Letter to Amy Winehouse

I'm probably going to Hell for this.  Ya know...talking bad about the dead?  But, heck, she wouldn't listen while she was alive.  Maybe now that's she's dead and can't talk back, she can hear what I have to say.

Dear Amy Winehouse,

WTF???  Girl, you were a hot mess!  Didn't you realize your behavior was completely destructive and...well...very unlady-like.  Seriously, you were such a beautiful girl with a beautiful voice.  The world could have been your oyster.  You could have been sitting pretty in a gazillion dollar mansion with a gazillion dollar wardrobe and a gazillion dollar recording contract.

Instead, you chose a path that was sooo not taking you anywhere but to the grave.  Did you honestly think things would end differently?  I mean, hell, you were tatted up like a sailor which is so not attractive.  If you wanted some ink, why not a few small, meaningful pieces in obscure places.  Was it really necessary to place a big-ass horseshoe on your shoulder?  And what's with that boobage on your arm?  Really?  A naked woman?  I have not words for that one.

Then there is that worthless excuse for a husband.  Oh, Lord.  Another hot mess.  You should have dumped that one a long time ago.  He was a convict working as a gofer, for crying out loud!  Not that there is anything wrong with the occupation, but honestly, dear...you were on the verge of stardom.  You were way out of his league.  Gross!  He was probably someone's girlfriend in prison.  To say he was a bad choice is a ridiculous understatement.

Finally, what about all that substance abuse?  Sister!  You didn't need all that.  I mean, drinking is fun every once in a while.  But being a sloppy alcoholic??  So not cute.  Even worse, that heroine.  How disgusting is it that you were actually putting a needle in your arm so you could pass out and drool on yourself.  How did you expect to ever find a new man???  No one wants to go out with a girl who is bleeding at her latest injection site, mumbling incoherently, and unable to sit up straight through the appetizers.  Can we say bad date to the 14th power? 

Alas, I wish we could have had this little conversation before you did yourself in.  Ya know, I'm sad for your family.  But I am NOT sad for you.  You did this to yourself, Girlfriend.  You were 27 years old; old enough to know better.  You made your grave, Sister, and now you have to stay in it.

Sincerely,

Disgusted with Your Shenanigans in Tennessee

I'm hooking up with Mama Kat again this week.  For more reactions about the demise of Amy Winehouse, check out the other entries.

Teaching Stuart

As most of you know, I am a teacher.  I don't really talk that much about that part of my life because...well, frankly...I like my job.  Schools are kinda like Vegas.  What happens at school, stays at school.

In addition, we live in a small town so you know what that means.  If I wrote in my blog that Johnny asked Tommy for a pencil, it would get around town that Johnny asked Tommy for his penis.  See how just a little typo can ruin a kid's and a teacher's life??  As a rule, LB stays away from specific incidents in the classroom.

Now generalizations???  I'm all over them.  Scenarios?!?  Well, they are just case studies in human behavior.  Hypotheticals?!  Why an absolute necessity in research.  Consider today's post a case study in parenting.

Meet Beulah, a beautiful, hugely successful, online teacher to some very lucky high school students in Wyoming.  Over all, Beulah has been very pleased with her students.  As a group they are hard-working and very conscientious.  This semester's students are an especially bright group of teens with one exception.  Stuart Cummings.

Stuart is enrolled in the course for the third time, and is apparently wanting to take it again in the fall.  Stuart, no novice to the online classroom, was MIA for the first two weeks of the six week course.  After several failed attempts at contacting him, Beulah is finally contacted by Stuart's father via email regarding Stuart's progress.

Beulah gives Stuart's dad the run down.  He hasn't logged on in 13 days.  He hasn't opened any of the files.  He won't answer my phone calls.  He won't respond to my emails.  However, he still has time to finish the work.  He's a great kid.  I love, love, LOVE him!   Positives are added to kinda soften the blow.  Dad immediately forwards the report to Stuart and his mother.

Stuart tells dad that the system is incorrect.  Mom agrees with Stuart.  Dad forwards all the ensuing emails to Beulah who assures Dad that while a system error is unlikely, anything is possible.  Dad calls Stuart and 3-ways Beulah to get to the bottom of it.

Stuart, who sounds extremely humble and quite sincere, continues to proclaim his innocence.  Yes, ma'am.  I've been working!  I swear!  Cross my heart and hope to die!  Beulah lets him off the hook in front of Dad, but tells Stuart that he has to submit the work in order for it to be graded. 

Fast forward two more weeks, Stuart has done three assignments.  Three of three hundred.  With only two more weeks remaining.  Beulah and Dad are frantic.  Stuart?!?  Cool as a cucumber.

The system is lying on me.  It must be because I'm working on a different computer.  I submitted all my work.  The internet ate it.  I swear, I swear!  Pinky promise!

Obviously out of sheer desperation, Dad continues to entertain Stuart.  Beulah, being a very clever reformed underachiever herself, wants to rip Stuart's head off!  Even more, Beulah wants to beat Dad over the head with a big stick in hopes that it will knock some sense into him.

Instead, Beulah asked Stuart to send the assignments as an attachment via personal email.  No system needed.  If you submit the work, I will give you credit manually.  No biggie. As she predicted, Beulah did not receive the assignments in email.

Beulah knows Stuart cannot send work that he has not completed.  She is always one step ahead of Stuart.  She knows that the every student has a unique log in and can access the system from any computer that has internet access.  Furthermore, the system logs the sign-on information every time a student accesses it.  Additionally, Beulah can "impersonate" the student and kind of spy on him which is exactly what she did.

Beulah spied on Stuart.  She logged into the system as him.  Contrary to Stuart's statements regarding his steadfast work ethic, Beulah can see that Stuart hasn't even finished the first section.  The only assignments completed are those which have been successfully submitted.  All three of them.  Fact.

This clever little system will not let Stuart even see the instructions to the next unit until he completes all the assignments in the first.  Stuart cannot even see the title of the 2nd unit until he completes the first and takes the exam.  It's just not possible.  Unlike a text book, a student cannot navigate through the material freely.

BUSTED!  

Beulah delivered this information to Dad today.

********

Parents, what is the answer here?  What do you think Dad should do next?  What about Beulah?  What about Stuart?  Even if he doesn't successfully complete the course, will he become the next governor of Wyoming?  President of the United States?  Or just a cheap, used car salesman?

Talladega Nights...and Days - Part 1

I was saving this for Trav-O at I Like to Fish, but apparently the Memoir Monday has become just another memoir.  Remember back in the day when we'd write down a story about ourselves, steal Trav-O's button, drink a beer, and call it all a win??? 

Anystabmeintheheartandmakemefeellikealoser, I'm sharing my damn memoir today.  No button, though; it's Thursday, not Monday.  It's been on ice long enough, boys and girls!

Talladega, Alabama.  April, 1994.  One of the infamous Three White Bitches (what we were known as by some of our college party boys), Hazel, moved there with her boyfriend shortly after graduation.  Because she was quite home sick and living in the armpit of hell, Hazel begged me to come for a visit.  While I wasn't all that interested in going to Alabama, and had no earthly idea where to find Talladega on the map, the offer of "free beer" sparked my interest.  See, Hazel's boyfriend ran a bar, and Hazel was his bartender.  Cha-ching!!

After work that day, my roommate, Erica, and I packed our bags and hit the road.  Now this was back in the pre-Google days, so not knowing in which direction to steer your vehicle was a pretty big deal.  We were living in Memphis at the time so we knew that we needed to head south.  That was about all we had.  Since I was the responsible one of the group (hehehe, it still makes me laugh just thinking about it), I stopped at a gas station (yes, those still existed too) and bought a map.  I drove while Erica navigated and manned the cooler.  Stocked with cold ones for our road trip.  I still can't believe I never got a DUI.  Another indication that me and the Big G are tight.

After only a few detours and 7 hours of a 4-hour trip, we finally reached Talladega.  I'm pretty sure it was pre-cell phone days, too, so we stopped at a little Mexican restaurant to call Hazel.  And to drink a few margaritas.  From this point until we reached the tattoo shop, things are a little fuzzy.  I guess all that partying did actually kill a few brain cells.  I do recall, however, that some sort of bet transpired between Erica and me.  She won, and we headed off in search of a new tattoo.

Erica had been wanting a tattoo for quite some time, but never could muster up the nerve to go through with it.  She needed a partner in crime.  I, on the otherhand, wasn't has keen on the idea.  Not that I didn't like them, but I was a chicken shit!  When I discovered that an actual needle was involved, I wanted no part of it.  With a little liquid courage, though, all things are possible.

When we arrived at the tattoo place, neither of us had a design in mind.  Let me rephrase that, Erica did not have a picture of her actual design while I had no idea.  I looked through book after book, but just didn't see anything.  Meanwhile, Erica was on the table having some cute little flower put on her hip. 

It was finally my turn.  I just picked one!  As if being a drunk girl getting a tattoo on her hip isn't silly enough, the tattoo chosen was ridiculous.  Thank God it's on my hip!  Every time I look at it, I am reminded of the dangers of drinking and tattooing.  Why didn't anyone stop me??  Oh, because they were drunk and thought it was a good idea too!!!

When I got on the table, I handed Mr. Tattoo Guy (why are they always big biker-looking dudes?) my design.  It was a Mickey Mouse.  Red pants.  Yellow shoes.  Stop laughing.

Not me.  Apparently, I'm not the only person in America who got drunk and tatted up.

No wonder they don't let drunk folks get tattoos anymore.  It has absolutely NOTHING to do with alcohol causing the blood to thin.  It is to prevent lawsuits!  Can you imagine a drunk guy getting Mickey put on his back???  He'd get the shit beat out of him!

The moral to the story?  Don't drink and drive.  To Talladega.  For a tattoo.  No wonder my son is obsessed with everything Mickey.  I've got to stop letting him see me nekked.

Stay tuned next week for my Nascar observations.  Remember...I was there for an entire weekend!