Don't Teach Them To Be Stupid, Teach Them Well.

My job is to be wonderful with children. My job is educate, entertain and inform. It is to nurture and promote the intellect of every child regardless of perceived ability. My job is not to correct authors of children's books and classroom supplies.

But if it were...

Curious George is actually an ape, not a monkey. His nose is flat and broad, not snout-like and he doesn't have tail. While there are exceptions to the tail rule, given his appearance and high intelligence he is most likely a Bonobo. This means your beloved children's books are about a man in a yellow hat  essentially stealing a small, determined sex maniac and setting him loose in suburbia. Furthermore, said man is in fact guilty of poaching from the Democratic Republic of the Congo and is due a lengthy prison stay.

Wanted for poaching: "The Man in The Yellow Hat" Height: 6' without hat, 7'4" with hat.

The question "how many sides does a circle have" is far too complex to have a primary school answer.  The simplest answer is to say that there is no easy or natural way to answer how many sides a circle has because one first has to determine what one means by the word side. The inside of the curve? The outside of the curve? Or are we referring to a disc? In that case there is a front and a back as well as the curves themselves.

A turtle is not the same thing as a tortoise. While they are both chelonians, turtles have webbed feet, some even have flippers, and live most of their lives in the water. A tortoise has short, stubby feet and claws and and dwells entirely on land. Franklin the Turtle is able to tie his shoes because he doesn't have flippers.  He's not a turtle, he is Franklin the Tortoise.

It's Apatosaurus, not Brontosaurus. 137 years ago a very eager paleontologist (that's a good word, children, let's clap it out) named Marsh found and named the remains of an Apatosaurus and then a short while later found another, smaller fossilized skeleton of the same species and named it a Brontosaurus. The mistake was discovered and rectified in all the major scientific forums of the day and it's only idiots like the stamp makers at the US Postal Service who persist in using the wrong name. Don't be like the US Postal Service. Don't be idiots.

A spider is not an insect. Insects have three main body parts and three pairs of legs. Spiders have two main body parts and 4 pairs of legs. Simple. Easy to remember. Stop getting it wrong.

Giraffes do not have long necks to let them eat the leaves from the tops of trees. Giraffes feed predominantly on low bushes. They use their long necks to beat the hell out of each other.

The phrase "non-Newtonian fluid" is every bit as important and wonderful as "goop".

It's hard, being a geek who is paid to nod and smile.

You Shall Not P*ss!

I am constantly reminded by my fellow Earthlings that on the whole, people are good, decent, strong, brave and generally really neat to be around, especially the ones who can cook. I am also, occasionally, reminded by a select few that those same decent folk can turn on you like your nanny's Shitzu if you aren't careful where you tread.

Take Neighbour Man for instance. This spring we developed a wonderfully amicable relationship with the Next Doors based on a strong foundation of courteous nods and vague smiles exchanged at a distance. Everything was going so smoothly, until we fired up the lawn mower.

"Ya, if you wouldn't mind not mowing the lawn between our houses, that would be great. It's just that I am feeling really protective of my [big/obnoxious/white]* truck and I don't want anything to happen to it ever."

Oooooo-kay.

Lazy sods that we are, we agreed not to mow the strip of grass between our houses because hey, who doesn't like to quit mowing the lawn 10 minutes ahead of schedule? The summer progressed and soon we were chatting whenever we happened to be outside. We watched each other's dogs and I promised not to let the contractor installing their new front door steal their [old] couch and [terrifying] stockpile of firearms while the Next Doors were at work.

Then the snow fell...

"Hey I saw some foot prints in the new snow today, so if you wouldn't mind not letting your dogs sniff our lawn when you walk them past the house, that would be great. It's just that my husband, Mr Neighbour Man, is feeling really protective of his [permanently parked/broken/never going to move] truck right now and doesn't want any dogs around it."

No problem. Perfectly reasonable request. Our dogs, two of about 50 different dogs in the neighbourhood who are walked past the house daily, can certainly stand to sniff else where.  Expect absolute and universal compliance forthwith, I'm sure. No dogs to be walked in front of your home. Check. Will use opposite side of street. Check.

Then, 10 minutes later...

"Ya, so did Mrs Neighbourman talk to you about the footprints we saw in the snow today? It's just that I am feeling really [obsessively/unnecessarily] protective of my [derelict] truck right now and I don't want any dogs around it."

Sure. Okay. Yup. Message received. Again. Don't hesitate to tell the 50 other families who live in our neighbourhood the same thing. Twice. Keep me posted your progress. Make a chart.

Then, 24 hours later and at the end of the worst week ever which involved, but was not limited to, Meeker having surgery, me having insomnia, Husband being away and some hillbilly wacko trying to force me off the road during a snowstorm after tailgating me for 15 minutes from my driveway which means, goody gumdrops, he knows where I live, I arrive home to see all 22 cm of snow totally removed from my driveway and Neighbour Man, standing there waiting for me...

"Ya, so I saw some tracks in the snow again today and I just want you to know I only want people to be straight with me when I ask them if they do stuff to my property because as you can see I have [fake] security cameras pointed at our property line and I am just [delusional] wondering if you care to explain yourself? I am feeling [psychopathically] protective of my [soon to be landfill] truck right now and just don't want anything happening to it ever. To show that I have no hard feelings about you being a complete liar I have shoveled your driveway. Note that all of the snow is over there and not near my [shitty fucking] truck."

Let's pause and let that really sink in. 

I took a deep breath and I did what I've been trying not to do since Meeker spent the night at the hospital, since I've moved to a province no one wants to visit me in, since I discovered a grey hair in my eyebrow...

I stood there, as darkness began to fall over my quiet street, as families were emerging to walk their 50 dogs perilously close to Neighbour Man who apparently can only count to Jesse and Meeker, as I wanted desperately to run into my house and shut out the crazies and the angry drivers and Alberta and this person, I stood there, dropped my shoulders, took a deep breath and I sobbed. Great hiccoughing sobs so loud that the [rational/normal] neighours came over to make the [complete nutter] bad man stop.

It felt wonderful. As I stood there gasping and sputtering, with boogers running out of my nose, Nieghbour Man watched, horrified. It was a thing of beauty. I turned and walked to my front door saying I couldn't help them, and that boy, dog tracks in the snow, that is a really horribly frustrating thing to have to deal with. My goodness, yes. Thank you for shovelling. You've done a lovely job. SLAM.

You know, readers, I can't imagine how Jesse and Meeker left tracks on Neighbour Man's lawn while I was at work and they were home all day. In a locked house. Snoring. It's almost as though there were more than two dogs in the Universe.

Not that Jesse and Meeker will ever acknowledge it.

If Neighbour Man had screamed "YOU SHALL NOT PISS!"
I would have at least given him points for cool.

*Editor retains the right to add notes for accuracy. And vitriol.

Does The Grape Kool-Aid Taste Funny To You?

The room was dim when I entered. The supplicants were seated in a semi circle around the alter. The alter was arranged with a number of vials and jars of varying sizes. A novice handed me something to drink and bade me sit with them in the circle. As I drank the bitter, warm liquid each member of the group was asked to follow the leader from the room. I was taken away to a small chamber where she proceeded to bathe my hands in fine oils, "cleansing away the deadness". Returning to the circle, "renewed", the leader then began to speak.

We were encouraged to reflect on the error of our ways, cautioned about the sorts of things which could and would happen should we choose to ignore her words and then provided with an opportunity to sample from the true path. Each jar and vial was lifted reverently from the altar and offered to us by the leader.  She gently anointed our skin with the contents and as she did so she told us of the secret. Should we join with her in her quest to spread the word and share the truth we too would reap the monthly rewards as follows:

      $100/month - Level: Padawan

      $500/month - Jedi

      $1000/month - Yoda

      $15,000/month - Darth Vader

      $20,000/month - The Emporer. Unless you get the car, then you have achieved 
                                     Level: Kardashian 

Last week, in a fit of trying to blend in with the normals, I agreed to attend a home sales party for a certain cosmetics line which I can't name here because my blog won't let me do the little superscript TM thingie after the name. Let's call it Old Lady Face Grease. I went to and OLFG party on Tuesday. It went something like this, although I seem to recall there being a fruit tray, as well. 

Also, my party is December 3. See you there.

For Nicole, who is incredibly persuasive, even though I still have not forgiven her for The Volley Ball Incident. And for Adam, who nags.