My Diseased Mind

Kindergarten Christmas Programs

Because today was the first day of my Christmas vacation and Manda had to work, I was charged with attending her son’s Christmas program. The conversation went like this:

A: Hey, could you go to Alien’s Christmas program on Friday? It’s during work for me.
M: Sure, that sounds like fun. What time is it?
A: 8:30 in the morning.
M: Khaaaaaaaaaaaaan!

I’m paraphrasing, but you get the gist of it.

So, on my first day of vacation, I got up earlier than I do on workdays so that I could shower and return to the campus that hosted the bulk of my early childhood shame.

While there, it occurred to me that there are 4 kinds of kids in these programs:

1. The Rank & File — These kids are the most plentiful. Much like The Dukes of Hazard, they’re making their way the only way they know how, and that involves singing as quietly as possible while aping the actions of the the teacher assigned to completely shred her dignity in front of the parents.

2. The Performer — These are the kids in the front row who are way too into the experience. They usually take dance classes, and when they grow up, would like to be both a ballerina and a veterinarian. Predominantly female.

3. The Robot — The Robots are given speaking lines, usually because they are among the loudest kids in the class. They speak said lines with a cadence best reserved for 50’s sci fi robots.

4. The Choke Artist — There are usually 1-2 choke artists per program. These kids were also given speaking lines. However, the responsibility has now overwhelmed them, and on the big day, they freeze. Despite thousands of recitations the previous few days, the lines have disappeared from their minds, and nothing but the whirring of video cameras can be heard, recording their shame. The choke artist is also referred to as my favorite.

Also noteworthy was the final skit, in which Alien, being the freakishly tall kid of his class, was the star on their Christmas tree. I noticed a strong similarity between their setup, and an iconic part of our culture:

Fuckin A…

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Human Sacrifice, Dogs & Cats Living Together — Mass Hysteria!

We knew it was going to be an interesting weekend when, within five minutes of arriving in Rockport, we spotted a guy with an actual Jheri Curl. Manda shot down my theory that he was a terrorist who only had weathered VHS copies of The Last Dragon and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo to teach him the ways of American life. Alas, our Jheri Curl count for the weekend stalled out at one, and on Sunday, we headed home.

Being childless for the weekend, we yammered endlessly. Of course, by ‘we’ I mean ‘I.’ Among other things, I pointed out the idiot drivers, wondered aloud just why the hell every cow in or around the coastal bend has a posse of at least 3 ducks, and generally continued my lifelong love affair with the sound of my own voice.

Then, on I-37, just south of Whitsett, I saw it. A 2-mile drive to the next exit, followed by a 2-mile drive back, and we were right there, basking in its glory.

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Dear Myspace

Look, I know we haven’t always gotten along as well as we could have. You’ve created a platform by which some of the ugliest web pages in history have been created. Now, I’m no designer (exhibit A: this site), but I know bad design when I see it, and you are it. In the past, I’ve used phrases like “big, steaming load” and “weeping abscess” to describe my feelings about the look and usability of the site. The constant barrage of spam messages, comments, and friend requests, along with the frequent technical error pages is both annoying and unnecessary. The community is chock full of fake profiles, sexual predators, and the most vacuous people on the face of the earth. My wonder at your exponential growth is eclipsed only by my surprise that I actually use you.

Today, that’s all forgotten, and all I’ve got for you is thank you. Don’t be all coy. You know what you did, and I appreciate it. You didn’t have to, which simply adds to the awesome. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Tomorrow, you suck again.

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