I'm a cypher, wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce. Also, my name is Kev and I own this here website.
I saw you on aisle twelve at the grocery store. “Orville Redenbacher’s Gourmet Popping Corn” was written on you in big, cursive letters. You lured me in with your smiling, awkward picture and promises of 30-calorie servings. I put you into my grocery cart and dreamed of the “94% Fat Free Butter” snacking I would soon enjoy.
If only I had known the tragedy that would follow.
In high school, I was the captain of our baseball team. It’s a role that prepared me for my future job as a coach, as well as my future teaching job. The main thing I learned is what works with one person and one situation will not necessarily work with another person and situation. Be stern with one person and it will light a fire under them to improve; be stern with another and they’ll cry like a chef dicing onions the size of Rosie O’Donnell’s mouth.
Whenever our head coach needed to talk to our pitcher, he would signal to me, the 1st baseman, to go talk to him (in baseball, coaches are limited in the number of times they can visit the pitcher, so our coach relied on me if he had already used up his visits). Sometimes, I would call timeout and talk strategy with the pitcher. Sometimes, I would give him a verbal kick in the rear if I thought he wasn’t concentrating. However, other times, I would bring levity to the situation and talk nonsense.
Me: “What did you think of the restaurant we went to last night?”
Pitcher: “It was okay.”
Me: “What did you eat?”
Pitcher: “Chicken fingers.”
Me: “Was it good?”
Pitcher: “It was okay.”
Me: “I had fried shrimp…I think some of it’s still stuck in my teeth.”
About this time, the pitcher looked at me like I was crazy. “Well, we better get back to the game,” I said. “There’s two outs and a runner on third. Just get the hitter to hit it to me and we’ll be fine.”
Our coach, of course, didn’t have a clue this was the kind of stuff I would talk about to the pitcher. But my goal was to take the pitcher’s mind off of the situation. If the pitcher was a fragile sort and I could tell he was stressed, I took his mind off the game – even it was for only 30 seconds.
And yes, the above conversation really did happen.
Back in my teaching days, in year one, I had a student who was single handedly responsible for many of the rules I developed for semester projects, exams and class attendance in the years that followed. This student never disrupted class and, for that reason alone, seemed to be a model student in the eyes of most teachers. However, towards the end of the school year, she was absent on her day to present her semester project to the class.
This does not sound like a big deal, but the semester projects were scheduled in such a way that each day for the rest of the school year there was a student scheduled to give a presentation to the class. When this student missed her day to present, it threw everything into disarray (I had not yet learned the importance of contingency plans). I rearranged, with the help of some other students who were accommodating, the schedule and gave this student a new presentation date for one week after her original date.
She was absent that day, too.
Needless to say, I was upset. Absences happen, but these were major inconveniences for me and the other students. I checked my records, and in the days leading up to and following each missed due date, this student was present and in class each and every day. The only days she was absent were the two days she happened to be scheduled to give her presentation to the class. How suspiciously convenient.
Long before I began teaching, I looked at things in life with a detective’s eye. “Which is more likely…” was an expression I thought to myself quite often. In this case, “which is more likely,” I asked a fellow teacher. “That she just happened to be sick on the two days she was scheduled to present a project worth a huge chunk of her semester grade, or that she pretended to be sick on those days to buy herself more time?”
This student had signed letters from her mother saying she was “sick” for each day in question. For that reason, regardless of my suspicions, I had to take her and her mother at their word and allow the student to makeup the presentation. However, before talking to her about it, I did a little research and discovered that this student has been absent on exam dates throughout the year in my class. This practice of skipping school to buy herself more time, a practice enabled by her mother, likely went on in her other classes, too.
Our conversation, with a witness in the room, gives a good indication as to why I was both loved and loathed by students (depending on who you asked). Since this conversation happened several years ago and I did not have a tape recorder with me, I am paraphrasing:
“Your mother dropped off the letter saying you were sick,” I remarked. “We’ll reschedule your presentation for Tuesday.”
“Alright,” the student responded.
“But for the record,” I said after filing away her mother’s letter, “you and I both know you weren’t really sick.”
Taken aback, the student coldly responded, “well, even if that were true, there’s no way to prove it.”
“That is true,” I said. “But I want you to know that I know. I did not want you to go all through high school without someone calling you on it. This habit, if you keep it up, will come back to bite you one day. It might be in college or it might be at a future job, but someday you’ll be in a situation where a person doesn’t need ‘proof’ to hold you accountable. And when that happens, no note from your mom will be able to help you.”
“Best to get it out of your system now.”
Like most policies and rules I followed as a teacher, the above conversation was a result of my own experiences as a student. I understood the need for “more time” because, as a procrastinator most of my life, I always needed more time. Whether it was a test, a research paper, a project or whatever, I would put off working on something until the last minute and then have to stay up all night in order to get in the needed work.
I pegged this student as a procrastinator, too. She didn’t set out to skip tests and projects. She just put off doing the work and then, to buy herself more time, pretended to be sick as a last resort. Was she the only student in my classes to ever do such a thing? Very unlikely. But she was the only student to do it frequently enough that I was able to pick up on the pattern, and she was the only student to inconvenience other students (not to mention me) by her actions.
She was also the only student to see me at my most blunt.
ATLANTA, GA – A national, one-day boycott of purchasing gasoline is planned for March 15 in an effort organizers hope will “lower gas prices once and for all,” according to John Teller, a stay-at-home dad who has been forwarding email announcements for the boycott to everyone he knows.
“There are 73,000,000-plus Americans currently on the Internet network, and the average car takes about $30 to $50 to fill up,” said Teller using numbers his friend Bob had forwarded him. “If all users did not go to the pump on May 15th, it would take $2,292,000,000 out of the rich oil company’s pockets!”
“It is time we consumers took a stand,” remarked boycott originator Melissa Raymond as she put $60 of gasoline into her SUV in preparation for tomorrow’s boycott. “If we don’t do something, when will it end? What’s to stop oil companies from raising gas prices to $4, $5, or $10?”
“Excuse me for one minute,” Raymond asked reporters. “I need to call my parents and remind them to buy gasoline on May 16 instead of 15.”
The boycott is not without its critics.
“This is the dumbest thing I have ever heard,” remarked common sense expert Kevin Dugan.
“People aren’t buying less gasoline, they are simply buying the same amount on a different day. How exactly will that help? Any money the oil companies might lose on the 15th will be more than made up for by the boycotting-yahoos buying their gas on the 14th or 16th.”
Still, Raymond is not fazed and says the boycott will go on.
“Critics who make fun of other people’s insane ideas are just jealous because they aren’t able to come up with their own insane ideas,” remarked Raymond.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need put up this sign that tells people who were planning on buying gasoline tomorrow to buy it today instead.”
Denis was my dorm mate my freshman year in college. He had the personality of a door knob, but he wasn’t as outgoing or friendly as a door knob. Here’s one of our stories:
Those who know me know that I have an unholy hatred for tuna. I won’t eat it, I don’t like looking at it, and I absolutely despise the smell of it. Until I got to college, I didn’t like tuna, but I would eat it on occasion. Of course, that was pre-Denis.
The first full day together at our dorm, Denis had two items for dinner I had never seen together. Tuna fish and mayo (in a bowl, eaten with a fork), which my mom would eat on occasion; and canned cranberry sauce, something I had never seen outside Thanksgiving. I thought the combination was odd, but who was I to judge?
On day two, Denis had the same meal for dinner. Ditto day three. Ditto again for day four. The weeks passed on and Denis kept eating the same odd combination. For two months, Denis ate tuna and cranberry sauce every day for dinner. It was madness.
The boy ate it so frequently that our dorm began to smell like tuna fish. Cats would gather outside our window and meow at us. The smell was all over my clothes – I’d walk to class and the cats would follow. Granted, chicks love cats. But this was getting out of hand. I had to do something to stop it.
Putting Denis in a box and shipping him to Canada was my first idea, but the postage was too much. My second idea, the one I went with, was to tell Denis I was allergic to the smell of tuna.
It should be noted that Denis was not an intelligent individual. This is the person who once asked me if I was going to a movie even though I was dressed in full baseball attire. He is the same person who told me he wished Ross Perot was President. Convincing him that I was allergic was way easier than it should have been.
<"I just got back from the doctor. He told me the reason I keep getting headaches is because I am allergic to the smell of tuna."
"Really?," Denis asked.
"Yeah, I guess this means you'll have to stop eating tuna inside our room."
"Okay," replied Denis, a man of very few words.
For the record, I regret lying to the guy. Denis was disrespectful, odd, boring, humorless and borderline psychotic, but I should have been up front with him.
If you can’t tell your dorm mate, “the ocean called…they’re running out of tuna,” who can you tell?
NEW YORK, NY – In a move designed to bolster their depleted starting rotation and get them back into playoff contention, the New York Yankees have signed pitcher Roger Clemens to a prorated 1-year, $28 million contract. It is estimated Clemens will earn $18.5 million for four months of work, which breaks down to roughly $8,900 for every pitch he throws.
“It wasn’t just about the money,” Clemens assured reporters at his press conference.
“It was the perks, too. They are going to treat me like the diva I’ve always imagined myself to be, and you just can’t put a price on that.”
Clemens’ contract stipulates that he only has to be with the team on days he is scheduled to pitch. This provision is so that Clemens can spend time with his family.
“Of course, ‘family’ is such an open-ended word,” noted Clemens. “I consider the guys I play golf with family. My masseuse is family. Vince, the stylist who did my highlights, is definitely family.”
In addition to salary and family considerations, other stipulations in the contract, along with Clemens’ explanation of each, include:
Critics of the contract express concern that it will divide the Yankees’ clubhouse. Other players could become jealous of the special treatment Clemens is receiving. Clemens admitted that would likely be the case.
“It will be impossible for them not to be jealous of me,” Clemens conceded.
“Look at me. I’m awesome.”
In a move experts predict will once and for all prove His existence, God used the Los Angeles legal system to sentence socialite/moron Paris Hilton to 45 days in jail for violating her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case.
The sentencing has been met by unanimous approval by every person in the entire world, and has sparked a religious revival not seen since the release of Mel Gibson’s film, The Passion of the Christ.
Churches across the world have been packed since the sentencing was announced.
“People have been coming in droves since the announcement,” said James O’Keefe, pastor of First Baptist Church in Decatur, Georgia.
“I was so certain God didn’t exist, but this has completely altered my outlook,” remarked atheist Dan Ryder of Omaha, Nebraska.
“God is real. And He is awesome.”
Hilton, who helped promote the “Vote or Die” campaign during the 2004 Presidential Election despite the fact she was not registered to vote, has called her sentencing cruel and unwarranted.
“I feel that I was treated unfairly and that the sentence is both cruel and unwarranted,” said Hilton as she left for a shopping trip with her mother.
“I don’t deserve this.”
Experts disagreed.
“This has been a long time coming,” noted karma expert and God enthusiast Kevin Dugan. “This [air quotes] woman [end air quotes] has been a thorn in the side of common sense for far too long. Monica Lewinsky had the decency to go away after her embarrassing scandal. Paris Hilton? She gets her own TV show and records an album.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised God didn’t smite her years ago.”
ATLANTA, GA – After losing his first four decisions of the season and posting an awful 10.62 ERA, the Atlanta Braves had starting pitcher Mark Redman “put down” this week.
“It was for the best,” said manager Bobby Cox. “After watching him get beat around the first month of the season, this was definitely the most humane thing to do.”
“He’s pitching to angels in Heaven now. Probably getting tagged by them, too.”
After blowing a 3-run lead and failing to get through the second inning in his May 1st start against the division-rival Phillies, the Braves coaching staff and front office held a closed-door meeting to decide the pitcher’s fate. Once the decision was made, the brain trust threw a pizza party to distract the other players as they took Redman to the doctor’s office.
“A few players asked us what we were talking about in our meeting, but once the pizza and clown arrived they quickly forgot all about it,” said pitching coach Roger McDowell.
Once the party was over and the horrible deed was done, the Braves announced that Redman was placed on the 15-day disabled list due to an ingrown nail on his left big toe. Once the ingrown nail is removed, the players were told Redman would rehab at one of the Braves’ minor league farm clubs.
However, not all players bought the explanation.
“Who goes on the disabled list because of an ingrown nail on your toe,” an exasperated John Smoltz asked reporters after hearing the news.
“Something isn’t right. Why didn’t he take his glove with him? If he is going to rehab with one of the farm clubs, won’t he need his glove??”
Even though the team knows lying is wrong, it’s confident keeping the players in the dark on Redman’s fate was the right thing to do.
“Maybe we’ll tell them what really happened someday,” remarked general manager John Schuerholz.
“Maybe when they’re older.”
The saga continues. For more comedic gold, go read Atlanta Braves to Face Brain Eating Zombie.
While it originally debuted on my blog, this post was revised and later published at Associated Content on August 20, 2007. You can go read it here.
