I used to know all of the USA state capitals and a majority of the capitals of the world. It was sort of my effort at world domination! Or perhaps my subconscious effort to pack in as much trivia in my head so I could excel on Jeopardy. More than likely, it was part of my education of world geography that I was exposed to in school and at home. One thing I can do that I saw Al Franken do on TV during an election evening is to actually draw the US out state by state. I do that for my (5th grade) kids each year during elections.
Sadly, it is a rare student who even can name all states, or even a handful of capitals. The only reason they know that Annapolis is the capital of Maryland is because it is ground into them in 4th grade. But even then, many say it is Baltimore or Washington, DC. UGHHH!
Today, when we returned from our spring break, I had a discussion with the kids about what they did and where they went. Several kids said they went overseas -- to Honduras, Viet Nam, Ethiopia, Canada, and France. Once they exhausted the volunteer answers, I cheerfully and expectantly asked if anyone else got a chance to go to another country. My excitement quickly vanished when the first person who raised their hand said they visited another country: Ocean City (Maryland). Double UGGG! New York, Disney World (Florida), and Texas all ensued.
Well, at least Texas has the right to become a separate country, if it was so moved.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Conferenced to Death
I just participated in a professional conference. I don't think it was my first one, but it certainly was the biggest and most expansive one I remember. It was the National Science Teacher's Association (NSTA) national conference in Boston.
What a monster of a facility!
Here are some highlights, lowlights, and amusingly aggravating moments (it's all in your perspective):
My cousin Hal picked me up from Logan Airport and I stayed with him in Lowell for the first two nights. That was a big help because he was able to guide me through the transportation issues. Lowell was a little over an hour away by train. We missed the 10:45 train to go back Thursday night and had to wait until the 12:10! We sat around watching and listening to some rowdy drunk Bruins fans.Got up at 5:30 to begin my journey to the first event by 8:00. Maybe not a big deal to some, but those that know me . . .
I didn't get my registration packet in the mail. Not a problem I was told, I just had to get on the super-big line labeled "Registration." I didn't need to register, so there was a line that was labeled, "Problem Solving." But then, I wasn't sure if my problem was the kind they would say to just get in the registration line, which now was almost out the door of the convention hall (I was now in the middle of the line). I had 7 minutes to get to my 8:00 first event-a welcoming first timers breakfast. I was supposed to meet others from my school district there.
I made the jump in lines (See previous post about choosing lines) with some hesitation. Bingo! The asked me my name, printed out all the materials, handed me a nice bag to carry stuff in and sent me on my way. There were 4 catalogs given to me: one for each day. Each one was as thick as a mini-telephone book. There were well over 900 events, workshops, presentations and demonstrations to choose from. Unfortunately, multiple ones I wanted to attend at the same time.
The first breakfast was in another building across from the convention center. I got directions and went out to look for it. Uggh! Without getting into the bitter details, I passed the place (with very poor signage) and continued for a few minutes until I reached a point and asked someone else. Apparently I was not the only one to do this!
The convention center is HUGE. It was about 1/3 of a mile long and the signage was misleading. For example, I looked up at the sign to see what direction to go and it clearly said to go in a counter-clockwise direction. I followed it 3/4 around before finally getting to the room. UGH!
The worst part was rushing to a scheduled event, only to have no one show up to present. This happened a few times.
I got a pedometer from one of the exhibitors late Thursday morning. The first day's tally was over 12k steps. The second day's totals were a dismal 9k. On Saturday, when I got home, I had racked up over 16,600! That's almost 8 miles of walking for just Saturday. The total (and this is approximate) was about 18 miles in the three day period.
They give out so much cool stuff at this place. Lots of free samples, posters, books, student reading material, etc. My luggage weighed 45 pounds when I checked in and my carry-on backpack was another 15 pounds or so. I threw out about a third of the stuff I got that was not worth carrying, so I can only imagine what it could have weighed.
I won a few things, most notably a microscope cleaning kit. I didn't win the torso with all of the internal organs you can see/take out. Also I didn't accept the giant millipede.
I saw Bill Nye, Science Guy, but from the outside hallway. Apparently you have to get to his presentation very early. I was invited to go on a "field trip" to the Harvard Museum of Natural History. There we saw bugs, dinosaur bones, stuffed exotic animals and cool rocks and minerals.
Went to a reception on Thursday evening at the Boston Aquarium. I got to sneak Hal. Open bar and hors d'oeuvres. Cool! Later went to the Black Rose for dinner and drinks and the representative of a publisher our school system's science books picked up our tab!
Friday night I splurged and stayed at the Omni Parker House. When I checked in, the front desk person said, "I'm sorry, but I have to upgrade you to a non-smoking queen.""Huh? That's what I thought I had"
As I was walking down my hallway looking for my room, I began to realize what she meant. There was an alcove where the doorway should have been and then 3 doors with the number 906. One door said it was the Thomas "Tip" O'Neil Suite.
I was upgraded to a Suite! Suite? Sweet! I won't bother with the details: they were certainly nice. Apparently the restaurant there is famous for inventing the Boston Cream Pie.
No, I didn't try it though.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Daddy, what's this?
It was another one of those precious kid moments.
"Daddy, what's this?"
"What's what, Noah?"
"This thing. What's this thing inside me?"
He came up to me holding the his skin tightly around one of his testicles.
"That. What's that?"
Trying to remain calm and matter-of-fact, "Oh, that's one of your testicles."
"Oh?"
Trying not to laugh, snort or chuckle,"Uh, yeah. They're called testicles. You have two of them."
There was a brief hesitation upon further inspection.
"Um, I wouldn't exactly do that if I were you."
"Do what?"
"Uh, um, uh, squeeze them like you are doing?"
"No? Why not?"
"Doesn't that hurt?"
"No."
"Well, you remember when you accidently hurt Daddy right there?"
There was a tacit look of vague acknowledgement.
"And it was really painful?"
Nodding head.
"That's why. You should take care not to hurt your testicles becasue when they hurt, they really hurt."
He gives me a look of the kind of acceptance that you get when someone tells you something you have never really experienced but you take it on advisement.
"Trust me. That is why I get kind of protective if you put your foot or knee in that area and tell you strongly not to do that. OK?
"OK."
"Good."
"Daddy, what's this?"
"What's what, Noah?"
"This thing. What's this thing inside me?"
He came up to me holding the his skin tightly around one of his testicles.
"That. What's that?"
Trying to remain calm and matter-of-fact, "Oh, that's one of your testicles."
"Oh?"
Trying not to laugh, snort or chuckle,"Uh, yeah. They're called testicles. You have two of them."
There was a brief hesitation upon further inspection.
"Um, I wouldn't exactly do that if I were you."
"Do what?"
"Uh, um, uh, squeeze them like you are doing?"
"No? Why not?"
"Doesn't that hurt?"
"No."
"Well, you remember when you accidently hurt Daddy right there?"
There was a tacit look of vague acknowledgement.
"And it was really painful?"
Nodding head.
"That's why. You should take care not to hurt your testicles becasue when they hurt, they really hurt."
He gives me a look of the kind of acceptance that you get when someone tells you something you have never really experienced but you take it on advisement.
"Trust me. That is why I get kind of protective if you put your foot or knee in that area and tell you strongly not to do that. OK?
"OK."
"Good."
Monday, March 24, 2008
Meeting Hell
I would venture to say that like them or not, meetings are 90% boring and ineffective. My mind usually wanders off in Attentiondeficitland. Here is a poem that I wrote while actually in a meeting:
Meeting Hell
By David E. Selvin
As I sit here in this meeting,
My mind's attention span is fleeting,
I contemplate actually retreating,
From this place in meeting hell.
But from the clock, it's click and clocking,
My state of mind, it keeps on mocking,
My inner scream, to me, is shocking,
As I hallucinate the ending bell.
Still, I came with no allusion,
Complicit in my blind collusion,
For my schedule’s planned intrusion,
That I’ve come to accept, but dread.
I arrive and check the seating,
Politely smile and say a greeting,
Knowing sanity will take a beating,
Within the confines of my weary head.
Still, although, I'm stuck here sitting,
My stomach lining must be pitting,
A straight jacket soon just might be fitting,
And only time will surely tell.
I hope a response is not required,
They might notice sanity expired,
And ability to reason duly mired,
My interest level a labored sell.
I awake: Is it a nightmare?
I catch myself with an insipid blank stare,
Hearing talking though the stale air,
Not all sure where it’s coming from.
Try to focus. What is the topic?
The planner’s plans were quite myopic,
My mind is on an island tropic,
My body sits here limp and numb.
I hope I don’t get called to answer,
My pulse would rise as if a dancer,
My body pained as if full with cancer,
Reacting like a hammered thumb.
A sympathetic nod of head,
Seems to follow just what is said,
But an EEG would read out "dead,"
An indication not all is well.
I'm not sure what I gain from training,
For what topic that it's pertaining,
The whole experience is very draining,
My angst is what I need to quell.
My angst is what I need to quell.
Meeting Hell
By David E. Selvin
As I sit here in this meeting,
My mind's attention span is fleeting,
I contemplate actually retreating,
From this place in meeting hell.
But from the clock, it's click and clocking,
My state of mind, it keeps on mocking,
My inner scream, to me, is shocking,
As I hallucinate the ending bell.
Still, I came with no allusion,
Complicit in my blind collusion,
For my schedule’s planned intrusion,
That I’ve come to accept, but dread.
I arrive and check the seating,
Politely smile and say a greeting,
Knowing sanity will take a beating,
Within the confines of my weary head.
Still, although, I'm stuck here sitting,
My stomach lining must be pitting,
A straight jacket soon just might be fitting,
And only time will surely tell.
I hope a response is not required,
They might notice sanity expired,
And ability to reason duly mired,
My interest level a labored sell.
I awake: Is it a nightmare?
I catch myself with an insipid blank stare,
Hearing talking though the stale air,
Not all sure where it’s coming from.
Try to focus. What is the topic?
The planner’s plans were quite myopic,
My mind is on an island tropic,
My body sits here limp and numb.
I hope I don’t get called to answer,
My pulse would rise as if a dancer,
My body pained as if full with cancer,
Reacting like a hammered thumb.
A sympathetic nod of head,
Seems to follow just what is said,
But an EEG would read out "dead,"
An indication not all is well.
I'm not sure what I gain from training,
For what topic that it's pertaining,
The whole experience is very draining,
My angst is what I need to quell.
My angst is what I need to quell.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
A Novel, King Arthur, and Trips to England
For the last 6 years, I have been working on writing a novel. It comes in fits and spurts, but it is mostly done, or so it seems. My blogging friend Senta asked me what I am writing about, so this is an answer to her and to also to me. Me you might ask? Yes, I think I need to refocus myself because it has been a while since I first started.
Background:
The story is about the rise and fall of King Arthur, but written in a more historically accurate time frame. The idea came while taking a shower and reflecting on a radio program I heard that mentioned how the great Arthurian literary works (by Geoffrey of Monmouth, Chrétien de Troyes, and Thomas Mallory, for example) were written between the 12th and 15th centuries. The stories are great in scope and epic in their own right, but they can not be taken seriously as historical works. Many of the stories take place with contemporary backgrounds, making them anachronistic to the time period of the supposed historical Arthur of the 6th century. One glaring example is that the idea of knighthood didn't come about until some 5 or 6 centuries later.
So, what if ... Hmm. I'm a little skiddish in divuldging too much. OK, synopsis: An engineering guy who is disillusioned by his present state in a technological world often finds himself escaping into his own Walter Mitty world only to find himself (through a timewarp caused by something he is working on) in the time and company of the historical Arthur. This Arthur is more a successful war lord than a king. The main character uses what he knows of engineering, management theory, theater, psychology and wits to "engineer" this Arthur into a king worthy of Camelot -- all of which would not happen on its own, thus allowing everything we know about King Arthur and pop culture to take seed.
That is the very basic idea of the story.
Now I've done a fair amount of research into the time period of England in the 5th -6th centuries, especially in the area of the Roman influence on the landscape and culture. I've looked into many things such as warfare and weaponry, clothing, language, and religious practices. The one thing that I felt I needed to do was to actually go to England and get a sense of being there. I wanted to get a feel of the landscape patterns, weather patterns, scope of distances and other intangibles. Last year I went there and in a way, got my bearings. This year I plan to return and do more research and writing to fill in the blanks, work on my settings and descriptions and to tie up some story elements and loose ends.
I can't wait to get it finished and published. I can even see a movie . . .
Anyone out there know an agent that would be willing to help me get my work published? Or an editor who would like to help me out?
I may consider posting select passages or chapters online in the future.
Background:
The story is about the rise and fall of King Arthur, but written in a more historically accurate time frame. The idea came while taking a shower and reflecting on a radio program I heard that mentioned how the great Arthurian literary works (by Geoffrey of Monmouth, Chrétien de Troyes, and Thomas Mallory, for example) were written between the 12th and 15th centuries. The stories are great in scope and epic in their own right, but they can not be taken seriously as historical works. Many of the stories take place with contemporary backgrounds, making them anachronistic to the time period of the supposed historical Arthur of the 6th century. One glaring example is that the idea of knighthood didn't come about until some 5 or 6 centuries later.
So, what if ... Hmm. I'm a little skiddish in divuldging too much. OK, synopsis: An engineering guy who is disillusioned by his present state in a technological world often finds himself escaping into his own Walter Mitty world only to find himself (through a timewarp caused by something he is working on) in the time and company of the historical Arthur. This Arthur is more a successful war lord than a king. The main character uses what he knows of engineering, management theory, theater, psychology and wits to "engineer" this Arthur into a king worthy of Camelot -- all of which would not happen on its own, thus allowing everything we know about King Arthur and pop culture to take seed.
That is the very basic idea of the story.
Now I've done a fair amount of research into the time period of England in the 5th -6th centuries, especially in the area of the Roman influence on the landscape and culture. I've looked into many things such as warfare and weaponry, clothing, language, and religious practices. The one thing that I felt I needed to do was to actually go to England and get a sense of being there. I wanted to get a feel of the landscape patterns, weather patterns, scope of distances and other intangibles. Last year I went there and in a way, got my bearings. This year I plan to return and do more research and writing to fill in the blanks, work on my settings and descriptions and to tie up some story elements and loose ends.
I can't wait to get it finished and published. I can even see a movie . . .
Anyone out there know an agent that would be willing to help me get my work published? Or an editor who would like to help me out?
I may consider posting select passages or chapters online in the future.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Semi-Random Pics Series #1
I brought a digital camera to my classroom. The camera is fun because I can take as many pictures as I want and not have to worry about wasting film. I must have taken over 300 pictures in one day. My students were complete hams. Too bad I can't post them here (for privacy reasons), because there are some very funny series.
Here, my son and I share a moment before the camera. Actually, I think he took this picture. 
This pic is from our trip to San Francisco last summer.
Mt. TamPlaying In The Band
The Band Formerly Almost Entirely Unknown As The Racket,
or The Racket.
or The Racket.
Well, that is it as of the moment. Apparently there is another band called The Racket, but it is not known whether or not they are still together (their Myspace page is not very current).
The history of our band goes back to the days of the Vegematics back in College Park, MD, and up to recently Shorty B. (Short Bus).
I am the newest member of the band and I'm starting to get the hang of the set of songs we are playing. We play in Doug and Anne's cool and groovy basement in Baltimore. We play a mix of original work and a few covers of the Velvet Underground, Iggy Pop, Tom Waits, just to name a few.
Me
Rod
Anne 
Doug
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Your Rockstar Name
Well, you can call me Al. Al Neal, that is.
Apparently that is my rock star monicker. You can check out what your name should be if you were a rock star at Rock Star Name Generator. They have a generator for pop, rap and country too.
I like my rap star name better. It is B. B. Nasty. My pop name would be Aaron Meyers and my country name would be Big John Lovett.
What's yours?
Apparently that is my rock star monicker. You can check out what your name should be if you were a rock star at Rock Star Name Generator. They have a generator for pop, rap and country too.
I like my rap star name better. It is B. B. Nasty. My pop name would be Aaron Meyers and my country name would be Big John Lovett.
What's yours?
Reminders that I'm not 25 anymore
I read a recent posting from Newscoma. It starts off with the ages of a few beloved notables. The internet is riffe with cute little reminders of "You know you're old if you remember ..." or "Those born after 19 _ _ think that..." You either laugh and comiserate and/or shake your head. Please pass the Tums, Zantac, and raisin bran.
It usually doesn't hurt physically.
Well, this morning I got up and went to my first soccer practice before the spring season. It had been a few months since the last time I laced up, so I thought that wasn't too too bad. I got to put on my new cleats and my new Manchester United jersey on. I did fairly well considering, but . . .
I'm not 25 anymore.
I did my version of warm ups, stretches, etc. I ran around the field and didn't get out of breath. I tripped and fell a few times and got up, sometime a bit slower than I'd have liked, but then again . . .
I'm not 25 anymore.
I got home, slowly took off my stuff and showered. I think it was then all the endorphins wore off because all of a sudden it was quite difficult to go down the steps and walk around.
But no biggie. It will all go away by midweek, when I get ready for another practice or game.
When asked why I still do this season after season, year after year, I just say because . . .
I'm not 25 anymore.
It usually doesn't hurt physically.
Well, this morning I got up and went to my first soccer practice before the spring season. It had been a few months since the last time I laced up, so I thought that wasn't too too bad. I got to put on my new cleats and my new Manchester United jersey on. I did fairly well considering, but . . .
I'm not 25 anymore.
I did my version of warm ups, stretches, etc. I ran around the field and didn't get out of breath. I tripped and fell a few times and got up, sometime a bit slower than I'd have liked, but then again . . .
I'm not 25 anymore.
I got home, slowly took off my stuff and showered. I think it was then all the endorphins wore off because all of a sudden it was quite difficult to go down the steps and walk around.
But no biggie. It will all go away by midweek, when I get ready for another practice or game.
When asked why I still do this season after season, year after year, I just say because . . .
I'm not 25 anymore.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Supermarket Checkout Roulette
Or, How I Chose Correctly With 9 In Line -vs-2
I knew that getting out quickly would be a challenge. It always is at my local supermarket. When I walked in, I waded through the lines so long they curved down to the right so the end was about 3 isles away. And that was for the "express" lanes.
The guy at the closest lane to the entrance, with his tall frame and tired eyes, echoed the look of resignation that accompanied those that waited behind him.
But that didn't sink in immediately. I was on a mission.
I only had one item and I knew where it was. It was in a middle isle in the middle of the store. Thank goodness it wasn't milk. That was in the farthest corner of the store. I could grab it and sail through the check out.
My, how short term memory is!
Once I looked up and scanned the checkout lanes for an acceptable line, I realized that my temporary giddiness of the potential success of guerrilla shopping was about to be shot down. As I waded deftly through the regular checkout lanes towards the express lanes I realized there were only 2 open and then I remembered the tall guy with the tired eyes. The first and farthest lane had the longest line, so I got to it first. I looked at the next open express lane and it was two deep. The one I got to was at least 9 deep and that guy I took notice of when I walked in was still there.
I did a little visual math that combines a bit of social profiling, product per customer estimation, and maybe even a little actuarial estimation (will I survive long enough if I stay in this line?).
My line had a young lad of high school years who I had never seen before, the other, woman with a beautiful accent and long fingernails who has worked there for a long time, but still asks what code to punch for bok choy or ginger root (last trip's issue).
My immediate instinct to jump ship was buffered by previous experiences: sometimes it is just better to stay put. I made a choice and I should stick with it. After all, the two customers had basketfulls of strange vegetables, which I knew could be a risk factor. Most of the people in my line had as much as they could carry without a basket. It was a dilema.
A woman came in behind me to join the line. We looked at each other and discussed our options. She gave serious consideration to going in the other line, but by the time we agreed that there was no good choice, a bunch of new customers filled it up.
The croupier cried, "No more bets," and the roulette ball was in motion.
As soon as the tall guy with tired eyes grabbed his bags and left, the line lurched forward and the next three customers whizzed through quickly. A quick check at lane 3 showed no movement. I shot a smile and a nod to the woman behind me. She responded with a hopeful "Maybe." The next few customers breezed through without a hitch. Then I noticed that the woman two customers up was having a trouble counting out her exact change. I glanced over to lane three and the 2nd customer was about to heave her basket up on the conveyor belt. Uh oh. In an instant of premature relief, she changed her mind and put the coins back in her bag and handed the cashier a larger bill.
"Can I have a roll of quarters, please?"
The cashier gave her a look like, "What?" with his hands opened and empty.
"Quarters, I want a roll."
It was like that request short circuited him and he did not know how to respond. I looked over to the other line and the cashier was receiving her money. Just one more customer and I've lost.
"Nevermind," was said before I looked back and I could sense a collective sigh of relief.
The guy in front of me was next --and here came an example of what has to be in the style of Murphy's Law, and if it isn't already assigned, I'd like to pose Selvin's Law: When waiting at the checkout in a long line, a new line will open up only when you are about to be next.
I jumped in the 2nd lane, paid and left ahead of lane 3.
I won this round of Supermarket Checkout Roulette!
I knew that getting out quickly would be a challenge. It always is at my local supermarket. When I walked in, I waded through the lines so long they curved down to the right so the end was about 3 isles away. And that was for the "express" lanes.
The guy at the closest lane to the entrance, with his tall frame and tired eyes, echoed the look of resignation that accompanied those that waited behind him.
But that didn't sink in immediately. I was on a mission.
I only had one item and I knew where it was. It was in a middle isle in the middle of the store. Thank goodness it wasn't milk. That was in the farthest corner of the store. I could grab it and sail through the check out.
My, how short term memory is!
Once I looked up and scanned the checkout lanes for an acceptable line, I realized that my temporary giddiness of the potential success of guerrilla shopping was about to be shot down. As I waded deftly through the regular checkout lanes towards the express lanes I realized there were only 2 open and then I remembered the tall guy with the tired eyes. The first and farthest lane had the longest line, so I got to it first. I looked at the next open express lane and it was two deep. The one I got to was at least 9 deep and that guy I took notice of when I walked in was still there.
I did a little visual math that combines a bit of social profiling, product per customer estimation, and maybe even a little actuarial estimation (will I survive long enough if I stay in this line?).
My line had a young lad of high school years who I had never seen before, the other, woman with a beautiful accent and long fingernails who has worked there for a long time, but still asks what code to punch for bok choy or ginger root (last trip's issue).
My immediate instinct to jump ship was buffered by previous experiences: sometimes it is just better to stay put. I made a choice and I should stick with it. After all, the two customers had basketfulls of strange vegetables, which I knew could be a risk factor. Most of the people in my line had as much as they could carry without a basket. It was a dilema.
A woman came in behind me to join the line. We looked at each other and discussed our options. She gave serious consideration to going in the other line, but by the time we agreed that there was no good choice, a bunch of new customers filled it up.
The croupier cried, "No more bets," and the roulette ball was in motion.
As soon as the tall guy with tired eyes grabbed his bags and left, the line lurched forward and the next three customers whizzed through quickly. A quick check at lane 3 showed no movement. I shot a smile and a nod to the woman behind me. She responded with a hopeful "Maybe." The next few customers breezed through without a hitch. Then I noticed that the woman two customers up was having a trouble counting out her exact change. I glanced over to lane three and the 2nd customer was about to heave her basket up on the conveyor belt. Uh oh. In an instant of premature relief, she changed her mind and put the coins back in her bag and handed the cashier a larger bill.
"Can I have a roll of quarters, please?"
The cashier gave her a look like, "What?" with his hands opened and empty.
"Quarters, I want a roll."
It was like that request short circuited him and he did not know how to respond. I looked over to the other line and the cashier was receiving her money. Just one more customer and I've lost.
"Nevermind," was said before I looked back and I could sense a collective sigh of relief.
The guy in front of me was next --and here came an example of what has to be in the style of Murphy's Law, and if it isn't already assigned, I'd like to pose Selvin's Law: When waiting at the checkout in a long line, a new line will open up only when you are about to be next.
I jumped in the 2nd lane, paid and left ahead of lane 3.
I won this round of Supermarket Checkout Roulette!
Monday, March 3, 2008
So I'm Not a What?
We were rolling merrily along tonight when my 8 1/2 yr old daughter announced something that caught me a bit off guard:
"So Dad, you are not a virgin!"
"A what?"
"A virgin, you know, 'cause your an adult?"
"What did you say? A version? A version of what?"
"Not a version, a virgin."
"A virgin? Huh? What's that?"
"A virgin, you know, is someone who is under 18; not an adult."
"What is it that makes them an adult or not a virgin?"
"OK, maybe it is younger, like 13 or a teenager, but not an adult."
"So all adults are not virgins?"(no response to that question)
"Where did you learn about what a virgin is?"
"I heard it at a party. Some girls were talking about some inappropriate things and they were saying who was a virgin and who wasn't."
"So that is how you know I am not a virgin? Who was talking about this? Did they talk to you about it?"
"No, they were talking about it and we all told them to stop, but they just went into another room to talk about it."
"Did they call you a virgin?"
"I'm not an adult!"
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Oh, hmmmm. Interesting"
I didn't explain what the word meant. I was a little shocked and amused at the same time.
"So Dad, you are not a virgin!"
"A what?"
"A virgin, you know, 'cause your an adult?"
"What did you say? A version? A version of what?"
"Not a version, a virgin."
"A virgin? Huh? What's that?"
"A virgin, you know, is someone who is under 18; not an adult."
"What is it that makes them an adult or not a virgin?"
"OK, maybe it is younger, like 13 or a teenager, but not an adult."
"So all adults are not virgins?"(no response to that question)
"Where did you learn about what a virgin is?"
"I heard it at a party. Some girls were talking about some inappropriate things and they were saying who was a virgin and who wasn't."
"So that is how you know I am not a virgin? Who was talking about this? Did they talk to you about it?"
"No, they were talking about it and we all told them to stop, but they just went into another room to talk about it."
"Did they call you a virgin?"
"I'm not an adult!"
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Oh, hmmmm. Interesting"
I didn't explain what the word meant. I was a little shocked and amused at the same time.
Where's George?
Do you ever wonder where your money goes?
I'm not talking about the hole in your pocket or the diminished buying power you notice these days. I'm talking about the secret life of the dollar bill you just forked over for a clandestine bag of Peanut M&M's or slid into the soda machine at work. Where'd that bill come from? Where will it go next?
Oh, about 20 years ago (I shudder at the thought), I was working as a teller at a bank. I handled a LOT of money, of course, and began thinking about those very questions. I wondered if I ever handled the same bill more than once. So one day, I got the BRILLIANT idea that I would mark every bill I handled with a symbol of some sort (I forget what it was exactly, but could have been my initials) in a specific place. In my less busy moments, I did this for $20's first, then $100's, $50's, and then $10's. I don't remember if I did any others, but over the years, I must have done in the upper ten thousands of bills. Easily.
In all the years (4-5) that I worked in a bank, it was like a quiet obsession. And I think I only saw one $20 come to me.
That was a bit disappointing.
Well, all that was forgotten until fairly recently when I got a dollar bill and noticed some stamped internet address on it. Around the letter that indicates what federal reserve bank the note was from was www.wheresgeorge.com in a circle. Curious, I looked it up and found a cool website where people can track the history of an entered bill.
How cool is that?
I then entered the bill and found that it had originally been entered in Portland, Maine. According to the report for the bill:
"This bill has travelled 479 Miles in 183 Days, 22 Hrs, 49 Mins at an average of 2.6 Miles per day. It is now 470 Miles from its starting location. "
Since I have entered the bill, I have had 2 other "hits" in the tracking system. All of them are from my local area. Tonight, I entered 21 more bills. They were collected from my daughter's Girl Scout cookie sales.
Wonder what the most travelled bill is? Here's an example for the #1 bill in circulation:
"One Dollar Bill, Serial# K24------I Series: 1999
This bill has travelled 4,191 Miles in 3 Yrs, 12 Days, 17 Hrs, 25 Mins at an average of 3.8 Miles per day. It is now 456 Miles from its starting location. "
The reports tell you more than what I will go into here, such as what state/city it was entered and how long between entries. They even have a place where you could enter Canadian dollars called Where's Willy.
Pretty cool.
I'm not talking about the hole in your pocket or the diminished buying power you notice these days. I'm talking about the secret life of the dollar bill you just forked over for a clandestine bag of Peanut M&M's or slid into the soda machine at work. Where'd that bill come from? Where will it go next?
Oh, about 20 years ago (I shudder at the thought), I was working as a teller at a bank. I handled a LOT of money, of course, and began thinking about those very questions. I wondered if I ever handled the same bill more than once. So one day, I got the BRILLIANT idea that I would mark every bill I handled with a symbol of some sort (I forget what it was exactly, but could have been my initials) in a specific place. In my less busy moments, I did this for $20's first, then $100's, $50's, and then $10's. I don't remember if I did any others, but over the years, I must have done in the upper ten thousands of bills. Easily.
In all the years (4-5) that I worked in a bank, it was like a quiet obsession. And I think I only saw one $20 come to me.
That was a bit disappointing.
Well, all that was forgotten until fairly recently when I got a dollar bill and noticed some stamped internet address on it. Around the letter that indicates what federal reserve bank the note was from was www.wheresgeorge.com in a circle. Curious, I looked it up and found a cool website where people can track the history of an entered bill.
How cool is that?
I then entered the bill and found that it had originally been entered in Portland, Maine. According to the report for the bill:
"This bill has travelled 479 Miles in 183 Days, 22 Hrs, 49 Mins at an average of 2.6 Miles per day. It is now 470 Miles from its starting location. "
Since I have entered the bill, I have had 2 other "hits" in the tracking system. All of them are from my local area. Tonight, I entered 21 more bills. They were collected from my daughter's Girl Scout cookie sales.
Wonder what the most travelled bill is? Here's an example for the #1 bill in circulation:
"One Dollar Bill, Serial# K24------I Series: 1999
This bill has travelled 4,191 Miles in 3 Yrs, 12 Days, 17 Hrs, 25 Mins at an average of 3.8 Miles per day. It is now 456 Miles from its starting location. "
The reports tell you more than what I will go into here, such as what state/city it was entered and how long between entries. They even have a place where you could enter Canadian dollars called Where's Willy.
Pretty cool.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Roger Davis & Rick Selvin: Longtime Friends
I thought this was a great picture of Roger and my dad who were friends since childhood. They could have been on the cover of Rolling Stone.
After all, my dad made it to the Dead Rock Stars Club! No Kidding!
See Feb 15 posting for more about Rick Selvin.
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