April 19, 2013
This is going to have to be an audience-participation post.
While I have been profligate today (in fact, joyfully profligate--at least with my time, though not, in fact with my money) that has not been the case for the last month.
I have had to act with such efficiency that I have really had to streamline my life just to get through the daily "to do" list.
The first "vic" (as they say on Law and Order) was my Google Reader which I swore off of on March 18. Late Lent? Not really. I just knew that I couldn't spend the time I usually did skimming through my blogs and news sources if I was going to survive. When I logged back on this morning, the counter had stopped keeping track of the counter. By the look, I only had 1000+ articles to catch up on. The reality was more like 9,400+
This was probably a reasonable idea, BUT I also know I have made some bad choices in the last month.
No, adding half and half and sugar to your cup of tea doesn't substitute for lunch.
. . . Even if it saves you twenty minutes or more that it would take to prepare and eat some canned soup.
. . . Even if you also grab a peppermint from the receptionist desk to stand in as dessert.
. . . Even if you can hold your cup with your left hand, while you grade with your right.
No, "holding it" until the end of the work day so that you don't waste a trip down the hall and can jet "go" on your way to the car isn't a good idea.
I have some more confessions to make about my "time-saving" during crunch time, but I'm going to hold out on you, until you tell me what short cuts you have taken or "read about" when you are pressed for time and need to get more done.
In the meantime, I'm going to pause a moment and get the palm fronds out of my car, that I have been chauffeuring around since Palm Sunday, because I wasn't willing to take the time to do whatever it is that one does with leftover palm fronds.
Please chime in.
Pages
Friday, April 19, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
List
March 21, 2013
And here I am, about to apologize again. About the make promises I can't really keep. About to vow more fealty to the blog.
Don't believe me.
You know that April is coming. The cruelest month. The one that involves more grading than I should have assigned if I had paused for even a moment back at Christmas break when I was finalizing the details on the syllabi. I would even call it wall-to-wall grading.
I'm already behind and every day new students show up at my office with new assignments to turn in. They shove them into my hand at the end of class. They attach them to emails. They slip them into my mailbox when no one is watching.
The one thing I can honestly say about spring break last week was that I didn't get any further behind. That, dear friends, isn't true here in the week after spring break.
But I didn't log on to blogger to complain and make false promises that I was going to get after all the stories that are building up that you need to know about (including the Tale of the Lost Glasses, which happened on a dark trail in the wilderness this very morning).
I came to give you some advice. This week. Next week. Soon. When the delights of lolling around during spring break is still fresh on the minds of your children. When their imagination is still ripe with all of the things they could have done during the break but ran out of time.
Sit them down. Give them paper and pencil. Or a tablet.
Make them EACH compose of list of 100 Things They Like To Do:
work a jigsaw puzzle
learn to jump rope
skate
make paper airplanes
climb trees
play with sidewalk chalk
make woven potholders
Keep after them until they have at least 100 things if not more. Have that list handy through April and May, when you are making them go to bed when it is still light outside. When you have to pry them out of bed in the morning. When all they can think of is summer break. When their imagination is full of all the things they'd rather be doing.
Add to the list. Plump it up. Guide it so that it isn't a list of 100 video games (make that count as one thing). Shape it so that it doesn't cost an arm and a leg to do most of the things.
As the countdown to the last day of school starts, post the list in a prominent place in your house.
Then, three days into summer vacation, the first time you hear "Mom, I'm bored." "Dad, there's nothing to do." Point them towards their list and give them the choice of choosing something from the list or doing chores.
Trust me. You will have a happier summer with just this little planning tip.
And here I am, about to apologize again. About the make promises I can't really keep. About to vow more fealty to the blog.
Don't believe me.
You know that April is coming. The cruelest month. The one that involves more grading than I should have assigned if I had paused for even a moment back at Christmas break when I was finalizing the details on the syllabi. I would even call it wall-to-wall grading.
I'm already behind and every day new students show up at my office with new assignments to turn in. They shove them into my hand at the end of class. They attach them to emails. They slip them into my mailbox when no one is watching.
The one thing I can honestly say about spring break last week was that I didn't get any further behind. That, dear friends, isn't true here in the week after spring break.
But I didn't log on to blogger to complain and make false promises that I was going to get after all the stories that are building up that you need to know about (including the Tale of the Lost Glasses, which happened on a dark trail in the wilderness this very morning).
I came to give you some advice. This week. Next week. Soon. When the delights of lolling around during spring break is still fresh on the minds of your children. When their imagination is still ripe with all of the things they could have done during the break but ran out of time.
Sit them down. Give them paper and pencil. Or a tablet.
Make them EACH compose of list of 100 Things They Like To Do:
work a jigsaw puzzle
learn to jump rope
skate
make paper airplanes
climb trees
play with sidewalk chalk
make woven potholders
Keep after them until they have at least 100 things if not more. Have that list handy through April and May, when you are making them go to bed when it is still light outside. When you have to pry them out of bed in the morning. When all they can think of is summer break. When their imagination is full of all the things they'd rather be doing.
Add to the list. Plump it up. Guide it so that it isn't a list of 100 video games (make that count as one thing). Shape it so that it doesn't cost an arm and a leg to do most of the things.
As the countdown to the last day of school starts, post the list in a prominent place in your house.
Then, three days into summer vacation, the first time you hear "Mom, I'm bored." "Dad, there's nothing to do." Point them towards their list and give them the choice of choosing something from the list or doing chores.
Trust me. You will have a happier summer with just this little planning tip.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Explain
February 17, 2013
My niece Emma isn't really a puppy dog.
But she is as awesome as she looks. Check out how well she entertained Davis when he got bored at Christmas, even when she was already dressed for the ball (except her glass slippers):
She just had a birthday. . . the one that looks like infinity if you lay it over on its side: "8"
I sent her what I would have wanted for my eighth birthday. If you don't know Bad Kitty you are missing.all.the.fun.
My niece Emma isn't really a puppy dog.
But she is as awesome as she looks. Check out how well she entertained Davis when he got bored at Christmas, even when she was already dressed for the ball (except her glass slippers):
She just had a birthday. . . the one that looks like infinity if you lay it over on its side: "8"
I sent her what I would have wanted for my eighth birthday. If you don't know Bad Kitty you are missing.all.the.fun.
She also got a special trip to Great Wolf Lodge with her friend Sammie. Don't you wish the place where you spent your birthday looked this much fun?
Last time Emma visited me she wrote me some books. The first one was called "Canser." It was dedicated to a lot of people, including me and Uncle HaHa (which is what she calls Walter). It went like this:
We
All
Fight
Agenst
Canser
The next page had the title "Lucky" with the picture of a person in a wheelchair, saying "Yay" and a doctor saying "Cured."
After that came the page titled "Not Lucky." I'll let you imagine what the picture looked like.
I'm thinking of making copies and sending it to my Congressman and Senators who are on recess right now instead of working in DC on the sequester. Have you heard what will happen if the sequester goes through? Research that funds most of the childhood cancer research in the country will be cut automatically by 8%. Do you know how much 8% is? Our friends at Ph.D. Comics explain:
Monday, February 4, 2013
Budget
February 4, 2013
Walter and I drove to Coryell County on Saturday to attend the burial and funeral of a friend's mother. Yes, I said that in the right order. First time for me, but it worked pretty well. We met at the cemetery in the late morning, took care of business there, had lunch with friends and family, and then went to the funeral.
I heard the land for the cemetery had been donated by the family patriarch and by the size of the family monument, I have no reason to question that. The real question arises around the story that accompanied the telling--that the patriarch, only 24 at the time and living in New York, had won a big poker game and the pot had included a homestead and land in Coryell County. So he moved, eventually married, and ultimately had a family, some of whom I now know.
It could be true.
What's also true is that this is the fifth funeral Walter has been to in the last three months. He is almost the tip of the spear in his family--only his mother's youngest brother and his wife remain of that generation. When Uncle Paulie died last week, I told Davis that dad was going to do pallbearer duty yet again. This concerned Davis and made him worry out loud about how Walter was taking it.
I told Davis that I never expected to get to the point in my life that I actually had to add a monthly budget category to the family finances for funeral flowers, memorials, and out-of-town travel to funeral services. Yet, given the expense of flower arrangements, our desire to be generous in our memorial gifts, the overall cost of travel, and the regularity of our involvement, this has become a reality and a necessity.
What is also true, is that during those same three months, over eight hundred children with cancer have died. Many of them we knew or knew of. Just outside that three month window was our extremely special friend Hans. We don't often actually make it to those funerals and memorials--too hard in too many ways, but we budget in the same way we do for our friends and family in the next generation that are moving on to their great rest. We make memorial contributions to some of the finest organizations that fund childhood cancer research--Children's Neuroblastoma Cancer Foundation, Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation, St, Baldrick's, Touch-A-Truck, Cure Me I'm Irish, MaxCure--to many really to try and list.
Truth the tell, with all of them, but especially the children, I sure would rather budget for birthday gifts than funeral memorials.
Walter and I drove to Coryell County on Saturday to attend the burial and funeral of a friend's mother. Yes, I said that in the right order. First time for me, but it worked pretty well. We met at the cemetery in the late morning, took care of business there, had lunch with friends and family, and then went to the funeral.
I heard the land for the cemetery had been donated by the family patriarch and by the size of the family monument, I have no reason to question that. The real question arises around the story that accompanied the telling--that the patriarch, only 24 at the time and living in New York, had won a big poker game and the pot had included a homestead and land in Coryell County. So he moved, eventually married, and ultimately had a family, some of whom I now know.
It could be true.
What's also true is that this is the fifth funeral Walter has been to in the last three months. He is almost the tip of the spear in his family--only his mother's youngest brother and his wife remain of that generation. When Uncle Paulie died last week, I told Davis that dad was going to do pallbearer duty yet again. This concerned Davis and made him worry out loud about how Walter was taking it.
I told Davis that I never expected to get to the point in my life that I actually had to add a monthly budget category to the family finances for funeral flowers, memorials, and out-of-town travel to funeral services. Yet, given the expense of flower arrangements, our desire to be generous in our memorial gifts, the overall cost of travel, and the regularity of our involvement, this has become a reality and a necessity.
What is also true, is that during those same three months, over eight hundred children with cancer have died. Many of them we knew or knew of. Just outside that three month window was our extremely special friend Hans. We don't often actually make it to those funerals and memorials--too hard in too many ways, but we budget in the same way we do for our friends and family in the next generation that are moving on to their great rest. We make memorial contributions to some of the finest organizations that fund childhood cancer research--Children's Neuroblastoma Cancer Foundation, Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation, St, Baldrick's, Touch-A-Truck, Cure Me I'm Irish, MaxCure--to many really to try and list.
Truth the tell, with all of them, but especially the children, I sure would rather budget for birthday gifts than funeral memorials.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Serve
January 15, 2013
Uma went on a few days ago. Her last sounds were little snores. Walter dug an excellent hole. Thank goodness for 5.25 inches of rain beforehand, but even with that the digging was pretty stiff work after about foot and a half down. Our twelve year gag gift finally ended, and in the end, we all had found a place in the family for her (even Willie). I have already begun musing about what kind of dog will stumble into our lives next. We claim an eclectic, some would say checkered past: a German shepherd, a couple of labs (one black one yellow), a rottweiller, a Welsh corgi, a Rhodesian ridgeback, a shih tsu, and one so completely mixed we haven't a clue. I think if we are going to continue to cover the continents like they are a Risk board, we'll need to look for dingo (an Australian shepherd might be too energetic) or maybe an Argentine Dogo.
Uma went on a few days ago. Her last sounds were little snores. Walter dug an excellent hole. Thank goodness for 5.25 inches of rain beforehand, but even with that the digging was pretty stiff work after about foot and a half down. Our twelve year gag gift finally ended, and in the end, we all had found a place in the family for her (even Willie). I have already begun musing about what kind of dog will stumble into our lives next. We claim an eclectic, some would say checkered past: a German shepherd, a couple of labs (one black one yellow), a rottweiller, a Welsh corgi, a Rhodesian ridgeback, a shih tsu, and one so completely mixed we haven't a clue. I think if we are going to continue to cover the continents like they are a Risk board, we'll need to look for dingo (an Australian shepherd might be too energetic) or maybe an Argentine Dogo.
I've bee getting messages about the national day of service coming up either on Saturday or on Martin Luther King Day on Monday. I think this is a fabulous idea. There are actually few things in the world that can make you feel better that applying one of your talents or skills to helping someone out. Do any of my friends have any ideas for service that others might join in? If you are already booked this weekend, I know you can hang out with me at First Presbyterian Church on February 6 in the evening to help me and lots of others pack 40,000 meals for STOP HUNGER NOW. No skills or talent required, just a desire to help.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Sit
January 6, 2013
Some of you know Uma Thurman Calvert Buenger. She's our 13.5 year old Welsh corgi. She may be the only dog I have ever owned that was bred on purpose and came with papers. She was bought, paid for, and spoiled by our dear, long time friend Bob Calvert in the months after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. When he died, his wife thought we might like to have Uma. It was Bob's last big (HUGE) joke on us.
In the dozen plus years that followed, we tried with Uma, but she was never that willing to fit into our family. She really wanted to be an only dog, not part of a three- or four-dog pack. I think it is too late to enumerate the many ways she didn't fit in, but they had to do with her pervasive prejudice against anyone having fun. She combined this general grumpiness with an exceptionally shrill and repetitive bark. She overate as a matter of course.
And yet, you know the Buengers. We're dog people. She may not be overly lovable, but she's *our* not overly lovable dog.
For years, she split time with us and my mom next door. She slept over there and ate over here. We always hoped she'd burn some calories trotting between the two.
Right before Walter's surgery last May, she went in for her annual exam and came home with orders for hospice care--two terminal diagnoses, congestive heart failure and a hemangiosarcoma near her liver.
Then she proceeded to exceed expectation like she never had before. As a woman of experience, I knew the signs to look for, but I didn't see them.
Appetite--enthusiastic
Drinking--good
Enthusiasm--good
Spark of Life--good
This has gone on and on--eight months. She did retain fluid almost from the start, despite some high quality meds (and 160 milligrams of lasix/day. . . yes, she pees like a fire hose). A couple of months in, she could no longer manage the stairs up to my mom's house and moved back in with us permanently. Ultimately, her back legs have failed her, forcing her to drag herself along on her stubby front pegs. Her vision has mostly faded. Her hearing has slipped. Yet even today she remains:
Appetite--enthusiastic
Drinking--vast quantities
Enthusiasm--fair
Spark of Life--fair
So, in some ways, my world has grown quite small again. Uma doesn't really like to be alone and will bark to signal that preference. I have taken to working at the kitchen table so she's quiet and her little accidents are easier to clean up and so she doesn't wander around to other parts of the house looking for me.
I can't really foresee the end. She hasn't taken to sleeping around the clock. She hasn't developed a cough. Her ins and outs roughly match. She eats every damn thing she's offered and is always on the look out for more. She remains interested in the household goings on (as much as she ever was). I keep on looking for a sign that she's ready to move on to the next thing, but she's not signaling. So, mostly I sit. At least she can take pride in having taught me one trick.
Some of you know Uma Thurman Calvert Buenger. She's our 13.5 year old Welsh corgi. She may be the only dog I have ever owned that was bred on purpose and came with papers. She was bought, paid for, and spoiled by our dear, long time friend Bob Calvert in the months after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. When he died, his wife thought we might like to have Uma. It was Bob's last big (HUGE) joke on us.
In the dozen plus years that followed, we tried with Uma, but she was never that willing to fit into our family. She really wanted to be an only dog, not part of a three- or four-dog pack. I think it is too late to enumerate the many ways she didn't fit in, but they had to do with her pervasive prejudice against anyone having fun. She combined this general grumpiness with an exceptionally shrill and repetitive bark. She overate as a matter of course.
And yet, you know the Buengers. We're dog people. She may not be overly lovable, but she's *our* not overly lovable dog.
For years, she split time with us and my mom next door. She slept over there and ate over here. We always hoped she'd burn some calories trotting between the two.
Right before Walter's surgery last May, she went in for her annual exam and came home with orders for hospice care--two terminal diagnoses, congestive heart failure and a hemangiosarcoma near her liver.
Then she proceeded to exceed expectation like she never had before. As a woman of experience, I knew the signs to look for, but I didn't see them.
Appetite--enthusiastic
Drinking--good
Enthusiasm--good
Spark of Life--good
This has gone on and on--eight months. She did retain fluid almost from the start, despite some high quality meds (and 160 milligrams of lasix/day. . . yes, she pees like a fire hose). A couple of months in, she could no longer manage the stairs up to my mom's house and moved back in with us permanently. Ultimately, her back legs have failed her, forcing her to drag herself along on her stubby front pegs. Her vision has mostly faded. Her hearing has slipped. Yet even today she remains:
Appetite--enthusiastic
Drinking--vast quantities
Enthusiasm--fair
Spark of Life--fair
So, in some ways, my world has grown quite small again. Uma doesn't really like to be alone and will bark to signal that preference. I have taken to working at the kitchen table so she's quiet and her little accidents are easier to clean up and so she doesn't wander around to other parts of the house looking for me.
I can't really foresee the end. She hasn't taken to sleeping around the clock. She hasn't developed a cough. Her ins and outs roughly match. She eats every damn thing she's offered and is always on the look out for more. She remains interested in the household goings on (as much as she ever was). I keep on looking for a sign that she's ready to move on to the next thing, but she's not signaling. So, mostly I sit. At least she can take pride in having taught me one trick.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Soar
January 4, 2013
I could give you the whole rundown of house guests since December 20 (there has been someone here from out of town every one of those more than twelve days of Christmas), the amazing presents given and gotten, the meals that would make you salivate, and the many and spectacular laughs and moments of love we have all shared (including my fantastically high score on the Tina Turner "Rollin' on the River" selection from Wii Just Dance). Instead, I'm going to tell you about my trip to the Burleson County sod farm.
Actually, it's a turf farm.
View Larger Map
Which means there are acres upon acres of stuff you might find on your front lawn, at your football stadium, or at your favorite links.
And no, I wasn't so hard up for some peace and quiet that I drove the more than several miles to get away from the holiday happenings around the house.
The drought has almost dried up the watering tanks at the sod farm--leaving the fish more than marginally exposed. The usual bird gluttons have shown up in high numbers to take advantage of the easy pickings. They are a raucous and boisterous crowd, fighting over the spoils of drought.
There are also a pair of adult bald eagles and their extended family living at the sod farm.
They delighted us by moving off their perches in the the far tree line and swooping and gliding over us. Zooming in. Fading out. Circling directly over out heads. Doing moves that the Blue Angels only dream of. Showing us why they were chosen as the American bird, despite Benjamin Franklin's considerable lobbying on behalf of the turkey. In all, the eagle spectacle rivaled the Melbourne New Year's fire works--not as loud and not as colorful, but much more inspiring.
I didn't have a camera, not that my skills could have done them justice. Here is sort of what they looked like as they perched.
I could give you the whole rundown of house guests since December 20 (there has been someone here from out of town every one of those more than twelve days of Christmas), the amazing presents given and gotten, the meals that would make you salivate, and the many and spectacular laughs and moments of love we have all shared (including my fantastically high score on the Tina Turner "Rollin' on the River" selection from Wii Just Dance). Instead, I'm going to tell you about my trip to the Burleson County sod farm.
Actually, it's a turf farm.
View Larger Map
Which means there are acres upon acres of stuff you might find on your front lawn, at your football stadium, or at your favorite links.
And no, I wasn't so hard up for some peace and quiet that I drove the more than several miles to get away from the holiday happenings around the house.
The drought has almost dried up the watering tanks at the sod farm--leaving the fish more than marginally exposed. The usual bird gluttons have shown up in high numbers to take advantage of the easy pickings. They are a raucous and boisterous crowd, fighting over the spoils of drought.
There are also a pair of adult bald eagles and their extended family living at the sod farm.
They delighted us by moving off their perches in the the far tree line and swooping and gliding over us. Zooming in. Fading out. Circling directly over out heads. Doing moves that the Blue Angels only dream of. Showing us why they were chosen as the American bird, despite Benjamin Franklin's considerable lobbying on behalf of the turkey. In all, the eagle spectacle rivaled the Melbourne New Year's fire works--not as loud and not as colorful, but much more inspiring.
I didn't have a camera, not that my skills could have done them justice. Here is sort of what they looked like as they perched.
And, what impressed me the most was how their enormous wings worked and what they looked like from underneath. Again, not my photo, but one I wished I took, since this is the way they looked from underneath:
Is spotting a bald eagle the wildlife equivalent of finding a four leaf clover?
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Situational Prepositional Dyslexia
December 18, 2012
I know what I should be doing right now, and it is not having another cup of coffee and lingering over the MacAir making fun of myself. But who can resist?
Have you ever kept an eye out for people close to you to see if they are slipping? (NOTE BENE: this could be an invitation.) Has Pops been really forgetful lately? Did you remind Dearest to pick up the popcorn and peas you need at the market THREE TIMES and she still forgot?
I can't easily recall Bible verses like so many of my southern evangelical sisters and brothers, so I had to look this one up. The only reason I even thought to look it up was that Walter and I taught this verse as part of our coverage of Matthew less than ten days ago (what IS the shelf life for remembering something you taught? I was hoping longer than ten days. Even milk last longer than that.).
3 Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?
Anyway, there is a log in my eye and it's called Situational Prepositional Dyslexia.* And it explains why I accidentally drove to Houston and back last night.
For those unfamiliar to central Texas geography, the trip took four hours. I drove. I returned. I didn't stop. I never left the car. And this is important: no one joined me in the car.
All this happened because when I read the email from my friends asking me to pick them up at the airport, my brain moved the preposition "from" and the noun it was claused with "Houston" around in the sentence. Its placement in the phrase ". . . pick us up on the flight from Houston . . ." somehow jumped on the screen where the writer placed into ". . . pick us up [from Houston] on the flight. . ."
I realized my mistake about three minutes before my friends' flight arrived (at the airport four miles from my house, but considerably further when calculating from my current position) thanks mainly to Davis's efforts to track down flight information for me over the phone, so I could park at the correct terminal. After he discovered I was going to be two hours late (or more, depending on rush hour traffic leaving Houston at 6:15) picking up my friends, I quick phoned my mom to do the local pick up. I also had to rely on another friend for phone number help, and of course Walter (and Davis, who asked me to edit the original and include his worrying skills to his computer search expertise to his credits) to keep the worry-o-meter going so I would make it home without an accident (beyond the one I had already been party to).
As someone once said, "It takes a village." I might add to that . . . "to get the village idiot home safely."
*Situational Prepositional Dyslexia--for those of you out of the know, this is a made up medical condition where from time to time the sufferer moves key prepositional phrases around in a sentence, leading to accidental and often harmful misinterpretation of written meaning.
I know what I should be doing right now, and it is not having another cup of coffee and lingering over the MacAir making fun of myself. But who can resist?
Have you ever kept an eye out for people close to you to see if they are slipping? (NOTE BENE: this could be an invitation.) Has Pops been really forgetful lately? Did you remind Dearest to pick up the popcorn and peas you need at the market THREE TIMES and she still forgot?
I can't easily recall Bible verses like so many of my southern evangelical sisters and brothers, so I had to look this one up. The only reason I even thought to look it up was that Walter and I taught this verse as part of our coverage of Matthew less than ten days ago (what IS the shelf life for remembering something you taught? I was hoping longer than ten days. Even milk last longer than that.).
Matthew 7:3
New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)
Anyway, there is a log in my eye and it's called Situational Prepositional Dyslexia.* And it explains why I accidentally drove to Houston and back last night.
For those unfamiliar to central Texas geography, the trip took four hours. I drove. I returned. I didn't stop. I never left the car. And this is important: no one joined me in the car.
All this happened because when I read the email from my friends asking me to pick them up at the airport, my brain moved the preposition "from" and the noun it was claused with "Houston" around in the sentence. Its placement in the phrase ". . . pick us up on the flight from Houston . . ." somehow jumped on the screen where the writer placed into ". . . pick us up [from Houston] on the flight. . ."
I realized my mistake about three minutes before my friends' flight arrived (at the airport four miles from my house, but considerably further when calculating from my current position) thanks mainly to Davis's efforts to track down flight information for me over the phone, so I could park at the correct terminal. After he discovered I was going to be two hours late (or more, depending on rush hour traffic leaving Houston at 6:15) picking up my friends, I quick phoned my mom to do the local pick up. I also had to rely on another friend for phone number help, and of course Walter (and Davis, who asked me to edit the original and include his worrying skills to his computer search expertise to his credits) to keep the worry-o-meter going so I would make it home without an accident (beyond the one I had already been party to).
As someone once said, "It takes a village." I might add to that . . . "to get the village idiot home safely."
*Situational Prepositional Dyslexia--for those of you out of the know, this is a made up medical condition where from time to time the sufferer moves key prepositional phrases around in a sentence, leading to accidental and often harmful misinterpretation of written meaning.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Graph
November 29, 2012
The end of the semester raises tension and anxiety and also burnishes students' efforts to find relief from said tension and anxiety, and that Mr. Gump, provides further evidence that life is a very varied box of chocolates. Evidence?
This is a photo I shot this morning. I found this illustration of the dating life cycle (and associated costs) on white board at the end of the hall on my floor that usually holds accounting help desk info:
The end of the semester raises tension and anxiety and also burnishes students' efforts to find relief from said tension and anxiety, and that Mr. Gump, provides further evidence that life is a very varied box of chocolates. Evidence?
This is a photo I shot this morning. I found this illustration of the dating life cycle (and associated costs) on white board at the end of the hall on my floor that usually holds accounting help desk info:
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Cram
November 20, 2012
If you think that I am about to write a pre-finals entry reflecting on my students' study habits, you would be wrong.
I haven't had a Hostess product since October 1976.
Therefore, you cannot count me among those who are bemoaning its possible shut down, those who are scouring store shelves and internet sites searching for extra boxes of Ho Hos and Twinkies, or those who are penning lyrics to "The Day the Ding Dong Died." I hold no animus though. It's not like I ran out and bought a huge position in Little Debbies six months ago when I noticed that Hostess was not solving the myriad problems that had plagued it into bankruptcy.
Still, everyone else seems to be amped up about the on again, off again closure, so I thought I would tell you a little story and make a suggestion about how Hostess might consider expanding its product line and diversifying to create a more stable brand and higher cash flow.
I had Mrs. Josey for Western Thought as an 11th grader at Alvin High School--no more than a dozen students for that remarkable elective. We did the totally hip thing of circling our desks when we had those heavy philosophical discussions about justice, truth, and beauty (not that it made the discussions livelier, but we totally grooved the idea that we didn't have to sit in ROWS, and we might accidentally get placed in the circle next to someone awesome).
One Friday, I had a prime seat next to a varsity football player. His Friday afternoon "Pep" bag was delivered by a perky cheerleader right near the beginning of class. Remarkably, after scouring through it, he put the peanuts and banana back in the bag and offered the Hostess cupcake around the circle. Since I was sitting right next to him, I claimed it first. Use your imagination here: this was both a Hostess cupcake (the food of the Gods) and a gift from a god.
Mrs. Josey told me to save it for after class. Actually, she said something more like,"Vickie Luquette do NOT EVEN THINK about eating that cupcake in my classroom."
About midway through class, the P.A. system squawked on and Mrs. Josey was summoned to the office. She left, and I seized the opportunity to open the tarty little cupcake sitting on my desktop that had been winking and flexing at me (metaphorically, of course) for almost half an hour. The cellophane crinkled at me seductively as I unwrapped it. Just as I was about to take a bite, the door opened and Mrs. Josey returned, waaaayy before I expected her.
I had no choice but to shove the entire cupcake into my mouth, close my lips over my teeth, and adopt a forced smile.
Do you know what happens when you hold a Hostess cupcake in your mouth for the final eighteen minutes of class? The first thing is there is no room to maneuver the big wad of sugar and transfats around into a better position so you might have a chance to swallow it. More importantly, even if you did have room, it wouldn't move, because the icing sticks to the roof of your mouth INFINITELY MORE FIRMLY THAN POLIGRIP.
If you think that I am about to write a pre-finals entry reflecting on my students' study habits, you would be wrong.
I haven't had a Hostess product since October 1976.
Therefore, you cannot count me among those who are bemoaning its possible shut down, those who are scouring store shelves and internet sites searching for extra boxes of Ho Hos and Twinkies, or those who are penning lyrics to "The Day the Ding Dong Died." I hold no animus though. It's not like I ran out and bought a huge position in Little Debbies six months ago when I noticed that Hostess was not solving the myriad problems that had plagued it into bankruptcy.
Still, everyone else seems to be amped up about the on again, off again closure, so I thought I would tell you a little story and make a suggestion about how Hostess might consider expanding its product line and diversifying to create a more stable brand and higher cash flow.
I had Mrs. Josey for Western Thought as an 11th grader at Alvin High School--no more than a dozen students for that remarkable elective. We did the totally hip thing of circling our desks when we had those heavy philosophical discussions about justice, truth, and beauty (not that it made the discussions livelier, but we totally grooved the idea that we didn't have to sit in ROWS, and we might accidentally get placed in the circle next to someone awesome).
One Friday, I had a prime seat next to a varsity football player. His Friday afternoon "Pep" bag was delivered by a perky cheerleader right near the beginning of class. Remarkably, after scouring through it, he put the peanuts and banana back in the bag and offered the Hostess cupcake around the circle. Since I was sitting right next to him, I claimed it first. Use your imagination here: this was both a Hostess cupcake (the food of the Gods) and a gift from a god.
Mrs. Josey told me to save it for after class. Actually, she said something more like,"Vickie Luquette do NOT EVEN THINK about eating that cupcake in my classroom."
About midway through class, the P.A. system squawked on and Mrs. Josey was summoned to the office. She left, and I seized the opportunity to open the tarty little cupcake sitting on my desktop that had been winking and flexing at me (metaphorically, of course) for almost half an hour. The cellophane crinkled at me seductively as I unwrapped it. Just as I was about to take a bite, the door opened and Mrs. Josey returned, waaaayy before I expected her.
I had no choice but to shove the entire cupcake into my mouth, close my lips over my teeth, and adopt a forced smile.
Do you know what happens when you hold a Hostess cupcake in your mouth for the final eighteen minutes of class? The first thing is there is no room to maneuver the big wad of sugar and transfats around into a better position so you might have a chance to swallow it. More importantly, even if you did have room, it wouldn't move, because the icing sticks to the roof of your mouth INFINITELY MORE FIRMLY THAN POLIGRIP.
I'm thinking that if Hostess had recognized the adhesive quality to its icing, it could have launched a variety of new product lines over the last thirty or forty years, and its cash flow nightmare would have never emerged. . . despite me never buying or eating a Hostess product again the rest of my life.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Ramble/Rumble
November 16, 2012
I think the last time I mentioned the dogs, I bemoaned the interruption to my usual early morning routine. Things have improved a bit.
The little stinker got over her back pain in a matter of days and rejoined Wille and me on the adventures around the lake. I can't actually do anything about the forced leash situation (you know, the one caused by the unspeakable badness that Willie accidentally performed on the first of October, leaving him with a life sentence on the leash with no chance for parole). If I walk far enough away from civilization, I can give him a short, free run, but no more romping about with his weimaraner girlfriend in the 'hood.
We had a splendid walk on Thursday--brisk temperatures (finally), a clear sky, and best of all the first liberated morning that I didn't wake up with grading hanging over my head in six solid weeks. We decided on the long route, all the way down Charlotte Lane to the Stasney Ranch fence line. This itinerary takes us past the Brick House Dogs: Buster and Boo (two dogs who I suspect have clandestine lives where humans wager on their ability throw down on their buddies and put the smack down on other pooches) and their basset sister, Chloe.
Chloe likes to bark us up, but generally stay on her throne near the garage. Buster likes Willie and always swaggers out (though now with a significant limp and a few more facial scars than he used to have) to exchange bootie sniffs in the middle of the road. Boo rushes forward down the driveway, barking until we come into sight, then retreats like Sir Robin when Willie stands his ground and ends under a nearby truck to finish his barkfest.
On Thursday, they all (even Chloe) rushed down the driveway when we approach to do their very best: sniff, bark, challenge, retreat. Except.
Except there was a fourth dog. No Name. Catahoula/Beagle Mix. Maybe? Not a fighter. Not the beloved princess of the family.
He followed us home. Another mile. Down the fence line. Through the picnic area. Across the dam. Around the pond. Through the wilderness. Past the neighbors. Home.
He played with Willie (on the leash and off). He tried to play with Teddy, who would have none of it.
He sat on the back porch after we went in, shivering from the crisp air or the unfamiliarity or his surroundings or perhaps from the confusion of being truly lost. After breakfast, Walter used a Milkbone and a leash to befriend then capture Willie's new young friend and walked him home.
We really hope that New Dog will become a lover, not a fighter.
I think the last time I mentioned the dogs, I bemoaned the interruption to my usual early morning routine. Things have improved a bit.
The little stinker got over her back pain in a matter of days and rejoined Wille and me on the adventures around the lake. I can't actually do anything about the forced leash situation (you know, the one caused by the unspeakable badness that Willie accidentally performed on the first of October, leaving him with a life sentence on the leash with no chance for parole). If I walk far enough away from civilization, I can give him a short, free run, but no more romping about with his weimaraner girlfriend in the 'hood.
We had a splendid walk on Thursday--brisk temperatures (finally), a clear sky, and best of all the first liberated morning that I didn't wake up with grading hanging over my head in six solid weeks. We decided on the long route, all the way down Charlotte Lane to the Stasney Ranch fence line. This itinerary takes us past the Brick House Dogs: Buster and Boo (two dogs who I suspect have clandestine lives where humans wager on their ability throw down on their buddies and put the smack down on other pooches) and their basset sister, Chloe.
Chloe likes to bark us up, but generally stay on her throne near the garage. Buster likes Willie and always swaggers out (though now with a significant limp and a few more facial scars than he used to have) to exchange bootie sniffs in the middle of the road. Boo rushes forward down the driveway, barking until we come into sight, then retreats like Sir Robin when Willie stands his ground and ends under a nearby truck to finish his barkfest.
On Thursday, they all (even Chloe) rushed down the driveway when we approach to do their very best: sniff, bark, challenge, retreat. Except.
Except there was a fourth dog. No Name. Catahoula/Beagle Mix. Maybe? Not a fighter. Not the beloved princess of the family.
He followed us home. Another mile. Down the fence line. Through the picnic area. Across the dam. Around the pond. Through the wilderness. Past the neighbors. Home.
He played with Willie (on the leash and off). He tried to play with Teddy, who would have none of it.
He sat on the back porch after we went in, shivering from the crisp air or the unfamiliarity or his surroundings or perhaps from the confusion of being truly lost. After breakfast, Walter used a Milkbone and a leash to befriend then capture Willie's new young friend and walked him home.
We really hope that New Dog will become a lover, not a fighter.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Walk
November 12, 2012
Some of you complained in the run up to last week's election: about the ads, about your favorite shows being preempted by the debates, about the robocalls. Some of you got mad at your friends for their partisan facebook posts. Since the election, some of you have been smug and happy; others livid and checking the options for moving. There is a general relief that it is behind us.
Through it all try to remember that you live in America. We are not promised full-time harmony or delight in all the candidates or outcomes or process. What we have, however, is a system that allows for power sharing and peaceful transitions as leadership structures change. If you travel around the world, you'll notice that not everyone lives that way (think coups, bloody rebellions, and oppression).
Here's a story to help you remember that voting--no matter how infuriating a process--is something you should cherish:
On October 22, my sister was riding her bike to work in Dallas. A car hit her. The crash broke both her arms. She doesn't drive and with casted arms, she can't steer her bike.
On election day, she called her county party headquarters to see if she could get a ride to go vote. She got the voice mail and left a message, but no one called her back.
So she walked the two miles to her polling place. When she got there she couldn't open the door to get in there. She waited several minutes and watched several people go in and out before the door finally stayed open long enough for her to slip inside.
She voted. Then she walked home.
Some of her candidates won. Some of her candidates lost. She was proud to vote.
And I'm proud of her.
Some of you complained in the run up to last week's election: about the ads, about your favorite shows being preempted by the debates, about the robocalls. Some of you got mad at your friends for their partisan facebook posts. Since the election, some of you have been smug and happy; others livid and checking the options for moving. There is a general relief that it is behind us.
Through it all try to remember that you live in America. We are not promised full-time harmony or delight in all the candidates or outcomes or process. What we have, however, is a system that allows for power sharing and peaceful transitions as leadership structures change. If you travel around the world, you'll notice that not everyone lives that way (think coups, bloody rebellions, and oppression).
Here's a story to help you remember that voting--no matter how infuriating a process--is something you should cherish:
On October 22, my sister was riding her bike to work in Dallas. A car hit her. The crash broke both her arms. She doesn't drive and with casted arms, she can't steer her bike.
On election day, she called her county party headquarters to see if she could get a ride to go vote. She got the voice mail and left a message, but no one called her back.
So she walked the two miles to her polling place. When she got there she couldn't open the door to get in there. She waited several minutes and watched several people go in and out before the door finally stayed open long enough for her to slip inside.
She voted. Then she walked home.
Some of her candidates won. Some of her candidates lost. She was proud to vote.
And I'm proud of her.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Tweet
November 6, 2012
Favorite Election Day tweets:
Nate Silver theme:
Nate Silver, what is the probability that God could make a rock so heavy that he couldn't move it?
Answer to Hangman game is, of course, Nate Silver--as he is the answer to all things.
BREAKING :: nate silver admits to using performance enhancing drugs! thousands discard venn diagram bracelets! Seen as win for Rasmussen!
Romney could still win this if too many Dems accidentally write-in "Nate Silver" with little hearts around it.
I wonder if political journalists fretting about Nate Silver feel a bit like factory workers seeing an industrial robot for the first time.
Ohio theme:
Biden in Ohio. Will speak until polls close. Speech starts in 15 minutes.
I'm not comfortable leaving the fate of our country in Ohio's hands. I mean these are people not smart enough to realize they live in Ohio.
BREAKING: 'The Onion' Calls Florida, Ohio, Colorado, Pennsylvania For John Edwards.
Voting/Election theme:
If you waited three hours in line to go see "The Avengers," you can wait 30 minutes to vote.
The rare rush of realizing that in a city of 8 mil (+tourists), I'm in a room filled only with my neighbors.
Estonia gets to vote online. Why can’t America?
Democracy is being allowed to vote for the candidate you dislike least.
America is a country which produces citizens who will cross the ocean to fight for democracy but won’t cross the street to vote.
If Obama wins, I will leave the country. If Romney wins, I will leave the country. This is not a political joke, I just want to travel.
Florida theme:
It's important to remember all the countries that can't democratically elect their own leaders like Syria, and North Korea, and Florida.
Jerry: “My parents didn't want to move to Florida, but they turned sixty and that's the law.”
Favorite Election Day tweets:
Nate Silver theme:
Nate Silver, what is the probability that God could make a rock so heavy that he couldn't move it?
Answer to Hangman game is, of course, Nate Silver--as he is the answer to all things.
BREAKING :: nate silver admits to using performance enhancing drugs! thousands discard venn diagram bracelets! Seen as win for Rasmussen!
Romney could still win this if too many Dems accidentally write-in "Nate Silver" with little hearts around it.
I wonder if political journalists fretting about Nate Silver feel a bit like factory workers seeing an industrial robot for the first time.
Ohio theme:
Biden in Ohio. Will speak until polls close. Speech starts in 15 minutes.
I'm not comfortable leaving the fate of our country in Ohio's hands. I mean these are people not smart enough to realize they live in Ohio.
BREAKING: 'The Onion' Calls Florida, Ohio, Colorado, Pennsylvania For John Edwards.
Voting/Election theme:
If you waited three hours in line to go see "The Avengers," you can wait 30 minutes to vote.
The rare rush of realizing that in a city of 8 mil (+tourists), I'm in a room filled only with my neighbors.
Estonia gets to vote online. Why can’t America?
Democracy is being allowed to vote for the candidate you dislike least.
America is a country which produces citizens who will cross the ocean to fight for democracy but won’t cross the street to vote.
If Obama wins, I will leave the country. If Romney wins, I will leave the country. This is not a political joke, I just want to travel.
Florida theme:
It's important to remember all the countries that can't democratically elect their own leaders like Syria, and North Korea, and Florida.
Jerry: “My parents didn't want to move to Florida, but they turned sixty and that's the law.”
Monday, October 29, 2012
Watch
October 29, 2012
I spent a good part of the day yesterday traveling home from Philadelphia, and I haven't been around quite as many (understandably) excitable people in a very long time. I am thinking of all my friend and colleagues in the northeast. It is impossible to list everyone I am concerned about. I have found myself spending a bit too much time refreshing my weather.com and nytimes.com tabs to make sure I'm not missing anything.
I little while ago, I found this time lapsed webcam on Weather Underground. It is located oceanside in Ocean City, MD. This is a "current" video, showing the last 24 hours from this moment. I have embedded it into this webpage, and it will always show the last 24 hours from the current time. It is definitely getting rainier and choppier over the last 24, not to mention much higher tide. I'm not sure why I find this live video of the coming storm so compelling.
I spent a good part of the day yesterday traveling home from Philadelphia, and I haven't been around quite as many (understandably) excitable people in a very long time. I am thinking of all my friend and colleagues in the northeast. It is impossible to list everyone I am concerned about. I have found myself spending a bit too much time refreshing my weather.com and nytimes.com tabs to make sure I'm not missing anything.
I little while ago, I found this time lapsed webcam on Weather Underground. It is located oceanside in Ocean City, MD. This is a "current" video, showing the last 24 hours from this moment. I have embedded it into this webpage, and it will always show the last 24 hours from the current time. It is definitely getting rainier and choppier over the last 24, not to mention much higher tide. I'm not sure why I find this live video of the coming storm so compelling.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Workout (or not)
October 25, 2012
What does it say about someone when she struggles to wrap up her workday, crossing every t and dotting every i, rushes to the gym to beat the 5:00 traffic and fit the workout in between work and dinner prep, strips down to skivvies, and opens her gym bag to find her socks, shoes, and gym book, but no workout clothes?
It is a very sad feeling to put your clothes back on without breaking a sweat and return your still-folded towel to the young towel jockey.
On my way to Philadelphia tomorrow and hoping that the perfect storm of Hurricane Sandy combined with the winter front moving down from Canada doesn't block my way home on Sunday as effectively as I blocked my own attempt to workout this afternoon.
What does it say about someone when she struggles to wrap up her workday, crossing every t and dotting every i, rushes to the gym to beat the 5:00 traffic and fit the workout in between work and dinner prep, strips down to skivvies, and opens her gym bag to find her socks, shoes, and gym book, but no workout clothes?
It is a very sad feeling to put your clothes back on without breaking a sweat and return your still-folded towel to the young towel jockey.
On my way to Philadelphia tomorrow and hoping that the perfect storm of Hurricane Sandy combined with the winter front moving down from Canada doesn't block my way home on Sunday as effectively as I blocked my own attempt to workout this afternoon.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Confine
October 11, 2012
Really, who can resist posting if the date is 10/11/12?
And while we are at it, what IS the point of dog ownership?
I have three dogs. They were never completely free-range dogs, but for many years they enjoyed various forms of freedom--sniffing the bushes while their human companion stood to the side pondering her own thoughts and dreams, snoozing in the sun-dappled spaces of the back yard while she pulled weeds, loping across the dam and through the uninhabited parts of the lake property knowing that she was trailing in their wake. I've (mostly) enjoyed freewheeling with them on their adventures.
That has all changed.
I still have three dogs. I would still enjoy a little roving. That option is currently off the table,
Uma has been under hospice watch since May. She doesn't wander much because she can barely walk. She is on a massive twice daily dose of diuretic to help with her congestive heart failure and the fluid build up from her hemangiosarcoma, which means she drinks like a sailor and pees like a fire hose. Consequently, she spends a lot of time alone in the bathroom where her leakiness does less harm.
Willie did something unspeakably bad in the neighborhood last week and is under strict house arrest and can only venture outside with a guard and shackles (leash).
Teddy injured her back on Monday or Tuesday. Her vet insists on crate confinement until she heals.
So, if you can't stride across the landscape in October with your dogs darting about and bringing you back news of fragrant bunnies and loamy adventure possibilities, what is the point of dog ownership?
Really, who can resist posting if the date is 10/11/12?
And while we are at it, what IS the point of dog ownership?
I have three dogs. They were never completely free-range dogs, but for many years they enjoyed various forms of freedom--sniffing the bushes while their human companion stood to the side pondering her own thoughts and dreams, snoozing in the sun-dappled spaces of the back yard while she pulled weeds, loping across the dam and through the uninhabited parts of the lake property knowing that she was trailing in their wake. I've (mostly) enjoyed freewheeling with them on their adventures.
That has all changed.
I still have three dogs. I would still enjoy a little roving. That option is currently off the table,
Uma has been under hospice watch since May. She doesn't wander much because she can barely walk. She is on a massive twice daily dose of diuretic to help with her congestive heart failure and the fluid build up from her hemangiosarcoma, which means she drinks like a sailor and pees like a fire hose. Consequently, she spends a lot of time alone in the bathroom where her leakiness does less harm.
Willie did something unspeakably bad in the neighborhood last week and is under strict house arrest and can only venture outside with a guard and shackles (leash).
Teddy injured her back on Monday or Tuesday. Her vet insists on crate confinement until she heals.
So, if you can't stride across the landscape in October with your dogs darting about and bringing you back news of fragrant bunnies and loamy adventure possibilities, what is the point of dog ownership?
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Joke
October 7, 2012
When was the last time you heard someone tell a joke? Think before you answer.
I'm not talking about someone forwarding you something funny on email, or posting a gag or pithy meme on FB, or about re-telling something they saw on YouTube or The Daily Show. I mean, when was the last time someone at a party or in the break room or at dinner actually told a joke that required a set up and that ended in a punchline?
A little over a month ago, I ask myself this question and started listening for the answer. I'm pretty sure I haven't heard a single one in all that time. How about you?
I know that not everyone likes to tell tell jokes, or frankly, are even capable of it. I can't do regional (except the one I was born into, which qualifies me to tell Honey Boo Boo Child jokes, but not much else) or ethnic accents, so a whole range of potential jokes are pretty much off limits to me. There is really nothing worse than setting up a joke that depends on you re-creating a French accent and when you tell it you sound Russian.
Some people don't tell jokes because they can't remember them. Walter falls in that category. He appreciates a good joke, but has not set aside any brain space to store and later access joke. Once upon a time he had two jokes he could remember and tell: one was about economists and the other was about politics (aren't academics fun?). He doesn't tell them any more.
I can remember first thinking about humor. As an early reader, first grade maybe, I would follow my mom around the house reading from my Bennett Cerf riddle book. It had the added value of being a pop up book, so I had to lift a flap or turn a wheel, or otherwise manipulate the page to reveal the answer. I think I was in heaven. Anyway, you can't tell me she didn't get positively sick and tired of hearing little Vickie read: "What happens when a duck flies backwards? He probably has a nasty quack up." and "What do you give an 800 pound gorilla? Anything he wants."
[NOTE BENE: I later paid handsomely for torturing my mother by giving birth to a child who delighted in the same habit. Unfortunately for me, Erin had a riddle God-father who bought every one of Bennett Cerf's riddle books plus several others, so for those early elementary years, she was NEVER at a loss for a good riddle or pun.]
I still remember some jokes I learned in junior high, including a couple that I didn't understand on first (or later) hearing, which did not keep me from telling them over and over again. Other people obviously understood the (probably) raunchy punchlines better than me as evidenced by their loud and long laugh.
In high school, I happened on Isaac Asimov's Treasury of Humor, which had the multiple bonuses of having 640 jokes, instructions on how to tell them, plus a fairly lengthy exposition on the theory of humor. Wow, did that ever feed my habit!
We've made it pretty deep into the 21st century. We have a whole network on television devoted to comedy, several satellite radio stations with joke telling twenty-four hours a day, and stand up comedians of every stripe. More jokes come across my facebook feed in a day than I used to hear in a month (year?). I laugh at something I read or hear or watch every day. I heard Pete Dominic interviewing a professor on the radio yesterday. She was Dr. Alison Dagnes, and she was talking about her new book A Conservative Walks into a Bar which goes Asimov one better, exploring the history of satire, the comedy profession, and the nature of satire itself to examine why there is an ideological imbalance in political humor and it explores the consequences of this disparity.
Despite the proliferation of comedy, humor, and joke opportunities, I'm starting to feel sad. Jokes have become something best left to the professional. It's almost like "Here's a good one, but Don't try this at home!"
I miss the amateur jokesters. Will someone tell me a joke?
When was the last time you heard someone tell a joke? Think before you answer.
I'm not talking about someone forwarding you something funny on email, or posting a gag or pithy meme on FB, or about re-telling something they saw on YouTube or The Daily Show. I mean, when was the last time someone at a party or in the break room or at dinner actually told a joke that required a set up and that ended in a punchline?
A little over a month ago, I ask myself this question and started listening for the answer. I'm pretty sure I haven't heard a single one in all that time. How about you?
I know that not everyone likes to tell tell jokes, or frankly, are even capable of it. I can't do regional (except the one I was born into, which qualifies me to tell Honey Boo Boo Child jokes, but not much else) or ethnic accents, so a whole range of potential jokes are pretty much off limits to me. There is really nothing worse than setting up a joke that depends on you re-creating a French accent and when you tell it you sound Russian.
Some people don't tell jokes because they can't remember them. Walter falls in that category. He appreciates a good joke, but has not set aside any brain space to store and later access joke. Once upon a time he had two jokes he could remember and tell: one was about economists and the other was about politics (aren't academics fun?). He doesn't tell them any more.
I can remember first thinking about humor. As an early reader, first grade maybe, I would follow my mom around the house reading from my Bennett Cerf riddle book. It had the added value of being a pop up book, so I had to lift a flap or turn a wheel, or otherwise manipulate the page to reveal the answer. I think I was in heaven. Anyway, you can't tell me she didn't get positively sick and tired of hearing little Vickie read: "What happens when a duck flies backwards? He probably has a nasty quack up." and "What do you give an 800 pound gorilla? Anything he wants."
[NOTE BENE: I later paid handsomely for torturing my mother by giving birth to a child who delighted in the same habit. Unfortunately for me, Erin had a riddle God-father who bought every one of Bennett Cerf's riddle books plus several others, so for those early elementary years, she was NEVER at a loss for a good riddle or pun.]
I still remember some jokes I learned in junior high, including a couple that I didn't understand on first (or later) hearing, which did not keep me from telling them over and over again. Other people obviously understood the (probably) raunchy punchlines better than me as evidenced by their loud and long laugh.
In high school, I happened on Isaac Asimov's Treasury of Humor, which had the multiple bonuses of having 640 jokes, instructions on how to tell them, plus a fairly lengthy exposition on the theory of humor. Wow, did that ever feed my habit!
We've made it pretty deep into the 21st century. We have a whole network on television devoted to comedy, several satellite radio stations with joke telling twenty-four hours a day, and stand up comedians of every stripe. More jokes come across my facebook feed in a day than I used to hear in a month (year?). I laugh at something I read or hear or watch every day. I heard Pete Dominic interviewing a professor on the radio yesterday. She was Dr. Alison Dagnes, and she was talking about her new book A Conservative Walks into a Bar which goes Asimov one better, exploring the history of satire, the comedy profession, and the nature of satire itself to examine why there is an ideological imbalance in political humor and it explores the consequences of this disparity.
Despite the proliferation of comedy, humor, and joke opportunities, I'm starting to feel sad. Jokes have become something best left to the professional. It's almost like "Here's a good one, but Don't try this at home!"
I miss the amateur jokesters. Will someone tell me a joke?
Friday, October 5, 2012
Overflow
October 5, 2012
The lanyard party when Nico and fam were in town from Australia was not the largest workshop I have ever done (that would be the National Charity League Bead-aThon two or three years ago). It wasn't the largest workshop I ever had in my own home (that would be the one on July 4, 2009 where somehow over fifty folks crowded into my modest three bedroom casa). In fact, it wasn't even the largest workshop I did in the last ten days (since I ran over to MacArthur High in Aldine after school last Monday to help 60+ teens make a difference in the lives of children with neuroblastoma).
That said, Nico and all his friends (combined with his mom and my friends) overran the house weekend before last. It's not so much that they had overwhelming numbers (although there were a lot of them), but they just took up so much more space than they did as younger kids.
The lanyard party when Nico and fam were in town from Australia was not the largest workshop I have ever done (that would be the National Charity League Bead-aThon two or three years ago). It wasn't the largest workshop I ever had in my own home (that would be the one on July 4, 2009 where somehow over fifty folks crowded into my modest three bedroom casa). In fact, it wasn't even the largest workshop I did in the last ten days (since I ran over to MacArthur High in Aldine after school last Monday to help 60+ teens make a difference in the lives of children with neuroblastoma).
That said, Nico and all his friends (combined with his mom and my friends) overran the house weekend before last. It's not so much that they had overwhelming numbers (although there were a lot of them), but they just took up so much more space than they did as younger kids.
I gave them a camera and ask them to do a little photo journalism of the evening:
They were pretty serious about getting the lanyards done.
And used whatever space they could find.
Rowan and Nico finished early, leaving their hands free. Can you tell Nico has some keyboard-compatible hands? And can you believe that Rowan, one of Erin's sixth grade classmates, is graduating this year? He's on the expedited plan!
Andy always seems happy where ever he is. He and Erin agreed about almost everything, except politics.
Precious Toni makes the most beautiful, delicate lanyards. She and Erin have been friends since Day 2 (birthdays two days apart!)
Nico was sure we had shrunk everything in Erin's room since he moved. It all seemed much smaller now that he is so tall.
Samantha and Erin had so much in common: soccer, brains, and most notably, confidence.
Jackson was always much bigger than Erin, and the trend shows no sign of slacking off.
Most of the adults were slackers, preferring to eat and chat rather than work. This includes me.
It was my birthday, so I took the evening off. That means I'm still working on finishing some of the lanyards the kids made, plus the tray full I have from the MacArthur workshop and the one at the new College Station High School last Saturday morning.
Teddy wasn't really all that impressed with having a house full of teens.
Not only did Erin and Nico's friends overflow their allotted space (plus the kitchen, plus the lake, plus my bedroom where I keep the Wii), they overflowed the love in my heart.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Too Important!
September 26, 2012
I fully well know that I owe you a post with all the news of the recovering Philip the Handsome and the even lengthier news of the visit from the Tjoelkers, and when I turn back the set of papers I'm working on that have a hard-stop deadline tomorrow morning, I will fill you in. In the meantime, I have blatantly, but I think with blessings, stolen this post from my friend Bob at PAC2.
I am well aware that I am asking you to read about childhood cancer statistics, but if it weren't INCREDIBLY important, I wouldn't ask you to do it. If you need any incentive, here's the punchline that's at the bottom:
The world tends to grab hold of the much publicized statistic that we "cure" 80 % of kids diagnosed with cancer (that dark red slice of the pie). That statistic might be true in the literal sense, but you all know that Erin always counted as one of the 80% because she live more than five years after her initial diagnosis. Don't look away and don't skip this entry because if has both hard truths and arithmetic. Read all the way to the bottom and decide what needs to happen.
I'm thinking we need to turn the circle green.
Childhood Cancer - Current Long-Term Outcomes
Childhood cancer statistics can be confusing. Any statistics can hide or distort the truth, and even the statistics we trust may only tell part of the story.
This article delves into some familiar childhood cancer statistics and attempts to determine the projected lifelong outcomes for a child diagnosed with childhood cancer in the United States today. By lifelong outcomes, we mean what may happen over that child’s entire life--not just today or in five years, but 10, 20 or 30 years from now (which is as far as the data will let us project).
Why do this?
Children have their whole lives ahead of them, so life-long outcomes carry more weight and meaning than the commonly tracked and quoted “80%” that only represents the subgroup of children who live for 5-years after diagnosis. Children who die as a result of their cancer beyond the 5-year milestone or who experience the impact of chronic health conditions caused by their cancer treatments are not considered in the "80%".
But we all want to plan for our child’s future. College. Marriage. Having kids of their own. We need to ensure our children live to 70, 90, 110! We can’t just be satisfied that a child diagnosed at age 2 lives to age 7! Our goal can ONLY be that any child diagnosed with cancer lives a normal lifespan not struck short by premature death from being “cured” or hampered by chronic health conditions.
This article will estimate the likelihood of these four outcomes for a child diagnosed with cancer:
Outcome #1 - A child lives at least 30 years after diagnosis without chronic health conditionsOutcome #2 - A child lives at least 30 years but faces mild to moderate chronic health conditionsOutcome #3 - A child lives at least 30 years but faces life-threatening or disabling chronic health conditionsOutcome #4 - A child dies
Data Set for Childhood Cancer - Current Outcomes
This section will identify the key statistics used in the analysis and the source of the statistics. The first data set is provided by the Children's Oncology Group. The remaining data come from the Childhood Cancer Survivor Study (CCSS). The CCSS is the largest, nationwide project to track and evaluate the outcomes for childhood cancer survivors. About the CCSS: “The CCSS is a component of the Long Term Follow Up Study, began in 1994 and is a collaborative, multi-institutional study funded by a grant from the National Cancer Institute of the National Institutes of Health and funds from ALSAC, St. Jude fundraising organization. The CCSS is composed of individuals who survived five or more years after diagnosis for cancer, leukemia, tumor, or similar illness diagnosed during childhood or adolescence. The CCSS, which includes all participants in the Long Term Follow Up Study with a confirmed diagnosis of cancer, is a retrospectively ascertained cohort of 20,346 childhood cancer survivors diagnosed between 1970 and 1986. It also includes approximately 4,000 siblings of survivors who serve as the comparison group for the study.”
Data Set #1 – Number of diagnosis and the average 5-year childhood cancer survival rate
The first set of data is provided by the Children’s Oncology Group (COG). The data includes the number of children under age 20 diagnosed annually in the US (13,500) and the percentage of those children that will survive at least 5 years (80%). Note that 80% is not representative of any specific type of childhood cancer; but instead represents the average result for 100% of the children diagnosed every year in the US. The data can be viewed here: Childhood Cancer Facts and Statistics.
Data Set #2 – Number of children that suffer chronic health condition
The second data set is from Chronic Health Conditions in Adult Survivors of Childhood Cancer: The Childhood Cancer Survivor Study (N Engl J Med 2006; 355:1572-1582 October 12, 2006)
The study reviewed the health status of 10,397 adults who received a childhood cancer diagnosis between 1970 and 1986. The survivors range in age from 18 to 48, with an average age of 27 years old. The time from the initial diagnosis to participation in the study ranged from 6 to 31 years and averaged 18 years. The study compared the health status of the survivors to that of siblings.
The primary cancer diagnosis for the study participants included; leukemia (30%), Hodgkin’s disease (18%),central nervous system tumor (13%), bone tumors (11%), sarcoma (10%), non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (9%), Wilm’s tumor (7%), and neuroblastoma (4%). Treatments included chemotherapy (67%), radiation (62%), unknown treatment (15%) and no treatment (6%).
Survivors reported chronic health conditions including; vision, hearing and/or speech problems, infertility, psycho-social issues, cardiovascular, pulmonary, gastrointestinal, renal, musculoskeletal, neurological, and/or endocrine conditions, and/or secondary cancers.
Conditions were assigned a Grade, or severity level, relating to specific conditions, as shown below:
Grade One - Mild (night blindness, hearing loss, hypertension, shortness of breath, kidney stones, diabetes)It should be noted that for deceased survivors, the maximum Grade condition reported before death was used.
Grade Two - Moderate (cataracts, cardiomyopathy, hepatitis, seizure disorders)
Grade Three - Severe (blind, deaf, emphysema, major joint replacement/amputation, infertility)
Grade Four - Life-threatening or disabling (heart transplant, cardiac arrest, paralysis, respiratory arrest, kidney transplant, cognitive deficit)
Grade Five - Death
Key conclusions from the report include:
- Survivors of childhood cancer have a high rate of illness owing to chronic health conditions.
- Among survivors, the cumulative incidence of a chronic health condition reached 73.4% 30 years after the cancer diagnosis.
- Among survivors, the cumulative incidence for severe, disabling, or life-threatening conditions or death due to a chronic condition is 42.4% 30 years after cancer diagnosis.
- Thus, by subtraction, the cumulative incidence of mild to moderate conditions 30 years after diagnosis is 31% (73.4%-42.4%).
Data Set #3 – Number of Children that die after surviving five years
The third data set is also from the CCSS: Cause-Specific Late Mortality Among 5-Year Survivors of Childhood Cancer: The Childhood Cancer Survivor Study (JNCI J Natl Cancer Inst (2008) 100 (19): 1368-1379. doi: 10.1093/jn...).
The term “Late,” or "Excess Mortality" refers to a child dying as the result of recurrence of the original cancer, secondary cancer, or other health effect resulting from the toxicity of treatment, such as chemo or radiation.
This study included 20,483 five-year survivors of childhood cancer that were diagnosed between 1970 and 1986. The study group was searched in the National Death Index for deaths occurring between 1979 and 2002.
The study concludes that for a 5-years survivor the estimated probability of survival 30 years from diagnosis is 82%. Probabilities were 94% at 10 years and 88% at 20 years. Put another way, the projected probability of a 5-year survivor dying within 30 years of diagnosis due to a cancer related cause is 18%.
Highest excess mortality was observed in non-ALL, non-AML, medulloblastoma or PNET, other CNS malignancy and Ewing sarcoma. Excess mortality resulted from recurrent disease (58%), secondary cancers (19%), circulatory disease (7%) and respiratory disease (3%).
Data Set #2 states that the cumulative incidence is 42.4% 30 years after diagnosis for severe, disabling, or life-threatening conditions or death due to a chronic condition. The 18% of 5-year survivors that die from years 6 to 30 should be included in that 42.4%. Thus, the likelihood that a 5-year survivor of will suffer severe, disabling or life-threatening condition, but not death is 42.4% - 18.0% = 24.4%.
Calculation of Childhood Cancer – Current Outcomes
This data is then used to calculate the potential, long-term outcomes. The calculations are shown in the table below.
Calculations: Childhood Cancer – Projected Outcomes
|
|
Data
|
Calculation
|
Estimated number of children under 20 diagnosed annually in the US
|
13,500
|
Estimated number of children that will die within 5 years
|
13,500 x 20% = 2,700
|
Estimated number of children that will survive 5 years
|
13,500 x 80% = 10,800
|
What are the projected outcomes for the 10,800 5-year survivors?
|
|
Estimate of the number of 5 year survivors that don’t suffer chronic health conditions?
|
10,800 x 27% = 2,916
|
Estimate of the number of 5 year survivors that suffer
chronic health conditions, including death?
|
10,800 x 73% = 7,884
|
What are the projected outcomes for the 73% of 5-year survivors that experience chronic health conditions, including death?
|
|
Estimate of the number of 5 year survivors that die from chronic
health conditions from year 6 to year 30 |
10,800 x 18% = 1,944
|
Estimate of the number of 5 year survivors that suffer life-threatening or disabling chronic health conditions
from year 6 to year 30
|
10,800 x 24% = 2,592
|
Estimate of the number of 5 year survivors that suffer mild to moderate health conditions but live at least 30 years
|
10,800 x 31% = 3,348
|
Integrating
the analysis produces the following summary table of projected outcomes
for the 13, 500 children diagnosed annually in the US.
Childhood Cancer - Projected Outcomes
|
No.
|
%
|
Child dies within 5 years of diagnosis
|
2,700
|
20%
|
Child dies within 30 years of diagnosis
|
1,944
|
14%
|
Child lives 30 years but experiences severe, life threatening
or disabling heath conditions
|
2,592
|
19%
|
Child lives 30 years but experiences mild or moderate health conditions
|
3,348
|
25%
|
Child lives 30 years and experiences no chronic health conditions
|
2,916
|
22%
|
Total
|
13,500
|
100%
|
The chart below summarizes the projected outcomes for children diagnosed with cancer.
These are the projected results for the four outcomes:
Outcome #1 - About 1 in 5 live at least 30 years after diagnosis without chronic health conditionsOnly #1 is acceptable!!!
Outcome #2 - About 1 in 4 live at least 30 years but face mild to moderate chronic health conditions
Outcome #3 - About 1 in 5 live at least 30 years but face life-threatening or disabling chronic health conditions
Outcome #4 - About 1 in 3 die
Visit the PAC2 September 2012 Childhood Cancer Event Calendar to make #1 the outcome for all kids through raising awareness and funding childhood cancer research in your area during September, National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.
PAC2
Note: Thanks to all contributors and reviewers. Projections are based on PAC2's evaluation of the data sets. Please excuse all rounding errors. While we present raw, cold, hard data, the article was created by raw emotion. If you identify an issue please contact us at info@peopleagainstchildhoodcancer.org.
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