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Posts Tagged ‘Bright ideas’

Mike Judge is starting to look more and more like Nostradamus; his “Idiocracy” is akin to “The Prophecies.”

You need evidence that we live in a society that is shunning intellectual curiosity and social responsibility? You must not have watched any of the debt debates.

There are other signs all around of our declining intellectual ability. Literally.

Here’s one offered by my friend Lisa, who was mortified to find this at her son’s school:

God forbid the "parnet's" forget eggs on "Wesdnesday." That might be the day they also learn about spelling and apostrophe usage.

Royce provided this selection from the Savannah Morning News:

Maybe a "cachier" is a new term for someone who helps with a cache of coupons.

I saw this during my recent jaunt to Jacksonville:

I wonder if the new ownership will extend care to people of other faiths too.

Karla was amused by this entry in a cabin’s guest book:

It's clear they don't quite have a handle on our "human words." Ah, the intricacies of adverbs, adjectives and verbs.

And finally, from Elyse, here is evidence of a desperate attempt to sound important — an attempt office workers see on a regular basis:

Somewhere the word "use" is weeping quietly.

Sigh.

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As I mentioned in my last post, I taught a creative writing workshop at a community center in Jacksonville last week.

Ages: 9-13
Hours: 9 a.m. – 2 p.m.
Days: Monday – Friday
Me: Completely wiped out

There’s a huge difference between teaching 9 year olds and teaching 13 year olds, and there were three of the former and two of the latter in the class — all girls.

I felt like some kind of lion tamer.

The younger ones wanted to stand on chairs, draw princesses, and talk about Justin Bieber. The older ones wanted to actually work on writing (and smack the younger ones).

You might be surprised to learn that I’m glad I taught the workshop. It was truly a learning experience. You know, the whole “That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” philosophy. (Thanks, Nietzsche!) I definitely learned some new skills, which is always good.

And the girls really were fun. A couple of them have promise as writers, and I hope to see their work again.

So, I wouldn’t mind teaching it again next year, but we’ll need to put in some different age parameters, of course.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, it will be a scene out of a “Normal Rockwell” painting. (Thanks, Chris!)

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The Possibly Haunted Mansion

It should come as no surprise that I’m not interested in “normal.” I like quirks.

So the little venture I’ve taken out of town this week is right up my alley.

I agreed to teach a summer creative writing workshop for 9-13-year-olds in Jacksonville, Fla. You’re shocked, I know. More about the teaching experience later.

The community center that is sponsoring the workshops offers housing at Casa Marina, a 1920s hotel. When Denile checked me in, she described the room in a grand way: ocean-view room with a queen-sized bed and separate living room. Sounds divine! I opened the door, and this is what I found:

Granny's parlor?

I told Eddie the place might be haunted. Really, though, it is cool to stay in a place so different from the average sterile business hotel. This place has character. In spades.

It fits in with the whole odd nature of Jacksonville Beach.

The Casa Marina is a historic hotel on the beach.

View of Casa Marina from the beach

Guest enjoy this view.

Jacksonville Beach

However, this is what is on one side of the hotel, just over the dunes from the beach.

Empty lot, Jacksonville Beach

Yep. An empty lot. One that has clearly been empty for a while.

And there’s this across the street from the empty lot:

Empty building, Jacksonville Beach

Don’t the owners know that this is prime real estate? Beachfront property is a finite resource.

Build it and they will come. I’m sure of that.

After all, as I found out tonight, Casa Marina is a hotspot for the AARP set on Wednesday nights.

Wednesday night at Casa Marina

Denile, my new friend at the front desk, told me the party lasts until 10. As my room overlooks the courtyard, I’ll be entertained for hours by the whoops and hollers when the band plays classics such as “Sweet Home Alabama.”

This is the kind of stuff I live for, though. If something great happens, then that’s lovely. But if something unexpected happens, that’s even better. Why? It makes a great story.

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Just when you thought it was safe to read my blog again, I bring you more photos from the Redneck Games!

(Hey, I allowed a few days for your system to get back to normal after Sunday’s post.)

Sarah shows off her "arsenal of hydration." *

Bursting with excitement, I lead the way to the festival. (Photo by Royce)

Bikinis and boots: A fashion trend sweeping Dublin. (Photo by Royce)

Muscular men and jorts go together like peas and carrots (or twigs and berries, as the case may be). And white velcro shoes too? Mmm ... tasty!

Feast upon this buffet of manflesh and be disappointed you did not get to use your own looking holes -- er, eyes -- in person.

Nothing says "redneck" like a freshly dug mudpit for bellyfloppin'.

Ol' Dixie also makes a great beach towel.

I actually wanted to compete in this event. They didn't draw my number. I wept. (Or maybe that was just sweat.)

Nothing like a "sovienor" cup to commemorate the day.

If you are thinking about attending next year’s Redneck Games, you should know this:

  • It is hotter than the surface of the sun in Dublin in July.
  • Even with a canopy, you must apply sunscreen or you will be redder than the General Lee.
  • There is no organization and no real schedule. Type As must get over it.
  • No real bathrooms either. Savor the Port-O-Let.
  • Media will nearly outnumber the participants.
  • You can make a killing selling ice. And beer. And Dixie bathing suits.

See you all next year!

* Heidi gets the credit for this term.

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This week I submitted the final version of my dissertation and the corresponding paperwork. One of my first activities as a new Ph.D.? Attend the 2011 Redneck Games.

Allow me to take you on an amazing journey with this gallery of images.

Redneck living room

Redneck Granny comes over for a chat. A long chat.

Awaiting the lighting of the ceremonial torch

Posing while awaiting the lighting of the ceremonial torch

Lighting the ceremonial torch

Let the games begin!

Enjoying the view.

Royce enjoys himself.

Redneck Snooki

Redneck Snooki performs.

Jack Sprat and his wife

"Germany Sucks"

Redneck rump shaker

Redneck horseshoes

Royce seems intrigued while Sarah seems perplexed.

John and Heidi are mystified. Or sleeping.

Jeff Vaughan and his moonshine.

One of many interesting tattoos

Tiffany must be so pleased.

What?

Yeehaw.

Jorts are never a good idea.

Armpit serenade

Redneck Riviera

Redneck water slide

Sarah partakes in riverdancing.

It's really too hot for a Dixie duster.

Crack kills.

Sigh.

Bobbing for pigs' feet

See other comment regarding jorts.

On our way to get a second round of "sno-cones."

The Man of Steel and his buns of puff pastry

Dixie overload

It is important to know your true size when you shop.

See comment regarding clothing sizes.

Redneck Granny needed a nap.

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Copper comes a-calling

No Fourth of July celebration is complete without a visit from the Po-Po. Usually, the Po-Po visit the neighbors across the street. But last night, we earned a talking-to.

We have become “The Other.”

Why?

This (and its ilk):

Friends from Florida and relatives from South Carolina brought some treats from their respective states. Unfortunately, these treats are not allowed in Georgia. Georgia is OK with sparklers and “non-explosive and non-aerial” types of pyrotechnics.

Um … well … that’s not what we had. The polite young deputy sheriff who suddenly appeared at our fence was kind enough to remind us of Georgia law.

It didn’t matter that our neighbor (“Big Screen’) had launched a River Street-style display the night before. We ceased and desisted, much to the dismay of our pyro-leaning progeny.

Clearly, the transformation is complete.

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Warning: This post is a rumination on Hanson. Yes, the band.

I don’t watch much daytime television — who has the time? — but I do like a little Judge Mathis. Today, I had 30 minutes between tasks, and I went searching for my judge friend.

I found “Hanson: Best of 5 of 5” on Palladia. (What the heck is Palladia?) I’m not ashamed to say that I like me some Hanson. I have been known to sing “MMMBop” in class, much to the (equal parts) joy and chagrin of students. It’s on my favorite iTunes playlist. However, I am not familiar with their oeuvre.

This is how I pictured them prior to stumbling upon the show:

I remember when Taylor was the “cute one,” Zac was the “young one” and Isaac was, bless his heart, not the “cute one.”

Years have passed. Things have changed. They’re all grown up, and are all kind of cute now (although I do wonder about Taylor’s penchant for suspenders, as evidenced by the Palladia show).

I watched the whole show, and enjoyed every moment. They are talented; their songs are solid. And even the melancholy Taylor was grinning like a fool during “MMMBop.” How could he not?

Don’t judge me.

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Writing succinctly is an art.

It’s why I like to teach Writing and New Media. New media is all about writing many little bits.*

It’s why I’m fascinated with six-word memoirs.

It’s why I’d like to write six-word movie reviews.

Priest
Paul Bettany needs a better agent.

Thor
Please take off your shirt again.

Mr. Popper’s Penguins
I thought it would be worse.Super 8
Like “E.T.,” “Goonies?” You’ll like this.

The Hangover Part II
Same story. Different city. Still funny.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides
Even my boyfriend couldn’t save it.

Bridesmaids
Best movie out: Hollywood take note.

I think I have a future. Anyone willing to pay for it?

* That’s a fact some of the students in my class didn’t really seem to grasp when they noted there wasn’t much long-form writing in the class. Sigh.

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If there is any question that there is an obesity epidemic in America, then I suggest a trip to Summer Waves (or really any water or theme park).

You know what else has reached epidemic proportions?

Bad tattoos.

You can find those at Summer Waves also.

Did she give the baby the tattoo gun and let him have at it?

You know what his destiny is? The ER after a heart attack.

¿Que carajo es eso? A snake? Hamburglar? Dopey from the Seven Dwarves?

Is this a permanent immunity necklace? Immunity from normal relationships, I'd bet.

What IS this? Maybe a wave of humiliation surrounded by kanji for "I'm a dumbass with no taste."

I spy with my little eye a penguin on a doughnut, one of those freaky intestinal tapeworms, a rabid bunny, and an ode to Wesley (as in Dread Pirate Roberts? As you wish.)

Tattoo-watching = more interesting than waterslides!

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In honor of the guys who corrected typos across America, I decided to make a difference in the bathroom of the restaurant across the street from where I work.

(Don’t let your mind wander to unpleasant things. I’m still talking about fixing typos. There’s a chalkboard wall in there.)

One small step for a man; one giant leap for mankind.

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