Home
Blog
Awesome Women
Archived Blogs
September 2008
October 1, 2008
Atlanta is a battlefield
The ground rumbles, not with the footsteps of ten thousand marching soldiers, but with the vibrations of a hundred thousand rolling wheels carrying tons of metal.
The cannon's sharp retort is nothing more than the slamming of a gas tank lid.
And the victory cry is, "I have gas! I have gas! I have gas!"
A gas crisis of monumental proportion wages war on the city of Atlanta, Georgia. Lines of cars, the likes of which have not been seen since the seventies, wrap around fuel islands at every gas station within a 100-mile radius of the city.
"What would Jesus do?" is a question no longer asked by people, regardless of their faith, as tempers flare at the gas pumps. People come close to blows over who was next in line and it is nothing short of a miracle that someone has not been outright killed. Yet.
Fear creates enemies and monsters.
Between a failing economy and the severity of the gas situation, there is little wonder that panic runs amok among the citizens of this city. The ultimate goal is survival and this breeds an attitude of "I'll get mine and you can have whatever is left." There is no room in the human heart in these days and times for selflessness. I wonder if there is even room in the human heart for hope.
Fear and its partner, panic, are murderers of hope.
Let us hope the fear and panic do not result in murder.
There is a sense of desperation here. Like an airborne bacteria, it floats from one consumer to the other. The desperation percolates until it reaches the boiling point. Desperation leads to desperate acts, desperate measures to ensure one's survival and the survival of one's family. Even if it is at the cost of harming others, vandalizing the property of others or outright stealing gasoline from others (as in the case of someone caught trying to siphon gasoline from a day care bus).
If the situation is not soon resolved, desperation continues to spiral upward, becomes out of control until a police state or gas rationing is imposed.
Fear is both weapon and tool used by those in positions of power to control others.
I most fear a loss of compassion, of humanity.
I fear on this battlefield, apathy and greed are enemies to us all. I fear we are powerless - maybe even unwilling - to unite and fight those enemies.
I fear we may never recover. Gas will eventually again be pumped to Atlanta by the multi-gallon. The economy will eventually pick up. But will we ever recover as citizens? If we lose our compassion and humanity, will we ever again recover those?
A world without compassion is a world to be feared.
I hope it doesn't come to that.
October 2, 2008
Give me back Madonna
Madonna was to my generation what Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan are to the current generation.
Back in the day, Madonna clogged the airwaves. She was the most talked about celebrity on radio and in print. Her every move was documented. She was the one parents worried their kids would turn out to be like.
A group of my friends and I didn't care much for Madonna at that time. We felt she was a little too "freakazoid" for our generation.
There is a point when a song is played too much and one begins to cringe each time it is played.
I miss hearing Madonna, Sting, The Police, The Eagles, Cher on the radio. These days I can't get enough of Madonna. I would much rather hear Madonna's music than some of what's currently riding the radio frequencies. At least her music made sense and I can understand the lyrics (always an important point for me).
Twenty years after Madonna, it seems celebrities have lost all sense of self-respect along with control of their lives, inhibitions and drug use. It's as though they fling themselves headlong into a void of self-destruction which they know the paparazzi is just waiting to capture on film in time for the six or eleven o'clock news or for a centerfold photo spread.
It's as if they this is what they want to accomplish with their lives - to burn themselves out as quickly as possible rather than burn bright and steady as did Hollywood icons of years ago.
Madonna was by no means perfect. Her "Sex" book may have sold out the first day and may have contained photos considered raunchy, but at least she never attempted to drive a car with a child on her lap, endangering both their lives. At least most of the things Madonna did made sense.
Which is a lot more than can be said for more than a few of today's celebrities.
Prior to the sixties, information regarding a celebrity's life was much more controlled, usually distributed by the movie studio for whom he or she had contracted to work. Indiscretions were kept quiet. A celebrity had something of a private life.
These days, information about every little detail of a celebrity's life is up for grabs Not to mention the paparazzi is ten times worse now about stalking celebrities, even after photos revealing a celebrity at a private dinner, or even a private tryst, are obtained.
It's a shame when every tidbit of a celebrity's life - their rise and their fall - becomes a more important news item than, say, a firefighter risking his life to save a family from their burning house. Or the latest news on the economic situation. Or spiralling gas prices or a gas shortage.
It is equally shameful that some celebrities choose to live their lives the way they do, setting bad examples for our youth.
Because, face it, youth looks more to celebrities these days for an example of how to live their own lives when they should be looking to other sources a little closer to home.
Current celebrities cannot hold Madonna up as their example. Because, no matter what Madonna did, she at least maintained some self- respect and dignity. At least she had some class.
Give me back Madonna.
October 3, 2008
begins —
a single seed sown
by the hand of the Creator
within the birth of a soul;
nurtured, nourished
until it flourishes,
a single blossom
amidst the most arid, barren landscape;
tentative, then bolder
as the blossom unfolds
revealing the colors of dreams
revelling in what may be.
despair —
at its most tumultuous —
leaves it lying
uprooted, trampled,
broken, poisoned,
dying;
but the adversary fails.
The seed cheats death,
refuses to acknowledge the presence
of such a dark and shadowy entity,
reaching instead for the light,
the sun the air the sky the heavens,
rebirthing itself
into a lovelier, livelier blossom.
It is reborn
and grows —
not once in a lifetime
but several thousand times
in the course of one day
if not the course of one moment.
It lives,
testimony to the spirit human,
the spirit Divine.
©Penny White 1999
October 6, 2008
Of all my high school reading material, there are two stories which I distinctly recall. I cannot recall the authors’ names or the titles. But the messages expressed by these two stories have haunted me for over twenty years.
The first story depicted two adolescents, a boy and a girl, marveling over a treasure found in the attic of the boy’s grandfather. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it. Both young adults were obtaining their education via computer and this treasure was an archaic tool of education.
The treasure? A book. Words printed on paper. The young girl could not understand why the young man was so fascinated, so thrilled, to be holding such an awkward piece of history in his hands. Especially when the computer was so much more efficient and convenient.
In the second story, the surface of the earth had become uninhabitable for humans. The human race had migrated beneath the earth’s surface. Each person lived in an individual “cell” and everyone communicated via computer. This type of communication made traveling unnecessary. But, most poignant, it made human, face-to-face contact unnecessary, almost to the point of being prohibited.
One character in this story had a son who was concerned about this lack of human contact although she accepted it as the norm. (Procreation was handled “clinically” in the story, as was the raising of the children.) The son was curious about the world “topside” and he investigated. He encountered survivors, but his investigation led to the destruction of the physical structure of the underground society. Only at the end of the story did mother and son actually hold hands; a final, desperate move to grasp the human contact that was lost.
These stories are works of fiction. Or are they?
In this fast-paced world where classes can be taken online, books can be read online as well as heard on tape, and the internet brings virtually everything to the fingertips with the click of the mouse button, how far off from reality are these stories?
Consider this scenario: shopping is done on the Internet. Work is done from home on the Internet. Communication with others is done on the Internet. Education is done on the Internet. Entertainment can be obtained on the Internet. It is not necessary to physically do anything or go anywhere. Everything, literally, is available through the Internet. It is currently possible to obtain an entire education online. Anything you need can be ordered and shipped or delivered to your door via online communication.
It is no longer necessary to encounter other human beings on a physical, face-to-face, daily level.
While this may be a relief to some people, it strikes terror in my own heart. What concerns me most is the fact that it does not strike terror into the hearts of others.
Where there is no human contact, there is no compassion. Where compassion is lacking, apathy quickly fills the void. Once we cease to care, we cease being human.
The truly frightening fact of the matter is that it is already occurring. Thousands of people are “plugged into” the Internet. Apathy is becoming a way of life. If you do not think so, you are not paying attention, and are already apathetic yourself.
As depicted so aptly in the second story which I cited, the lack of human contact was the downfall of the human society.
There may be certain advantages to living life on the Internet. Since no one will be traveling anywhere, think of the vast reduction in air pollution there will be. Not to mention that if there is no human contact, there would be a great reduction in violence. Once paper money is discontinued, crimes over money would also be reduced, although greed will always remain a part of human nature.
But I also think of the vast emptiness there will be in this world. Empty libraries, concert halls, museums, public school buildings; no jostling of people to get to work or home, no five o’clock rush hour traffic. How quiet life would be. How empty.
How non-human.
Perhaps my concern is unfounded. Perhaps I have grossly underestimated the basic need for human contact.
Or perhaps a society without contact is in the making.
Only time will tell.
October 7, 2008
The Encounter
She is a beautiful little African-American baby girl, hair in pigtails, milk chocolate skin and big brown eyes that don’t missing anything. She sees me as we approach each other, and she smiles at me. She is too young to know she is supposed to hate me.
But her mother is not too young. Too young to drive, maybe, but not too young to hate.
“Whatchoo lookin’ at?” the young woman says as our eyes meet briefly. We walk in opposite directions on the sidewalk. She catches my eye as I notice her little girl.
It is a spring day, sun blazing in celebration of winter’s end. I am going to class from the Marta station. Mother and daughter are going to the Marta station. They wear matching yellow outfits, the ebony skin of their arms a striking contrast to the bright yellow cloth. Were I an artist, I would beg to paint them.
What disturbs me most is the ferocity of the words spoken. The mean look knitted across the brow feels like an accusation. The eyes of mother and daughter are identical, except the mother’s eyes flash anger while the daughter’s eyes hold curiosity.
Should I apologize for the sins of my ancestors, who never owned a single slave? Should I explain that my own ancestors - Native American Indians upon whose soil we stand - suffered similar injustices and indignities as her own?
As women we both struggle in a male-dominated world. Surely there are similarities between our individual struggles; similarities among the adversities. Why can’t we discuss those similarities and hardships? Do our diversities create an abyss too wide to cross?
I cannot see the world through African-American eyes, nor can she view the world through mine. But surely we can find some common ground upon which to see eye to eye.
I empathize with her anger. I know oppression. Each of us holding the other responsible removes the burden of guilt from the shoulders of our common oppressors: those members of beauracratic society who suppress the strength of women united: those oppressors who prefer women remain divided by our diversities rather than find strength in our unity, lest we overcome the oppression we tolerate.
I yearn to let her know I wish for her child to grow up happy and healthy, that she be a good student and daughter and that she aspire to be a doctor or lawyer, a musician or actress or even a politician. Even if the child does not aspire to the lofty and noble ambitions I desire for every child, I hope and pray she grows up and, in some way, changes things within her own community.
I do not blame this woman for her anger. Her anger is justified, just as my confusion concerning her anger is justified. Maybe she also takes classes and things did not go well today. Maybe she works and it was not a good work day. Maybe she encountered narrow-minded people at some beauracratic institution. Maybe one of these explanations, maybe more than one, prompted her to lash out at the first person she saw.
No, I do not blame this woman for her anger; nor will I shoulder responsibility for it. I am not the cause of her anger, nor am I a simple solution. It is a problem thousands of years old, which cannot be resolved during this ten-second encounter. By exhibiting her hostility toward me, she is perpetuating the hostility felt between minorities since time immemorial. By remaining silent, I continue participation in the oppression experienced by minorities since recorded history. Neither of us is capable in this situation of finding a bridge for the gap between us as women or as races. I cannot help but think there must be a way for us to accomplish this.
I have never received such a hostile reaction to my sincere admiration of a child. It stuns me and prevents me from speaking. Should something similar happen again, I will engage in some sort of response. I want to understand. I want to bridge the gap of that anger. I want to take steps toward establishing the unity we as women need to combat oppression.
I look behind me after mother and child have passed. The little girl looks back over her mother’s shoulder. She smiles and waves. I return her wave.
She is too young to know she is supposed to hate me.
But she will learn.
October 8, 2008
A Boob Job doesn't Boost Anything
Teenage pop icons get breast implants and a boob job tops the Christmas list of thousands of teenaged girls. Thousands of parents support their daughters’ surgery.
What messages are we sending our young women?
We’re certainly not informing these young women of the risks of breast implants. Nor are we informing them of the higher risk at a younger age.
By entertaining the notion of breast implant surgery, we feed into society’s utopian vision of women: that vision of “the perfect woman” — as idealistic an impossibility as the vision of “the perfect man.” We feed into societal expectations of woman recreating herself into what men want rather than encouraging young women to be herself and fulfill her potential. She is expected, instead, to fulfill the potential of a man’s desires rather than her own.
What is the primary concern of most girls reaching puberty? The attention and affectations of boys, of course. What better way to secure that attention and affection than to display the primary concern of most boys in the midst of adolescence? What a boost for a young woman’s self-confidence: boobs overnight!
These young women honestly believe bigger boobs will boost self-confidence, increase popularity and merit more dates. They spend little time considering long-term effects. Nor do they realize the “popularity” as a result of such surgery will not be of an entirely positive nature. Other young women — including friends — will talk about a young woman after the surgery. Some friends may feel differently or treat a young woman differently now that her physical appearance has been altered. Ironically, the kinds of dates these young women will get won’t be the kinds of dates they want.
They will have more problems as a result of their new boobs than they will have dates.
And what happens if a young woman decides she no longer wants the implants? Now that she suffers chronic fatigue syndrome, among other maladies, what further trauma will she inflict on her body? The plastic surgeon will not dwell on the risks involved with implants or removals. He’s too busy calculating his fees. There is no such thing as “no-risk” surgery. With any surgery comes some degree of risk, both short term and long term. Breast implants, at best, give a woman a false sense of self-confidence — a superficial self-confidence based on physical appearance rather than a self-centered confidence from knowing who she is. Are the risks involved worth that false sense of self-confidence?
Any young woman contemplating augmentation surgery should do her own research on the subject — for the better and for the worse. She may be appalled with what she finds. Breast implants have been linked to chronic fatigue syndrome, back and shoulder pain, migraine headaches and a plethora of other maladies. Research regarding the link of breast implants to physical ailments is limited because research into women’s health issues is limited. Limited though it may be, some research and testimony exists and young women need to be aware of it. Making a decision about anything based upon the actions of a celebrity is not well-thought-out nor well-informed and it is important young women do this research to make a mature, responsible decision.
We fail these young women when we encourage them to damage their own bodies for the sake of vanity and for the sake of male desires. We send a clear message to these young women: “yes, you are merely a sex object and sex is the way to attract a male. It is only your body that males are interested in and not your personality, character or ideas. Nothing else matters except the size of your breasts. After all she did it so it must be cool.”
The message we should send is the message of self-confidence. Young girls should be taught from an early age that their bodies are OK. We need to stress that those people hung up on physical appearance aren’t worth hanging around. What mat- ters most is the young woman appreciates and respects herself. Implanting a sense of security, self-confidence and self-worth goes much farther, is much healthier and a much wiser investment than implants of silicone or saline.
We should teach these young women the value of self-worth. We should teach them self-acceptance and self-confidence. Only a lack of self-esteem would cause a teenaged girl to feel the need for breast implant surgery. The actions of the pop icon confirmed that breast implants are “acceptable” at least in the influential minds of young women already experiencing emotional and biological changes in their bodies and in their lives.
We desperately need to teach these young women it is not necessary to buy into society’s ideal of womanhood. The decisions she makes and the way she chooses to live her life are what deem womanhood, not physical attributes.
Young women need to realize that not all young men are obsessed with the physical body. There are those young men mature enough to take an interest in a young woman for the person she is, her strength of character. If the male has any character himself, he will connect with a young woman on emotional and mental levels to the extent that the physical level will be of secondary importance.
Of course, we need to teach young males this valuable lesson, too.
We need to stop failing our young women and start sending them positive messages about themselves. And the most important message we can send these young women is that a boob job doesn’t boost anything (except the plastic surgeon’s pockets!)
October 10, 2008
Thank you, Dean Koontz
I have rediscovered Dean Koontz.
I was a voracious reader as a child. I graduated from Dick, Jane and Spot directly to Nancy Drew. By the time I was eleven years old, I was reading Agatha Christie and Isaac Asimov. It wasn't that far a leap to Stephen King.
I was bedridden with a back injury at one point in my life, many years ago. All I wanted to do, since I couldn't do much of anything else, was read. And I read about a dozen Stephen King novels in a row. I tired of those after awhile and decided to give Dean Koontz a try. I read about three of his novels and had the misfortune of choosing the very three which had similar central themes: government conspiracy.
I say "misfortune" because those three novels did not reflect the scope of Mr. Koontz' writing. I am "excessively open-minded" as his character Jack Dawson is described in "Darkfall." I believe in this world, in this day and age, anything is possible . . . including a complex government conspiracy, as well as ghosts, spirits, aliens, demons and the devil lurking in the shadows.
But I also believe in hope, the basic goodness of humankind, faith, friendship and love. Those counterbalance all the bad.
Maybe I had read too many Stephen King novels before trying Dean Koontz. Maybe it was the fact that I was bedridden for over three months and I was going stark raving mad from boredom (I also read "War and Peace" during that time). Whatever the reason, I wasn't impressed with those three novels, at that time. I cannot, for the life of me, remember the titles, but I will keep searching until I find them. I would like to reread them to see if they still have the same effect.
While at a thrift store not long ago, I happened across a number of Dean Koontz titles. The store sells paperback books for 25 cents and hardcover books for 50 cents. Not to worry, though; I'm certain these books were purchased at retail value at some point. I was looking for books to read on my MARTA commute to and from work each day. Preferably something which would take my mind off the fact that it is now legal for people with permits to carry concealed weapons on public transporation. Let's face it, not everyone who has a permit to carry a concealed weapon is a responsible, law-abiding citizen.
Anyway, I was still a little apprehensive about reading Dean Koontz. After all, I had been disappointed before and, for the avid reader, that's like breaking their heart.
I took a chance and picked up two of the books that I saw: "By the Light of the Moon" and "One Door away from Heaven." Just from reading the dustjackets, I was intrigued. I picked up those and a few more.
I was not disappointed.
But I was astounded.
"By the Light of the Moon" and "One Door away from Heaven" are my two favorite books now. I've read them both two times each. They're due for another read soon.
I was bowled over by the sheer imagination Mr. Koontz put into the novels I had purchased, but especially those two works.
I love employing my imagination when I read: it's like having a miniature theater inside your head. I especially like to imagine actors or people I know as the characters in what I am reading. Michael Weatherly (NCIS) was Dylan in "By the Light of the Moon" and Eva Mendes was Micky in "One Door Away from Heaven." I imagined other actors and people as other characters but I either don't know the actors' names or won't reveal the real people's names.
Mr. Koontz proved to me that when you have a vivid imagination, you can write about anything. Just keep it real. He does that with his description, describing places in detail, giving the most mundane items a macabre bent. That's what I like about it: it's like you're right there when all the crap goes down. You're in the thick of it right along with the protagonists. And the antagonists, too.
The best way a writer can hone his or her craft is to actually write. The second best way is to read. Read voraciously. Read variety. And if you find someone whose style you like, read a lot of his or her writing. You can learn a great deal about how to use the English language from reading a very good writer.
I have learned a great deal from Mr. Koontz. The most important thing I believe I have learned is that, yes, you can write anything - absolutely anything. No matter how farfetched the idea may seem, it is an idea and there is a possibility it can become more. It can become a work of fiction that will delight readers. It can become a story. Or even a novel. It can become.
Kudos to Mr. Koontz for his accomplishments. And thank you for the lesson.
I have some reading and writing to do.
October 15, 2008
I Never Sent You Flowers
Your roses lined the drive and grew up against the house. You planted things that flowered in the spring and bore fruit in the summer — apple trees, plum trees, cherry trees, grapevines.
You commented more than once that flowers after you were gone wouldn’t do you any good and that you would prefer to enjoy them while you were alive.
I should have listened when you said that. I should have heard.
It seems in our society, we think it is only women who should receive flowers — mothers, girlfriends, sisters, wives. It does not occur to us that men would like to receive flowers on occasion. We don’t realize that men, too, are capable of appreciating the beauty that nature so graciously bestows upon this earth for us to enjoy. We forget that men are capable of nurturing. Somewhere along the way, it was decided flowers are for women.
And how mistaken we are to think that way.
It never occurred to me to send you flowers on Father’s Day or on your birthday, both days usually within one week of each other. I was too busy seeking your approval, trying to live up to your expectations. That wasn’t your fault. I should have realized that being myself was my responsibility and the way you felt about it was yours. I didn’t realize that at the time. I think if you and I hadn’t been so busy setting expectations for each other and then trying to live up to those expectations, we could have been good friends.
I talk to you all the time. I understand you much better now than when you were here. I learn a little more about you each day as I accept more of the responsibilities you left behind. Although I try to walk in your shoes, I know I will never fill them. It is a sad realization, but an honest one.
I’ve turned out a lot like you, you know. I inherited your love music and movies. I don’t have the patience to teach myself guitar like you did, but I love to listen to music. I’ve never forgotten watching movies with you — the contests of finding the most editing mistakes or the discussions afterwards. I’m trying my best to pass along these appreciations to my nephews — the two grandsons you’ve never met. It saddens me to think they will never know you. They will only know a part of you through me.
You loved words, too. There was a poet inside you we never experienced. But my love of words had to come from somewhere. As well as my love for riddles and laughter.
Your cynicism, too, was handed down to me, along with your sense there is basic goodness in humankind. These beliefs contradict each other, but you were full of contradictions. I think part of that came from life itself being so confusing and complicated: at times, it’s difficult to know how to feel.
You always took pride in your work. You taught your children that, no matter what we did, we should give it one hundred percent. Even if we didn’t like what we were doing at the time, we should give it our all. It is a lesson on the verge of extinction in this world.
The most important lesson you taught me was one you probably did not intend to teach. You taught me not to give up on my dreams. I watched you give up on your dreams. I saw what that did to you, how it affected your life. I wish for my life to be different. Having seen your progressive hopelessness, I know I must continuously strive to reach for the stars. Reaching for the stars may prove a long way to fall, but the cost of not reaching for the stars at all is a price too precious for anyone to pay.
Your untimely demise drove home the fact that time is short and so many words go unspoken, so many emotions go unexpressed. Some days I would give anything to have you sing and play “The Yellow Rose of Texas” on your Gibson guitar just once more.
I don’t regret any part of my life. Regretting something that cannot be changed is a waste of time and energy.
My only true regret is that I never sent you flowers. The best I can do now is leave a yellow rose in the vase that sits atop your final resting place.
October 16, 2008
Leaving the Kids at the Movies
Hold up for just one minute before you take your kids to the movie theater.
As an ex-theater employee, let me tell you what your children may do after you leave.
First, if you are taking them to see a movie that is NOT rated R, please be sure your child does not purchase a ticket to an R-rated movie. It is not against the law to sell a child an R-rated movie ticket. It is merely a guideline for parents to follow. And, allegedly, movie theater employees.
I always checked to make certain a child was old enough to see an R-rated movie or was allowed to see it. This often required the parent or adult getting out of the car to reassure me they knew what their child was seeing. Some parents were annoyed about this. Some parents were grateful for my being a conscientious employee. And some parents were shocked to discover their child trying to buy a ticket to a movie they did not want their child to see.
Most theater employees don't bother checking a child's ID to make certain they are the appropriate age for an R-rated movie. I was only one of many theater employees who consistenly checked ID and refused to sell R-rated movie tickets to anyone under 17 years of age.
Second, please stress to your child to remain in the movie for which he or she purchased a ticket. Some kids “jump” from one auditorium to the next. Not only is this annoying, it could also be dangerous. Ticket sales indicate the number of patrons per auditorium. In an emergency situation, should your child not be in the correct theater, it could result in panic, or, in an extreme situation, an unidentified body. If caught “movie jumping” your child will also be asked to leave without refund of ticket purchase.
Last, make sure your child stays at the theater once you have dropped him or her off.
I often watched, helplessly, as a parent dropped off a child. Once the parent had driven away, the child was then on a pay phone or cell phone. Next thing, they were riding off in a car with someone else, only to return minutes before the parent returned for pickup.
Again, if there were an emergency, your child would be unaccounted for.
One more thing: the job of a theater employee is to work at the theater. They are not babysitters and cannot keep up with your child when there are dozens of children in the lobby and even more in the auditoriums and restrooms. Should you come into the theater to look for your child, please don’t expect theater employees to remember which one is yours as they have waited on countless children during their shifts. Please don't ask a theater employee to watch your child while you go to the restroom or make a call on your cell phone. The job of the theater employee encompasses customer service to everyone who walks through the door. An employee cannot stand guard over your child and attend to the throngs of other people in the lobby. Not to mention the employee is only making minimum wage which barely covers payment for one job, let alone an additional job of babysitting.
If you do go into the theater in search of your child, please be sober and wearing better than a bathrobe and slippers. Yes, it actually occurred once...an intoxicated parent wearing nothing but a bathrobe and slippers looking for her kids. We called the police.
Two secrets movie theaters will never tell you: 1) the reason concessions are so high is because the theater's general manager gets a bonus based on concession sales and 2) if you are in a movie that you absolutely hate, you can get your money back, provided the movie is NOT half over. So don't wait for the credits to roll if you are unhappy with a movie you are watching. Go get your money back from the box office.
October 17, 2008
Character Education
Do tell me what type of curriculum is entailed in teaching children character education. My thoughts on this subject are prompted by a recent discussion with some co-workers who brought up the subject of character education in school.
Character is defined as follows: 1. features and traits that form the individual nature of some person or thing; 2. moral or ethical quality.
Character isn’t something that can be taught from a textbook. There are no lesson plans to instill character into a person’s psyche.
A child’s character-forming years begin from the moment they first draw breath. Children learn character by observation and emulation. Which is why parents should closely monitor what children view on television and at the movies. But that’s a completely different topic.
Truth is a teacher’s responsibility is to teach children academics: reading, writing, arithmetic, history, social studies. A teacher’s plate is full enough dealing with kids who don’t pay attention, not to mention kids who bring uzis to school and take classrooms hostage.
Character education begins at home.
Most parents realize that. It’s the ones who don’t realize it and depend upon others to teach their children character that frighten me. They are the ones who turn their parental responsibilities over to Saturday morning cartoons, afternoon matinées, or any other device or person which enables them to do what they want rather than give their attention to their children and what they may or may not be learning.
It is truly the parents' responsibilities to teach their children those moral and ethical values which attribute to their overall character. Most of the time, those values are taught subconsciously through deed and action rather than verbally.
When I observe some children these days, I really have to wonder how their parents act.
Like a teacher friend of mine once said: "if these kids don't have any character by the time they reach seventh grade, it certainly isn't something I can teach them."
Teach them early.
October 21, 2008
Indiana Jones: Here's your hat
Ah, finally! I got to see the latest Spielberg-Lucas installment of the Indiana Jones saga: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
Okay, comparatively, it wasn't as good as the previous three. But I am addicted to the character of Indiana Jones, as I'm certain millions of other moviegoers are. Therefore, the movie is a great way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon, curled up on the sofa, snuggled beneath a blanket with popcorn and soda at hand.
A friend of mine once told me that I am an action-movie junkie. And it's true. I won't deny it. I like a movie that's fast-paced, lots of action and a few plot twists to keep you guessing. I particularly like movies with unexpected endings, like "Sixth Sense" or "The Others." Ironically, the fact that I have read a ton of Agatha Christie novels in my youth, helped me guess the ending to "Sixth Sense" within fifteen minutes of watching the movie for the first time.
Back to Indiana Jones.
What was amazing, truly, was to see Harrison Ford and Karen Allen together again. And how much they have aged. They still have their touch. But it was definitely a good thing they injected a little young blood into the film via Shia LaBeouf. Both Ford and Allen are a little slow on the uptake these days. But then, aren't we all?
It isn't that age is all that big a deal. After all, you're only as old as you feel. But it is proof that even our celebrity icons are not immune to growing older.
Oh, they can have themselves nipped and tucked until they look like an alien (a la Joan Rivers), but none of them can beat the clock. Just like the rest of us.
After watching the movie a number of times, it is regrettable to admit that it is time to retire Indiana Jones. He's apparently been through a lot and he's looking awfully tired. No matter how good he still looks or the fact that he hasn't lost his touch. He's still a man of action, can still get things done, can still hunt down those artifacts. He just looks tired.
Even though I immensely enjoyed watching the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, a part of me was exhausted just from watching it. Not exhausted from the action, but from watching the actors labor through the scenes. It was kind of like watching someone wind up an old Victrola and never quite able to get it up to speed.
I love Indiana Jones and the characters the movies portray.
So I never thought I would hear myself say this. But, hang up the hat, Indie. Enjoy your retirement. Please.
October 22, 2008
Reality Shows? Get Real
Television has come a long way since the fifties. "I Love Lucy," "The RIfleman," "Maverick," "Bonanza," "What's My Line?" and "I've Got A Secret" have given way to the likes of "Survivor," "Dancing with the Stars," "Worst Week," and "The Price is Right."
It's a good thing cable offers Nick at Nite and TVLand with some of those old shows in syndication.
I only watch five television shows: "NCIS," "CSI," "The Mentalist," "Eleventh Hour," and "Ghost Whisperer." You'll never catch me watching sitcoms or reality tv shows. Notice these shows are character- and plot-driven; their premise actually has a purpose. As opposed to those revenue-driven, sensationalistic reality shows. They are also written with intelligence and don't "talk down" to an audience, but rather they assume their audience also has some degree of intelligence.
I suppose they have a purpose as well. After all, some people, after spending a day at a nine-to-five job, would rather watch something with mindless entertainment value than to watch a show from which they may actually learn something. Or one that may get them involved in character development or plot synopsis. If you don't want to think, a reality show certainly fills the bill.
Personally, I would rather not watch a show where people are stabbing each other in the back, plotting against each other, conniving, bitter, viscious, gossipping and two-faced all for the explicit purposes of greed, ratings and entertainment value.
I get enough of that at the office.