Shame on Loudon County School Board

I was surprised when I received a call Friday afternoon from my child's school board. It stated, via recording, that President Obama's speech (the one about how it's important to stay in school and study) was NOT going to be shown in Loudon County classrooms. The reason? They want to review it as they are unsure of its educational value. Unsure of its educational value.

Interestingly enough, this same school board does NOT seem to take issue with their schools stuffing church-related pamphlets and invitations to church events into our children's weekly take-home folders. Nor do they take issue with prayer being said at PTO meetings. Perhaps these poor rubes forgot that it's separation of church and state.

Maybe this is just a case of misinformation. Maybe the parents of Loudon County are simply confused as to the nature of the President's message.

This must be the case as one East Tennessee resident stated, "Leave the children alone. Any teacher that forces a child to watch Hussein's socialist propaganda should be fired. If it were my child they would have more to worry about. That's why my grandchildren are staying home." Another, equally intelligent being says, "School is for learning, not for listening to Un-American socialist propaganda!" Oh Johnny, you rebel! And I do mean rebel.

Clearly East Tennesseans think that President Obama is going to flood our children's minds (in a 15 minutes speech) with enough Socialist rhetoric and evil health care propaganda to ensure that the children become die-hard pinkos. Obviously parents haven't been in a public school classroom recently. Because, if children absorbed information that quickly, maybe our country wouldn't be falling behind by international educational standards.

In fact, Third International Mathematics and Science Study (TIMSS) 2007 tested "top performers" (note: Asian countries are not included as it was posted they do not 'need' a 12th year of study - in earlier grades they dominated). The United States was 15 in advanced math and 16th in advanced science. And these were, again, the "top performers". The cream of the crop. France was first in advanced math and Norway took first place in advanced science. What does this mean? It means that even though we spend more than most other countries on our students - we continue to fall behind.

We are failing.

And while our children continue to flounder in our public school systems, the proud parents can rest easily as some schools, like Loudon County, have crumbled under the might roar of their rebel yells. Congratulations, folks. You've succeeded in teaching your children that civic disinterest and disrespect is a-okay! This is Amer'ca - nobody's gonna make us reach higher!

Did the parents in East Tennessee raise this much stink over President Bush's speech about education in 1991? No. You are either hypocrites or racists.

"Tolerance becomes a crime when applied to evil" - Thomas Mann

It looks like Hizb ut-Tahrir, an Islamic extremist organization, is having a coming out party and using America's first amendment as the confetti. The "We Are Jihadists, Hear Us Roar" festivities are scheduled to be held on July 19 at a Hilton hotel in the Chicago area. The theme for this event: The Fall of Capitalism and the Rise of Islam

This event is a bit of a catch-22. The message is crude, ugly, and a bastardization of a peaceful religion. Should something like this be allowed to propagate? Should we not simply ban this event from taking place? Should we tell them, "hate-mongers, go home"?

It feels like we should. It feels right. But it isn't.

If we do not allow these fanatics their voice, we allow them a quiet but potent victory. It would mean that America chose to go back upon her word... to repeal the right of free speech, the right to assemble peaceably. Like the messages of other hater mongers, past and present, they have the right to their opinions.

So, it's a bit of a dilemma.

As an American I am proud of our rights and privileges. I support the freedom of speech and agree that this group, like the Klan, and the Nazi Youth, be allowed its voice. But as a capitalist pig, and wayward infidel, I have the right to boycott Hilton Hotels. Which is exactly what I will do. I am not tolerant of hate-mongering.

I don't live in Florida. I used to live there. So, after years of not living there I had the opportunity to visit again. There was a low-frequency feeling of apprehension on my

way to the Sunshine State. Would it be the same? Would I still like it? I admit I was also worried because, well, I'd heard quite a few people say that Florida was full of "rude" people. "It's too hot." And, my favorite, "too many Spanish people". Yeah, people around here say that.

They were right, Florida was not as I remembered... it was actually better in some ways. Sure, it was hot - but not in the hellish degree that non-Floridians love to bitch about. Rude people? I didn't meet any. And those pesky Latinos with their insidious plot to destroy us with orgasmically tasty foods and music that commands your body to boogie? Yeah, they are still there too. They always were.

You see Florida is not about being homogenous. And I realize now that Florida's lack of sameness is what bothers many of the down-talkers around me. They don't so much dislike Florida as they dislike the diversity.

Child Nutrition Act

Plastic Surgery Is Bad, Mmmkay?

So I stumbled upon this photographic evidence that Jackie Stallone does still frequent this planet. Someone should search her person for embalming ports. Look at her. Another example of what a screwed up bunch of wingnuts we've become. By 'we' I mean the numbers among us that try to conform to commercialized standards of beauty. Someone please tell these people that having your skin stretched around your old bones until it meets in the back is not equivalent to a time machine. Normally I would go on, at ridiculous length, upon this subject... but I think the picture says enough.

Goodbye Mini-Floozy Factory, er, I mean Libby Lu!

With the seemingly non-stop onslaught of rank and overtly sexualized products that have been thrust upon our society's children I had begun to worry that the end was nigh. In the distance I heard a soft trumpeting and spied an oddly linear separation of ominous cloud. Yes, I was sure of it... Satan wuzza comin' fer us. And then, as quickly as the harbingers of doom (Bratz, et al) published the fiery end I spied a light on the horizon.

Libby Lu has closed its ridiculous doors.

All hyperbole aside (well, not all of it), I am pleased that Libby Lu has closed. I hope that more mommies and daddies feel the same. It's important that we, as caring parents and families, stop promoting these pathetic and insipid concepts of the female potential. Yes, it is cute when little girls dress up as princesses and host tea parties. It is not cute when little girls dress up as trollops and lip-sync to the insipid sounds of [ insert talent-less, pre-pubescent, Disney merchandise shilling skank here].

So it is with a lightened heart and a renewed hope for the promotion of girls' cerebral power that I venture into tomorrow. Libby Lu, I bid you adieu.

So... this is 'fat'. Apparently the people of Brazil, or at least their fashion correspondents, think that this is the photograph of an unfit person... dare I say a fat-ass. The whale in the picture at the left is supermodel Karolina Kurkova. Disgusting, isn't she? I mean she's obviously been gorging herself hourly on... bean sprouts and wheat grass smoothies? Wait a second. Clearly this is a joke... those crazy Brazilians! Hahahah. Oh, wow, that was a knee-slapper. Let me catch my breath... was laughing really hard there for a tic.

It must be a joke, right? I mean what kind of vacuous, esteem-sucking vampire would make such comments? NOT anyone that was serious, surely. Because I would LOVE to see pictures, of said critics, in the suit shown in the photo.

Congratulations, Brazilian press. You've actually stepped, no... you leapt with glee, into the pit of dumb-ass remarks... which I like to call 'dumb-ass remark pit'... but anyway... I'll work on that one.


Dear readers, as you know, it's so important to stop judging people merely on the basis of appearance. And it's also important to stop supporting newspapers, magazines, and products that promote shitty self-images for boys, girls, men, and women. There will be, undoubtedly, young girls and women that see those pictures and those cruel, unrealistic remarks, and take it all to heart. It's bad enough that many young girls already have enough esteem troubles as they do not realize that Victoria's Secret models represent about 4% of the population, looks-wise. So poo-poo to Vickie's too.

I recently watched two movies that have greatly altered my perceptions about two things I love to do: shop and eat. One movie, Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price, was a documentary. The other, Fast Food Nation, was a movie based on a best-selling book.

I've been shopping at Walmart for many years. Let's face it... they are cheap and sometimes they are even fast. It's easy for me, since Walmart is only 2 miles from me, to pop in when I need an item or thirty. It's been a convenience. And a crutch.

I watched the documentary, Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price, and have yet to re-enter a Walmart. It has been one month now. I no longer contribute to the dealings that I watched in that documentary. I am free of the crutch. Yes... I still go to Target for the items I cannot get at the grocer or produce section (let's face it, Marty's Produce doesn't have the latest shade of pink!). But Target and Walmart... well, that's like comparing persimmons to fecal matter.

Several weeks ago I watched Fast Food Nation. It is not a great film, but it is an important one. It showed, in shocking fashion, the sad reality of what corporate America has done to our food supply. And although my husband and I have always been watchful that our children drink organic milk... we now see the importance of taking this healthy habit further. We have been increasing the amount of organic and local produce in our weekly shopping. And we now only purchase meats that are hormone/antibiotic free and that are raised humanely. No... I'm no PETA unductee. Far from it. But I do not see the necessity of keeping animals in crates simply because we need more cheap burgers and more hormone-deformed chicken breasts.

I won't give details of either of these films because I think they need to be seen - not just regurgitated.

The important thing for me is that I am no longer supporting companies that put money before the health and livelyhoods of our nation. I now shop at local grocery stores and healthful food markets. I'm supporting the little guy again... and I feel pretty damn good about it.

The “B Word”

My dearest friend was recently subjected to what can only be described as a sophomoric attempt at critical writing. In short, her blog was assessed by someone who, despite the appearance and journalistic qualities of their own blog, felt that they were in the lofty position of blog critic. I am a big supporter of personal opinion. I am not about to tell anyone that they are not entitled to their own opinion. And disliking another’s blog is, well, common and to be expected.

What did tweak my interest in this critic’s (when reading critic please roll eyes) blog was a prevalence of foul language and a shoddy writing style. Upon closer examination I found not a few annoying tidbits that I would like to reference:

I’ve mentioned the foul language. Of course, I have had my moments with the zestier vernaculars. I am not without fault. And I do think that there are moments when the correctly chosen curse-word can add a bit of flair to one’s writing. A pinch of spice, a blush-producing adjective, etc. But let’s not over do it... get a thesaurus if you are struggling that hard to come up with something.

Style. Oh yes. As you can see I have chosen the most basic of templates as I am more interested in expressing my opinion than putting on a bandwagoneer’s tacky anime display. And speaking of display, what is with these ridiculous caricatures that people are using to represent themselves... yeah, honey, I am sure you look just like that *snicker*. Let’s not kid ourselves.

Finally, why do women persist on calling themselves bitches? (and no, I don't mean saying that you feel bitchy) It’s so pathetic. There is not now, nor has there ever been, a positive connotation to that term. You tell yourself that being a bitch is a quality to be revered, and that somehow it translates to independence. Women who constantly refer to themselves as bitches, and with such zeal, are perpetuating a negative concept.

Calling yourself a bitch does not empower you; it reduces you to a sad little cog in a wheel of stereotypical ‘broads’ that troll around in t-shirts that say, 10% angel 90% bitch or some such nonsense. And for whatever reason, there seems to be a lot of you wearing these shirts.

Oh and the picture on this post? It's a lemming.

Being a mother of two young girls I have become concerned over the 'types' of women that are being pushed down our society's throat as being ideal. It starts, the brainwashing, at a very young age. Yes, yes, I know... Evil Barbie, blah, blah, blah. I don't really have much of a hard-on for Barbie anymore, though. She seems quite innocuous when up against the new, and quite formidable, Bratz dolls. The Bratz dolls are fashionistas (lazy gold-diggers) with bee-stung lips (deformed pillows of gloss-laden flesh) that hang out (whore around). At least Barbie, who has been attacked by feminists without mercy, had the occasional job. Okay, so it was as a flight attendant. It's a job.

In addition to pumping out trashy toy role-models to our tykes, we have to withstand the trashy, and sometimes lifelike, Paris Hilton. Oh, and the Olsen twits, I mean twins. And Lindsay Lohan. Britney Spears. Jessica Simpson. Good God. I am surprised that after listing all of that in quick succession that I have not somehow performed a summoning ritual for the anti-Christ.

Let's face it, these women are hideous wastes of flesh. They are hideous and they are constantly being paraded about our newstands and televisions (people actual waste their time watching Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie assume blue-collar jobs). They are white, too skinny, filthy rich, and questionable in their moral behaviors. What they have not exhibited is moral fiber, intelligence, and personal restraint.

Children are impressionable. They should love themselves and not feel compelled by a shallow, Hollywood-obsessed, commercialized nation that they are not good enough until they have less than 10% body fat, bee-stung lips, veneers, and a closet full of the latest fads.

Stop watching, reading, and buying trash... Let the companies who's pockets runneth over know that your standards are higher than this.

Don't Eat Out, Cheap-Ass

Maybe it's the area that I live in, or maybe it's a commonality now... but people seem to have become shitty tippers. I see, more often than not, tips that average in the 5% range. Of course, I am not eyeballing the next table's bill, but I can certainly rough up an estimate with a quick glance at their number, ordered items, and beverages. Especially if it is a restaurant that I frequent.

Recently, while picking up a 'to go' order at my favorite Mexican restaurant, I did get a gander at someone's bill (as they were standing next to me and slapped it onto the counter in plain view). The bill was for nearly $40. The tip? He left $1.38 (wrote it onto the charge slip). $1.38. That's like a 3.5 percent tip. What the hell? I eat at this place ALL the time and know that the service is wonderful. I have never had a single incidence of poor service or poor quality of food in all the times that I have dined at this restaurant. $1.38.

In my shock, I asked the cashier/waiter about the tip. He looked at me with such relief. He seemed so happy that someone actually noticed and cared. He went on to tell me that it is common, at least in his experience at that restaurant, to receive egregious tips. He, too, was incredulous and went on to say, "and the food is so inexpensive".

$1.38.

I understand that if the service is terrible... no tip. Complain to the manager. But when the service is great, tip accordingly. 20% is a nice tip for good service. If you are going to leave less than 15% for good service, don't go out. Stay home and eat a Totino's.

In addition, for those of you who like buffets, you still tip. No, not 20% - the general rule is $1 per glass. So, for you slow-learners, that means that if you sit down to your buffet style dinner and a server is refilling your beverage for you, you should leave a dollar for that service. That means that if there are 4 of you at the buffet, regardless of the number of drink refills you receive, you should leave $4. Got it? Good.

Now, let's get out there and act like thoughtful and informed diners.

The ‘new black’.



It’s comparable to fashion, huh? Mexicans are this year’s black. Just like grey is sometimes the ‘new black’ in fall. Where does this position black people on the skin-color hierarchy? And why is it so important to place a group at the bottom of the pole?

All of this led me to think about some of the asinine comments I have heard in the few years that I have lived in... let’s just call it Frogtown.

One evening, as I was leaving my Spanish language class, a student (also enrolled in this course) made comments to a group of us. She talked about how she couldn’t stand how ‘those Mexicans’ would leer at her as she entered the local super center.
She was not unattractive. I would say, however, that she would find easy work in the line of a Reba McIntire look-alike.
Apparently she was only taking the course because the school required it of her. Why she felt that those Mexicans were always leering at her... I do not claim to know. Maybe those Mexicans mistook her for Reba?

In yet another class, I learned from several students that the birth place of man was Greece. Wow. I was under the impression that the birth place of man was the Fertile Crescent in Africa. How shocked I was to find that we, being white folk, were from Greece and Greece alone! Oh blasted history books; how they have deceived!

You see, one gentleman was kind enough to point out, in the safety of the predominately white classroom, that his skin "ain’t that dark"... which led him to the conclusion that he could not possibly have any connections, whatever, to Africa.

You can imagine his confusion when the class instructor corrected his misconception. Who's cursing the history books now?

In the end I say, with little authority, but much heart, that before you part your stupid little teeth to say something about a group of people, of which you obviously know nothing, that you pause for a moment. Pause and wonder, not briefly, as to the birth place of your assumptions.
I imagine you will not find those roots in Greece, either.

And Sometimes the Boogie Man Wears Red

As we stood, rather patiently, in a long line that wound gingerly about giant candy canes and festive gargantuan presents I had a single thought. "Jonathan". Perhaps not so much a thought as a forced mantra. I don't know anyone named Jonathan. You see Jonathan was a four-and-a-half year old boy and the mantra was being chanted by his mother. "Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan! Jonathan!!". You get the idea.

You see, the hubby and I decided the night before to brave the mall for the all important Santa Photo Opp. We were pleased upon arriving at Santa's Winter Wonderland (located conveniently in front of J.C. Penny) that the line was only 50 deep. With the frantic cry, "Let's go girls!" we rushed to meet the end of the line lest we find ourselves in position number 52!

We made it!

Glancing around I noticed that Santa would be taking a break at 3 o'clock to 'feed the reindeer'. It was only around 10:30 am... so we felt confident. It was then that I saw Santa open the aspirin container.

Within 10 minutes a rather large elf, with commanding presence, came to the front of the line (I had binoculars). She informed us, via megaphone, that Santa was taking a breaky-poo; not to return for 20 minutes. I don't think I need to tell you that there was an instantaneous and tangible chill in the air at that moment. It was as if every mother ,in the now very long line, turned into an icy harpy (and a few Dads as well). Before the last crackle of the megaphone ceased, the muttering had grown to outright bitching.

The bitching, however, served as a delightful and colorful icebreaker and within moments we were chatting it up with other 'old-timers' (as the line was now so long, the first 60-70 were now feeling superior to the newcomers).

Our conversations turned from, "Santa's probably getting a snoot full" and "Bet he's having a cigarette..." to "Your son is soooooooooooooooooo cute!", "Breast or bottle?" etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. It was as if Santa's break, now approaching 30 minutes, had never occurred. We were all a bunch of merry makers! Christmas cheer abounded!

Within a few hours we were within eyesight of that red-suited bastard! And I must say, he was magnificent. I found myself envying anyone around me that was under 4' tall. Why, I wanted to sit on Santa's lap.

It was time. We ushered the girls (we have two of them) up to Santa. And that, my dearest reader, is when all hell broke loose.

Our 18 month-old had already sized Santa up as a threat. Within three feet of the throne she began what can only be described as banshee-like screaming. I hesitated to put her on St. Nick's lap. Our older daughter, nearly four, sat gingerly upon Santa's knee and, screaming sister be damned, went on to tell Santa that she desired all things dinosaur related.
I sat the screaming meme onto his lap and I hesitated... then Santa said, in his great wisdom, " Step away Mom".

Here it is:

Merry Christmas! Yeah, that’s right, I said it!
I love Christmas time. I do. I enjoy everything about it. Eating. Decorating. Eating. Driving about and looking at lights. Eating. You get the idea. It seems, though, that people have, in some degrees, lost a little of the Christmas spirit over the years. It certainly doesn’t help that Christmas time is knee-capped by people, organizations, and companies who would prefer you keep your seasonal wishes, if expressing them at all, to "Happy Holidays". But that is another blog altogether!
I say we work a little harder at being kind this year; especially during the most difficult and stressing times. When you are stuck in traffic, let some cars out! Maybe they will do the same for another poor shopper who was desperate enough to venture into the fray. Bake some cookies and give them to your neighbors (okay, just to the neighbors you like). Rekindle some of your old Christmas pastimes - like sprinkling reindeer food on the front lawn this Christmas Eve. I am sure that you can think of a hundred other niceties in which to engage and recapture the Spirit of the Season.
Merry Christmas to each and every one.

The Hostess With The Mostess

I was reading another blog recently and was so relieved to see that I am not the only person on the planet who has been subjected to the anti-guest treatment. Now I am not talking about being treated poorly when you crash a party. Or about that time you got blathered and pulled your blouse up at the baby shower. These both being fine examples of times when a host/hostess has every right to be annoyed with a guest.

The type of treatment of which I speak is the snubbing by the host or hostess at a get-together. This can take two forms: subtle or frontal assault.

Subtle is the usual. This tends to be the most popular technique as it is least likely to provoke a confrontation. This is where said host/hostess (from here out I will simply use hostess) ignores you, and only you, at the function to which you were invited. A function that she invited you to attend.

The frontal assault is the most cruel as it leaves no doubt in the receiver’s mind as to their place in the hostess’ caste system. A clever anti-hostess will even recruit a fiend or two into her evil machinations. This way they can slither, as a repugnant duo/trio, into one of several predesignated gossip spots, clearly within your eyesight, and cast menacing ‘get-the-f*#@-out’ looks in your direction. This is, dear readers, quite effective.

The party pariah (this is you) can do one of three things:
1) cling to the hors d'oeuvres table in the hopes of at least getting a meal out of it
2) become surly and poisonous - turning the evening into a primer for a really nasty blow- out
3) ‘get-the-f*#@- out’

Of course, the more skilled party pariah will do a combo: eat until you are ill, accost as many of the party-goers as possible, and then ‘get-the-f*#@-out’. This is not, however, for the passive-aggressive among you. You may want to stick with numbers 1 and/or 2.
So, combos aside, what can be done to eradicate this most egregious display of etiquette? Perhaps the hostess didn't realize that being an evil whore is a party faux pas. My suggestion is to mail the hostess a book on party etiquette with a little note saying, ‘you are obviously deficient in the hostessing department and are, at this time, unfit to host anything larger than the opening of an envelope, hope this helps’.

Please, dearest readers, supply some much needed commentary as to how you would handle such a situation.

Wash, Skank.


I cannot count on my abacus the number of times that I have watched ladies (I use this term loosely - read on) leave the restroom without washing their hands. Some even stop at the sink and mirror for a few moments; touching up hair, touching up lipstick, touching everything but the soap and faucet, before rushing out into the store to... touch everything else they encounter with their hygienically questionable fingers.

I have meditated on this subject quite often. The soap and water are free... there are often other washers present to provide hygiene-peer-pressure...so what gives? Is it that skanks believe that the toilet paper offers a sufficient barrier between hand and... under carriage? Or do they simply believe that their nether regions are devoid of germs? Either way, I don’t care to sample the fare.

Not washing after the restroom is just rude and those of you who skip the sink and soap are odious slobs.

Exhale

Recently I lost a friend. Well an acquaintance, really...To an extremely aggressive case of blind liberalism. I know, I know. It's terrible. Blind Liberalism Syndrome, or BLS, is a disorder that can overtake the weak-minded or easily-led within months of having first contact with exaggerated eco information.

This disorder should not be confused with Radical Right Syndrome (RRS), which also effects the lemming-like members of a population. Both BLS and RRS begin with similar symptoms. However, the end results are quite polar. The only shared trait, at the end of the incubation period, is that both sufferers of BLS and RRS are socially stunted.

How do you know if you have a friend suffering from BLS? It's pretty obvious once the victim is contaminated. You may notice a lull in contact with this person. This may be due to the eco-dementia that sets in once the extremist political bacterium has entered their psyche. Your friend may begin to feel you are part of the problem because of your middle-of-the-road stance on politics and environment. They may also begin, because of the eco-dementia, to suffer from a persecution complex. One of the biggest signs of BLS is the inability to gather intelligent information from legitimate sources. Instead the sufferer will choose to absorb the blathering twaddle of movie and music dilettantes.

How do you treat this disorder? There is no better medicine, in this case, than time. In time the majority of BLS sufferers come around. They realize that they were being naive, and even smile, in a relieved sort of way, when they look back over their shoulder at the lunatic fringe from which they escaped. Unfortunately, however, some BLS victims are not recovered and some even go on to join PETA. And I think we all now how bad that would suck.

In closing, if you have a friend who is suffering from BLS - be patient, be kind, and remember that Merry Christmas is no longer politically correct.

Locusts, Drought...Cell Phones?
I despise cell phones. And before anyone accuses me of being anti-technology, let me say that I do own a cell phone. I am only a quasi-Luddite. After all, these comments aren’t written on parchment paper with ink and quill, now are they?

It’s not so much the cell phone as it is the cell phone user. Of course, I am not saying that every person with a cell phone is a troglodyte. Just most of you. You know who you are...

Now the list of cell phone abuses is long, dear reader, very long. I will, for time’s sake, keep my complaints at two. But please, feel free to add your own cellular annoyances to the comments portion of this blog.
First and foremost, speaking on a cell phone whilst driving. Who are these people that believe that they are receiving a call of such import that they must handle said call while maneuvering through traffic in a 3 ton hunk of machinery? Folks, your reaction time is hindered.




Better yet, and I have seen this several times, the multi-tasker... this person smokes a cigarette, dials an important number on their phone, AND drives a standard transmission all at once. It’s quite the show watching their cars lurch forward with each grinding gear change as they try desperately to maintain their social status while simultaneously acquiring lung cancer.

The message from these inconsiderate souls is this: "I know that operating a car is a huge responsibility. I understand that driving is a task best managed without distraction. However, I am a self-absorbed ass and do not recognize anyone or anything else around me."

Second... taking calls while dining. Don’t do it. Taking a call while dining says to the person with whom you are breaking bread, "you are not important enough to have my undivided attention". It also says, to people at surrounding tables, that you are insensitive to their dining experience and should be served the bastinado as a final course.

Fear and Self Loathing in America
Being a self loathing American is the latest trend, the hippest hobby, the ‘in’ stance to maintain at social functions... okay, maybe not at 4-H... but you know what I mean.
Apparently, some Americans want to move to England to raise their broods. Of course, I cannot blame them... it looks so intriguing in People magazine, doesn’t it?
Evidently, the moment you set foot to pavement at Heathrow you are immediately shown to your liveried car and from there whisked away to:

a) your countryside cottage
b) your London flat
c)your castle that is in disrepair... but disrepair in a charming English way.

Yes, that’s right, once you arrive in England you have your pick (a, b, or c) of residences. Once you have made your selection you are given an English accent (see Madonna) and taught to queue properly. Having settled in, and having had a spot of tea, you are given a certificate and may begin living the life of splendor that Hollywood royalty says is all the rage. Of course, marrying an English person will help your cause (see Madonna)... and you want to bring some money with you... quite a lot, actually (see Madonna).
(note to self: make sure the tonal quality of the above paragraph is such that reader gets the lack of seriousness)

I am not going to pretend that the thought of calling England home hasn’t entered my mind. I have idealized the notion...but for different reasons; some shallow, others not. Like how wonderful it would be to live in my dad’s homeland. .. or how cool would it be for my kids to have that mellifluous accent? I’ll let you, dear reader, decide which of those two reasons merits the description ‘shallow’.

However, not one of my reasons includes the lambasting of America. After all, what kind fortitude does one demonstrate when abandoning hope, faith, and loyalty during moments of discontent? Now I am not saying that Americans shouldn’t criticize America. Far from that... being able to criticize our country is one of the reasons it’s such a fabulous place. By God, bitch away! Just don’t punch below the belt... and then threaten to ‘move to another country’ (see England).

The thing I find most interesting? When I listen to people who have moved here from England. How much they like it here; how they feel that their opportunities were broadened in America.
Or when I hear of someone who was fortunate enough to come to us from Cuba or Mexico; and what a tremendous amount of love and respect they hold for this country which they now proudly call home. And yes, of course, you will always be able to find people who want to go back to Haiti, etc... but you get the idea.

I guess the grass is never greener, is it?

...but then again, if Gwyneth and Madonna say it’s the place to raise your children... well then, who am I to argue?

Expresshole


An expresshole is someone who uses the express lane to check out... and has more than ten items. You know, the charmer who has 31 items (36 if you count the 6 pack of Tab soda as individual items), checkbook in hand, searching languidly for a pen in the mysterious depths of her pleather purse.

Expressholism is a problem. It's a problem because it is an act of selfish disregard. Disregard for the other patrons, presumably holding ten-or-less items, and disregard for the cashier who must endure the brunt of the ten-or-less patrons' anger at being inconvenienced.

So, what do we do about expressholism? Since I have yet to meet anyone who actually has telekinesis... I guess dislodging them from line and tossing them into the parking lot atop their AMC Pacer is an impossibility. Of course, that, in itself, would be incredibly rude and is not the road we wish to take as promoters of good etiquette.

In lieu of telekinesis I opt for glowering. A good glare and a little brow-knitting. Not as effective as invisibly catapulting the offending party from the queue... but it does make your opinion of expressholism known. Of course, you do not want to employ this technique if the expresshole is a hulking, prison- tattooed Goliath who might wait for you in the parking lot. Naturally you will want to utilize your glower-of-disapproval strictly with the AARP card-holder demographic.. And, even then, you are taking the chance of physical peril.

Expressholes fall into a category of people I lovingly refer to as 'pigs-of-life'.

That said, the best way to combat expressholism is by not being one.

I know that some people want to change the world by beating their opposition about the face and neck with environmental sticks. Of course the same can be said of the other extreme (the ultra conservatives)... However, they seem more difficult to point out as they are not wearing tye-died shirts, listening to the Grafeful Dead, and insisting that astrology has validity.

This blog is not for them. This blog is for the rest of us. Those of us who care about our world... as well as the planet.

We have become a rude bunch... and no, I don't just mean Americans (I'll get into the new hobby of being a self-loathing American later). I mean all of us. This blog is dedicated to pointing out the little rudities that are becoming commonplace in today's society.

If you really want to effect change... If you really want to create a better world for yourself and your loved ones... Then start small. Let's get back to some basic etiquette.

Someting irritating you? It's probably irritating me...

The Hex Files - where rude people get cursed...at.