not here to help, only to observe and pass judgment

Last year I don’t know if made resolutions but I am pretty sure that if I did I failed miserably. These are my resolutions for 2007, which are sure to be successful for me.

(1) I am going to gain weight. Not ‘good weight,’ not ‘muscle mass,’ none of that – I am going to put on some good, old-fashioned cottage cheese. I am going to stop needing a belt and stop seeing my feet. Vicki and I are going on the “Betty Crocker Diet” co-sponsored by Lady Godiva and Ronald Mc Donald. By this time next year I will have the body of a god – Buddha.

(2) I am going to talk a lot of shit. I am going to gossip. This year, however, instead of just spreading shit around I am going to make some of it up, too. I am just going to talk a lot of trash about a lot of people. Again, Vicki will be he working with me to reach this goal. I will also share my opinions on topics that I know nothing about and repeat generalizations simply to irritate people.

(3) I am going to drop the “F” bomb as much as possible. People look down on the use of this word but really those fuckers are fucking retarded. What other word can be used in all parts of speech like fuck can? Fuck is the duct tape of words and you bitches need to realize how fucking important fuck is.

(4) I am going to affect a smug and superior attitude. I have tried on: suffering saint, good and faithful servant, and humble helper. It was really lame and unconvincing. I am going to go about life being who I am: better than all these other clowns.

(5) I will bring shame to my family. I am going to chew with my mouth open, vote for Democrats, and wear filthy underpants when I get into automobile accidents. If you have any suggestions on how to make this happen, please contribute.

Finding a Christmas present for your parents is hard. Someone who has raised their children to adulthood usually has everything they want or need. People have suggestions but most of them are either inappropriate or too expensive. Finding a gift can be difficult, while not impossible, and it takes a clever, active mind to find the right gift. Friends pass around suggestions and ideas that have worked and if fortune smiles on you sometimes you can see someone else’s bad idea unfold before it ends up under your parent’s tree.

One such questionable gift given this Christmas was a garden sculpture. I am not sure how else to describe it. It is described by the giver as a ‘garden gnome;’ it is clearly a statuette of a drunken sailor sitting on a keg. This is no gnome, I've known many and they tend to be cute not swarmy. It also looks like it has been outside for a while, maybe several years and it is too ugly for it to be something someone paid money for.

There are three scenarios in which this game came to be:

(1) The person giving the gift bought the gift at a retail outlet or factory and there is an inside joke between giver and recipient that we are not in on. Money changed hands but the joke over-rides the fact that it is really ugly. This scenario can also go down at a yard sale or thrift store. The point being: sentimental value trumped any economic or taste considerations

(2) This gift was a last minute gift, picked up while shopping with friends who were buying lawn art that was wanted by them or as a gift for someone who actually wanted it. They were at the place where they are made or sold and decided, “This is as good or bad as any gift,” bought it and took it home.

(3) The person, inebriated or stoned, was wandering about in their euphoric state and stumbled – literally or figuratively – across this lovely figurine and thought of their mother, remembered Christmas and took it with them.

The former is most kind; the latter is most likely. The reason I accept this scenario over the others is simply that knowing the person who gave the gift it would not be outside of their experience to be stumbling about Green Acres, chemically altered and walk off with it.

Also, as a miserly person, I would like to think well on the person who gave this gift stole it because it is so ugly and so bizarre. Also, given the back-story behind the gift I would prefer to think that someone stole it rather than parted with hard earned cash. It just makes a better story of the lawn art to be stolen. I lose respect for the giver every time I think he paid for that gift but think him clever if I consider the possibility that he appropriated the statuette from someone’s lawn.


So, what do you do with a drunken sailor?

White Elephants gifts came from a culture where elephants were sacred but of course, expensive to maintain. If you wanted to ruin someone financially you would give the person a white elephant – they would be pound by the precepts of the faith to maintain and care for the elephant at great personal cost. My present from my parents has strings attached and hidden burdens – not unlike our storied white elephant.

My present each year from my parents, and to each other, is flying me home for the holidays. I appreciate this gift because I insist on living on one of the coasts and getting home in a timely fashion is not easy since my parents enjoy living as far from population centers as possible. Their city would barely qualify as one; if cities were measured by Ikeas and Costco wholesale stores – and that is how Vicki and would do it.

I was at Vicky’s house last night enjoying a traditional holiday meal with her family (the three for fifteen deal from Pizza Hut) and watching a holiday movie (Tallegada Nights does reference Christmas and baby Jesus) because my roommate, Coco, is sick and there are heating issues in our house and I did not want to be in the warm room annoying Coco or in one of the cold rooms. Vicki also wanted to show off her (amazing) Christmas gift from her husband and compare master’s theses in the restroom.

The weather in Phoenix has been very cold and I left most of my winter clothes at my parent’s house. I believed Coco when she told me it would be in the seventies until January and I thought that a few sweaters and sweatshirts would be fine instead of the vast collection of wool argyle and plush, marsupial goodness of my hooded sweatshirts. She suggested that since most people on the plane will have poor hygiene themselves or be wearing ode de homeless as their fragrance of choice that I should wear what I was wearing that day on the plane today since I was wearing my only hooded sweatshirt in Phoenix.

Flying at the holidays amplifies any of the annoyances of regular air travel. Many things that annoy most people actually do not annoy me in the airport. I am not annoyed, for instance, by the ubiquitous Starbucks in every gate-bay in the terminal and I am not annoyed by the security measures. I am annoyed by the people that complain about the security measures at the airport, who – incidentally - concurrently have on ode de homeless. People who complain about the ubiquity of Starbucks are going to be just one level up in hell from the people who take Oprah’s name in vane and one level down from people who pay attention to Paris Hilton. I realize that they are not in deepest, coldest hell with the litterbugs, Judas, Henry Ford, and people who do not recycle but they are still going to be well taken care of in the afterlife.

I will agree that some things we are asked to do are a little silly, but it makes life easier if you keep your bitching on your blog and out of my ears. Cooperating with the functionary who enforces the rules hurts no one and makes the day easier for everyone. If you want change, you have got it; take things up the Speaker of the House, Madam Nancy Pelosi. I am sure the people with the Transportation Safety Administration would like you to keep your stinky feet in your shoes and they probably agree with me that your Burt’s Bees are not elements needed to constructed a bomb but at the same time those silly rules and citizen vigilance have prevented another attack – knock on wood.

On a side note, if Burt Bees made a bomb it would be all-natural and have a low impact on the environment and I think that if they made that bomb we could all get behind it. I think the entire Soviet of Massachusetts and the People’s Republic of Washington State would insist we invade Iran using just those bombs or at least include them in our aid to the Israelis and Palestinians. I can just see Patty Murray presenting that aid with John Kerry on the Administration’s behalf, “Since you are going to do it anyway, why not go a little easier on Mother Earth?”

My point being that I was in this line and this man who had an aroma like none other was complaining loudly about the Administration, Transportation Safety and the airline we are using while wearing anti-Bush buttons. He said directly to me, “aren’t you against Bush, too?” At this point I made my trademark, crude comment about personal hygiene that I will admit reading in a Playboy magazine during the last Gulf War. I would repeat the comment but I do have to kiss my mother with this mouth later in the day and being in Kentucky, not a few cousins.

I read the article so that I could say that I had read the articles at a later date. I had no idea that I would ever get to use the information contained in them. I then grabbed the man’s arm to balance myself while I took off my cowboy boots and encouraged him to look into getting a blog, deodorant and teaching after his trip. One affords you to express your opinion in the off chance someone cares, the other makes you more amenable to those around you and the later gives you a captive audience to warp with your personal views in case – as is mine – that no one is reading your blog.

I also told him that as a conservative and as a Republican I was disappointed with the President as well but I had the good sense not to flag myself with the authorities by spouting my anti-Bush rhetoric in a public place where people are nervous as it is. I also told him that I found him to be really dull and his anti-Bush rhetoric to be sub par and that if the government were listening to his phone calls I am sure they had stopped almost as soon as they started because I myself could not wait for him to shut up. By this time I had worked my way through security with him and chutzpah for chutzpah’s sake wished him a Happy Hallmark and a safe flight.

Since I admitted to reading articles in Playboy I will also admit to secretly enjoying Chaos Bean’s music – I am listening to her Social Distortion right now – and I called Chaos Bean to relate that store but more importantly get the Kelly Belle baby update. While we eagerly anticipate the birth of Carl’s Junior we also feel for Aubrey, who we regard in higher esteem than any relative, because as exciting as the Christmas Baby is, Aubrey is soldiering through a lot changes the past year and a half and we feel for her. Concurrently, when our Aunt who has cancer came up – someone we should care about and love – we both agreed that karma is indeed a bitch. Chaos Bean and I will later throw a Burt’s Bees bomb at her screaming, “For the Ayatollah, and Aubrey!”

I am on that airline where you choose your own seat after being shepherded into one of three or four boarding groups. One of the women who was going to be flying on my flight was in the first boarding group but was late to the flight and wanted to cut me – being in the second group – telling me, “I was in the ‘A’ group so I can cut in front of you.” I had just let two old ladies in front of me and held a place for a lady with children too old for pre-boarding and not old enough to know to pee before lines formed so I felt secure in my own karma to tell her that she was cutting and I was not going to allow her in front of me. She then pushed me.

This is where Chaos Bean and I become different people. Chaos Bean would have wielded her prison shank that she made in the bathroom (can’t bring it through the checkpoint) and cut the woman into french fries in three different shapes. I am not as versatile with self-defense, her education is more comprehensive: I went to public school and Chaos Bean was in a convent. A convent girl can kill a man with her hands and I am well versed in, “take the fall, act hurt, get indignant.” I did stand up to her and used the methods my students use to keep someone from getting around them in line as she tried to get around me in the line, at the point where they scan your ticket, onto and through the jet way to the plane. She asked me where my Christmas spirit was. I wonder that myself, too, but as a teacher I feel obligated to constantly educate the masses and one lesson people have to learn is that you cannot bully people or cut them in line. I told her this and pointed out that her entitled attitude was what made other people’s Christmases and Hallmarks unpleasant and she should be ashamed.

I told her that she made the Baby Jesus cry.

It would have been easier to shank her. That would have been a better Christmas gift to all men. When the plane lands I am putting my Burt’s Bees Bomb in her purse. I think that Al Gore and George W. Bush could appreciate that.

The flight itself has been uneventful, God willing we will land without incident. I watched cartoons on my computer with this guy sitting next to me – who I have never met and eaten those peanuts that I would never eat on solid ground. The pilot just informed us that we need to put our stuff away in preparation for landing. I will catch you on the flip side. I hope the did not lose my luggage.


This entry features sentences free of the passive voice and reflexive pronouns in a Chanukah-closing nod to the eminent Golf Widow. Many are called but few are chosen: we all adore her but I have gotten to share a traditional Hebrew holiday meal with her - Chinese food – while most people get to admire her fr

Last night we went to a friend’s house for dinner. Our friends live on the other side of Phoenix and I always miss the exit for the 17 off the 10. I had to cross three lanes of traffic to get into the ever-narrowing entrance ramp on the eastbound 10; a trick I perform every time we go to their house, which is at least once a week. You would think I would be able to find my way there and back again. Once we were in their neighborhood we circled their house for ten minutes because I kept missing my turn into their street – it was one of the few streets not lit up so I tried to pull down every driveway and alley in the general area of their house. We arrived an hour late; in part because I drive like an idiot.

I had a glass of wine with dinner – which is very uncommon for me since I cannot hold my liquor and as a rule I only drink with Jeremy because I trust him to prevent me from doing anything stupid. Jeremy was not there and I realize that Coco is not going to let me do anything painfully retarded without the camera handy. We were – ostensibly – celebrating Chanukah and a glass of wine is not a terrible thing to have with dinner.

After dinner we watched a movie, viciously gossiped about those who were absent and I punctuated this with a brief nap on the couch. If you put me on a couch and turn on the television I will fall asleep; I cannot help it. Around midnight we were thrown out; because Coco and I are not long welcome any place decent and we made our way home roughly two hours after dinner.

Back on the 10 I made a few unsure lane changes and one of Phoenix’s finest took notice of my driving and pulled me over. Coco and I were confused because I was driving the speed limit and was not being a jerk.

First, I tried to pull over at an underpass – I am pulled over at most once a year I have no idea what I am supposed to do – and was directed to move to the off ramp. Once on the off ramp I had to be told to pull up on the curb so I was a little more out of the road. Then the officer walked to Coco’s window and asked to see my license, insurance and registration.

I was caught riding dirty. I have a license – but it is for another state. I have insurance – but I did not have cards for it yet because we have moved. I have a registration – but it is in the trunk for reasons that make no sense. I have everything I need – just not in the appropriate places or denominations.

Added to that, I was pulled over for being drunk. My best friend is a police officer and like this police officer is smaller in stature than I am but there is one thing I can tell you about my friend and that I will assume about the gentleman that pulled me over: size matters not. He could have taken me so I shelved the idea of breaking out any Kung Fu or protestations about my fate. I got out of the car to do the drunken driver tests.

After talking to Coco and I the officer knew I was not drunk and that he had just pulled over yet another idiot in a Jetta who does not know how to drive it. I was however taken through the steps of being tested for being inebriated and laughed all through it. It was a good sign that the officer was laughing, too. At least I hoped so.

I did the field sobriety tests all wrong and had to do them twice because if there is one thing that teachers are not good at it is being instructed or following directions. I was very annoyed that we had forgotten the camera, that Jeremy was not there to enjoy it and it was too late to call him so he could enjoy this all as well.

In the end I walked off with a warning, which will apparently not affect anything in my world and is sitting on our refrigerator. He also put my weight at one hundred seventy pounds; this prompted Coco to call him a ‘sweetheart.’

However, I can never again say that I will not be caught riding dirty. It is a lot easier than it sounds.

Yesterday one of my students wrote me a poem; it was a poem about how I smelled like poop and needed cologne to mask the poop smell. After my experience with the Lutherans there is very little that someone can drop on me and phase me. Lutherans are vicious people and I am glad to be done with them; a student kidding around and saying I smelled like ‘poop’ as a joke is no huge deal.

Okay, I did wonder if I smelled bad. I do not have my magic Chaos Bean to consult on issues large and small in Phoenix. I showed my poem to my roommate – who will be now be referred to as Coco in this medium – who is a teacher herself and she declared the child to be ‘rotten.’ Coco then showed me an advertisement we found – if you spent at least thirty dollars on a fragrance at ULTA you got a sixty-dollar robe free.

I do not need new cologne.

I do not need a robe.

I finally settled on a Calvin Klein gift set where you get five small colognes. I could not decide on one and the gift set was thirty dollars and the cologne I really wanted (Armani: Code Black) was sixty dollars and would ultimately defeat the purpose of our mission: to get a free robe. The robe would not be free if I had to buy a cologne that cost as much as the robe. I was there being a shyster, I was not about to let UTLA shyster me.

Coco finally settled on a name for this medium by only trying on the Chanel fragrances. She tried on so many that she had rolled up her sleeves to find a part of her body that I could sniff – in public – to spray the perfume on. She finally settled on Coco Chanel’s Mademoiselle, which is apparently a great winter scent.

Perhaps I did not smell like poop after all; maybe my scent was out of season – if this is the case then it is the most ridiculous reason that I have ever smelled bad.

I will give my mother the robe; it’s pink and cuddly. I would have kept it for myself but there is nothing that a shyster enjoys more than giving a gift with purchase as a gift to someone else. I feel better about a receiving a gift that someone got for free or did not pay a great deal for. The pink and cuddly is what turned me off. Had they made it in an earth tone out of porcupine quills I would have been a bit more excited about it.

Today in class I walked up to my little Emily Dickenson, presented her with my wrist (they are splash colognes, a disaster all their own) and asked, “Do I still smell like poop, Mademoiselle?”

Apparently, she really was joking about me smelling like poop.