School Sucks

For Chaucer's Canterbury Tales I assigned my seniors a project to design, decorate, create props, etc. a doll model for one of the characters. Imagine--I thought--if when I was in high school my teacher permitted anything other than research papers, thesis papers, and sentence diagramming. Create a life-like image of the Wife of Bath! Red stockings and birthing hips! Easy A. Fun A.

They were even to chose a song that would play if that character were to walk down a runway. They had a week. I came to school on due date with my IPod, red construction paper mimicking a runway--I was ready.

Out of my class of 35 (number issue for separate blog), I had three dolls placed on my desk. Have you ever had to keep your cool in front of 35 children just determined to rain on your parade?

Logic

Apparently an entire movie screenplay can introduce, develop, and change characters; develop, reach, and resolve conflict; and cure cancer all in 13 pages.

Where have I been all my life?

I know--I haven't written anything in months. I won't whine about how busy I've been. This blog thing was never my idea any way; I admitted to getting my first DVD player just three years ago and my only computer being from 2000.

But I've received emails from people I don't know--so maybe my blog existence is bigger than my circle of friends. I tried to email those of you back who asked me questions. Again, I'm not smart when it comes to computers. I apologize. But I did appreciate the interest--it's because of you strangers, not my friends, that I've decided to keep running this.

To reader in LA, I have looked in every little spot I visit in Baltimore and did not find the sticker you were looking for. Sorry, hon.

Please stay tuned for my next post. It will be about all of the homeland security funding that goes to towns like mine--Paducah, KY. Isn't that a prime target.

Is US Homeland Security Thinking Out of the Box?

We learned the hard way in Vietnam that the tactics of war had changed. But it took a good ass kicking for us to become more adept at guerilla warfare. Since 9-11 we are searched for typical weapons; blades, guns, explosives. It wasn't until years after think tanks harped on the ease with which biological and chemical agents could make it through security that we are at least checking liquid items at security.

But are chemical and biological weapons even too conventional that we are missing yet another type of warfare? The latest scare caused by the Fisher Price recall of many of the highest selling toys found to be covered in lead paint raises a deeper concern. With the majority of American goods being made in foreign countries, isn't product tampering just another vehicle for mass terrorism?

Porky's Revenge and other attractions

After spending two weeks in Naples, the Everglades, and Key West, I have come back with renewed confidence that, while Kentucky may once have been the rare American harbinger for yokels, there are just too many now in this country that they've seeped into every crevice.

1. Their stop signs, despite being the international warning color of red, also have blinking Christmas tree lights around them. Next step to make sure we see a stop sign: tap dancing Queens singing "Stop in the Name of Love" through cheerleader megaphones.

2. Marco Island honkey tonk "Porkey's Revenge" delivers everything you could want from a B budget restaurant: pulled pork marinated in beer baked beans, a Hal Ketchum look alike singing "Family Tradition" to one couple scootin' on the dance floor, 60 percent of the tables occupied by local cops, and waitresses with leather skin wearing boots and Daisy Dukes.

3. Air boat Everglades guide was incomprehensible. My dad was the only one who understood him, and that's because my dad has seen "The Waterboy" so many times that he speaks Farmer Fran.

4. This is very minor, yes I too make grammatical errors and screw up verb tenses, but it was just a too funny moment. The guide at Ernest Hemingway's house in Key West was not on par with guides say of the Louvre. He tried to herd us and scrunch our sweatie bodies into these narrow, no fans, no air conditioning rooms. I refused to scuttle into this spot where I'd be denied of all ventiliation and he got this male condescending machismo thing going against me to the other tourists. Funny thing is soon after, Mr. Set-Others-Straight said "irregardless" in a sentence. I piped up, letting everyone in on how we'd just witnessed the use of a non word in a house that witnessed such eloquence.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Meter Maid with an Electronic Ticketer

Dante described Hell as levels befitting your Earthly sins. The Baltimore City Parking Fines Department has just as many levels for your parking faux pas. First you have the nice level of parking fine hell. Your meter expired while you were purchasing that must have Natty Boh bumper sticker. That will cost you a mere $23. This sin would be the equivalent to say, chronically cussing in front of small children. You may just spend eternity having to watch reruns of "Full House."

The middle levels of hell are in your $40 to $77 range of punishment. You can be sent here for being less than 15' from a fire hydrant, in a snow emergency route, or, my favorite, impeding the flow of traffic. My boyfriend B had been impeding the flow of traffic on our exceedingly busy side street of upper Fell's from 7-8 pm for weeks; unable to find a parking spot at this time for all the potential ones banned by "7:07pm to 9:21pm on every third Monday and Thursday, excluding Arbor Day but not Flag Day and including half moons even if those are on days not normally excluded" types of restrictions. And what was he impeding on the day he finally received judgment for his sin? The Ice Cream Truck. Where's the fine for their impeding my ability to sleep at night? And who needs ice cream at 1am anyway?

The deeper level of hell, for the truly heinous parking restriction offenders, will get you anywhere from $152 to $302. The usual sins here are parking in a handicapped spot, abandoning "your" vehicle, and driving your 20,000 lbs. commercial vehicle in the neighborhoods. But unless we just have it out for the crippled or are off loading 1 million cans of corn in our rowhouse; we're pretty free of these sins.

But what you may not know about is the deepest level of hell. The punishment is so intense that the City won't put it in writing. (They know what happened to tobacco companies for putting diabolical schemes in writing.)The deepest level of parking fine hell is what I like to call the circular reasoning violation. A "friend" of mine realized one day that she had inadvertently let her tags expire. Not so much realized, but was ticketed. A beginner level of hell costing her just $27. I, I mean she, went online to renew her tags. After paying the city fee (different from the parking fee) for letting her tags expire, she thought that would clear her to renew her tags. Nope, must first pay all outstanding parking tickets. The only one she had was the one she just received. Bad news, can't pay parking tickets online through this site. She called the 1-800, paid the ticket and obligatory $14 convenience fee. Only after paying did the operator announce it would take 30 convenient days to process the phone payment. For the next few weeks despite dodging meter maids, police, etc., she amassed four more "expired tag" violations. You do the math. This time she sent checks in to avoid the convenience of the phone. All in all, she has still been unable to renew her tags because of processing delays. She probably has another measly $27 ticket right now.

Please sir may I have another?

The Sculpture Garden Could Use Some Rump Shakin'

Two friends of mine, lets call them buppies, (for being a blend of bohemian and yuppie)have consistently shot down my music picks for their wedding reception. Of course the ceremony itself should be tasteful; it's in the Walter's for God sakes. But there is nothing like bumping and grinding to booty music on the dance floor that breaks down barriers between the bride's guests and the groom's guests. Imagine it--everyone is seated for dinner. Single friend-of-the-bride Jenna quietly takes teensy bites of her food so single friend-of-the-groom Jim won't be turned off by chomping, talking with a full mouth, or the unfortunate piece of lettuce between the teeth. The only disturbance of the silence is the delicate clinking of fine silverware against crystal: "Here's to the happy couple." Jim, although not a weatherman, strikes up a conversation with Jenna about the intense humidity: "Yes it has been very humid," she replies. Now what girl doesn't scream with glee and grab a man to dance when "Baby Got Back" comes on? With the noise to prevent awkward conversation and the body girations, there'll be a match made in Heaven.

This is my last pitch--who are ya'll to stand in the way of true love? Or at least some dance floor romance in the Sculpture Garden? No two strangers will spontaneously decide to dance together to "La Vie en Rose."

Man vs. Wild or Man vs. Clothing?

So (that's how kids begin every sentence). So, I love shows about survival. "I Shouldn't Be Alive," "Survivorman," and "Man Versus Wild." Clearly (the sentence beginning word choice of lawyers). Clearly, "I shouldn't Be Alive" is the most credible of them all. Ipso facto (also lawyers), I watch it the most.
However, Bear (the Man of "Man vs. Wild and highly funny coincidence of his name matching that of his foes) has me tuning in. It doesn't hurt that he is hot--from his British accent all the way down to his trousers, which he removes a lot. Something about reducing the onset of hypothermia when his clothes get wet. Trust me, he doesn't need to worry about reducing the onset of shrinkage. Wow.

Homophones, or Today's High Schooler

After only two years of teaching high school English, I've already come across many funny, while also troubling, pollutions of our language. Here are some of the best. I have included my comments that I made on these papers.

7. "I imagine this song at Frankenstein and Elizabeth's wedding, when they say their vowels." -- Would this wedding march be E-I-E-I-O?
6. Basketball quart -- Is this like miniature golf?
5. We were so relieved when mourning came -- You liked your aunt that much?
4. My mom gave birth to an 85 pound baby boy -- Send your mom my concerns, and
a decimal point.
3. (Title) "My Mane Name" -- Teaching proofreading is like beating a dead horse.
2. Odysseus is the Hero of the Trojan Whore -- And you spelled Odysseus correctly?
1. After tests, the doctor told me I was amoebac -- It must be tough going to
high school with only one cell.

Worm Composting, or Vermicomposting

Two friends, L and R, introduced the idea of city composting to me. Now this brought back smelly memories of when I was a child and I stumbled upon my grandparent's compost pile behind the storage shed. But, if it's good for the environment, why the hell not? What's been interesting as I've looked into this is there is an entire culture devoted to worm harmony out there. Some highlights:
1) Harvest your worm compost with your hands, never a shovel, to keep your critters intact.
2) Refrigerate food scraps, and keep them slightly damp, but not too damp, before putting the waste in the compost bin.
3) Worms prefer to eat cool, damp scraps. (Thus the tedious process explained above.)
4) Keep your bin indoors so the worms stay cool. (Never mind your sniffer.)
5) And yes, if you mess this up, worms have their own watch group in The Earth Worm Digest Organization.

Stooping

It's not new to me, or to anyone who's lived in Baltimore for awhile--people love to sit on their stoops. I agree that this is a great method for advancing camaraderie in city neighborhoods. It's also a great way to escape these narrow houses we live in that are a little more than glorified trailers; long and narrow. Recently I've had to adjust to stoop shares, you know, like time shares, except it's not some fabulous beach house in Belize. Just four steps on a Baltimore street that lead into my house. They're not even the fancy, cooling marble ones. They're brick; chipping brick. For some reason, my stoop is the one preferred over the 100 others on my street. Sometimes I get home around 3pm. Tired, cranky, ready to bite someone's head off since teenagers have been biting my head off all day. As I walk towards my house I see I'm going to have to make niceties with the 5-person family hanging out on my stoop. "How's it going ya'll?" I inquire genuinely. "Hey, great," "Beautiful day isn't it?" and I even get a, "How was your day?" from my visitors. It was the first time that day that someone asked me how I felt. "You know," I said, "I'm worn out actually." A chorus of concerns came from the family. I squeezed past them to get inside. Shortly thereafter I returned with an extra chair and a pitcher of lemonade. I began to talk about my day as the older woman, probably the grandmother, poured us drinks. If one good deed deserves another, then I've staked out the stoop I'm going to visit next week. I hope they're just as appreciative of my presence as I was of my stoop share family.