What do you all think? Is it wrong to intentionally create scenarios that will test whether or not someone will lie to you? Is it dishonest to ask someone a question to which you already know the answer, in an effort to test their truthfulness?
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Sunday, July 30, 2006
Vote Frank
OK, before you all go and faint, let me explain
I think I may just have to do more than my civic duty at the ballot box in our state’s upcoming primary. I think I’ll take that extra step and do my part to make the general election as entertaining as possible.
We have quasi-closed primaries, which basically means that everyone but the Republicans go on one ballot and all the Rs go on another. As a registered nonpartisan, I can choose either ballot. Ordinarily, I would go with the everything but Republicans ballot--more to choose from--but this year that just seems like no fun. I don’t think anyone in the state has to strain their brains too hard to figure out who will be winning the Democratic nomination. So with Tony Knowles a shoo-in, a vote on that side of the aisle seems a little wasted and certainly not conducive to fun and excitement.
Nope, I think that I may just have to ask for the R ballot. But oh, who to choose?
Incumbent Frank Murkowski, the man who appointed his daughter to the U.S. Senate and who has managed to alienate almost everyone in the state of Alaska?
Sarah Palin, moderate with backbone, which she proved when she stood up to her party’s bigwigs, but perhaps not as known statewide?
Or perhaps John (used to be Johne) Binkley, Fairbanks riverboat captain who is sailing on a sea of cash?
I don’t know a whole lot about Palin, though the things I have read indicate that she has some positive qualities. And Binkley is widely well-liked in the Fairbanks community and seems a nice enough guy. But I fear neither of them will make for big fun in November, so it doesn’t seem right to cast my ballot for them.
But folks, picture this: If Frank wins, the die-hard Rs in the state will have to make an unenviable decision: Stick with the party and vote for someone they dislike or turn to the dark side and vote for Tony. And that doesn’t even count how absolutely amusing it will be to watch Tony and Frank duke it out, with Tony pointing out all of Frank’s failings and Frank trying to talk his way out of them, and vice versa. I can think of no combination in recent memory that stands to generate so much of what makes election season such a joy.
Yep, as much as it may pain me, I may just have to vote for Frank.
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I think I may just have to do more than my civic duty at the ballot box in our state’s upcoming primary. I think I’ll take that extra step and do my part to make the general election as entertaining as possible.
We have quasi-closed primaries, which basically means that everyone but the Republicans go on one ballot and all the Rs go on another. As a registered nonpartisan, I can choose either ballot. Ordinarily, I would go with the everything but Republicans ballot--more to choose from--but this year that just seems like no fun. I don’t think anyone in the state has to strain their brains too hard to figure out who will be winning the Democratic nomination. So with Tony Knowles a shoo-in, a vote on that side of the aisle seems a little wasted and certainly not conducive to fun and excitement.
Nope, I think that I may just have to ask for the R ballot. But oh, who to choose?
Incumbent Frank Murkowski, the man who appointed his daughter to the U.S. Senate and who has managed to alienate almost everyone in the state of Alaska?
Sarah Palin, moderate with backbone, which she proved when she stood up to her party’s bigwigs, but perhaps not as known statewide?
Or perhaps John (used to be Johne) Binkley, Fairbanks riverboat captain who is sailing on a sea of cash?
I don’t know a whole lot about Palin, though the things I have read indicate that she has some positive qualities. And Binkley is widely well-liked in the Fairbanks community and seems a nice enough guy. But I fear neither of them will make for big fun in November, so it doesn’t seem right to cast my ballot for them.
But folks, picture this: If Frank wins, the die-hard Rs in the state will have to make an unenviable decision: Stick with the party and vote for someone they dislike or turn to the dark side and vote for Tony. And that doesn’t even count how absolutely amusing it will be to watch Tony and Frank duke it out, with Tony pointing out all of Frank’s failings and Frank trying to talk his way out of them, and vice versa. I can think of no combination in recent memory that stands to generate so much of what makes election season such a joy.
Yep, as much as it may pain me, I may just have to vote for Frank.
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I lost my rose-colored glasses in our nation‘s capital
Now, dear readers, I should clarify, lest you go off thinking that I was some sort of Pollyanna type prior to arriving in that hotbed of politicking known as Washington D.C. Rest assured, I have no illusions about our government. If my temperament were setting the color of my sunglasses, I’m afraid they would be black.
Nope, in this case, I truly am speaking of my pink-hued sunglasses, which not only served their utilitarian purpose, but also were ironic enough, given my aforementioned cynical bent, to give me a periodic chuckle.
Alas, I was a fool. My brain had been well-lubricated with too many shots and I left them on the table in a bar in Dupont Circle to go watch the parade of puffy-lipped drag queens strut their stuff during the evening show.
Like I said, foolish. If there is one place one should not leave a pair of pink sunglasses laying unguarded on a table, it is a gay bar, or at least that’s what stereotypes would tell you. At any rate, some sticky-fingered someone lifted my sunglasses of irony and now I’m back to plain old brown.
Bad queen! Bad, bad queen!
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Nope, in this case, I truly am speaking of my pink-hued sunglasses, which not only served their utilitarian purpose, but also were ironic enough, given my aforementioned cynical bent, to give me a periodic chuckle.
Alas, I was a fool. My brain had been well-lubricated with too many shots and I left them on the table in a bar in Dupont Circle to go watch the parade of puffy-lipped drag queens strut their stuff during the evening show.
Like I said, foolish. If there is one place one should not leave a pair of pink sunglasses laying unguarded on a table, it is a gay bar, or at least that’s what stereotypes would tell you. At any rate, some sticky-fingered someone lifted my sunglasses of irony and now I’m back to plain old brown.
Bad queen! Bad, bad queen!
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Thursday, July 20, 2006
Avoid the Homer effect
Doh! Doh! Doh!
Sage words from someone at a workshop today:
"The last thing you want to do is reinvent the square wheel."
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Sage words from someone at a workshop today:
"The last thing you want to do is reinvent the square wheel."
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Fatally killed by repetitive redundancy
I have seen and heard the words "general public" more times than I can count in the last 24 hours. Over and over and over... And sometimes it has been capitalized. Even better, I found a synonym that is equally redundant on--guess where--a PowerPoint slide. Shocking, I know. The trend didn't escape the watchful eye of my colleague, who is a former copy editor. She slipped me a cocktail napkin with the words, "general public," scribbled on it. I added my reply and handed it back:
"=public at large."
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"=public at large."
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I think I'm a bumpkin...
I'm in Washington D.C. at the moment and it always takes me a couple of hours to acclimate to places like this. It's not the climate, though the 92 degrees and humid feels like a wet wool blanket, but the ... city-ness.
For a girl from Fairbanks, Alaska, any city feels like another planet, but DC is certainly that to the nth degree. The faster pace of things is almost tangible as you step out of the plane, and it's not just the roar of people or the view of cars jammed on a freeway as I flew in. People are just going. And they don't seem very happy about it. 'Course people at airports seldom are. Still, people don't seem to look you in the eye as much in a large city. And if you smile at them, their smiles back look a lot like they might just be doing it because they know you're "special" and deserve their sympathy. ;) It's not that people in cities, as individuals, are any less friendly than they are anywhere else, it's just that, as a whole, humanity feels so much more anonymous.
And then there's my incredible lack of knowledge of things like: Exactly how much am I supposed to tip the guy who refused to let me carry my own bags even though, being a woman who splits her own firewood, I am perfectly capable of carrying a couple of suitcases, thank you very much?
As for my hotel, it's very nice, and I'm afraid to touch anything for fear they will charge me for it. They charge for local calls, for calling-card calls, for Internet access. They offer bottles of water in your room, for $4.95 apiece. If I enjoy the robe and want to take it with me, $90. Believe me, it's not a $90 robe. The front desk asked me if I wanted a key to the "refreshment center." Noooo, I think I'll pass on that. A chocolate attack in the middle of night could run me $8 for a candy bar and soda. If I desperately needed a beer and some peanuts I'd be looking at $13 for a half-cup of honey-roasted peanuts and a Miller Lite.
Guess I'm just not quite ready for the role of rich yuppie business traveler.
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For a girl from Fairbanks, Alaska, any city feels like another planet, but DC is certainly that to the nth degree. The faster pace of things is almost tangible as you step out of the plane, and it's not just the roar of people or the view of cars jammed on a freeway as I flew in. People are just going. And they don't seem very happy about it. 'Course people at airports seldom are. Still, people don't seem to look you in the eye as much in a large city. And if you smile at them, their smiles back look a lot like they might just be doing it because they know you're "special" and deserve their sympathy. ;) It's not that people in cities, as individuals, are any less friendly than they are anywhere else, it's just that, as a whole, humanity feels so much more anonymous.
And then there's my incredible lack of knowledge of things like: Exactly how much am I supposed to tip the guy who refused to let me carry my own bags even though, being a woman who splits her own firewood, I am perfectly capable of carrying a couple of suitcases, thank you very much?
As for my hotel, it's very nice, and I'm afraid to touch anything for fear they will charge me for it. They charge for local calls, for calling-card calls, for Internet access. They offer bottles of water in your room, for $4.95 apiece. If I enjoy the robe and want to take it with me, $90. Believe me, it's not a $90 robe. The front desk asked me if I wanted a key to the "refreshment center." Noooo, I think I'll pass on that. A chocolate attack in the middle of night could run me $8 for a candy bar and soda. If I desperately needed a beer and some peanuts I'd be looking at $13 for a half-cup of honey-roasted peanuts and a Miller Lite.
Guess I'm just not quite ready for the role of rich yuppie business traveler.
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Friday, July 07, 2006
A familiar face
Funny how certain things can trigger memories that bring you to your knees.
When I was in college, I worked at the school newspaper, as most journalism students did. I was managing editor and the editor-in-chief was someone I quickly formed a close connection to and was terribly fond of. I remember sitting in the office that Tuesday in October, the fluorescents off and the sun filtering in through the windows, creating a cool, crisp light. I waited for him to come so we could go deliver all of the papers and wondered where he was. I remember sliding down my kitchen wall when another friend and fellow student called me, “He’s been murdered.”
For a long time I could see his face whenever I closed my eyes, whenever I wanted to be near him. I could see his hands and arms crossing mine on the light table as we pasted up the last blocks of text in the week’s edition. It was all so clear. But that was nearly a dozen years ago, and time, mercifully and cruelly, fades those memories.
I haven’t seen his face for so long. So when a song I used to sing when we were working on deadline came on the radio tonight as I was pulling into the driveway, I simply turned up the volume, closed my eyes and he was there. No time had passed. I could have touched his face. Then the song was over, I opened my eyes and he was gone just as quickly, my tears the only remnants of my memory‘s brief gift.
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When I was in college, I worked at the school newspaper, as most journalism students did. I was managing editor and the editor-in-chief was someone I quickly formed a close connection to and was terribly fond of. I remember sitting in the office that Tuesday in October, the fluorescents off and the sun filtering in through the windows, creating a cool, crisp light. I waited for him to come so we could go deliver all of the papers and wondered where he was. I remember sliding down my kitchen wall when another friend and fellow student called me, “He’s been murdered.”
For a long time I could see his face whenever I closed my eyes, whenever I wanted to be near him. I could see his hands and arms crossing mine on the light table as we pasted up the last blocks of text in the week’s edition. It was all so clear. But that was nearly a dozen years ago, and time, mercifully and cruelly, fades those memories.
I haven’t seen his face for so long. So when a song I used to sing when we were working on deadline came on the radio tonight as I was pulling into the driveway, I simply turned up the volume, closed my eyes and he was there. No time had passed. I could have touched his face. Then the song was over, I opened my eyes and he was gone just as quickly, my tears the only remnants of my memory‘s brief gift.
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Sunday, July 02, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Passive bureaucratic pop
All those who roll their eyes at anal word people, read no further.
OK, for those of you who are left, I offer the following snippet from the chorus of a song by an unnamed American Idol winner: "... but there were lessons learned."
My middle daughter, who at 10 is enamored with this bubble-gum stuff, plays this song (and the rest of the CD) over and over again and sings along. And I wince.
Now I know I shouldn't expect too much from this genre of music, but bureaucratic cliches and passive voice in one song?
It’s almost too much to bear.
I know they were trying to rhyme with such inspirational gems as "some pages turned" and "some bridges burned," but someone should have killed this song before it made it past the first edit. And if that wasn't possible, they should have at least given it to Weird Al and added some additional corporate jargon to make it even more absurd.
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OK, for those of you who are left, I offer the following snippet from the chorus of a song by an unnamed American Idol winner: "... but there were lessons learned."
My middle daughter, who at 10 is enamored with this bubble-gum stuff, plays this song (and the rest of the CD) over and over again and sings along. And I wince.
Now I know I shouldn't expect too much from this genre of music, but bureaucratic cliches and passive voice in one song?
It’s almost too much to bear.
I know they were trying to rhyme with such inspirational gems as "some pages turned" and "some bridges burned," but someone should have killed this song before it made it past the first edit. And if that wasn't possible, they should have at least given it to Weird Al and added some additional corporate jargon to make it even more absurd.
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Being Ms. Right
What is it about some women that seems to inspire devotion in men? Why is it that others, despite being intelligent, beautiful, talented, caring and successful, find continuously that their partners simply aren't willing to put up the slightest effort.
I have been rolling this one around in my head for a while, prompted by friends' comments over the years. And I suppose it ought to be more like a question than a statement, because this is far from an instruction manual.
I recall a conversation with a woman whose relative told her something to the effect of, "If he loves you, then he'll wait for you." Her response, born of a good number of years' experience: "No, that's just not true. Not for me."
Another woman I know speaks of relationships that have ended as if they are completely her fault. She says that perhaps if she had been a better girlfriend that he would have been willing to give more, that he would have been willing to try harder.
And then I look at my own experiences. Despite being married for eight years, I am under no illusions that my former husband was devoted to me in the slightest. Had I gotten sick or needed some extra effort to get through a rough time, he would have been gone in a flash. And to some degree, that's been the case with every relationship in my life.
Now lest my readers think I'm some sort of man-hating whack job, I can assure you I am not. And the central theme in this rambling stream of consciousness, or perhaps unconciousness, is that it must not be by sheer coincidence that some women seem to be Ms. Right and others are just Ms. Right Now. If the woman in the common denominator, it stands to reason it must be something she is or is not doing.
So what is it? How is it that you can take a group of women of various ages, professions, intelligence, physical beauty and personality and some will find that men with love them with passion and devotion. These men are smitten and they truly would do almost anything for these women they love. Others will find only lukewarm, at best, versions of the same qualities.
With no obvious common traits among the men or the women in each group, what is it?
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I have been rolling this one around in my head for a while, prompted by friends' comments over the years. And I suppose it ought to be more like a question than a statement, because this is far from an instruction manual.
I recall a conversation with a woman whose relative told her something to the effect of, "If he loves you, then he'll wait for you." Her response, born of a good number of years' experience: "No, that's just not true. Not for me."
Another woman I know speaks of relationships that have ended as if they are completely her fault. She says that perhaps if she had been a better girlfriend that he would have been willing to give more, that he would have been willing to try harder.
And then I look at my own experiences. Despite being married for eight years, I am under no illusions that my former husband was devoted to me in the slightest. Had I gotten sick or needed some extra effort to get through a rough time, he would have been gone in a flash. And to some degree, that's been the case with every relationship in my life.
Now lest my readers think I'm some sort of man-hating whack job, I can assure you I am not. And the central theme in this rambling stream of consciousness, or perhaps unconciousness, is that it must not be by sheer coincidence that some women seem to be Ms. Right and others are just Ms. Right Now. If the woman in the common denominator, it stands to reason it must be something she is or is not doing.
So what is it? How is it that you can take a group of women of various ages, professions, intelligence, physical beauty and personality and some will find that men with love them with passion and devotion. These men are smitten and they truly would do almost anything for these women they love. Others will find only lukewarm, at best, versions of the same qualities.
With no obvious common traits among the men or the women in each group, what is it?
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Sunday, June 25, 2006
Summer of wandering men
It's the oddest thing: Every male friend I have is tooling around the lower 48 this summer. One's in his truck. One's on a bike. And one's taking the scenic route to D.C. with his wife and a big dog in an Audi.
Go figure. Must be something in the water.
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Go figure. Must be something in the water.
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Saturday, June 24, 2006
Litmus test
A friend's astute observation on the nature of the relationships/friendships between men and women and how to tell the difference:
"If either of you started dating someone, what would happen to the friendship?"
Answer: "It would likely change drastically or cease."
"Then you aren't simply friends."
Give that man a prize. Seems awful simple, no?
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"If either of you started dating someone, what would happen to the friendship?"
Answer: "It would likely change drastically or cease."
"Then you aren't simply friends."
Give that man a prize. Seems awful simple, no?
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God and basketball
This from an article in a Texas paper about a high school basketball player and said player's reasons for playing for a particular team in college. I'll paraphrase, but the player said that a big plus was that the coaches are members of the same religious denomination she is, Church of Christ.
OK, now, explain to me again why it matters what religion a basketball coach is. Wait, I know, God will be on their side.
These kinds of statements really irk the heck out of me, for a number of reasons.
First, though this player doesn't come out and say it, the inference is that not only are those
who go to the Church of Christ somehow more desireable, but those who do not are somehow just not quite as good. We can't have any Lutheran or Catholic basketball coaches. And Hindu? Oh hell no.
Second, I find it incredibly sad that a young person just venturing out on his or her own would be so closed-minded as to list among the primary appealing traits they find in other people, "They are exactly like me." How about going off to college and experiencing new things, learning new things and, perhaps, broadening your horizons.
And finally, it's pretty telling to me that this young person actually felt comfortable saying this to a reporter for publication. It's a testament to how tolerant our society is of bigotry by Christians in relation to other religions. I wonder, if we changed "Church of Christ" to some other class/characteristic of people, how much such a statement would be tolerated.
How about these:
"It's a big plus that the coaches are white like me."
"A deciding factor was the fact that the coaches were Muslim, as I am."
"I'm heterosexual, and I chose to play for this team because the coaches are heterosexual too."
"Since I am a man, it was really important to me that I have a male coach."
Nope. Can't see anybody without a wish for lots of nasty phone calls saying anything like that publicly. But say, "These guys are best because they're Christians like me," and it's all apple pie and waving flags.
Wonder how long before we end up with a state religion.
Perhaps we're already there.
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OK, now, explain to me again why it matters what religion a basketball coach is. Wait, I know, God will be on their side.
These kinds of statements really irk the heck out of me, for a number of reasons.
First, though this player doesn't come out and say it, the inference is that not only are those
who go to the Church of Christ somehow more desireable, but those who do not are somehow just not quite as good. We can't have any Lutheran or Catholic basketball coaches. And Hindu? Oh hell no.
Second, I find it incredibly sad that a young person just venturing out on his or her own would be so closed-minded as to list among the primary appealing traits they find in other people, "They are exactly like me." How about going off to college and experiencing new things, learning new things and, perhaps, broadening your horizons.
And finally, it's pretty telling to me that this young person actually felt comfortable saying this to a reporter for publication. It's a testament to how tolerant our society is of bigotry by Christians in relation to other religions. I wonder, if we changed "Church of Christ" to some other class/characteristic of people, how much such a statement would be tolerated.
How about these:
"It's a big plus that the coaches are white like me."
"A deciding factor was the fact that the coaches were Muslim, as I am."
"I'm heterosexual, and I chose to play for this team because the coaches are heterosexual too."
"Since I am a man, it was really important to me that I have a male coach."
Nope. Can't see anybody without a wish for lots of nasty phone calls saying anything like that publicly. But say, "These guys are best because they're Christians like me," and it's all apple pie and waving flags.
Wonder how long before we end up with a state religion.
Perhaps we're already there.
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Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Family
My great uncle, whom I had never met prior to last weekend, is up visiting my grandparents and all the relatives throughout the state. His wife of 25 years accompanied him. Both seem very sweet people and I'm glad I got a chance to meet both of them.
I was struck this weekend by the value of what I have in my large extended family. I and the kids spent a couple of days out at my aunt and uncle's farm with my grandparents, cousins, aforementioned great uncle and his wife, cousin's significant others, my uncle's nephew and a large assortment of animals, including a couple of geriatric dogs, a handful of cats, horses, ducks, etc.
If it sounds a bit chaotic, it was. It always is. Still, as the evening wound down and my great uncle got out a guitar and everyone sang old songs around the fire pit, it was easy to feel calm in surroundings that aren't dependent on location, but on the faces and voices that have been the context of my life and my children's lives since we were born.
Likely the greatest gift my parents gave me, and one I hope I am giving my children as well, is the knowledge that no matter the places life takes me, family is the one thing I can always count on. It is not simply where I'm from; it's who I am.
I can think of little else more comforting than knowing that as certainty. And I wonder how some people in this world live without it.
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I was struck this weekend by the value of what I have in my large extended family. I and the kids spent a couple of days out at my aunt and uncle's farm with my grandparents, cousins, aforementioned great uncle and his wife, cousin's significant others, my uncle's nephew and a large assortment of animals, including a couple of geriatric dogs, a handful of cats, horses, ducks, etc.
If it sounds a bit chaotic, it was. It always is. Still, as the evening wound down and my great uncle got out a guitar and everyone sang old songs around the fire pit, it was easy to feel calm in surroundings that aren't dependent on location, but on the faces and voices that have been the context of my life and my children's lives since we were born.
Likely the greatest gift my parents gave me, and one I hope I am giving my children as well, is the knowledge that no matter the places life takes me, family is the one thing I can always count on. It is not simply where I'm from; it's who I am.
I can think of little else more comforting than knowing that as certainty. And I wonder how some people in this world live without it.
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Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Summer sucks
There. I said it. It's probably the first and, I hope, the last summer I will ever say that, but there you have it. I'm sad. I want to cry a lot. And the problem won't rectify itself until the fall. So, hence, summer is bad. Fall is good. My intellect has waned. I need to blow my nose.
That's as profound as is gets this evening.
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That's as profound as is gets this evening.
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Sunday, June 04, 2006
Powerful smut
Sometimes, when my sister and I get to rambling, you just don't know what we'll come up with. In this case, it's a new word. *drum roll*
Omniporno (n.)- Pornography that, due to supernatural characteristics, is everywhere, always.
Yay! Omniporno! Yay!
I gotta go to bed. Sheesh!
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Omniporno (n.)- Pornography that, due to supernatural characteristics, is everywhere, always.
Yay! Omniporno! Yay!
I gotta go to bed. Sheesh!
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Damn hearts...
This sad-but-true observation from a friend: "The heart knows little of dead ends."
Wonder if there's a way to teach one's heart to recognize such things. Probably not. Sometime in the last five or 10 years, as I watched the people around me and as I experienced single life again, I realized that we really don't get to choose who we fall in love with. And that, friends, is a very scary prospect.
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Wonder if there's a way to teach one's heart to recognize such things. Probably not. Sometime in the last five or 10 years, as I watched the people around me and as I experienced single life again, I realized that we really don't get to choose who we fall in love with. And that, friends, is a very scary prospect.
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Saturday, June 03, 2006
Rugged Alaska woman
Yep. That's me. You see, certain people who know me scoff at such assertions, probably because I cry during every sappy movie ever made, but I think my most recent activities make it official. If I had a digital camera I would actually take a picture of said activities, namely the 5-foot-high pile of birch logs in my front yard. I even have my very own bright-yellow splitting maul and neon green chainsaw with a VERY rugged 14-inch bar. I'll probably look like Arnold's twin sister after I split and cut all of it, sans membership in the Republican party. Even several cords of wood can't send me there.
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Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Resistance is ...
I think I'm having a bit of a "me vs. all the rest of you" kind of week. Doesn't bode well for my attitude or my ability to play well with others, which is kind of unfortunate given that I have at least one board meeting this week.
The thing is, I am just a bit weary of people telling me "no" or arguing with me or pushing or just being generally obstinate. I'm sensitive to the controlling aspects of my personality and try to keep them as toned down as possible. But really, would it kill my kids to just do what I tell them the first time? Hell, I'd even take the second. And is there any reason why it must take an hour for them to get ready for bed and 20 minutes for a certain child to brush her hair in the morning and hence make me very late for work?
Speaking of work, I swear I'm likely to come unglued if one more Ph.D. tries to tell me that it's absolutely essential for all sentences to include no less than 30 seven-syllable words. C'mon people.
And if all of that's not bad enough, one of my few respites from resistance, who happens to be going on a summer-long vacation, actually asks me why it is I want to be sure to see him right before he leaves. How about, "I want to." Is that good enough? Or shall I create a Powerpoint presentation with the complete rationale of how I'll miss seeing him for two flippin' months.
Resistance is everywhere. It's driving me batty. Someone needs to give me an affirmative answer to something, and fast, otherwise my eyebrows may soon knit together in the middle of my forehead. And in the wise words of another dear friend of mine, "That just ain't sexy."
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The thing is, I am just a bit weary of people telling me "no" or arguing with me or pushing or just being generally obstinate. I'm sensitive to the controlling aspects of my personality and try to keep them as toned down as possible. But really, would it kill my kids to just do what I tell them the first time? Hell, I'd even take the second. And is there any reason why it must take an hour for them to get ready for bed and 20 minutes for a certain child to brush her hair in the morning and hence make me very late for work?
Speaking of work, I swear I'm likely to come unglued if one more Ph.D. tries to tell me that it's absolutely essential for all sentences to include no less than 30 seven-syllable words. C'mon people.
And if all of that's not bad enough, one of my few respites from resistance, who happens to be going on a summer-long vacation, actually asks me why it is I want to be sure to see him right before he leaves. How about, "I want to." Is that good enough? Or shall I create a Powerpoint presentation with the complete rationale of how I'll miss seeing him for two flippin' months.
Resistance is everywhere. It's driving me batty. Someone needs to give me an affirmative answer to something, and fast, otherwise my eyebrows may soon knit together in the middle of my forehead. And in the wise words of another dear friend of mine, "That just ain't sexy."
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Poetic crusades
The journalism haiku from SPJ national has inspired me. So, in honor of my favorite crusades:
Random capitals
The bane of my existence
Self-important types
General public
Why, when one word would suffice?
Die redundancies
Passive voice must cease
No cake will be had by all
Subject, verb, object
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Random capitals
The bane of my existence
Self-important types
General public
Why, when one word would suffice?
Die redundancies
Passive voice must cease
No cake will be had by all
Subject, verb, object
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