my other car is a genius car
I GOT TIRED TURKEY
Oh hey, I still maintain a personal weblog. I almost forgot. I have been caught up in Back To School, Round 2, since the Chicago Teachers Union and the Chicago Public School have sort-of kind-of settled their differences and school is back on.
This is the most neutral comment I can possibly make on the topic: I love teachers. However, I will be relieved to not hear quite so many OH WOE and THINK OF THE CHILDREN lamentations. There are tons of inequalities and inefficiencies in our school system, and lots of legitimate problems that make teaching difficult and exactly none of them had a prayer of being resolved with a strike. So can we, you know, stick to the topic? And continue to address the serious problems in education policy after the crisis has passed?
Godless Heathen Alert: Don’t even get me started about how both sides took a whole day off from negotiating because of Rosh Hashanah. Rosh Hashanah can bite me. All holidays can bite me when you’re doing something important like getting FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND KIDS BACK TO SCHOOL. I seriously think G_d would have understood.
As I walked to the rescheduled Back To School Night, a group of tough-looking Albany Park youths were gathered on the bridge. Pointing into the river, shoving each other, yelling exclamatory things like OH SHIT BRO LOOK AT THAT SHIT. I crossed the bridge carefully and looked down, fully expecting to see one of their number spraypainting graffiti, a homeless person peeing on the riverbank, or some other unsavory sight worthy of such amazement. I saw…ducks. A lot of ducks. NIGGA LOOK AT THAT ONE! HE’S GOT LIKE BREAD OR SOME SHIT!
I had tried to carefully time my arrival at school so as to miss boring things like the LSC meeting and the “parent education topic,” which is usually a lecture from some expert on food allergies or “giftedness.” I know it’s my own fault for getting my kid tested and then sending her to the “gifted” school that she tested into, but seriously, spare me the stuff about how our kids are so different and special. I always want to change “gifted school” to “really terribly clever school.” Anyway, I got there as the lecture was wrapping up and then it was on to the classroom, where I sat at Nora’s desk and learned exactly what she does all day. Her teacher is a dude, and is of the “Entertaining Rockstar” ilk—chatty, goofy, fond of props and technology and humor. The kind of teacher that kids LOVE and parents…also love, although my inner bitch sometimes silently rolls her eyes at the level of sparkly enthusiasm. Do not get me wrong, if there is any profession where daily sparkly passionate enthusiasm is a huge plus it is probably teaching. I am super grateful that people like that exist and are making my kid’s fourth-grade year a joyful, learning-rich time. I just get a little mentally worn out being around such people.
Walking home I was extremely annoyed by a creepy dude who shadowed me for about four blocks, right in my blind spot, neither dropping back nor overtaking but just being creepy. He probably was more oblivious than nefarious—but maybe show some awareness of after-dark male-female power dynamics? Try to lay off the stranger-danger a bit? Oh how my kicking foot itched for his scrotum.
WHEY PROTEIN AND SQUAT JACKS
While I was cooking one day I said to Nora, “Food will be ready soon, so don’t start doing anything big” (because she has a tendency to start enormous craft projects or lengthy computer games right before dinner).
Nora: What if there were no foods, just “food.” Just one kind of food that tasted good and had nutrition.
Me: That sounds terrible. I like all the different flavors of food.
Nora: Actually, what would be even better? If you had a little door in your stomach. Just open the door, put in the food, and keep going. You would get all the nutrients but you wouldn’t have to eat!
Good lord. Does she sound like some demented hardcore athlete or what? Combine the strict “food is fuel” mentality with her nightly push-ups and Ninja Warrior love, and I fear that the future might be seriously boring. Protein shakes! Stirring cottage cheese into oatmeal! Box jumps! “Inspirational” fitness-related Tumblr pages! Sweat-wicking fabric!
Sometimes I scroll through the alphabetical listings on TiVo, just to be sure I’m not failing to record anything awesome. Which is how I found a show titled I Was Impaled. True tales and dramatizations of people being impaled, in different interesting ways! I have two equally strong yet conflicting feelings about this:
- Well I give up. Everybody turn in your televisions, your diplomas, and your “I’m A Human” credentials. We’re done here.
- Wheee! Pass the tequila and the ether! It’s time to watch us some goddamned impalements!
—mimi smartypants rode the disco dolphin back to Xanadu.