Bernie Madoff: The Cookie Monster?

Well, the old guy got what he deserved yesterday, & then some. But Your Humble Scribe is here to tell you that there's a silver lining to this dark storm cloud that has been hovering over Wall Street since Bernie Madoff's December arrest.

Hard to feel sorry, really, for a guy with those initials. And BM's on his way to the Big House. Which means we won't have to indulge in Madoff humor much longer.

The Madoff jokes are just plain mean. The man generates such a visceral hatred. But I reckon that fleecing your "friends" of $65 billion-plus could engender that kind of dislike. A brief sampling, from the Web:

A Feather Adrift offers the best advice Madoff has received since being nabbed for his Ponzi scheme.

American XS got in on the act in "Weak End to Bernie Madoff "by equating "massive financial fraud with a classic 80's movie."

This February 23rd New York Magazine cover won some sort of award for turning Bernie into The Joker. To quote The Dark Knight, ""I believe…whatever doesn’t kill you simply makes you…stranger."

Is It Just Me? says, "So I guess Ruth Madoff’s main cooking tip would be to knead the dough until it’s gone." Mrs. Madoff apparently really did once write a book on Kosher cooking. Who knew?

NYC publishing house Simon & Schuster actually is marketing this book. It could be yours for a mere $9.95. It's an update on a 2003 title that's been customized just for Mr. Madoff. "There was no mistaking who he was," Borowitz writes. "The silver hair, those beady eyes, that sheepish expression that makes him look like a guilty hamster."

But here's the best bash on Bernie & it's not even all that mean-spirited. I'd like to share a little bit of sweet humor coming out of the scanal. In this clip, Ernie & the Cookie Monster "explain" how BM's Ponzi scheme worked, in a spoof on "Jimmy Kimmel Live."

OK, no handguns allowed on PBS. But it's pretty funny ain't it?

I only have one more question. Who would you cast in a "Sesame Street" scene explaining Martha Stewart's Wall Street wickedness?

Warning: New Blogger Ahead!

The youngest chica made the big leap yesterday. As part of a project for school, she entered the blogosphere.

Ella Numera Dos is the proud new owner of a photo blog. She's going to spend the summer visiting other blogs & trying to learn as much as she can about this fluctuating medium we call cyberspace. As part of that, she'll be working toward developing an independent study rubric for her Studio Art/Photo major.

Please drop by MOO & give my little gal some encouragement. Those of you who do weekly photo *memes* such as Weekly Winners & Photo Hunt doubtless will see Ella Numera Dos around. And her Ol' Mama (that would be moi) has told the kid that the blogosphere is a welcoming place, so please make her feel at home.

She wasn't shy about jumping into the deep end. In fact, I think my chica is playing along with Odd Shots, today.

The kid's got a lot of the photo stuff down, as you can see in the mosaic above, but obviously she's still learning. The blogging part will be hit-and-miss. If you see a place where Ella can improve in either venue, please let her know.

Ella Numera Dos snapped all of the Superior Shots above, except for one. That would be the Longhorn Tatoo, captured by Yours Truly. And we know how her Mama feels about that.

Sx3: This is Just So Mickey Mouse!

Hey there, Scribe Fans, & welcome to our weekly Silly Sunday Sweepstakes!

A little background, before we proceed. My children are deprived, you see. In all of their born days, I never, ever...not once...took them to a Disney theme park. A Mommy Dearest Moment, for sure.

So, the snap above pictures a quite overwhelmed Ella Numera Una, who on her first visit to Disney World at the ripe old age of 19, was completely overwhelmed by that Big Mouse they've got down there.

You Sx3 veterans know what to do, correctamundo? For the rest of you neophytes out there, here's the dealy-O. Take a gander at this Superior Snap. Then, Conjure a Caption for Said Snap, and tippy-type that caption real quick-like in the comment section of this post.

You won't win anything tangible for all your trials & tribulations. Just Mrs. Scribe's undying love & affection. And what could be better than that?

6-Word Saturday: Thrilla Near Manilla

This 2007 YouTube vid purports to show 1,500+ prisoners from the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines rehearsing their Michael Jackson stylings. Those in charge at the time apparently thought teaching the inmates at this maximum-security prison the zombie routine from the "Thriller" video would help keep the boys mentally & physically fit.

They're going to pay tribute today

to the ultimate showman, Michael Jackson.

Even in death, The King of

Pop reigns supreme thruout the world.

There, I've gone & done it. In my enthusiasm for All Things Michael Jackson, I'm celebrating 6-Word Saturday with 24 words instead of the customary 6. Sorry about that, Cate! Don't know what time the prisoners will reinact their Thrilla Near Manilla, but know it should be BIG.

Fx4: When Dick Clark was Cool & Michael Jackson was Cute

I have a confession to make. I've had a 40-year crush on Michael Jackson.

Well, the physical attraction hasn't been there for some time. But, to paraphrase Renée Zellweger, he had me at "ABC" & "I Want You Back."

I'm old enough to remember Dick Clark when that iconic...& now pretty sad...schlockmeister hosted Michael & his 4 brothers on "American Bandstand." I'm ancient enough to have brief subconscious glimmers of The Jackson 5's grainy & somewhat screechy appearances on "The Ed Sullivan Show."

I'd give both performances a "98," Dick. Peppy lyrics & still awesome to dance to.

As a mature gal now, I'd like to think I bask in the security of middle age. But every time I hear something from Michael Jackson's pre-"Thriller" catalogue, my heart is his, once again.

Yes, before the drugs & Lisa Marie Presley & Neverland Ranch & the urge to resemble Diana Ross, Michael Jackson was, in his own right, adorable.

We over in Scribe Land have been rendered speechless by the death of the self-proclaimed King of Pop, which as y'all know, is quite a rarity over here. Michael Jackson is part of my history. His various incarnations, at least in the early years, defined & shaped my life.

A few fun Jackson 5 facts. There are 9 Jackson siblings. Michael was the 7th. Only 5 of the boys comprised the original Motown group. Their father abused the kids, especially Michael, who became the family cash cow at the age of 8 or 9. This doesn't excuse MJ's later transgressions, but no wonder he had a few screws loose.

Don't know the exact vintage of this video, but Mike & his bros performed more than once on Dick Clark's "Bandstand."

RIP to the little boy who taught me my ABC's. So many will be talking today about the weirdness of your sunset years, but I'll always remember your artfully fun & definitely forceful personality. Oh, and that amazing 'Fro, Bro.

Candid Carrie & her Friday Foto Finish Fiesta are screening this video for y'all today. Moonwalk, anyone?

A Funeral for a Friend

Summer's just started; swim season, too. We weren't supposed to be going to a funeral.

But there we were. The 13-year-old who holds several pool records in his age group, dressed up in khakis and a button-down shirt. His little brothers, too. I turned to Ella Numera Dos and asked, "Have we ever seen them in anything other than swimsuits?"

One of our former assistant coaches, who grew up on our community pool deck, was there, looking stunning & all grown up at the age of almost-25. She has a "real" job now. She commutes to work.

The team postponed swim practice yesterday to honor a friend. Our team's mentor, who loved the sport so much that he would hang around after meets to work on starts & flip-turns with all the little guys, including the 13-year-old sitting in front of us yesterday at the funeral, died of pancreatic cancer last week.

He was just 49 years old.

He served his country in the Navy. He encouraged his family to love swimming, the sport that embraced him so many years ago. He immersed himself in the community, most recently as "Commander" of our summer swim team.

His 3 kids, pictured above with Ella Numera Una in happier times, put on their brave faces to honor their Dad yesterday. His wife, probably the strongest person I know, delivered the eulogy.

Our tiny church sanctuary, which sits about 350 souls comfortably, was jammed. When the pews could hold no more, folks stood in the back. Mr. Fairway, head usher, set up folding chairs in the hallway outside, & when those were filled, sent the overflow to the chapel. Mr. F. said that 600+, easily, attended the service.

The 3 little swimmer boys in front of us in the church were a study in contrasts. The 8-year-old, whose chlorine-infused locks were having a difficult time lying down on top of his head, seemed to wonder why his Mom was so sad. The middle boy, who's 11, appeared to understand the gravitas of the occasion, but kept moving closer to his older brother, as if proximity would clarify things.

The big guy, the 13-year-old swimming phenom, will wipe his challengers all over the pool deck on Saturday. But yesterday was for tears. He wasn't afraid to wipe his eyes with his fists. After all, his buddy died last week.

DC: Mayberry with Monuments

Photo by The Chicago Sun-Times

DC's summers are known for their "slow news cycle." The politicians get out of town; the paper & the local TV Talking Heads gorge themselves on soft features about the National Zoo's Giant Pandas & the Smithsonian Folklife Festival.

Until yesterday, that is. And in the wake of the worst DC Metro crash in the subway system's 33-year history, I am reminded once again of what a small town I really live in.

Ignore the fact that at about 600,000 folks, DC is a pretty dinky metropolis. Ignore the fact that the city only encompasses about 68 square miles. DC & its Sister Suburbs in Maryland & Virginia are united by a pretty amazing, Star Wars-esque mode of transportation.

We DC-ites (yes, even in the 'burbs, we consider ourselves to be part of DC) generally take Metro for granted. The system of above- and below-ground trains & buses is clean& generally runs on time. Stations are located conveniently thruout the 3-jurisdiction system.

OK, nothing's perfect. We bitch when the trains are late; when bus drivers miss our stops; when weather wads the whole works up. But we're always smiling inside. We know that we're better than New York, Chicago, LA, because we have Metro.

When The Scribes lived on Capitol Hill, Metro was part of daily life. When we moved to the 'burbs, Mr. Fairway still took Metro into DC every day for work. We ride Metro to National Airport. We ride Metro to take DC Nationals games. Metro construction still disrupts our lives, as crews build an extension that will eventually reach out to our other local airport, west of town.

While many of my high school teaching brethren across the country have to hassle with hiring buses to take their charges on field trips, I never think twice. Metro is always the way to go.

That's why Monday's crash was more than jarring for those of us in the DC metropolitan area. Everyone we know rides Metro. And because those of us in Fairfax County, Virginia, for example, don't differentiate between our neighborhood & let's say, Silver Spring, Maryland, we were all concerned when one 6-car train rammed another during rush hour on Monday.

Facebook lit up with folks from PG County to Arlington, asking after friends who ride Metro. I know that The Scribe Family was more than a little concerned about 2 families we know who ride the Red Line daily. Ella Numera Dos received a call from a college friend clear across the country in Salt Lake City, asking if she was OK.

The photo above shows Metro at its most crowded, on Inauguration Day earlier this year. 1.2 million folks rode the DC rails that day. Yesterday's commute on the Red Line was not nearly as crowded. Taking into account that summer is here...and DC really does clear out in the summertime...and that the 2 trains involved in the accident were headed into town, only 76 people went to area hospitals.

That doesn't minimize the loss of the 9 who died on Monday. The images of Monday's crash are jarring, which is why I chose not to picture them today. I'm just happy that Metro is here; it's the DC area's way of staying in touch.

This modern convenience makes life easier. It makes us friendlier, & it keeps us cross-polinating across the Potomac, which I think is a very good thing.

So don't call DC cold, removed, magisterial. Think of Our Nation's Capital as Mayberry--with Monuments.

Oh, Bull! But We Have a Winner...

Man, it didn't used to be THIS hard to get a credit card!

Congrats to Vodka Mom. She wins the $50 Tar-Jay Gift Card, courtesy of The Scholastic Scribe's Silly Sunday Sweepstakes.

Vodka Mom was quite prolific on Sunday. Here's the other caption she conjured as part of Sx3 for this Superior Snap:

Okay, we kissed the frog, we slept on the hundred mattresses we spoke his name, and now we gotta do WHAT? Well, FORGET it.

Please stop in and visit Vodka at her place, I Need a Martini Mom. Her profile says she loves "to laugh," and I was intrigued by this little snippet from her About Me section.

"I am a teacher, a writer, and the mother of three children. I've decided I'll never give up. No matter how many battles I lose; no matter how many tears I shed; no matter how many martinis I have to drink, I will continue to fight the good fight!"

Bravo, Vodka; and felicidades, ¡también!

Chicago Reflection: Can You See What I See?

This Superior Snap is from the same Chicago trip that yesterday's Sx3 shot came from. And speaking of which, the Target Gift Card is still very much up for grabs. Mr. Fairway is deciding at 11:59 p.m. tonite. I'm announcing the winner tomorrow morning right here.

So, conjure a caption. I just know you want to win!

Can you find the kids who took this shot? Look at the girl in the red blouse, at the center/bottom of the photo. Over her right shoulder, is a person in a white tank top. Right above her, is a group of 3. You can see Ella Numera Una raising her arms to take the photo, right?

Summer is really underway over here in Scribe Land. All I can say is, "Praise Jesus!"

Sx3: What A Lot of Bull

Welcome, one & all, to The Scholastic Scribe's Silly Sunday Sweepstakes. You veterans know what to do, right? For the rest of ya, here's the dealy-O...

Take a long, long look at this Superior Snap. Then conjure a caption for said snap, & tippy-type it real quick-like in the comments section of this post.

That's it, Scribe Fans! In honor of the Summer Solstice & all (today's the longest day of the year, by far!), Mrs. Scribe is offering a $50 Target Gift Card to the best caption. Mr. Fairway will be the judge, & we'll announce the winner on Tuesday!

So that means 3 things, y'all.: a) You need to get to conjuring right away; b) You must tickle Mr. Fairway's funny bone, tout de suite, & c) Sx3 in all its glory is open until 11:59 p.m. on Monday, June 22. It's as simple as that!

You'd best get crackin', huh? You snooze, you lose!

6-Word Saturday: School's Out!

Yesterday I wrapped up the school year with a ridiculous ritual, practiced by most all teachers. Pack up everything in the room. Make sure the flag is stowed properly. Nothing but furniture on the floor.

That means The Barney Cabinet is crammed to the gils. The Mickey D Toyz are dusted and boxed away. Even the leftover yearbooks have made their summer pilgrimage to the main office, in case someone wants to pick one up.

SUMMER NEVER SOUNDED SO GOOD, HUH?

I didn't draft an Ode to Summertime this year. Just happy to be here on my back deck & away from all the high school janx for a couple of months. This message brought to you by Cate & her 6-Word Saturday.

Candid Carrie Goes Hunting

Follow me back quite a few years, to Burlington, Iowa, and a duck blind on the Mississippi River. Here I am with my friend Ann. Her Dad woke us up at Oh, Dark Thirty to go duck hunting. Seriously. I think I was about Ella Numera Una's age at the time.

Suffice it to say that neither one of us knew the difference between a duck's beak & a butthole. And, being the scardy-cat that I am, even the mention of a gun was a pretty daunting proposition.

Annie & I just sat & watched her Dad do the dirty work. We were cold, the duck blind reeked & we must have been bad luck...the closest any of us came to bagging a feathered friend was when we got back to the house & I took a long, hot bath with my Rubber Ducky.

Don't know if Candid Carrie does any hunting up Wisconsin Way, but today she's hosting her weekly Friday Foto Finish Fiesta TGIF, y'all!

Obama: Pretty Fly for a Prez Guy

We have so much bad news circling our heads these days-Iran, Iraq, Korea, the Economy, GM-that it's always a good thing to add some levity to the convo. Here's a clip of Our Prez doing just that.

He apparently was sitting for an interview with John Harwood of CNBC when what Harwood terms a "quite persistent" fly began circling the President's head.

Don't know about y'all, but I can see this fly-swatting as the perfect metaphor.

Take that, Kim Jung Il! So there, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad! Don't mess with me, AIG!

Summer's Here: Arrrrrrrggggggghhh!

Now that everyone's home, we're starting the Summer Cycle in Scribeland. Pool. Lunch. Pool. Errands. Pool. More pool. La Piscina.

The summer splashdown is here, for everyone but Mom, who has 2 more days of school left. Time to find the lifeguard suits, check the googles for leaks, make sure we've got a little bit of SPF 8 or higher hanging around the house.

Both girls have been competitive swimmers most of their young lives. I was ruminating the other day, & actually came up with some pretty impressive data. Ella Numera Una started splashing competitively the Summer of the Broken Jaw. That would be make this her 16th summer at Ye Olde Swimming Hole.

She's been a swimmer, a lifeguard, a coach, a manager, a group & private swim lesson instructor. If this weren't a community pool, I supposed she'd be in line to be the Club CEO sometime soon.

Then there's the matter of Ella Numera Dos. She started competing the summer when she was 4. She's an August baby, so that means the numbers are in her favor every summer season. Although she goes to school with kids her age, she's always swum with those one year younger. That can be quite an advantage when you're talking about a sport where seconds make the difference.

Part of the fun of summer swim season is the team spirt. This involves skits, dressing up, cookouts, potlucks &, of course, the weekly Saturday morning meet. Although our team is the Cardinals, the kids adopted a pirate theme several years ago. And now that Ella Numera Dos is a coach, she's going to be able to lead the quasi-intricate-and super silly-pirate cheers that have been crafted over several seasons.

So, here's to summer. Hope you put a little Arrrrrrggggggghhh! in yours!

Congratulations, Graduate!

Look at that face! Could she be any more ecstatic?

We had 80-degree temps, a bright blue sky backwashed with puffy, non-threatening clouds, and a wonderful weekend with family & friends.

Our chica is a College Graduate!

Graduation day is tough for adults. They go to the ceremony as parents. They come home as contemporaries. After twenty-two years of child-raising, they are unemployed. ~Erma Bombeck, humor columnist

A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad. ~Theodore Roosevelt, 26th US President

Don't live down to expectations. Go out there and do something remarkable. ~Wendy Wasserstein, playwright

Love is in the Air?

Hey there, Scribe Fans. I'm off enjoying Ella Numera Una's college graduation right now. But my good bloggy friend, Candid Carrie, is helping me out. She posted this Amorous Snap this past week, & I just felt compelled to steal it for my Silly Sunday Sweepstakes.

You Sx3 veterans know what to do. Take a gander at the Superior Snap above. Then, conjur a caption for said snap, & tippy-type it real quick-like in the comments section of this post.

That's all there is to it, folks! You won't win anything tangible for your efforts this time around, but there's a rumor afloat that Mrs. Scribe might be kicking in with a Tar-Jay gift card next week. In honor of the end of school, & all that janx.

So get commenting...the More the Merrier, is what we always say!

SWS: Airport Security Made a Clean Sweep

6-Word Saturday is underway, & I wanted to take a bite out of something that bothers me.

Dude stole my tube of toothpaste.

This has never happened to me before. Seriously. Of course, since 9-11 we've all learned to live with the hassles of air travel. Heck, I live in the DC area, and I was flying out of National Airport. I'm grateful for the thorough security they have there.

Yesterday, however, I suffered an out-of-body experience. The first security gal took a long, hard look at my driver's license. She kept looking from the ID to me & back again. Yes, I know the snap on my new license is hideous, lady. New security precautions in VA dictate that I wasn't allowed to smile for that particular portrait.

But she didn't have to rub it in.

Then, I met the most helpful security dude. He got me 3 bins (I'm one of those annoying folks who carries on everything) & then helped me sort everything out. He then hefted my rolly onto the belt.

Service with a smile.

And speaking of smiles, one of Letterman's sidekicks was working the metal detector thingy, I think. He commented on my T-Shirt, then made a little joke. I joked back & then he joked back at me.

I was headed to my Happy Place. And as everyone knows, that's difficult at an airport.

I collected my backpack, my laptop, my shoes. But my rolly went missing. Turns out Security Guy from Hell was holding it hostage, over at one of those stainless steel tables they have in the screening area.

He investigated my cosmetics, such as they are. He dug thru the zippered pouch in which I keep my incidentals & unquestionables-actually, I use my Dad's old shaving kit. He unwound the clothes that I had carefully rolled (in a feeble attempt to prevent wrinkles) & he pawed thru the lovely blouses and skirts I'd packed so carefully.

I'm attending a college graduation this weekend. I want to look spiffy, ya know.

SGFH finally looked at me, grinned & zipped the rolly back up. Then, just when I thought I was in the clear, he hoisted it back on the screening belt.

Two. More. Times. Then he pawed thru my Dad's shaving kit once again. And hit the jackpot.

He'd discovered my secret stash of toothpaste. 6.4 ounces of Colgate, according to the label. Although I'd testify in court that it was more like the allowable 3 ounces, since the tube had been squeezed down a good 3 ounces or so.

"You're not allowed to have this," he mumbled in my direction.

"Sorry," I muttered contritely. Don't want to get these gentlemen angry now, do we?

I wonder if he was being so thorough because of Wednesday's shooting at the Holocaust Memorial Museum. I wonder if he takes home the stuff he confiscates on the job.

The Fire Wire contributed the image. Cate at Show My Face contributes Six Word Saturday. Thank you for your support.

Rush Limbaugh is Bad for America

Dear Mr. Limbaugh:

First of all, I have to refrain from calling you "Rush," as so many others do; I don't know you, and hope our paths never cross.

Now, don't get me wrong. I hold no personal enmity toward you. I just think you're a bad man. And that you-and your opinions-do nothing but fan the fires of hatred.

Let me tell you a little about me. I've live in the DC area for more than 20 years. I consider myself a "native," as far as one can be a native of the Capital of the Free World. And no, I'm not one of those bloviated buttheads who spews nonsense at the drop of a hat.

That would be you, sir.

Perhaps you heard what happend in DC a couple of days ago. A deranged old man burst into the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum-a museum dedicated to fighting hatred-with a rifle. He didn't say a word. He raised his gun and fired. A museum security guard fell dead; the guard's comrades returned fire.

The shooter is now in critical condition at The George Washington University Hospital. Both shooting victims-the guard and the lunatic-were brought to GW because it has the best trauma unit in the region.

Perhaps you remember-GW is where they brought President Reagan when John Hinckly tried to assasinate him in 1981.

I've been listening to the all-news radio station since the murder at the museum, and I've heard some amazing things. Everyone seems to be saying that we should come together in the wake of this senseless crime; that we should learn to help one another; that we should be patient, kind and tolerant. That is the lesson in the Holocaust, they say: Love thy neighbor as thyself. Leviticus didn't lie.

Everyone in positions of power seems to want to share the message of peace. Everyone, I'd say, except for you.

Instead of using your soapbox to heal wounds, you use it to make those injuries fester. Instead of investing some of your unimaginable popularity in the cause of bringing Americans together, you prefer to tear us apart.

Your only loyalty, it seems, is to yourself.

You said yesterday that nut job who stormed the Holocaust Museum has "more in common with the marchers and protesters we see at left-wing rallies...the New Left is a collection of extremists that rip at the very fabric of society."

You should be ashamed, Mr. Limbaugh. In a pathetic attempt to manipulate the millions who blindly follow you, you managed yesterday to link the murder at the Holocaust Museum to Judge Sonia Sotomayor, to President Barack Obama, to chaos in Gaza, to the extermination of 6 million Jews.

I'm all for the protections of the First Amendment, but you really need to do a little self-censoring here. Enough with the hate-filled invective. My guess is that James W. Von Brunn is an avid Rush Limbaugh fan. People like you, Mr. Limbaugh, fan the flames of intolerance for people like him.

At a time when most of us see the need to united instead of to divide, you feel the need to get in a pissing match with the Devil.

My Texas Daddy had a term for folks like you.

Pudknocker.

Look it up, Rush. And if you have any interest at all in healing old wounds, you need to shut your yap, too.

Ben & Jerry's Alert!

Y'all have seen the Barney Cabinet before, correctamundo? It's where we store yearbooks & other important journalistic janx. Also the repository of teenaged graffiti dating back to 1966.

What you see here in the above snap, besides the gakking Happy Face & all, is the remainder of our '09 Yearbook Stash. For the record, we have 141 books left. 71 have already been spoken for. That means, butofcourse, we have 70 left to sell.

Think I'll give three away to departing/retiring teachers. The gal who compared Our Humble High School's student-run newspaper to Playboy and/or Hustler deserves one for giving us cover on the letters-to-the-ed front. The other 2 are retirees-don't really care for the Old Crone who's my department chair, but what the hell. And I adore the other abuelita, who's retiring to partake in grandmothering full-time.

We've been selling about 25 yearbooks a day. Let's see...25 per day, with 7 days of school left? I'm optimistic about getting rid of 'em. And at $70 a pop, I see some new computer and camera equipment on the horizon for my journalistas.

This just in, courtesy of The Washington Post: The local plant that makes Ben & Jerry's for our neck o' the woods is shutting down. Whatever shall we do? For the record, the factory also makes Klondike Bars, Popsicles & other novelty ice cream for Good Humor.

Drat...there goes my diet!

Wanda Sykes, Rush Limbaugh & Moi

Your Humble Scribe is not known for her tact. Nor her beauty. Sometimes, I hit a home run in the Humor Department, but I'm no Wanda Sykes.

When I started this blog almost 15 months ago, I saw it as an outlet. You see, I like to write. And if you've had any doubts about that, Dear Friends, the proof is in the posts: 435, to date. Some, of course, were WAY better than others, but we won't go to the Dark Side just yet.

What about the 9-11 Memory? I really needed to write those feelings out. Or my quasi-encounter with the Runaway Trucker? My Main Man, Mr. Fairway, encouraged me to vent my frustrations in a quick post, which in turn turned into a diatribe.

A lot of them are like that.

But there have also been the short-and dare I say "sweet"?-posts, too. The Christmas Breasts come to mind. And my observations about Michael Phelps & other swimmers who are all wet.

I've connected on the Social Justice scene, too. I have to say I'm really quite proud of everything I've said in past posts about Yoshio Nakada & those like him.

If this particular post sounds like a valedictory, well, it's not. It's more of an attempt to get to the bottom of things around here. You see, I've got a tracking gizmo monitoring this blog, & I'm a tad confused.

Sitemeter tells me I have an average of 110 "page views" a day. I've had more than 36,500 "hits" since March 31, 2008. I'm told by folks who say they know that page views are better than hits; but to me, a number is just a number. And those numbers add up to quite a few visitors, in my book.

So why is it, y'all, that even on a really good day-say, like a Superior Silly Sunday Sweepstakes-I get a handful of comments?

I'm told that those who visit my blog must keep returning for the content. But I have to say, folks, that sometimes I think I'm talking to myself.

For those who are fans, thanks for sticking around. For those who are new to me, please come back again real soon. And for those who choose to comment in this space, you're the best!

And about Wanda Sykes. Did you hear what she said about Rush Limbaugh?

Don't Forget the Sunscreen

My kid is getting ready to graduate from college. I'm not ready. I don't think I ever will be.

The child who was always prone to accidents will be accepting her college diploma next weekend. The little girl who logged more time in the ER than the docs on the show of the same name will be launching herself into orbit in 5 days.

I'm just not prepared to face the inevitable. My Baby is a Grown-Up now.

We knew she was special from the get-go. 3 weeks late; 12+ plus hours of labor; 3 hours of pushing, and she came out looking at the ceiling. Sunnyside Up, they said. The doctors cautioned she'd never make it all the way out the womb alive, & rushed us in for an emergency C-section.

Guess you could say she was pointed toward the horizon from the very beginning of her young life.

She'd had 3 operations by her 2nd birthday. Hernia, plus 2 trips in for ear tubes. She suffered colic, whooping cough and enough ear infections to keep us up 24/7 for a month. She was mauled by a dog on her 1st Thanksgiving.

The ER physician on that trip in said, "By the time she's old enough to care, she won't have a reminder anymore." Well, she's still got a tiny little upside-down "V" on the side of her upper lip.

When we moved to the 'Burbs, we settled in to what we thought would be a mellow life. On a visit to a friend's house down the street, however, an 8-year-old boy drove his new golf club into my 7-year-old chica's jaw.

"It was an accident," the little boy said. A "green stem fracture," the ER doc called it. She drank milkshakes for 6 weeks & the jaw healed on its own.

10 years later she & that little boy worked together at the pool. No one mentioned the golf club or the jaw. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who still dwells on it.

For all the complications of her early childhood, however, Ella Numera Una grew up to be fearless. She swam the entire Summer of the Broken Jaw. She later joined a basketball team, and competed against girls twice her size.

She usually got the best of them, too.

I remember every fall, every scar, every trauma-for her & for me. I know that I have to let go now. But when she accepts her diploma on Sunday, and marches off to fight her own battles, I'll know something else.

The strength with which she owns her own life is no accident.

Editor's Note: The preceding is a June entry in The Random Complexity Writing Challenge. It clocks in at 437. No PCs, Macs or other techie gizmos were harmed in the production of this post.

No Empty Calories Here

I have sung the praises of blogger Michelle Mitchell & her blog, Scribbit, in this space before. Her e-book, Blogging in Pink, has been particularly helpful in getting The Scholastic Scribe organized & ready for Prime Time Blogging.

Michelle features an eclectic selection of posts each week. But one of her regular features, which really intrigues me, is her monthly Write-Away Contest.

The theme of this month's contest is "Food." OK, I'm the first to admit that I'm no Paula Deen. But it just so happens that I've recently written about Ben & Jerry's, the Nectar of the Gods, in a critically acclaimed (OK, by the 12 bloggers who commented, anyway) post, "The Ben & Jerry's Stressbusters Diet."

I encourage y'all to enter Michelle's write-away contest this month, & every month. She's doing a good thing for the craft of writing, the art of blogging & for those of us who wish to tune up our skills.

Some of us write to relieve stress. Some of us eat Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk. If it's all the same to y'all, I'd rather do both. Although I'd hazard a guess that the writing part of this equation is probably better for my health. Unless it engenders stress...but that's a story for another day.

Sx3: The Cat's Meow?

This is Rudy. He's one spoiled Kitty Kat. He's also an avid sports fan. Look how intent he was during the 1st NBA Finals game. Think he's rooting for Kobe & the Lakers, since he lives with my Lil' Sis in Cali.

You Silly Sunday Sweepstakes Vets know what to do, correctamundo? Just take a gander at this Superior Snap. Then Conjure a Caption. Tippy-type said caption real quick-like in the comments section of this post. And that's all there is to it!

You will not, of course, win anything tangible for your creativity. Just Mrs. Scribe's undying love & admiration. Plus, you'll make quite a few folks chuckle a great deal. And that's somethin', ain't it?

The Ben & Jerry's Stressbusters Diet

I was thinking about naming this post, "Fashionista Du Jour." Wore above T-shirt to school yesterday, & was quite the popular chica. I'm thinking every day will be Casual Friday from here on out. Not that I really get all gussied up for school, anyway...

A brief look at my week thus far, plus a glimpse of my Ben & Jerry's Stressbusters Diet:

Monday: Yearbooks delivered to the Journalism Office. Yearbook Staff chicas make progress on the program they've designed for graduation. Newspaper seniors shriek at one another over upcoming Senior Issue. I refuse to mediate, preferring instead to sell 116 yearbooks in one day. Mrs. Scribe stops at 7-11 on the way home & purchases, then consumes, a tasty LARGE bag of Peanut M&M's.

Tuesday: Senior issue runs into production problems. 9th-grader suffers meltdown. I attend mind-numbing, but basically mandatory, retirement party for teachers I don't particularly care for. Yearbook staff starts distribution after school. Many choruses of Senior Angst. Mrs. Scribe stops at the Gyro Place on the way home, with a side trip to the grocery store for 2 pints of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk. They were on sale, ya know!

Wednesday: Senior issue of the newspaper arrives. Students distribute, I melt into a little puddle on a couch in the main office. Respond to countless more e-mails. Help underclass journalistas work on their last issue of the year. Graduation program corrected, proofed, corrected, proofed, sent out for printing, with no guarantee that the dern thing is done. I sell yearbooks, skip lunch to sell more yearbooks, administer a final exam to 6th- & 7th-period seniors, grade said exam, enter grades, induct a few Cherubs into the Journalism Honor Society, jackass several boxes of yearbooks prior to after-school distribution, answer frantic questions from students, parents & teachers while trying to remain pleasant, snag a slice of pizza at the Spanish Honor Society meeting, total up about $3,000 in yearbook receipts, deposit said funds with finance office. Mrs. Scribe stops at Starbucks on the way home for a latte & a double-fudge brownie.

Today: More yearbook distribution janx on the horizon. Brought my lunch today, so at least I can regulate that. Mrs. Scribe plans to stop by the French Club's end-of-year party after school. Crêpes & parfaits could be calling her name.

So, the question I have for y'all: Who needs Jenny Craig?

Methinks the Lady Doth Protest Just Enough!

When last we saw Mrs. Scribe, she was concerned about perceptions & fixin' to jackass her some yearbooks.

Well, thanks a ton, y'all, for your advice on the first quandary & commiseration on the second. The good news is that no yearbook riots ensued yesterday. But stay tuned, since we've got at least a week's worth of yearbook distribution ahead of us.

The better news is that my Cherubs received a letter-to-the-editor from a respected and beloved teacher, objecting, in the nicest way possible, to the content of the kids' latest editorial janx. This means my earnest journalistas will be able to run all of the letters-to-the-ed that support them, while still showing that they're fair & balanced after all by printing this one, as well.

Here's the letter. If you look at it critically & consider the source, it's even a bit of a back-assward compliment. The letter has been edited slightly for this space to protect the innocent, etc.

To the Editors:

For the past 20 years I have enjoyed reading my copies of our student-run newspaper. The Newspaper and its staff have been especially generous to me and the coverage of my teaching career. However, your most recent edition was both shocking and too much over the edge.

The story about sexting offended many of your readers, myself included. Don’t get me wrong; the story itself is an important one for the 21st Century. However, the way it was written was insulting to readers. The opening line about math was completely out of line and done in poor taste.

When we live in a society that continually displays and condones inappropriate behavior, where are we headed in life? There are so many ways to express ourselves in a professional manner and the opening line of that story was vulgar. You should strive to be a student paper with high values, morals, and a caliber toward professionalism. In what type of U.S. publication do you think you would find this type of expression? Perhaps within the pages of Playboy or Hustler?

I think it is your professional responsibility to represent Our Humble High School and our community in a positive manner and strive for journalism excellence. Don’t fall victim to yellow journalism or sensationalism; there’s enough of that trash on MTV, MTV2, VHI, etc. Set your standards high and make all of us proud. I sincerely hope that the staff of The Newspaper will edit and think twice before publishing this type of material in the future.

Ms. History Teacher

I think the Lady Doth Protest Just Enough. What do you think, Gentle Readers?

For more about this & other captivating Tales from The Fun House, please visit Mr. Teacher today. He's got a whole Carnival set up over there!

Yearbook: It's a Riot!

When my Texas Daddy worked out in the yard, he did a heck of a lot more than mow the lawn. He'd haul a wheelbarrow full of rocks here; load a truck-full of wood there. He'd come in for lunch all sweaty & beat & the convo would go somethin' like this.

Me: "How're ya doin', Daddy?"
Him: "I'm tahred. Plum tuckered out."
Me: "Whatcha been doin', Daddy?"
Him: "Oh, just jackassin' a few things around the Back 40."

One of my favorite memories of my Dad was his diction. When he was jackassin', you knew more than just plain ol' hard work was involved.

I spent the better part of yesterday jackassin' yearbooks out in the Back 40 of Our Humble High School. The books...all 1,500 of them or so contained in about 100 boxes...have to get from storage to the Journalista Office. From there they get unpacked.

But that's for tomorrow, and the Yearbook Riot.

Yes, the kids do more than jostle when it's time to pick up their yearbooks after school. Your Humble Scribe has been physically assaulted (kid didn't get to walk at graduation), verbally mutilated (same, plus no Prom) and mentally abused (too many to punish) over all the years I've done this yearbook janx.

So tomorrow, which is on schedule to be the hottest & most humid of the year so far, will test my mettle once again. I wonder if things were more serene back in the Good Ol' Days? And, oh, clockwise from left: Mariah Carey, Sean P. Diddy Puff Daddy Combs, Barack Obama, Snoop Dogg, Brad Pitt, Madonna, Pamela Anderson & Bruce The Boss Springsteen.

It's Not Watergate, but Still...

As the final days of school wrap up, Mrs. Scribe finds herself in somewhat of a quandary.

Those of you who tuned in to Sex Gate the last couple of weeks know that I met with Principal Man, my administrator & department chair. He cleared the air a tad; I spoke my piece & stood up for my students; he came to the conclusion that he believed in my journalistas' right to free speech & won't censor the newspaper.

That was my big worry. But now I'm feeling bad for him. Feeling sorry for the schmoe who put me & my staff thru 10 days of Chinese Water Torture; feeling empathy for the schmuck who tried to get me to jump thru 7 hoops & 15 rings of fire because some on the faculty & in the community yelled at him; second-guessing my professional instincts because of what is about to happen to him.

Our final issue of the year comes out next week. In it, my newspaper staff will run another editorial, but this time the message will be a tad different. We're still learning, they'll say to their readers; perhaps the lead paragraph of the last editorial was a tad racy; if we had it to do all over again perhaps, they say, they'd tone it down a bit.

A mea culpa, of sorts.

On the other opinion page, opposite this teenaged apology (an oxymoron?) will be several letters-to-the-editor. Not at all unusual for the student-run newspaper, considering the talk that their last issue engendered.

But not one of these letters is written in support of Principal Man.

He, and my administrator, tell me he's "heard" from up to 100 folks about the salaciousness of the material in our mid-May issue. After talking it out last week, sounds to moi like a lot of that was talk. The reason he wasn't forwarding e-mails to me is because he didn't have many to forward. Teachers approached him in the hall; parents talked to him at baseball games. And while the e-mails in support of our student journalistas have topped 70 in the past week, only one-a brief, almost incoherent, misspelled rant-crossed my cyber-desk in opposition to the kids. And that writer didn't want her words to be displayed in print.

Two of my cherubs went to talk to an allegedly "offended" teacher last week. She's been telling her classes how horrible the student journalistas are, how they crossed the line by talking dirty in print, how their adviser (that would be moi) should be ashamed.

So my students visited her classroom to ask her to write a letter-to-the-editor. To balance things out in the last issue of the year. She refused.

"I don't want to be called out" by her students, she said. In other words, she didn't wish to put her money where her blabbermouth is.

Mr. Fairway suggests putting all the letters into the "circular file," & not running any. If they're all against Principal Man to some degree, Mr. F. argues, won't we be adding fuel to the fire?

My journalistic training, however, says those letters should run. The students certainly want them to. They believe that they've been vindicated by a positive response.

So, Dear Readers, I ask you: What should we do?

BTW, the monkey at the top of this post comes from the Artificial Duck Co.