Category: Crankypantsing

Crankypantsing

Now I’ve Seen Everything

Shelly

I just got back from heating up my lunch in the break room. A girl was in there, making Lipton bag tea in one of those sports type bottles with a filter in the cap. WTF? But wait, it gets better. After it was done steeping, she chucked in a couple of heaping tablespoons of International Coffee.

Whyever on earth would someone drink anything besides plain old water out of a filtered bottle? Much less something sweet and gooey, like International Coffee? And then there’s the question of combining tea and “coffee”…

Aieee!

Crankypantsing, Ladybusiness

If you can’t see my hands…

Shelly

Since I’m on the subject of drivers, I figured this was as good a time as any to discuss Mr. DeWitt. He taught drivers’ ed., health, and, I believe, phys. ed. I had him for drivers’ ed. and health.

Mr. DeWitt was deeply bizarre. He was infamous for telling stories about his family. And retelling them. And retelling them. I think I might have stuck an ice pick in my eardrums if I’d had to sit through one more quarter with his stories. If it wasn’t the story about how his daughter got a nose job and now she was just as cute as a button, it was the story about getting shot at for stealing watermelons when he was a teenager. There was also the one about his alcoholic brother, or maybe it was his cousin the speed freak? I suspect he was making most of them up, hoping that adding a personal touch to the cautionary tales would lend them importance. The condom and banana routine that Andy mentioned in comments was an oldie but a goodie. He also brought in life-size anatomical models of male and female genitalia and passed them around. Probably not a bad idea in itself, but lordy, was he ever creepy about it.

Drivers’ ed. was a whole ‘nother kettle of fishes. I was so sick of his stories that I skipped class more often than not. Funnily enough, it didn’t affect my grade. In class, he told the same old stories and spewed the same old one-liners (“If you can’t see my hands, you gotta wonder what I’m doing!” being the most repeated.) On driving days, he was fond of taking us out onto the bypass, waiting until we’d gotten somewhat comfortable with the speed and traffic, then yelling “SHAZAAM!” in our ears. That did not go over very well with me. I pulled off the road and told him that if he ever did that again, I’d walk home, and he’d have to explain why he came back minus one student.

The first day my group actually drove, he took us to a cul-de-sac to practice. My one and only driving lesson at that point had been in an ancient VW squareback that not only was temperamental as all hell, but also had a broken driver’s seat. I had to sit on a couple of phone books, my feet barely touched the pedals, and I had to sit upright, because the back of the seat was permanently reclined. So, when I first tried to drive the drivers’ ed. car, I naturally gave it too much gas and hit the brakes too suddenly. Power brakes? WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS? Mr. DeWitt’s response was that we should drive the car like we were having sex–nice and slow. Now, how the hell is that an appropriate thing to say to a car full of teenage girls?

He was also fond of grabbing the driver’s seat belt, ostensibly to make sure it was correctly adjusted. It was obvious, though, that he was just copping a feel. There is no reason on earth why he would need to put his hands between a girl’s breasts in order to determine whether or not the seat belt was adjusted properly. I’m just sayin’…

The best, though, was when we picked up our waivers. He made each of us come to his office to pick them up, instead handing them out in class. When I picked up mine, he told me all the girls had to give him a hug before he’d give them their waiver. I said, “Okaythenbye!” and turned around and left. No way in hell was I giving Mr. PervyPants a hug. He apparently thought better of it, and followed me down the hall and handed the waiver to me. Hrmph.

So, it’s no wonder I have an ambivalent attitude toward driving. I ended up spending all my drivers’ ed. time trying to think of ways to avoid the teacher, instead of actually learning how to, oh, I dunno, drive.

Crankypantsing

A Note to Illinois

Shelly

Please, if you are going to send your drivers to southern Indiana, first make sure that they have at least a passing acquaintance with hills, curves, and narrow country roads. That goes double for anyone travelling to Owen County.

On my way home, a Ford Explorer with Illinois plates pulled out in front of me (from Rice’s Meats, for those playing along at home). As I followed Mr. Illinois up the next hill, I knew I was going to be in for an adventure. He was in the freaking middle of the road. Going up a hill. Hello?! All the way into Spencer, the driver remained in the center of the road, except for the few occasions when he drifted all the way over to the left shoulder. Aieee! Luckily, he was also going all of 20mph.  The speed limit there is technically 35mph, but most folks go 45mph.  Obviously, Mr. Illinois was not from around here.

It wasn’t long before there was a long line of cars behind me. None of us, I’m sure, was amused. I almost had to applaud, though, when Mr. Illinois won a game of chicken with not one, but two school buses. He continued down the center of the road, forcing both buses to pull off onto the grass to avoid hitting him. Considering how many times I’ve been run off the road by the local bus drivers, I couldn’t help but laugh.

By the time we’d reached River Hill Cemetery, I had finally simmered down enough that I figured it might actually be entertaining to watch the inevitable train wreck as Mr. Illinois attempted to navigate the switchback curve descending into town. I was not disappointed. The real train wreck nearly occurred in town, though, when Mr. Illinois actually stopped on the tracks on North street. Traffic was backed way up, so maybe he was confused, but actually stopping on the tracks defies common sense.

I ended up being stuck behind this guy all the way to the Patricksburg Road turn-off. When speed picked up west of town, he was all over the road. At that point, I couldn’t decide if he was drunk or if it was the first time he’d ever been behind the wheel of a car. Truly, it was the most amazing spectacle-on-wheels I’ve ever seen. And, living in Owen County, I’ve seen some ridiculous death wish driving!

Crankypantsing

Smells Like Pee

Shelly

There is a law of nature which states that libraries must smell of pee. The main library at IU is no exception, though until today, I had thought the pee smell was limited to the 5th floor. Not so. I just got back from the break room, where I bought a PepsiCokesodapop, in hopes that some more caffeine might wake me up. The break room–the place where everyone eats and hangs out–suddenly reeks of urine.

O ick.

Crankypantsing

That Was Not a Question, But the Answer Is Still NO

Shelly

If you are going to spend all day alternately watching videos and taking smoke breaks, far be it from me to complain. However, when you rupture your spleen laughing, and attract the attention of everyone on the floor, and someone (namely, me) comments that you must be having some sort of party in your cubicle, please, for the love of all that’s righteous and holy in this world, do not–I repeat, not–saunter over to my cubicle and respond: “You wanted to know what I was laughing at…” (For those playing along, please note that said response was phrased as a statement, not a question. She would so suck at Jeopardy.) No, I fucking well did not want to know what you were laughing at, and I certainly don’t want a blow-by-blow description of it.

Fucking hell!

Crankypantsing, News & Politics

Youth Counter Recruitment Camps

Shelly

This looks interesting.

When I was in high school, we were told we were required to take the ASVAB test. Being the uppity pinko militant peacenik that I was, I refused. There was no way in hell I wanted our military knowing any more about me than absolutely necessary. Our school counselor and the vice principal informed me that the test was required. My ass, I replied. I told them that I wouldn’t be attending school on the day the ASVAB was given. If they scheduled a make-up exam, I would not attend on that day, either. I thought it was pretty damned funny that they thought they could force me to take a test. If it actually came down to it, I was perfectly happy take the test, but mark down incorrect answers. And, I let them know that, too.

Now, why on earth the military would have thought it was worthwhile to wast their time trying to test and recruit a kid who was rabidly anti-military was–even then–beyond me. Asstrumpets.

They also weren’t particularly up-front about what the ASVAB actually was. I expect most kids, back then when it wasn’t possible to hop online and go a-Googling, had no idea it was an armed services aptitude test. Sneaky bastards. I may have fallen for it, if I hadn’t been terminally inquisitive and more than a little suspicious of authority. “You’re telling me I have to take this test? I don’t effing think so.” When I asked what, exactly, the test was, the school counselor was a little vague. “It’s an aptitude test.” Yeah, well, I’d already taken the state-required academic aptitude test, so I wasn’t buying that one. When she finally copped that it was for the military, I said, “No, thank you, ma’am.” I was assured that I could opt out of being recruited (yeah, right). What she didn’t understand was that I was pissed off about the test itself, and how it had been presented to us. Recruitment officers, I could deal with. Being manipulated, not so much.

The funny (cuz it’s true) thing was that friends of mine who gave in and took the ASVAB were recruited, even though they had opted out of it. Yeah, manipulated and lied to.

So, I’m all for telling kids the truth and helping them develop the skills they need to fend for themselves. Unfortunately, that means giving them the tools to stand up for themselves against our own military.

Crankypantsing

Pablum

Shelly

I didn’t put enough water in my Sturdiwheat apple and cinnamon cereal, so it ended up being way too thick.  I hate when that happens.  I’m not a huge fan of hot cereal anyway, so when it’s not Just Right, it makes the baby Shelly cry.  The addition of a snack-sized container of applesauce fixed the problem easily enough, but lordy, does it ever make a disgusting sound when being stirred in.  Aaack!

Art, Collage, Crankypantsing

Look at the Bones!

Shelly

I’ve been playing around with a few small pieces, trying to decide if I can salvage them or if I should just give up. I thought I’d add some bones, because a few bones can cure all manner of artistic ugliness. Right? Okay, maybe not. But! I stumbled on a couple of fun ideas.

First, bones are really easy to color with Walnut Hollow oil pencils. It took a couple of layers, and I used a Prismacolor blender to mush everything together, which worked well. I also went over them with an uneven layer of metallic gold wax paste. It was kind of a pain in the arse, because I was using itty bitty chicken rib bones, but the end result is pretty cool. I was going for a tarnished, worn, flame-y look, and I think I achieved it.

Flame I

Flame II
collage (bones and paper), acrylic, and oil pencil on 140lb Cartiera Magnani hot press watercolor paper
3 1/2 x 2 1/2 inches

Second, I’m in the process of coating some pig vertebrae with crackle glaze. I don’t know how they’ll turn out, or what I’ll use them for, but if the result is as cool as I think it’ll be, I’ll post pictures of those, too.

While doing all this, and because an idle mind is the Debbil’s playground, I’ve been “watching” the NCAA women’s gymnastic championships. It’s pretty cool to see gymnasts that don’t look like anorexic 8 year old girls. And, you’d never hear Guns n’ Roses as floor exercise music in elite gymnastics! I do have a complaint, though, about the commercials. Well, aside from objecting to their very existence. Specifically, I wish they’d lay off the T. Rex. It started with JC Penny and, I think, some car company, and now Coke (and The Slider, no less!). It’s bad enough that the good music from the ’80s is being abused, but there’s no excuse for messing with T. Rex. Bastards!

Crankypantsing, News & Politics

Speaking of Voting…

Shelly

I can’t believe I forgot to mention this. Not only do our new fancy schmancy electronic voting machines not supply any sort of a receipt, but Indiana is now requiring that voters provide government issued identification. The state’s license branches were open extended hours on Monday and Tuesday, so that folks who did not know about the new ID requirement could obtain state IDs.

And, this from Pandagon, on voting irregularities in Ohio. One point that is made is that outright fraud is not necessary, when physically restricting access to voting might work just as well.

It’s been said before but bears repeating, they don’t actually need to change votes, which is something that could eventually be detected and people could be thrown in jail for, in order to throw elections. All they need to do is make sure there’s inadequate facilities in certain precincts and the frustration of waiting to vote will drive huge numbers of voters away.

The same sort of situation occurred in my precinct, but it’s rural and the population is extremely low, so folks here would not have faced long lines and big hassles. Still, it sucks. And, at least the folks in Ohio were supposed to get a receipt. Our new electronic machines don’t even have that option.