Monthly Archives: March, 2014

Ten Things to Do With a Picked Booger

I was just thinking – hey, I’m a Mommy and a Blogger, yet where are my Mommy craft project posts?  I have let all you guys down.  So I came up with one, with the help of Twindaddy, who is a Daddy and a Blogger, but also does not do craft projects for kids cause lazy!  Here are 10 ideas.

What to do with these boogers?  Help!

What to do with these boogers? Help, Supermom Alice!

1. Fling it at someone.

2. Smear it on a cracker as a snack.

3.  Wipe it under someone’s desk.

4.  Drop it in the salad bar.

5. Mold it into a little bunny.

6. Stick it on your cheek like a beauty mark.

7. Put it in a kleenex . . . nah.

8. Start a collection on the side of the couch. See how many you can pile on before they fall off or someone notices.

9. Stick it in your enemy’s taco.

10. Swear it is in the shape of the Virgin Mary and have people make pilgrimages to see it.

Anyone have any booger craft projects to add?

My MLS Degree: An Experiment in Abnormal Psychology: The Final Chapter!

The saga finally ENDS.  Click here for part one, two, and three.

To the peeps still with me . . . . anyone?  Anyone?

To the peeps still with me . . . . anyone? Anyone?

Second Fall Semester (Aug 2009 – Dec 2009) Portfolio of Doom

·         Last classes!  I sign up for Advanced Children’s Literature and YA (yes, more kiddie lit.  They never said what electives we had to sign up for.  I went for easy.)  Also, I take the dreaded Library Management with Dr. S.

·         I die laughing over Dr S’s rules for class.  My favorite: We do not service patrons.  That is a sexual act.  Haha.  Clearly the poor man has been there too long.

·         Immediately the stupid people in class start making idiotic comments.  I wait for Dr. S.  to pounce.  He doesn’t.  And some of them are just asking for it.

·         Advanced Kid Lit is run exactly the same way as Multicultural Kid Lit and regular Kid Lit.  I love Dr. V.’s classes.  Especially how she tells us to remember the honor policy and not use our books on the quizzes.  She had to be kidding right?  Not that I really need the book, but it’s fun to go wild and flout the rules.

What?

What?

·         Now is the time for the PORTFOLIO.  It’s like Thesis, only you don’t get two semesters to take it and you do it along with two other classes.  If you don’t pass it, you don’t get your degree.  Since this is such a major deal, they decide to send us to Denton for the Fall Festival on a lark.  We are going to learn all about the PORTFOLIO here.

·         We learn a whole lot.  Like how to get confused.  First they put us up at a hotel that is all the way across Denton and costs 3 times as much as the ones that are close by the university.  My poor mother and I get so lost we nearly lose it.  Finally she dumps me at the restaurant with my luggage.

·         We spend the first evening griping about how much we hate our professors.  Well, most of us.  A few nerds go and do actual productive homework.

·         At the Fall Festival (which sounds way more festive than it is) we are lectured on how the PORTFOLIO works.  And we get more confused.  Also, Kathy points out that over 50 percent of students fail the PORTFOLIO the first time.  How helpful!

·         From what I can tell from the slide show (that could have just been emailed to us) we have to put together some work products that go along with the professional development paper that is a rehash of the professional agenda which is a paper full of B.S. about what we’re going to do with our degrees.  I personally plan on curing Cancer and building huts in Africa.

Me after Library Science Degree.

Me after Library Science Degree.

·         I decide that, according to the paper, I’m going to be a youth librarian, since I’ve taken all these kiddie lit courses.  It sure sounds better than admitting I took them because they were easier.  And that I don’t actually like children that much.

·         Kathy decides that we should give Dr. G. a gift to thank her for all the insanity.  When no one goes for it, she says it’s a group gift and demands 10 bucks from each one of us.  I pretend my wallet is in my other red cohort bag.

·         We do a leadership activity involving a personality quiz using a scary Satanic-looking Pentagram.  This is supposed to make being a leader so much easier.  I’m sure that selling one’s soul to Satan makes things infinitely easier.  It sure explains my boss.

Per-so-na-li-ty, Per-so-na-li-ty!

Per-so-na-li-ty, Per-so-na-li-ty!

·         People organize themselves into different numbers relating to their personalities.  Unfortunately, some people do not know themselves.  At all.  My boss puts herself in with another cohort, peace loving hippie Jane.  Ah, of course.

·         Dr. Golden explains that she is a “1” because she’s a perfectionist.  This is very true.  She never stops screwing up until she’s got it done exactly right.

·         We get back home and start working on our PORTFOLIOS.  Dr. G. offers to proofread our papers and give suggestions.  She looks at one page of mine and tells me I’m totally off the mark.  But not how.  Great!

·         My boss goes into full on whacked out panic mode.  While I’ve always known she’s nuttier than a fruitcake, most of the staff is now giving her the same berth as one would a live hand grenade.  Methinks she’s worried that she’s not smart enough to pass.  Bwahahaha.

The F stands for Fantastic!

The F stands for Fantastic!

·         No one does much on their regular course work.  Freaking out over the PORTFOLIO takes precedence.  My boss has my 6th grade English teacher proofread her paper.  God rest that woman’s soul.  Afterward, my boss has to paste on a smile and put back together the shreds of her “paper”.  Aws!

·         The papers go in.  We wait for our scores like people do for biopsy results.  There is just no way any of us can survive doing this thing again.  They finally send back the results with much fan fare.  Next to my name are the words: PASS.  No comments.  Nothing.  Just PASS.  I find out my boss passed as well.  Clearly, they exaggerated the difficulty of passing this thing.

·         Next comes preparation for graduation.  We discover that they aren’t paying a dime for graduation.  Most of the cohort is a-okay with paying for silly gowns, a hotel room, travel expenses, etc. to stand in line for hours and walk across a stage.  Two other mutineers and I say to hell with that.  I’ve already been through 3 ceremonies.  People are bored with me graduating by now.

·         I am invited into an honor society.  For 100 bucks everyone can know how smart I am.  Or they can just look at my transcript for free.  I figure there is some sort of intelligent process to this, but nope, they just draw names randomly from a list.  Which means some people with 3.75 get in while some 4.0s are left out.  Makes sense to me.  Some cohorts are really mad that they don’t get the cheesy honor cord.  Those are useful.  My girls used mine from my last degree as a jump rope.

Uses for Honor Cords . . .

Uses for Honor Cords . . .

·         The message boards get more and more tedious.  Some fellow students in Library Management start talking about making library tree houses.  I guess they’re going to have Tinkerbell checking out the books?  Dr. S lets that go.  He should have insulted those people for their own good and the good of society.  The dean has apparently had him fixed somehow.

·         Last up in that class is a group project that the group members – one is named “Missie” – take way too seriously.  I know it’s too late in the semester for him to read it.  My daughter is ill and in the hospital.  I’m still expected to do my share.  Good luck with that.

·         I have several job applications in but no interviews or offers yet.  I have to fax a paper to the grad school saying I’m not going to graduation.  My boss interrogates me on my use of the fax machine.  Despite not having a job lined up, I give my notice the next day.  It’s either that or the Looney Bin.

·         My boss takes such delight in my notice that she fails to realize that I work more hours than any other part timer and never take vacations.  They have no idea how to fill in all the hours I worked.  Merry Christmas!

Nanner, nanner!

Suckerrrrrrrrrs!

·         Graduation time!  The others take off.  I stay home and relax for the first time in a couple of years.  I find out later that my boss says that she has NO IDEA why I might have quit and is CONCERNED.  The other cohorts are deeply suspicious of us mutineers who didn’t go to the ceremony and have FUN.   Oh, well, don’t have to see them again.

·         Oh, wait.  There’s still one more TLA.  Hey, didn’t we graduate already?

A-gain?

A-gain?

TLA 2010: FUN with Leadership

·         The previous December, I received an early Christmas present.  After only a few dozen (it seemed like) interviews, I got offered a job at the university library in Special Collections.  I’m still not totally sure what that is, but since I was ready to mop the floors of the place just to get a position there, I’m thrilled.

·         My new boss turns out to be the polar opposite of Mrs. Satan.  She actually likes my work and tells me so.  My training under the Evil One has not prepared me for this.  It takes me a while to adjust to not getting in trouble every single day.

·         Yet despite having graduated, I’m not completely free – I still have this one last conference with her.   I forgot to check the fine print.  Turns out there’s going to be a leadership conference at TLA just for us.  It’s Tall Texans, only not, because we don’t actually get the title.  Just two days of meetings.  Oh, joy.

Kill meee . . .

Kill meee . . .

·         A fellow cohort Linda – one of the Three Mutineers – and I can’t imagine what leadership skills these wackos are going to impart to us.  We start googling leadership games and laugh ourselves silly.  Possible leadership activities: wrapping ourselves in Saran Wrap, pulling off pieces of toilet paper, sitting on one another’s laps, fighting with pool noodles, butt head tag, and an activity that involves yelling the word “Hooowaa!”  I swear I am not making these up.

·         We make it to the final TLA with the cohort.  This time we are roomed at the Menger Hotel in San Antonio right across from the Alamo.  It is rumored that the upper floors of this hotel are haunted, so my boss and her unfortunate roommate decide to change rooms in hopes of meeting one of the ghosts.  If there were ghosts, I’m sure the ghosts were scared off.

·         The other cohorts start to realize my former boss isn’t quite right.

She's freaking NUTS!

She’s freaking NUTS!

·         At the first meeting, I get to tell everybody about my brand new super job that I love and my awesome boss.  My former boss tries to force a smile, and her face cracks.

·         As it turns out, we don’t get to do any of the fun leadership activities.  Mostly we listen to boring stuff that I can’t remember.  At one point my boss asks if people who are no longer at public libraries should be allowed to be at this activity, or to breathe, or something like that.  She looks right at me.

·         Fellow cohort Linda and I mouth “Hoowaa” to each other during the boring workshop and try not to giggle like eight-year-olds.

·         The leadership meeting finally ends.  Now on to the actual conference.  Weee.

·         I do try to go to as many of the conferences that are related to Special Collections (turns out these are archives) as I can, but most of them turn out fairly useless.  The speakers are not prepared, and don’t even have enough handouts.  It’s like being back in school.

·         I visit the Alamo and realize that it is wedged between several huge hotels.  Kind of takes the mystery and awe out of this symbol of our independence.

It's there somewhere . . .

It’s there somewhere . . .

·         It is next to impossible to catch a shuttle to the conference center, since they only run once or twice a day.  So I get a lot of walking in back and forth.  This involves cutting through a mall, darn the luck.  I discover Macy’s.

·         This time I get a roommate who has to leave early for a funeral.  Sad for her, but happy for me.  I get a room to myself for a while.

·         I run into my former boss over and over, but it gets easier.  I can tell she’s frustrated that I am out from under her thumb.  And happy.  At one point I smile her right out of the room.

·         Finally, TLA ends.  And so does the online MLS experience.  Hooowaaa!

My MLS Degree: An Experiment in Abnormal Psychology Part Three

The saga continues.  Click here for Part One and Part Two.

It keeps going . . . and going . . . like this post!

It keeps going . . . and going . . . like this post!

Second Spring Semester (Jan 2009 – May 2009)  Adventures in Psychosis

My courses are “Public Libraries”, taught by the great Dr. G., and “Children’s Literature” by Dr. V.  I soon start hearing the horror that is the teacher of Library Management – the course I have put off until later.

His name is Dr. S.  Apparently this guy expects unbelievable things like subject / verb agreement and calls people on their idiotic comments.  Gee, what a jerk.

 While most of the others are suffering, I’m reading kid books and writing on another blog.  My boss gives me the evil eye when she sees me check out lots of children’s literature.  My decision to take Kiddie Lit has had the unforeseen benefit of freaking her out.  She is certain I’m after her job now!

I especially like this piece of children's lit.  You know, where the kids kill each other.

I especially like this piece of children’s lit. You know, where the kids kill each other.

I forget most of Public Libraries, except that it was supposedly about how to work in a public library, provided said library was on Saturn.  I did find out that some of the cohort (like my boss) think staff are as expendable as office supplies.  I’m deeply touched.

We are told to create a Disaster Plan.  My library naturally does not have one.  They don’t even have a shovel to remove snow from the sidewalks.  I ask my boss in the cohort what our procedures are in case of disaster, and she tells me to stop trying to copy off of her.  No, really, I’m serious.

My husband had to bring the shovel.

My husband had to bring the shovel.

I’m pretty sure this is the semester where I seriously tick a cohort off with my opinions concerning filtering public access computers.  Unfortunately, I forget that said person has been my roommate at TLA.  Whoops.

I get another roommate who has thus far been a champion in class because she has absolutely no shame or fear when it comes to demanding answers from professors on the message boards.  Her name is Kathy.

Starting to see why they need the booze . . .

Starting to see why they need the booze . . .

Second TLA!  New Verse, Worse Than the First!

Here we go with the TLA Prep Merry-Go-Round . . . again.  Dr. G and her grad assistant Summer insist that we tell them how we plan to travel to TLA and how long we’re staying and when we’re coming and going, etc.  We ask what time we have to be there, what time the program starts and ends, etc.  Summer has to check with Dr. G on that, who in turn has to ask the dean.

We are told again that they need those travel plans right away.  Blindly, we make plane reservations.  I decide to fly in Monday night, since they say that probably we will need to be there on Monday night.

I am informed that there are no rooms on Monday night.  I change my reservations and charge them the difference.

I am told that now there are rooms on Monday night.

Off we go into the . . . God I don't want to know . . .

Off we go into the . . . God I don’t want to know . . .

I decide to book a shuttle to and from the airport this time.  While waiting for my shuttle, I start talking to a woman who turns out to be Dr. Mc.  I barely keep from calling her my pet name for her by accident.

At the hotel, I find out that they have charged me for Monday night.  They start trying to fix it.  I take my stuff up to my room.  Kathy decides that the room is not spiffy enough and gripes until they let us move to another floor.

I find out that Kathy likes my boss.  Her approval rating is shooting down rapidly.

 Another cohort is charged for the entire floor’s rooms – in one night.  The hotel graciously gives her a free breakfast to say “sorry” for taking over 1,000 dollars out of her account.

Free food!  And it only cost a heart attack!

Free food! And it only cost a heart attack!

We have a meeting with Dr. J., Dr. G, and Dr. S.  They’ve decided in their ultimate wisdom that Dr. S. (who doesn’t disguise the fact that he hates us all) would make a great motivational speaker.  After his speech, most of us realize that we aren’t that great.  In fact, we really suck.

The dean tells us not to worry about registration.  There will be plenty of time to register for our classes.

The next day every class on my degree plan – except Library Management, of course, is filled in the first five minutes after registration opens.

I decide not to grab every single book this time, even if it is free.  I’m learning.

Again, I don’t go to very many sessions.  I can’t seem to negotiate my way around the halls fast enough.  One session on Story Times looks promising until the women start clucking and mooing to the ABCs.  A cohort and I run for our lives.

Cluck, cluck, mooo, moooo!

Cluck, cluck, mooo, moooo!

I am talked into trying the Fun Run/Walk.  In the rain.  And nearly die.  But I get a T-shirt and a banana!

Somehow, this TLA seems to last twice as long as the first one.  When I get home, it’s back to work!  Children’s Literature teaches me one important lesson.  There are stupid people all over this university, not just in my cohort program.

I dare complain to Dr. G because I am waitlisted for most of my classes.  She is horrified and tattles on me to the dean who berates me for not being happy with my lot.  For that much trouble, I should have used a few four letter words in my email.

I'm in hellllll!

I’m in hellllll!

Second Summer Session: Summer of Hell Part Two

I get a warning email that they are going to drop our schedules for nonpayment.  Dr. G.  assures us that won’t happen.

The university drops the schedules of every single student.  As it turns out, the university’s incompetence works for me, as I’m able to re-register and get in first for my chosen classes.  Haha, suckers!

This is the first official semester separate from the cohort.  Many of the cohort have panic attacks and start sucking their thumbs.

I’m enrolled in “Multicultural Children’s Literature” and “Youth Programs”.  I take more kid books out of the library.  My boss asks why I don’t help with the programs if I like kiddie lit so much.  I tell her she has never asked me.   She huffs and says I need to show initiative and tell her I want to do storytimes like my coworkers did.

This is totally mulitcultural.   They're gay, and they're penguins!

This is totally mulitcultural. They’re gay, and they’re penguins!

I ask my coworkers who work with storytime if they volunteered for the job.  They look at me like I’ve lost my senses entirely.

Multicultural Children’s Literature is all about respecting other cultures.  By staying the heck away from their literature, you dumb whiteys!

I’m shocked to discover that no library in my area has any books about gay people needed for this course (because gay people are now a race?).  I order some through ILL through our ultra-conservative ILL person.  I have to get my jollies where I can.

My boss decides to take a computer course despite knowing nothing about computers.  She’s mad that I was smart enough to take the easy kiddie lit classes instead.  She has everyone in the library take a quiz on computer literacy for fun.  She and several others pat themselves on the back for getting around 70 percent.  I score 100.

My Dad points out that I just don’t want to live, do I?

Off with her head!

Off with her head!

My “easy” kiddie lit class asks that we film ourselves reading and load said video up to YouTube.  I decide to read to my kids.  The five year old helps out by making sound effects.  The book is The Very Quiet Cricket by Eric Carle.  After this project, I hate The Very Quiet Cricket.  I figure I might as well have read War and Peace instead, since that’s about how long it takes for the video to actually load.

 While my courses are not as demanding, my job becomes more so as my boss gets more unglued with each passing day.  I get so used to being in trouble that I start watching how her veins pop out while she berates me for breathing.  I realize I’m staying in the job partly just to tick her off.

To be continued . . .

My MLS Degree: An Experiment in Abnormal Psychology Part Two

The saga continues.  Check out Part One here.

Feel the excitement!

Feel the excitement!

First Summer Semester (June 2008-August 2008) : Summer of Hell Part One

Two more fun classes!  As if you could get more fun than “Technical Services”, now we have “Collection Development” and “Information Storage and Retrieval”.

We find out that Dr. M. has suddenly taken early retirement.  We are dumped in the capable hands of Dr. G., who barely knows the university.  No problem.

I’m not even sure what Information Storage and Retrieval means.  As it turns out, neither does Dr. A., and she’s the teacher.

I ask my mentor about ISAR.  She groans and says “It’s useless, just survive it.”  I also tell her horror stories about my boss.  Oddly, as the semesters go by, the calls become fewer.

Collection development is taught by . . . a teacher whose name I’ve forgotten.  It might be because I was one of the few who didn’t spend the entire time sucking up to her

In ISAR, we get to set up our first BLOG.  Until now, I’ve never blogged.  Or realized that blog, blogging, blogged were now words in the English language.

WTF, who does this blogging crap?

WTF, who does this blogging crap?

In CD, we have tedious assignments like fake ordering with lots of fake money.  To save time I begin ordering multiple copies of the most expensive materials I can find.  I bet they wouldn’t give me another grant after that.  Not even a fake one.

In ISAR, we continue learning “search procedures” that make no sense and then put our procedures on our blogs.  No one dares suggest that Googling, while not P.C., works a hell of a lot better.

Because two graduate classes are not enough for me, I decide to move from one town to another with my husband and two children who are just about to turn 8 and 4.  My loving boss pouts that I have it easy since I have unpaid Wednesdays off.

My husband starts overtime – which drags out for the entire summer, exactly one day after we move in.  He gets home after 8 each night.  Then I get to start homework!  At one point I drop the children off at a random church for Vacation Bible School and almost forget to pick them up.  Whoops.

At the same time, the library is in the midst of Summer Reading Club.  The hordes of children and desperate parents descend.  I often get the privilege of running the desk not only for the actual story time programs but the multiple two hour rehearsals for the programs.  I’m not exaggerating.  Apparently, the SRC is doing Hamlet.  You’ll never guess which of my bosses is also the children’s librarian!

Also we have animals in the library because patrons love them and the way they smell and make noise and cause allergic reactions.  The cockatiel learns to mimic the scanner beep.  I realize that if the bird learns how to use the scanner, it’s going to take my job

I somehow not only pass but make two As even though I not only don’t think I’ve learned much, I’m fairly certain that my I.Q. has begun to drop.

Beeeeep . . . beeeeeep . . . I'm taking your jobbbbb . . . beeeeep!

Beeeeep . . . beeeeeep . . . I’m taking your jobbbbb . . . beeeeep!

First Fall Semester (Aug 2008 – Dec 2008) : More exercises in futility.

Next up, “Reference” and “Cataloging and Classification”.  I’m excited about Reference since I actually enjoy research.  The only cataloging I’ve heard of thus far is copy cataloging.  At work they let the high school students do it.  After all, who really needs to find a book that badly?

I discover that while I enjoy reference, I enjoy using materials like books and websites that are not ten years old and thus still exist.  Our professor, Dr. Mc., is not inclined to agree.  She shows off a sadistic streak with reference questions that are impossible to find yet only yield 5 points a piece.  I think up a new name for the professor involving “Mc” and “Asshat”.

Cataloging is surprisingly not that bad.  I guess that’s why I forgot the prof’s name – I had no reason to gripe about her constantly. I discover I’m good at cataloging.  Naturally my bosses inform me that no one hires cataloging librarians anymore.

The joy of online learning: I turn in a reference exercise only to discover later that I goofed and sent in the wrong file.  In a very understanding way, she says “You’re screwed.”

Cataloging involves quizzes with no grades.  So I breeze through them with little care.  Other students comment on how “fun” the quizzes are and report that they take them multiple times.  Clearly, these people need Cable.  Or electric shock treatment.

My boss struggles with her homework since her pesky job keeps getting in the way.  She also must keep me under her thumb at all times lest I lead a peasant revolt.  She decides to punish me by not letting me do any new jobs.  Uh okay.

My boss.

My former boss.

My husband brings me dinner and sets it at my computer desk.  He and the rest of the family live somewhere off on the other side of the house.  My kids think it is ridiculous that an entire college could fit into a computer.  I’m inclined to agree.

Students continue to drop out.  Sadly, rarely are they ones I’d like to drop.

The economy tanks.  No one wants librarians.  I feel so secure in my pursuit of this worthwhile degree.  Two more As come my way.  Inflation doesn’t just occur in the economy, at least.

To be continued . . .

My MLS Degree: An Experiment in Abnormal Psychology

Master of Information!  See?  I'm important!

Master of Information! See? I’m important!

As most of you know, I work at a university library. Before I got there, I was a public library underling who worked for a boss some employees nicknamed “Satan”.  Since librarian seemed like a great career choice at the time (I was smoking something), I jumped at the chance to enter a cohort of public librarians who were given a a “free” online degree.  The same grant also allowed us to attend three library conferences.  It sounded like a really great opportunity.  Then I found out my evil boss was also in the program.  And stuff went downhill from there.

I happened to keep a log of my time in the program.  The other day I stumbled upon it, and thought it might serve as a warning to others.  I put it into four parts.  Here’s part one.

I will not detail the joy that was getting into the program in the first place since no one really understood or kept to the rules and procedures (first warning).  Also, I’ll forgo explaining the trials and tribulations of getting enrolled in a university from a distance of over six hours travel compounded by the fact that at this particular university the right hand not only didn’t know what the left hand was doing; it didn’t know that there was a left hand.  I’ll just start with the first part of the program – our orientation in Denton.

I'm excited.  What could go wrong?

I’m excited. What could go wrong?

Orientation Ahoy (January 2008)

·         I make plans to attend orientation with another student from the program.  My certifiable (and I don’t mean degrees here) boss informs me that she too has been accepted into the program and has decided to join us on the six hour car trip.  My coworkers begin penning my obituary.

·         My mother steps in and offers to carpool with me and visit her sister while I’m in the meetings.  She is immediately promoted to sainthood.  My boss expresses (repeatedly) her disappointment in not getting to torture me for hours in a trapped space.

·         I arrive in Denton and have no idea where to go.  I find others who also don’t know.  Little do I know that this will become a pattern from now on.

·         Eventually, we find where to meet.  First off is a “fun” activity involving asking people dumb questions about where they’re from etc in order to be eligible for some prize.  Or something.  I forget now.  But I said screw it and didn’t complete mine.  We are also given nice red bags with our group title on it (though no one can remember what it stands for already) and neato folders and a binder.  I love free stuff.  At this point, I still don’t realize that nothing is ever free.

·         We go to a room with lots of computers.  Dr. M, who seems like an intelligent, amiable individual explains the program. Dr. J, the dean, also speaks to us though we have trouble seeing her over our desks.  We then meet the faculty who deviously appear to be normal humans.  We experiment with computers and the faculty rapidly discover just how technologically stupid the majority of us are.  Dr. M. begins debating early retirement.

·         We meet our pseudo-mom graduate assistant Cherri who plies us with chocolates, most likely laced with something that turns the majority of the group into Stepford Librarians.

·         I’m pretty sure this is where we were first introduced to the concept of “mentors”.  I wonder if they will be training us to be Jedi (help me Obi Wan!) but it turns out they only want to train us to be librarians which is strange since most of the cohort already work as library directors.  Maybe they’ve been doing it wrong all this time.  We meet Dr. G. who has been specially brought here for her expertise in Jedi – er – librarian mentor stuff.

·         We go to the hotel.  I am roomed with another cohort.  They apparently think we are from a very different sort of group because they give us one bed.  Some of the group members have trouble finding their names on the reserve list.  Obviously this is the fault of those silly hotel people.

·         The next morning, the program heads discover there is no free breakfast (totally not their fault either) and so arrange for free full breakfasts for our group.  The hotel room is really nice as well.  Welcome to my parlor, says the spider to the fly!

Hee hee hee oh . . . oh it said annals . . .

Hee hee hee oh . . . oh it said annals . . .

First Spring Semester (Jan – May 2008): The Horror that is Blackboard (Bb)

·         First one bites the dust.  One student quits immediately following orientation.  Naturally she is a member of my “group”

·         I discover there is group work.  In college.  With fellow students miles apart.

·         Except one student – my boss – who is rapidly resembling the Evil Queen from Snow White.  Guess who’s the stepchild?

·         I am put in her group.  Someone in the program hates me.

·         Our first professors are Dr. M. and Dr. B.  Dr. B., who has a fantastic personality in person, has no personality online.  In fact, he repeatedly ceases to exist leaving us to the mercy of his grad assistant, George “Cut and Paste and Good Luck” Yi.

·         No one understands how to use Bb (our online classroom).  What’s with all the links?  Why have so many links that don’t go anywhere and some that go everywhere at once?  Why isn’t homework just put under a homework tab?  Why don’t the links work?  What planet am I on?  We ask George who cuts and pastes the original instructions that no one understands.

·         Eventually, we figure out that Bb is another word for “scavenger hunt”.  Several people have their first nervous breakdowns.  Cherrie becomes chief psychiatrist as well as grad assistant.  She starts counting the days till she graduates.

·         The message board fills to the brim and resembles the Internet at large.  Roughly 1 percent of posts have to do with anything remotely important.  The rest is crap.  You have to click on every one to figure out which is which.

·         I learn that many of my classmates got their bachelor’s degrees from Cracker Jack boxes.  Some don’t understand basic punctuation or grammar.   And naturally, these people are all in my group.

·         The cohort discovers the joy of Wiki and start pages with cell phone numbers and birthdays.  One student begins celebrating our birthdays whether we like it or not with posts on the cohort board.  We all say happy birthday to each other.  Over and over.  This student ends up having to congratulate herself because no one else ever reads the Birthday Wiki but her.

I      A fellow student and I bond over bad bosses (she calls hers “Dead Alien Soul Boss”).  In order to combat the insanity, we take it upon ourselves to entertain the class with our wisecracks on the message boards.  My boss sneers “They sure do think you’re FUNNY, Alice.”  I detect a definite hint of green to her skin.  Heh.

·         My elder daughter spends two nights in the hospital with dehydration.  (My pediatrician says she dehydrates faster than any kid she knows.  Yay, we’re number one!)  I email my professors with the situation.  Dr. B. replies roughly a month after she’s released.

They have booze here!  And books!  And booze!

They have booze here! And books! And booze!

·         First TLA meeting!

        I wriggle out of another carpool offer with Senora Psycho and book my plane as soon as possible.  I have to dig the money out of savings, but hey, we’ll get stipends as soon as we get there that will pay us right back.

·         We discover that to use the stipends, you have to go to a bank.  In Dallas.  Guess how many people have banks in Dallas?

·         At TLA, we find out another one bit the dust.  Sherri has left.  I’d have at least taken the free trip on them first.

·         Some worry about homework and actually attempt to do it while there.  I take part in a first mutiny of people who refuse to do squat the entire time.

·         I discover that our food stipends are to pay for real food, not conference and hotel food.  At 25 bucks for breakfast alone, I find myself eating so much granola I nearly turn into a squirrel.

·         Boss lady (fellow cohort!) decides to play “nice” which makes her even scarier.

·         Who cares about the actual conferences (except Dave Barry who was awesome)?  70 percent of my time I spend in the exhibit hall grabbing every free book in sight until I am loaded down like a deranged bag lady.  I don’t even like half of the books, but they’re free!  Also, the exhibit hall is a good place to hide from you-know-who.

·         20 percent is spent in line getting book autographs.

·         5 percent eating – mostly granola, but also free nibbles at the parties.  There are no free drinks, but plenty of open bars.  I mean absolutely everywhere.

·         4 percent in the actual sessions

·         1 percent sleeping.  Why the heck did they give us actual hotel rooms anyway?

·         Oh, also we meet our mentors for the first time.  Except for the cohort whose mentor dropped out.  But it’s okay, cause they will soon fix her up with another.  Who will also drop out.

·         I discover that things like taxi fare and parking are not included in the travel stipend I cannot access until I get home.

·         We survive the rest of the semester, and then cry when we realize that there are 5 more to go.

       To be continued . . .

T

 

Character Assassination Carousel: The Whacked Out Story of Babar

A while back, I read Kylie’s parody of Good Dog, Carl, the story of an irresponsible woman who leaves her infant with a dog babysitter.  She made this parody for something called The Character Assassination Carousel, created by Nicole of Nicole Leigh Shaw, Tyop Artist.  Like me, Nicole liked reading to her kids but often found some of the stories, shall we say, disturbing.  So she made fun of them, and her kid laughed, and she was encouraged.  It’s like she’s my long lost twin or something.  Anyway, when I saw we got to skewer these classic literary characters, I was all up in that!  I’m proud to contribute my bit today.

CAC button 2013

Last week featured Amy of My Real Life with a post assassinating the book Bert and the Missing Mop Mix-Up.  Yes, this is a story with stick-up-the-bum Bert from Sesame Street, costarring a mop.  Like most children’s books, it’s wildly exciting, at least when she makes fun of it.  Check it out.

She graciously invited other bloggers to come see the latest assassination here on Monday.  You might notice today is not Monday.  Whoops.  But, hey, you can’t rush perfection, or memory, so here is my entry The Story of Babar: the Little Elephant by Jean De Brunhoff.   This book is a classic, defined by Mark Twain as “A book people praise and don’t read.”  Babar was skewered earlier by Robyn of Hollow Tree Ventures in Babar’s Little Girl.  But I’m sure you want to know how this whacked up story got started, right?  Too bad, here we go.

Be prepared, folks.

Be prepared, folks.

Babar’s story begins in the wilds of . . . somewhere.  He’s just your average baby elephant, getting rocked in a hammock by his mother.  Fortunately, he is a test tube elephant (note how long and skinny he is) so he doesn’t break the hammock with his massive weight.

babar pg 1

See his mom there? Don’t get used to her.

Babar plays with the other elephants.  He’s “very good” because he digs in the sand with a shell he holds in his trunk.  Yay, good elephant?  Look how idyllic and innocent this is.  Nothing bad could possibly happen.

Does anyone hear the theme from Jaws?

Does anyone hear the theme from Jaws?

Then Babar goes for a ride on Mom’s back.  A nice little walk.  Until a hunter jumps out and shoots Mom dead!  Kapow!  Death by page 6, folks.  And here I thought Bambi was harsh.  My brother and I were so traumatized by Bambi, my mother had to actually get rid of the book so we’d quit freaking the heck out.

Babar, traumatizing children since 1933

Babar, traumatizing children since 1933

Even better, we don’t just get to see the shots fired at mom (it’s believed to be a lone gunman), we get to see her dead carcass lying on the ground.  The hunter is not satisfied with several tons of elephant jerky and some ivory jewelry, oh no, he wants to also capture the baby elephant.  What a guy.  I bet he’s pals with the man in the yellow hat from Curious George.

Just . . . wtf?

Just . . . wtf?

So the monkey and the bird fly away; thanks for all the help, jerks.  Babar runs for it, and then bam, comes upon this modern day town.  I’m not sure if he started out in Africa and somehow stumbled upon France, but that’s what it looks like.

I wonder if they have any Grey Poupon.

I wonder if they have any Grey Poupon.

So you’re probably thinking the people see this elephant in town and run screaming for their lives, right?  You forget, guys, this is France.  These guys are unbelievably laid back.  They don’t even notice him.

Bonjour sir, bonjour elephant.

“Is that an elephant, Francois?”  “Why, yes, as I was saying . . .”

Babar notices them though, and thinks “OMG a human like the one that killed my mom arghhhhhhh!”  Haha, just kidding.  He thinks that the men are well dressed and that he should be dressed too.  Wait, what?  My thirteen-year-old daughter who I affectionately call Thing One, asked, “Did Babar get some of that forbidden fruit or something?”  Good point.  Even though Babar was perfectly happy to run about naked back home, once he gets to “civilization” he suddenly decides he needs clothes.  Because the clothes are gonna totally help him fit in?  I wonder if the hunter would have freaked him out as much if he’d been wearing fine clothes too.

Never fear, though, rich old lady to the rescue.  She’s really called “Old Lady”, by the way.  She sees Babar, screams in terror, and runs.  Just kidding again!  No, she immediately concludes that this poor elephant needs clothes.  Right.  Not that he should be back in the wilderness, or that he is really hungry and she looks like a snack, but that the animal needs duds!  Priorities!

We have totally got to get you on

We have totally got to get you on “What Not to Wear”.

Hey, did you notice that not only did Babar understand Old Lady, but he knew how to talk, and politely too?  “Thank you, Madam, for handing over your purse.”  This is like when John Smith and Pocahontas meet in the Disney flick and after five minutes they’re having no trouble conversing.  Might be because Pocahontas was speaking English with bits of Native American thrown in even before she met Smith.  But, wait, that’s another messed up story.  Back to Babar.

This also brings to mind another problem.  Earlier Babar was this naked elephant and this hunter shot his mom.  Now, sadly, many elephants were slaughtered in this fashion.  But my point is – why in one panel is a human shooting him, an animal, and in the next he’s hanging around with humans like they’re his peers?  Doesn’t this make the hunter a serial killer then, if elephants are just like humans?  My head hurts.

Babar goes to the Big and Wide Store to shop for some clothes.  It has a creative name.

Bigggg butt comin' through.

Bigggg butt comin’ through.

I certainly hope it’s big.  We’re talking a freaking elephant here, although his scale in comparison to humans is kind of hard to tell since it changes from page to page.  He gets in the elevator, of course, and my nine-year-old Thing Two says, “I think weight limits are determined by the pound, not the ton.”  Yeah, me too.  Pretty sure even a freight elevator wouldn’t hold that thing, but, then again, the elephant is clothes shopping, so nevermind.

Babar gets some help finding a suit, which they OF COURSE have in size gigantic.  He then goes and gets his picture taken by a photographer, because what else would he do?

So - no one thinks this is odd yet?  Okay.

So – no one thinks this is odd yet? Okay.

Old Lady takes Babar in, even though he won’t call her by her freaking name, and lets him dine with her.  He even knows how to use the right fork, etc., because though yesterday he was a naked elephant, he’s not THAT uncivilized.  He also gets a pair of elephant BVDs and does squat thrusts with the Old Lady.  No, really.

How do you remove an elephant wedgie?  Verrrry carefully.

How do you remove an elephant wedgie? Verrrry carefully.

Babar takes a bath and sleeps in a bed, no problem.  The Old Lady gives Babar her car too.  The book says “She gives him anything he wants.”  I bet she does.  Have you seen how big an elephant is, even a baby?  I’d be doing whatever he asked too.

Babar gets the “My Fair Elephant” treatment.  A professor gives him lessons, and then he entertains guests with his tales of the Great Forest, you know, back when he was a savage and stuff.  Rich people love stories about savages.  Also . . . wait.  Great forest?  He was in a forest . . . just, whatever.

And then the hunter came and blew Mummy's head clean off . . .

And then the hunter came and blew Mummy’s head clean off . . .

But Babar is not totally happy because after several years he remembers, oh yeah, Mom is worm food.  He misses home, the elephant forest.  But then he finds his cousins Arthur and Celeste, who have run away from home.  Babar knows how to handle such an emergency. They go shopping!  This is so much like a TLC show, it’s unreal.

Hey, did you guys realize you were totes naked?

Hey, did you guys realize you were totes naked?

Babar decides to return home with his cousins.  He takes the car.  Naturally.  The same day the king of the elephants eats a bad mushroom, has a really bad trip, turns green, crumples up, and bites it.  Two deaths in 34 pages, woot!

Don't do drugs, kids.

Don’t do drugs, kids.

Babar arrives home amid much fanfare from the savage animals who are so happy to see him and worship at his elephant feet.  Dude has a car!  And designer clothes!  Let’s make him king!  Sure, why not?  I mean, that’s not that far off from how we elect our politicians today. Babar speaks to the huddled masses, and says he’ll accept their offer as long as they let him marry Celeste.  You know.  His cousin.  Cue banjos.  The other animals are thrilled with their new king since clearly their last king was not a mental giant.

I have a dream . . . that all elephants will walk upright, wear clothes, and speak French.

I have a dream . . . that all elephants will walk upright, wear clothes, and speak French.

So they get married and have a big party in the jungle.  There are some truly freaked out looking animals in this picture.  I wonder if they found some of the former king’s ‘shrooms or something.

Woooot!  Party like it's 1939!

Woooot! Party like it’s 1939!

So the story ends happily ever after.  Babar’s mom is shot, he rips off an old lady in the city, and then he comes home to bring civilization to his people.  Oh, and to marry his cousin.  They fly off together in a hot air balloon.  That can carry elephants.  Of course they do.  Well, at least we won’t be seeing them again . . . oh, wait.  There are sequels.  Lots of them.  I’m going to be looking for my own balloon now, thanks.

All goes well until the serial hunter returns and shoots the balloon . . .

All goes well until the serial hunter returns and shoots the balloon . . .

Stay tuned for the next assassin, Michelle of You’re My Favorite Today, coming soon on the Character Assassination Carousel.

TLC: Extreme Wedding Edition

Wash, rinse, repeat!

Wash, rinse, repeat!

I was going to have some more recaps for ya, but TLC had different ideas.  As I’ve noted before, TLC’s schedule is apparently created by someone with both OCD and ADHD.  So I again did not manage to catch new episodes of either of the two oh-so-awesome shows I’m covering.  This is partly because TLC is so in love with their new show “Secret Sex Lives” which is totally different from “Sex sent me to the ER” and “Strange Addictions” and “My Crazy Obsession” and “Strange Sex”.   Like, they moved the words around, duh!

This one.  If you move the letters around, you get "TLC"

If you move these letters around, you get “TLC”

So I figured, my brain is so far gone by now, why not?  I turned on “Secret Sex Lives”.  And who do I see first but my old pal Nathaniel from “Strange Addictions”!  Hey, TLC, that’s cheating!  Not only that, you’re not even branching out and trying to rip off other networks.  You’re ripping YOURSELF off now.  I’m on to you!

In case you don’t remember Nathaniel, he’s better known as “Car Sex Guy”.  It was pretty horrifying to see this guy the first time.  But TLC shows him again anyway, cause it’s a “sex life” that’s “secret” because it’s “disturbed”.  And they don’t even get new footage – not that I could have stood any more footage of Nat licking his steering wheel and whispering sweet nothings to the upholstery.  But still, come ON, TLC.  Have you really run out of morons so quickly that you have to repeat old morons on new shows?  Shame, TLC, shame.

I still have this look on my face.

I still have this look on my face.

So I figured, why don’t I branch out and look at whatever idiot thing TLC happens to be covering when I’m watching TV long after my lunch has fully digested.  And since we’re like 3 months from June, why not a wedding show?

Friday has a marathon of “Say Yes to the Dress”.  I discussed this show briefly while feverish and doped up during my bout with Pneumonia.  The show is no better when you’re well.  I was actually looking about for some more drugs, even though I’m not “technically” sick right now.

Then again, maybe I am.

Then again, maybe I am.

I really hate this show.  All the tension rests on what horribly overpriced dress some stupid girl is going to choose for her wedding.  Keep in mind that a wedding lasts a few hours at most.  You’re not even going to wear the dress the entire day.  And you’ll never wear it again, even when you marry moron number 2, because who wants to get married in the same dress you used with the first jerk?

Yet the dress shop owners act as if this is an “investment in their future.”  What?  Unless the bride-to-be is planning on becoming Miss Haversham and wearing the dress all day long while collecting dust and raising young girls to hate all men, then, no, this really isn’t an investment in her future, at least not a future past the next month or so.  It’s actually nauseating what these people will spend on a single outfit.  10,000 is usually considered their “bottom-line dress.”  Choose that garbage bag, and you’re sure to get a “no way girlfriend” shake of the head from one of those snobby twits at the shop.

Yeah, these twits.

Yeah, these guys.

And if they don’t turn their noses up at the girls, then be sure someone in the family will.  Why, I ask, would you bring that many family members to help you choose a dress?  How stupid is that?  They aren’t going to wear it.  I could see bringing your mother if you happen to like her, or a friend, but your entire extended family?  Even Grandma who thinks any dress with less than a turtleneck collar, long sleeves, and a skirt that covers the ankles is slut city?

Of course, I have a feeling many of these women are not paying for the dresses themselves, hence at least having the parents there to approve the choice.  Here’s the thing, though – if you can’t afford your own dress, are you ready to be out on your own?  Get a job, save some money, then get a dress for a couple hundred at most, and put the 10 grand (or more) that some misguided person gave you on a freaking HOUSE, mmkay?  That’s a good girl.

And here I thought it was about love and commitment and . . . pffft, silly me.

And here I thought it was about love and commitment and . . . pffft, silly me.

If “Say Yes to the Dress” followed the natural progression of things, it would take the same couple through a number of other shows.  First the happy couple who spent everything on a dress go to their new trailer house in “Welcome to Myrtle Manor”, then have “Strange Sex” followed immediately by “Sex Sent Me to the ER” which leads to “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” resulting in  “Quints by surprise!” leading to “Extreme Couponing” and devolving into “Cake Boss” and “My 600 lb life”.   But, alas, no, all we get is the stupid dress.  Whoop-te-shit.  This isn’t even the only wedding show on TLC.  You’ve also got “Friday Bride Day”, “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding” (I see what you did there TLC), “Four Weddings” (God help me), “I found the gown” (Did you use coupons?), “Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta” (these are like CSI shows), and “Say Yes to the Dress Bridesmaids.”  That’s too many shows about brides.

By the end of an episode of “Say  Yes to the Dress”, I’m almost ready to watch Nathaniel and his car.  At least they aren’t spending a lavish amount of money on a wedding.  Please say they aren’t.

So there you go.  No light up boobs, not even a light up dress.  Sad.  But still, there’s a post!  Yay.

May the Farts be With You

Because we are both geeky AND mature, the girls and I decided it would be fun to add the word “fart” to many popular Star Wars quotes.  We think it went well.

Obi Wan: I have a bad feeling about this Qui Gon: I don't smell anything.

Obi Wan: I have a bad feeling about this
Qui Gon: I don’t smell anything.

Jar-Jar: Oh, no meesa didn't poot that time!

Jar-Jar: Oh, no meesa didn’t poot that time!

His gaseous levels are off the charts!

His gaseous levels are off the charts!

Anakin: Heh, I left a ripe one in the Jedi chamber!

Anakin: Heh, I left a ripe one in the Jedi chamber!

Obi Won: Anakin, you farted again. Anakin: I'm sorry, Master.

Obi Wan: Anakin, you farted again.
Anakin: I’m sorry, Master.

Anakin: I farted Padme: Hee hee, me too!

Anakin: I farted
Padme: Hee hee, me too!

Anakin, you're breaking the wind . . .

Anakin, you’re breaking the wind . . .

Obi Wan: Anakin you were the chosen . . . one . . oh, pew, even NOW?

Obi Wan: Anakin you were the chosen . . . one . . oh, p-u, even NOW?

Leia: I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board Tarkin: It wasn't me.

Leia: I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board
Tarkin: It wasn’t me.
Vadar: (hums)

Obi Wan: Use the farts, Luke

Obi Wan: Use the farts, Luke

Leia: Will someone get this farting carpet out of my way?

Leia: Will someone get this farting carpet out of my way?

You must feeeel the farts inside you.

You must feeeel the farts inside you.

Threepio: I am familiar with over 6 million forms of communication R2-D2: farrrrrt Threepio: Not that one.

C-3PO: I am familiar with over 6 million forms of communication
R2-D2: farrrrrt
C-3PO: Not that one.

Burrito is mine, or I help you not.

Burrito is mine, or I help you not.

Yoda: Burritos lead to gas, gas leads to farts, farts lead to sufferinnnnng

Yoda: Burritos lead to gas, gas leads to farts, farts lead to sufferinnnnng

Leia: I farted Han: I know.

Leia: I farted
Han: I know.

Vader: I have altered your meal plan . . . poooooooot . . . pray I don't alter it any further. Lando: My gas is getting worse all the time!

Vader: I have altered your meal plan . . . poooooooot . . . pray I don’t alter it any further.
Lando: My gas is getting worse all the time!

Vader: Search your insides, you know it to be true . . . blarrrrttttt Luke: Nooooooo!

Vader: Search your insides, you know it to be true . . . blarrrrttttt
Luke: Nooooooo!

Emperor: Oh, I'm afraid my digestive system is fully operational . . . blarrrrrt

Emperor: Oh, I’m afraid my digestive system is fully operational . . . blarrrrrt

Felt a disturbance in the Force, I did.  Wait - that was me.

Felt a disturbance in the Force, I did. Wait – that was me.

Got any stinky quotes of your own?