What are they teaching in schools?

This just in under the heading of: Sad But True.

On the bus just now, in the seat in front of me sat a girl of about 12 or 14 and I imagine her little sister of maybe eight years. I should point out that the bus company here has affixed a gold oval sticker to the window opposite the first seat on each bus. The sticker reads some thing like; ... In memory of Rosa Parks, and gives her earthly beginning and end dates. Anywho, the younger girl points to the sticker and asks her sister, what's that for? The older sister explains while the younger and the mother who was seated nearest to them listens. "That's for Rosa Parks... back in the day she sat in this seat and they wanted her to move to the back and she wouldn't, she proudly offered." The mother smiled as if she was very proud of the girl.

I first wondered if the mother thought it best to explain later. I then thought that maybe she thought that her daughter was correct. Did I mention that we are roughly 1,100 miles from where Rosa Parks sat in defiance so long ago.

For the actually story click here.

More Random Happenings

One: Good help is hard to find...

As almost never happens I found myself with one pair of clean socks in the drawer. As well, three loads of laundry had accumulated in the past week. How, I wondered? Probably because it has been very hot and rainy and I ended up changing at least a couple times a day. I took a load down and put it in the machine. I can usually hear when the machine stops from my room so, I flipped through a couple catalogues while I waited. I waited and waited and waited. A few times I went to the basement door to listen and heard the machine filling with water. I assumed that this was during the rinse cycle. Because nothing gets past me, the fourth time I realized that it had been over an hour and a half since I loaded the thing. I went downstairs to investigate and found that for some reason the machine was stuck on the initial water-fill stage. It had of course over-filled and made it's way to the floor and the near by sump pump hole thingy which was making the most monstrous sounds. I flipped with the dial some and found that the machine would drain at the end of the cycle marking. It drained, and I was pissed. Pissed mostly because the washer repairman had come just a few days earlier and said that their was nothing wrong with the machine. As I recalled, he was summoned because the machine would not drain properly. After the machine drained I added soap and let it fill but, manually stopped the water level. I scrubbed and rubbed the socks in my new role as human agitator much like the washer women of old. I drained the machine and filled and rinsed the clothing again manually. The whole miserable while I was thinking about how overly-dependent we have become on technology and convenience. Rightly so! Now, if I could just find some one who can actually diagnose when and how the convenience is broken and repair it accordingly.

Two: Your Grandma wears combat boots...

The title here was used as a mocking insult by children a generation or two ago. Yesterday, on the bus I saw an elderly woman of about 80 years wearing a bright floral summer dress. She was also wearing big black jump boots. Yes, military issue jump boots, tall ones. I stared and wondered. She smiled at me and then tapped her right foot to a song that only she could hear.

Three: Minnie Pearl Revisited

Yesterday, there was a man on the bus all clad in new clothing. He wore a nice new pair of chinos and a short sleeved buttoned up sport shirt. I could tell that it was a new outfit because the shirt had store merchandise tags hanging from the sleeves. As well, when he got up to leave his back pocket also had store tags. Was he starting a new trend or just where I'm headed? :D

April Fresh

There are times when I am an apparent danger to myself. Especially when I dress in the dark... All day I had a persistent itch on my chest. When it annoyed me I casually scratched. The itch was mildly annoying. I never stopped to wonder why or to go to the men's room and check things out. When I got home I discovered what the problem was. I took off my shirt and tee shirt in the bathroom. As my tee shirt finally made it's way over my head and my eyes were free, there it was. There was a dryer sheet stuck to my chest. It was evenly spread as if I had actually placed it there. I of course removed the sheet only to discover a nice pink fine rash. I stared at myself in the mirror. Yes, a nice rectangular rash. I then stared blankly into my own eyes in the mirror. Neither of us had anything to say. I finished undressing and redressed. I gathered up my clothing from the day. This is when I discovered I had worn the same patterned socks although one was black and the other was navy. And this was only Tuesday.

This Just In...

I must first acknowledge that I am a news junkie. I love reading the news from several sources online as well as CNN on television. What I don't particularly care for is the "creation" of news. What I mean here is that if a story isn't meaty enough the media beats it until blood appears and then proceeds as if they didn't create the story. For instance, yesterday I saw the headlines, "Jackson death a mystery," and "Jacksons waste no time assuming control." In Michael Jackson's death foul play was immediately ruled out and the original coroner's reports are seldom altered it was reported. As for his grieving parents, MJ was single, who exactly should assume control of his affairs and children (at least initially)? I could babble here but instead I will be a bit more direct by saying that; 1. this stuff is not really news-worthy and 2. it is voyeuristic and uninteresting. Now, if the post mortem chemical tests return indicating a change in the original death findings, that's news! If a secret spouse surfaces with a current will a la Madam X. that's news. But, a days old play by play of grief, speculation and jocking for a book deals is not news. Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Mays et all were public figures who have earned that great peaceful rest and I deserve better news.

P.S.: -enough of that horny cheating Senator story too.

Nickel and dimed

Bank of America will receive $20bn (£13.4bn) in fresh US government aid and $118bn worth of guarantees against bad asset... That was a BBC headline regarding the US government's bailout of Bank of America. Keep this in mind.

This morning I checked my checking balance by phone. There seemed to be a small discrepancy with the balance in my head and the computer generated one. I then went online to the B of A site and discovered the reason for the difference. My monthly maintenance fee for the checking account is now $8.95 instead of $5.95 as it was last month. Three bucks is three bucks but, I'm annoyed nevertheless. Between the checking and savings accounts I pay $15.00 a month. In all fairness I should note that if I transfer $25.00 from checking to savings in any one month that month's checking maintenance fee is waived. I did not do that last month.

My first thought was, what is a monthly maintenance fee? I imagined tiny little navy uniformed dudes with push brooms sweeping the B of A website. I also imagined they were underpaid for their efforts. Before you tell me the obvious, I do know that the way around these fees is to simply put more money into the account and use it more. (Donations accepted, our operators are waiting). Once again, the man is trying to keep me down. Seriously, this is crap. The least amount of money you have the more fees you must pay to keep the accounts. SO, the very little guy pays fees so, the very rich guy does not- No, I'm not new. I do realize that it is simply how capitalism works and trust me I am a great supported of capitalism but, geez give me a break. Fifteen bucks to maintain two accounts that I use about a dozen times a month? I checked with other banks and the system is the same and ever changing. B of A waives all fees if you open an account on line. How's that for a day late and a dollar short?

BTW, a couple months ago when I needed a bailout they charged me $35.00. In the words of Hattie McDaniel, it just T'ain't fittin!

I'll call if I find work...

Blast our litigious society! Some one once told me that I should never write about people who have sense enough to sue me. I am just about bubbling over with three fantastic stories that I can not share in this venue for fear of some kind of a wicked response. Anyway, lovely weather we're having.

Speaking of the weather, I have an interview tomorrow. The weather dude says that it will be 85 degrees by then. Let's see, a navy blue suit, starched shirt and tie, an interview and sunny late summer temperatures. I should be fine, right? I can see it now, Hello, 911? we were interviewing this candidate and he melted before our very eyes. I kid. I have well prepared as much as I can prepare for a job interview. I always prefer to not overdue it in the prep area. I believe I end up sounding just like I over prepared rather than the quintessential trained profession you have grown to love. I even ran through this list of 100 interview question I found on Monster. Where do you want to be in five years? Or my favorite, sell me this pencil. BTW, you would be amazed at what groovy background info you can get for free from the Census Bureau and other gov't agencies. What did I do before Google? I'll tell you. I spent the entire day in the government documents section of the library which which resulted in about 30% of what I actually needed. Ah, the good old days.

Moving right along... Another funtabulous physical therapy session this morning. The PT had me balancing on one foot while bouncing a rubber ball against the mirror wall. My personal best was 45 sections. Sometimes I think that these aren't actually exercises at all but rather amusements for the PT. I finished the session with this award step thingy that I won't even attempt to describe. The result was that I pointed out to the PT that I wasn't actually that coordinated before the accident. :D

Attitude is everything.

So, yesterday morning was #2 of 16 of what I hope will be the final physical therapy sessions for my right ankle. It went very well. Jim (not his real name) the PT and I work well together. We tried some new exercises which seemed to help. I wasn't overly tired or whining later in the evening which is very new.

Physical therapy is at a hospital here and the clinic also acts as the gym for employees and I imagine former employees. There is this friendly elderly gent who I have seen there many times before. One of the assistant physical therapists acts as his personal trainer of sorts. He is extremely energetic and into things. Good for him I have always thought. Well, yesterday he was working on the leg press machine and that's where we parted friends. Granted I have the ankle problem and all but, the guy presses more than twice the weight that I do (300+ lbs.). What's up with that, I asked Jim? Jim giggled and leaned over and whispered that the old fellow was 85 years old. No, get out! I suddenly felt very sad and motivated at the same time.

To round matters out I usually finish the session with an applied ice pack. On the next bed Jim was working with a new patient who was 11 and whined like no body's business. According to her, her pain level was apparently a ten out of ten. Jim told her that she should be crying then. For the next fifteen minutes Jim tried all the tricks to get the little girl to believe that she was not nearly as bad off as she thought. Is that me I wondered? Am I usually closer to the wimpy 11 year old girl than the studly 85 year old guy? When Jim came over I lowered my voice and whispered, am I that whiny? He smiled and said no. He's very kind that Jim.