I've been reading all these articles lately about how employees of some retail chains are ticked off because of the new Black Friday hours being implemented this year. Walmart is starting its Black Friday at 10PM on Thanksgiving--not really a big deal, because 99% of Walmarts in this country are open 24 hours anyway.
However, a lot of other stores are now getting in on the "open the earliest" action and many, like Best Buy and Target, are opening their Black Friday doors at midnight. There's been this big to-do all over the internet about employees and customers alike throwing their arms up in resistance. Apparently, in order for these stores to open, many of the employees have to report to work on Thanksgiving by 11 or even 10 PM. So they're pissed.
You know what's pissing me off? All these people bitching that they have to go in at 11:00 at night on Thanksgiving. That it's ruining their holiday, taking them away from family on a day that should be about family, not shopping. Well, kiss my behind Target and Best Buy employees.
Kmart is open ALL DAY on Thanksgiving. It opens at 6 AM. Yeah, that's right. For the last 3 years, I've been doing a juggling act hoping to get to see my family AT ALL on Thanksgiving, and now you're making front page news because you might have to leave early in the afternoon to catch some sleep before your shift? Go fly a kite.
And to hear the customers complaining? Blow me. The stores wouldn't open early at all if there weren't going to be people there to fill them. Do you think Kmart is empty on Thanksgiving day? Hell no. There is a line outside of the store at 4 AM waiting for the doors to open, people rush in just like they do on Friday to get deals. And then it's busy all day long. So, you think it's terrible that these other companies are making their employees come in to work AFTER they've been able to spend the entire day with their families, eat a good meal, and even get to take a turkey-induced afternoon nap? You know how I spent my Thanksgiving my first year at Kmart? In the break room with a plastic to-go container from the nearby grocery store with leftover turkey, green been casserole, and mashed potatoes, while my husband was able to go visit his family. There are men and women who have worked their lives in retail who NEVER have gotten to spend the day with their families, or least not in years.
So spare me the petition, Target employee. Be happy you have the day to see your loved ones. I'll be at Kmart at 7 AM, helping the people who won't be shopping in your store.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
I'd like my romance novel without the side of freaky-as-hell vampire porn, thanks.
I've started reading this new series on my Kindle: The Black Dagger Brotherhood. I went searching for fantasy novels with a side of romance, and popped up. It's a vampire series about a group of male vamps who fight against the "Lessening Society" who is bent on destroying the vampire race. They stories also follow the storylines of their love lives.
When I downloaded the first book, I was excited. I wanted to read the storyline of the war between the vamps and the "lessers" as they are called. And that plot is in there, but it takes a very, very small backseat to the love stories. I confess myself disappointed.
I like romance novels, don't get me wrong. I am a girl. I like cheesy, dramatic lines delivered by men unlike anyone you'll ever meet in real life. But these books simultaneously suck me in (to the plot about the lessers and the plot of the romance) and repulse me by the overwhelming amount of, and unbelievable nature of, sex.
It seems like the more fantasy romance novels I read, the more I am convinced that romance writers only use the fantasy backdrop to create obnoxiously unbelievable heroes and borderline pornography. Seriously. There is a group of like, six, of these guys and they're all the studliest, super-hung, amazing physical specimens that break women into drooling piles of quivering nerves. In the second book, the main vamp character is named Rhage (yes, that right, Rhage. With an H.). He has this curse that when he suffers intense pain, or anger, or apparently sexual attraction, he transforms into a scaly, dragon-like beast. Well, of course the romance part of the novel has to allow for the woman he loves to either accept or reject "his beast" as the writer has termed it. Oh, not only does she accept it as part of him, she lets it come out while they're doing it.
I'm sorry, what? This female character has just be re-diagnosed with leukemia and she decides she'd loved to have sex with a dragon? Wow.
I do not defend romance as a genre as being anywhere near a higher class of literature. It's entertaining smut, truthfully. They're formulaic and use very little imagination and don't exactly bring the human condition into sharp perspective. But writers like Nicholas Sparks manage to write beautiful love stories, have a little fade to black when the nooky starts happening, and I devour the books. Fantasy romance, in my opinion ranks even lower that just straight romance novels, and that's saying something.
This "Black Dagger Brotherhood" series, though. I'm on book three and I might just have to stop after this. I like the plot of the war and restoration of the vampire race, but I just don't know if I want to continue to wade through all the crap to get there. And frankly, some of its grossing me out.
When I downloaded the first book, I was excited. I wanted to read the storyline of the war between the vamps and the "lessers" as they are called. And that plot is in there, but it takes a very, very small backseat to the love stories. I confess myself disappointed.
I like romance novels, don't get me wrong. I am a girl. I like cheesy, dramatic lines delivered by men unlike anyone you'll ever meet in real life. But these books simultaneously suck me in (to the plot about the lessers and the plot of the romance) and repulse me by the overwhelming amount of, and unbelievable nature of, sex.
It seems like the more fantasy romance novels I read, the more I am convinced that romance writers only use the fantasy backdrop to create obnoxiously unbelievable heroes and borderline pornography. Seriously. There is a group of like, six, of these guys and they're all the studliest, super-hung, amazing physical specimens that break women into drooling piles of quivering nerves. In the second book, the main vamp character is named Rhage (yes, that right, Rhage. With an H.). He has this curse that when he suffers intense pain, or anger, or apparently sexual attraction, he transforms into a scaly, dragon-like beast. Well, of course the romance part of the novel has to allow for the woman he loves to either accept or reject "his beast" as the writer has termed it. Oh, not only does she accept it as part of him, she lets it come out while they're doing it.
I'm sorry, what? This female character has just be re-diagnosed with leukemia and she decides she'd loved to have sex with a dragon? Wow.
I do not defend romance as a genre as being anywhere near a higher class of literature. It's entertaining smut, truthfully. They're formulaic and use very little imagination and don't exactly bring the human condition into sharp perspective. But writers like Nicholas Sparks manage to write beautiful love stories, have a little fade to black when the nooky starts happening, and I devour the books. Fantasy romance, in my opinion ranks even lower that just straight romance novels, and that's saying something.
This "Black Dagger Brotherhood" series, though. I'm on book three and I might just have to stop after this. I like the plot of the war and restoration of the vampire race, but I just don't know if I want to continue to wade through all the crap to get there. And frankly, some of its grossing me out.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Metal and stone
The theme yesterday on the 10th anniversary of 9/11/01 seemed to be, "Where were you?" and, "How has your life changed as a result?"
Well, at the risk of being boring and redundant, I'm going to spend a few minutes reflecting.
9/11 wasn't just a tragic event. It is my generation's Pearl Harbor, Kennedy assassination. It was the moment of a young life that will forever be etched into one's mind. It will be the marker by which a life is measured: before the Twin Towers fell and after.
Before I never had a reason to feel anything but secure in a country that boasted bravery and freedom. Battles that spilled blood onto American soil were left to the history texts; things like that didn't happen in our world. In our safe, modern, free world.
Until an airplane struck a tower of metal and stone in a city so far away yet too near to my tiny Midwestern town. I, like most everybody, heard about the first impact and thought, "How does someone crash into a skyscraper?" It never entered my mind that someone would do it on purpose. Until the second plane hit. And then the third. And then the fourth one went down in a field outside of a town smaller than my own.
I was in class when another faculty member rushed in and told us to turn on the tv, then left immediately to tell the next class. But after the first impact, there seemed to exist and unspoken agreement between the teachers and the students. The class material was irrelevant. The television in each classroom stayed on. The classes without tvs poured into rooms that had them. Few spoke. The halls were as silent as they are in the dead of night, when no one is around to hear the creaking of the old lockers. Faculty, staff, and students watched in rapt attention and horror as a plane struck the second tower, and still when the pillars that guarded New York's skyline fell crumbling, reminding us that our mark on this Earth will never be as permanent as we think it will be.
Would it be so unreasonable to believe that until that day, I'd never even heard of the World Trade Center? I knew nothing about it. Back in a town entrenched on the Mississippi River, things that happened in New York City were foreign and exotic. As a 16-year-old girl, my life seemed filled with my own immediate surroundings.
Classes got out early, parents in a panic to pick up their children and get them home. Home, into more buildings made of stone and metal that no longer felt as safe as they always had. Dinner was eaten in front of the tv that night. Whatever was in the house that could be made into a sandwich was, and we watched as the country tried to make sense of what had happened. Tried to understand that there were people in this world who would kill mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and friends because they didn't like the way those people lived their lives. Because they had been born on a particular piece of earth.
Before 9/11/01 my world was very small. After, my world became too big. Things like "terrorist alert levels" became common in news broadcasts. Grief struck so many, but remained alien to me, a young girl who didn't understand. I could no longer believe that the American Dream was something that everybody wanted, but had to realize it was also something that some wanted to destroy. That were people in this world who had a capacity for the kind of evil and hatred that kills innocent men, women, and children.
I knew nobody in the Twin Towers that day. I'm not even sure if I knew anyone who lived in New York at that time. But my world shifted, just like everybody else. As a child, it was the moment when I had to confront the real world. It was thrust into my consciousness by crumbling steel and concrete.
We all watched in horror that day. The horror still feels fresh today. I hope that there will not be a day when those of us who were watching will become numb to the tragedy of what occurred. Because that will mean that we have started to forget. To forget what it felt like to watch people just like us--who got up in the morning, went to school or work, and never knew they wouldn't come home again--forget what it felt like to watch their lives stolen. The absolute, astonishing horror of watching life being extinguished on live television, as we stood by helplessly.
I will not pretend to know what those families live through every day. 9/11 happened to all of us, but it mostly happened to them. It happened to someone whose life was probably exactly like my own, only in a different place. All because she happened to be born on a particular piece of earth.
It will always be a defining moment in my life because it didn't happen to me, but it did happen to me, too, and I will never forget.
Well, at the risk of being boring and redundant, I'm going to spend a few minutes reflecting.
9/11 wasn't just a tragic event. It is my generation's Pearl Harbor, Kennedy assassination. It was the moment of a young life that will forever be etched into one's mind. It will be the marker by which a life is measured: before the Twin Towers fell and after.
Before I never had a reason to feel anything but secure in a country that boasted bravery and freedom. Battles that spilled blood onto American soil were left to the history texts; things like that didn't happen in our world. In our safe, modern, free world.
Until an airplane struck a tower of metal and stone in a city so far away yet too near to my tiny Midwestern town. I, like most everybody, heard about the first impact and thought, "How does someone crash into a skyscraper?" It never entered my mind that someone would do it on purpose. Until the second plane hit. And then the third. And then the fourth one went down in a field outside of a town smaller than my own.
I was in class when another faculty member rushed in and told us to turn on the tv, then left immediately to tell the next class. But after the first impact, there seemed to exist and unspoken agreement between the teachers and the students. The class material was irrelevant. The television in each classroom stayed on. The classes without tvs poured into rooms that had them. Few spoke. The halls were as silent as they are in the dead of night, when no one is around to hear the creaking of the old lockers. Faculty, staff, and students watched in rapt attention and horror as a plane struck the second tower, and still when the pillars that guarded New York's skyline fell crumbling, reminding us that our mark on this Earth will never be as permanent as we think it will be.
Would it be so unreasonable to believe that until that day, I'd never even heard of the World Trade Center? I knew nothing about it. Back in a town entrenched on the Mississippi River, things that happened in New York City were foreign and exotic. As a 16-year-old girl, my life seemed filled with my own immediate surroundings.
Classes got out early, parents in a panic to pick up their children and get them home. Home, into more buildings made of stone and metal that no longer felt as safe as they always had. Dinner was eaten in front of the tv that night. Whatever was in the house that could be made into a sandwich was, and we watched as the country tried to make sense of what had happened. Tried to understand that there were people in this world who would kill mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and friends because they didn't like the way those people lived their lives. Because they had been born on a particular piece of earth.
Before 9/11/01 my world was very small. After, my world became too big. Things like "terrorist alert levels" became common in news broadcasts. Grief struck so many, but remained alien to me, a young girl who didn't understand. I could no longer believe that the American Dream was something that everybody wanted, but had to realize it was also something that some wanted to destroy. That were people in this world who had a capacity for the kind of evil and hatred that kills innocent men, women, and children.
I knew nobody in the Twin Towers that day. I'm not even sure if I knew anyone who lived in New York at that time. But my world shifted, just like everybody else. As a child, it was the moment when I had to confront the real world. It was thrust into my consciousness by crumbling steel and concrete.
We all watched in horror that day. The horror still feels fresh today. I hope that there will not be a day when those of us who were watching will become numb to the tragedy of what occurred. Because that will mean that we have started to forget. To forget what it felt like to watch people just like us--who got up in the morning, went to school or work, and never knew they wouldn't come home again--forget what it felt like to watch their lives stolen. The absolute, astonishing horror of watching life being extinguished on live television, as we stood by helplessly.
I will not pretend to know what those families live through every day. 9/11 happened to all of us, but it mostly happened to them. It happened to someone whose life was probably exactly like my own, only in a different place. All because she happened to be born on a particular piece of earth.
It will always be a defining moment in my life because it didn't happen to me, but it did happen to me, too, and I will never forget.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sometimes, it's all a matter of perspective.
I know that I've ranted about having to work at KMart and all the crazy and stressful things that have happened to me while there. But a friend of my shared this link on facebook, and it made me so, so happy that I worked at KMart.
Man with Exposed Erection Arrested Outside of Walmart
Man with Exposed Erection Arrested Outside of Walmart
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Addition to the previous post:
I forgot to mention these in my previous posting:
Yes, everyone, that's correct. We now carry socks designed to be worn with flip flops.
Is there no shame anymore?
Yes, everyone, that's correct. We now carry socks designed to be worn with flip flops.
Is there no shame anymore?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Deep Thoughts from KMart
Deep thoughts from today's shift of freight at KMart:
You make think you've seen ugly purses, but I present to you the Ugliest Purse Ever:
And it comes in black, silver, and pink in addition to giant-purple-people-eater.
You know that saying, "Don't count your chickens before they hatch"? Well, I'm tweaking that for KMart freight: "Don't hatch your rubber duckies before you count them." We got in BOXES of rubber duckies for infants. I took them out of the boxes, and threw the boxes out before counting them. And I had to count them to put them on locator in our stockroom. There were approximately this many:
(In actuality, there were 300. 100 per box. So I didn't have to count after the first 100, once I figured out how many were in each bag that was inside the boxes. But can you imagine counting 100 rubber duckies by hand? Just try. It's not fun.)
And of course, there were the incredibly smart people who thought they could get away with swapping a UPC for a $7.99 car accessory for a $50 motorcycle battery and the cashier wouldn't notice it. And it left me doing this:
Goodnight folks. May tomorrow bring shenanigans for you to enjoy.
You make think you've seen ugly purses, but I present to you the Ugliest Purse Ever:
And it comes in black, silver, and pink in addition to giant-purple-people-eater.
You know that saying, "Don't count your chickens before they hatch"? Well, I'm tweaking that for KMart freight: "Don't hatch your rubber duckies before you count them." We got in BOXES of rubber duckies for infants. I took them out of the boxes, and threw the boxes out before counting them. And I had to count them to put them on locator in our stockroom. There were approximately this many:
(In actuality, there were 300. 100 per box. So I didn't have to count after the first 100, once I figured out how many were in each bag that was inside the boxes. But can you imagine counting 100 rubber duckies by hand? Just try. It's not fun.)
And of course, there were the incredibly smart people who thought they could get away with swapping a UPC for a $7.99 car accessory for a $50 motorcycle battery and the cashier wouldn't notice it. And it left me doing this:
Goodnight folks. May tomorrow bring shenanigans for you to enjoy.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Let it be.
People are sometimes so predictable and benign that it's funny. Like those that come into KMart. Sure, I complain about stupidity and rudeness, but honestly, most of the people I've written about on here are completely harmless. They just think that some of life's tiniest road bumps are huge obstacles; and no one taught them to control their anger (it was probably indulged by bad parenting) or to treat everyone with respect.
Other times, people surprise me. Some are humbling surprises of the wealth of kindness that can be found in the world. When I read about people putting their lives in danger to save a loved one, or this kid who who gives to those he knows need it more. There is a remarkable amount of goodness in the world, the problem is that usually, the bad gets more attention.
Take the Westboro Baptist Church. They're coming to my state this week, to Springfield, IL, to be exact, to protest in the capital. Their website says they are protesting at the capital because of the attempts of the state of Illinois to block their right to protest, and they're also apparently protesting at some KISS concert because KISS fans don't like them either. Well, frankly, trying to block their protesting may be one thing that the state of Illinois actually did RIGHT, and this may be the one thing I have in common with KISS fans. Go figure. I, quite honestly, have a few dogs in this fight. They protest military funerals. My Grandfather was in the Navy, my brother is in the Army. They hate Jews. My brother, sister-in-law, and her family are Jewish. They hate homosexuals. I have quite a few gay friends. So when people hate my people, I get angry.
I'd never been to their website before I saw one of my friends commenting on a Facebook event trying to rally people to go protest their protest. So I thought I'd check it out, and while it did make me angry, oh did it light a fire under my ass, it also made me so sad for those people. Not the ones being protested, but the protesters. How terrible must it be to live with so much hatred in your heart? They hate law makers, they hate this country for "allowing" homosexuality, they hate other religions, they hate, it seems, everything. And I feel bad for them, because they'll never really know love or happiness, because they will spend their whole lives following others they hate around a land they hate, trying to spread hate.
I'm not an expert on religion. I haven't read the Bible cover to cover (I'm a bad Catholic, what can I say?) but I do know that the message I've been taught since I was little was a message of love, not hate. There are all sorts of places in the Bible, Old and New Testament alike, where the words are ambiguous, sometimes even seeming to advocate anger, hatred, and violence, like the famous, "I come not to bring peace, but a sword."
I could go on and on about places in the Bible where Jesus talks about loving one another, and suspending judgement of your fellow man, but I won't. Because I think this even goes outside of religion. People who aren't religious get fired up about these folks, so it's not just religious sensibilities that they're offending. Even were I not religious (and my level varies from day to day, truthfully), I would still be angered and saddened by this group of people. Who are they hurting but themselves? If we all just ignored them, maybe even gave them pity (because let's face it, they're pathetic), maybe they'd go away. They want people to get angry. They want us to stomp and tirade against them, becuase they see that as their message being clear, inciting a response, and being broadcast even further by the enraged. So maybe we should just stop giving them lip service and start ignoring their hate-filled asses. If they've got no one left to preach to, their existence becomes meaningless. You cannot fight fire with fire, after all. That only creates more of the same. You have to pour out the flames with cold water. So fight hatred with indifference. It's difficult to keep fighting with people who have no interest in a fight. Try hating someone who not only doesn't hate you back, but has no investment whatsoever in your hatred. It's hard, if not impossible, to sustain.
Other times, people surprise me. Some are humbling surprises of the wealth of kindness that can be found in the world. When I read about people putting their lives in danger to save a loved one, or this kid who who gives to those he knows need it more. There is a remarkable amount of goodness in the world, the problem is that usually, the bad gets more attention.
Take the Westboro Baptist Church. They're coming to my state this week, to Springfield, IL, to be exact, to protest in the capital. Their website says they are protesting at the capital because of the attempts of the state of Illinois to block their right to protest, and they're also apparently protesting at some KISS concert because KISS fans don't like them either. Well, frankly, trying to block their protesting may be one thing that the state of Illinois actually did RIGHT, and this may be the one thing I have in common with KISS fans. Go figure. I, quite honestly, have a few dogs in this fight. They protest military funerals. My Grandfather was in the Navy, my brother is in the Army. They hate Jews. My brother, sister-in-law, and her family are Jewish. They hate homosexuals. I have quite a few gay friends. So when people hate my people, I get angry.
I'd never been to their website before I saw one of my friends commenting on a Facebook event trying to rally people to go protest their protest. So I thought I'd check it out, and while it did make me angry, oh did it light a fire under my ass, it also made me so sad for those people. Not the ones being protested, but the protesters. How terrible must it be to live with so much hatred in your heart? They hate law makers, they hate this country for "allowing" homosexuality, they hate other religions, they hate, it seems, everything. And I feel bad for them, because they'll never really know love or happiness, because they will spend their whole lives following others they hate around a land they hate, trying to spread hate.
I'm not an expert on religion. I haven't read the Bible cover to cover (I'm a bad Catholic, what can I say?) but I do know that the message I've been taught since I was little was a message of love, not hate. There are all sorts of places in the Bible, Old and New Testament alike, where the words are ambiguous, sometimes even seeming to advocate anger, hatred, and violence, like the famous, "I come not to bring peace, but a sword."
I could go on and on about places in the Bible where Jesus talks about loving one another, and suspending judgement of your fellow man, but I won't. Because I think this even goes outside of religion. People who aren't religious get fired up about these folks, so it's not just religious sensibilities that they're offending. Even were I not religious (and my level varies from day to day, truthfully), I would still be angered and saddened by this group of people. Who are they hurting but themselves? If we all just ignored them, maybe even gave them pity (because let's face it, they're pathetic), maybe they'd go away. They want people to get angry. They want us to stomp and tirade against them, becuase they see that as their message being clear, inciting a response, and being broadcast even further by the enraged. So maybe we should just stop giving them lip service and start ignoring their hate-filled asses. If they've got no one left to preach to, their existence becomes meaningless. You cannot fight fire with fire, after all. That only creates more of the same. You have to pour out the flames with cold water. So fight hatred with indifference. It's difficult to keep fighting with people who have no interest in a fight. Try hating someone who not only doesn't hate you back, but has no investment whatsoever in your hatred. It's hard, if not impossible, to sustain.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
How about some fries with that shake?
How many people reading this have visited a Steak n' Shake at least once? I assume that most people have, some of you probably with me at least once. In case you haven't, or you're just not aware, when one goes to Steak n' Shake, their bills come pre-split (in a way). It lists what each "seat" ordered, the total for that seat, and then the total for the entire party. It's nice, because it makes it SO easy to split a bill. No trying to remember what each person's meal cost, no trying to factor out tax so that someone doesn't grossly over or under pay. It's simple. But apparently, it's only simple for the customers.
A friend was in town last week, and we went to Steak n' Shake. We both got the same meal, except I had a milkshake and she had something else that wasn't a milkshake (was it water? tea? She reads this, so she may remember). Moving on. When the bill came, it listed each seat total, with one saying "double with cheese" and "cookies and cream shake" and the other saying "double with cheese" and "something not a shake".
(A short aside: the waitress brought my milkshake out AFTER our meals had arrived. She actually came over after we'd been waiting over 15 minutes for our food--which I'm not opposed to in a restaurant where they're actually out killing your steakburger when your order comes in. Anyway, she comes out to ask if she can refill our drinks and apologize for the wait for our meals. When she asks, "Can I get you a refill?" I tried to politely respond, "No, but you can get me my shake." Yeah, the food came within 5 minutes, and my shake arrived a little after that. I get annoyed when I go places and my appetizer isn't served prior to my main course. Imagine my displeasure that my beverage arrived post-first-bite of the burger. Not. Okay.
And now back to our feature presentation . . .)
So my friend and I go to pay our bills. I hand the cashier the check, tell her we need to split the bill, and I'm paying for the double meal and the shake. She punches approximately 26 buttons and tells me my total is $3 something. I must have given her a stupid look, because she mumbled something about a milkshake. I corrected her, again politely, that I'm not just paying for a shake (Seriously? Why would my friend come in and eat TWO of the same meals, while I sipped on my late-shake?). She gets all freaked out because she already split the bill and doesn't know how to un-split it. After calling for someone to help her and while having to wait for that person, I tell her just to ring up the whole bill. The meal was $4, so friendly and I just decide to trade cash, and I'll just swipe my debit card for the whole thing. This is, apparently, just as complicated as splitting it. It takes another 3-4 minutes before the bill is put back together, my card swiped, and the transaction finished.
And for the grand finale, she doesn't tell me until AFTER the whole incident is finished and the transaction complete that the receipt printer ran out of tape, she didn't know how to refill it, and wants to know if it's okay if I don't get a receipt, because she can't reprint it if I do. A little late, don't you think?
I guess I can't blame some of the people who come into the 'mart and assume I'm not firing on all pistons. Look at their reference points.
A friend was in town last week, and we went to Steak n' Shake. We both got the same meal, except I had a milkshake and she had something else that wasn't a milkshake (was it water? tea? She reads this, so she may remember). Moving on. When the bill came, it listed each seat total, with one saying "double with cheese" and "cookies and cream shake" and the other saying "double with cheese" and "something not a shake".
(A short aside: the waitress brought my milkshake out AFTER our meals had arrived. She actually came over after we'd been waiting over 15 minutes for our food--which I'm not opposed to in a restaurant where they're actually out killing your steakburger when your order comes in. Anyway, she comes out to ask if she can refill our drinks and apologize for the wait for our meals. When she asks, "Can I get you a refill?" I tried to politely respond, "No, but you can get me my shake." Yeah, the food came within 5 minutes, and my shake arrived a little after that. I get annoyed when I go places and my appetizer isn't served prior to my main course. Imagine my displeasure that my beverage arrived post-first-bite of the burger. Not. Okay.
And now back to our feature presentation . . .)
So my friend and I go to pay our bills. I hand the cashier the check, tell her we need to split the bill, and I'm paying for the double meal and the shake. She punches approximately 26 buttons and tells me my total is $3 something. I must have given her a stupid look, because she mumbled something about a milkshake. I corrected her, again politely, that I'm not just paying for a shake (Seriously? Why would my friend come in and eat TWO of the same meals, while I sipped on my late-shake?). She gets all freaked out because she already split the bill and doesn't know how to un-split it. After calling for someone to help her and while having to wait for that person, I tell her just to ring up the whole bill. The meal was $4, so friendly and I just decide to trade cash, and I'll just swipe my debit card for the whole thing. This is, apparently, just as complicated as splitting it. It takes another 3-4 minutes before the bill is put back together, my card swiped, and the transaction finished.
And for the grand finale, she doesn't tell me until AFTER the whole incident is finished and the transaction complete that the receipt printer ran out of tape, she didn't know how to refill it, and wants to know if it's okay if I don't get a receipt, because she can't reprint it if I do. A little late, don't you think?
I guess I can't blame some of the people who come into the 'mart and assume I'm not firing on all pistons. Look at their reference points.
Monday, June 13, 2011
This is further proof that I should never have kids.
I've been seriously slacking in my posting lately. I'm sure all 4 of my regular readers are terribly disappointed in my recent absenteeism. My apologies. So here's a story that proves to me why I shouldn't be responsible for children:
I got home from class tonight and couldn't find my dog. (The hubby is out of town, so no one was here.) I didn't really think anything of it, because we'd been wracked by severe thunderstorms all afternoon, and he's really gun-shy. I expected that he would be hiding, but he wasn't under the bed or in his kennel, which is where he usually is. I figured he would just come out when he wanted to. I took off my shoes and opened the closet to put them away, and there's my dog--sitting right in front of the closet door. (And this is not a walk-in closet, friends.) He must have ducked into it sometime after I changed for class, but before I left, when I went in to close the door to make sure he--ironically--didn't get into any of my shoes while I was gone.
I got home just before 9. I left at 5. My poor little chihuahua was stuck in my closet, during a thunderstorm, with no food or water, for 4 hours! I'm such a terrible mother! He's still acting very skittish. I'm telling myself it's because there's still thunder and lightning outside, but I'm freaking out that I scarred my poor dog for the rest of his life. I cannot believe I shut that poor baby in my closet all evening. It makes me want to cry!
Never. Having. Kids. Ever.
I got home from class tonight and couldn't find my dog. (The hubby is out of town, so no one was here.) I didn't really think anything of it, because we'd been wracked by severe thunderstorms all afternoon, and he's really gun-shy. I expected that he would be hiding, but he wasn't under the bed or in his kennel, which is where he usually is. I figured he would just come out when he wanted to. I took off my shoes and opened the closet to put them away, and there's my dog--sitting right in front of the closet door. (And this is not a walk-in closet, friends.) He must have ducked into it sometime after I changed for class, but before I left, when I went in to close the door to make sure he--ironically--didn't get into any of my shoes while I was gone.
I got home just before 9. I left at 5. My poor little chihuahua was stuck in my closet, during a thunderstorm, with no food or water, for 4 hours! I'm such a terrible mother! He's still acting very skittish. I'm telling myself it's because there's still thunder and lightning outside, but I'm freaking out that I scarred my poor dog for the rest of his life. I cannot believe I shut that poor baby in my closet all evening. It makes me want to cry!
Never. Having. Kids. Ever.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Come quickly, summer of little responsibility!
My semester is finally over. I submitted my last grades today. And within 2 hours I got my first email from a student wanting to know why she got one grade instead of another. I hate that. I don't just hand out grades. I average together their scores on everything and get a number. Then a grading scale tells me what letter that number corresponds to. Normally, it's someone who failed to realize that missing 10+ classes would affect his/her grade. But not this time, no. Because this particular school uses a plus/minus grading scale. So this one was wondering why she got an A- instead of an A. (The top of the scale starts with A, so there's no A+. It just goes: A, A-, B+, B, B-, etc. on down to the F).
In some respects, I like the plus/minus scale. But in others, I hate it. Personally, I think that if we had used it at the college I attended, I would have hated it. I don't like the fact that you could technically earn all A's during your college career, but not have a 4.0, because an A- earns you a 3.7 instead (or something like that). So in some respects, yes, I get this student's frustration because maybe she was trying to make it through college with a 4.0. But on the other hand, why passive-aggresively email me and suggest that somehow, I miscalculated or incorrectly entered it? ("I was wondering if perhaps there was a mistake in my grade, and was wondering why I got an A- instead of an A.) Yeah, there was a mistake in the grade: You got a B on one paper. Grr.
I'm not really mad at the student. I'm mad at the grading scale. And life in general because I cannot ever seem to get through a single semester when I don't have a someone crying foul over a grade that he/she earned.
This is one of the many reasons I have determined this semester that although I do like teaching, it's not what I want to do forever. So, Library Science it is. I'll just keep trying stuff until something fits. Sooner or later, right? I guess when all is said and done, I can always consider a career in retail. [please note the sarcasm]
In some respects, I like the plus/minus scale. But in others, I hate it. Personally, I think that if we had used it at the college I attended, I would have hated it. I don't like the fact that you could technically earn all A's during your college career, but not have a 4.0, because an A- earns you a 3.7 instead (or something like that). So in some respects, yes, I get this student's frustration because maybe she was trying to make it through college with a 4.0. But on the other hand, why passive-aggresively email me and suggest that somehow, I miscalculated or incorrectly entered it? ("I was wondering if perhaps there was a mistake in my grade, and was wondering why I got an A- instead of an A.) Yeah, there was a mistake in the grade: You got a B on one paper. Grr.
I'm not really mad at the student. I'm mad at the grading scale. And life in general because I cannot ever seem to get through a single semester when I don't have a someone crying foul over a grade that he/she earned.
This is one of the many reasons I have determined this semester that although I do like teaching, it's not what I want to do forever. So, Library Science it is. I'll just keep trying stuff until something fits. Sooner or later, right? I guess when all is said and done, I can always consider a career in retail. [please note the sarcasm]
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
I'm not really saying anything in this post, so enjoy the nothingness.
The school year is almost over. Two of my three schools are done for the summer, and the last one finishes up next week. I'm looking forward to summertime. Less stress, more time with the hubby who is not going away for 3 months. Yay!
I will be back at KMart, though. It looks like my first day will be the 22nd of May. I'll probably stick around in to the fall, too, as I won't be teaching as much as I was this semester. 2 sections of composition and 1 FYE course at one university, and then my open learning courses at the other. Shouldn't be too bad, especially if my boss is able to put me on morning filling like she said she wants to. I can't say I'm super excited to work in retail again, but I am looking forward to seeing my KMart peeps again. They're good people.
I've made a life decision, and this time, I'm sticking with it. MLIS. That's where I'm going. I'm working on my apps this summer so I can get them top-notch, and then I'll apply this fall for the next year's admission. So this time next year will [hopefully] find me preparing to go back to school. I'm applying to three schools: University of Indiana Bloomington, University of Washington Seattle, and University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Keep the fingers crossed for me. I need to nail my GRE and personal statements. My grades are good, my recommendations will be good. So if anything's going to keep my out, it will be my first standardized test score since the GRE, and my inability to express what I want out of potential career in Library Science.
Prayers and good wishes come the fall. As for now, I'm going to enjoy my brief break from the madness of teaching college composition.
I will be back at KMart, though. It looks like my first day will be the 22nd of May. I'll probably stick around in to the fall, too, as I won't be teaching as much as I was this semester. 2 sections of composition and 1 FYE course at one university, and then my open learning courses at the other. Shouldn't be too bad, especially if my boss is able to put me on morning filling like she said she wants to. I can't say I'm super excited to work in retail again, but I am looking forward to seeing my KMart peeps again. They're good people.
I've made a life decision, and this time, I'm sticking with it. MLIS. That's where I'm going. I'm working on my apps this summer so I can get them top-notch, and then I'll apply this fall for the next year's admission. So this time next year will [hopefully] find me preparing to go back to school. I'm applying to three schools: University of Indiana Bloomington, University of Washington Seattle, and University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Keep the fingers crossed for me. I need to nail my GRE and personal statements. My grades are good, my recommendations will be good. So if anything's going to keep my out, it will be my first standardized test score since the GRE, and my inability to express what I want out of potential career in Library Science.
Prayers and good wishes come the fall. As for now, I'm going to enjoy my brief break from the madness of teaching college composition.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Roads diverged in a yellow wood
So it's been a while. In my defense, it's been crazy busy in the world of freshmen composition. Teaching 5 sections of writing means a lot of planning and even more grading. But one of the semesters ends this week, and the other two are in the home stretch of final writing assignments and projects, so there's not a lot to be done on my end at this very second. There certainly will be in the next few weeks, though, when I start getting all of the papers to grade. Joy.
The hubby and I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. A lot of thinking about whether we're ready to start expanding our family. Read: Holly is thinking about having kids. GASP.
I know, I know; those of you who have known me for a while may well be shocked by that statement from the girl who proclaimed for most of her life that she never wanted kids. It's not that I dislike children, I actually think children are amazing little people; rather, it's that I've always felt like I don't have the temperment to be a mother. Truthfully, I feel like I'm too selfish of a person to give up so many things that I LOVE for kids. I'm afraid that eventually, I'll regret or resent having to sacrifice things for those little bundles of joy It's a tough argument to have with yourself because it's one of those things you never really understand until you become a parent. Will the selfishness go away?
I have friends with new children who assure me that it will. But most of those friends are people that have always, always, always known that they wanted to be parents. I'm not like that. There's a lot that I want to do, a lot I want to experience, that would be interrupted by kids, and it would be unfair to them, because they wouldn't have all of me, 100%.
I have a feeling that any of my motherly friends that read this will offer advice and reassurance. Thoughts about how it doesn't feel like you're "giving up" anything, or that you don't have to "lose yourself" to become a mother. But that's not really what this is about.
I see little babies, with their baby-powder smell and big, innocent smiles and I want one. I really, really do. I want to hold that little darling in my arms and wait for the day he/she first utters "Mommy." I want to bandage their skinned knees, bake them cookies on the weekend, read to them at night, teach them to ride a bike, dance in the kitchen with a toddler in my arms to a made-up song I'm humming, knowing that nothing in the world could be more important than moments like those.
I want to be like my Mom. I want to tell them made-up stories about Mickey Mouse when they can't sleep, sing them made-up songs about their lives, hold them when they come home from school crying because some bully picked on them, assure them that everything will be okay. I want that. I really do.
But then there's the logic side of my brain that says. No. You don't want that. How could you want to bring a life into this world, knowing what a mess it is? What if you leave your children in a world that worse than the one you're in now? Can you live with that? What about all of the orphaned or abandoned children in the world, wishing and needing a Mom? How selfish is it to want one that's made from me, when there a millions of kids without love and happiness in their lives?
What about traveling? I wouldn't feel right dumping my kids off on one of the Grandmas, and taking off for 2 weeks to see Europe like I've always wanted to do. That's a non-negotiable goal for my life. I will go to Europe. I will visit Ireland, and Britain, and Spain, and Italy, and Austria, and Germany, and Denmark, and a dozen other places in between. Small children not only would hinder the things I want to do there, but they also wouldn't enjoy the trip to its fullest advantage. I'm not willing to give this up. And I don't want to do it when I'm 50. I want to do it in the next 5-7 years.
And what about school? I'm planning on moving away in the next 18 months, to pursue another degree. I don't want to have kids so far away from my Mom. I need my Mom. I want my Mom around. I don't want to have a baby, and then move thousands of miles away, where my parents and in laws can't see their grandbabies grow up and lose their teeth, go to kindergarden, graduate from high school. I know once we move away from Quincy, we won't move back. The only job for my husband in the area is the one he's got now, and once he leaves, he won't want to go back. And there's not a lot for me here, either. Not in the field I'm choosing. So who knows where I'll be in 4 years.
I'm a point in my life where the path hasn't forked. It's branched into a dozen different paths, all offering some things I want, and delaying or removing others. I'm at war with all of these different desires, some whose pull is so much stronger than others. If I take one path, will I be able to go back to this point, and choose another one? What if it alters so much that I lose something?
There are a hundred different cliches about life. Life isn't fair. Life is an adventure. Life's a bitch and then you die. Life is what you make it.
Life is a map. With a thousand different places to start and a thousand ways to get to a thousand different places. Sooner or later, I'll have to choose a direction, or face ending up in a cornfield. (I live in Illinois, what can I say?)
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The hubby and I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. A lot of thinking about whether we're ready to start expanding our family. Read: Holly is thinking about having kids. GASP.
I know, I know; those of you who have known me for a while may well be shocked by that statement from the girl who proclaimed for most of her life that she never wanted kids. It's not that I dislike children, I actually think children are amazing little people; rather, it's that I've always felt like I don't have the temperment to be a mother. Truthfully, I feel like I'm too selfish of a person to give up so many things that I LOVE for kids. I'm afraid that eventually, I'll regret or resent having to sacrifice things for those little bundles of joy It's a tough argument to have with yourself because it's one of those things you never really understand until you become a parent. Will the selfishness go away?
I have friends with new children who assure me that it will. But most of those friends are people that have always, always, always known that they wanted to be parents. I'm not like that. There's a lot that I want to do, a lot I want to experience, that would be interrupted by kids, and it would be unfair to them, because they wouldn't have all of me, 100%.
I have a feeling that any of my motherly friends that read this will offer advice and reassurance. Thoughts about how it doesn't feel like you're "giving up" anything, or that you don't have to "lose yourself" to become a mother. But that's not really what this is about.
I see little babies, with their baby-powder smell and big, innocent smiles and I want one. I really, really do. I want to hold that little darling in my arms and wait for the day he/she first utters "Mommy." I want to bandage their skinned knees, bake them cookies on the weekend, read to them at night, teach them to ride a bike, dance in the kitchen with a toddler in my arms to a made-up song I'm humming, knowing that nothing in the world could be more important than moments like those.
I want to be like my Mom. I want to tell them made-up stories about Mickey Mouse when they can't sleep, sing them made-up songs about their lives, hold them when they come home from school crying because some bully picked on them, assure them that everything will be okay. I want that. I really do.
But then there's the logic side of my brain that says. No. You don't want that. How could you want to bring a life into this world, knowing what a mess it is? What if you leave your children in a world that worse than the one you're in now? Can you live with that? What about all of the orphaned or abandoned children in the world, wishing and needing a Mom? How selfish is it to want one that's made from me, when there a millions of kids without love and happiness in their lives?
What about traveling? I wouldn't feel right dumping my kids off on one of the Grandmas, and taking off for 2 weeks to see Europe like I've always wanted to do. That's a non-negotiable goal for my life. I will go to Europe. I will visit Ireland, and Britain, and Spain, and Italy, and Austria, and Germany, and Denmark, and a dozen other places in between. Small children not only would hinder the things I want to do there, but they also wouldn't enjoy the trip to its fullest advantage. I'm not willing to give this up. And I don't want to do it when I'm 50. I want to do it in the next 5-7 years.
And what about school? I'm planning on moving away in the next 18 months, to pursue another degree. I don't want to have kids so far away from my Mom. I need my Mom. I want my Mom around. I don't want to have a baby, and then move thousands of miles away, where my parents and in laws can't see their grandbabies grow up and lose their teeth, go to kindergarden, graduate from high school. I know once we move away from Quincy, we won't move back. The only job for my husband in the area is the one he's got now, and once he leaves, he won't want to go back. And there's not a lot for me here, either. Not in the field I'm choosing. So who knows where I'll be in 4 years.
I'm a point in my life where the path hasn't forked. It's branched into a dozen different paths, all offering some things I want, and delaying or removing others. I'm at war with all of these different desires, some whose pull is so much stronger than others. If I take one path, will I be able to go back to this point, and choose another one? What if it alters so much that I lose something?
There are a hundred different cliches about life. Life isn't fair. Life is an adventure. Life's a bitch and then you die. Life is what you make it.
Life is a map. With a thousand different places to start and a thousand ways to get to a thousand different places. Sooner or later, I'll have to choose a direction, or face ending up in a cornfield. (I live in Illinois, what can I say?)
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Water, water everywhere/Nor any drop to drink.
I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I'm struggling right now to choose between pursuing a PhD in English (so I can teach literature) or pursuing an MLIS (to become a librarian). Let's pro/con, shall we? Perhaps this will give me some perspective.
PhD:
The one thing that this can claim heavily in its favor is my desire to teach. I've discovered this semester that I truly enjoy teaching literature. Am I really good at it? Probably not the best. Yet. But that's what PhD programs are for. I like having discussions about books and topics, I like learning from my students when they see things I don't, I like exposing them to writers or books or ideas they might never have encountered. I like hearing, "This is my favorite class," from a math major; and "Is it okay if my paper is too long? I'm going to have too much fun writing this paper." Both of which actually happened this semester. From two students who say they don't like English classes and don't like writing.
The drawback to this is that the market for jobs is abysmal and has been for about 15-20 years. The recession certainly didn't help any, either. Basically, if I do get a PhD, I have about 10% chance of getting a full-time, tenure-track position in the first few years. So essentially, I'd be putting in 3-4 years of hard work to be right back in the same position I am now for at least the first few years of the job search. I don't want to put in the money and time to even apply for programs unless I'm 100% sure this is what I want to do. (Plus, to have a better chance of success after finishing the degree, I'd have to go to one of the top schools in the country. I'm honestly don't know if I'm smart enough to get into them, much less succeed in them.--And that's not being modest. It's a simple fact.)
MLIS:
When I was going in to my junior year at undergrad, this is what I wanted to do. I knew it. I got a job working in the school's library. I applied to one of the top schools in the country. I didn't get in. So I went on to a Master's program in English, figuring I would just apply to MLIS programs after finishing my English degree. Well, I got burned out. I wanted to take time off. And my time off has got me into some serious thinking. It made me think that maybe I wanted to do something else. Am I still interested? Absolutely. I'm intrigued by digital libraries, and reference services. I'd want to work in an educational library. And, if I did, chances are I'd still be able to teach English at least every now and then. Plus, this job market is better. Oh-so-much better. There's a lot of people going in to the field now, but there's a lot of new, innovative job opportunities for someone with this degree. Especially if you specialize in digital libraries.
The con is that I'm unsure. What if I start doing it and hate it? Is that a chance I'll just have to take? Am I willing to essentially jump in blind? Have faith that it will be right?
I've always joked that I've never really "planned" out my life. I've never strategically set goals and made my way to them. I've somehow ended up where I need to be, when I need to be there. Some may call it luck. But I call it faith. I've always asked God to guide where I need to go, and so far, I haven't been led astray. So in addition to thinking about all of this, I've been praying. And many great opportunities have come my way, and most of them, for some reason or another, haven't worked out. But then this semester happened, where I'm teaching the equivalent of overload hours, and I'm loving half of my classes and hating the other half. So what's the lesson to be learned? Is this it? Am I here because this is where my life is meant to go? Or is this supposed to be the trial that leads me to the other path? I try to look, listen, feel what's happening around me, looking for that epiphany. But I feel like I've had an epiphany for each path I've considered. Does that mean I just need to pick one and run with it?
Questions, questions, questions. No answers. Not yet. But I'm waiting. I'm praying, I'm listening.
PhD:
The one thing that this can claim heavily in its favor is my desire to teach. I've discovered this semester that I truly enjoy teaching literature. Am I really good at it? Probably not the best. Yet. But that's what PhD programs are for. I like having discussions about books and topics, I like learning from my students when they see things I don't, I like exposing them to writers or books or ideas they might never have encountered. I like hearing, "This is my favorite class," from a math major; and "Is it okay if my paper is too long? I'm going to have too much fun writing this paper." Both of which actually happened this semester. From two students who say they don't like English classes and don't like writing.
The drawback to this is that the market for jobs is abysmal and has been for about 15-20 years. The recession certainly didn't help any, either. Basically, if I do get a PhD, I have about 10% chance of getting a full-time, tenure-track position in the first few years. So essentially, I'd be putting in 3-4 years of hard work to be right back in the same position I am now for at least the first few years of the job search. I don't want to put in the money and time to even apply for programs unless I'm 100% sure this is what I want to do. (Plus, to have a better chance of success after finishing the degree, I'd have to go to one of the top schools in the country. I'm honestly don't know if I'm smart enough to get into them, much less succeed in them.--And that's not being modest. It's a simple fact.)
MLIS:
When I was going in to my junior year at undergrad, this is what I wanted to do. I knew it. I got a job working in the school's library. I applied to one of the top schools in the country. I didn't get in. So I went on to a Master's program in English, figuring I would just apply to MLIS programs after finishing my English degree. Well, I got burned out. I wanted to take time off. And my time off has got me into some serious thinking. It made me think that maybe I wanted to do something else. Am I still interested? Absolutely. I'm intrigued by digital libraries, and reference services. I'd want to work in an educational library. And, if I did, chances are I'd still be able to teach English at least every now and then. Plus, this job market is better. Oh-so-much better. There's a lot of people going in to the field now, but there's a lot of new, innovative job opportunities for someone with this degree. Especially if you specialize in digital libraries.
The con is that I'm unsure. What if I start doing it and hate it? Is that a chance I'll just have to take? Am I willing to essentially jump in blind? Have faith that it will be right?
I've always joked that I've never really "planned" out my life. I've never strategically set goals and made my way to them. I've somehow ended up where I need to be, when I need to be there. Some may call it luck. But I call it faith. I've always asked God to guide where I need to go, and so far, I haven't been led astray. So in addition to thinking about all of this, I've been praying. And many great opportunities have come my way, and most of them, for some reason or another, haven't worked out. But then this semester happened, where I'm teaching the equivalent of overload hours, and I'm loving half of my classes and hating the other half. So what's the lesson to be learned? Is this it? Am I here because this is where my life is meant to go? Or is this supposed to be the trial that leads me to the other path? I try to look, listen, feel what's happening around me, looking for that epiphany. But I feel like I've had an epiphany for each path I've considered. Does that mean I just need to pick one and run with it?
Questions, questions, questions. No answers. Not yet. But I'm waiting. I'm praying, I'm listening.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
OMG, this is 2 much
Do any of my friends who read this use Twitter? Because I have to say, I don't get it. I went to the website recently, just to see what it was all about, and my only response: Are you people serious? Are we so me-obsessed that we think people actually want to read about what we're doing every second of every day? Let's not even go into the safety issues of informing the entire world when you're home alone, or not home at all, or when you've lost/broken your phone, where you are and who you're with at all times. That's inviting stalkers with the worst of intentions.
I don't know if I was looking at the wrong thing, but all it looked like to me what a list of complete strangers talking in unrecognizable acronyms about the STUPIDEST things EVER. I do not have a Twitter account. I do not "follow" anyone on Twitter. I'm rebelling against the "microblog" because I think it's about the dumbest thing technology has thrust into our social consciousness.
Top 10 reasons I will never Twitter (or is it tweet? Whatever.)
1. No one, I repeat, NO ONE has a life interesting enough to tweet about. And if they do, they're not wasting their time tweeting about it.
2. I like my privacy. When I draw the curtains in the middle of the day, I want the neighbors to have to use their imaginations and keen observation skills to be able to determine what's going on in my house. Tweeting: "just ate lunch, time for the afternoon delight" just makes it too easy. They'd get bored.
3. It is impossible to express my many varied and complex moods and mental states in less than 140 characters. I'm a complicated woman.
4. If I want to sound off on what a bitch or asshole someone is being, I want the satisfaction of watching their face twist in rage while I'm doing it. Twitter just takes all the fun out of it.
5. On the flip side of that, if everything in life is so awesome that I just have to tell SOMEONE, I'll call my mother. Or my best friend. Or my husband. Or one of my brothers. Or my dad. See a pattern?
6. I like to use full sentences, fully spelled words, and complex, interesting sentence structure. IDK, I'm crazy like that.
7. There are so many things going in my life right now, I'm lucky I have time to remember to do them all, much less provide a minute-by-minute play-by-play of who, what, when, and where.
8. Cyberstalking.
9. Cyberbullying. It's not so much that I'm fearful of this for myself, but rather, rebelling on principle.
10. I already have a cell phone, a blog, a facebook page, a myspace page, email, texting, and good old-fashioned mail. Isn't there enough ways to communicate without needing a site designed to reduce human communication to the barest, fastest form of mass communication with thousands (millions?) of people who don't give a damn? It completely strips the "commune" out of communication. We're not talking to each other anymore, we're talking to machines.
I don't know if I was looking at the wrong thing, but all it looked like to me what a list of complete strangers talking in unrecognizable acronyms about the STUPIDEST things EVER. I do not have a Twitter account. I do not "follow" anyone on Twitter. I'm rebelling against the "microblog" because I think it's about the dumbest thing technology has thrust into our social consciousness.
Top 10 reasons I will never Twitter (or is it tweet? Whatever.)
1. No one, I repeat, NO ONE has a life interesting enough to tweet about. And if they do, they're not wasting their time tweeting about it.
2. I like my privacy. When I draw the curtains in the middle of the day, I want the neighbors to have to use their imaginations and keen observation skills to be able to determine what's going on in my house. Tweeting: "just ate lunch, time for the afternoon delight" just makes it too easy. They'd get bored.
3. It is impossible to express my many varied and complex moods and mental states in less than 140 characters. I'm a complicated woman.
4. If I want to sound off on what a bitch or asshole someone is being, I want the satisfaction of watching their face twist in rage while I'm doing it. Twitter just takes all the fun out of it.
5. On the flip side of that, if everything in life is so awesome that I just have to tell SOMEONE, I'll call my mother. Or my best friend. Or my husband. Or one of my brothers. Or my dad. See a pattern?
6. I like to use full sentences, fully spelled words, and complex, interesting sentence structure. IDK, I'm crazy like that.
7. There are so many things going in my life right now, I'm lucky I have time to remember to do them all, much less provide a minute-by-minute play-by-play of who, what, when, and where.
8. Cyberstalking.
9. Cyberbullying. It's not so much that I'm fearful of this for myself, but rather, rebelling on principle.
10. I already have a cell phone, a blog, a facebook page, a myspace page, email, texting, and good old-fashioned mail. Isn't there enough ways to communicate without needing a site designed to reduce human communication to the barest, fastest form of mass communication with thousands (millions?) of people who don't give a damn? It completely strips the "commune" out of communication. We're not talking to each other anymore, we're talking to machines.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Snowtorious B.I.G.
My friends who remember the 90s will thoroughly enjoy the title reference.
Being a lifetime resident of the Midwest, I'm used to snow. Sometimes large amounts of it. In fact, my Grandpa was from WI, and I remember spending a white Easter at his house. So I pretty much LOVE winter weather and I LOVE snow. Was I prepared for the epic blitz of a blizzard that has been raging for the last 14 hours? Nope. Not at all. But does that lessen it's awesome? Hell to the no.
I'm planning on taking more pics tomorrow, but here's some preliminaries of what we've dubbed Snowtorious B.I.G.:
The view out into the street in front of our house.
The curly drift on the hood of Hubby's truck.
Along the side of the house, to our front porch.
Me, standing in one of the drifts in front of the house.
Being a lifetime resident of the Midwest, I'm used to snow. Sometimes large amounts of it. In fact, my Grandpa was from WI, and I remember spending a white Easter at his house. So I pretty much LOVE winter weather and I LOVE snow. Was I prepared for the epic blitz of a blizzard that has been raging for the last 14 hours? Nope. Not at all. But does that lessen it's awesome? Hell to the no.
I'm planning on taking more pics tomorrow, but here's some preliminaries of what we've dubbed Snowtorious B.I.G.:
The view out into the street in front of our house.
The curly drift on the hood of Hubby's truck.
Along the side of the house, to our front porch.
Me, standing in one of the drifts in front of the house.Friday, January 28, 2011
Week Two: An Improvement
This week went a lot better. Probably because I stopped freaking out about it being the first week of teaching. And also because it appears my students decided (for the moment at least) to actually complete their reading assignments.
That being said, I did have one OMG moment this week.
I have one student, let's call him Jim, who hasn't shown up to class at the University. My classes there are MW classes only. And because the first week we had MLK day, we started on Wednesday. So, we've had 3 total class periods. He missed the first and second. He shows up on the third, only after his roommate, who also happens to be in the class, told him that he had to come talk to me about why he had yet to show up. (His roommate had informed me during our second class meeting that he was his roommate, and I asked him to have him come talk to me.)
So, he comes to class. He sits in the front row, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, and refuses to participate. He won't speak. He didn't even write the short in-class writing assignment I had them do. He sat there doodling on his notebook.
He comes up to me after class and says he came today because his roommate said he had to talk to me. The conversation went something like this (and yes, I am correcting some of the grammar in some spots):
Me: So, where have you been the last week and a half?
J: My Mom was sick.
Me: You're going to have to give me more than that. I don't mean to pry in your personal business, but if you're going to be missing a week's worth of class, I need more information.
J: Well, she has arthritis.
My head: Um, WTF?
Me: And her arthritis caused you to miss a week of classes?
J: Well, she had an attack in the car.
[Let's just ignore the fact that people do not have arthritis "attacks" and keep going.]
Me: So?
J: Well, my Dad had to go get her. And she called me. And then I had to talk to my Dad. (and I'm pretty sure he said something about going to a hospital--wth.)
Me: And these phone calls took a week and a half? And had to occur during your class time?
J: Well, no. The rest of the week I've been trying to get my books and stuff.
Me: It doesn't take a week to buy books. And the book store is open around our class times. And other students have managed to come to class without books, get the assignments done, and participate. So you still need to come.
J: Okay.
Me: You're only allowed 4 absences for the semester. You've used two. You're not being excused for those. In the future, if you do have a legitimate emergency, you need to let me know, prior to class time.
J: Okay.
Me: And you should probably access a copy of the syllabus on [the online class system] to see the full course policies and readings/assignments schedule.
He left. WTF. Arthritis attack? Had to buy his books? Does he think I'm that stupid? I'll bet he fails. Or withdraws.
That being said, I did have one OMG moment this week.
I have one student, let's call him Jim, who hasn't shown up to class at the University. My classes there are MW classes only. And because the first week we had MLK day, we started on Wednesday. So, we've had 3 total class periods. He missed the first and second. He shows up on the third, only after his roommate, who also happens to be in the class, told him that he had to come talk to me about why he had yet to show up. (His roommate had informed me during our second class meeting that he was his roommate, and I asked him to have him come talk to me.)
So, he comes to class. He sits in the front row, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, and refuses to participate. He won't speak. He didn't even write the short in-class writing assignment I had them do. He sat there doodling on his notebook.
He comes up to me after class and says he came today because his roommate said he had to talk to me. The conversation went something like this (and yes, I am correcting some of the grammar in some spots):
Me: So, where have you been the last week and a half?
J: My Mom was sick.
Me: You're going to have to give me more than that. I don't mean to pry in your personal business, but if you're going to be missing a week's worth of class, I need more information.
J: Well, she has arthritis.
My head: Um, WTF?
Me: And her arthritis caused you to miss a week of classes?
J: Well, she had an attack in the car.
[Let's just ignore the fact that people do not have arthritis "attacks" and keep going.]
Me: So?
J: Well, my Dad had to go get her. And she called me. And then I had to talk to my Dad. (and I'm pretty sure he said something about going to a hospital--wth.)
Me: And these phone calls took a week and a half? And had to occur during your class time?
J: Well, no. The rest of the week I've been trying to get my books and stuff.
Me: It doesn't take a week to buy books. And the book store is open around our class times. And other students have managed to come to class without books, get the assignments done, and participate. So you still need to come.
J: Okay.
Me: You're only allowed 4 absences for the semester. You've used two. You're not being excused for those. In the future, if you do have a legitimate emergency, you need to let me know, prior to class time.
J: Okay.
Me: And you should probably access a copy of the syllabus on [the online class system] to see the full course policies and readings/assignments schedule.
He left. WTF. Arthritis attack? Had to buy his books? Does he think I'm that stupid? I'll bet he fails. Or withdraws.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Week One: Mildly Successful
While I cannot say that the first week of classes has set flame to some heretofore unknown desire for developing young minds, I do have to admit that it was not a complete and total bust. Shall we say it was alright?
One of my classes at the college was great, one was painful. One of the my classes and the university was acceptable, the other was . . . well, it was. That's about all I can say about it. Now, do I anticipate it will get better? Yes. Do I expect that they'll all turn out to to be fantastic, blow-you-away, change the course of your life amazing? Nope. Not so much.
I need to figure out how to teach a hour and a half class. Up until this point, all of my experience has been with 50 minute classes or independent studies. So this hour and a half (or hour and 15 minutes, depending on the school) is not working out well for me.
Well, I shouldn't say that. When the students are responsive and into the discussions, so far it's been great. But when they are reticent, withdrawn, disengaged and [most likely] unprepared (by nature of not reading the material) it is really, really painful.
When I was in college, for a long time, I was shy. I didn't like to speak up in class, unless I expected to say something to amaze the whole room. I actually "apologized" to one of my old instructors today for any time that I wasn't very talkative or didn't participate in class. Cuz let me tell you, it's really difficult to be on the other side of the shut-down classroom.
I'm excited about the material, and I had enough material to fill an entire class period. But it's really hard to give something back to students who aren't giving you anything to work with.
I said this semester was going to be my experiment. I told my husband: if I like it, I'm going to get my PhD. If I don't like it, then I need to do a serious re-evaluation of my life choices, finally pick a path, and go after it with gusto. He's all on board. Now I just have to be.
One of my classes at the college was great, one was painful. One of the my classes and the university was acceptable, the other was . . . well, it was. That's about all I can say about it. Now, do I anticipate it will get better? Yes. Do I expect that they'll all turn out to to be fantastic, blow-you-away, change the course of your life amazing? Nope. Not so much.
I need to figure out how to teach a hour and a half class. Up until this point, all of my experience has been with 50 minute classes or independent studies. So this hour and a half (or hour and 15 minutes, depending on the school) is not working out well for me.
Well, I shouldn't say that. When the students are responsive and into the discussions, so far it's been great. But when they are reticent, withdrawn, disengaged and [most likely] unprepared (by nature of not reading the material) it is really, really painful.
When I was in college, for a long time, I was shy. I didn't like to speak up in class, unless I expected to say something to amaze the whole room. I actually "apologized" to one of my old instructors today for any time that I wasn't very talkative or didn't participate in class. Cuz let me tell you, it's really difficult to be on the other side of the shut-down classroom.
I'm excited about the material, and I had enough material to fill an entire class period. But it's really hard to give something back to students who aren't giving you anything to work with.
I said this semester was going to be my experiment. I told my husband: if I like it, I'm going to get my PhD. If I don't like it, then I need to do a serious re-evaluation of my life choices, finally pick a path, and go after it with gusto. He's all on board. Now I just have to be.
Monday, January 17, 2011
I'm definitely not getting any sleep tonight.
I start my first day of teaching tomorrow. And I. AM. FREAKING. OUT.
Just thought I'd share.
Just thought I'd share.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Let's wax philosophic.
Since I spent my last post lamenting about leaving KMart, I thought I'd continue my melodramatic theme into this one.
If you're someone who likes to teach (and I think I am) then you're someone who likes to see others succeed, rather than needing all of the success for yourself. If your students are successful, then you are too. I'm not someone who necessarily defines success as a high-status job with a heavy paycheck. I didn't go to grad school to get a Master's degree to be able to do anything with it. Mostly, I was in the right place at the right time, and quite frankly, I just love being in school. I love learning. And teaching freshmen composition? I've been guaranteed I'll never stop learning new things. But what do I hope to teach? I'm not naive enough to think that most of my students don't have a predisposition to hate my class. It's English. Mostly, they hate it. They find it boring, irksome, and tedious. And a good portion of them wouldn't know what those last 2 descriptors even mean.
So, do I hope to teach them something? Even through that prejudice? Of course I do. When I stop losing hope that I can teach my students anything, then I'll stop pursuing teaching. I just don't necessarily hope to teach them the kinds of things they expect to learn.
If I have to choose what they learn (and even though I design what I want to teach, it doesn't necessarily directly reflect what they will learn), these would fall somewhere on that list:
Good writers are not born. Good writers develop. They teach themselves. They write all the time. And that's truly the only way to become a better writer. Every skill requires practice. Even singers born with amazing voices have to train them. Even athletes born with significant abilities practice and condition to become better. Writing is the same way. You can't improve if all you do it sit around and bemoan that you're a terrible writer.
Related to that, good writing never happens on a first draft. NEVER. You may think that you're first draft is pretty phenomenal, and it may be good, but it will always benefit from revision. Writing is never truly "finished." There's just a deadline to turn it in. You shouldn't expect to produce a perfect paper on a first try, and expecting that from yourself is one of the worst causes of writer's block. Start somewhere, anywhere. Get something on paper. Then build on it.
You are not a "bad" writer. You're not "bad" at English. If you truly believe that you're just always going to be bad at English, someone, somewhere failed you.
Good writers are good readers. The two are inseparable. If you want to become a better writer, then become a better reader. It's a fact that we best learn and understand language through immersion. So immerse yourself in the English language. Yes you've been speaking it your whole life, but spoken language differs from written language on many levels. To be a better writer, you have to read good writing.
Good grammar does not equivocate to good writing. The end. Every great writer has had a great editor, too.
We read and write every single day. Any student who tells me that they're "never going to use this stuff again" after a composition course better be prepared to be laughed at. We do it all the time. What is Facebook? Twitter? MySpace (does anyone actually use MySpace anymore)? Texting? It's all social networking. Networking that requires communication. It's amazing to me that students today can type 140 characters, click a button, and reach millions of people around the world. And they tell me they're never going to use the things they learn in my class? Sure, facebooking and tweeting does not require MLA or APA documentation. But it is a form of writing. A form of writing that has it's own form, rules, and even language. That's what I teach in my class: How to determine the type of writing needed, the audience you're trying to reach, the methods to go about communicating what you want to say, and the language needed to be clear and concise. Never going to need the skills I'm trying to show you? BALDERDASH.
If you're someone who likes to teach (and I think I am) then you're someone who likes to see others succeed, rather than needing all of the success for yourself. If your students are successful, then you are too. I'm not someone who necessarily defines success as a high-status job with a heavy paycheck. I didn't go to grad school to get a Master's degree to be able to do anything with it. Mostly, I was in the right place at the right time, and quite frankly, I just love being in school. I love learning. And teaching freshmen composition? I've been guaranteed I'll never stop learning new things. But what do I hope to teach? I'm not naive enough to think that most of my students don't have a predisposition to hate my class. It's English. Mostly, they hate it. They find it boring, irksome, and tedious. And a good portion of them wouldn't know what those last 2 descriptors even mean.
So, do I hope to teach them something? Even through that prejudice? Of course I do. When I stop losing hope that I can teach my students anything, then I'll stop pursuing teaching. I just don't necessarily hope to teach them the kinds of things they expect to learn.
If I have to choose what they learn (and even though I design what I want to teach, it doesn't necessarily directly reflect what they will learn), these would fall somewhere on that list:
Good writers are not born. Good writers develop. They teach themselves. They write all the time. And that's truly the only way to become a better writer. Every skill requires practice. Even singers born with amazing voices have to train them. Even athletes born with significant abilities practice and condition to become better. Writing is the same way. You can't improve if all you do it sit around and bemoan that you're a terrible writer.
Related to that, good writing never happens on a first draft. NEVER. You may think that you're first draft is pretty phenomenal, and it may be good, but it will always benefit from revision. Writing is never truly "finished." There's just a deadline to turn it in. You shouldn't expect to produce a perfect paper on a first try, and expecting that from yourself is one of the worst causes of writer's block. Start somewhere, anywhere. Get something on paper. Then build on it.
You are not a "bad" writer. You're not "bad" at English. If you truly believe that you're just always going to be bad at English, someone, somewhere failed you.
Good writers are good readers. The two are inseparable. If you want to become a better writer, then become a better reader. It's a fact that we best learn and understand language through immersion. So immerse yourself in the English language. Yes you've been speaking it your whole life, but spoken language differs from written language on many levels. To be a better writer, you have to read good writing.
Good grammar does not equivocate to good writing. The end. Every great writer has had a great editor, too.
We read and write every single day. Any student who tells me that they're "never going to use this stuff again" after a composition course better be prepared to be laughed at. We do it all the time. What is Facebook? Twitter? MySpace (does anyone actually use MySpace anymore)? Texting? It's all social networking. Networking that requires communication. It's amazing to me that students today can type 140 characters, click a button, and reach millions of people around the world. And they tell me they're never going to use the things they learn in my class? Sure, facebooking and tweeting does not require MLA or APA documentation. But it is a form of writing. A form of writing that has it's own form, rules, and even language. That's what I teach in my class: How to determine the type of writing needed, the audience you're trying to reach, the methods to go about communicating what you want to say, and the language needed to be clear and concise. Never going to need the skills I'm trying to show you? BALDERDASH.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Serenity
2010 has passed me by, and I'm not sure I've "done" alot. But I've certainly learned alot. And as a student of life, I suppose that's what matters.
As of January 14th, I will no longer be working at KMart. I have managed to secure 2 adjunct teaching positions in addition to the one I already have, so I will be teaching 5 sections of composition at 3 different colleges/universities. I'm a little excited, mostly terrified, but wanting to take on the challenge. This will be the first time I'm one-hundred percent responsible for what gets taught in my classroom. It's a big responsibility, and although I'm not worried that I won't be up to it, I am worried that I may realize it's not what I want to do with my life.
So that's my new year's resolution this year: Figure out what in the world I want to do with my life, and go after it with gusto.
But looking back on 2010, despite feeling like I spent most of it in limbo, I have grown, and I have grown up. Since 2011 may find me leaving my retail adventure behind completely, I want to reflect on what the last year and half of working at KMart has changed about me, and I want to commit some of the things I've learned to memory so that I take these lessons with me for life.
Never assume something about a person because of where they work. I may work at KMart, but that does not mean that I am uneducated, unmotivated, or lazy. Nor are [most of] my coworkers, all who have varying levels of education and life experience.
If you wouldn't want someone to speak to you a certain way, then don't speak to them that way. One of the most difficult parts about working in retail, for me, was learning to not take things personally. People are going to yell at you, call you names, stomp, stamp, and scream, throw adult tantrums and behave like undisciplined children. And while we don't have to just "stand there and take it" (we can call security or management), we cannot fight back. But would you want someone to come in to your place of work and scream, rant, and rave about something that is, quite honestly, completely outside of your control? Then don't do it at my place of work.
There is a ridiculous amount of stupidity in the world. And they're breeding.
When you are forced to choose between buying food and paying bills, any paycheck is a good paycheck.
You may be upset because something rung up wrong when you're checking out and it's taking a while for the cashier to do a price check. Or perhaps your layaway got canceled because you missed a payment. Or maybe you didn't bring ID and you can't pick up your layaway. Maybe the item you want is out of stock and we don't know when it will be replenished. Your day has just been inconvenienced. But that's all it is: an inconvenience. Would you still yell at that associate if you knew her grandfather has just died? Or her mom was sick?
I will never, ever again underestimate the value of kindness from strangers. It happens far, far too rarely.
Christmas is not the most wonderful time of the year. It has degenerated into a consumerist bloodbath where nothing is more important that spending as much money as possible on things that will break, be forgotten, or returned because they're unwanted.
No matter how many times you straighten something, it will always be undone within hours. But you will come back the next day and do it all over again.
The most fun I have at work has nothing to do with what I'm doing, but who I'm doing it with.
To find peace in wherever I am and whatever I am doing, I simply have to remember: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
As of January 14th, I will no longer be working at KMart. I have managed to secure 2 adjunct teaching positions in addition to the one I already have, so I will be teaching 5 sections of composition at 3 different colleges/universities. I'm a little excited, mostly terrified, but wanting to take on the challenge. This will be the first time I'm one-hundred percent responsible for what gets taught in my classroom. It's a big responsibility, and although I'm not worried that I won't be up to it, I am worried that I may realize it's not what I want to do with my life.
So that's my new year's resolution this year: Figure out what in the world I want to do with my life, and go after it with gusto.
But looking back on 2010, despite feeling like I spent most of it in limbo, I have grown, and I have grown up. Since 2011 may find me leaving my retail adventure behind completely, I want to reflect on what the last year and half of working at KMart has changed about me, and I want to commit some of the things I've learned to memory so that I take these lessons with me for life.
Never assume something about a person because of where they work. I may work at KMart, but that does not mean that I am uneducated, unmotivated, or lazy. Nor are [most of] my coworkers, all who have varying levels of education and life experience.
If you wouldn't want someone to speak to you a certain way, then don't speak to them that way. One of the most difficult parts about working in retail, for me, was learning to not take things personally. People are going to yell at you, call you names, stomp, stamp, and scream, throw adult tantrums and behave like undisciplined children. And while we don't have to just "stand there and take it" (we can call security or management), we cannot fight back. But would you want someone to come in to your place of work and scream, rant, and rave about something that is, quite honestly, completely outside of your control? Then don't do it at my place of work.
There is a ridiculous amount of stupidity in the world. And they're breeding.
When you are forced to choose between buying food and paying bills, any paycheck is a good paycheck.
You may be upset because something rung up wrong when you're checking out and it's taking a while for the cashier to do a price check. Or perhaps your layaway got canceled because you missed a payment. Or maybe you didn't bring ID and you can't pick up your layaway. Maybe the item you want is out of stock and we don't know when it will be replenished. Your day has just been inconvenienced. But that's all it is: an inconvenience. Would you still yell at that associate if you knew her grandfather has just died? Or her mom was sick?
I will never, ever again underestimate the value of kindness from strangers. It happens far, far too rarely.
Christmas is not the most wonderful time of the year. It has degenerated into a consumerist bloodbath where nothing is more important that spending as much money as possible on things that will break, be forgotten, or returned because they're unwanted.
No matter how many times you straighten something, it will always be undone within hours. But you will come back the next day and do it all over again.
The most fun I have at work has nothing to do with what I'm doing, but who I'm doing it with.
To find peace in wherever I am and whatever I am doing, I simply have to remember: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
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