ImPerceptibility

Archive for the ‘Asshats’ Category

I was feeling it and I guess it showed in my eyes. I could hear a voice from the past, “Damn city people”. It was right there in my head, someone else’s words but they were taking form in my own voice. I did that redneck thing with my eyes and mouth then I started picking up my own corn. The difference was, I didn’t feel the need to shuck my corn. I just grabbed and filled my bag.

I’m not sure when I first saw someone standing at a small farmers road side stand inspecting and shucking ears of corn. I’m sure I was shocked. When I was a kid we use to get corn from Farmer Brown. His name was actually Mr. Wilkins but for some reason I called him Farmer Brown. I’m not sure why. He didn’t mind. Thirteen ears of corn went into a brown grocery bag from the A&P we paid and went home. There was no shucking. No inspecting his corn to make sure it was good enough. You got what you got and most of the time it was good. If it wasn’t there was always an extra ear to make up for it.

That was his corn from his family farm. It was his hard work, his lively hood, and his reputation. You don’t shuck something like that. I don’t know for sure but I suspect that had I been rude enough to start shucking his corn right there at his stand I would have been picking myself up off the ground rubbing the red hand-print on the side of my face. It would have been for my own good because you just wouldn’t do something like that back then.

I guess times change. Now corn is shipped in huge boxes on tractor trailers from farms so large that no one knows or cares who planted it or where it came from. You can stand in your giant grocery store and shuck until your hearts content. It doesn’t mean a thing. The corn is so far removed from responsibility maybe shucking is a good thing. Maybe it’s even necessary.

However, when you decide to go to a small farmers road side stand and buy corn for just a little more than a quarter an ear you should not shuck. That’s just rude. You can if you want. I’m sure the farmer will let you. But when you do, expect the contempt in my eyes. Expect my kids to watch you like you are an animal a the zoo while they wonder about your manners. Expect me to laugh as you drive away. Also expect me to get 13 unshucked ears for the same price you paid for your six carefully inspected shucked ears. Damn city people.

Last night there was a story on the news. A teenage boy was riding his bike and he was attacked by two other boys. He died at the hospital shortly after. It was sad. I felt bad for everyone involved. Then they had the shock and disbelief interviews with the community. Scared and upset neighbors looked frightened and expressed their sorrow for the family. Then a man my age come on the screen and he said it. It being the catch phrase that makes me see red. The one that cancels out any feelings of sorrow and replaces them with anger.

“I just don’t know what to say. I grew up in the 70’s and things like this didn’t happen.”

I sat straight up on the couch and shouted, “Bullshit!”

MyHusband startled awake from his pre-bed nodding off and looked around wildly trying to figure out what he’d done.

Back in the good old days things like that didn’t happen. It makes me angry every time I hear it. Yes, it did happen. Believe it or not teenage boys have been fighting since the beginning of time and sometimes people get hurt. When I grew up people were killed, and there were gangs, and children were molested, and girls got pregnant, and we dressed like idiots, and we listened to inappropriate music, and we drank and did drugs, and…

I’ve tried for some time to figure out why it makes me so mad. It’s very complicated and it bothers me in many different ways. I’m still trying to figure it out so I decided to make a list

1. “It wasn’t like that when I was kid.” The person that says something like that is in denial. Instead of facing the problem they are hiding behind a wall.
2. It stops any legitimate conversations so people can glorify an idealized lie. People, the past has gone. Lets talk about the here and now. Lets make plans for the future.
3. They incorrectly attribute moral superiority to an entire decade instead of the people that lived in it.“Ohh yeah, I grew up in a little slice of heaven. Back then everyone always did what was right because that’s the way it was.” Whatever.
4. The difference between my childhood and my children’s childhood is in the good ol’ days no one knew the guy down road went to jail because he liked little boys. Knowing and talking about a problem doesn’t make the problem worse. It just make it visible and that makes it seem scarier. In reality it makes the world safer.
5. You aren’t accepting responsibility. “They” are the problem. No, they are children and they are responding to the world that we have built for them. If they are messed up then you need to point your finger at yourself.
6. It makes it seem like my children, your children, and all the wonderful little people I have cared for over the past years are screwed. That they are inheriting a world that’s devoid of goodness.

Number five makes me mad but I think number six may be the largest source of my anger because it is the ultimate bullshit. Anyone that thinks the kids that are growing up today are any less wonderful than past generations haven’t spent much time with the kids. Or if they have, they have been judging them on outdated standards and viewing the world through mass media blinders.

As a whole these kids are amazing. They are so intelligent and have a world view that is so much larger than we could have ever hoped to have had. If we’d stop harming them with all our doomsday prophecising and give them tools so they can succeed instead of assaulting the character of an entire generation because we’re afraid, they’ll do amazing things. Actually, I think they’ll do amazing things either way. You just wait and see.

I’m writing another post about a birthday party. I didn’t start this blog to talk about going to birthday parties. But it seems that birthday parties are taking up a good deal of my time right now. Bonne Anniversaire! So be it. Who am I to judge? Yet, judge I will.

I didn’t like him when I saw him but that happens sometimes. Not very often but it does happen. I put a “watch him closely around the kids” note in the back of my head and went on with socializing. The kids and the instructor went into another room to play games and I slipped into the back to watch. I don’t think he knew I was there. It wasn’t long before the incident occurred.

The game was like tag. The instructor had a set of foam noodles like kids use to float in a pool. He chased the kids around. If he hit them with it they were out. Simple enough until one little boy, about 11, walked up to the instructor during a break. The instructor took the noodle and smacked him on the side of his head. It wasn’t a playful smack. The sound echoed off the walls and the little boy started to cry.

“I was trying to hit you on your head, not your face” he said.

I waited for him to ask him if he was okay. I expected him to tell him he was sorry but that didn’t happen. He hovered over the kid like the big tough guy he was and told him to stop being a drama queen. He said he had already told him he was sorry. When the boy didn’t stop crying he made him go sit out on the side. That’s when he noticed me off to the side watching.

I guess he wanted to teach him a lesson, make a man out of him, teach him to respect authority. The emotions and thoughts that went shooting through my brain were not fit for polite society. He was a bully. The worst kind of bully and I despised him. I knew I couldn’t do much harm to him but it didn’t stop me from wanting to. I pursed my lips squinted my eyes and made sure he knew exactly what I was thinking. Every bit of anger and outrage I could gather came shooting out of my eyes at him. He went back to the “game” and I went to the little boy. I don’t think he liked me questioning his authority. I didn’t care.

I knew it was for my benefit when the instructor reminded the boy that he had knocked another child into a heater a few days ago. He mentioned a few more things. They all sounded like normal kid things to me. I knew the instructor wanted me to know that the sweet little boy with dark thoughtful eyes and blond curls that danced on top of his head when he ran was a bad kid. The child deserved it. That was what he was trying to tell me by listing the childs faults in front of the class. I glanced at the instructor then turned my head to dismiss him. There was nothing he could say to make me see things any differently.

I asked the little boy if he was okay and looked at his ear where the bully had hit him. It was red and looked tender. He stopped crying and I asked if he wanted me to get him a tissue. He said no then wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. I leaned in close so no one would hear.

“I don’t care if you knocked someone into a heater. He shouldn’t have hit you like that. He should have said he was sorry. I know you’re a good kid…Aren’t you?” I looked at him quizzically.

He grinned a bad boy grin and nodded his head. I winked at him when the bully called him back over. If I had a son I’d want one just like him I thought. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for those “bad boys”. They’re the best. But I hate bullies. I really, really hate bullies.

I’m thinking anyone that leaves a rude and somewhat angry message on my voice mail lacks the judgment to secure my vote. At least I could replay the message several times and figure out the phone number at the end. It was 866-558-5591. I called the number and asked them to remove my number from their list. They told me they didn’t have a list. She forwarded me to someone else and they said they would remove my number. We’ll see.

They didn’t seem to have any concerns about the fact that I found the recorded phone call rude. Nor did they seem surprised when I told them I did not appreciate the other phone calls I received with a recorded message of people screaming their “outrage” into my phone. Hummm.

I might need a new category for this. Any suggestions?

I was reading an article about the Virginia primary results when I came across this.

And 49 percent of those who voted for Obama were white, a big change from previous contests in which Clinton held a big lead over Obama among white Democrats.

“We haven’t seen that happen this strikingly before, and this in a Southern state,” said CNN senior political analyst Bill Schneider.

What exactly is your point Mr. Schneider? As a senior political advisor you must be aware that Virginia was the first state (southern or not) to elect an African American governor. Guess what, we’re not all backward racist hicks.

For the record, the most racist place I have ever visited (and I mean scary racist) was Connecticut. I believe that is a northern state. ‘Course I haven’t been learned that well so I might be wrong.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waapHt4EZHk&rel=1] A positive campaign message

I’m a homeschooler and I’m not voting for Huckabee. From a post at O’Donnell Web I have made some badges for other like minded homeschoolers. Feel free to use them as you wish.

[Note: I did not add an s to the end of homeschooler because I don't speak for all homeschoolers, only myself. I think others should speak for themselves as well.]

I was going to write a post about the2007 Homeschool Blog Awards for Fundies United to Criticize and Kondemn Most Everyone, but COD took care of it for me. He’s very efficient like that. He’s aLinux man. Thanks!

Today is the big day, the voting for the 2007 Homeschool Blog Awards for Fundies United to Criticize and Kondemn Most Everyone (The FUCKME’s) is officially open. After an exhaustive analysis that took almost 15 seconds, I have determined that most deserving blog in each category is the blog listed last. The people on the bottom of the list never win, so let’s help them out. They’ll be winners, and they’ll have a bunch of beer swilling, gay, atheist, freedom loving homeschoolers to thank for their victory.

I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.

Kudos to Daryl for the new name for the awards.

Please feel free to cut and paste this post if that is the easiest way for you to spread the word.

To the tune of Star Spangled Banner but for no apparent reason change to Away in the Manger in verse two; then I’m not sure what happens.

Ohh say I can see the bottom of the laundry pile.
My empty sink is making me smile.
The kids are all taught and the dogs have been fed.
I might even go make my bed.

I can make bread and I can make cheese
I can read a book, whatever I please.
Except I can’t ‘cuss’ and I can’t write about sex.
Because homeschool blog award will take offense.

Don’t look at my art
There might be a breast
I think my tomato post
Might not pass the test.

I’ll be disqualified if I make you think.
I’ll have to leave if I want to drink.
If I write about love it better be of God
If I want to impress I have to be a snob.

So please stay with me while I type out my list.
I am very busy I’ll tell you about this.
If you get bored then that is too bad.
I’ll follow the rules. I don’t want to make them mad.

*** Insert needle being dragged across record sound here ***

Sorry about that. I went temporarily insane after reading the rules and regulations for entry into the homeschool blog awards.

Last time I checked the people who homeschool their children are supposed to be adults. Adults are capable of reading many different views and opinions without compromising their own beliefs. Adults are capable of reading a few four-letter words without being overcome by Satan. Adults can make up their own minds about what they choose to read. They can vote or not vote for a blog as they choose. They can decide for themselves if a blogger is ‘mean’. Unless some fussbudget with a personal agenda chooses to disqualify blogs based on their own narrow-minded view of purity and correctness. Then I think maybe you are running a contest for pre-schoolers.

Change the name. I’m a homeschooler and your awards don’t represent me or any of the other homeschool blogs I read.

Sing it with me! To the tune of Teletubbies:

Homeschool Blog Awards.
Homeschool Blog Awards.
Bible Thumpers, Ditsy, Blah Blah, Poo!
Amen! Amen!

Holy Cow, Satan is after me again. Run!

This post was approved by my husband as all posts by godly women should be. Now, where’s my plumbing supply line. My kids are getting on my nerves.

My Dearest Husband,

I am writing to you today to let you know that we may have to become a lesbian couple. I know what you are thinking but hear me out.

The all mighty Michael Pearl, grand poo-bah of all that is right and good and supreme ruler of homeschoolers was recently interviewed and according to him only lesbians protest his methods of disciplining children. I have given it some thought and realized we only have two choices.

1. Start hitting our children with plastic tubing and yanking the hair of nursing babies.
2. Become lesbians so we can object.

I thought about it and I find beating (aka spanking or chastising) my children into submission or pulling the hair of innocent infants vile, repulsive, repugnant, disgusting…Well, I’m in a hurry but you can get the thesaurus and add a few more adjectives.

The only other option is to become lesbians. I know this may take some getting use to. I’m sure we can make this adjustment with the love and patient understanding we have always had for each other. I’ll see you when you get home. I’m running out for a burn permit so I can burn my bras and some nice stationery to write up our gay agenda.

Love you,

Chris pointed out what appears to be a misconception about homeschoolers. Apparently we homeschool because men want to hold us back and keep us in the home where we belong. I can’t speak for all homeschoolers but as for myself I will say that I homeschool because I’m selfish and lazy. Plus, it’s what I want to do.

I homeschool because:

I like to sleep in on a rainy day instead of grabbing an umbrella and rushing my children to the bus stop.

I much prefer mucking around in the mud studying the life cycle of aquatic animals to spending up to 12 hours in front of computer screen trying to figure out what the hell that idiot did to my code.

Homeschooling gives me a good reason to have a messy house – I was busy teaching the kids.

I have time to plan, shop, and prepare what I want for dinner not choose from the crap on the menu at a local restaurant. If I want mac and cheese like mom use to make I can have it. Alternately I can fix a healthy meal with fresh ingredients. It’s good for my health.

I can go on vacation wherever I want whenever I want. The public school does not have the power to decide when I vacation. I like having the freedom to travel.

It pleases me that my children get to interact with groups of people with different backgrounds than my own. Not something they could do in their predominantly white, middle-class classroom.

I like fooling people. They think I devote my life to the needs of my children. I get a lot of undue respect. They haven’t figured out I homeschool because I don’t want to work at a paying job. I like scheduling my own days, picking my own work hours, and taking a break (or a bath) when I want one.

I like buying school supplies. Homeschoolers buy school supplies all year long. It’s a good excuse to indulge myself. The kids need glue sticks. I’m going to office depot. I’m a gatherer at heart.

I like having the chance to study things I’m interested in instead of learning a new programming language because my boss wants me to. I get the freedom to learn about the things that mean the most to me. I like learning and homeschooling is all about learning.

I have time to do what makes me happy. I don’t think a boss would approve of me knitting a hat in a meeting with an important client. Unless the client was Martha Stewart. Then it might be OK.

I could go on and on but I won’t. What I’m saying is

• I homeschool because I value my freedom more than a paycheck.
• I’ve never seen homeschooling as a means of restricting my life or holding me back as a woman.
• My life is a lot more fulfilling now than when I had a paying job.
• I value some things more than being able to afford a $400 pair of shoes.
• I don’t see my children as chores. The laundry is a chore. That’s why my husband does the majority of that.

I don’t suppose everyone understands.