Shock jocks - I just don't get it . . .

While I'm a long time defender of the concept of freedom of speech (Hell no, we won't go!), I've been trying (for the last couple of weeks) to get my head 'round the idea of shock jocks.

(A shock jock is a slang term used to describe a type of radio broadcaster (sometimes a disk jockey) who attracts attention using humor that a significant portion of the listening audience may find offensive. The term is usually used pejoratively to describe evocative or irreverent broadcasters whose manners and on-air behavior is offensive to the listener.)

Although radio hosts like Howard Stern and Don Imus have been around a long time - to tell the truth, I just don't get it.

Don Imus was fired a couple a weeks ago from his controversial syndicated show. I saw part of a 60 minutes interview with Don Imus and I still don't get it. I don't understand why he has (or I stand corrected - HAD) a radio show and built a career thinking that he was smarter than the rest of us and that he was the privileged one who could put each of us in our place and tell us how it really is. He has prospered for many years amid allegations of racism, misogyny, homophobia and anti-semitism. Click here to read some of his inappropriate comments. Yeah, I just don't get it . . .

BUT what I really don't get is:
*the professionals who put Imus in a position to parade his brand of hate disguised as humor,
*the cruel lot who tune into this sh*t on a daily basis and find hate amusing,
*the advertisers, politicians, and others who jumped on the Don Imus hate bandwagon as a means of self promotion or an easy way to make a buck.
And even more baffling is that portion of the audience that maintain that they don't even like these types of programs but listen anyway. What the hell kind of sense does that make?

My first instinct is always to examine myself and think that there is something lacking in me. Maybe I've been in Europe too long, maybe I'm just not cool enough or smart enough to understand pop culture, maybe I've lost my sense of humor.

On second thought, I don't think it's me at all. I think it's him and I hope you just don't get it either . . .

I'm wearing a black armband today . . .

I just received the news (via the internet) that Kurt Vonnegut has died. It's a sad day indeed.

I wasn't introduced to Kurt Vonnegut until the early 90's (I know - where in the hell had I been? Maybe shopping.) but became a true convert. I'm not a "believer" (religion/ufo's/altruism) and neither was he. It was his humanism that appealed to me most. I've read many of his novels - and loved most of them. He was extremely clever and wrote with an interesting blend of dry wit (always appreciated), dark humor (often appreciated), sarcasm (appreciated only when not directed at me :-), and social conscience.

His list of novels include: Player Piano (1951) (good year for novels and babies!), The Sirens of Titan (1959), Mother Night (1961), Cat's Cradle (1963), God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater (1965), Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), Happy Birthday, Wanda June (1971), Breakfast of Champions (1973), Slapstick (1976), Jailbird (1979), Deadeye Dick (1982), Galapagos (1985). Bluebeard (1987), Hocus Pocus (1990), Timequake (1997).

Some quotes attributed to Vonnegut may (or may not??) keep you amused:

*Being a Humanist means trying to behave decently without expectation of rewards or punishment after you are dead.

*I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.

*Mere opinions, in fact, were as likely to govern people's actions as hard evidence, and were subject to sudden reversals as hard evidence could never be.

*Busy, busy, busy, is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.

*"No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's..."
"And?"
"No damn cat, and no damn cradle."

If I had been lucky enough to have met Kurt Vonnegut my question to him would have been this: How did you manage to make it to/through adulthood with your imagination intact? It seems to me that the adult/corporate world does not much appreciate creativity or imagination (or appreciates it only to a small, manageable degree) and I am fascinated by those who are not only able to hold onto those ideals which are so lauded in childhood but to actually eek out a living using them. (We seem to become world weary so early and give up on thinking for ourselves.)


Buy some candles on your commute home from work tonight as

Another light has just gone out. . .

Happy Easter!

A guilty conscience needs no accuser . . .

It's tax time everywhere, isn't it?

One of the nice things offered through the American Embassy/American Consulate here in Portugal is free tax assistance. Don't get me wrong, the American Embassy doesn't help you fill out your tax return but they provide space to a volunteer group that does just that. I try to take advantage of this as often as I can (work permitting).

Above is a photo of the American Embassy in Lisbon (which I obtained from the embassy's website). As you can see the complex, which houses the embassy and the consulate, sits majestically atop a small hill with beautiful gardens framing it. Washed with sunlight, it seems stately yet approachable.

Nothing could be further from the truth. As one approaches the embassy (located very near the zoo) he/she notices the armed guards immediately. The two guards dressed in black with automatic weapons slung across their chests can't be missed. It's all a little alarming - I'm just coming to have my taxes done for Christ's sake. It's impossible to enter the Embassy gate with a car (or tank for that matter) as barriers have been constructed behind the strong gates (to avoid car bombs???). There is another guard who asks your business and looks at your passport before ushering you into a small room. Once inside the "reception" room an attendant looks through your belongings (contents of bags/purses/pockets). Your things (including your coat) are put into trays and (like at the airport) are placed onto a conveyor belt which carries the items to be x-rayed. Once this is accomplished, the individual who is trying to gain access to the embassy/consulate passes through a metal detector. One is then given instructions to take the stairs and enter the first door on the left. While I was permitted to take most of my things with me (purse/mobiles phones (turned off)/contents of my purse) - they kept my tube of lipstick. (Go figure!)

The doors in the building are glass - but solid. They were built to last (I wonder to myself if they are bulletproof?). Another guard greets you as you enter the main room of the consulate services. He opens the door for you and asks you what your business is. I told him I was there to have my taxes done and he showed me where I could sit. This was a big room with 5 or 6 long rows of identical blue chairs. Although there were scads of empty seats, I sat where I was told to. The main room seemed to be where most of the people with consulate business were being served. There was a small room off to one side where you could renew your passport. I'm not really sure what kind of business was being conducted while I was there. I do know that although we are in the capital city and everyone is always rushing about in Lisbon, that noone (except me of course) seemed to be in a hurry. There was a "counter" where clerks (?) attended to the needs of people. A wall of glass above the "counter" separates the clerk from the person he/she is attending. There are 4 counters - each equipped with a wall phone (not even cordless) to communicate with your clerk. (Just like we see on TV when one of the Sopranos is in jail.) Looking through the room where the clerks are enclosed by glass, you can see bars on the outside windows.

Sunlight floods the room and allows the plants to flourish. As I admired the skylight, I noticed louvers. But they looked like more than normal slats. They appeared extremely thick and I decided they were designed to protect the skylight from attack (terrorists/aliens/angry taxpayers?) rather than shade the room in summer. Another thing that dawned on me was that like in church, people spoke in hushed tones. There was no laughing in this building. All business was conducted quickly and solemnly. Although everyone I encountered (guards, etc) was polite and helpful - I couldn't wait to get out of there!

The world's a dangerous place (thanks to the bad guys - who, by the way, are indistinguishable from the good guys- so maybe I should just say "all guys" lol :-) and I understand that we need to be careful and take precautions, blah, blah, blah. But what the hell kind of world have we created that you must be scrutinized by men in black carrying guns to get a little tax help?

Tales from the 4th grade . . .

I was only teaching Year 4 for 1 term - less than 3 full months, but I have stories to last a lifetime.

March 19 here in Portugal is Father's Day. It falls on whatever day of the week it falls on and is celebrated as such. This year it was a Monday. Since I was the Year 4 teacher it was my responsibility to have some craft ready for the kids to do to celebrate their fathers. We made awards to offer fathers, so we were on track.

After school I was doing I don't remember what and one of the girls was sitting coloring and she began a conversation with me. "Will you see your daddy Mrs. Dietrich?" (These kids are so young that they still refer to their parents as their mummies and daddies.) "No, Carrie," I replied. "You see my father isn't living any more. He died a number of years ago." There was a pause while she processed the information. "Well, you still have your mummy." "Will you see her tonight?" Carrie inquired. Now there was a pause on my part. "Well, Carrie," I haltingly began. "You see, my mother also died." I felt bad that I had to break this news to a little girl who hasn't yet experienced any losses of such a magnitude. But she continued, "You have children, don't you Mrs. Dietrich?" I was starting to get a little uncomfortable with giving her all this bad news. "No, Carrie I don't." "But I have a husband, and I have lots of friends here." I felt like I needed to quickly offer some of the good things going on in my personal life. I NOW had her complete attention (unlike when I was teaching the difference between an adjective and an adverb). She looked up from her coloring and got up and walked over to me and gave me a hug and said, "Mrs. Dietrich, don't worry - you have us. We'll be your kids. We love you."

I'm lucky, I've got a million stories like this one.

. . . BUT I can dance!

Getting a job can be hard sometimes. You start out being too young, only to find yourself years later in the situation of being too old. You are under educated so study like crazy to find that you are over educated. You switch continents mid life to find out that your degrees don't easily fit into the new system. Sometimes it seems like no matter what your qualifications are, they aren't enough. There's always someone bigger, better, smarter, prettier, faster, or can spit further! Life experience counts "here", but not "there". I was recently passed over for (yet) another job (geography teacher) because I don't have any GIS (Geographic Information Systems) experience (whatever the hell that is ;-). What's a girl to do?

First off keep pluggin' away at whatever it is you do. Work hard. (Don't get discouraged and give up.) Keep learning. (Find something that you're interested in and learn, learn, learn.) And keep yourself out there - be active and let everyone know that you are searching for opportunities.

The other thing you can do to make yourself feel balanced is to focus on your accomplishments. For every thing you can't do, think of something you CAN do. For instance: I'm not good at Maths, but I am a good student. I'm not a great cook, but I am a great employee. I've never written a novel, but I've read a lot of them. I'm not an artist, but I can build you a website. I don't have a lot of classroom experience but I have lots of experience with educational blogs. I'm not rich but I'm flexible. I can't speak Portuguese, sail, swim, read a map (hence the GIS problem), rebuild a carborator, or play the piano but I can make you laugh, give a presentation, wait my turn, write well enough to teach someone to write, speak up when the situation dictates, and make my way in a foreign land. I can't sing . . .

BUT I can dance!