Government-Restricted Stupidity

Opening line from this article that has set me on my latest rant:

Virginia drivers will face new restrictions today, when hundreds of laws take effect, including a ban on sending or reading text messages and e-mails.

This is why I hate people. Not cell phones. People. Stupid people who think it’s a good idea to compose an e-mail while roaring down the road at 80+, more often than not in some ginormous vehicle that could house the entire Lilliputian population in just the glove compartment.

Several times now I’ve nearly been unwillingly shuffled out of my mortal coil by these offenses to common sense…these mutated beings with cell phone-shaped tumors that connect one hand to the side of their head and cause the other to flail around emphatically. This, of course, means that

GenX-cessive: Man v. Food

You make me sick. Your entire havoc-inducing, thieving, whoring generation disgusts me.

Thank you, Principal Himbry, for that rousing diatribe against my beloved Generation X. Yes, this is my generation. And, no, I don’t think we’re an entirely bad generation. In fact, we’ve done some pretty cool things during our time on this planet.

But I come not to praise Gen-X, but to bury it…in my personal seething frustration. And I’m dragging you all down with me. What’s got me all in a frothy lather now? The Travel Channel’s show Man v. Food.

Hey, you've got a little something on your...oh, never mind.
Hey, you've got a little something on your...oh, never mind.

The “Man” in question is Adam Richman. His modus operandi is to travel to different regions of the country, highlighting their culinary delights and downfalls as he goes. Then he accepts whatever ridiculously indulgent “food challenge” that said region has to offer. Past challenges have included attempting to consume in one (sometimes timed) sitting:

  • One 72-ounce steak.
  • One 7-1/2-pound hamburger.
  • Five 24-ounce milkshakes.
  • One 7-pound breakfast burrito.
  • One meter-long bratwurst.

Now I’m not ever going to be mistaken for a highly religious wolf…but I do believe that gluttony is a sin. Especially when all around the world there are people starving to death who would be happy with a sliver of the food that Richman gorges on during each show. Hell, there are people right in our own freedom fry-loving U.S. of A. who are starving (oh, but don’t even get me on the topic of these waify little glamor girl tumbleweeds starving themselves on purpose and looking so frail that you just want to scream at them to eat a freakin’ pie, but you’re afraid the impact of the scream would snap them in two). Meanwhile, Mr. Richman is paid to regularly glut himself to the point of vomiting.

This show disgusts me in ways that I didn’t think were possible anymore. We’re so fat in this country that they have to make special extra-wide coffins for us. Do we really need shows like this? And is this the only way we can remain competitive with the rest of the world? Yeah, you might be home to more Nobel Prize winners, world-renowned scientists, and brainiac children, but we’ve got this dude who can eat a plateful of food that weighs more than a baby seal! USA! USA!

Give me a break. And people are defending this show, saying things like it’s our right as Americans to eat this way. Yes, for those of you unfamiliar with our Constitution, nestled between our right to trial by jury in civil cases and our right not to be cruelly or unusually punished is clearly stated our right to be obnoxious, fat nationalists. In your face, Queen Lizzy!

Sigh. Will this become another regular feature here at the lair: a semi-regular evisceration of all the things that bring down the overall cool factor of being a member of Gen-X? Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve just been in a particularly snarky mood the past couple of days, for no particular reason. And this post has been stewing for a few days. Feels good to finally get it out of my system. See? Blog of Dorian Gray, Redux!

The Miseducation of America

During my commute this morning, I heard about a report released by The Education Trust that states that, if current trends continue, one in four students currently in high school here in the States will drop out before graduating.

So much for No Child Left Behind.

Even more disturbing was the very next report, which announced that state budgets around the country are in such dire trouble that tuition rates for many public colleges and universities are slated to skyrocket. Some states are even considering mid-semester tuition hikes to cover their shortfalls.

Begs the question then: Why is it so important for high school students to actually graduate when they will more than likely not be able to afford a college degree, which in today’s society has become what a high school diploma was to my parents’ generation?

Sorry, but I am particularly surly when it comes to this topic. I find it abhorrent that we are such a global failure when it comes to educating our children. And the failure is so multi-tiered that it’s going to take a lot of work for us to ever come close to improving things.

First, teachers are horrifically underpaid, under-appreciated, and in some places, under-protected. I had a friend who left her contractor job to become a teacher at a school here in D.C. She left after less than a year because she had a breakdown after being subjected to verbal and physical abuse from her students. Oh, did I mention that her students were 6 years old?

That leads to number two: Parents are severely failing when it comes to raising children who understand that you don’t bite and spit at your teacher. Or attack them with a baseball bat, which is what a high school student here in Maryland did a few years ago.

It doesn’t take long for qualified teachers to realize that they are in for a world of abuse for a pitiful paycheck. So schools are very often left scrambling to find people with bare minimum qualifications (Are you a warm body? You’re hired!) to teach students filled with such utter apathy and contempt as to be uncontrollable. They also wield undeserved power over teachers. Many teachers are terrified of taking any kind of punitive action toward unruly students out of fear that they will be accused of some horrible misdeed. I’ve known teachers who refused to speak with a student in private without either having another teacher present as a witness or leaving the door to the classroom wide open.

Next there is the still unchanged truth that school is “danger and disease wrapped in darkness and silence.” Okay, so maybe that’s space according to Dr. McCoy, but I think it can be applied to many schools. Ten years after Columbine and I question what, if anything we have learned from the actions of those two shooters. True, school officials now take threats more seriously, but have they also taken seriously the scarring effects that perpetual bullying can have on the psyche and the soul? Especially on kids who obviously have very little parental supervision and interaction. I mean, come on, these two boys were stockpiling Terminator amounts of guns and ammo, trying to build bombs in their rooms…and their parents were completely clueless.

(I’ve said much more in my last blog about Columbine, and I will be posting a link to that blog very soon. I promise.)

So you’ve got terrified and sometimes under-qualified teachers dealing with unruly students who often lack any form of structure or discipline from their parents, interacting in an often bully-infested school culture. Is it any wonder students are dropping out at an alarming rate?

Of course, this is not the environment at all schools. But it is a recipe for disaster that I think is playing out in way too many cities throughout this country and that cannot be ignored any longer. Improved testing is not going to solve this problem. Government intervention isn’t going to solve it either (unless the Obama administration has some clever trick up their sleeve that is going to retrain parents in how to raise even moderately behaved children).

I truly believe that the change does need to start in the home. Parents need to become more involved in their children’s lives. Ask them about their day, teach them not to disrespect others, join them while watching television or playing a game, engage them in conversation. And if you just can’t be bothered with all that, then don’t have any kids. If you raise them correctly from the very beginning, 9 times out of 10, I’m willing to bet they’ll be a far better little person for it.

And then you send them off to school, where they don’t abuse their teachers or their peers. And then, just maybe, teachers will stop being afraid and will start returning to the schools. You know what, though? Start paying them better! Screw the millions thrown at athletes. If these undeserving demigods are really playing the sport because of their love of the game, switch their annual income down to match the median income of the state for which their team plays. We’ll see just how deep that “love” really runs. And send that extra money into the communities where it will actually do some good, including keeping college tuitions down low enough so that everyone can afford the opportunity to a higher education, not just the rich.

I know, I know – I’m dreaming on all these fronts. I just find it so freaking frustrating every time I hear statistics like I did this morning. We should be doing better by our country’s children than this. We need to do better. But what do we do? And is it too late for the current generations? Or has the damage already been done?

Come Sit Next to Me…

I’m sure we’ve all heard this rather famous quote about gossip before: “If you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me.” It’s attributed to Alice Roosevelt Longworth, oldest daughter of Theodore Roosevelt (just in case you were wondering). Probably the most familiar-to-my-generation utterance of this quote comes from Clairee Belcher (Olympia Dukakis) to Truvy Jones (Dolly Parton) in Steel Magnolias. Yeah, I referenced Steel Magnolias. It can’t all be Nietzsche and Shakespeare.

I daresay everyone gossips to some extent, whether it be the vapid vitriol of those Orange County housewives or water cooler banter about a coworker’s proclivities (I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m on the gossipee end of this lollipop stick more often than the gossiper end). I think it’s just one of those ugly genetic glitches we have programmed into our DNA.

Then there are those who make a living peddling the dirty little secrets of celebrities. We all know the gossipy trash tabloids to which I’m referring. They line the aisle in almost every supermarket in the country, screaming their headlines in bold primary colors that are always accompanied by the absolute worst photographs imaginable of that week’s celebrity targets. The one positive aspect of Princess Diana’s tragic death is the fact that, for at least 3 months here in the DC area, several supermarkets removed these overpriced pieces of bung fodder from the main aisles and hid them back in the magazine section. It was a short-lived but well appreciated respite.

I try to avoid making eye contact with these rags, because all they do is enrage me with the thought that there are enough people out there buying this shit that they remain a viable industry. Long-respected newspapers are being forced to shut down or go completely electronic, but the fucking Enquirer plugs on. I failed yesterday in averting my gaze and ended up with an eyeful of a sickness-emaciated Patrick Swayze.

I get that many of us believe that, because someone has chosen a career in the entertainment industry, they have chosen to expose themselves to the constant glare of public curiosity regarding every detail of their existence. I will even confess to spending what many might consider to be an unhealthy amount of time learning as much about my favorite entertainers as is readily available. But a line must be drawn somewhere, and I think a perfect place to start is at allowing an entertainer to deal with serious medical problems in peace and privacy. Mr. Swayze is seriously ill with a form of cancer that is brutal, unforgiving, and most always unstoppable. Why, then, do these smut peddlers feel justified in stalking him and snapping photos of him in his illness-induced deterioration?

Actually, I know the answer to that question: It’s because there are enough people out there who want to see such images, whether out of morbid curiosity or out of a feeling of entitlement because, goddammit, he’s a star and he owes us the right to watch him suffer!

I am very fortunate to have a lady friend who just happens to have an Adam's Apple.
I am very fortunate to have a lady friend who just happens to have an Adam's Apple.

Well, screw that attitude. I don’t want to see these images, and damn the supermarkets for placing them once again in areas that I can’t avoid being. I am truly sorry that Mr. Swayze is so ill, and I wish for him nothing but peace at this time. And while these useless rags choose to exploit his sickness to extend their own cancerous existence, I instead choose to remember him here, in one of my all-time favorite Swayze roles. Yes, that’s right, I think I’ve loved him most as Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar. I wrote in my last blog about my secret love for drag queen movies (I really should post a link to those archived posts). I know it’s not high-brow, but it’s so damned funny. And god bless these guys, but they make the ugliest drag queens ever (except, perhaps John Leguizamo).

So, I encourage you all to avoid these tabloids. I encourage you to complain to the stores selling them in prime locations. And I encourage you to go out and rent your favorite Patrick Swayze movie (or pick it from your DVD shelf if you already own it) and celebrate what has made him such an enduring and endearing icon of 80s cinematic schmaltz.