A year ago on Halloween, I gave up gambling. Fitting because I was being "tricked" more than treated. The slot machines were robbing me and blackjack, my game of choice, hadn't been added to WV casinos yet. On the eve of my reformation, I wagered and lost enough money that even I had to question my ability to bet with my head, not over it . So, I quit.
While suffering from withdrawal, I played free slots on the web and from the casino games CD's I've collected over the years. The thrill just wasn't there. On day my husband said, "As much as you like to gamble and research on the Internet, why don't you try your luck on the stock market?" I've never had any interest in the market and weeks before I put my retirement money in fixed interest accounts to wait out the market's menopausal mood swings. I wasn't keen on risking my money to learn the hard way so I looked online for a place to practice stock trading.
The Wall Street Survivor fantasy game was my choice. It's free, fun, competitive, and educational. I set up an account and started a portfolio with $250,000 of the game's funny money. The basic workings are the same as my husband's Scottrade account except there are weekly, monthly, and grand money prizes for the traders that do the best job of increasing their portfolio's value. The site has several aids to help Survivors research and pick stocks. The Community forums put you in touch with other Survivors to have your questions answered, get terms clarified, discuss strategies, or just chat. The rating section is my favorite because you get to see where you stand in relation to the other 47,000+ players.
I've been a Survivor for less than a month, but I'm doing well for a newbie. There is no fear factor since I have no real money involved so I test my theories and play hunches. I've have discovered that dancing with the stock market is dominated by men, even though, I believe that women are much better prepared to trade. Don't we understand mood swings, adjusting and readjusting, tweaking, saving and buying? A fellow Survivor, wineandcheese, purposed some great ideas to make the market woman-friendly. "I honestly think the stock market should be run more like an online shopping mall. Open 24 hours with sales and clearance items, and weekly advertisements." She also suggests getting money-off coupons for stock prices as email bonuses for agreeing to receive the company's newsletter. Amen, sister! We'd give the economy a kick in the butt for sure.
Of course, there is a downside to my new-found pastime. It's an addiction far worse than a longing for the slots. To meet the one-armed bandits, I had to leave home. With stock trading, I can do it in my nightgown while sipping my morning coffee. If I'm making the bed and one of my stock picks soars to a new high, with a couple of keystrokes I sell for a profit. I have a computer on both floors of my house so I can check the market often. Playing the market has consumed much more of my time than I've spent in casinos. I research, buy, and sell stocks while my carpets need swept and my laundry piles breed. I can't help myself. Pitting my mind against other market players (real and fantasy) is challenging and stimulating. Gambling whether a stock value will rise or fall is every bit as addicting as spinning slot reels. My casino habit was kept in check by the amount of money I felt I could lose. In the Survivor game, I can borrow funds when I run short of cash. Luckily, I never asked a casino to float me a loan.
Am I ready to take some of my retirement savings and entrust it to the stock market? Nope, not yet. I don't know her well enough.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Ants, Bears, and Poopie Diapers
You know the adage that claims when you think you have it bad, others have it worse? Recently, my daughter called and asked me to babysit. While I was checking my calendar, I was complaining about having ants on my sun porch. My daughter retorted, "You have ants. I had a bear on my porch."
Earlier in the day she ran errands and returned to find a black bear wandering around her yard. She and the grand kids started screaming while still loaded in the van. She composed herself enough to yell at the neighbor who was in his yard. For some unknown reason, he started running toward the bear who stood watching the drama unfold. The neighbor came to his senses and retreated to his house where he summoned his teenagers and their friends. Everyone trooped outside to take pictures of the beast with cell phones. Still, with all this commotion, the bear merely moseyed around as if to say, "You people need to get a grip." Finally, the it ambled into the woods.
The kids were in a panic by the time they entered the house. My daughter reassured them that the bear was gone. To ease the tension, she suggested they make cookies from scratch. Not a tension buster she learned from her mother! Personally, baking with the help of 5 kids all under age 10 would be more traumatic than facing the bear eyeball-to-eyeball. They're all at the kitchen table having a great time making cookies when the bear, after lumbering up on the deck, appeared at the sliding glass door next to the table. Children scattered like cockroaches, screaming all the way. Now, I've heard these kids scream. The baby has a high pitched squeal that would de-calcify your spine with prolonged exposure. I'm convinced this bear is hearing impaired. The kids headed for the second floor and watched the animal descend the deck stairs and leap the picket fence from an ambling pace. My daughter phoned the police who directed her to the game warden. He listened to the tale and replied, "You invaded his territory."
"He was on my porch! I wasn't on his," she answered. The warden stated that there was nothing he could do. He advised that she keep her garbage cans indoors until the last minute on collection day. She explained that it contained only a bag of poopie diapers.
"Oh, those will bring bears every time," he said. Now here is where I get confused. Why do poopie diapers attract bears? Should a hunter plant a pile in the woods or wear some around his neck as a lure? My daughter suggests that poop means someone's eaten and eating requires food. Therefore, zero in on the stench and you'll find food. This logic from a woman who thinks that baking cookies with a horde of children is calming. The warden did make another suggestion - put rags soaked in ammonia everywhere they didn't want the bear to go. She decided to put one in the garbage can outside. I can only imagine how a nose full of ammonia and stinky diapers at 5 AM would affect the rest of the collector's day. I thought a warning note was appropriate.
Bedtime was tricky. The kids had a solution. Since their father (an avid hunter who was sorry he missed the events) was away on business, all 5 of them would sleep in one bed. My daughter was to keep her cell phone, a mace container, and a gun handy. She opted for the phone and the mace. Nixing the gun because she sensed that with a whole night in one bed with four restless kids may make her trigger happy before daybreak. For added protection dish rags were placed at the front and back doors - soaked in ammonia, of course. Makes me glad I live 45 minutes away.
Earlier in the day she ran errands and returned to find a black bear wandering around her yard. She and the grand kids started screaming while still loaded in the van. She composed herself enough to yell at the neighbor who was in his yard. For some unknown reason, he started running toward the bear who stood watching the drama unfold. The neighbor came to his senses and retreated to his house where he summoned his teenagers and their friends. Everyone trooped outside to take pictures of the beast with cell phones. Still, with all this commotion, the bear merely moseyed around as if to say, "You people need to get a grip." Finally, the it ambled into the woods.
The kids were in a panic by the time they entered the house. My daughter reassured them that the bear was gone. To ease the tension, she suggested they make cookies from scratch. Not a tension buster she learned from her mother! Personally, baking with the help of 5 kids all under age 10 would be more traumatic than facing the bear eyeball-to-eyeball. They're all at the kitchen table having a great time making cookies when the bear, after lumbering up on the deck, appeared at the sliding glass door next to the table. Children scattered like cockroaches, screaming all the way. Now, I've heard these kids scream. The baby has a high pitched squeal that would de-calcify your spine with prolonged exposure. I'm convinced this bear is hearing impaired. The kids headed for the second floor and watched the animal descend the deck stairs and leap the picket fence from an ambling pace. My daughter phoned the police who directed her to the game warden. He listened to the tale and replied, "You invaded his territory."
"He was on my porch! I wasn't on his," she answered. The warden stated that there was nothing he could do. He advised that she keep her garbage cans indoors until the last minute on collection day. She explained that it contained only a bag of poopie diapers.
"Oh, those will bring bears every time," he said. Now here is where I get confused. Why do poopie diapers attract bears? Should a hunter plant a pile in the woods or wear some around his neck as a lure? My daughter suggests that poop means someone's eaten and eating requires food. Therefore, zero in on the stench and you'll find food. This logic from a woman who thinks that baking cookies with a horde of children is calming. The warden did make another suggestion - put rags soaked in ammonia everywhere they didn't want the bear to go. She decided to put one in the garbage can outside. I can only imagine how a nose full of ammonia and stinky diapers at 5 AM would affect the rest of the collector's day. I thought a warning note was appropriate.
Bedtime was tricky. The kids had a solution. Since their father (an avid hunter who was sorry he missed the events) was away on business, all 5 of them would sleep in one bed. My daughter was to keep her cell phone, a mace container, and a gun handy. She opted for the phone and the mace. Nixing the gun because she sensed that with a whole night in one bed with four restless kids may make her trigger happy before daybreak. For added protection dish rags were placed at the front and back doors - soaked in ammonia, of course. Makes me glad I live 45 minutes away.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Things I Would Like
I'm feeling prickly today so I'm going to write about some things I would like to have invented to take the place of their less than satisfactory predecessors.
1. Gum and gum wrappers that dissolve when they come in contact with laundry detergent.
2. Socks with a sewn-in GP system that allows them to find their mates and unite (magnetically, perhaps) in the dryer. Maybe later this feature could be made to work when the socks are under beds and/or inside pant legs.
3. Nail polish that completely dries in 5 minutes (all layers), lasts for longer that 3 days, and never sticks to the skin so messy painters (like me) can give themselves professional looking nails jobs.
4. A canister vacuum that "senses" when you are near and rolls out of the way so you don't fall over it. I think mine sneaks up behind me when I'm not looking. I wonder how many vacuum victims have be treated for injuries sustained while sweeping? And how about having an iRobot® to clean carpeted stairways?
5. A passenger car seat that flips back like a living room recliner, complete with footrest. I'm a terrible rider, but I think long trips wouldn't be so bad if they could be made in comfort.
6. A gas pump monitor that detects the driver who leaves his car parked at the pump while he shops in the convenience store. Those morons who order their MTO sandwiches, fuss over making to-go coffee, use the restroom, or any other time consuming acts should be identified for the people waiting in line for gas. A public announcement such as, "Will the inconsiderate man, who left the Dodge Dart parked at pump 3, move it immediately or be subject to the ire of the waiting motorists." I think threats and public humiliation are in order.
7. A perfect pair of panties. I would like a style that flattens the tummy; lifts the butt; doesn't roll at the waistband; is wedgie proof; lasts through hundreds of washings without fading, stretching, losing elasticity, or coming apart at the seams; is inexpensive; and, last but not least, is sexy. Have I missed any feature necessary to earn the rating of "perfect?"
8. A laser beam that would incinerate insects and spiders (webs, too) when they were shot with it, but not damage surrounding materials. Flyswatters are useless at a distance and these home invaders have become swatter-resistant over the years. I suck spiders up in the vac, but it sure would be more fun to zap them. Housework definitely needs some levity.
Golfing and Stuff
I apologize to my readers for not posting more frequently, but I'm working on lowering my golf handicap. I know a few guys I want to best, and I want to continue winning money in the swats we have at the club. Nothing is more satisfying than taking money from men during a game that has traditionally been considered a male-dominated sport.
I've also been working with an elderly man that got involved in one of those Internet "make money while you sleep" deals. He paid me to get him signed up as a program affiliate against my protests that his chances of making "easy" money are slim to none. Nevertheless, I have spent countless unreimbursed hours trying to help the man recoup his initial investment and my compensation because I would want someone to do the same if it were my father.
1. Gum and gum wrappers that dissolve when they come in contact with laundry detergent.
2. Socks with a sewn-in GP system that allows them to find their mates and unite (magnetically, perhaps) in the dryer. Maybe later this feature could be made to work when the socks are under beds and/or inside pant legs.
3. Nail polish that completely dries in 5 minutes (all layers), lasts for longer that 3 days, and never sticks to the skin so messy painters (like me) can give themselves professional looking nails jobs.
4. A canister vacuum that "senses" when you are near and rolls out of the way so you don't fall over it. I think mine sneaks up behind me when I'm not looking. I wonder how many vacuum victims have be treated for injuries sustained while sweeping? And how about having an iRobot® to clean carpeted stairways?
5. A passenger car seat that flips back like a living room recliner, complete with footrest. I'm a terrible rider, but I think long trips wouldn't be so bad if they could be made in comfort.
6. A gas pump monitor that detects the driver who leaves his car parked at the pump while he shops in the convenience store. Those morons who order their MTO sandwiches, fuss over making to-go coffee, use the restroom, or any other time consuming acts should be identified for the people waiting in line for gas. A public announcement such as, "Will the inconsiderate man, who left the Dodge Dart parked at pump 3, move it immediately or be subject to the ire of the waiting motorists." I think threats and public humiliation are in order.
7. A perfect pair of panties. I would like a style that flattens the tummy; lifts the butt; doesn't roll at the waistband; is wedgie proof; lasts through hundreds of washings without fading, stretching, losing elasticity, or coming apart at the seams; is inexpensive; and, last but not least, is sexy. Have I missed any feature necessary to earn the rating of "perfect?"
8. A laser beam that would incinerate insects and spiders (webs, too) when they were shot with it, but not damage surrounding materials. Flyswatters are useless at a distance and these home invaders have become swatter-resistant over the years. I suck spiders up in the vac, but it sure would be more fun to zap them. Housework definitely needs some levity.
Golfing and Stuff
I apologize to my readers for not posting more frequently, but I'm working on lowering my golf handicap. I know a few guys I want to best, and I want to continue winning money in the swats we have at the club. Nothing is more satisfying than taking money from men during a game that has traditionally been considered a male-dominated sport.
I've also been working with an elderly man that got involved in one of those Internet "make money while you sleep" deals. He paid me to get him signed up as a program affiliate against my protests that his chances of making "easy" money are slim to none. Nevertheless, I have spent countless unreimbursed hours trying to help the man recoup his initial investment and my compensation because I would want someone to do the same if it were my father.
Monday, August 25, 2008
More Weird News
Riding Bare-butt?
The "World Naked Bike Ride" took place in St. Louis recently. The ride ( a protest to society's dependence on oil) has been staged in 70 cities world-wide since 2004. St. Louis police guarded to ensure bicyclists wore the bare minimum - thongs, pasties, loin cloths, bathing suits, and body painting. One rider got away with wearing only a pink derby hat.
Hmmmm....... I can understand all the "bare minimums" except for the pasties and the body paint. I have visions of the riders ripping through the gears of their 10-speeds to attain a vigorous clip. Suddenly, pasties start flying off in all directions, mini Frisbees threatening to poke out eyes. Riders, caught in the pasty blizzard, zip and zag to avoid the crossfire. A massive pile-up ensues. Kissing the pavement nude would create a lot of bush burns. Oops! I mean brush burns, not to mention the injuries to dangling parts caught in spokes and gears.
Body paint. Now that camouflages body parts from youthful eyes. What are they thinking here? Painted twin soccer balls, peanut M&M's, Easter eggs, or a pair of bulging eyes? I picked large objects to illustrate my visions. I doubt small-busted women would have gone for duos of raisins, jack balls, or peas in a pod. How about the male frontal view. A banana tree, an aardvark, or a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey board (tail attached) for the guys? A creative artist would have a field day with these human canvasses!
When Ya Gotta Go......
Washington State Police cited a driver for spilling tons of dirt along a Seattle highway and backing up traffic for hours. His crime? "Driving with wheels off the road."
First, I didn't know you could be cited for not driving between the lines. Maybe it's only an offense in WA because senior citizens in PA do it all the time. Usually, they are more off the road than on.
Second, this driver had a real emergency. He needed a restroom badly and didn't know where he'd find one since he was unfamiliar with the area. Pulling off the road to do his business seemed like the only choice at the time. How was he to know his truck would slip down an embankment and dump 49 tons of river sediment? When ya gotta go, ya gotta go. If you're at that gut-bursting stage, you're not thinking clearly. We've all been there. I think the police should have shown some sympathy and waived the charges. The embarrassment of causing a dump trying to take a dump is enough punishment. I'm assuming the 27-year-old relieved himself before the cops came or they would have cited him for indecent exposure, too.
Just Not His Day
A Clinton, PA man swerved to avoid hitting a deer just before 2 a.m. recently. While doing so, an ash from a cigarette fell onto a newspaper lying on the passenger-side floor. The paper caught fire. The man tried to beat out the flames devouring the newspaper, but ran into a guardrail. He escaped from the car and watched while it was consumed by the fire.
Jeez... I can usually tell I'm going to have a bad day when my electric toothbrush gets caught in my hair first thing in the morning. It doesn't appear as if this poor dude had an omen or took one seriously or he would have found a hole to hide in until the next day. This has to be one of those events that people claim are really funny much later. If this were me, it would be a long time before I found the humor in auto-toasting. The irony is he was trying to avoid damage to his car by missing the deer! This story has the makings of a "life comes at you fast..." TV commercial.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Lauryn Williams
I'm departing from my usual writing style today and getting serious. I want to introduce you to a former student of mine, Lauryn Williams. You may know her as the World's Fastest Woman or the two-time Olympian US track star that won a silver medal four years ago. Lauryn is in Beijing now preparing to go for the gold for a second time. I'm not going to list all her athletic accomplishments because they are numerous and you can Google her to discover them. I want you to know the Lauryn I know, the 5'3" dynamo with the huge heart and the infectious smile.
Lauryn grew up in tiny Rochester, PA, and went to a K-12, one building school. She was well liked by faculty and students alike. She and her long-time friend, Devan, have great stories to tell of their adventures together. Although, knowing those two, I doubt they'll share all of them! I think everyone suspected Lauryn was on a journey to greatness. Splitting her time between her divorced parents, mom in Detroit and dad in Rochester, was probably difficult at times, but Lauryn seems to thrive when the pressure is on.
After graduating from high school, Lauryn continued her education at the University of Miami, earning a major in finance in 3 1/2 years. All through her schooling, Lauryn set and broke track records at both competitive levels.
Living in Miami after turning pro, Lauryn volunteers her off-track time to hearing impaired students, the homeless, and at-risk kids. To those who know her, it's no surprise that she donates her time to help others. It's amazing to us that she can make the time given her busy schedule. She is also part of the USA Track and Field's "Be a Champion" community outreach program. The Lauryn Williams Dynamic Female Athlete Scholarship funds young women of academic and athletic excellence. In 2006, Lauryn was given the Visa Humanitarian Athlete of the Year Award.
Lauryn sports a Mickey Mouse tattoo, loves her Great Dane, and calls her best friend's dad "Poppy". For all her fame, she is totally unassuming and down-to-earth. She blogs to keep her fans informed and involved in her life. For as long as I've known Lauryn, she has been focused and up-beat. She finds humor in life experiences and willingly shares it with others.
What's important to Lauryn? Family, friends, education, and community service. What makes Lauryn Lauryn? Hard work, integrity, and humility. How do I know these things? As part of the saying goes....she "walks the walk" everyday.
Many of my former students have become successful in all walks of life, but Lauryn is a standout. I'll be screaming my head off for her when she runs the 100 meters in China. Not because I care if the US wins a medal, but because Lauryn will have achieved another of her goals through dedication and determination. If she wins another medal, all the better. She deserves it. But, over time, the memory of who wins what fades. People remember those who have touched their lives in special ways. Win or lose, she will still be a "gold medal" role model and humanitarian. That will be her legacy of importance.
Lauryn grew up in tiny Rochester, PA, and went to a K-12, one building school. She was well liked by faculty and students alike. She and her long-time friend, Devan, have great stories to tell of their adventures together. Although, knowing those two, I doubt they'll share all of them! I think everyone suspected Lauryn was on a journey to greatness. Splitting her time between her divorced parents, mom in Detroit and dad in Rochester, was probably difficult at times, but Lauryn seems to thrive when the pressure is on.
After graduating from high school, Lauryn continued her education at the University of Miami, earning a major in finance in 3 1/2 years. All through her schooling, Lauryn set and broke track records at both competitive levels.
Living in Miami after turning pro, Lauryn volunteers her off-track time to hearing impaired students, the homeless, and at-risk kids. To those who know her, it's no surprise that she donates her time to help others. It's amazing to us that she can make the time given her busy schedule. She is also part of the USA Track and Field's "Be a Champion" community outreach program. The Lauryn Williams Dynamic Female Athlete Scholarship funds young women of academic and athletic excellence. In 2006, Lauryn was given the Visa Humanitarian Athlete of the Year Award.
Lauryn sports a Mickey Mouse tattoo, loves her Great Dane, and calls her best friend's dad "Poppy". For all her fame, she is totally unassuming and down-to-earth. She blogs to keep her fans informed and involved in her life. For as long as I've known Lauryn, she has been focused and up-beat. She finds humor in life experiences and willingly shares it with others.
What's important to Lauryn? Family, friends, education, and community service. What makes Lauryn Lauryn? Hard work, integrity, and humility. How do I know these things? As part of the saying goes....she "walks the walk" everyday.
Many of my former students have become successful in all walks of life, but Lauryn is a standout. I'll be screaming my head off for her when she runs the 100 meters in China. Not because I care if the US wins a medal, but because Lauryn will have achieved another of her goals through dedication and determination. If she wins another medal, all the better. She deserves it. But, over time, the memory of who wins what fades. People remember those who have touched their lives in special ways. Win or lose, she will still be a "gold medal" role model and humanitarian. That will be her legacy of importance.
Sunday, August 24
I'm sure some of you know by now that Lauryn did not do well in the Olympics. In her individual event (100m sprint), she finished 4th behind the three Jamaicans who swept the race. It looked like she was 3rd, but it was not to be. We've heard it, seen it, and read it. Lauryn didn't get the hand-off in the 4 X 100m relay and the team was disqualified. The criticism will blanket her like Beijing smog, and the media will choke us to death with it. The incident was disappointing, but Lauryn and the American team will live through it. Hopefully, US citizens will be forgiving in light of Lauryn's other accomplishment.
Greatly through Lauryn's efforts, the reputation of America's track athletes has been improved, confidence has been restored. She's welcomed people through the media into her life and even into her Miami home. She's proven she has nothing to hide. No one could have done a better job, mainly because of the person Lauryn is on and off the track. In the grand scheme of things, perhaps that's more important than winning a medal. Finishing the relay with her "never quit" attitude and her way of handling the criticism speaks volumes about the strong, mature person she is.
We should thank Lauryn for her hard work and dedication in representing the USA at the Olympics and in meets around the world. Rest assured that even through failure, she will gain insight from the experience, capitalize on what she's learned, and make herself a better person. We should be proud of her and wish her continued health and success
Saturday, July 26, 2008
In the News
Groom Assaulted!
Police were called to a local Veterans of Foreign Wars post at 1 a.m., where the found a man bloodied, bruised and sitting on the ground outside the hall. The groom reported that he was assaulted during his wedding reception by his best man. He was taken to a local hospital for treatment. The best man admitted to the assault.
Obviously, the groom should have chosen a better man for the ceremony. Let's hope he had better taste in women.
Who Needs In-flight Action Movies!
A domestic flight was diverted after a passenger stripped nude and later tried to open an emergency exit door before being subdued by the members of a professional soccer team and others. Tie wraps were placed on the man until he was taken into custody in Oklahoma City.
Now, that's what I call entertainment! I've been on plenty of flights that could have used a little action to spice things up. Since some airlines have discontinued movies, maybe they should think Reality TV skits. The most fun I've had on a flight was watching cheap, old people filch bags of nuts off the flight attendant's cart while she wasn't looking. Ooh, that was before the airlines snatched the gratis goodies from on board to save money. Then they started charging for baggage so we couldn't bring our own case of nuts for free.
Reverend Needs His Own Revival
A pastor brought out a dirt bike during a church service to demonstrate the concept of unity, showing how the rider would become one with the bike. Somehow, the machine got away from him and in unity, of course, they drove off a 5-foot platform into the first row of seats. The pastor sustained a broken wrist. No report on the injuries to the bike.
I'll bet that awoke the sermon sleepers! Revival preachers used to be Bible-thumper's, but I guess this younger generation needs more to hold its attention. Nothing like a man-of-the-cloth doing a modern day impression of a winging angel to accomplish that. His wife reported that her husband's pride was bruised. I'll bet there's more than that black and blue under his robe.
Clipper Killing
A Milwaukee County man is accused of shooting his lawn mower because it wouldn't start. A criminal complaint was filed against him. He told the police, "I can do that. It's my lawn mower and my yard, so I can shoot it if I want."
Right on, brother! I had a mower that won't start pull after pull. It's frustrating because, by the time you get the dang thing going, you're too tired to cut the grass. I cussed at it, kicked it, and threw things at it, but I never thought of shooting it. At least he knows why it won't start now. I say the man should be allowed to get away with "mowder."
On a Serious Note...
Randy Pausch, the Carnegie Mellon University computer scientist, died yesterday. Randy's "last lecture"about facing terminal cancer became an Internet sensation and a best-selling book. He was 47 and left a wife and three children.
With a heavy heart, I read the obit in our local paper this morning. I only got to know Randy through the media like many of you. Even so, he and I had some things in common which are the reasons I think made me so sad as I read. We were both teachers, always hoping our students would find value in what we said to them about life and living. Carnegie Mellon is 30 miles south of where I live and near the university where I did my graduate work. Randy loved to laugh and valued a good sense of humor. I do, too. Randy was a writer and a blogger like I am. I know I am not and never will be the person Randy was to his family, friends, students, and even strangers. I don't share with you our similarities for comparison. I guess I'm trying to explain to myself why the death of a person I had never met affected like it did. Randy touched millions souls by living courageously and dying humbly. Thanks for the lecture, Randy.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Beginning Writers
Beginning writers are the Rodney Dangerfields of the literary world. They get no respect. When I first took pen and paper in hand, my family and friends reacted with mixed emotions. Many of them believed I was going through a stage of sorts like thumb sucking or bed wetting. Given time I would outgrow it.
My husband decided to humor me. "You're a wife, mother, teacher, and landlady. You don't have much time left for that kind of stuff, but take your best shot."
Indifference was a reaction, too. "I hear you're doing some writing," remarked my mother-in-law.
"Yes, I'm working on..."
"Have you seen the price of cantaloupes? It's outrageous."
A few people took my new interest seriously. Tom, a good friend and avid reader, was encouraging. I suppose it's his love for the written word and his secret desire to write that makes him different.
I started my writing venture as slowly and cautiously as a baby tests his wobbly legs for that first step. I enrolled in a writing course that offered one to one instruction. Knowing my work had to please only one person, gave me the courage I needed to begin. It was a valuable experience. I received the gentle prodding and endless encouragement needed in those early days. I also learned to handle rejection and criticism which I later found to be a large part of the writing business.
I wrote our school/community newsletter and edited one for a businessman whose products were records (yeah, that long ago!) and tropical fish. He "paid" me in LP's and black mollies. Friends asked me to compose complaint letters, thank-you notes, job proposals, PR material, and college composition assignments - all gratis work. They thought "freelance" had something to do with the compensation I was to receive at that point in my career.
As the months passed, more and more people discovered that I was writing or at least trying. It was a discouraging time because they asked questions like, "What have you sold? How much money have you made?" I regarded them as personal as, "What are your measurements?" Since I hadn't sold anything at that point, I'd ardently explain how difficult it is for a neophyte to break into print. From their facial expressions, it was evident they translated my explanations to, "I'm not published because my writing stinks." I rationalized that my first sale would change their attitudes so I wrote and submitted more material.
As so often happens with writers, I read a story in a children's magazine and thought, "I can write a story like that." I did and submitted it. Weeks went by and then came a reply. "We are holding your manuscript for future publication."
A year later I had my first byline and check. It's impossible to explain the thrill and satisfaction a writer feels the first time he sees his name and work in print. The success was doubly sweet for me because I hadn't finished my writing course and my instructor hadn't read the manuscript. I had done it all on my own.
At first I tried to keep the sale quiet, telling only my husband and a few close friends. I really didn't want to answer the questions I anticipated. The check's amount was the same size as one of my measurements and not the largest one at that. In time I used half of the money to buy extra copies of the magazine.
In my naivety, I thought people would finally accept me as a writer and not as a teacher, mother, or landlady that writes stuff. It was not to be. A teacher friend said, "Eleven more and you'll be a writer."
"What do you mean 'eleven more'?" I inquired.
"Oh, a person isn't really a writer until he's been published a dozen times."
To this day, I haven't determined how the occupation can be related to the selling units of donuts and eggs. Could it be that it takes twelve sales in order to realize a profit large enough to purchase a dozen of either?
Tom had flowers delivered to the school instead of my home. The attached card read, "I always thought you were good. Love Tom." Since most of the staff was unaware of the sale, the gift stirred the gossip pot. Instead of being described as talented and creative, the adjectives I longed to hear, I was labeled terribly indiscreet.
I couldn't even squeeze a little respect from the bank teller that cashed my check. "This is payment for my first magazine article," I said.
"Oh, how nice," she replied. "What magazine was it?"
"Playmate. It's a national publication," I added.
She wrinkled her nose then completed the transaction in silence. I imagined she was awe-struck that living, breathing writer stood at her window. As I left I heard her say to a co-worker, "She writes for a men's girlie magazine."
My children were impressed with my publication, but it didn't take much to excite them. I'd dazzle them all the time with my nickle-behind-the-ear magic. When my article was reprinted in a high caliber Australian magazine, my eight-year-old remarked, "That's really good, Mom. Little kids are reading my mom's story and I don't even know what state Australia is in!"
Ironically, the only people that respected me for what I was doing were editors. Nearly every rejection slip's greeting was "Dear Author."
I've checked the dictionary and the definition of "writer" is simply "a person who writes." There's no mention of money, a dozen articles, or a required number of books. I do think it should say something about attitude and guts, though. Using clips and income to determine a writer's success is fair, but they shouldn't be used to judge whether he is or isn't one.
I don't make much money, have a fat file of clips, or a bestseller on the lists. I do query, research, write, and edit. I study the market, read sample copies, and send for guidelines. I sit on a pile of rejected manuscripts instead of a desk chair and have "SASE" tattooed on my forearm. I AM A WRITER!
My husband decided to humor me. "You're a wife, mother, teacher, and landlady. You don't have much time left for that kind of stuff, but take your best shot."
Indifference was a reaction, too. "I hear you're doing some writing," remarked my mother-in-law.
"Yes, I'm working on..."
"Have you seen the price of cantaloupes? It's outrageous."
A few people took my new interest seriously. Tom, a good friend and avid reader, was encouraging. I suppose it's his love for the written word and his secret desire to write that makes him different.
I started my writing venture as slowly and cautiously as a baby tests his wobbly legs for that first step. I enrolled in a writing course that offered one to one instruction. Knowing my work had to please only one person, gave me the courage I needed to begin. It was a valuable experience. I received the gentle prodding and endless encouragement needed in those early days. I also learned to handle rejection and criticism which I later found to be a large part of the writing business.
I wrote our school/community newsletter and edited one for a businessman whose products were records (yeah, that long ago!) and tropical fish. He "paid" me in LP's and black mollies. Friends asked me to compose complaint letters, thank-you notes, job proposals, PR material, and college composition assignments - all gratis work. They thought "freelance" had something to do with the compensation I was to receive at that point in my career.
As the months passed, more and more people discovered that I was writing or at least trying. It was a discouraging time because they asked questions like, "What have you sold? How much money have you made?" I regarded them as personal as, "What are your measurements?" Since I hadn't sold anything at that point, I'd ardently explain how difficult it is for a neophyte to break into print. From their facial expressions, it was evident they translated my explanations to, "I'm not published because my writing stinks." I rationalized that my first sale would change their attitudes so I wrote and submitted more material.
As so often happens with writers, I read a story in a children's magazine and thought, "I can write a story like that." I did and submitted it. Weeks went by and then came a reply. "We are holding your manuscript for future publication."
A year later I had my first byline and check. It's impossible to explain the thrill and satisfaction a writer feels the first time he sees his name and work in print. The success was doubly sweet for me because I hadn't finished my writing course and my instructor hadn't read the manuscript. I had done it all on my own.
At first I tried to keep the sale quiet, telling only my husband and a few close friends. I really didn't want to answer the questions I anticipated. The check's amount was the same size as one of my measurements and not the largest one at that. In time I used half of the money to buy extra copies of the magazine.
In my naivety, I thought people would finally accept me as a writer and not as a teacher, mother, or landlady that writes stuff. It was not to be. A teacher friend said, "Eleven more and you'll be a writer."
"What do you mean 'eleven more'?" I inquired.
"Oh, a person isn't really a writer until he's been published a dozen times."
To this day, I haven't determined how the occupation can be related to the selling units of donuts and eggs. Could it be that it takes twelve sales in order to realize a profit large enough to purchase a dozen of either?
Tom had flowers delivered to the school instead of my home. The attached card read, "I always thought you were good. Love Tom." Since most of the staff was unaware of the sale, the gift stirred the gossip pot. Instead of being described as talented and creative, the adjectives I longed to hear, I was labeled terribly indiscreet.
I couldn't even squeeze a little respect from the bank teller that cashed my check. "This is payment for my first magazine article," I said.
"Oh, how nice," she replied. "What magazine was it?"
"Playmate. It's a national publication," I added.
She wrinkled her nose then completed the transaction in silence. I imagined she was awe-struck that living, breathing writer stood at her window. As I left I heard her say to a co-worker, "She writes for a men's girlie magazine."
My children were impressed with my publication, but it didn't take much to excite them. I'd dazzle them all the time with my nickle-behind-the-ear magic. When my article was reprinted in a high caliber Australian magazine, my eight-year-old remarked, "That's really good, Mom. Little kids are reading my mom's story and I don't even know what state Australia is in!"
Ironically, the only people that respected me for what I was doing were editors. Nearly every rejection slip's greeting was "Dear Author."
I've checked the dictionary and the definition of "writer" is simply "a person who writes." There's no mention of money, a dozen articles, or a required number of books. I do think it should say something about attitude and guts, though. Using clips and income to determine a writer's success is fair, but they shouldn't be used to judge whether he is or isn't one.
I don't make much money, have a fat file of clips, or a bestseller on the lists. I do query, research, write, and edit. I study the market, read sample copies, and send for guidelines. I sit on a pile of rejected manuscripts instead of a desk chair and have "SASE" tattooed on my forearm. I AM A WRITER!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
My New Diet Plan
I have 30 pounds I'd like to lose so I've devised an ingenious plan to shed them. There are some ground rules I've laid for myself. First, I will not use appetite suppressors or fat burners, etc. I put enough chemicals into my body just ingesting my daily meds.
Second, I will not exercise. I believe that exercise is detrimental. For example, my neighbor used to walk every day. One morning she tramped into a pothole, fell, and broke her leg. She also had to wield a big stick to fend off aggressive dogs.
My friend, Bill, is the CEO of the local YMCA. He worked out daily until he needed four stents put into his heart. If the CEO of a "Y" can't stay healthy by exercising, I suspect there is some flawed logic behind the hype of daily physical exertion. Is exercise worth the risk involved? I think not.
I've tried various cardio and aerobic routines and haven't found any that suit me, I used to weight train, but a gym full of ripped, half-naked men grunting and groaning created an environment that was far too sexually charged for me so I quit. Besides, inviting muscle strains, sprains, and pulls isn't my idea of a good time.
A treadmill was my next try. However, if I'm going to expend that much energy walking for 45 minutes, I want changes of scenery and a Dairy Queen at the end of the trail. I need immediate gratification.
Step-aerobics was a consideration, but with my lack of coordination, I nixed the idea. I fall up stairs so the idea of trying to get up and down on a little box to the beat of music seemed somewhat foolhardy.
When land exercising wasn't for me, I took to the water - water walking and aerobics. The drawback was that I hate being wet. I believe the feeling is a manifestation of a post traumatic stress disorder stemming from a bad, in-utero experience.
Don't get me wrong. I do get exercise when golfing. I walk onto the greens on all 18 holes because I'm not allowed to drive the riding cart on them. I've worked up a sweat many times, too. Usually, when I'm running low on money and a slot machine hasn't hit a jackpot to give me more playing time.
Since pills, herbs, and exercise aren't part of the blueprint to a skinnier me, I plan to eat and drink my way to a size 6. Not every diet is right for every person so I'm going to try several. And since diets only work for me during the initial period, I'm going to switch often. Ingenious, right?
First, I'm going with the Fruit Flush plan. Day 1 starts with high protein shakes to trick my body into burning its own fat for energy. Days 2 and 3 are the cleansing phase where I'll eat seasonal fruit every two hours. For dinner I'll have a protein smoothie, 6 cups of raw-veggie salad and 1/2 an avocado. It's estimated that I'll lose 10 pounds over the three days. That's 1/3 of my goal! I'll probably add several handfuls of Jelly Belly jelly beans for good measure because they contain the filling, fat-flushing fiber pectin.
Day 4 I'll begin the Ice Cream Diet. I'm sure this will be my favorite. If a body doesn't get enough calcium, fat cells are triggered to store more fat. To stop those rascals from multiplying, I'll have to eat ice cream every day for three days. Reduced calorie choices, of course. There was some fine print connected with this regiment, but I couldn't read it due to it's small size. The info must not have been that important or the publisher would have used larger type. I suspect some of you are a little skeptical of this plan, but rest assured that I'll be drinking plenty of Wu Yi tea with my rocky-road ice cream. Wu Yi is a 400-year-old Chinese weight loss solution! The ice cream and tea combination should produce a net loss of 10 pounds. That's a conservative guess based on research, but I could probably lose more if I doubled the ice cream servings.
O.K. 20 pounds lost in 6 days. Time to switch to the Blood Type Diet. Dr. Peter J. Adamo states that we should look at our blood type to determine which foods we should be eating. His premise is that a person (that's me) with type A blood had ancestors that were farmers, therefore I should be vegetarian and avoid meat and dairy products. For weight loss, I should also shun kidney and lima beans and wheat. Soy foods and pineapple will be my staples and there is no portion control. Mmmmm. I'll lose 9 pound in 11 days.
I'll only have 1 pound more to lose after 17 days, but I'm going with the Moon Diet as a chaser. I must begin the diet at a specific time when the moon enters a new phase. Within the next 24 hours I'll only drink water and juice (freshly squeezed). I'll be shooting for 6-8 pints of liquid to trickle through my body. Simply, the gravity of the moon not only influences the oceans and rivers, but it makes your body let go of its excess fluids. I guess this is when I surrender all those cups of Wu Yi tea. One day sheds 6 pounds so my 30 pound goal is met with flab to spare in only 18 days. Since the moon cycle changes once weekly, if I practice this diet every week, I can lose 24 pounds a month!
There is a slight chance that I may not lose the weight I want, but all is not lost. My belly fat can be of scientific value to the world. Really! Fat burns quicker and hotter than meat (muscle). Throw a fatty steak on a hot grill to test that theory. So, when I'm cremated my fatty body will burn quicker and hotter using less of the fossil fuel to heat the oven. The less fossil fuel burned translates to fewer greenhouse gases produced that rise into the atmosphere. Fewer gasses means less global warming. Keeping my fat benefits the world!
Second, I will not exercise. I believe that exercise is detrimental. For example, my neighbor used to walk every day. One morning she tramped into a pothole, fell, and broke her leg. She also had to wield a big stick to fend off aggressive dogs.
My friend, Bill, is the CEO of the local YMCA. He worked out daily until he needed four stents put into his heart. If the CEO of a "Y" can't stay healthy by exercising, I suspect there is some flawed logic behind the hype of daily physical exertion. Is exercise worth the risk involved? I think not.
I've tried various cardio and aerobic routines and haven't found any that suit me, I used to weight train, but a gym full of ripped, half-naked men grunting and groaning created an environment that was far too sexually charged for me so I quit. Besides, inviting muscle strains, sprains, and pulls isn't my idea of a good time.
A treadmill was my next try. However, if I'm going to expend that much energy walking for 45 minutes, I want changes of scenery and a Dairy Queen at the end of the trail. I need immediate gratification.
Step-aerobics was a consideration, but with my lack of coordination, I nixed the idea. I fall up stairs so the idea of trying to get up and down on a little box to the beat of music seemed somewhat foolhardy.
When land exercising wasn't for me, I took to the water - water walking and aerobics. The drawback was that I hate being wet. I believe the feeling is a manifestation of a post traumatic stress disorder stemming from a bad, in-utero experience.
Don't get me wrong. I do get exercise when golfing. I walk onto the greens on all 18 holes because I'm not allowed to drive the riding cart on them. I've worked up a sweat many times, too. Usually, when I'm running low on money and a slot machine hasn't hit a jackpot to give me more playing time.
Since pills, herbs, and exercise aren't part of the blueprint to a skinnier me, I plan to eat and drink my way to a size 6. Not every diet is right for every person so I'm going to try several. And since diets only work for me during the initial period, I'm going to switch often. Ingenious, right?
First, I'm going with the Fruit Flush plan. Day 1 starts with high protein shakes to trick my body into burning its own fat for energy. Days 2 and 3 are the cleansing phase where I'll eat seasonal fruit every two hours. For dinner I'll have a protein smoothie, 6 cups of raw-veggie salad and 1/2 an avocado. It's estimated that I'll lose 10 pounds over the three days. That's 1/3 of my goal! I'll probably add several handfuls of Jelly Belly jelly beans for good measure because they contain the filling, fat-flushing fiber pectin.
Day 4 I'll begin the Ice Cream Diet. I'm sure this will be my favorite. If a body doesn't get enough calcium, fat cells are triggered to store more fat. To stop those rascals from multiplying, I'll have to eat ice cream every day for three days. Reduced calorie choices, of course. There was some fine print connected with this regiment, but I couldn't read it due to it's small size. The info must not have been that important or the publisher would have used larger type. I suspect some of you are a little skeptical of this plan, but rest assured that I'll be drinking plenty of Wu Yi tea with my rocky-road ice cream. Wu Yi is a 400-year-old Chinese weight loss solution! The ice cream and tea combination should produce a net loss of 10 pounds. That's a conservative guess based on research, but I could probably lose more if I doubled the ice cream servings.
O.K. 20 pounds lost in 6 days. Time to switch to the Blood Type Diet. Dr. Peter J. Adamo states that we should look at our blood type to determine which foods we should be eating. His premise is that a person (that's me) with type A blood had ancestors that were farmers, therefore I should be vegetarian and avoid meat and dairy products. For weight loss, I should also shun kidney and lima beans and wheat. Soy foods and pineapple will be my staples and there is no portion control. Mmmmm. I'll lose 9 pound in 11 days.
I'll only have 1 pound more to lose after 17 days, but I'm going with the Moon Diet as a chaser. I must begin the diet at a specific time when the moon enters a new phase. Within the next 24 hours I'll only drink water and juice (freshly squeezed). I'll be shooting for 6-8 pints of liquid to trickle through my body. Simply, the gravity of the moon not only influences the oceans and rivers, but it makes your body let go of its excess fluids. I guess this is when I surrender all those cups of Wu Yi tea. One day sheds 6 pounds so my 30 pound goal is met with flab to spare in only 18 days. Since the moon cycle changes once weekly, if I practice this diet every week, I can lose 24 pounds a month!
There is a slight chance that I may not lose the weight I want, but all is not lost. My belly fat can be of scientific value to the world. Really! Fat burns quicker and hotter than meat (muscle). Throw a fatty steak on a hot grill to test that theory. So, when I'm cremated my fatty body will burn quicker and hotter using less of the fossil fuel to heat the oven. The less fossil fuel burned translates to fewer greenhouse gases produced that rise into the atmosphere. Fewer gasses means less global warming. Keeping my fat benefits the world!
Friday, June 6, 2008
The Dogs Locked Us Out!
Traveling with three dogs is much like traveling with children. We have the one that gets motion sickness and has to be medicated. We have one that insists on having a window seat, and one that won't calm down and enjoy the ride until we are miles from home. Unlike children, though, our dogs can be left in a motel room while we relax in a restaurant.
On a recent trip, my husband unlocked the motel room door after we returned from dinner. As he pushed it open, the swing bar door guard engaged with a sickening "whap." "The dogs locked us out," Hank said along with a few obscenities. I'm stunned into imaging how three lap dogs could manage to swing a bar that's almost five feet off the floor. Did they erect a canine column by standing on hind legs on each others' shoulders? Top dog flips the guard bar as payback for being left behind?
"Max probably did it by jumping off the back of the chair, " Hank said. Max, a wire-haired dachshund, is mischievous and resourceful, but surely flying is beyond his abilities. Max leaped off the back of the chair toward the door with the intent of flipping the bar at the apex of his free-fall? Now, I know a rational person would disbelieve either scenario, but who is rational when discovering they've been locked out of their room by a mini-kennel of canine midgets?
We tried several ways to release the bar with the tools we carry with us, but nothing worked. Rest assured that those door guards will stop a would-be intruder.
Hank discussed the problem with a very confused desk clerk who deferred the situation to the hotel manager. Via cell phone, Hank repeatedly explained our predicament to the proprietor who had a limited understanding of the English language. Finally the manager said, "Ahh, but that cannot happen." Hank assured him that it did and asked if there was some tool-of-the-trade that would open the door. "No, because that cannot happen," he replied. "We give you another room."
My husband pointed out that for many unpleasant reasons that wasn't a good solution. Finally, the manager asked for suggestions. "I can break into the room, but I'll have to damage the guard," Hank said. The manager agreed and apologised profusely for and event he didn't believe could happen and certainly one over which he had no control.
Using a cutting tool we had, Hank proceeded to gnaw through the metal bar. The dogs barked and raced around the room upon seeing their masters through the narrow opening around the door. Meanwhile, other guests returned and arrived for the evening. They watch curiously as we broke into a room in broad daylight. I was surprised no one called the police.
Once inside, we solved the mystery of how the door guard got engaged. The screws in the bracket that held the sideways "U" bar of the guard were loose causing the bar to move slightly toward the bolt with every vibration. A combination of guests banging their doors shut and the dogs jumping on our door when they heard someone outside caused enough movement in the bar that it eventually crept over the securing bolt. Hank pushing open the door was all it took to put us on the outside looking in. Our furry kids were absolved.
In the middle of that same night, a man used a ruse to try to get the guests in the room next to us to open their door and give him money. Would-be thieves targeted motels near the interstate at which to rob travelers who were fooled into opening doors for them. When we learned of the incident the next morning, it was unsettling to know that our security door guard had been mangled in our own break-in attempt.
On a recent trip, my husband unlocked the motel room door after we returned from dinner. As he pushed it open, the swing bar door guard engaged with a sickening "whap." "The dogs locked us out," Hank said along with a few obscenities. I'm stunned into imaging how three lap dogs could manage to swing a bar that's almost five feet off the floor. Did they erect a canine column by standing on hind legs on each others' shoulders? Top dog flips the guard bar as payback for being left behind?
"Max probably did it by jumping off the back of the chair, " Hank said. Max, a wire-haired dachshund, is mischievous and resourceful, but surely flying is beyond his abilities. Max leaped off the back of the chair toward the door with the intent of flipping the bar at the apex of his free-fall? Now, I know a rational person would disbelieve either scenario, but who is rational when discovering they've been locked out of their room by a mini-kennel of canine midgets?
We tried several ways to release the bar with the tools we carry with us, but nothing worked. Rest assured that those door guards will stop a would-be intruder.
Hank discussed the problem with a very confused desk clerk who deferred the situation to the hotel manager. Via cell phone, Hank repeatedly explained our predicament to the proprietor who had a limited understanding of the English language. Finally the manager said, "Ahh, but that cannot happen." Hank assured him that it did and asked if there was some tool-of-the-trade that would open the door. "No, because that cannot happen," he replied. "We give you another room."
My husband pointed out that for many unpleasant reasons that wasn't a good solution. Finally, the manager asked for suggestions. "I can break into the room, but I'll have to damage the guard," Hank said. The manager agreed and apologised profusely for and event he didn't believe could happen and certainly one over which he had no control.
Using a cutting tool we had, Hank proceeded to gnaw through the metal bar. The dogs barked and raced around the room upon seeing their masters through the narrow opening around the door. Meanwhile, other guests returned and arrived for the evening. They watch curiously as we broke into a room in broad daylight. I was surprised no one called the police.
Once inside, we solved the mystery of how the door guard got engaged. The screws in the bracket that held the sideways "U" bar of the guard were loose causing the bar to move slightly toward the bolt with every vibration. A combination of guests banging their doors shut and the dogs jumping on our door when they heard someone outside caused enough movement in the bar that it eventually crept over the securing bolt. Hank pushing open the door was all it took to put us on the outside looking in. Our furry kids were absolved.
In the middle of that same night, a man used a ruse to try to get the guests in the room next to us to open their door and give him money. Would-be thieves targeted motels near the interstate at which to rob travelers who were fooled into opening doors for them. When we learned of the incident the next morning, it was unsettling to know that our security door guard had been mangled in our own break-in attempt.
Monday, May 26, 2008
It Doesn't Make Sense!
I don't profess to be the brightest crayon in the box, but I do have a masters degree and various education-related certificates. I'm a logical thinker, but there are some things that just don't make sense to me. Some of them should be of national concern and some are just annoyingly nonsensical.
Nay, I say...recently 35 Senators (Clinton and Obama included) voted against making English our country's official language. The Constitution and Bill of Rights were written in English, right? I'd say that argues that English was and is our national language...law or no law.
Fly the friendly skies...airline tickets prices continue to rise, there are fewer flights and available seats, "on-time" statistics are low, and customer service is questionable. A passengers' bill of rights? Now the airlines are going to charge $25 or higher for your first piece of baggage. The industry reports a drop in reservation numbers. Dah! If you want someone to be your customer, you don't screw them six ways from Sunday.
The revolving door... 40% (or higher) of the prisoners released from facilities are back in jail within two to three years. Obviously, any jail term less than "life" is not a deterrent for some. So...give'em life. Use the money that would have been spent on trials, jail in and out processing, transportation, etc. and build more prisons. I like the "three strikes, you're out..." I mean you're 'in.'
Treading water for years...colleges and universities should hand out life preservers instead of diplomas because many graduates are way over their heads in debt. The rich can afford to buy the sheepskin, and the poor get nearly a free ride with need-dependent aid. But, the middle class student wades deeper and deeper into debt each year or decides against higher education because of cost. The average school loan debt is around $20,000 and takes years to satisfy. Parents aren't saving enough for their children's educations because they're still paying for their own!
Hide the dummy...heterogeneous grouping in schools is common and mountains of data supporting both pros and cons of the issue can be found. After 34 years experience teaching in a public school, I can tell you the real results of such a practice. The teacher designs a lesson geared to reach the "middle." The more intellectual children aren't challenged, and the bottom students are dragged along or left in the dust. The top students get lazy and the bottom get discouraged. It's nearly impossible to meet the needs of all the students during a 40 minute class. School's really group kids this way because it's cheaper, easier to schedule, and they don't want the parental flack generated when the slower learners are exposed.
Retro-man...an 85-year-old man's obituary is topped with a photo of him as a newly enlisted sailor, fresh out of high school. Now, come on. Anyone who would have known his looks back then probably has Alzheimer's now or is dead, too! I think I'm going to have my first baby photo published with my obit. The one of me in the frayed, nursery-issue T-shirt and knit beanie cap.
First in line...I'm driving down the road with no one in front or behind me. I see a car ahead waiting to enter the roadway. When I'm almost on top of it, the driver pulls out and causes me to brake. The car continues at a sped slower than what I was cruising originally and below the posted speed limit. Now, why didn't the driver just wait until I passed to pull out? There should be a law that you can legally ram someone that does that. "Cow catchers" should be made standard equipment on the family minivan.
If something doesn't make sense to you, email me your thoughts. I'll publish them on this blog. If you can make some sense out of any of the above, email the logic to me. I'll spend less sleepless nights, if you do.
Nay, I say...recently 35 Senators (Clinton and Obama included) voted against making English our country's official language. The Constitution and Bill of Rights were written in English, right? I'd say that argues that English was and is our national language...law or no law.
Fly the friendly skies...airline tickets prices continue to rise, there are fewer flights and available seats, "on-time" statistics are low, and customer service is questionable. A passengers' bill of rights? Now the airlines are going to charge $25 or higher for your first piece of baggage. The industry reports a drop in reservation numbers. Dah! If you want someone to be your customer, you don't screw them six ways from Sunday.
The revolving door... 40% (or higher) of the prisoners released from facilities are back in jail within two to three years. Obviously, any jail term less than "life" is not a deterrent for some. So...give'em life. Use the money that would have been spent on trials, jail in and out processing, transportation, etc. and build more prisons. I like the "three strikes, you're out..." I mean you're 'in.'
Treading water for years...colleges and universities should hand out life preservers instead of diplomas because many graduates are way over their heads in debt. The rich can afford to buy the sheepskin, and the poor get nearly a free ride with need-dependent aid. But, the middle class student wades deeper and deeper into debt each year or decides against higher education because of cost. The average school loan debt is around $20,000 and takes years to satisfy. Parents aren't saving enough for their children's educations because they're still paying for their own!
Hide the dummy...heterogeneous grouping in schools is common and mountains of data supporting both pros and cons of the issue can be found. After 34 years experience teaching in a public school, I can tell you the real results of such a practice. The teacher designs a lesson geared to reach the "middle." The more intellectual children aren't challenged, and the bottom students are dragged along or left in the dust. The top students get lazy and the bottom get discouraged. It's nearly impossible to meet the needs of all the students during a 40 minute class. School's really group kids this way because it's cheaper, easier to schedule, and they don't want the parental flack generated when the slower learners are exposed.
Retro-man...an 85-year-old man's obituary is topped with a photo of him as a newly enlisted sailor, fresh out of high school. Now, come on. Anyone who would have known his looks back then probably has Alzheimer's now or is dead, too! I think I'm going to have my first baby photo published with my obit. The one of me in the frayed, nursery-issue T-shirt and knit beanie cap.
First in line...I'm driving down the road with no one in front or behind me. I see a car ahead waiting to enter the roadway. When I'm almost on top of it, the driver pulls out and causes me to brake. The car continues at a sped slower than what I was cruising originally and below the posted speed limit. Now, why didn't the driver just wait until I passed to pull out? There should be a law that you can legally ram someone that does that. "Cow catchers" should be made standard equipment on the family minivan.
If something doesn't make sense to you, email me your thoughts. I'll publish them on this blog. If you can make some sense out of any of the above, email the logic to me. I'll spend less sleepless nights, if you do.
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