In case you haven’t noticed—which is probably impossible, since I’ve seen it mentioned everywhere recently—it’s Banned Books Week. This is the week that the American Library Association has chosen to spotlight the ridiculous existence of banned and challenged books.It’s rather hard to believe that people are still challenging books. There are celebrities known for their sex tapes, football players known for their arrest records, and 75% of high school students in Oklahoma can’t name the first president of the United States. (Not many books read among those three groups, are there?)So how is anyone shocked or offended by something in a book?Yet the effort to ban certain books continues. The American Library Association has an Office for Intellectual Freedom that tallies the effort to ban books. Yahoos who want to ban books attempt to do so for a variety of reasons. Here’s a small sample of their book-banning justifications: offensive language, violence, sexual explicitness, religious viewpoint, homosexuality, Occult/Satanism, and political viewpoint.The book with the most attempts to ban it last year? Captain Underpants, for offensive language, because it’s unsuited for its age group, and violence. Maybe they should put a sticker on it that says “Not intended for adults!” At least that might take care of the “unsuited for age group” problem.I suppose there will always be some narrow-minded people who think we’ll be better off if we ban certain books. And thought they might mean well, there’s no doubt they’re narrow-minded.There are plenty of people who will make the case against banning books. I don’t need to do that, and, since you’re so stinking smart (I mean you are reading this blog after all!) hopefully you don’t need me to do that.Instead, I’ll suggest that we should strive to be like the banned books.People try to ban books because the books make them uncomfortable, or they depict things that they’re not used to reading about, or they contain ideas that they don’t like.We should strive to be like that.It’s easy to go along with the crowd, and think like everyone else, and never do anything that will rock the boat. But we have enough people who do that already.Better that we propose new ideas, or challenge authority, or question the reasoning behind something, and then watch as things improve, both for us and for society. The only way to progress is to challenge what’s already there, and that’s what these books do. That’s why some people are scared of them.Since you’re so smart, you’re probably wondering, “Why would I want to be like Captain Underpants?” or “What greatness has come from Captain Underpants?”Captain Underpants is a series of children’s books, in which the adults usually play the fool. And there’s nothing more entertaining to children than when they’re right and the adults are wrong. The adults cause the problems and the children have the solutions. So obviously children are going to be entertained and enjoy reading these stories.But perhaps they’re more than entertainment. If a kid reads Captain Underpants and sees that sometimes the kids are right and the adults are wrong, then maybe they’ll realize that people in authority aren’t always right. And maybe they’ll begin to ask questions about other things. And there’s nothing more valuable to a person or to society than asking questions.We should strive to ask questions. We should strive to try new things. We should strive to challenge those who provide answers like, “That’s just the way things are,” or “It will never change,” or, even more dangerously, “You can’t do that.”People try to ban books because they ask questions. Maybe those questions aren’t explicit, but they’re there. And when we read them, we ask questions. And when we ask questions, we change. We progress. We’re happier. We’re smarter. The world becomes better.So the irony of banned books is that the people banning the books think they have all the answers, but really what they want is for us to not even ask the questions.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Why I Secretly Hope my Kids Won't Listen to Me
I’ve always thought that I speak English, and that my wife speaks English. We understand each other well enough, and other people who speak English understand me. And damn it, this is America, and I frequently hear people say, “We speak English in America!”So then why the hell can’t my kids understand me when I tell them to do something?If I had a dollar for every time the past week or two that I’ve had to tell my kids to do something more than once, I’d have enough damn money to go somewhere exotic, where people don’t speak English!And since we’re not idiotic, absentee parents, we’ve chosen not to beat our kids into submission. So in the parental bag of tricks, that leaves only our wits and guile. Luckily, we have those in spades.In order to get my kids to listen better, I’m going to stop listening to them. By my calculations, it’ll only take a few well-placed “Oh, I didn’t hear you” responses before they begin to catch my drift.And the best part? I’m actually sort of looking forward to it!We’ve got four kids—aged 17, 10, 8 and 3—so my wife and I make a variety of demands each day. You’d think that at some age kids would become better listeners, but that doesn’t seem to happen until they get much older. Like 30.Until then, let’s have some fun being parents who don’t listen!My oldest daughter works at the YMCA and every week her work schedule changes. She’s constantly saying things like, “Pick me up at 6:45 tonight.”Easy enough, right? Well after I put on my kid ears, I’ll fail to hear the 6:45 part. So when 6:45 arrives and there’s no one there to pick her up, maybe she’ll think about better listening skills, or maybe even learn a little geography as she tries to navigate her way home.If nothing else she’ll thank us someday for providing her with a good story to tell her own kids. “You think you have it bad? Your two-bit grandparents used to leave me at work on purpose. Then I’d have to walk 10 miles home, while worrying whether some loser in a creepmobile was going to pick me up and take me God-knows-where. Count your blessings, kid!”My oldest son brings a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to school for lunch every day. Even though we know this, my wife and I always ask him what he wants for lunch the next day, as if he’s going to surprise us and ask for a Brussels sprout and beet salad.I’d love to see the look on his face when I misunderstand his standard “peanut butter and jelly sandwich” reply for “refried beans and tomato paste sandwich.” The colors should be similar, so it’s possible he won’t even notice until he takes a bite.“Who made my lunch today?” he’d ask when he got home. And my wife would say, “Dad, why?” And he’d go on to explain in great detail the horrific sandwich given to him, and how it was so disgusting, and how he couldn’t even eat it.And then at the end my wife would say nothing, and my son would say, “Mom!” when he realized she hadn’t listened to a word he said.My younger son is the most athletically-inclined of all my children. He’s been training himself to do pull-ups recently, and he’s been obsessed with planking for almost a year. He’s always asking us to time him to see how long he can plank.So maybe next time he’s planking, and he tells me to time him, I’ll say “okay” and then just sit there. He’ll plank for two, three, four minutes, and eventually become so tired that he collapses chest-first onto the floor. He’ll look up at me, out of breath, and ask, “How long was that?”And I’ll say, “Was I supposed to be timing you?”And don’t think that just because she’s three-years-old that my youngest daughter is off the hook. Oh no! She loves to go to the park, so maybe next time she asks, I’ll say yes, and then after she’s put her shoes on and she’s waiting by the door, and she’s calling my name to bring her outside, I’ll just act like I don’t even hear her.Eventually she’ll get so impatient that she’ll come upstairs and hunt me down. And inevitably she’ll yell, “Dad, when are we going to the park?” and I’ll say, “What?” like we didn’t just talk about it.Doesn’t that sound fun?This post is so lonely. It wants to meet some new people. Can't you please share it? You don't want to be responsible for a lonely post, do you?+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Warning: It's Wife Appreciation Day!
My calendar almost got me killed today. Somehow it managed to figure out that the first day of Autumn is tomorrow, and Rosh Hashanah begins on Wednesday, yet it has nothing but silence for today. And that's very dangerous.If you don't know why, then you might be in trouble.Today is Wife Appreciation Day. Look it up. I'm not kidding.How on earth can a calendar overlook such a thing? I can think of few other days of the year more important to be aware of than Wife Appreciation Day. Mother's Day, for sure. And I'd say that my wife's birthday and our wedding anniversary fall into that category as well, but those days are different for everyone, so I'll cut the calendar some slack.But Wife Appreciation Day? Come on. That day needs to be in bold on every single calendar ever produced.Now you may say that it's such a minor holiday and so few people observe it that it doesn't really matter. And I agree. However, it's one of those holidays where it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks. It only matters what your wife thinks.As that great philosopher, Mr. T, always says, I pity the fool who's unaware that today is Wife Appreciation Day, while his wife has had it circled on her calendar for months. It's probably been a day of increasingly cold silence around that poor schmuck's house, and it's not going to get any better.Luckily, my wife is stupendous. She told me about Wife Appreciation Day this afternoon. And while she suggested that cheesecake might be a great way to celebrate, she didn’t want me to go through the trouble. Instead, I just fed her fountain Diet Coke addiction, and she was happy.And that’s just a small example of why I consider every day Wife Appreciation Day!However, my wife is one-in-a-million, so if you have a wife, and you don’t know what today is, you might be in trouble. I wish I had some sage words of advice that would be helpful, but I don’t. Instead all I can offer are a few tidbits to help you avoid making the situation worse.First, don’t ask her if she knows it’s Wife Appreciation Day. It’s best to assume that she does know, but also pretend that you don’t know. Then figure out a way to show her you appreciate her.No, I can’t do this part for you. Take some initiative, lazy ass. You know your wife, I don’t. If you can’t figure out a way to show her that you appreciate her, then this single day isn’t your biggest problem.If your wife figures out what’s going on and accuses you of false appreciation only because it’s Wife Appreciation Day, and she’s upset, do not make the “when’s Husband Appreciation Day” argument. This is the tactic of scoundrels and you’re only going to seem like an idiot if you ask such a question. (But just so you know, Husband Appreciation Day is April 18 next year!)Also, say nothing about Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, her birthday, your anniversary, or any other day of the year set aside for her. She doesn’t want to hear it. She’s married to a guy who doesn’t appreciate her, and can’t even act like it for a day. You think she cares whether you think she’s got too many holidays? She doesn’t, so shut the hell up.And lastly, do not, under any circumstances, say something like, “Well the wife of the guy who writes the blog didn’t care about this holiday.” Leave me and my wife out of it. Don’t make us scapegoats for your thickheadedness. Not all wives can be awesome. I hit the jackpot. That’s just the way it goes. Sour grapes isn’t going to make it any better.The better path is to acknowledge your former ignorance, apologize, and never forget again.And by the way, it wouldn’t hurt to show some appreciation in the process. You’re undoubtedly better off with her than you would be without her, whatever delusional notions you have of the bachelor lifestyle. So stop reading and get to it. Show her that you appreciate it her.She deserves it.I've written this. You've read this. Now share it and like it. Please!+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
iPhone Release Day Enthusiasm
It’s iPhone Day! It’s iPhone Day! Can you believe it? I’m so stinking excited I can’t stand it. I’ve been waiting in line for twenty-nine hours so I can be sure to get my new iPhone as soon as possible. And now it’s only about an hour until the Apple store opens and I can get my brand spanking new iPhone.I’m writing this post on my MacBook Pro, which has a long battery life, and a 15-inch retina display, both of which helped me get through the chilly Chicago night in my lawn chair on Michigan Avenue.It’s been a long night, but a fun one. There are plenty of other people to talk to, and when we run out of things to say we just listen to the new U2 album, which Apple so graciously added to my iTunes account. I didn’t even have to ask for it!I’m so glad they gave it to me though. I didn’t even know U2 was still making music. Luckily, Apple knows just what I want, and they were smart enough to release the new iPhone 6 right after U2’s album, so now we’ll all have these fancy new phones to listen to the album. What a coincidence!This new iPhone is going to be so awesome. It’s got a 1.4 GHz processor, which is a full .1 faster than last year’s version. .1 I say! And the display…Holy Moses the display! The basic phone is now 4.7 inches, which is .7 inches larger than the previous phone. And Apple really knows what we want so the iPhone 6 Plus has a 5.5 inch display. Another eight-tenths of an inch! Do you have any idea what we can do with an additional eight-tenths of an inch? Well, neither do I, but I’m sure it’s something awesome!Oh, and I haven’t even touched on the thickness of the phone yet. It’s so thin! I mean when you hold it on its side you can barely even see it. How does Apple do that? I’m so glad it’s thinner. Last year’s iPhone, which was 2 millimeters thicker, was practically unusable. But this one—oh, good Lord—I’m going to use the hell out of all 6.9 millimeters of thickness on this new phone.I simply cannot believe the curviness! This is like the Kim Kardashian of phones. The sides don’t cut nearly as sharply as the previous iPhone, which is good. I can’t tell you the number of times I cut my hand while holding that machete.And don’t even get me started on the new features. I have three words for you: optical image stabilization. Do you know what that means? It means that when I’m on a long run and I’ve been working real hard and I’m all sweaty that I don’t even have to stop to take a selfie. And since it has a longer battery life I can go on longer runs.That’s not all they’ve done for the camera though. They’ve also improved tone mapping and noise reduction and invented new Focus Pixel technology that will help it focus better. That’s important because the only things keeping my photos from being awesome before was the impossibly lackadaisical tone mapping and noise on the old iPhone.The amazing thing about all of this is that I didn’t even know I wanted these things. For the past year I’ve been living in bliss with my iPhone 5S, and never even realized what I was missing. Luckily, Apple’s there for us, so we’re no longer missing out on the things we didn’t know we were missing out on.Thank you Apple!The thoughts, declarations, enthusiasm, cultishness, spendthriftiness, and general tomfoolery contained in the words above do not belong to this blog’s usual author. The words overtook his mind early in the morning, and his fingers had no choice but to record them. The blog’s usual author maintains his commitment to a cell phone-free life, and has no explanation for where the words above came from. He strongly suspects they were put into his mind by Apple, possibly genetically engineered into the pulp of the thirteen honey crisp apples he’s eaten this week.Possibly.++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Please share, like or comment if you like this. Please. I'm begging you. By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker WritesYou should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Don't be a Shaving Idiot!
Shaving is the pits. No, not the armpits, which is just one of the numerous body parts we crazy humans shave. The pits. As in the worst. It’s a waste of time, and if I could do away with that particular chore forever, I’d be ecstatic.I can’t do away with it though, so instead I’ll just complain about it.Most boys spend their pre-teen years longing for the day when they’ll have whiskers. It’s a sign of manhood, I suppose, although most boys who try to grow mustaches look more ridiculous than they do manly. Facial hair usually doesn’t decide to grow in the same place at the same rate at the same time, so most teenage boys who try to grow facial hair end up with a patchwork of hair that’s different lengths, thickness and color.Then at some point—and I’m not sure when—we begin shaving. And no matter how dumb we are with our half-assed, peach fuzz mustaches, we somehow become even dumber when we begin to shave.Is there any bigger waste of money in the personal hygiene business than shaving? (Okay, maybe men’s liquid body wash, but that’s a topic for a different post.)Go to the shaving aisle and look at the selections. Reusable razors with disposable cartridges have come to dominate the shaving world over the past couple of decades. And the companies who make them are like crack dealers. They give you the razor and one cartridge for ten bucks or so. “That doesn’t seem too expensive,” you think, so you buy the razor.Then they have you. There’s no going back.You can only use their particular cartridges on that razor, and they know it. So when it comes time to buy more cartridges you have no choice but to pay $35 for five cartridges. We’ve already spent the money for the razor, so they know we’ll pony up.And the worst part is, they’re making fools of us. Every few years they’ll come out with a new cartridge, for which a new razor is required. “The revolutionary five blade system provides the closest shave possible.” Yeah, until two years from now when they miraculously come out with a six blade system. Bastards.In the very first Saturday Night Live episode ever there’s a parody of a shaving commercial. The product they’re pitching? A razor with three blades! And they pitch it exactly how the razor companies pitched it twenty years later. The first blade grabs the whisker, the second blade cuts it, and the third blade cuts it again. Your face will be as smooth as a billiard ball they claim.The tagline? “The Triple-Trac. Because you’ll believe anything!”We’re such idiots.Shaving gel is another ripoff. The commercial for that should say, “We want you to pay three times as much for shaving gel as you do for shaving cream, because we know you’ll believe that it’s better for your face.” Then, at the end of the commercial they’d whisper, “We know you’re an idiot.”Men don’t have a monopoly on shaving idiocy though. Women somehow have been fooled into believing that they need a special razor as well. Something softer, more delicate, with a thicker handle, and if at all possible, pink.The only reason the world needs one razor for women and one razor for men is for the bottom line of the razor companies. They can sell twice as many razors and we’re none the wiser.Well the jig is up! We’re wiser now.So what to do? The best thing to do is not shave at all. But best is a relative term in this situation, and it’s entirely possible that the special lady or gentleman in your life won’t like that solution.So if shaving is a must, then I suggest going with the old school double-edged razors. I got one a couple of years ago and it works great. The razor is expensive—around $35—but the big shaving companies don’t make them, so you get to experience the feeling of stickin’ it to the man! Also, the blades are like $.50 a piece instead of ten or twelve times that amount.One warning though: you might accidentally cut yourself really bad and bleed out.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Cereal: An Education
Perhaps the only food more versatile than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is cereal. Whether it’s consumed for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snack, it’s always appropriate and satisfying.Now, before you begin with cries of, “Breakfast cereal is nothing but sugar!” or “I’m not letting my kids near that stuff!” or “I’m not eating anything endorsed by a talking tiger or big-eyed leprechaun!” let me say that you’re completely right. Most breakfast cereal is at least 15% sugar. Some of it is much higher.So if I see Tony the Tiger I’ll be sure to tell him he’s a damn liar when he claims that Frosted Flakes is part of a nutritious breakfast. I just hope you feel bad when he mauls me and chews off my face.Cereal is a “sometimes” food, all right? It’s not perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than that pastry abomination, Pop Tarts. So even though you can have cereal for breakfast, lunch or dinner, don’t have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.I’m glad that’s settled. Now we can get down to business.And the business is cereal.Even though I’ve just caved and admitted that cereal isn’t a great source of nutrition and you shouldn’t eat it all the time, I need to point out not all cereal is nutritionally bankrupt.Take Cheerios, for instance. That cereal is so simple and tasty, and it’s not horrible for you. It’s got very little sugar, and it’s been the stalwart of healthy cereal for decades. I must say I’m a little disappointed in the Cheerios folks though. Over the past few years they’ve branched out and now have chocolate, frosted and dulce de leche versions. Stay away from those.Also, stay away from the honey nut version. They smell like urine. You might not have noticed it before, but you’ll never be able to eat them again without noticing it now that I’ve mentioned it. Sorry.(Maybe that tidbit isn’t too surprising, since many potty-training boys have Cheerios for targets in the toilet bowl when they’re practicing their aim.)And don’t forget about basic corn flakes. They taste good, have an outstanding crunch, and also absorb milk perfectly. They’re usually the cheapest cereal around and a necessary addition to any cereal inventory.![IMG_0039[1]](http://static1.squarespace.com/static/595a738a6b8f5bb02124c887/62e157ca95da86416e818036/62e157cb95da86416e81807f/1658935243358/IMG_00391.jpg?format=original)
Now to the good stuff. The sweet stuff. The cereal so sugary that it’s no coincidence many cereal aisles share space with the candy aisle.In addition to Lucky Charms and Frosted Flakes, there are a few other staples that any cereal connoisseur needs to enjoy and appreciate. Such as:Fruity Pebbles: Fred Flintstone and so many colors that it turns your milk gray. Delicious. It has a cousin called Cocoa Pebbles, which turns your milk brown. That’s gross.Fruit Loops: Basically flavored, enlarged, colored Cheerios. And would anyone know what the hell a toucan was if it weren’t for Toucan Sam?Cookie Crisp: Cookies as cereal? Are you kidding me? Find a kid, show him this cereal, watch the excitement. In one of the great travesties in cereal history, they’ve done away with the Cookie Crook, so kids these days won’t experience the sensation of fear when watching Cookie Crisp commercials.Raisin Bran: This is the double agent of the cereal world. It passes itself off as a healthy cereal (it’s got the word Bran right in the name!), but take a look at the label. It’s 30% sugar! That’s just 3% less than Fruity Pebbles! You might think the raisin or the bran would make you crap your pants, but really it’s the label.Rice Krispies: Somehow this is a successful kids cereal, even though it has just 12% sugar. Credit those wily Snap, Crackle, Pop brothers. This cereal is great for kids because it doesn’t disappoint. They say it makes noise, and it actually makes noise. Some cereals disappoint. I’m still waiting for that Trix rabbit to come and try and take my bowl of cereal.We’re coming upon the time of the cereal Holy Trinity though. Every year around this time they make an appearance, and I just saw them for the first time this past weekend. I’m talking about Count Chocula, Frankenberry and Boo Berry. Stop reading and go get them. You haven’t experienced Halloween excitement until you’ve opened that first box of monster cereal.Now that you know what to eat, it’s time to learn how to eat it. You may think you know how to eat it, but you don’t.First, you can’t eat it dry. That’s cheating. The milk is part of the experience. Soy milk is an acceptable substitute. If you’re out of milk don’t get all fancy and think that you can substitute water or orange juice or coffee. You can’t and you’re disgusting for even considering it.Second, mix the cereals! I can’t remember the last time I had a bowl of just one cereal. Mix them up, play with the flavors. There’s no wrong way to do it. Plus, you don’t feel as bad eating that giant bowl of Honey Smacks when you’ve got some corn flakes mixed in.Third, scrape the sides of the bowl as you eat. If you don’t the sugar cereal is going to stick to it and you’ll never get it off. So not only will you shortchange yourself on cereal enjoyment, you’ll probably have to throw the bowl away.And finally, drink the milk when you’re done! If you follow no other advice from me, please follow this. Milk at the bottom of the cereal bowl is one of nature’s treasures. Dumping it is tragic. Don’t be tragic.And forget about the Pop Tarts!By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
A Man's Miss America Recap
In case your Sunday night didn’t include watching the 2015 Miss America pageant, I’ve done the dirty work for you. Thank me later.I missed the beginning, so anything that happened before the swimsuit competition gets a free pass. Everything that happened after that practically wrote this post for me.First, who taught these women to walk? For most of the competition they’re in some sort of dress, so I don’t think their abnormal gait is noticeable. But during the swimsuit competition there’s little to hide behind, so we see just how ridiculous they look when they walk. Their feet swayed back-and-forth so much, and their hips jerked side-to-side with such gumption that if I saw someone walking like that in public I’d refer them to a reputable chiropractor I know.And, by the way, does the high-heel/bikini combination occur anywhere else besides beauty pageants and in between rounds of boxing matches?Now to the contestants. Oh my goodness, the contestants. Like I mentioned before, I missed the first part of the show, which means that I missed more than half the contestants. I’m not too happy about that. If the women I saw were the best-of-the-best, then I really regret not seeing the rest of them.The first person to catch my eye was Miss Kentucky. During her evening gown traipse they played a voiceover of her saying that she wanted to be like Audrey Hepburn. Fine. But I’m pretty sure Audrey Hepburn wasn't known for side boob.Miss Ohio. I’m no fashion expert, but the lapels on her dress were hideous. If even I know that something fashion-related is ridiculous, then it’s way out of bounds. Seriously, search for a picture of her. Bad.Miss Oklahoma. What the hell? What follows is a direct quote from her voiceover: “This gown accentuates my giraffe-like qualities.”For the love of God, what does that even mean? It shows how you can eat sticks from high trees? We get a good view of your ten-inch vertebrae?I began to feel bad about making fun of Miss Oklahoma for that statement, but then I watched her do some interpretive dance. I looked for giraffe-like qualities, but really all I wanted was for a lion to appear on stage.During the talent competition, little bubbles appeared on screen with fun facts about the women.One of Miss Arkansas’s pieces of information stated that she likes giraffes. Is Geoffrey from Toys ‘r Us running this thing? What’s with all the giraffe lovers?Miss Massachusetts made no mention of loving giraffes, but she played the piano in a gown that accentuated her long neck. Coincidental that the woman who actually did sort of look like a giraffe made no mention of liking giraffes? Probably not.Although she didn’t like giraffes, she did say that she was once attacked by a cheetah in Zambia. (See what I mean about this post writing itself?) After her performance her dad enthusiastically waved some sort of light saber in the audience, like a wannabe Luke Skywalker.Most of the talents were rather lame. Miss Ohio—she of the really bad lapels—had the best of the night. She sang Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious as a ventriloquist. So she’d sing a few words and then her dummy would sing a few words. It was actually quite impressive. A cynic would say it’s not surprising that the best performance involved a dummy with a bunch of fake parts.I wouldn’t say that. A cynic would.Miss Florida’s first fun fact stated that she slapped a shark as a child. Her second fact said that she loves Waffle House. She won the “Fastest Transformation from Interesting to Boring” part of the competition.My favorite fun fact appeared while Miss New York performed. The bubble said she “loves anything Jane Austin.” I’d love to know if Miss New York or the person typing the bubbles isn’t aware that the author’s name is Jane Austen, not Austin.Because I don’t like to just pick apart things without offering ways to improve them, I have a couple of ideas.First, some contestant should find a way to wear a thong for the swimsuit portion. Picture this: a contestant walks out on stage in her bikini, does her little twirl, and then out of nowhere rips the fabric off the bottom of her bikini, revealing a thong. Can you imagine? Whether she won or not people would know her name and her state, and the Miss America pageant would become must-see TV every year forever.Second, they should tell each of the finalists they’ve won and then judge them on their crying face. I have no doubt that if the judges saw the face Miss New York was making after she won they wouldn’t have awarded the crown to her. Yikes.And by the way, I don’t believe the contestants’ oft-repeated claims of “These women are so great” and “I’ve made such good friends” and “Any of them would make a great Miss America.” Someday one of those women—probably the runner-up—is going to shiv the winner.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
What Does Never Forget Mean on 9/11?
I can’t think of another day of the year that’s known simply by its numbers. 9/11. Every other day in which we pause to remember has a name. Memorial Day. Veterans Day. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Even the casual reference to Independence Day frames it in the lyrical 4th of July, and not 7/4.Maybe we call it 9/11 because there’s no other simple name for it. Unlike Pearl Harbor the events of the day weren’t confined to a single location. Sadly, we can’t just say the Terrorist Attacks, because there have been other attacks on other days in other places. Or maybe 9/11 has stuck because of the resemblance of that second number to those two towers.Whatever the reason—and for many reasons—9/11 is a day like no other.On the thirteenth anniversary we’ll see a constant stream of remembrances. Politicians will go to events, news organizations will air special programming, and practically everyone with a social media account will post something with a version of “Never Forget” attached to it.Never Forget began appearing almost as soon as the attacks happened. I don’t remember where I first saw the phrase, but since that was before Facebook (Crazy, huh? A world before Facebook?) I probably saw it either on a bumper sticker or in an e-mail forward. And actually, at the beginning I think it had mostly vengeful connotations.A lot has happened since then though. What does Never Forget mean now? What does it mean after buildings have been repaired or rebuilt, after the man responsible for the attacks has been killed, after the man who planned the attacks has been imprisoned, and after the people whose lives were directly affected by the attacks have lived almost 5,000 days since then?What aren’t we forgetting? And are we remembering, or just not forgetting?Do we mean we’ll Never Forget how we felt when we first heard the news? Or when we watched the plumes of smoke? Will we Never Forget how scared we were? Or how confused? Or how worried?Or do we mean we’ll Never Forget the victims? We knew some of their names in the months after that day, but do we remember them anymore? Do we only think of them on this day? Will we Never Forget the people on those planes? Or the people at their desks? Or the people who faced a desperation we’ll likely never face? Or the people who went in to help and never came back?And what about the people left behind? Will we Never Forget the babies born after their fathers died? Or the wives and children who witnessed that exact terrible moment? Or the parents whose children didn’t outlive them? We can say Never Forget, but they really can never forget.It shouldn’t become a cliché. How often do we say “I love you” without really thinking about it? If we’re not careful it becomes trite and devoid of meaning. We run the same risk by just saying Never Forget, without actually taking time to remember something or someone specific.In Spring 2012, we took a family vacation to Washington, DC. On the way there we stopped at the Flight 93 National Memorial in Pennsylvania. It was a late March Saturday, cool, foggy. Just off of U.S. 30 we followed the winding park road a couple of miles over and around rolling hills. We parked and got out of the car, and I immediately noticed the silence. The site is in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest road or town.A path leading from the parking lot to the memorial is enclosed on one side by a short wall at a 40 degree angle, signifying the angle of the plane when it crashed. At the end of the path 40 large pieces of white marble each contain the name of a crash victim. The marble stands along the side of a path of black granite, which marks the flight’s path. At the end of the granite a ceremonial gate leads to the crash site. Visitors can only look through the gate at the large boulder noting the impact site 400 feet away.
Because of the weather, and by mere chance, we were the only people near the marble panels and the ceremonial gate for ten or fifteen minutes when we visited. My oldest daughter, who was four years old on 9/11, and so understands the importance of the memorial, looked around, read the names. My wife, as she so often does, took poignant pictures. My youngest daughter, just a year-and-a-half old, walked around without a care. And I stood with my sons—aged five and seven—and tried to explain why the memorial existed, and why we were there.And just like that day in 2001, nothing I said made sense. To them or to me.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.