I’ve read too many conflicting analyses of the last presidential debate so I’m here to set the record straight by telling you what I experienced.
It had been a long day so I was worn to the bone and feeling loopy. Plus, for no particular reason we were keeping track of a trio of ‘as yet undeveloped proto-adults’ (otherwise known as ‘children’). We ate dinner at a nearly deserted pizza joint with two TVs. One TV played football (this is required by law). It was on mute and being ignored. I considered asking for the remote so I could switch to the cartoon network. Maybe Phineas and Ferb would be on. (I suppose the kids would like this too but the cartoon idea was all about me.)
Mrs. Curmudgeon pointed to the other TV. It was playing the “pre-game warmup” to the presidential debate. It was too far away to hear and I couldn’t see well either. Perfect! All I could recognize was a big red stage and Michelle Obama looking very angry. I don’t know why I mention that because Mrs. Obama always looks angry.
The stage reminded me of a boxing ring. I started singing “Two Tribes” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. “Hey, Mrs. Curmudgeon, remember that music video where Reagan body slammed Gorbachev in a boxing ring?”
“Shhh…” She was trying to listen. The kids, meanwhile, were occupied with crayons.
The waitress brought ice water and I popped an aspirin for my tired muscles.
“Headache?” the waitress asked.
“Imploded spleen.” I responded.
She paused; deep in thought. “I practice martial arts.” I added. That should clear things up.
The waitress brightened. “Kickboxing?” She was a fan. Oh no. I hate kickboxing. I had to defuse the situation by referring to something as far removed from it as possible.
“I’m a grand master of origami.” I replied. “I’m also a student of krav maga and prana bindu. My chosen weapon is the stapler.”
The waitress smiled and left. I would remember to give her a big tip. She was gifted in the art of ignoring morons. Mrs. Curmudgeon, God bless her, sighed in resignation at being married to one.
Meanwhile the kids sprang into action. “That’s her!” One pointed at Michelle Obama on the TV. Michelle looked like she’d enjoy snapping a puppy in half.
I hate to see kids get involved in politics. They’ll have a whole lifetime to learn that adults are lying weasels; no need to speed the process. Also they’ve been hopelessly brainwashed by public schools. “I suspect the kids are Obama fans… that pleases their overlords at the school administration.” I stage whispered. An already frustrated Mrs. Curmudgeon tuned me out.
The kids were jabbering excitedly and pointing at the screen. I watched them with a sinking feeling. The poor bastards were getting communism lessons every day in school. When they were older they’d get the bill for the solid gold iron lung every baby boomer wants. Then the cold hard truth would settle on their shoulders. They will eventually wish they’d been born somewhere with a brighter economy; like Bulgaria.
“She took our dessert!” One of the kids shouted; clearly enraged.
What an interesting surprise. I knew about the Michele Obama’s “Eat Healthy Food Because You’re A Serf Who Shall Obey Me” school lunch program. I hadn’t considered its effect on innocent kids. Talk about unexpected consequences. Now the kids loathed all things Obama. How much leftist indoctrination had been squandered just to seize a kid’s dessert?
“I hate her.” Shouted one of the kids. It was a teachable moment! Time to seize the day!
My daughter starts kindergarten next fall. The school she will attend has about 40 students, 7 teachers, and is K-12. It’s five miles away (I can see it from my living room window), or roughly close enough that they can’t escape my wrath. I’m an engineer, so I naturally look down on anybody who majored in education in college and attempts to teach math, science, or even history. The principal and I are at odds on the need for laptops versus oscilloscopes.
They think they’ve a battle with me. They’ve yet to meet my wife, a gourmet who rolls her own ravioli from scratch, has between 4 and 6 acres of garden planted each year, and bakes bread from scratch every single day for our dinner and supper.
Anybody, anywhere, who offers criticism on the lunch packed for our kids in school will result in a declaration of war. Hell hath no fury like a gourmet gardener told by some feckless politician that her food doesn’t meet the standards of Washington D.C, the home of government cheese.
– Max
“government cheese” : that’s a repellent thought. Or a sage political comment. Not sure which, strong drink having been taken.
So, someone gieves me some money gratis to run my business. Does that give them a say in how I run my business? Hmm, only if my donor and I agree to that condition pre-money-giving. Is that agreement in place wrt guvamint-paid school food?
And, slightly OT but, how can there even be a question of laptops vs. oscopes? Stick a crystal mike on the scope input and let the kids hum (or swear) and you’ve got a springboard into all kinds of sciency stuff. Tektronics ruled in my day. I dunno about now, though,
Tektronics rules, but to give you an idea of how much a fossil I am there are still O-scopes, tube amps, and VOM’s in my home labeled EICO.
My kids will get calculators only after mastering a slip-stick. That way when they fat-finger a number they will question the output of the electronic brain rather than accept it with numb, drooling lack of thought.
I think the school prefers to replace learning with technology, as if using a transistor is an acceptable substitute for understanding what they do and why they work.
– Max
Hey, fossils are the source that made today’s fancy-schmancy stuff possible. My tube gear is presently in storage awaiting a bigger apartment. Good for you torturing your offspring with the slide rule; I have a full-size and a mini in my office desk now for nostalgia. I tried to show my kid and she didn’t believe that sliding pieces of wood around was computing. When the power quits due to the zombie apocalypse, we can calculate walking dead density, etc.