I've got ants in my pants!
It's almost March, and come March I get antsy. Squiggly, wiggly antsy. Could it be...?
My history of March includes:
Buying nine acres at the lake where I could build a house
Buying a Ford Ranger Truck
Buying two boats
Buying a Chevy Blazer
Enrolling in a second graduate degree program...
...and so it goes. I won't go more with this, it scares me.
It could be Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), or layman's terms--Cabin Fever--or it could be a damn fool who is bored.
Could it be somehow related to the tides? Or the moon?
How many excuses can we find for our nonsense.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Baby-Boomer Phart
I learned to walk wearing red leather Mary Janes.
The little red shoes were my first real pair of shoes. Maybe my aunt gave them to me because the top grossing film in 1948 was The Red Shoes. More than likely, according to my mother, aunt Arlene gave them to me because they were bright and shiny and cute. Ed Sullivan, a former journalist and host of The Ed Sullivan Show, was also into shoes. He talked about them--every Sunday night. Sullivan pronounced show as shoe, and the quote of the year was: "Tonight, we have a really big shoe!"
When Harry Truman--a Missouri boy--was elected the 33rd president three months after I was born, I wasn't wearing those shoes yet. I was still in crocheted booties, several months away from walking, and totally oblivious to the Chicago Tribune headline of November 3: Dewey Defeats Truman!
Later, Give-Em-Hell Harry was quoted in the Tribune as saying: "This is one for the books!" He was right, it has been one for the books! That newspaper (pictured above) with its famous journalistic screw up brought $950 at an auction 10 years later. Imagine what it's worth today.
Although Scrabble made its way onto the toy shelves before I reached my first birthday, my toys were metal rattles and soft stuffed animals. It was 17 years after the daring bikini made fashion history (or scandal) that I wore one, much to my father's horror. Although, the bikini of 1948 required a lot more fabric than the bikini (or is it thong?) seen on beaches today.
I've lived through two major recessions in American history, and the older I get the more I realize the impact of those recessions. I pay attention to how expensive things are today. In 1948, I didn't pay attention to much except my little world, I sure wasn't aware of this:
Yearly USA inflation: 7.74%
Average cost of a new house: $7,700
Average yearly wages: $2,950
Gallon of gas: 16 cents
Average cost of a new car: $1,250
Loaf of bread: 14 cents
Lb of hamburger: 45 cents
Movie ticket 60 cents
(From: The People History)
Although my parents were fans of big bands and swing music, rock and roll--or an early version--was born in 1948.
In his Britannia Blog, Gregory McNamee states: "Rock and roll had many midwives. The first, and arguably most important, was another product of 1948, when the California instrument maker Leo Fender released the first mass-produced electric guitar."
There was no going back to big bands and swing music.
The rock was rolling.
Several musicians who would later become influential to music trends in the 1960s shared my birth year: James Taylor, Stevie Nicks, Jackson Browne and Alice Cooper (pictured above).
The events, issues, inventions and cultural changes of 1948 undoubtably had some effect on me; the fact that I was born in 1948 certainly had an effect on me.
I came of age in the 1960s.
I was a young high school student and later college student during The Age of Aquarius. Everything was protested; the establishment and most American ideology was being questioned. We were overwhelmed and angry about America's involvement in a conflict in southeast Asia. We hipped Woodstock. We rebelled. We discovered grass wasn't just something dads mowed on Sunday afternoons. We wore funky clothes and Jesus sandals. We were hungry for liberal philosophies, beliefs and values. We rallied against social injustices and racial unrest.
It was a riotous decade of change. The sixties decade has been described by historians as the decade that resulted in the most significant changes in our history. And most of us born in 1948 changed with the upheaval of those times.
My little red shoes were long forgotten--they had been replaced by psychedelic tie-dyed Keds.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Chit or Poot Phart
I've got a book, and I'm going to write it...or die trying!
There's a murder for hire in the Kirskville area and I'm on it like white on rice.
In 2006 a man was shot to death allegedly for insurance money. As the story goes, his wife hired a friend to do the deed. Nevermind that we don't know what really happened, the man is dead....they found the two women and the rifle, and the suicide theory they put out didn't fly.
This was murder.
And I'm following it. I have been for four years, and I'm going to stay with it until it's over.
There's a murder for hire in the Kirskville area and I'm on it like white on rice.
In 2006 a man was shot to death allegedly for insurance money. As the story goes, his wife hired a friend to do the deed. Nevermind that we don't know what really happened, the man is dead....they found the two women and the rifle, and the suicide theory they put out didn't fly.
This was murder.
And I'm following it. I have been for four years, and I'm going to stay with it until it's over.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Piddling Phart
I piddled in kindergarten.
The day I wet my panties--and the resulting puddle under my little chair and the teacher's vocal disgust--was my first embarrassment in life. It stayed with me for the next 11 years.
Prior to my accident, the teacher lined up the class and walked us to the restrooms for our afternoon potty break. I didn't take advantage of the break. Later, the urge hit! As hard as I tried, I could not stop the spill out. I was a timid kid and would not raise my hand and let Mrs. Humphries know I needed to go back to the restroom.
Kindergarten was my first experience with the big world. I was an only child--and the only girl grandchild--and my parents and both sets of grandparents saw me as very special. On the rare occasions when my parents went someplace without me, I was with one or the other set of grandparents. I never had a babysitter (so I also missed all the havoc a kid can bring to a young babysitter!) and pre-schools had yet to be established. The first five years of my life were spent in a very small, comfortable and loving world. Mix up those ingredients and you have a recipe for a spoiled, shy, socially awkward kid.
Mrs. Humphries was my first encounter with an adult who was not a family member and who would be in charge of me for long periods during the day. I knew she was really a witch--and I was terrified of her. When the urge hit, I sat silent; fearful of wetting my pants, but even more fearful of dealing with Mrs. Humphries. Even today in my memory bank, my kindergarten teacher was straight out of The Wizard of Oz!
Terror turned to gushing water and soon became a lingering humiliation.
I went through many years in school always feeling I could very easily do something that would make me the class embarrassment. I did well in school, but I was anxious about being called on in class--forget about getting up in front of a class for an activity! I never tried to draw attention to myself. I remained shy and socially awkward.
It wasn't until my junior year in high school that I came out of my self-imposed cocoon and gained confidence in myself as a student and as a member of a social group larger than my family and few close friends.
The day I wet my panties--and the resulting puddle under my little chair and the teacher's vocal disgust--was my first embarrassment in life. It stayed with me for the next 11 years.
Prior to my accident, the teacher lined up the class and walked us to the restrooms for our afternoon potty break. I didn't take advantage of the break. Later, the urge hit! As hard as I tried, I could not stop the spill out. I was a timid kid and would not raise my hand and let Mrs. Humphries know I needed to go back to the restroom.
Kindergarten was my first experience with the big world. I was an only child--and the only girl grandchild--and my parents and both sets of grandparents saw me as very special. On the rare occasions when my parents went someplace without me, I was with one or the other set of grandparents. I never had a babysitter (so I also missed all the havoc a kid can bring to a young babysitter!) and pre-schools had yet to be established. The first five years of my life were spent in a very small, comfortable and loving world. Mix up those ingredients and you have a recipe for a spoiled, shy, socially awkward kid.
Mrs. Humphries was my first encounter with an adult who was not a family member and who would be in charge of me for long periods during the day. I knew she was really a witch--and I was terrified of her. When the urge hit, I sat silent; fearful of wetting my pants, but even more fearful of dealing with Mrs. Humphries. Even today in my memory bank, my kindergarten teacher was straight out of The Wizard of Oz!
Terror turned to gushing water and soon became a lingering humiliation.
I went through many years in school always feeling I could very easily do something that would make me the class embarrassment. I did well in school, but I was anxious about being called on in class--forget about getting up in front of a class for an activity! I never tried to draw attention to myself. I remained shy and socially awkward.
It wasn't until my junior year in high school that I came out of my self-imposed cocoon and gained confidence in myself as a student and as a member of a social group larger than my family and few close friends.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Retro Phart
In 1957, swiveling hips were banned on television. Fifty-three years later, couples' sex-aid lubricants are a main-stay of television advertising!
When Elvis--The Pelvis--Presley took the stage on The Ed Sullivan Show in January 1957, CBS censors had determined he could only be filmed from the waist up. This was a family show, after all, and both Sullivan and CBS considered the thrusting hips more striptease act than family entertainment.
Teenagers world-wide were denied a visual of his sensual, gyrating hips! Those famous hips were lewd and crude. And--by gawd--downright sexual. The underlying theory, no doubt, was that the gyrations would fuel the libido of millions of teens (and some adults) and send them into a sex-driven frenzy. Although, to have voiced that theory publicly would've been taboo in 1957.
Today, every third commercial on prime-time television is for KY Brand Yours and Mine, and the sister product: KY Intense.
Yowza!
I can get hyper-critical of most television advertising, and I'm really tired of seeing the KY ads over and over and over. But, I have to admit, I do chuckle at the sweet little couple skipping through the forest!
We've come a long way, baby!
When Elvis--The Pelvis--Presley took the stage on The Ed Sullivan Show in January 1957, CBS censors had determined he could only be filmed from the waist up. This was a family show, after all, and both Sullivan and CBS considered the thrusting hips more striptease act than family entertainment.
Teenagers world-wide were denied a visual of his sensual, gyrating hips! Those famous hips were lewd and crude. And--by gawd--downright sexual. The underlying theory, no doubt, was that the gyrations would fuel the libido of millions of teens (and some adults) and send them into a sex-driven frenzy. Although, to have voiced that theory publicly would've been taboo in 1957.
Today, every third commercial on prime-time television is for KY Brand Yours and Mine, and the sister product: KY Intense.
Yowza!
I can get hyper-critical of most television advertising, and I'm really tired of seeing the KY ads over and over and over. But, I have to admit, I do chuckle at the sweet little couple skipping through the forest!
We've come a long way, baby!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Closed-minded, chit-cricker pharts
Closed minds and stereotypes wore this old phart out today!
My work day always starts upbeat: I have a nice group in the social psych class. My work day usually ends a little hectic, but satisfying, for the most part. Many in my end-of-the-day journalism class are giving it a run...some are very talented. It's the Longaberger cheese in the center of my work-day sammich that is giving me gas.
Social psych is on stereotypes....and the local, long-held stereotype came out. Shit-cricker! Only in Kirksville. What is that? You decide. I'm going to bet if you're not from this area you have no idea what that derogatory--and wrong--belief is.
I also gave this class an outside activity. Only two of the 12 declined to take part. The asking them to take part WAS the activity. Two were holding on to false and fearful beliefs. I was pleased that only two refused.
Ah, but the stinky cheese.
Many of my gen psych students just can't (or haven't or won't) pull it together. They're defensive, fearful--and today--three of them were down right defiant!
We do a functional fixedness (think outside the box) activity in class: students are given a piece of paper, a sewing kit, a magic marker and a record (and an old vinyl for these young students is an unknown! And that's another story!!) and are told they need to make a phonograph (another story) with the materials they have. By the way, it can be done. Try it.
Working in groups of three, most groups at least tried. One group bucked up, bulled up and decided I was deliberatly trying to make them look stupid. Hmmm And they never once tried to--well--think! Any time I walked close to them to ask how it was going....they bulled up on me. At the end of the exercise, all the other groups had the general idea, and one group had made a phonograph.
During this exercise, one young man in another group decided to haul out his wham-bam-fancy cell phone and (trying desperately to hide it under the desk) bring up music. Whoa baby, I ain't that damned stupid. When I told him cells were off-limits in class, he copped a 'tude. When I told him policy states it goes off and in his backpack or it was mine...he came out of his chair and told me if I tried that effin shit he'd effin walk. Okay....I can play that game. I pointed out the door and told him I hope to hell it didn't hit him in the ass on the way out! Professional? Umm, no way.
But the little babe who, as we were getting ready to dismiss, decided to whip off her sweatshirt and twirl around and show her buddies her body art (or her boobies, I'm not really sure which) and then yanked down her jeans to show a nice piece a work on her left butt cheek, put the stink in my sammich!
I did, however, get a laugh when another student let it be known, "Yo, idiot, this isn't a gawdam bar, this is a classroom!"
My work day always starts upbeat: I have a nice group in the social psych class. My work day usually ends a little hectic, but satisfying, for the most part. Many in my end-of-the-day journalism class are giving it a run...some are very talented. It's the Longaberger cheese in the center of my work-day sammich that is giving me gas.
Social psych is on stereotypes....and the local, long-held stereotype came out. Shit-cricker! Only in Kirksville. What is that? You decide. I'm going to bet if you're not from this area you have no idea what that derogatory--and wrong--belief is.
I also gave this class an outside activity. Only two of the 12 declined to take part. The asking them to take part WAS the activity. Two were holding on to false and fearful beliefs. I was pleased that only two refused.
Ah, but the stinky cheese.
Many of my gen psych students just can't (or haven't or won't) pull it together. They're defensive, fearful--and today--three of them were down right defiant!
We do a functional fixedness (think outside the box) activity in class: students are given a piece of paper, a sewing kit, a magic marker and a record (and an old vinyl for these young students is an unknown! And that's another story!!) and are told they need to make a phonograph (another story) with the materials they have. By the way, it can be done. Try it.
Working in groups of three, most groups at least tried. One group bucked up, bulled up and decided I was deliberatly trying to make them look stupid. Hmmm And they never once tried to--well--think! Any time I walked close to them to ask how it was going....they bulled up on me. At the end of the exercise, all the other groups had the general idea, and one group had made a phonograph.
During this exercise, one young man in another group decided to haul out his wham-bam-fancy cell phone and (trying desperately to hide it under the desk) bring up music. Whoa baby, I ain't that damned stupid. When I told him cells were off-limits in class, he copped a 'tude. When I told him policy states it goes off and in his backpack or it was mine...he came out of his chair and told me if I tried that effin shit he'd effin walk. Okay....I can play that game. I pointed out the door and told him I hope to hell it didn't hit him in the ass on the way out! Professional? Umm, no way.
But the little babe who, as we were getting ready to dismiss, decided to whip off her sweatshirt and twirl around and show her buddies her body art (or her boobies, I'm not really sure which) and then yanked down her jeans to show a nice piece a work on her left butt cheek, put the stink in my sammich!
I did, however, get a laugh when another student let it be known, "Yo, idiot, this isn't a gawdam bar, this is a classroom!"
Monday, February 1, 2010
Tickle Phart
Buzzzzzzzzzzt
Do I have any readers left? Twelve months down? I doubt it. But, hey, I still phart now and again...and damned if the brain doesn't buzz or poot out. Very seldom--except for the poot out--but any minimal brain phart is okay. At least then I'm assured I have a half-assed brain.
I'm an excited old phart... stand back, watch out for the splatter!
I convinced the boss lady to add a new class at our branch of the college...journalism. My passion is writing, my former life (prior to my tenure in psych counseling when I returned to Kirksville from Cedar Rapids) was as a staff writer for a major paper in Iowa. I had fun. It wasn't easy. Going in to teach a psych class, well, after all these years, that got very easy; I got very lazy and complacent. The challenge was gone.
The challenge is back!
The students--the ones writing three and four stories a day and wanting immediate response, the one's turning in shoddy work at deadline, the ones not meeting deadline at all--are a challenge.
Fer crine out loud, it's a phart a day with a few of them! I think I'm going to have to tickle the work out of them and forget publication deadlines. Never forget publication and ethical standards. Take our time and get the story right. It's that or beat them, and it's illegal to beat them! I have no desire to phart in jail!
The challenge in my classroom goes beyond my classroom. It goes to public school education. Students don't know the basics of grammar and language mechanics. Deadline? They have no idea what it means to have an assignment in on time. Nevermind we have to meet a publication deadline. No assignmnet = F. No deadline = No Paper.
Challenge Phart.
I used the wrong headline on this entry.
Focus the story, take the story to your focus!
Do I have any readers left? Twelve months down? I doubt it. But, hey, I still phart now and again...and damned if the brain doesn't buzz or poot out. Very seldom--except for the poot out--but any minimal brain phart is okay. At least then I'm assured I have a half-assed brain.
I'm an excited old phart... stand back, watch out for the splatter!
I convinced the boss lady to add a new class at our branch of the college...journalism. My passion is writing, my former life (prior to my tenure in psych counseling when I returned to Kirksville from Cedar Rapids) was as a staff writer for a major paper in Iowa. I had fun. It wasn't easy. Going in to teach a psych class, well, after all these years, that got very easy; I got very lazy and complacent. The challenge was gone.
The challenge is back!
The students--the ones writing three and four stories a day and wanting immediate response, the one's turning in shoddy work at deadline, the ones not meeting deadline at all--are a challenge.
Fer crine out loud, it's a phart a day with a few of them! I think I'm going to have to tickle the work out of them and forget publication deadlines. Never forget publication and ethical standards. Take our time and get the story right. It's that or beat them, and it's illegal to beat them! I have no desire to phart in jail!
The challenge in my classroom goes beyond my classroom. It goes to public school education. Students don't know the basics of grammar and language mechanics. Deadline? They have no idea what it means to have an assignment in on time. Nevermind we have to meet a publication deadline. No assignmnet = F. No deadline = No Paper.
Challenge Phart.
I used the wrong headline on this entry.
Focus the story, take the story to your focus!
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