Archive for November, 2010

Comply With Me

Heh. Iowahawk is freakin’ comedic genius but, unfortunately, the real life situation isn’t all that funny. I wonder why people are complying with this. *sigh* Well, yeah, I do. They’re probably traveling on business and have no choice. Corporations frown on their executives and sales folk stripping nekkid in the airport and mooning governmental representatives. If I had the extra cash, y’all would be seein’ my (and SwampMan’s!) nekkid bod(ies) on the evening news shows, so be very, very thankful that we’re broke.

H/T Robert D at Grouchy Conservative Pundits.

Stewardess with 32 years’ experience and breast cancer forced to remove prosthesis during pat down. Ya know, if I’d have to be groped or irradiated (or both!) before reporting to work every morning, I believe my answer would start with “f” and end with “you”.

I think the airports really be needin’ a flash mob. I can hear it now: “Breaking news: Action news reports that the airport is currently under attack by terrorists in really baggy gold lame pants shouting “you can’t touch this!”

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Self Organization

I went to an event where there were a bunch of people from a few different organizations that were mostly unknown to each other. Oh, sure, a few people knew some other people through cross-organizational ties but mostly we were an unknown quantity. We were getting supplies individually and as groups. The supplies were brought out from the warehouse in bulk, then it was everybody for themselves, so to speak, to divide, rebox, and pay. A recipe for chaos? Nope. A recipe for self organization.

People self sorted into groups in which they may or may not have known any of the other members. People separated, grouped, packaged, labeled, and boxed the supplies, discarding the original packaging, and somebody periodically grabbed a broom to keep the floors swept clean of debris so that nobody would slip and fall while they were working. Nobody had any direction, but spontaneously sorted themselves into groups where manual dexterity (usually but not always women) or physical strength (usually but not always men) were required. There were plenty of jobs for everybody. No one group worked on only their own supplies; this was done for everybody. Some of us were there to just pick up a little but many hands make light work! Three hours later, the last of the bulk supplies were sorted and boxed, everybody was able to find their boxes of supplies, pay the cashier, the youngest folk loaded trucks and trunks for everybody, and then walk out.

Call me crazy, but I think the vast majority of people are capable of this.

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Busy Week!

It has, of course, been busy last week at school with Thanksgiving festivities (you should see my “buckskin” T-shirt all fringed and adorned with seashells and beads, done without too much cussing over pricked fingers, sewed on with 6 lb. test line which I’m sure the Indians would have enthusiastically adapted). A masterpiece. People in the special education programs have a tendency to get really enthusiastic about celebrating holidays.

Hell, we have a rousing cheering section for when somebody peepees in the potty. With rewards. I kind of wonder if I’ll ever be able to return to a regular job where I won’t be standing outside (or inside!) the bathroom stall declaring “I don’t hear any peepee sounds! I better hear peepee sounds before somebody gets Skittles!”

I could see where early in a job change I might get a little confused as to where I’m working. On the other hand, I haven’t noticed that there’s a whole lot of difference in working with special education students and the general public, except that I generally don’t hold a tissue to a member of the general public’s nose and INSIST that they blow or question the cleanliness of their bottoms. Yet. Hunh. Maybe I need to apply to TSA.

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Should I Just Bang My Head Against the Wall, or What?

I got home from work juuuust before dark and was flitting around with buckets of feed trying to get all the livestock fed like some giant mutant flightless bat. I had a piece of expensive (school) software in the truck that I’d nearly had to sell my soul to Satan to obtain overnight so that I could spend the evening creating a reading curriculum for a specific student out of one of my personal books, so I needed to hurry. Right when the twilight was turning to dark, a neighbor pulled up in the driveway to talk. We talked about weather and pastures and droughts. AAAAAACK! Must. Be. Nice. After 15 minutes of chit chatting during which time I tried to keep the eye twitch to a minimum, he went home. Probably told his wife that it looked like that crazy neighbor lady was fixin’ to kill somebody, so better watch her pastures for buzzards.

Soon after he left, SwampMan pulled up. He looked at me frantically running around in the dark feeding. He yelled “Uh, want to go into town and pick up something to eat?” SwampMan knows that I don’t start cooking until the livestock are all fed, sometimes not starting until 9 p.m. “Uh, YEAH, good idea. I’ve got a curriculum to write!” Into town for takeout, and back home. I run back out to feed the horses, sheep, dogs and cat. I run back inside and eat (now cold) BBQ. I get a call from son and run back outside and hand over a socket set we purchased for him at his behest because his set disappeared from work and, with his long hours, he wasn’t able to get it replaced. I chit chat a little more but this chit chat is of the concerned mom variety, because he has a really bad cold. He’s been working 7/12s and looks exhausted. I then get a call from my mom. Her blood counts (leukemia) are getting steadily worse, and she’s got rheumatoid arthritis as well. It can’t be treated because anything that suppresses the immune system will make the cancer worse. We talk for awhile about Thanksgiving, and who is going where. I have a horrible attack of guilt because I haven’t been able to go up and see her for awhile.

So at 9 p.m., I go the bookshelf to get my book. It is not there. I search other bookshelves. Not there. An hour and a half later, I have books all over the floor from multiple bookshelves and I. Can’t. Find. The. Book. SONOFABITCH! I know that damn book is sitting right in front of me somewhere, taunting me. Perhaps it is a different color than what I remember, and I’m overlooking it sitting out in plain sight. I just had that big bastard out a couple weeks ago looking through it. I accused SwampMan of Doing Something with my book. SwampMan muttered something that included the word “insane” and went to bed. I looked under his Lazy chair. My book is not there. I looked under MY Lazy chair. The book is not there. I looked underneath the couch, the loveseat, the dining room table, the dining room chairs, and, considering the grandkids were here last weekend, in amongst some of the toys. Nada. Could it be with the cookbooks? No. Among my gardening books? No! Among my hobby books? NO!

Aaaaargh! I need this thing done by tomorrow morning, it’s past 10:30 p.m., and I STILL haven’t found the book! I have a bad feeling that I may have accidentally turned my book in to the Jacksonville library when I returned about 20 books last weekend.

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Saturday Night Music

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Quantitative Easing Explained

An explanation you definitely need to watch! Count me in as one of the many Americans that think this is absolutely insane and that these people need to be jailed (or otherwise permanently removed) so that they can do no more damage.

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Day Out With the Granddaughter

My darlin’ little granddaughter and I went out on Veteran’s Day to celebrate her Halloween birthday. We walked through about all the stores in Orange Park mall. She thought it was funny that Grandma refused to buy her the blue jeans with rips on the thighs that looked as though they were designed by pedophiles. Nope. Grandma ain’t all THAT indulgent.

I hadn’t been to the Orange Park mall for ten years, which is tantamount to forever in the retail world. Lots of new places there! Not that I have anything against Orange Park, kc, but I just don’t go to malls anymore except when I’m dragged reluctantly through the Georgia shopping centers with my momma, the energizer bunny of comparison shopping.

I was shocked at the prices of kids’ clothing and what poor quality materials they were made of. Luckily, granddaughter is a thrifty shopper and would look at a shirt and say “that is definitely not worth $30!” so I didn’t have to.

Later, over lunch at a Mexican restaurant, I worried aloud that Papa and I hadn’t taught her to shoot yet and she’s growing up so quickly! Our little third grader reassured me. “That’s okay, grandma, you don’t have to worry about THAT. Daddy and (her stepdad) have taught me. Daddy got me a rifle for my birthday.” Well, of course her daddy and stepdad would, which is why we didn’t think of it earlier, I suppose. She shoots with daddy and fishes with stepdaddy. She sews, cooks, makes clay items and different crafts with Mommy. She fixes cars and welds with daddy and fixes electrical things with stepdaddy. All in all, a well-rounded education for a little girl.

So what is grandma contributing to her education? Nothin’ much. We fed, gathered eggs, and practiced how the pioneers would write using duck quills and thinned paint (since we didn’t have any ink).

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Food Police

I’m watching an early morning news program (DAMN that time change!) and it seems that despite the calorie information on the menu for everything, New Yorkers are STILL making “bad” calorie choices. They are actually increasing their intake of things like donuts, apparently the anti-Christ of foods. How DARE they?

The earnest health protector on television thought that the answer was more education. People need to be “educated”, you see, to make better food choices and to exercise for their own good. Some people have high blood pressure so everybody needs to reduce their sodium intake regardless of the research that shows that restricting sodium can contribute to heart attacks. Of course, these food neopuritans don’t really mean “educated”, they mean forced because, given a choice between broccoli with no cheese and no salt and a big ol’ order of fries (with salt!), well, you just know what that damn aggravating public has been choosing. You may even be making those same “bad” choices yourselves and ought to be ashamed.

The food neopuritan was outraged that the education wasn’t “working”. More and more people are getting obese and getting high blood pressure! Something must be done! They must be educated more rigorously! And, of course, their “incorrect” nutritional choices must be taken away so that somebody like me couldn’t accidentally order a Whataburger with fries and a large sweet tea instead of broiled fish with no salt, a dressing-free salad, and water.

I think that the American public, which are people like me, are well educated about food choices. We know that food crusaders come along and tell us that various things are bad for us (animal fats BAD! Trans fats GOOD! Protein BAD. Carbs GOOD!) and then real research refutes their findings a few years later. Remember when coffee and tea were bad for us and now they are wonder foods? Yeah, me too. Remember when cooking and eating eggs was supposedly the nutritional equivalent of stabbing yourself (or your loved ones) in the heart with a sharp knife, and the “good” choice was a breakfast cereal? Yeah, me too! There’s a very long list of foods that were demonized and later were found to be good for us. Unfortunately, these health proselytizers really don’t have our best interests at heart, so to speak.

Of course, there’s also the “F U!” attitude of the American public to people trying to force us to do something supposedly for our own good. When some officious person tries to lecture me about my food choices (“how can you eat animal flesh! It’s MURDER!), my second response would be to head for the nearest purveyor of murdered animal flesh and order a steak medium rare or some Popeye’s fried chicken with a side of red beans and rice.

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STILL Messed Up by the Time Change

I dunno about the rest of y’all, but I don’t do time changes well. I’m still staggering groggily throughout the day and rushing home to get my chores done before dark.

My body will probably get all accustomed to the change by next spring when I will have to start all over again to get used to daylight savings time.

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Watched the Florida-Vanderbilt Game At Mayport

I watched most of the Florida-Vanderbilt game at Mayport NAS today at the barber shop. Two little shaggy-headed boys were in crying need of a navy regulation haircut per their Momma, so I rode along. The barber shop was FULL of sailors, both active duty and retired, as well as their progeny. We were number 46.

I ain’t sayin’ that the wait was really, really extra long today but, when we left, the score was 55-7. Call me a cock-eyed optimist, but I was feeling pretty sure at that point that Florida was going to win.

I wished that I had brought a camera to record our little men sitting there so seriously in the barber chairs alongside warriors from the past and present getting their hair cut. The barbers put the same amount of care into the haircuts of a 3 and 6-year-old boy as they would a ship’s captain. All the patrons, small and large, were squared away when they left.

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