Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
  • Author Archives: kayewer

    • The Heck With STEM: Teach Curiosity

      Posted at 1:38 am by kayewer, on October 25, 2015

      When I was in first grade, the teacher told my parents not to let me read ahead in the textbook because it would make me non-conforming. Imagine: here is a whole book full of excitement and education, and the teacher said don’t read it! Of course, today the reply from most parents (including mine) would have been a flat out refusal of that idea, or even a more coarsely worded version of “Get lost.” But back then teachers were on a level with superhuman demigods whose words were law, especially if they wore the impenetrable mantle of tenure. It didn’t mean they were right: a few years later we all fell victim to the black hole of New Math, from which it seems the education system and millions of children have never recovered.

      Curiosity is usually held back from our children. Sometimes it saves lives to step in and stop something like stepping into traffic or touching that nice red stove burner, but if we aren’t curious, we don’t discover anything. We don’t evolve. We go stagnant.

      For a time, I was so afraid to read anything that might cause a life-altering event like removal from school, I didn’t read much beyond what I was instructed to cover for assignments. What I didn’t know was that some other students were reading on their own time and the teacher ignored it. But I’m digressing. We should not be afraid to inquire, explore and ask questions. A man once looked at mold on bread and wondered what it did, and had my first grade teacher intervened, we would never have had the benefits of penicillin. Sure, we would have conformed: we’d have all been wiped out by disease, and dead bodies all look alike in the grave.

      Why are students not enrolling in STEM (science, technology, engineering and math)? They are not being encouraged to be curious. They’re being plucked not only from music–which teaches math skills–and sports which keep the body (including the brain) in great shape, but from the laboratories and shops and taught how to take tests which measure nothing. In New Jersey, some forty percent of students did not do well in the current version of proficiency tests. Why does that not seem surprising?

      I was in a think tank meeting recently, to determine what to do about some website content which is referenced by departments across several areas. A participant indicated that nobody knew what was in much of the linked content on a particular page by its label. Having worked on the content as a project participant some years ago, I was ready to reply that we had been restricted by content size, page capacity and approval issues, so labels were not particularly wide-ranging, but all it would take was a click on a link to see what was in the content.

      Don’t look any further than you have to. Conform and don’t make waves.

      Conform, my white middle-aged posterior!!! Conformity has its place, but not in human discovery. It doesn’t mean to lock up the brain and close the door on knowledge itself. I’ll be damned if I’ll not read ahead, go ahead, plow ahead and take the head of anybody who stands in my road and ram it into the cream pie in my other hand and call them whipped cream face. I will not stop learning until the brain hits the off button.

      What did you learn today? Did you read ahead?

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    • Gaper Delays

      Posted at 2:03 am by kayewer, on October 18, 2015

      At least once a week I come across a traffic accident. These days fender benders (more like crushers) seem to involve three or four vehicles at a time. The days of a dent in the front of one vehicle and the rear of the one in front of it are gone. In its place are mutilated tin foil masses with tires on them.

      On a major highway the most common problem is simply going way too fast. Second place goes to misjudgments in timing when changing lanes or watching for sudden stops. Auto manufacturers have discarded the good, sturdy metal bumper for a sleek fiberglass thing which should be relegated to the Ferrari on the Autobahn. This is why crash tests measure how the “cabin” holds up in a collision; they know everything sticking out of the main passenger portion of the vehicle is doomed in a crash, so as long as the sitting space is protected, they can feel they have done their part to keep drivers safe.

      Once vehicles have been compromised by running into each other, the passengers who can exit their rides have the ignominious distinction of standing off to one side with their faces set in the “I never saw this one coming” expression. The cell phones come out and calls are made to expectant parties to inform of pending lateness, while the police and tow trucks and flatbeds seal off the area so it can be stared at and notes taken.

      This all results in what traffic reporters on the rush hour newscasts call the Gaper Delay, because people actually slow down to look at the scene and gape with mouths open at the results. It’s probably an instinctive “there but for the grace of God and my good driving ability go I” kind of moment. In order to properly gape, one must get to the point of passing the area of the accident. This can take anywhere from ten minutes to two hours to accomplish.

      A properly run Gaper Delay consists of each vehicle in the traffic jam yielding to the principle that, if every vehicle lets another squeeze over into the reduced field of open lanes, everybody can move somewhat faster. This one I just experienced did not run properly. The lucky folks riding in the left lane against the infamous “Jersey barriers” (which is technically against the law) loved having clear passage and would not let vehicles to their right merge. I was in lane three, so I had to drive for about half a mile before I got into lane two.

      What also bothers me about these delays is that people in accidents exit their vehicles while other cars are driving by at normal speed (which is about ten miles per hour higher than posted). If all vehicles would stop the minute an accident happens, the victims might be able to get to the median or the side of the road (whichever is closer) quicker. Instead of gaping, we would be acknowledging that life has been slightly disrupted, and that those involved matter. Then we can navigate our way around so the police and rescue teams can do their job. Of course nobody thinks about that while rushing through life, but when you think about it, our mouths gape open for all of us at least once: when the last breath of life is through.

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    • GoAnimate or Go Home

      Posted at 1:45 am by kayewer, on October 11, 2015

      Over the past year I’ve been creating videos with a site called GoAnimate. It’s been fun to publish humorous videos and flex my creative muscle on a project other than flat-out writing. It looks like the fun is about to run out. The site has become a platform for business videos instead.

      So the bohemian animators have been rejected.

      So what is a customer to do? Complain. I’m going to fire off an email to GoAnimate and tell them they are losing a whole client base by eliminating the fun factor (which, as a hobby, I willingly pay for). I’m also going to upload my videos for viewing until my account expires, after which I’ll cancel and my work will likely disappear into the no-zone of dead Internet material.

      It was fun while it lasted.

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    • Junior Chivalry

      Posted at 1:46 am by kayewer, on October 4, 2015

      I haven’t been in the best of moods lately, but my spirits were lifted earlier today by a young man well on his way to being a future person of great character.

      I was in the market, running at what Mel Brooks would call ludicrous speed*, trying to finish my grocery shopping in time to pick up my mother from an appointment. Approaching the pickle barrel for a much-needed addition to our upcoming sandwiches for lunch, a young fellow of about eight or nine was standing by while his mother awaited her deli number to be called. “Pickle?” he asked. I looked over, smiled and replied, “Pickle,” in the affirmative. He proceeded to hand me the tongs and raise the lid so I could select my purchase.

      I was nearly moved to tears by this simple act. “I’ll tell you something, young man,” I said to him; “If more adult men treated me as kindly as you did just now, I would be a happy person all of the time. Thank you very much.”

      I had to leave then, or I might have lost it.

      His mother should be proud.

      *(That was from Space Balls.)

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    • Queue Mates

      Posted at 12:50 am by kayewer, on September 28, 2015

      I managed to escape the area yesterday, not that the papal visit had the effect that New Jersey anticipated; the trains that geared up for massive crowds were empty, and the volume of pilgrims over the Ben Franklin Bridge were mostly moderate and well-behaved. My destiny was to board a bus from Philadelphia going to New York City, and I met some people while waiting in line.

      Four ladies were going on a cruise to Puerto Rico, each with her own security compliant piece of uniquely identifiable luggage, well-wrapped snacks and itineraries dutifully printed off on the home inkjet and folded into an orderly stack. This was not their first cruise, so they were experienced packers and snackers. I, too, travel light, with some crackers to take the edge off in case my schedule doesn’t allow for a lunch stop.

      Two ladies were going to a Broadway show, and they were just as excited to know I was going to Lincoln Center as I was to know there was an interesting show to see.

      Other people queued up for various connections elsewhere, and the line quickly grew from seven to 37. Still, the volume of people already on the bus from Philadelphia was light for a change, and we all were seated comfortably. Once I got the last seat available, in the rear, next to the restroom door. Really, with all the amenities Greyhound has put on their modern motor coaches, I wish they would soundproof the loo a bit better. I chose not to blog about what I heard from the restroom on that trip. That’s TMI.

      For the return trip, the walk to the bus station for the Broadway ladies was likely a couple of blocks (plus some tactical dodging of the costumed characters and pasties-wearing models in Times Square), but for me to get to the bus terminal on time from Lincoln Center I had to run like the dickens or hail a taxi. Fortunately I got a cab that was just discharging two passengers; a typical suit and dress couple, likely headed to the apartments nearby for freshening up before heading to an evening event.

      When lining up for a bus, it’s important to first make sure you’re in the right line (others in the queue will tell you), and be there ahead of departure, because the line can form to ridiculous lengths and people may almost certainly be bumped to a later bus for arriving too late. That means a 90-minute wait in a city anxious for your tired feet to wear out in front of a restaurant chair, or if you have stamina, to walk you into any store in sight.

      Seeing the two ladies from the Broadway show got us talking about the difference in experiences; they felt inclined to try visiting the opera, and I may look into tickets for the show they attended. That’s how a friendly queue can be good for the soul.

      I had a truly purpose-driven trip this time, with no stops and, fortunately, no unpleasant waits in queue, having made some casual acquaintances. The bus line did warn to arrive one hour before departure, but that prolonged bout of standing in line did introduce me to six fine people. How often does that happen in life these days?

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    • These Looks Ain’t Deceiving

      Posted at 2:02 am by kayewer, on September 20, 2015

      I’m one of those people whose looks don’t change very much. When I was asked to submit a grade school photo for a contest at work, I politely declined and told them mine would be the photo everybody would know right away. Except for the muscle mass lost in the face and relocated to the midsection, I look like I did before (and after) my age had a one in front of it.

      Makes it a bit tough because, when people say, “You look good,” I’m not always sure if it’s a good thing. Maybe folks thought I looked like death warmed over back then and now, or worse now. One thing about being human is our everlasting sense of paranoia about how we appear to others. We do ourselves a disservice this way, but we’re determined not to break old habits.

      Today I had been working up a sweat and had run several fast errands before going to the beauty salon to pick up my mother. I ran into a classmate there, who apparently recognized me right away. Her new hairstyle made her look fabulous, which immediately reminded me that I had managed to go from well-assembled to a flat-out mess running errands in the heat all morning, and oh gosh what will she tell people when she gets home?

      Well, at least she can honestly say I haven’t changed a bit.

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    • Welcome Mat?

      Posted at 3:14 am by kayewer, on September 13, 2015

      Two weeks from now our country will be welcoming the most popular man in Vatican City. When Pope Francis arrives at his various stops in New York, Washington DC and Philadelphia, there will be overwhelming crowds of people to greet him. There will also be chaos and logistical insanity. Never in our history has security and planning been so intense; our own President doesn’t get this type of treatment, nor did Elvis or the Beatles.

      Whole neighborhoods in Philadelphia will be shut down and cleared of vehicles while travel will be rerouted around the center of the city as if a quarantine were in place. Special passes for access to the areas closest to the pope’s outdoor events have been scalped and gone from being free to costing thousands of dollars online. Gift shops are putting out pontifical souvenirs of all sorts (I was just in Philly this afternoon and saw folks filing into a theatre toting clear bags with pope dolls in them).

      Where will I be? Not walking across the Ben Franklin Bridge, which will be closed to vehicular traffic. Not in the city, either. I’d rather watch on television or see the events later on the news. Philadelphia will be a combination of the Fourth of July, Woodstock and the second coming all at once when he visits on September 26-27. They don’t even expect the city to return to anything approaching normal until Monday afternoon. I’m glad I don’t work in the city and don’t have anything to do there that weekend. I’ll leave that to braver people than I.

      If you like crowds and mayhem, let me know how it went.

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    • Force Disconnect

      Posted at 1:54 am by kayewer, on September 6, 2015

      The stores just released merchandise for Star Wars: The Force Awakens yesterday, causing big events at places like 24-hour WalMarts, where followers of the Jedi or Imperial enemies camped out waiting for the opportunity to nab the first gewgaws of the season. I stayed home.

      There was such a gap between the last movie and this new installment to come out in December, that starwars.com has forgotten I exist (as I don’t get emails from them anymore). Entirely new splinter storylines have gone on behind my back or on Cartoon Network. When I saw a droid from the new movie, which was motion activated by my presence in the Target store Thursday night, I was ashamed to admit I didn’t know its name. That’s bad decorum for a fan, especially if it was a protocol droid.

      I also found out, in passing, that two co-workers know absolutely nothing about Star Wars. I was too sympathetic to ask them what planetary system they were hiding behind, as not all cultural icons are known to everybody. Back in 1977, though, this was a big one. Those of us who went to the movies likely remember that first thrill of watching an Imperial cruiser appear, bigger than life, on the movie screen to chase down Princess Leia’s comparatively tiny ship. In the span of about five minutes, we met two iconic droids, saw a blaster battle with amazingly real effects, and watched in awe of a giant figure in a black mask and breathing that could shut up a room at twenty paces (and yes, we knew right away that was the bad guy). For our generation, we got to see what our parents found enjoyable from Buck Rogers and other movie serials, thanks to the modern vision of George Lucas.

      So we’re 38 years past all that, and the hype is only at “meh” level. What’s wrong with this picture? Maybe it’s because I didn’t stand or camp out in line with the other fans late Thursday to grab new merchandise. Maybe I don’t count because I didn’t earn any knowledge of this new stuff.

      I looked to see if there is a “Star Wars for Dummies” book out there. No such luck. Maybe it will all fall into place by the time December comes. In the meantime I’m still enjoying the trailer with Han Solo and Chewbacca and that droid whose name I still don’t know.

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    • How Inhuman (How to Destroy a Human Being) Part Two

      Posted at 1:58 am by kayewer, on August 30, 2015

      Last time we talked about how inhuman we are, so here is a continuation of that thought. It won’t be liked by everybody, but ideas that stir thought rarely are.

      So you’re having a baby (or two) and it’s time to think about names. If you’re the father and have been reluctant to marry the mother of the bearer of your genetic future on this planet, be sure to complain about it all the time. Both of you should look to the family trees or your favorite sitcom or celebrity, and come up with a name which will be hard to spell or pronounce, or which can be turned against your child by bullies. If spelling has never been your strong point, don’t bother looking it up: just wing it on the birth certificate.

      When your child is growing, make sure they see everything that happens on this planet, from G to NC-17. Don’t bother hiding anything from your child, including domestic disputes and unhealthy habits. Impose your strange habits on your child, especially if it will guarantee that they cannot integrate with anybody outside your home.

      Throw discipline out the window and let your child be a barbarian in public. If you’re miserable, project that misery onto your child so they never smile, either. If you were raised in an abusive household, be sure to pass that down to the next generation so nobody else gets away with not being wretched.

      As your child learns to talk, encourage obnoxious behavior or teach them to cower before your authority, or make sure they know how to beat the living daylights out of anybody who disses them; depending on how you know you are, you’ll recognize which of the above is right for how you raise your child.

      Raise a son to be a macho womanizer. Raise a girl to be a privileged princess or a submissive wimp. Remember that only the freaks on the other sides of the normal curve will make a history for themselves worth remembering. If that history puts them in prison or in some other danger, that’s not your problem.

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    • How Inhuman Part One

      Posted at 1:50 am by kayewer, on August 23, 2015

      The biggest plague of humanity isn’t a virus or contagion, nor is it a natural event like global warming or drought; it’s ourselves. We are wayward monsters on a self-destruction binge which may obliterate the other guys first but ultimately will kill us all. It starts with the destruction of the human spirit.

      So how do you start destroying a human being? Let’s start from scratch.

      Step One: whether you have planned on giving birth to a human being or not, make sure you have messed yourself up prior to pregnancy so that your unborn child will have roadblocks before construction even gets under way. Smoke like a chimney, drink like you could down enough of the stuff to fill a community water tank, avoid anything that seems healthy and don’t go to the doctor until you’ve paid off last year’s bills.

      Step Two: immediately assume that your child will be just like you. Get the word on the gender right away and either buy pink for a girl or blue for a boy, or fit in your lifestyle with some goth or sports team onesies or a babies’ room themed like your favorite television show. Come up with a name you think is unique but others won’t be able to pronounce or spell properly, or name them after some obscure historic figure.

      Step Three: Make sure that when you are comparing pregnancy notes with other parents that your ideas are the ones which inspire the most awe and respect. Make sure there is no deviation from the established norm for your core group.

      Now of course there are a bunch of folks out there who are not starting families, so there are some different steps for you:

      Step One: Be sure to make snide and cruel comments to pregnant women. You can either choose to try to get them to drink or smoke, or remind them that they’re not part of the core group anymore because they went and got themselves pregnant. Remind them of how less prominent or overly prominent their bellies are compared to you or those you’ve known who are or were pregnant. Scare them with horror stories about pregnancies gone wrong.

      Step Two: Pick apart all the choices the expectant family makes regarding baby names, clothes and room decor. Be sure to make snide remarks about prices and quality and how much better people you know did when they did their baby shopping.

      Step Three: Get out of town or do everything you can to make yourself unavailable when the due date is imminent. Turn your back on low income families and turn up your nose at those richer than you. Only the way you got through your growing family matters, and nobody else is worthy of your invaluable help.

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