My Guardian Angel Is Hotter Than Yours

About two years ago, I left my fiancé six weeks before our wedding and five days after we'd moved in together. This was one of the more difficult things I've done in my life, and it probably goes without saying that I agonized over the decision. However, I'm confident that it was the right decision, and it's not one I've regretted for so much as a split second since I made it. On occasion, though, I do think about how close I came to a marriage that would have made me miserable, and I breathe a little sigh of relief while thanking my lucky stars for my friend DH.

It was DH who -- exactly eight weeks before my wedding, on the very day I'd mailed the invitations -- was the first to give voice to the doubts I'd been harboring for at least a month when he studied me carefully and finally said, "I don't think you should get married."

This turns out to have been a view shared by a surprising number of my friends, not because they didn't like my fiancé (because everybody likes him) but because they could tell I wasn't happy. There's a lot of gray area between support and enabling, and I'm grateful that my friends chose collectively to lean toward the supportive side despite their concerns. I am equally grateful for the insight of DH, who admittedly had little to lose and probably enjoyed playing my knight in shining armor simply for the ego boost, but who forced me to examine my relationship and evaluate my future.

Although my friends give me more credit, I maintain there's a 99% chance I'd be married to the wrong guy right now if not for DH. Molly tends to agree with me: she once described DH in all seriousness as "a gift from God." And while she still carries his business card around in her wallet because she thinks DH is hot (and his picture is on his card), she was not referring to his appearance.

I'm not much on God, but I have been known to refer half-jokingly to DH as my guardian angel. And really, if you compare DH to Clarence, George Bailey's guardian angel in It's a Wonderful Life, you have to admit DH is a little easier on the eyes.

Okay, Who's In?

This was being passed around school today:

Apparently a "jump off" is a party. I didn't know this -- I had to ask my students. I strolled in to class waving the flyer as the bell rang and said, "Hey, what's a jump off?" The kids looked a little startled. One girl said sheepishly, "Um, it's like a trashy girl." "No, no," I said, "what if I were going to a jump off?" "Oh, that's like a party," they responded, relieved.

Even though ladies get in free (I like how that bit is in quotes -- like, is "ladies free, niggas $2" some sort of catch phrase I'm just not familiar with? What are those quotation marks for?!), and I'll be able to find the jump off simply by following the music, I don't think I'll be going. Why? Well, I'm not much of a dancer, and the flyer specifically states, "If you ain't gone dance don't bring yo ass!!!" That's three exclamation points, so I think he means business.

But if you want to go, feel free to hit Omar up. As long as you have him on the phone, tell him the dollar signs go before the numbers.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. . .

This is my little brother. Needless to say, he's got "angry" down. Note his proximity to both beer and attractive women. Nevermind the fact that he's at a cheesy sports bar and that the women are practically his sisters -- there's beer and there's chicks, and therefore there's no excuse for that grumpy face. And the middle finger. . .my god!

The thing is, angry is my brother's natural state. Being pissed about everything is like his version of happy. If he's not scowling and giving you the finger and calling someone a douchebag, something's not quite right in his world.

I have a secret though: he's not really that angry. He just pretends. Oh sure, he's fired up about Darfur and religious fanaticism and the erosion of our constitutional rights and all that, but he's not one of those people you hate to be around because they're so negative and they never stop bitching. He's more like a funny guy whose bitching makes you laugh. Sometimes even he has a hard time not laughing at his own angry act.

Occasionally though, he walks a pretty fine line. Referring to him as "Dad" is usually enough to make him snap out of it in a hurry, which is good because really my brother is this guy -- the happy one with a smile on his face and his middle finger being used only to grasp a can of Bud.

I like funny angry little bro' an awful lot, but it's funny happy little bro' I really love.

Sunday News Round-Up

Prominently featured on the front page of today's New York Times : 1) a story about the most recently negotiated cease-fire in Darfur being just as meaningless as every previous cease-fire, as evidenced by Thursday's attack in which one woman was killed and 15 were raped by janjaweed militiamen; 2) an account of Southeast Asia's successful efforts to combat the avian flu; and 3) a story about post-9/11 conflicts between the NSA and VP Cheney over the constitutionality of intercepting domestic phone calls without warrants to do so (crazy-ass Cheney, as one might expect, contends that there's nothing in the Constitution to suggest this might not be permissible).

Prominently featured on the front page of today's Washington Post: 1) a story about the US Border Patrol's ineffective "catch-and-release" approach to curbing non-Mexican illegal immigration, and 2) a touching compilation of interviews with Iraq war veterans that details the difficulty of readjusting to life at home in the face of our indifference. (This story brought tears to my eyes. Read it!)

Prominently featured on the front page of today's Virginian Pilot: a story about the film version of The Da Vinci Code coming out on Friday, and how some religious people won't touch it with a ten foot pole while others are pleased that it provides them with an opportunity to promote traditional Christian beliefs in the face of such blasphemy. You know, just in case you hadn't heard about that yet. Thanks, Virginian Pilot, for that bit of hard-hitting reporting on a topic of such global importance.

To be fair, the Pilot is an excellent local paper, and it did run the NYT's Darfur story on page A3, their avian flu story on page A22, and the Post's immigration story on page A11. But The Da Vinci Code as front page Sunday news?! Come on.

The Da Vinci Code, by the way, is complete crap as far as literature goes. The writing is terrible and the plot is even worse. What makes The Da Vinci Code interesting (and what I suspect explains its 159 weeks on the bestseller list) is its exploration of the historical suppression of the divine feminine. There's a whole body of reputable nonfiction on this fascinating subject, starting with Holy Blood, Holy Grail, the authors of which sued Dan Brown (and lost) for plagiarizing their work. For those interested in the religious aspects of The Da Vinci Code, I offer. . .

Five Books to Read Instead of The (Stupid) Da Vinci Code:

1. Holy Blood, Holy Grail by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln
2. The Chalice and the Blade by Riane Eisler
3. The Woman with the Alabaster Jar by Margaret Starbird
4. The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels
5. The Gospels of Mary by Marvin Meyer

Or, if you like crap, just wait a few days and go see the movie.

Honey, He Is The Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy

It seems Hillary Clinton and Rupert Murdoch have more in common than having both been recently mentioned on my blog: Murdoch, who owns a significant chunk of the mainstream media -- including that beacon of fair and balanced reporting, Fox News -- will be hosting a re-election fundraiser for Clinton this July.

Not that Hillary is at the top of my "politicians I respect and admire" list (it's a short list), but is there anyone in politics who will not sell his or her soul to stay in politics? I mean, this is the guy whose network led the charge against Hillary's lying cheating husband. When she centered her ridiculous "stand by your man" routine around a "vast right-wing conspiracy," she was talking about Rupert Murdoch. But hey, if he can raise a few bucks on behalf of her campaign, I don't see why she can't overlook a little thing like completely biased pseudo-reporting that squelches any sort of meaningful political discourse.

A Song From The Darkest Hour

If there's a happier song than "Sit Down" by James, I damn sure haven't heard it.

Why I Don't Watch 24

Another Monday night, another exciting episode of 24. I know, everyone loves this show. Steve spends each Monday sternly reminding everyone he encounters that it's Jack Bauer Appreciation Day. I spend a small portion of my class time (my instructional time) on Mondays trying to get my students to stop talking about what's going to happen on 24, and a much larger chunk of that class time on Tuesdays trying to get the kids to shut up about what did happen on 24. Every Monday they ask me, "Are you gonna watch 24 tonight?" and every Monday I tell them, "A) I don't own a television and B) I want no part of 24." Every Tuesday they ask me, "Did you see 24 last night?" and every Tuesday some kid who actually pays attention in class says, "Dude, she doesn't have a TV!" and some other kid adds, "Yeah, and she doesn't even like that show."

The thing is, I used to. Like everyone else, I used to love 24. I was a devoted fan throughout seasons 1-3. I've spent more than a few Tuesday mornings at the proverbial water cooler animatedly discussing the events of the previous night's episode of 24 as if it bore some resemblance to real life and the characters were actually my close personal friends. I've even attended a season finale party or two. I see the appeal: the gripping suspense, those bad guys you love to hate, the fate of the world hanging in the balance, that hottie Keifer Sutherland. But in season 4 something changed for me. . .24 began to seem irresponsible.

I became more and more concerned about how expendable people are on 24, not just bad guys but good guys too. I started to keep a running body count. A lot of people died in each episode, most of them not-so-nicely. And we're talking episodes that are only supposed to represent an hour of real-life time.

Then there's the torture thing. The good guys frequently torture the bad guys to get information out of them, which I guess is supposed to be okay because the good guys need that information in order to save everyone from the bad guys. This is a serious moral question that deserves serious attention and contemplation. Instead, 24 portrays each instance of torture as if it's some sort of Machiavellian necessity not worth dwelling on.

And there's, of course, the stereotyping. Almost all the terrorists on 24 (at least in seasons 1-4) are Muslims who hate America simply because they are crazy Muslims. Nothing new here. Likewise, those who don't hate the terrorists must by definition hate America and therefore be on the side of the enemies. Hell, in season 4 the Secretary of State had his own son tortured because he had maybe gone home with some chick who knew some guy who had maybe been involved with planning season 4's attack.

I know it's only a TV show, but is this sort of thing really constructive? Do we really need to glorify such callous disregard for human life and fan the flames of bigotry and intolerance? See, there's no gray area on 24. There's good guys and there's bad guys and it's us against them. You are, as our simpleton of a president once said, "either with us, or you are with the terrorists." This is an incredibly dangerous mentality, which is why I've sworn off 24 and why I attempt to convince anyone who will listen (which, frankly, isn't a very large group) that 24 is perhaps more harmful than all of Rupert Murdoch's other enterprises combined.

To be honest, I haven't made much headway, but I'm hoping I'll win a few converts now that Tom Tomorrow's come out in support of me:

(From Working for Change)

On Protesting (Or Not)

A few weekends ago my brother and I had talked about going up to NYC. UFPJ had organized a protest against the current war on Iraq, the impending war on Iran, and the war-mongering Bush administration in general. My brother and I both felt a sort of moral obligation to add our voices to the protest, but we also didn't feel like going to New York, and we doubted that any amount of protesting would change BushCo's approach to foreign policy.

I firmly believe that every single American citizen could be in the streets protesting and Dubya would merely pause to shake his head in condescending pity for our stupidity, and would then return to the business of fucking everything up. This is because the man actually believes that God talks to him:

2000: "I've heard the call. I believe God wants me to run for president. . . .I can't explain it, but I sense my country is going to need me. Something is going to happen... I know it won't be easy on me or my family, but God wants me to do it."

2003: "God told me to strike at al Qaeda and I struck them, and then He instructed me to strike at Saddam, which I did, and now I am determined to solve the problem in the Middle East." (By striking somebody, probably. Or maybe smiting.)

2004: "I trust God speaks through me. Without that, I couldn’t do my job."

Bush and his administration have demonstrated repeatedly that they don't really give a shit what the American people think. Why should they when they're doing God's work? 55% of Americans think BushCo deliberately misled the public into war and 60% of Americans believe that war has not been worth fighting. Big deal. 100% of Supreme Beings (of which there is, of course, only one) think Bush is doing a bang-up job.

This, however, is no reason not to protest, and I've felt guilty ever since I skipped the NYC protest. I felt especially guilty this morning when I read Melissa's lovely post, which reminded me that it's important to stand up for what you believe in, even when it seems that doing so is unlikely to change anything. Despite the fact that BushCo is impervious to dissent, there are lots of good reasons to protest, namely that it is the right thing to do regardless of the outcome. As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter," and as Ghandi said, "Whatever you do may seem insignificant to you, but it is most important that you do it." And as Elle Woods said in Legally Blonde 2, "One honest voice can be louder than a crowd's."

This is (or used to be) essentially my whole m.o. as a person, and especially as a teacher. If my students learned nothing else, I hoped they would leave my class believing that they could make the world a better place. When the hell did I stop believing we could make the world a better place? I didn't go to a protest because it wouldn't do any good and New York was too far?! Yikes. When's the next protest? I'm so there.

I'm Not A Shrieking Hateful Harpy, But I Play One On TV

Confession: I've recently exchanged an email or two with my ex-fiancé.

This is how he came to know that I have a blog on which he could post Thursday's witty "there she blows" comment, and also how I came to know that he has a blog on which he refers to me as a "shrieking, hateful harpy."

(So Steve, yesterday when I said I had no idea how the comment got there, I was kind of lying. Sorry. I'm totally coming clean now.)

At first I was really pissed about this whole harpy thing. In my head I compiled a long list of evidence that conclusively proves I am not a shrieking, hateful harpy (for example: I rarely even raise my voice, so "shrieking" is, you know, a bit of a stretch). But then I realized I am merely a literary device. Referring to your ex-fiancé as a shrieking, hateful harpy is funny, whereas referring to her as "probably the most sensitive person I have ever met" (as he recently wrote to me) is not. So I've decided to be a good sport about this. Hell, every blog needs a shrieking, hateful harpy.

For those close friends and family members who were present for years and years of the Megan & Bryce rollercoaster and who are now thinking, "Uh-oh. Emails? Here we go again.," rest assured, we are not going there again. For starters, Bryce and I now live several hundred miles apart, so to go there again would be impractical. Secondly, he steadfastly refuses to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and you know I'm not havin' that. Lastly, he is madly in love (and good for him, really) with a girl he refers to as Baby, which is a term of endearment that literally makes me cringe.

I have never allowed anyone to call me "baby." "Shrieking, hateful harpy"? Sure, knock yourself out. But "baby"? No fucking way.

It's Hard To Be In A Bad Mood When You're Wearing Whale Pants

It's even harder when you're also wearing whale underpants. (no picture of that)

This uncharacteristically preppie look is what's going to get me through the day. That and the fact that it's Cogan's Thursday.

Come November 4th, 2008, I Will Be $100 Richer

My dad, die-hard Republican and defense contractor extraordinaire, is in town overnight for a briefing tomorrow. He took me to dinner this evening and we got to talking about politics (imagine that). This is a topic that usually does not end well for us (see the die-hard Republican bit above). However, this discussion of politics was oddly civilized. At one point my dad even said, "You may have a point there," which is a phrase I don't think I've ever heard him utter before. The most heated portion of our chat involved a discussion of whether the Democrats will regain control of Congress in the midterm elections (um, hellooooo, we're talking 32% approval ratings here. . .of course the Democrats are going to regain control of Congress) and what will happen in the 2008 election.

Here's where the $100 comes in:

Dad: And you think that momentum will continue right up until we get stuck with Hillary?

Me: (laughing incredulously through a mouth full of beer) Hillary?! I don't even think Hillary can get the nomination.

Dad: Huh?

Me: Well, for starters, she's a woman. And also, the Democrats have this strategy of running only namby-pamby, pandering to the middle wuss-bags, which Hillary actually is, but conservatives hate her so much there's no way the Dems would nominate her.

Dad: She's exactly like her husband. Everything she does is politically motivated. She has no conscience.

Me: I don't exactly think Bush has a conscience.

Dad: He does, you just don't like it. I think Hillary will run, and I think she'll win.

Me: You mean the election? The presidency?!

Dad: Yes.

Me: No way. There is no way we're electing a female president. Not anytime soon.

Dad: In 2008.

Me: Care to put some money on that?

So the bet is for $100. I asked my dad if we were betting on the nomination or the election. He said it didn't matter, he'd be happy to take my money either way.

Dad, honey, Hillary's a girl. You are so gonna owe me $100.

Although I Have T-Shirts Attesting To The Sexiness of Both, I Can't Decide Which Is Sexier: Reading or Voting

Today was Election Day in the City of Norfolk (as well as throughout the rest of Tidewater). We elected new city council members and a new mayor. Well, actually, I suspect we elected the same old city council members and the same old mayor, but my point is that those were the offices in question.

So anyway, since democracy is not a spectator sport, I voted this evening. And what's more. . .I walked to the polling place. It's 0.4 miles from my house! I know I've lived in the city for almost a year now, but I still can't get over the number of places I'm able to walk to. Work, for starters. Plus numerous restaurants/bars (including Cogan's!), two wine shops, the movie theater, the video store, two coffee shops (one of which is Starbucks and therefore doesn't count since I'd never go in there anyway), the hospital, the bookstore, the health food store, two grocery stores, and lots of cute little shops I've never even been in.

I think we ought to add "walking" to my list of things that are sexy. It might even be sexier than voting.

Although. . .I noticed a seriously attractive guy (a "very nice boy my age") at the polling place this evening. Sadly, he drove away in an SUV, so I guess the sexiness of voting (and being hot) gets kind of cancelled out by the non-sexiness of driving an SUV. That's the trouble with boys these days. . .

Fun With Anagrams

Last night I went to O'Sullivan's to see everyone's favorite local cover band, Lovesick Cousin. When I arrived, the O'Sullivan's marquee (yes, it's the kind of dive with a marquee) was advertising its nightly specials -- porterhouse & tilapia -- on one side and Lovesick Cousin on the other side.

I'm not sure about the porterhouse or the tilapia, but I enjoyed Lovesick Cousin for a good hour and a half before Steve looked out the window and noticed that those specials had been replaced with

Now, personally I would have gone with "hot ass pooter," but, you know, that's just me. We all had a good laugh about the change, including our twenties-ish waitress who claimed she A) was soooooo embarrased and B) had never seen anything like that before.

About an hour later we noticed some furtive movement on the other side of the marquee and witnessed the sign-changers in the act. Guess who. . .yep, our soooooo embarrassed waitress (and two of her pals). When they came back inside we sent Jay out to see what the sign said. He laughed all the way back to our table and reported that he didn't think he could repeat it "in mixed company." Then Steve went to check it out and came back still laughing. "So what does it say?," I asked. Steve just shook his head and said, "You just gotta go see it." So I did:

I bet that's not bringing in a whole lot of business.

PS: Click here to download Lovesick Cousin tunes, including an original that's especially fun if you've recently been dumped by an idiot you never should have been with in the first place who hopes you can still be friends (which I have).

We're Not Leaving You Behind, We're Just Making Sure You Get Lost In The Shuffle

Students at Stephen H. Clarke Academy, an elementary school over in Portsmouth, don't score very well on the state's standardized tests. Fortunately, the Superintendent of Portsmouth Public Schools has a plan to address this problem: close the school and send those kids to some other school. That should do the trick. Said the Superintendent, "If you have a school that's not functioning, you close it."

Um, you do? You don't want to, maybe, look into why the school's not functioning and, I don't know, do something about it? It makes more sense to just ship the struggling kids off to other schools and hope the change of scenery will somehow magically improve their test scores?

Actually, this is exactly what schools are encouraged to do under No Child Left Behind. Students at schools that don't make "adequate yearly progress" (as measured by standardized test scores) are given the option of transferring to a school that does. Ultimately, "failing" schools must shut down or face privatization.

Implicit in this approach is the idea that poor teachers or schools -- rather than the myriad of issues most struggling students face -- are responsible for low test scores. In reality, it's probably a combination of the two factors, heavily weighted to the student baggage side.

Any idea how easy it is to learn when the only meal you get each day is your federally subsidized school lunch? Or when your parents never read to you at home? Or when you have to miss class frequently to take care of your younger brothers and sisters? Or when you work over 40 hours a week to support your family?

There's a reason we don't find failing schools in affluent areas: affluence makes it pretty easy to focus on school. But shifting struggling students to more successful schools in more affluent areas doesn't change the fact that they are struggling, and it does nothing to address the issues that interfere with their ability to learn.

Clarke is located next to a public housing project. Almost 75% of its students live below the poverty line and therefore qualify for either free or reduced-price lunches. Sending them to a different school will not change that.

It will, however, make it fairly easy to trick us all into thinking you're looking out for their best interests and that you don't want them to get "left behind." After all, in your benevolence, you've rescued them from a "bad" school, swung them up into the saddle of your white horse, and transported them to a "good" school where all of their troubles will melt away.

No Child Left Behind, like many of BushCo's policy initiatives, is cleverly marketed bullshit. If you really want to ensure that public education does not fail a single American student you adequately fund public schools, for starters. If you're serious about not leaving any children behind, you do something to address the problems that make it difficult for them to succeed in school rather than shifting them to a school where their problems are less visible in the aggregate. But BushCo doesn't really want to ensure that public education not fail a single American student. BushCo wants to ensure that public education itself fails. That is why, if you visit the NCLB website, you'll find a lot of talk about "school choice."

The real goal of NCLB is to replace our current education system with a voucher system in which parents shop for schools just as they might shop for a car or a pair of tennis shoes. This sounds very democratic on the surface of things, but the reality is that school choice runs contrary to the democratic notions underlying public education. Students and their families are not consumers of a service called education. The primary mission of public education is to create citizens who will actively participate in our democratic system, and who will work for the common good. Essentially, public schools create the public. It is a public, community mission which cannot be accomplished by the private sector.

It all, of course, goes back to Thomas Jefferson, who drafted a "Bill for the More General Diffusion of Knowledge" in 1779 and by 1786 believed that bill was "by far the most important bill in our whole code." Of it he wrote, "No other sure foundation can be devised for the preservation of freedom and happiness. . . .The tax which will be paid for this purpose is not more than the thousandth part of what will be paid to kings, priests and nobles who will rise up among us if we leave the people in ignorance." In 1787 he urged his fellow politicians to "educate and inform the whole mass of the people. Enable them to see that it is their interest to preserve peace and order, and they will preserve them. And it requires no very high degree of education to convince them of this. They are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty." In 1806, as President, Jefferson declared that "education is here placed among the articles of public care" and added that "a public institution can alone supply those sciences which, though rarely called for, are yet necessary to complete the circle, all the parts of which contribute to the improvement of the country, and some of them to its preservation."

So. . .public education is good for democracy. No wonder BushCo is intent on destroying it.

Wait, Is McCain Just Trying To Trick Us?

Jonathan Chait of the LA Times thinks so. Read all about it.

This Can't Be Good

I keep having this dream in which I am very meticulously removing slivers of glass -- I mean little tiny slivers -- from my feet with tweezers as I weep in pain. In the dream the soles of my feet are covered with these slivers of glass and I feel like I will never get them all out no matter how long I tweeze. Then (thankfully) I wake up and pet the cat, who is (as always) curled around my head, and I discover that my feet are sliver-free.

Unfortunately, this is not covered in my dream interpretation book, so I'm not entirely clear on what it means. I'm pretty sure it's bad though.

At Some Point You Have To Let Go

My brother and I have been talking about going up to the UFPJ protest in NYC on Saturday. This is apparently a source of great consternation for our die-hard Republican parents, both of whom grew up in the NYC area, my mom in Brooklyn and my dad in New Jersey just outside the city. I think it's the location of the protest rather than the protest itself that has them so worked up. They claim New York is scary and dangerous, despite not having been there in the last 25 years or so. Said my appalled authoritarian father to my fairly permissive mother, "You're not going to let them ride the subway, are you?!"

Hey Dad, maybe you didn't get the memo, but I'm thirty years old. You are not the boss of me!

Why I Love Living In Norfolk, Part 8012

Four words: Ocean View Community Beach.



Today was the kind of day that's so beautiful you feel guilty being inside. So around 12:30 this afternoon I threw a towel, some suncreen and a book in my bag, glanced at a map, and hopped in the car. Within 15 minutes I was wiggling my toes in the sand along the shore of the Chesapeake Bay (so really Ocean View Community Beach would be more appropriately named Bay View Community Beach, but whatever). This is a little park maintained by the City of Norfolk. There's not much to it except, you know, the beach, which is kinda what I went for.

Plus, there was bonus police activity! Late in the afternoon I was compelled to look up from my book by a woman screaming, "There's kids here! And you're doing this! Do you fucking understand that?!" (I guess screaming the f-word around kids is okay, while doing whatever "this" was is not.) I'd noticed a trio of scantily clad teenagers (I know everyone's "scantily clad" at the beach, but these kids were wearing clothes, not swimsuits, and they were the kind of clothes one associates with hookers rather than with beachgoers) staging some sort of sexy amateur photo-shoot earlier in the day, but I'd ignored them because, well, it was weird and I was reading. When I heard Screaming Lady, I wondered if the sexy photo-shoot might be the "this" she was screaming about, and indeed it was. Shortly after the screaming, two police officers showed up, chatted with all parties involved, and escorted the youngsters off the beach. I'm not sure what law they were breaking, but I sort of have to agree with Screaming Lady that if you'd like to take pictures of yourself on your hands and knees with your (scantily clad) ass in the air, or being felt up by another young lady, or practically humping a signpost, this is probably best done in the privacy of your own home.

The city actually maintains a much nicer, and therefore more crowded, beach park (Ocean View Beach Park) a few blocks down the street, but I think I'll stick with the Community Beach for its odd combination of solitude and the potential for drama. However, I'll have to hire myself a sunscreen boy lest I return from the beach looking like this again:

An Etymology Of Slang

On Friday, my students taught me a new word and I taught them a new word. Turns out they were basically the same word.

During my lunch-block class, I overheard a few of my students "frying" a girl about the neighborhood she lives in. They kept telling her, "Your neighborhood is so boozhy (boozh'ee)," a description that seemed to make her fairly uncomfortable. I'd never heard this boozhy term before, but this is a young lady whose father is a heart surgeon and who rarely wears the same outfit twice, so it's probably safe to assume she lives in a "nice" neighborhood, while the kids teasing her had just been describing a block party in their neighborhood where all the adults had simply tuned their car radios to the same station and hung out on the sidewalk. (By the way, the kids were working on an assignment throughout the discussion-- this generation can multitask like nobody's business.) Anyway, my powers of deduction being what they are, I figured I had a pretty good handle on "boozhy" based on context clues, but I was curious about the word, so I asked the kids.

Me: What's boozhy?

Kids: You don't know boozhy?!

Me: Nope, I've never heard boozhy before.

Kids: Boozhy's like preppie people. Yeah, you know those fancy people who think they're better than you? That's boozhy.

Me: Hmmmm. . .(writing "bourgeoisie" on the board). . .anybody know this word?

Kids: Oh yeah, some French thing.

So I talked briefly about the bourgeoisie within the context of the French Revolution and then within the context of Marxist theory (I like to keep it real on a Friday). And then. . .

Kids: Well that's just like boozhy.

Me: Mmm-hmm.

Kids: That's probably where boozhy comes from.

Me: Pretty cool, huh?

Then I went on (and on and on, apparently) about how interesting it is to study where words come from and how cool language is until one student said, "Dude, you get way too excited about words," at which point I told them they were all "wack" and retreated to my desk to contemplate etymology in silence.

Addendum 05-03-06: Josh, a madras-wearin' Jay-Z fan, has informed me that "boozhy" is actually spelled "boozy." I defer to his mad knowledge of gansta rap.

Welcome To The Long Emergency

This morning I read an article in my local paper about shortages at area gas stations. Shortly thereafter I received a forwarded email that detailed a master plan for consumers to lower the price of gas. The plan made sense -- instead of everyone boycotting gas stations on a particular day, which doesn't do much good since Exxon knows you'll eventually have to give in, this email recommended that everyone boycott a specific company (Exxon-Mobil) entirely until it's forced to lower its prices to attract business. This, in turn, will force the other gasoline companies to lower their prices in order to compete with Exxon-Mobil, and we will have successfully lowered the price of gasoline. Great.

Except the real problem is not that gas is nearly $3 a gallon, but that we are running out of oil. Given that even the best estimates place us (and I mean the global "us") at the peak of Hubbert's peak, wouldn't now be a pretty good time to start thinking seriously, I mean really seriously, about alternative sources of energy? Answer: no, several decades ago would have been a good time to start thinking about that. Now would be what we call imperative. Unless, of course, you kind of enjoyed the Great Depression.