” sounding for dental work--I think is the PERFECT term for them. The few people I do find who will give me the sympathy I so rightly deserve, those who’ve never had braces, and can’t IMAGINE how awul it must be, REALLY blanch when they hear about all of the APPLIANCES I have in my mouth and what the next APPLIANCE is I’m going to have put in my MOUTH for me to SPIT out at them during an argument. Poor, poor me.
Granted, this is human nature. You talk about having your tonsils out, and everyone who had their tonsils out has a story to share about it. You talk about some place you went on vacation, and if people have been there they can’t wait to tell you what THEY did when THEY went (which is always 10 times more fun than what you did, even though the memory of yours is fairly fresh while theirs is STALE). You tell a horror story about how your latest boyfriend stopped the car he was driving on the interstate in the middle of an argument with you and started jumping up and down on the hood of the car, then by golly everyone else that’s had this happen to them tells about it, as well.
But it’s DIFFERENT with adults having to wear braces. I mean, at least one way in which it’s different is that *I* am the adult having to wear the braces. I pitched such an incredibly furious fit when I was a child that my parents just said, “Okay FINE, we WON’T spend $3,000 on your stupid old teeth and you can just pay for it yourself when you’re in your thirties and THEN you’ll be sorry!” At least, this is how I remember it. And yes, the money is a very annoying part of it. I can think of tons of more entertaining things I could be spending $100 a month on (e.g., gooey sweets, jawbreakers, apples, celery, popcorn, peanut butter, ice, etc.).
But the more annoying thing is simply HAVING ALL THIS METAL IN MY MOUTH ALL THE TIME. Digging into my gums. Impressing itself into my inner cheek while I sleep, leaving a painfully deep ridge in said cheek that I have to pry the wire out of in the morning. So anyway, I show up at work all full of metal and self-pity, and do I get any, “Oh, David, how awful to have braces as an adult” lines? No. How about any “How hideous of your evil parents not to have offered to take care of this when you were a child” comments? Nooo. What I get is stuff like, “Oh, god, well when *I* had braces the wires were always coming LOOSE in the middle of the night and just cutting my cheeks to RIBBONS.” And of course they also had to walk ten miles in the snow uphill, both ways, to get to their orthodontist.
And I say, “Yes, I empathize. I understand how awful it must have been, BECAUSE IT”S HAPPENING TO ME NOW.” This, to me, is the crucial part. Yes, the Spanish-American War was awful, but guess what? It’s OVER. My personal war is going on RIGHT NOW, and should thus be the sole focus of any terrifying braces stories. By ANYBODY. So then I say, “The really annoying thing is this bite plate I’ve got in here,” and I’ll be damned if someone isn’t right on it, totally disregarding everything I’ve so patiently (and did I mention painfully) told them, and saying, “Oh, yes, but what about ME? What about when *I* had a bite plate, and me me me me me me me.”
Although, I will admit, the bite plate has been a plus on occasion. You see, sometimes, if I’m getting in a really heated argument with someone, and start talking very quickly, well, then, the bite plate isn’t quite as, shall we say, STABLE as it otherwise may be. In fact, you could say it even becomes so loose that during a crucial point in the argument when I’m spitting out an, “Oh, yeah?” I’m spitting the bite plate out right along with it. And, of course, since this is an argument we’re talking about here, and since the closest thing to me is another person’s face, well you can just imagine where that drool-enrusted little thing is gonna hit.
Now the plus here (Yes, that’s right, hitting them in the face with your slobbery bite plate isn’t even the plus!) is that no matter what you’re arguing about you instantly win because the other person’s response will be either:
1) “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww” and they will run from the room, forgetting all about the argument. OR
2) To begin screeching hysterically while clawing at their eyes because they’ll believe you’re possessed and are spewing organs at them (did I mention that the bite plate is pink and rubbery?) and the argument becomes the furthest thing from their mind. OR
3) “Oh, wow, you’re into that, too?” (in which case the argument becomes the least of YOUR worries)
Still, this is not enough of a plus, I feel to offset all of the other negatives. Fortunately, I am just a little more than half way through with the treatment. My orthodontist, Dr. Mengele, tells me that the next time I come in, I will be at the end of the first phase, and could lose the bite plate as well as one of the many, many heavy wires damaging my cheek tissue. Unfortunately, this also implies that there is a NEXT phase, and I didn’t even bother to ask him about that. Head gear. Some kind of other hideous “appliance,” which--while I know some people don’t like that term, thinking it’s a little too “heavy” sounding for dental work--I think is the PERFECT term for them. The few people I do find who will give me the sympathy I so rightly deserve, those who’ve never had braces, and can’t IMAGINE how awul it must be, REALLY blanch when they hear about all of the APPLIANCES I have in my mouth and what the next APPLIANCE is I’m going to have put in my MOUTH for me to SPIT out at them during an argument. Poor, poor me.
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