Mr. B's Dictionary - "Put on Blast"

Put on blast

verb

1. To embarrass or insult by revealing personal information.

"Da'Qwan put Sariah on blast when he told everyone she's pregnant."

I Hate Research Paper Time

I loathe research paper time. Here are a few examples as to why. Typed verbatim, with an implied [sic] to each.

"Author Miller was a cool dude. He was all against racism and didn't like communism, neither."

"Mark Twain is a god writer. He grew up poor, but went to Yale and Harvard to write Tom Sawer and Huck fine."

"I'm telling you about a author name Babra L. Park [Barbara L. Park - author of the Junie B. Jones children's novels]...She already published over 100 books, so she out there. She recived over 70 awards for her books, including 45 children chocie awrds." [Complete and utter BS. Park has written 43 novels, including a few picture books. She has received the Children's Choice Award 7 times, and the Parent's Choice Award 4 times.]

I'm not quite that stupid

Today, one of my students whispered to another (loud enough that I could hear, even though he didn't know), "I'm gonna' just keep asking questions so we don't have to read." My first thought was to ignore his questions, but that seemed like the wrong response - I want to encourage curiosity, even if it has an ulterior motive. So I happily answered his questions, provided they were on topic, and spent a few minutes discussing the history of World War Two (because we were reading informational texts that were written during that period).

However, after one answer, I interjected that we didn't have time to keep going off on tangents, because I would be taking up the note-taking guide I gave students at the beginning of the next class, and I didn't want them to have to work on it at home.

The class about lynched him the next time he opened his mouth.

No Joke Today, Folks

OK, I know I keep saying this, but I promise this is the last time:

Papers.  No time.  MOAR PAPERZ!!!

So you get a cannibalized version of an essay I wrote (just for fun!  Yeah, I'm a freak) a while back.  It's not funny, but it's on an issue that is of extreme importance, in my opinion.

"An Entreaty"

It’s been said that “a picture’s worth a thousand words,” but why, then, do we have books of words instead of simple picture books?  If it is much easier to simply show someone an image, why spend the countless hours of wordsmithing to find the right phrase?  The answer is obvious, yet much overlooked in our culture of iPhones, HDTV, and streaming video.  Words express thoughts, while images can only express (at most) vague emotions or one specific snapshot in time.  We think in words; the only pictures in our thoughts are memories or vague approximations that must be translated into another format (drawing, painting, etc.) or words before we can pass them on in any meaningful way.

That is not to say that art is unimportant, because nothing of beauty should be overlooked, whether a song, a watercolor, a sunset, or a poem.  However, the messages sent, the lessons taught, the ideas transcribed through other art forms are generally very broad and vague.  This is one thing that makes them so appealing: they can mean different things based on the person receiving them; they are more open to interpretation than words are.

Other art forms (especially music) are held to a lesser standard than are words.  One can listen to every song ever written and be moved to tears or driven into a frenzy, but music can never change your opinion on anything except itself: music.  Listen to Mozart and you can see how it is more beautiful than other composers, but it will never change your opinion about another subject.  Music can never be labeled “good” or “evil.”

Words, on the other hand, carry much more weight.  Someone can write a few words and make the reader absolutely furious.  For instance, examine your gut reaction to this: “Mexicans are stupid and lazy.”  See what I mean?  You probably just got a mixture of anger, disbelief, and righteous indignation.  How dare he say that!  If I actually believed that sentence, most of you would (rightfully) stop reading and write me off (ha!  It’s funny…) as an ignorant bigot.  Now, I obviously don’t believe the statement, I simply made it to illustrate the power of words.

The bottom line is the fact that our thoughts are formulated as words.  If we do not have a word for something, it is nearly impossible for us to conceive it.  Probably the best illustration of this is found in George Orwell’s 1984: Newspeak.  The Party tries to eliminate words in order to make it nigh impossible for people to even conceptualize anything that goes against The Party’s wishes.  If the word “rebellion” was completely removed from the English language, if anyone who even knew of the word had long since died, and no one currently living knew how to describe what it means, then the subjugated populace would be hard pressed to even realize such a thing was possible, let alone actually gather enough followers to do so.

The concept that words are the substance of thoughts, which are the cornerstone of empowerment, is not a new concept.  Through the years it has been voiced by a multitude of leaders, from Einstein to Malcolm X.  However, this truth has been thrown by the wayside as of late, as our credit-card culture embraced ignorance over education, instant gratification over investment.  Simply watch MTV (or whatever the devil those kids are watching today) for a few minutes and see the glorification of ignorance, crime, and excess.  Chris Rock said it best, when he describes the “civil war” between two types of people: “black people and ‘niggas.’”  While he is speaking of the differences between two types of black people, it holds true for people of all ethnicities.  The war is between those who embrace civilization and education, and those who embrace ignorance.  And the ignorant camp is winning. 

While I decry the school of thought that glorifies ignorance, I find it impossible to feel any anger towards them, only pity and hope.  I pity them because they cling to their ignorance like an infant clinging to a dirty diaper.  “It’s nasty and stinky, but it’s warm and its mine.”   And I hope that our people, my friends and relatives, my peers, can change the direction in which our culture is headed.

Now, I am not so arrogant to think that I am better than anyone, even the completely ignorant.  However, I love learning things.  I love knowing things!  The pursuit of knowledge is what separates the ignorant from the enlightened.  Dave Ramsey has stated that the average millionaire reads one non-fiction book a month.  I figure, if you want to win at something, find someone who is winning and do what they do.  Zig Zigler said, “You are what you are and where you are today because of what has gone into your mind; you can change what you are and where you are by changing what goes into your mind.”

So I leave you with an entreaty: go read a book, write a poem, have a stimulating conversation.  Unplug the TV, turn off the Wii, and expand your mind.  Yes, it may be difficult, and it might even hurt a little, but everyone has growing pains, and you will be better off in the long run.  It will take time, and it’s hard work, but there’s nothing worth having that you don’t have to work for.

Our Culture Will Soon Drive Me Insane

I'm still alive, I promise.  I've just been writing paper after paper the past week, so I haven't had much time to blog.  However, I am currently finished with most of the papers (only 2 left), so I figured I'd take a break from writing to...write...some...more...  If I weren't me, I'd kick my butt.

Anyway, as you probably already know, I work in a chain pharmacy.  As part of a promotion, the front end of the store was giving away free Gogo's Crazy Bones.  Yeah, I had a, "What the..." moment as well.  Apparently they are the next Silly Bandz.  Whatever possesses our children to go absolutely bat-freaking-loco for these worthless rubber bands is beyond me.  On a side note, as I was looking at the Silly Bandz website while researching this post, I saw that they have testimonials.


These are not exercise bikes, computer parts, or workout tapes: they're freaking RUBBER BANDS!


Nevertheless, I can kind of understand why little children want them, because they're colorful and shaped like animals and such.  But what I can not understand is what type of parent spends outrageous sums of money (during the height of the craze I saw a 10-pack for $14 at a Rite-Aid) for rubber glorified office supplies.  I can go to Staples and buy a bag of rubber bands that weighs a full pound for $5.49.  That's about 7.3 billion rubber bands for less than half of what they paid for 10, simply because they're colored and shaped a certain way.

I rant against Silly Bandz because it angers me.  But this Crazy Bones crap absolutely infuriates me.  The soulless Gorgon who came up with these is simultaneously the most brilliant person on the planet and the most loathsome.  Let's look at this scam and you'll see why:

The single packs of Crazy Bones sell for $2.99 at Walgreens.  That's for one little plastic toy about the size of a quarter.  These things are seriously worthless.  Like, I'd be disappointed if I got a Crazy Bones as a Happy Meal toy.  But, if you can make the kids think they're cool, they'll all want one.  But this is nothing new.  What is truly brilliant/amoral is the fact that there are hundreds of different styles and they are all sold in a pouch that you can not see through, so you have no idea which one you are buying.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

If these guys actually pull this off, they will have successfully created a nigh-limitless gold mine by combining baseball cards with beanie babies.

"I want the green dude with the star on him, cause Billy has that one, and it's his favorite."

"How much do they cost, Johnny?"

"Only $2.99, Mom."

"Oh, that's not too bad.  Let's go get you one."

As Johnny and Helen (that's Johnny's Mom.  Shut up, it's my story and I get to name them what I want) show up to buy the green one with a star on it, Johnny's mother realizes that they have no clue which Crazy Bones they are purchasing.  And with a few hundred possibilities this could get expensive.

"Johnny, I'm not going to keep buying them until you get the one you want.  But you can get three of them today and maybe you'll get the green one."

Hope springs eternal and Johnny spends 20 minutes agonizing over his decision, rummaging through the bin, smelling each one to determine which smells the most "green with a starish."  Johnny does not get the green one with a star.  However, he gets an orange one with a zipper for a mouth.  That's pretty cool, so he's not completely disappointed.  But the plot doesn't end here...

As Johnny feverishly tears open the pouches to access his treasure, he sees that they also include a sticker of another Crazy Bones character which looks so cool that he must have it (this one looks suspiciously like a Pokemon, but who are we to cry copyright infringement?).  This ever-increasing cycle soon consumes Johnny's life.  He must have more Crazy Bones.  He gets a part-time job cleaning the bathrooms at Wal-Mart (that way he can use his employee discount to buy more Crazy Bones) and withdraws from his friends.  Every night he goes to sleep atop his growing mountain of Crazy Bones, and every morning he pulls a Scrooge McDuck before heading off to clean up people's bio-hazardous waste so that he can increase his hoarde.

One day, the unthinkable happens: he gets the green one with a star.  This long awaited moment, which he had anticipated to be similar to Nirvana, is underwhelming; especially do to the fact that he was on a break at work when he bought the Crazy Bones and has four minutes before he must return to shoveling poo.

Fortunately, Johnny is not long in his disappointment.

A coalition of starving third-world countries invade America and beat us all to death with our Wii controllers.

The Crazy Bones are all melted down and molded into a gargantuan statue of a ham sandwich.  If only Johnny (and his millions of countrymen) had not wasted their time and money on MEANINGLESS CRAP and spent it on something worthwhile, the Ethiopian Alliance might not have hated them with such passion.  There's something infuriating about seeing kids spend hundreds of dollars on plastic toys,because they're cool, when you have to set traps for mice so you can eat.

Dear Sarah Mclachlan,

Dear Sarah Mclachlan,

I refuse to send you money to save a couple cats.  I prefer to send my money to other organizations who deserve it.  I am astounded at the ignorance and triviality of the groups such as the ASPCA and PETA who spend millions of dollars trying to stop me from eating at Chick-fil-a instead of doing something useful, like fighting AIDS or feeding the hungry.

This is not to say I don't like animals.  I do.  I have two dogs, and my wife and I spoil them terribly.  But, if forced to choose between their lives and a human being, even a complete stranger, the dogs would be out of luck.  Because they're dogs.

I'm Probably the Meanest Person Ever (On Accident)

Well, I have another story about how I am a cold-hearted, mean person, but not on purpose, really.

Twice a week, the pharmacy where I work receives a warehouse shipment of drugs that are boxed up in plastic totes.  We're a smaller store, so we generally get about a dozen totes, each containing about 40-60 bottles on average.  One important thing to note is the fact that the front of the store gets shipments from the same warehouse, in the same totes, which are apparently tossed into a communal pile upon return, with the totes from the front freely co-mingling with the pharmacy ones.

Moving the medicine from the totes to the shelves is on my top ten "Bane of My Existence" list, so I was already less than thrilled.  As I opened one of the totes today, it was apparent that it had been previously used in some sort of animal sacrifice, or possibly as a visual aid in potty-training a bus of diarrheal llamas.  It was splattered in some sort of unidentifiable brown-red substance and had about a quarter inch of honest-to-God dirt in the bottom, upon which perched the medicine bottles, like dodo eggs from a former era.  I was less than thrilled, and made the comment, "Man, what bunch of retards packed this?"

As the unloading continued and we found another tote that should have mandated a call to FEMA, my comments only grew worse.  I brought up the probably inbreeding, excess chromosomes, and brain damage of the workers who packed the tote.  I completely admit I was out of line, but I did not know how far out of line until my boss pointed out a simple fact:

Whom the Warehouse Hires

Yeah, I felt a little bad.

On a completely unrelated note, here is a text a friend of mine sent me that made me laugh out loud in the middle of class:

"We should joust sometime to prove who's cooler.  Ill ride a steel unicorn with laser eyes and you can be on a Manticore composed of flames and children's tears."