Tag: Regrettable Acts

Not Wanted

Two-Minute Hate

From some tart at PJMedia:

I got my dad an Amazon Alexa (shhh…don’t tell him). I plan to set him up with the Pandora polka station, the weather, and sports scores and see how that goes before we move on to more advanced skills like controlling the lights. He doesn’t “do” technology, so I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Who am I kidding? I know exactly what’s going to happen: he’ll be throwing it at the wall by day’s end.

If my kids installed that creepy little piece of technology in my home without me knowing about it, I’d be throwing them at the wall.

Fucking “Internet of Things”… what a load of utter bullshit. Malevolent bullshit.

Teaching, My Ass

Seen On Campus

Aaugh! as Charlie Brown used to say. If you haven’t taken yer blood-pressure meds yet, you may want to pop them before reading any further. This takes the bloody cake.

Penn State York is now offering a week-long “Social Justice and Education” course to teach educators, counselors, and social workers to employ a “culturally responsive lens” in the classroom.
According to the university’s website, the course will be taught by Kathy Roy, associate professor of literacy education at Penn State Harrisburg and coordinator of the literary education program, and will focus on training educators to be “culturally responsive” toward their students.
…
The school notes that Roy’s academic experience is “grounded in social justice frameworks,” saying her research primarily “examines the classroom and community experiences of new and existing refugee and immigrant populations in the U.S., focusing particularly on the intersections of race, culture, language, and other markers of identity.”

I think that “associate professor of literacy education” means that she teaches people how to read, but maybe I’m just being too literal and stuff. Note too the sex of the “educators” who will be foisting this utter bullshit on the delicate flowers known as “students” as per this priceless finale:

Francine Baker, coordinator of the master of education in Teaching and Curriculum at Penn State York, said the course will provide useful tools and techniques to “maximize the learning experience” in the classroom.
“Every day, every teacher makes multiple decisions that impact social justice and equity in their classroom, school, and thus the community-at-large,” Baker explained. “Every student comes with their own story, beliefs, values and ideas. The summer institute at Penn State offers educators the research and strategies to support and expand educational practices that connect students and maximize the learning experience.”
Baker also maintained that the course will allow educators to “design activities to directly embed in their curricular area, classroom and school, while earning three graduate credits or Act 48 hours.

Good, so the educators will receive bribes (“credits”) for perpetrating this insanity, which is cloaked in meaningless jargon such as “maximize the learning experience“. And this part, “intersections of race, culture, language, and other markers of identity” makes me want to have intersectional intercourse with their mothers. And excuse me, but since when was it a goal of tertiary education to “connect students“?

And if all that doesn’t take the cake, this surely will: [RELATED: University to host ‘social justice summer camp’]

Follow that link at your peril. That whirring sound is that of Plato and Socrates (and anyone who ever taught students prior to 1970) spinning in their graves.

New motto for this particular college: “Penn State York: a place to keep hidden from your children.” Or if we want to go all Classical (I know, Irony Alert):

Non Attendendum.

Representing

Culture

Whenever some gangster / gangsta tool is confronted by the police, it seems de rigueur for said idiot to “represent” (i.e. show no fear, but indeed the utmost disrespect towards the “po-po”). This usually ends with said idiot getting shot, or at least having a paradiddle drumbeat played on his fool head by a cop’s nightstick. [Pause to let the cheering die down.]

Well, in planning my upcoming invasion of errr sabbatical in Britishland, my several Texas friends have berated me most foully for not representing… Texas. Apparently this means showing up at Heathrow in full Texas regalia (minus the nickel Colt Single Action Army revolver, of course, which is the one thing I would like to take with me, but of course cannot do lest some Brit rozzer ends up playing a paraddiddle with his nightstick on my fool head).

For those not familiar with Texas folkways, allow me to offer a simple explanation. Texas regalia is (at least) a 10-gallon 9x beaver Stetson, a silver belt buckle which could serve alternative duty as a riot shield or serving dish, a tasseled jacket in the manner of John Voight in Midnight Cowboy, a string tie, something called “boot-cut” jeans, and intricately-stitched cowboy boots with leather in at least two (and three is better) different colors, with silver toe guards and fanciful stitching.

I don’t even own a pair of jeans.

So today I went out shopping for what I consider the least visually offensive of the above list of deplorable regalia items. Of course, sending me out to buy this stuff is like sending Lewis Black out to buy an assault rifle, but what the hell: anything to avoid being a bad ambassador for the Great State of Texas, right?  After a full day’s shopping, I came home with a pair of these:

Yes, it’s the [deep breath] “Ariat Western Heritage Round Toe” style, as pictured, in one color (black) and with what is regarded in Texas as “conservative” stitching. I’m pretty sure I’m only going to be wearing them at night, in a place with subdued or no lighting.

This, by the way, is why Sunday’s post is so woefully tardy. Finding a decent pair of cowboy boots in “Stubby Extra Wide” is one hell of a chore, especially when it seems that the only styles available in that rather esoteric size look like the cat puked on them (no offense to cats):

Good grief. All I wanna know is: when did cowboy boots start being designed by Elton John?

I did find a very nice-looking style, but put the sample back on the shelf like it was an angry rattlesnake when I saw the price. Apparently it was made of leftover skin from Joan Rivers’ last facelift.

So I ended up with a pair of the Ariats, which seems to be a decent brand from all accounts. (I really couldn’t afford Justin or Tony Lama, which judging from the prices must be individually hand-made by the gnarled fingers of some old guy who’s worked at Justin since 1879 or something.)

Anyway, as I said earlier, all this is to excuse the extreme tardiness of today’s post.

Tomorrow we’ll be looking at shotguns, something I actually know a little bit about.

 

 

Fresh Meat

Men & Women

I have talked about this phenomenon before, but this latest Mrs. Robinson event (please look at it) has triggered a few further thoughts on the topic.

Let’s leave aside that the 38-year-old woman is not bad for an old broad (from a teenage boy’s perspective), with blue eyes and a sorta trailer-park-Elizabeth-Taylor look about her.

In my foul yoot, I might easily have availed myself of her offerings (certainly the sex and the booze part, but not the cash and definitely not the weed). What I would have done differently is kept my mouth shut. Now, the report on the affair [sic] is severely lacking in details, but this “fifteen-year-old” sounds like quite the little weasel, ratting the woman out and taking money from her bank account.

I’m going to ignore the fact that the woman is quite clearly demented and/or retarded, as witnessed by her stupid behavior, and I’ve already confessed to my ignorance as to why older women are doing this stuff in the first place. It is abundantly clear, however, that this youth took massive advantage of her. If I were to put a timeline on the various activities, my guess is that she invited him in for a little nookie — and maybe a beer to help him along — and then he quite possibly blackmailed her into all the other stuff: more booze, weed and visits to the ATM — all aided by the fact that she’d already committed a felony by having had sex with an underage boy. And the whole sorry thing came to light either because he bragged about his “conquest” (as teenage boys will do because, duh, teenage boys), or else he was busted with weed in his possession and howled, “The old lady gave it to me while we were having sex!” or some such excuse. Whatever.

Like I’ve said, I’m guessing because I have no proof of any of this and I don’t know what actually happened; but you have to admit, it’s certainly a plausible situation.

What makes it all the more tragic is that if the above scenario is close to the truth, then the woman fell foul of a kid who was, shall we say, mature beyond his years, and who could take advantage of her to a much greater degree than she ever took of him. Had this happened in, say, the 1950s or around that era, I’d be the first to look severely at the older woman. Nowadays, however, boys are a lot more venal and worldly, and more likely to be total shits about something like this.

I’m not excusing her behavior, by the way, nor am I “blaming the victim”; but you have to admit, the world has changed since statutory rape laws were enacted and not, I would suggest, for the better.

Disquiet

Travels

As I begin my preparations for my British sabbatical, a couple of things have started to concern me about my impending globe-trotting — and remember, I haven’t flown domestically or internationally for about ten years.

A recent New York Times article [no link, fuck ’em] has pointed out that the root causes of the current woes being experienced by hapless revenue providers (fare-paying passengers, to you and me) lie in two areas: the shift in airline management’s emphasis from passenger comfort / treatment to fiscal measures such as pre-tax profits; and the fact that since 9/11, airline staff can treat passengers like nuisances (at best) or as “security risks” (at worst) without too much repercussion.

The airlines, of course, are bleating that all this is being driven by their soaring costs (despite the massive drop in fuel prices), and that in order to maintain any kind of decent profit margins, they have to “unbundle” features like free baggage, seating choice and comfortable seating and turn said features into revenue lines. Thus, when I went online to pre-book an aisle- or window seat for my trip to Britishland, I was hit with a $15 fee, each way. My checked bag (actually a small trunk — I’m going to be Over There for three seasons and some hunting withal) will also occasion an “oversized bag” fee, despite it being within the size / dimensions criteria posted on their website because, as the reservations clerk informed me, “It’s rigid” (i.e. it can’t be squashed flatter like normal bags and suitcases, something you may want to consider in the future when packing those bottles of wine).

By the way: talking to an actual person as opposed to doing everything electronically also triggers a fee.

Of course, because I’m flying in steerage (okay, “economy”) it means that I’m lower than shark shit shadow on the airline’s list of Necessary Evils, so there may well be a “Get off the plane, asshole!” moment in my future.

I do have a frequent-flier account with this particular airline, and have logged hundreds of flights with them in the past, so one might think that I can escape “Involuntary De-planing” (such a nice euphemism for GTFO, isn’t it?) — but sadly, all those flights took place in the distant past, which means that I’ll probably fall victim to the “But what have you done for us lately?” policy. (And if you think there’s no such policy, please direct me to the place where you bought your unicorn.)

Now there’s talk among the Big Four airlines of charging passengers for carry-on bags, something Spirit Airlines (motto: “We Invented Cheap ‘N Nasty Travel”) — are already doing.

It seems that the only way one can even begin to escape being treated like a dog turd on a tablecloth is to buy more expensive tickets (a.k.a. “added profit for not much more service”) in Business- or First Class.

Great Caesar’s bleeding haemorrhoids… what a lovely prospect.

Please note too that I haven’t mentioned which of these bastard airlines I’ll be using to get to England, because I bet that somewhere in their oh-so-tight budget is a line for “Snooping on passengers’ social media in case they say ugly things about us”. Motherfuckers.

And yes: I haven’t even started talking about having to deal with the TS fucking A, yet.

I need to stop now before I get angry.

Bird & Bees

Men & Women

For no reason at all, I’m declaring today to be “Sex Day” on this here back porch of mine. Yes, what the hell: the entire Zeitgeist and its acolytes the media seem to have declared every day to be about sex, vid.:

So why should I not follow this trend for just one day at least?

In any event, it’s got to be more interesting than talking about Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer and those other tools. Oh, and by the way, speaking of tools: No-Class Michelle Obama dresses like a slut when visiting a cathedral in Italy. I know that this last bit has nothing to do with sex per se, but it’s all part of the coarsening of society, innit? More articles and thoughts on sex below… if you can stand it.