A rant, a lesson, a quiz, a poem
Again with the house payment. They’re always with the house payment. I don’t get these people and their totally arbitrary deadlines.
Oh, waaa, the house payment’s due. Our little bankie only has billions of dollars, but we need your pitiful little paycheck, this week and next.
Seriously, have I ever NOT paid it? Why do you care WHEN you get your money as long as you GET it. Jeez-uzz H on a biscuit.
It reminds me of my mother. She always wanted the dishes done TODAY. I’m like, what does it matter as long as they get done before you run out of dishes? And my mother had dishes out the ying yang. Truth be told, we could have gone half a month without ever washing a single dish. Maybe a pot or pan now and then, but really, that was all. But, noooooo. Dishes must be done each and every day. Like the dishes will feel neglected and run away in the night. And if they did, would that be such a bad thing? I mean, just break out the good Chinette already.
Sigh. Mothers. And bankers. Can’t live with them or without them.
I am so busy, people. I barely have time to write this post. In fact, I may leave it open-ended, and you can provide your own conclusion, no? Like I’ve never done that before.
But, hey, at least I’m not as slow or lazy or whatever as that effing Wonder Woman, who apparently can only find dead bodies these days. Sad. I remember a time when Wonder Woman would have been there WAITING for the crime to happen. What next, WW? Hanging out at the Shady Shoals with Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy?
This week, I am reviewing for a test I must pass to be certified to teach English in this fine Midwestern state in which I live. I am reviewing sentence types. Not those declaratory and interrogatory and exclamatory and imperatory and purgatory sentences, but the simple, compound, complex, and compound-complex kinds. I don’t teach them to college students in those terms. I usually just present them with a handout of common patterns and how to punctuate them. So, I was a little rusty on the whole thing, but I’m good now. Here are some examples, in case you’re fuzzy, too.
Simple: one independent clause.
Many Missourians are crystal meth addicts.
Compound: two independent clauses.
Many Missourians are crystal meth addicts, so they often need dentures.
Complex: dependent clause plus independent clause.
Although you now see denture stores everywhere, no one seems to realize the problem.
Compound -complex: two independent clauses plus a dependent clause. Also known as a clusterfvck for the way students get tangled up in the punctuation.
I should have opened a denture shop, in which I could actually make money, but I had to become a teacher.
Now your turn. Quiz yourself.
1. Most dentures cost ninety-nine dollars now.
2. I had thought dentures were a thing of the past, but apparently they are making a comeback.
3. Although dentures are very popular in Missouri, I have no desire to own a pair.
4. Are you really taking this effing quiz?
I am teaching two summer classes, and every morning I pass a brand new strip mall (close to a place where Fairlane worked as a counselor once upon a time but that’s just coincidence), and in this mall is a great big store that sort of reminds you of one of those big optical stores, and this store is simply called “DENTURES.”
I have never, in my life, seen a store called that. And I have never seen so many billboards advertising dentures for $99. WTF? Isn’t anybody else seeing this?
But hey! At least my gov’mint is pertecting me from terrorism, no?
I’ve also been studying up on dat dere poetry stuff and found this old (well, 1984) favorite by Sharon Olds called “Sex Without Love.”
How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
Gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other’s bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth, whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio
vascular health–just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.
So, there you have a rant, a lesson, a quiz, and a poem.
What more could you possibly want from me?