humor

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Adult Learning

Today, I want to talk about something that all parents are well aware of. If you’re not a parent yet, or you are but your kids are not school-aged yet, I want to share some important information with you.

When you help your kids with their homework, you are going to look and feel like a complete idiot. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it. Just accept it now.

Not to sound like a wizened elder, spinning yarns while rocking on the front porch with a pocketful of Werther’s Originals and a sense of nostalgia, but back in my day I remember when math was just math. When my kids went to school, there was a whole “new math” curriculum. Although it really should’ve been called art class, because they were doing more drawing than actual math.

On another note, why do we say the “three R’s” of education when referring to Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic? Only one of these starts with R? Yeah, yeah, they “sound” like R, I get it. Seriously though, it’s no wonder we’re behind other first-world countries when it comes to education. The very foundation of our education system is built on falsehoods. But I digress.

When my kids were in elementary school and learning math, they had to draw ten chocolate chip cookies, plus five blueberry muffins, and then figure out how many pizzas that would get them. If you thought, like I did, the answer was diabetes, you’d be wrong. To make matters worse, halfway through the worksheet, I’d get freakin’ hungry.

When we got to fractions? Oof. I’ve never felt dumber than when I was trying to explain “new math” fractions to my kids. I don’t think I’m a completely inept person, but I didn’t realize just how much I didn’t know until my kids went to school. We learned by rote when I went to school, you see. There was no real problem solving or out-of-the-box thinking. There was no explanation or concern over the relationship of numbers in math. It was “this is how you do it because that’s how it’s done to get the answer you want.” The answer was the point and if you didn’t understand how you actually got the answer, it didn’t matter.

Click the image to find out more about the fantastic artist, Nathan Pyle.

Once my kids got past elementary school, they took it up a notch. They came home with assignments covering anything from calculus to advanced statistics. Did you pay attention in school that day? I didn’t. Meanwhile, throughout their high school years, I was quietly reminiscing about the “good old days” when I had to go to the local community college and learn how to paint, and signed up for an advanced class titled, “Techniques of Professional Clay Work,” just so I could help them with their 3rd grade math homework. At least, I felt like I was contributing. But college prep math? In this day and age? No way.

Science projects aren’t what they used to be, either. In my day, they discouraged nuclear fission and the like, and promoted the good ol’ baking soda volcano. Now kids are coming up with cures for diseases, apps that NASA didn’t even think of, and straws that will detect date rape drugs. I guess the paint-by-numbers they did in elementary school was the right way to go after all.

Some people think that kids these days aren’t all that and a bag of chips just because they’re not learning or behaving the way we did once upon a time. Sure, they may not be able to change a tire or write in cursive, but they’re on a mission to make the world a better place, and that’s a good thing. Evolution at its finest. Besides, to paraphrase the great Dr. Emmett Brown, “Cars? Where we’re going, we don’t need cars!”

Yeah, yeah, there are tide pod kids and mouth breathers in every generation and sadly, those are the ones making the news. But I swear, the next generation is equipped to save the world and I say, more power to them. I mean, us old-timers are about to have another world war, so we’re gonna need the next generation to fix things once we’ve destroyed everything. Maybe we should give them a little bit more respect.

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The Art of Bad Spelling

Everyone has their own unique take on art. Author E.A. Bucchianeri wrote, “Art is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone will have their own interpretation.”  But where is graffiti’s place in the art world?  Graffiti has its origins in 1970s New York, when young people began to use spray paint and other materials to create images on buildings and on the sides of subway trains. Although, technically speaking, ancient cave art is also a form of graffiti.

Here’s a question for you: Is it art or is it vandalism? The public is pretty much split on the idea, which isn’t surprising. It’s strange how, as a society, we almost overwhelmingly value and appreciate cave art and yet generally vilify urban graffiti art when they’re really just two creative peas in a vibrant, colorful pod.

Personally, I think some graffiti art is nothing short of a visual masterpiece. I’ve seen so many beautiful works of art painted on the sides of buildings but at the same time, I’ve seen some pretty atrocious ones as well. Have you ever had to wait for a train and as you’re sitting there waiting for yours, you’re left sitting there watching all the other train cars go by? That’s when you really see some “winners” let me tell ya. Gang slang, random dicks, and a bunch of generally incoherent pieces is all it is. Occasionally something that took a little effort will sneak by, but not often.

There’s also been more than a few times where I’ve come across graffiti on the sides of buildings in urban landscapes that don’t particularly hold any artistic merit or, in some cases, even basic spelling. With that said, I’m well aware that some words are misspelled on purpose for whatever reason like perhaps it holds some sort of hidden message or something unique to the artist. At the end of the day, graffiti is art and art is always up for interpretation but there are only so many ways you can interpret a poorly rendered picture of the word “ketchup” on the side of a building.

I live in a suburb and recently I’ve noticed more and more graffiti popping up, but unfortunately, it’s not the pretty kind. If it were, I’d have no issue whatsoever as I’m sure it would brighten the place up and be something nice and unique to look at.

Generally speaking, I think that graffiti artists are extremely talented and the art they craft can extend far beyond spectacular. I know I’ve seen quite a few amazing murals in some places, hell, I’ve even seen businesses pay graffiti artists to come up with something unique and thought-invoking on their walls. Not only can a well-painted piece of graffiti be fresh and edgy, but it can also be a one-of-a-kind talking piece that customers are sure to remember. In a world that loves remaking classics and imitating the art that came before it, a uniquely crafted work of graffiti could do wonders for a small up-and-coming business, or even a well-established one for that matter. Unfortunately, those types of graffiti artists don’t live in my town. I’m not sure what one would call them, but artists they are not. Cause what passes for graffiti art around here is severely lacking in any artistic talent whatsoever. I know that might sound harsh, but come on. Those of us who have to look at the end product deserve better.

If you’re wondering what I came across to prompt this critique, it was nothing more than a simple statement written in plain black spray paint that said, “I like my bad habits best surved cold.”  Yep, you read that right, “surved” instead of “served.” There doesn’t seem to be any reason to spell served as surved, at least, not that I could find. And believe me, I spent entirely too long searching for a reason… any reason. Even if there was a hidden purpose behind the misspelling, the art itself was extra lackluster. Perhaps if it wasn’t, I could have overlooked the bad spelling but at the end of the day, it was just ugly and horribly executed. If you’re going to misspell something, whether on purpose or by accident, there should at least be some artistic merit behind the effort. Hell, I’d even take an emotionally or politically charged statement such as “eat the rich” or “make love, not war,” you know, something we can all get behind. It just seems like a waste of time to deface public property with something like the word “surved.”

I don’t know what I’m hoping to accomplish with this little rant, but I guess if I can discourage at least one bad graffiti artist from ruining a wall somewhere, then this post will have “surved” its purpose.

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Speaking in Tongues

Every generation has its own slang terms that generally confuse the older generations that came before them. For instance, kids today are saying things like “bussin” when something is really good. Usually, it’s in reference to food, or so I’m told, but it could be anything. Or perhaps you’ve heard the word “bet” in response to someone asking if your plans are still on for later. This one wasn’t as confusing as a few I’ve heard. Some slang terms go full circle and come back around. Just like fashion. Young people think they’ve created something when really, it originated with their great-grandparents or even *gasp* their parents.

But what about words for things that aren’t necessarily considered slang… they’re more or less just outdated terms from the “old world?” I mean I’m sure pretty much everyone calls pants, pants now. My grandparents, however, generally referred to them as slacks. Do you ever remember your grandparents taking you to see the pictures? Of course, when I say pictures, I’m not referring to a photo album store but rather the movie theater or cinema. Speaking of which, it used to be just cinema. Now it’s the movie theater. As a kid, I remember wearing galoshes which are practically only referred to as rainboots today. At least to my knowledge. Do teens even go necking anymore? I doubt most of them even know what it means, but yeah, I’m sure they still probably do it.

While I’m on the topic of speaking the proverbial “old tongue,” I have a small story that highlights exactly what I’m talking about. Just the other day I was out shopping with my daughter, and I told a young cashier at the store that I loved her blouse. It was in fact quite lovely. Sheer black with a muted white design, buttoned collar.  As soon as the words left my mouth, I had that weird sensation that you get when you think someone is awkwardly staring at you for a reason you’re not completely aware of.  As I looked up from digging my wallet out of my needlessly cavernous purse, I found that I was right. This young woman had the most confused look on her face as she tried to make sense of what I had just said to her. After a few seconds she had given up and responded hesitantly with, “…my what?”

As I was trying to figure out what blouse might rhyme with that could cause offense if misheard (in an effort to know what type of apology needed to be offered), my daughter swooped in, and quickly explained to her that I was talking about her top. Apparently, my daughter explained later, no one says blouse anymore. The cashier’s face brightened and she cheerfully said, “thank you!” The crisis created by my attempt at a compliment was averted. In that moment, I felt old.  So old.

This whole situation reminded me of some previous writings where I discuss my ability to bewilder my kids with phrases that I’ve grown up with that they’ve never heard of. Here are a few of my favorites:

  • Piss or get off the pot.
  • It’s like trying to herd cats.
  • I’ve got no dog in this fight.
  • That dog won’t hunt.

But blouse?? Come on, that’s a common term, right? When did we stop saying blouse? Who knows, I was probably absent that day.

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Only Pre-Approved Traditions Allowed

If you’re thinking this is some sort of DIY article on how to enjoy the holidays, you should read the title again. “Pre-Approved Traditions?” What does that even mean? Well, it’s my takeaway from reading this article from Martha Stewart’s magazine and frankly, it’s a little pathetic. To say that the contents of this article rubbed me the wrong way is an understatement.

Now, I don’t celebrate the holiday season the way my parents did when I was little, or even the way I did when my kids were little for that matter. In my older years, I really try to slow things down this time of year and just enjoy it the best I can instead of running myself ragged spending money I don’t have and decorating the entire house just for me to bitch and moan about how I’m too exhausted to put the place back to rights. The fact that the ne’er-do-well (aka Holly the Cat) keeps me from having a tree tends to also hamper the holiday vibe, but oh well. Such is life with a demon.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Christmas… although, the word we throw around in my house is Yule. My favorite thing is the baking. No surprise there. The point is, I don’t decorate these days mainly because I’m lazy, but if I WERE going to decorate, my house would look like the holiday aisle at K-Mart threw up in my living room. And I’d be damned proud of it.

What sparked this rant, you might ask. Well, the article asserts that there are “8 Outdated Holiday Decorating Trends to Skip When You Deck Your Halls This Year,” which is also the name of the write-up, but whatever happened to just letting people celebrate the holidays however the hell they want to celebrate the holidays? Why do people have to suck the joy out of everything, including what is supposed to be the most “joyous time of the year.”

If you want to dress up in ugly sweaters, binge-watch Hallmark Christmas movies, and get smashed on store-bought eggnog, more power to you, just don’t drive. If you want to add a few hundred dollars to your power bill by lighting up the neighborhood with a Christmas lights display that would make Clark Griswold jealous, go for it… your carbon footprint be damned. But yeah, the point is if no one is robbing a bank or hurting anyone, then do whatever you want if it means having a good time and enjoying yourself during this festive season. And to be honest, if you want to rob a bank, just wear a good non-slipping mask and have fun.

Influencers in this article claim that instead of velvet, burlap, or satin tree skirts, we should instead consider a slimline tree collar in painted metal, shimmering metallics, or natural woven fibers. Like what in the actual hell?

It also prompts us to consider “unexpected” shades of holiday colors when decorating, though they mention blues and greens are a cool aesthetic, and I’m not sure how old they are, but blues and greens have been a staple in Christmas decorations ever since… I don’t know, forever. No bright colors, no glitter. No glitter. At Christmas.

No oversized ornaments, as less is more by their standards. I tend to agree that simple is best for me, but if you want a 12-foot inflatable snowman hypnotically dancing in the cool winter breeze as it tries in vain to seduce the giant inflatable Grinch balloon on your roof, then that’s your business. And I guess maybe all your neighbors within eyeshot.

Personally, I have a thing for neon pink metallic flamingos with glittery bright red Santa hats. So, I’m all for “you do you.”

So, instead of telling you the “proper” way to decorate your private space for this holiday season, I offer a little bit of warm friendly advice. At the risk of doing something outdated, cringe, or weird by today’s standard, especially if it’s a long-standing holiday tradition in your home, don’t worry about the judgmental eye of social influencers, and enjoy yourself however you want.

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It’s Not Easy Being Cheesy

This is weird, right? I can’t imagine that this is a good thing. I mean, are sushi chefs everywhere counting Flamin’ Hot Cheetos as their number one go-to ingredient for the absolute best, most delicious sushi?  Now, I don’t eat sushi… but I’m guessing this dish wouldn’t be found on the menu of most sushi restaurants. It would, however, be found at the local grocery store that swears their sushi is made fresh daily, which I’ve spoken about before. I must say, I will forever be in awe of the American palate. And not in a good way. From deep-fried butter to Flamin’ Hot Cheeto sushi rolls. What will we think of next?

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Ukuleles and Airlines, Oh My!

Anyone who knows me is aware that I am an introvert. I make no bones about it. Don’t get me wrong, I still do what I have to do when I have to do it, but generally speaking, I value my private time and my personal space. So naturally, when I have to fly, these things I enjoy are  thrown completely out the window. If you’ve flown before, especially if you do it often, one of the biggest pet peeves you may have is children crying during the entire flight. However, there are a lot of folks out there who have no problem blocking that out with AirPods, a movie, or just a few decades of being a parent. But what if you were just peacefully sitting there on your flight and suddenly a few people got up and started handing out ukuleles to everyone, leading to an impromptu music lesson?

The “magical” ukulele event took place on Southwest Airlines and generated an unusually high response from the community. While there were a bunch of people who weren’t too keen on the idea (such as myself), there were also a lot of folks who somehow enjoyed it. I know, right? I’m not sure what’s wrong with them, but it takes all kinds, I guess. I should also point out that I wasn’t on the flight, I merely read about it, but I feel for any introvert in that situation. Along with the people who wanted nothing more than to catch a quick nap during their flight.

Can you imagine relaxing and leaning back (as much as you can lean back in seats made in hell), closing your eyes, and then BAM! Ukulele music … and not from talented folks, either. From people who had likely never held a ukulele before in their lives. I shudder to think. All I can say is, no. No, thanks. Let me off. I’ll catch the next flight, thank you very much.

These surprise events all started sometime before the pandemic, which is when Southwest became known for these onboard “surprise and delight” programs, but with traveling and the tourist scene slowing down, these little events have drastically slowed down as well.

One Twitter user commented, “If the flight I’m on ever turns into a surprise group music lesson I am going to sue the airline for $50 billion in emotional damages” and I can honestly say that I’m 100% in agreement with that.

Another user commented, “If you aren’t on board or you haven’t experienced it, it’s out of the ordinary, and that’s kind of the point. … It’s something special and uniquely Southwest.” Well, if that’s how Southwest flies, then I’ll be flying with literally anyone else. There could be some guy dressed as the Rocketeer flying people solely on his back to their location, and I’d be more than happy to take him up on the offer to get to my destination as long as he promised not to pull any crap like fucking ukulele lessons.

All kidding aside, this happened on a flight from Long Beach to Honolulu and while you may be wondering if it lasted the entire trip, luckily it was all pretty much over in about 20 minutes. At least the staff took pity on the passengers so they didn’t have to listen to a few dozen people trying to belt out the chords to “Freebird” on ukuleles from Cali all the way to Hawaii. Although, come to think of it, that might’ve just been self-preservation on the staff’s part.

I must admit though, a free ukulele would be kind of cool, but not as cool as a free parachute in that situation. And honestly, if you knew how I felt about jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, you’d realize how serious I am about hating an impromptu amateur ukulele concert.

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What the hell is wrong with people?

When you ask someone what they do for fun, what are some of the typical answers you receive? If someone were to ask me that very question, I’d say that I enjoy reading books, watching movies, kicking back with some wine, and maybe even taking a nice little quiet vacation to a secluded beach or cabin somewhere. I’ve been known to explore the odd quaint town and even hike (ever so slowly). Some other acceptable answers may be camping, fishing, arts and crafts, or gaming, I mean the list of “what do you do for fun?” is literally endless.

However, one concept I have a hard time getting behind are the folks who put themselves in immediate danger for a little bit of excitement. Yeah, yeah, I get the whole haunted house genre, but I’m talking about real life “you can die” danger and not just the “might pee your pants if that teenaged zombie comes near me” danger. All for a kick.

Sure, virtually anything we do can be considered dangerous in some way, I mean, just watch the news. Even benign hobbies have their risks. You could end up getting mugged or shanked just from wearing the wrong sports jersey to the wrong game. A friend of mine saw this happen firsthand leaving an Eagles game in Philadelphia a few years ago when an elderly man in a Cowboys jersey got stabbed on the subway after the game.

While, yes, danger can be found anywhere, I’m referring to those danger-seeking adrenaline junkies who base jump from skyscrapers, walk along a barely-there ledge on the side of a cliff, surf shark-infested waters, or bungee jump over jagged rocks. Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand the whole adrenaline rush and everything, but still, you have to draw the line somewhere, right? I saw a TikTok video the other day where a person jumped off a boat and into a group of sharks he and friends had just been feeding. What about those people who run and flip from rooftop to rooftop? “Parkour!” in the words of Michael Scott from The Office. If the whole situation goes south, it can mean certain death, permanent maiming, or dismemberment. Okay, yeah, I get that THAT is part of the excitement, but seriously? It begs the simple question… what the hell?

Just recently,  I watched a documentary on people who go “caving” as well, which is exploring the darkest, tightest caves they can find. I don’t know about all of that, but I do know that I’ve seen at least three horror movies that have me strongly convinced that journeying down into these deep, dark, unexplored places is a genuinely bad idea, not to mention anxiety-inducing. I’m already claustrophobic as it is so the last thing I want to do is wedge myself between two slabs of stone a hundred feet down in some pitch-black cavern where mutant wall-hugging monsters may or may not live.

Some of you may be reading this and thinking, “I kind of like some of those dangerous hobbies,” and if so, more power to you and safe travels! Perhaps younger me may have been a bit more adventurous when it comes down to risking my safety for a little bit of excitement, and let’s be honest, the world belongs to the younger generation. I’m reminded of this every time bands like Mötley Crüe, Nirvana, or Red Hot Chili Peppers come up on the classic rock playlist. Just know that some of you have some of us shaking our heads as we watch your antics and wonder what in the hell you were thinking getting into that predicament.

Hobby safely, my friends. And if you need me, I’ll be on the couch with a book, some wine, and a show queued up on Netflix.

that’s a big nope from me, thanks

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Spinning in Circles

Since 2022 is about 75% over, I figured it was time to start making progress on my New Years’ resolutions! My first one was to cut down on my alcohol intake, but have you seen what’s happening in the world on any given day? Yikes! Yeah, that one got thrown to the wayside almost immediately.

Next, I wanted to cut down on unnecessary spending. Not usually a problem because I don’t spend much on myself, but still. It’s difficult because “unnecessary” is such a subjective word. Some people might say that buying an iced coffee every time you leave your apartment is unnecessary, but I say it is actually a part of my ethnicity as I discovered recently on Ancestry.com. Iced coffee is in my blood.

So, I settled on my last resolution: exercise more. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I hate my body or how I look at all. I’m very much an advocate for body positivity, being comfortable in the skin you’re in, or whatever other Pinterest quote that comes to mind. I’d just like to stop getting handed weight-loss pamphlets when I go to the doctor for a sore throat. And since I’m not giving up the very things that contribute to my cushy padding, I might as well try to work it off.  I mean, it sounds good in theory, right?

Entering gym culture as a newbie is extremely intimidating and overwhelming – there are SO many options: CrossFit, Pilates, Barre, oh my! Or you can just go rogue and walk around the weight room pretending you know what you’re doing until “Chad” who has more muscles than the Hulk, mansplains how to do a bicep curl. Cool, Chad, I thought this was the “judgment free zone.” So, I settled on trying out some classes because at least there, I would be intentionally seeking out advice, unlike the unsolicited variety from the likes of dear old Chad.

Spin classes have always intrigued me because I love the thought of losing weight while sitting down. But they are expensive. Because of my aforementioned iced coffee addiction, I’m not exactly swimming in the cash, so I had to find a reasonably priced option to start my fitness class journey, and this studio near my condo offered one week FREE. Perfect, exactly what I could afford and more importantly, what I was willing to put into my fitness journey.

I signed up for my first class called, “Britney vs. Christina” even though I’m not really a fan of pitting women against each other. Then I realized I had nothing to wear. I don’t think the ratty sweats that are older than my children were going to cut it. So I went online and spent just over $300 on leggings and matching tank tops with sayings on them like, “biker gang,” ”ride and shine,” and “they see me spinnin, they hatin.” I was ready!

When I got to the studio, I quickly learned that my quirky graphic tank top was not enough. These spin people were intense! I saw people velcro strapping on these funky looking shoes and carrying around monogrammed sweat towels… and stretching?! I have never once stretched to just sit down. I mean, what the hell? Who does that?

I tried getting on a bike towards the back of the room, cause, you know, raging introvert.  But apparently that was “Susan’s bike” even though there were no name tags anywhere on that thing, so I ended up having to get on a bike in the front and center of the room. Ugh.

And then, wouldn’t you know it, I couldn’t even get on the damn thing. I’ve ridden a regular bike before, so I know how to mount a bike, in case you’re wondering. But these bikes are well, different. Our overly peppy instructor, Sasha, must have seen the complete and utter confusion across my face because she came and helped me adjust the bike to the appropriate height for me to hop onto the most uncomfortable seat I have ever placed my butt on, and I’ve even flown across the country on Spirit airlines. Seriously, who makes these seats? Someone who has never been handed a weight-loss pamphlet from a doctor, that’s for sure.

Sasha abruptly screamed through her headset that it was time for the class to begin, which almost startled me off the bike, but I didn’t quite fall off and I was able to clamber back on… reminiscent of that time I almost fell off a horse and had to scramble back on, legs and arms flailing, or else be squashed. I’ve also taken a couple of serious tumbles off bikes which are, shall we say, not fun. Now, I don’t think a spin bike would squash me like a 1200-pound Warmblood or toss me head over heels down a shale-lined lane like a mountain bike, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Then, just as I had settled back into the god-awful seat, Britney Spears, “Toxic” began to blast over the loudspeakers in the too-dark room. For the first two minutes, a song that I have loved for way too many years turned into torture. Every spin class I’ve ever seen online shows folks happily smiling and loving life. This was not my experience. And this was just a warm-up?? For the last chorus of the song, Sasha, in an all-too-happy voice, told the class we could “freestyle” ride and “do whatever we want,” so I got up off my bike and walked over to the snack machine in the lobby.

As I sat on the ground eating a Snickers, I suddenly realized what their slogan “you’re not you when you’re hungry” meant on a spiritual level. I wasn’t me. I was at a spin class for goodness sakes. I could still hear Sasha in the studio encouraging the class to, “do whatever you want!” and I knew that this, right here, was exactly what I wanted to be doing. But, having spent so much money on spin class gear, I realized that it would’ve been cheaper to just sit at home on my couch and eat a Snickers than on the lobby floor of this spin class studio. It was over a $300 candy bar at that point. Who has that kind of money?

Why do they even have candy bars at a gym anyways? I guess that’s the circle of life, and capitalism. So, I left the spin studio to head back to my apartment, stopping on the way home for an iced coffee, because I have priorities. While sipping my drink and listening to the B-52s, I packed up the spin gear and sent it back to Amazon where it belonged. Existential crisis averted.