Dodo Eggs

“C’mon Mr. T!  I promise you’ll like it.” 

It was a slow night at the pool.  Robert had brought his laptop despite rules prohibiting their presence.  Guards had been using them for probing the Internet and watching movies and now they were banned completely.  Nevertheless, there was Robert unzipping his sleek computer and resting it on a chair.  

I tried to put off his enthusiasm.  “Look Ben, I normally don’t care for action movies.  In fact, I’m not a fan of horror, romantic comedy, drama, asinine comedy, sci-fi, documentaries, bad animation, or paying sixteen dollars for two tickets.  I’m trying to tell you that I will not like this movie.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong Mr. T.  This is a movie unlike anything you’ve seen before.  And even if you have seen something like it, they totally nail it!   

Despite the deadpan look on my face, Robert slipped in the colorful DVD.  In fantastic lettering it said, “The Fast and the Frivolous – Tokyo Spiff”

“Hey, what are you guys watching?”  Josh had come off the stand once the last patron left the pool.

Robert replied, “Mr. T and I are going to watch the second Fast and the Frivolous.”

“Really?  I love that movie.  It’s $#%@@ awesome.  Isn’t that the movie where they duel by buring their tires as they slide around streets?”

I groaned and tried to get comfortable on the edge of the desk.  The screen came up and like a pharmacist who forgot to reorder ED drugs, I knew I was in trouble. The plot I’ll mention later but here’s a quick peek at the characters…

The hero “went hard” the entire time.  That’s code for brooding, constipated angst being the appropriate expression for almost every scene.  Every now and then he would mix it up with skeptically, constipated amusement.  Look out Oscars!

The father was flawed but concerned.  He came through at the right time, which is too bad because the movie would have ended a lot sooner if he hadn’t come to the rescue.

A mentor finds the hero and teaches him to peeling out tires at the same rate as the antagonist.  By the way, girls really like it when you can peel out.  The cool guys have been on to this for years.  (That, and cartoon boys urinating on car emblems.)  Anyway, the mentor has plenty of time to show the hero the best way to peel out, which is a shame because the movie would have ended a lot sooner without him.

The villain’s main job was to look like he had the flu: lightly sweaty, look of absolute disgust, a mocking laugh when there’s nothing really that amusing.  (Attn Hollywood:  Stop making bad guys laugh!  Institute a moratorium now or I will destroy you.  Mmmuuuahahahahaaha!) 

The women were all Barbie dolls with non-speaking parts except for the hero’s love interest.  This woman was also the villain’s love interest!  They must have cast one thousand beautiful women as extras (they fill every scene) and yet the two main characters are fighting over the same one.  I guess I would too considering she was the only one who could talk.  (Wait a second…)

The movie was just over half over and we came to the big chase scene though downtown Tokyo.  One of the villain’s henchmen was chasing the hero, who was pursuing the villain, who was driving after the mentor.  There was a lot of tire peeling out.

I leaned over to Robert and Josh.  “Ok, I’m going to say the henchmen dies first and then the mentor dies heroically.  That sets up the final showdown between the hero and the villain.  Am I right?”

“Gee, I don’t know Mr.T.  You’ll just have to watch the movie to find out.”

I did and I was right on the money.  “Alright guys, I think I’m going go stick my head in the chlorinator.  The idea that people out there are making millions of dollars pandering something so remarkably unoriginal makes me want to end it all now.”

“See ya Mr. T!”      

People put too much stock into what they read.  The printed word can be just as deceitful as the spoken.  Possibly more so since print does not float skyward like speech but sits waiting for the next reader to be deceived.   

DodoEggs.com is proof that it’s as easy to lie in print as it is in speech.  In fact, it’s probably easier because I can keep a straight face. 

(I don’t lie very well.  Saying something false, regardless of the reason, still bothers me.  Did you know that those that lie with ease are actually proud and consider it a valued skill?  Heck, I feel bad when I tell an eighty-two year old hostess that her cobbler is delicious when it’s actually bits of shoe leather in molasses.)

Many people will try to add credence to their assertions by simply stating that they read it somewhere as if that should convince you.

Person A says, “Yea, cell phone usage is linked to mad cow disease.  I read that somewhere.”

Person B shakes her head and replies, “Well then, I guess it could be true.”

During my junior year of college, I decided to try to test the power of print.  I went to my computer and opened the desktop publishing program that I rarely used.  I divided regular printer paper into four quarters and copied my college’s official letterhead onto each section.  Underneath I put…

Dakota University – Medora Branch

DUMB is announcing a joint effort with the Department of Education and the Centers for Disease Control.  We have received grant money to implement the “Learning to Walk Program.”
  
In an effort to control the growing problem of obesity, all students are required to park at least two hundred yards from the front doors.  The added walking improves health, vigor, and attention spans.  Any students who parks in spaces within the designated area will be charged a fee of .50 cents per citation.  Any unpaid fees will put a hold on future registrations or grades.

Your vehicle is parked within two hundred yards and has been cited.

Your license plate number is (I wrote the license numbers here).  Please stop by student services to pay your fine and next time invest in your health!

I waited a half hour after each set of classes began then I started handing out my homemade citations.  I skipped classes to do this but what was I going to learn in Survey of Near-Crimes and College Deviancy anyway? 

As it turns out, I ruined the day for the kind, hardworking employees that toil in the Student Services office.  Why they would complain about angry students knocking down the doors is beyond me…they collected an easy $2.50. 

There is a story about a man named Isaac Newton and a falling apple.  An incidental occurrence altered his and eventually our understanding of how the universe functions.  For him and us, the most important lessons can be complete accidents.

For instance, I remember the first time I realized that what comes across the television screen has nothing to do with real life.  It involved the first rule of Hollywood, “Don’t put an ugly woman on TV.  Color television was made for attractive women only.”  (By extension, we have rule number 1b.  Any ugly male characters have an inexplicable ability to find attractive women who fall in love with them.”)

So where am I going with this…

Thanks to television I grew up believing that prostitutes were beautiful women in short, tight skirts standing along street corners waiting for men.  Call girls in courtroom dramas always looked pretty good.  Oh yea, and they were usually nice people too.

Then I saw a genuine prostitute on a news broadcast and I was shaken.  She was rail thin and haggard looking.  A face-lift would have gone a long way to making her look normal.  The woman’s image frightens me to this VERY DAY.  (Please, purge my seared brain tissue!  Pluck out my mind’s eye!)

This was my learning moment.  Our culture’s entertainment subscribes to precious little believability.  Anything with too much realism in it is tagged with a scarlet D for documentary.

Thusly, a healthy skepticism of movies, music, and television is a lesson every soft-brained 7th grader should learn.  Too bad their hung up taking social norms from gangsta rap.  Rap and its videos lack a certain, um, basis in reality. 

Beat from a synthesizer…

“My name is Freshy T and I’m here to say,
self-destruction is the way to play. 
Holding your gun sideways is really cool.
The cops say, ‘Good, you can’t shoot straight fool.’ 
Calling your girl hoe is very romantic. 
Using no articles is very gramantic.
I out.”

On the way to work, I witnessed two joes running along the highway.  They were side stepping trash and suffering the stares of every bored commuter on the road.  They were light years from anything in either direction.

I know I sound like a comedian whose run out of material here but…

What practical purpose does being able to run twenty-six straight miles have?  When was the last time you asked directions to the bathroom and they replied, “Uh, yea, take a right down the hall, go about twenty-six miles, and it’s the first door on your right.” 

I understand the health benefits of staying in shape.  But where do the benifits begin to lessen?  You could still live well into your ninties by running three miles four times a week.  (Heck, I know folks who grew old on beef fat and cigeretts and still won’t die.)

When you push your body’s limits, you grow stronger but you also risk injury.  And while recovering, you must endure a precipitous fall from the lofty performance heights you’ve worked so hard to achieve.  I know this from experience.

Training and conditioning are valuable but there isn’t a good reason to press the limits of the human body when you can maintain your health with as little as a good nightly walk.  Much of the same is true for light weight training, which keeps bones and tissues strong.  If it is done consistently. 

Since this is starting to sound like a normal blog, here’s a bonus story…

My calves are freakishly large.  Think softballs covered with skin and hair. 

They come up so often in conversations that I began making up stories about them.  I would drop phrases like, “Radioacive accident” and “Bio-mechanical advancements.” 

Then I began telling people they were silicone implants.  I point to a permanent knot in my right calf that sticks out a bit.

“Yea, that’s the nozzle where the doctors injected the silicone.  They cost me about four thousand dollars total but it was worth it.  I just cannot get them tatooed or I risk springing a leak.  You know what I mean.”

When delivered with a with a straight face, my story usually sticks at least for a few seconds.

There are a few things in life I just don’t understand.  Here’s a short sampling…

1.How binary code runs computers  (I’d lock up too if all everything I read was yes, no, yes, yes, no, no, no, no, yes, no…)

2. “Enabling” another person’s bad behavior  (If someone’s boat is taking on water, you should try plugging the hole not just bailing their water.)

3. Black Licorice (News flash!  No body likes these!  When thrown in with the rest of my jellybeans, I become angry!)

4. Modern “Dancing” – (Dancing as an art form seems to be on a downward spiral.  I’d rather watch sixteen hours of break dancing than be subjected to ten minutes of bump and grind.  I’m embarrassed for them.  Really embarrassed.)

5. Overweight kids 

It’s the new health malady for which no shot can make one immune.  It pulls the lich pin away from every other aspect of health, even so far as self-concept and confidence.  It’s hard to have self-esteem when you look in the mirror and find a middle-aged man without the body hair.

In most cases, I blame the parents.  A red-blooded kid will never choose the bran flakes over the sugar loops or the broccoli over the French fries.  It is the adult who is in charge of making responsible choices for kids who aren’t mature enough.

Of course, everyone loves junk food from chips to chocolate.  So what do you do? 

If you live life in a constant state of denial, you may end up a bit grumpy.  Life is worth a little less when you constantly deny yourself.  Besides, self-discipline of this sort is difficult to pull off with donuts and an empty stomach pulling to each other like magnets.

The key is to never buy the junk at a grocery store.  Never buy the garbage at a gas station. In fact, never buy it at all.  There is so much for free in our society that if you relegate yourself to what comes your way without cost your intake will regulate by itself.

When someone at work offers you a piece of cake, eat it.  If someone at church offers you a donut, take it.  When at a picnic and there is a bowl full of potato chips, go ahead.  If your host offers you a soda, drink it.  It’s almost rude not to accept other’s generosity.  But never, ever, buy the junk. 

Well, except for peppermint patties.  I like the sensation.   

To make one pessimist you will need: 

 1 ounce of screw-ups
 3 cups of lima beans
 A pinch-that’s it, a pinch (think about it.)
 One over ripe scowl
 Two moldy fortune cookies

To make an optimist you will need:

 2 sticks of hope
 3 first dates
 A pint of homemade ice cream
 The scent of grandma’s kitchen
 A found twenty-dollar bill

For those people whose wool has already been dyed, you can determine your nature by trying this situation.  Think of it as a litmus test for the acidity of your soul.

Matt was reliving himself in the back stall of the men’s locker room.  It’s 7:30 in the morning and he just stepped down from the lifeguard stand.  The sports complex is an old one.  He is surrounded by corrosion and musty smells but it’s quiet, which is all Matt really wants.

From the front, someone yells, “Is there a Matt in there!”

Matt scowls and begins preparations for early departure but he doesn’t respond.  Who could be bothering him now!?  If Matt were Buddha, he be in the middle of his Zen-serenity thing!

“Is there a Matt Teply in there?”  It’s one of the maintenance ladies. 

“Yes!  What is it?!”

“Your wife called!  She said to call her back it’s really important!”

Matt leaves the locker room and marches to the front desk; confusion sticking to the back of his shoe.  Half way there, the maintenance lady hands a him a note that says, “Matt, call your wife now!  Something important has happened!”

Here’s the test…

The pessimist would be filled with dread.  A million different worse case scenarios would fly through his thinking.  Not one positive output is considered.  His chest tightens and he steels himself for the worst.

The optimist doesn’t know what’s going on.  He fails to assume anything positive or negative.  He runs through his best guesses and when that fails, he simply shrugs.  He picks up the phone wondering what could possibly be so important.

In this situation, Matt was convinced something disastrous had happened. 

When Melissa picked up the phone, she said, “Hey guess what!  I won 100 dollars in gas from the radio station.  I just had to tell someone!

Were you busy when I called?”

How would you like to date my daughter?  Interested?
 
Don’t bother answering the question.  I already know how you would reply.  If you’re a red blooded male you would ask, “Well, what does she look like?” 
 
There’s no reason to feel guilty about your answer.  I spent years in college waiting for the right bells and whistles.  Unfortunately, many of the women in my college sphere showed off things like kindness, chastity, and godliness.  There was no chance of them catching my juvenile eyes!
 
Here’s an arch-typical conversation on the dating subject with some of my college dorm mates.  I have omitted the names.  In their place, I have written their most dominant trait in parenthesis. 
 
(Freshman who can’t wake up for a 10 AM class) asks, “Matt, why don’t you just pick a girl to date?  I mean they’re around just date one?”
 
I responded, “You’re kidding right?  Why would I spend time and money on a girl who doesn’t turn my crank?  I’d get more excited putting money into that rare penny I’ve been wanting.  And guess what, the coin wouldn’t become angry when I make a date with a different date.  Get it?”
 
Without warning, (Lets his cereal sit until it’s soggy because he likes it that way) said, “Girls don’t like me.”
 
(Half his student loan check is paying for his expensive car) chimes in, “Well, what are you looking for then?”
 
“I’m looking for a pretty package first then I’ll worry about what’s inside.  Picture a Christmas tree loaded with tinsel, ornaments, and lights. Underneath is a jumbled pile of gifts that have you and your brothers jumping up and down with excitement.” 
 
I spread my arms and raised my voice bringing their imaginations to life.  “Mother finally relents and tells everyone they can open only one.  How do little boys chose? 
 
(Stinks the bathroom so bad you can’t breath) responds, “Which one looks the best!”
 
(Uses other people’s deodorant) says, “I look at the tag.  Reputation is important.”
 
I continued.  “Pretend each gift is like a woman, some wrapped in high gloss, pink foil with silk ribbons.  A few are clapped together with pages from the funny papers.  A few are disguised with paper grocery bags, twine, and heavy wax stars drawn with jumbo crayons. 
 
Most of the time there’s no telling what’s on the inside but that’s what’s important!  It’s not the wrapping paper that will make you happy.  Heck, eventually that’s thrown away anyway.”
 
(So stupid he can’t write in cursive) yells, “But I like the wrapping paper!”
 
“I like wrapping paper too.  And when you’re meeting girls for the first time that’s all you have to appraise them.  It takes time to shake them and weigh them and find out who brought it and everything else a guy can use to estimate what’s inside.”
 
“I get it!”  Blurts (Works out and wears tank tops to class so everyone knows it).  “And gifts get angry when you shake them then just put them back!”
 
(Calls his mom too often to be normal) adds, “Yea, and if you do open the gift and try to return it, it becomes a huge ordeal!”
 
I cringed a bit.  “Wait, you’re taking this metaphor a little too far.  All I’m saying is that it’s not shallow for a guy to look at a woman’s exterior first because that’s the first and by far the easiest way to estimate a woman before he gets to know her.”
 
As if summoned by the power of our collective testosterone, a female walks by the boy’s lounge on her way to the dorm. 

“Hey, watch this,”  (Hasn’t eaten anything but fast food for three weeks) says as he jumps up and opens the door.  “Hey baby, what’s your tag?”
 

Quoth the bard, “The eyes are a mirror to the soul opening the emotions to the outside world.  The nose is a scribe writing memories in indelible ink and painting flavor to our mind.  From the mouth issues the soul’s finished product; the spirit’s end result.”

I was serving my morning duty in the lunchroom.  The kids had come in from the bus and filled the seats around the cafeteria tables.  If the early hour subdued them, it isn’t by much.  They were loud, really loud. 

“All this noise and they really have nothing important to say.”

I walked by a table and decided to eavesdrop.  One boy in a gray hood was turned in his seat so that his back was to me.  “So then this #$@ says to me, ‘What up ^#^$$#!’  So I says, You know ‘%^&#@.”

The boys he was talking to saw me and realized I was listening.  They all leaned back as one and waited to see what I was going to do.  I was hooked now.  I took a deep breath and walked toward them. 

The office wasn’t interested in me sending a kid just for foul language.  Office violations were required to be of a much harder nature like pilfering medications from the nurses office or urinating in the bathroom soap dispencers.  The bar has been raised. 

There was really nothing I could say to keep this kid from using profanity again two minutes after I left, but decided to try.  “You know, you shouldn’t use profanity.”

“Why?” 

(Note: “Why?” and its near cousins, “What for?” and “I don’t care.” are the most common responses to correction.  It’s in the student orientation manual somewhere.)

I squelched my annoyance and gave it my best shot.  “There are lower class people and there are upper class people.  The lower classes have to use that kind of language because of a limited vocabulary and a terrible lack of good manners.”

He tries to bait me.  “My dad cusses.”

“Then your dad has chosen lower class behavior when better options are available.”

He shrugged and I returned to wandering the cafeteria.

Incidents like this create a stark contrast to my own attitude in middle school.  My conscious weighed too heavily on me.  I even went through the trouble of creating “diet profanity.” 

The comic strips used punctuation and symbols to represent swearing.  I decided to try this but it somehow didn’t sound right to stub a toe and yell, “Exclamation point!” or “Swirly mark!” 

I adjusted by trying a few of the lesser known members of the punctuation family. Forgetting to bring a pencil to class I mumbled, “Tilde!” ( ~ )  Then looked around to see any of the other kids heard my mild profanity. When I incorrectly answered an English question I used, “Ampersand!” ( & )  The expression only earned a few odd looks.

My version of profanity never really caught fire.  However,  liberal use of, “Asterisk!” ( * ) did almost get me in trouble at home.

There’s a dent in the left, rear quarter panel of my car.  It’s about one and a half inches long running vertical not far from the lid to my gas tank.  The paint has held up a pretty strong shine considering I wipe it over with a fresh coat of resentment everyday.

My car hasn’t really complained.  In fact, it’s been paid off for so long it takes dents for the team.  I bothered to carry full coverage on it until the day after a hailstorm came through and “massaged” it a bit.  I live with, almost smile at those dents. 

But that singular dent on my rear panel vexes me like a broken splinter. 

A man named Angelo put it there.  This man has an advantage over me for I am sure he has forgotten about me.  And yet, he poisons my attitude a bit each time I see his ugly mug reflected from the crease he put into my car.

After college, I minded tables at the restaurant of two brothers and a sister.  The establishment was a starched shirt, mind your posture, underwear too tight restaurant in the Memphis area.  Those who ate there had either had too much money or no sense on how to spend it.  Drinks, entrée, desert, and tip for one person would take a fifty dollar bill.  There was no kiddy menu and if you asked for a high chair the toddler sat on a stack of menus instead. 

Angelo had married the sister and was considered one of the owners.  He was smart enough to marry money and he knew the best way to work out those infantile calluses was to take as many vacations as possible.  His vision was cast as a scowl; frozen into place from the three backbreaking days he worked each week.

I was setting my tables before lunch one morning when Angelo’s expensive luxury vehicle pulled in next to my small, blue car.  He walked around to his rear passenger door and tossed it open to retrieve his briefcase.  His door flew into my car leaving the dent that speaks to me almost everyday.

I watched Angelo stare at my car for a moment then dismissthe matter.  He turned and strolled inside the restaurant.  I couldn’t see from the restaurant window if there was any damage.  I don’t know if I would have said anything even if I knew.

A few minutes later he appeared in the dinning room to grace us with one of his “inspecting the mules” looks.  Based wholly on the way he treated us, the wait staff were simple animals pulling his chuck-wagon to the bank.  He continually barked orders and lashed at the reigns. 

When I run my fingers over the dent, it’s jealousy that sticks to them.  I try to rub it off on my soul where it intensifies into resentment.

With a shrug and a deep breath, I reach for the car door. 

Angelo still distracts me from the many blessings I enjoy.  I realize that it’s gratitude that should be the most powerful force in my heart.  Especially when you consider that I no longer work for the man.

I have an alter ego, a secret identity.

Sitting on the top of my classroom’s bookshelf is a large box that slips just over my shoulders.  I’ve cut two holes in the front about the size of candy bars to see and two holes in the sides just wide enough for my arms.  The facial features are drawn using nothing but a permanent marker and straight lines. 

When I wear it, I keep my elbows bent at ninety-degree angles and I stop bending my knees.  I named my robotic schtick “School-tar,” which was quickly changed to “School-tard.“ 

School-tard is available for parties, birthdays, or bar mitzvahs for $10.99 an hour plus all the cake I can eat. 

Where am I going with this?

Included in everyone’s job description are certain tasks that fall into one of two categories…completely useless or absolutely brainless.  Everyone can make a list.  For many tasks, it may be hard to designate just one.

I never thought I’d put parent-teacher conferences into these categories. 

Like many professionals in the educational field, I firmly believe that one of the greatest factors in a student’s success is parental involvement.  What I learned this year was that it isn’t possible for teachers to manufacture this involvement.

Parents either have a premium placed on education or they don’t.  One day sitting across from a table of teachers, nodding at suggestions, and making promises does not compensate for the other three hundred sixty-four days when nothing is said or done.     

Remember School-tard?   

I’ve decided to staple a pair of old slacks to the bottom of School-tard.  I’ll set a tape deck on the top of his box with thee available tapes: LAZY STUDENT, POOR STUDENT, and GOOD STUDENT.  This allows parents the option of hearing any of my speeches in any order they choose.  Talk about convenience!

Here’s a sampling of what I usually hear and how the tape would respond.

PARENT SAYS: “I didn’t know he was failing.”

SCHOOL-TARD RESPONDS:  (button is depressed, clicking sound)  “Try asking to see returned grades, progress reports, and report cards.  We’ve been doing this for years.  If you really want it from the source, just call the school and the teachers will return your message. 

Stop tape now for next statement.”  (click)
 
PARENT SAYS:  “I don’t know what to do with him.  We’ve taken everything away and he still isn’t acting right.”

SCHOOL-TARD RESPONDS:  (click)  “We are educational professionals and are unable to rear your child for you.  We suggest parental counseling and the appropriate head-lock or spanking. (static) I mean, time-out and loss of privileges. 

Stop tape now for additional statement from parents.”  (click)

PARENT SAYS:  “He tells me he doesn’t do anything at school and that he never has homework.”
 
SCHOOL-TARD RESPONDS:  (click) “Warning, the following answer contains sarcasm.  To maintain professional atmosphere, please stop tape and direct this statement to another teacher. 

Stop tape now.”  (pause) 

“That’s right madam or sir.  We do nothing with your child.  Each and everyday they come in, sit down, and we have a collective staring contest.  Congrats to you for accepting such a stupid idea from your twelve year old deviant. 

Stop tape now.” (click)