Well Friday’s little ditty seemed to inspire some unexpected results. At least one person was scared to call all weekend for fear that I might be on the verge of suicidal (wouldn’t you want to call in that case?). And another chose to lob choice invectives at my vocabulary.
No matter, I bounce. Next time I guess I’ll just fall more quietly.
My brain is drained,
Too wet, too loose,
Dendrites flap in the mental breeze,
Nary a spark to illuminate the gloom.
Thoughts are heavy,
Shaky images of stability loom,
Spectre of a past I’m pining.
You win some and your lose some. The school board dimwits in Dover, PA who were pushing Intelligent Design into the curriculum, and triggered the still pending court case over it, were all soundly defeated in this week’s election. Score one for the good guys.
But as if to show the scientific merit of the law of Conservation of Lunacy, the Kansas school board managed to pass (again) an ID requirement into their science curriculum. The ruling sites inspecific (and fabricated) evidence related to fossils and chemistry which refute fundamental evolutionary theory. They even went so far as to redefine “science” so that it is no longer limited to the search for natural explanations of phenomena. Hmmm… that opens the door a bit.
In principle, this should allow (if not require) the teaching of potions in chemistry class and telekinesis in psychology class. Astrology and Numerology will probably need to be their own classes. And I suspect the Flat Earth Society won’t be far behind in demanding an airing of their ideas in Geography. After all, now that we’ve established that all manner of popular pseudo-science is fair game as “real science”, the course load will increase dramatically. Certainly, if I were a science teacher in Kansas, I’d be introducing all of this stuff. We’d probably do a whole grading period on witchcraft alone. After all, there’s more evidence for UFOs and alien abductions than there is for Intelligent Design.
I think these mental midgets in Kansas should get what they’ve asked for.
My elder son, in concert with his mother’s church group, ventured into a cardboard shanty town for the night this weekend to learn what it might be like to be homeless. A squadron of minivans delivered the youths to the site where they unloaded their LLBean sleeping bags, foam mats, and gear bags full of polar fleece clothing. Then they gathered cardboard and about a mile of duct tape and assembled their village. This was exhausting work, so they ordered out for pizza.
Stuffed with pizza, they adjourned to their corrugated suite where they played cards by flashlight until 3am. They did finally grab a few hours of sleep before the minivans returned with boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. They scarfed the donuts, packed their gear, and headed for home with a newfound appreciation for the plight of the homeless.
…and if my grandmother had wheels, she’d be a wagon.
While the turnout for Trick-or-Treating last night was a little lighter than last year, it did have some flair which is worthy of mention. Therefore, I’m introducing the Scary Squash Awards for memorable door knocking.
In the Category: Most Ambition with Least Effort
The award goes to three pre-teen boys who were canvassing the neighborhood with a 5-foot tall box on a skateboard which they were trying to fill with candy. One had at least taken the time to don a t-shirt emblazoned with the saying, “This is my costume”.
I don’t know if they succeeded, but I’m estimating they were looking at about 3 cubic feet of candy each if they pulled it off. Way to go boys.
In the Category: Missing the Point of the Holiday
The award goes to two 30-something parents who showed up at my door sans-kids, sans-costumes, but with two plastic pumpkins to fill. I scoured the sidewalk searching for anything roaming about in a costume, but it was just the two of them. Mom sees I’m confused and points down my driveway. She explains that the Princess and Spiderman are in the wagon and are just too tired.
I’m sorry, but when the kids are too exhausted to even be carried to the door; when their apathy has reached the point where they are content to lounge in the wagon at the end of the drive; your evening is done. Go home. Put them to bed.
In the Category: Where the Hell is Your Father?
I opened the door to find a brood traveling together. There were 4 or 5 elementary age kids comprising the usual assortment of superheros and monsters, 1 ninja who was pre-school age, and they were all being shepherded by a young girl who was maybe 14 or 15 years old – presumably a big sister. That was nice of her. To my bewilderment, big sister is dressed as – a slutty nurse. White heels and thigh-highs which stopped a few inches short of her skin tight mini-dress uniform. Her almost pubescent cleavage peeking from the low-cut top. She looked like she was on-deck for a lolita porn shoot.
Don’t you think that if your daughter is ordering her costume from Frederick’s of Hollywood that just maybe you’re shirking your duty as a parent?