Category Archives: Humor

Grammar & Facebook Do Not Mix

Image representing Facebook as depicted in Cru...

Image via CrunchBase

I am in love with this post! Gabe Doyle is a fourth-year graduate student in Linguistics at the University of California, San Diego. He is a computational psycholinguist. I don’t exactly know what that is, but I believe it means he is interested in how people choose to express the ideas they want to express. Or something like that.

While I am definitely a Facebook fan, I do not enjoy what social media and texting are doing to our language. It is becoming increasingly difficult to define and get people to agree to stick to a set of rules upon which we can all agree are necessary to follow with regard to language. Because, really, that’s all the conventions of writing are – little polite agreements between communicators.

I think of writing like driving. Just as there are rules of the road created to maintain civility and prevent chaos, so too, there are rules for writers. When we write, our pens are our cars. So we zoom around our little pen-cars where it is implied we have agreed to follow the same conventions because it helps us to better understand each other. Grammar conventions are kindnesses we bestow upon our readers, so they can understand us more easily. For example: Commas are little road bumps which make us slow down. Periods are stop signs. Semicolons are flashing yellow lights. The only problem is very few people follow the grammar rules anymore, so we are starting to have a lot of difficult situations out there like when people don’t use capitalization or end punctuation and just keep going on there is no break or anything at all to indicate that the sentence is coming or has come to an end so it just keeps going which can be confusing because sometimes writers  change topics suddenly you and are in outer space floating among the planets which is cucumber cool except you didn’t want to go to outer space. You wanted to go to a movie.

So check out the link to the great article above. I wish I’d written it.

Ninja Princess Needs Tiara

Photo by my 10-year old neighbor, Michael Jobling

See? I told you? I can’t help it! I recently wrote about my thing about Halloween and slutty Halloween costumes. I wasn’t even going to do anything this year. But it’s 2 PM, and the Annual Neighborhood Halloween Parade starts in a few hours. And I have to be something. But it’s cold out. Really cold. So, thinking practically, I started with my ski mask, added a pink wig, a tutu from ye olde costume bin, and one of Monkey’s old swords.

Poof.

I’m a Ninja Princess.

All I need is a tiara.

I’ve got an APB out for one right now, but it’s getting late!

Anyone have a tiara I can borrow?

I Hit a Wall


Google Images

Okay, I admit it. I’m being a little lazy.

First off, the whole plagiarism thing has left me exhausted.

Second, I fell down an entire flight of cement stairs, hit my head really hard, and I think I actually suffered a slight concussion. I’m okay now, but I don’t want to do that again. Picture me in my sassy, short skirt and tall boots with black stockings. I’m looking very professional and confident and competent when, suddenly, I miss a step and am rolling head over heels down down down about 12 steps where I proceed to slam into the wall (somehow) face-first.

Amazingly, I never let go of my unattractive wheelie bag that holds all my papers and my grade book. I hit my head really hard, and I think I actually suffered a slight concussion. I’m okay now. (What do you mean I am repeating myself?) Plus the plagiarism stuff has left me exhausted. (Did I say that already? I think I might have said that.)

Third, this brilliant blog entry was written by a former student of mine, Zach Sparer. His content is made to be inserted in a place where education and parenting collide, so I can’t not post it. (Was that a double negative? It was. It was a double negative. I’m really sorry. I hit my head earlier this week.) I mean, I have to post-it. Wait, not like Post-It, the company. I have to post it, without the hyphen.

Wow, so this is what happens when I hit a wall.

What I mean to say is that Zach’s stuff is good. Like I-wish-I-had-written-it-good. And this is the place where education and parenthood collide, right? (At least, that’s what is says up there at the top of the page.)

California and New Jersey are currently considering putting ads on school buses. So now I’m wondering: what is this Minneapolis school district thinking? You should click on this link and read the article now. (I know I usually summarize things more clearly, but I hit my head earlier this week, and I think I have a slight concussion, so I just feel like you should read the source material yourselves because there are a lot of big numbers in it.)

We all know times are tough, and schools are having to get creative about how they generate revenue to support certain programs. If they don’t get the dollars, they may have to cut valuable programs. But do we really want to turn locker space into advertising space? Will savvy advertisers start using students’ Facebook information to target individual locker users? You know personalized ads bombarding kids with images from their favorite stores, their favorite eateries, and coffee shops? Oh, and when the students start drawing all over the walls, that Minneapolis superintendent better not whine about it because nothing says, “Go ahead and write on the lockers, kids!” quite like these graffiti-ed up lockers. (Graffiti-ed?I just turned a noun into a verb. Yikes.)

Did I mention that I hit my head?

Sucked Into Slutty Halloween Costumes

This blog entry by Kathy English, author of the amazing blog “Mom Crusades” is one of the best articles I’ve read on how Halloween costumes have morphed from simple, home-made creations into an entire industry of expensive outfits. And when it comes to girls’ (and women’s) costumes well, let’s just say the choices are sometimes downright skanky!

For those of you who don’t know me (and for those of you who do, before I am accused of being a total hypocrite), I have to confess, I’m kind of known for displaying my inner slut on Halloween. Hubby and I like to throw costume parties every few years and I have been a naughty teacher (typecast?), a St. Pauli Girl, a French Maid, even a slutty pirate. Once I wore a really short toga. A. Really. Short. Toga.

Here’s why:

On Halloween 1999, a mere two months after my son was born, hubby and I decided to go with a “family theme” — you know, because I was about 50 pounds heavier than I was accustomed to weighing. It seemed like a good idea at the time. My husband was a farmer – complete with red flannel shirt and overalls – our son was a cute little heifer, and  I … I  was a big, fat momma cow (complete with over-sized, pink, rubber udders).

Oh. My. Gosh. Never did I feel less attractive. I really felt like a cow personified. The fact that I had to go upstairs and actually pump breast milk in the middle of the evening did not help things. As I sat attached to my industrial strength Medela pump, I vowed to never again wear something on Halloween that made me feel unfeminine.

So I agree with Kathy’s blog 100% . . . but I am not going to be a hobo with facial hair for Halloween.

What is the best costume you ever wore for Halloween?

Office Heroine or Immature Coward?

Check out this video. It’s short, and it is a hoax . . . but it raises some interesting questions:

So a girl decides to quit her job with a flash-bang by emailing these photos to her entire (made-up) office. On the one hand, watching the little display feels wonderful. I mean, it’s positively cathartic! Who hasn’t had one of those bosses? The kind that make us wish that we could do something like that? I can imagine the air being sucked out of the room as “Spencer’s” entire life is broadcast (and now re-broadcast and re-broadcast). Maybe the girl should be praised? Perhaps she opened the way for some constructive conversation about how things are run in this office.

On the other hand, it’s an awful lot of drama. Don’t get me wrong, as a voyeur, this is a completely enjoyable guilty pleasure. But it’s easy to have chutzpah as you are walking out the door. And as I said to my friend who forwarded me the message, I’m thinking this girl might have gone about doing things a little differently. She might have tried talking to Spencer about how things feel in the office, about morale, about his breath. It seems awfully unprofessional and terribly immature.

This young lady obviously has burned a lot of bridges, so she isn’t going to get any kind of strong recommendation to help her on her next job (although she has probably decided she does not want to be a broker). But the way the world works these days, she just might get noticed and land a great book deal!

So would you hire Little Miss Thang because she is smart and sassy? Or do you think Little Miss Thang might be toxic to your work environment?

Lessons On ‘Tween-Age Swearing

photo by baileyraeweaver @ flickr.com

Figuring out the rules about swearing can be confusing for ‘tweens. Up until about middle school, most parents teach their children not to use “bad words,” or at least try to discourage the use of profanity. But suddenly, around the end of 5th grade, kids start trying out their new understanding of these “naughty” words and begin to throw around a little language designed to shock teachers and impress peers.

My son tends to be a rule following type of guy. As an only child, he isn’t used to hearing the “s-word” or the “f-bomb” thrown around by older siblings. And frankly, hubby and I try to keep it clean when he is around. For a while, our son was expressing some anxiety when he heard his friends swearing, and he admitted that he was trying to rehabilitate his friends on the playground.

He said casually, “I told them, ‘Instead of saying ‘What an ass,’ I suggested they say, ‘What an asp.’”

Oh. My Gosh. He’s trying to fix his friends? I freaked out a little, picturing my child getting his “asp” kicked after receiving a super-atomic wedgie.

Hubby said, “Listen, I understand that you don’t like to swear, but it’s important that you worry about your own actions and behaviors and that you don’t police your friends. Let the teachers handle that. Kids who make bad choices eventually get in trouble.”

My husband and I tried to explain to our ‘tween that there are different types of swearing –- that there is a kind of subtext to each — and that he would need to understand them all. Mind you, we were not encouraging our son to swear, we just wanted him to understand it is not his job to police his friends as they try out the new words in their lexicon.

Here’s how we broke it down:

photo by meddygarnet @ flickr.com

1. The Frustrated Swear. You get to school and realize you’ve forgotten your math textbook at home. “In cases like this, someone may exclaim, ‘Oh shit!’” we explained, “It’s like a giant ‘Omigosh’ where you are talking to yourself more than to anyone else.”

2. The Filler Word. You say something funny or unbelievable, and your friend says, “You’ve gotta be shitting me!” Used in this context, the swear word is kind of a compliment. It like a giant, “No way! That’s awesome!” we explained. “It means you’ve impressed someone.” No harm, no foul. No one gets hurt.

3. The Whispered Swear. This one, we explained, is trickier. You could be in school, listening to a presentation when someone leans over to you and says something quietly behind a cupped hand: “I wish she was shut up with this stupid shit.” This one, we continued, depends on who is saying it and how it is being said. If you are both bored to tears, it can be camaraderie building. You share a quick little nod or smile, and it’s over. But if someone you don’t know well says this to you, they may be trying to get you into trouble, by getting you to respond with a comment or a more obvious kind of disobedience. We told our child he’d have to use careful judgment there.

4. The Threatening Swear. Again, this one can be confusing, as it is all about the people involved, the tone and demeanor. If a kid says, “You are a stupid piece of shit!” to another kid, it is up to the recipient of the comment to decide how to react. If the comment comes complete with a finger-poke to the chest – the recipient of the comment may feel the need to minimize contact with the chest poker, potentially tell an adult, particularly if there has been a history of bullying between the two. But if two good friends say the same comment and they are playfully giggling, it is probably safe to assume that it is not a threatening situation.

“Bottom line,” my husband said, “We don’t want to ever hear that you have been heard swearing in front of any adults. No teachers. Coaches. Friends’ parents. Or mom and me. Ever. Got it?” Hubby asked.

Child nodded.

Twenty-four hours passed and our family attended a fabulous gathering with a friends whom we hadn’t seen in a long time. The air was warm, the kids were getting along perfectly; the grass was emerald-green. The food was piled high and everything is delicious.

Suddenly, our friend (and former neighbor), Steve, came over and said, “Wow! Your son has quite a mouth on him.”

Hubby and I weren’t sure where he was going with this.

“He just told me I have a fly on my dick.”

“What?!” Hubby and I asked in stereo.

Within five seconds, we had our child cornered under a tree for questioning.

“What did you just say to Mr. L?” I asked.

Without hesitation, Monkey confessed. “I told him he had a fly on his dick.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hubby looked up at the sky. “What did we just talk about?”

“What?” asks our son. “Dick isn’t a swear.” (Insert a long, confused pause here.) “Daddy goes to Dick’s all the time!”

“Dick’s, the retail sporting goods store, is not a swear,” I agreed. “It’s a place to buy golf balls and baseball pants and sneakers. Dick can also be a person’s name, and that’s not a swear word, either. But if you are talking about private body parts or what private body parts do, well . . . that’s not appropriate.”

(Call me a terrible parent, but it was soooo hard not to laugh.)

Our child looked embarrassed and completely baffled.

“Look,” Hubby said, “You’re going to figure it out.”

Boy looked doubtful.

I have every confidence that my child will figure out the swearing thing.

I am bracing for that day.

Shit.

How do you teach your kids about swearing? Or do you just let them say whatever they want?

Ode to Mark Kelly: The Man Who Helped Me Accept Chaos

It was my third week at Metairie Park Country Day School and I could barely distinguish the administration building from the science building. I didn’t know where the nearest bathroom was, who to call about the broken desk in my classroom, or how to make the copier stop jamming.

For the first two weeks I called him Jeff. By the time I got it straight, I realized that Mark Kelly was not the technology guy; neither was he the Athletic Director. He was the Middle School Principal, and he’d come to the English office to pay me a visit, to see how I was doing, if I needed anything. How nice, I thought, how friendly the folks are around these parts. Little did I know that he was out to get me. Little did I know that I’d come face to face with the meanest practical joker east of the Mississippi. I made the mistake of sounding secure.

Mark Kelly

“Everything is great,” I said, trying to sound confident.

“Have you been to the Lower School?” he asked.

“Been there.” I said, feigning a yawn.

“What about the library?”

“Pu-leeze,” I lied.

“So you know what you’re doing?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “You have it all together?”

I nodded my head, snapped my fingers two times for effect, and headed off to class.  Later, after school ended and I had erased the blackboard, reorganized the desks in a circle, and collected my mail, I returned to the English office. I saw it from all the way across the room; my desk had been cleared. Everything was gone.

When I realized the gravity of the situation, I gasped aloud: “My grade book!” It held all my students’ grades, all my attendance records.  I think I vomited a little in my mouth.

Sitting behind me, looking calm, was Mr. Kelly.  He smiled, arms crossed over his chest.  “So, you’ve really got it all together…”

“Where is it?  What have you done with it?!” I squeaked.

“It’s around,” he said coolly.

Suffice it to say that Mr. Kelly sent me on quite a scavenger hunt. During my journey, I located the Lower School atrium, the Upper School attendance office, the library – and I met fabulous folks all along the way. In the end, it turned out that Mr. Kelly had stashed all my goods in an empty file cabinet drawer right there in the English office, about two steps away from my desk. I pulled all my belongings out of the drawer, unharmed, and set about reorganizing. Mr. Kelly gurgled and chortled behind me.

Truth be told, I miss the way Mark Kelly batted me around the way some giant cat might play with a mouse or a bird. I miss hearing his booming laugh behind me at school plays; I miss his multi-colored Tabasco ties; I miss his wit, his charm, his teasing, and his teaching. Mark put a little bounce in my step. He taught me to stay on my toes.  He taught me never to brag about being done with something early. He taught me how order in the world is artificial and how easy it is to lose control. He made me explore, go out and meet people, go into unfamiliar territory, and find answers. It is so easy to get stuck in our own little comfort zones.

Mark has been working as Head of School at Annunciation Orthodox School in Houston, Texas for the last 14 years. I like to think that this little Grasshopper has become like her master and that I instill in my students the same thrill for exploration and the same joy at being slightly off- center.

When is the last time someone made you feel a little off balance – in a good way?