Saved By The Bells

The Formula for Self-Improvement

2008-04-25T08:14:00.004-05:00

The Formula for Self-Improvement is easy and you don't have to read every self-help book to figure it out. I sure haven't read them all, as a matter of fact, I haven't read any. Why waste my time? Based on interviews with the authors and book reviews, you get a clear picture of what they're going to say. When it comes to books like these, the trick is not what you say but how you say it.

This all started by my stumbling upon a FOX News article titled "Is Oprah Starting Her Own Cult?" Given my deep rooted dislike for Oprah Winfrey (the subject for a future post) plus my fascination with cults, I was immediately intrigued. Come to find out, though, it's only another scheme to dupe people out of their dough by dressing up the old formula for self-improvement.

For this newest scheme, Winfrey is the pusher and an author named Eckhart Tolle is the costume designer, dressing up the self-improvement formula in an outfit that would make any effeminate, pretentious, New York fashion nut drool so much that it would become the latest trend.

Before we get to the the formula, though, it must be noted that the first thing Tolle has going for him is his guru, Yoda look. In my opinion he looks similar to the character Ben on the television drama LOST. Maybe it's just the small, creepy man similarity.

But really, who wouldn't be suckered into taking advice from a tiny, soft-spoken Englishman (good luck trying to keep up with all of this jimble jamble)?

Let's move on to the formula. Again, it's simple and it is the common thread among all self-help/self-improvement books, no matter what else clutters the pages.

(Please remember that the formula below includes common threads among all self-help/improvement books. I am not saying that Tolle includes every specific detail in his work that is mentioned below. But he does include the steps. How could you not?

Also, it could be argued that all self-help/improvement books do include these pieces of the formula but that it doesn't devalue them. With attentive reading of the exposition of each step in the formula, though, my argument is that these steps are hollow, predictable, and void of any true solutions.)

The Formula for Self Improvement

Step One: Reaffirm people's hope for something better.

Everyone hopes for something better. From the smallest of things like free breakfast at work (well I hope for it at least) to the biggest of things like Heaven and everything else in between. Hope is what keeps us going.

The first step is simple, reaffirm the fact that people should hope for something better, paint a picture of how great their lives could be. Create almost dream like sequences that are void of conflict and strife where people do cartwheels through fields of chocolate flowers.

You must reaffirm the reader that there is hope for something better in life, something better than they already imagine. This can be achieved by identifying the most common problems the majority of Americans face in life and letting people know that they are fixable. While this may sound arduous, there are two simple ways to identify these common problems.

The first way to identify common problems of Americans is to simply look at the table of contents of a handful of other self-help/improvement books. People's problems don't change. Despite the gory details of each individual person, we would all like less conflict in our lives, to be happy more often, and to feel confident that we have the ability within us to succeed. The key is to keep it general. The more specific you get with the problems you address, the more you risk losing some readers who don't have that problem or can't relate to it. For this reason, when I mentioned success a few sentences earlier, I didn't specify in what part of life that success was in reference to. We all desire to succeed in something, so anymore specificity would have isolated some of my audience.

As a side note, this idea also applies when writing horoscopes. Keep it general, here's mine for the day...

Slight misunderstandings needn’t be a cause for stress, thanks to glorious influences. But you’ll need to be a glass-half-full person to really appreciate just how great today’s planets are: romance should be simmering and in true Scorpio style you’re very likely to get your own way!

Who doesn't have a "slight misunderstanding" every day? And the romance that should be simmering gives me hope for the day! Hooray for simmering romance! Plus, I get my way, just how everything in life should be.

The second way to identify common problems is by examining the difficulties of your life and those around you and then creating labels that serve as an umbrella for more specific life problems to fall under. A few examples would be better understanding of your spouse, better understanding of ourselves, and most importantly, self-empowerment.

All of these things are achievable and your life can greatly benefit from them. And the best part is that you are in control and can make it happen.

Step Two: Convince people that it is within their power to achieve something better.

This step ties in very closely with the first because it is all about control. In a world where the majority of life's difficulties are out of our control, people must be made to believe that the solution to those problems is within them.

Beyond that, it is about empowerment. You must convince the reader that while their situation may seem dire, it is fixable by simple steps that anyone can take.

The trick to this step is to not make it feel taxing. People want it easy with as little work as possible, despite recognizing that they have to do it themselves. Having to work to hard implies that there's a lot wrong with us, which we don't want to admit. That's why there are a great number of books that are packaged into steps, as in seven steps to become...blank or five steps to improve..blank. In doing this, it feels easier for people to do which translates to being easier to market which then translate to big bucks.

This step seems very innocent at first glance. An individual has a problem so that individual is responsible for fixing it. While there is some truth to that, by approaching our problems with an inward-focused perspective, thinking only about how this will benefit me, it caters to our natural selfish tendencies. It's about my peace, what I will gain, and how I will be happier in life. And the people around us? Well, let's hope they have a good book as well.

This step preys upon two common, natural fears that a great majority of people have. Similar to step one, this step also identifies commonalities in people and exploits them.

The first common fear that step two caters to is the fear of being let down. Everyone has been let down by someone at some point in their lives. Maybe it was as simple as being disappointed in your kids for a poor decision they made or even being let down by someone you thought you were in love with. In any case, we all know the feeling. It is a sick sense of isolation and depression that makes you wonder if you can really trust the people closest to you.

The solutions found in self-help books require only you, and no one else. You must take others out of the equation in order to succeed at this step. Why involve anyone else? They're probably going to let you down, anyways. Can you really trust them to come through for you? Can you really trust them to not judge you?

But when relying solely on yourself, what happens when you fail? Do you take responsibility, learn from it, and move on? No, you blame someone else. Maybe, despite your best efforts, the thorns from someone else's inner-peace garden choked your confidence flowers. Or maybe the winds of the sky spirit brought dark clouds of conflict to rain on your enlightened hour of sunshine power. I hate when that happens. In any case, you are a victim of your circumstances.

The second common fear that is exploited by this step is conflict. While some may be more inclined to deal with conflict with certain people or in certain situations, no one openly invites it into their lives unless it is a way to gain something they don't already have, like attention. Much of the trouble we face in life is as a result of or in response to the people around us. But by focusing only on ourselves and the supposed ability we have to solve our own problems, we avoid conflict with others altogether.

The reality of life, for those that haven't already realized it yet, is that people will let you down, anger you, and disappoint you. This can't be avoided and only focusing on yourself will not prevent it from happening.

Step Three: Dress it up and make it sexy to the point that it feels spiritual.

This step is key and where creativity is crucial. This is how you make your money. Because the formula is old, you must disguise it amongst seemingly profound colloquialisms, clever analogies, and anecdotes from supposed real life happenings that really only end up making the reader set unrealistic expectations for themselves and/or those around them.

Tolle uses language that is soft and refreshing (also seemingly spiritual) like enlightenment, transcending consciousness, silence, awakening, and the classic go to of addressing "your life's purpose."

Another way to dress it up is to connect your ideas with something bigger, something unseen, or not fully comprehensible in an effort to make it feel spiritual. The tricky part is to do this without attaching it to a god of any religion, as Tolle does well. If an author were to be attached in any way to a certain religion or god, it would isolate their audience which hurts the bottom line.

But, there's a lot of money in faith.
Specifically Christianity.

By spicing up this step in the formula with mentions of God, Heaven, or prayer you're connecting with a reported 78.5% of Americans. The tricky part about taking this route is that in order to most effectively reach the majority of America's Christians, you cannot be offensive. And in order to not be offensive, you must disqualify Jesus from Christianity (I will discuss this in detail later).

In doing this successfully, you're able to take the power of God and the identity of being a Christian while neglecting any of the responsibility or personal accountability it requires of you (another formula for a future post).

Without seeming spiteful, the best example of how this plays out in the Christian faith is in Joel Osteen, pastor of Lakewood Church here in Houston. Osteen is vocal on his stance of not mentioning sin (our faults, wrong doings, destructive habits, negative effects on others) in his sermons. In doing so, he makes no mention of Jesus Christ either (so how can it be called a Christian church, one wonders; or how could the attendees rightly identify themselves as followers of Jesus).

The connection between the two is that Jesus died for the sins of all people thereby restoring our relationship with God for whoever believes in all that Jesus accomplished through his death, burial, and resurrection. So if you don't preach sin, then there is no necessary, meaningful mention of Jesus because his ultimate purpose in being sent to earth by God was to die for our sins.

So then, you're taking the power and identity of being a Christian and believing in a Christian God without accepting sin, again our wrong doings or faults. In accepting or even recognizing our sin within a context that is loyal to what the Bible teaches, it requires the believer to take personal accountability and constructive action to repair those weak areas through the laborious but satisfying work of repentance.

This is where we find the offensiveness in Jesus. The first of two reasons we find him to be so offensive is because his very existence accuses every man, woman, and child on earth of being a sinful person. As said before, his ultimate purpose in being sent to earth by God was to die for our sins. But in America, not just anyone can tell you that what you're doing is wrong. We have rights and if we feel as if someone were to get within a five mile radius of anything that can be even remotely misconstrued as some kind of violation of them then a great upheaval is in order. We see Jesus as a threat rather than a savior and we see God sending him as a judgment, rather than a display of love for all of his people.

The second reason Jesus is so offensive to us is that having a Biblical faith in him requires that we relinquish control over all areas of our lives. As Christians, we seek to live out God's will for our lives rather than our own, we desire what God desires which is often not what we think is best. For example, the scariest part about natural disasters is that although we may be able to see them coming we can do nothing about the damage they cause. It is out of our control entirely and we are at the mercy of them because we have no control to stop them. We are left out in the open, vulnerable to the elements. And the reason we find roller coaster to be so thrilling is that it simulates a loss of control while we really know that we are kept safe.

...But why go through all of that when you can still attach yourself to God without it (even if it is heretical)? The true Christian faith is not measurable and cannot be formulated. Any attempt to do either only cheapens it. And especially in Westernized culture where if you want something done right you must do it yourself and quick fix solutions run rampant with the fast-flowing pace of life, there is only room for spirituality that can be charted, put on bumper stickers, and sold for an inflated rate.

So where does that leave us? Repeat steps 1-2 and the circle continues.

---

There's a reason that when searching "self-help" on Amazon.com you get over 3,800 items tagged with that label. These books aren't even bandages for people's difficulties because they don't provide lasting healing. They are all attempts to redress a simple three-step formula that, at best, is an opportunistic vulture feeding on the desperate needs of others.

Finally, I want to clarify that I am in no way saying that these needs aren't legitimate. At their root, they are issues that affect all of us in different ways. What I am saying, though, is that you won't find healing even if you were to read all 3,800+ books available on self-help.

In my greatest attempt to not sound clever or cute, I am confident in my belief that God has only given us one book for a good reason. And although it may seem foreign or out of date to us now, it is comforting to know that the same issues that every self-help book has addressed in the past 100 years was already explored 2,000 years ago.

The Iceman Paul Wall

2008-04-24T13:54:00.009-05:00

Back in the summer, I went to an Astros Spring Training game in Kissimmee, Fl. Before going into the game, I ran into Houston rapper Paul Wall who was standing outside of the stadium on his celly.

I started listening to Paul Wall back in high school when he was still on the legendary, Houston-based Swishahouse Records. He has been a big part of putting current southern hip hop on the national stage.

Check out the picture (he looks a little geeky) plus a track off of his 2007 release Get Money Stay True featuring J.D.

The Week In Review

2008-03-19T11:41:00.001-05:00

I’m writing this post from a charter bus as it is tearing through the darkness of the never-ending veins of I-10 streaking over the swaps of Louisiana heading back home. I have an hour and eight minutes before my Mac dies and I feel like such a superstar.

I’m hip and I am very comfortable. I wish I had been on the bus for every leg of the trip as opposed to a 15-passenger van because I am loving this.

I am sitting in the seat directly behind the bus driver, perched over his shoulder and looking through the giant windshield of the bus as if what was passing us by were a movie.

Now 16 miles from Lafayette and about an hour and a half behind schedule, we are riding above a long stretch of Louisiana swamps, a bridge and an interstate I have come to know well after taking it to and from Florida several times.

Much to my delighted surprise, we were very faithful to the times outlined in our itinerary for the week up until the most import day of our trip, the day we go home.

Four nights, five states, six cities, five colleges, 55 students, six chaperone's, and over 1,500 miles later, I’m ready to be back home in my bed lying with my wife.

No wonder there are so many songs about missing homes and spouses, so much traveling breaks you of any sort of routine and normality.

The things that bring you peace and joy are states away and the only thing that becomes constant are hours on the road and the sound of 50 voices rising and falling like popping popcorn.

Driving in the van, we spent much of the time listening to NPR radio and music that was hypnotizing and sluggish. It soon became a slush of noise and drawling voices against the hum of tires tearing against concrete at 75 miles an hour.

This was not a good combination, to say the least. I found myself struggling to stay awake at points during long, early-morning drives, but I made it.

I caught sleep when I could, propping up my head on my hand. I was lucky if this lasted for half an hour before my hand fell so deep into sleep that it awoke me.

It felt likes hours before all sensation returned to my hand after resting my fat dome on it for so long. I would clinch my hand into a fist, relax it, and then repeat until the tingling stopped.

One nap I was awoken to the deep drawl of Johnny Cash, singing the spaced out lyrics of Neil Diamond’s “Pocahontas.” While it felt unusual for a singer/songwriter like Cash to stray from his lyrical lonely outlaw stomping grounds, he made the song uniquely his and uniquely appealing to me. I have listened to it every free moment I have had (which haven’t been many) and sung it to myself every other.
___

Now, I am finishing this post poolside in sunny Florida, sitting in a lounge chair in the shade, listening to the waterfall, and sipping Dr. Pepper from a curvaceous glass that could only preserve my masculinity if its contents were a dark, Texas beer.

I would liked to have finished this post on the plane ride into Florida but unfortunately I was stuck in the middle seat after having given my wife the window seat so she wouldn't have to sit next to the dreaded unknown of a stranger.

I was assured that if I finished my blog then that the stranger next to me wouldn't be able to contain his curiosity and his eyes would wonder onto my screen.

After a brief conversation with him as the plane taxied the runway and passengers unloaded, I came to discover that he was a "contemporary Christian artist" and he gave me one of his CDs that had his giant mug on it.

It was a sweet gesture, I guess, but still made me feel kind of awkward, as a lot of social situations do. During our conversation I was standing in front of my seat but, because I had a middle seat, I was ducking underneath the overhead storage bins.

So I had the last leg of our conversation, and the CD exchange, with my head at an awkward, cervical vertebrae-shattering angel.

This left me feeling socially vulnerable, much like trying to catch z's in the van as we traveled across the country. From what my wife tells me, I make a lot of grunting noises and jerk a great deal as I fall asleep.

Knowing this made me evermore aware of the people around me as I tried not to fall asleep, especially my boss in the drivers seat.

Beyond that, driving with a group of eight 14-15 year olds made me evermore aware of the abundance of adult video stores and news stands that you cant miss given the three to four billboards that precede them.

It seemed as though you couldn't drive more than two miles without being bombarded by billboard ads for these places. Running low on fuel? Well you'll have to wait 12 miles to gas up but not to worry, there is plenty to see at the 30 some-odd porn shops along the way!

I found myself pressing down harder on the gas peddle as we passed these places just to avoid giving students the opportunity to spark a conversation based on what they saw.

While some billboards were discreet and a little more cryptic, it doesn't take a 9th grader to figure out what they could find at Big Jim's Boobie Bungalow (when we passed the sign, the Scripture billboard above it in this picture wasn't there).

And as many porn stands as we passed, we ate at just as many buffets over the week, or it at least seemed that way given the amount I ate at each.

Being at a buffet plus the fact that they were free doubled the social responsibility I felt to eat an overabundance of food in order to not only get my moneys worth but also those that came before me who may have only had a salad or something else insignificant and unworthy of the price they paid for admittance.

Our only non-collegiate buffet was Golden Corral. In brief, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Would I eat there again? Never.

The best buffet we had, hands down, was at Vanderbilt University. It featured burgers, chicken sandwiches, a salad bar the size of a football field, fire-roasted pizza, shrimp linguine, pork tenderloin with cinnamon apples, and sub-sandwiches, all of which were top quality. Take a look at the spread I came away with...

(click to enlarge)

Thankfully, for my heart's sake, I didn't eat all of it. Needless to say, I was impressed. But for $50 k a year, what else would you expect?

Below are a few pictures from the trip. To get a detailed itinerary of all that we saw and did, check out my last post.

Click to enlarge the pictures below.

Spring Hill College

Birmingham Southern College

National Civil Rights Museum
Memphis, Tn

(This is the hotel MLK was assassinated at, rm. 306. The museum was built around the original hotel.)

(Our group outside of the museum)

(Bealle St. in Memphis.)

Rhodes College

(Our tour guide told us that students never walk across the Rhodes seal on the ground because if they did then they would never graduate. As soon as she finished, a couple of meat-heads walked over it.)

Louisiana State University
The best part about visiting LSU was the fact that they let us onto to the field of Tiger Stadium plus their locker room and trophy room! This was a great selling tactic, it got the kids all excited about the school.

How are their academic programs? Who cares! We got to see a video of their 06-07 football season highlights set to rap music!

Next Week

2008-03-07T12:40:00.006-06:00

Every year each grade level at every school in the YES Prep system takes a week-long Spring Trip somewhere in the U.S. They take place on different weeks throughout the Spring semester and high school students go on college tours through a specific region of the country.

This year, I have the opportunity to travel with the 9th graders on a college tour of the South. I am pumped about the chance to hang out with the kids outside of school as well as seeing a lot of great places.

I will be taking a ton of pictures and, ideally, will be able to post them while on the road.

Everything we're doing is listed on the map below. Be sure to click the blue place-marks to get a detailed itinerary of what we're doing!

View Larger Map

What's In A Look?

2008-03-07T12:39:00.000-06:00

So I have a tendency to over think and over analyze just about every interaction I have with other people. Typically, it is to the point that it is obsessive, just ask my wife.

Awhile back, our neighbors told us about this place very near by that washes, drys, and folds laundry for really cheap.

This was the greatest news I had heard in a long time because I absolutely abhor doing laundry.

We live in an apartment so in order to do laundry you have to go somewhere off grounds to get quarters, haul the laundry down to the room where the machines are, go back after about 20 minutes to switch it to the dryer, be sure you come back at the exact moment that it is finished drying or else it will wrinkle, and then go fold and hang everything! It is a full day commitment.

And all this for $1.25 a wash and $1 a dry. Outrageous!

Instead, I can load the dirty clothes in my car, drive for about 5 minutes, drop everything off (including dry cleaning), pick it up the next day all for .60 a pound. It's genius! What a weight lifted off of my shoulders. It's cheap, convenient, and efficient.

Ever weighed your laundry? For those that have to haul it places, you know that it's heavy but how many pounds do you think? Well, our dirty clothes had backed up and on three trips over the course of a couple of weeks we had roughly 110 pounds of laundry!

Anyways, the laundromat itself is great. As I said, it is only five minutes from where we live but it is a world apart. And I love it.

This facility doesn't even have a clearly marked name. I reference it as the place next to a bar called Got Beer?

It sits next door to a liquor store/grocery store/taquería where people park their cars with their windows rolled halfway down and children wrestle inside.

One Saturday, in the parking lot, which is surprisingly busy often times, a parking space was taken up by a man from the liquor store/grocery store/taquería who was grilling something that smelled authentically Mexican.

The laundromat is apart of a strip mall that shows its age under the deep blue paint that coats the exterior and the worn-out decorative window writing.

I couldn't even tell you what the writing on the windows says because each time I have been, I try to act as un-cracker-startled-by-poor-minorities as possible.

My being a honky makes me different enough. All I would need is a fanny pack, short shorts, binoculars, and tall socks to look like a lost tourist.

In response to this, I try and overcompensate for my being a honky. I think I tend to act too comfortable or too friendly.

Which leads me to the looks.

The first time I went, I stepped into the poorly lit room that was awash with busy customers washing, drying, and folding.

Based on the instruction I was given by my neighbor, I looked around for a "counter" as indiscreetly and nonwhitey as possible.

Everything inside was dingy, not dirty, just drab. But it felt right. It felt comfortable and it felt routine.

A man was sitting in a plastic chair to my left watching a television that sat on a stand at the end of a row of washing machines. He seemed enthralled at what looked to be a Hispanic version of Jerry Springer. The difference is that on Hispanic television stations, they show the guests fighting.

On the show, one woman was pulling another's hair as the crowd chanted. It made me wonder, do you even need to speak Spanish to enjoy the show for what it is intended?

It wasn't until my second or third visit, as I stood waiting for my dry cleaning, that I realized that the television that entertained waiting customers was the exact same kind of television that we used to have at home when I was growing up.

A small, 15 to 20 inch color TV that served as a monumental landmark in our household. It was the first TV moved back into my older brothers bedroom. It was then his own TV. What a time that was.

Needless to say, it took me back a ways.

Then I spotted the counter, I took a hard left and headed straight for it. And that's when the looks began.

As I approached, there was an obese black woman milling about behind the counter. Given her physical makeup, I assumed she had Downs Syndrome. Not to be mean at all, that just was I thought.

I put the trash bag full of clothes I held against my chest like an extremely long, overweight baby onto the counter. At that point, I wasn't certain that I was in the right place.

There wasn't any sort of signage that this was where I would get the service I was looking for but I took the plunge anyways.

In conversation, my over-compensation for my whiteness resulted in overly-friendly banter. In spite of my attempts, I didn't get much more than direct answers to my questions and looks. Before I left, I asked her name out of both friendliness and out of knowing who to blame if our order was screwed up in anyway.

Since then, I have wondered what those looks could mean. They're the same every time and the only way I could describe them is to try and translate their meaning.

To me, the first thing the look says is, "What is this cracka doin' around here!?"

And after my banter, "Why is this cracka tryin' to act like I'm his best friend!?"

Does she wonder why I just don't have my butler doing my laundry or at least have my butler drop it off for me? Should I act more timid, am I somehow disrespecting her by not?

When I come straight from work I wonder if my clothes are to fancy to wear in a place like that. They aren't great, I cycle through the same stuff for weeks at a time.

But always the look.

Maybe it is less about crackerdom and more about making her work?

One time I went and she was sitting on a chair outside smoking a cigarette. I approached her and told her that I needed to pick up my clothes as I handed her my ticket. She inhaled again as she looked at the ticket. Then she set the cigaratte on a brick that protruded from the wall and exhaled a thick burst of smoke as she stood to her feet.

Another time, she was sitting in front of the television watching Reba on the CW.

Again the look. For being a cracker or for interrupting her sitcom?

The look isn't overt or else I wouldn't debate it so much. But we have given them a great deal of business int he last couple of weeks, close to $70 worth. Maybe to her, though, it feels like charity.

Oh well. I'll continue to go, continue to get the look, but continue to try to make conversation. I think I'm over it. Maybe if she realizes our commitment then she will open up.

Despite all of that, for my laundry, it will always be that place next to that hole in the wall bar called Got Beer?

Call Me Morgan Spurlock...

2008-03-03T14:40:00.000-06:00

My wife made my lunch this morning but, typical Monday, I forgot it at home. The whole time driving to work I am trying to remember where I left it, hoping that it isn't in reach of my dog.

And if it is in reach of his tiny paws, I think of his internal struggle, knowing what is right and wrong, debating in his mind whether or not to indulge.

But as for me, I am left lunchless and hungry. So I settle for the healthiest and cheapest option, McDonalds.

If you know me at all, you know that I am no health nut. I love red meat despite my wifes protest. And I love everything sweet thanks to my wifes encouragement.

But I try to be sensible, especially because I have no time (or motivation) for exercise.

So McDonalds it is.

Two grilled, ranch Snack Wraps (540 calories), and a Hot 'n Spicy McChicken (no mayo, 310 calories) later, my heart is beating slower and harder than normal, there is tightness in my chest, I am sluggish, tired, and a bit nauseous.

How do people eat this on a regular basis?

I'm going to go puke up my guts (My fav is 305, what's yours?).

Television Today (The Strike and Post Strike Era)

2008-02-29T17:14:00.003-06:00

So I caught a show on TV the other night called My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad. I think this show is the ultimate culmination of (what was) the writer’s strike.

This show is the reminisce of a time when Hollywood threw its hands up in the air in response to the strike and proceeded to dump crap all over the heads of Americans. And the sad part, Americans ate it up. Including the crap that is My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad.

The analogy of dumping crap on peoples heads reminds me of a time when shows were full of cute and sassy twins, obsessive compulsive single fathers, hard-working civil servants with rebellious kids and a walking-disaster of a neighbor, teenage drama that unfolded in the halls of the coolest high school along the California bay, and outstanding black families whose homes were led by individuals who were renowned for their work in their respected fields.

And in all of these sitcoms was a real life moral that made you sit and think hard about your own life and family. Why couldn't I bust out with a Danny Tanner (skip to 40 seconds) speech that not only made people realize the error of their ways but also let them know that I still love them and be able to do all of that within a minute and a half without the aide of violins in the background?

But how does dumping crap on peoples heads remind me of the good ole days of sitcom? Because there was a definitive moment in history that I realized just how silly sitcoms really were.

In brief, it was an episode of Family Matters in which Carl Winslow (described here as an "overweight, hard-working, and humble man") was feuding with a neighbor, I believe, but is wasn't Urkel. Their battle went back and forth until then end when Carl dumped a bag of manure over the neighbors head. Carl Winslow was an upstanding police officer for the Chicago Police Department, why in the world would he resort to such antics to resolve a problem?

Despite this realization, I find myself at a loss because my schedule forever prevents me from catching a rerun.

In the good ole days, sitcoms were void of raunch and filth and were instead full of life lessons and heart warming closeness. (Excpet for the time on Full House when Uncle Jesse and Rebecca returned from their honeymoon. While discussing their trip with the family, someone asked if they took video of their trip to which Jesse responded with something along the lines of, "Everything outdoors, at least." HAVE MERCY! Oh and also, later in that episode Michelle felt as though Uncle Jesse and Rebecca were ignoring her. Selfish. Michelle asked Joey what they were doing in their room so much to which Joey replied, "Doing their taxes." Then, sweet little innocent Michelle, in order to set up Joey for a zinger, replied, "Will they be doing their taxes everyday?" Here it comes, ready for this one liner? "...Well, at least for the first couple of months." ZING! Someone then pressed the "UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER" button on the laugh track. What a moment in sitcom history.)

But that is about as dirty as it got. At least on camera. A buddy of mine from college (the days when catching reruns of these shows was possible because they aired in the middle of the day) and I entertained ourselves by making up stories about the lives of the fictional characters in the shows we loved.

My favorite tales we shared were of the lives of Steven Q. Urkel and Joey Gladstone. Based on what we gathered from seeing these characters on their respective sitcoms, we surmised that during dark times for Urkel he would put on womens makeup and cry.

And Joey had a dark past. He was a lonely person who often struck out with women. And on one cold, rainy night, he accidentally killed a prostitute he was employing. There were never any suspects in the case. Who would suspect the funny-man, anyway? The link above suspects that he was a child molester, also.

So, getting back to the original purpose of this blog which was not to say that all current sitcoms are garbage but to say that the some of the results of the writers strike were almost surreal in how ridiculous they were, namely My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad.

This show is a combination of this clip, this clip, this clip, and this clip.

While the show is over the top and off the wall, it really inspired me. If this kind of show could make in on national television, then the sky's the limit!

If I were to create my own reality game show, it would have a lot to do with physical pain and the anxiety of having to anticipate it.

One round would have contestants standing and answering trivia questions. In front of them would be a device that has three different boxing gloves on it. One glove would be aimed directly at the face, another at the gut, and yet at another aimed squarely at the balls! (I still haven't figured that part out for ladies.)

There are two different ways this round is played, both of which have to do with the torture of unanticipated pain.

One way is that once a question is posed the contestant has 20 seconds at the most to answer the question. At anytime, though, within those 20 seconds, one of the boxing gloves could strike! And if you haven't answered by the time it does, you lose that question!

The other is that once a question is posed and the contestant locks in their answer, within 12 seconds they will know whether they are right or wrong. If they are right, then some big light show takes place.

But if they are wrong, at some point within the 12 seconds, a boxing glove will deploy directly into either the face, gut, or crotch! It's genius!

The amount of time will make contestants crazy and even if they expect a punch they won't know where they're going to get it!

I would watch that show everyday!

...for about a week and a half. Which is longer than I would watch My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad, though.

Zonkey, Zebrass, Zebronkey, Zeedonk, Zedonk, Zebadonk, Zenkey, Zebrinny, or Deebra

2008-02-22T09:29:00.004-06:00

Today I had my kids do Internet research on an animal that represents them and then create a PowerPoint based on the information they found.

One of my students was doing her research on zorses and zonkeys, a hybrid between a zebra and horse and donkey, respectively.

I thought she was just joshing but apparently it's legit.

Apparently, they were first called ass-zebras. Not as creative. But I guess it works better than zebra-asses. Although I prefer striped ass, assbra, or bazonkazonk.

Wow, you learn something new everyday.

Obama on Education

2008-02-20T12:41:00.000-06:00

These two clips are Sen. Barack Obama speaking on education in America.

I've posted these two links not because I am a teacher but more so because I feel that education is one of the most, if not the most, essential keys to ending the cycle of poverty in America.

I haven't seen a great deal of Hilary Clinton speaking on education but from what I have seen she seems to be more of an idealist. She is big on making college more affordable, though, which is a plus.

As you can see in the clips below, Sen. Obama has concrete, very tangible ideas on how to improve education starting from within the classroom.

The ideas he speaks of are very similar to much of the instructional framework YES Prep has been founded upon.

Both candidates are against Bushs' No Child Left Behind Act.

Thanks for the links Ryan!

An Opportunity Lost...

2008-02-19T21:32:00.004-06:00

Today, I had an opportunity shatter into thousands of pieces right in front of me.

I looked down at the pieces all around me, fell to my knees amongst them and ran my fingers over the brokenness. I gathered them in my hands, squeezing them tightly, hopefully hard enough to forget what it was in the first place. But I would never be able to forget the opportunity that I lost.

CHAPTER 1

As I walked into the teachers lounge, thinking through what I needed to accomplish during my off-periods and how it was unlikely that they would really get done, I headed straight for the fridge. It was lunch time. My wifes favorite meal of the day. I opened the fridge and dug my lunch out from under the dog pile of bagged meals.

When my wife has made my lunch, I feel as if I can share in a minuscule part of Christmas morning joy. With much anticipation to behold what is waiting for me to devour, I rip into the plastic bag and frantically sift through the goodies. I liken it most to the Christmas stocking because there are multiple items, some of which you have had before and are excited about getting more of.

As I made my battle plan on how best to attack my lunch and what taste I wanted in my mouth last, a colleague walked in with a paper bowl in hand in which something doughy rested. Given these two clues, I did a double-take and felt as though I needed to investigate further.

CHAPTER 2

Going into my investigation, I knew that paper ware was often a sign of free food. Also, the glance of golden dough I caught immediately brought images to my mind of rows and rows of steaming kolaches, a food that is, by law, the default breakfast food for a group of 10 or more people.

I walked towards the edible mystery as inconspicuously as possible. I walked with conviction and purpose, as if there were a missile plummeting toward Houston and our only chance for survival was for me to press a glowing red button that protruded from the wall directly behind the bowl of intrigue.

In spite of my mission, I made it a point to get enough of a look at the goodie without being obvious.

While it seems that it may have just been easier to ask what it was that she had, I have very particular social qualms (or fears) about inquiring into someone else's food. I don't fear the conversation but more the awkward small talk about the food item when really all I am interested in is if there is more and if it is free.

Not to sound rude, sometimes I am genuinely interested in a colleagues meal, but food is a very private thing to me. I don't like it when people look at my food as they pass me, especially in restaurants. And, generally, I don't like it when people stare at me.

With that said, on most days after I prepare my lunches, I wait until the majority of students have vacated the hallways so I can take my food back to my room undisturbed and so that it isn't tainted by the eyes of hungry students who refuse to eat the garbage they are served in the cafeteria.

CHAPTER 3

What I gathered from my glance was what I had suspected all along. Kolaches. Warm, doughy bread wrapped neatly around cheddar cheese, and a hot, juicy sausage center. And the best part was that they were free.

There is a scavenger that lives within me. One that was born in my college years and has yet to die. Some would call him a moocher. I call him an opportunist. It is the one that says, simply, it's free so you must eat it and, if possible, take extra for later.

Because of this scavenger, I throw all social etiquette and responsibility to the wind in order to ensure that it is victorious.

This scavenger is the one that imposes on me a psychological instinct that trumps any physiological instinct of feeling full. Again, because it is free I must eat but also, I must eat unlike any other man. I must eat like a bear preparing to hibernate for a long winter.

Some say, "there is always room for dessert." I say, "there is always room for dessert and free food."

I knew the kolaches had to be in the other staff lounge located in the main office. This is a strategic placement so that way the administrators can get a first crack at them.

In an instant, I was off. Securing at least two kolaches was of immediate priority. I headed out the door, towards the main office. As soon as I heard it close behind me my hurried pace suddenly became the Sprints competition for the Gold Medal at the Olympics.

The wooden deck shook violently below me as my feet carried me closer to free food. I rounded the corner and, in order to lose as little speed as possible, I gripped the hand rail and used my momentum to catapult me around the corner. I got this idea from the Batmobile in the original Batman staring Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson.

And while the scavenger within needs to be fed, there is a genuine, boyish excitement within me as well that boils over and quicks my steps even more.

I leaped up the steps to the office two at a time. I swung the glass doors open and slowed my pace to a more professional stride. I opened the door to the second staff lounge and began searching for the most central location to place a box of warm kolaches.

CHAPTER 4

I found the center most table in the room and amongst the clutter sat two small boxes, undoubtedly from a donut shop. The stark white boxes were almost camouflaged in the table but the scavenger within me heightens my senses, making me ever aware of free food opportunities around me.

One box was closed and the other was open only slightly. I picked up the closed box and tore it open so fast that I didn't even notice how light it really felt. Upon opening it, I found only a bleach white bottom of a box, not even a crumb, literally. Normally, an empty box that once held food still out in public for what looks to be consumption but is, instead, a place that holds shattered dreams would have enraged me. But the other box gave me hope. I sat the empty box back on the table to wait for another hungry scavenger to bury his dreams in the kolache box coffin.

I picked the other box off of the table and tore it open. It was there I found the final rock that shattered my dreams into pieces. In the second box lay a donut that looked as if it really could have shattered something. A four-hour old donut, staring back at me, whispering mockery and bigotry while threating my wife. A donut with an unnatural shine, one that spit the light from above back into my eyes.

I dropped the box and my world began to spin. The scavenger within me went unfed, and the boyish dreams inside were dashed. An opportunity lost, there no more.

And I imagined several in the office that wobbled about in the morning, feeling bloated and tired, wishing they had not eaten that second or third kolache. And here I stand, amongst the shattered pieces of my opportunity lost.

"Don't know much about (6th grade math)"

2008-02-19T11:10:00.003-06:00

Recently, I was assigned to the academically "high" group of 6th students to help them with math to prepare for the TAKS test.

If you know anything about me, you know that math isn't my exactly my area of expertise.

What that means is that math has been my kryptonite throughout my education, causing tidal waves of rage and frustration stemming from the process of crunching numbers, and sometimes letters (what sense does that make?).

Other than my lack of academic discipline, the reason I was able to make it was because I cut corners and got off to easy. I blame the schools. (And their ultra-crappy websites.)

Nonetheless, I will make the best of the situation.

I will dig deep into the arithmetic vaults of my mind. A place that is hollow and empty, dark and cold like the heart of that emo kid who grinds conformity between his skateboard and the rail.

It is a place where the echoes from your voice bounce off of metal walls and reverberate for what seems like minutes, making you feel like the greatest opera singer in the world.

Scattered within the vault are treasure chests full of number booty. To find them, though, you must trek a course through the thick darkness that seems to seep inside of you and coat your lungs.

The most dangerous part of the journey is the uncertainty of the results. Will you find what you need when searching or is there even anything to find?

I will continue to brave the depths of the vault every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday during 4th period, taking only the remnants of my lunch I didn't have time to finish, an ounce of patience, rage within me fighting to be released, and a cloak.

Whether I make it out alive is not the question, though. The question is will I make it out with the number booty I hunted and can I do it without karate kicking a 6th grader upside his/her forehead for needing a diaper change every 45 seconds and a hand held in order to breathe which rattles my nerves so severely that I want to karate kick a 6th grader upside his/her forehead until their moms come pick them up or their bus arrives at the end of the day?

Conspiracy Theory: The Cardinal Squadron

2008-02-19T11:09:00.000-06:00

If you're not already on the Barack Obama bandwagon, I suggest you get on it...soon...your life may depend on it.

At as many as five different Obama rallies around the country, there was at least one individual at each rally that "fainted."

Sources say that Sen. Obama has "hired goons," called the Cardinal Squadron, on his payroll that scan the audience from afar and patrol the crowds for naysayers, sour sports, Debbie Downers, killjoys, and wet blankets.

As soon as they are seen showing any signs of fitting the profile of one of the aforementioned adjectives, they are closely watched.

While being watched, Sen. Obama's Cardinal Squadron look for any further signs of that individual fitting the appropriate profile. Continuous scoffing, a perplexed look, shaking your head, elbowing the person next to you then pointing to Obama and saying, "This guy..." and finishing the sentence with a disapproving look, smacking your lips, making a breathy "cuhh" sound, a sharp "ch-shh," an extended forced throat laugh while covering your mouth, a long judgmental "hmmm" with a low pitch on the last couple of "m's" and your eyes squinted, or a short "hm" with a steep inflection at the end with your eyebrows raised.

These are a few of the signs the Cardinal Squadron has their eyes peeled for. And once spotted and confirmed, they take action.

How they do it is a mystery. And what happens to those individuals is a mystery too.

In response, Sen. Obama tells the crowd that someone has "fainted," helps them get the attention they need, looks like a hero, and scores a few more votes.

You be the judge.

'Stros Tickets!

2008-02-15T10:33:00.004-06:00

I just scored (and by that I mean paid for, not a cool ticket hook-up where I got great seats for free because I am a hotshot who wears expensive suits) Astros tickets for Opening Day!

I've always wanted to go to an Opening Day 'Stros game so I'm excited, despite the fact that the seats aren't great because there were so many people try to get them. Oh well, that just means more money for hot dogs!

Congress and Clemens

2008-02-13T11:52:00.004-06:00

Right now, Roger Clemens is testifying in front of Congress about the allegations of steroid use. You can watch it live here.

I had no clue that this live feed was going to be available but I am pumped that it is. It is really interesting.

I have been watching the last 15 minutes of the questioning and, to be honest, Clemens is coming across terribly. He is dodging questions, giving long, rambling answers that don't address the questions asked of him, and making little jokes here and there in what looks to be an attempt at being charming.

Maybe he is just a bad communicator or maybe he is trying to be overly cautious?

Documentary: Small Town Gay Bar

2008-02-13T11:10:00.006-06:00

Small Town Gay Bar is a documentary by gay, Canadian filmmaker Malcolm Ingram (produced by Kevin Smith) about, what else, a gay bar in a small town. The documentary chronicles the rise and fall of several gay bars in the Mississippi area and the reaction of the townspeople to the gay culture.

In retrospect, what I appreciated most about this movie is that it was surprisingly neutral. You would assume that since the filmmaker is gay (and Canadian, take that America Junior) that he would portray the locals in these small towns as unwelcoming, incompetent, rednecks who would like to go jihad on all of the gays within a 50 miles radius of their God blessed American soil.

Thankfully, though, he presents an unbiased look at the lives of the patrons of these bars, one in particular called Rumors. Ingram's documentary shows the connection between the gay residents of Shannon, MS and the sanctuary they find at the hole-in-the-wall bar.

At only 81 minutes, Small Town Gay Bar is worth watching simply for the fresh perspective it provides to the I-am-out-casted-for-being-gay saga.

Not to mention, much to my surprise and pure joy, its inclusion of one of the greatest songs ever penned. (You can admit that it's catchy, it doesn't make you gay.)

My roommate in college, Paul AKA P. Hol., was very easily embarrassed. So, you could imagine how red his face was when would I would play this song in our dorm room at the highest possible volume.

Kitlers

2008-02-11T13:05:00.000-06:00

Cats that look like Hitler! What a great waste of time! It's definitely good for a chuckle. Try to enjoy it because, apparently, not everyone does...

"I think u should die u stupid geek that is so mean to the cats its not funny its just plain mean I feel so sorry for the cats close this site down or die"
-Dominic
From the "I Hate Kitlers" section of the website.

What a cat lover! Never mind the genocide of thousands of Jews! How dare they degrade cats this way!

Wolfenstein. Wow, this game takes me back!

Thanks for the link Paul!

In The Classroom: Sexual Assualt

2008-02-10T22:26:00.000-06:00

A discussion on abuse in relationships during a presentation put on by the Houston Area Women's Shelter...

T: What kinds of sexual assault are there?
S: ...Murder!

On The Job: Bathroom Stress, Part I

2008-02-10T16:17:00.000-06:00

At work, there are only two bathrooms designated for "Teachers and Staff." This designation is made obvious by labels on the doors that are taped underneath the sign that designates both bathrooms to be gender neutral...nasty.

Gender neutral bathrooms at work are the first cause of my bathroom stress. There is something very wrong about gender neutral bathrooms. Maybe it is a sociological stamp on my brain that says that bathrooms should never cross the gender divide. Maybe it is because femininity and bathrooms are about as synonymous as John Stossel and a clean shave.

Maybe it is because I grew up in a home where there was only one female in the entire house, my mom. There was no room for femininity in a simple three bedroom, two bathroom home dominated by my dad (who grew up with three brothers and no sisters), my brother Ryan, and myself.

I wanted to know nothing of women that went beyond the living room. Any conversation that began to head that direction was quickly intercepted by my dad, even if it was sarcastic.

For example, one Sunday afternoon when my mom returned home from grocery shopping, Ryan, while rummaging through the paper bags for treasure, pulled out a package of Maxi Pads. He then calmly, and with a smirk on his face, reached over to hand them to me.

Before I even realized what Ryan was trying to hand me, my dad quickly swooped in with an almost instinctual sense that his son had made physical contact with feminine products.

"Ryan!" He snapped. "Put those down!"
"It's not that big of a deal." Ryan replied, taken back by his reaction.

My dad then shot back with one of his most famous one liners, "Well, I think it is!"

A Plessy v. Ferguson approach to gender lines has been a standard for me since the beginning of my time. Thankfully, though, I never feared femininity so much that I didn't welcome my high school sweet heart, now my wife, filling in the many holes and disbanding the many myths I had accrued of females over time.

Still though, with the singular exception of my wife, I want nothing to do with the femininity of any other women, because it's nasty. I don't want to hear or see women urinating in movies, I don't want to hear women discuss their issues, and I definititly do want to share a restroom with the opposite sex.

That is far too close, far too intimate.

Farewell Sir Jimmy Boswell

2008-02-09T23:07:00.000-06:00

On Friday, February 1st, my wife, Amanda, called me during my sixth period class. I thought it was strange because she never calls me at work because we are both very busy throughout the day. While I did find it odd, I ignored it, expecting her to leave a message. She immediately called a second time and I, thinking that there was something wrong but also in the middle of a lesson, gave my students 30 seconds to discuss our topic amongst themselves so I could take the call.

Upon answering the phone, my brief worry that there was a problem was quickly subsided simply by hearing the way Amanda said "hello." She said it in a familiar non-nagging kind of whine where she draws out the "o" in hello and makes the standard greeting last seconds longer than it should. Based on the way in which she said "hello," I immediately knew two things. One, there was nothing wrong and two she wanted something.

What she wanted had already been rescued from the middle of the street earlier in the day and had been sitting in her car since 3rd period. What she wanted, was a puppy that she had already named. What she wanted was an 8 pound, emaciated mess covered in fleas. And what she wanted, she got.

That night, we took Boswell, named for the street he was found on, to a 24/7 animal hospital but the exam fee alone was $90. So, instead we took him home and cleaned him up based on the advice we were given there.

The next morning I took him to the vet to get him looked over. He got meds that he didn't like to take and, even worse, a shot. But within two days of his rescue off of the street he had made huge improvements.

Unfortunately, though, the better he felt, the more he acted like a puppy. As far as house training, he wasn't a big problem. The problem, of which I still bear the scars on my hands, were his tiny puppy teeth that ripped through flesh and terrorized the soul. His ten weeks on the streets, of which he bore the scars, had made him seem cold, sometimes heartless, remorseless, and easily angered and frustrated. When he was not confined in his cage, he terrorized our household, biting at our feet and hands and literally, anything that came along his path.

At times, it did make for a lot of laughs and made our living room like a moat between the kitchen and couch with a raging, snapping crocodile in between. Other days, though, particularly the long ones in which the kids at school acted like chumps, Boswell's ferociousness was awfully frustrating. Typically, frustrating to the point that I would sit and think of the most effective way to punt him like a football. Hold him back down or stomach down? Just kidding, that's terrible, sorry Amanda ;)

Needless to say, we became attached to him. Despite his terror attacks, he had many redeeming qualities, one of which earned him his first name. For whatever reason, when Boswell would stand or sit still, which was rare, his right arm would shake; he had a jimmy arm. While it was a concern, it was also just down-right cute.

Because of our jobs, though, a commitment to a puppy would be rough, pun intended. So, we advertised through word of mouth that we had a free puppy available and the word spread throughout the 7th grade class at East End where Amanda teaches. After about two days we had a taker. It was one of Amanda's students who was committed to the high expectations of care that Amanda set for Jimmy.

So, on Friday the 8th, a week after we adopted him, Amanda took Jimmy to school with her to make the exchange. Although, he is gone from our home, Amanda has already warned her student that she would expect frequent updates and visits.

And that is the story of Sir Jimmy Boswell, our companion for a week.

Farewell Jimmy, you will be missed.

Let Me Clarify

2008-02-08T13:46:00.000-06:00

It is important that for my first post ever on my blog that I clarify my blog title and URL.

Notice the lack of punctuation in the word "bells." It is a simple plural.

Not "bell's" because then you would wonder, "Saved by the Bell's what!?" I don't want you to go through that stress.

And not "bells'" because that would be grammatically incorrect.

Another important clarification that needs to be made is that the capitalization in the title Saved by the Bells follows capitalization rules for proper titles. This means that the title is not implying that I was rescued from a life threatening situation by the Bell family.

I am a teacher and I hear a bell every hour and five minutes. Every bell brings me closer to the end of the day.

That and Saved by the Bell was unavailable.