I think I might need Fit Flops. As uncool as they are, I am noticing more and more that even those with the bodies that have not seem a gym since physical education class 40 some odd years ago are sporting some seriously sculpted calves.
I balk at the fact that I am even entertaining this idea, in the same way that I balked at the man walking along the shoreline at the beach last summer with tanned, toned legs and feet wedged into a pair of white FF's. Yet, they are everywhere. Reebok and Sketchers have come out with their own versions, neither of which are very attractive. Victoria's Secret is advertising them on their website and in their catalog. Who would have thought that you could by g-strings and fit flops from VS? If this isn't proof of how far America has come, then I don't know what is. One of my students came in with a pair of Sketcher Shape Ups after Christmas; her whole family has them! I asked her if she noticed a difference in her legs, and she said they hurt a little when she first started wearing them and that she had to get used to the rounded bottoms that curve like the bottom of a rocking chair. Based upon this small gathering of information, I am assuming the pain is due to one having to use the leg muscles differently than if they were wearing a standard style shoe. Correct me if my hypothesis is wrong, please.
According to advertisements, people don't need to exercise if they shove their dogs into a pair of Fit Flops or Tone Ups. Sketchers claims;
"Tone-ups® sandals are a great new way to help tone your legs, get more exercise and lose weight while you walk!"
With our country one of the fattest in the world, I think it is pretty sad that is the angle the advertising agencies are going for, yet at the same time, genius! For the most part, people walk. Busy lifestyles do not allow everyone to make it to the gym and by the time the day's committments are met, aren't people too tired to muster up the energy to get to the gym? Clearly, these shoe companies have figured out a way, and a clever one at that, to draw people in.
I am an avid gym goer and a healthy eater. I see these shoes as an excuse to avoid exercising our most important muscle, the heart. No shoe can substitute the kind of workout one would need to do this. A horrific sight that I have conjured up in my twisted head is McDonald's, packed durin lunch. Everyone has supersized it because they are, after all, donning some form of non-athletic, athletic shoe. As a person who does not eat McDonalds and loves to be sore and sweaty after a genuine workout, I see FF's as an opportunity to tone when I am not at the gym. Something else to note is that the price of these shoes regardeless of brand is in the $50 ballpark. For those who don't like to sweat and don't want to spend at least that amount on a monthly gym memberships, these kicks are a sweet-ass deal!
I suppose this is a cup half empty/half full debate. If I purchase a pair of these shoes, I know my friend Rita will definately disown me, yet, I am intrigued.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Seriously, These Were the Seder Topics of 2010
Tonight was Seder number 1. The setting: My parents house.
The cast:
Parents-Rose and Ira Wasserman
Sister- Stacie Wasserman
Husband- Josh Shapiro
Aunt and Uncle- Joyce and Boris Corbin
Cousin- Tiffany Levin
(and Sammy the cat who appeared as soon as food was brought to the table)
After the Waldbaums Haggadahs were distributed, along with yarmulkes for the men, my Uncle Boris began to lead the "Seder". We began with a prayer to be said on Shabbat (it's Monday, not Friday) and then had a thorough discussion about what everyone ate for lunch. We then attempted to partake in some bitter herbs, and Josh told the joke about the difference between parsley and another p word which I hate. In case you were wondering, the difference is nobody eats parsley. At this point, we are all starving and wondering how old the haggadahs are. For some reason, this leads us to a conversation about Jesus and the last supper. We have consumed the egg, mortar and shared the middle matzoh. Josh wants to know when the Afikomem will be hidden. I remind him that Tiffany is the youngest member of this party, therefore, making him ineligable for the search of the hidden matzah. FYI, my dad had just bought him a new pair of shoes, which, in my opinion, is a very nice reward to leave any Seder with. Finally, we are eating. Here is a list, in no particular order, of the topics we discussed.
-healthcare
-employment crisis
-when my Nana Sadie began to observe the decreasing size of a chickens and the change in taste
-Jesse James and Sandra Bullock
-porn stars Jesse James has been with
-porn on the internet
-Chaz Bono
-sex change operations
-being gay
-a desription of the possible ways men have sex with each other (for my aunt who is my cousin's grandmother)
-the reason why my cousin won't date a family friend (he just wants to hook up and she wants a real relationship. My aunt felt the solution to this was to tell the guy that "she is not a machine".)
-RuPaul's show, Drag Race, and what transvestites do with their business to appear as though they are women
-my students
-Isaiah, currently, our cutest family member
-whether or not I plan to "settle down", as in produce a child, and my informing my aunt that "THE sex" is taking place. This was met by a request to have a baby before she dies. I would like to deliver on that (really, no pun intended there), but that is for nature to decide. I, like my cousin Tiffany, am not a machine.
So basically, the Wasserman, Corbin, Shapiro, Levin Seder was all about the brisket and sex. Seriously one of the best Seders I have ever attended!
The cast:
Parents-Rose and Ira Wasserman
Sister- Stacie Wasserman
Husband- Josh Shapiro
Aunt and Uncle- Joyce and Boris Corbin
Cousin- Tiffany Levin
(and Sammy the cat who appeared as soon as food was brought to the table)
After the Waldbaums Haggadahs were distributed, along with yarmulkes for the men, my Uncle Boris began to lead the "Seder". We began with a prayer to be said on Shabbat (it's Monday, not Friday) and then had a thorough discussion about what everyone ate for lunch. We then attempted to partake in some bitter herbs, and Josh told the joke about the difference between parsley and another p word which I hate. In case you were wondering, the difference is nobody eats parsley. At this point, we are all starving and wondering how old the haggadahs are. For some reason, this leads us to a conversation about Jesus and the last supper. We have consumed the egg, mortar and shared the middle matzoh. Josh wants to know when the Afikomem will be hidden. I remind him that Tiffany is the youngest member of this party, therefore, making him ineligable for the search of the hidden matzah. FYI, my dad had just bought him a new pair of shoes, which, in my opinion, is a very nice reward to leave any Seder with. Finally, we are eating. Here is a list, in no particular order, of the topics we discussed.
-healthcare
-employment crisis
-when my Nana Sadie began to observe the decreasing size of a chickens and the change in taste
-Jesse James and Sandra Bullock
-porn stars Jesse James has been with
-porn on the internet
-Chaz Bono
-sex change operations
-being gay
-a desription of the possible ways men have sex with each other (for my aunt who is my cousin's grandmother)
-the reason why my cousin won't date a family friend (he just wants to hook up and she wants a real relationship. My aunt felt the solution to this was to tell the guy that "she is not a machine".)
-RuPaul's show, Drag Race, and what transvestites do with their business to appear as though they are women
-my students
-Isaiah, currently, our cutest family member
-whether or not I plan to "settle down", as in produce a child, and my informing my aunt that "THE sex" is taking place. This was met by a request to have a baby before she dies. I would like to deliver on that (really, no pun intended there), but that is for nature to decide. I, like my cousin Tiffany, am not a machine.
So basically, the Wasserman, Corbin, Shapiro, Levin Seder was all about the brisket and sex. Seriously one of the best Seders I have ever attended!
Accusations are Seriously Hurtful
The other day I stopped in to a store down the street from where I work. I had not been there in a while since my favorite cleaners, fondly nicknamed "Pipteen", had lost their lease and had to relocate across the street, hence making it less of a necessity to pop in and check out the latest trendy accessories. Granted, the store jacks up the prices, as I have seen their wares at the wholesalers in Manhattan, but I still like to look. It is a small store. So small, in fact, that if one were to let one loose,so to speak, it would be impossible to pass off the blame. Not that this has actually happened to me, but I just want you to be able to visualize the size of this store. The place is run by a woman and her daughter. Said daughter is a typical Long Island JAP who is always on the phone. I know that next weekend she has a party in the city because it was impossible not to tune out her loud convo. It was also impossible not to tune out the part of the conversation which said; "I have to hang up and watch customers in the store."
WHAT? The customers in question were myself and another woman with her teenage daughter. Because I am an undiagnosed paranoid with a slight case of OCD, I immediately assume she is talking about me. Not that I believe I appear sketchy or the type to steal, but when I am debating a jewelry purchase, I need to pick up the piece, examine it for craftsmanship and possibly try it on. I will add a disclaimer here that I do not try on earrings; i hold them up to my ear. About fifteen seconds after loud daughter hangs up the phone, her proprietor mother begins hovering behind me. SERIOUSLY? I have spent a small fortune in this store and not once has this happened! I have also never noticed how fat the owners ass was either, but that is besides the point. Perhaps I noticed because I needed something to be angry about as a way to shield my hurt that I was sort of being accused of theft without ever committing a crime. In case you were already thinking it, I am never going back there with my business. Not to mention, the accusatory owner with the wide load was crazy gluing studs that had fallen off of a belt at the counter. It doesn't take a genius to say that one should not be repairing faulty, overpriced merchandise in front of potential (now no longer) customers.
This brings me to my next point. I believe that accusations are often paired with conclusions that one has jumped to. For example, a few weeks ago, two boys were stopped in the hallway on their way to the testing room. They had their papers pressed to the wall and were filling in answers. They were silent. Yet, what did the teacher in me think? Yup, you got it; that they were cheating. I know these boys but often the most cunning are the least suspect, especially when it comes to cheating in middle school. I presented the situation to the boys, one of which was on the verge of tears, and asked them what they believed I was thinking. Neither is clairvoyant (that I know of ), but both were able to tell me that if they stumbled upon what I saw, they would think they were cheating too. (Their alibi-as they were flipping through the test, they say the opportunity to get a section filled in ASAP because they didn't want to forget the info. I can dig that--good test taking strategy, just not in the hall next to a classmate). In the end, my insticts instructed me to pursue Jewish guilt as the method of 'punishment', and I put the responsiblity on the boys to tell their teacher if they cheated. You might think this is dumb, but giving certain kids control over the situation leads them in the right direction, not to mention I don't want to be what some of my colleagues are, which is always assuming the worst about the kids.
But I have still not made it to my point. The tidbit about the boys in the hall is part of the build up. You see, the supposed evidence made them appear guilty, yet in my heart, I truly believed they were not. The expression on their faces when I confronted them was of horrific disbelief, not guilt. It is important to be able to have the intuition to differentiate between the two, but I think that is largely based on a person's ability and desire to want to see the good in others. A few nights ago, I was told by a tarot card reader that I needed to forgive, but to also stand my ground. I find this to be a challenge, since I have been harboring some pretty strong feelings towards a particular situation, a particular accusation. The accused was not me, but it just as well might have been. There a whole set of circumstances surrounding ths, such as the accused and the accuser getting off on the wrong foot from the get go and the fact that at the time of this latest incident, certain 'rules' were broken, rules that were unknown. The bottom line is this: a hurtful, demeaning accusation was made which has caused me a lot of pain. Why? Because I would have hoped that the opposing party would have enough faith in me to believe that what they were saying, what they believed to be the truth, could not possibly be anything but a total misunderstanding. So who stands there and apoliges? Me. Who attempts to reach out to deconstruct the situation so that it is more clear to the other side? Me. And what happens? It is swept under the rug. And now I am festering with hurt and anxiety about a giant elephant in the room. I know the other side will not see things my way or see things for what they are. But that is not my problem. My problem is allowing things to slide for so long, and allowing others around me to hold court with what they have constructed to be the truth. Perhaps now I am the one accusing, but accusations are seriously hurtful. I am capable of forgiveness, but I will stand my ground when it comes to the fact that when someone accuses another person of what I perceive as a dispicable offense, they are the ones who owe an apology for not just jumping, but leaping to conclusions.
To end on a high note, I feel the need to reference Spartacus again. He deserted his army and was forced into a life of slavery. Bad enough,but his wife was also punished for the crime which he was accused of (and committed). Imagine how he felt?
WHAT? The customers in question were myself and another woman with her teenage daughter. Because I am an undiagnosed paranoid with a slight case of OCD, I immediately assume she is talking about me. Not that I believe I appear sketchy or the type to steal, but when I am debating a jewelry purchase, I need to pick up the piece, examine it for craftsmanship and possibly try it on. I will add a disclaimer here that I do not try on earrings; i hold them up to my ear. About fifteen seconds after loud daughter hangs up the phone, her proprietor mother begins hovering behind me. SERIOUSLY? I have spent a small fortune in this store and not once has this happened! I have also never noticed how fat the owners ass was either, but that is besides the point. Perhaps I noticed because I needed something to be angry about as a way to shield my hurt that I was sort of being accused of theft without ever committing a crime. In case you were already thinking it, I am never going back there with my business. Not to mention, the accusatory owner with the wide load was crazy gluing studs that had fallen off of a belt at the counter. It doesn't take a genius to say that one should not be repairing faulty, overpriced merchandise in front of potential (now no longer) customers.
This brings me to my next point. I believe that accusations are often paired with conclusions that one has jumped to. For example, a few weeks ago, two boys were stopped in the hallway on their way to the testing room. They had their papers pressed to the wall and were filling in answers. They were silent. Yet, what did the teacher in me think? Yup, you got it; that they were cheating. I know these boys but often the most cunning are the least suspect, especially when it comes to cheating in middle school. I presented the situation to the boys, one of which was on the verge of tears, and asked them what they believed I was thinking. Neither is clairvoyant (that I know of ), but both were able to tell me that if they stumbled upon what I saw, they would think they were cheating too. (Their alibi-as they were flipping through the test, they say the opportunity to get a section filled in ASAP because they didn't want to forget the info. I can dig that--good test taking strategy, just not in the hall next to a classmate). In the end, my insticts instructed me to pursue Jewish guilt as the method of 'punishment', and I put the responsiblity on the boys to tell their teacher if they cheated. You might think this is dumb, but giving certain kids control over the situation leads them in the right direction, not to mention I don't want to be what some of my colleagues are, which is always assuming the worst about the kids.
But I have still not made it to my point. The tidbit about the boys in the hall is part of the build up. You see, the supposed evidence made them appear guilty, yet in my heart, I truly believed they were not. The expression on their faces when I confronted them was of horrific disbelief, not guilt. It is important to be able to have the intuition to differentiate between the two, but I think that is largely based on a person's ability and desire to want to see the good in others. A few nights ago, I was told by a tarot card reader that I needed to forgive, but to also stand my ground. I find this to be a challenge, since I have been harboring some pretty strong feelings towards a particular situation, a particular accusation. The accused was not me, but it just as well might have been. There a whole set of circumstances surrounding ths, such as the accused and the accuser getting off on the wrong foot from the get go and the fact that at the time of this latest incident, certain 'rules' were broken, rules that were unknown. The bottom line is this: a hurtful, demeaning accusation was made which has caused me a lot of pain. Why? Because I would have hoped that the opposing party would have enough faith in me to believe that what they were saying, what they believed to be the truth, could not possibly be anything but a total misunderstanding. So who stands there and apoliges? Me. Who attempts to reach out to deconstruct the situation so that it is more clear to the other side? Me. And what happens? It is swept under the rug. And now I am festering with hurt and anxiety about a giant elephant in the room. I know the other side will not see things my way or see things for what they are. But that is not my problem. My problem is allowing things to slide for so long, and allowing others around me to hold court with what they have constructed to be the truth. Perhaps now I am the one accusing, but accusations are seriously hurtful. I am capable of forgiveness, but I will stand my ground when it comes to the fact that when someone accuses another person of what I perceive as a dispicable offense, they are the ones who owe an apology for not just jumping, but leaping to conclusions.
To end on a high note, I feel the need to reference Spartacus again. He deserted his army and was forced into a life of slavery. Bad enough,but his wife was also punished for the crime which he was accused of (and committed). Imagine how he felt?
Sunday, March 21, 2010
"There is a Serious Need to Groom Feet Now for this Unpredictable Weather"
Yesterday was gorgeous! I loved not having to wear to a jacket and loved that due to my regularly scheduled bi-weekly pedicure appointments with Andy, I was able to slip my feet into flip flops without offending those around me. Now, I am a realist. I know that not everyone cares what other people's feet look like, but I do. I am a foot fanatic! This fanaticism is not to be confused with a foot fetish. I hate feet. I suppose I have a foot un-fetish. I need carry Xanax around with me in the summer just in case someone's nasty ass feet throw me into a panic attack. Just kidding about the Xanax. I mean, I need it for the summer, but I am not sure how Dr. Halper is going to respond to my reasoning when I request it.
If you are a Sex and the City fan, or just want to check up on my research skills, you might recall during season 2, episode 12, entitled "La Douleur Exquise!", Charolotte finds herself the recipient of a 100% discount from the salesman who loves fitting high end shoes on her feet. He shudders with delight as her foot fills the shoe. Well, I have the same reaction, only it is not delight, but repulsion, when my eyes lock with a dry-heeled, talon toed foot.
I have what look like Fred Flintstone feet, small and squarish. I do not claim to have pretty feet, but they are well groomed. You might look at my feet and want to vomit and that is okay. Here is a list of what makes me want to vomit.
*I hate when the index toe is longer than a person's toe.
*I really hate long toe nails that are kept long on purpose, such as a former student I once had.
* Let's talk about what I refer to as the "butter toe"....it is a rounded big toe, much like the shape of a butter knife.
*I hate the feet that belong to a certain woman who works in my school. I am not going into details, but her feet are just a small part of an entirely unpleasant "situation". The "situation" is exacerbated when said person wears a puple tent (dress) to work. Ugh..I just got a little sick.
*Hmm--oooh, the W.T. toes--white trash toes...chipped polish happily displayed. GROSS. A colleague had chipped her big toenail polish and was walking around with 9 painted toes, 1 not painted. I fully admitted to her that I was staring at her feet and that my insides were churning. I could not look away!!! So what did she do? When she went to get it fixed, she had my name written on it in a pretty caligraphy style print!
*Talon toes...UGGGGGGHHHHHH! What are you a freakin vulture?? A close friend of mine who will remain unnamed occasionally has a rapid, practically overnight growth of what we have named "Falon the Talon." This friend is a stickler for all forms of upkeep, so when Falon extends herself from the nail-bed, it is hilarious and picture worthy and most importantly, not permanent!!
*The big toe that hangs over the shoe...doesn't that get scraped a lot? I got Fred Flintstone feet, my sister got GIGANTIC big toes. Needless to say, they hang...
So as the days warm up and we are ready to shed our socks and shoes for less confining flip flops, I believe that it is only right, it is only considerate, to scrape off the dry skin, push back the cuticles and trim the talons. Here are some indicators if you are in need of these simple grooming tips:
1. Find a block of wood that is somewhat splintering. If your heels are actually sanding the wood down, you need to get your feet in some water and pumice away.
2. If your shoes are suddenly tight in the toe area, and the next half or full size up fits much better, it is probably because you need a trim.
3. If your shoes fit but you are able to widdle wood figurines with your toenails, take your ass to home depot and get some goggles and a saw to trim those bad boys.
4. If your spouse, bedmate, whoever, is waking up with unexplained cuts along their legs, you know what to do!
5. If your toes are covered with skin, push back the cuticle.
**6. This specifically applies to those of you have lost a toenail due to a bad stub or from excessive running: PAINT THE SKIN!! A friend of mine does this too and she knows that I stare at her feet to try to figure out which toe is nail-less.
*7. Ladies---curlies sprouting from your big toe--not a good look. Shave it, please.
This is my issue, not yours. But just know, I will check your feet out when I see you. It is a compulsion. Josh and I fight all the time about how if he really loved me, he would get a pedi, but he still has not gone. I am not sure if this is grounds for divorce, but he is nary without socks on!! As the weather warms up, just know, there are others like me around, many of which are my friends, and be assured, that if we see you and your feet are NASTY, we will talk about you.
FYI: I found a picture that is DISGUSTING, but I have left it up to you to decide if you want to go there.
http://hardybreed.com/training-logs/jasons-training-log/podiatry-appointment/
If you are a Sex and the City fan, or just want to check up on my research skills, you might recall during season 2, episode 12, entitled "La Douleur Exquise!", Charolotte finds herself the recipient of a 100% discount from the salesman who loves fitting high end shoes on her feet. He shudders with delight as her foot fills the shoe. Well, I have the same reaction, only it is not delight, but repulsion, when my eyes lock with a dry-heeled, talon toed foot.
I have what look like Fred Flintstone feet, small and squarish. I do not claim to have pretty feet, but they are well groomed. You might look at my feet and want to vomit and that is okay. Here is a list of what makes me want to vomit.
*I hate when the index toe is longer than a person's toe.
*I really hate long toe nails that are kept long on purpose, such as a former student I once had.
* Let's talk about what I refer to as the "butter toe"....it is a rounded big toe, much like the shape of a butter knife.
*I hate the feet that belong to a certain woman who works in my school. I am not going into details, but her feet are just a small part of an entirely unpleasant "situation". The "situation" is exacerbated when said person wears a puple tent (dress) to work. Ugh..I just got a little sick.
*Hmm--oooh, the W.T. toes--white trash toes...chipped polish happily displayed. GROSS. A colleague had chipped her big toenail polish and was walking around with 9 painted toes, 1 not painted. I fully admitted to her that I was staring at her feet and that my insides were churning. I could not look away!!! So what did she do? When she went to get it fixed, she had my name written on it in a pretty caligraphy style print!
*Talon toes...UGGGGGGHHHHHH! What are you a freakin vulture?? A close friend of mine who will remain unnamed occasionally has a rapid, practically overnight growth of what we have named "Falon the Talon." This friend is a stickler for all forms of upkeep, so when Falon extends herself from the nail-bed, it is hilarious and picture worthy and most importantly, not permanent!!
*The big toe that hangs over the shoe...doesn't that get scraped a lot? I got Fred Flintstone feet, my sister got GIGANTIC big toes. Needless to say, they hang...
So as the days warm up and we are ready to shed our socks and shoes for less confining flip flops, I believe that it is only right, it is only considerate, to scrape off the dry skin, push back the cuticles and trim the talons. Here are some indicators if you are in need of these simple grooming tips:
1. Find a block of wood that is somewhat splintering. If your heels are actually sanding the wood down, you need to get your feet in some water and pumice away.
2. If your shoes are suddenly tight in the toe area, and the next half or full size up fits much better, it is probably because you need a trim.
3. If your shoes fit but you are able to widdle wood figurines with your toenails, take your ass to home depot and get some goggles and a saw to trim those bad boys.
4. If your spouse, bedmate, whoever, is waking up with unexplained cuts along their legs, you know what to do!
5. If your toes are covered with skin, push back the cuticle.
**6. This specifically applies to those of you have lost a toenail due to a bad stub or from excessive running: PAINT THE SKIN!! A friend of mine does this too and she knows that I stare at her feet to try to figure out which toe is nail-less.
*7. Ladies---curlies sprouting from your big toe--not a good look. Shave it, please.
This is my issue, not yours. But just know, I will check your feet out when I see you. It is a compulsion. Josh and I fight all the time about how if he really loved me, he would get a pedi, but he still has not gone. I am not sure if this is grounds for divorce, but he is nary without socks on!! As the weather warms up, just know, there are others like me around, many of which are my friends, and be assured, that if we see you and your feet are NASTY, we will talk about you.
FYI: I found a picture that is DISGUSTING, but I have left it up to you to decide if you want to go there.
http://hardybreed.com/training-logs/jasons-training-log/podiatry-appointment/
Monday, March 15, 2010
Seriously, Spartacus!!!!
Seriously, if you have not yet seen Spartacus, you are missing out. Here is a summary from the Starz website:
“Betrayed by the Romans. Forced into slavery. Reborn as a Gladiator. The classic tale of the Republic’s most infamous rebel comes alive in the graphic and visceral new series, "Spartacus: Blood and Sand." Torn from his homeland and the woman he loves, Spartacus is condemned to the brutal world of the arena where blood and death are primetime entertainment. But not all battles are fought upon the sands. Treachery, corruption, and the allure of sensual pleasures will constantly test Spartacus. To survive, he must become more than a man. More than a gladiator. He must become a legend.
This show has been causing quite a stir amongst my friends at work. Andy Whitfield, who plays Spartacus, is so freakin’ hot. Without even knowing it, Andy is probably causing some friction in my marriage, as Josh can only take so much oooing and ahhing over how sick his body is. I suppose my request for him to go to the gym with a picture of Mr. Whitfield, and hire a trainer to help him to chisel his body in the fashion of Spartacus did not help. I did add that I would not mind if Josh walked around without a shirt anywhere and everywhere, should he transform his body into a gladiator. The loin cloth would be optional. On Saturday, I hit a new low. Episode 8, “Mark of the Brotherhood”, features the Dominus, Batiatus, purchasing new slaves to be trained as gladiators. One of these slaves was blessed with a third leg. When my eyes laid eyes on this sight, I exclaimed; “OH DEAR GOD!!!” Josh, thinking something was wrong, ran into the living room and asked what is wrong. So I showed him that nothing was wrong at all and to “get a load of this!” When I asked him if he could believe the size of the slaves junk, he said “I don’t really care, Lisa.” I rewound the show again and paused it so that this man’s glory was frozen in the middle of our living room. Josh was not nearly as amused or as flushed as I was. Penis envy, Josh??
On Saturday, a friend on Facebook commented that she thought it was strange that the first three posts she read were Spartacus related. One of those was mine, as I created a fake claim that my job’s end of the year party would be Spartacus themed. I then managed to weave Spartacus into every comment that I made on friends’ posts. I don’t know how many people appreciated this, but my friends who are fans defiantly got my drift.
Bottom line---this show does have a story line, but all I see are sick bodies and a ton of blood. Lucy Lawless of "Xena: Warrior Princess" fame, is often baring the top half of her body. The party scenes are ridiculous. To sum up, my friend watched a few episodes on her laptop, in bed. Her computer overheated and now she is waiting for a new battery. Seriously, true story.
“Betrayed by the Romans. Forced into slavery. Reborn as a Gladiator. The classic tale of the Republic’s most infamous rebel comes alive in the graphic and visceral new series, "Spartacus: Blood and Sand." Torn from his homeland and the woman he loves, Spartacus is condemned to the brutal world of the arena where blood and death are primetime entertainment. But not all battles are fought upon the sands. Treachery, corruption, and the allure of sensual pleasures will constantly test Spartacus. To survive, he must become more than a man. More than a gladiator. He must become a legend.
This show has been causing quite a stir amongst my friends at work. Andy Whitfield, who plays Spartacus, is so freakin’ hot. Without even knowing it, Andy is probably causing some friction in my marriage, as Josh can only take so much oooing and ahhing over how sick his body is. I suppose my request for him to go to the gym with a picture of Mr. Whitfield, and hire a trainer to help him to chisel his body in the fashion of Spartacus did not help. I did add that I would not mind if Josh walked around without a shirt anywhere and everywhere, should he transform his body into a gladiator. The loin cloth would be optional. On Saturday, I hit a new low. Episode 8, “Mark of the Brotherhood”, features the Dominus, Batiatus, purchasing new slaves to be trained as gladiators. One of these slaves was blessed with a third leg. When my eyes laid eyes on this sight, I exclaimed; “OH DEAR GOD!!!” Josh, thinking something was wrong, ran into the living room and asked what is wrong. So I showed him that nothing was wrong at all and to “get a load of this!” When I asked him if he could believe the size of the slaves junk, he said “I don’t really care, Lisa.” I rewound the show again and paused it so that this man’s glory was frozen in the middle of our living room. Josh was not nearly as amused or as flushed as I was. Penis envy, Josh??
On Saturday, a friend on Facebook commented that she thought it was strange that the first three posts she read were Spartacus related. One of those was mine, as I created a fake claim that my job’s end of the year party would be Spartacus themed. I then managed to weave Spartacus into every comment that I made on friends’ posts. I don’t know how many people appreciated this, but my friends who are fans defiantly got my drift.
Bottom line---this show does have a story line, but all I see are sick bodies and a ton of blood. Lucy Lawless of "Xena: Warrior Princess" fame, is often baring the top half of her body. The party scenes are ridiculous. To sum up, my friend watched a few episodes on her laptop, in bed. Her computer overheated and now she is waiting for a new battery. Seriously, true story.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Seriously, Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only. ~Samuel Butler, Erewhon
Today, I bawled out some mean girls. By bawled out, I suppose I mean caught out and scolded, but nonetheless, I summoned the 12 year old Lisa and let those nasty bitches have it. I did it not just for me, but for past and future tween-age girls who will find themselves in a situation such as the one I stumbled upon early this morning.
One of my students has what is best described as an immature and socially awkward manner. I will call her 'A'. She misinterprets social cues and does things that often make me feel embarrassed for her. For example, impulsively getting up just prior to morning announcements and reenacting Jennifer Garner doing the Thriller dance in the movie 'Thirteen Going on Thirty'. 'A' will sob uncontrollably when she is not called on in class and once refused to speak to me because I touched her binder without permission. Yet, this student is rather endearing. She is a pop culture whiz when it comes to the 2000's and can compare protagonists from current novels to those featured in the classics. 'A' can joke around with the best of them and when all is said and done, she is a sweet girl who just wants to fit in but is struggling with the raw and uncomfortable realization that she is in fact different.
For the most part, classmates are kind to her, but there are the girls in the cafeteria who accuse her of being a lesbian simply because that is one of the most horrific statements one can make against another in middle school. (FYI--'A' has assured us she is not a lesbian and doesn't seem to understand what the big deal would be if she was). But today, I hit my limit. As a teacher, it is a struggle to NOT intervene when kids are treating other kids badly. There is a fine line that we grapple with; do we teach kids to stand up for themselves or do we defend against the bullies?? Today, I crossed whatever the line was and I would do it again and again.
Here is what happened:
I was walking down the hall. I see 'A' chatting animatedly amongst three girls. These girls are not her friends. These girls are not her style. These girls are laughing at her and 'A' is blinded by their attention. I slow up and hear Head Honcho Mean Girl say; "So if you like Tyler, why don't you go over to him right now and give him a hug?" 'A' begins to answer, all smiles and excited. Then, like the vulture sweeping in to protect her young, I am on the scene. I say, 'A', please go into the classroom" ( this was happening right outside of first period). She goes right in. Then, I extend my talons (I'm a vulture), and I begin to swipe my claws.
Me: Do you know that girls name? (big hint here Head Honcho Mean Girl (HHMG)...I just said it.)
HHMG: No.
Me: Are you friends with her?
HHMG: No. (She has now turned bright red. Her two other friends are now faking going to their locker and their involvement in this. I do call them out as they leave HHMG out to dry too)
Me: If you are not friends with this girl, then why did I just hear you tell her to hug Tyler?
HHMG: Silent...appears to be holding in a poop...her friends, still tuning out the scene...
Me: Are those your friends?
HHMG: Yes.
Me: Friends, you are in on this too, so listen. Obviously this girl is excited by your attention, considering she was about to go hug some boy she has probably never met. Do you enjoy being entertained by people who you know just want to fit in and will be willing to do anything for your attention simply because they haven't realized that you would never be nice to them?
HHMG and Friends: Jaws open...pooping a little ( I hope)
Me: If your parents saw what just happened, would they be proud of you?
HHMG: No.
Me: Do things that would make your parents proud when they aren't looking. Don't prey on people who you think are weaker than you or who are different. You are bullying this poor girl. Is that how you want to be thought of? As a bully.
If I see this again or if I hear of you doing this, you are going to the Dean.
HHHMG: I am so sorry.
Now, I did get the HHMG's name, but the expression on her face, a mixture of horror, shock and hate (for her so called friends who pretended they were as holy as a nun on Palm Sunday) was hopefully genuine enough that it made her think. I would not be surprised if I am tracked down by a guidance counselor or AP tomorrow after her mother calls and complains about the nasty teacher who accused her daughter of making fun of another student...blah blah...not my child...blah blah..., but I really could care less. These are the girls who tear down the self esteem of those who already have a weak foundation. These are also the girls who wind up marrying the hottie who is bald and sporting 6 flat tires by 30. These are the girls who gain the freshman fifteen and never lose the baby weight (I secretly hope). These are the girls who have overweight or "weird" kids who get made fun of and wish they were nicer way back when.
Now just so you know, I had a convo with 'A' about the situation. I told her, with a breaking heart and a choked back tear, that these girls are not ever going to be her friends and they were making fun of her. I told her that they were mean and a sweet, funny, smart girl like herself should never want to be friends with girls like those. I told her that there are mean girls everywhere, no matter how old we are, and that while it is hard to make friends, one or two good ones are better than a bunch who use others for entertainment. I needed to be candid with her; I need her to see she can do so much better than that. I need her to learn her value.
Maybe that is selfish of me, but teaching is not just a lesson on a chalkboard (SMARTBOARD). It is an opportunity to guide and shape and instill and teach not just from a book, but from the heart.
Seriously, HHMG, go screw yourself.
One of my students has what is best described as an immature and socially awkward manner. I will call her 'A'. She misinterprets social cues and does things that often make me feel embarrassed for her. For example, impulsively getting up just prior to morning announcements and reenacting Jennifer Garner doing the Thriller dance in the movie 'Thirteen Going on Thirty'. 'A' will sob uncontrollably when she is not called on in class and once refused to speak to me because I touched her binder without permission. Yet, this student is rather endearing. She is a pop culture whiz when it comes to the 2000's and can compare protagonists from current novels to those featured in the classics. 'A' can joke around with the best of them and when all is said and done, she is a sweet girl who just wants to fit in but is struggling with the raw and uncomfortable realization that she is in fact different.
For the most part, classmates are kind to her, but there are the girls in the cafeteria who accuse her of being a lesbian simply because that is one of the most horrific statements one can make against another in middle school. (FYI--'A' has assured us she is not a lesbian and doesn't seem to understand what the big deal would be if she was). But today, I hit my limit. As a teacher, it is a struggle to NOT intervene when kids are treating other kids badly. There is a fine line that we grapple with; do we teach kids to stand up for themselves or do we defend against the bullies?? Today, I crossed whatever the line was and I would do it again and again.
Here is what happened:
I was walking down the hall. I see 'A' chatting animatedly amongst three girls. These girls are not her friends. These girls are not her style. These girls are laughing at her and 'A' is blinded by their attention. I slow up and hear Head Honcho Mean Girl say; "So if you like Tyler, why don't you go over to him right now and give him a hug?" 'A' begins to answer, all smiles and excited. Then, like the vulture sweeping in to protect her young, I am on the scene. I say, 'A', please go into the classroom" ( this was happening right outside of first period). She goes right in. Then, I extend my talons (I'm a vulture), and I begin to swipe my claws.
Me: Do you know that girls name? (big hint here Head Honcho Mean Girl (HHMG)...I just said it.)
HHMG: No.
Me: Are you friends with her?
HHMG: No. (She has now turned bright red. Her two other friends are now faking going to their locker and their involvement in this. I do call them out as they leave HHMG out to dry too)
Me: If you are not friends with this girl, then why did I just hear you tell her to hug Tyler?
HHMG: Silent...appears to be holding in a poop...her friends, still tuning out the scene...
Me: Are those your friends?
HHMG: Yes.
Me: Friends, you are in on this too, so listen. Obviously this girl is excited by your attention, considering she was about to go hug some boy she has probably never met. Do you enjoy being entertained by people who you know just want to fit in and will be willing to do anything for your attention simply because they haven't realized that you would never be nice to them?
HHMG and Friends: Jaws open...pooping a little ( I hope)
Me: If your parents saw what just happened, would they be proud of you?
HHMG: No.
Me: Do things that would make your parents proud when they aren't looking. Don't prey on people who you think are weaker than you or who are different. You are bullying this poor girl. Is that how you want to be thought of? As a bully.
If I see this again or if I hear of you doing this, you are going to the Dean.
HHHMG: I am so sorry.
Now, I did get the HHMG's name, but the expression on her face, a mixture of horror, shock and hate (for her so called friends who pretended they were as holy as a nun on Palm Sunday) was hopefully genuine enough that it made her think. I would not be surprised if I am tracked down by a guidance counselor or AP tomorrow after her mother calls and complains about the nasty teacher who accused her daughter of making fun of another student...blah blah...not my child...blah blah..., but I really could care less. These are the girls who tear down the self esteem of those who already have a weak foundation. These are also the girls who wind up marrying the hottie who is bald and sporting 6 flat tires by 30. These are the girls who gain the freshman fifteen and never lose the baby weight (I secretly hope). These are the girls who have overweight or "weird" kids who get made fun of and wish they were nicer way back when.
Now just so you know, I had a convo with 'A' about the situation. I told her, with a breaking heart and a choked back tear, that these girls are not ever going to be her friends and they were making fun of her. I told her that they were mean and a sweet, funny, smart girl like herself should never want to be friends with girls like those. I told her that there are mean girls everywhere, no matter how old we are, and that while it is hard to make friends, one or two good ones are better than a bunch who use others for entertainment. I needed to be candid with her; I need her to see she can do so much better than that. I need her to learn her value.
Maybe that is selfish of me, but teaching is not just a lesson on a chalkboard (SMARTBOARD). It is an opportunity to guide and shape and instill and teach not just from a book, but from the heart.
Seriously, HHMG, go screw yourself.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Agony of Defeat is Seriously Depressing
Yesterday was the competition we have all been waiting for. By all, I am referring to myself, Robyn, and the 6 kids who signed up for this. For the first time in our nonconsecutive 6 year run as coaches of the Odyssey of the Mind, administrators came to watch. The kids were psyched that their principal would think they were important enough to come see them on a Saturday. Robyn and I were a little nervous, but pleased at the same time because in all honesty, unless you are in the trenches, no one really knows what the hell this club is all about.
When it was finally time to compete, we were ushered into the smallest room known to man. It could barely hold the 4 judges, 2 coaches, an assistant principal, principal, 6 students and 6 supportive family members. It was dead silent. You could slice the tension in the air with our nerves. I had sweaty palms and sweaty pits. Then, the kids were introduced. Their performance went off without a hitch. Robyn and I had tears in our eyes; we were that proud.
During the 2 hour break prior to the awards competition, Robyn and I rewarded ourselves for a job well done at Target. Nothing says "pat on the back" than new razors (me) and workout pants (her). When we returned to the competition site, we learned from one of students, lets call him J, and his parents that there was no microphone. Of course....With the tension building once again, we were awaiting the head honcho of Long Island Odyssey to announce our problem. Here is what happened next:
Division II, Problem 5, Food Court:
Third Place......NOT US
Division II, Problem 5, Food Court:
Second Place....MMMMM Matlin Middle School
For just one second, we thought we had it. J, his parents, Robyn and I literally were sure that MMMMMM sound was the first in the name Merrick Avenue. Now we were faced with nothing or first place. The high pitched squeals of delight from the girls on the Matlin team did not help either. Apparently they had just learned that they were going to Binghamton for the next level of competition. On the ride back to the awards ceremony, Robyn asked me if I wanted to go to Binghamton, then basically accused me of wanting to go. I suppose I did since it would have been a great accomplishment but coupled with the enormous pain in the butt-ness of organizing that extravaganza, it left me feeling torn.
Division II, Problem 5, Food Court:
First Place......WHO CARES?
J's face literally fell. I now understand exactly what that phrase means. The look in his eyes was worse than losing. After our hearts stopped beating out of chests in the now sudden hopes that first place belonged to us, Robyn and I, I think, felt as bad as he did. How do you explain to a kid that he kicked ass and winning doesn't matter, when he looked like he needed a scotch on the rocks, STAT? So did his dad.... His mom thanked us up and down, I think secretly relieved she didn't have to endure a long ass car ride 2 days before the first Passover Seder (they are in my tribe too). She also said that her son really felt connected to school because of Odyssey and that we did a great job. We? We facilitated (for the most part). If you knew this group, you would understand why Robyn and I got a bit teary and why we felt busted up last night. They were barely friends and had little in common. This particular group could have been used as a thesis study for someone wanting to delve deeply into the exploration of socialization amongst early teens. Yet, a hot mess created a finished product that made judges and parents laugh. And most importantly, the kids felt good.
That doesn't make the agony of defeat hurt any less, but seriously, we will be back next year, bigger and better, so you guys better watch it!!!
When it was finally time to compete, we were ushered into the smallest room known to man. It could barely hold the 4 judges, 2 coaches, an assistant principal, principal, 6 students and 6 supportive family members. It was dead silent. You could slice the tension in the air with our nerves. I had sweaty palms and sweaty pits. Then, the kids were introduced. Their performance went off without a hitch. Robyn and I had tears in our eyes; we were that proud.
During the 2 hour break prior to the awards competition, Robyn and I rewarded ourselves for a job well done at Target. Nothing says "pat on the back" than new razors (me) and workout pants (her). When we returned to the competition site, we learned from one of students, lets call him J, and his parents that there was no microphone. Of course....With the tension building once again, we were awaiting the head honcho of Long Island Odyssey to announce our problem. Here is what happened next:
Division II, Problem 5, Food Court:
Third Place......NOT US
Division II, Problem 5, Food Court:
Second Place....MMMMM Matlin Middle School
For just one second, we thought we had it. J, his parents, Robyn and I literally were sure that MMMMMM sound was the first in the name Merrick Avenue. Now we were faced with nothing or first place. The high pitched squeals of delight from the girls on the Matlin team did not help either. Apparently they had just learned that they were going to Binghamton for the next level of competition. On the ride back to the awards ceremony, Robyn asked me if I wanted to go to Binghamton, then basically accused me of wanting to go. I suppose I did since it would have been a great accomplishment but coupled with the enormous pain in the butt-ness of organizing that extravaganza, it left me feeling torn.
Division II, Problem 5, Food Court:
First Place......WHO CARES?
J's face literally fell. I now understand exactly what that phrase means. The look in his eyes was worse than losing. After our hearts stopped beating out of chests in the now sudden hopes that first place belonged to us, Robyn and I, I think, felt as bad as he did. How do you explain to a kid that he kicked ass and winning doesn't matter, when he looked like he needed a scotch on the rocks, STAT? So did his dad.... His mom thanked us up and down, I think secretly relieved she didn't have to endure a long ass car ride 2 days before the first Passover Seder (they are in my tribe too). She also said that her son really felt connected to school because of Odyssey and that we did a great job. We? We facilitated (for the most part). If you knew this group, you would understand why Robyn and I got a bit teary and why we felt busted up last night. They were barely friends and had little in common. This particular group could have been used as a thesis study for someone wanting to delve deeply into the exploration of socialization amongst early teens. Yet, a hot mess created a finished product that made judges and parents laugh. And most importantly, the kids felt good.
That doesn't make the agony of defeat hurt any less, but seriously, we will be back next year, bigger and better, so you guys better watch it!!!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Seriously, I Will Be Eating Pie on Friday
CALM DOWN, Boys (girls)!!!!!!! Got your attention though, didn't I? It seems like at every corner we turn, something devastating is happening. Natural disasters, sudden death, diseases and disabilities with no cure; the list goes on. With our current economic state, charity organizations are suffering. On the same hand, Americans are so good at mobilizing to help the rest of the world, yet we have people without homes or medicine they need to survive. WTF?
Today (as in March 2, 2010), I am a cynic. I believe that charity begins at home, but I am not quite sure that it actually does.Maybe it is just a 'pretty' saying. My earliest memory of charity goes back to a little ditty we used to sing in Hebrew school. I am not sure what the name of the song was, but I recall only these few lines:
"Give a little Tzedakah,
Give a little Tzedakah
Give a little Tzedakah
to the poor and needy
Give a little Tzedakah,
Give a little Tzedakah
Don't be greedy....."
The meaning of the word tzedakah translates to charity. And every little bit counts, so why is it so hard to just give on our own? Rather, why is it so hard to motivate people to give on their own without something extrinsic? I used to throw my pocket change in lint in an aluminum tin without a second thought. I am not sure where that money ended up, but I am hoping it was not in Mr. Lubin's or Dr. Hymen's pocket. *
I am not looking for an answer, but I can tell you that my school does a damn good job at getting out the can of whoop-ass that mobilizes our students to give. Bake sales are a sure thing; cupcakes and donuts go for one dollar. I believe that over two days, for probably a total of an hour, one team of students raised over $1000 for Haiti. I am thinking that I need to sell some baked goods and iced tea outside of my apartment building during high summer season! Other students guessed how many something or another were in a jar, and raised hundreds for Haiti too. Earlier this year, teachers participated in a volleyball game to raise money for heart disease; the kids bought tickets and cheered their favorite teachers, jeered their hated teachers. Not to toot my own horn, but later in the year, provided this spring isn't a washout repeat of last spring, tenured and nontenured teachers will be playing a friendly game of flag football to fuel some healthy staff relations and to raise money for Autism Speaks. Kids will purchase tickets and cheer (and jeer) us from the bleachers out by the track. All they will think about is how funny it is to see their idols and role models get knocked down and dragged out, but really, they will be helping the greater good. Tomorrow, the club I co-supervise with one of my favorite people in the world, Senorita Levy, will be hosting a last minute bake sale. Why? Because one of our kids cannot afford the sweatshirts we ordered to wear to our upcoming competition. When the student skirted around the issue when I asked if she planned to order one, I point blank asked her if it was a financial issue. Quietly she said her mom just could not give her the money for it. When I explained to her the purpose of the bake sale, she lit up and thanked me (us) for doing that for her. Later in the day, I spoke to her mother who was equally as grateful. This Friday, our foreign language department has organized a whipped cream pie eating contest. For $2, students will pay to watch a few heats of teachers attempting to get to the bottom of whipped creme pie and claim the hidden Jolly Rancher...with no hands, in the name of the Chile. While I volunteered immediately, I did request low fat whipped creme. I never said I wasn't high maintenance.
These activities might camouflage the purpose of charity, but they do work. I hope that as they grow up and mature, they learn that charity isn't always fun. I hope that when I have children, rather than ask for a material object as a birthday gift, they request a donation be made to an organization such as the ASPCA or WWF in the name of an endangered animal, such as my triplet nieces did this year.
So when you see my picture on Facebook and I am covered in pie, just know, I did it for a good cause.**
*Mr. Lubin was a Hebrew school teacher. Dr. Hymen was the principal of Hebrew school by night. He was probably a teacher, not a gynocologist by day, as him name might suggest. (too vulgar?)
**I should note that if it were a hot dog eating contest, I would have shown my support, donated a few bucks, and watched from the wings. I LOVE WHIPPED CREAM!
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