Babe, You Sound Like a Baby!!

Women with baby voices:
Today I heard an interview with a senior partner in a law firm, but before the interviewer identified her, I thought he was talking to a 5 year old girl. Not what she was saying, but her baby-like voice.
Am I the only one concerned about American women increasingly sounding like babies when they talk? You know what I mean: high in the throat, quick and annoying sounding. Just like a little girl. Why do they (you) talk like that? Europeans don’t. Asians don’t. Africans don’t. But American women from these groups do. Conclusion: This is a cultural phenomenon. A LEARNED habit
Think. A woman is interviewing for a job and sounds like a baby. Strike one before she says anything. She sounds whiney and tentative. Strike two.
The normal human voice is produced in the larynx, low in the throat. Anyone can make their voice sound like a little girl by moving the sound up into the back of the throat. But why the hell do that? American women need a good dose of speech therapy to get back to a melliferous sound. A purring murmur. Sexy or direct, anything but babyish. Come on women. Listen.
Read the LA Times article cited below for a more complete discussion. See? I’m not the only one the notices these things, and, gets concerned.
http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-daum7jul07,0,7903770.column
Image: www.babytalk.co.za/babyTalkLogo.jpg

Doctrine of Unintended Consequences

I sit here this afternoon, humbled and teary (Oh Search, not again!). The little essay on ratemyprofessor was, as many of my musings, a way for me to work through something. It helped, and publishing seems to be part of the help, at least for me. After I posted, I thought “Well, there was some whining Woody. (Searchie-pie to one of you)” But I don’t take down things I post, so there it sat. The responses were humbling. And yes, very pleasing too.
As I move away from the center of my career to the fringes, I can’t help wonder sometimes what good has come of it? I have been known to be a bit pessimistic about some things from time to time, and recently more than earlier. But not here. Not with My TU Students. I know to the marrow how hard you worked, in fact how hard I worked most of you. I know you left my domain knowing a lot of content and for many knowing how to think analytically. Still, as most teachers know, you let them go with a hope and prayer and mostly never hear how they did.
I did not write the essay to winkle kind thoughts or praise or anything really. I wrote to clarify in my own mind the seeming decline of Me. And I think I got it: different venue, different perception. Many of my Students will remember me talking about the “Doctrine of Unintended Consequences”. This is a perfect example.
Thank you for the unintended consequence. And the blub.
Image: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=254327

RateMyProfessor: Oops, Is That ME?

The last time I looked at my TU ratings I scored 4.7 out of 5. Not too shabby. The comments were positive with words like “Awesome” “Great” and other superlatives. Great for the ego.
So today I looked at my TCC ratings from 3 students based on my classes from the spring of 2010. I scored 3.4 out of 5 with comments like “He doesn’t teach much, but gives bonus points.” What the HELL? Is this the same professor? Then it hit me. Yes, it is the same professor, but TCC is all labs with no real chance to teach content. All show and tell. All models. And, my classes were way above the average in both grades and retention. Disconnect? I think so. My lab teaching technique, developed over decades of teaching (too many decades maybe?) is to NOT give people the answers to questions like “Is this the right or left clavicle?” My answer: “I don’t know. Let’s try to figure it out.” Then I show them how to figure it out, without ever telling them the answer. Works like a charm and before long they burrow into material on their own. And they don’t realize they have learned to learn. Probably the most important thing anyone can learn.
So I feel bad about the ratings and comments, but understand that learning to learn is not as apparent as memorizing a list of bones. I can’t wait to see the ratings from this term. Maybe I will soar up to 3.5.
Image: www.flickr.com/photos/wakingtiger/3157622170/

Thanks.

Thanksgiving. I have been thinking about thanksgiving and all the church signs I see around with some variant of "Thank God" for something. That got me in a really negative mode because there is no doubt that if you thank some being for the good things then you must hold that same being responsible for the bad things. At least as I see it. Then I read a blog (1) posted by one of my favorite authors, a woman suffering and possibly dying from MS. She shamed me with her long list of “thanks” without once thanking any kind of god. I went back over my own thoughts and did after all find lots of things to be thankful for. Thank you to Sally for all the years you have put up with and loved me. Grateful for being alive and relative healthy, not rich, but not poor either, good friends, and the list got longer and longer.
With deities off the table, anyone can be grateful for anything. Or appreciative even. Like a beautiful sunrise or powerful storm. A poem or novel or play or symphony. Anything. Negative just slips away.
So I think my point is this: If you feel the need to thank some god for everything good that ever happens, then you should hold some god responsible for the times when things go wrong. “Thank you God for the food on our table, but where are you when people are starving in the Sudan?” And “Thank you God for protecting my child while she was deployed in Afghanistan, but where were you when other children were shredded by IEDs? And by the way, why are we at war anyway? If you are so powerful and loving, surely you could solve that little problem without butchering thousands of innocent people?”
Get the point? No praise without responsibility.

1. “A Writers Thanksgiving” : http://asknicola.blogspot.com/2010/11/writers-thanksgiving.html
Image: iskcon.net.au

WIC and CIGS

He was ahead of me in the line at Harveys. Three WIC vouchers four piles of stuff. I don’t know how WIC really works, but obviously each of the vouchers either had a dollar limit or a food type or he saved them up. He got milk, eggs, cheese, some cereal and a few other things on the vouchers. Each pile had to be checked out separately, each voucher signed separately. The fourth pile was beer, and the cashier got a couple cartons of cigs. Out came the wallet with a wad of 20s. That really pissed me off. Essentially I paid for his kid’s food and he paid for his beer and cigs. It still pisses me off.
Sally pointed out that with the vouchers, at least his kids got fed (and so did he, the greedy bastard) because he would have bought the beer and cigs anyway, and not food. She is undoubtedly right. It still pissed me off. If this guy makes enough to wave that kind of cash around why the hell is he getting the vouchers in the first place? Maybe works for cash so no paper trail? I don’t know. And maybe when he gets home he will sell the groceries to a neighbor, send the kids to eat a free lunch at school and sit around watching his flat screen drinking beer and smoking. Just the thought of that pisses me off.
More good news: the economy in Florida will generate 1.3 million jobs in the next few years due to the recovery that is well underway. So the morons in Florida that “Threw the bastards out” threw out the wrong bastards. No accounting for morons.
Image: http://farmdirectmarket.powersites.net/files/2010/09/WIC.jpg

Breaking News: Blurred Groin Syndrome!!

A newly discovered physical/anatomical disorder is called blurred groin syndrome or BGS. Men have wondered for years why the shape of some men’s “junk” was obvious even through clothing, while others could wear anything for jeans to Speedos and still not have that “come and get it” look. Now we know the answer to this perplexing problem: BGS. That’s right; there is something about the anatomical and electrophasic distribution of the body’s meridia that cause a blurring of the groin area, resulting in a nearly invisible set of genitalia. This syndrome was confirmed inadvertently as comedian Dave Barry was directed by TSA into a pat-down room because the full body scanner could not image his “package” (1). He was told he had a blurred groin. It seems that this strange combination of anatomical and electrical phenomena affects not only the retinal imaging of genitalia but also the X-ray imaging.
So after years of carrying equivalent junk and getting ignored by everyone, men finally have an answer: BGS. Laboratories around the world are currently at work to provide a drug to relieve the symptoms of BGS. Early tests of one drug showed great promise: mice that have notoriously blurred groins were given a two week course of experimental drug “X”, and were observed to have rat-sized genitals! Who Knew? The drug is scheduled to move directly to phase three trials because many of the top regulators in the country have been accused of not having any balls and they want to prove that they have. We shall all see very soon.
(Secret research for this breaking news report is secret, so don’t ask. It is, however, copyrighted)
Image: http://www.aclu.org/files/images/client/BodyScanner.jpg (note that the gun is easliy seen, but the "junk" is invisable!)
1. http://www.npr.org/2010/11/15/131338172/humorist-dave-barry-and-the-tsa

Effie

Effie in the Middle with Greta and Yuyu on either side. Young Matt Search in lap.

And that (story about Corky below) reminds me of another aunt, Aunt Effie. She was my father’s youngest sibling and in many ways the hell raiser of the crowd. Effie was born sometime in the early 1900’s and grew up in the flapper and depression days. She never missed a chance to have fun. She wandered from job to job and man to man, marrying one twice, and scandalizing the family. She borrowed money when stuck in some dive of a town, and made the rounds from brothers to sisters when she was “between situations”.
Aunt Effie had one son, Wallace, who had lots of children and grandchildren, so in her later years Effie was always surrounded by family. She started every phone call with a sighed “Oh Kids” and went on to complain about everything possible. Sally and I stayed with her on one occasion and developed a particular mode of “sleeping”, since her bedroom and ours were connected by a closet with no doors. She was often fun despite herself and as Aunties go she was OK. A bit of hard work sometimes, but then who isn’t.
There were many legends about her, but the one most whispered about and never directly confirmed by me was the tattoo. Now you have to remember that in the 20’s and 30’s only thugs, sailors and very loose women had tattoos. Sometime during that time she got a tattoo. But not a butterfly on her shoulder or ankle, or a Celtic knot on the small of her back. No, she had a simple one: initials of someone, presumable a boyfriend, and an arrow pointing up. So far so good. The shocking part (to those who knew about it) was not only the tattoo that couldn’t be seen easily but the place where it resided. On the inside of her thigh. Remember the design, then think of the location, then think of the information content. Shocking.
Good old gal though.

Corky: KIA

Korea 4 June 1951. Corky Wray jumped with his 5th Ranger Company buddies into North Korea and was killed not long after hitting the ground. He was an only son. Corky had a great personality, always laughing and being goofy. He used to pick me up and ride me around on his tall shoulders, and sometimes let me ride with him on his paint horse. He never had a chance to do any of the things I did as an adult, but he was passionate about his country.
I just watched a video of an old guy who raises a casket flag from a different KIA each day from Memorial Day to mid October. It was touching, and I thought “I wonder what happened to my cousin’s flag after my aunt Greta died?” No matter. Nearly 61years later I remember Corky well, and in the way that adults think about their childhood years I still miss him. Maybe the shock of his death and the life-changing affect it had on Aunt Greta was part of the reason why I resisted the draft.
Ranger John G. Wray is buried in Wymore, Nebraska near his mother. If you ever get out that way, look him up and say “Hi” from me.
Image: http://www.ricarangers.org/images/05th/KIA/WrayJohnG.jpg
KIA/MIA/POW information: http://www.ricarangers.org/kiamiapow.htm

Just for Fun.

While I was looking around for an image for the post that follows this I stumbled on the website of a really incredible photographer. His name is Robert Rodriguez Jr. Here are three examples of his work and believe me his web site has much more. Take a few minutes to visit http://robertrodriguezjr.com/blog/ and enjoy your self.

Images used with permission

Cobscook Bay Spirits

We were looking for a place to have a quiet hike, and turned into Cobscook Bay State Park, an out of the way place in Northern Maine. The park and campground was closed for the season, but the boat ramp was open so we drove down there and parked. The 17 foot tide was out making it easy walking along the beach. The beach was covered with wrack weed nearly up to the high tide line, and there were lots of mussels and periwinkles everywhere. We found a trail leading up into the woods and hiked it for about 10 minutes. The trail came out around the bend from the ramp and led down onto the beach. Before us were two small “islands” that were truly islands at high tide but with care, accessible at low tide. We made it to the first island and decided to scramble over boulders and a small beach to the second. Directly in my path was a seagull feather. Naturally I picked it up (see earlier essay) and put it in my hat to honor Bird who left it for me. When we got to the second island I felt strongly that this was a sacred site, probably a burial place, where spirits were still present. I felt their interest and felt at peace. I needed something to leave to honor them and their dwelling place and thought of the feather. I pulled it from my hat and buried it shallowly at the edge of the small woodland. The feeling back to me was immediate and strong: Good. Go in Peace.
Who knows what this kind of encounter means or where it emanates from? All I can tell you is that everywhere you go you will find places like this, and any gesture of honor will be met with respect.
Image: www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=379028429194