ImPerceptibility

Archive for the ‘Asshats’ Category

This choice was made under a tree last month.  I waited to be sure it was true.  It is and it is right. I’ll miss ImPerceptibility but mostly I’ll miss you.  Take care.

Goodbye Stranger

It was an early morning yesterday
I was up before the dawn
And I really have enjoyed my stay
But I must be moving on

Like a king without a castle
Like a queen without a throne
I’m an early morning lover
And I must be moving on

Now I believe in what you say
As the undisputed truth
But I have to have things my own way
To keep me in my youth

Like a ship without an anchor
Like a slave without a chain
Just the thought of those sweet ladies
Sends a shiver through my veins

And I will go on shining
Shining like brand new
I’ll never look behind me
My troubles will be few

(Goodbye stranger it’s been nice)
(Hope you find your paradise)
(Tried to see your point of view)
(Hope your dreams will all come true)
(Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane)
(Will we ever meet again)
(Feel no sorrow, feel no shame)
(Come tomorrow, feel no pain)

Sweet devotion,
It’s not for me
Just give me motion,
To set me free
Land in the ocean,
Far away
By my chosen
Every day

So Goodbye Mary,
Goodbye Jane
Will we ever
Meet again

Now some they do and some they don’t
And some you just can’t tell
And some they will and some they won’t
With some it’s just as well

You can laugh at my behavior
That’ll never bother me
Say the devil is my savior
But I don’t pay no heed

And I will go on shining
Shining like brand new
I’ll never look behind me
My troubles will be few

(Goodbye stranger it’s been nice)
(Hope you find your paradise)
(Tried to see your point of view)
(Hope your dreams will all come true)
(Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane)
(Will we ever meet again)
(Feel no sorrow, feel no shame)
(Come tomorrow, feel no pain)

Sweet devotion,
It’s not for me
Just give me motion,
To set me free
Land in the ocean,
Far away
By my chosen,
Every day

Now I’m leaving,
Got to go,
Hit the road
I’m sayin’ once again,
oh yes I’m leaving
Got to go,
Got to go.
I’m sorry another day
But Goodbye Mary,
Goodbye Jane
Will we ever
Meet again

Oh I’m leavin’
I’ve got to go

There are a few things I remember from fourth grade. I remember teaching myself sign language letters from a page I ripped out of an old dictionary that I found in the back of my teachers classroom. I also learned to count really fast to prove that I did not need to memorize my multiplication tables. The teacher had insisted that everyone would learn to multiply before they left the fourth grade. I didn’t memorize my multiplication tables until I went to college. Then there was the time I got to interview the school secretary. I’m sure the teacher gave me this project so I’d stop distracting the other kids by finger signing curse words and various insults while we were learning to multiply.

In fourth grade we also learned about the Commonwealth of Virginia. It was typical state studies but I somehow managed to pay attention long enough to learn a few things. One of those was the state seal. I was impressed with that. Up until that point I had assumed the person standing on top of the man with the words “Sic Semper Tyrannis’ was a male. It had never occurred to me that it was, or even could be any different. I was fascinated with the possibilities. While the teacher taught us about the 10 most common products manufactured in Virginia I drew pictures of Virtus slaying tyrants. The teacher taught about the major roads of transportation and I daydreamed about finding a Latin page in the dictionary so I could Sic Semper other things. “Sic Semper Meatloaf” my life would have been perfect.

So when our Attorney General Cooch decided to give out lapel pins that depicted a different state seal than the official one that had spurred many childhood adventures I was a bit offended. Here’s why:

1.Where does he get the authority to change the official state emblem? Who the hell does he think he is? A tyrant?

2.What the hell does he have against breasts? Specifically the left one?

3.Why can’t it be obvious that a woman is the one slaying tyrants? Breasts are a symbol of womanhood and by covering her with armor you remove the last bit of femininity and make it even less obvious that she is a woman.

4.Does he have a problem with strong women standing up to unjust men? Does he think she should be barefoot in the kitchen fixing her man a sandwich, leaving all the tyrant slaying to the big strong men?

5.Why would a breast depicted in a work of art be inappropriate? Is he going to shut down the art museums next? Maybe get a sharpie and go through the art books in the library and cover all the breasts with black bars?

Then, I found out something even more interesting than the I have breasts hear me roar angle. I found out that the seal he chose was used for a state flag during the civil war. Not only does he hate breasts, apparently he hates the fact that we lost the civil war and wants to bring back the seal that represented our state during one of the most horrific and destructive times of our state history. WTF?

Sic Semper Asshats! That’s all I have to say.

Today Youngest learned to spell 25 spelling words. We have been doing this almost every “school” day since September. Last Friday she reached day 100 and we celebrated with ice cream. Learning to spell 2500 words in 6 months is quite an accomplishment. She accomplished this because she wanted too. We talked about what was important and learning to spell was one of those things. She likes to write stories and put them on my fridge. Misspelled words make her look bad.

Then she practiced writing in cursive. There were no tears, no do I have to, and no fooling around. She did it because she wants to learn to write pretty. She likes how I use fancy letters to address letters and packages. It’s important to her.

Then we did some math. Previously we were working on multiplication but it was starting to stress her out so we switched to Geometry. I asked her to try multiplication again because it was important and she agreed once I gave her a small printed multiplication chart to find the answers. Maybe some would disagree, but this is how she learned her addition tables. After awhile it becomes easier to just memorize them then always look them up. There is no time limit on learning in this house and I don’t do tears when it come to Math. Math is fun. Math happens when it’s supposed to and not a moment earlier.

A very noisy blue jay interrupted what was to be a really cool science lesson. She ran around the yard and found his nest. Then she looked through a bird book and found the page on blue jays. She spent quite awhile watching him and studying him. She know knows more about blue jays than most college graduates. She can even imitate his song.

Then we did Science (again). Mark Hauser – Learning about animal minds. She balked at first but once I managed to draw her in she was all for it. She is observing and conducting safe experiments with her cat. She is sure the cat understands quantity and it’s possible that red is his favorite color. I expect a full write up of the results will be posted on the fridge soon. But that is totally up to her.

Then she read a story about Pandas and made a list of endangered animals in her “Book of Notes”. There are many interesting things in there. She added her panda book to the stack of books in her room. She is trying to read enough books so that the stack reached the ceiling. She’s reached about three feet so far.

All of this happened in just under two hours. All of this happened because she was ready and willing to learn. She enjoys a challenge and will work towards something that is important to her. She hasn’t even turned on the TV today and neither have I. That’s true with most mornings. That’s why we never got the chance to laugh at that Good Morning America segment about Unschooling. They just don’t understand. All children are not meant to be be corporate slaves and bean counters. Some of us can think and do for ourselves.

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.