This Is Not a Threat

Doesn’t the Second Amendment Cover This?

Oh the shame and humiliation of making the national news. I would rather some whackjob had tried to blow up the Chandler Home Depot again. But no. We have to face public humiliation for having the world’s dumbest school administrators. They work at Payne Junior High, which is part of Chandler Unified School District.

Last week a 13 year-old student of Payne Junior High was suspended for 5 days as the result of doodling a gun on an assignment. According to the school he violated their “No Tolerance” gun policy. Parents of the child spoke with administrators, who agreed to reduce the sentence to 3 days.

Paula Mosteller, mother of the child, cannot believe that her son was suspended for sketching a gun. She said, "I just can't believe that there wasn't another way to resolve this." Administrators have filed the sketch of the gun in her child’s Permanent Record. They would not release it, even for the ogling pleasure of public. They also declined to explain why the sketch was viewed as a threat.

My theory is that the Principal of Payne Junior High, who is ultimately responsible for the 3-day suspension, upon accepting her position stuffed a knitting needle up her nose and scrambled her brains until the resulting bloody gray goo ran out onto her sensible 1-inch pumps. That is the only possible explanation for absentmindedly handing down suspensions in the name of “No Tolerance.”

The school administration is not commenting on the story. There might be a piece of the missing puzzle. But why then, would administrators not have told the Mostellers, who appear to be baffled by the overreaction of the school to what can’t possibly be the first gun sketch to enter its hallowed halls.

If it were my kid, I’d have school administrators in court faster than they could say ACLU. Perfectly normal, nice children draw pictures of guns and tanks and Serbian Death Squads. These violent drawings are not indicative of a child’s intention to commit violence. They are indicative of a gun-obsessed culture and the highly impressionable nature of children.

Incidentally, the East Valley also contains the world’s dumbest news team. ABC affiliate, KNXV, told viewers that a child was suspended for “drawing a gun.” They neglected to add “on a piece of paper,” until about 30 seconds into the story.

Formula, With a Side Order of Neural Damage

Friday Editorial at Cynical Sarah:

Formula, With a Side Order of Neural Damage

Advanced Communication Technology and the Proliferation of Stupid

Yesterday I’m in Kohl’s bra shopping. Bra shopping is more fun than shearing a herd of crazed Alpacas. That’s why I went in the morning, when I though the store would be relatively deserted and quiet. It was. Until about fifteen minutes in. Enter a woman on her phone with two small children in tow.

The children are arguing loudly about whether one of them is a poopybutt. The woman is calling her friend, and browsing lingerie. The squalls and squeals build. The mother threatens their visit to the toy section. This has little or no effect. The argument devolves into pinching and hair pulling, as their mother is now talking to their father, who apparently didn’t wasn’t reimbursed for moving expenses.

Being able to pay off your credit card debt is important, but the children didn’t want toys or emotional scars from sibling domestic violence. They wanted their mother’s attention. Or a portable DVD player. For god’s sake lady, just plop them down with Blue’s Clues, Lion King, or the new foreign import Baby Brainwashing Pacifier Good Time Dance Party.

It's imperative for our country to require every 3 and 4 year old child to attend preschool. The children are the future. Do you really want small children, under the care of neglectful parents, annoying mentally unstable bra shoppers?

We also need harsh punishment for doctor visits during school hours. The other day I walk into my dentist’s office about ten minutes early for my appointment. There’s a man leaning over the counter as if completely exhausted by the strain of his tiresome day, and it’s not even 9am. The reasons for his fatigue are slouching, whining and squirming. Impatient, when really they should be enjoying their freedom from state sponsored indoctrination. They are teenagers. And the man I can only assume is their dad tells them to sit, stay! The male, appearing to be about 15 complies. A whoosh of air deflates the overstuffed leather chair in the waiting room. He looks pretty content to be at a state of rest. His sister, appearing to be about 13, likewise flops onto a chair.

But then she’s sitting up. Asking about something pressing and urgent. “Dad, can we go now?” Then she’s standing. Doing a little impatient teenager dance. Her dad is trying to have a “grown up” conversation. He waves a hand at her, an instruction to go back from whence she came and be quiet. He is setting up appointments with the receptionist.

I sign the sign-in sheet and hear a greeting. I nod, but don’t look up. I’m trying to remember which Dentist I have an appointment with, and watching the antsy pants dance out of the corner of my eye. I sit on the other leather couch. Pull out my PDA. And pretend to play solitaire.

The dad warns the girl again to sit down again. She inches back towards the sofa, but remains standing. And then a terrible crunchy clattery noise, the sound of heavy, expensive item wrapped in plastic hitting tile flooring interrupts the drone of “grown up” conversation. The man winces. He does not have to look to know that his daughter has dropped her Motorola RAZR for the umpteenth time. “Whoops!” The young woman flinches as if preparing for a fatherly blow to the head. She picks up the phone and slinks back to the leather couch.

It was not long after that the man and his draining children leave. I do enjoy a good show, but now I soak up the quiet of low-level office rumble and dental office rock. My appointment is at 9, but I’m not too worried when the time is five after, and I haven’t been called back. The sound of the receptionist and the scheduler making confirmation phone calls fills the waiting room.

Then I hear, in full phone voice, “Hi, Sarah? This is Cindy from Dr. Warner’s office calling to remind you about your 9am appointment. I’m sure that you’re on your way. Good bye.” I realize that Cindy has called me, at home. When I am obviously sitting in the dentist’s office. I walk up to the counter. Cindy has risen also and this time she notices my presence in the room. “Oh, you’re here.”

That’s what I get for using the quiet mode for my game of solitaire. And what I deserve for not bringing a pair of surly, bored teenagers with no respect for delicate electronics with me.

Smoke Free, Choke Free

Friday Editorial at Cynical Sarah:

Smoke Free, Choke Free

Motherly Advice

This weekend I have a baby shower to attend. There's nothing I love more than dressing up and being in a room 90% full of complete strangers. The best part is eating refreshments in front of said complete strangers, while trying to conceal the fact that I am a complete slob.

One of the activities at the shower will be creating a scrapbook page with motherly advice. I decided to create a few practice pages in advance, in hopes of cutting down on the "What's taking that idiotic slob so long?" embarrassment. And I have found out that I have absolutely no motherly advice, being only a wife, and therefore merely "playing house" as one gracious, lovely Aunt put it.

I do, however, have plenty of questionable advice: