Dear people who drive under speed in the left lane on the highway:
WHY DO YOU DO THAT?
If I can manage to get around such drivers, I always peek into their cars to see what they look like, as if that's going to explain anything. Although, I will say I've noticed they often have a zombie-like, forward-staring, got-the-blinders-on look about them. Or, they're on the phone.
This gets to my next topic of complaint: EVERYONE IS ON THE PHONE. And by everyone, I mean everyone. All the time. Every person walking, driving, eating, shopping, sleeping, working. Every. One.
Most questions about odd human behavior can be answered in the following way:
Why is that person not pushing the elevator button? Oh, he's on the phone.
Why is that person not moving up in line? Oh, she's on the phone.
Why doesn't that person see that he is changing lanes into another car? Oh, he's...
I long for the olden days when people were actually invested in the here and the now. I am in this room with you right now, so I will talk to you right now. Wow! Awesome! Amazeballs! (These are old-timey expressions of delight in contrast with today's LOL, ROFL, and OMG.)
So, if you're going to drive on the highway and/or ride in an elevator and/or stand in a line and/or move about among other humans, please raise your eyeballs to the world that's in front of you and around you. Can I get an Amazeballs?
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Get ready for a lizard pic
 |
| Mystery Lizard |
Here are some of the responses. The lizard is:
icky
Ricky
from Cuba
Wow, thanks Facebook friends! That was a big help.
In the meantime, this raises so many more questions. What happened to the fat, curly-tailed lizard? Did it morph into this? Did it have a turf war with this one and lose? How did this new creature get onto the patio? Why is it clinging to the screen? Why is it not running away from my hand? (Which is there just to show you how big the lizard is. But the lizard doesn't know that!) Is this lizard ready to have a turf war with me?
I will ponder these questions until we meet again. Hasta luego, possibly-Cuban Mystery Lizard. Hasta luego.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Beware of low-flying ducks
"This is the same place where that duck flew onto my car," said our daughter Amy.
Ricky and I looked at her as we drove along. What?
"Oh, didn't I tell you about that?"
Um, no. We think we would remember that story.
Before she gives us the details, I need to explain something for those outside of South Florida. Ducks here are not like other ducks.Their rotund bodies have a low center of gravity. They are mostly black with some white markings, and have a red beak area that is reminiscent of a turkey's wattle. Actually, these so-called ducks look much more like turkeys than they do those sleek mallard ducks I imagine seeing in paintings hanging fireside in a hunting lodge.
Because of their disproportionately large and round bodies, these ducks do not look like they can fly. But they can -- sort of. Every once in awhile you'll see one take off and become airborne, in which case everyone's reaction is always the same: "That can fly?!" Or, maybe: "Look! That duck-like bird is flying!"
I've seen this a few times during my 30 years of living in Florida. The airborne turkey-duck is rare and quite memorable. And also dangerous. That's because they can't seem to get more than five feet off the ground.
Now, Amy continues her story.
"I was driving right here with my friend in the car. And she said, 'Duck!' So, I ducked. But then a duck flew into the car kind of. It was on the hood and it walked across the hood."
While you were still driving?
"Yes. It walked across. But I think it was okay. And then after, we looked behind us but we didn't see it anywhere."
So, the next time you're driving in Florida, and someone yells "Duck!" make sure you hit the brakes.
Ricky and I looked at her as we drove along. What?
"Oh, didn't I tell you about that?"
Um, no. We think we would remember that story.
Before she gives us the details, I need to explain something for those outside of South Florida. Ducks here are not like other ducks.Their rotund bodies have a low center of gravity. They are mostly black with some white markings, and have a red beak area that is reminiscent of a turkey's wattle. Actually, these so-called ducks look much more like turkeys than they do those sleek mallard ducks I imagine seeing in paintings hanging fireside in a hunting lodge.
Because of their disproportionately large and round bodies, these ducks do not look like they can fly. But they can -- sort of. Every once in awhile you'll see one take off and become airborne, in which case everyone's reaction is always the same: "That can fly?!" Or, maybe: "Look! That duck-like bird is flying!"
I've seen this a few times during my 30 years of living in Florida. The airborne turkey-duck is rare and quite memorable. And also dangerous. That's because they can't seem to get more than five feet off the ground.
Now, Amy continues her story.
"I was driving right here with my friend in the car. And she said, 'Duck!' So, I ducked. But then a duck flew into the car kind of. It was on the hood and it walked across the hood."
While you were still driving?
"Yes. It walked across. But I think it was okay. And then after, we looked behind us but we didn't see it anywhere."
So, the next time you're driving in Florida, and someone yells "Duck!" make sure you hit the brakes.
Monday, March 3, 2014
We tried to get the fat lizard, and here's what happened.
Ricky and I continued to experience ambivalence all weekend about the fat, curly-tailed lizard that was lurking on our patio. We had decided to leave it alone. But then Ricky saw it sunning itself, taunting us. There it was in all its resplendent reptilian-ness. It was near the entrance to one of its hideouts, the tunnel-like hurricane shutter track closest to the screen door.
"Keep your eye on it!" Ricky commanded from the living room as he headed toward the garage.
Watching through the sliding glass door, I kept my eye on it. I had a particularly good view of its super-curly tail, the end that was facing me.
"Okay, lizard butt," I thought to myself. "I'm watching you."
Ricky returned holding a broom and started to touch the lock on the sliding door so he could step out onto the patio. So focused! So brave! As soon as the lock made the opening click sound, the fat lizard zipped right into one of the open ends of its track/tunnel/lair. Ricky was undeterred. He went back to the garage, and this time returned with a second item: a metal tape-measure.
"Okay," Ricky said. "One of us will unspool the tape measure into this side of the track and force the fat lizard to run out the other side. Then, the other one of us will sweep it out the screen door. Which one do you want to do?"
This was a big decision.
"I'll do the sweeping," I said.
We propped the screen door open. Ricky went to the far end of the track, sat down on the floor, and leaned forward so he could thread the tape measure into the opening. It unwound and unwound, further and further into the track, while I waited at the other end, broom poised, watching for the fat lizard to come out.
And then it worked! The fat lizard poked its rather sizable head out! But it took one look at me standing there with the broom and disappeared right back inside.
Ricky started jiggling the tape measure to scare the lizard out. He kept threading more and more tape measure into the tunnel until the metal tip poked out all the way through to the other end. The lizard was still inside.
"This isn't working," I said. "He must have enough room to avoid the tape measure."
I stood forlorn as Ricky began to retract the tape measure. It made it about halfway back. And then it got stuck. Really stuck.
I will stop the story here, because our only victory in this adventure was that after enlisting several more items from the garage and strategizing for about a half hour, we did eventually get the tape measure out. And we did not injure ourselves or break anything. But, THE FAT, CURLY-TAILED LIZARD IS STILL LIVING ON OUR PATIO.
"Keep your eye on it!" Ricky commanded from the living room as he headed toward the garage.
Watching through the sliding glass door, I kept my eye on it. I had a particularly good view of its super-curly tail, the end that was facing me.
"Okay, lizard butt," I thought to myself. "I'm watching you."
Ricky returned holding a broom and started to touch the lock on the sliding door so he could step out onto the patio. So focused! So brave! As soon as the lock made the opening click sound, the fat lizard zipped right into one of the open ends of its track/tunnel/lair. Ricky was undeterred. He went back to the garage, and this time returned with a second item: a metal tape-measure.
"Okay," Ricky said. "One of us will unspool the tape measure into this side of the track and force the fat lizard to run out the other side. Then, the other one of us will sweep it out the screen door. Which one do you want to do?"
This was a big decision.
"I'll do the sweeping," I said.
We propped the screen door open. Ricky went to the far end of the track, sat down on the floor, and leaned forward so he could thread the tape measure into the opening. It unwound and unwound, further and further into the track, while I waited at the other end, broom poised, watching for the fat lizard to come out.
And then it worked! The fat lizard poked its rather sizable head out! But it took one look at me standing there with the broom and disappeared right back inside.
Ricky started jiggling the tape measure to scare the lizard out. He kept threading more and more tape measure into the tunnel until the metal tip poked out all the way through to the other end. The lizard was still inside.
"This isn't working," I said. "He must have enough room to avoid the tape measure."
I stood forlorn as Ricky began to retract the tape measure. It made it about halfway back. And then it got stuck. Really stuck.
I will stop the story here, because our only victory in this adventure was that after enlisting several more items from the garage and strategizing for about a half hour, we did eventually get the tape measure out. And we did not injure ourselves or break anything. But, THE FAT, CURLY-TAILED LIZARD IS STILL LIVING ON OUR PATIO.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Return of the Fat Lizard
We hadn't seen the fat curly-tailed lizard on our patio for a couple of months. We thought it had left, moved on to some trendier fat-lizard location. But we were wrong. Ricky looked out the sliding door this morning and said: "There's the fat lizard."
He said it so calmly that it didn't register to me at first.
"What?" I said. "Did you say you saw the fat lizard?"
"Yes," said Ricky. "Look over there by the angled wall."
And there it was. After months of being missing, our nemesis was back. (See my post dated 9/2/13.) And it was even bigger and fatter than before! We stared, frozen in shock for a moment.
"Amy!" I yelled to our teen daughter who always has cellphone at hand. "Can you come get a picture of the fat lizard?"
But then it was gone in a flash, back into the place we had previously seen it go: the space in the bottom of the track for the accordion hurricane shutters.
"I can try to chase it out of there," Ricky said, "but then it always runs into another hole. If I chase it out, do you want to try to sweep it with a broom toward the screen door?"
I sighed. We both mulled this over for a few moments.
"Let's try to do it," I said. But Ricky was already having second thoughts.
"But it hasn't been causing any problems," Ricky said. "It hasn't been making any doodies."
"Where are the doodies?" I asked.
Ricky and I stared at each other.
"I don't want to know where the doodies are," he said.
He said it so calmly that it didn't register to me at first.
"What?" I said. "Did you say you saw the fat lizard?"
"Yes," said Ricky. "Look over there by the angled wall."
And there it was. After months of being missing, our nemesis was back. (See my post dated 9/2/13.) And it was even bigger and fatter than before! We stared, frozen in shock for a moment.
"Amy!" I yelled to our teen daughter who always has cellphone at hand. "Can you come get a picture of the fat lizard?"
But then it was gone in a flash, back into the place we had previously seen it go: the space in the bottom of the track for the accordion hurricane shutters.
"I can try to chase it out of there," Ricky said, "but then it always runs into another hole. If I chase it out, do you want to try to sweep it with a broom toward the screen door?"
I sighed. We both mulled this over for a few moments.
"Let's try to do it," I said. But Ricky was already having second thoughts.
"But it hasn't been causing any problems," Ricky said. "It hasn't been making any doodies."
"Where are the doodies?" I asked.
Ricky and I stared at each other.
"I don't want to know where the doodies are," he said.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
I'll never be a teacher-ninja
Why do I always feel like I'm sneaking out of school early when I leave on time? Maybe it's because I, like pretty much every teacher and particularly like every school newspaper adviser, stay after school almost always.
Even though at my school we are lucky enough to have newspaper as a class (whereas at many places with less funding and less support in general, newspaper may only be an after-school club, if it exists at all), we still stay after school for editor meetings, mini-workshops, brainstorming, planning the pages, layout days, overflow editing time and more.
This past week, we didn't have any of those particular events, so on Monday through Thursday, I left only about a half hour late. (Face it, unless you are a teacher-ninja, you're never leaving EXACTLY on time.) But on Friday, it was the deadline for the Florida Scholastic Press Association's digital contest entries along with the deadline for something called the Quick-Turn contests. So, a few of my students needed to stay after to finish their entries, which I would then digitally submit.
The last bell rang on Friday, and the school gradually emptied out. Except for me and about 10 students. And, yes, there are other teachers who sponsor active clubs that also remain behind on days like this. While everyone else embraced that woo-hoo! feeling of the weekend, we stragglers knew we had one or two or three more hours to go. We late-staying teachers know who we are. We have our mutual sighs and head nods of familiarity when we pass each other in the halls. And the evening custodians are our besties. (Actually, the custodians usually look at me like they're worried I'm going to mess up the freshly-mopped floor. I try to tip-toe out as delicately as possible.)
I left school at close to 6 p.m. yesterday, making it more than a 10-hour work day. It is one in a long line of long days.
Next week, we are heading into the deadline period for our March issue, so there will be days when as many as 60, maybe 70, newspaper kids will be in my room laying out pages, munching, talking, leaving behind an inordinate quantity of half-consumed water bottles, forgetting to put the camera cords back in the closet, feeling proud of what they created or freaking out because an important file got deleted somehow.
By now you've probably guessed this next part: I and pretty much every teacher, and particularly every school newspaper adviser, donate all these hours of our time because we see how important it is for our students, and we feel really good knowing that. But it would also be nice if the people who formulate education policy in this country would show us a little love.
Even though at my school we are lucky enough to have newspaper as a class (whereas at many places with less funding and less support in general, newspaper may only be an after-school club, if it exists at all), we still stay after school for editor meetings, mini-workshops, brainstorming, planning the pages, layout days, overflow editing time and more.
This past week, we didn't have any of those particular events, so on Monday through Thursday, I left only about a half hour late. (Face it, unless you are a teacher-ninja, you're never leaving EXACTLY on time.) But on Friday, it was the deadline for the Florida Scholastic Press Association's digital contest entries along with the deadline for something called the Quick-Turn contests. So, a few of my students needed to stay after to finish their entries, which I would then digitally submit.
The last bell rang on Friday, and the school gradually emptied out. Except for me and about 10 students. And, yes, there are other teachers who sponsor active clubs that also remain behind on days like this. While everyone else embraced that woo-hoo! feeling of the weekend, we stragglers knew we had one or two or three more hours to go. We late-staying teachers know who we are. We have our mutual sighs and head nods of familiarity when we pass each other in the halls. And the evening custodians are our besties. (Actually, the custodians usually look at me like they're worried I'm going to mess up the freshly-mopped floor. I try to tip-toe out as delicately as possible.)
I left school at close to 6 p.m. yesterday, making it more than a 10-hour work day. It is one in a long line of long days.
Next week, we are heading into the deadline period for our March issue, so there will be days when as many as 60, maybe 70, newspaper kids will be in my room laying out pages, munching, talking, leaving behind an inordinate quantity of half-consumed water bottles, forgetting to put the camera cords back in the closet, feeling proud of what they created or freaking out because an important file got deleted somehow.
By now you've probably guessed this next part: I and pretty much every teacher, and particularly every school newspaper adviser, donate all these hours of our time because we see how important it is for our students, and we feel really good knowing that. But it would also be nice if the people who formulate education policy in this country would show us a little love.
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