Laugh Out Loud

I have read this about three times. Truly hysterically funny, this article brought images of angry trantrum-throwing toddlers and shopping malls to mind. The way he describes the game contrived by the children as a sort of relay race amongst them in which they "pass the baton of anguish," each time they punch eachother. Brilliant.

The two last paragraphs, on the strengths and weaknesses of the male and female genders and Sarah Palin's infamous rhetoric, are a little out of place, but funny nonetheless. Comparing her speaking abilities to the Bard himself, Sarah Palin's humility has no limits. I'm not watching Dancing with the Stars, but I hear Bristol is doing well. I'm supporting her. Who says a baby mama can't dance?

Enjoy!


From:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/family/7899801/Ah-now-I-know-why-all-you-parents-are-useless.htm
l
Ah, now I know why all you parents are useless
I have for years groaned at the inability of parents to prevent their snot-smeared progeny bawling in restaurants, running in shops and singing in libraries - until now, writes Michael Deacon.

To the childless, parenting seems like a breeze

Are you a useless parent? If so, I owe you an apology. Childless myself, I have for years groaned at your inability to prevent your snot-smeared progeny bawling in restaurants, running in shops and singing in libraries. I have always thought you weak and ineffectual.

I was right, of course. But in future, I shall be tolerant of your ineptitude because, having spent Saturday at the birthday party of a two-year-old niece, I see that, if I were to have children, I'd be just
as inept.

The parents had arranged party games. The children, though, showed more interest in a game of their own devising. At least, I assumed it was a game. It definitely had a game-like pattern. It was a kind of relay race of hysterics. Player A would burst into tears over some perceived injustice, then run up to Player B and, like a 4 x 400m sprinter passing a baton to a team-mate, transfer the hysterics to that player – by, say, punching him or her in the arm.
Instantly, Player A would stop crying and Player B would start crying. Player B would then run tearfully up to Player C and, just as Player A had done, pass on the baton of anguish – by, say, pushing Player C over. Instantly, Player B would stop crying and Player C would start crying.

And so the game continued. A boy – possibly the one in a T-shirt bearing the phrase "Mummy's little hero" – cried because another boy broke his gingerbread man. A girl cried because another girl was playing with her toys. "Come on, angel," cooed her father, "we know how to share, don't we?"

"No-oooo," bellowed the angel.

Not only am I clueless when children cry, I'm clueless when they misbehave. Children sense this, and act accordingly. One girl trod a lump of Play-Doh into the patio, and then, realising I'd seen her commit this crime, fixed me with a forbidding glare.

"Grandad did it," she said sternly. I didn't dare disagree.

Drained by the chaos, I flopped on to a swing in the garden. Immediately, I was surrounded by a swarm of scandalised infants.

"You can't go on the swing," piped a three-year-old girl indignantly. "It's for little ones."

"I am a little one," I said, feigning insouciance. "It was my fourth birthday last week."

"No it wasn't," she squeaked, cutting pitilessly through my façade. "You're a daddy!"

I'm not, in fact. But given the ease with which the swarm ejected me from the swing, it's probably wise that I don't become one.

...

Giving directions, coping with heartbreak – and now multi-tasking: all things at which women are better than men, according to recent studies. Affronted, I've been trying to list things men do better than women. After an hour, I've come up with one: paying at tills. Women shoppers behave at the till like members of some primitive Polynesian tribe confronted for the first time by the basics of economic transaction. They never have their purses ready, and once they do locate them, they insist on counting out the exact money, regardless of how long the queue behind them is growing, and of how audibly the men in it are seething.

Then again, this may just be evidence of another thing women are better at: not getting pointlessly wound up by microscopic inconveniences.

...

Sarah Palin, having twice in a week said "refudiate", points out that a fellow master of rhetoric, Shakespeare, "used to coin words too". True, but I'm not sure English is enriched by words that are clumsier versions of ones we already have, in this case "refute" and "repudiate".

To me, the silliest neologism is "fess up" for "confess". I long to see its users incarcerated. Or, if they prefer, "carced up".

I don't have favorites, but...

Teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, or at least we can't SHOW the students that we have favorites. I have one new comer this year who moved from India. He is from Nepal, went to school in India and has the sweetest, gentlest disposition. It sounds like a lot of the schooling he received in India was still influenced by the British Education system. He is so well behaved I think the hooligans in our school are going to corrupt him. His grammar is better than many of the "mainstream" students so sadly for me, I think he will exit this year. Sometimes I joke around with him and tell him he's so cute I'm going to take him home. I think I better stop though as I don't think Daniel or the student's parents would be too pleased if I did.

Old Photos

I have just started scanning some old family pictures. More to come, but in the meantime, I present...Der Wunderkind:

2 adorable shih-tu's for adoption

1)Sam won't stop nagging me. When he is not nagging me, I can still hear a faint, ever-so-decipherable whine coming from his direction
2) The dogs have fleas that are immune to every flea product on the market 3) They scratch incessantly. 4)The dogs are going to boot camp on Sunday.

4) We just bought 2 android phones. To console myself about this excessive indulgence we are going to give Comcast cable the boot. Goodbye Don Draper. It was fun while it lasted but you're an alcoholic and I have to say goodbye to you and your sordid ways.

A-mazing Doggies!

Work, Health, and Other Things

Well, last week I got a call from the principal at the school where I worked last year saying that I will indeed be hired as a permanent employee in the .7 position this year. Woohoo!! On the down side Daniel and I started feeling sick at the end of last week and haven't been able to shake this virus. I've been watching a lot of movies and just finished a frightening book called "Case Histories" by Kate Atkinson. After reading Donna Tartt last year I was unable to find fiction that provided the thrill of mystery stories. What's great about these two writers, though, is that they manage to inject subtle humor and a touching sense of humanity into their writing. This makes incredibly scary and sometimes gruesome stories bearable and makes up for the lack of depth sometimes experienced in typical mystery novels. Also, unlike others in the mystery/thriller genre, they still focus on character development so that one feels as though you have been good friends with the people who come to life on the pages of each story. They are both outstanding writers.

Movies

Director Jane Campion's Bright Star is the story of John Keats' romantic involvement with a young clothing maker. If I were to make a movie, I would want it to look like this one. The cinematography is lush and breathtaking. The way she captures the light peeking through trees onto large colorful fields makes you want to lie down in an orchard.

American Gangster is Ridley Scott's true and violent tale of Frank Lucas. Russell Crowe plays one of the only cops in New York who refuses to partake in the widespread corruption that was so common in the NYPD during the 1970's. He hunts down major crime thugs and the police who have been selling seized drugs back to the mafia for a profit. A great movie, although I wouldn't watch it at bed-time.

Yesterday I watched Georia o'Keeffe which I know, is a dreaded Lifetime Network movie whose market audience is primarily estrogen crazed, middle-aged women. However, after reading about her in last year's September issue of Vogue I was curious to learn more about Ms. o'Keeffe and her relationship to American photographer Alfred Stieglitz. Stieglitz brought her to fame in the 1930's by showing her art in his gallery. However, being the lecherous man that he was, he interpreted her art primarily in Freudian terms. She did not take kindly to people adding such meanings to her art and started to paint more abstractions. Her art thus often blurs the line between realism and abstract art. When O'Keeffe suffered from mental problems after Stieglitz flaunted his affair with a younger woman, she moved out to New Mexico, where she remained for the rest of her life.

Grrrrrl Music

This is myyyyy new song, but I'll share it with you. Artist Mirah, orginially from Portland, WA, reminds me of my girl Liz Phair. That's right, sharing is caring and I'm completely unselfish. You're welcome.

Frodo, on the other hand, can be such a selfish mut. We have tried to teach him how to share but he refuses, espcially with squeeky toys and his tennis ball.

Picture compliments of Simmons-Glenn photography.