Sometimes people don't have enough conflict in their lives so they go out of their way to create more. As the new school year begins, that's something I'm going to be trying to avoid.
Because it's short, I've pasted an article I found here. Dress codes are one of those things that will always create conflict. You have to have some limits, but this is just picking a fight:
A Crime of Fashion
There are no bars on the windows, but Texas’ Gonzales High School could start to resemble a prison. A new policy at the school, located 70 miles east of San Antonio, states students who violate the dress code will be required to wear an inmate-style navy blue jumpsuit to class if they refuse to attend in-school suspension or don’t change their clothes, The Houston Chronicle reported.
“We’re a conservative community, and we’re just trying to make our students more reflective of that,” Gonzales Independent School District deputy superintendent Larry Wehde said. Dress code violations include spaghetti-strap tank tops, baggy clothes, miniskirts, clothes that reveal underwear, and earrings on male students. T-shirts have recently been added to the list, with students now expected to wear collared shirts.
Although school officials hope the policy will lessen clothing distractions in class, senior class president Jordan Meredith says some students plan to fight the policy by turning the jumpsuits into a fashion statement, even going as far as to say they will purposefully violate the dress code or purchase their own coveralls. “They’ll see it as an opportunity to be like, rebels,” he said. “I don’t think there’s going to be enough jumpsuits for everyone.”
In Ephesians right after the famous passage telling children to obey their parents is one warning parents not to "provoke" their children. Sounds like Gonzales Independent School District doesn't get that, though I bet some of them have used the "obey" part with their own kids before.
It's always better to find ways to defuse rather than escalate. That goes for foreign policy as well as the classroom.
(Addendum: I found this about Texas teachers who are now allowed to carry concealed firearms in the classroom as of this year as well. There are no words...)
(PPS - Here's an excerpt from the article as I was informed that the link only works if you have access to the journal)
The superintendent said some of the school's 50 employees are carrying weapons, but he wouldn't say how many. When pressed further, he first said that revealing that number might jeopardize school security. He then added that he considered it to be personnel information and not a matter of public record.
Each employee who wants to carry a weapon first must be approved by the board based on his or her personality and reaction to a crisis, Thweatt said. In addition to training required for a state concealed weapons license, they also must be trained to handle crisis intervention and hostage situations.
State education officials said they did not know of any other Texas schools allowing teachers to carry guns. National security experts and the Brady Center to Prevent Gun Violence said they did not know of other U.S. schools with such a policy.
School districts in some states, including Florida and Arizona, have closed loopholes that allowed guns on K-12 campuses. Utah allows concealed weapons at public universities but not at primary or secondary schools.
Thweatt said the board took extra precautions, such as requiring employees to use bullets that will minimize the risk of ricochet, similar to those used by air marshals on planes.
"I can lead them from a fire, tornado and toxic spill; we have plans in place for that. I cannot lead them from an active shooter," Thweatt said. "There are people who are going to think this is extreme, but it's easy to defend."
Judy Priz, who has a third-grade daughter, said that "everyone I've talked to thinks it's great." She said she trusts the teachers with her child's life.
"Look how long it takes the police or anybody else to get here," she told the Fort Worth Star-Telegram for a story in its Monday online edition. "If someone wants to come here and harm someone, at least we would have sort of defense."
Friday, August 29, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future as a
Psychic
Hi--what's this? A card--well, thanks. Nobody's ever given me a card here before, except for those smartasses who stuck my name on the retirement list a couple of years ago. So what's your career idea? Psychic? You mean you want to be able to talk to dead people and stuff? Oh right, that's a medium. Okay, so what do you need me for? Can't you just predict the future yourself?
What's that? Open the card. Okay. Oh look--it's my personal fortune predicted by you. That's...weird. Read it? Right... "Today will be auspicious because you will meet..." Auspicious? You'll have to dumb it down for the general public, I'm afraid.
Okay, okay. "...a future famous pyschic"....yada yada...uhmm, pretty generic, what? the bottom? "...and you will ask the tired old question 'why don't you just predict your own future' since you don't realize that the one future most pyschics can't see is their own".
Oh, I get it. Clever. So I acted like most rational people and took an easy potshot at your weirdo career choice. You'll complain to who? Oh sure, 'cause I'll look like the bad guy when you just presented me with my future that includes my death by heart attack a year before retirement.
All right, let's try this again. You'll leave high school and try to convince some chinese restaurants to let you write their fortunes, but they really want platitudes with lucky lottery numbers on the back rather than anything specific. Besides, you really can't write something specific and then trust some random waiter or waitress to get them to the right person, and they won't agree to have you hovering about the restaurant staring at the clientele and then trying to squeeze your hastily scribbled predictions into tiny fragile cookies.
You offer to sub for that woman who does the tarot readings down by the hemp store but it soon becomes clear you're too young and too preppy to be taken seriously by those patrons.
And so it goes. Nobody wants a young, fresh-faced fortune teller--and that goes for the newspaper horoscope department, the county fair and pretty much everywhere else. You get a short tryout with a psychic friends phone hotline, but when you won't do the shtick to get the people to stay on the line and buy extra readings, the hotline folks cut you loose.
You are depressed for a while, so you go to a psychic yourself and are told your future lies in the Big Apple. So off to New York you go, hoping that this prediction is more useful than most of the ones you've offered people.
There are no job openings in the psychic field in New York, but after a few unfulfilling gigs at coffee shops and delis, you answer an add to work as a coat check person in the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. You are at least able to interact with people a bit, and you don't have to remember drink orders.
Suddenly, after about six months on the job, you're hit with an inspiration. You notice one sad woman in the line at the coat check--she's hanging onto two kids and looking weary and worn. You want to help her, but beyond a kindly smile you don't know what to do. Then, after she and her children are off exploring the museum, you decide to write her an encouraging fortune. You slip a note in her pocket explaining that you're a psychic and you have a good feeling that things are going to get better.
You hide in the back when she comes to pick up her jacket, and worry that maybe you'll get into trouble for your boldness. Instead, one week later she shows up and after asking around discovers the note came from you. Turns out her husband was in the middle east and was missing--but his reconnaisance group had merely gotten out of radio range and her fears for him were unfounded. She hugs you and thanks you for helping her when she was at her lowest.
This gives you the courage to begin dropping more fortunes into the pockets of jackets and purses as inspiration hits you. You get away with it for a couple of weeks and then a coat check supervisor takes you aside and warns you to stop it. That instruction is quietly reversed, however, when one of the museum's most generous patrons stops by to personally thank you for your perceptive prediction.
Your fellow coat check staffers seemly mostly amused at your antics, though some simply find you annoying. Your fortunes tend to be mostly generic and positive, but still, you rarely have anyone come back and tell you that you nailed it, but there are always a few who return each week to complain that you're an idiot and you have no idea what's happening in their world.
You carry on, undaunted, even when the Village Voice features an article about you which includes two dozen examples of people whose fortunes you got hilariously wrong. In turn, this gives you a sort of cult following, not because people think you can predict the future, but more that they enjoy a chance to share their laughable fortunes--something made easier when a website, titled "Nostradoofus" is created devoted to your work.
Eventually you become too much of an embarrassment to your employers, and the lobby supervisor, a kindly older gentleman you know only as Mr. Parker, takes you aside and explains you have to stop the pocket fortunes. You sadly acquiesce, and find your work days more boring and unhappy as a result. Mr. Parker stops by from time to time and senses your unhappiness, so he always tries to cheer you up, something you appreciate.
You try to return the favor a few months later when you hear his wife has passed away from a sudden heart attack, but he becomes withdrawn, and rumors begin that he will probably retire soon. It is around that time you begin staying late at work to write horoscopes for your own website--which garners only a fraction of the hits of the one which mocks you--because it's easier to type up your predictions on the computer in the coat check office than it is to try to get serious work done in your apartment with your two roommates fighting with each other all the time.
You discover that Mr. Parker has a habit of stopping by a sculpture in the lobby of the museum after everyone's gone home, where he carries on a quiet one-sided conversation before picking up his coat and heading for the subway. It's quiet enough when the floor polishers and vaccuums are turned off for you to hear what he's saying, but you feel awkward about mentioning it to him.
Then one day you hear him say "I guess tomorrow will be the last day I'll be talking to you--but it has to be our secret because I don't want anyone to try talking me out of it". You're sure he's planning to just retire after the next day without any fanfare, and you realize that he's probably still grieving his wife's death and maybe some time away might help him move on.
Because you appreciate what he's done, you decide to write one more "coat check fortune", and you simply tell him that "while we'll miss you, after today everything will be just fine". You seal it inside an unmarked envelope and slip it in his coat.
The next day the museum is buzzing with the news that Mr. Parker committed suicide on his way home from work by stepping in front of a subway train. A few hours later the police come and take you to a small office where they ask you what you knew about his state of mind. You're puzzled until you discover that they found your fortune, still unopened, in his jacket pocket. Your words are interpreted as proving your foreknowledge of his plan to kill himself.
The staff all shun you for not trying to help their beloved boss, ignoring your explanation that you didn't really know his plans, and you eventually quit your job at the museum. You're desperate for some kind of work, and the writer at the Village Voice who helped make you a cult laughingstock feels guilty enough to get you a job taking phone-in classified ads at his paper.
You're bankrupted a year later when Mr. Parker's daughter sues you for not trying to help her suicidal father--the legal fees alone are far more than your meager income can manage. Around that time you're taken off the classified phone line at the paper because of your increasingly odd behavior--you begin offering unsolicited predictions of doom to those trying to sell their household goods. You're sent to a psychiatrist, and institutionalized indefinitely.
I'd come visit you in the nuthouse but apparently I'll be dead by then. Have fun.
Hi--what's this? A card--well, thanks. Nobody's ever given me a card here before, except for those smartasses who stuck my name on the retirement list a couple of years ago. So what's your career idea? Psychic? You mean you want to be able to talk to dead people and stuff? Oh right, that's a medium. Okay, so what do you need me for? Can't you just predict the future yourself?
What's that? Open the card. Okay. Oh look--it's my personal fortune predicted by you. That's...weird. Read it? Right... "Today will be auspicious because you will meet..." Auspicious? You'll have to dumb it down for the general public, I'm afraid.
Okay, okay. "...a future famous pyschic"....yada yada...uhmm, pretty generic, what? the bottom? "...and you will ask the tired old question 'why don't you just predict your own future' since you don't realize that the one future most pyschics can't see is their own".
Oh, I get it. Clever. So I acted like most rational people and took an easy potshot at your weirdo career choice. You'll complain to who? Oh sure, 'cause I'll look like the bad guy when you just presented me with my future that includes my death by heart attack a year before retirement.
All right, let's try this again. You'll leave high school and try to convince some chinese restaurants to let you write their fortunes, but they really want platitudes with lucky lottery numbers on the back rather than anything specific. Besides, you really can't write something specific and then trust some random waiter or waitress to get them to the right person, and they won't agree to have you hovering about the restaurant staring at the clientele and then trying to squeeze your hastily scribbled predictions into tiny fragile cookies.
You offer to sub for that woman who does the tarot readings down by the hemp store but it soon becomes clear you're too young and too preppy to be taken seriously by those patrons.
And so it goes. Nobody wants a young, fresh-faced fortune teller--and that goes for the newspaper horoscope department, the county fair and pretty much everywhere else. You get a short tryout with a psychic friends phone hotline, but when you won't do the shtick to get the people to stay on the line and buy extra readings, the hotline folks cut you loose.
You are depressed for a while, so you go to a psychic yourself and are told your future lies in the Big Apple. So off to New York you go, hoping that this prediction is more useful than most of the ones you've offered people.
There are no job openings in the psychic field in New York, but after a few unfulfilling gigs at coffee shops and delis, you answer an add to work as a coat check person in the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. You are at least able to interact with people a bit, and you don't have to remember drink orders.
Suddenly, after about six months on the job, you're hit with an inspiration. You notice one sad woman in the line at the coat check--she's hanging onto two kids and looking weary and worn. You want to help her, but beyond a kindly smile you don't know what to do. Then, after she and her children are off exploring the museum, you decide to write her an encouraging fortune. You slip a note in her pocket explaining that you're a psychic and you have a good feeling that things are going to get better.
You hide in the back when she comes to pick up her jacket, and worry that maybe you'll get into trouble for your boldness. Instead, one week later she shows up and after asking around discovers the note came from you. Turns out her husband was in the middle east and was missing--but his reconnaisance group had merely gotten out of radio range and her fears for him were unfounded. She hugs you and thanks you for helping her when she was at her lowest.
This gives you the courage to begin dropping more fortunes into the pockets of jackets and purses as inspiration hits you. You get away with it for a couple of weeks and then a coat check supervisor takes you aside and warns you to stop it. That instruction is quietly reversed, however, when one of the museum's most generous patrons stops by to personally thank you for your perceptive prediction.
Your fellow coat check staffers seemly mostly amused at your antics, though some simply find you annoying. Your fortunes tend to be mostly generic and positive, but still, you rarely have anyone come back and tell you that you nailed it, but there are always a few who return each week to complain that you're an idiot and you have no idea what's happening in their world.
You carry on, undaunted, even when the Village Voice features an article about you which includes two dozen examples of people whose fortunes you got hilariously wrong. In turn, this gives you a sort of cult following, not because people think you can predict the future, but more that they enjoy a chance to share their laughable fortunes--something made easier when a website, titled "Nostradoofus" is created devoted to your work.
Eventually you become too much of an embarrassment to your employers, and the lobby supervisor, a kindly older gentleman you know only as Mr. Parker, takes you aside and explains you have to stop the pocket fortunes. You sadly acquiesce, and find your work days more boring and unhappy as a result. Mr. Parker stops by from time to time and senses your unhappiness, so he always tries to cheer you up, something you appreciate.
You try to return the favor a few months later when you hear his wife has passed away from a sudden heart attack, but he becomes withdrawn, and rumors begin that he will probably retire soon. It is around that time you begin staying late at work to write horoscopes for your own website--which garners only a fraction of the hits of the one which mocks you--because it's easier to type up your predictions on the computer in the coat check office than it is to try to get serious work done in your apartment with your two roommates fighting with each other all the time.
You discover that Mr. Parker has a habit of stopping by a sculpture in the lobby of the museum after everyone's gone home, where he carries on a quiet one-sided conversation before picking up his coat and heading for the subway. It's quiet enough when the floor polishers and vaccuums are turned off for you to hear what he's saying, but you feel awkward about mentioning it to him.
Then one day you hear him say "I guess tomorrow will be the last day I'll be talking to you--but it has to be our secret because I don't want anyone to try talking me out of it". You're sure he's planning to just retire after the next day without any fanfare, and you realize that he's probably still grieving his wife's death and maybe some time away might help him move on.
Because you appreciate what he's done, you decide to write one more "coat check fortune", and you simply tell him that "while we'll miss you, after today everything will be just fine". You seal it inside an unmarked envelope and slip it in his coat.
The next day the museum is buzzing with the news that Mr. Parker committed suicide on his way home from work by stepping in front of a subway train. A few hours later the police come and take you to a small office where they ask you what you knew about his state of mind. You're puzzled until you discover that they found your fortune, still unopened, in his jacket pocket. Your words are interpreted as proving your foreknowledge of his plan to kill himself.
The staff all shun you for not trying to help their beloved boss, ignoring your explanation that you didn't really know his plans, and you eventually quit your job at the museum. You're desperate for some kind of work, and the writer at the Village Voice who helped make you a cult laughingstock feels guilty enough to get you a job taking phone-in classified ads at his paper.
You're bankrupted a year later when Mr. Parker's daughter sues you for not trying to help her suicidal father--the legal fees alone are far more than your meager income can manage. Around that time you're taken off the classified phone line at the paper because of your increasingly odd behavior--you begin offering unsolicited predictions of doom to those trying to sell their household goods. You're sent to a psychiatrist, and institutionalized indefinitely.
I'd come visit you in the nuthouse but apparently I'll be dead by then. Have fun.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
You can't go home again
It's weird being back here where I grew up. It's the first time I've visited here in a little over two years, and the first time I've come up when there hasn't been a family home to stay in.
The town has changed a bit since I was here last. Some places closed, some new ones, others being redone... but it doesn't feel all that different. It's more that there's a dichotomy--I feel like it's so familiar and home in a way, and yet still much more disconnected from this place than I used to be.
Weird also that my kids--grown up in a city about 20x bigger than this place--have said a couple of times that they'd like to live here. They then add conditions like "but I'd miss all my friends" but I guess it makes sense.
Summer is when this place is at its best. Plenty of great beaches to choose from, nice places to go wandering, none of the traffic that's so familiar back home. It doesn't take long to get anywhere when you're here. I remember when I moved away it took me a while to realize that you don't simply leave 10 minutes before you're supposed to arrive somewhere and then end up arriving five minutes early.
The friends we visit have it pretty good as well. We made pigs of ourselves at a very decadent bbq last night at the home of a friend I've known since fifth grade. In addition to his family was another friend I've known since grade one and his wife and kids as well.
Both families live a lifestyle that would cost more in the city. My kids see a very seductive side of this place when you're in a beautiful 5000 sq foot home with amenities that would take paragraphs to proclaim but I'll typify by mentioning the $9000 chandelier in the two-storey entryway.
We could sell our home, had we suitable employment here, and buy something much fancier in this town.
I explained to my kids as we were driving home, though, that there's another side to this place. Everyone knows your business, I tell them--gossip is the major pastime, and you never escape a mistake you might have made 20 years ago. The winter is deadly dull. There's only one movie theatre in town with one screen, and if that isn't your cup of tea you can visit the one (ugly) mall and see the same tired people wandering it. The average age here is probably close to retirement, at least it feels like that.
There's always rumours that some new industry is going to relocate here, and everyone gets excited. It usually doesn't pan out, though. The one main industry in the town used to employ almost 3000 people, back when I was in high school. Now there are maybe 600 people working there.
My kids understand it's not all as fun as it seems when we're here for short visits. Still, part of me likes the fact that they see the appeal of this simple place where I grew up. My wife and I have begun to realize that if the money were suddenly available, and the price right, we'd love a summer place up here. Maybe that's something we'll try to make a reality down the road.
Here's a pic from the lake yesterday. Today we're off to explore some more, and probably hit one of the nice ocean beaches where we can swim this afternoon.
I won't be sad to get home on Friday, though.
The town has changed a bit since I was here last. Some places closed, some new ones, others being redone... but it doesn't feel all that different. It's more that there's a dichotomy--I feel like it's so familiar and home in a way, and yet still much more disconnected from this place than I used to be.
Weird also that my kids--grown up in a city about 20x bigger than this place--have said a couple of times that they'd like to live here. They then add conditions like "but I'd miss all my friends" but I guess it makes sense.
Summer is when this place is at its best. Plenty of great beaches to choose from, nice places to go wandering, none of the traffic that's so familiar back home. It doesn't take long to get anywhere when you're here. I remember when I moved away it took me a while to realize that you don't simply leave 10 minutes before you're supposed to arrive somewhere and then end up arriving five minutes early.
The friends we visit have it pretty good as well. We made pigs of ourselves at a very decadent bbq last night at the home of a friend I've known since fifth grade. In addition to his family was another friend I've known since grade one and his wife and kids as well.
Both families live a lifestyle that would cost more in the city. My kids see a very seductive side of this place when you're in a beautiful 5000 sq foot home with amenities that would take paragraphs to proclaim but I'll typify by mentioning the $9000 chandelier in the two-storey entryway.
We could sell our home, had we suitable employment here, and buy something much fancier in this town.
I explained to my kids as we were driving home, though, that there's another side to this place. Everyone knows your business, I tell them--gossip is the major pastime, and you never escape a mistake you might have made 20 years ago. The winter is deadly dull. There's only one movie theatre in town with one screen, and if that isn't your cup of tea you can visit the one (ugly) mall and see the same tired people wandering it. The average age here is probably close to retirement, at least it feels like that.
There's always rumours that some new industry is going to relocate here, and everyone gets excited. It usually doesn't pan out, though. The one main industry in the town used to employ almost 3000 people, back when I was in high school. Now there are maybe 600 people working there.
My kids understand it's not all as fun as it seems when we're here for short visits. Still, part of me likes the fact that they see the appeal of this simple place where I grew up. My wife and I have begun to realize that if the money were suddenly available, and the price right, we'd love a summer place up here. Maybe that's something we'll try to make a reality down the road.
Here's a pic from the lake yesterday. Today we're off to explore some more, and probably hit one of the nice ocean beaches where we can swim this afternoon.
I won't be sad to get home on Friday, though.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
overhead
Thought I'd post this very short clip from Sunday--they flew over our house several times and I caught part of the last pass.
I don't hate PETA
...except when they pull this crap.
Skip to the fourth paragraph from the bottom of the article to see what disgust me about this cynical opportunism.
Skip to the fourth paragraph from the bottom of the article to see what disgust me about this cynical opportunism.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Crackboo... er, Facebook Groups I'd join--
--if I were into joining facebook groups:
Amanda Ray University of Awesome
('cause there's that cool dinosaur, and well, it's a university of "Awesome")
Serious coffee could kick Starbuck's ass if they were giant robots
('cause it's true)
Totally Serial Citizens for the Eradication of ManBearPig.
(just for fun read the comment posts)
Dear God, I Am Totally Awkward
(Actually, I don't think I am, usually, but I like the posted stories in the comments.)
For those who hate the Maple Leafs
(It's a hockey thing, and I'm one of them)
and there's a whole bunch of others I can't bother to find again. Trust me, they'd be good ones if I did though...
Amanda Ray University of Awesome
('cause there's that cool dinosaur, and well, it's a university of "Awesome")
Serious coffee could kick Starbuck's ass if they were giant robots
('cause it's true)
Totally Serial Citizens for the Eradication of ManBearPig.
(just for fun read the comment posts)
Dear God, I Am Totally Awkward
(Actually, I don't think I am, usually, but I like the posted stories in the comments.)
For those who hate the Maple Leafs
(It's a hockey thing, and I'm one of them)
and there's a whole bunch of others I can't bother to find again. Trust me, they'd be good ones if I did though...
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