All of the symptoms of finals season are present. Panic has set in, students are furiously reading their textbooks for the first time since Fall Break. Even a physical aversion to paper writing has afflicted some.
Coursework is ruining the college experience. Good thing most students have been avoiding it all semester.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Dirty Window
In the latter years of my Grandfather’s life, rather than go to a nursing home, he was blessed with in home help, including in home care and a couple of cleaning ladies.
The title of cleaning lady was only a formality, seeing as how there is no title for two women that come to an old man’s home weekly for two hours and do virtually nothing. They normally stayed for two hours, during which they vacuumed, did a few other modest house chores, and enjoyed an hour-long coffee break. Perhaps scam artist would be most descriptive.
However, there was no getting rid of them. Despite the fact that they cleaned nothing above or below their field of vision, they were part of Grandpa’s routine. He knew that they were good for nothing, but they had been coming since before my Grandmother passed away he really didn’t like change.
Betty, on the other hand, actually took pride in her work and would regularly dust, scrub and shine anything the “cleaning ladies” refused to touch.
On one particular week when I was visiting Grandpa, Betty became disgusted by the state of the large picture window in the living room. Betty went out in the back yard with a bottle of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels and didn’t come back until both panes of glass had been scrubbed and the cobwebs cleared from between. The window shined like it hadn’t in months.
When the cleaning ladies came in, they looked at the immaculately cleaned picture window and expressed with mock disappointment “Oh, we were going to clean the window today, but looks like it has already been cleaned.
Without missing a beat, Grandpa replied with the boldest of lies.
“Oh, a bird came and shit all over the window and Betty couldn’t stand it so she went out and cleaned the window,” said Grandpa.
The two women accepted the explanation, not taking so much as a second to question how this talented bird prompted Betty to clean between the two panes of glass.
I listened from the next room in awe; biting my tongue to keep from laughing. At 92-years of age, my Grandfather could lie with the best of them.
The title of cleaning lady was only a formality, seeing as how there is no title for two women that come to an old man’s home weekly for two hours and do virtually nothing. They normally stayed for two hours, during which they vacuumed, did a few other modest house chores, and enjoyed an hour-long coffee break. Perhaps scam artist would be most descriptive.
However, there was no getting rid of them. Despite the fact that they cleaned nothing above or below their field of vision, they were part of Grandpa’s routine. He knew that they were good for nothing, but they had been coming since before my Grandmother passed away he really didn’t like change.
Betty, on the other hand, actually took pride in her work and would regularly dust, scrub and shine anything the “cleaning ladies” refused to touch.
On one particular week when I was visiting Grandpa, Betty became disgusted by the state of the large picture window in the living room. Betty went out in the back yard with a bottle of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels and didn’t come back until both panes of glass had been scrubbed and the cobwebs cleared from between. The window shined like it hadn’t in months.
When the cleaning ladies came in, they looked at the immaculately cleaned picture window and expressed with mock disappointment “Oh, we were going to clean the window today, but looks like it has already been cleaned.
Without missing a beat, Grandpa replied with the boldest of lies.
“Oh, a bird came and shit all over the window and Betty couldn’t stand it so she went out and cleaned the window,” said Grandpa.
The two women accepted the explanation, not taking so much as a second to question how this talented bird prompted Betty to clean between the two panes of glass.
I listened from the next room in awe; biting my tongue to keep from laughing. At 92-years of age, my Grandfather could lie with the best of them.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Get A Grip
At every team sporting event, there is always the same overall outcome. One team experiences the euphoria of victory while the other experiences the proverbial agony of defeat. Whether due to their own short comings, the overwhelming talent of their opponent, or both, the losing team cannot escape the feeling that they should have done better. After all, they were responsible for their own fate in this matter. However, one must take a moment to consider the fans.
It can be observed at the end of every season, regardless of the sport or the league, collegiate or professional. The disappointed fan. Having followed the team all season, from the preseason to the quickly approaching championship, hoping desperately for their team to be named the best. Sadly, all was for not. The emotional payoff they were gambling on did not come.
Cheering for ones favorite team can be great fun, as long as one approaches it rationally the age old saying, "it's just a game." Those four words can garner violent reactions from some, but really, it's foolish to treat is as anything more. Humans are imperfect and fallible. These sports fans are placing their faith and happiness in the hands of these fallible creatures. They should stopping risking so much on something that means to little in the end.
It can be observed at the end of every season, regardless of the sport or the league, collegiate or professional. The disappointed fan. Having followed the team all season, from the preseason to the quickly approaching championship, hoping desperately for their team to be named the best. Sadly, all was for not. The emotional payoff they were gambling on did not come.
Cheering for ones favorite team can be great fun, as long as one approaches it rationally the age old saying, "it's just a game." Those four words can garner violent reactions from some, but really, it's foolish to treat is as anything more. Humans are imperfect and fallible. These sports fans are placing their faith and happiness in the hands of these fallible creatures. They should stopping risking so much on something that means to little in the end.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The Evils of Youtube
Enter one keyword into the Youtube search engine and you're off. Perhaps it's your favorite band, an actor or a comedian. Either way, you're sure to find numerous videos you never knew existed, or never dreamed you would see.
Their 1992 appearance on a late night talk show? Can't miss that. Rare footage from a performance at a state fair in the late eighties? It's like you've hit the jackpot.
Soon you'll get greedy and want to view every video possible. Before you know it several hours have passed, your butt has fallen asleep and you have nothing to show for your day. Youtube makes television seem quite innocuous.
Their 1992 appearance on a late night talk show? Can't miss that. Rare footage from a performance at a state fair in the late eighties? It's like you've hit the jackpot.
Soon you'll get greedy and want to view every video possible. Before you know it several hours have passed, your butt has fallen asleep and you have nothing to show for your day. Youtube makes television seem quite innocuous.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Promoting Family Values, Their Own
In the interest of full disclosure, a publication will occasionally include a disclaimer within a story when it may appear that there is a conflict of interest or that they are bein hypocritical. Perhaps that need does not apply in this situation, but the New York Times certainly published one ironic piece on Wednesday.
A story on the front page of the Arts section, dated October 24, 2007, tells of the controversy surrounding the annoucement of John Podhoretz as the next editor of Commentary magazine. Podhoretz's hiring has attracted claims of neopotism; Podhoretz's father, Norman Podhoretz, was editor of the magazine from 1959 to 1995.
While the New York Times only reports on the controversy and not offer its own opinion, the story is still quite ironic considering the history of the paper. One needs only to turn to the editorial page to find why. There one will find a listing of the current staff along with a list of past publishers and the years they held the position.
Adolph S. Ochs
Publisher 1896-1935
Arthur Hays Sulzberger
Publisher 1935-1961
Orvil E. Dryfoos
Publisher 1961-1963
Arthur Ochs Sulzberger
Publisher 1963-1992
And the current publisher... Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr. The Ochs-Sulzberger family has been heading the New York Times for 106 of the last 109 years. I wonder if this fact crossed the mind of author Patricia Cohen as she wrote this piece.
A story on the front page of the Arts section, dated October 24, 2007, tells of the controversy surrounding the annoucement of John Podhoretz as the next editor of Commentary magazine. Podhoretz's hiring has attracted claims of neopotism; Podhoretz's father, Norman Podhoretz, was editor of the magazine from 1959 to 1995.
While the New York Times only reports on the controversy and not offer its own opinion, the story is still quite ironic considering the history of the paper. One needs only to turn to the editorial page to find why. There one will find a listing of the current staff along with a list of past publishers and the years they held the position.
Adolph S. Ochs
Publisher 1896-1935
Arthur Hays Sulzberger
Publisher 1935-1961
Orvil E. Dryfoos
Publisher 1961-1963
Arthur Ochs Sulzberger
Publisher 1963-1992
And the current publisher... Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr. The Ochs-Sulzberger family has been heading the New York Times for 106 of the last 109 years. I wonder if this fact crossed the mind of author Patricia Cohen as she wrote this piece.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
We Speak Different Languages
Brandon listened intently as the female classmate read aloud from the German text book with impecable pronunciation. He and a third classmate had been grouped with this apparent perfectionist to read the passage aloud and work on translation. The perfectionist was apparently the only who knew what was going on.
As the classmate finished reading the paragraph, she looked up from the book and made the most astonishing of proclamations. "I think German is my new favorite foreign language," said the female classmate.
"Oh," said Brandon, feining interest yet hoping that this noncommital response would not lead to a conversation.
Truthfully, Brandon was left a little puzzled as to how anyone could have a "favorite foreign language," let alone a "new favorite foreign language." It must be an innate quaility some poses from birth.
As the classmate finished reading the paragraph, she looked up from the book and made the most astonishing of proclamations. "I think German is my new favorite foreign language," said the female classmate.
"Oh," said Brandon, feining interest yet hoping that this noncommital response would not lead to a conversation.
Truthfully, Brandon was left a little puzzled as to how anyone could have a "favorite foreign language," let alone a "new favorite foreign language." It must be an innate quaility some poses from birth.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Where back? There back!
A picture is worth a thousand words. However, a picture doesn't always have to be grammatically correct. The marquee at the Topeka Steak and Shake has been displaying this message since at least October 7. Either no one has the nerve to tell the management how embarrassingly stupid this makes them look, or they don't care.
If someone is going to misuse the English language, at least do it correctly. Case in point, the title of this blog. At least employ humor or irony when butchering the language.
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