Do you know what four things I never thought would go together? KFC, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut and Food Stamps. Somehow, I thought that when it came right down to what offerings we’d give to the poorest among us, fast food items just wouldn’t be on that list. Apparently I’d be wrong — so very wrong since Yum! Brands, the parent company of KFC, Taco Bell and Pizza Hut, is lobbying to allow their restaurants in Kentucky, America’s seventh most overweight state, to accept food stamps. Continue reading
For those of you who know me, you know that I have done a good deal of living, working, and studying abroad. In fact, I’ve spent almost two years of my life outside of the States. But every time I travel domestically, it becomes painfully obvious that New York has ruined the every other city in America for me. It’s not hard to see why Paris or West Africa or South India cannot be realistically compared to New York – those cities are different worlds, and as the old saying goes, “I want a damn apple, why did you give me an orange?” Well, it’s something like that. It is also not hard to separate New York from American suburbia, where the vast majority of people think it’s bizarre to use one’s own feet as a means of transportation. What is hard, I’ve discovered, is figuring out how to not apply the New York standard to any other urban metropolis in the 50 US states (and maybe Canada).
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Bots has kindly invited me to crosspost articles from my blog www.daisysagesays.wordpress.com .
Here is my latest post. Please drop by my site sometime, and write to [email protected] to be included in the upcoming advice column, “Ask Daisy Sage”.
I took this photo some time this past February or March I think, when I was taking my daily walk in the general environs of my home.
I think what made me want a record of this charming little wooden sign was not only its daring dual meaning expression of hostility, ( did the writer literally merely mean dog crap, or metaphorical crap or both?), followed by the polite “Thank you” but the fact that as I walked down the street, and then turned the corner, I discovered 5 IDENTICAL SIGNS in front of other houses. This was no mere whim; this was an anti-crap campaign.
Before the “Tired of your crap” campaign ended, I saw one more sign on someone’s lawn. It said “Please keep your dog off my grass.” The author decided to forego the “tired of your crap” bit. It was written on a flimsy piece of cardboard instead of wood. It could easily have dissolved under the next batch of precipitation. Continue reading
Each day, we open our digital copy of The New York Times to absurdly mock it (and ourselves) for its insanity. Today we learn that kids everywhere are all the same.
Kids are taught that they’re all different, that they’re all special little snowflakes who will one day change the world. Lies! Children are all the same. Case and point: James Black Jr. is a mere “three or four” games away from becoming a national master in the eyes of The United States Chess Federation (Federation? Sounds communist!), but, you know what? All he wants to do is play video games and stay up late! His brother went to jail for killing some guy, his sister got kicked out of the house and still he asks why he can’t have more freedom. Why? Because kids are all the same. Continue reading
Look at them! Look at them in their bare legs poking out from beneath shorts and flowing skirts, feet exposed in sandals, arms soaking up the sun in short sleeves and halter tops, saying to each other: What a beautiful day! Isn’t the sun lovely! It’s so warm!
Then look at me. Continue reading
The answer seems to be pretty darn easy. After reading the horrible story about the death of Christian Choate, the thirteen year old who was beaten to death by his father and spent most of his time locked in a dog cage, I wondered just how easy it is to home-school a child.
Christian’s stepmother, Kimberly Kubina, took her stepson out of school reporting that he was to be home-schooled, but after what unfolded in the household, it seems quite evident that the real reason behind the move was to cover up ongoing abuse.
Speaking as a former teacher, one of the first bits of instruction you learn is how to identify potential abuse in the homes of your students. You’re told to look for obvious bruises especially around report card and parent teacher conference time. You’re also instructed to look for odd behavior, acting out, withdrawal, and copious sleeping in class amongst myriad other things, and if suspected, to tell your school’s response team immediately. However, this only works if you can witness and interact with students. There is some leeway for students who are enrolled, but suddenly go missing. You can then send a truancy officer to their address to find out what the story is, but when a student is home-schooled there are literally no options. Continue reading
Each day, we open up our digital copy of the New York Times and absurdly mock it (and ourselves) for its insanity. Today we learn something we didn’t know before about Jared Kushner. Continue reading
The bourgeois intellectual elite at the Mauve Lady (Grey with very strong shades of homosexual Pink) would like you to know that it’s about damn time we return to a time and place when, as writer Susan Mulcahy* declares, ‘men were men and a sofa was a sofa.’ Clearly, this only applies to rich people tufted couches with the nails in them and stuff, but there is one woman, one single solitary woman who has made it her mission to protect the dry cleanable garments of the world. Continue reading
I won’t forget that spring weekday, and what happened in my 6th Grade classroom. We were trapped inside because of the rain, and we were tearing mid-century modern room up in a way that might have made Mies van De Rohe horrified. Laughter echoed off the ceilings, and the pure joy of good kids playing ran down the halls.
I had a Whoopee Cushion, and made exuberant fart noises with it at every opportunity. This was so not like me that my classmates were delighted and screamed with laughter. It was so not like anyone else that our gym teacher hauled me out in the hall, slammed me up against a wall, and gave me a lecture about how “the football team” would pay for my misconduct. What? I wasn’t even on the football team. His choking hand on my neck was simply stunning – no one had ever touched me that way before. When I was disciplined at home I was simply told to leave the room. No one had ever hit me. My friend Andrea came out in the hall and warned the teacher – “If you hit him, you’re in Big Trouble. And I don’t like you – never did.” Continue reading
Twenty-nine years ago, Chinese-American Vincent Chin, age twenty-seven, died. He was murdered for being Japanese.