A Spelling Test, A Challenge, and Blond Hair

EDITORIAL NOTE: I was going to erase this posting in light of some interesting information that invalidates what happened below. The posting for April 16 explains.

OK, I've done it again. I'll explain that later.

This year I teach science and writing. It is a combination that works and it suits me perfectly. From what I can gather, my students (3 classes of about 26 each) love the science part and tolerate the writing part. Many hate the spelling part.
My philosophy on spelling is that words are very important, and understanding them unlocks many doors to meaning and experience. My spelling program is a combination of spelling, vocabulary and word study. 10 words are selected from relevant curriculum vocabulary and include understanding the definitions, and 10 others are selected as a theme -such as with a spelling rule, prefix/root/suffix, or language origin.
I have done this for the past 15 years or so (with appropriate modifications here and there) and have seen great results from the students on a whole.
But this year I have seen some of the worst results ever.
I have been quite discouraged by many of the students who continually do poorly (I mean awful) on these tests. Parents tell me how they struggle with their kids for hours and how much mental anguish it causes only to have them get a 4 out of 30 possible points. I've had meetings with parents and colleagues about this with no appreciable change.
My first class would get usually get a respectable 80% A's, while my second and third classes would get 75% less than C's and class averages in the 40's and 50's. I tried many strategies to help them, but again, often with no change.
Completely frustrated, I laid down a challenge: If everyone who takes the spelling test gets a 100% on their test, I will dye my hair blond. If at least everyone gets an A, I would throw them some sort of party (I wasn't too specific about that one).
You would have thought that I was offering them a million dollars! That is all they talked about all week. About mid-week, I noticed that kids were studying during recess and helping others who generally don't make the effort. They told me they finished their homework. They told me they took practice tests. They asked me if the definitions they had was what I was looking for.

It was amazing.
Even the students who gave up years ago were into it.

Well, I am happy to say, that all of the students who took the test got a 100% on this test! Even students who never passed the test before!
I asked the students, especially the ones who never or rarely seem to lift a finger, how they felt when they got the 100%. All of them loved it. I told them to savor the feeling; to hold on to it and remember how it felt and what they did to get it.
I asked them if they could do it again.
Most of them raised their hands.
I told them they should be proud of their accomplishment and that now there is no excuse for doing poorly again - and that if any of them needed some support, they should ask -- either from each other or from me.
I told them that while I won't volunteer any more extreme challenges like this one, but if everyone can maintain an A average, I will recognize them with some sort of (non-specific) reward.
And in the meantime, I will be making an appointment in the next few weeks to get my hair dyed blond.
Like Jack Black.

In Search of Long Lost Friends, pt 2

No, I haven't heard from my friend Steve yet, but I had another breakthrough of a friend I was looking for: my college roommate, Mike. Since we last spoke, we've each gotten married, had a couple of kids and moved a few times.
I had to dig far on the internet to find anything that resembled something that I would guess would be him. As I've found with my name, Steve's and Mike's, there are A LOT of us around. Even with our last names. The trick to finding him was the way I narrowed the search. I remembered my father saying you can eliminate words to search just like you search for words (just use a minus before the term, like, -anthropology, or -Chicago, which came up quite a bit)
But there it was, after page 6 on the umpteenth word I eliminated, a clue.
(Let this also be a cautionary tale for anyone who wants to remain anonymous -- the internet is an amazing place, but also a sticky place for anything put on it.)
On the second call I made, I heard his unmistakable voice. After the initial shock of realizing who just called, we had a really long conversation of catching up. Of course, not nearly long enough to be satisfied, so I'm sure it won't end up there.

During the conversation Mike mentioned something that another lost friend, Mark, once mentioned: the thing about good friends is not how long it is between the times you see each other, but that once you are together it is like you've never been away.

In search of a long lost friend: Degrees of separation

Friends come and go: it's a fact of life. People enter your life unexpectedly, things click and then before you realize it, they're gone. While I have a few friends, I have even fewer really close friends.
Every once in a while I think about the close friends I have had along the way and wonder how they are doing once our paths diverged. I have a few that I regularly try to look up on the Internet, usually with little luck. For instance, I found my friend Luis, who was a Spanish exchange student from my senior year in high school and have tried to get in touch with him. But to no avail, he has either not responded or I have not reached him properly. I sent him a message in Spanish, but I got no response. I contacted a fellow Couch Surfer (couchsurfing.com) who was located in Grenada, Spain, where I tracked him down working at a local newspaper. She agreed to look him up and deliver my message, but have not heard back. Oh well, maybe it's a hint.

Another friend I wondered about was a good friend at the University of Maryland. Steve and I lived on the same floor in Anne Arundel dorm and we had some really fun times together. We did a lot of fun, offbeat and cheesy things together.
Steve was a year ahead of me and had a single, which I thought was immediately cool coming in as a freshman. But he wasn't the standoffish snob that other single residents seemed to be. I remember enjoying hanging out with him and I felt I could be me.
Steve was a RTVF major (radio TV film) and one day he asked me to be a subject in one of his projects. He took me around the area to several spots and filmed several sequences of me running away from some unknown menace. When I drive through those areas, I think about it.

Confession #1: I remember one evening we went on a quest to find cool dorm wall trophies: the ubiquitous Road Sign. We donned black/camouflage clothes and went out around the campus in search of something to bring back -- and sure enough, we did -- one stop sign and the (I think) women's sign from the bathroom of some building. We added it to our collection of other signs we found or acquired.

I also remember us jumping up on a coffee table in my dorm and lip syncing to Huey Lewis.

Stuff like that.

Confession #2: Steve, my roommate and I once went to a drive-in movie theater. We didn't want to pay per person, so I climbed in the trunk of the car while we went through the gate. Big deal? Well, it was an X-rated movie. LOL!

A couple of weeks ago I looked Steve up again and thought I'd try to filter through the dozens of folks out there with the same first and last name as his and any derivation of Steve. There were quite a few. I was able to find some good candidates, but no phone numbers or emails. But I did find one that was in the entertainment industry on the production side of the camera. I tried to figure a way to reach him, but there just was no way I could figure out how to break in -- it was like there was an information barrier. I even got a hold of an agent of one of the actor/producers who worked with him on a project-- but I left that conversation thinking she thought I was a loony.

I mentioned this to my wife, who is in the last days of her job at a start-up cable TV network. She said to let her see if she can look him up through some of the channels she has. She called me up today with what I hope is great news: She found a producer named Roger who worked with him on a project. He called me up and after filling a bit of background information he said that the Steve he knows is definitely the one I have been looking for. He said he'd look for his number and give him a call.

I hope this one pans out. (film pun intended)

Teaching Family Life / Conversation with a student

In my school system, 5th grade teachers (who are tenured) teach Family Life. That in itself is worthy of its own posting, and I probably will write something about that.
What I can say now is that we really need to teach this stuff to our kids. They come to us with such strange ideas and misconceptions (sorry about the pun).

Here is a conversation that I had with one of my students today:

"Your mom, is she old?"
"What does old mean? To you, you think I'm old."
"Well, right. But is it possible for your mother be younger than you?"
"What?"
"Your mom . . . Or dad . . . Can they be younger than you?"
"Can your mother or father be younger than you? Is that what you're asking?"
"Yes, is it possible?"

Geographic Illiteracy

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

What you get after speed dating?

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. Tam

Playing In The Band

The Band Formerly Almost Entirely Unknown As 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

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?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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: http://thedeadrockstarsclub.com/2008.html

See Feb 15 posting for more about Rick Selvin.

Random Disposable Heroes of YouTube

This is a journey into the sucking vortex of randomness and nostalgia that YouTube can allow you to get lost:
Back in the early 90's my friend Matt showed me a song called Television, Drug of a Nation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgOWTM5R2DA) by The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy. Somehow, it popped into my head and I looked it up. I remember the lyrics really hitting home. I just listened to it again and shook my head because I think that it still rings true, only more so perhaps.
Then through a click or two I found this old gem from MC 900 Ft Jesus: Truth Is Out Of Style (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYtlpG0hb38&feature=related ). I lingered in around his tracks for a while. There's a strange familiarity with these songs -- not sure how to describe it, but it is sort of a simplicity and rawness (not in a vulgar way) that reminds me a bit of Beck (Killer Inside Me).
Then, I somehow found my way to a series of really bad or really funny (not sure which) sexy Bollywood video clips.
This quickly degraded to boob pressing videos from Britney to Hilton. Actually, they were pretty boring (does that mean I watched them?)

OK, off to see something different. I hit the channel button.

The first button I chose, which was fairly random in that I didn't read what it was until after I picked it. OMG! It was called the ForceMeBig Channel. What is that you ask? I have no idea what the point of this video was, but it had some skinny dude in boxers showing you his profile before he shake bongs (think beer bong with a protein shake) over 4 thousand calories of a weight gain mixture shake in two tries. You watch him do this, he shows his profile before and after, cleans up his mess (and they mention he does this before his boyfriend comes home) and then he takes a nap for proper absorption. The whole thing is narrated as if it is a training or a science video with quiet music in the background. Huh?
The next one was boggling also. This guy was documenting his getting fatter by posting videos of his belly over time. Each entry had a higher weight to it. I didn't watch those -- I could see them on the side strip that shows related vids. But I did read the comments under the one I saw and was equally surprised: They all seemed positive. They ranged from, "oooh, so cute," to "I can't wait until 250." I was a bit confused, since I am trying hard to go in the opposite direction as that.
Trying to get out of that mess, I clicked on something from DadLabs titled,
What Makes a Great Babysitter? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsLRZWimmfE) This time I at least looked before I clicked. This caught my eye because at Friday night dinner over a friend's house we were talking about how hard it is to go on vacation (without our kids) because there is nobody who can watch them overnight. We came up with the idea that we could start up our own business of having a kiddie hotel -- just like a pet hotel! Parents could drop off their kids and go on a guilt free vacation on a weekend. Our wives immediately dismissed the idea as complete idiocy. I bet they were thinking about Daddy Daycare: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgFkJCbB2ks

Not sure I want to describe the next descent into strangeness, but you wouldn't believe me if I did, so I will. This is a bizarre entry: all you see is a woman playing/caressing her high heeled shoes with her amputee arm. Not much warning there.

Next up on American Idol: Danny Noriega. Poor Danny. Every time I hear his name, I think of Manuel Noriega, former Panamanian Dictator. I wonder whatever happened to him. <---- back to Manuel in a minute. Where was I? Oh yes, Danny. I watched his audition where he sang Proud Mary. They loved it. Me, on the other hand, loved Ike and Tina's version, here recorded in 1974: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdg4xeK9F9Q&feature=related

But now it is over, and I can't stop thinking about where the hell is Manuel. Did he die? Did he get out of prison? Quick-- ask Wiki!
"The Federal Bureau of Prisons website as of February 2008, does not give a projected release date for inmate Noriega (ID # 38699-079).[6] However, he may be handed over to another country for trial or imprisonment instead of being released into the public realm."

From there I began a similar journey I shall call Wiki-creep: The random wanderings through Wiki links.
I clicked on the Bureau of Prisons link ----->lethal injection ------> decapitation. Here I came across one of the funniest lines in Wikipedia that I can remember:
"Decapitation is invariably fatal, ..."

With that, and an almost 2 1/2 hour journey of time I could have gone to bed, I will sign off.

Post script: You guessed it. I didn't sign off. I continued hitting Wiki links. Ugh. There's just so much interesting info. My, how time flies.

My Two Dads, or, We Don't Need No Stinkin' Badges

My daughter is in Brownies, and it seems for every accomplishment she has with the troop, she gets another badge. We used to be pretty good about putting them on when she got them, but I can't remember recently doing it. I think it may have been farmed out for Grandma to do, or we've just been putting them off. There's probably a huge bag of them somewhere just waiting.

I found myself strangely thinking of these badges this past week, thinking of the badges we collect for things we have done and experienced. This week, I certainly have collected one for the Life Events: Death of a Parent Badge, Dad Version.

The problem with this though, is that I already collected that badge a year ago: my stepfather, Nick DeLuca, died of Liver Cancer on New Year's Eve. Just the month before on a whim, we took a ride together out through the country, where he showed me places he knew. It wasn't said, but there was a sense of bonding, an acceptance, a love that was present and poignant. A few weeks later after going to the hospital to get some pain checked out, he was sent home with an advanced stage of cancer. He already knew. He was ready. I took care of him in his last days of hospice care. I was lucky that I had off for the winter break. He was ready and he let go.

On Tuesday, February 12, 2008, a little after 10 p.m., my dad, Rick Selvin, let go of ravages of illness that has dogged him since last June. It was a strange illness, and knowing his past history, I thought it would be just one of his many attempts of knocking on Death's door and running away before he answered.
You see, like a Phoenix, the bird that rises up from it's own ashes, my Dad seemed to come back from the brink. Each time he reinvented himself, not always for the best, but always his own self. He was married three times, survived non-Hodgkins lymphoma, had beaten extreme obesity, had heart attacks and eventually had a heart transplant, and to top it all off, kidney failure. It seemed that no matter what happened to him, he always came back and never lost the humor that put it all into perspective.
When my dad received his heart, he said he asked G-d for just 10 years. This last September was the 10 years. Probably because of the anti-rejection immuno-suppressant medication he had to take, he got an infection that usually only AIDS patients get, and with that, the doctors couldn't find it. His condition rapidly deteriorated into a frail shadow of a man where the barest whisper was an exhausting effort.
In January, he left the hospital for a stint in a rehab facility, and I thought he would be on his way to gaining strength. Last week, that ended when they sent him back for what would be the last straw: liver failure. It was just too much for his body to handle, and with the liver gone, kidneys not working, feeding tube, pain medications, there was no other intervention.
When I saw him last week, I thought he looked better than the last time in December. His face was fuller and the look in his eyes was back. The eyes were the key to his soul and you could see it then. He was there. But his voice was still barely a whisper.
By this time I knew what the news meant: It was the liver. And I knew from past experience that nothing good can come from a broken liver. Once again hospice care was put into place, only this time, going home was not a viable option. He was indeed ready.

Funny word viable. Seems an ironic word to use.
But with my dad's sense of humor, I think he would appreciate it. Just like what he put into a profile that I found on the web: "As of this writing, to the best of my knowledge, I am still alive."

Well, this I have to say: Nick and Rick, my two dads, in my heart, you are still alive. Nick, I will always remember your strong compassionate guidance, the consistency I needed, the family trips, the bakery and the times you let me in behind the scenes of the business, and of course, your chair. Dad, I will always remember your sense of humor and the corny jokes that went with it, your mastery as a wordsmith, your talent as a musician that I always looked up to, your interest in science and generally anything interesting, and the ability to look back and realize that it is never too late to change and say you're sorry.

I love and miss you both.