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 #HofstraDebate."

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.