Your Kids Are Missing Out on the Good Stuff

What a travesty that some school in Florida can't even afford toilet paper. I mean, how much can that cheap-ass bark-flecked flexible cardboard scrap cost? They can bail out greedy corporate bastards, but they can't let a kid wipe it after a pee?

When I was a child, students who lived far enough away rode in yellow army tank-like vehicles called SCHOOL BUSES (after they did their morning chores feeding the dinosaurs). They were provided by the school district and they were FREE. Children piled onto the bus, fighting over seats, often ripping a shirt or two. Girls walked down the gauntlet between the seats while boys lifted up their dresses and pulled the pig tails of those who sat in front of them.

In high school, I took the bus to school and every day, we'd yell in unison "Turn! Turn! Turn!" to the bus driver because we wanted her to take the short cut home instead of the school mandated route. One day, after we'd boarded the bus after school, the vice-principal came on board and lectured all of us and threatened us with severe punishment, like, one hour in the stockyards.

But these days, kids don't enjoy this fringe benefit. Because the schools can't AFFORD it.

When I was in junior high, we had this class called P.E. It's where children ran around outside. It's also where this bully kept accusing me of staring at her. "What are YOU looking at?" she'd hiss at me. Actually, P.E. was good for me because I sure ran a lot.

When I was in elementary school, they had just invented these things called sidewalks. And we used them to WALK to school. Eleven blocks for me. Each way! Teachers would pin permission slips or other notices to our clothing so we could wander home looking like morons who couldn't be trusted to deliver the information to our parents.

But by walking to school, children got EXERCISE. For FREE! No expensive uniforms or equipment required. No league fees to pay. No fundraising for parents to bother their coworkers with.

If you don't walk to school, how can the school boy you're crushing on walk you home? How can you sneak cigarettes from your negatively influentual friends? And there's no chance of peeing your pants if you don't have a nice long peepee-dancing walk ahead of you. (Oops, did I just confess that out loud?)

Parents: don't you see that by driving your kids to school, you are depriving them of these sacred experiences?

And another thing: we never studied for federally mandated exams. We just learned stuff. And we were never left behind.

Without the unnecessary task of meeting administrative standards we had time for things like art (where kids could eat paste), and music (my flute teacher was an alcoholic), and nap time (my teacher, Mr. Stanley, poked me in the chest one day for talking to my neighbor instead of lying quietly on my towel).

So yeah, why can't the school districts afford THAT anymore?

Call me conservative. Call me traditional. But I believe the day we make our kids bring their own toilet paper to school is the day we've lost our priorities in public spending. Of course, I suppose if they have to pee their pants on the way to school, they've got protection.



Abigail from Piece of Cake is walking for MS. She can tell you why she's walking HERE.
If you've got an extra few bucks (no amount is too small), please consider a tax-deductible donation to help her reach her goal of $2500. Her direct MS donation page is HERE.

An Open Letter to Charities

Dear Charities,

No.

No, No, and No!

I have not won the lottery, so please quit acting like it.

You may not have all (or a part of) my unemployment check.

If I send you a substantial check once a year, at the same time every year, and you even have me listed as a “Broadcast Circle Member”, I will not be sending you additional checks every two months during the rest of the year, so save a tree already!

If I gave you money because my friend rode a bicycle, or ran a long distance for your organization, that does not mean I want to be a lifetime donator to you people. I was just supporting my friend for a cause. If you want more money, go ask her for it. Leave me alone.

If my friend’s mother died and in lieu of flowers, I donated money to you, do not continue to mail me solicitations for more money. You are only pissing me off and giving yourselves a bad name so that every time I see your name, I will seethe in anger, rather than fondly remember a dead loved one, so thanks a lot for that.

Sending me return address labels as a “gift” for my anticipated donation will only result in one less item that I throw in the trash. I hate you people more than anyone else, because now, I will either feel guilty for keeping something without donating, or I will feel guilty for throwing a perfectly usable product in the trash. I mean, if you’re going to go to the trouble of making them, I will have the audacity to use them. And I will feel guilty about it. One hundred and twenty times. Also? I will have the nerve to be angry about any name misspellings.

I already have my favorite causes and most of you are not one of them.

I have a good mind to call you and tell you that you can’t afford to waste money sending me mail. It makes for fewer resources actually HELPING people. But then I’m afraid to call you and tell you that, because I’ll feel guilty because I will be essentially saying, “I never ever EVER intend to give to your organization!" Followed by an outright slam of the door in your virtual face.

My kingdom for an easy, convenient, guilt-free (i.e., magical) way to say no!

So, which box on the Form of Life do I check to opt out of this relentless barrage of mailbox garbage?

GAHHH!!!

Your sincerely,
Nanny Goats

Goat Thing of The Day

No Maui vacation is complete without a visit to the Surfing Goat Dairy! 

Awwwwww, 4-day-old goat kidlets!

Buy a bag of hay for a dollar and let the kids feed the kids!

You can get a guided tour of the farm, and if you hit it at the right time of the day, you can help herd the goats in for milking.

You can taste (and buy) their goat cheese (which appear on various restaurant menus throughout the island). They also sell goat milk soap and T-shirts. If for some strange reason you won't be going to Maui anytime soon, you can always order their cheese online.

This is Hanzie (rhymes with Fonzie). He's usually the Big Daddy, if you know what I mean.

Poor Hanzie has arthritis and was unable to be the Big Daddy this year. Maybe next year, Hanzie.

OK, just one more goat photo and I'll let you go.

Step Right Up Folks, and See the Moon!

So we went to the erstaz Tower Records downtown (arguably the first location) which is now called R5 (and was opened by the same guy who founded Tower Records). A few days ago, some dude was beginning a mural on the side which now looks like this:



You can see the tower of the Tower Theatre in the back on the right. Anyway, after corrupting our ears with many decibels of Death Metal at the listening stations and perusing potential Satanic tattoos, we walked outside where two guys were waving us over to them. "Hey, come look at the moon."

It was now dark outside (I guess we were in the store for a while, judging by the pic above). There were two short and fat telescopes parked on the sidewalk, one was pointed at the moon and another was pointed at a couple of stars.

This is where adult jade sets in and instructs me to walk away from these carnival hawkers, because there is NO WAY two guys would set up telescopes for people to experience fun and not want something, right?

The MudPuppy walked over to one of the telescopes like a hypnotized child. I stood by while alarm bells rang in my head screaming things like: "NOOOO! Move away from those con-men. They are going to try to sell you something! Where's the cash? Does he have cash in his wallet? Oh my God, he's going to give them all of his cash for some scheme they're running and I'll end up on some Dateline NBC special: "Astronomers Gone Bad", crying my eyes out looking just off camera at the invisible interviewer and whining between the tears, "I couldn't stop him! I tried, oh how I tried."

"Hey, Margaret, check this out!" he says, interrupting my 15 minutes of network fame.

I stiffly walk over like what I'm about to see is going to be a big scam and I'm not going to fall for whatever it is they're hucking. I peek into the viewer.

"Oh my God!" I say. It's the moon! And you can see everything. The craters, the shadows, the lines. Wow! The vortex sucks me over to the other telescope and I see Saturn! A little tiny white sideways Saturn. With the rings. You can actually see the rings. Oh sure, you've seen it on TV loads of times, but I was actually looking at the actual Saturn! Was that.. "joy" I felt? In any event, it blew my mind.

I gathered my wits and asked one of the guys, "So, what are you guys doing here?", getting ready to hand over my purse and jewelry.

"Showing people the sky," says the telescope guy.

But, But, But....that sounded....so.... benign. So philanthropic. So open source, if you will. I mean, providing something, and not bumper-sticker something, or key chain something, but something really cool, man something, on a public sidewalk for free? I couldn't believe it. Where were the pamphlets? Where were the donation forms?

I said something again, but in retrospect, it was rather stupid and so, Dear Reader, I eagerly share it with you: "Why aren't you up in the mountains or some place where it's darker?"

"Because," he said, "then the only people we could show this to is other astronomers."

He gets points for even dignifying my idiotic question with an answer.

We walked away with our clothes and money intact. I was mystified because we didn't get swindled or bait-and-switched or anything. I didn't even think to take a picture of them or the telescopes, so you fellow skeptics would believe that such a thing occurred. I couldn't shut up about it all the way back to the car.

It's a shame that telemarketers and pan handlers and valet parking attendants (oh, don't get me started about those lots that are free by day, but suddenly a $10.00 valet sign pops up out of nowhere at dusk so someone can park your car 10 feet away!)...it's a shame they have influenced us such that we assume everybody is doing whatever they are doing for the money - specifically, YOUR money - and not for the simple act of sharing something other-worldly.