These are a few of my favorite things…
State Motto: “Live Free or Die” – New Hampshire
Most states went with platitudes about God, equality, and righteousness; New Hampshire opted for a full-on threat, which is pretty badass. The silver medal has to go to Maryland for the supremely retarded, “Manly deeds, womanly words.”
Police Procedural: “Law & Order U.K.”
Everything’s better with accents.
Bizarre Japanese Invention: Smoker’s Mask
Are you a smoker? Are you also busy? Ever wish there were some way to indulge your habit without sacrificing productivity? Well now you can with the smoker’s mask, a plastic apparatus you affix to your face as a doctor might affix a surgical mask to his. Just strap it on, fill each of the mask’s 20 holes with a cigarette, fire ‘em up, and smoke a whole pack in one shot. If you don’t die, the rest of the day is all yours.
Idiomatic Expression: “A stitch in time saves nine.”
There are ways in which I’m a bumbling fool, as evidenced by the fact that I didn’t grasp the meaning behind this expression until a few months ago. Before that, I thought of it as kind of sci-fi, something to do with the nature and potential non-linearity of time. I’m disappointed that its true meaning is so prosaic, but for me it will always be very “Back to the Future.”
Holiday: Halloween
Turkey or candy? Candy. Presents or candy? Candy. Fireworks or candy? Candy. The only downside of my preferred holiday is the age restriction. Where do the arbiters of Halloween get off telling me I’m too old to collect candy from strangers? If I’m enthused and encostumed (a word which doesn’t exist, but should), cut me a break.
Convicted Criminal: Armin Meiwes
This guy – German, unsurprisingly, and someone I’ve discussed on this blog before – trolled the internet in search of a human who would consent to being eaten. Astonishingly he found someone, and Mr. Meiwes enjoyed this man’s flesh for nearly a year. He’s my favorite criminal because, despite being convicted of murder, Mr. Meiwes at no point violated the will of another, making him the cuddliest cannibal in the western world.
Religion: Mormonism
I want to know about the underpants.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The post-apocalyptic hellscape that is elementary school
There are some people in this world – actually a lot of people, but I’m going to start off on a charitable note – who are dumb. Really, really, appallingly dumb. This can neither be helped nor escaped. No state, country, or continent in the world is safe from the slow-witted, with the possible exception of Antarctica, whose only residents are scientists. Unfortunately, in exchange for being surrounded by exclusively intelligent people, said residents are forced to live in the post-apocalyptic hellscape that is Antarctica. Go figure.
For a variety of reasons mostly related to Americans’ dogged insistence that just about anyone could grow up to be the President of the United States, calling people dumb violates this country’s unspoken social code: we’re all equal except for I make 30 times as much as you and oppose income redistribution. The assumption underlying this code is that we’re all born with equal potential, so if you don’t succeed it’s on you, And because Americans are not only dumb but willfully ignorant, we blindly accept this assumption as fact. That’s a shame since the assumption is manifestly untrue. We’re born into different circumstances, both genetic and environmental, that affect our ability to succeed. That a biracial man from Kansas was elected President is not proof that you too could get there one day. He’s smarter, luckier, more charming, and better-looking than you. That’s not fair, but it is true.
This assumption, which, I would like to re-emphasize, goes mostly unquestioned, really fosters our idiocy; through our refusal to acknowledge differing levels and forms of intelligence within our population, everyone is losing. Just ask a smart kid in a public elementary school classroom how he feels about school. Odds are he’ll deploy the adjective, “boring,” at least once in his answer. This isn’t, I posit, an indication that the kid isn’t interested in learning. Most smart people enjoy learning since they tend to be good at it. It’s in fact an indication that the kid simply isn’t learning, which leads me to wonder why and how this could be. How is it possible to spend hours upon hours every day “learning” and to still learn nothing? Because of the dumb kids.
Now I’m not blaming the dumb kids. They can’t help it, and they’re obviously entitled to an education just like everyone else; the more Americans who are literate, both linguistically and mathematically, the better off we all are. But I can’t dream up a reasonable rebuttal to the argument that lumping kids of all abilities into a single classroom forces the teacher to teach to the lowest common denominator. I personally reacted to this by being the kid who always volunteered to read aloud or solve a math problem on the blackboard, not because I especially wanted to, but because I knew I’d do it quickly and correctly; a dumb kid bungling things would invariably cut into recess time, so when you think about it I was really quite the elementary school hero. Whether or not this self-assignation is valid, the scenario perfectly illustrates the problem: the dumb kids struggle and need a lot of assistance, which annoys the smart kids, who are already disgruntled at the inanity of the lessons, and the smart kids’ annoyance undermines the self-esteem of the dumb kids who are just smart enough to pick up on it. No one wins.
The crux of my argument is that the time has come to return to the antiquated practice of tracking students: the smart kids in one class, the dumb kids in another, and the special ed kids will just sit and color. I firmly believe that all children would benefit from this set-up, and that the greatest benefits would be reaped by the kids on the lower end of the scale. For the first time in their lives, the dumb kids would have a shot at some modicum of scholastic success, the chance to not be overshadowed by Asian kids with pocket protectors whose parents don’t take “B+” for an answer. If an academically-challenged rascal didn’t understand something, he wouldn’t be so embarrassed to seek assistance. He might even volunteer to read aloud or do the odd math problem in front of the class since little assholes like me wouldn’t be there, straining to beat him to the punch. All in all, he’ll turn out a fuck of a lot smarter with tracking than without.
I realize that this little screed is dripping with arrogance and elitism, and, yes I’m laboring under the assumption that I would have been in the smart class had such a thing existed during my childhood. Let’s not fret over my superciliousness, and just assume for the sake of argument that I’m not delusional about my own intellectual capacity. How would my life have been different in a tracked elementary school? Well, learning probably would have been more interesting, or at least less tedious. I might have been spared some of the mockery I endured for being such a weird little creature. Mostly, I would have been less bored and annoyed. It’s not as though in the absence of the class dregs, I would have studied quantum mechanics or something; all little kids have certain limitations, so neither class’ curriculum would have strayed too far from that which was actually in place in 1992. The smart class would have just read tougher books and done a little more with fractions.
Before I wrap things up, it would behoove me to acknowledge the most obvious, but also the most valid, opposing argument, which has nothing to do with the children’s self-esteem; I think I’ve argued pretty persuasively that everyone’s self-esteem would in fact increase under a tracking system. The argument I consider reasonable states that it’s important for kids to be exposed to a wide array of people, and such exposure would be greatly lessened if children were tracked. This is absolutely true, but I’m not a tracking fundamentalist – I see no problem with having all the classes come together for art, music, and gym. I might even throw in social studies and science, neither of which presents as conceptually difficult in elementary school. I also don’t know that mere exposure to people who are different allows a person to become more accepting and generous and open-minded and well-rounded. Kids self-segregate no matter what. Smart kids eat their peanut butter sandwiches in the presence of other smart kids, while dumb kids enjoy their peanut butter sandwiches with their own friends, a band of rapscallions who are probably not about to set the world on fire.
Ultimately, my strongest defense against this argument is that some degree of separation during our formative years would ultimately bring us together. If I’m right – and I clearly believe I am – that less intelligent children would benefit more from this system than their more intelligent counterparts, tracking could prove to be a great equalizer, lessening the gap between smart and stupid. Maybe by the time my hypothetical lower-tracked kids graduate from high school they will have learned to read and write. Maybe some of them will even go on to college (more about that in an upcoming post). If you like my plan, know that I’m available for school board meetings and other functions. As some piece of inspirational “art” in some small-town mall probably once said, “Together, we can make a difference.”
For a variety of reasons mostly related to Americans’ dogged insistence that just about anyone could grow up to be the President of the United States, calling people dumb violates this country’s unspoken social code: we’re all equal except for I make 30 times as much as you and oppose income redistribution. The assumption underlying this code is that we’re all born with equal potential, so if you don’t succeed it’s on you, And because Americans are not only dumb but willfully ignorant, we blindly accept this assumption as fact. That’s a shame since the assumption is manifestly untrue. We’re born into different circumstances, both genetic and environmental, that affect our ability to succeed. That a biracial man from Kansas was elected President is not proof that you too could get there one day. He’s smarter, luckier, more charming, and better-looking than you. That’s not fair, but it is true.
This assumption, which, I would like to re-emphasize, goes mostly unquestioned, really fosters our idiocy; through our refusal to acknowledge differing levels and forms of intelligence within our population, everyone is losing. Just ask a smart kid in a public elementary school classroom how he feels about school. Odds are he’ll deploy the adjective, “boring,” at least once in his answer. This isn’t, I posit, an indication that the kid isn’t interested in learning. Most smart people enjoy learning since they tend to be good at it. It’s in fact an indication that the kid simply isn’t learning, which leads me to wonder why and how this could be. How is it possible to spend hours upon hours every day “learning” and to still learn nothing? Because of the dumb kids.
Now I’m not blaming the dumb kids. They can’t help it, and they’re obviously entitled to an education just like everyone else; the more Americans who are literate, both linguistically and mathematically, the better off we all are. But I can’t dream up a reasonable rebuttal to the argument that lumping kids of all abilities into a single classroom forces the teacher to teach to the lowest common denominator. I personally reacted to this by being the kid who always volunteered to read aloud or solve a math problem on the blackboard, not because I especially wanted to, but because I knew I’d do it quickly and correctly; a dumb kid bungling things would invariably cut into recess time, so when you think about it I was really quite the elementary school hero. Whether or not this self-assignation is valid, the scenario perfectly illustrates the problem: the dumb kids struggle and need a lot of assistance, which annoys the smart kids, who are already disgruntled at the inanity of the lessons, and the smart kids’ annoyance undermines the self-esteem of the dumb kids who are just smart enough to pick up on it. No one wins.
The crux of my argument is that the time has come to return to the antiquated practice of tracking students: the smart kids in one class, the dumb kids in another, and the special ed kids will just sit and color. I firmly believe that all children would benefit from this set-up, and that the greatest benefits would be reaped by the kids on the lower end of the scale. For the first time in their lives, the dumb kids would have a shot at some modicum of scholastic success, the chance to not be overshadowed by Asian kids with pocket protectors whose parents don’t take “B+” for an answer. If an academically-challenged rascal didn’t understand something, he wouldn’t be so embarrassed to seek assistance. He might even volunteer to read aloud or do the odd math problem in front of the class since little assholes like me wouldn’t be there, straining to beat him to the punch. All in all, he’ll turn out a fuck of a lot smarter with tracking than without.
I realize that this little screed is dripping with arrogance and elitism, and, yes I’m laboring under the assumption that I would have been in the smart class had such a thing existed during my childhood. Let’s not fret over my superciliousness, and just assume for the sake of argument that I’m not delusional about my own intellectual capacity. How would my life have been different in a tracked elementary school? Well, learning probably would have been more interesting, or at least less tedious. I might have been spared some of the mockery I endured for being such a weird little creature. Mostly, I would have been less bored and annoyed. It’s not as though in the absence of the class dregs, I would have studied quantum mechanics or something; all little kids have certain limitations, so neither class’ curriculum would have strayed too far from that which was actually in place in 1992. The smart class would have just read tougher books and done a little more with fractions.
Before I wrap things up, it would behoove me to acknowledge the most obvious, but also the most valid, opposing argument, which has nothing to do with the children’s self-esteem; I think I’ve argued pretty persuasively that everyone’s self-esteem would in fact increase under a tracking system. The argument I consider reasonable states that it’s important for kids to be exposed to a wide array of people, and such exposure would be greatly lessened if children were tracked. This is absolutely true, but I’m not a tracking fundamentalist – I see no problem with having all the classes come together for art, music, and gym. I might even throw in social studies and science, neither of which presents as conceptually difficult in elementary school. I also don’t know that mere exposure to people who are different allows a person to become more accepting and generous and open-minded and well-rounded. Kids self-segregate no matter what. Smart kids eat their peanut butter sandwiches in the presence of other smart kids, while dumb kids enjoy their peanut butter sandwiches with their own friends, a band of rapscallions who are probably not about to set the world on fire.
Ultimately, my strongest defense against this argument is that some degree of separation during our formative years would ultimately bring us together. If I’m right – and I clearly believe I am – that less intelligent children would benefit more from this system than their more intelligent counterparts, tracking could prove to be a great equalizer, lessening the gap between smart and stupid. Maybe by the time my hypothetical lower-tracked kids graduate from high school they will have learned to read and write. Maybe some of them will even go on to college (more about that in an upcoming post). If you like my plan, know that I’m available for school board meetings and other functions. As some piece of inspirational “art” in some small-town mall probably once said, “Together, we can make a difference.”
Monday, March 14, 2011
In George We Trust
George Carlin once said, “I don’t have pet peeves — I have major psychotic fucking hatreds.” Me too…
1. Phone calls. It’s the 21st century, so you can stop calling me. The good lord gave us email and text messages so that we might communicate without listening to each other’s stupid little voices. Take advantage.
2. “Between he and I.” When it comes to grammar, don’t err on the side of fancy.
3. New York City. When I first moved out here, the residents always asked if I thought it was “exciting.” No – I’ve been to Detroit. Now THAT’S an exciting city. New York’s skyscrapers are adorable and all, but my sympathetic nervous system won’t be ignited by anything less than a dozen dead hookers in a vacant lot.
4. Anything vanilla-scented. Next time, choose a more grown-up scent, like cigarettes or mothballs.
5. The majorly duck-footed. My stance on the matter is that they’re indefensible. I just can’t stand the sight of them.
6. Forgetfulness. I suspect it’s selective more often than not, which means a lot of these assholes are choosing not to process information they don’t find interesting. I’m not interested in anything you say either, but I still listen.
7. Pedestrians shocked by the presence of cars in the street. The street is where cars live, yet a discomfortingly high percentage of people wander off the sidewalk without looking, only to be stunned by the sight of cars barreling toward them. If a driver can prove in a court of law that just prior to impact the pedestrian he hit was surprised, the driver should walk.
8. Canadians. People in Arizona and California hate Mexicans, but in the upper-Midwest it’s the goddamn Canadians, infecting us with their goofy accents and preposterous-looking currency – if there’s a duck on it, it’s not money.
9. People talking in public restrooms. You may not be attempting to construct an elaborate illusion of privacy, but I am. Shut the fuck up.
10. Daylight Saving Time. It’s great to leave the office in daylight, but getting up this morning was profoundly traumatic.
1. Phone calls. It’s the 21st century, so you can stop calling me. The good lord gave us email and text messages so that we might communicate without listening to each other’s stupid little voices. Take advantage.
2. “Between he and I.” When it comes to grammar, don’t err on the side of fancy.
3. New York City. When I first moved out here, the residents always asked if I thought it was “exciting.” No – I’ve been to Detroit. Now THAT’S an exciting city. New York’s skyscrapers are adorable and all, but my sympathetic nervous system won’t be ignited by anything less than a dozen dead hookers in a vacant lot.
4. Anything vanilla-scented. Next time, choose a more grown-up scent, like cigarettes or mothballs.
5. The majorly duck-footed. My stance on the matter is that they’re indefensible. I just can’t stand the sight of them.
6. Forgetfulness. I suspect it’s selective more often than not, which means a lot of these assholes are choosing not to process information they don’t find interesting. I’m not interested in anything you say either, but I still listen.
7. Pedestrians shocked by the presence of cars in the street. The street is where cars live, yet a discomfortingly high percentage of people wander off the sidewalk without looking, only to be stunned by the sight of cars barreling toward them. If a driver can prove in a court of law that just prior to impact the pedestrian he hit was surprised, the driver should walk.
8. Canadians. People in Arizona and California hate Mexicans, but in the upper-Midwest it’s the goddamn Canadians, infecting us with their goofy accents and preposterous-looking currency – if there’s a duck on it, it’s not money.
9. People talking in public restrooms. You may not be attempting to construct an elaborate illusion of privacy, but I am. Shut the fuck up.
10. Daylight Saving Time. It’s great to leave the office in daylight, but getting up this morning was profoundly traumatic.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
There's a reason I call these things rants......
Over the past few days, I’ve been pondering the likelihood that the population of New York City boasts more than its fair share of club-footed individuals. If it doesn’t, then I must somehow be disproportionately likely to find myself walking behind one of them, because I would estimate that about 10% of the people who descend the subway steps in front of me are dragging a faulty leg behind them; if my train is waiting in the station, its doors about to close, it’s 50%. Can’t we find better treatments for this condition? I know it sounds drastic, but perhaps if the afflicted foot were amputated and replaced with an ergonomic prosthetic, we’d all be happier. Just exploring options…
The clubfooted, I understand, have no choice in the matter, and so in my more charitable moments I accept them for who they are. The morbidly obese, however, are another story. I have some serious, serious issues with food and an abysmally slow metabolism to boot, and I still manage to avoid venturing into that 250 – 500 lb range. If I can do it, so can you. It could be as simple as not requesting extra cheese on the large pepperoni pizza you indulge in on a daily basis; or ridding yourself of the stash of Little Debbie snack cakes hidden in your sock drawer; or replacing one of your four scoops of sour cream mashed potatoes with a vegetable, say broccoli or carrots. I’m not asking you to look good in a bikini, just to take up a little less space.
Of course you’re well within your rights to maintain your sleek 328 lb frame, but in the interest of common decency, please refrain from plunging your jumbo ass onto the subway seat next to mine. It’s not wide enough for your ample frame, so you’re going to spill onto my seat, and given that my own ass is somewhere between substantial and vast, that’s space I can’t afford to lose. This morning no fewer than three morbidly obese women wound up sitting on my lap, one of whom made the experience even more pleasant by emitting an assortment of barnyard noises. Have you no shame?
Now if you thought my solution to the clubfoot problem was ingenious, keep your socks on: if a single seat on the train can’t contain you, you pay double fare. Pretty great idea, right? After all, this kind of disincentive worked with smoking. Now that smokers are shunned and ostracized and forced to take their habit outside, inclement weather be damned, it’s just not worth it anymore. It’s an expensive hassle that marks you as one of THOSE people in the eyes of the non-smoking majority. Maybe double fare on the train will spur you into action, or maybe an artificial increase in the price of fast food would do the trick.
Whatever happens, I’m not going to sit back and take it anymore. When I spy someone waddling toward me on the subway, I will invoke the principle of manifest destiny, and annex all surrounding seats. The pressure from your weight, the heat from your body, and the pig snorts from your nose give me that right. If I’m in a generous mood, you may sit next to me at the very reasonable price of $1.25, half the cost of my seat; if it’s been a rough day, you’re shit out of luck.
The clubfooted, I understand, have no choice in the matter, and so in my more charitable moments I accept them for who they are. The morbidly obese, however, are another story. I have some serious, serious issues with food and an abysmally slow metabolism to boot, and I still manage to avoid venturing into that 250 – 500 lb range. If I can do it, so can you. It could be as simple as not requesting extra cheese on the large pepperoni pizza you indulge in on a daily basis; or ridding yourself of the stash of Little Debbie snack cakes hidden in your sock drawer; or replacing one of your four scoops of sour cream mashed potatoes with a vegetable, say broccoli or carrots. I’m not asking you to look good in a bikini, just to take up a little less space.
Of course you’re well within your rights to maintain your sleek 328 lb frame, but in the interest of common decency, please refrain from plunging your jumbo ass onto the subway seat next to mine. It’s not wide enough for your ample frame, so you’re going to spill onto my seat, and given that my own ass is somewhere between substantial and vast, that’s space I can’t afford to lose. This morning no fewer than three morbidly obese women wound up sitting on my lap, one of whom made the experience even more pleasant by emitting an assortment of barnyard noises. Have you no shame?
Now if you thought my solution to the clubfoot problem was ingenious, keep your socks on: if a single seat on the train can’t contain you, you pay double fare. Pretty great idea, right? After all, this kind of disincentive worked with smoking. Now that smokers are shunned and ostracized and forced to take their habit outside, inclement weather be damned, it’s just not worth it anymore. It’s an expensive hassle that marks you as one of THOSE people in the eyes of the non-smoking majority. Maybe double fare on the train will spur you into action, or maybe an artificial increase in the price of fast food would do the trick.
Whatever happens, I’m not going to sit back and take it anymore. When I spy someone waddling toward me on the subway, I will invoke the principle of manifest destiny, and annex all surrounding seats. The pressure from your weight, the heat from your body, and the pig snorts from your nose give me that right. If I’m in a generous mood, you may sit next to me at the very reasonable price of $1.25, half the cost of my seat; if it’s been a rough day, you’re shit out of luck.
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