sheep dispenser

There is little that compares to witnessing a three year old having a complete meltdown as evidence that not becoming a parent was a wise choice. Luckily for everyone within earshot, I didn't pretend or imagine that there was anything I might do. Knowing my limits allowed me to almost completely detach from the screaming, hyperventilating, and throwing. Mother Kathy managed very well and brought the storm to a successful calm and with greater patience than I could ever muster. I supposed decades teaching middle school science is good preparation.

This same middle schoolteacher, ex-clown disposition toward the world also explains why she carries in her car a toy sheep that dispense jelly beans. While I sometimes wish I could inflict such off-color projects upon children, at least in this situation I was an admirer and not an instigator. On the other hand, perhaps such tendencies on my part explain why few nieces and nephews ever visit and those that do so make trek only rarely.

Picture 1 shows the key objects: (A) an enthused child, (B) a sheep dispenser (head tilted to reveal the cavity) and (C) a supply of Jelly Bellies. Only a few people in this world know that the confection is this superhero's Kryptonite. An open container is just a few hours from being an empty one. Fortuitously, I also am forgetful and hid this container in my own office after receiving it for Christmas. So out it comes and now Molly and I are debating which beans are the right color. She gets the joke because white ones and red ones are wrong. For you should know that the sheep will dispense beans from an opening just below its tail. Browns and blacks would be ideal -- and the little squirt knows it!

Very little training was required to prompt Molly to begin dispensing beans. Pressing down on the sheep's bag forced the legs into the body, the tail to lift, and the bean to pop out. Bean after multi-colored bean. And since it was a gift to me, there was no struggle about whether it would remain in Connecticut. I am somewhat disturbed to discover that there are many varieties of such toys available for sale. But I am grateful for an unusual stocking stuffer idea for my distant nieces and nephews.

hick vs. southern

I may need to reconsider the possibilities associated with southern-ishness. Without southern gentility and graciousness, I suspect that I may have overreached. In my hometown, there were not any cotillions. There were no southern belles or men dressed in white suits (except for on the Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets rolling around in pickup truck beds). Yes, there were biscuits aplenty. But those were at all-you-can-eat buffets -- which were available as breakfast, lunch and supper at the same joint. Labeling state routes with letters may have more to do with the an effort to avoid confusing the locals with numbers (or ciphers). In actuality, there appears to be a legacy of hillbilly and hick-ishness. Instead of the endeariig drawl that can rival an Irish maiden's accent, we were blessed with Foghorn Leghorn as the voice that penetrated our skulls.

There were live bluegrass music performances to accompany the Sunday morning church programs on the teevee. Anything contained within our skins was touching our innards. At the mini-mart, there were 6 varieties of leaf chewing tobacco for sale. They sold gum to kids in containers the same shape and dimensions as a Skoal can. Many men buy their clothes at the hardware store ... perhaps because that is where wide and rugged suspenders are sold. The list goes on but after a bit, it seems downright silly. For a visitor, it all could seem quaint. For a local, it all seems just fine and dandy. But for escapees, it all seems a little too familiar and frightening at the same time. I would have to think twice before mentioninng Obama in mixed company. But I could hear the prices for hog bellies and corn futures during the noon radio news, something that is not as easy to obtain in New England.

my southern-ishness

It started with new reports about a tornado that hit our hometown in mid-May. A local feller was interviewed and his twang made us look at each other with the question about whether that is how we sounded. It didn't seem like it was possible. But the recent trip back to Missouri revealed some southern inside of us. To a certain extent, it's similar to learning that I descended from an exotic race from a previous generation. As startling as such a discovery was for us (admitting that it is a geographic inheritance and not biological) it helped clear things up a bit and pull together some odd pieces.

There were lots of signs, literal and figurative. One example is the hydrological feature that others would call a stream is what our kin refer to as a crick. Another was the somehow familiar yet odd realization that state roads in Missouri are identified by letters: Route P ran northeast out of town and Route K was a major north-south road west of Kirskville. Culinarily, I was struck by how often biscuits were available and that coffee cups held hot brown water that had very little taste. Religion, as in fundamental Christian religiosity, was everywhere (someone tried witnessing to me at a reception) and most everyone was polite and cheerful. I was startled by how quickly we fell into conversation in the car about the scenery: Is that a pasture or are they not farming that plot? That has to be wheat -- and over there, the corn won't be knee high by July Fourth.

Now I won't go so far as to suggest that we are "pure" southern. There are many distinguishing features of the Old South that don't apply. We don't have a rich literature base with the likes of Faulkner (Twain: maybe but he did all his writing after moving away). Nor are we as steeped in history. We can lay claim to some artists. Paintings such as this one really capture the agricultural richness and the angry storms that sweep the countryside. This image of yellowed corn indicates that this was an autumn scene. And our arrival in St Louis airport was closely followed by a vicious thunderstorm that drove the rain sideways, lightning that tricked the streetlights into turning off, and the amazingly dense air the next morning. It was so reminiscent of our youth but simultaneously strange. I noticed for the first time how dark green the roadside oaks were compared to the maples that dominate the New England landscape. Distinct and special -- a perspective made possible only by an extended absence.

slim jims and nitro-glycerine

Not wanting to make fun of the death and destruction, but this news item really makes me wonder what they put in these things. I think I tried one once but much prefer the flattened jerky-style "meat products" over these mysterious cylinders. Don't ask me why I take comfort in something that looks like it was stripped from the outside of a tree as opposed to a slim and glistening think stick of protein dynamite.

An explosion at the factory in Garner, North Carolina, which makes Slim Jim meat snacks, caused extensive damage to the roof, Garner Police Sergeant Joe Binns said today in an interview. Deaths have been reported and hazardous-material teams were on the scene, Binns said. … The company makes brands like Chef Boyardee, Hunt's tomato sauce, ACT II popcorn and Hebrew National hot dogs.

I guess I suspected there was some ingredient that induced ... um ... gastronomic explosions. But I never suspected that the detonations might be an attendant risk of the manufacturing process. Do you suppose the price of Slim Jims is going to spike, at least in this part of the country that relies upon the North Carolina factory? Or perhaps the shelf-life is so long that it may be decades before the culinary and economic impact of this incident influences our daily lives.

the DSM & the U

PRESS RELEASE (10-June-09) — In collaboration with the American Psychiatric Association, the University has reach an agreement to serve as a content validating site for document mental incapacities. Because of criticisms that the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Disorders (DSM) lacks empirical support in certain areas, the APA has been seeking to substantiate their classification system with field-based evidence. "We felt your university would be a rich opportunity for investigation," stated Darrell Kupfer, co-chair of the DSM-V Task Force. Dr Kupfer's group is responsible for updating the current document that serves a seminal reference document for psychiatrists worldwide.

Said Community Outreach Director Angela Sazerac, "A soon as we were approached as a potential study site, I knew we'd be crazy to turn them away." Trained participant-observers from the APA will surreptitiously visit the target facilities in the role of students and non-tenured faculty to record their interactions with university staff. As most members of the university family recall, the southside campus (now used for graduate dorms) was once the site of a residential care center. Once asylums in the region were discontinued, this valuable piece of property was acquired by the University. Thus, our connections to the mentally incompetence is a cherished part of our heritage.

Specific departments and offices at the University will be observed for the following mental disorders:

• Malingering: fabricating or exaggerating the symptoms of mental or physical disorders for a variety of motives, including getting financial compensation. (Public Relations Office and the Grant Procurement Center).
• Generalized anxiety disorder (GAD): excessive, uncontrollable and irrational worry about events disproportionate to the actual source of concern. This excessive worry often interferes with daily functioning, as individuals suffering GAD typically catastrophize, anticipate disaster, and become overly concerned about everyday matters such as health issues, money, death, family, friend, digestive and/or work difficulties. (Promotion and Tenure Committees).
• Hypersomnia: recurring episodes of excessive daytime sleepiness with compulsion to nap repeatedly during the day, often at inappropriate times such as at work, during a meal, or in conversation. (Library Services and all Administrative Offices).

"I knew we'd be crazy to turn them away" ~ A.Sazerac

• Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD): a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and inability to empathize; turning inward for gratification rather than depending on others, and excessive preoccupation with issues of personal adequacy and prestige (Tenured Faculty & Emerti Club).
• Paraphilia: powerful and persistent sexual interests in other than copulatory behavior with phenotypically normal, consenting adult human partners (Agricultural School and Division of Intramural Athletics).
  
• Dissociative Fugue: disorder characterized by reversible amnesia for personal identity, including full or partial loss of memory, personality or other key aspects of individuality. The state is usually short-lived (hours to days), but can last months or longer. Dissociative fugue usually involves travel or wandering, and is sometimes accompanied by the establishment of a new identity (Study Abroad Office and Sabbatical Coordination Center).

Due to stipulations associated with Human Subjects Research, actual dates for the start and conclusion of the site visits will not be announced.

policeman pedagogy

Sunday morning, drunk guy is trying to parallel park in front of our house. He kills the engine and gets up on the curb several times. If he'd stop, get out and stagger away there'd be no story. Instead, he back and backs into and up onto another car in the street. And then he peels away. A 911 call. They catch him (almost up onto sidewalks along Main Street) on an otherwise peaceful Sunday morning. A cop comes buy to document the damage to the hit car. And since it's a nice day, he stays to chat.

First he wants to assure me that the guy is in custody and will go to jail. Then he says this beats his earliest DUI arrest by a half hour. And he shakes my hand to tell me I did a good thing. Otherwise, the driver might have killed somebody. None of this really matters … except that he took the time. On one level he was maybe just working me, trying to get me to be that citizen who is quick to call in when there's trouble. But then I realized maybe I was being schooled in a good way.

Part of what the policeman was doing was trying to build rapport and relationships with the community. I never much thought about that before and I never really understood why "beat cops" were such a nice part of cities. But when the shit comes down and the police must act, their efforts are probably successful to the degree they are assisted and supported by citizens. In the end, it really didn't matter that he was unable to offer an easy solution to my spouse's query about how to stop cars from honking instead of bothering to ring a doorbell. What did become apparent is that this policeman was teaching us how to help him do his job and make us happy citizens at the same time.

In another context, Zero was dismayed that he was being treated as an educational expert as if he knew the answers. I now wonder whether just taking the time to talk about the situation might not be good pedagogy. Having conversations, and dare I suggest this could be social capital investing, might just be a reasonable way to spread expertise and educate others.

uncertain origin ... perhaps obsolete

Two are three times over the past few days, I've been addressed as "sir." Once was when one of three high school-aged boys on a street corner almost bumped into me as I tried to walk around them: "Sorry, sir. My fault." I assured him it wasn't a big deal that we almost bumped. But the term stung. It happened again as one of the Trainers at the gym was trolling around looking for clients: "How's it going, sir." I told him I was good. Truth was, since I was finishing my last set of exercises, I was already wondering if this was going to be a two or three ibuprofen night. I made it clear he wasn't going to pry dollars from me just to yell: "one more push -- you can do it."

I don't know whether I am showing my age somehow as of late. Gray beard stubble? A deepening groove from my eye to my chin? Walking unsteadily (beer one time, over-exertion during the second)? I wondered if I was coming across as a "codger" and tried to look up that term. Several online dictionaries were unsure and it wasn't until I went to Wikipedia that I found this:

"an amusingly eccentric or grumpy and usually elderly man"

Given my more senior colleagues, basically that describes most non-females over age 50 -- a benchmark I have not yet reached. But "to codge"? There is not good explanation. Apparently, "to cadge" is to carry the little platform that falcons rest on. Can't say I even imagined doing that nor believing that such an activity required its own label. But still, such a duty is not specific to the grumpy or the eccentric.

Regardless, we can envision what an old codger looks like even though we may not know the etymology. What I do belive/understand is that codgers drink martinis and I am out of gin. Time to slip on my non-lace sneakers, hitch up my droopy pants, and shuffle down the block to get a cheap bottle from that whipper-snapper on the corrner. He calls me sir and I'll throw someting. Unless I can't catch my breath from the walk.