Original article by Christina the Crazy Schoolmarm
Community organizers across the United States are up in arms about recent studies revealing that fuller refrigerators use less energy, and are therefore less costly to run.
"This is an outrage" said one angry activist while picketing outside of General Electric's corporate offices. "It is a deliberate attempt by Big Energy and Big Refrigeration to squeeze every last dime out of working-class Americans who simply cannot afford to fill their refrigerators full enough to save money on electricity. Their CEO's get rich and fill their refrigerators to the gills, while we struggle to put anything in ours. It's about time Washington did something about it, since these corporate fat-cats won't."
When asked about Senator Obama's plan to deal with the refrigeration crisis, Joe Biden responded:
"President.....excuse me... Senator Obama is deeply concerned about the needs of America's working poor. One of the first things he will do is president is turn the page on the inequities of America's refrigeration system. It is time we stopped giving tax breaks to wealthy executives who feed off of the energy used to cool the empty refrigerators of those less fortunate. You know, I was just talking to Tim Farley of Ottumwa Iowa, and he told me how hard it was to choose between paying his electric bill and feeding his family. It's not fair that Tim has to work so hard to pay for energy to cool food he can't afford to buy. President....oops, excuse me again...I mean Senator Obama will also work with Congress to pass legislation to eliminate this refrigeration discrimination. If approved, the Obama Plan will require that all refrigerators manufactured after 2010 be more efficient the more empty they become. This way, the higher electric bills will be paid by the wealthier Americans who can afford them, and those who cannot afford buy enough food to keep their refrigerators full will no longer be punished for having less."
Obama's opponent, Senator John McCain spoke recently on this issue as well, saying, "The fundamentals of America's refrigeration system are strong. Energy efficient appliances are important for consumers who want to save money in these tough economic times. My friends, let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater. Let's not penalize companies for successfully finding ways to help consumers and our environment. Let's support businesses to make the cost of food production lower, and find ways to help create better educational opportunities for our young people, so they can afford to feed their families and keep their refrigerators full. Let us also support quality adult education for Americans who wish to find new careers that allow them to put enough food on the table, and in the fridge, and maybe even put a little a way for their sons' or daughters' college education."
When asked his opinion of the McCain plan, Senator Biden commented, "Of course the Obama plan is better. All we are trying to do here is create change that will level the playing field.
When asked if the plan may have unintended consequences for the environment and the economy, Biden added, "Is this a real question? Who is writing these for you? Rush Limbaugh? John McCain's plan will do nothing to change the way refrigerators are manufactured and marketed to an unsuspecting public, nor will it change the windfall profits CEO's make from the extra energy used by the working class to power empty refrigerators. President..oops, excuse me, Senator Obama's plan will. Mark my words. Shortly after this election there is going to be a serious refrigeration crisis in this country, and, in spite of what Talk Radio may say, Americans will have to trust that the Obama plan will work, even when it looks like it won't. "
This reporter attempted to pose additional follow-up questions. However, the Obama-Biden campaign had already canceled the rest of the interview and suddenly discovered that another news outlet needed our team's seats on the campaign plane.
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*Schoolmarm Vocabulary Word of the Day:
Satire.
Look it up.
The social, cultural, spiritual, political, academic, and literary rantings of a slightly strange Catholic English teacher.
Showing posts with label Creative Originals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creative Originals. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, May 21, 2007
How the Crazy Schoolmarm came into being...
In the beautiful (though rather high-rent) city of Santa Barbara, CA, dwelt an idealistic, bookish, introverted English major, hankering for a meaningful career. "I shall be a High School Teacher," she said to herself. "And share my love of literature with teenagers!"
And so, having searched out a place where she could learn how to do this and do it well, she entered the UCSB Teacher Education Program, known both for its rigor and its highly skilled graduates.
Upon her entry, she found herself taken through a series of rooms where portions of her brain were removed (mostly the ones responsible for sanity), and replaced with bits of Paulo Freire, Lisa Delpit, Sheridan Blau, grade spreadsheets, seating charts, red pens, Bloom's Taxonomy, multi-tasking strategies, and SDAIE.
Near the end of the spring semester, she was taken to the top of Phelps Hall, where, like Frankenstein's creature, she was hit by lightning---repeatedly.
That June, she emerged from TEP with a teaching credential, half a master's degree, and a splitting headache. But, most importantly, she was able to think like a teacher! And for the rest of her life, she seldom read a novel without creating a lesson plan in her head, whether she was actually teaching that year or not.
Two years later, she returned to have the brain implants upgraded, and emerged with her Master of Education degree completed, and perhaps with a little less of her remaining sanity.
The nature of her training was such that she also became quite fidgety, and so she started a blog, to give her fingers one more thing to type.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Crazy Schoolmarm came into being.
"I don't suffer from insanity! I enjoy every minute of it!"
--Anonymous
And so, having searched out a place where she could learn how to do this and do it well, she entered the UCSB Teacher Education Program, known both for its rigor and its highly skilled graduates.
Upon her entry, she found herself taken through a series of rooms where portions of her brain were removed (mostly the ones responsible for sanity), and replaced with bits of Paulo Freire, Lisa Delpit, Sheridan Blau, grade spreadsheets, seating charts, red pens, Bloom's Taxonomy, multi-tasking strategies, and SDAIE.
Near the end of the spring semester, she was taken to the top of Phelps Hall, where, like Frankenstein's creature, she was hit by lightning---repeatedly.
That June, she emerged from TEP with a teaching credential, half a master's degree, and a splitting headache. But, most importantly, she was able to think like a teacher! And for the rest of her life, she seldom read a novel without creating a lesson plan in her head, whether she was actually teaching that year or not.
Two years later, she returned to have the brain implants upgraded, and emerged with her Master of Education degree completed, and perhaps with a little less of her remaining sanity.
The nature of her training was such that she also became quite fidgety, and so she started a blog, to give her fingers one more thing to type.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Crazy Schoolmarm came into being.
"I don't suffer from insanity! I enjoy every minute of it!"
--Anonymous
Thursday, April 26, 2007
My Latest Sub-creation...
A blue quartz and mother-of-pearl rosary with gold plating. One of many items to be found in our parish bazaar's silent auction this weekend. :) I had a lot of fun making it, and I'm excited to think that someone will enjoy using it. This is the first time I've ever actually tried to sell anything I have made, so it will be interesting to see what happens.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Besieged and Beleaguered
...in my own home, by strange events last August. Here's what I wrote about it at the time:
We never know what hazards await us when we step out of doors. The simplest, quickest little errand can lead to unimaginable hazards. Say, for example, taking out the trash after dinner.
Usually, we keep our big trash can in the garage, but on Saturday night, it happened to be outside in front by our garage. Alan took our kitchen trash out in the front. A purely innocent errand that put him in the path of the perilous and shadowy creature that would change the course of our near future.
I mean, of course a smoky, streaky black and gray ball of fluffy cuteness typically referred to as a persian cat.
Cats are usually very harmless creatures, but they have the rather disasterous effect of weakening both the heart and the spine my husband and me. Alan discovered the cat was a friendly one, and called me out to make its aquaintance. When I opened the door, the cat ran inside, which meant we had to catch it, and I ultimately picked it up. Now we were both ensnared. The cat was adorable. It would, in the friendliest cat fashion, allow us to pet it, talk to it, and even pick it up. When I held it in my arms, it would actually wiggle and maneuver itself into a comfy position, an extreme to which many cats never go, so that it could be nuzzled and cuddled as much as possible. I was hooked. Assuming the cat was on its way home somewhere, despite the fact that it was quite thin, we walked down to the end of our driveway, told it goodbye, set it down and expected it to be on its merry way.
But cats, as we all know have a will entirely their own.
This cat trotted happily back up the driveway to our front door. When we didn't follow, it trotted partway back, and looked at us as if to say, "What's the holdup? It's time to go in our house now!"
"But you don't live here."
"I do now."
"We'll give you a BATH," we warned it.
The cat ignored this and wrapped itself around my legs.
We figured we could go inside and it would get the idea.
Nope.
The cat sat outside our door crying loudly enough to wake the dead...in California...for an hour and a half.
We wondered if it was hungry. We hadn't dared to feed it yet, because it was already getting ideas, and we knew that if you feed a cat it's like, well, giving a mouse a cookie: to do so would set a chain reaction in motion that would lead the cat to want more. Like, maybe to take up permanent residence in our house.
But, when the hour and a half of constant yowling had gone by, despite the fact that we had turned off the lights, turned down the TV and tried to look like we weren't at home, we began to grow frantic. The cat was peeking through our front windows, making enough racket for five. We began to want desperately for it to quiet down, whether it went away or not. Out came the can opener and the tuna.
While the cat munched, we turned off all of the lights in the front of the house, and retreated to our bedroom, where we lit only one bedside lamp. We watched our bedroom TV at very low volume, hoping that the now-not-quite-so-hungry furball out front would at least quiet down. We had our wish for about two hours. At around midnight, while we were watching Conan, a familiar voice began to sound outside. Right outside of our bedroom window. The cat had found us. She was alerting us, and probably half of our neighbors, to her presence, and continued to do so until around SIX-THIRTY AM SUNDAY MORNING!!!!!
We went to a later mass that day.
Sunday night, guess who showed up promptly in our window at nine o'clock (right around when we had fed her the night before)?
After some deliberation, we reluctantly decided to feed her again when the volume of her cries reached that of nails being run down about 50 chalkboards simultaneously, and we could no longer handle the pathetic pleas of our famished feline visitor.
It was Salmon on Sunday night. Most cats don't eat that well two nights in a row.
Like we did the night before, we retreated to our bedroom, this time with the lights lower, hoping not to be kept awake by a small, crying being of unimaginable cuteness (Let's save that for when we have kids.)
Listen....Silence! She is satisfied! We can sleep!
Cut to seven AM Monday, when we are roused by a new little furry alarm outside of our bedroom window.
Alan couldn't take it anymore. We had to do something. We were running out of canned fish, and have only one working car at the moment. Not being prepared to take in a stray, and having no clue as to her origins, we reluctantly decided the humane society was the best option.
We put her in a box that Alan prepared, and I kept her company while Alan got ready for work. She was surprisingly calm until we placed her in the car (she is obviously familiar with cars as well as houses) and he dropped her off this morning after a long car ride into the city during rush hour. The, cat of course, voiced her disappointment the entire way.
So ends the saga of the fluffy shadow beast who for two days laid siege to our small fort, and made off with our food and a bit of our hearts. Spoils of war, I guess.
We never know what hazards await us when we step out of doors. The simplest, quickest little errand can lead to unimaginable hazards. Say, for example, taking out the trash after dinner.
Usually, we keep our big trash can in the garage, but on Saturday night, it happened to be outside in front by our garage. Alan took our kitchen trash out in the front. A purely innocent errand that put him in the path of the perilous and shadowy creature that would change the course of our near future.
I mean, of course a smoky, streaky black and gray ball of fluffy cuteness typically referred to as a persian cat.
Cats are usually very harmless creatures, but they have the rather disasterous effect of weakening both the heart and the spine my husband and me. Alan discovered the cat was a friendly one, and called me out to make its aquaintance. When I opened the door, the cat ran inside, which meant we had to catch it, and I ultimately picked it up. Now we were both ensnared. The cat was adorable. It would, in the friendliest cat fashion, allow us to pet it, talk to it, and even pick it up. When I held it in my arms, it would actually wiggle and maneuver itself into a comfy position, an extreme to which many cats never go, so that it could be nuzzled and cuddled as much as possible. I was hooked. Assuming the cat was on its way home somewhere, despite the fact that it was quite thin, we walked down to the end of our driveway, told it goodbye, set it down and expected it to be on its merry way.
But cats, as we all know have a will entirely their own.
This cat trotted happily back up the driveway to our front door. When we didn't follow, it trotted partway back, and looked at us as if to say, "What's the holdup? It's time to go in our house now!"
"But you don't live here."
"I do now."
"We'll give you a BATH," we warned it.
The cat ignored this and wrapped itself around my legs.
We figured we could go inside and it would get the idea.
Nope.
The cat sat outside our door crying loudly enough to wake the dead...in California...for an hour and a half.
We wondered if it was hungry. We hadn't dared to feed it yet, because it was already getting ideas, and we knew that if you feed a cat it's like, well, giving a mouse a cookie: to do so would set a chain reaction in motion that would lead the cat to want more. Like, maybe to take up permanent residence in our house.
But, when the hour and a half of constant yowling had gone by, despite the fact that we had turned off the lights, turned down the TV and tried to look like we weren't at home, we began to grow frantic. The cat was peeking through our front windows, making enough racket for five. We began to want desperately for it to quiet down, whether it went away or not. Out came the can opener and the tuna.
While the cat munched, we turned off all of the lights in the front of the house, and retreated to our bedroom, where we lit only one bedside lamp. We watched our bedroom TV at very low volume, hoping that the now-not-quite-so-hungry furball out front would at least quiet down. We had our wish for about two hours. At around midnight, while we were watching Conan, a familiar voice began to sound outside. Right outside of our bedroom window. The cat had found us. She was alerting us, and probably half of our neighbors, to her presence, and continued to do so until around SIX-THIRTY AM SUNDAY MORNING!!!!!
We went to a later mass that day.
Sunday night, guess who showed up promptly in our window at nine o'clock (right around when we had fed her the night before)?
After some deliberation, we reluctantly decided to feed her again when the volume of her cries reached that of nails being run down about 50 chalkboards simultaneously, and we could no longer handle the pathetic pleas of our famished feline visitor.
It was Salmon on Sunday night. Most cats don't eat that well two nights in a row.
Like we did the night before, we retreated to our bedroom, this time with the lights lower, hoping not to be kept awake by a small, crying being of unimaginable cuteness (Let's save that for when we have kids.)
Listen....Silence! She is satisfied! We can sleep!
Cut to seven AM Monday, when we are roused by a new little furry alarm outside of our bedroom window.
Alan couldn't take it anymore. We had to do something. We were running out of canned fish, and have only one working car at the moment. Not being prepared to take in a stray, and having no clue as to her origins, we reluctantly decided the humane society was the best option.
We put her in a box that Alan prepared, and I kept her company while Alan got ready for work. She was surprisingly calm until we placed her in the car (she is obviously familiar with cars as well as houses) and he dropped her off this morning after a long car ride into the city during rush hour. The, cat of course, voiced her disappointment the entire way.
So ends the saga of the fluffy shadow beast who for two days laid siege to our small fort, and made off with our food and a bit of our hearts. Spoils of war, I guess.
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