Caustically Optimistic

the unicycle stays home

My friend’s son had an assignment for school where he has to refute the arguments his parents have for him not being able to do something he would like to do. To do this assignment my friend has to come up with these reasons and email them to the teacher. Apparently, “I am your mother,” is not final enough for kids these days and it is certainly not enough for the teachers of the gifted.

My friend’s son wants to bring his unicycle on vacation with them and we were helping her come up with some arguments to use – since, “I’m your mother,” doesn’t work. We had some practical ones such as, “strapping the unicycle to the camper-van will create drag on the vehicle and hinder our fuel economy,” and, “what is someone steals your unicycle?” or “what happens if you get hurt and they don’t take our insurance at St. Boondocks Hospital?”

This all makes for good academics but the serious issue of the day and this argument goes unsaid, so I will say it and I will even write it for her as if it were me talking to my own children – who do not exist as a testament to God’s loving grace for all humanity:

Dear Seamus,

I know you had your heart set on bringing your unicycle on vacation this summer but there are several reasons that this will not happen. First and foremost, I am your father and I say, “no,” but since you are my son simple patriarchy won’t work on you so I will have to resort to cold, hard facts.

Sure, the unicycle will be a fun thing to ride around on after being in the camper van all day but the camper van will have six people in it and there just isn’t enough space in the camper van for it. Strapping it to the exterior opens it up to possible theft, vandalism, and road hazards but if none of that happens we at least know it will create drag on an already fuel-inefficient vehicle. Then we have to consider the implications of its loss or theft, what happens if you are injured outside of our insurance coverage area and that this is a family vacation designed for us to spend time together. Unicycles are built for one and not really a ‘togetherness’ activity.

The other thing to consider, Seamus, is that if we bring your unicycle then we have to let Kirsten bring her fire-batons and if Kirsten has her fire batons and you have your unicycle we’re at a loss as to why Isaac can’t bring his stilts. The three of you will have fun in the evening after a long day in the camper van and at night you’ll be good and tired out to sleep until the next day’s drive or activities – or so you think.

People will see you on your unicycle – strange enough on its own – and Kristen juggling fire and Isaac on stilts. What are people going to think? Will they think we’re eccentric, fun-loving people with unique hobbies? In a perfect world they would but we do not live in a perfect world and very different things would happen. People will see you and think, “Carney Folk,” and then it is all over for us.

At night while we’re sleeping; dreaming of barreling down the road at speeds exceeding the breaks and maneuverability of the van burning Iraq gas all the while on way to another national park or camp ground the villagers will gather. The villagers will gather with pitchforks and torches, scythes and truncheons – they will gather and then march out to our campsite and if we are lucky they will chase us out of town but if we are not – and again we are not lucky people – they will decide to purge the world of one more family of traveling freaks.

They're protecting their daughters from the wiles of strapping young lads like yourself -full of vigor and tales of adventure and their sons from the lure of the open road and traveling freakdom. They're protecting themselves from their wives getting the idea that being overweight and bearded in a commodity to be exploited or somehow attractive. Seamus, always be wary of stupid people in large groups - especially when those stupid people are voting, in an eating contest or angry at our family.

So you see, as much as you love the unicycle and as much as I love to see you physically active and happy I cannot let you bring the unicycle along. Even if we had the space, gas didn’t cost more than medical care or a trip in the space shuttle or we could all enjoy it together I have to say no. I cannot fight off a mob of angry village folk and neither can you. If I were younger or you were stronger or we lived in an open and affirming world this might be a different story, but we live in the real world where I am old, you’re scrawny and people are afraid of the unknown.

The unicycle stays home. I’m your father. I said so.

Love,
Dad

dance monkey, dance

My friend who has nothing to do at work grabbed me by my collar and shook me, saying, “DANCE MONKEY, DANCE.”

I was all set to write something here but since its ‘on demand writing,’ I’m at a loss of what to write.

Things have been happening that might be funny:

My old cell phone company – who could never deduct their money on time when I was a costumer saw fit to do it TWICE once I had dropped their service in return for, well, service with another carrier. Upon calling them about my money for three months I was gratified to learn that my check was in the mail. However, the person was very rude about it and then tried to get me to come back to that company.

Cell phone companies must think we’re all okay with the abusive relationship; it’s almost as cliché as a Lifetime (television for retards!) movie. Everyone I know with an abusive boyfriend reports that said boyfriend works at a cell phone kiosk at the Mall. I see a relationship here and can only imagine the interview:

Manager: Can you persuade someone to come back to you after you’ve treated the person like garbage?

Scumbag: Get in the kitchen and get me a beer.

Manager: Can you make the person you’ve treated like garbage believe that it is her fault you’ve been cruel to them?

Scumbag: Well, if you hadn’t nagged so much about me being a total douche bag I wouldn’t have cheated on you, right? I’m sensitive baby girl and you really hurt me.

When I did have confirmation that my money was in the mail I told the woman on the phone that I was going to charge her company a $36 fee per month for lateness – over three months being $108, added to the money they owed me it would be about $267 and that was over the credit limit they have established leaving them responsible for at least two payments of $25 for being over the limit. If they should fail to pay this I would start to call them at their place of employment and I would call their mother around the time she is still luxuriating in bed.

She said, “Sir, you can’t do that.”

I stared with a blank face at my telephone and the said, “SRSLY? SRSLY? You would. You have. I can. I will.” Then like the ugliest of breakups I went on and on at her about every abuse her company inflicted upon me and everything I had done to make it better, I recounted how hard I worked to make this work but finally when it was apparent that it was not a problem that could be fixed I finally, sadly left.

I consulted an attorney about this and they told me I was, “one hot mess.”

My new phone company leaves towels on the floor and misses when they throw their tissues in the trashcan. My new phone company puts dishes right by the dishwasher but not in them and needs a new glass each time they get a drink. My new phone company wrinkles its nose at what I order when we have dinner and then doesn’t like what they have and eats mine, leaving me to finish something disgusting, overpriced and unpronounceable. My new phone company gets sloppy drunk and throws up everywhere in the bathroom – except the toilet or trashcan, and specifically anywhere that is awkward to clean. Despite all this, I love my new phone company and will keep them until the end of time because they understand that I pay them to use the phone not be used myself.

When I bought the iPhone people said I wouldn't use all those features, but you know what? I am using all of the features and paying less than I was when I only made phone calls - no texting, pictures, internet, YouTube, Facebook or even the weather.

Collapse in Defeat

Spring Break is over this evening. I have my lessons planned and my lunch packed for tomorrow. I have a pile of essays to grade and a barbeque ahead of me today but all I want to do is sit on my couch and stare at the wall – enjoying the calm before the storm that is the fourth quarter. The fourth quarter is where the drama happens in sport and it can be where the magic happens – dreams are realized or crushed, names are made for good or for ill and the old man standing on the sidelines curses a lot and tugs at what little hair he has left.

Most people need something ‘big’ to happen on their breaks; they need a vacation out of town or another event to make it memorable. Teaching takes more and more out of me so I covet quiet time at home more than anything but I did get out and do things.

The students who populate middle schools and junior highs are the hardest to deal with and during these breaks I am not sure I miss my students. I like the time away from them. I am looking for a job ‘closer to home,’ – wherever that is – and got a ‘bite’ on possible job teaching either middle or elementary school (a bite being a request for more information). I flirted with the idea of teaching elementary school and while I was tutoring third graders and while I was thinking that teaching little kids wasn’t that bad the student I was working with blew his nose on his shirt. Later in the week I went to one of Kirsten’s barbeques where elementary and secondary teachers were lamenting their jobs and I realized I was in the sweat spot – while middle school students subject us to the very worst impulses of humanity they also bless us with the very best ones as well. While they have not discovered deodorant they have discovered tissues.

I have also been going to the gym, daily – which has allowed me to catch up on my new music and pod-casts. I listen to this pod-cast from Radio Four from the BBC called Friday Night Comedy. Like any other child at the grown up table: I have no idea what I am laughing at. My favorite joke came from their discussion of the closure of little used British post offices to save funds to which the commentator said, “I don’t use Iraq that often but it seems to be fairly well funded.”

Another favorite is a politics pod-cast from National Public Radio, which has given me the opportunity to refine my own thoughts about the electoral process. I discuss politics in a serious way other places but I will say that I think that Obama was able to sit through Reverend Jeremiah Wright’s sermons that some have taken exception to because he was attending church using his white half and wasn’t paying attention to the sermon because he was thinking about what all white people think about in church: where are we going for brunch? To read what I really think about that go here.

Beyond pod-casts I had the time to give Vampire Weekend’s eponymous album a serious listen. This was a gift from my friend Emily for my birthday via iTunes gift carding. Is this the new sound track to Hipstercrombie & Fitch? I found it to be predictable, forgettable, the lyrics trite and cliché, and the vocals unexceptional and humdrum. I was absolutely delighted by it. I think you should download this album and put it on your iPod. It complements the shirts I had no business buying from Threadless.com at their Spring Cleaning sale perfectly and it is what everyone else is doing – why are you waiting?

Please do not think that I have put this gym time to good use. I have been off my diet for the break because it is a vacation and I should enjoy it. I have been to breakfast, brunch, lunch, ice cream, dinner, movies, coffee, and whatever you call it when you go for a Jamba Juice with a friend. Going to the gym has merely been, “holding down the fort,” or holding the waistline back. A couple days I went to the gas station on the way home to get a slushy – I felt terrible walking all over the world and not leaving money at the gas station. While I was in line some homeless person had the nerve to comment that I smelled bad. Honestly, he had some nerve to say that I smelled bad – not stopping there he asked me to buy him some cigarettes. Someone should find this guy and pin a medal on him because that was ballsy and wrong but it had to be some special level of chutzpah that qualifies for recognition.

One might think that all I do is eat but all the eating makes me tired so I do find time to sleep. To help me sleep I have been reading The First American by H.W. Brands about Benjamin Franklin – one of my three favorite Americans to read about, the other two being Theodore Roosevelt and John Adams. I love biography and visiting the homes of dead famous people and plan this summer to tour the homes of famous Tennesseans with Chaos Bean. We are planning on going to see Elvis (dead), Johnny Cash (dead), Andrew Jackson (dead) and Sally Dally-Do (not dead). We haven’t told Sally Dally-Do we’re coming and we probably won’t but we’re not telling Elvis or Johnny Cash we’re coming either so we figured Sally didn’t need reservations either. While I’m on this topic I am going to tell you that if Senator Obama is going to put Regis on the nickel if he’s President then there is no reason that Johnny Cash isn’t on the dollar – it just makes sense he’s Johnny Cash. Elvis is the King: his face should already be on everything. Queen Elizabeth is on Canadian money. It’s worth more than ours. Maybe putting Elvis’s face or even Britney Spears face, on our money would do something for it. I'd venture to guess that most Americans don't know who is on our money anyway, most of my friends were confused because they thought Regis was already on the nickel.

I have to get ready now for the final hurrah of Spring Break and I have run out of ridiculous things to say and all this vacation has made me tired, I am going to collapse in defeat.

eat every cupcake

I went to a coworker’s wedding on Sunday with another coworker as her date; the date would be more exciting she wasn’t married and I wasn’t the designated driver. I have a great time at the wedding and am assured that everything that happened was very, “now.” It was scheduled to be a disaster by my mere attendance and I wouldn’t doubt if I accidentally did something to offend someone and heard about it later. It was supposed to rain at the outdoor reception but we were spared that (and any renditions of that song from the nineties about irony) but it was very cold – for Arizona.

The fish – a fish that was supposed to be swimming happily in a bowl on the table - was dead and bobbed useless in the water the entire time. This was to my great relief because if there are goldfish as a centerpiece I am inevitably dared to swallow the fish alive for twenty dollars and it feels tacky to bid someone up on that to fifty dollars at a wedding. A dead fish would have started at fifty for me and worked to seventy five, at least.

Cleverly, there was a tiered platter of cupcakes instead of a traditional wedding cake. I ignored my Vice-President’s normal advice about cupcakes – eat as many as you possibly can – as it was the wedding cake. Normally we would view a platter of cupcakes as challenge, a mountain to climb or a river to cross. I could visualize the Vice-President in a habit singing, “Eat Every Cupcake,” but I didn’t want to spend a coworker’s wedding with frosting smeared all over my face or be beaten or drug away from the cupcakes by groomsmen. I was also anticipating needing to surreptitiously get a fish out of a bowl and swallow it so I needed to keep a low profile.

The important things I learned from this wedding include, but are not limited to: I need to lose a Brazilian pounds and I need to learn to dance; I need to unravel the mysteries of Google Maps. One of my friends pointed out that none of the music I listen to can be danced to, not easily. I contend that is because people like me cannot dance and we are less likely to do so if the music is not conducive to dancing. It is a built-in safety device to prevent any dance floor shenanigans. Also, there are four suits that I am glad I didn’t dry clean because they have somehow shrunk or I have somehow ballooned up into a caricature of a young Homer Simpson.

On the way to the wedding and then later to the reception I flipped more u-turns than you can in Arizona, at least on a Sunday. I was driving Michelle’s suburban assault vehicle and not my Volkswagen so it was even more precarious. We had directions but we came from a different direction and only intermittently turned our right into lefts and our lefts into rights. Sure, I have a phone that can tell me where I am using Google Maps and then tell me where I should be but it is more fun with gas pushing $3.50 a gallon to drive shamelessly around Phoenix from Moon Valley to DoPho to Scottsdale and points in between. I am not sure what was better, the Phoenicians we frightened as we drove or the English teacher following us. English teachers are typically well planned and prepared (anal retentive) and we were entertained watching her in the rear view mirror (instead of the road) becoming increasingly irritated at our antics.

However, this prepares me for the Labor Day wedding – learn to dance, eat right and read a map…check, check, check…

what kind of jerk

In Phoenix you can get a sunburn at the gym. I was going to say, “only in Phoenix can you get a sunburn at the gym,’ but I don’t know that for sure and I am really tired of this constant bombardment of unsubstantiated statements of, “you haven’t lived until…” or “…is the best you’ll ever [whatever it is you do with it].” I have a rule about food, the more excited the person is about the food, the more they build it up the less likely I am to like it – not because its been built up, but because I am a spiteful bitch. I guess my father being a chef might also somehow fit into a finicky palate and would be a polite excuse but if my father were a garbage man I would still be picky.

He’d also make a lot more money.

This break I have made a commitment to go to the gym every day. Most days I go later in the day when the sun is setting – to avoid sunburn – but today I went to the gym earlier in the day because I had gotten other things done. I am not actively trying to lose weight for my Labor Day Wedding yet but I am trying to get used to going to the gym everyday for hours at a time.

I have been using the outdoor, rooftop track at my gym. This is usually pretty nice because I have it to myself and I can do the training regime suggested to me because it is difficult to switch things up like that on the treadmill. Also, I have the rooftop track to myself.

This is important because I listen to my iPod or my iPhone while I am working out. Like many iPod/iPhone users I sing along to the music and occasionally bust a move – my favorite bad habit is dancing with other iPod users when they are dancing in public. I did this today at the grocery and then this hot woman who turned out to be a doctor joined me. Granted, neither the Doctor nor I were listening to our iPods but that person was as embarrassed as I should have been. Chaos Bean does not approve of this behavior and once beat me at Stop & Shop for it; Dejafoo has choreography prepared. This is normally not a problem on the rooftop because I am by myself and if I stop to do a little jig or belt out a few lines the only people who would notice it are everyone walking around downtown Phoenix. Not anyone I would have to face again.

I do need different music for my iPod and maybe even better pod-casts. I did have an exercise ‘song’ free, from Nike on iTunes but it sounded like the music they play at Hipstercrombie & Fitch. I would hate for any eventual mugger to see that crap on there and it didn’t really inspire me to exercise as much as spend money.

Chaos Bean once said to me, “You know, plenty of people go around having perfectly ordinary days, perfectly ordinary lives and they run into you and your ruin everything.”

It’s true; she’s right.

This is how I ran into people today on the track, and yes this whole entry has been building up to this glorious moment. There I was, listening to a BBC pod cast on my iPod, jogging and text-messaging one of my debate partners when I bowled over a family walking on the track. I barreled right into them turning the corner, rolling over them and slamming into barricade that prevented me from doing a face-plant on First Avenue.
Don’t worry; the iPhone is fine.

You know this family, you have met them or seen them at the grocery or discount super center: they are those miscreants who spread out and walk abreast in the parking lot and in the aisles of the store – and look at you like you’re a mongoloid for wanting to drive a car in the parking lot or push your cart down the aisle. These people are the real reason I don’t shop at Wal Mart – because they are always there. There are perfectly acceptable political and social reasons to avoid that store but I have never seen those people at Target, Costco or IKEA, only at Wal Mart but now apparently my gym.

So, before you ask what kind of jerk text-messages while jogging be glad I am not doing it while driving – or be jealous that I can do that at all. I submit to you: what kind of jerks walk as a gaggle on a track when there are clearly two lanes - waddling on the left, running on the right? Perhaps I should admire their family time or have some remorse for bowling them down but I am tired of people behaving as if their family is the only people on earth. Also, I’m not sure but I think I’m married to their daughter now – either that or their son has to be stoned to death; it’s different from culture to culture.

I guess what I did was wrong but it’s balanced by their rudeness. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get my fat ass up to speed? The physics involved are astounding. So, for all of you who have had to stop while a family waddled by in the parking lot or pretended to be browsing the different types of shampoo while a family blocked the aisle simply chatting or nearly slammed into a tranny hooker who just walked into the street because ‘people will stop,’ this was for you. I’m tired of slowing down, stepping aside or hitting the breaks for someone who acts as if they’re the only person on earth or bets on the goodness of others.

like a twelve-year-old

One of my students is facing problems similar to the ones I am facing. I am impressed with his resilience and in talking to my friend Berry from High School about this and faith I commented, “the Bible tell us, ‘Jesus Wept,’ and that’s because Jesus was in his thirties when the Lazarus episode took place – had it taken place when he was in the seventh grade the Bible would tell us, ‘Jesus was resilient, Mary and Joseph were one hot mess.’”

Berry had to hang up and pray for me.

The student’s situation brings up two important things I would like to otherwise ignore about my own life.

First, as much as I love my students and appreciate their affection for me I would never turn their regard for me into a support group. Sure, there is a cult of personality and I will admit to basking in the crapulence of my own demagoguery but there are a few teachers I want to yell at and say, “Hey, Amy, the emotional baggage needs to fit under the seat – they’re your students not your friends.” Luckily, thirteen-year-old, middle school Jesus was sitting on Michelle’s shoulder when I did that and he told her to kick me.

The second thing I learned from my student is that while he perseveres the stress in his life is not in dealing with his father’s illness (our common problem), because that is something you take in stride. The stress in his life, and I realize in mine, is dealing with everyone else in the family’s take on my father’s illness or absorbing the stress from people grappling with it. I would be better if people stopped inserting their judgments; I’m having a hard enough time keeping my own behind my teeth. I would be better if people stopped asking how I was.

I worry more about my mother than I do my father because Chaos Bean and I will have our hands full if, God forbid, his health does not improve. I know his soul will be commended to the Lord so I don’t fear his death; it’s the process of dying that is daunting and life after death.

At times the Bean and I find this situation patently absurd – our father is a soldier, his death serving the Republic was a real possibility. We are not prepared for the possibility of old age, of deterioration, of the indignity, of – as Nancy Reagan put it – a long kiss good-night. Losing your father suddenly and heroically would be one thing and this is quite another. We feel more for our mother who didn’t think she’d grow old alone.

So, I stand reminded by my student to stow my emotional baggage under my seat and for all intents and purposes act like a twelve-year-old.

Casual Friday

Instead of having a quiz to review the material learned in my History class this week we played a game-show formatted review game. This worked out well because my students can bomb a multiple-choice test like the bravest kamikaze but totally own an essay test. Grading a stack of essays was not my idea of a weekend so I did this instead to measure their learning.

This went well until the advanced students learned that this was what we were doing and planned their answers accordingly and the students who had not afforded the information much attention grasped at straws to make their responses equally interesting.

When presented with the question, What did Liliuokalani propose after she became Queen of the Hawaiian Islands that led to her eventual deposition? You might answer, A new constitution returning power to the monarch or you might pick the correct answer, Casual Friday. Casual Fridays are indeed treacherous and if you were paying attention in the 1890s you’d know that it was as bad an idea then as it is now. Stick to the tacky khaki cause the cut of your jeans could cause you grief.

Moving on to the Spanish-American War the students responded alternately to the question, What did the explosion and sinking of the USS Maine cause? with Yellow Fever and What caused Yellow Fever with The sinking of the USS Maine.

Well, at least I hope they were joking with those answers because I have a lot of work to do on Monday otherwise. Maybe I should have planned to spend my weekend marking essays.