Censored

When I was in high school, the bane of my summertime existence was the day that the reading lists arrived. I took accelerated English (freshman and sophomore years) and Advanced Placement English (junior and senior years), so summer reading assignments were a sad, inevitable occurrence that I just had to suck up and bear. Kind of like periods.

Junior year was the year that our reading lists exploded, expanding from 2 or 3 books to around 7 or 8. I love to read, I've made that clear before, but there's something about homework over summer vacation that made every indignant bone in my body stand up and say "Hey! No fair! I want to sleep until noon and then watch a movie and then go over to my friend's house and smoke some pot and eat inordinate amounts of Taco Bell!" Healthy, I know.

The summer reading lists were also a big pain in the ass because you never knew which books you were going to study first once school started. What's the point of reading a book in July if you're not even going to get to it in class until after mid-terms when you're just going to have to read it again because you'll have forgotten everything by that point? What was that thing I was saying about no fair?

Now that I live in California, I keep tabs on what's going on in my hometown by checking out Indystar.com every morning, the website for the Indianapolis Star newspaper. When I looked at it this morning, a headline caught my attention: "District pulls book out of students hands." Ignoring the lack of punctuation (copy editors, where?) in the title I clicked in to the story because I was kind of intrigued: was it a specific student that forcibly had a book pulled out of its hands? Was the district being a big bully and knocking books out of nerdy kids' hands in the hallway like in movies and TV shows? Or were they being a big douche and telling students that they couldn't read a certain book? DING DING DING WE HAVE A WINNER.

My alma mater is censoring Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison from junior AP English class.

People, people, people. Song of Solomon was on our reading list when I took junior AP English, oh, let's see, nine years ago. I THINK I TURNED OUT OK. I don't smoke pot anymore. Apparently some parent got mad that the book has (oh no!) sex and (eek!) violence and (oh, Lawdy, save us!) profanity. Profanity?!?!?!?! WHATEVER SHALL WE DO NOW? Our sad little Puritanical hearts and minds just can't take it!

I'm sure the parent in question has no problem with his/her son or daughter having their own TV and computer with an internet connection in his/her bedroom. Or unlimited text messaging on their cell phone. Guess what, Mom and Dad? Your kid knows what sex is, is probably already doing it, and I dare you to check their text messages because you know what? YOUR KID IS SEXTING.

This is just totally unbelievable to me. What's even more incredible is that this book has been on the reading list for that class for over 12 years (my sister read it when she took that class two years before me), and only now some parent complains. It's nice to see this regression of open-mindedness after over a decade of that book being taught with no problems. Oh wait, it's not nice, it's hugely and thoroughly disappointing and disgusting. If I recall correctly, we read A Catcher in the Rye in the same class. WANT TO JUMP ON THE BANDWAGON AND BAN THAT ONE TOO?

What makes me even madder is that I owe so much to that AP English class. Because of that class, and others like it, I was able to complete my bachelor's degree in three years instead of four, saving me I don't even know how many thousands of dollars in student loans. I went into college as a sophomore because I had earned so much college credit from those classes. And I got a 5 on that particular AP test, as did a ton of my classmates, because the woman that taught that class, the woman that still teaches that class, was no-nonsense awesome and new how to teach students about literature. I know for a fact that she's not in that classroom sensationalizing sex and violence in a book; she's in there giving those students an education and showing how it illustrates a story of racism and struggle and heartbreak.

I think these parents should be more worried about when their kids get to senior AP English and get that one teacher who only thinks about sex all day every day and relates every single sentence ever written in every work of literature to sex. Why is the knight green in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight? BECAUSE IT SYMBOLIZES SEX. What was Chaucer talking about in this part of The Canterbury Tales? SEX. Why is the author of this short story talking about the moon? BECAUSE HE'S HORNY AND WANTS LOTS OF SEX.

Protect your kids from that, you pervert. Oh, and by the way, parents? Ever hear of a library? Your kid can still read that book whenever he or she wants.

Movie critic

Having nothing to do this Saturday, Edgar and I decided to head to Blockbuster and rent a few movies. We ended up with three. Two of them (Pirate Radio and Crazy Heart) were excellent. Phillip Seymour Hoffman rocks my world.

Needing to also fall prey to pop culture phenomenons, when they were out of Avatar we decided to give old New Moon a try. Not because we were expecting a great feat in cinematic marvels, but because we were looking for a laugh and it seemed like a good choice.

And oh boy, did we laugh.

And also kind of gagged a little at the Mormons-hate-gays allegory:

On being a werewolf--

Bella: "Well, why can't you just stop?"
Jacob: "It's not a lifestyle choice!" (read: "Like being gay is!")

Kind of odd since a bunch of guys that look like they spend way too much time in the gym and at the tanning bed spend a lot of the movie running around in tight wet denim shorts. Way to stick to your guns, there, Mormon writer lady! I also like the nice touch that they flew on VIRGIN America airlines. Hello hidden agendas!

Links

The Coolist - Abandoned Places: 10 Creepy, Beautiful Modern Ruins

I love finding features like this. There's just something about abandoned, desolate buildings that make me always want to know more.

Wondering

Why must the caffeine be so sooooooooo good?

As it flashes before my eyes

Edgar and I have sort of developed a routine of going to this awesome Mongolian barbecue restaurant in Manhattan Beach every other Saturday afternoon. This place puts most other restaurants in its genre to shame by the fact that it has a much wider selection of vegetables and meat and it's all-you-can-eat at lunch, when usually lunch is a one time trip at these kinds of places. So basically, you know, AWESOME. Edgar's brother and mother decided to join us this weekend, and that is where all hell breaks loose.

The Toyota Long Beach Grand Prix was happening this weekend, and we live in Long Beach about seven blocks away from part of the track, so put two and two together. No parking. However the street in front of our building has meter parking, but with only a two hour limit, so there are always spaces out front. We had his mother and brother pick us up out front with the plan being that his brother would drive us all to the restaurant; the idea was that neither Edgar or I would have to give up the parking spots that our cars were in and we wouldn't have to search for a space when we got back.

This is the part where Edgar fails to tell me that his brother, who is now 34, barely passed his driving test when he originally got his license.

And apparently failed to ever get better.

And the only time I've ever ridden in a car driven by his brother up to this point was on a trip back from Solvang a few years ago where I was drunk and asleep in the back seat before we ever left the parking lot.

The street in front of our building is one-way. The nearest freeway on-ramp is one block up and several blocks back in the other direction. Our building is also very close to an intersection, the intersection that you would ideally turn left at to head to that block up where the freeway entrance is. So Edgar tells his brother to wait until all of the cars finish going past and then to get all the way over to the left to turn left at the light. And his brother is all "Man, I have to get all the way over to the left?!??" and we're all "Yeah, it's not a big deal."

Except when it is a big deal and someone doesn't bother to check his mirrors to see if any cars are coming before blindly peeling out to cross three lanes of traffic and almost sideswiping three cars in the process. WAY TO GO, BRO. And all of us are like "Oh my god, what are you doing?!" and he's just "Oh, I didn't see them." Because that makes it all right, apparently? So then he takes off to go one more block to catch the left turn, and my god, when he made that left turn I thought I was going to die, because as he turned into the lane he did one of those things where the car is wiggling back and forth like he had no control of it. And I'm all "Uh, excuse me, what is so hard about driving in the middle of your lane?" Same thing at the next left turn. I close my eyes and start taking deep breaths.

Then we're on the freeway. Dear god, the freeway. He drives a Civic. We drive a Civic. I know what "normal" feels like in a Civic. This is not normal. These cars do not fight you to stay in the middle of the lane. You don't have to drive like you're an actor on a TV show and wiggle the steering wheel back and forth. If you do that in one of these cars, you're weaving back and forth across your lane. God, please help me.

And then I start thinking ahead, because I know that the 710/405 interchange is coming up. And I know that this interchange will surely kill me, because 1) it's one of those really circular interchanges where you have to slow way down in order for centrifugal force to not make you fly off the curve and 2) there's hardly any room to merge onto the 405 before you're all of a sudden going back on the 710 in the opposite direction.

And sure enough, we hit that interchange with the posted recommended speed of 25, which means normal people would take it at 35-40, but which my brother-in-law was taking at 60. Where he over-corrected so much that both of the wheels on the right side of the car went over the curb on the shoulder. Every person in the car besides my brother-in-law has grabbed their "Oh shit!" handles (you know, those handles above the door that you can use to help get in or out of the car?), I'm clenching Edgar's thigh, his mother is squealing, and I'm starting to think of all of the things that I wanted to do in life before I died that I'm never going to get to do and how I really don't want the song playing on the radio as I die to be "Sex on Fire" by the Kings of Leon.

All of a sudden we're on the 405, and of course on this Saturday, this part of the 405 has about double the amount of cars and traffic that it normally does for that hour. And his brother then proceeds to wiggle all about his lane for the next 10 miles, never seeming to notice the brake lights in front of him until the last second and at times inexplicably accelerating despite those brake lights.

And I know this whole post makes me sound like I'm one of those drivers, you know the ones, the ones that sit practically on top of their steering wheels and drive 2 miles an hour under the speed limit at all times and accelerate at such a slow pace and brake so far in advance that if you are driving behind them you think your head is going to explode. But I'm totally not. I'm not one of those people. I drive fast and I sometimes follow a lot closer than I should, but I'm a good enough driver to do that without endangering myself and those around me. BUT THIS GUY IS A FUCKING MANIAC. I don't understand how it's possible that he's never been in a car accident.

As we miraculously arrived at the restaurant in one piece, I stumbled out of the car, grabbed my husband's shirt, stared him down, and said "I don't care what excuse you have to use, you will not let him drive us home." Never again. Never ever ever again.

My brother-in-law almost killed me this weekend.

FU FB

Thank you, South Park. I know I'm a little slow in getting this post up, mainly because I'm thanking the show for an episode that it aired almost a week ago, but I have a Tivo, and so I watch things on my own schedule.

Last week's episode took a swing at Facebook, and it didn't disappoint. It hit the nail right on the head and was basically like they took the list of reasons that I have in my head as to why I do not/will not use Facebook and made a whole episode about it. I'll say it outright: I hate Facebook.

Facebook is stupid.

I'll readily admit that when I was in college, what feels like a million years ago, that I had a Facebook page for about six months. Then life got busy and I went a few months without logging into it, and when I finally did again, it had turned into Stalker-Central. There were all of a sudden these news feeds, and so-and-so is now friends with so-and-so which didn't really matter because you had no idea who this other so-and-so was, and people could send you presents and it was all just very confusing and overwhelming and time consuming and it was no longer a good thing. Plus I was sick of getting messages from mouth-breathers saying "You have really pretty eyes, will you go out with me?" No, I will not go out with you. So that was the end of Facebook for me. Deleted.

And then all of a sudden a couple of years ago, Facebook just blew up and now MY GRANDMOTHER HAS A FACEBOOK PAGE. My seventy-three year old grandmother. And my fifty-five year old father. And my sixty-one year old mother-in-law. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD? And everyone is so obsessed with it and so concerned about who their friends are and how many friends they have and updating their statuses and playing some stupid farm game WHEN THEY AREN'T EVEN FARMERS and it's just reached this level of ridiculousness and prevalence that is just way too much for me.

I'm too lazy to pick up a phone and call most people that I know, but I don't fake it by being some one's cyber-friend. I'm perfectly okay with what that says about me: I'M TOO LAZY TO CARE ABOUT YOU. Clicking "Accept" to make someone your friend on Facebook does not make them any more your friend than just plain old screening your calls does. It requires no effort.

And newsflash: that person that you haven't spoken to since junior high? THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PICTURES THAT YOU POSTED. THEY'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING.

Never a good thing

You know what is never a good thing? Waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and then as you're stumbling in the dark to put some flip flops on (because the goddamn cat seems to think LITTER PARTY every time the lights go out and then before you know it you're barefoot with cat litter stuck between your toes when all you innocently wanted to do was pee without searing your eyeballs by turning the bathroom light on) deciding that you're thirsty and taking a drink of water out of the bottle that you have next to the bed, because as you start to fall over from losing your balance because that's the kind of thing that you don't have in the middle of the night, you might just sneeze and spray your mouthful of water, along with a nice quantity of snot, all over your pillow.

That? That's never a good thing.

For our eternal souls

As is evident from my last post, Edgar and I participated in his agonizing agreement with his mother on Easter and went to church with her. Good ol' Catholic Church on Easter Sunday for a girl who is in no way Catholic. Who gets nothing out of these services except extreme annoyance at the whole stand-up, sit-down, nah just kidding stand-up again routine that these people have going on.

I'm not joking. Of an hour long service, we spent over 40 minutes on our feet. WHAT IS THE POINT OF THE FUCKING PEWS? Get rid of those and you could really pack more people in on the one day of the year when the people who are too fucking lazy and/or really don't care enough to go to church any other day of the year decide that they better take one for the team lest they end up in eternal hellfire. And then promptly forget about it the next day until Easter of the following year.

And I hate that I can be counted among those hypocritical people. I do deflect some of the blame from myself, though, since I don't actually go there for the experience of being at church, but because I'm only there because my husband made a bargain with his mom to make her get off his back about how he doesn't go to church. GUESS WHO DOESN'T HOLD UP HER END OF THE BARGAIN? Plus the fact that these rare church-going days occur on the holidays of Easter, Mother's Day, and Christmas Eve, days that we would then spend with his parents anyways, and so I'm pretty much forced into going to church with them because otherwise I would be that anti-social bitch sitting alone for an hour at his parents' house while waiting for them to get back. Plus I don't want Edgar to have to go through it alone.

Forget what anyone else tells you. THAT is love, my friends.

Oh, and this year we were ever-so-lucky that Section 5 Paragragh 2 Line 3 of this church-going agreement came into play, because we had the [mis]fortune for his mother's birthday to fall on a Sunday in January. And apparently when her birthday is on a Sunday, it becomes a church Sunday. GOODY. A Sunday that this year happened to fall two days after the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. SUPER GOODY. Which means that this pro-choicer had to listen to the beginning of a sermon damning the rights of women to have control over their reproductive systems. Luckily Edgar hates listening to things like that as well and was all "Sorry, Mom, we're outta here."

Wow, this post quickly went somewhere I was not intending it to go.

Mistaken identity

While introducing me to a friend at church yesterday, my mother-in-law said that my name was Tammy.

Tammy is the name of an ex-girlfriend of my husband's from over 6 years ago. He's referred to her several times as crazy.

I'm not sure if I should be more concerned about the fact that my mother-in-law (WHO I LIVED WITH FOR NINE MONTHS) is confusing my name with a crazy person's or with what this says about the state of her memory at 61 years old.