Cursive & Math -- So Yesterday

So let's amble down memory lane for a sec, if that's alright with you.  Think back to your early school days. Try to skip over the images of the towering nuns wielding rulers or the many hours post 3PM that you were punished for some academic misdemeanor.

Instead think about your penmanship class.  Our nuns swore by the Palmer Method complete with all the swirls and flourishes on the upper case letters, ascenders going just so high, descenders just so low.  Personally I had a difficult time with penmanship due to what was then thought to be a minor handicap -- I'm left-handed.  The nuns insisted I use my right hand to no avail.  Well, then at least hold the paper properly as though you were right-handed.  Also to no avail.  Thus I am one of those lefties who writes upside-down, curling my wrist above the emerging text.  (Watch President Obama next time he signs something. You'll get the picture.)

Penmanship was thought so important we had a line for it on our report cards.

Now, however, a growing number of school districts plan to eliminate cursive instruction while opting for keyboarding classes.  I'm all for progress and being a whiz on the keyboard is a needed skill but not in lieu of actually being able to physically write a sentence OR read one.

Memorizing multiplication tables is also on the chopping block.  The thinking is that since kids have access to electronic calculators why teach them their numbers.  Why?!  Why?!

What if you accidentally hit the wrong button on that handy dandy calculator and suddenly 7x7 comes out to be 46 or 51?   Without having the multiplication tables drilled into your brain how will you know you made a mistake. 

Technology can get a tad testy at times.  It likes to crash or freeze or forget that its user-friendly personality.  Then what?   All writing and calculating comes to a grinding halt?

Let me think for a sec -- 1x3=3.  Okay. Got it.  Three cheers for the abolition of cursive and basic math.   

Another Birthday for Moi

Here we go again -- yet another birthday.  No need to regale me with the usual platitudes:  consider the alternative (yes, I could be residing in an urn on the family mantel),  age is just a number (but does the number have to be so high), you look good for your age (I'm one wrinkle away from being mistaken for a pleated skirt). 

You know what I really hate?  When someone introduces an elderly person as "95 years young".  The person is five years shy of making it to Willard Scott's list of centenarians. There's not a microscopic element of youth in someone that old so please stop trying to be cute.

And since I'm ranting -- stop calling me "young lady".  In the restaurant --- and what will you have, young lady?  In the shop -- how can I help you young lady?   Is that supposed to be a complement you condescending twit?  I waved tata to "young lady" during the Reagan administration.

As you can tell, I'm not handling this ageing business well.  However, large quantities of chocolate cake -- the antidote for all life's problems -- should calm me down.  Just make sure it has only ONE candle.

Roach Coach No More

Not all that long ago we avoided food trucks like the proverbial plague -- possibly because that's what you might catch from eating at one. Lunch was yours to enjoy since nary a colleague would ask for a bite of anything purchased at a greasy food truck.

Roach Coach. Upchuck Wagon. Either way you were guaranteed greasy fries and burgers for not much cash.

Fast forward to 2012. The food truck is king. Long live the food truck. It is now way cool and semi-fine dining to buy a meal from these wheels. In fact, a Friday night gathering of food trucks at one local site is the place to be seen.

Of course, many of these food trucks have upgraded their menus from the greasy burgers and fries that made them famous -- or infamous -- to tasty international dishes from Thailand,India and other once exotic locales. I generally like the idea of a moveable feast. Sometimes it's a real "find". Unfortunately my next "find" needs to be someplace to sit down and eat.

Cheers for the 'Empire Builder'

Pencils ready?  Good.  Compare and contrast traveling across the country by train or plane.

Didn't know there'd be homework, did you? Feeling a tad stumped?  Allow me.

If you're not in a hurry and actually want to see the country, perhaps chat with fellow passengers, freely roam through the cars, my vote goes to the train. 

I just rode the Amtrak Empire Builder from Portland, Oregon to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  Yes, it took about two days but my only worries during those nearly forty-eight hours were what to order in the dining car. 

Well, that's not entirely true.  The morning of day one, I attempted to shower while the train was zipping across Montana. I've never been in the shower during an earthquake, but I think I get the idea.  Hang on to that shampoo bottle -- and the grip rod --- it's one bumpy ride. Passengers wtih balance issues?  Slap a little water on your face in the loo and think refreshing thoughts.

Security?  No removing of shoes or any other clothing, no body scanners, no pat-downs. You felt like a guest, not a potential criminal.  Guess the Empire Building isn't on any watch list -- too slow, too folksy?

When we arrived in Milwaukee -- on time, by the way -- I felt relaxed and a bit sad that my trip was over.  When I fly I'm always so extremely relieved by a safe landing that I mentally thank a higher power and any and all saints I can remember from my Catholic school days. In my head I give a round of applause for the pilot, crew, mechanics, air traffic controllers, ground crew, the guy who sold me a bag of chips in the terminal, the womens' room attendant, their families and friends and on and on. 

So I made it back home in a mere four hours but there are no stories or memories like I have travelling east.