Higher Ed

I came across another school with Online master degrees. This one is Gonzaga University, and I had to pay a little attention since it is a Jesuit institution. After all, those wacky Jesuits did good by me in High School. Gonzaga University is actually a highly rated US News and World Reports school, so I was kind of surprised to discover they had an online degree program. I mean, there are quite a few schools that are either online-only or…well, should be since they lack any substantial facilities and actual full-time faculty.

It seems that Graduate schools with more competitive reputations have shied away from the online game, as though distance learning diminishes the education. Gonzaga University is taking a different view, however, offering their well-respected curriculum to people who otherwise might not be able to attend an advanced degree program. Think business professionals and parents…free time is like an imaginary friend.

The Gonzaga offerings seem to be limited to leadership programs and Nursing degrees, I don’t know if that can be expanded. But nursing remains a hot profession in great need of more warm bodies, so this could be a great – perhaps the only way – for some people to get an advanced degree while raising kids and/or working another job.

And believe me, we needs nurses. Mars needs women, Earth needs nurses. Just ask the freaky dude I met in the dentist’s lobby waiting for Carol last week. Dude was off the wall. I think he actually might have been from Mars. But that’s a whole other story. 

And that’s the tooth…

A few months ago I went to the dentist for the first time in way too many years. It wasn’t entirely my fault. My dentist since childhood just happened to…well, he died a few years ago. So when I finally got my act together and found a new dentist this year, I wasn’t surprised that I had a few issues. And boy, the technology of the operation had changed.

I used to get covered in a lead blanket with a weird soda bottle-ish thing pointed at my cheek while the dentist left the room. I stared at a lava lamp and spit in a tiny cracked bowl. This time they put me in a machine that resembled Robocop armor and mechanical stuff encircled my body. I watched direct TV and spit into a funnel on a super straw that only sucked when I wanted it to suck. This was a device that could entirely do away with urinals in the next few years.

My biggest take away from my dental experiences in this past year had to do with flossing. I used to floss every once in awhile. Usually after a big steak. Only when I really felt the need. Whenever I flossed my gums would bleed. I thought this was normal. Now, after being told repeatedly to floss by two dentists, a hygienist, multiple techs and the two women who take your money, I got the point. I have been flossing almost every day for months and I can’t remember the last time my gums bled.

I have also been flossing the kids regularly, and since it’s tough to get a handful of string into a 4 or 7 year old mouth, I have been using those flossing sticks. They are one time use, with about 3/4 inch of floss on a sort of plastic slingshot. I’m not a big fan of the waste, but considering the importance of flossing I figure it is a necessary evil.

Now I’ve received some of these Dentek fun flossers for review. They are the hot new thing. They are colorful and have easier to grip handles than the traditional picks. They are also supposed to have fruit flavored floss, but after several tests with Jake, this promise does not seem to deliver. Still, if you want to kick up kids floss, this is the way to do it. Colorful flossers with handles that speak of independent personal oral hygiene…how can you go wrong.

We had so much fun trying out these new flossers in the last few days, in fact, that Jake wanted to make his own video review. He hammed it up a little, but we all had fun. Enjoy it here.

Mullet Genetics

So I’m in the grocery store, cruising the aisles when I crossed paths with an interesting pair. Pair of what…that’s another story.

It appeared to be mother and daughter. Mother appeared to be in her sixties, daughter in her late thirties or forties. Both were on the heavy set and – how shall I put this delicately – a bit on the plain side. No, wait, that’s too delicate, they were butt ugly and in need of diet pills…fast. But there were two real take aways from this encounter, and the Mother’spoorly fitting false teeth were not one of them.

First, the daughter was sporting a mullet the likes of which I have not seen since that Lita Ford/Poison concert circa ’88. The tail went down to her lower back, like it was aspiring to be Crystal Gayle’s do, and she had severe bangs in front. This was a terrifying look. Really.

Then, I read the text on the Mother’s dingy, ketchup stained sweatshirt. It read “My grandkids are cuter than your grandkids.”

Now, I don’t have grandkids, but if I did I would really have to take issue with this. I mean, presumably this woman is a Grandmother to the children of the mullet princess she was shopping with. And if that is the case…damn.

Just…

Damn.

These were some seriously visually challenged people. My eyeballs actually ached from the encounter, and other than taking a quick read of the sweatshirt, I barely looked. Most of my take away came from a peripheral glance to assess the scope of the mullet. Can you imagine if I’d made eye contact? My face my have done the wax melt thing that happened to the bad guys in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Nazis look into the ark of the Covenant and their faces melt off. Non-Nazis look into the eyes of the mullet princess and…well what else do you expect to happen?

But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m misjudging something here. There are always those magazines features about the plain Jane parents of supermodels. Maybe the mullet birthed children of normal visage. Maybe looking at her children won’t make your face melt. Maybe they even have reasonable hair styles.

And anyway, didn’t I read somewhere that mullets skip a generation?

Autumn

There is a delightful chill in the air. My favorite season is upon us. T-shirt and jeans weather. Foliage watching a picnic-having weather. Pleasant breezes blowing through tree branches. Cool evenings with cuddle-friendly overnight temperatures.

And horse crossing signs everywhere.

Seriously, the Manhattanites were up here in droves this past weekend. Route 9G had cones out with traffic stops manned by typically diminutive state troopers with their Mountie hats and Napoleonic bearings. Love to see those tax dollars at work, running an ersatz protection detail for the progeny of the elite, blowing Wall Street bailout money on riding lessons, breeches and stable rentals.

One of the Little League parents I befriended calls the weekenders “City-ots” as in idiots from the city. Interestingly enough, I used this term frequently a few years ago when one of my clients was Citibank…but I digress.

Honestly, I don’t mind the weekenders too much. They do flood Stop & Shop with doe-eyed cluelessness, but their patronage surely helps keep that satellite Dunkin’ Donuts in the black, and as long as the D&D is rockin’ out, I don’t have to worry about the black smoky stink of Starbucks rolling in.

Anyway, the city-ots remind me of a minority of students from my college days, the privileged, douche-nozzle legacies that were confused when I, the salad bar guy from the dining hall, showed up in New German Cinema.

She: Are you auditing this class?
Me: [confused expression]
She: You don’t, like, go here, do you?
Me: Um, actually I do.
She: But you work in the dining hall, right?

Plus, I did go to High School in NYC, and then worked there for a number of years, so the coiffed nouveau yuppies are a pretty familiar breed.

And man, it is a pisser to see their faces when they see signs for a turkey shoot.

Yo Joe!

In the early 80s I was a big fan of GI Joe. I read the Marvel comic, I watched the cartoon and I played with the action figures. I loved it. Loved, loved, loved it. The cartoon was fluffy but comforting in that everyone fired laser guns and good guys shot the bad guys’ guns out of their hands. No real bloodshed, no lost sleep at night. The comic, penned by Larry Hama, was far grittier and rife with drama. It was harder and harsher and somewhat authentic. Lately I’ve been reading the comic again, for the first time in about 15 years, and I am enjoying it quite a bit. Excellent bedtime reading.

The recent surge in GI Joe popularity has been great for the kids too. While all the tanks, jeeps and other vehicles of my youth were “lost” many years ago by my Mother, at least she kept the figures. So now my boys are playing with my 20 year old GI Joe figures, in combination with a few new ones we got them for their birthdays. They are loving it, and Jake in particular is a huge fan of the old TV show.

I took Jake to the new GI Joe movie at the drive in last week, a double feature with Shorts. He was ecstatic, probably more about the fact that he stayed up until midnight than anything else, but still…we had a blast. I didn’t love the retelling of GI Joe history. Some of the back stories they created were alright, and they definitely had some nods to the old school storyline, but Snake Eyes taking a vow of silence rather than having his face blown off in the Vietnam war? That was weak. And the guy playing Duke was a total douche. Maybe he was eye-candy for the ladies, but he could barely deliver a line. Not that I expect Oscar-worthy performances in a summer action flick, but dude, get the freaking marble out of your mouth. Nevertheless, when you want a sweet high-def action experience riddled with bad heavy metal and big explosions, this is a primo choice for you plasma screens on their plasma mounts in your plasma-loving home theater rooms.

Here’s the thing, though. After all these years of thinking GI Joe was just a Hasbro construct – a toy maker’s avenue to billions is sales – I have finally learned the truth. I have discovered proof that it’s all real. Really really real.

Well, actually, my proof is related to the terrorist organization that the covert GI Joe team was created to bring down. Yup, Cobra. I’ve figured it out. They’re real. DUDE! COBRA IS REAL.

Now, I realize that I am putting myself in an awkward situation here, but the world must now. I am sure that Cobra has legions of Tech-Vipers scouring the Web for just this sort of exposure. I’m equally certain that they will attempt to hack in and delete these words, destroy the evidence and silence me. So, you may want to take a screenshot and/or print this out, just in case.

So here it is, proof-positive, thanks to a random spam I just received. I just received an email from “Cobra Gas & Oil” in Boca Raton, Florida. It seems Cobra Gas & Oil not only wants to sell me heating oil and related products, they also want me to consider investing in their stock. Holy poop! When the hell did Cobra go public?

Breaking News for Cobra Oil & Gas Co. 

HOUSTON–(BUSINESS WIRE)–Cobra Oil & Gas Company (NASD OTCBB:CGCA) (hereafter “Cobra”) An updated research report has been issued on Cobra Oil & Gas Co. by Cohen Independent Research Group, Wall Streets leading independent research firm, building off of July 21, 2009s initial report. The latest report includes Cobras expansion of its Utah Oil Sands prospect and the addition of additional acreage, equating to a long-term price target of $4.42.

Is this why they were so quiet during the 90s? Geez, people still knock the Clintons but you have to look at the facts. The economy was so freaking good under Bill Clinton that even Cobra was making too much money to think about crime. Cobra Commander was like, “forget about all those silly Terror-Dromes in the Middle East and get into the market. that’s where the real cash is at.

But then you had 8 years of Bush-enomics and all that anti-stem cell research nonsense. Professor Mindbender must have thrown a tizzy with his genetic research being blocked on all fronts. No way to get Serpentor back in the fold without some serious cloning…maybe health care reform will get him back on track. And if not, if he finally gets fired for failure to deliver, he can always take the COBRA insurance continuation option.

Something else to consider: the address. Boca Raton. Roll that around in your head a little and remember some of the classic old Cobra fronts:

– Arbco Brothers Circus
– Broca Beach, NJ
– A.R.B.C.O. Industries

Note the emphasis on silly anagrams.  The minds behind Cobra are truly masters of devious jumbles. Now think Boca Raton and what do you get? COBRA ATON

Yup, Cobra Aton. What does it mean? Well, once you see “Cobra” and “a ton” you know it can’t be good. But when you use this little thing called the internet you discover that Aton is a solar deity declared by Amenhotep IV to be the only god, represented as a solar disk with rays ending in human hands. Now we all know that Cobra has messed with worldwide weather in the past. Isn’t there terrible plot obvious?

By increasing American reliance on fossil fuels provided by Cobra Oil & Gas Co. through calculated marketing plans liek the very email I received, they intend to not only deplete the planet of its natural resources, but also generate increased emissions that will result in speedier deterioration of the ozone layer until solar rays penetrate our atmospheric defense and reach down, very much like human hands, and strangle our very life force with sunny, sunny heat.

And why would they go to such lengths? To sell us some shade. Those terrible terrible bastards.