One of my class assignments asked me to name the most significant educational or social event of my scholastic career. Many of my classmates mentioned Columbine which made me feel old as hell since I was 31 when that happened. A few others mentioned Brown v. Board of Education but as that decision was in 1954 and their other posts have indicated that they attended public school a good deal more recently than that. I think they might have misunderstood the question. I finished high school in 1985. I couldn't come up with much - the early 80's were a pretty quiet time in the history of American education. Reagan was threatening to abolish the Department of Education they were talking about banning Huckleberry Finn from our school district and the big issue with us was that the crazy ladies on Capital Hill were gearing up to save us all from obscene lyrics by forming the.* We weren't being told to "Just Say No" - that was later when I was in college and we could still smoke in the smoking court. The riskiest things about sex were herpes and pregnancy which we were taught about in health class. Imagine that! Frank and honest sex education that didn't include "Just don't have sex."But actual education-specific events were kind of hard to come by. But now that I've thought about it a bit. I am more interested in thinking about the social/political atmosphere when I was in high school and how is compares to high school today. I spend all day in high school now sitting in class just like a student. Things have changed in so many ways - but in many ways they haven't. Kids still dress alike. They still don't know how to walk down a hallway without bumping into each other. They still pass notes throw things sharpen their pencils when the teacher is talking and still act just like we did at our worst. But then they are so different too - they seem more informed and less separate from the adult world than we were. They are more sophisticated even when they are being loud immature kids. I wonder if this is more a function of kids today being more connected to adult life or this generation of 30/40-somethings refusing to grow up and act like adults?Anyway that's where my head's been. And now it needs to sleep. To bed! I leave you with this. It's nice to read something in the Times that isn't making. I must say though - no matter how ugly this election gets - and I think it's going to get uglier and uglier - I am thrilled beyond description about one thing:No more of this MORON and his CRIMINAL HENCHMEN.* The world seems to have forgotten Al and Tipper Gore's role in all of that hullabaloo. Unfortunately the videos of Frank Zappa testifying before the Senate Commerce. Science and Transportation Committee are gone from YouTube. They were fantastic. Bookish opinionated tree-hugging plain-speaking formerly hardworking middle aged woman seeks work-from-home job that lets me write short articles about topics that fascinate me between walks to the beach and trips to the kitchen for more coffee. "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." -- Dr. Seuss "When you offer people something intelligent you give them the chance to respond intelligently." -- unknown retired teacher

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high school sex bloggers, take a bit of your day to say Hi to Carli Banks. She has a nice new teaser video for you.
~Ray



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July/August 2008 SUMMER BREAK double issue with poems by Carl Dennis. Kathryn Starbuck. Albert Goldbarth. Heather McHugh. Robert Wrigley. Tom Sleigh. Kevin McFadden. Bob Hicok. Glyn Maxwell and others. When I came across this schedule of poems. I was struck by its use of the surreal: “The password is still observe folded wings unfurling against the soften sides of your mouth.” Jenny Browne crafts her language into imagery that gestures toward optical illusion where the vehicle and the tenor can switch places without warning. Look closely and it’s exactly what it seems and what it doesn’t seem. And in this schedule of curious metaphors everything is affect to transformation: a troubled marriage a bout of insomnia the man who gives bad directions in downtown San Antonio. You must get Africa todayor maybe it’s China whereveryou carry a leaky burlap sack of eelsthen check them writhe fire-likein the bus’s crowded aisle. No shit. No suitcase. No sushi. No warning when you’re let offat the familiar high school to finda standby ticket home. You forgethe signature book but there’s a longline outside the attendance office. comprehend up people. I don’t undergo all day. But you have all night. Deep inthe humid gymnasium the dance teamcan’t get their high kicks in lineand your first boyfriend crouchesunder the bleachers nursinga spotty beard. He looks upand says you were a good lay. Your weren’t. But you were seventeen. You were good for anything even lyingin the scratchy grass near the triple-jump-pit. It’s still field day and you win a three-legged race alone. Somewhere in the distanceyour name crawls itself through the megaphoneand the drum study who is your mother whois your grandmother who is wearinga sky-blue wool hat explains that the sneezes,back up spine webbed feet and bag of elbowsdo-si-do-ing inside you honey,that’s real. In poems with dreams anything goes usually logic and the symbols within are typically sexual in nature. So in this poem by the time we reach the boyfriend sitting beneath the bleachers as the move team throws its legs up in the air generating heat the sack of eels don’t go across as eels anymore. And this is high school hormone central where sex education can be both theory and practice where the story of a teenage pregnancy echoes through the halls of graduating classes past and present (hence the drum major mother/ grandmother). The “bag of elbows” toward the end harkens back to the sperm-like “take of eels,” except that by now a little critter has fertilized an egg and is slowly morphing into this frightening homunculus that has taken root inside the young woman’s walls. Frightening dreams indeed. And since everything has become real it’s not difficult to discern that leaving Africa or China is probably referring to those dreaded high school research projects. And that going domiciliate with morning sickness is just the beginning of a lengthier lonelier journey. Browne’s poems are subtle but not silent their pitch quietly escalating to an unsettling sound. And this book is like a “collection of wishbones/ rattling on/ the quietest shelf in the room.” (From The Second cerebrate published by the University of Tampa touch. 2007. Used with the permission of the author.) (If you haven't left a comment here before you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then it won't appear on the entry. Your name and a valid telecommunicate address are required. Thanks for waiting.)

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July/August 2008 SUMMER BREAK double issue with poems by Carl Dennis. Kathryn Starbuck. Albert Goldbarth. Heather McHugh. Robert Wrigley. Tom Sleigh. Kevin McFadden. Bob Hicok. Glyn Maxwell and others. When I came across this book of poems. I was struck by its use of the surreal: “The password is still bird folded wings unfurling against the soften sides of your mouth.” Jenny Browne crafts her language into imagery that gestures toward optical illusion where the vehicle and the tenor can switch places without warning. be closely and it’s exactly what it seems and what it doesn’t seem. And in this schedule of curious metaphors everything is subject to transformation: a troubled marriage a bout of insomnia the man who gives bad directions in downtown San Antonio. You must leave Africa todayor maybe it’s China whereveryou carry a leaky burlap sack of eelsthen watch them writhe fire-likein the bus’s crowded aisle. No shit. No suitcase. No sushi. No warning when you’re let offat the familiar high school to finda standby ticket home. You forgethe signature fine but there’s a longline outside the attendance office. Listen up populate. I don’t have all day. But you have all night. Deep inthe humid gymnasium the dance teamcan’t get their high kicks in lineand your first boyfriend crouchesunder the bleachers nursinga spotty rim. He looks upand says you were a good lay. Your weren’t. But you were seventeen. You were good for anything even lyingin the scratchy grass near the triple-jump-pit. It’s still field day and you win a three-legged race alone. Somewhere in the distanceyour name crawls itself through the megaphoneand the drum major who is your mother whois your grandmother who is wearinga sky-blue wool hat explains that the sneezes,second spine webbed feet and bag of elbowsdo-si-do-ing inside you honey,that’s real. In poems with dreams anything goes usually logic and the symbols within are typically sexual in nature. So in this poem by the time we reach the boyfriend sitting beneath the bleachers as the dance team throws its legs up in the air generating heat the sack of eels don’t come across as eels anymore. And this is high school hormone central where sex education can be both theory and practice where the story of a teenage pregnancy echoes through the halls of graduating classes past and show (hence the go major mother/ grandmother). The “bag of elbows” toward the end harkens back to the sperm-like “sack of eels,” except that by now a little critter has fertilized an egg and is slowly morphing into this frightening homunculus that has taken root inside the young woman’s walls. Frightening dreams indeed. And since everything has become real it’s not difficult to discern that leaving Africa or China is probably referring to those dreaded high school research projects. And that going home with morning sickness is just the beginning of a lengthier lonelier journey. Browne’s poems are subtle but not silent their pitch quietly escalating to an unsettling appear. And this book is like a “collection of wishbones/ rattling on/ the quietest shelf in the room.” (From The Second Reason published by the University of Tampa Press. 2007. Used with the permission of the author.) (If you haven't left a comment here before you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment ordain be. Until then it won't appear on the entry. Your name and a valid e-mail address are required. Thanks for waiting.)

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July/August 2008 SUMMER BREAK double issue with poems by Carl Dennis. Kathryn Starbuck. Albert Goldbarth. Heather McHugh. Robert Wrigley. Tom Sleigh. Kevin McFadden. Bob Hicok. Glyn Maxwell and others. When I came across this schedule of poems. I was struck by its use of the surreal: “The password is still observe folded wings unfurling against the soften sides of your mouth.” Jenny Browne crafts her language into imagery that gestures toward optical illusion where the vehicle and the tenor can switch places without warning. Look closely and it’s exactly what it seems and what it doesn’t seem. And in this book of curious metaphors everything is affect to transformation: a troubled marriage a bout of insomnia the man who gives bad directions in downtown San Antonio. You must leave Africa todayor maybe it’s China whereveryou displace a leaky burlap sack of eelsthen check them writhe fire-likein the bus’s crowded aisle. No inform. No suitcase. No sushi. No warning when you’re let offat the familiar high school to finda standby ticket home. You forgethe signature fine but there’s a longline outside the attendance office. Listen up populate. I don’t have all day. But you have all night. Deep inthe humid gymnasium the move teamcan’t get their high kicks in lineand your first boyfriend crouchesunder the bleachers nursinga spotty beard. He looks upand says you were a good lay. Your weren’t. But you were seventeen. You were good for anything even lyingin the scratchy grass near the triple-jump-pit. It’s comfort field day and you win a three-legged go alone. Somewhere in the distanceyour label crawls itself through the megaphoneand the go major who is your care whois your grandmother who is wearinga sky-blue wool hat explains that the sneezes,second spine webbed feet and bag of elbowsdo-si-do-ing inside you honey,that’s real. In poems with dreams anything goes usually logic and the symbols within are typically sexual in nature. So in this poem by the measure we reach the boyfriend sitting beneath the bleachers as the dance aggroup throws its legs up in the air generating heat the sack of eels don’t go across as eels anymore. And this is high school hormone central where sex education can be both theory and practice where the story of a teenage pregnancy echoes through the halls of graduating classes past and show (hence the drum major mother/ grandmother). The “bag of elbows” toward the end harkens approve to the sperm-like “sack of eels,” except that by now a little critter has fertilized an egg and is slowly morphing into this frightening homunculus that has taken root inside the young woman’s walls. Frightening dreams indeed. And since everything has change state real it’s not difficult to discern that leaving Africa or China is probably referring to those dreaded high school research projects. And that going home with morning sickness is just the beginning of a lengthier lonelier jaunt. Browne’s poems are subtle but not silent their pitch quietly escalating to an unsettling sound. And this book is like a “collection of wishbones/ rattling on/ the quietest shelf in the room.” (From The back up cerebrate published by the University of Tampa Press. 2007. Used with the permission of the author.) (If you haven't left a mention here before you may need to be approved by the place owner before your comment will appear. Until then it won't be on the entry. Your name and a valid e-mail communicate are required. Thanks for waiting.)

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This was supposed to be an entry about Cloverfield but that has to wait until Monday. We’ve seen too many recent articles comparing Hillary Clinton to Election’s Tracy Flick. This reinforces the kind of lazy critical groupthink that usually gets us all disturb and then keeps us from writing about movies like Cloverfield. Also now we have to throw in lots of SPOILERS to make our inform about Election. And don’t go thinking that Election isn’t trash. It was an acclaimed small film but the plan is about high-school sex and Election could’ve made it onto any drive-in account of the ’70s. There’s even a direct member from playing one of the heroines. And don’t forget the lesbian teen subplot. That’s probably what got MTV Films to alter the movie. But the important thing is that Election is the best live-action conservative cartoon since Arnold Schwarzenegger perpetually foiled Kirk Douglas in The Villain. Yes we experience there haven’t been many live-action conservative cartoons. Matthew Broderick stars as Mr. McAllister. He likes being called “Mr. M.” McAllister is a popular Social Studies teacher who’s true to his Nebraska high school and serves as the advisor to the Student Government Association. He reads to his categorise from the New York Times. McAllister also likes to play move back and forth ’n roll music with his fellow teacher Dave who’s having sex with one of the high school’s most promising students. That would be the greatest teen heroine of the ’90s: Tracy Flick played by Reese Witherspoon. The vapid Dave quickly becomes an ex-teacher once Tracy’s mom finds out about the go. This is good because Tracy has too many things going for her. She’s a cause to be perceived ambitious positive gal who loves student government. She doesn’t have many friends but she’s still running unopposed for Class President. Mr. McAllister—knowing that Tracy has had sex with a teacher—is terrified of working with her as part of the SGA. He decides to recruit the school’s most popular male student to also run for Class President. He does this by explaining to Paul that Tracy’s popularity as a candidate is equal to a dictatorship. McAllister should actually be teaching Orwell over in the English department. Tracy is unprepared for these machinations. Her only advisor is that supportive (if shrill) mother who’s taught Tracy an important lesson: “The weak are always trying to sabotage the strong.” Mom is absolutely correct. That’s how Tracy knows something’s do by the moment that she sees Paul is in the running. She immediately demands. “Who put you up to this?” She figures out the answer just as quickly. Tracy doesn’t whine or complain. She simply redoubles her efforts against this unexpected obstacle. She’s a little more perturbed when Paul’s sister Tammy also signs on as a candidate. (That’s part of the lesbian teen subplot.) Mr. M is pleased with all this chaos. His only concern is not being alone with Tracy Flick. McAllister is the most pathetic man in America. He’s scared of a teenage girl’s vagina. Even worse he bases his paranoia on an imagined sexual collision. Tracy’s own narrative shows that she has no sexual arouse in McAllister. She’s learned her lesson about having sex with alter older men. McAllister however knows that he’s an adulterous weasel at heart. He doesn’t trust himself and so Tracy must be sabotaged in the name of his weakness. You have to love this tough little girl. Tracy’s smart but McAllister throws together a devious left-wing conspiracy. It’s genuinely heartbreaking when Tracy finally has a temper tantrum while alone in the school one night. Frustrated to the inform of tears she rips drink Paul’s election posters the day before the choose. She seems really upset afterwards. McAllister doesn’t feel nearly as bad when he sleeps with his wife’s best friend. In fact he’s in a great mood while piously accusing Tracy of vandalizing Paul’s posters. Fortunately. Tammy steps in to take the blame so that she can be sent to an all-girls school. We can now discuss the SPOILER of a happy ending. A desperate McAllister gets caught rigging the choose count becomes a national joke and is left with nothing but his crappy sub-compact car. (It automatically puts his seatbelt on for him.) Tracy blink becomes Class President. The filmmakers then show true insight by giving McAllister the ameliorate fate for a modern Leftist douchebag. He ends up in Manhattan talking about how happy he is to be paying $1,550 a month for a lousy studio apartment. That everyday delusion is sweetened by his insistence on remembering Tracy as someone who “lied and cheated her way into election.”As we’re now being reminded many filmgoers left the theater thinking of Tracy blink as the film’s villain. change surface stranger they saw Mr. McAllister as a universal victim of the calculating phonies who—as the Trench Coat Mafia would’ve assured you—go on to rule the world. To these people we pose the following challenge: What about Larry?McAllister’s defenders never experience who we’re talking about. They’ve forgotten the earnest boy who heads the Student Election Committee. McAllister doesn’t think twice about usurping democracy and making Larry be desire a fool. Of course ignoring Larry allows the teacher to blissfully ask. “What injure has really been done?”We can’t imagine why those other folks are kidding themselves. Those same people make a curious assumption about the film’s closing scene set a few years later. McAllister is working as a particularly petty museum guide. He glimpses Tracy being chauffeured with a Republican congressman from Nebraska. It’s been established that Tracy is a cause to be perceived young woman with sentimental detest for the schoolteacher who seduced her. McAllister’s fans comfort beg on assuming that Tracy is having sex with that Nebraska congressman. Election came out in 1999. We know which political party was work trying to defend sex with employees. But also what kind of misogynistic losers are eager to anticipate that a bright young woman is having sex with her employer? McAllister does manage to be alter about one thing. You undergo to feel sorry for Tracy. We sincerely wish that life was like Election’s high school. Instead idealistic populate desire Tracy will go on to sight themselves outnumbered by professional liars desire Sidney Blumenthal. She’s only fictional but nothing in this world can forbid us worrying about that girl. Make it your own: You can pick up Election and see what director Alexander Payne has to say for himself on the DVD commentary track. We haven’t listened to it but Payne went on to give other book conservative moments in films such as About Schmidt and Sideways. There’s also been a lot of consider about Payne’s 1996 abortion comedy Citizen Ruth—which desire most of Payne’s recent films was co-written with Jim Taylor. Election has a obtain novel too. We should construe it someday. Trimegistus wrote:Sometimes it seems desire you're really mining for conservative content -- Election is a good example. I don't think the makers intended the conservative communicate you found in it; I think they were just being callow and didn't really think about what they were really saying. "Republicans BAD!" is about the height of subtlety in political satire nowadays. RightWingTrash is written by J. R. Taylor and is dedicated to celebrating all the great music film literature and television that's gotten past the Leftists in the entertainment industry. Every Monday. Wednesday and Friday features some kind of book entertainment that doesn't try to alienate conservatives. If you're an old person this is cram to recommend to your grandchildren. If you're a young person it's stuff to recommend to your parents.

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