Time In

There is a growing problem in this country. And it’s not limited to large cities, or the beltway, or the state of Utah. No, you can see evidence of it in the living rooms and backyards of Anytown, USA. It’s the wussification of today’s youth. Now there’s no need to concern yourself with this word. It’s a scientific term, basically meaning “the process of turning into wusses.”

Allow me to spin you a yarn.

Yesterday I went into the kitchen to fix a bowl of Lucky Charms, a not uncommon occurrence in Bachelorville. I’ll admit I was a tad excited when I bought them Thursday and saw the prize was a Spiderman water squirter. So one might think I was thrilled when I opened the box and found the water squirter sitting right there on top. Au contraire, monsieur. (That’s French for “You must not know ’bout me.”) I was dismayed.

When I was a kid, cereal prizes were located in the bag with the cereal. Crap plastic toys and fake tattoos were buried deep within gobs of sweetened, frosted, or toasted bits of corn and puffed wheat. To find the prize, you either had to pour out the entire box and get in trouble, or wait and hope with all your might that the prize would come out in your bowl instead of that of your siblings. It was like a little cereal lottery.

Or worse, there wasn’t even a prize in the box. And you had to collect the dreaded proofs of purchase from three or four cereal boxes, then beg your mother to mail them in so you could get your hard earned prize. Three or four boxes! Do you have any idea how long that seems to the mind of a child? It was like waiting on four Christmases.

But today? Kids don’t have to dig around or collect proofs of purchase. The prize is right there on top, handed to them, like everything else. And this is a perfect microcosm of what is wrong with kids today. But I don’t blame the kids at all. I blame people like Big Cereal. Oh, and the trampoline industry, of course.

Among the most tangible signs of the wussification of kids are trampolines with those ten foot high vinyl and net walls surrounding them. That’s not a trampoline; it’s a playhouse with a bouncy floor. I don’t understand. Was there a sudden spike in the number of trampoline tragedies beteween the time I was a kid and today?

When I was young, my parents didn’t overprotect me with a fence and roof on my trampoline. Half the fun of jumping on a trampoline was getting caught up in the springs once in awhile and pinching the fire out of your leg, or jumping too high and banging your head against that steel rail. YOu do that a few times, and you don’t need a protective wall. You’ll stay real close to the middle.

Then there is the abundance of protective gear kids today have to wear to ride a freaking bicycle. I saw a little girl the other day riding a bike with training wheels on a sidewalk, wearing knee pads and a helmet. Most kids are so loaded down with safety gear, you could shoot them out of a cannon and they wouldn’t get a scratch. If I had ridden my bike dressed like that, every kid in the neighborhood would have laughed me straight into therapy.

Aren’t we being a little too overprotective? I mean, what’s next? Soft foam padding underneath swing sets? Wearing life preservers and arm floaties in little one-foot deep plastic pools? Can you imagine growing up and never having to have stitches or a cool scar or a cast for all your friends to sign?

Kids can barely even get into trouble these days. What’s with these washable markers? A kid marks all over their clothes or a wall in the house. So what? It comes right out. When I was a kid, we had permanent markers. Heck, we kept Heloise in business. Not only was the ink permanent, but the fumes were so strong, you could get brain damage from sniffing one too long. And again, I turned out fine.

So you parents might be saying, “Bone, you make some valid points, even though you have no kids and it doesn’t look like that is going to change anytime in the foreseeable future. What can we do to help our kids?”

Well, don’t take it from me, take it from this woman. Who I’d be willing to guess not only doesn’t have kids, but probably hasn’t even had a date in fifteen years.

You give your children a TIME OUT. According to this article, “It’s important to not spank, hit, or slap a child of any age.” (Um, were my parents the only ones who apparently missed that memo?)

“Bone,” you may wonder, “How long should my child’s time outs be?” Well again, referring to our resident expert, one minute for each year of age is a good rule of thumb.

Now, when I was in school, if I got a paddling, I knew I was going to get another when I got home. Imagine how much better I would have behaved if instead of a paddling, I had been given a ten minute time out. And knew that when I got home I was in for ten more minutes. I shudder at the thought.

Seriously, when I was a kid, if I got in trouble, I was the one wanting to call a time-out. And if I had tried to, I am only fairly certain my Dad would have immediately called time-in.

This whole situation frightens me. These are the bloggers of tomorrow we’re talking about. I’m barely even going to be able to enjoy my Spider Man water squirter now.

“I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way…”

3WW #30

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday.

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
Miles
Voice
Holding

Three Word Wednesday… Thursday… whatever :) So since I’m so very late, you get two entries this week. A haiku and a story.

I’ll never know how
The simple sound of her voice
Can reach across miles

Touch my broken soul
Melt the distance, until I’m
Holding her again

There is a distance
That can’t be counted. For it’s
Far too great and sad

May ours be measured
Only by miles and inches
Never by silence

——————————–

As Jim walked thru the large, open room, there were only a few people scattered around, in groups of two, three, or four. He got to the first door and checked the name on it: Ramsay. This was it.

Opening the door, Jim saw the crowd of people he expected. Near the front, he saw the widower sitting by the casket. The old man seemed to be in a daze, as those closest to the deceased often are. Occasionally he flashed a grateful smile as people passed by.

Jim joined the line of well-wishers filing past the casket. As the line moved slowly along, soon Jim could hear the man’s familiar voice. It was just as he remembered it. As if they had just spoken yesterday. But they hadn’t.

They had not spoken in eight years. Not since Jim abruptly left the business and moved out of state. When Clark had become too old to run the business by himself, he was forced to sell it. That had caused the rift between the two men. Jim’s emotions were a mixture of nerves and sadness. Could the fences be mended or would the coldness continue?

When he reached the front of the line, he extended his hand. In it, he was holding a family portrait. The old man saw the photo before he saw who was holding it. It was a picture of him, his wife, and their only child. He raised his gray-blue eyes to see Jim standing there.

The boy offered a handshake, and in a voice that sounded like someone else talking, said, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Jim Ramsay had driven over four hundred miles that day. He could have driven for the rest of his life and never covered as much distance as he did in that moment.

“I find the map and draw a straight line, over rivers, farms, and state lines. The distance from A to where you’d be. It’s only finger-lengths that I see.”

24 Recap: 4/2/07

Pia has a shiny, happy new template over at Courting Destiny. It’s resplendent. (Seriously, ‘Tor, I’m a little jealous.)

Recapping this week’s 24, aka Day Six: 9:00 PM – 10:00 PM…

Daniels wants to wield control from Palmer so that he can launch the nuclear strike on Fayed’s Country, which I will refer to from hereon as Syraqistan. He challenges Palmer’s ability to discharge the duties of the Presidency, so it is decided that the cabinet will hear testimony and then vote. Before the hearing, Palmer asks Doctor Welti for a shot of adrenalin. Talk about cliche. Oh! He means an actual shot, like with needles and stuff.

After a ten minute recess–yeah, that seems like enough time to decide the future leader of the nation–the cabinet votes. It’s a tie. And as we all know from baseball, a tie always goes to the President. Except that Daniels claims Karen Hayes’ vote is invalid, because she resigned earlier in the day. The Attorney General says the validity of Karen’s vote should be decided by the Supreme Court. Palmer grimaces, which he pretty much does this entire episode. Could it possibly be from the explosion he survived about four hours ago, or the coma he was in twenty minutes ago?

Over at As The Counter Terrorist Unit Turns, Ricky calls Nadia into his office and tells her he thinks Milo entered a wrong security code, allowing CTU’s system to be infiltrated by the drone pilot. He wants Nadia to check Milo’s computer without him knowing. Which I’m thinking Milo is going to like so much less than her checking his breath. With Ricky pressuring her, Nadia does it and finds that Milo had entered a wrong code. She expects Ricky to have Milo fired. Instead, Ricky logs in and changes the data to cover for him. When Milo returns, he spends the rest of the episode casting deep, suspicious glares at Nadia.

In the field, Jack agrees to the immunity for Gredenko, telling Bill it won’t be valid if the Presidency is being contested. Gredenko calls Fayed and they agree to meet at the Santa Monica Pier to exchange security codes and plot out more havoc-wreaking. All while enjoying a couple of blue coconut Hawaiian shaved ices, no doubt.

In the bunker, Team Palmer and Team Daniels are going over the arguments they’ll present to the Supreme Court. Lisa doesn’t think Daniels will win and volunteers to lie and swear that Daniels told her he planned to relieve Karen of her duties. Daniels holds her hand, which was a bit awkward and ambiguous. Later, Tom comes in and asks to meet with Daniels alone. Tom shows him a microtransmitter he had planted in the office, then plays back a tape of Lisa volunteering to lie under oath and the Vice President consenting to it. He then tells Daniels to call and drop his motion to remove the President, which he does.

Arriving at the pier, Gredenko is injected in the arm with some radioactive material which will “go straight into the bone” and allow CTU to track him. He then goes to meet Fayed. When he gets inside, he doesn’t say a word as he pulls off the transmitter CTU has wired him with and unplugs it. Fayed, putting on his best et-tu-Gredenko face says, “You led them to me.” Jack and the field team move in. When Jack gets into the room where Gredenko is supposed to be, he’s not there. Oh, but his arm is! It’s lying on the floor. He cut it off so CTU couldn’t track him! That’s going to cause serious problems the next time he tries to do the hokey pokey.

Fayed and Gredenko stroll into a local pub. All that terror-mongering makes a guy thirsty. Suddenly, Gredenko points at Fayed and says, “That’s him. That’s the terrorist. I’ve seen him on TV.” Fayed shoots a couple of people before the locals are able to subdue him. Gredenko limps into the darkness before Jack arrives and secures Fayed. We next see Gredenko underneath the pier, where he appears to be getting weaker. He passes out at water’s edge.

Back in the bunker, Palmer gets another shot of adrenalin. Karen tells Tom she wants to call a truce. Tom’s phone rings and he is clearly disturbed and alarmed by the call. He tells Karen that Palmer has decided to go ahead with the nuclear strike anyway! Tom goes to the war room and tries talking sense into the President. But Palmer says he doesn’t want to appear weak any longer and a nuclear missile is launched at Syraqistan from the USS Vickery…

The good:
Twists, twists, everywhere! Tom turning on Daniels. Ricky covering for Milo. Gredenko cutting off his arm, then giving up Fayed, then passing out and maybe dying himself.

Tom bugging the Vice President’s office and thwarting his efforts to commit perjury.

More suspicion. What is Ricky up to? What is Tom up to?

The bad:
No Chloe? No CHLOE?! NO CHLOE!!!! What is up with that?

I didn’t buy Palmer’s sudden 180 on the nuclear strike, after he had fought so hard and risked his life to stop it.

Best scene:
Gredenko’s severed arm lying in the floor. You simply cannot overstate the entertainment value of a detached limb.

Best quote:
Tom: “Well, sir, I’m on the side of the United States of America. And if you ever thought otherwise, you were very much mistaken.”

Did you know…
Tiger’s Blood is widely regarded as the current most popular flavor of shaved ice. It is a combination of red berry fruits and coconut flavoring.

Did you know, part deux…
Grimace first appeared as a McDonaldland character in 1971 as a four-armed milkshake stealing bandit. But was later recast as a lovable two-armed doofus. If you’re having trouble keeping up, Palmer grimaced throughout this episode. And Gredenko has one arm.

Questions:
Why did Palmer do a complete reversal and launch the nuclear strike? Is his brain swelling? Or are they blaming it on the adrenaline? I know sometimes when I’m playing football on the Xbox, I’ll get fired up and do something really crazy like go for it on 4th and 28 from my own 10.

Is Gredenko dead?

Why no Chloe???

What happened to Martha Logan, and more importantly, Aaron Pierce?

“You put your left arm in. You take your left arm out. You put your left arm in, and you shake it all about. You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about…”

Play ball!

Sniff Sniff

Can you smell it? Freshly cut grass, dirt, resin, hot dogs, peanuts… That’s the smell of summer, my friends.

Although honestly the only thing I can smell right now is the poison stench of smoke. They’ve hired this little guy to come in and do some work part-time. He looks to be about 40 and lives with his mama. And when he comes into the room, the stench of smoke off his clothes is stronger than any I’ve ever tried not to smell. I’ve affectionately nicknamed him Smokestack. We basically have someone on Lysol duty to just follow him around with a can all day. And by someone, I mean me. He doesn’t seem to mind.

But I digress (and hold my breath). Summer is here. Oh sure, maybe not solstice-wise. But now that Pluto is no longer a planet, I figure we can pretty much throw anything we’ve learned about astronomy over the past thousand years out the window anyway.

Today is Opening Day for major league baseball. Opening Day means a fresh start. Everybody is tied for first. It means my beloved Reds will be on ESPN, for one of the few times all season. It means a brand new season full of possibilities and optimism. Except of course for the Royals. But at least they have a stadium with pretty waterfalls or fountains or something.

Opening Day is about hope. And in that way, isn’t it a little metaphor for life. Because really, without hope, what do we have?

You’ll notice I’ve changed my sidebar scoreboard from basketball to el beisbol. That’s just Bone’s little tribute to the increasing number of Spanish-speaking baseball players.

Welcome, amigos. Vamos Cincinnati!

“Baby, if you’ve ever wondered, wondered whatever became of me, I’m living on the air in Cincinnati…”