Various & Sundry II

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The weather outside is frightful, but I couldn’t care less. It’s my first official day of summer break. Sorta. I’m still going into school most days, and there’s always good old BU. Only difference is that I get to sleep in now, so the daily Finkness may not appear until later than 5-6 a.m. Eastern. I actually slept the morning away today; didn’t get up until 6:30. Lazy bum…

So yeah. Tatum O’Neal.

I totally remember seeing her on TV and in the movies. I read about her early addiction to alcohol (it actually started when she was about the age you see in this photo, taken in 1973), and finally watched Paper Moon years after it was made, because there was no way my parents would have ever let me see it in the theater (it featured a 10-year-old smoking a cigarette). It really is a good movie. Not great, but good. Good enough to have won her an Oscar.

Anyway.

She fought addiction throughout her teenage years and into her adult life. [With a weirdo like Ryan O’Neal for a father, and the freakish John McEnroe for a husband, it’s no wonder she ended up a crack w***e.]

The Entertainment Weekly site quotes her as saying she was “saved” by the police from making a horrible decision (to break her sobriety) by approaching drug dealers on the street and asking to buy coke. She originally told the officers, “Do you know who I am? I’m doing research for a part.” Nice try, luv. The truth works better, usually.

But good for her if she was rescued from the cliffside.

Ok, this is creepy. The recent tornadoes in the Midwest caused some horrific damage. Here’s some caught on film. You can see the tornado approach from the left, and just suck everything into it. Trees lying down flat is just too bizarre. And frightening. (If you don’t have a QuickTime player, you can download it here.)

[quicktime]http://finkweb.org/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/tornado.mov[/quicktime]

So you have a good day, ok? Especially those of you who had to work…heh.

Finkus outus.

J’ai fini

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And there you have it, friends. Another school year done. In some ways, it was fabulous. In others, I shall remember it as my annum horribilis.

Teaching public school in America is a bizarre profession in several ways.

  • We are given the huge responsibility to prepare our future leaders, teachers and professionals — but custodians and garbage collectors make more money than many of us.
  • It’s one of the few professions I know of (likely the only one) where you can have a masters degree and be working in your field, and still qualify for food stamps.
  • We are expected to have high standards and hold our students to them, but when we do, many parents descend on us like harpies for picking on their child. (I don’t experience this because of the nature of my class, but “academic” teachers and coaches get it a lot.) Edit: that statement makes it look like I have no standards. That’s funny. Heh. I will rephrase to say that I don’t experience this much because I teach an elective and the kids know the expectations going in. Howzat.
  • If I hear one more person talk about teachers “getting three months of paid vacation,” I am going to commit a felony. That is like saying that all mechanics are crooks, and all lawyers are ambulance chasers, and all accountants are embezzlers. Shut up already. My friggin’ kingdom for 3 months off. Ok, so teachers who teach on the agrarian calendar (summers off) do get more time, but when you consider the salary issue, you got nothin’.

On the other hand, there are also ways in which teachers are reaping a bitter harvest. Some other observations:

  • As long as teachers are affiliated with organized labor, we’ll never be considered true professionals. I’ll go to the mat with anyone on that fact. And I’ll win.
  • Over last 25 years or so, I’ve noticed a huge increase in teachers worrying about “The Minutes.” It’s all about doing the picayune math. We’ve become a profession of timeclock punchers; hourly workers. I was asked to stay after school for a meeting and it went 20 minutes past 3:15, so I am submitting a form to be paid for 20 minutes of comp time.
  • At the school I taught at in Florida years ago, classroom teachers were paid to come to my concerts to hear their students sing. No lie.

I’ve often told the story of the days I worked at Ashland University in the early 1980s. My job as scheduling secretary had me centrally located in the student union, where there was a big lounge with sofas and comfy furniture. On many occasions, a group of Korean students would gather there and study. Once in awhile, the Korean professor on staff would walk through the lounge on his way to the snack bar. As soon as those students saw him, it was a mad rush: they put out their cigarettes, leapt to their feet, and bowed to him. It was an amazing sight.

One of the students later told me that in Korea, teachers are very highly respected and revered — and well paid. Heh. Imagine that.

Fink, just grateful to have a job

Obsessive? Nah.

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This is my neighbor Nancy’s silver maple tree. It’s beautiful, and, as you can see, huge. (Click the photo for a larger view.)

It towers over both of our back yards and our shared driveway. In the fall, it sheds its multi-colored leaves and creates a blanket of gold, orange, red, brown and yellow. It’s really a fabulous tree.

This spring, for the first time in the 3 years we’ve lived in our present house, the maple began to grow its special fruit, which I have always called its helicopter seeds. You know, the ones that look like this:

Well, of course, the helicopters fell, as they always do, and created a thick carpet in our back yard. There were thousands of them, literally. You could barely see the grass.

Why is this “obsessive,” you ask?

Wait for it…………

Wait…………..

It’s obsessive, because only my husband would get out the Shop Vac and vacuum them all up. Every last one of them. It took him 5 hours.

I am not making this up.

Obsessive? Eh, maybe. But since he is the coolest of the cool, and because he takes care of everything around here so I don’t have to worry about it, and he anticipates the entire family’s needs, and makes sure I have everything I require before I ever ask for it, and he does all that as well as taking care of his own business…he’s allowed.

Fink out.

Random Weirdness III

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So I’m leafing through Pravda (as you do), and I notice a headline that says, Married couple ignores washing and haircutting for 16 years. Hey, why not.

Would you eat a “miracle fruit” that makes Tobasco sauce taste like a chocolate milk shake? (Watch the video halfway down the page.)

Right wingnut Michelle Malkin drew attention to celebrity cook Rachael Ray’s scarf in a recent Dunkin’ Donuts commercial, claiming it looked like a Muslim kaffiyeh. She writes:

“The kaffiyeh, for the clueless, is the traditional scarf of Arab men that has come to symbolize murderous Palestinian jihad.”

Dunkin’ Donuts — an American symbol of good nutrition and wholesome Yankee values — promotes terrorism.

There is no God.

Now people, I consider myself a moderate conservative, but this thing gets the Cockamamie Dingbat Story of the Decade award. Besides, I’m more offended by the lip collagen and scary eyebrows than by the scarf. Girlfriend’s had some weirdness done to her eyes as well, but I can’t figure it out.

And finally…

Apparently, no one is exempt from being searched at the airport.

I think I’ll go make the vanilla Dunkin’ Donuts coffee Heather got me for Mother’s Day. Support me some terrorists.

Fink out.

Just pick one, fuh cripesake

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Be passive OR aggressive. Not both. And I’m not talking about the passive-aggressive tendency to be nice to somebody’s face and nasty behind his back. Rather, I mean the kind of passive-aggressive behavior whereby the perp uses juuuust the right turn of phrase to make his point and get his desired response. Here’s a sample PA conversation, between two imaginary roommates:

Jane: Hey, what’s wrong?

Liz: Oh, nothing. We’re just out of eggs; I swear I bought some last week. I was going to make French toast after class tonight, and I went to the fridge and the eggs are all gone. It’s ok. I’ll make something else.

Jane: Oh no! I’m really sorry. I ate the last 2 yesterday and totally forgot to pick up more. I’ll go out and get another dozen right now.

Liz: No, that’s ok. I’ll just have some cereal. It doesn’t matter anyway.

Jane: No really — I feel bad because I didn’t replace the eggs. My brain is Jello. Let me run out and get them real quick. It’ll just take a minute.

Liz: Well, ok. If you want to.

Obviously, Liz’s martyrdom got her what she wanted: the eggs, and emotional control. It’s a head game that borders on abuse, and I try never to play it. But let’s face it: sometimes it gets you what you want. We’ve all likely pulled the trick from time to time. But chronic passive-aggressives are much more dangerous. I divide them into two categories:

1. The Guilter. This one hangs on the cross, but somehow still survives. Picture a mother (usually stereotyped in a certain ethnic light), telling her adult son, “No, don’t bother coming over today to mow my lawn. I will try to do it myself. I’ll just take lots of aspirin before I go outside, and hope that my legs hold up.” Of course, this achieves the desired effect. Son cancels his golf game and mows the lawn. Mom gets what she wants: the reassurance that her son will give up anything for her. It’s a total power play.

Sometimes, when my students are giving me a hard time, I’ll jokingly tell them, “Ok, if you need me, I’ll be outside, lying under my truck wheels.” We all get a laugh and it’s over. But there are those who take that shtick and play it to the nth degree. They are the Grand Manipulators, and you need to either a) confront them about it, or b) run away.

2. The Joker. And yes, I do mean the character from Batman. All laughs and funny ha-ha on the surface, but hiding a vicious secret. These people take pleasure in ambiguous humor, designed to make you doubt yourself. Have you ever endured somebody teasing you — or making general observations about something you’ve said or done — in what appears to be a playful manner, but you get a creepy feeling that the little jabs thrown out in jest are actually serious, veiled insults? If you have, you’ve been Jokered.

The Joker attempts to cover his own screaming insecurity and feelings of mediocrity by chipping away at the self-esteem of others. I urge you to call him on it.

And that’s all I have to say today. My mood matches this dreary weather. Ick.

Fink out.