Kirby Doesn't Suck Like a Hoover

(Originally written 6/21 /2008, and hanging in the DRAFTS box because I guess I hit the wrong button!)

Recently I discovered an interesting website that I've become at least mildly addicted to: http://newsformormons.com/ and it includes blogs by some of the most brilliant minds of our time - such as Orson Scott Card, of whom I am a major fan.

So today, when I was catching up on the weeks worth of news since I last surfed the site, I found a story about Kirby Heyborne, a Mormon actor whom I greatly admire, being blasted for having been in a beer commercial that was apparently aired during the NBA playoffs.

Now, I watched the commercial (on Youtube) and frankly I had a tough time deciding which guy was Kirby. He was definitely not the one with his face on the ground. Another article said he grabs a beer bottle outside of a party - if so, I couldn't even see that guy's face, so how do you know? I *THINK* he might have been dude #2 - following around the guy who kept pressing his face to the ground. Ultimately, though, all that I saw that guy do was hunt for a party. (Note -- I finally saw this commercial on actual tv on July 2 - and Kirby was definitely the guy grabbing the beer bottle....)

Now, that much said... Orson Scott Card wrote an awesome, painfully sarcastic response in which he slams people for slamming Kirby for trying to support his family however he possibly could. He says that just being in a commercial for something isn't the same as endorsing it. He makes some tough comparisons that I don't have the time or energy to begin to address.

But I have a thought or two.

A while back, in my delightful job as assistant principal at a local high school, I was informed by my boss that we would be getting together over the weekend to prepare for a big upcoming event. Further discussion revealed that she and the other AP would be at school both Saturday AND Sunday and I was expected to play along. I'll admit, I was a little nervous. While I can't claim to be the absolute most totally righteous person that ever lived, I do make an effort, and I just could not find a way to justify working on Sunday. I think it's different if you're a paramedic or a law enforcement officer, or if there's an emergency situation of some sort. Anyway, this wasn't, and so I didn't. And now, I'm not going to have that job any more. Is there a relationship here? Probably not. Ultimately, I think my boss was pretty understanding about me not working on Sundays. But in today's society, even that tiny concession to God seems weird. I can't tell you how many times we've been invited out to a restaurant or the beach, or to a party on a Sunday afternoon, and the confused responses we've received when we've explained that we don't do those things even AFTER church.

Yes, I know I've gone around the block to get next door... but here's my point.

I'm a little disappointed in Kirby. Even though we live in Florida, have never been to Utah and aren't related to any Mormons who don't live in our house, we do buy those movies, and we talk about those actors, and we hold them to a higher standard than the typical Hollywood character. His argument for making the commercial was that he had to support his family. I find that a little weak, simply because there are always other choices - perhaps choices that force us to live a different lifestyle, or make sacrifices that we'd rather not... but there are always other choices.

That much said, does one beer commercial make Kirby into Satan? No. He screwed up, and I'm sure he knows it, and I'm sure a lot of people have been unkind and unforgiving enough to point it out to him repeatedly. However... so have I. And so have you. And we're lucky enough not to have such public lives that our screw-ups make it to the news. So as we consider blasting him for damaging his own reputation with a career mistake, I think we'd do better to consider the motes and beams for a minute and back off the man. He's only accountable for his choices to the Eternal, and I believe he knows enough about what's right to make it right with Him.

So... good luck to you, Kirby. I've forgiven you, because I've done much worse than pretend to go to a party where beer was the main attraction. And when your next LDS movie comes out, I'm still going to buy it because, in spite of the whole beer thing... you don't suck.

Wreaking Havoc

Absolutely no one...and I do mean no one is as good at wreaking havoc as four year old boys. Unless it's perhaps 5 year old boys. I'm not sure - we haven't gotten that far yet. (And if he doesn't slow down, he may never make it to 5!)

Harry is my darling angel boy - God's gift awarded to me after enduring the pre-pubescent years of both of my lovely daughters. The first three years of his life were a dream come true. He was brilliant, adorable, funny, sweet, loving...everything a mommy could want. And then one day... he turned FOUR.



Now I've heard that the twos are supposed to be terrible, and the threes nothing to sniff at either, but I'm telling you, four really takes the cake. Today has been the perfect example.

Today, for the fourth day in a row, I had to take my darling Harry to work with me, because I can't afford daycare with the impending doom of unemployment in a couple of weeks, and his sisters are at a church camp for girls. So, he's been parked in my office "helping" me. Today, he began our adventure by refusing to eat his breakfast, and slipping a slice of ham between the chair and the wall in hopes I wouldn't notice. (The icky smell started giving it away by lunch time.) As folks came into my office, Harry pounced on them and forced them to watch clips from his Spiderman video, shouting, "Wait-wait-wait!! You can't leave until you see this!!" (Keep in mind, he didn't actually KNOW any of these people.) At one point, I left him briefly unattended while I went over a teacher's final evaluation with her in the room next door. I was rewarded to find that in the interim, he chewed a piece of gum, stretched it into wispy spider-web strands and managed to get it all over the upholstery, the carpet, the wall, and most of my desk. (Of course, I didn't see any of this until he jumped up and hugged me, at which point, while picking bits of gum out of his hair, I found that the front of my best black blouse was glued to his shirt with 9 million tidbits of gum. Who knew a single stick of gum could go so far???)

Needless to say, I didn't let him out of my sight until we came home, at which point, after he "helped" me water the garden (and dragged the hose all over my squash vines, utterly destroying them), and "helped" me take the garbage to the street (I have to admit, it was nice not to have to pick up all of the trash that the dog had strewn all over the yard by myself - even if he found it a little too complicated to actually put it back in the garbage bag). By the time I survived these escapades, I couldn't wait to get him bathed and in the bed. So I fixed his tub, put him in it, and shut the bathroom door (which I normally wouldn't do, except our cat just had a litter of kittens 4 weeks ago (yes I actually thought the darn cat was a boy), and we're storing them in the bathroom for safety reasons until they're weaned). Then I sat down, only a few feet away, for a few minutes of peace. Oh what price peace!!

After about 5 minutes or so, I realized he'd stopped making his jolly splashing noises, which is unusual, but not a bad thing, since I could still hear him talking. So I went on with my relaxing moment, until I finally heard the delighted burst of laughter that spurts from him like a babbling brook when he is truly delighted. This is always the first sign of absolute mayhem.

So, I go bursting into the bathroom to find my naked child very quickly shutting the under-sink cabinet door and spinning around, keeping his hand on the door and looking very guilty. This would have drawn slightly more of my attention had I not just stepped in a puddle of water about 3 inches deep which consumed the ENTIRE bathroom floor.

As I crossed my arms over my chest, he bit his bottom lip, slapping on his most pitiful, sorrowful look, and stepped out from in front of the cabinet... the doors instantly popping open, with five drowned little rats tumbling out and mewing for all they were worth.

Two hours, a scrubbed floor, and five blow-dried kittens later, my little havoc-master is in bed. And I just spent 5 minutes typing this... delaying the inevitable ... dealing with the mama cat's method of protest...the big dumpy she just took in the middle of my freshly scrubbed bathroom floor.

There should have been a Calgon commercial for today...

Reality, Hoovers and Other Things That Suck

It's amazing how quickly things can change.

Shortly after making my delightful post about the joys of being an AP, I was notified that my little jaunt into the world of administration, as thrilling a ride as it has been, is about to be over.

Now, don't misunderstand. I am not being punished for blogging. The timing is strictly coincidental. The facts are as follows:

The Florida state legislature, which is responsible for formulating the budget which eventually translates into my paycheck, is a slobbering bunch of dim-wits who can't balance their own checkbooks, much less a state budget. The people responsible for electing them are, in large part, elderly, and suffering from dementia. As a result, they not only elected the buffoons who decorate our state legislature, they compounded the problem by also approving amendment one, the combination of which has resulted in slashed school district budgets all over the state, turning struggling districts into disaster areas, and pushing successful schools toward mediocrity. Our school district is the perfect example.

We're in a tiny, rural district, with just 4 schools - but they've all been "A" schools for a very long time. We've got a system that works, supports kids, and produces awesome results. Almost 85% of our graduating class this year is headed for college. Our seniors racked up thousands of hours of college credits through the dual enrollment program. Our youngsters get to learn in small, focused classes with teachers who know them AND their parents, and the cracks are so narrow that very few students ever slip through them.

And yet, we have to go messing with what works. Because of the idiocy in our state legislature, and population here in "Heaven's Waiting Room" where folks don't care so much about the public school system, since their kids graduated 40 years ago, our school district is cutting 44 positions this year (mine included). Now I know, 44 doesn't sound like many - until you consider that it represents the ENTIRE faculty of one of our 4 schools. With 44 more people, we were all very busy.

In my school, I rarely had any down-time at all, and averaged a good 65-70 hour week most of the time, as did the other assistant principal with whom I worked. (And our principal easily averaged 80-90 hours, often being found at school on Sundays, when I do not work.) Yet next year, those same tasks which kept me busy will be piled upon someone else's plate. Not because I did an inadequate job - not because I was not a hard worker. Not because I offended someone and not, contrary to popular belief, because I'm not related to anyone in this tiny town. No, it happened for lack of money - entirely the fault of the morons we've elected to our legislature.

So am I a little bitter? Sure. I worked and studied and earned a second graduate degree to get this job. I uprooted my family and moved across the state for this job. And just a few months ago, confident and happy, I bought a house in this county to ensure my continued easy access to this job. So yes, I'm a little bitter. I love my school, and my district. I love the teachers and students I've worked with. And I'm even pretty darn fond of our school board and superintendent. I am not, at the moment, too fond of our legislature though. Frankly, I'm tempted to sue them.

What will I do now? Well, at the moment it looks like I'll be going back to the classroom - teaching a special education resource class in a local elementary school. Could I get another administrative position? Almost certainly. Am I willing to relocate to do so? Absolutely not.

Since we have moved to this tiny little county, my kids have found teachers who care about them, we've found a church that loves us, friends who make us feel welcome. We wake up to watch the sun rise, not over the back of the projects from which we came, not over the Burger King where we used to live, but over a gorgeous pasture full of cows. We listen to the birds sing while dew twinkles in the banana spider's web that is stretched across the gate. There are no sirens, and no smog. There is no anger and no fear. Life is, on the farm, the way God intended it to be.

So, even though my job was eaten by the self-absorbed bunch of simpletons in Tallahassee, I'm not packing my things and heading for Georgia. I'll stay, and I'll wait. Because life is good... and those idiots do have to get re-elected.

Here's to you, Senator Hoover. May your term be brief, and your briefs be infested.