Crying Fowl

For any of you out there still reading this, I'm putting this blog to sleep until next spring's writing assignment. I am going to make an effort not to turn into a total blogging loser like I did last year, so I'll still be posting at Highly Appallified. Head on over there and let me know if you're still posting so I can keep reading. To all my 8th graders specifically, great job on the blogs, and I hope you keep posting! Best of luck ladies and gentlemen.

2008 8th grade promotion is history, but some parents couldn't resist throwing in a few last minute lessons.

The bad thing about helmet laws (like a lot of other well-meaning laws that govern personal behaviors) is that they often have effects that run counter to what they are trying to achieve. Helmet laws surely aim to decrease head injuries among cyclists, but studies indicate that fatalities as a percentage actually increase when helmet laws go into effect. Experts suggests that individuals become used to a particular level of risk (for example, riding a bike without a helmet). As soon as that level of risk decreases (helmets become mandatory) then those individuals will change their behavior in order to get back to that level of risk that they are comfortable with (perhaps riding a bike a bit more recklessly). So in this case, helmet laws are directly correlated with an increase in the effect that they are trying to prevent.

Well that sucks.

Look, if I'm going to smack my head on concrete, metal, dirt, or snow, I'm definitely going to want a helmet. A helmet will help prevent injury in an instance where my head is smacking against something hard. People should be educated about this, and they should feel like lame-o's for riding around town with helmets hanging on handlebars. But lawmakers should feel like lame-o's for making laws governing behavior that won't result in anyone being harmed besides the individual in question. And they should feel even cheesier when the law shows asociation with increasing serious injury, even when the amount of cyclists is DECREASING! Maybe we can pass a law that will forbid any current cyclist from reducing their cycling activity. We can set minimum levels of acceptable cycling. Cycling controls. For the good of the community.

I am in favor of helmets. They should be worn. My son will wear a helmet. There's just really nothing cool about third parties making decisions for other people without their permission. Or maybe we're better off letting the smart people make the important decisions for us.

Wearing helmets may never be cool (although an argument can be made that staying alive is cool, and as a victim of three concussions, two with a helmet on, I'll put a bowl on my skull any time), but some people are so afraid of looking dorky in a helmet that they commit a far more heinous act of nerdiness. If you live in place where helmets are mandated by law, and I know all 8 of you who read this blog do (yes, I've quadrupled my readership), then undoubtedly you've seen what I'm about to describe.

Poor kid will never be cool

Afraid of looking like the helmet-sporting dweeb on the cover of the helmet package, most folks concerned with looking cool adamantly oppose any form of brain protection. Of course, mommy and daddy say they have to, either because they truly care, or because they truly care about having to pay a citation because junior is not following the helmet law. So Joe Cool gets ready to pedal away to school, and mom asks to see the helmet, so Joe shows mom and straps it on, then pedals away. As soon as he's out of sight, helmet comes off. I mean, helmets are lame, bro. It ends up on the handlebars, clanging away with every pedal, banging on Joe's knees. Oops it just fell off as he's crossing the street. Now he's got to go back and get it. That was embarrassing. But not as embarrassing as actually having to wear the helmet. It's much cooler to have it slap inconveniently against one's knees, plus it adds a nice rhythm to the ride. Pedal, bump, dlink. Pedal, bump, dlink. Pedal, bump, dlink.

I'm just wondering why backpacks haven't followed suit. How cool is it to have a gigantic bulge rounding out your back? Kills the whole cool vibe. Much better to hang it on the other handlebar. Then the rider can look cool, and the bike will be the loser wearing the helmet and backpack.

Someone get this dweeb some handlebars.

The only thing about the helmet on the handlebars thing is that it kind of sends a double message. On one hand it whispers, "I'm cool, I don't actually wear my helmet. See? It's on my handlebars, not my head." But on the other hand, it says "well my mom said I have to wear it, and I'm scared of her. And I'm scared of other people. Dang, I'm pretty much scared of everyone. But I know what cool is all about."

Obviously it's about riding around town with your helmet on your handlebars. 

The more I think about this, the more I worry about the outside chance that I really might not be as cool as I think I am. Probably the coolest thing I do is snowboard, and even that's just because the temperature is literally cold. Most "snowboarders," at least the ones I come into contact with on a regular basis, bug the crap out of me. And they're the cool ones. I wear a helmet. That's not really that cool. I've been knocked unconscious 3 times, and one of them was in a bench clearing brawl in college--sort of cool, but also sort of wimpy-sounding. One of my ribs popped out of place and never went back. Cool, yet weird in an oddball way, so maybe not cool?

I was an English major in college. The frames of my glasses are fat (kinda cool) because they need to cover my even fatter lenses (kinda not cool). In college one of my friends said if I looked at a map I would see people waving (neat, but not cool). 

I had head gear and an upper mouth expander which created a licorice-size gap between my two front teeth. Not cool. But being able to drink a soda through a straw WHILE my teeth were clenched? Pretty freakin' cool.

I was homeschooled. Not cool. But cool.

I use big, uncool words like "wince." Yeah, count 'em. All five letters. Apparently that's a big word to some people. Uncool. Yet, cool.

 Cool is conformity. Cool is nonconformity. Cool people think other cool people aren't cool. Those "uncool" people look up at the other cool people and scoff: "How utterly uncool." 

It would be easy to perceive coolness as subjective, something that is to be found "in the eye of the beholder." This, however, is little more than postmodern drivel, and in my future posts, I will attempt to objectively lay out some of the defining principles of "cool"--an "absolute truth" of cool, if you will. 

A great man once said "only lay down true principles, and adhere to them inflexibly."

Now, I say to you: "only lay down true principles of coolness, and adhere to them inflexibly."

I will show you those principles. Adhere to them inflexibly, and next time someone asks you who to thank for making you cool, remember the ViP Rooster.

P.S.: See my previous post on mustaches for an immediate immersion into the doctrine of cool.

 

Ok, maybe Mr. Lopez can rock a 'stache, but lets face it, besides the fact that he's OLD (to his credit, that does make him a very effective history teacher), the mustache is my main focus of personal ridicule for Mr. Lopez. True, there's also the fact that he gets muscle strains by warming up, but I'm starting to pull more muscles these days, so I don't want to give him ammunition for later. Besides, this post isn't about Mr. Lopez. It's about the mustache, and how it's not as cool as it should be. Very few individuals can pull it off this day in age. My dad, John Stossel, Mr. Lopez, and Mr. Cuff are the only ones I see who can rock the 'stache with any degree of effectiveness. 

What did you do for fun when you were a kid? How is it different from what you see kids doing now?
Submitted by jaklumen.

I was homeschooled from 2nd grade to 10th grade, and I would finish all my work at around 11 or 12. So while I'd be waiting for the neighbor kids to get home from school, me and my brother made up all manner of educational, critical thinking-enhancing games to amuse ourselves. One was house baseball. We used a nerf ball and the goal post of a croquet set. The desk in the back of the den was home, the inside of the double door to the den was 1st, an arm chair in the living room was second, and the other door post of the den was third. A homerun was hitting one above the fireplace mantle. There were several decorations and picture frames up on this mantle, and even more during holiday seasons, but for some insane reason, my mom rarely shut us down. There were the rare occasion where we would let go of the croquet stick, or send a family portrait crashing down on my baby sister, but other than those anomalies, we had our own mini sand lot right in the main living area. 

Another family favorite was a game called "steal the chicks." This game required four of us: me (age 14) my brother Chris (age 11), my sister Hannah (age 5-6) and my little brother Jake (age 2-3). The object of this game was for me and my two brothers to run into my little sister's room armed with pillow cases which we would use to loot her stuffed animal collection. We would barge into her room,  my 3 year old brother bringing up the rear, screaming "steal the chicks!!!." Then we would dump all of the animals into sleeping bags and run out to the living room. Hannah would toddle screaming into the living room, we would dump out all of her animals, and then my parents would yell at us for setting a bad example for our brother Jake. 

Then there was the time my brother threw a shovel full of fifteen fat dog poops at me from point blank range. Amazingly, he missed me completely and instead spattered the enormous archtop window of our living room with our pet Collie's feces. 15 minutes later it looked like 10-12 enormous orange snails were oozing their way down the dual paned glass. That was definitely a close call. It's a good thing those suckers were fresh, or little crumblies would have broken off and pelted me like pebbles, even though it wouldn't have been a direct hit. That's how close I was. 

I have two brothers and two sisters, and we're still up to shenanigans, so I suspect this would be a never ending post if I mentioned all the ways we devised to amuse ourselves. Maybe I'll create an entire blog devoted to shenanigans. 

My little guy Jackson loves Veggie Tales. He pronounces it "tay-whoas." When he wakes up in the morning, he either says "mommy," or "tay-whoas." We only have one episode, so we get to watch the "Lyle the Kindly Viking" episode approximately once a day.Once I had all of the songs and dialogue memorized, a few particularly challenging vocabulary words popped out at me. Among them were "proficiently," "animosity," "ambiguously," "iridescent," "despairing," and "pillaging." I'm an English teacher, and I don't even know what most of those words mean. I asked my wife, and all she said was "look it up." Some help. Her approach definitely wasn't geared toward my "learning style."

Jackson saying "tay-whoas"

Our vocabulary is better than your parents'. Yours can be too!

Nicole's version:

I can't believe that school's almost out. It feels like I was just complaining that we had to go back to school. Finally freedom after 9 months of school. No more drama,homework, and NAGGING TEACHERS. That tell us to do that, no no no you did that all wrong. But at the same time it's sorta sad because you don't know if you'll see these people again in August, and if you do both of you may have changed and won't get along anymore. I'm also glad because that means we're going into highschool, adn technically you only have 4 more years of mandatory school. But what that means to me is that 4 more years of school, and I get to leave home for college,and I won't have to live by my parents rules anymore. For now though the present summer it means I can sleep in adn I'll finally get my dog.

My version:

I can't believe that school's almost out. It feels like I was just complaining that we had to go back to school. Finally freedom after 9 months of school. No more DRAMA, no more people who don't turn in homework and then ponder aloud their plummeting GPA, and no more LISTENING TO MYSELF NAG to the point where I want to slap my own face. I told them to do this and that, and then they do it all wrong. But at the same time it's not really that sad because I'm pretty sure I won't see these people again come next August, and if I do I can just act like I don't remember and then they'll leave. I'm so glad that they're going to high school where they'll be subjected to four more years of torture. Technically, they'll be finished after that, but many of them will fall into the hands of sadistic torture professionals known as college professors. What I would give for one look on their faces when the professor hands out the syllabus and they see the reading assignments and papers waiting to be written. They'll ask the profs for help, and, because most of them have PhD.'s they will tell them to "Google it." Seriously. For now though, it's summer, and that means I can sleep in and--oh crap, I'm teaching summer school. And I don't even get a dog. My building doesn't allow them. 

And on second thought, I MIGHT miss my students a little bit. 

Ok folks, you've heard me mention Malakai Clothing before, back when I was making fun of Jake Vega's enormous chin. Let me tell you a little more about what has become my favorite t-shirt company.