Hoodie-Whooooooo

The bus is done been gone long time. That’s right my entire school district has been left behind to bathe in the dry dust of progress. Of course these school numbers are from the past year or so and one could make the point that maybe when I went there it was better. But let’s be honest. I’m from a poor, rural region without funding, tax revenue, and hope.

Out of the 970 students currently attending my old High School:
40% of them are at “poverty” level.
95% of them are white (shocker in Appalachian country)
The majority of them do not know what 2 divided by 2 is.

Even though the student to teacher ratio is low they still sucked at the state wide standardized test taking. Of the two subjects that count (math & reading), they found that only 20% passed the math test and 70% passed the reading test.

Of course I’m not really sure what this all “means.” What is passing? Can the students get a C- on the test and still be considered “proficient?” Apparently the one-on-one contact with teachers doesn’t seem to help. The school isn’t over crowded. Does this mean that poor people are stupid? I hate statistics. What do they mean?

Most disturbing is that 80-effin-percent of the students can’t pass a math test. Here is a sample question:

Jose is given the number sentence below:
86 - ?= 49
Which number should go in the box to make the number sentence correct?
37
43
135
145

That isn’t even hard. And they give you answers that are obviously not even close (145, 135). Do I really come from an inbred, ever-so-slightly retarded background? Do my parents stay up late playing dueling banjos and picking corn from their teeth with a sprig of wheat grass? Why do I know about wheat grass?

My sadness continues with the knowledge that 30-not as bad- effin-percent can’t read proficiently. Here is a sample question:

Read this sentence from the passage again:

(I, however, would much rather have a school mascot named after a more formidable animal, such as a bear or a wolf.)
Formidable means about the same as—
interesting
fearsome
memorable
destructive

Maybe the kids were just having a bad day. Thank god we spent a crap load of money building a High School Football Stadium. And well, who knew the extra helmets would come in so handy.

They should put a new sign up on the highway announcing you’ve arrived in “Mountain Maryland a place where everyone sounds like the Cookie Monster and would be offended by this comparison if they could actually read this sign.”

Adoption/Abortion Same Diff

I fucking hate Middle America.

I guess I am prejudiced. I hate ignorance, stupidity, and how the drip from the roof of the metro car always seems to land precariously near my nipple. The Post had an article that dealt with abortion. Now, I’m not getting into that argument - for or against. I just want to comment on a line from the article:

Missouri, for example, has set aside $1 million to encourage low-income pregnant women to carry a pregnancy to full term and potentially give the infant up for adoption.

Slip-slap. Slip-slap. Excuse me while I join Missouri’s upper class elite by wiping my hands clean and solving yet another vexing problem with today’s youth and poor (one in the same of course). Nothing works like throwing money at a problem, especially a social problem, and especially when it is very little money (comparatively speaking). I’m sure this “new” program that is all Jesus-fied and religiously approved will work as much as the “Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder” posters and talks from Sex-Ed teachers saying, “Sex=pregnancy and disease.”

If you don’t believe in abortion, fine. Don’t have one. But don’t think that by providing counseling and money to help kids and low-income women give their children up for adoption you are really solving anything.

Let’s try realizing that people have sex often, sometimes with multiple partners, and sometimes not with protection. But if we realize that then…well, God wouldn’t love you anymore. God hates people who have sex. It says so right in the bible.

I’m an American National

I work at one the best places ever (if you aren’t concerned about making money and advancement). I work in the publishing industry in a for-profit sector of a non-for-profit association. The benefits are great, the people are awesome, the flexible schedule rocks, etc.

My director, Ms. Director, bought our department tickets to a nationals game yesterday for “Staff Appreciation Day.” So 25 of us got a paid day to sit in the sun, drinking beer, and cheering for our newly adopted baseball team.

The Nationals lost. That kind of sucked, but it was my first ever baseball game. I’m not really into baseball. I think it is kind of long and boring. There are NINE innings. Nine! But I had a good time. In fact, the only three “bad” things about the whole day were:

They lost – Boo.
Being herded on and off Metro with 4 billion people. Shiver.
The Marketing Manager’s nads – He wore loose shorts and boxer shorts, insisted on sitting behind me, with his legs spread. Double shiver.

But the highlights are:

My manager beat up the mascot eagle thing
Drinking beer with co-workers and in front of your boss
Ice-cream in a waffle cone
Multiple smoke breaks
Belligerent people yelling - “Sit down, asshole! You don’t have to stand to buy a beer!”

So even if the Nationals lost and are not doing well, I’m still a quasi-fan. Goooooo Nats! Sorta.

Boobs Make Me Less Scared

As we got ready for bed AP and I discussed several scary movies that we would never see again or hated because they were too scary. Personally, I love scary movies. I love ripping off what fingernails are left on my chewed fingertips in the grips of a suspenseful “Don’t go in there! Why are you so fucking stupid?!” moment. BUT there are a few movies that I dare not watch again. Either the memories surrounding them are bad or quite frankly the movie scared the shit out of me and I don’t want to see it again.

I grew up in a religion that didn’t believe in ghosts. Instead, we believed in demons. So anytime you saw a “ghost” it was really just one of Satan’s henchmen. So that made ghost movies even worse. Oddly though, I never found “The Exorcist” to be overwhelmingly scary, but don’t get me started on “A Christmas Carol.”

Texas Chain Saw Massacre - No, not the tardy 2003 version, but the classic one. I’m not sure why this movie freaked me out so much. I watched it with a friend at like 3 in the afternoon. I wouldn’t let him leave until I showered and he stood watch outside the bathroom door for any cannibals.

Deliverance - I think this movie terrified me because where I grew up was just one simple step away from being like the Cahulawassee River area. AND we were stones throw from West Virginia. Dueling banjos=inbreeding=squealing like a pig.

Return to Oz - Why was this film for children? It had a room with hundreds of heads just sitting there in glass cases. Tik-Tok did not lighten the mood. Hundreds of disembodied heads do NOT equal a fun family movie, mom. Just so you know, that’s why I’m gay now.

The Ring - Ummm. “Why did you help her?” THEN she does that freaky crawling out of the effin TV shit and kills a guy. Jerky movements by scary children always equals a terrifyingly good time that makes me want to never randomly watch a video that is just lying around.

Magnolia - This movie sucked so bad that I want my 188 minutes back that were viciously stolen from me by tantalizing commercials of Tom Cruise in his undies. This movie was NOT about Tom Cruise in tighty-whities. In fact, I have no fucking clue what this movie was about. It rained frogs or something and that was supposed to be deep, but mostly it was just dumb. I hated this scarily bad movie as much as “No Where."

Blair Witch Project – I saw this movie on opening night when all of the hype was still going around that it was “true.” We saw it in a theatre that was away from any major roads and surrounded by deep, dense, dark forests. The two scenes that killed me: 1) when the kids were laughing and beating the tent and then when they looked no one was outside 2) the ending in the basement. I’m pretty sure that if I ever was into to camping, which I’m not, I wouldn’t go again…at least not without my Proton Pack.

Yeah, I’m sure there are others, but the memories are just too scary for me to even unlock. That and I'm lazy.

*The picture is the famous and immortal Lon Chaney.

Armageddon is Nigh

I’m sitting on the metro minding my own business, reading the paper, when the “Perpetual Cougher” stands beside me. His is a persistent cough that never lets up. He coughs in 45 second intervals. It may be a nervous tic or maybe he has consumption. Either way it is annoying and worrisome.

Then a young man sits next to me. Suddenly he breaks out with “What do you think about ummmmmm,” leaving his thought unfinished. He waits a brief moment and continues with, “How do you want to do it?” At first I thought he just had amazingly good reception through the tunnels…a sort of super Verizon connection. But, sadly, he had no cell phone. He begins to shift continuously in his sit.

I begin to think that maybe the Cougher was communicating with the Ghost Talker. It seems that his open ended questions are answered by a steady stream of coughing meant to communicate that I should get off at the next stop. I did.

Then, I’m driving the rest of the way home with AP in the car. We have an extended silence. AP is caught up driving in the horrid rush hour traffic and I’m thinking about the earlier conversation between my two weird metro compatriots.

She breaks the silence with the following statement: I was doing some research on the American Bison today.

End of sentence.

Then she catches a fly with her bare hand.

So I’m pretty sure, using a complicated mathematical equation, this means that Armageddon is nigh. But then again, I’m no Jesus.

I am but a weak vessel

A few things I could never* live without:

Coffee – Whether it be Starcrack, Coffee Beanheroin, or some other form of injecting myself with sweet, sweet caffeine.
High Speed Internet Connection – Although I miss the annoying high pitched “eeeee errrrrrr” dial-up song, I’m OK with being online all of the time AND still being able to talk on the phone. Why is AOL still alive?
BIC Gel Intensity Pens – Nothing beats a good pen. Does this make me a dork? Yes. But now I can practice writing my name over and over without getting that weird little indentation in my finger. Boo. And Ya.
Love – Oh yes, my friends, love. But I mostly mean, “sex.” Wait, I’ll just give that it’s own category.
Sex – See above. Plus well, sex rocks.
My dog, Mikie – If you saw her you’d understand how freakin cute she is. Like right now she is all curled up, breathing, and making raspy snoring sounds. She’s the cutest ever. I also enjoy making up voices for her. Like when is she Captain Michal Fluffy Butt, Lord of the Sea and general swashbuckler. You dig me. I can tell.
Cigarettes – Certain things in my life just go with cigarettes (i.e. smoking, coffee, beer, water, pooping, grad school, etc.)
Digital Cable – For those of you that I visit, when we watch TV how am I supposed to know what I’m watching when you don’t have an “Info” or “Guide” button? This is just plain rude. I’m sure I shan’t return to your house until you have way for me to instantly know what is on, where it is on, and can “on demand” it.
MP3 Player – No, I don’t have an iPod. I don’t want to talk about it. I have an RCA 40G hard drive MP3 Player. It was cheaper, bigger, and had a longer battery life than the iPod. Besides I don’t buy things just to be “in.”**
Cheese – This wonderful food goes with everything, much like the word “fuck.”



*Relatively speaking.
**We had Windows ME at the time and iPod didn’t work with it. We found this out after trying to hook it up and it then crashing our PC. I cried. A lot. Then we went and got the non-iPod MP3 player. Bastards.

Finally, I Have Two Weeks Off

Ok, so not from work or anything. Just from school. My horrid class is finally over. My body finally had rest last night, since I fell asleep at 8:30 PM and woke up the next morning at 8 AM. It was my body expelling the last of the stress, hate, and anger.

Professor Stupid Face finally gave us our grades on the LAST effin day of class. She had penalized me for my Chapter Power Point Presentation. She docked me points for not making “my points completely clear.” This would be valid if she had BEEN IN CLASS FOR MY PRESENTATION. That’s right, she left class to go “make copies” for 45 minutes and told me to just “go ahead and give my presentation” and the class will let me know if “you did poorly.” She asked the class and they said, “Fantastic.” So she graded me by reading my slides. Isn’t the point of slides to be brief points and not the entirety of what would be said? God, I hate her.

Then, she took points off of LC’s participation grade because it didn’t seem like she read the chapters. Did she ask to see LC’s notes? No. What did she base this on? She said that LC “leafed through” her notes instead of instantly knowing the answer. Also, Prof Stupid Face said that she “seemed like the leader” of the class, which was probably bad since we all hated her so much. She also took off points for another student’s attendance because she missed more than 2 classes. The student didn’t miss any classes. She said “oh, I must have confused you for someone else.” Nice.

THEN, she assigned us a Take Home Final that would “take at most 3 hours.” It took me 15. Arrrrgh. I’d better not get a dumb A-.

Blake hated her too. We almost bonded over our hate, but then he made a stupid comment and I had to kill him.

At least I had the satisfaction of giving her a really, really mean evaluation. That makes me feel a little better.

I Learned It Good

I sing everything. Seriously. If I have to poop, I sing about it. I don’t have a particularly great voice. And to make matters worse, I sing everything to the exact same tune. But the ending is always different. I scat or do a fake vibrato to bring my amazingly wonderful song to a close.

Example*:
Mike. E’s. Got a poooooop. Hangin’ from herrrrrr butt. Oh yeah. Yeeeaaaah. Skittle babble doo-wop doooop blubbity blue. Mikieeeeeeee. Wow.

I have no idea why I do this. However, on a recent trip home I heard my Mom and Sister singing about the roast beef being all brown and crusty and the mashed potatoes being just right. It made my heart happy. It was genetic.

I’m pretty sure everything that I’ve ever learned I learned from song. (No, my mom was not some weird nomadic woman that would sing our family history while knitting my marriage blanket.) It is just that every song teaches us something. It means something. Everyone has breakup song, or a song that made you know you were in love, and then another breakup song, so on and so on.

I have included some random ones here:

1. Close your eyes, give me your hand
Do you feel my heart beating?
Do you understand?
Eternal Flame, The Bangles

Lesson: This song, as long as it is sung to the correct tune, can be about anything by changing a few simple lyrics. It remains as one the greatest earworm songs of all time. Of course, closely followed by “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

2. Hey I'm the king of the world
You oughta hear my song
You come on and measure me
I'm twenty inches long
50 Foot Queenie, PJ Harvey

Lesson: The big dick always wins. Sometimes dick may mean “asshole guy/girl,” as was the case when America voted for W. Sometimes this may mean “schlong,” and refer to “penis envy.” I can’t say I relate to this wholly. My boobs are pretty big though.

3. She's your cocaine
She's got you shaving your legs
You can suck anything
But you know you wanna be me
She’s Your Cocaine, Tori Amos

Lesson: Girls don’t dig hairy legs. That goes for guys too. Shave now. Also, this song means that it is OK to be obsessed with someone, just not a stalker. I can't remember if cocaine is in again or not. Where's Whitney when you need her?

4. Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
Take Me Home, Country Roads, John Denver

Lesson: Along with “99 Bottles of Beer,” this is one of Mom’s least favorite songs ever. We would sing (scream) this every time we crossed the border into WV, which was often since it borders most of Maryland. And my dad would always squeeze my mom’s leg gently as he sang “Mountain Momma.**” But it all reminds me of a simpler time or when I’m at a bar and 100 drunken frat guys scream the lyrics. Sigh.


*Mikie is my dog. Otherwise this song would be borderline super gross.
** Ewwww. I just now got that. My dad is a perv.

Can I borrow your pencil?

Yep, that’s the spot.

I have a rash.

Wait. Don’t jump to conclusions.

In the early morning haze (9 AM), I desperately searched for something new to wear. There in the darkened corner of my closet I saw a pair of black, leather sandals that I hadn’t worn in at least a year. They superbly matched my outfit and, as an added bonus, would be great for the anus sweating weather we’ve been having in DC.

“Perfect,” I said while checking out my normally large feet in the slimming black sandals.

So I left my apartment full of feet confidence. Little did I know that all that day my feet were secretly rejecting my perfect, little, leather shoes.

By that evening, my feet were burning, itching, and generally hating on me.

In my early morning haze, I apparently had forgotten why I had placed these shoes in the forbidden confines of my inner closest. And I must ask myself, why the hell didn’t I throw those stupid little fuckers out a year ago?

So if you see me on the metro, walking down the street, or in my cube trying to gouge the soles of my feet off, give me break. I forgot that I was allergic to leather, and besides, for that one day, my feet were out and proud.

Yes, that is a banana in my pocket. Lunch, you know.

So the subway system in NYC is doing the whole “random” bag checking. There has been some controversy over this policy; namely that it shouldn’t be “random.” The theory goes that since the majority of terrorists and the attacks carried out by terrorists are performed by males of middle east decent that we should target these people in particular and not bother pulling the random old lady with a wicker basket over for a bag search. Politicians, layman, and newscasters have all been arguing the same question: So why doesn’t NYC just step up and give in to what we all think and want anyway?

I think the argument of whether or not we will do baggage searches is a moot point. It is more just a matter of lines and how far we want to cross them.

So I have some further ideas that could help this great nation in the fight of terrorism, violence, and general acts of unlawfulness:

Due to the statistical significance of the fact that 60% of the national prison population is made up of African-American males, it would make sense to stop any black male in an expensive car or walking in an expensive higher-class neighborhood. After all, they commit most of the crimes, statistically speaking.

After the huge scandal involving immigration and Wal-Mart and now with the statistics involving large Mexican populations moving to the Northeast, we should be proactive and stop Hispanic looking people and ask for proof of legal residence.

We’ve heard of the Asians propensity to eat cats. We should search all Chinese restaurants (or any Asian restaurant since they all look a like anyway) for any proof that they have been slaughtering poor domesticated kittens for Moo Goo Gai Pan.

We all know that hippies are out to destroy this great nation with flag burnin’ and other such nonsense. Also, they have a proclivity for reefer (grass, pot, etc.) therefore it would make sense, or good government, to just stop hippies and search them for any illegal substances. They are easy to pick out due to their corduroys, flowing dresses/shirts, and those damned flowers in their hair.

It is here that I’d like to quote that great democratic thinker, Benjamin Franklin: Any society not willing to forgo all of the basic human and democratic rights for security reasons should neither live here nor be able to express an opinion in times of great national change.

Gosh, I hope I quoted him correctly.