Caustically Optimistic

birds and crickets and bats (oh my)

Today at my part-time job, it was officially announced that I am employee of the month. This honor entitles me to a plaque stating this achievement and the pride in a job well done. When I was asked if I liked my plaque, I initially believed I had something on my teeth. I am not the smartest person at my part-time job, but easily the most educated. My name is misspelled on the plaque but I still plan to wear it around my neck like a rap star at my full-time job and to church.

Tonight at work, we heard the heralds of spring: birds, crickets and bats – which all converge to create a deafening racket in the drive-through speaker. Through no fault of their own, people are hard to hear in the drive through, this made things more difficult and it seemed like everyone coming through tonight was someone who would not speak clearly at an audible volume or was more interested in chatting on their cell. I felt like I was being tortured.

Some comical things did happen. Friday nights are home to the drunken/stoned throngs of teens carousing in borrowed German luxury automobiles. A man came in with a scorpion tattooed to his neck and a drunk, high school girl squealed in horror and then slapped his neck to kill the scorpion.

I would tell you more, but I wanted to state that I am still alive. I will have coherent things to write very soon. I am glad Spring is here and that soon the school year will be over and I will be done with this miserable job (and maybe even career) will be over with briefly. The crickets, birds and bats are not that bad after all, when you are not at work.

There is no honor among thieves

I have many bad habits, not the least of which is my ability to say really cruel things in a clever way. One of my super powers is the uncanny ability to link a person to something from popular culture that they resemble or to morph the phonemes in their name into something insulting.

I try my hardest to keep these gems of wit locked inside my tiny brain but every once in a while, I am struck with a bout of verbal diarrhea and it all comes rushing out and into the ears of someone I hope that I can trust. This gets me into trouble because I either: pick someone I cannot trust to share with or people who are aware of this weakness are at liberty to say, “you know what Chris said about you?” Anything they tell you will be widely believed because it is usually believable of me. My response is usually, “well, you thought it was funny when I said it about someone else: didn’t you?”

This became an issue this week because one of my friends has a roommate that they like, adore even, but on occasion gets on their nerves. I am in contact with both roommates on a weekly basis for one reason or the other so I knew enough to come up with a nickname for the one roommate and spilled it to the other because I was stupid and I thought the person would not repeat it.

I tend not to repeat the nasty things people say to me about others because I feel it is rude to everyone involved and demeaning to yourself as a person. I think that if the person is spreading confidentialities then you should definitely share that but if someone tells you in confidence, “I think Chris is fat,” there is really no reason to repeat it. Why skewer another person’s relationship and hurt people without cause?

I had a half a mind to repeat to that person everything the person who told on me had said about them, and anyone, because she can be exceedingly cruel herself. I realize that just makes things worse.

I know at this point that I really should not say that I think someone looks like an Oompa Loompa or that their life is too ridiculous for reality television but we all make mistakes. I think that in making mistakes we want people who are there for us when we make the mistake and are supportive of us, not people who will kick us when we are down.

Of course part of my feelings are Clintonian – I am embarssed to have been caught and called out – but there is also the genuine emotion of feeling sorry that I hurt someone’s feelings. Sometimes my cleverness is a curse and too often other people have to pay the price for my sharp tongue.

Spritopias: Episode IX

Spritopias: Episode IX

Queen Amidamier tries to hold her head up as the monologue being presented by someone unattractive (off camera) drones on

The past two weeks at school were written and directed by George Lucas: the dialog boring, the plot absurd, and the costuming ridiculous. I kept wanting to write about the incidents and accidents (hints and allegations) going on around me but they were coming at me so quickly I had scarce time to appreciate the special effects or fleeting references to pop culture.

I have been keeping busy with teaching, going to school and working an extra job and have had little time to enjoy myself. I catch as catch can – but is it ever enough? There have been incidents and accidents that I have longed to share with you but because of my hectic lifestyle, I have been forced to wait until now to share with you what was going on in my world.

There have been little things that have been very funny, Nigel announcing upon receiving an exam that, “This is going to hurt me more than it is going to hurt you,” or the fact that all the students gave me valentines they made themselves with little argyle hearts on them – an unplanned, simultaneous mockery of my ‘fashion’ choices.

Then there has been my reaction to the recent uprising over a four-month-old cartoon in an obscure newspaper in an obscure European country (the critique was on point but cartoon was classless, the offense genuine but the reaction validated the critique). I was unconcerned about it – Europeans do not think before they speak and Middle Easterners and the Muslim world has to sort out how they are going to respond to the response to their actions. That was until they pulled down statues of Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders.

What most Westerners and especially Americans do not realize is that despite what our Government and Press tell us, the Middle Eastern papers and Governments mock our religious and political figures at will and do not respect our opinions, faiths, or politics. They are entitled under our framework for civil society – we are not under theirs. I wonder about a people whose faith is so fragile, whose way of life is so fragile, that a stupid cartoon in an unimportant newspaper in an out of the way country would cause them so much angst.

It gets worse: apparently, women in Saudi Arabia are boycotting and speaking out against Oprah! Nothing good can come of that, how dare they? Who do they think they are? They have some nerve, I will tell you that.

However, they are crossing the line not when they storm our embassies or burn our flags, even when they boycott our clever consumer products – they are crossing the line when they attack the graven (and craven) of our gods. Who are they to pull down, much less touch, the sacred image of Ronald McDonald? Who are they to spit on Colonel Harlan Sanders?

Luckily, our Government acted swiftly – stashing Ms. Winfrey, Mr. Mc Donald, and Colonel Sanders to undisclosed secure locations along with their families and anyone invited to ‘go hunting’ with our illustrious Vice President.

I think that in the long run we need to learn how to coexist with other cultures in the world, but I think that other cultures could take a page or two from our book and realize that they too will need to learn to accept the cultures of others. Many people in this country, in this western culture, contend that they do, already are, or should not have to but I contend that is clear that while they protest (violently) something that think is clever when they do it, there is something wrong. This is the most important part: the damn cartoon was published four months ago. Are they on a payment plan? Offensive Cartoon – don’t worry – no protest or interest needed until next year!

The other essential thing to remember is this: in these countries, the press is controlled by the government. When they have a cartoon of Jesus, Buddha, George Bush, or Tony Blair, in their newspaper the government allowed it or ordered it. Also, these governments point to the United States, Europe, and Israel as the source and norm for the problems of every day people and not their shoddy governance. We have to understand that while we think our Government controls us and tells us what to think, we are far from that style of life and that other people really do live in a world where their access to information is controlled by nefarious people who put a priority on thought control as a way of controlling their populations. We live better than that but we are also seeing what happens when our freedoms insult people who are not aware of the fact that we really do have a free press.

four on the floor

Quote of the Day: I don’t know what’s more embarrassing – the porn or the music on your hard drive.”

Yesterday, after I had found the ten dollars on the floor at work, one of my coworkers told us this story about she had found $128 outside the bank, in one of those envelopes they give you when you cash a check. She said she had kept it. I was appalled; there is not plausible explanation for doing something like that. An envelope with $128 in it was clearly some other poor person’s paycheck, child support, or alimony. She said it had to belong to some rich person because of the amount of money. I contend that if ‘rich people’ go to the bank and take out money it is not $128.

I told her I would have gone into the bank and turned it in. I have lost money and other people have done that for me. I have found lost money and returned it. The bank knows whose money that it is, how many people could have possibly taken out $128? They would be able to find out to whom it belonged on their own or the poor soul would have returned on their own.

The second time I returned the money the person never returned and after two weeks, it was credited to my account.

I was so angry. What kind of person is she? Who takes from other poor people? Someone who watches too much My Name is Earl said, “Karma will get her.” I decided to let myself by the vessel of her karma. I just didn’t know how or when.

Then, while taking the nuggets out of the fryer, I dropped four of them on the floor. I put them in a box (because they were hot and I didn’t want to carry them by hand to the food waste) and when she saw them, she asked if I was going to eat them and I said, “no” and she asked for them and ate them. She likes them right out of the oil, I‘ll admit: the fresher the better. However, I would never eat off the floor.

faux hawk, faux hot, faux haute

It is supposed to snow in new and insane ways today and tomorrow. Connecticut is supposed to be buried in a football field worth of snow. It is apparently the beginning of the next ice age; so do not forget your muff. The advent of a snow storm causes nervousness among the natives and they fall on grocery stores and other places that sell food like Sam’s Club in an attempt not to starve during the one or two days that they will sequestered in their homes. I did not know that this was also when you go and get your hair cut.

I guess if the snow is falling, your hair should not be hitting your collar. I needed a haircut but I did not know that it was Connecticut State Law that all hair must be cut. Maybe it is a bizarre ritual to appease the snow gods. Sacrifice your locks and tomorrow there will no school! Or, have your youngster’s head shorn in order to appease that the snow might desist and the kids be sent to school.

No joke – I waited three hours to get my hair cut. It was cut too short but the woman who cut my hair was a great conversationalist, did a great job, and was attractive. Out of deference to Suburban Island, I tipped the stylist more then my regular stylist because this one was more attractive.

Also, my regular stylist treats me like her therapist and tells me all her personal problems. If I were to win the lottery on Wednesday, I would get her a computer and the internet so that she could get a blog. I am there for the haircut, not her personal problems. I do not share my personal problems with the stylist and I do not mind hearing about them and their life but I do mind if the person spends the entire time talking about how their life is hard and they have no money. I feel like today’s stylist paid more attention to my hair then to her problems. I felt like that deserved a better tip.

I hope the haircut brings the snow down instead of keeping it away. I would like this vacation from school to last just a little longer.

(photos available on buzznet here )

DON'T

Last night, in a strange twist for my parents, we went to a friend’s house for dinner that had children – my age. At first I was not keen on this dinner, it was the family’s holiday dinner where their children come with their children and exchange gifts. It just did not seem like a good time; it seemed like it was going to be a long awkward evening.

The night before we had dinner with other friends of theirs whose daughter’s dinner conversation included screaming at her parents and filling us in on her uterus being palpitated or not with a short series of vignettes on how a visit to the gynecologist is the worst experience you will ever have – again during dinner in mixed company. I had no idea what was going to happen at the next dinner party.

The first weirdness was seating – they had a kid’s table and this one guy starts whining about not wanting to sit there. I am thinking he is a teenager, but no – he is older than me and he did not want to sit with his kids. It was funny to watch him argue with his kids all night trying to get them to eat – because we were there, we bumped him from the ‘adult table’ and relegated him to the kid table. As a teacher, I know why that caged bird sings. There is nothing worse than the promise of a meal without children being denied to you. I thought this person was a kid because he was wearing a hat inside and we had on the same sneakers – which sparked our initial conversation. Only kids and idiots (being me) talk about their sneakers. Only people from New Jersey (being myself and these people) call their footwear sneakers. No one was playing tennis.

I was worried about how this family was going to interact and how we were going to fit into the dynamic. My immediate family is likely to joke around and not take things seriously but we have been spending time with families that are dour and pretentious in their behavior toward one another. This family was one that joked around – serious when appropriate and inappropriate when it was appropriate. One such time, and the gem of the whole evening was when it was time to pray and the grandchildren had not settled down so we could. Their uncle said, “Would you settle down, we’re trying to pray damn it.”

Later that night, when coffee and desert was served, dating came up and when I was asked if I was dating I said that I cannot afford to date, and when I said that the two (married) guys said, “DON’T!” in the same voice that you would use on a kid running into a busy street or someone about to touch a hot stove. Interestingly enough, most people try to lure me into the snare of marriage and children with them, these two were adamant that I remain single and enjoy it.

It was nice to have dinner with people my own age, spend time with my family and another in a situation that was not awkward or offensive. It was also nice to get support on my mission to stay single and child free from people who have fallen into the matrimonial trap. The next time I hear the siren song pulling me down the altar, I will hear their voices telling me, “DON’T!”

it resembled master yoda, not at all

Today I helped my father change a tire. I have never changed a tire; I call Triple A. All I did was hold a flashlight and regretted letting my Triple A lapse. If I could give one piece of advice to anyone who has a car it would be to get Triple A because if you have car trouble I cannot help you.

We were on our way home from spending time with the family here in Kentucky that has adopted or assumed us into their own. One of them just had a baby. The only advance warning on this baby was that it looked like Master Yoda. The baby was bald, but it was neither green nor pointy of ear. It also had five fingers on each hand. It resembled Master Yoda not at all.

However, I am not a baby person. I feel terrible when people hand me their baby – because people want you to hold their baby. I do not want to hold your baby. First, I am clumsy. I have a fear that I am going to drop or harm your baby. People argue that babies are resilient and I should not fear harming them. I will err on the side of caution. You squeezed it out of your body and you can hold it.

Second, and more to the point: I am afraid of germs. Babies expectorate, drool, leak, urinate, defecate, and vomit without prior warning or shame. Babies are biological weapons. I have no interest in touching a baby, I do not care if it has had shots or been recently cleaned. Yes, there are people who are not into babies and I am one of them.

Luckily, my parents who realize that I will never make them a grandparent, wanted to hold the baby and play with it and the baby’s mother was not there so I avoided offending her by passing the baby as soon as it was given to me. I have no idea why, but I am not interested in babies at all. Some people, most people, like to hold them, play with them and want to make their own. I have no desire to do any of those things. I nannied, I know the ‘joys’ of parenting and can forgo them – thanks!

The irony of this outing to visit this adopted family is that they are a group of people who accept me or at least tolerate me when I am around. My relatives do not like me, nor do they tolerate me. I am okay with this because I figured out a while ago and worked it out that they would never take me in as one of their own. I am not the person who is going to jump through hoops to try to get someone to love or like me. I have done that once, with great success, so I know that if you wait a minute that you will fall for me – but I will have that as a token experience.

It was nice to spend time with a healthy, functioning family. I realize that no family is perfect and that this is not really my family. However, knowing what my relatives are like I figure that there is no harm in pretending for a few hours at the holiday that you are a part of one of those families that you see on TV where no one is perfect, but everyone loves each other.

christmas letter

We receive many, many Christmas letters at my parent’s house. The best one was sent to me: one of my old friends wrote a letter about how his wife is annoying, disorganized, and stupid and then wrote that his children were brats. I had to read it three times to make sure that was what he was saying and checked a few times to make sure that it was a letter sent to everyone and not a personal note.

We all have those days where our family gets on our nerves and sometimes we even complain privately to a friend about it. I have never received a letter about it through the mail sent to everyone the person knows. At the same time, I have no problem with someone having an online journal where they do the same thing. Somehow, when you put it in the mail it makes it official and distasteful. On a web-log it is entertaining.

What I feel bad about is that her family and friends got the letter, too. At first those of us who tend to agree found it funny at first and then remembered what a jerk he actually is.

disco passionate

I feel like I should be doing something productive on my vacation from teaching, working, and going to school. So far, all I have accomplished is sleeping in, watching television, reading, and playing video games. I have a “to do” list a mile long, which I have also lost. I am, however, taking a shower every day, and changing my clothes too. I also am taking very few of my meals at home.

Yesterday’s outing out of the house was to a wake for a friend’s father. I felt guilt because her father died of a heart attack and my father has come out of his like a professional heart attack artist (one more heart attack and he gets to be Vice-President). You can tell that my father is still not completely well because he is often tired now but he does a great job of hiding that, if you were not here when he had the heart attack you would also question that it happened at all.

You can see it in the concern on people’s faces when we meet friends while we are out to eat or at a church function, it is like he is Baby Jessica and they have just pulled him out of the well. He may not be old (forty-eight) but I just dated myself with that cultural reference. Their relief at his new found wellness betrays how ill he really was.

I have my father; our friend does not. I feel a certain sense of relief and guilt. Our friend’s Christmas could be my Christmas. I could be shaking hands at a visitation instead of at tiresome Christmas parties. I could be consoling my mother over my father’s death instead of helping her wrap his presents.

We were shopping yesterday for presents, I am not giving or getting presents this year, but she is. She asked me again if I wanted anything and I said, “I think presents take away from the holiday and we have our family in one piece for one more Christmas. I am afraid to ask for more. What more do we need?”

choking hazard

I am at my parent’s house this Christmas. One nice thing about my parents is that they did not turn my room into some bizarre shrine to me but the bad thing is that the room is decorated using my dead grandmother’s things. It would not be so bad, but if Grandma was anything, she was tacky. I have about fifty Norse gnomes looking at me, from all directions. I suspect that one of them has an erection.

Also, at dinner I had the hiccups so my mother decided that she should scream and scare the hiccups out. It startled me and I choked on my food. True to form, they were all too busy laughing to assist me so I had to perform the Heimlich on myself using the corner of the easy chair, something I learned on accident having a history of comical choking episodes in which people were too busy guffawing to save my life. My friend Jeffery calls me the invisible boy because no one ever remembers or notices me, I even forget about me.

I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and survives the mass transit strike in the City. I hope I can survive being home.