The Dreaded P-Word

Imitation is the highest form of pissing me off. Quit stealing my content and violating my copyright. ~Jen T. Verbumessor

When I was in high school I made the mistake of taking a journalism class. It wasn't long into the semester that I realized I wasn't going to do well at the journalistic style of writing. But early on, the class was split up into groups and I landed in a group with a funny skater guy, the vice-president of our junior class, a dark and rather odd guy, and a funny girl who reminded me of Marty, the Pink Lady. Among these people, I was more than a quiet, bookish girl who never wore jeans. Each of us was smart, but I was the writer of the group and I began to feel a little more at peace with the class.

For some reason, though, the journalism teacher didn't like me. If it had been simply a personality conflict, I could let it go but I've never gotten over it. Because one day she accused me of plagiarism.

It was a one day assignment, due at the end of class. We were to write a brief and informative news story demonstrating a certain style. I was happy to be creating something and even appreciating the challenge of writing journalistically (just the facts, ma'am) while still getting across all the beautiful details I couldn't bear to leave out. On that day I wrote a story about a chemical fertilizer being sprayed over orange groves in Florida and the devastating harm it was doing to the state's bumblebee population. By the end of the story I had girl scouts in beanies skipping through the orange groves cleaning up the mounds of dead bumblebees. I named my chemical something like A-430 and had the girl scouts singing The Bumblebee Song as they went about the chore.

In short, it bordered on ridiculous, closing in on hyperbole.

The next school day I received back my paper with a bright red "F" across the top next to the word "Plagiarized." I was beyond mortified. The rest of my group was suitably outraged and patted me on the back as I tried to stifle tears and waited for my bright red blush to die down. I knew I'd have to confront the teacher with the mistake since there was no way my GPA was going to take a beating with an unearned "F." To this day I've never felt shame like those moments before I refuted the charges of plagiarism. Anyone who writes knows that this is the worst possible offense to be charged with. "Hack" is kinder than "Plagiarist."

I took the paper up to the teacher who tried to stare me down when I denied that I'd copied any work and continued on to remind her it was a paper written right in class. She changed my grade then, basing it on my writing alone. I don't remember what grade she gave me, only that I asked her to cross out the P-word and initial beside it so my parents wouldn't get upset.

Even when the incident was over I was still shaken and, truth to tell, I still get angry now when I think about it. To accuse someone of plagiarism is serious and should never, ever, ever be done without irrefutable evidence at hand. Someone is bound to ask me to name the teacher who did this and I'm telling you now, I won't do it. I did, at the very least, learn all about libel in that class.

National Kevin Day

Yesterday was a special celebration in our household. National Kevin Day comes every year after the EOGs (End of Grade tests) are completed, when our boy is so tired from the hours-long testing that we give him a little celebration of his own devising.

So I took Kevin to Crazy Fire for dinner where we piled our bowls with raw meat and lots of veggies, dumping lime ginger sauce and garlic oil over all and then watched as the whole concoction sizzled away on the grill. Back at our table I realized Kevin is an interesting person.

We were rolling laughing at each other. He did his Jim Gaffigan "Hot Pockets" imitation (if you don't know who that is, look it up in the videos... you'll love him). Then he told me how he and his friend, Ian, had devised a scheme to get each other out of answering tough questions in class. When their algebra teacher called on Ian yesterday, Kevin stood up next to him and said, "I'm sorry, my client is not taking questions right now. And no pictures, please." Kevin says the teacher laughed at it and until I get the call from the Vice Principal, I'm going to assume all is well.

And would I have had that kind of nerve in 8th grade? Um, let's say "NO." Also, for some reason I found it hilarious that one of his teachers is named Mr. Wright and they call him, what else? Mr. Wrong. Apparently, he doesn't find it funny and I don't blame him but I did laugh about it.

I'm wondering now as I type this if perhaps the guy at the grill didn't cook my scallops all the way through. Would that have made me loopy? Or maybe just really, really childish? Encouraging delinquency in a minor, especially my own minor, is no small potatoes.

After dinner National Kevin Day continued with the viewing of our latest Netflix movie "The Pursuit of Happyness," a movie Kev had been waiting "forever" to see. Turned out to be a depressing watch, a movie I actually found myself holding my breath through most of, but a really good object lesson for my boy who is inordinately smart but kinda lazy about it. He made up his mind last night that he would be going to college "for sure" in order to ensure that he and his future child need never live in a homeless shelter. I declared that it was a good plan to have.

I hope whatever comes in the next few years, Kevin's teenage years, that he and I can remain friendly like we were last night.

After all, National Kevin Day only comes once a year.

Feel the Heat

Summertime here is hot, hot, hot. The air feels like wet cotton and the plants are growing like the jungle. But there's a certain joy in the overwhelming heat and then more joy in the cool rain when it comes.

For some reason, this year I've been back outside during the good weather. I haven't spent any time actively outdoors since I was, well, definitely before the reading bug kicked in. Long, lazy days on bicycles and in the pool, walking around the neighborhood, waiting for the ice cream truck, forming "exclusive" clubs and having slumber parties in tents in the backyard. You know, kid stuff. Right up through the age of, what? Eighteen? Twenty? Well, definitely into high school before the whole "cruising down the strip" thing took the place of bikes and treehouses.

A few months ago, Rich bought himself a bicycle and he and Kevin have spent hours and hours riding, coming back soaked with sweat and exhausted. Well, Rich has been exhausted. Kevin just comes back in for a drink before going back out to "play" some more while Rich collapses on the couch. But Rich has started looking so good lately and I figured if I went out riding with them perhaps I would benefit in the same way.

So I bought a bike. It's a pretty aqua blue mountain bike, a Huffy, just like back in the good old days. We had to trade out the teeny little seat on it for something that better supports my more, well, womanly, build. But soon after that, one morning when all the neighborhood kids were off at school and it wasn't yet ninety degrees outside, Rich took me on a ride.

We rode, that first day, all through our own subdivision and then through the next one over. All the way up, almost, to the Sheetz store. I had no idea that it was an uphill incline to that store. I couldn't make it that day and we had to turn around and come back. Two days after that we went out again and I managed the hill, went into Sheetz and got my prize: a blue raspberry icee. The three of us sat in the shade and drank our drinks. Cool, refreshing, familial bonding over biking.

It's nice. Nice enough to make me relish slicking on the sunscreen, finding a hat to keep my hair from fading, and actually going outside for exercise. It feels so good I'm trying to talk Rich into resuming our shag dance classes soon.

Hope everyone's summer is starting easy. I have a feeling it's only going to get hotter.....

Cell Phones, Popcorn, & Opaque Black Tights

I got one of those bulletins containing a list of items to check to see if you're stupid or not. Now, I know I'm not stupid and I didn't take the quiz in case I incriminated myself. BUT, it did make me think right off the top of my head of a couple really brainless moments I've experienced in my life and me, being the kind and generous soul that I am, decided to share for your entertainment.


** A few months ago I was searching all over for my cell phone. I couldn't find it anywhere and walked all the way around the first floor of my house twice looking for it. I went out in the back yard looking, went out on the front porch to see if I'd left it in a rocker, went out into the garage where I hadn't actually BEEN to see if it had gotten up and walked out there on its own. I complained to my mother about how I couldn't find my cell phone and she asked me why didn't I use the house phone to call it. We don't have a house phone and it was then I realized I was talking to her on my cell phone.

** Several years back I was attempting to pop a pan of popcorn on the stovetop. I put the pot on the stove, poured in the oil and covered it. When I opened the lid to pour in the kernels, fire shot straight up from the pot. I screeched and picked up the pot, removing it from the heat, but instead of sitting the pot in the sink and tossing flour on it, I set the pot on the floor and put the lid back on. Now, the fire smothered but the pan burnt a hole through the vinyl floor. There's a reason micorwave popcorn is such a success.

** When Rich and I had been dating a few months I went to his parents' house with him for a weekend. He told me we were going out for the evening with friends so I put on a pair of black tights, my Doc Martens, a black miniskirt and a long sweater. (Shut up, it was 1994!) We drove over to a convenience store, picked up a case of beer and then picked up a couple of his brother's friends, drove to the top of an abandoned coal mine and sat up there for hours, drinking beer. This is only stupid because of the tights and how hard it is for women to pee outside anyway. In my defense, though, where I was from "going out" meant going to a bar.

In previous posts I've already listed the incredibly stuipd incident about the haircolor and the fiasco with the car and my garage door so I think I'll stop for now. My ego can only take so much of a beating at once. But if you haven't read those, you should. There are valuable lessons to be learned.

Really, there are valuable lessons to be learned from any mistake we make, no matter how stupid we may feel at the time, no matter how embarrassed we may be or how expensive it is to fix. So don't overlook the stupid things. Even if they are only good for a laugh!

It's a Thinker

My husband is working in Puerto Rico (yep, WORKING in Puerto Rico. I feel bad for him, don't you? ) and so I'm a little at loose ends. But my minion and I got into an interesting chat earlier from which arose this question. It's an interesting question for a lazy, lazy Sunday. Feel free to play along.

If you could have a free, lifetime supply of one of the following, which would you choose? Housekeeper, masseuse, landscaper, personal secretary, childcare. And why? (Well, you know I'm going to ask why. A multiple choice is never as fun as an essay, is it?)

I'm having a struggle with this question. I can skip the childcare right away as non-essential since the in-laws are so close and I don't have to leave the house for work. And I'd love to be able to nix the masseuse as unnecessary as well, but I've had good massages and the ability to get them frequently is mighty, mighty tempting. Especially if said masseuse might be tall, blonde, muscular and named Sven.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I hate housekeeping and yardwork equally with a fury that should burn away all the dirt or leaves, but does not. However, I sunburn easily so I'm going to have to get rid of the housekeeper too in favor of the landscaper. The personal secretary is so tempting but seems incredibly indulgent to me. I'm going to have to go with landscaper. It kind of makes me breathe easier just to think of it.

So? What do you think?