School News...

I was perusing the photocopied newsletter for the elementary school of my partner's children. There was the typical inane material there for the benefit of a select few, self-indulgent crap about the lunch lady and more money-sucking announcements about a "spring picture day". What is all this about? When I was in elementary school, there was ONE picture day. You remember it. Some obscure, weird room in the school where you otherwise never went was converted into some innocuous studio, complete with squeaky, unbalanced metal stool and unrealistic sky or leaf backdrop. There was also the creepy photographer - some weird guy in brown double knit polyester pants and worn-out unpolished shoes. He always looked at you kinda funny, and now that I think about it, probably decorated the room in the apartment he shared with his mom with pictures he took of little boys.

There was the minimal photo preparation. A teacher might lick her hand and try to get that runaway hair to stay in place. Or they might get a community hair brush and unnaturally style your hair to make it look like someone put a salad bowl on your head, like a helmet, and cut around it. Regardless, it was rarely flattering, there were no retakes and your parents bought the crappy package, because what message would it send to you if they didn't? But now, 21st century elementary school children get 2 school pictures a year, and we the parents get roped into spending more money on shit that gets thrown in the cupboard.

So, once I got over this tirade (it was a night, let me tell you!), I flipped to the back of the newsletter, and there it was. As I am always looking for a sign that gay rights might reach a new pinnacle of acceptance, I was not expecting a public elementary school to be so embracing , but it could not be denied. The newsletter section was entitled "Super Singers" and listed there were the names of 5 boys and 3 girls. Now, I believe that everyone who is gay should be afforded the right and privilege to make that coming out announcement at a time that suits their own personal journey, especially when they are in grade school. It can be a wildy confusing time. At the tender age of 8 through 11, these children are just coming to terms with issues like tying their shoes and trying to look cool, even though they secretly still have a favorite blanket, or sleep with the light on.

And yet, the school newsletter has a regular section that might as well be titled "Future Homosexuals of America". You remember the kid from that grade, the boy who relished in choir practice, begged for the solo and always offered to help out the middle age, single male choir teacher. I know I do. This was the kid who was sexually confused, tried to fit in with the other boys, playing football and driving the souped up Camaro Iroc back in 1985. But then, on the first day of our senior year, he showed up at school completely transformed, wearing white linen balloon pants and a turquoise blazer with the sleeves rolled up, a la Don Johnson on Miami Vice. Instead of dating the prom queen, he now WAS the prom queen. And it can all be traced back to the 4th grade choir. "Super Singer". Why don't you just tattoo "FAG" on the poor kid's forehead? Its an equivalent brandishing for a boy. And shouldn't we just get to the point? "We're here, we're queer... The Super Singers"!

Clueless is no excuse...

... and yet, how is it that I so frequently find myself saying things like "wow, I didn't notice?"


I would like to think I am observant. Funny story about that word actually. During a dark 5-week period in my life, I decided I needed to make some supplemental income, around my being an adjunct professor and entrepreneur. So, I did what most people with a master's degree and a highly overachieving ambition do - I called my sister out of state and asked her to get me a job with her nationwide discount clothing chain employer. She made the call, got me an interview, and I was offered a job in the spring of 2004, putting circular, quarter-size, multi-color labels on the bottom of drastically discounted shoes. The going rate was $5.75 a hour, but the store manager said she would pay me $6. And who says a liberal arts master's degree does not bring in the big bucks?

So, this was an interesting experience. I should have started blogging back then. I really learned a lot about myself, and others during that experience. But one of the best stories was from one of our morning "associate meetings" before the store opened. It seems the corporate office was fond of disseminating "rah rah" slogans to help motivate the employees who were slaving for a non-livable wage. At this particular meeting, one of the assistant store managers revealed the new cheer, and kept telling us to "Be Ozervent." What the hell did he just say? Now, I know it was early in the morning, and I really did not want to be there, but I looked at the crowd gathered around him, and no one else seemed as perplexed. He said it over and over again. BE OZERVENT, BE OZERVENT. I finally got it. Be Observant! You would think after such a great moment in my career, that advice would have really impacted me. And yet, I still remain clueless at times...

Back to my original thought: Clueless is no excuse. And yet, approaching 40, I am still regularly clueless in a good relationship. Am I self-absorbed? That could be part of the reason. I'm not proud of that fact, but U. Blogger is the youngest sibling in the family, and has exhibited tendencies of self-absorption from time to time.

I have a great relationship with a great partner. She gets me. And that says a lot because I rarely get myself. And yet, I can frequently be clueless to things that are impacting her. It's no excuse, but it keeps happening. It's terrible really.

But, can you teach a proverbial old dog new tricks? I'd like to think so. How do you do it? Let's hope I learn it before it's too late.

When Reality Comes a-Callin'

Part of my convoluted outlook includes thinking that I still have a handle on being cool. Of course, in some ways I might still be... Or perhaps the younger people in my life are humoring me. Then again, using the word "Cool" might indicate just how un-cool I am, to those in the know. I'm not quite 40, and among my nomadic career, I am a college professor at a couple of universities.

So, what better barometer than a room full of young 20-somethings to help keep me in check. They laugh at my jokes, and appear to be sincere. But, the biggest reality check took place over Christmas.

My partner's kids got the video game "Rock Band" for Christmas. In a previous life, I was a pretty decent musician. I can't dance worth a damn, but as the Gershwin's said, "I've got rhythm... Who could ask for anything more?" So, I do have a bit of a musical advantage, if I may say so. I figured I was in good shape.

But, this is where I got my coolness reality check. 47 songs are included in the game. I knew like four of them. Quatro. Less than 10%. Now, I RECOGNIZED the names of some of the artists. But, singing lead vocals on "I think I'm Paranoid" by Garbage, I failed. As an overachiever, let me tell you, that was devastating. And of course, when my sister asked why I failed, my partner proudly announced, "Because she sucks!"



And why did I suck? Not because I can't read the words on the screen, but because I had NEVER HEARD this song. I had no idea who this group was. But I did them justice - my rendition WAS garbage.

And the song "Maps." What the hell is that about?

Here is a sample from this little ditty:

"Wait! They don’t love you like I love you;And wait! They don’t love you like I love you;Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aps;Wait! They don’t love you like I love you!And wait! They don’t love you like I love you!Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aps!Wait! They don’t love you like I love you …Wait! They don’t love you like I love you;And wait! They don’t love you like I love you;Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aps;Wait! They don’t love you like I love you!And wait! They don’t love you like I love you!Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aps!Wait! They don’t love you like I love you …"

Can someone tell me? Am I THAT out of touch?

So, I'm getting zen with my lack of coolness. And at the risk of blowing my uber-coolness, here would be my dream version of Rock Band: Anyone with me? Care to add something I may have missed?

1. The Lady is a Tramp, F. Sinatra
A kickin' big band chart where you can wail on the drums.

2. Got to Get You in to My Life, Earth Wind & Fire

3. Sway, Michael Buble'

4. I Want to Come Over, M. Etheridge
Where is the Rainbow version of rock band?

5. Glamorous, Fergie
If you ain't got no money, take your broke ass home!

6. Home By the Sea, Genesis
Classic Rock, and not the predictable "In the Air Tonight" Phil Collins drum solo.

What about a request for the Doobie Brothers? Am I completely out of touch?

If they could only see themselves...

...But would they even care?

The UBlogger's very wise (and no doubt once exhausted mom) used to say to UBlogger "If you could see yourself" when I was being typically ornery or just a pain in her ass. So, like most things moms say, that stuck with me, and as UBlogger approaches 40, I hear myself saying much of what she said to me when the bag on my head was a small, instead of a large.

So, in the last week, this phrase has been popular once again.

There was the drivethru at the Dunkin Donuts. As I was waiting for my bagel, Pakistani-Annie relieved herself of a wedgie right in front of my eyes. And then used that same hand to take my money and pass over my breakfast. If she could see herself...

And then road rage on the interstate... This was a good one. New Years' Eve. 3:30pm on the interstate near my home around one of the top 10 media markets in the USA (have to maintain that anonymity you know). The merging ramp unfolds to reveal a parking lot on the highway. O well. It happens. It is a road, after all. Cars do tend to use them from time to time. I try to relax, accept it for what it is, and enjoy the moment. It does not always work that way, of course. But the woman in front of me provided such great entertainment. She went absolutely ape shit. She threw her hands up in the air repeatedly, drove onto the shoulder (presumably to get a better view - of what I don't know) and thrashed her head from side to side. It was fabulously entertaining. She saw me laughing in her rear view mirror and shot me the bird. If she could see herself...

Two days later on an airplane. One of my least favorite places. I do not mind flying per se, its just the people you have to do it with that annoy me. On this particular flight, I had the frantic hair twirler in front of me. 2.5 hours. It's amazing she had any left when we deplaned. 2.5 hours, twirl to the right, twirl to the left. Pull. Repeat. If I had $4 cash, I would have bought her a bloody mary.

These people... they make me smile, partly because I'm pretty certain I've done dumb shit before, but also because they are just so entertaining.

Relax folks. Light a cigar. Have a drink. Meditate. Something. Enjoy yourself, because you just might spot someone doing something really stupid, so you will have a really good story to share later.

What the fishamajig?

Yep, the first time I heard it I laughed. Now, some may call me a culinary chauvanist, but I admit, as a kid I rather enjoyed the McFish sandwich, and Mrs. Paul's fish sticks (with ketchup of course). But, an item on the menu, of a sit-down restaurant, with a name like fishamajig, well, seriously.

No, I do not eat at Friendly's on a regular basis. In fact, the last time I dined at a Friendy's was against my will, and about 10 years ago. How do I know about this item? Let me fill you in...

My partner has the unfortuntate job of working for a place where it is impossible to leave the premises on the dinner or lunch hour. So, unless a group orders in, or she remembers to take something with her, she either goes hungry, or is forced to brave the sandwich vending machine. Just look at that last phrase: sandwich vending machine. I already feel a little queasy.

So, I asked her about this piece of wondrous break room technology one night when she came home, starved and ravaging the kitchen, and very casually, she reported that it was empty on that day, not even a fishamajig was left. I thought this was hilarious, and sounded precisely like some item that should exist solely in a sandwish vending machine, with the contents label torn off, too scary to even consider.

In a "distraction moment" the following day at the office, I googled this word, anxious to see what might surface. I was horrified at what I discovered. The Friendly's menu, with the word actually trademarked (see photo). And the menu description reads: "Fishamajig ® The name says it all. Tender fried cod, topped with melted American cheese and tartar sauce."

Why not call it the "watchamacod"?

Favorite Holiday Movies and other assorted culture

I'm searching for a way to get into the holiday spirit. It has yet to really hit me. I'm frustrated with the lack of sincerity and hypocritical energy. In a continued effort to be more mindful every day, I try to enjoy the moments as they come. So, with that, a ranking of some favorite holiday-themed entertainment:



1. Elf. The Movie. I can watch this in the dead of summer. I still think it is hilarious.




2. David Sedaris - The Santaland Diaries. Crumpet the Elf at Macy's Santa Land. It's the story that made him famous.



3. David Sedaris - 6 to 8 Black Men. Is it true? Who cares, it's hysterical.







4. And of course, Ralphie from The Christmas Story...

Anonymity... Good or Bad?

Well, here is my foray into the fad of blogging. Or is it a fad? Do I digress already? I'm a mess.

My choice to be anonymous (except for those to whom I reveal my identity), is based upon my desire to be candid about that which I know - stuff that happens every day. And don't we all agree that "it's funny... 'cause it's true."

By maintaining my anonymity, I can talk about my co-workers, my students, my clients, my family, and the innocent remain unharmed (especially me!). Plus, I get to keep my job(s). I'm not interested in blowing the lid off the next Watergate, just sharing a convoluted perspective on the world around me. So, in this case, anonymity is a good thing. I doubt anything will be revealed here that will put the world on its ear, and be cause for me to have my butt hauled into federal court where my sources (and identity) will need to be revealed. I do hope that I might contribute to a chuckle... after all, laughter is the best medicine (at least for me), and isn't blogging a pretty self-absorbed ambition?