It’s the end of the year and there’s a piece of writing from 2010 that I haven’t posted on my blog yet. Some say it was my best work in 2010. I’m not sure about that. It was requested by a few friends that I post it, but I was reluctant and I am still not 100% sold on it. The trouble is it is at the expense of someone else, although he deserved it. It also was a bit out of character for me,although, I can be a bit of a bulldog when someone messes with my family. Well, maybe not a bulldog, but at least a shih-tzu with a twist in my tail. There are two other reasons, one is that there’s a back story to the whole thing and the other is that it is lengthy. Now that I have either got your curiosity up or totally turned you off to this blog, I will begin the back story.
Five or six years ago Mike started a Nascar pool. Similar to a fantasy football league, you pick your “team” at the beginning of the race season and then follow them until the season ends. For those of you who, like me, don’t know much about Nascar, the season starts in February and ends in November. Each week Mike tallies up the points and then emails them out. This process is a lot of math, double checking and entering things into a spreadsheet correctly. It’s time consuming, but has gotten a little more streamlined as Mike has become more computer literate over time. The pool has grown from about 20 people to about 66 and we don’t even know all of the people participating at this point. Mike collects the money at the beginning and then gives out a cash prize (based on some percentages) to the top ten people in the end. He doesn’t keep any money for himself, makes no commission, doesn’t charge extra, etc. etc. So it’s just for fun.
This summer as Mike was taking a summer class (or two I can't remember), hanging with the family, doing house projects etc, he fell behind in sending out the results. Now of course, if you really want to know how your team is doing you could go to NASCAR. com and add all your drivers points together yourself, but Mike tries to get these things out in a timely manner. Again, this summer Mike was a little behind (not four weeks as the accusation states) and that’s where our story really begins.
A certain member of the pool, we shall call him JH, who we don’t know at all, was very unhappy that Mike was behind. Instead of emailing and asking politely what was going on he sent an email out to every single person participating in the pool. And so I now present his email, Mike’s response, his response and then my response. Before I do I want to say there were a lot of other emails that supported Mike and no one stepped forward to support this other guy. I kind of felt bad for him in a way, but he brought it on himself. Since I am leaving his name out of this and since it is for your entertainment purposes, I’m not going to feel bad about posting this. And so I present the “Aight” emails. That was the subject line in JH’s original email. Think Alright, with a southern twang to it.
JH:
OK,
This is just me talking here, and, I have had a few.....so....here it goes......
The Points need to be shown every week. I am tired of waiting 4 weeks to see where I stand! Is it that Hard? if it is, then there needs to be someone else appointed to compute the race. If someone is that busy to where they cannot due the job of a " Commish" then they should not collect money! start showing the Points after each race.....is it that Hard?????? Send me the program and I will upload the race results every weekend.....dang!!
Mike’s cordial and, I think, kind response:
I've had a few myself, so here I go....
Sorry about the delay in getting the past two weeks of results out. But life takes precedence over this "game". It is transfer season, vacation season, and final exam season in my household. Ritdc1 and I created this pool 5 years ago because it makes following the races more fun. It gets people involved in NASCAR that have never even watched a race before. I have never taken a dime of commission from the money people put into this pool, it has always gone to the winners.
I have officially transferred, am off vacation, and have passed my final exam, so I'll be more punctual in getting the weekly results out.
Thanks for everyone's patience...and most of all, for playing this pool.
You will find the past two weeks of results attached plus today's (unofficial) results.
Now another friend of Mike’s who received the emails (remember over 60 people received JH’s email) sent one saying “Just as Nascar institutes a penalty against drivers who speak out against the corporation JH should incur a penalty for lashing out against the commish.” Well, this didn’t sit well with old JH and here’s what happened next.
JH:
I have incurred a penalty!! Waiting 4 weeks for an update is crazy. At least when drivers are penalized, they know what the fine is by that Tuesday!! The fact that there are " 95%" or more members that were wondering the same thing and I just happen to be the one who says something. No one ever said that anyone was gaining any thing thing from this, all i want to know is where I stand week to week. Not Month to month....Period.
In a Nut shell, I am no "Overnight", "Fair Weather", "I love Jeff Gordon", ' Jimmie Johnson", "Dale Jr" kinda Race fan, show me the results!!!! :-)
I went through a Transfer too. Moved a family of 5 from Paris, TN to St Pete, FL. Started a new job, kids a new school, wife a new job, and me....well, thats a whole new story! Didnt keep me from checking my Yahoo too see what my standings were. It doesnt take this to keep me a NASCAR fan.
That was for you Markus!
*****
(Just a side note no one knows who Markus is).
Okay and now the moment you have been patiently waiting for. My responsewhich I sent to all 66 people as well…..
Phew, I'm glad someone is finally speaking up for the "95%" of us (which of course includes Mike's parents, his in-laws, his siblings, his grandparents, his children and me, his wife). We are sick and tired of Mike's antics. Just between you and me, Jeff, we are at our wits' end. We've been planning a family intervention-maybe we can Skype you in on it, you seem like you'd have some great input. You just have no idea what it's like to live with this guy. I mean talk about mixed-up priorities! He says things like "Let's do a road trip up and down the coast, it would be an amazing experience for the kids," but I'm thinking "Dang! Not till you get them race results posted, I have no idea where I stand and I know them damn redwood trees won't have any internet in 'em."
The truth is, this is the 21st century and we all know that there's no need to spend time with your family when you could just shoot them an email while working on NASCAR results. Oh and then those lame excuses about going to school while working full-time, final exams, buying a new house, transferring out of his unit, blah blah blah. Why doesn't he just write a country song about it, am I right? A college education is so yesterday, anyway, why's he wasting his time on that? Don't even get me started about his exercise habits, he's all into his health and stuff, pah-lease, I say if he wants to work out, he should be working those fingertips on the keyboard, Aight!
I just can't believe that after five years of doing this--growing the pool of people from 20 to 66, creating a formula and spreadsheet, setting up an easy pay system, listening to people's feedback and doing his best to accomodate everyone, he just can't see how much pain he causes the "95%" of us when he falls behind in sending out the results. I am hoping the intervention will help, if not I'm thinking of leaving him. Actually we all are, the entire 95% of us, we just don't know what else to do, really.
JH, I just can't thank you enough for taking the high road and sending your email of complaint to all of us instead of just Mike. That is really going to open up some eyes around here. Maybe get the other 5% on our side. It's refreshing to see at least someone has his priorities straight. Oh and I totally agree with you on the whole Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson thing, I'm all about #26 Go Ricky Bobby!!
Thanks again,
Aimee
And so you have it. Was it my best of 2010? I don’t think so, but it kept some Nascar fans entertained. Happy New Year. Be safe,Be Happy, Be good---Aight?
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
holiday spirit
Growing up my Aunt and her family did their own thing on Christmas. We did ours. They usually came over for dessert after the separate festivities were said and done. It was a fine existence really, but we had no idea what we were missing. At some point in the last fifteen years or so that changed. Soon we were spending the holidays together. These were new dynamics and though things could get a little loud, perhaps a little heated here and there, I absolutely love holidays with the whole crew. Each year the holiday traditions continued to evolve until we perfected the gift exchange. Now, your family might do a Yankee Swap, or a grab, or choose names, or a White Elephant, or separate gifts for everyone or (gasp) no gifts at all, and you might think your family gift exchange is fun or necessary or what have you. Well, I am happy that you are satisfied with your exchange, but I can guarantee you ours is more fun. Sorry, it’s true. I’m not usually one to brag, but I am going to just get this out on the table. Ours is better. While your exchange is all about the day of…the best parts of ours happen in the weeks leading up to it.
First of all who you draw in the exchange is top secret. I know of families who draw and say something like “Aunt Margie, I have you this year, what do you want?” We are not that family. In fact we used to have a cousin named Jeremy who would do that very thing. So on Christmas eve 2002, when old Saint Nick wasn’t looking, we tossed Jeremy in Santa’s sack, and we haven’t seen him since. We just have no patience for that kind of cousin.
The goal in our exchange is to find out who has who. You need to be sneaky, deceptive and always on your toes. In the end whoever has the most guesses right, not only gets their regular gift, but also gets an additional prize. Now I am pretty good, my cousin Carly is, perhaps, a little better. We formed an alliance several years ago and we are a dream team. My sister Amanda is usually part of the alliance, but this year she’s holding out…hmmm I wonder why. My mom will sometimes exchange info with me, but not always, case in point, this year she is refusing thus far, which means she probably has me, but that blows my theory about Amanda having me. I think they have thrown together their own little alliance, which is fine, but they’ll be back.No one leaves for long.
Like I said before, it is imperative that you leave no stone unturned to find out who has who. Now I’m not going to tell you my tactics, but let me just say that years and years in front of the TV has given me an idea or two. When I walk into a room people start to quiver. Sure I might be more like Maxwell Smart than Jack Bauer, but the point is I can get the job done. While many mothers spent this morning cleaning their homes, feeding their children breakfast and, perhaps, creating a grocery list or something; I spent my morning mapping out who I think has who. Or who has whom, or whom has whom, or, well you get the point. I have some confirmed reports, and some good guesses. One or two of my pieces of information were obtained illegally and for that I am sorry, but the point is, this year, I am going to win the prize.
The past two years we have been using Elfster.com. Everyone signs up on the free website, we pick a date and then we are emailed who we have. One person is the administrator (that’s me) and if necessary can sneak a peek if someone is a little technology impaired and can’t figure out who they have. So, what I am saying is that I have access to who everyone has. Now a lesser person would just peek and call it good. I’m not a lesser person. Instead I live in a constant state of torture. It’s like putting a juicy steak in front of a dog or putting a piece of chocolate cake in front of a PMSing woman--And keeping it there for three maybe even four weeks. It’s good discipline for me I suppose, but it’s not easy knowing that I could simply head over to Elfster and end it all. That of course would be no fun, though. I much prefer the sneaking around, the fishing, the mind games-It’s definitely more my style.
So this year when you are reflecting on the true spirit of the holidays—giving, helping, peace, love, charity, putting your best foot forward, etc.—I will be withholding food and water from my 82 year old grandmother in hopes that she tell me who she has for this year’s exchange…
Merry Christmas, Happy Belated Hannukah, Have a fantastic 2011.
First of all who you draw in the exchange is top secret. I know of families who draw and say something like “Aunt Margie, I have you this year, what do you want?” We are not that family. In fact we used to have a cousin named Jeremy who would do that very thing. So on Christmas eve 2002, when old Saint Nick wasn’t looking, we tossed Jeremy in Santa’s sack, and we haven’t seen him since. We just have no patience for that kind of cousin.
The goal in our exchange is to find out who has who. You need to be sneaky, deceptive and always on your toes. In the end whoever has the most guesses right, not only gets their regular gift, but also gets an additional prize. Now I am pretty good, my cousin Carly is, perhaps, a little better. We formed an alliance several years ago and we are a dream team. My sister Amanda is usually part of the alliance, but this year she’s holding out…hmmm I wonder why. My mom will sometimes exchange info with me, but not always, case in point, this year she is refusing thus far, which means she probably has me, but that blows my theory about Amanda having me. I think they have thrown together their own little alliance, which is fine, but they’ll be back.No one leaves for long.
Like I said before, it is imperative that you leave no stone unturned to find out who has who. Now I’m not going to tell you my tactics, but let me just say that years and years in front of the TV has given me an idea or two. When I walk into a room people start to quiver. Sure I might be more like Maxwell Smart than Jack Bauer, but the point is I can get the job done. While many mothers spent this morning cleaning their homes, feeding their children breakfast and, perhaps, creating a grocery list or something; I spent my morning mapping out who I think has who. Or who has whom, or whom has whom, or, well you get the point. I have some confirmed reports, and some good guesses. One or two of my pieces of information were obtained illegally and for that I am sorry, but the point is, this year, I am going to win the prize.
The past two years we have been using Elfster.com. Everyone signs up on the free website, we pick a date and then we are emailed who we have. One person is the administrator (that’s me) and if necessary can sneak a peek if someone is a little technology impaired and can’t figure out who they have. So, what I am saying is that I have access to who everyone has. Now a lesser person would just peek and call it good. I’m not a lesser person. Instead I live in a constant state of torture. It’s like putting a juicy steak in front of a dog or putting a piece of chocolate cake in front of a PMSing woman--And keeping it there for three maybe even four weeks. It’s good discipline for me I suppose, but it’s not easy knowing that I could simply head over to Elfster and end it all. That of course would be no fun, though. I much prefer the sneaking around, the fishing, the mind games-It’s definitely more my style.
So this year when you are reflecting on the true spirit of the holidays—giving, helping, peace, love, charity, putting your best foot forward, etc.—I will be withholding food and water from my 82 year old grandmother in hopes that she tell me who she has for this year’s exchange…
Merry Christmas, Happy Belated Hannukah, Have a fantastic 2011.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Great American Love Story
I once had a job as a barista. Not the famous bikini-clad gals that keep the Pacific Northwest men driving 20 minutes out of the way for a quick and casual Cafe-Au-Lait, but an old school Starbucks girl working in, of all places, Saugus Mass. It was 1996ish and Barnes and Noble was a new bookstore on Route 1.I cannot remember what possessed me to apply for a job there, although I suspect my salary from the Malden Public Schools might have had something to do with it. I also feel pretty sure that I did not apply specifically to don the green apron, I think I wanted to work in the Children's Section memorizing Dr. Seuss and filling boring moments rifling through Mad Libs. Anyway, that's not how it all went down. Somehow this girl, a girl who, mind you, hates coffee, got a night job working at the Starbucks inside Barnes and Noble. Things started out slow, or slowly for you adverb freaks, but within a week or so a handsome stranger walked into the cafe and a new love affair was born.
Okay, okay, he wasn't handsome; he was short and heavy-set with thick square glasses, a wide red nose and a slight drooling problem. No matter though, he had in one hand a thick hardcover book and in the other a porcelain mug of steamy cappuccino. He sunk into one of those cushy chairs at the edge of the cafe, cracked his book and stayed. He read and read into the wee hours of the night (that would be 9:30 in retail-speak). He rarely moved, but to wipe the occasional string of saliva hanging from his significant chin. Call me romantic, but I just couldn't keep my eyes off of this stranger. Alright, you've got me, it wasn't the man I was looking at…it was the book.
Sure, I had seen books before, thousands of them. Strewn on the floor of my bedroom, stacked 26 floors high at the UMASS library, squeezed into nooks and crannies of the apartment where I grew up, in my classroom, at my friends' houses, in doctors’ offices, in cars, on top of coffee tables and don't forget in the bathroom; for what's a bathroom without a good stack of books? So what was it that struck me that night? I suppose it was that the man in front of me was reading for choice, for recreation, for the enjoyment of a good story. It had been a while since I had done such a thing.
As a child I absolutely loved reading and as I grew older it wasn't so much that I stopped enjoying it, it was more that other things came to the forefront. By the time I was in 8th or 9th grade reading was done only for schoolwork purposes. Friends, boys, movies, friends, socializing, shopping, dances, phone calls, parties and the like were my focus for free time. Once in college I could find a bit of time here and there for some literature, I took a few really fantastic com-lit classes, but reading for just the pure love of it, well those times were few and far between. And so it wasn’t really love-at-first-sight at the café, it was a reunion. Literature and I were back together-reunited and it felt so good.
I think my first book in the rekindled romance was She’s Come Undone by Wally Lamb. And for a while I was all about Oprah’s book list and of course B&N employee recommendations ( somewhat bitter note: we back in the café never could recommend a thing except a 1300 calorie shortbread cookie to go with your latte, but the booksellers could throw any old title out there and call it a must-read). I eventually expanded my horizons; falling in love with biographies, classics, memoirs and humor. I adore the feeling you get again and again when you comprehend you’re reading a really good book and the afterglow of finishing one. I love the moment that you realize there’s no way you can put your book down. The deals you start making with yourself when you know you have real world responsibilities, but you’ll just die if you don’t know what happened next. Will she ever find her mother? Did he really hide his son for all those years? Who really was there that night? And of course, how in the world did David Sedaris made it out of the nudist camp?
Six or seven years ago I started a book club with some friends in Connecticut. We loved reading, drinking wine, eating good food, visiting each other’s homes and discussing our books. I loved our little group and though two women dropped out explaining that we were not intellectually stimulating enough, I thought we had remarkable conversations. Well, remarkable for a bunch of dunces anyway.
So nowadays I am not in a face to face book club, which is kind of a bummer, but every once in a while I can stumble upon a good book conversation on Facebook. It’s not the same as sitting around a table drinking wine, eating chocolate and discussing Amy Tan, but it works for now. I have received quite a few good recommendations via friends on FB. This week there have been several posts about books and it put me in the mood to chronicle my own love affair with the printed word.
It’s the classic love story if you think about it. We found each other when I was young and naive, we grew apart and then one seemingly ordinary day, in a little café outside of Boston, we found each other again. The romance continues…
Okay, okay, he wasn't handsome; he was short and heavy-set with thick square glasses, a wide red nose and a slight drooling problem. No matter though, he had in one hand a thick hardcover book and in the other a porcelain mug of steamy cappuccino. He sunk into one of those cushy chairs at the edge of the cafe, cracked his book and stayed. He read and read into the wee hours of the night (that would be 9:30 in retail-speak). He rarely moved, but to wipe the occasional string of saliva hanging from his significant chin. Call me romantic, but I just couldn't keep my eyes off of this stranger. Alright, you've got me, it wasn't the man I was looking at…it was the book.
Sure, I had seen books before, thousands of them. Strewn on the floor of my bedroom, stacked 26 floors high at the UMASS library, squeezed into nooks and crannies of the apartment where I grew up, in my classroom, at my friends' houses, in doctors’ offices, in cars, on top of coffee tables and don't forget in the bathroom; for what's a bathroom without a good stack of books? So what was it that struck me that night? I suppose it was that the man in front of me was reading for choice, for recreation, for the enjoyment of a good story. It had been a while since I had done such a thing.
As a child I absolutely loved reading and as I grew older it wasn't so much that I stopped enjoying it, it was more that other things came to the forefront. By the time I was in 8th or 9th grade reading was done only for schoolwork purposes. Friends, boys, movies, friends, socializing, shopping, dances, phone calls, parties and the like were my focus for free time. Once in college I could find a bit of time here and there for some literature, I took a few really fantastic com-lit classes, but reading for just the pure love of it, well those times were few and far between. And so it wasn’t really love-at-first-sight at the café, it was a reunion. Literature and I were back together-reunited and it felt so good.
I think my first book in the rekindled romance was She’s Come Undone by Wally Lamb. And for a while I was all about Oprah’s book list and of course B&N employee recommendations ( somewhat bitter note: we back in the café never could recommend a thing except a 1300 calorie shortbread cookie to go with your latte, but the booksellers could throw any old title out there and call it a must-read). I eventually expanded my horizons; falling in love with biographies, classics, memoirs and humor. I adore the feeling you get again and again when you comprehend you’re reading a really good book and the afterglow of finishing one. I love the moment that you realize there’s no way you can put your book down. The deals you start making with yourself when you know you have real world responsibilities, but you’ll just die if you don’t know what happened next. Will she ever find her mother? Did he really hide his son for all those years? Who really was there that night? And of course, how in the world did David Sedaris made it out of the nudist camp?
Six or seven years ago I started a book club with some friends in Connecticut. We loved reading, drinking wine, eating good food, visiting each other’s homes and discussing our books. I loved our little group and though two women dropped out explaining that we were not intellectually stimulating enough, I thought we had remarkable conversations. Well, remarkable for a bunch of dunces anyway.
So nowadays I am not in a face to face book club, which is kind of a bummer, but every once in a while I can stumble upon a good book conversation on Facebook. It’s not the same as sitting around a table drinking wine, eating chocolate and discussing Amy Tan, but it works for now. I have received quite a few good recommendations via friends on FB. This week there have been several posts about books and it put me in the mood to chronicle my own love affair with the printed word.
It’s the classic love story if you think about it. We found each other when I was young and naive, we grew apart and then one seemingly ordinary day, in a little café outside of Boston, we found each other again. The romance continues…
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Good Momma?
You should have seen me two hours ago. I was sitting there in sweaty exercise clothes, wisps of curls peeking out from under my Red Sox hat, head in my hands sitting on the floor of our office, crying. After a morning jog with friends I came home to a long, complicated and not-so-successful homework session with a certain overachieving ten year old. She had been working on a writing project for a long time and suddenly one of us was in tears. It wasn’t me; that came later. Frustration at the homework turned to anger and then suddenly our sweet ten year old was talking to me like a disrespectful 16 year old. So--long story short privileges were taken away. When I told Mike what privileges were lost and for how long (not very) he made the innocent mistake of saying I was taking it too easy on her. This is what sent me into my own tantrum of tears. I felt guilty for “punishing” her in the first place, she was clearly spent and frustrated. On the other hand, her tone of voice and attitude were so poor, I had no choice. I felt so lost and frustrated, just as Maddee had felt a few minutes earlier.
Parenting is hard work. Really tough stuff. I always thought I would be very good at it, but lately I have felt like a failure on more than one occasion. I have all the makings of a good parent—patience, humor, a whole lotta education and child development classes under my belt, positive attitude, empathy-but sometimes I just can’t bring it all together in the right combination. I know I have felt like this at different times over the past ten years, and it always gets better, but in the moment it’s so hard to not blame myself for my children's heartache, poor behavior, setbacks or whatever the case may be. I know I am not alone, of course as parents we all want what’s best for our children.
Mike and I really want our children to be happy, confident, caring, respectful, intelligent contributing members of society. We want them to have the ability to solve problems, to hold their own in a group setting, to speak up for what they believe in and to respect and listen to what others believe in too. We want them to work toward the adults they are going to be, while still really enjoying their childhood. We know we can’t dictate what road, or roads, they take to get to be well-adjusted contributing adults, but we can guide them and more importantly we can be models for them. My crying jag today might not have been great modeling, then again we could say that showing a range of emotions is the best form of modeling.
Both of our children can be perfectionists (this trait absolutely, positively did not come from me), can put a lot of pressure on themselves, yet at the same time both of them really love learning and are well-rounded students. Just like so many other things in life, it’s all about balance. For me, I am okay with them continuously pushing themselves, as long as they don’t lose their love for learning, for questioning and for being children. On the other hand, I expect them to persevere, even when they are doing something they don't love.
My friends Mary, Micki and I went to see the movie The Race to Nowhere a couple of weeks ago. That movie really made an impression on me as both a parent and a teacher. (okay the movie made more than an impression—I am totally obsessed with it and think everyone should see it--check out their website for a screening near you www.racetonowhere.com). The movie is all about the academic pressures children in the US face. I can see Madison in some of these children and I guess right now I am overly sensitive to this. I actually wrote about 4 additional paragraphs here, but I decided to delete them, it was kind of getting off track. Just go see the movie if you can. If not email me and I will serve up a nice eight hundred word piece on why we need to be more aware of the academic pressure placed on this generation of children.
Speaking of children, my four-legged nephew is barking so loudly in my ear right now that I think it’s time to wrap it up and give him some much needed attention. (This would be the same four-legged friend from my August Long Strange Trip Blog)
Thanks for reading my blog even though it wasn’t filled with my usual wit and humor (yes my other entries are supposed to be witty, really). I just want this blog to be a reflection of where I am today as a parent, what I think is important for my children and really as a therapy of sorts for my rough afternoon. So thanks for reading it, give your children (human or animal) an extra big hug today as I will give mine. And remember to check out the Race to Nowhere website.
Parenting is hard work. Really tough stuff. I always thought I would be very good at it, but lately I have felt like a failure on more than one occasion. I have all the makings of a good parent—patience, humor, a whole lotta education and child development classes under my belt, positive attitude, empathy-but sometimes I just can’t bring it all together in the right combination. I know I have felt like this at different times over the past ten years, and it always gets better, but in the moment it’s so hard to not blame myself for my children's heartache, poor behavior, setbacks or whatever the case may be. I know I am not alone, of course as parents we all want what’s best for our children.
Mike and I really want our children to be happy, confident, caring, respectful, intelligent contributing members of society. We want them to have the ability to solve problems, to hold their own in a group setting, to speak up for what they believe in and to respect and listen to what others believe in too. We want them to work toward the adults they are going to be, while still really enjoying their childhood. We know we can’t dictate what road, or roads, they take to get to be well-adjusted contributing adults, but we can guide them and more importantly we can be models for them. My crying jag today might not have been great modeling, then again we could say that showing a range of emotions is the best form of modeling.
Both of our children can be perfectionists (this trait absolutely, positively did not come from me), can put a lot of pressure on themselves, yet at the same time both of them really love learning and are well-rounded students. Just like so many other things in life, it’s all about balance. For me, I am okay with them continuously pushing themselves, as long as they don’t lose their love for learning, for questioning and for being children. On the other hand, I expect them to persevere, even when they are doing something they don't love.
My friends Mary, Micki and I went to see the movie The Race to Nowhere a couple of weeks ago. That movie really made an impression on me as both a parent and a teacher. (okay the movie made more than an impression—I am totally obsessed with it and think everyone should see it--check out their website for a screening near you www.racetonowhere.com). The movie is all about the academic pressures children in the US face. I can see Madison in some of these children and I guess right now I am overly sensitive to this. I actually wrote about 4 additional paragraphs here, but I decided to delete them, it was kind of getting off track. Just go see the movie if you can. If not email me and I will serve up a nice eight hundred word piece on why we need to be more aware of the academic pressure placed on this generation of children.
Speaking of children, my four-legged nephew is barking so loudly in my ear right now that I think it’s time to wrap it up and give him some much needed attention. (This would be the same four-legged friend from my August Long Strange Trip Blog)
Thanks for reading my blog even though it wasn’t filled with my usual wit and humor (yes my other entries are supposed to be witty, really). I just want this blog to be a reflection of where I am today as a parent, what I think is important for my children and really as a therapy of sorts for my rough afternoon. So thanks for reading it, give your children (human or animal) an extra big hug today as I will give mine. And remember to check out the Race to Nowhere website.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Wining about my Palate
I know a good slice of pizza or a quality piece of chocolate when I taste it. I have a sensitive palate for water, turning my nose up at all sorts of bottled and tap without batting an eye. My taste buds can differentiate between a delicious piece of cheesecake or something whipped together by the infamous Sara Lee. I hate freezer burn and will turn away a lavish ice cream sundae if said ice cream is suspected of the burn. Pink chicken makes me nauseous, shiny deli roast beef makes me cry, mayonnaise is my Darth Vader. When it comes to steak I am all about fillet mignon. But we all have our blind spots. Wine is mine.
Don’t misunderstand, I like wine. I like it a lot. I like white wine. I like fruity, white wine and I like not so fruity white wine. I’m not a big red wine drinker, but will knock some back in a pinch. I just don’t quite understand the wine experience. I don’t really care if the grapes were grown in Spain, France, Washington, California, or on Uncle Pete’s farm in Topeka. I can’t taste accents of pear, apple or boysenberry in my wine. I can’t tell if my wine tastes earthy, buttery, dry or wet. I guess I haven’t built my palate yet. (Don’t worry that was an accidental rhyme and will not be followed by some sort of Seusslike monologue-I do love the good Dr. Seuss though, so maybe next time).
The problem of course is that wine is one of those things that as an adult you should know a thing or two about. Well, okay, I know a thing or two. I know that Mad Dog 20/20, despite its extensive flavor selection and undying popularity in 11th grade, is not really a fine wine. Apparently it’s not a wine at all. I know that the Riunite that my Ohio Aunties used to drink out of a jug, well not really out of the jug-they poured it into glasses-is not a great hostess gift in 49 of the 50 states. I know that if you find a bottle of wine in a doorway in your childhood apartment building, even if the cap is still on and the paper bag is still in nice condition, it’s probably not made from the world’s highest quality fruit. And, for some reason, I know that in 2003 the Merlot grape crops were particularly good, but I have no idea why I know that, or in what region that was true, or if someone at the wine shop was just pulling my leg. Those people in the wine community do have quite a sense of humor.
All is not hopeless though. I have a handful of friends who know as much about wine as I know about Hanna Barbera characters. (Wait dear reader, you didn’t know this about me? Well trust me; from Captain Caveman to Atom Ant to Squiddly Diddly, I’m all over that HB trivia). So from my friends I have learned some basics. Like don’t leave your wine bottle open (even with a cork or bottle stopper) in your fridge for a lengthy amount of time. What you consider a lengthy amount of time is of course, subjective. For instance for me four weeks is a long time to have a bottle of wine in the fridge, to my friend Micki four days is a sin. And apparently you shouldn’t save any red at all. An open bottle of red must be finished that very evening, even if it means Micki and Eddy are at your house until THREE AY EM finishing off the bottle! (Wait this advice is becoming suspect…hmm). From Susan I know that some wine needs to breathe, whatever that means. And she also has taught me that most people like Syrah and though expensive, it’s usually a sure thing. Or did she say most people don’t like Syrah? Or did she say most people don’t like Sarah, her old high school cheerleading rival? Yeah maybe I am confusing wine with whine, never mind that advice. From my guy friends in college (who we affectionately nicknamed “The Slobs”) I learned that the much beloved White Zinfandel has certain aphrodisiac powers that are quite strong, yet short lasting, leaving even the prettiest of girls looking disheveled and, frankly, ashamed as they come out of their wine coma, nothing between them and The Slobs but an empty gallon of White Zin. Okay perhaps, The Slobs are not in the same category as Susan and Micki. Still good advice is good advice.
Recently I added to my list of advisers my coworker Gail. Now a fourth-sixth grade teacher, Gail used to own a wine shop for seven years. She’s somewhat of a connoisseur. She has written articles for wine magazines, knows the taste and temperature distinction in grapes in the California wine country and knows the difference between Yellow Tail and well something fancier than Yellow Tail. (yes, my not-so-wine-savvy-friends there is something fancier than Australia’s finest out there). I had to call Gail the other day as I was heading into the wine shop (a.k.a the wine aisle at Albertson’s) to buy a bottle to bring to Micki’s for dinner. This is risky, bringing a bottle of wine to someone’s house, especially someone who knows something about wine. Gail was helpful, though a bit rude as she put me on hold so she could talk to her pet squirrel about his dinner; so as she was asking her squirrel questions like do you prefer something oaky or fruity, I was looking at the cute labels on wine bottles. I guess you could say I was distracted as there are so many choices out there. Maybe I stopped listening to Gail. I settled on Cupcake Chardonnay (sassy label) and some bottle of red with a super cute kangaroo on it. I am not at liberty to say the brand as Gail might be reading this blog and could choose to throw her hands up and never advise me again. Let’s just say that the kangaroo is the logo for a certain mass-marketed super sweet Australian brand. It’s like the Hershey’s of chocolate or the Domino’s of pizza. It was a bad choice, as they don’t even grow grapes* in Australia, but dang, it said it was imported!
At this point you might be asking, What does this blog really mean? Well I have no idea. You can take it to mean that I am not so cultured when it comes to wine, or you can take it to mean that I am very cultured when it comes to L’Eau (French for water), cheesecake and pizza. But I think you should take it to mean that you can show up at my door with either Kung Fu Girl Riesling or Sauvignon Blanc and either way I’ll let you in, just be sure to leave the shiny roast beef at home.
Don’t misunderstand, I like wine. I like it a lot. I like white wine. I like fruity, white wine and I like not so fruity white wine. I’m not a big red wine drinker, but will knock some back in a pinch. I just don’t quite understand the wine experience. I don’t really care if the grapes were grown in Spain, France, Washington, California, or on Uncle Pete’s farm in Topeka. I can’t taste accents of pear, apple or boysenberry in my wine. I can’t tell if my wine tastes earthy, buttery, dry or wet. I guess I haven’t built my palate yet. (Don’t worry that was an accidental rhyme and will not be followed by some sort of Seusslike monologue-I do love the good Dr. Seuss though, so maybe next time).
The problem of course is that wine is one of those things that as an adult you should know a thing or two about. Well, okay, I know a thing or two. I know that Mad Dog 20/20, despite its extensive flavor selection and undying popularity in 11th grade, is not really a fine wine. Apparently it’s not a wine at all. I know that the Riunite that my Ohio Aunties used to drink out of a jug, well not really out of the jug-they poured it into glasses-is not a great hostess gift in 49 of the 50 states. I know that if you find a bottle of wine in a doorway in your childhood apartment building, even if the cap is still on and the paper bag is still in nice condition, it’s probably not made from the world’s highest quality fruit. And, for some reason, I know that in 2003 the Merlot grape crops were particularly good, but I have no idea why I know that, or in what region that was true, or if someone at the wine shop was just pulling my leg. Those people in the wine community do have quite a sense of humor.
All is not hopeless though. I have a handful of friends who know as much about wine as I know about Hanna Barbera characters. (Wait dear reader, you didn’t know this about me? Well trust me; from Captain Caveman to Atom Ant to Squiddly Diddly, I’m all over that HB trivia). So from my friends I have learned some basics. Like don’t leave your wine bottle open (even with a cork or bottle stopper) in your fridge for a lengthy amount of time. What you consider a lengthy amount of time is of course, subjective. For instance for me four weeks is a long time to have a bottle of wine in the fridge, to my friend Micki four days is a sin. And apparently you shouldn’t save any red at all. An open bottle of red must be finished that very evening, even if it means Micki and Eddy are at your house until THREE AY EM finishing off the bottle! (Wait this advice is becoming suspect…hmm). From Susan I know that some wine needs to breathe, whatever that means. And she also has taught me that most people like Syrah and though expensive, it’s usually a sure thing. Or did she say most people don’t like Syrah? Or did she say most people don’t like Sarah, her old high school cheerleading rival? Yeah maybe I am confusing wine with whine, never mind that advice. From my guy friends in college (who we affectionately nicknamed “The Slobs”) I learned that the much beloved White Zinfandel has certain aphrodisiac powers that are quite strong, yet short lasting, leaving even the prettiest of girls looking disheveled and, frankly, ashamed as they come out of their wine coma, nothing between them and The Slobs but an empty gallon of White Zin. Okay perhaps, The Slobs are not in the same category as Susan and Micki. Still good advice is good advice.
Recently I added to my list of advisers my coworker Gail. Now a fourth-sixth grade teacher, Gail used to own a wine shop for seven years. She’s somewhat of a connoisseur. She has written articles for wine magazines, knows the taste and temperature distinction in grapes in the California wine country and knows the difference between Yellow Tail and well something fancier than Yellow Tail. (yes, my not-so-wine-savvy-friends there is something fancier than Australia’s finest out there). I had to call Gail the other day as I was heading into the wine shop (a.k.a the wine aisle at Albertson’s) to buy a bottle to bring to Micki’s for dinner. This is risky, bringing a bottle of wine to someone’s house, especially someone who knows something about wine. Gail was helpful, though a bit rude as she put me on hold so she could talk to her pet squirrel about his dinner; so as she was asking her squirrel questions like do you prefer something oaky or fruity, I was looking at the cute labels on wine bottles. I guess you could say I was distracted as there are so many choices out there. Maybe I stopped listening to Gail. I settled on Cupcake Chardonnay (sassy label) and some bottle of red with a super cute kangaroo on it. I am not at liberty to say the brand as Gail might be reading this blog and could choose to throw her hands up and never advise me again. Let’s just say that the kangaroo is the logo for a certain mass-marketed super sweet Australian brand. It’s like the Hershey’s of chocolate or the Domino’s of pizza. It was a bad choice, as they don’t even grow grapes* in Australia, but dang, it said it was imported!
At this point you might be asking, What does this blog really mean? Well I have no idea. You can take it to mean that I am not so cultured when it comes to wine, or you can take it to mean that I am very cultured when it comes to L’Eau (French for water), cheesecake and pizza. But I think you should take it to mean that you can show up at my door with either Kung Fu Girl Riesling or Sauvignon Blanc and either way I’ll let you in, just be sure to leave the shiny roast beef at home.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
The Shaky Voice
First of all let me start this blog with a good old fashioned apology! I have been so wrapped up in all that is September (back to school for me, for Madison and Max and now for Mike, too) that I only managed to squeak out one blog in the past month! I love blogging, so it pained me not to be here typing away. I have always enjoyed writing--perhaps even more than I enjoy talking. Well, that might be a stretch; after all I do love to gab, to converse, to shoot the breeze. Most people know this about me, so it usually come as a surprise when I tell them my number one fear--public speaking.
Okay, perhaps it's my number 15 fear, the first fourteen would have to do with gruesome death or end-of-the-world scenarios, you know, nothing you want to read about here. Let's save that for the big wigs like Stephen King and the Brothers Grimm. Public speaking really plagues me, yet, it is something I long to be good at. I can visualize myself standing in front of a crowd of thousands telling stories off the top of my head-no index cards or loose leaf paper, strutting naturally across the stage, using big words and knowing what they actually mean. I look out at the crowd and they hang on my every word. I open the lecture to questions and I answer everything with an intelligent, clear and thoughtful response. That's the fantasy. Let's just say I'm not there yet.
We all have our fears, but let's be honest, some fears are easier to avoid than others. Let's say you are afraid of sharks, well maybe you stay out of the the Great Barrier Reef. If it's dark you fear, sleep with a night light. Or let's say it's heights that make your stomach turn, then you choose not to scale the Eiffel Tower. But there are some things you just can't avoid, if you fear spiders, strangers or Starbucks, they're every where and you're kinda screwed. The same can be said for public speaking. Though I am not expected to give a speech on a daily basis there are certain times each school year when I am required to speak to a crowd and sound knowledgeable, while I'm at it.
Okay, at this point you might suggest that I am doing a form of public speaking every day in front of my students, but to me that feels different. I can't explain why, but I am totally comfortable talking to children in large or small groups. In my experience they make a less intimidating audience, though I am sure there are people that would argue the opposite. Like I said, as a teacher, there are occasions when I must give a parent education night or a presentation to fellow staff members. In recent years I have been told by coworkers that they can't even tell that I am nervous. That's because I have learned to cover some of my more obvious flaws.
Different people react to fear in different ways. When I am nervous I speak loudly and my voice quivers.I get very cold and physically shaky. I always take an extra sweatshirt with me when I am flying across the country (yep, I also have a fear of flying-ready to sign me up for therapy yet?) because I know I am going to be freezing for the whole flight. The cold is sometimes accompanied by sweat, which is in my opinion ridiculous, but it happens. The worst part for me, the part that is horribly embarrassing is the physical shaking. When I was in fifth grade I did a huge research project on Betsy Ross. I really got into the role, had a costume, a very well-written report and was excited to present to my class. I could not tell you a single thing that was in that report, but I can tell you that I quivered so much that the only thing my classmates could hear was the sound of shaking paper. If you think I am exaggerating, think again. I saw my fifth grade teacher about ten years ago and she said "Remember that time you did the report on Betsy Ross and you stood there shaking like a leaf, I felt so bad for you!" Remember it? I've repeated it over and over again through they years! In high school I gave speeches during election time to run for class office. I always won, just going to show you that teenagers can be some of the most sympathetic people on earth. Even in college when I was presenting a project on how to make a Japanese kite out of paper, I shook so hard that my friends in my class couldn't make eye contact with me for a week! So now when I give a presentation I do any thing I possibly can to avoid holding things. I memorize what I will say, I call on assistants to help with visuals and I involve my audience whenever possible! It's a clever technique that works much of the time, but not always.
If those things aren't bad enough, occasionally, instead of breaking into a nervous sweat, I get the giggles. And by giggles I mean it starts with a small snicker and ends with an inappropriate and uncontrollable cacophony of laughter. This can also be traced back to childhood. One time in a Hanukkah play the boy speaking before me accidentally said "All the pee-pee" instead of "All the people" I laughed so hard that I thought I was going to pee-pee myself all over the stage. I couldn't recover and in my mind the play was ruined. In seventh grade I was selected to read a Christmas poem with my friends Jessica and Erika, the auditorium was full of parents, grandparents, teachers and students. I managed to get the giggles somehow and the three of us never got through our poem. They say laughter is contagious which was very unfortunate for Jessica and Erika. We were pulled off stage by a very angry teacher. If only she knew I wasn't being disrespectful, just nervous. I've even gotten the giggles at a funeral. Maybe two funerals. It's not a good thing to have happen.
Like I said in the first paragraph September is always a busy month. This month I had to do both a parent night and a presentation for the school board. I have been doing the September parent night in some form for so long that I almost wasn't nervous, but about fifteen minutes before we started I actually began thinking, "I'm not nervous, that's so weird. It's so crazy that I'm not cold, or shaky, or giggly. I think I might be over my fear. After all my coworkers say I always look confident." Umm yeah, you can imagine how I talked myself from calm to frantic in under fifteen minutes. It wasn't my best night. This past Wednesday was the presentation for the school board members. For some reason I gave a presentation that required me to use some hands-on materials. One was very small and I had to hold it up for the board members to see. They probably couldn't see it anyway as my hand was shaking too hard to make out what I was holding.
I tell my students that the more you practice something the better you become. We've all said that to our children because 99% of the time it's true. (One percent of the time you might practice and practice something, like let's say the clarinet and still your band teacher gently suggests that you find a different hobby-I know, I know, t-h-e-r-a-p-y). So yes, I know to be a better speaker I need to get up there in front of the crowds more often. If I was really ambitious, I'd look for public speaking opportunities. But, I'm just not there yet. For now, if I am going to get up on stage to sweat, giggle and shake, I'd like to do it in a dance club in Paris after a rewarding day of scaling the Eiffel Tower.
Okay, perhaps it's my number 15 fear, the first fourteen would have to do with gruesome death or end-of-the-world scenarios, you know, nothing you want to read about here. Let's save that for the big wigs like Stephen King and the Brothers Grimm. Public speaking really plagues me, yet, it is something I long to be good at. I can visualize myself standing in front of a crowd of thousands telling stories off the top of my head-no index cards or loose leaf paper, strutting naturally across the stage, using big words and knowing what they actually mean. I look out at the crowd and they hang on my every word. I open the lecture to questions and I answer everything with an intelligent, clear and thoughtful response. That's the fantasy. Let's just say I'm not there yet.
We all have our fears, but let's be honest, some fears are easier to avoid than others. Let's say you are afraid of sharks, well maybe you stay out of the the Great Barrier Reef. If it's dark you fear, sleep with a night light. Or let's say it's heights that make your stomach turn, then you choose not to scale the Eiffel Tower. But there are some things you just can't avoid, if you fear spiders, strangers or Starbucks, they're every where and you're kinda screwed. The same can be said for public speaking. Though I am not expected to give a speech on a daily basis there are certain times each school year when I am required to speak to a crowd and sound knowledgeable, while I'm at it.
Okay, at this point you might suggest that I am doing a form of public speaking every day in front of my students, but to me that feels different. I can't explain why, but I am totally comfortable talking to children in large or small groups. In my experience they make a less intimidating audience, though I am sure there are people that would argue the opposite. Like I said, as a teacher, there are occasions when I must give a parent education night or a presentation to fellow staff members. In recent years I have been told by coworkers that they can't even tell that I am nervous. That's because I have learned to cover some of my more obvious flaws.
Different people react to fear in different ways. When I am nervous I speak loudly and my voice quivers.I get very cold and physically shaky. I always take an extra sweatshirt with me when I am flying across the country (yep, I also have a fear of flying-ready to sign me up for therapy yet?) because I know I am going to be freezing for the whole flight. The cold is sometimes accompanied by sweat, which is in my opinion ridiculous, but it happens. The worst part for me, the part that is horribly embarrassing is the physical shaking. When I was in fifth grade I did a huge research project on Betsy Ross. I really got into the role, had a costume, a very well-written report and was excited to present to my class. I could not tell you a single thing that was in that report, but I can tell you that I quivered so much that the only thing my classmates could hear was the sound of shaking paper. If you think I am exaggerating, think again. I saw my fifth grade teacher about ten years ago and she said "Remember that time you did the report on Betsy Ross and you stood there shaking like a leaf, I felt so bad for you!" Remember it? I've repeated it over and over again through they years! In high school I gave speeches during election time to run for class office. I always won, just going to show you that teenagers can be some of the most sympathetic people on earth. Even in college when I was presenting a project on how to make a Japanese kite out of paper, I shook so hard that my friends in my class couldn't make eye contact with me for a week! So now when I give a presentation I do any thing I possibly can to avoid holding things. I memorize what I will say, I call on assistants to help with visuals and I involve my audience whenever possible! It's a clever technique that works much of the time, but not always.
If those things aren't bad enough, occasionally, instead of breaking into a nervous sweat, I get the giggles. And by giggles I mean it starts with a small snicker and ends with an inappropriate and uncontrollable cacophony of laughter. This can also be traced back to childhood. One time in a Hanukkah play the boy speaking before me accidentally said "All the pee-pee" instead of "All the people" I laughed so hard that I thought I was going to pee-pee myself all over the stage. I couldn't recover and in my mind the play was ruined. In seventh grade I was selected to read a Christmas poem with my friends Jessica and Erika, the auditorium was full of parents, grandparents, teachers and students. I managed to get the giggles somehow and the three of us never got through our poem. They say laughter is contagious which was very unfortunate for Jessica and Erika. We were pulled off stage by a very angry teacher. If only she knew I wasn't being disrespectful, just nervous. I've even gotten the giggles at a funeral. Maybe two funerals. It's not a good thing to have happen.
Like I said in the first paragraph September is always a busy month. This month I had to do both a parent night and a presentation for the school board. I have been doing the September parent night in some form for so long that I almost wasn't nervous, but about fifteen minutes before we started I actually began thinking, "I'm not nervous, that's so weird. It's so crazy that I'm not cold, or shaky, or giggly. I think I might be over my fear. After all my coworkers say I always look confident." Umm yeah, you can imagine how I talked myself from calm to frantic in under fifteen minutes. It wasn't my best night. This past Wednesday was the presentation for the school board members. For some reason I gave a presentation that required me to use some hands-on materials. One was very small and I had to hold it up for the board members to see. They probably couldn't see it anyway as my hand was shaking too hard to make out what I was holding.
I tell my students that the more you practice something the better you become. We've all said that to our children because 99% of the time it's true. (One percent of the time you might practice and practice something, like let's say the clarinet and still your band teacher gently suggests that you find a different hobby-I know, I know, t-h-e-r-a-p-y). So yes, I know to be a better speaker I need to get up there in front of the crowds more often. If I was really ambitious, I'd look for public speaking opportunities. But, I'm just not there yet. For now, if I am going to get up on stage to sweat, giggle and shake, I'd like to do it in a dance club in Paris after a rewarding day of scaling the Eiffel Tower.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
This One's On Me
I thought this world was only big enough for one of me, but apparently someone out there in New Haven Connecticut begged to differ. When you are as fantastic, popular and lovable as I am, sometimes your fans go a little over the top and start to dress like you, talk like you, listen to the same music as you and change their entire belief system to be more like you. I don't know why I am so surprised that someone else out there wants to be me. I myself have thought it wouldn't be so bad to be more like Madonna, Oprah or the lead singer of the Flock of Seagulls. I mean look, we celebs are all in the same boat--A following so devoted to us that they unknowingly cross the line from benign fan to super-devoted and somewhat psychotic Number One Fan, just like that. Of course my NOF (number one fan) was so dedicated that he or she decided dressing/talking/walking like me wouldn't really be a fitting tribute, so instead NOF decided to become me via my social security number. Now there's some savvy, right? I mean why go with the superficial stuff when you can get to the heart of someone's finances instead. Wait, hold on, oh gosh, I was just notified by my fact checkers here at the Squeaky Voice that said person did not borrow my social security number out of his or her desire to be Aimee, but instead stole it, just to wrack up a $440 phone bill and not pay it! I don't know how this could be. This is a preposterous accusation! Do you think there are people out there who would really just steal from someone else like that?
Wow, I feel kind of dumb here. Well I guess no harm no foul right? I mean what's $440 amongst friends anyway. Oh, hold on again, hmmm, it seems my staff here at the old SV want to make it clear to me that this person was neither fan nor friend. Wow, way to knock a girl when she's already down, huh? I say friend, you say identity thief, I say fan, you say felon. Tomatoes/Tomahtoes people, really.
Well let's look at this level-headedly, shall we? Perhaps this person really needed to make $440 worth of phone calls and just plain couldn't afford it. Maybe she has a boyfriend living someplace exotic like Minneapolis. Maybe this boyfriend is out there serving our country, sure he's serving Artificial Apple Pie at Minnie's Apple-Less diner, but still that counts. Maybe she needs to call him constantly out of fear that someone else will win over his heart in that City of Sin and Temptation. I can see her sitting on the lawn of Yale University, hugging his photo and letting her imagination get the best of her. Why, of course she should call him! What's that? She could get a plane ticket and motel room for less than $440 and actually go see Bobby Joe in Minneapolis? Okay then, that's probably just the wrong scenario.
Maybe it's not a she at all. Maybe it's a male, yes and maybe he has a sick dog, sure that's it. And the dog has a rare disease and there are only a handful of vets in the entire country that can treat said disease. And for some reason these special vets also moonlight as spies, so they have to carry on their practice in secret locations and are very hard to contact. There's a password involved and long story short he has to call around a lot to try to make contact. I mean call after call and being on hold for hours on end well that could be worth $440 in a heartbeat, right? Or maybe it's a QVC addiction or a simple 900 number fetish, we all know from experience that, though certainly worth it, these could be costly calls, agreed?
Or maybe, really the most likely scenario, is that the person has a similar name, date and social. Maybe she was just opening her own phone account but accidentally wrote the wrong info. This seems reasonable, like instead of Aimee Lynne Allen the person is Jamie Wynn Fallon and instead of being born on 8/4/73 she was born on 4/8/37 and maybe instead of her social security number being....oh gosh, just informed by my chief of staff not to put my social on this blog. My crew here at the Squeaky Voice is so untrusting!!
Okay, I guess I have to be a bit more realistic. I guess there might be a handful of bad guys out there willing to steal someone's social and use it to their benefit. Still, I liked it better when it was all about their adoration of me, rather than their desire to make long distance calls! I need a moment to collect myself and rework my blog here. After all, I thought this was going to be a tribute to my Number one Fan, but I guess that's off. It's too bad really especially since I spent my entire morning putting together over two dozen fan club packets. They contain all the traditional swag, too. A T-shirt, an 8X10 glossy photograph, a copy of my first interview with Tiger Beat Magazine and of course a notarized and autographed copy of my birth certificate!
I guess I'll just have to put those aside for another day. Well, I guess I'm going to log off so I can go sit and sulk somewhere. Sometimes it's tough to be Aimee Allen, unless of course, there's another Aimee Allen out there paying your bills for you.
Wow, I feel kind of dumb here. Well I guess no harm no foul right? I mean what's $440 amongst friends anyway. Oh, hold on again, hmmm, it seems my staff here at the old SV want to make it clear to me that this person was neither fan nor friend. Wow, way to knock a girl when she's already down, huh? I say friend, you say identity thief, I say fan, you say felon. Tomatoes/Tomahtoes people, really.
Well let's look at this level-headedly, shall we? Perhaps this person really needed to make $440 worth of phone calls and just plain couldn't afford it. Maybe she has a boyfriend living someplace exotic like Minneapolis. Maybe this boyfriend is out there serving our country, sure he's serving Artificial Apple Pie at Minnie's Apple-Less diner, but still that counts. Maybe she needs to call him constantly out of fear that someone else will win over his heart in that City of Sin and Temptation. I can see her sitting on the lawn of Yale University, hugging his photo and letting her imagination get the best of her. Why, of course she should call him! What's that? She could get a plane ticket and motel room for less than $440 and actually go see Bobby Joe in Minneapolis? Okay then, that's probably just the wrong scenario.
Maybe it's not a she at all. Maybe it's a male, yes and maybe he has a sick dog, sure that's it. And the dog has a rare disease and there are only a handful of vets in the entire country that can treat said disease. And for some reason these special vets also moonlight as spies, so they have to carry on their practice in secret locations and are very hard to contact. There's a password involved and long story short he has to call around a lot to try to make contact. I mean call after call and being on hold for hours on end well that could be worth $440 in a heartbeat, right? Or maybe it's a QVC addiction or a simple 900 number fetish, we all know from experience that, though certainly worth it, these could be costly calls, agreed?
Or maybe, really the most likely scenario, is that the person has a similar name, date and social. Maybe she was just opening her own phone account but accidentally wrote the wrong info. This seems reasonable, like instead of Aimee Lynne Allen the person is Jamie Wynn Fallon and instead of being born on 8/4/73 she was born on 4/8/37 and maybe instead of her social security number being....oh gosh, just informed by my chief of staff not to put my social on this blog. My crew here at the Squeaky Voice is so untrusting!!
Okay, I guess I have to be a bit more realistic. I guess there might be a handful of bad guys out there willing to steal someone's social and use it to their benefit. Still, I liked it better when it was all about their adoration of me, rather than their desire to make long distance calls! I need a moment to collect myself and rework my blog here. After all, I thought this was going to be a tribute to my Number one Fan, but I guess that's off. It's too bad really especially since I spent my entire morning putting together over two dozen fan club packets. They contain all the traditional swag, too. A T-shirt, an 8X10 glossy photograph, a copy of my first interview with Tiger Beat Magazine and of course a notarized and autographed copy of my birth certificate!
I guess I'll just have to put those aside for another day. Well, I guess I'm going to log off so I can go sit and sulk somewhere. Sometimes it's tough to be Aimee Allen, unless of course, there's another Aimee Allen out there paying your bills for you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)