Saturday, December 29, 2012

A Hasty Departure

Our plans have changed ever so slightly. A storm is coming in in Sunday which could potentially make it difficult to land our plane. Because we're on a charter flight, we have the luxury of bumping it forward 18 hours or so, The current plan is to depart our location at about 3:30 p.m. tomorrow and to land in the State of the Desolate a couple of hours later.  My croup isn't quite at the stage that my doctor had hoped it would have been but he says I can make the trip. He's not really concerned that I'll  share the illness with my pseudoaunt, as croup isn't highly contagious, particularly when it is medicated with both antibiotics and antivirals to covers as many bases as is practical.

We will be hanging out not far from the Cedar Hills area, which is the same neck of the woods where Donny Osmond's son was caught illegally discharging firearms.  This is actually old news, and only recently received press coverage, maybe as an afterthought following the Connecticut tragedy. Still, Jeremy Osmond's less-than-photogenic mug shot has been plastered over tabloid covers and on front pages of Utah newspapers.   Perhaps we will have someone other than Daniel Kretchmer, the legendary  serial polygamist kidnapper from  Pleasant Grove, about whom to be concerned.  While it's true that the legendary  Krtechmer usually makes his raid down from the hills in the immediate hours surrounding February 14, with the young Mr. Osmond purportedly encroaching upon his territory, Daniel Kretchmer  may choose to hasten his escapades, as he surely wants the brightest and best of what's out there to add to his harem,  and not merely his pick of the litter among the survivors of Jeremy Osmond's most recent target practice.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Good King Wenceslaus Looked Out . . .

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Good King Wenceslaus Looked Out . . .: If  Good King (who was supposedly a mere duke and not   king , but once he was canonized and became Saint Wenceslaus, no one really fretted...

Good King Wenceslaus Looked Out . . .

If  Good King (who was supposedly a mere duke and not  king, but once he was canonized and became Saint Wenceslaus, no one really fretted over the technical inaccuracy)  looked in my general direction, he would have seen and heard my barking and wheezing away, to the extent that I was banned from midnight mass.  Croup is a very large part of my destiny, and has been since my brother and I excited my mom's uterus because Uncle Jerry, the OBGYN of record, determined that the twins should be born at the optimal time fr the bigger twin.  Where the other twin was concerned, that was where the miracles of modern technology as it relates to saving micropreemies would come in.  As it turned out, the interventions would be minimal. all that was involved was tubes and an incubator for a few weeks . . .

That and the dreaded croup, which rears its ugly head in my general direction three or four times each year, and usually a the most inopportune times.  I've been told on numerous occasions that croup is an condition afflicting  babies, and that any doctors who have diagnosed me with such nooed to go baxk to medical school.  When I share this with my Uncle Steve, he either, depending upon his mood or on the control the person has over any aspect of my life, curses and tells me not to listen to them, hits a few buttons on his computer and prints out information relating to croup, and asks his secretary to mail it to them, picks up the phone and calls them out on their ignorance directly, or  puts a hex on the person so that someone over the age of eight in his or her family will be diagnosed with the condition in the immediate future.

Croup for me involves sleeping in a room in which my bedding has been made dripping-wet  with the proliferation of hunidifiers/vaporizers, and in especially pesky cases, sleeping under a nakeshift tent in my bed,  receiving steroid injections, and being force-fed doses of goshawful sludgy purply cough syrup that tastes something like I would imagine that congealed cow's blood would taste, not thatI would ever intentionally taste it.

I have company through this most recent  battle with the dreaded croup. My friend Meredith had been given permission to visit long before this dreaded plague struck. now what are my parents to do? Track her parents down in their cruise ship in the Bahamas? Send her to an orphanage? nope, she's happily stuck taking her chances with croup. My friends have a solid track record of avoiding croup even when residing in our abode. Meredith will sleep in a separate bedroom, but a few steps down the hall shouldn't that much difference. Still, she won't get it. my high school PE teacher would say it's because only babies get croup.  My Uncle Steve would say that communicability isn't all that likely among populations over eight or ten. Either way,  we hope the odds continue to work in her favor. If they don't however, we'll bark and wheeze together.

The goal is to be rid entirely of this affliction by December 3o, at which time we plan to travel to the state of the desolate, otherwise known as Utah, which, despite its state of desolation, does have   mountains with snow. We will, God willing, utilize the snow and the slope of the mountains to snowboard.

Pray for good health and continuing snowfall.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nn More School. No More Books . . .

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Nn More School. No More Books . . .: I have been paroled for the next twenty-four days. I vow not to even think about anything related to academics until at least midnight on J...

Nn More School. No More Books . . .

I have been paroled for the next twenty-four days. I vow not to even think about anything related to academics until at least midnight on January 7.

Yesterday's more difficult final required me to actually think as I was writing the answers, but I have reasonable confidence in my performance.

I'm mostly  typing with  one hand now because I'm drinking a Guinness with the other one.   The others who are with me, one of whom -- the token Mormon --  is stone-cold sober and has been designated as the driver for this evening, send their regards.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Two Down...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Two Down...: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Two Down, Four More to Go : Today's finals are history. Despite last night's nightmare and the Klo...

Drunken Revelry Time in 35 1/2 Hours

Today's final wasn't a breeze, but nothing appeared on the test that I had not anticipated.  My grade should be acceptable.

Tomorrow i have an easy final and one that will most likely be the toughest test I take until the MCAT and LSAT. (Yes, it is overkill to take both the LSAT and the MCAT, but I want to keep all options open.)  I am, I believe, adequately prepared for the more difficult final, though one never knows for certain until he or she gets a first glimpse of the actual test. Regardless, in seventeen hours it will be history. I don't intend to study any longer tonight because I can only review so many times material I have already committed to memory.

After tomorrow I still have one final remaining, but it's not one about which I'm particularly concerned.  Out of sheer habit as well as a touch of OCD/.superstition, I'll refrain from going into full celebratory mode until that last final, however routine it may be, has been handed in to the TA. (The test is so perfunctory that  the professor isn't even making a token appearance.)

I'm working as a paralegal next week. My pseudoaunt is trying a case for the public defender's office in our county. I'm not on the county payroll, which is fine because my pseudoaunt pays better than the county does, anyway.  Pseudoaunt had abdominal surgery eighteen days days ago. She's not yet at 100% and may not be even by the day the trial opens, so I will earn my pay.  The trial will last maybe two days, after which I will formally begin my vacation.

Monday, December 10, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Two Down, Four More to Go

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Two Down, Four More to Go: Today's finals are history. Despite last night's nightmare and the Klonopin I had to take after 4:00 a.m. as a result, I managed to make it...

Two Down, Four More to Go

Today's finals are history. Despite last night's nightmare and the Klonopin I had to take after 4:00 a.m. as a result, I managed to make it through both of today's finals in a more-or-less wakeful state.  I have one final tomorrow, two on Wednesday, and the last one  on Thursday.

The exams I took today weren't overly taxing. Tomorrow's final will be a bit of a challenge, as will be the second exam I take on Wednesday. The first final I take on Wednesday is one that almost any primate would be expected to ace with ease. Thursday's final isn't quite so insulting to one's intelligence but, nonetheless, shouldn't  involve pulling an all-nighter the prior evening or biting one's nail's to the quick.

This has been an interesting quarter in that, overall, it's has probably been more cognitively demanding than anything I've ever done or am likely ever to do unless I enroll in medical school. It's been a good test as to whether I may or may not  be up to the rigors of medical school.

As to whether I am indeed up to the rigors of medical school, the verdict is not yet in. My best guess is that, cognitively speaking, the answer is probably yes. On the other hand, the strength my interpersonal skills has been questioned more than once.  Do I possess the empathy and communication skills to work cooperatively with fellow medical school students, much less with patients? Maybe, or maybe not.  If I choose the medical school option, time will tell.

Since my chosen specialty would be pathology, my dealings with other human beings would be finite. Once I made it through medical school and residency, if that;'s the direction I were to go, I would spend a whole lot more on-the-job  time staring through the lens  of a microscope into the morass of pathogens than I'd ever spend  attempting to navigate my way through  dealings with my fellow human beings. Still, four years of medical school and the first two years of a residency would be a long time for a socially-challenged person to undergo forced interactions with her fellow humans.  

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Same Song, Different Verse *

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Same Song, Different Verse *: * a whole lot louder and a little bit worse  It had been several months since I last relived past real-life horrors through my dream stat...

Same Song, Different Verse *

* a whole lot louder and a little bit worse 

It had been several months since I last relived past real-life horrors through my dream state, so I suppose I was overdue. This one did not disappoint. It was pretty much like the real thing except that it combined elements of two separate incidents. In my dream,  I was in the girls' restroom (or women's restroom; come to think of it, I'm not sure what the sign on the door says, which is just about the only memory of the whole sordid affair that is not precise and vivid)   in the administration building of my former high school . . . with the attacker thugs present and attacking me . . . but there was also smoke, which  allowed me to simultaneously relive the two prior nightmares of my real  life.

Now that I'm awake and cognizant that my dream was just a dream, my preference would be to deal with it myself,  probably by turning on my bedroom TV and channel-surfing for the rest of the night. When I have such a dream, however, I typically  wake up everyone else in the house, and sometimes everyone in one or both of the houses on either side as well. This time I only woke up the inhabitants of my own home and one of the two adjacent houses. It could have been worse; I might have been sleeping in the dorm tonight, and I might have awakened three floors of sleeping residents on the night before most of the students began taking final exams. I suppose I should thank God for sparing all of them the interruption in sleep and for sparing me the humiliation of being the cause of that interruption.

Because my pulse is still at 120 beats per minute fifteen minutes after I've been awakened with those precious memories, my dad is insisting that I take one-half my normal dosage of Klonopin. He's not insisting on the full dosage because I absolutely must be dressed and ready to head out the door in  four hours and twenty minutes. I'd still rather not take even a half-dosage of a benzo in such close proximity to a final exam. My mom, however,  is saying that she'll drive me to school and drop me off at the  drop-off point closest to each classroom. She will then park, come into the room of each of the day's final exam, give a copy of my 504 plan  with the pertinent section highlighted,  to the professor or teaching assistant, then sit across the classroom from me, watching so that she can wake me up in the unlikely but conceivable event that I doze off in the middle of the final exam.

I'm most fortunate that my mom has [temporarily, anyway]  retired from her "real"career as a clinical psychologist, school psychologist, and school administrator, and can follow me all over campus in my endeavor to remain conscious throughout the three final exams I must take today. My 504 plan specifies that this service is to be provided for me on an as-needed basis, but it would be much more embarrassing, not to mention much more time-consuming, inconvenient, and sleep-depriving,  if I had to make my way to the Support and Enablement Office at the crack of dawn to make arrangements to have someone else provide my in-class wake-up service. If my mom comes to class with me,  I don't need to explain anything to anyone. She will will sit right next to the exam proctor to make it clear that she isn't there to aid and abet me in cheating on the exam, although my professors surely must know by now that I have no need to cheat, but she'll otherwise maintain as low a profile as humanly possible. Suspicions of cheating, embarrassment of having Mommy accompany me to class, and other indignities notwithstanding, I'm most appreciative of my mother's willingness to drop whatever she had planned for the day to help me over one more hurdle. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a mother so willing to sacrifice her time as my mom.

Tonight's incident was slightly unusual in that this was the very first time since the impetus and onset of my nightmares  that it was technically my own decision as to whether or not to  be medicated, as I am now a legal adult. I could have "just said no" to drugs, and I was tempted.  The fact that I am  I am eighteen, though, does little to change the reality that sometimes Daddy actually does know best.  I took the benzo.

Sweet dreams, everybody.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Shock-JockGate

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Shock-JockGate: The Duchess of Cambridge, unbeknownst to most of the world until very recently, is in the early stages of pregnancy.  Kate has been overtake...

Shock-JockGate

The Duchess of Cambridge, unbeknownst to most of the world until very recently, is in the early stages of pregnancy.  Kate has been overtaken by hyperemesis graviderium,  a condition described by the medical community as  "pregnancy-accompanying nausea and vomiting that results in dehydration and a loss of 5 per cent of body weight or ten pounds"  --  essentionally graver-than-average morning sickness.  As Kate's pregnancy will, if all goes well,  produce the third person in line for the British monarchy, much fanfare has surrounded the announcement of Kate's state of fertility.

Kate's extreme morning sickness required hospitalization. While she was hospitalized, two DJ's in Australia telephoned the hospital, did a rather lame imitation of her Majesty the Queen  --complete with imitation-barking corgis in the background -- and, despite the amateurishness of their impression skills, were able to persuade a desk nurse to provide information concerning Kate's condition over the phone, which was broadcast live to listeners in Australia.

The queen-impersonating call received media coverage beyond Australia.  The naive nurse, under either the media scrutiny and/or possible employer  reprimand for improper dissemination of confidential information, chose the ultimate solution to the problem by ending her life shortly thereafter via lethal drug overdose.

Elements of our society are now attempting to extract their pound of flesh by calling for some sort of sanctions against the DJs who perpetrated the pranks.  I disagree with their assessment of the situation.

While I am sorry that the nurse in question chose such a drastic and final measure to deal with the discomfiture of the situation, I do not share the opinion of some that the DJs are responsible for her death and must pay in some way. The actions of the nurse in response to the situation seem irrational to my, though I cannot know what other pressures the nurse may have faced.  I will not judge her coping mechanism because I do not know precisely what motivated her to take the rather extreme step she took.

Still, I will state that, assuming the protocols for dissemination of medical protocol in the U.K. are similar to those in the U. S., the nurse erred majorly in a way that even a certified nursing assistant would be expected to know better than to do.  Even had the person on the other end of the line been, in fact, Her Majexty the Queen and not an amateur impersonator, it's possible the nurse gave out more information than should have been provided, depending upon what was indicated on the U.K's equivalent of the HIPAA forms Kate would have completed upon admission to the hospital.  Then, when one considers that Kate is a major media figure and that individuals unauthorized to be briefed regarding her confidential medical information might very well be trying to gain access to that information, it becomes obvious that, in addition to a breach in confidentiality and professionalism, a major lapse in common sense was present.

Bleeding hearts may blame the shock jocks (whose actions, in my opinion, were not all that shocking) until they become proverbially blue-in-the-face, but chance are that the nurse in question was an ethics breach waiting to happen. I'm sorry she chose the life-ending course of action she did, but  the Australian DJs do not have her blood on their hands.


Monday, December 3, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: If such a thing were legal . . .

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: If such a thing were legal . . .: If  it were legal, I would invent an Advent  calendar with a Vicodin tablet for each day of the season until Christmas . . . and I would bec...

If such a thing were legal . . .



If  it were legal, I would invent an Advent  calendar with a Vicodin tablet for each day of the season until Christmas . . . and I would become a very wealthy woman.  Unfortunately, it is not legal, and I am, hence, destined to toil away in the trenches all the days of my life.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: I'm not ordinarily a very lucky person, but . . .

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: I'm not ordinarily a very lucky person, but . . .: My parents were uncharacteristically indulgent on this birthday.  All I can really say is "Thanks!" P.S. My brother received the same m...

I'm not ordinarily a very lucky person, but . . .

My parents were uncharacteristically indulgent on this birthday.  All I can really say is "Thanks!"

P.S. My brother received the same model in a color the people at Honda  describe as "modern steel metallic."

P. P.S.  Others who attended the party neither my brother nor I actually wanted were generous as well to the extent that I was more than satisfied with my take before the bombshell gift was even delivered. I wish to express my appreciation to everyone.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Almost Eighteen

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Almost Eighteen: I have an official announcement to make. Though I still look like a freshman or sophomore at the very oldest, as of midnight I will no longe...

Almost Eighteen

I have an official announcement to make. Though I still look like a freshman or sophomore at the very oldest, as of midnight I will no longer be jailbait.

In less than two hours I will  officially reach the age of majority, which is eighteen in the United States. I'll be able to enter into contracts and to  give consent for a host of activities,  although I won't be able to buy alcohol, legally drink, or enter nightclubs, but I'm not terribly bothered by those looming limitations.  I have no desire to go to nightclubs, I have no need to purchase alcohol because it's very easy to access in my house, and as long as I'm not driving with alcohol in my system or appearing in public in an intoxicated state, the legality of my drinking is a non-issue.

I've probably given the impression in recent blogs that I'm something of an alcoholic in the making, but such is, fortunately or unfortunately, not the case.  I don't actually like the taste of alcohol, although I enjoy a nice buzz as much as the next person does. I've deduced that if I don't drink very often, I can get a really nice buzz from a half-bottle of Guinness, which also has the positive side effect of increasing my appetite. So maybe once each week I consume my quota. Then I'm happy, and when I'm happy, everyone around me has a much better chance of being happy than if things are not to my liking.

My weight is up to an all-time high of ninety pounds.  This did not magically happen. It's taken months of diligent consumption of as many calories as I can stomach. I'm still not exactly stout, but I look significantly less like an eastern European orphan than I did a year ago.  It's probably a life-long battle for me, as my mother continues to have to work at not looking anorexic, and she's in her late forties.

Not a lot or major changes as a result of my turning eighteen are foreseen. I'll spend the night in my dorm room on campus a little more often, but I see no need to make the dorm m official residence when I have such plush quarters in my parents' home. I don't have my own baby grand piano in my dorm room, for one thing, nor do I have a private bathroom.  Furthermore, my parents aren't all that intrusive. I'm happy where I am. Next year I may spend a little more time in the dorm. Then again, maybe I won't.

It's odd that a milestone I  eagerly anticipated for so long is arriving with  little psychological fanfare. My friend said she thinks it's because I've had a lot of the privileges of being of age since I started at the university. She may have a point.  Regardless, tomorrow's just another day,although it does come with presents, and presents are always nice.

Friday, November 23, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: My Cousins and Their Children

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: My Cousins and Their Children: Even though my dad is the oldest of his siblings, four of his sisters are already grandparents. His sisters married young and started their ...

My Cousins and Their Children

Even though my dad is the oldest of his siblings, four of his sisters are already grandparents. His sisters married young and started their families more or less immediately Their children didn't waste any time in adding to the Earth's overpopulation problem, either. Eight of my cousins on my dad's side, most of them female, already have one or more children.

My grandmother says that her grandchildren have been highly creative in naming their children. She says that because the names they have chosen weren't, for the most part, common or even invented yet when she named her children, nor were they even in vogue when her children were naming their own offspring. (An interesting sidebar to this is that my grandmother's youngest daughter, who is my aunt Christelle, has an almost-one-year-old child and is expecting her second. With the large families common to Mormons, it's not highly unusual to be anticipating grandchildren and grand-grandchildren simultaneously.) If you're familiar with my married cousins' peer groups, however, you probably recognize that the names they've chosen are roughly as cliche as were Lisa and Michael, Jennifer and Jason, Jessica and Christopher, or Emily and Jacob in their respective heights of popularity, particularly when regional trends are considered.

One thing I've noticed is that the names of many of my little first-cousins-one-removed rhyme with one another.  I'll give you examples. Four of my cousins' kids are named Kayden, Jayden, Aiden, and Brayden.
Abother four are named Chase, Jace, Case, and Trace. Another five are named Riley, Brileigh, Kylee, Miley, and Skyleigh. The  names rhyming with one another do not necessarily belong to children from the same immediate family. Kayden and Case are siblings, as are Trace and Skyleigh.

My cousins have four additional children whose names are not part of the rhyme schemes. James Orson;s name comes from God knows where. Isabella's mother is a Twilight fan  Spencer Gordon's parents wished to acknowledge church history. Ethan's parents just liked the name.

My grandmother thinks her grandchildren are highly creative, though many of them haven't had an original thought in their entire lives. Contrast that with my Aunt Christelle, who named her baby Blitzen Manx.  I have no desire to know from where that one came.




Wednesday, November 21, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Evidence That Alexis Is Not an Alcoholic

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Evidence That Alexis Is Not an Alcoholic: I really should be asleep, as I need to be on campus in just over six hours, but sleep is an elusive commodity that isn't always forthcoming...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Evidence That Alexis Is Not an Alcoholic

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Evidence That Alexis Is Not an Alcoholic: I really should be asleep, as I need to be on campus in just over six hours, but sleep is an elusive commodity that isn't always forthcoming...

Evidence That Alexis Is Not an Alcoholic

I really should be asleep, as I need to be on campus in just over six hours, but sleep is an elusive commodity that isn't always forthcoming when it is most needed. I'm tired of staring at my ceiling waiting to grow tired,  and there's nothing I really want to watch on TV right now.  I went downstairs to see if anything in the kitchen looked vaguely tempting, but nothing did the trick for me. I briefly considered the possibility of helping myself to a Guinness, but that didn't tempt me, either. Does that mean I'm not a bona fide alcoholic?

I attended a pre-voir dire hearing today. Nothing of extreme consequence was ruled upon or announced, although the judge did allow my boss, a public defender, to submit a written questionnaire to the jury pool in order to move things along expeditiously and to minimize invasive questioning of jurors. My boss's opposing counsel proposed that both sides stipulate to limiting peremptory challenges to six for each side. My boss refused to stipulate to such because to do so would not be in the best interests of her client.  The judge agreed with her.  It didn't matter tremendously that the judge agreed with her, as even had he disagreed, he could not have ruled to reduce the number of peremptory challenges from the usual ten without her stipulation, but it's almost always a good omen when a judge agrees with everything a lawyer says.

I was not impressed with the Assistant District Attorney. He seemed to me to have a greater degree of fondness for himself and confidence in his legal skills than is either customary or becoming.  Perhaps his self-confidence is warranted, though I will be surprised if he reveals such to be the case. He comes across as arrogant.  I suppose if he is successful in seating a jury of twelve pompous jerks, they might possibly find him relatable, although I'm doubtful even of that. Pompous jerks often seem to have little more tolerance for their own kind than do the rest of us.

Even though it's highly unlikely that the arrogant attorney will stumble across this blog, and even less likely that he would recognize himself should he stumble upon it, as arrogant @$$holes seldom possess sufficient self-awareness to recognize themselves even with the most precise and apropos of descriptions, I will offer some sort of disclaimer. The opinions I've expressed are mine and mine alone. I did not discuss the topic with my employer. Even had I discussed the topic with my employer, it's unlikely her sentiments would have echoed my own, as she genuinely likes pompous jerks. Furthermore, she would not have concurred that the opposing counsel is a pompous jerk even if she agreed with me that he is, which she would never have done.

Good night and happy The Day Before Thanksgiving Day.

P.S.   I mis-typed  the letters of my first name in the title of this post. What resulted was a homophone for sexless.   Considering the Freudian school of thought that there are no real accidents, my miscue was highly profound.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Hello Again

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Hello Again: Greetings! I have nothing of intelligence to share, which is not exactly a significant deviation from the norm, but I'm checking in just the...

Hello Again

Greetings! I have nothing of intelligence to share, which is not exactly a significant deviation from the norm, but I'm checking in just the same. I will be taking a few days off from my normal university grind to help a friend with some legal work. I cannot give many details at this time except to say that it is a domestic battery case, and I am providing slave labor for the public defender's office.  The pre-voir dire conference will be held tomorrow.

I attended classes today, and I will also make an appearance on Wednesday. Then it's two days off for Thanksgiving. I'll show up again on the following Monday, after which I'll be tied up with the trial for maybe three days.  I'm glad my professors for this quarter are not  anal half-wits, as were some of my previous professors.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Did You Just Make Up Those Numbers?

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Did You Just Make Up Those Numbers?: I haven't yet come down from a post-election high. I wish I had been Megyn Kelly for Halloween instead of having reprised my Trailer Trash B...

Did You Just Make Up Those Numbers?

I haven't yet come down from a post-election high. I wish I had been Megyn Kelly for Halloween instead of having reprised my Trailer Trash Barbie costume, although, as an American who is of one-half Irish descent, I find the spelling of her first name (Megyn Kelly's, not Trailer Trash Barbie's) positively reprehensible.  Some would say the blame for the spelling of her name belongs to her parents and not to her, but I call poppycock on that. TV and radio personalities change their names, the spellings of their names, their birthdates, their noses, and probably even their social security numbers quite routinely.  For that matter, Ms. Kelly probably changed the spelling of her name in the first place from the more standard and authentic Megan (even Meghan would have been bearable) to Megyn.  Megyn makes me think of ob-gyn, which is something I would just as soon not think about. *

Even though it's getting a little late in the day to make such changes, I'm considering changing my undergraduate major. Does one need to be a Republican to major in "math you do to make yourself feel better as a Republican"?

* For that matter, who knows if she even started out with the name Megan, spelling notwithstanding?

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Becca is Home!

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Becca is Home!: Rebecca as had surgery and is home from the hospital. She was  able to vote in the presidential election. I know how much I look forward to ...

Becca is Home!

Rebecca as had surgery and is home from the hospital. She was  able to vote in the presidential election. I know how much I look forward to being able to vote for the first time. It would have been most sad and unfortuitous if illness had forced her to relinquish that right this year.

Welcome back, Becca!

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Rebecca

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Rebecca: Please join me in praying for and/or sending out positive thoughts on behalf of my good friend Rebecca, who is once again in her second home...

Rebecca

Please join me in praying for and/or sending out positive thoughts on behalf of my good friend Rebecca, who is once again in her second home, which is the Philadelphia Children's Hospital. It's been a few days since I've heard from here, so I'm starting to be concerned.

Rebecca, if you can hear me, I'm praying and sending good thoughts your way! Hang in there!

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Five Little Romneys

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Five Little Romneys: Some anonymous blogger renamed Mitt Romney's five sons: Mitt Jr., Mittens, Oven Mitt, Mitthew, and and Glove. Those names are at least as go...

The Five Little Romneys

Some anonymous blogger renamed Mitt Romney's five sons: Mitt Jr., Mittens, Oven Mitt, Mitthew, and and Glove. Those names are at least as good as their actual names, whatever they might be. Seriously, who in the world names his kid something like Tagg? Or, for that matter, Mitt?

please join me in praying or sending positive thoughts or lighting a candle or reciting an ode to the West Wind that we don't find out by this time tomorrow that the five little Romneys have become the first offspring-elect.

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The English Language Usage Police

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The English Language Usage Police: Well, I recently deviated from my personal creed, which is that I claim the privilege of writing according to the dictates of my own conscie...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The English Language Usage Police

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The English Language Usage Police: Well, I recently deviated from my personal creed, which is that I claim the privilege of writing according to the dictates of my own conscie...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The English Language Usage Police

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The English Language Usage Police: Well, I recently deviated from my personal creed, which is that I claim the privilege of writing according to the dictates of my own conscie...

The English Language Usage Police

Well, I recently deviated from my personal creed, which is that I claim the privilege of writing according to the dictates of my own conscience and allow all  [people] the same privilege: let them write how, where, or what they may.*  In my previous posting to this blog, well,  I disparaged the blatant disregard for conventions of standard written English in many Mormon Mommy blogs. http://alexisar.blogspot.com/2012/11/mormon-mommy-blogs.html  Well, I offer no apologies for the content of that particular post, and stand by my original observation, which is that many Mormon Mommies, as evidenced by their blog postings,  lack proficiency in the area of basic writing skills.  Well, this comes as less than a news flash to most of my readers. 

Why, then, am I wasting time and space to address the topic?  Well, I'm heading in this direction simply to share that I dislike the use of the word well as a placeholder, for lack of a better term.  

Are more compelling problems plaguing the world at this very moment? Well, yes. Do I care? Well, no. Well, actually, I do care, but since I can't do much about the more serious and complex issues facing our nation and planet,  I choose instead to focus upon the misuse, abuse, and overuse of the word well.

Well, as a  general rule, I dislike self-proclaimed spelling, grammar, and punctuation police as much as anyone else does. After reading several Mormon Mommy blogs, however, I felt led -- perhaps even  inspired -- to share.

* blatant plagiarism of the writings of Joseph Smith, Junior, who probably plagiarized his version every bit as blatantly as did I

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Saturday, November 3, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Mormon Mommy Blogs

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Mormon Mommy Blogs: Because I have apparent masochistic tendencies, I sometimes click on the "next blog" button on the Blogspot bar. I don't know if what I get ...

Mormon Mommy Blogs

Because I have apparent masochistic tendencies, I sometimes click on the "next blog" button on the Blogspot bar. I don't know if what I get when I click on the button is representative of what's truly out there in Blogspot's corner of the blogosphere, or if I'm just lucky, but at least once out of every four times that I click, I land on a Mormon Mommy blog.

I have nothing against Mormons.  Maybe I do, actually, but I don't hate all of them, especially since I am a "sort of" Mormon. I was blessed in the LDS church, and, through a statistical and record-keeping anomaly, I was baptized by proxy for numerous dead people in a Mormon temple even though I was never baptized for myself outside of the temple, which is supposed to happen before a person is allowed to undertake the same ordinance on behalf of others. (Similarly, my brother, who was not baptized, either, holds the Aaronic Priesthood of the LDS church. We Rousseaus are apparently incredibly talented at being Mormons to the degree that we're allowed to skip necessary steps, pass Go, and collect our two hundred dollar stipends without troubling ourselves with Chance, Community Chest, or any of the four railroads. When someone's grandfather is among The Lord's Annointed, sometimes others make silly assumptions about pesky little matters such as baptism.)

Getting back to the subject at hand, while I may take many cheap shots at Mormons and Mormonism, many people whom I love or about whom I care are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Some of them are mothers. Paradoxically, though, they're not Mormon Mommies. Merely being both a Mormon and a mother (or even a mommy, if one prefers)  does not make a person a Mormon Mommy. Being a Mormon Mommy involves more than practicing a religion and begetting children.  "Mormon Mommies" are far more special than that.

A Mormon Mommy gives her children names such as Kennedie, Shelayna,  Gracie Claire,   or Sariah.  Sometimes she chooses to highlight her child's specialness by creating a one-of-a-kind designer name such as Emmalia or Deseret, and she becomes  most irate if anyone, upon seeing the name in print, mispronounces the first name /em-muh-LEE-uh/ or the second as /DES-ur-et/. (They're pronounced  /em-MAHL-lee-uh/ and 'des-ur-RAY/, idiots.)

She spends many of her waking hours on Pinterest, creating projects she learned about on Pinterest, photographing her Pinterestic creations, and publishing her fantastic Pinterest results there and elsewhere. She can blog for weeks about hairstyles she learned about on Pinterest.  Her children's birthday parties (the themes and implementation procedures of which usually sprung from Pinterest) are documented more exhaustively than was the birth of Jesus.


One may reach the conclusion that I have some sort of issue with Pinterest, which is not entirely accurate. While I have no desire to create adorable Christmas card holders from recycled Tampax boxes, or, for that matter, to create anything through any process that involves the use of a glue gun, I'm open-minded enough not to deny others that privilege; I just don't want to hear about it. What happens on Pinterest should remain on Pinterest. If I'm sitting on a chair that was slip-covered with individual Starburst wrappers that were melted with a steaming iron onto discarded hospital gowns, please leave me to wallow in my ignorance as to the process that created this one-of-a-kind work of art on which I'm sitting. If the chair is too precious for me to sit on, just say so, but don't torture me with cumbersome stories about the preciousness of the chair. I don't want to read about it on Blogspot, either. If anyone truly wants to know about all the bizarre hygiene products be created in one's own kitchen using only cornstarch, baking soda, candle wax, and Herbal Essence Shampoo, the person probably knows how to find Pinterest. the rest of the world would appreciate being spared the gory details.


Standard written English and A Mormon Mommy are not usually best friends, or even casual acquaintances. A Mormon Mommy connects independent clauses with commas.  ("We are laughing, we are friends.") The distinction between adjectives and adverbs is not a matter to which she gives much thought. Likewise, if subject/verb agreement happens, fine; if it fails to happen, that, too, is fine. Pronoun/antecedent compatibility? What's that? She uses apostrophes liberally, though not necessarily in any way of which David Foster Wallace or any other grammar Nazi would approve. (The Anderson's  had  BLAST'S at  Alicias' and at Great-Grandmas "60th" birthday bash's.)  Blogspot's spelling correction feature keeps her blog from containing even more spelling errors than a person would find in an average posting of this blog (I admit to being a notoriously poor typist who doesn't take the time that I should to edit), but provides more than enough homophonic errors to make up for the lack of outright spelling miscues. ("My great-great-grandfather still serves on the steak high counsel and sings base in the choir. He and my great-great-grandmother receive so many complements about they're many descendence whenever there entire family is together, like at my cousins bridle shower.") Exclamation points are a Mormon Mommy's best friend, and she hearts them!!!!! (A Mormon Mommy does not merely love people, places, things, or ideas. She hearts them!

I most definitely do not hold disdain for LDS mothers as a whole. I'm related to a great many of them, some of with whom I'm even on speaking terms. Two ladies (one a relative and the other not) with whom I have close relationships are both practicing Latter-Day Saints and mothers. One works full-time as an ENT, otherwise known as an otolaryngologist, and, along with her husband, who is a gastroenterologist, looks after her two children.  The other one, who has six children, is a non-practicing dental hygienist. though she likes to boast that not one of her six children has ever had a cavity. In what little spare time she has, she handles accounting for family operated enterprises.  Both women are intelligent, attractive,  articulate, nice, and funny. To the best of my knowledge,  neither woman blogs, but if either one did, it wouldn't be a Mormon Mommy blog. They would have more intelligent messages to share than how to conserve energy by baking cheesecake atop the engine of a just-parked SUV (that gets a whopping eleven miles to the gallon) after she has driven it around the neighborhood for thirty-seven minutes for the sole purpose of heating  the engine sufficiently to back the cheesecake. How's that for conservation of natural resources? Natural resources do not actually need to conserved, nor does the concept of overpopulation need to be considered, according to  Mormon Mommies, because The Savior will return soon enough, ushering in The Millenium and rendering as moot any discussion of the Earth's resources.

I shared my distaste for Mormon Mommy blogs with my dad, who said, "If you don't like 'em, don't read 'em." I could follow his advice, but it's not that simple. Mormon Mommy blogs are the proverbial train wreck from which i cannot turn away. I also, on the other hand, reserve the first amendment-supported  right to criticize what I find worthy of criticism.  If anything is worthy of criticism, it's the average Mormon Mommy blog.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Sing Hallelujah, Come On Get Happy!

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Sing Hallelujah, Come On Get Happy!: I've finished all assigned  papers and projects for this quarter and have gone through all assigned reading at least twice.  For me, this is...

Sing Hallelujah, Come On Get Happy!

I've finished all assigned  papers and projects for this quarter and have gone through all assigned reading at least twice.  For me, this is a major cause for celebration. I went to my parents' refrigerator and helped myself to a Guiness. I can't stand the taste but like the buzz, so I plug my nose. In addition to the buzz, Guiness increases my appetite. I'm looking less like a refugee but still need to add a couple of pounds if I want to reach menarche before I hit my twenties.

This quarter has been the most academically demanding term of my life. I've had other quarters or semesters in high school and in university where I've dealt with major adversity and trauma, and i've taken more quarter units, but I've never had so many loaded courses all at once.  I don't meet with advisors or counselors on anything resembling a regular basis, but I was called in to meet with a counselor because a computer  red-flagged my schedule of courses as being unusually difficult, and the counselor wanted to ascertain that I knew into what kind of a jam I was getting myself.   I told him I knew it would be rough but that I was confident that I could handle it. So far I'm handling it. I still have  midterms and finals to go, but my lowest score on any exam this quarter has been 98.

This is my favorite point in every term. Once I've done the readings, papers, and projects, I can start living again.  I can hurdle when I feel like it and can dive when the diving pool is open.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that I don't like college, but my very favorite part of it is being finished.

I don't want to subject myself to any potential alcohol poisoning, but I'm probably going to help myself to a second Guiness in a few minutes. What are my parents going to do about it, anyway, even if they notice?  Confine me to me room, which has a TV, multiple computers, lots of books, multiple phones, a piano, a violin, and a really comfortable bed?  Gosh, I'm scared.

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Close Friend of the Family Passed

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Close Friend of the Family Passed: A close friend of my family left his mortal existence Thursday. This particular friend happened to be a dog, which makes his departure felt ...

A Close Friend of the Family Passed

A close friend of my family left his mortal existence Thursday. This particular friend happened to be a dog, which makes his departure felt no less.

The dearly departed, otherwise known as Boogie Man Molnar, suffered an apparent brain hemorrhage
Thursday evening. His beloved immediate family was with him as he passed.  He went, from all accounts, very quickly.

The memorial service was held today, and I was lucky enough to be in attendance.  My parents were participants in the service. My dad played his guitar while he and my mom sang "Time of Your Life" by Green Day, which was reportedly one of Boogie Man's favorite songs.  My dad also gave the invocation. My pseudoaunt's brother gave the benediction, and my pseudoaunt's cousin eulogized Boogie Man.

My dad made the offhand comment that he had sunk to new depths in playing and singing at a dog's funeral. I believe he's actually risen to new heights.


Rest in peace, Boogie Man.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Cartoon Dislike

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Cartoon Dislike: I have an almost irrational distaste -- I don't really like to use the word hate in this sense -- for Sean Hannity. Plenty of rational reas...

Cartoon Dislike

I have an almost irrational distaste -- I don't really like to use the word hate in this sense -- for Sean Hannity. Plenty of rational reasons exist for disliking Sean Hannity, but I'm not sure any of those reasons are behind my rather intense aversion to Hannity.  While he's not as totally insane as Glenn Beck or quite so caricaturish as Limbaugh, he has the potential to cause more harm because a few more people who are maybe a bit stupid but not total idiots take him seriously.

Hannity is  not as incarnately evil as Ann Coulter, although I'm not 100% sure she's for real. Much of the venom she spews is so far beyond outrageous that I wonder if anyone intelligent enough to vocalize beyond the level of grunting can actually believe she's serious. Sometimes I wonder if perhaps Ann Coulter has an awesome gig and she knows it, and if she's going to ride it as far as it will take her. Probably not, but still I wonder.

While my political leanings are most definitely liberal, I'm not blindly in opposition to all things conservative.  I don't despise Bill O 'Reilly. I think David Gergen, who's moderate, is one of the most astute political analysts around.  No one's funnier than Carville, and I place a high premium on comic relief, but Gergen has a better handle on what's really happening in D. C. than just about anyone in my opinion.

With Hannity, it's almost as if the omnipresent smirk on his face makes me angry every time I see it, even before he says anything.

Ann Romney is starting to have the same effect on me. As much as I dislike Mitt and don't want him to be president, I might be able to tolerate a Romney presidency [for one term, anyway] if Ann and the five Romney sons would agree to hie to Kolob (an allusion taken verbatim from an LDS hymn, believe it or not) for the duration of the term. The oldest son, Tagg, or whatever his actual name is, somewht unnerves me. Matt and Josh aren't quite so bad. Ben, the MD, has a permanent sneer on his face. perhaps it's just the way his mouth is formed, but it looks like a sneer to me, and it puts me into an instant bad mood for an entire day if I have to see it. The youngest son, Craig, looks totally caballo loco to me. Maybe it's just my perception, but there's something in his eyes that seems not quite right, and I don't think it's Graves' Disease. Then again, maybe it's his weird hair. I'm somewhat surprised all the Romneys didn't wrestle him to the ground and cut it into a more respectable style.

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: "Senior" Picture and Other Matters

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: "Senior" Picture and Other Matters: I just got my senior pictures, which were taken last week. No really compelling reason exists for my having delayed my senior portrait until...

"Senior" Picture and Other Matters

I just got my senior pictures, which were taken last week. No really compelling reason exists for my having delayed my senior portrait until my second year of university attendance. I did have a a yearbook photo taken at the studio that was taking all students' yearbook photos for my school, but my face was bruised from an accident, and even with heavy cosmetic application and major retouching (made even easier with computerized enhancements)  the best of the shots wasn't terribly flattering.

My appointment for that particular photo sitting had been made more than two months in advance when my crutch got caught in the grout of my pseudo-relatives' old apartment, causing me to fall  on my face. The stitches or the residual scar under my chin wouldn't show, but not much of my face was spared from either bruising or swelling.  A couple of days after it all went down, it occurred to me that the photo shoot was only three weeks away and that, while the swelling would probably be gone, the departure of the discoloration might not happen in that three weeks. I was in Utah at the time, but I googled the studio, got the number, and called them in an attempt to reschedule. The person who answered the phone insisted that they were booked solidly and that no openings were available before the yearbook's deadline for inclusion. I would have had no problem with being excluded from the photo section of the yearbook, but I knew just how big a conniption fit my mother would have pitched, so I didn't cancel the appointment.

When my mom first saw me following the face plant, two weeks later and one week before the scheduled portrait sitting, she freaked out. She called the studio in attempt to reschedule (I told her it was futile) and was told that had she called a week or two earlier, a change could have been made, but it was too late. ?!?!?!?!?

So I went to the studio at the appointed day and time and had my blue, purple, and yellow face photographed. (Depending upon the depth of the bruising, the contusions were at different phases of healing, hence the multi-colored effect.) The proof we selected for the yearbook was a waist-up shot  barely showed my face, much less my bruises, in the 2.5" by 1.5" or whatever the small size that was allotted for each senior's photo. I suppose anyone who looks at the yearbook will wonder why I chose a picture in which I can only marginally be distinguished from Osama bin Laden, but that was and continues to be the very least of my concerns.

Other things happened during my senior year of high school that moved portrait sittings from the back burner to entirely off the stove in terms of priority. Neither I nor my parents thought about it last year, either. This summer I had an auto accident in which an airbag deployed, leaving its own telltale fresh but temporary discoloration. For some inexplicable reason, this caused my mother to think of the photo shoot. The across-the-street neighbors in our present location operate a photography studio.  My mom set up an appointment for October, and I had pictures taken last week.

My dad wanted me to leave my hair curly for the picture, but that point wasn't negotiable. My hair didn't turn out great when I straightened it that day, so I ended up choosing one of the wind-blown shots, since it didn't particularly matter in those shots that my hair actually looked as though it had been styled by a blind person wearing gardening gloves.  The picture is far from the most glamorous senior portrait ever taken, but at least I don't look in the picture as though I just returned from a date with Mike Tyson.

If you didn't know, the picture to the left of this of this blog (the larger one at the top; the smaller black-and-white picture was from when I was almost six)  is my official "senior portrait," albeit two years late. Since I'm seventeen, I can rationalize that I'm now the age most people are when they have their senior pictures taken, anyway.


Monday, October 22, 2012

Guest Lecturer in One of My Classes

One of my courses this quarter is Biology of Cancer. It's not a degree requirement for me. You will now have a pop quiz: Why would Alexis take an elective that robs her of so many of her few leisure hours each week? A)) Alexis  is a masochist. B)) Alexis is stupid. C)) Alexis really likes cancer. D)) It may impress medical school admissions committees. E)) all (or none) of the above. If your choice was  Answer D, you aced the quiz, although Answer B may give you a 100% score as well, depending upon who scores your exam.

An oncologist specializing in leukemia and lymphoma lives in the city where my university is located and will be a guest lecturer for my class this week. The oncologist who will deliver this lecture is none other than my father. This will not be the first time I've endured having my dad lecture one of my classes.

When my brother and  I took biology in ninth grade, my teacher thought it would be really fun for the class to have Matthew's and Alexis' father speak to the class. How bad could it possibly be? I asked myself. That was before I knew that someone had given my dad when he was in college a long-sleeved T-shirt with pictures of the organs of the body in places approximating their actual locations. (The sleeves had muscles.) Had I know my father owned such a shirt, I would have simply removed it from his closet a day or two before his scheduled appearance and hidden it. Hindsight is often 20/10. Surely enough, my dad walked into our biology classroom on the appointed day wearing the obscenely hideous shirt. The only thing that might have embarrassed my brother and me more than the shirt itself would have been if the shirt had matching pants. Thank God that if pants existed to go with that Godawful shirt, whoever gave the shirt to my dad was too cheap to spring for them. Otherwise (while I cannot speak for my brother) I quite possibly might not have lived through the experience to tell about it.

My dad was such a smash hit that he lectured at our school a couple times each year following his initial appearance. I don't believe he ever wore the organ shirt again, but he wore other articles of clothing with obnoxious biology-related captions. Once when he lectured on human reproduction (if anything could  possibly be more humiliating than having one's father appear on campus in an organ T-shirt to lecture, it could only be having one's father lecture to one's class on the topic of human reproduction) he came down for breakfast the morning of  the lecture wearing a tie boldly emblazoned with the slogan  "If I were an enzyme, I'd be DNA helicase so that I could unzip your genes."  I tried telling him politely that he would be viewed as a pervert if he wore that tie to my school, but he only laughed and said, "It doesn't mean anything dirty, Alexis" and went into an explanation of how helicases separate nucleic acid strands, which I already understood quite well. It was only after I threw a complete hissy fit and cried that my mother insisted he go upstairs and find something more appropriate to wear to my school that day. (Four years later he and my mom insist it was all a big joke and that he only wore the tie  to breakfast to get a rise out of me, but I'm not so sure I believe that.)

I doubt many of my classmates in Biology of Cancer even know my last name, as they tend to ignore me, and even if they do know it, they wouldn't know for certain that my father and I are related. It's not as though we share any obvious physical anomalies, or even resemble one another particularly strongly. I look more like my father than un-like him, but the two of us don't resemble one another to the degree that he and my brother do or that my mother and I do. Furthermore, this isn't high school. I don't have to pretend anymore that I was hatched from an egg or was the product of immaculate conception. It's OK to admit that I have parents. Just the same, I will go through my dad's closet tomorrow and remove any articles of clothing that possess any  potential of embarrassment to me.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: It Was Easier When I Could Just Be Cat Woman

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: It Was Easier When I Could Just Be Cat Woman: With Halloween rapidly approaching, I have plans to make. I'll still be up to my neck in readings and assignments, but I do plan to take the...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: It Was Easier When I Could Just Be Cat Woman

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: It Was Easier When I Could Just Be Cat Woman: With Halloween rapidly approaching, I have plans to make. I'll still be up to my neck in readings and assignments, but I do plan to take the...

It Was Easier When I Could Just Be Cat Woman

With Halloween rapidly approaching, I have plans to make. I'll still be up to my neck in readings and assignments, but I do plan to take the night off.  It's highly unlikely that my parents will allow me to spend the evening in [the college community I'm not allowed to name], but i may have the opportunity for a little fun with people close to my own age.

I haven't yet decided on a Halloween costume. I don't know how to make myself look like Ann Romney, not that I'd necessarily want to resemble her even on Halloween.  I could make a really realistic Gabby Douglas, but skin color makeup is considered to be in poor taste.  If the boy who is not my boyfriend were attending festivities with me, we could be prince William and Kate, but his university is in Los Angeles, and Halloween is on a week night this year.  The polygs haven't been in the news much lately, so dressing up as one of them would  be somewhat pointless. I could drss up as a Mormon lady missionary just for the hell of it. I'm not sure what they wear, but it wouldn't be hard to find out.

My body type wouldn't make a very realistic Honey Boo Boo Child.; she probably even has more physical development in her favor than I do.  Her mother would be fun to portray as well, but  I look even less like her than I look like Honey Boo Boo herself.

I could be Chelsea Handler or Suri Cruise or Michele Bachman or Wonder Woman before she grew breasts. I suppose I could also dress up as Nicky Minaj, or I could impersonate a nun.  In a real pinch, I could dress up once again as Trailer Trash Barbie.  If I choose the trailer trash Barbie, unless I wear a sign, I'll just look like one of the pre-teen skanks in my former city.

the possibilities are numerous, but I'm not all that excited about any of them.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: I'm Included in Mitt Romney's Binder Full of Women...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: I'm Included in Mitt Romney's Binder Full of Women...: Actually, I'm not. I just felt like saying that. Seriously, I have no clue as to what he meant when he brought that up. Is it anything like ...

I'm Included in Mitt Romney's Binder Full of Women

Actually, I'm not. I just felt like saying that. Seriously, I wasn't totally clear as to where Mitt was trying to go when he brought that up. Is it anything like having been included in Heidi Fleiss's black book? if so, I'm definitely not in it.

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Fair and Unbalanced?

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Fair and Unbalanced?: Sean Hannity tweeted after last night's debate, "Game, set, match...one of the best debate performances ever by Mitt Romney  # HofstraDebate...

Fair and Unbalanced?

Sean Hannity tweeted after last night's debate, "Game, set, match...one of the best debate performances ever by Mitt Romney ."

Call me biased, as I admittedly am, but I just didn't see it quite that way.

Monday, October 15, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Duggars Are Displaying Both Ignorance and Immo...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Duggars Are Displaying Both Ignorance and Immo...: The Duggars are actively campaigning for Todd Akin in his bid to continue to represent his district in the U.S. House of Representatives. Th...

The Duggars Are Displaying Both Ignorance and Immorality by Campaigning for Todd Akin

The Duggars are actively campaigning for Todd Akin in his bid to continue to represent his district in the U.S. House of Representatives. This is the same Todd Akin who stated that women rarely become pregnant through rape because the female body has ways of dealing with such indignities and can shut down ovulation or employ other measures to protect itself, thereby negating the need for any discussion concerning a woman's right to choose whether or not to continue a pregnancy that occurred as a result of rape. Since, in the words of Akin, the possibility of conception as a result of forced intercourse falls somewhere between highly unlikely and virtually impossible,  any discussion of   need to end a pregnancy that occurred as a result of rape is supererogatory.

This is the person the Duggars are publicly supporting.  if anyone thinks JimBob's and Michelle's brand of ultra-conservative religious fanaticism is harmless, he or she might wish to think again.  A person who even completed lower division high school science requirements should be too knowledgeable to offer such an ignorant assertion.  Even the staunchest of pro-lifers can, for the most part, recognize the ludicrosity of Akin's bizarre claims.

On the other hand, the Duggars have a devoted following. Some of the Duggars' fans will still recognize stupidity for what it is, and will, despite their fondness for the Duggars, vote according to their senses of logic and of right and wrong. Others, however, while they're not in overabundant possession of IQ points, might have avoided making dangerous choices in voting, but will be swayed by the Duggars' support of Todd Akin.

Segments of our population show stupidity when it comes to allowing themselves to be unduly influenced by the opinions of celebrities. This is true with regard both to liberal and conservative points of view. If a person wishes to buy clothing based on what bands or styles a celebrity wears because he or she admires the celebrity's sense of style,  that is rational behavior. Likewise, if a person chooses to use a particular toothpaste because a celebrity who happens to have nice teeth endorses the product, there is some logic to that course of action, although anyone who believes that the celebrity has beautiful teeth because of his or her toothpaste, and not because of the costly cosmetic dental procedures, he or she is, in my opinion, naive, but there would at least be a cause/effect relationship on which the person's reasoning was based.

On the other hand, celebrities are fond of injecting themselves into our nation's election process by endorsing candidates. While celebrities' first amendment rights, like anyone else's. allow them to express themselves politically or in virtually any other regard, people who are influenced by the political opinions of entertainers, athletes, or other celebrities positively scare me. why would anyone care, except as a matter of curiosity, who George Clooney or Ted Nugent  endorses in a political campaign? Why do we as Americans give celebrities credibility and a prominent platform for expressing their political views? Does anyone honestly believe celebrities have more knowledge than do average citizens in regard to which candidate is best suited to fill a public office? I can understand not watching an entertainer's television appearances, not going to see his or her movies, or not purchasing a musician's recordings if one is put off by the entertainer's brand of politics.  I'm not necessarily recommending this course of action, as I personally prefer to keep politics and entertainment separate and distinct, yet I could understand someone else making a choice to boycott an entertainer because of his or her political actions. The reverse, on the other hand,  makes no sense whatsoever. Why would anyone allow his or her vote to be influenced by how celebrities, who have no more and no less political knowledge than do the rest of us? It's unfathomable.

The Duggars are offering their time and fan base in support of a candidate whose knowledge of biology wouldn't get him as far as tenth grade. Some of Missouri's voters will undoubtedly be swayed by the Duggars' support of Akins and will vote accordingly. While I'm glad I don't live in Missouri, this gives me limited consolation. A member of the U.S. House of Representatives, can effect legislation that affects the nation as a whole/  People of Missouri, please use your brains when casting your ballots.

P.S. Todd Akin's parents are first cousins, once removed.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Joining Honey Boo Boo's Family

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Joining Honey Boo Boo's Family: About a month ago I was sick and my dad felt obligated to keep me company when I was watching an episode of "Here comes Honey boo Boo." My P...

Joining Honey Boo Boo's Family

About a month ago I was sick and my dad felt obligated to keep me company when I was watching an episode of "Here comes Honey boo Boo." My PseudoUncle showed up and watched part of the show with us.  My dad doesn't like any television program that I like. Even if he does like a show, if he finds out that I like it, he will reverse his stance on principal alone and dislike the show simply because I like it. In the case of "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo," however, no reversing of his stance was necessary. He hated it from the very first  little blurb before the episode even started, which made me love it all the more

My dad complained the entire time the show aired that everyone in our house-- even those not watching it -- was losing IQ points by osmosis. Then my PseudoUncle joined in on the complaints.
They didn't think the footage we were seeing on TV was for real. They thought most of the redneckocity or whatever one would care to call it was dreamed up by the producers. While I've said the same thing myself, I couldn't allow my dad and my PseudoUncle to trash my new favorite program with impunity.  I had to defend June, Alana, SugarBear, Pumpkin, Chubbs, Chickadee and anyone else even loosely associated with the show.

My dad has since decided that I would fit in with the Honey Boo Boo family better than I fit in with my birth family. He claims to be making arrangements even as I type to have my
possessions transported to McIntyre, Georgia, so that I can move in with my kindred spirits.  He said that spending five minutes in the presence of those people will in all likelihood lower my MCAT and LSAT scores to the point that I'll never even get into law school, much less medical school, but it's a price that must be paid.  Human beings have a biological compulsion, he says, to be in the company of their natural peers, however far and wide they must travel to find them.

My father is proof positive that a person can have an MD and still be, for practical purposes, a functional moron.


Saturday, October 6, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Espanol for Dummies

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Espanol for Dummies: My dad has decided that if I'm considering medical school and planning to live in California, I need to learn to speak Spanish.  He now only...

Espanol for Dummies

My dad has decided that if I'm considering medical school and planning to live in California, I need to learn to speak Spanish.  He now only speaks to me in Spanish, which is fine with me, as I really don't care all that much about anything he says, anyway. He might just as well be speaking Lithuanian.  I have a sixth sense and can tell when anything he says relates to money. If such is the case, I pay attention and attempt to understand what he is saying. If it's not about money, however, I smile and say, "Si, Senor" whether he's talking about school, dinner, or a herpes virus.

Vaya con Dios.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: More Wackjob Professors

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: More Wackjob Professors: I've been in college for just long enough to note that it's pretty much the norm for professors to be abnormal. My first quarter of attendan...

More Wackjob Professors

I've been in college for just long enough to note that it's pretty much the norm for professors to be abnormal. My first quarter of attendance here was a summer session, which gave me the blatantly false impression that most university professors are sound of mind. Since then I've learned that summer sessions are largely staffed by adjunct staff, who may be a degree or two to the west of bona fide sanity, but offer not even a cheap imitation of the eccentricity (a euphemism, by the way) that university students will experience when September hits and the "real" professors return.

When I have a little more time I will more  formally evaluate the mental health [or lack thereof] exhibited by my professors of this quarter. For now, suffice it to say that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Monday, October 1, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Loaded Schedule of Courses Is Preferable to a L...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Loaded Schedule of Courses Is Preferable to a L...: I'm entering what will likely be my most difficult  quarter of school ever if I end up in law school, and second only to third-year rotation...

A Loaded Schedule of Courses Is Preferable to a Loaded Gun

I'm entering what will likely be my most difficult  quarter of school ever if I end up in law school, and second only to third-year rotations of medical school if I go in that direction. Only two of my present  classes are required. The others are needed to pad my resume, so to speak, and to make me a more competitive applicant. I've already completed law school requirements. I could graduate in June and would probably be admitted to the law school of my choice, but I will have a better chance of thriving once there if I'm nineteen when I make my initial appearance in law school. I would have a tough time even being admitted into medical school if I applied this year. Furthermore, I need to fulfill some sort of a lab internship as a medical school candidate, if that's the option I choose.

I'm taking Biology II,  Biology of Cancer, Inorganic Chemistry, Neurobiology of Brain States, and Study of Descartes as well as [pre-recital] music performance/piano.

I'm going to take the MCAT in spring of 2013. I'll take a lighter course load so that I can prep for the MCAT, and probably for the LSAT once I've finished the MCAT. I don't plan to take either exam twice, but there's probably time to sneak in another attempt in a worst-case scenario. If I categorically self-destruct with regard to the MCAT, I'll have a reasonably good idea that I was not successful after taking the test, even before receiving scores, and will conclude that it's an omen and that I should be taking my talent [or lack of such] in another direction. In a worst-case scenario in which I'm admitted neither to a medical school nor to a law school I would care to attend, I can get a master's degree and reapply the following year, as I would still only be 20 when starting, which is still considered relatively young, for both medical school or law school.

So far I'm coping with the rigorous load. At this time last year, I would have expected that I would have been overcome with anxiety in the face of so many demanding courses.  Right now it just seems like one more hoop through which to jump.

Friday, September 21, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Second Anniversary

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Second Anniversary: Two years ago today, three subhuman Homo sapiens attacked me in a school restroom. They injured me, but the male among them was unable to ca...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Second Anniversary

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Second Anniversary: Two years ago today, three subhuman Homo sapiens attacked me in a school restroom. They injured me, but the male among them was unable to ca...

Second Anniversary

Two years ago today, three subhuman Homo sapiens attacked me in a school restroom. They injured me, but the male among them was unable to carry out a sexual attack because of a particular physical challenge. He kicked me and injured me, as did each of the two participating females, but I was not raped. This isn't a day I celebrate, but since it occurred to me that it was an anniversary of the non-event, I decided to bring it up.

Two years later, I have, including AP units, 108 quarter credits. A very reliable source has told me that among my three attackers, none has held a job for more than four consecutive weeks, and they have accumulated, between the three of them, forty-one units, quarter or semester.

Good sometimes triumphs over evil.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Kevin Bacon, David Koresh, and My First Male Teach...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Kevin Bacon, David Koresh, and My First Male Teach...: When I was in third grade, I started out the year with a male teacher. He was my only male teacher until sixth grade, and he did very little...

Kevin Bacon, David Koresh, and My First Male Teacher

When I was in third grade, I started out the year with a male teacher. He was my only male teacher until sixth grade, and he did very little to replace my notion that only ladies should teach young children. I've since learned that there are many exceptional male teachers in elementary schools, and my sixth grade teacher was definitely one of them. My initial third grade teacher, however, was exceptional only in the sense that he was exceptionally unqualified to teach anything smarter than a chicken. In the event that your experience with chickens is limited, I can share with you that birds in general are lacking in cognitive ability [hence the term bird brain] and that chickens are notable even among birds for their ineducability and overall stupidity. My first third grade teacher was known for similar qualities.

This teacher had a most amusing surname, to children, anyway,  which I cannot mention here for obvious reasons. Instead, I'll call him by another name: Mr. Oldbottom*. The fictitious name I've given him is a makeshift compound word.  The first root of the compound word  I've created is an opposite of the first syllable of my former teacher's actual surname. (Note: old has more than one opposite, and  the opposite to which I'm referring is not young.) The second root of the compound can be a four-letter synonym of the second syllable of my former teacher's name, referring particularly to the "body part" definition of bottom.

So the man was saddled with a somewhat unfortunate last name, which isn't necessarily a good thing for a teacher. A teacher with a surname likely to be the subject of ridicule among students has two viable courses of action. The first is to develop a thick skin, to laugh along with the students, and to tell them you've already heard every joke that could ever be made about your name, and so students may as well not even waste their time trying to make jokes about it. If the first option isn't practical for whatever reason, a teacher with an odd and ridicule-prone name should perhaps change it to something with which he can live more easily. Doing so legally would  probably be a bit of both a hassle and an expense, but if one's family name is sufficiently loathsome, it might in the long run be time and money well spent.

Mr. Oldbottom* exercised neither of my disclosed options. Instead, he warned all students on the very first day of school that any lampooning of his name whatsoever would result in swift and severe consequences both to the person lampooning and to any poor soul so lacking in self-control as to laugh at any joke made of Mr. Oldbottom's*  name.  Mr. Oldbottom* could have done very little more to issue an open invitation to students to poke fun at his name than what he did. I wish I could share all the  plays on words that my classmates and I  devised, but I cannot without more fully exposing myself to litigation than I already have.

Mr. Oldbottom* was the most humorless creature with whom I've ever come into contact. This is a considerable distinction, as I"m related to many people on my father's side who cannot understand even  most knock-knock jokes or Helen Keller jokes without clarification. .Mr. Oldbottom* was humorless both in the sense that he lacked the ability to comprehend most forms of humor and in the sense that he had absolutely no sense of self-deprecation.  Add to the mix that he was flatulent by nature, and that most of his episodes of gas-passing were audible. He once sent an entire reading group to the office because they couldn't (or wouldn't) stop laughing after he let loose with a  roughly seven-syllable rip that was probably heard in the next zip code.

For the most part, I should have been the very least of Mr. Oldbottom's* troubles, as I had the misfortune of having been born to parents who expected me to stay out of trouble at all costs when at school.  My mother and father tolerated a reasonable degree of  nuisance from both my brother and me at home, but at school we were expected to fly under teachers' and administrators' radar.  This was easier for my brother than for me, as I've been a magnet for controversy since I was an infant, but I still managed, for the most part, to avoid school discipline with very few exceptions.  My behavior did  in fact escape Mr. Oldbottom's* awareness.  Mr. Oldbottom's* disapproval of me concerned my writings.

The root of most of Mr. Oldbottom's* complaints about my writings pertained, for the most part, to my honesty or bluntness to the point of rudeness. He frequently asked his students to write essays detailing what we would change about his class if we could. (Why ask the question if one doesn't wish to hear or read the answer?)  I could have,  as did other students, criticized the teacher's fashion sense (he did laundry once every two weeks, which meant that by the end of the cycle, shirts and pants didn't necessarily match), taken issue with his musical incompatibility with my own ( Christian rock music was played as background musics almost nonstop), or critiqued his  rigidity  in terms of our physical education program (our class played tether ball for P. E. every day that the weather permitted us to go out). Instead, I pointed out misspellings and misuses of the English language that appeared on the classroom whiteboards at whatever time a given essay was written. This did not endear me to Mr. Oldbottom.*

In October of that year, Mr. Oldbottom* asked us to research and write a report on  the topic of "An Influential American."  We began the project on a Monday. We were to work on it each day of that week. Completed reports were due on Friday of that week. Had Mr. Oldbottom* asked us instead to research and write about any topic of interest to us, I probably would have chosen Siamese twins, or, more politically correctly, conjoined twins, as that was my major obsession of that particular period of my life. My first choice of an influential American about whom to write had been Kevin Bacon.  One of my cousins had attended Albright College in Pennsylvania, where three students developed a sort of party game centering around Kevin Bacon. The premise of the game, probably known now to most people, is that Kevin Bacon has worked with so many other actors and actresses that he can be connected to virtually any English-speaking actor of the modern era (mid-twentieth century to the present) by a very finite number of degrees. My cousin who attended Albright College was not one of the inventors of the Kevin Bacon game, but she was closely acquainted with all three of the actual creators.

On Thursday when he picked us up after school, my dad asked my brother and me what we had done at school that day. My answer was that I had worked on my "Influential American" report. He asked what influential American about whom I was writing. When I told him it was Kevin Bacon, my dad laughed  and asked if I had cleared the topic with my teacher. As far as I knew, none of us had cleared anything with, or even had been asked about our subjects by Mr. Oldbottom*.  We worked on our reports each day in the computer pod between our classroom and two others. As we did our own research and writing, Mr. Oldbottom* did something else on his own laptop. I never once saw him even checking what a student was doing on a computer during this time. We could all have been having a third-grade version of cyber-sex for all he could have known.   The idea of asking Mr.Oldbottom* about Kevin Bacon's classification as an influential American had never occurred to me.   I went out of my way not to talk to Mr. Oldbottom* about that or anything else.

My father told me he was reasonably certain that what Mr. Oldbottom* had in mind was a person involved in government, or possibly a person prominent in a major exploration or historical movement, or maybe even someone important in the religious world, but definitely not an entertainment figure -- even one as prominent as Kevin Bacon. I thanked my dad for his advice,  considering it just that -- advice --  but thought I'd go ahead and write the report  on my original choice of subjects.  My dad,  reading  my vocal tone accurately, restated his "advice" into the form of a directive.  "Alexis, " he said firmly, "Change your topic. And I'll want to see the finished product."  Arguing would have been pointless. . All my Kevin Bacon research had been for naught.

After the entire incident came to light, my dad told me, "If you ever have to write another "Great American" report, Alexis, just do Ben Franklin. Forget about your current obsession, whatever it happens to be. Don't worry about your report being unique or compelling. Just stick with  Ben Franklin. Got it?  You won't go wrong with Ben Franklin . . . as long as you stay away from anything about his illegitimate son."

During our computer period the next day -- the final day of the project -- I turned my attention to another obsession.  My dad had mentioned a significant religious figure as being an appropriate subject for my research and report. David Koresh and the entire Branch Davidian movement, which ended rather explosively in Waco, Texas,  had long held my fascination.  Typing at as furious a pace as my little seven-year-old fingers would go in effort to make up for time lost on Kevin Bacon, I completed  my report with just minutes to spare.

Mr. Oldbottom* found my report,  and my un-age-appropriate interest in David Koresh and his religious group, to be perplexing.  He showed it to the school psychologist, who found my choice of subject  unusual, but not overly disconcerting, as I didn't seem to focus unduly upon  the especially violent, graphic, or sexual aspects of the whole Waco event.   He did tell  Mr. Oldbottom*  that he could talk to my parents if something in the story was especially  bothersome to him. The psychologist insisted to my mother after the fact that what he actually said was that Mr. Oldbottom* could broach the subject at the parent/teacher conferences that were to be held in less than two weeks.

Mr. Oldbottom*  did call my parents.  Despite work and cell numbers listed in my contact information that would have enabled him to speak live with either parent, he instead called the  home phone and left a rambling message that used up all the space on the answering machine (and caused my Bluebird adviser not to be able to leave a message to inform my parents that the week's Bluebird meeting had to be cancelled, so I went to the community center for the Bluebird meeting to find the place locked and deserted, but that's neither here nor there). In his lengthy diatribe,  Mr. Oldbottom* demanded that both my parents appear in his classroom the following day after school.

This may seem sexist, and it probably is, but my parents have always had a division of labor in parenting, and school was always my mother's responsibility. If at all possible, my dad attended the twice-a-year parent/teacher conferences, and on the rare occasion that a school couldn't reach my mother in an emergency, they called my father's cell phone next. About one-third of the time, however, my father's work took him hundreds of miles from our home. (It's not beyond possibility that my father is a polygamist and uses his weird works schedule as an excuse to travel and meet up with his other wives and families, but I digress.) At that particular moment in time, my father was in San Diego, while we were living in Contra Costa County, in a small town in a relatively remote part of the San Francisco Bay area.  Dad wasn't scheduled to return for another two days. Even had my father been in town at the time, odds are that he wouldn't have gone with my mom to meet with my teacher, as he didn't consider school to be his job.

So my mom left early  from her work as a Director of Psychological and Special Services at another school district in a neighboring city to meet with Mr. Oldbottom* after school the next day. Mr. Oldbottom* was so incensed that to see only my mother and not both parents that he refused to disclose his concerns to my mother. He demanded that my father make himself present at the school immediately. My mother told him it was not possible. Mr. Oldbottom* walked out, leaving my mother alone in the classroom. She waited momentarily for him to reappear. When he hadn't reappeared after a few mimutes, she left.

The next day, I showed up for school as usual. Mr. Oldbottom* sent me to the office and told me I was suspended from his class until both my parents showed up to meet with him. I had no clue at this point as to what was his concern. I hadn't heard his answering machine message and didn't even know that my mother had been to my school the previous day.

I went to the office as directed.  When I got there, all available personnel were dealing with  a problem concerning a bogus memo to parents from the school cafeteria  that had been circulated the previous day. Parents were calling almost nonstop  to complain about the mystery meat sold to the district's food services department by a local funeral home (for a price too good to refuse)  that was reportedly to be used in the day's tacos. The office staff, in addition to answering calls from irate parents, was trying to determine the culprit of the school menu prank. (It was not I, if  you were wondering.)  With all the commotion, it was nearly 11:00 a.m. before anyone noticed the undersized third grader sitting among sixth graders awaiting interrogation.

When asked, I relayed to the secretary the reason my teacher had given me for my presence in the office. She asked for my name, which I told her.  She thumbed through and located an index card with my information from a container holding alphabetized cards supplying contact information for all students in the school.  Scanning my card, she whistled softly.  She picked up her phone and called someone who was presumably the principal. "I don't know how it happened, either," I heard her say into the phone.

Years after the fact, my assumption is that children whose parents were in any way influential were simply  not placed in Mr. Oldbottom's* class. My brother and I were new to the district that year, having moved in July from the San Joaquin Valley.  When my mother registered us as soon as the school office opened for business in early August, someone had failed to notice that in the Occupations spaces for my parents, "school administrator" was written in the mother blank, and "research physician" appeared in the father blank. Is it right that children of wealthy, educated, or prominent parents are routinely exempted from the system's poorest teachers? Of course it is not right.  Is it a reality? Absolutely.

Someone sent the speech therapist into my classroom to watch the class while the principal spoke with Mr. Oldbottom* in the inner office. I remember hearing snippets of raised voices -- of what must have been the principal's voice saying "You just can't do that, Neil" and Mr. Oldbottom's* whiny, denasal  "I know my rights as a teacher"  in response.

In the end, my mother was contacted at work by telephone and informed that a clerical error had placed me in the wrong class. I would be transferred to Mrs. Hazelwood's class. Someone brought my backpack and lunch to the office from Room 32, and the principal walked me the short distance to room 29, where I would spend the rest of the year,  The principal and Mrs. Hazelwood held a brief and hushed conversation, after which I was seated at Mrs. Hazelwood's reading table until an additional desk was brought into the classroom.


  • The remainder of the school year progressed without incident. Every so often I would encounter  Mr. Oldbottom* in a corridor or somewhere on campus. He always gave me an "if looks could kill, your corpse would already have been half-consumed by worms" sort of glare. I didn't know exactly what was the problem. I was just relieved to be rid of the man.



*not his real name









Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Half a Degree to the Left of Normal

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Half a Degree to the Left of Normal: My family has a slightly odd tradition. Once every summer, usually just before school resumes, we watch Ferris Bueller's D ay Off together. ...

Half a Degree to the Left of Normal

My family has a slightly odd tradition. Once every summer, usually just before school resumes, we watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off together. We've been doing this  since the summer before I started kindergarten at the very latest, which means  the tradition is at least fourteen years old. This begs the question of what exactly in hell my parents were thinking in showing a PG-13 movie to a couple of preschoolers, but such would be a very minor example of the questionable judgment my parents have exhibited on a regular basis since I was born. My brother's school year has already begun, but he has no classes tomorrow and was home tonight, so once again we watched the iconic eighties masterpiece.

One of the most peculiar things that happens when my family watches Ferris Bueller's Day Off  is that my father feels the inexplicable need to cheer on Mr. Rooney. My mother was a freaking high school administrator, and even she thinks the Rooney character in the movie  is beyond creepy. Furthermore, the actor who portrayed Rooney ran afoul of the law a few years back. One might think that alone, if nothing else, would deter my father's enthusiasm for the shuddersome dean of students, but my dad wouldn't let a little thing like an actor taking  nude pictures of a fourteen-year-old interfere with his bizarre pseudo-innate sense of right and wrong.  Beyond that, we've certainly watched the movie enough times to know that he will not come out ahead in the end. Thus, rooting for Rooney is a lost cause .  .  . for anyone except my dad, that is.

Besides, it's not exactly as though my father has always been Mr.Prim and Proper Supporter of the Establishment. He was a touring rock guitarist in the eighties, for one thing, and we all know what sorts of things touring rock guitarists did back then to amuse themselves. I don't give him a great deal of grief about his past, but I do know he has one.

In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.*


* This has nothing to do with anything else I've written. It happens to be my favorite proverb, so I decided to share it.