The title may be misleading...this post is not about Christmas shopping madness at the outlet malls. That might be an apt topic given the time of year, but I have no knowledge of this topic as I am 95% done with my Christmas shopping. I will now pause to duck out of the way all of the random objects you people are no doubtedly throwing my way.
What I'm talking about are wall outlets and the gazillion chargers we have have to plug into them. It's insane. And what makes it 10,000 times worse is that the same manufacturer will make 143 products and 143 different charger inputs so that you cannot actually share chargers across products. Oh sure, there was a temporary shift towards a standardized input (and I'm not nerdy enough to go look up what that type of connection is called)...Motorola, Blackberry, Magellan, and several others were all using it. But today, my colleague asked for my Blackberry charger and discovered that the one I have does not match the input for her newer model. So great. Thanks a lot Blackberry. You're part of the problem in this whole mega-wired mess we have to deal with. Do you have any idea how hard it is to travel all the time like I do and have to tote the chargers for my computer, my personal phone, my work phone, my GPS, my external drive, etc, etc....? It's a pain in the stinkin' tuckus is what it is.
And I'm sure that they all do this so that they can make more money off of the sales of replacement chargers. Well you know what? Your short-sighted capitalist notions will be your un-doing. Right this very minute, inventors are slaving away to perfect those induction charging mats that merely require a person to place all of their chargeables on a mat (one mat with ONE PLUG that goes into the wall). Though of course, clever jerk manufacturers who want me to buy an even bigger box to hold all of my power cords, chargers, adapters, etc... will just make it so that only certain charging mats will work with certain products. As it is now, each device still needs its own adapter to work on the mat.
Seriously, though. I know we're all here to make a profit, but this is just profit at the expense of being clutter-oriented greedy meanies.
If I could kick something in effigy, I would. Well, I guess I could. There's nothing stopping me from saying that this trash can here represents stupid power cord product managers and kicking it clear across the room. Oh, except that I'm at work and that might freak people out. Plus, it's a pretty big room, so I'm not entirely certain I could kick even this small trash can all the way across the room. And there are a lot of obstacles that would, even given an NFL kicker's abilities, impede my ability to clear the room. Okay, if I'm going to kick something in effigy, this is neither the time nor the place.
I'm sure these overly capitalistic jerks are behind my current inability to kick something. Darn them.
What I'm talking about are wall outlets and the gazillion chargers we have have to plug into them. It's insane. And what makes it 10,000 times worse is that the same manufacturer will make 143 products and 143 different charger inputs so that you cannot actually share chargers across products. Oh sure, there was a temporary shift towards a standardized input (and I'm not nerdy enough to go look up what that type of connection is called)...Motorola, Blackberry, Magellan, and several others were all using it. But today, my colleague asked for my Blackberry charger and discovered that the one I have does not match the input for her newer model. So great. Thanks a lot Blackberry. You're part of the problem in this whole mega-wired mess we have to deal with. Do you have any idea how hard it is to travel all the time like I do and have to tote the chargers for my computer, my personal phone, my work phone, my GPS, my external drive, etc, etc....? It's a pain in the stinkin' tuckus is what it is.
And I'm sure that they all do this so that they can make more money off of the sales of replacement chargers. Well you know what? Your short-sighted capitalist notions will be your un-doing. Right this very minute, inventors are slaving away to perfect those induction charging mats that merely require a person to place all of their chargeables on a mat (one mat with ONE PLUG that goes into the wall). Though of course, clever jerk manufacturers who want me to buy an even bigger box to hold all of my power cords, chargers, adapters, etc... will just make it so that only certain charging mats will work with certain products. As it is now, each device still needs its own adapter to work on the mat.
Seriously, though. I know we're all here to make a profit, but this is just profit at the expense of being clutter-oriented greedy meanies.
If I could kick something in effigy, I would. Well, I guess I could. There's nothing stopping me from saying that this trash can here represents stupid power cord product managers and kicking it clear across the room. Oh, except that I'm at work and that might freak people out. Plus, it's a pretty big room, so I'm not entirely certain I could kick even this small trash can all the way across the room. And there are a lot of obstacles that would, even given an NFL kicker's abilities, impede my ability to clear the room. Okay, if I'm going to kick something in effigy, this is neither the time nor the place.
I'm sure these overly capitalistic jerks are behind my current inability to kick something. Darn them.
[Sometimes I think I'm too wordy--I try to get to my point, but I'm afraid on this topic, I have a lot to say.]
I had a friend of mine from high school recently make a comment on Facebook about how startled he was to get a snarky response from his high school's president when he wrote a letter expressing concerns about their pleas for alumni donations. My friend wrote a very articulate letter about how disturbed he was by the school's solicitations for money, citing the fact that the materials stated (something along the lines of) that there was no higher calling than to donate to the school.
We went to one of the top (or arguably THE top) private school in Atlanta. A school known for academic excellence and for having tremendous resources so that students were exposed to as many activities and experiences as possible. We went to school with a lot of extremely privileged kids (though many of us were not so...many were there on scholarship or their parents worked very hard to pay the tuition with little room for other luxuries).
Make no mistake...I pretty much hated my time there--I started in 6th grade. My grades weren't great (though much of that was due to my unwillingness to do the work), I was wearing hand-me-downs and Kmart clothes while many of my classmates were wearing Guess and Espirit and Forenza (and all the other top brands popular in the 80's...though I would like to point out that by my junior/senior years, I was wearing Laura Ashley just like everyone else). Having come from a school of less than 50 people and a year in public school, I was in a class of 150 kids and way behind academically. I had a number of teachers I deemed creepy, I was too nice to stand up for myself when picked on by other kids, and I refused to ask for help when I needed it. None of this was helped by the fact that I threw up in front of my entire homeroom class early in the year when I started in 6th grade. Nice.
I ironed out most of those kinks by the time I got to high school, but I would challenge most people who claim that they loved high school. My friends were nice, but to say they accepted me for who I was? Ah, no. My high school best friend and I butted heads all the time--it came to a head our senior year, and we actually stopped hanging out for the two months before graduation (though we did have a reconciliation the last two weeks of school). I got fed up with being a nice person by about that time too and took to vocalizing the snarky comments that flashed through my head when before I'd "turn the other cheek". This had a very alienating effect on my friends, but at least, to my surprise, I started winning over some unlikely people in my classes.
What all this rambling is meant to say, though, is that mine was not an ideal time in high school. I wasn't popular. I wasn't the brightest by academic standards. I got walked on. Most teachers didn't like me (I don't blame most of them for that...I was probably a very frustrating student). All this said, I want to be very clear--I wouldn't change one bit of it. I have zero regrets about where I went to school. I maybe would've stood up for myself more--walked out on the egotistical choir director who publicly humiliated me the day of our final concert, raised a bigger stink with the Bible teacher who gave me a bad grade on a final exam I ACED, and let my snarky personality out a little more often. But as far as going to that particular school...I appreciate everything I got out of that education and am grateful I had parents who were willing to sacrifice to ensure I got it.
And this takes me back to my friend's Facebook post. I completely understood where my friend was coming from...I get the same pleas for money and have noted the overstatement of need for a school with a larger endowment than many universities. But the backlash that resulted from his post horrified me (and, I think, my friend was a bit horrified too). All of a sudden, our old classmates chimed in with their own beefs about the school. Not wanting to donate because you feel the school has enough and maybe you feel other people need the money more? I respect that. But that's not how people responded.
People were lambasting the school for having such nice facilities. Some complained about the new gymnasium that was built recently. We had state-of-the-art facilities when we were there, why shouldn't the current students benefit in the same way? Though the students now get an indoor track...why are they too good for the rain when we weren't?
One wrote, "Only one of us has a marble staircase, and it's not me." Another wrote, "As soon as I can afford to send my child there, I will donate to them." Uh, it's through donations that they're able to give scholarships to kids who cannot afford and through donations that they are able to charge less for tuition than it actually costs to operate the school per student. Another wrote a bitter comment about the former school president who has long since retired--sure the guy was very conservative, but he was well-meaning and approachable. Clearly this former classmates still harbors resentment. Some others wrote about the "scars" left behind by the school.
I have three letters...WTF!?! (of course the F stands for "fudge")
Did I live in a bubble that whole time?
I feel I got a lot out of going to a school like that. For one thing, the stereotypes of high school ring hollow to me. Stories about high school jocks who go on to work at the local car wash, dreaming of the "glory days", and the high school nerd who went on to be highly successful and flaunt it in everyone's face at the reunions. We didn't have that. I know of very few people (actually, I don't know of any) from my graduating class who didn't go on to become extremely successful in life. As a matter of fact, many of my classmates are in the top of their fields.
I credit my alma mater with giving me the ability to fit into most social situations. As big a goofball as I am, I can go to a formal dinner and feel right at home. I was an academic late bloomer, but it's the skills I gained in school that give me the ability to soak it all in now.
I'm more driven because of the people I was surrounded by in high school. The influence was subtle, but it was there.
So listening to these former classmates now gripe and complain about where we went to school just seems ridiculous. The school work was hard, we were hard on each other, and there were times when the competition was cutthroat. But none of us would be where we are today without it. Don't donate if you don't want to...I can understand and respect if your priorities are elsewhere. But to resent the school and the experiences had there...here's where my empathy ends.
I have inadvertently stumbled into private school vs. public school arguments with friends. I don't really have a chip on my shoulder either way. I am not a private school snob--I recognize that there are outstanding public schools and sub-par private schools. My preference for schooling is that kids be surrounded with the best possible resources and surrounded by teachers who love what they do and other kids who are driven. However that happens...public or private.
I had a friend of mine from high school recently make a comment on Facebook about how startled he was to get a snarky response from his high school's president when he wrote a letter expressing concerns about their pleas for alumni donations. My friend wrote a very articulate letter about how disturbed he was by the school's solicitations for money, citing the fact that the materials stated (something along the lines of) that there was no higher calling than to donate to the school.
We went to one of the top (or arguably THE top) private school in Atlanta. A school known for academic excellence and for having tremendous resources so that students were exposed to as many activities and experiences as possible. We went to school with a lot of extremely privileged kids (though many of us were not so...many were there on scholarship or their parents worked very hard to pay the tuition with little room for other luxuries).
Make no mistake...I pretty much hated my time there--I started in 6th grade. My grades weren't great (though much of that was due to my unwillingness to do the work), I was wearing hand-me-downs and Kmart clothes while many of my classmates were wearing Guess and Espirit and Forenza (and all the other top brands popular in the 80's...though I would like to point out that by my junior/senior years, I was wearing Laura Ashley just like everyone else). Having come from a school of less than 50 people and a year in public school, I was in a class of 150 kids and way behind academically. I had a number of teachers I deemed creepy, I was too nice to stand up for myself when picked on by other kids, and I refused to ask for help when I needed it. None of this was helped by the fact that I threw up in front of my entire homeroom class early in the year when I started in 6th grade. Nice.
I ironed out most of those kinks by the time I got to high school, but I would challenge most people who claim that they loved high school. My friends were nice, but to say they accepted me for who I was? Ah, no. My high school best friend and I butted heads all the time--it came to a head our senior year, and we actually stopped hanging out for the two months before graduation (though we did have a reconciliation the last two weeks of school). I got fed up with being a nice person by about that time too and took to vocalizing the snarky comments that flashed through my head when before I'd "turn the other cheek". This had a very alienating effect on my friends, but at least, to my surprise, I started winning over some unlikely people in my classes.
What all this rambling is meant to say, though, is that mine was not an ideal time in high school. I wasn't popular. I wasn't the brightest by academic standards. I got walked on. Most teachers didn't like me (I don't blame most of them for that...I was probably a very frustrating student). All this said, I want to be very clear--I wouldn't change one bit of it. I have zero regrets about where I went to school. I maybe would've stood up for myself more--walked out on the egotistical choir director who publicly humiliated me the day of our final concert, raised a bigger stink with the Bible teacher who gave me a bad grade on a final exam I ACED, and let my snarky personality out a little more often. But as far as going to that particular school...I appreciate everything I got out of that education and am grateful I had parents who were willing to sacrifice to ensure I got it.
And this takes me back to my friend's Facebook post. I completely understood where my friend was coming from...I get the same pleas for money and have noted the overstatement of need for a school with a larger endowment than many universities. But the backlash that resulted from his post horrified me (and, I think, my friend was a bit horrified too). All of a sudden, our old classmates chimed in with their own beefs about the school. Not wanting to donate because you feel the school has enough and maybe you feel other people need the money more? I respect that. But that's not how people responded.
People were lambasting the school for having such nice facilities. Some complained about the new gymnasium that was built recently. We had state-of-the-art facilities when we were there, why shouldn't the current students benefit in the same way? Though the students now get an indoor track...why are they too good for the rain when we weren't?
One wrote, "Only one of us has a marble staircase, and it's not me." Another wrote, "As soon as I can afford to send my child there, I will donate to them." Uh, it's through donations that they're able to give scholarships to kids who cannot afford and through donations that they are able to charge less for tuition than it actually costs to operate the school per student. Another wrote a bitter comment about the former school president who has long since retired--sure the guy was very conservative, but he was well-meaning and approachable. Clearly this former classmates still harbors resentment. Some others wrote about the "scars" left behind by the school.
I have three letters...WTF!?! (of course the F stands for "fudge")
Did I live in a bubble that whole time?
I feel I got a lot out of going to a school like that. For one thing, the stereotypes of high school ring hollow to me. Stories about high school jocks who go on to work at the local car wash, dreaming of the "glory days", and the high school nerd who went on to be highly successful and flaunt it in everyone's face at the reunions. We didn't have that. I know of very few people (actually, I don't know of any) from my graduating class who didn't go on to become extremely successful in life. As a matter of fact, many of my classmates are in the top of their fields.
I credit my alma mater with giving me the ability to fit into most social situations. As big a goofball as I am, I can go to a formal dinner and feel right at home. I was an academic late bloomer, but it's the skills I gained in school that give me the ability to soak it all in now.
I'm more driven because of the people I was surrounded by in high school. The influence was subtle, but it was there.
So listening to these former classmates now gripe and complain about where we went to school just seems ridiculous. The school work was hard, we were hard on each other, and there were times when the competition was cutthroat. But none of us would be where we are today without it. Don't donate if you don't want to...I can understand and respect if your priorities are elsewhere. But to resent the school and the experiences had there...here's where my empathy ends.
I have inadvertently stumbled into private school vs. public school arguments with friends. I don't really have a chip on my shoulder either way. I am not a private school snob--I recognize that there are outstanding public schools and sub-par private schools. My preference for schooling is that kids be surrounded with the best possible resources and surrounded by teachers who love what they do and other kids who are driven. However that happens...public or private.
Not too long ago, a friend of mine forwarded an article on over-parenting (link). This has been a particular pet peeve of mine--watching as parents today, parents who are my age and raised in the same (apparently) danger-riddled world I grew up in, try to coat their children in teflon and want the world to revolve around them.
A few years back I got into a full-blown argument with a colleague because a friend of mine was buying a house, but was told he had to put better fencing around the pool. Apparently, the 6 foot, latched from inside fence wasn't suitable. My colleague pointed out that this must be done to protect the neighborhood children from wandering into the yard and drowning.
"Why is it his responsibility to child-proof his pool when he has no kids and any kids who wander into his back yard--especially those who have scaled a 6 foot fence--don't have the right to be there?"
"Because you have to look out for the kids--even the ones who make mistakes."
This is the same woman I got into a blood-boiling argument with because she insisted that Juicy Juice was the only brand of 100% fruit juice on the market. I learned to ignore her.
I'm sure some of my friends with kids would argue along the same lines as my colleague. Let me tell you something, now that the parental statute of limitations has run its course...my best friend and I, as we were growing up, were constantly where we were not supposed to be. This included a neighbor's backyard that had a diving pool. A dirty diving pool, so we weren't really tempted to go swimming, but we sat on the diving board, chatted and sometimes threw sticks or rocks into the pool. I think we might've rescued the occasional beetle and a few bees too. Now the time or two that we did this, we didn't get caught. I'm fairly certain if the neighbors had caught us, we would've gotten yelled at, and our parents would've been told (had these people happened to know our parents...and I doubt they did).
After reading this article, I rattled off a list of activities I engaged in that most likely would've had my parents in trouble with CPS had they allowed it today, including:
* Climbing trees (I fell out of one at least once that I can remember...got a big ole fat lip).
* Bike riding on the street once I was able to ride a bike--my dad took me for a training ride to show me hand signals and other rules of the road...after that, I was on my own. I'm guessing that I was 7 or 8. My sister and I were allowed to ride together to Richway (now Target)...a 6 or 7 mile trek from home involving a road that involved a pretty good amount of traffic.
* My sister and I took the bus home from gymnastics when she was 12/13 and I was 5/6.
* I came home from camp at age 8, after learning to wield an axe, and my dad let me chop wood in the yard by myself.
* Babysitting my brother and neighborhood kids when I was 9.
* Riding in the car without a seatbelt.
* When I was 12/13, my friend and I spent summer afternoons riding horses bareback, roaming through the countryside in N. Georgia, often times racing the horses as fast as we could.
* Swinging on the giant swings at the park, going as high as possible and then jumping off.
* Trick-or-treating well after dark, going to houses of people we didn't know without our parents.
* Selling Girl Scout Cookies door-to-door, again without parents.
Honestly, it's amazing any of us ever survived. Clearly.
After listing these and others to my friend, he told me that his wife wouldn't let him take their daughter to the emergency room after she smashed her thumb because a visit to the emergency room would be "too traumatic". !?! I'd been to an emergency room at least 3 times by the time I reached 8th grade...the only trauma I remember (other than the actual injuries themselves) was the fact that I couldn't stop throwing up when I was at the hospital for a concussion. I remember that being a humiliating experience.
People won't let their kids climb trees, play in their front yard, walk by themselves to a neighbor's house two houses down...
I worked with a woman who left her kids alone for the first time all day while I was working with her. She was very nervous about it, telling me in advance she was going to be monitoring her mobile phone and may have to leave meetings if something comes up. Kids were something like 13 and 9. The 13 year old had a friend over, and the friend's mom couldn't reach her daughter. Cops were called. My colleague had to go home. Cop yelled at my colleague for a good 30 minutes, telling her that, in his opinion, kids shouldn't be left alone at home until they're 16. He reported her to CPS. WHAT!?!? Luckily this seems to be an extreme case and even CPS did nothing to follow up on this. Can you imagine living in a world where people aren't given that level of responsibility until they're 16? Good heavens. Another colleague supported what the cops said, "Well, you know...things are a lot more dangerous than they were when we were kids..." Uh...NO. No, they are not.
A few years back I got into a full-blown argument with a colleague because a friend of mine was buying a house, but was told he had to put better fencing around the pool. Apparently, the 6 foot, latched from inside fence wasn't suitable. My colleague pointed out that this must be done to protect the neighborhood children from wandering into the yard and drowning.
"Why is it his responsibility to child-proof his pool when he has no kids and any kids who wander into his back yard--especially those who have scaled a 6 foot fence--don't have the right to be there?"
"Because you have to look out for the kids--even the ones who make mistakes."
This is the same woman I got into a blood-boiling argument with because she insisted that Juicy Juice was the only brand of 100% fruit juice on the market. I learned to ignore her.
I'm sure some of my friends with kids would argue along the same lines as my colleague. Let me tell you something, now that the parental statute of limitations has run its course...my best friend and I, as we were growing up, were constantly where we were not supposed to be. This included a neighbor's backyard that had a diving pool. A dirty diving pool, so we weren't really tempted to go swimming, but we sat on the diving board, chatted and sometimes threw sticks or rocks into the pool. I think we might've rescued the occasional beetle and a few bees too. Now the time or two that we did this, we didn't get caught. I'm fairly certain if the neighbors had caught us, we would've gotten yelled at, and our parents would've been told (had these people happened to know our parents...and I doubt they did).
After reading this article, I rattled off a list of activities I engaged in that most likely would've had my parents in trouble with CPS had they allowed it today, including:
* Climbing trees (I fell out of one at least once that I can remember...got a big ole fat lip).
* Bike riding on the street once I was able to ride a bike--my dad took me for a training ride to show me hand signals and other rules of the road...after that, I was on my own. I'm guessing that I was 7 or 8. My sister and I were allowed to ride together to Richway (now Target)...a 6 or 7 mile trek from home involving a road that involved a pretty good amount of traffic.
* My sister and I took the bus home from gymnastics when she was 12/13 and I was 5/6.
* I came home from camp at age 8, after learning to wield an axe, and my dad let me chop wood in the yard by myself.
* Babysitting my brother and neighborhood kids when I was 9.
* Riding in the car without a seatbelt.
* When I was 12/13, my friend and I spent summer afternoons riding horses bareback, roaming through the countryside in N. Georgia, often times racing the horses as fast as we could.
* Swinging on the giant swings at the park, going as high as possible and then jumping off.
* Trick-or-treating well after dark, going to houses of people we didn't know without our parents.
* Selling Girl Scout Cookies door-to-door, again without parents.
Honestly, it's amazing any of us ever survived. Clearly.
After listing these and others to my friend, he told me that his wife wouldn't let him take their daughter to the emergency room after she smashed her thumb because a visit to the emergency room would be "too traumatic". !?! I'd been to an emergency room at least 3 times by the time I reached 8th grade...the only trauma I remember (other than the actual injuries themselves) was the fact that I couldn't stop throwing up when I was at the hospital for a concussion. I remember that being a humiliating experience.
People won't let their kids climb trees, play in their front yard, walk by themselves to a neighbor's house two houses down...
I worked with a woman who left her kids alone for the first time all day while I was working with her. She was very nervous about it, telling me in advance she was going to be monitoring her mobile phone and may have to leave meetings if something comes up. Kids were something like 13 and 9. The 13 year old had a friend over, and the friend's mom couldn't reach her daughter. Cops were called. My colleague had to go home. Cop yelled at my colleague for a good 30 minutes, telling her that, in his opinion, kids shouldn't be left alone at home until they're 16. He reported her to CPS. WHAT!?!? Luckily this seems to be an extreme case and even CPS did nothing to follow up on this. Can you imagine living in a world where people aren't given that level of responsibility until they're 16? Good heavens. Another colleague supported what the cops said, "Well, you know...things are a lot more dangerous than they were when we were kids..." Uh...NO. No, they are not.
We are engaged in our annual Thanksgiving tradition--my friend and I went grocery shopping last night (did I say this last Thanksgiving? The absolute best time to go, assuming you already have a turkey, is on Tuesday night as the grocery store is empty...though by saying this, if my blog ever goes viral, I could be ruining this). Today we're making what we can make before the big cooking day tomorrow. I also went to Whole Foods today (note: while Tuesday evening is prime, Wednesday afternoon is misery) to pick up one of our desserts. Yes, we cheat--there are certain items we don't cook. Look, we want two desserts, and I think it's a lot to ask that we make even one of them when there are so many yummy pre-made options out there. But the Whole Food fruit tart is a fantastic Thanksgiving dessert.
In general, I'm not a big fan of fruit desserts. I feel they take perfectly good fruit and ruin it. Are strawberries really better coated in sugar? I would argue no, but I wouldn't have many constituents for my anti-fruit-buried-in-sugar-and-syrup campaign.
The basic fruit tart at Whole Foods, however, merits the occasional exception to my rule.
I battled my way into the parking lot and after doing the requisite laps, I happened upon a plum parking spot. I b-lined it for the bakery because I worried that others had a similar fruit tart for Thanksgiving tradition. I got in line behind two other people. Three fruit tarts in the case...score! Person in front ordered a fruit tart. Okay, two...that's still good. Person in front of me ordered and I heard the woman behind the counter say, "Two fruit tarts!?!" My heart skipped a beat and then began racing. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! This all happened within the span of a split second* because after this, the woman in front of me replied, "I only need one." Whew. My turn..."Fruit tart, please."
The woman said there were none left, but I pointed at the last one in the display case. "Oh I didn't see that one!" Turns out, the lady in front of me had ordered two but was willing to accept one when she was told only one was available. Fool--didn't she look in the display case? Once handed my fruit tart, I had a moment of conscience. Should I offer it to the woman who wanted two? It did seem only fair. So I did. Luckily she said no and laughed when I looked relieved. "Was that a hollow gesture?" she asked.
I smiled with a slightly cocked eyebrow, "We'll never know."
I placed the fruit tart delicately on my front seat, moving my purse, jacket and all other front seat occupants to the floor. I left the parking lot and started on my way to my friend's house, relieved and certain that we had all of the items we need for our yummy Thanksgiving feast. The holidays will begin in style--we can relax in knowing that we will not have to face the craziness at the store again.
When all of a sudden, some %@#$%@ pulls out right in front of me. The only thing I could do to keep from hitting this holiday merriment ruin-er was slam on my brakes. The fruit tart went flying off the seat and onto the floor.
[It may have survived okay, but I'm too afraid of what I'll find if I open the box to check--we'll make it a little surprise tomorrow.]
* Don't even bother to point out that the pause couldn't have lasted a split second if I could recognize that my heart skipped a beat. This is not the time nor place for you to turn my blog entry into a math word problem.
In general, I'm not a big fan of fruit desserts. I feel they take perfectly good fruit and ruin it. Are strawberries really better coated in sugar? I would argue no, but I wouldn't have many constituents for my anti-fruit-buried-in-sugar-and-syrup campaign.
The basic fruit tart at Whole Foods, however, merits the occasional exception to my rule.
I battled my way into the parking lot and after doing the requisite laps, I happened upon a plum parking spot. I b-lined it for the bakery because I worried that others had a similar fruit tart for Thanksgiving tradition. I got in line behind two other people. Three fruit tarts in the case...score! Person in front ordered a fruit tart. Okay, two...that's still good. Person in front of me ordered and I heard the woman behind the counter say, "Two fruit tarts!?!" My heart skipped a beat and then began racing. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! This all happened within the span of a split second* because after this, the woman in front of me replied, "I only need one." Whew. My turn..."Fruit tart, please."
The woman said there were none left, but I pointed at the last one in the display case. "Oh I didn't see that one!" Turns out, the lady in front of me had ordered two but was willing to accept one when she was told only one was available. Fool--didn't she look in the display case? Once handed my fruit tart, I had a moment of conscience. Should I offer it to the woman who wanted two? It did seem only fair. So I did. Luckily she said no and laughed when I looked relieved. "Was that a hollow gesture?" she asked.
I smiled with a slightly cocked eyebrow, "We'll never know."
I placed the fruit tart delicately on my front seat, moving my purse, jacket and all other front seat occupants to the floor. I left the parking lot and started on my way to my friend's house, relieved and certain that we had all of the items we need for our yummy Thanksgiving feast. The holidays will begin in style--we can relax in knowing that we will not have to face the craziness at the store again.
When all of a sudden, some %@#$%@ pulls out right in front of me. The only thing I could do to keep from hitting this holiday merriment ruin-er was slam on my brakes. The fruit tart went flying off the seat and onto the floor.
[It may have survived okay, but I'm too afraid of what I'll find if I open the box to check--we'll make it a little surprise tomorrow.]
* Don't even bother to point out that the pause couldn't have lasted a split second if I could recognize that my heart skipped a beat. This is not the time nor place for you to turn my blog entry into a math word problem.
I don't know who this person is but he must be stopped for reavealing truths telling lies. It's people like this and their anti-octopus agenda that make me sick....
http://www.octopustruth.co
I watched THE AMAZING OCTOPUS on the Science Channel tonight. Wasn't particularly informative, but through the course of an hour you get to see an octopus live from birth to death (supposedly...I have my doubts that they happened to capture the same octopus escaping from being on board a fisherman's boat two times--once as an adolescent and once as an adult). In reality, it was a little depressing and convinced me that cod are jerks.
But baby octopi...holy cow are they cute!
Little shnookums.
http://www.octopustruth.co
I watched THE AMAZING OCTOPUS on the Science Channel tonight. Wasn't particularly informative, but through the course of an hour you get to see an octopus live from birth to death (supposedly...I have my doubts that they happened to capture the same octopus escaping from being on board a fisherman's boat two times--once as an adolescent and once as an adult). In reality, it was a little depressing and convinced me that cod are jerks.
But baby octopi...holy cow are they cute!
Little shnookums.
After reading DRUNKARD'S WALK, I decided to read Marilyn Vos Savant's book THE POWER OF LOGICAL THINKING. Both author's cover some of the same examples. Since the Monty Hall Problem came from the "Ask Marilyn" column in Parade, I expected her to go into more detail about it--which she does along with publishing a lot of the critical letters that came in, telling her she was wrong. One man condescendingly explained that she had it wrong and that there was such a thing as "woman logic" (or something along those lines). It was quite entertaining to read letters from people with strings of letters after their names and lofty professorships at prestigious universities, showing their own lack of understanding and ability to consider the simplicity of the right answer.
One problem I do have with the book is her writing style. For anyone who doesn't know, the woman behind "Ask Marilyin" is the Guinness world record holder because she has an IQ of 228. The problem with people who are very smart is that I think they have trouble talking to people who aren't quite up to their level of intelligence. My friend has a boss who takes every opportunity to use 7 syllable words when a two syllable word would've sufficed. I once tried to explain to him that he alienated people that way. He felt as though people should broaden their vocabulary if they don't understand. I responded by explaining that even though I understood him and knew the meanings of the words he was using, I felt his over-use of large words in lieu of small words very off-putting. I may as well have made my argument to a mollusk. Though a mollusk might at least have seemed interested in the point I was trying to make.
Marilyn, at least, isn't so hard-headed and actually seems interested in writing to a mass audience. My problem is that the writing makes me feel like she's dumbing everything down. It never comes off as condescending, but it makes me equally uncomfortable to the opposite problem my friend's boss has.
Still very interesting and entertaining, though. These books have me very eager to learn more about statistics.
One problem I do have with the book is her writing style. For anyone who doesn't know, the woman behind "Ask Marilyin" is the Guinness world record holder because she has an IQ of 228. The problem with people who are very smart is that I think they have trouble talking to people who aren't quite up to their level of intelligence. My friend has a boss who takes every opportunity to use 7 syllable words when a two syllable word would've sufficed. I once tried to explain to him that he alienated people that way. He felt as though people should broaden their vocabulary if they don't understand. I responded by explaining that even though I understood him and knew the meanings of the words he was using, I felt his over-use of large words in lieu of small words very off-putting. I may as well have made my argument to a mollusk. Though a mollusk might at least have seemed interested in the point I was trying to make.
Marilyn, at least, isn't so hard-headed and actually seems interested in writing to a mass audience. My problem is that the writing makes me feel like she's dumbing everything down. It never comes off as condescending, but it makes me equally uncomfortable to the opposite problem my friend's boss has.
Still very interesting and entertaining, though. These books have me very eager to learn more about statistics.
I had my eyes lasered about two years ago. A decision I wish I'd made many, many years ago. I remember never considering being a pilot when I was younger because my vision was so bad--you can't be a pilot with bad vision. Seriously, without corrective lenses, I couldn't even see the "E" on the eye chart. Luckily my vision was near 20/20 with contacts, but it got to the point where wearing contacts all the time bugged me. And when I'd have a contact malfunction, it was always a huge hassle. Plus, the blood vessels in my eye were starving for oxygen and creeping around in search of it (ick!).
So spending 5 minutes having my eyes go through what I most likely would've deemed torture had I seen it from any other perspective, was worth it. Every tax free penny was worth it. I don't miss contacts even the tiniest little bit.
But I do miss glasses. Oh, I didn't wear them that often and I'd sometimes feel a bit frumpier when I wore them. However, I had such a lovely eyeglass wardrobe...honed over the years of bad vision. The last pair I purchased were awesome--they made me look smart without looking bookish.
I've considered replacing the prescription lenses but that just seems silly. In that case, I'd just be wearing the glasses for sheer vanity. How bizarre...wanting to wear glasses out of vanity. I won't do it. But it seems so sad that all these lovely glasses sit, unused.
[Yes, I know I can donate them, but as my opthamologist reminds me...it's only a matter of time before I need them again for far-sightedness.]
So spending 5 minutes having my eyes go through what I most likely would've deemed torture had I seen it from any other perspective, was worth it. Every tax free penny was worth it. I don't miss contacts even the tiniest little bit.
But I do miss glasses. Oh, I didn't wear them that often and I'd sometimes feel a bit frumpier when I wore them. However, I had such a lovely eyeglass wardrobe...honed over the years of bad vision. The last pair I purchased were awesome--they made me look smart without looking bookish.
I've considered replacing the prescription lenses but that just seems silly. In that case, I'd just be wearing the glasses for sheer vanity. How bizarre...wanting to wear glasses out of vanity. I won't do it. But it seems so sad that all these lovely glasses sit, unused.
[Yes, I know I can donate them, but as my opthamologist reminds me...it's only a matter of time before I need them again for far-sightedness.]
The Cartoon network is advertising that they're now showing Loony Tunes weekdays at 11am. I have one question for the Cartoon network...are these the original Loony Tunes or have the cartoons been edited scrubbed to remove all "offensive" content.
In other words, when Wile E. falls off of a cliff, do we see him go "splat" at the bottom of the canyon?
Was this really too much violence for us as kids? Did I ever watch this cartoon and weep for the coyote? Was I ever tempted to use a giant rubber band to fashion a human-sized sling-shot and then attempt to launch myself from said slighshot with an Acme rocket strapped to my back and some roller skates strapped to me feet? Because I do not recall it. As a matter of fact, the coyote served as his own cautionary tale against such shenanigans. Probably more so than those fools on JACKASS, who taught us, among other things, that chugging a gallon of milk as fast as you can may not be a good idea. Now true, JACKASS was never intended for children, but I'm not entirely sure I get where LOONY TUNES contributes to the delinquency of our children.
My parents may have a different memory, but I do not recall ever having trouble separating what went on in the cartoon wolrd with what was going on in the real world.
I had a friend in college who absolutely hated Pepe Le Pew. He claimed those cartoons condoned rape. Of all the "too mature" complaints against the cartoons of my youth, this was probably the most legitimate. A bit extreme to say it condoned rape, but it certainly did seem to endorse pursuing people despite their protests.
And quite frankly, I'm not sure how a duck/bunny rivalry that almost always ends badly for the duck has relevance to the decisions I made as a child. There's an unlikely chance that if I'd encountered a duck I didn't like, I might try to sick a bunny on it, but I somehow believe the outcome of such an encounter would hardly be worth noting nor would it have been worth writing angry letters to Hugh Harman. The smart money would be on the duck NOT winding up with its bill on backwards. A couple of hops. A couple of quacks. A nose twitch. That's it.
I want to see the coyote get hit by the train that comes out of the imaginary tunnel. Does this make me a sociopath? Apparently.
In other words, when Wile E. falls off of a cliff, do we see him go "splat" at the bottom of the canyon?
Was this really too much violence for us as kids? Did I ever watch this cartoon and weep for the coyote? Was I ever tempted to use a giant rubber band to fashion a human-sized sling-shot and then attempt to launch myself from said slighshot with an Acme rocket strapped to my back and some roller skates strapped to me feet? Because I do not recall it. As a matter of fact, the coyote served as his own cautionary tale against such shenanigans. Probably more so than those fools on JACKASS, who taught us, among other things, that chugging a gallon of milk as fast as you can may not be a good idea. Now true, JACKASS was never intended for children, but I'm not entirely sure I get where LOONY TUNES contributes to the delinquency of our children.
My parents may have a different memory, but I do not recall ever having trouble separating what went on in the cartoon wolrd with what was going on in the real world.
I had a friend in college who absolutely hated Pepe Le Pew. He claimed those cartoons condoned rape. Of all the "too mature" complaints against the cartoons of my youth, this was probably the most legitimate. A bit extreme to say it condoned rape, but it certainly did seem to endorse pursuing people despite their protests.
And quite frankly, I'm not sure how a duck/bunny rivalry that almost always ends badly for the duck has relevance to the decisions I made as a child. There's an unlikely chance that if I'd encountered a duck I didn't like, I might try to sick a bunny on it, but I somehow believe the outcome of such an encounter would hardly be worth noting nor would it have been worth writing angry letters to Hugh Harman. The smart money would be on the duck NOT winding up with its bill on backwards. A couple of hops. A couple of quacks. A nose twitch. That's it.
I want to see the coyote get hit by the train that comes out of the imaginary tunnel. Does this make me a sociopath? Apparently.
On my trip home from Houston this week, I marveled at how much joy I derive from driving. Especially on an open road with no other traffic to worry about. Other cars somewhat affect my ability to enjoy the drive....I don't much care for the fact that those other cars will sometimes behave in unpredictable ways.
The SUV I drive has various safety features built in, including the fact that if I'm driving too recklessly (taking turns too fast, for example), the car will automatically apply the brakes before I cause the car to flip over. I got to experience this feature on the little adventure the manufacturer invited new owners to try back when I bought the car (I believe I've mentioned this day of "safety training" in a previous post). I can definitely appreciate the fact that my car will look out for me if I'm not looking out for me. (Or maybe I'm being too arrogant and this is really the car's desire for self-preservation). I would like to state for the record, however, that my car has never had to take over in this manner.
Volvo has a new car out (and I think Toyota/Lexus has their own models that do this too) that has smart cruise control...senses when traffic ahead changes speeds and will apply the brakes for the driver. I don't object to this, but I'm starting to worry. How many more years before cars will be driving themselves? Due to the fact that this will probably be safer than humans driving cars, would it then become required that we relinquish our role behind the wheel? Just like with the smart cruise control, I can see the virtues. All the texting and distracted driving everywhere makes me insane. The other day I learned that schools have a 20mph zone for a reason and it's not just the kids...it's the parents, rifling through the kids' daily reports and grades, that also need the slow speed limit (or maybe they think it's okay to do that because the speed limit is so slow?).
But to lose out on my ability to drive would make me very sad...maybe this type of advancement would only occur in my post driving stage of life, but I'm sure there will be other generations of people like me out there. People who love to be behind the wheel. I feel bad for them.
The SUV I drive has various safety features built in, including the fact that if I'm driving too recklessly (taking turns too fast, for example), the car will automatically apply the brakes before I cause the car to flip over. I got to experience this feature on the little adventure the manufacturer invited new owners to try back when I bought the car (I believe I've mentioned this day of "safety training" in a previous post). I can definitely appreciate the fact that my car will look out for me if I'm not looking out for me. (Or maybe I'm being too arrogant and this is really the car's desire for self-preservation). I would like to state for the record, however, that my car has never had to take over in this manner.
Volvo has a new car out (and I think Toyota/Lexus has their own models that do this too) that has smart cruise control...senses when traffic ahead changes speeds and will apply the brakes for the driver. I don't object to this, but I'm starting to worry. How many more years before cars will be driving themselves? Due to the fact that this will probably be safer than humans driving cars, would it then become required that we relinquish our role behind the wheel? Just like with the smart cruise control, I can see the virtues. All the texting and distracted driving everywhere makes me insane. The other day I learned that schools have a 20mph zone for a reason and it's not just the kids...it's the parents, rifling through the kids' daily reports and grades, that also need the slow speed limit (or maybe they think it's okay to do that because the speed limit is so slow?).
But to lose out on my ability to drive would make me very sad...maybe this type of advancement would only occur in my post driving stage of life, but I'm sure there will be other generations of people like me out there. People who love to be behind the wheel. I feel bad for them.
I recently read THE DRUNKARD'S WALK by Leonard Mlodinow, and I loved it. Absolutely loved it. I'm not going to go into a book report here, but it's about how people view statistics and what statistics actually mean (well, in truth, it seeks to define "randomness"). Filled with lots of fun statistical analysis and anecdotes. The book goes into the details of the infamous "Ask Marilyn" question dubbed the "Monty Hall Problem"...explaining why you should switch doors if shown that the contents behind one of the doors you didn't select included a goat and some hay.
What I found of particular note was the fact that so many people do misunderstand statistics. I hadn't heard about this before, but apparently in the OJ Simpson trial, the defense made a big stink about how the prosecutors were trying to show that Simpson had a history of abusing his ex-wife and yet statistics show that only a very tiny fraction of men who abuse their wives actually murder them. My first thought when reading that was "Yeah, but how many men who kill their wives had a history of abusing them?" That's a totally different (and more accurate) statistic to analyze. And yes, that statistic is much more damning. But no one, not even the prosecutors, questioned it!
I'm wondering if I shouldn't have studied statistics now after having read that book. Sure, it's a much more simplistic and fun look at statistical analysis, but it was gripping. I read it with such an enthusiasm that revealed my underlying nerdliness. For example, the author explained how if you have a family with two children and know that one is a daughter, odds are 1 in 3 that their second child is also a female. However, if you know that they have a daughter and that the daughter's name is "Florida", then the odds are 1 in 2 that their second child is a daughter. I read the part where he posed that truth without explaining it before I had to get off a plane, get in my rental car, and drive to a meeting. All day I was in suspense....how could the statistic be different just because you know the name? I sat in the meeting, playing with this little mental puzzle, absolutely dying to get back to my book, but wanting to come up with my own theory. Just like with the Monty Hall Problem, the brain puts blinders on to additional information that it has but weeds out...which is why we look at statistics wrong.
He also lent credence to my theory that the reasons people defy the odds given to them by doctors is that doctors have no clue about odds and statistics.
I haven't used this little trick of thinking in my life other than to question statistics I hear, but one way in which it does dominate my life is when I read a book or watch a movie--I'm very well-equipped to suspend my disbelief. Why? Because when a series of increasingly incredible and ridiculous things happens to a character, I stop and think, "Okay, so I'm struggling to believe that all these things are happening to this one person, but how I should really be looking at it as that this is the one person in 6 billion that all these things happened to." Suddenly it becomes more plausible--that given true randomness, it is very likely that one person will experience an increasingly bizarre (seemingly coincidental) series of events. And then at that point I can sit back and enjoy the rest of the story.
That's it...that's how my brain uses this method of thinking. To prevent me from throwing down a book or walking out of a movie theater.
What I found of particular note was the fact that so many people do misunderstand statistics. I hadn't heard about this before, but apparently in the OJ Simpson trial, the defense made a big stink about how the prosecutors were trying to show that Simpson had a history of abusing his ex-wife and yet statistics show that only a very tiny fraction of men who abuse their wives actually murder them. My first thought when reading that was "Yeah, but how many men who kill their wives had a history of abusing them?" That's a totally different (and more accurate) statistic to analyze. And yes, that statistic is much more damning. But no one, not even the prosecutors, questioned it!
I'm wondering if I shouldn't have studied statistics now after having read that book. Sure, it's a much more simplistic and fun look at statistical analysis, but it was gripping. I read it with such an enthusiasm that revealed my underlying nerdliness. For example, the author explained how if you have a family with two children and know that one is a daughter, odds are 1 in 3 that their second child is also a female. However, if you know that they have a daughter and that the daughter's name is "Florida", then the odds are 1 in 2 that their second child is a daughter. I read the part where he posed that truth without explaining it before I had to get off a plane, get in my rental car, and drive to a meeting. All day I was in suspense....how could the statistic be different just because you know the name? I sat in the meeting, playing with this little mental puzzle, absolutely dying to get back to my book, but wanting to come up with my own theory. Just like with the Monty Hall Problem, the brain puts blinders on to additional information that it has but weeds out...which is why we look at statistics wrong.
He also lent credence to my theory that the reasons people defy the odds given to them by doctors is that doctors have no clue about odds and statistics.
I haven't used this little trick of thinking in my life other than to question statistics I hear, but one way in which it does dominate my life is when I read a book or watch a movie--I'm very well-equipped to suspend my disbelief. Why? Because when a series of increasingly incredible and ridiculous things happens to a character, I stop and think, "Okay, so I'm struggling to believe that all these things are happening to this one person, but how I should really be looking at it as that this is the one person in 6 billion that all these things happened to." Suddenly it becomes more plausible--that given true randomness, it is very likely that one person will experience an increasingly bizarre (seemingly coincidental) series of events. And then at that point I can sit back and enjoy the rest of the story.
That's it...that's how my brain uses this method of thinking. To prevent me from throwing down a book or walking out of a movie theater.
My street originally did not end in a cul-de-sac. The way my street is laid out now is weird. You drive down one street and turn a curve and suddenly you're on my street. Cross through an intersection and you're at the part that dead ends in a cul-de-sac. But beyond the cul-de-sac is the other part of my street. It starts at a major road and then, where it used to go through to my part, there's a curve that turns into another street.
So it's a little strange--I'm almost never on the other side of my street. Driving it tonight, it seemed so strange that these houses were all a part of the same immediate neighborhood.
Now it's completely goofy. It feels like there are three parts to my street--the main part on the other side of the cul-de-sac, my part and then the part on the other side of the stop sign.
And while this post may not be very interesting, I elaborated here so that what I write next makes a little more sense. NO ONE CAN EVER FIND MY HOUSE! It drives me crazy when delivery people refuse to ask...then they always get here late or call me saying that they cannot find my house number. I've learned that "Oh I'm familiar with your area" means nothing. It's only when they ask if I'm at the dead-end side before I can even ask them if they need directions that I know they're familiar with my street.
Why did they make this so goofy!?! I wish I knew the motivation for them closing off my side of the street. It's good for me that they did because then my street would likely be a major thoroughfare to the park, but then again, I probably would not have bought the house had this been the case.
So it's a little strange--I'm almost never on the other side of my street. Driving it tonight, it seemed so strange that these houses were all a part of the same immediate neighborhood.
Now it's completely goofy. It feels like there are three parts to my street--the main part on the other side of the cul-de-sac, my part and then the part on the other side of the stop sign.
And while this post may not be very interesting, I elaborated here so that what I write next makes a little more sense. NO ONE CAN EVER FIND MY HOUSE! It drives me crazy when delivery people refuse to ask...then they always get here late or call me saying that they cannot find my house number. I've learned that "Oh I'm familiar with your area" means nothing. It's only when they ask if I'm at the dead-end side before I can even ask them if they need directions that I know they're familiar with my street.
Why did they make this so goofy!?! I wish I knew the motivation for them closing off my side of the street. It's good for me that they did because then my street would likely be a major thoroughfare to the park, but then again, I probably would not have bought the house had this been the case.
Most of the kids I went to school with had braces at some point or another. They all complained about them. I wish I'd been so lucky. My teeth have always been reasonably straight (with the exception of my bottom teeth but they're not that noticeable most of the time and they're not too terribly bad), but what I did (and do still somewhat have) was an overbite.
My dad took me to the orthodontist just before 7th grade (or maybe 8th), and I prepared myself for the fact that I might have to get braces. When the doctor said I didn't need braces, my excitement was short-lived. He pulled out a model of something that proved to be far worse. A crazy large retainer-type thing called the Bionator. This, he explained, was what would mold my jaw and pull my lower teeth forward. At first I would need to wear 24x7 except when eating or brushing my teeth. Day and night with a huge piece of plastic in my mouth.
Here was the problem....as previously mentioned, it was huge! It wasn't one of those small things that are placed under the tongue or that are glued to the roof of the mouth and are fairly unobtrusive. No...it took up my whole mouth. Here....here's a picture...
Now imagine trying to talk to people with this thing in your mouth. I was somehow supposed to manage participating in classroom discussions and socialize with my classmates while wearing the equivalent of a mouth guard. As you might've guessed, this didn't go over too well with my already vicious junior high classmates (not that mine were particular vicious...just that junior high is when kids are really just rotten to one another). My friends suggested that I spit it out before answering a question in class. GROSS! I saw people spit out their retainers at lunch-time and cover them up with napkins...was there really no more discreet way of doing that!?! I was mocked for not washing my hair every day by these same people--a fact that wasn't lost on me at the time, but my parents were adamant that we not be mean.
Forget it, unless I got called on, I wasn't talking. And teachers grew weary of listening to me try to talk through that thing and stopped calling on me. The orthodontist promised that I would get used to it and learn how to talk with it. Clearly he was a sadistic liar.
Daytime was definitely the worst, but night time also met with challenges. For you see, my subconscious didn't really care for having something in my mouth while I slept. I would invariably spit it out every night. This resulted in the daily morning ritual of searching for my Bionator. Sometimes still in the bed, sometimes on the floor, sometimes behind the bed or nightstand. Every so often...across the floor on the other side of the room. I stepped on it more than once when getting out of bed, but luckily never broke it--I don't know how much it cost, but I'm sure it was very expensive.
And then my orthodontist would yell at me for not wearing it enough.
After months of doubting my claims that I spit it out (come on--was that really such a rare problem?), he added four braces brackets to each side of my mouth so that I could put rubber bands in my mouth to keep the stupid thing in there. Making it so that not only did I have to wear this silly thing but I still had to take on the pain and frustration of braces.
Somehow I still managed to spit it out while I slept, but just not as often, and it wouldn't get nearly as far. Sometimes I would awaken in the middle of the night with it halfway out of my mouth...or still in my mouth, but all crooked--that was comfortable.
I can thank heaven for some small favors...at least I wasn't prescribed the Frankel Applicance. I weep for those kids--I'm pretty well convinced that the person who came up with the SAW movies had to wear one of these when he was a kid:
My dad took me to the orthodontist just before 7th grade (or maybe 8th), and I prepared myself for the fact that I might have to get braces. When the doctor said I didn't need braces, my excitement was short-lived. He pulled out a model of something that proved to be far worse. A crazy large retainer-type thing called the Bionator. This, he explained, was what would mold my jaw and pull my lower teeth forward. At first I would need to wear 24x7 except when eating or brushing my teeth. Day and night with a huge piece of plastic in my mouth.
Here was the problem....as previously mentioned, it was huge! It wasn't one of those small things that are placed under the tongue or that are glued to the roof of the mouth and are fairly unobtrusive. No...it took up my whole mouth. Here....here's a picture...
Now imagine trying to talk to people with this thing in your mouth. I was somehow supposed to manage participating in classroom discussions and socialize with my classmates while wearing the equivalent of a mouth guard. As you might've guessed, this didn't go over too well with my already vicious junior high classmates (not that mine were particular vicious...just that junior high is when kids are really just rotten to one another). My friends suggested that I spit it out before answering a question in class. GROSS! I saw people spit out their retainers at lunch-time and cover them up with napkins...was there really no more discreet way of doing that!?! I was mocked for not washing my hair every day by these same people--a fact that wasn't lost on me at the time, but my parents were adamant that we not be mean.
Forget it, unless I got called on, I wasn't talking. And teachers grew weary of listening to me try to talk through that thing and stopped calling on me. The orthodontist promised that I would get used to it and learn how to talk with it. Clearly he was a sadistic liar.
Daytime was definitely the worst, but night time also met with challenges. For you see, my subconscious didn't really care for having something in my mouth while I slept. I would invariably spit it out every night. This resulted in the daily morning ritual of searching for my Bionator. Sometimes still in the bed, sometimes on the floor, sometimes behind the bed or nightstand. Every so often...across the floor on the other side of the room. I stepped on it more than once when getting out of bed, but luckily never broke it--I don't know how much it cost, but I'm sure it was very expensive.
And then my orthodontist would yell at me for not wearing it enough.
After months of doubting my claims that I spit it out (come on--was that really such a rare problem?), he added four braces brackets to each side of my mouth so that I could put rubber bands in my mouth to keep the stupid thing in there. Making it so that not only did I have to wear this silly thing but I still had to take on the pain and frustration of braces.
Somehow I still managed to spit it out while I slept, but just not as often, and it wouldn't get nearly as far. Sometimes I would awaken in the middle of the night with it halfway out of my mouth...or still in my mouth, but all crooked--that was comfortable.
I can thank heaven for some small favors...at least I wasn't prescribed the Frankel Applicance. I weep for those kids--I'm pretty well convinced that the person who came up with the SAW movies had to wear one of these when he was a kid:
Do people really see a man in the moon? Or is that just an expression? Something people say like saying that the moon is made of green cheese? And where in the heck did that come from ...green cheese? As in moldy cheese? Gross.
Since I was a little kid, I've always seen a bunny when I looked at the moon. A Bugs Bunny-esque bunny. Propped up and curled around the left side...ears up over the top, arms folded, legs crossed.
It's actually as if the rabbit is lounging along the curve of the moon as one might lounge in a hammock, except our view is skewed 90 degrees.
Although now that I stare at this pic (one I snagged off of Google images and probably belongs to someone--let's hope my blog doesn't go mainstream), I do see a cartoon man in the shadows at the top. A bespectacled man with a bad comb-over. Is this the man everyone sees? He's sort of cracking me up. I think I'll call him "Hoyt". Here....I've outlined Hoyt for you (what I usually see as the bunny's head and one ear are actually his glasses)...
If I had a better drawing tool, I'd show you the bunny too, but alas...MS Paint is primitive. My drawing here didn't do Hoyt justice, but hopefully you will go back and look at the plain moon picture and see him better now that you have a rough idea of what I'm seeing.
Since I was a little kid, I've always seen a bunny when I looked at the moon. A Bugs Bunny-esque bunny. Propped up and curled around the left side...ears up over the top, arms folded, legs crossed.
It's actually as if the rabbit is lounging along the curve of the moon as one might lounge in a hammock, except our view is skewed 90 degrees.
Although now that I stare at this pic (one I snagged off of Google images and probably belongs to someone--let's hope my blog doesn't go mainstream), I do see a cartoon man in the shadows at the top. A bespectacled man with a bad comb-over. Is this the man everyone sees? He's sort of cracking me up. I think I'll call him "Hoyt". Here....I've outlined Hoyt for you (what I usually see as the bunny's head and one ear are actually his glasses)...
If I had a better drawing tool, I'd show you the bunny too, but alas...MS Paint is primitive. My drawing here didn't do Hoyt justice, but hopefully you will go back and look at the plain moon picture and see him better now that you have a rough idea of what I'm seeing.
A friend of mine celebrated her birthday today. And this met with the usual band of congratulations and well wishes.
She turned 39. So, as has gone on since turning 30, people also said things like:
"How does it feel to finally be 21?"
"You don't look a day older than 25!"
"Happy 10th anniversary of your 29th birthday."
Could these statements be any more condescending? They imply that the person wouldn't want to be where they are. When people tell me things like that on my birthday, I'm not above telling them that they're attempt at humor is lame.
I'm not into that rah-rah stuff about how wisdom is better than youth. Youth is a lot of fun...there is a lot of beauty and physical superiority in youth. My friend once said that a teenager/early 20's person is just inherently pretty. As a teenager, other teenagers weren't attractive, but there is something nice looking about most younger people. After she said that, I went back through my high school yearbooks to look at the people that were generally considered unattractive, and yet in looking them now, they really weren't.
Maybe I won't sit here and extol the virtues of wisdom, but I will say the confidence that comes with added years is a lot of fun. I'm better at certain things just because I don't let self-consciousness get in my way. It's fun that even my newest close friends are people I've known for 10 years.
But this idea that youth is where it's at and wishing that we were all young again seems silly. First of all, it's not going to happen, so crying and complaining is a fruitless exercise. I could go on and on with trite little platitudes about how we should all find joy and happiness in the moment instead of looking to the past. Oh I get nostalgic too, but all these people my age complaining about their age just annoy me. It makes me contemplate whether or not I should start considering myself "old". An idea I reject. Again, because I refuse to spend a half (and in some cases 2/3 or 3/4) of my life thinking I'm "old".
To complain about aging implies that a person has not done what they wanted to do with their life. That there are many goals left unaccomplished. But if a person has done a lot with their life or at least just been happy with their life to that point, then they've earned all of those years.
So quit it with the age jokes already. They're not clever and they're demeaning to all of us.
She turned 39. So, as has gone on since turning 30, people also said things like:
"How does it feel to finally be 21?"
"You don't look a day older than 25!"
"Happy 10th anniversary of your 29th birthday."
Could these statements be any more condescending? They imply that the person wouldn't want to be where they are. When people tell me things like that on my birthday, I'm not above telling them that they're attempt at humor is lame.
I'm not into that rah-rah stuff about how wisdom is better than youth. Youth is a lot of fun...there is a lot of beauty and physical superiority in youth. My friend once said that a teenager/early 20's person is just inherently pretty. As a teenager, other teenagers weren't attractive, but there is something nice looking about most younger people. After she said that, I went back through my high school yearbooks to look at the people that were generally considered unattractive, and yet in looking them now, they really weren't.
Maybe I won't sit here and extol the virtues of wisdom, but I will say the confidence that comes with added years is a lot of fun. I'm better at certain things just because I don't let self-consciousness get in my way. It's fun that even my newest close friends are people I've known for 10 years.
But this idea that youth is where it's at and wishing that we were all young again seems silly. First of all, it's not going to happen, so crying and complaining is a fruitless exercise. I could go on and on with trite little platitudes about how we should all find joy and happiness in the moment instead of looking to the past. Oh I get nostalgic too, but all these people my age complaining about their age just annoy me. It makes me contemplate whether or not I should start considering myself "old". An idea I reject. Again, because I refuse to spend a half (and in some cases 2/3 or 3/4) of my life thinking I'm "old".
To complain about aging implies that a person has not done what they wanted to do with their life. That there are many goals left unaccomplished. But if a person has done a lot with their life or at least just been happy with their life to that point, then they've earned all of those years.
So quit it with the age jokes already. They're not clever and they're demeaning to all of us.
As I face the mountain of candy that I did not give out tonight (total of 6 kids...none of whom grabbed more than 2 pieces), I remember what I did last time I had leftover candy...
I mailed it to a friend. So beware...someone may get a big envelope filled with all of my Halloween leftovers. I would love ot do it anonymously but I suspect that this might cause the person to fear it is tainted candy and throw it away. And the whole point is to not throw it away.
I mailed it to a friend. So beware...someone may get a big envelope filled with all of my Halloween leftovers. I would love ot do it anonymously but I suspect that this might cause the person to fear it is tainted candy and throw it away. And the whole point is to not throw it away.
I'm not sure I really get everyone's love for Halloween. I don't hate it,and I do enjoy having trick-or-treaters come by in their cute little costumes. They probably love my house because I give out too much...I have a fear of having leftover candy. What do you do with it? I buy candy I don't like (Skittles, Hershey Bars, Snickers, Milky Ways, etc...) because I don't want any temptation lying around my house. Throwing it away seems wasteful.
I'll probably take leftovers to whatever office I go to next.
But back to Halloween. Every so often, I will come up with a costume idea and go for it. The last all-out costume was that of an angel--a cream colored ball gown and feather wings. Not really very Halloweenish, but it was fun to go all-out. Especially whenever I have a fantastic idea.
My last attempt at trick-or-treating was my freshman year in college. In a rare moment of solidarity, my roommate and I plotted how we would get away with trick-or-treating as college students. We dressed up like little kids. The people in the neighborhood we went to didn't seem that amused, but we did still manage to get candy. These people who grumbled about us being "too old"...what was their problem? They had candy to give out, we wanted candy....I get a little annoyed when older kids show up at my house in no costume, but I don't mind handing stuff out. Maybe because of my previously mentioned fear of having leftover candy. Though I still expect you to TRY.
I'll probably take leftovers to whatever office I go to next.
But back to Halloween. Every so often, I will come up with a costume idea and go for it. The last all-out costume was that of an angel--a cream colored ball gown and feather wings. Not really very Halloweenish, but it was fun to go all-out. Especially whenever I have a fantastic idea.
My last attempt at trick-or-treating was my freshman year in college. In a rare moment of solidarity, my roommate and I plotted how we would get away with trick-or-treating as college students. We dressed up like little kids. The people in the neighborhood we went to didn't seem that amused, but we did still manage to get candy. These people who grumbled about us being "too old"...what was their problem? They had candy to give out, we wanted candy....I get a little annoyed when older kids show up at my house in no costume, but I don't mind handing stuff out. Maybe because of my previously mentioned fear of having leftover candy. Though I still expect you to TRY.
I don't know what my problem was, but I was in hyper-vigilant mode today. Anyone who has read this blog in the past probably read my confession about how my mind looks at possible disasters that can happen in any given situation and the goes about how I would react to those disasters. It really is more of a game than a morbid mental distraction.
But today was a little weird.
At the bank:
I pulled into the parking lot with a a truck positioned strangely right next to the entrance. At that moment I became keenly aware that there was only one entrance in and out of the bank parking lot. Flanked by cliffs and rock walls, the driveway is it. I was there to make a deposit in the ATM, and as I worked my way through the process, I tried to figure out what that truck was doing there.
Clearly...it was the getaway car. The guy in the drive-through next to the ATM? He was going to report what I was doing at the ATM so that if I took money out, they might decide to grab that $40 on their way out with the rest of the bank's money.
I really couldn't come up with an escape plan for that one. If the truck blocked the driveway, I would've been hosed.
At the jewelry store:
The poor woman behind the counter was apparently a friend of the owner and wasn't really on to the correct procedures in a jewelry store. She was in the process of putting the jewelry out in the display cases when I came in, so she stopped to help me. Unfortunately, she left several cases of jewelry sitting on the counter tops behind her. I really wasn't at all comfortable with it all sitting out like that.
Then a man with the most tragic comb-over I've ever seen came walking in. The woman continued to help me as he browsed the jewelry cases (the ones she'd had a chance to fill). He paused for a very long time at the cases that were out on the counter top. I decided that since her back was to him, I would stare blankly in his direction, waiting for her to box up my purchases. He seemed to give me a couple of sideways glances. Possibly because he thought I was staring at him (but really looking past him).
She handed me the receipt for me to sign, and I worried...I'd have to take my eyes off of him. I just scribbled something and never really glanced at the receipt (just enough to know she charged me the right amount). When she was done with me, she had to walk to the back, so I casually said something about wanting to look around some more. She came back out to help the man and finally put the cases away. Once they were safely in the displays, I left.
My big plan was that if I saw him do something, I was going to take two steps back and stand in the way of the door. Despite the fact that this could easily have been a very stupid thing to do. More likely, I would've just called attention to what was going on. That seemed pretty weak too, so really my whole goal was that if he planned any sort of mischief like that, that I could somehow just discourage the behavior.
Yeah, I'm like Batman.
At Whole Foods:
(Geez...it's starting to sound like I had a big spender day when my errands were---bank, jewelers, Whole Foods).
As I was leaving, a crowd of around 200 people were all coming in the entrance. My brain tried to put together some sort of sordid plot that these people had, but I came up blank.
The best I could think of is that they were about to make a very bad attempt to freeze or do a choreographed dance in the middle of the store. There was no disaster...nothing to plot around.
No, that's not true. I had a very real challenge facing me when I got to the bottom of the escalator...how was I going to get out the door when all those people were streaming into it. I did have to come up with a plan for that. It mostly just involved going for it and pleading with people to get out of my way. I also had the option of waiting, but there were so many of them! I couldn't see where the line stopped. And I had fresh fish. I couldn't stand there forever.
I made it out. Fish was tasty. All disasters were moot.
Speaking of public dancing, I leave you with the Black Eyed Peas--I love this song now after seeing this. Give it at least 90 seconds before you judge.
But today was a little weird.
At the bank:
I pulled into the parking lot with a a truck positioned strangely right next to the entrance. At that moment I became keenly aware that there was only one entrance in and out of the bank parking lot. Flanked by cliffs and rock walls, the driveway is it. I was there to make a deposit in the ATM, and as I worked my way through the process, I tried to figure out what that truck was doing there.
Clearly...it was the getaway car. The guy in the drive-through next to the ATM? He was going to report what I was doing at the ATM so that if I took money out, they might decide to grab that $40 on their way out with the rest of the bank's money.
I really couldn't come up with an escape plan for that one. If the truck blocked the driveway, I would've been hosed.
At the jewelry store:
The poor woman behind the counter was apparently a friend of the owner and wasn't really on to the correct procedures in a jewelry store. She was in the process of putting the jewelry out in the display cases when I came in, so she stopped to help me. Unfortunately, she left several cases of jewelry sitting on the counter tops behind her. I really wasn't at all comfortable with it all sitting out like that.
Then a man with the most tragic comb-over I've ever seen came walking in. The woman continued to help me as he browsed the jewelry cases (the ones she'd had a chance to fill). He paused for a very long time at the cases that were out on the counter top. I decided that since her back was to him, I would stare blankly in his direction, waiting for her to box up my purchases. He seemed to give me a couple of sideways glances. Possibly because he thought I was staring at him (but really looking past him).
She handed me the receipt for me to sign, and I worried...I'd have to take my eyes off of him. I just scribbled something and never really glanced at the receipt (just enough to know she charged me the right amount). When she was done with me, she had to walk to the back, so I casually said something about wanting to look around some more. She came back out to help the man and finally put the cases away. Once they were safely in the displays, I left.
My big plan was that if I saw him do something, I was going to take two steps back and stand in the way of the door. Despite the fact that this could easily have been a very stupid thing to do. More likely, I would've just called attention to what was going on. That seemed pretty weak too, so really my whole goal was that if he planned any sort of mischief like that, that I could somehow just discourage the behavior.
Yeah, I'm like Batman.
At Whole Foods:
(Geez...it's starting to sound like I had a big spender day when my errands were---bank, jewelers, Whole Foods).
As I was leaving, a crowd of around 200 people were all coming in the entrance. My brain tried to put together some sort of sordid plot that these people had, but I came up blank.
The best I could think of is that they were about to make a very bad attempt to freeze or do a choreographed dance in the middle of the store. There was no disaster...nothing to plot around.
No, that's not true. I had a very real challenge facing me when I got to the bottom of the escalator...how was I going to get out the door when all those people were streaming into it. I did have to come up with a plan for that. It mostly just involved going for it and pleading with people to get out of my way. I also had the option of waiting, but there were so many of them! I couldn't see where the line stopped. And I had fresh fish. I couldn't stand there forever.
I made it out. Fish was tasty. All disasters were moot.
Speaking of public dancing, I leave you with the Black Eyed Peas--I love this song now after seeing this. Give it at least 90 seconds before you judge.
Today was my last day for my customer in Alpharetta. Or was it?
There have been a few occasions with my job where my projects and engagements with particular customers have ended. These occasions were, of course, with the customers where I was having the most fun. Disney in Orlando, for example.
I will usually find something that I like, something that I will miss with every customer/every project (there has been only one exception). So leaving abruptly makes me kind of sad. And while it is less sad to slowly ween myself away from a customer, when I don't have a definitive leave date, there is no goodbye. No send-off. No party in my honor.
Today I sat in the office I've used for te past two weeks, trying to wrap up loose ends before I leave this customer in the hands of other colleagues...people walked by with the occasional chit-chat. But there were no goodbyes. I tried to say goodbye to the VP who I've worked with for 2 years, and he just laughed and said I'd be back, "Don't even turn in your badge."
So while it's definitely a good thing that my customers like me so much they keep me on even after projects end, that they stay in touch with me periodically and call me back every so often, I don't get my send-off. I just suddenly disappear one day and don't come back.
I want a party. A "we're so sad to see you go".
But then again, there's nothing worse than a pre-mature goodbye. "We'll miss you!! Oh, you're back again...uh, never mind....how long are you here this time? Well, we really already said goodbye and you didn't leave. You're not fooling us again.".
There have been a few occasions with my job where my projects and engagements with particular customers have ended. These occasions were, of course, with the customers where I was having the most fun. Disney in Orlando, for example.
I will usually find something that I like, something that I will miss with every customer/every project (there has been only one exception). So leaving abruptly makes me kind of sad. And while it is less sad to slowly ween myself away from a customer, when I don't have a definitive leave date, there is no goodbye. No send-off. No party in my honor.
Today I sat in the office I've used for te past two weeks, trying to wrap up loose ends before I leave this customer in the hands of other colleagues...people walked by with the occasional chit-chat. But there were no goodbyes. I tried to say goodbye to the VP who I've worked with for 2 years, and he just laughed and said I'd be back, "Don't even turn in your badge."
So while it's definitely a good thing that my customers like me so much they keep me on even after projects end, that they stay in touch with me periodically and call me back every so often, I don't get my send-off. I just suddenly disappear one day and don't come back.
I want a party. A "we're so sad to see you go".
But then again, there's nothing worse than a pre-mature goodbye. "We'll miss you!! Oh, you're back again...uh, never mind....how long are you here this time? Well, we really already said goodbye and you didn't leave. You're not fooling us again.".
So a Northwest flight overshot the airport by 150 miles. Because they were "having a heated discussion about airline regulations". In the meantime, the tower in Minneapolis couldn't get a response from the flight deck for an hour.
Understandably, the FAA is launching a "nap probe".
People seem much more outraged by the possibility that the pilots were taking a nap than with the possibility that the pilots were so engrossed in an argument that they "missed" the airport.
I gotta tell you...they both equally bother me. If a pilot is so focused on something else that they're not responding to airport calls (true, they may have been out of range for a while, but at some point they were within the range...if the new location doesn't get the hand-off, they make a request that the previous ATC facility call them back). So there was plenty of time in there where a tower was trying to reach them and they were within range. That's some heated argument. And if pilots are not hearing calls, then they could be missing important information like the fact that another plane is close by. This is no better than if they'd fallen asleep. And to some extent you might not be able to help falling asleep (sure there may be some judgment questions around why they were flying tired), but you have to make a conscientious effort to have a conversation that goes on so long that you miss your airport. Because pilots are supposed to be working all along the trip. There are checkpoints and instruments have to be checked. It's not like the pilots have all this downtime (or at least they shouldn't) so that they could start talking to fight off the boredom.
Just as I was writing this, the news channel had an ex-pilot on who basically said what I just said. He is of the firm mind that napping isn't nearly as bad as arguing. The news reporter was implying that maybe they aren't lying about what happened because the lie would be worse than the possible truth. Hmmm...yeah, but I still don't know how they could be so engrossed in an argument that they would ignore what the flight computer was saying and ignoring an hour's worth of radio calls.
So anyway, no matter the outcome of this "nap probe" (and I do love that name), these pilots are probably not going to be flying much longer.
Understandably, the FAA is launching a "nap probe".
People seem much more outraged by the possibility that the pilots were taking a nap than with the possibility that the pilots were so engrossed in an argument that they "missed" the airport.
I gotta tell you...they both equally bother me. If a pilot is so focused on something else that they're not responding to airport calls (true, they may have been out of range for a while, but at some point they were within the range...if the new location doesn't get the hand-off, they make a request that the previous ATC facility call them back). So there was plenty of time in there where a tower was trying to reach them and they were within range. That's some heated argument. And if pilots are not hearing calls, then they could be missing important information like the fact that another plane is close by. This is no better than if they'd fallen asleep. And to some extent you might not be able to help falling asleep (sure there may be some judgment questions around why they were flying tired), but you have to make a conscientious effort to have a conversation that goes on so long that you miss your airport. Because pilots are supposed to be working all along the trip. There are checkpoints and instruments have to be checked. It's not like the pilots have all this downtime (or at least they shouldn't) so that they could start talking to fight off the boredom.
Just as I was writing this, the news channel had an ex-pilot on who basically said what I just said. He is of the firm mind that napping isn't nearly as bad as arguing. The news reporter was implying that maybe they aren't lying about what happened because the lie would be worse than the possible truth. Hmmm...yeah, but I still don't know how they could be so engrossed in an argument that they would ignore what the flight computer was saying and ignoring an hour's worth of radio calls.
So anyway, no matter the outcome of this "nap probe" (and I do love that name), these pilots are probably not going to be flying much longer.
The more I think about this, the more worked up I get.
The owner of the Atlanta Falcons, Arthur Blank (please read that name with a snide, mocking tone), says that the Falcons need a new stadium. Privately and publicly funded (link).
Okay, so let's revisit the Georgia Dome, the current stadium. It was built in 1992 at a cost of over $200M. It is less than 20 years old. Now it will take several years to get approval for and build a new stadium, but I am getting so fed up with these disposable stadiums...oops, 20 years had gone by--time for a new stadium. He wants it by 2020. 28 years old, and thrown away.
I will admit that the Dome is outdated. A friend of mine's firm worked on plans (or was asked to work on plans, or wanted to work on plans...not exactly sure) to renovate the Dome, but those plans have gone nowhere. Yet.
Okay, so Georgia does make a lot of money off of these stadiums. Many states collect revenue from parking and concessions. So *maybe* I can buy that it's to the benefit of the taxpayers that they pay for these things. Not sure I buy that we need a whole new one, though. What's the cost/benefit analysis for building a brand new stadium vs. keeping the existing? The new one will cost, what? Well, the Dallas one cost somewhere around $1B (though the Falcons don't have the appeal of the Cowboys, no offense, so I'm not sure they would merit a stadium of that caliber). What is the gain in revenue for a shiny new stadium as opposed to revenue at the current one? All right, and what about renovating...what's the price on that and the gain in revenue there vs. the gain in revenue on a new stadium?
The environmentalist in me is extremely grossed out by how quick we are to tear down buildings/houses to build brand new ones. I think the fact that people have jobs because of all this construction is great! But how much of that construction and the construction cost is dealing with consumed materials? And the fossil fuels burned! Why do we have to build a new stadium every 20-25 years!?! At what point are we going to start drawing up the plans for the next stadium before they've even broken ground for the current one?
We lose our sense of history by making everything so disposable. How many people have heirloom items anymore? Furniture is made to last a few years instead of a lifetime (though with the current population, wood would be scarce if we made solid wood furniture instead of the veneer stuff that most people have today).
I could launch into a whole thing about how people are obsessed with quantity over quality...how we buy things that are cheap but look good now, only to have them wind up in a landfill a year or so from now, but a) I'm too tired to be on my soapbox and b) I think I've sung that song on the blog before.
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