Categotry Archives: Children


Why we can’t be friends when you’re in Hawaii

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Categories: Children, Dogs, Family, Four-legged Family, His Nibs, Just for You, The Captain, The Nipper, Tags: , , ,

My cousin is in Hawaii right now, and I have vowed that she and I can NOT be friends until she is home. Now. She’s a professional photographer, so all of her pictures of her little “vacation” are fucking gorgeous, and because I am not at all petty or jealous, I’ve decided that I’m going to post photographs of MY awesome time STAYING HOME IN THE SNOW.

Now, I’m not a professional photographer or anything, but I think these turned out pret-ty well:

YardSnow The view from our bedroom window. I should point out that this image may be a little under-exposed. It was really difficult to get the light just right, and the snow and sleet kept just firing sideways the whole time which knocked the crap out of my auto-focus. 

I took this with a 500-SLDR MMX BMW 14 gauge 2DR 99% option-free sliding reflux mounted on a tripod made of stale oreos. The lens I used was “Screw You, Winter”, which cost me more than I’d like to admit in mental health. The light’s really nice, coming in from behind the…um. Well there are trees out there somewhere.

SassypantsBumblebuttSnowHere you see ‪#‎PrincessSassypants‬ and ‪#‎Bumblebutt‬ in the yard. They’re adorable when they get out there, all running around and sniffing the air to see if there’s anything still alive after a week and a half of zero degrees kelvin. #Bumblebutt claims she heard a squirrel, but she’s an older dog and might have been hearing #PrincessSassypants’ farts, which, I can assure you, are terrifying. I used the camera on my phone to capture these two mutts. Just look at the looks on their little faces. AREN’T THEY ADORABLE?

…that’s not a dead squirrel in #Bumblebutt’s mouth, is it?

DogpoopSnowOh. This is one of my favourites. After the #Doges romped about for a while (you have to keep moving or else you’ll die of exposure!) , I took this shot of our yard. I’ve always really admired how photographers can capture the SOUL of someone’s yard in a single shot. You know the ones I mean – lush and verdant green gardens, full of blooms and climbing vines, with a little babbling brook or birdbath in the corner, and an arbour under which a small patio set sits, just waiting for a bottle of wine and a much-loved book. Now, I’m not a professional photographer, but I think this shot really does capture the soul of my yard right now, after the dogs have been playing in it.

Well. Okay. Not “playing” per se.

FamilyPortraitSnowOf course, what pictoral essay would be complete without the ubiquitous family portrait in the back yard. We’re all wearing our Hawaiian shirts, as a kind of HOMAGE to my cousins who are staying with my aunt and uncle on the Big Island (the Hawaiian Big Island, not the Lac La Ronge big island). I’m ..I’m not sure what ‪#‎TheNipper‬ is doing in this photo, but it might have something to do with fire walking or coconuts or…I dunno…um…flying crabs? And don’t be turned off by ‪#‎TheTeen‬‘s scowl. He always looks like that. You can tell he’s actually enjoying himself because he’s wearing his earbuds and watching a YouTube video WHILE WE TOOK THE PICTURE. Oh. And apparently one of the mice from our kitchen got in the picture too. Swine cats, not doing their job.



Believe it or not, walking on air

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Categories: Family, Just for You, The Nipper, Tags:

I was tagged by Julian (@saskajules) to post five pictures in five days.

IMG_8903.JPGToday is #TheNipper’s birthday party. He wanted to come to the giant warehouse full of trampolines. The WAREHOUSE full of TRAMPOLINES.

And because the parts of my brain that process fun are stuck in the 90s, I’m in love with the blacklights and the cheesy lasers and the whole dance club feel of the place. So who’s up for a drunken trampoline tweetup for my birthday? BLACKLIGHTS, TRAMPOLINES, and SHITTY DANCE MUSIC!! It can’t possibly get any more awesome.



Okay this is totally going to be a thing.

I tag my friend James (@_James_Park) to post five pictures for five days and to tag someone every day.

IMG_8912.JPG and my loot from @CBCSask’s tweetup is glowing.


R-E-S whatever


Categories: Family, The Captain, True Stories, Tags:

IMG_3476.JPGAnd then #TheTeen saunters in to the room with his hands jammed down his pockets and a scowl on his face in the best inadvertent impression of Reggie Mantle I’ve ever seen. Keep in mind this is after an evening of which the highlight was sitting down at the dinner table having provided the following instructions: “we are going to sit here, miserably, and be miserable. We are going to hate one another and stare pointedly at our bowls. Likely we won’t speak to one another at all. But we’re going to sit here miserably and have a miserable supper and it will be horrid and uncomfortable. But it will be quiet. Resentful, and quiet.”

“So where’s the money you said you were going to give me?” It asks.

“In my wallet,” I answer.

“You gonna give it to me?” It asks.

“We’ll see,” I say.

“Yeah whatever,” it says. It saunters off again. Then it slams something.

This is what you have to look forward to, all you people with adorable babies and balanced lives. THINGS that live in your house and eat all your food and slam and break your things and then say shit like “whatever” as they slouch off because unfair and reasons and hormones.


Why a Communications Strategy is imperative


Categories: Bad Mojo, Children, hockey, Just Wrong, piss in your eye, Porblems, Sad, Something or other but True, The Captain, When There's Weather, Tags: , , , , , , ,

Man, that sounds boring.

Bear with me, okay?

Whether you are running a business, employed as a writer or PR or communications staff, or whether you’re running or managing a minor sports team, a dance troupe, or a non-profit, you need a communications strategy. This might be as simple as “I have everyone’s email and will always send out notifications to a Bcc: distribution list”. It could be as complex as having dozens of staff monitoring social media, radio, print and television media, and providing official statements from the government. The reason why you need to have a communications strategy is because a good communications strategy will solve most problems before they become problems.

“Give me an example!” You demand.

All right.

Our hockey team, 2011One of our kids has been playing hockey in our town for eleven years. Last year, when he was injured (he had a concussion), he didn’t play contact hockey, but he did work as a referee with our local hockey association. The local hockey association has our contact information. They have our boy listed on registries and in databases and God only knows what else. After that year that he took off of contact sports, we didn’t receive any registration information for the upcoming hockey season (that being this year).

I vaguely remembered at the end of the school year that that was usually when he used to get registration forms sent home from school, but I wasn’t concerned when we didn’t receive one, because in previous years we had received registration packages in the mail. This year, though, the registration package never came. Our kid received his reffing stuff from our provincial hockey association, and he received emails regarding his reffing clinics from our local hockey association. No registration information, though.

Over the summer, we travelled and worked on the farm, and then came home so The Teen could play football on his home team. As happens with football, once September rolled around, we began seeing kids have conflicts with hockey evaluations and the like, and this brought up the question, “do you want to play hockey this year?”

I’ve never been the world’s biggest hockey fan, but I love watching our kid play. I have never begrudged the expense (registration alone is over $1100 this year; never mind equipment) or the time (we’re booked from October – April). I have only a few times begrudged sitting in a rink for most of my spare time, but the up side is that I’ve watched our son go from having to ask his coach to lift him up into the players’ box to being an aggressive, enthusiastic defenceman. He’s never going to play in the major leagues. He’s never even going to play in the junior leagues. Now that he’s midget age, he really only has two, maybe three years left of the excellent instruction and opportunity provided him by Saskatchewan minor hockey. We discussed this, and he registered, and was pretty excited to play again. Last year he was utterly despondent that he couldn’t play.

We missed the September 1st registration deadline, but we’ve missed that in the past and it hasn’t been a problem. The Teen doesn’t do evaluations because he doesn’t want to play on the Tier 1 team. He’s played Tier 2 and Tier 3 hockey his whole life, and is happy as a clam doing so. He’s passionate about hockey, but not…intense. He knows he’s never going to the majors.

The Captain, 2010Monday morning he received an email from the local hockey association telling him that they won’t accept his registration because they have enough players registered for the AA and Tier 2 teams. He doesn’t get to play hockey at home. Where he’s played for eleven years. With his friends. In his hometown jersey.

I was incensed. Disgusted. Angry. Disappointed. I started calling hockey teams all over our hockey zone, trying to find one that wants a Midget defence man. I’m still waiting to hear back. Our local hockey association gave me absolutely no help or direction, other than to tell me there’s a non-contact recreational league in the city The Teen can sign up with (not interested. Testosterone. Hitting. Roar). This led me to the Saskatchewan Hockey Association, who told me that he’s eligible to play for any of the teams in a 160km radius of our home. He told me if we can’t find a team in that area (to which it is feasible to drive a few times a week), The Teen can play in the city, but will need special permission to do so. This communication took five minutes.

Had I received an email or a letter or a frigging carrier pigeon from our local hockey association at any time this summer that said “our numbers for midget hockey are too low to sustain three teams; if you have a player who’s interested, please contact us”, I’d have contacted them. If I’d have seen anything that said “Registration is now closed for midget hockey as both teams’ rosters are full”, I’d have been disappointed, and a little frustrated that we’d never been contacted earlier to register. And mad at myself for not having checked earlier. If at any time I’d have received an email or a phone call or a letter or a goddamned interpretive dance that made me think that this association in any way gave a fiddler’s fart about my kid and his opportunity to play hockey, I don’t think I’d have lost my cool.

But I did. I lost my cool. I sent a pretty vicious letter. I understand why the board made the decision they did – they had the opportunity to put together a AA team that draws kids from all over southern Saskatchewan, and that’s really exciting. They didn’t have the numbers for three teams. They decided to put together two larger teams. I get their decisions. I really do. I don’t *agree* with them, because their communication strategy is apparently “let’s not tell anybody anything and we’ll make decisions that could potentially mean that a bunch of kids don’t get to play hockey in town this year. And in fact, let’s send them terse emails and not give them any information about how to play anywhere else because who in God’s green earth would want to play hockey if they couldn’t play for our team?” Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe their communications strategy is “we don’t need a communications strategy because we’re a minor hockey association and everyone who needs to know something can just find that information on our website or ask a board member”. Which is great if you know that every year you have to phone up the board and say “hey, are you going to have enough teams for my kid to play this year?”

I’ve never had that question before. I always just assumed that the purpose of having a minor hockey association in your home town is to MAKE SURE that all the kids who want to play hockey in your town kind of get to play hockey in your town. But whatever. I’m not on the hockey board. I’ve never been invited to be a part of the hockey board. After what’s happened this week, I will never be invited TO be a part of the hockey board. And frankly, I’m a little worried that because I wrote a critical letter and then kind of sorta talked to some news folks about what had happened, that my kid will suffer in his hockey or his reffing or what have you. I HOPE that would never happen, but I don’t know about these things. I don’t grok politics. I don’t grok power struggles.

But I *do* grok communications strategies. And this, my friend, was a truly sad, and ultimately cruel situation. We received no communication from our local hockey board other than to be told they can’t provide an opportunity for our kid to play hockey on his home team, with his friends, for his first year of midget hockey. That was it.

Bad form, folks. Bad form. I’m truly sorry our boy won’t be part of your association this year. We have given you a lot of our time, money, and work over the last eleven years. And we will do so again, I hope. But this year, you let us down. You let us down HARD.


Post-graduate paper


Categories: Children, Family, The Captain, Tags: ,

EssayThis morning, #TheTeen and I got into a bit of a tiff. Mornings are chaotic, and as much as I have really enjoyed #TheTeen’s company this summer, when school starts up again and we’re under pressure, something eventually has to give. Here’s some background, although actually, the deets aren’t all that important. In fact, the deets don’t really matter so I’m not going to bore you with them.

The point is, it resulted in me screaming at #TheTeen for about fifteen minutes, over something that really oughtn’t be scream-worthy. When he left for school, we were on grumpy terms, and I hate that. Just as he walked out, he said, “why are you such a douche? Can you just answer that? Why are you such a douche?” So I thought about what I’d done and what had happened, and I thought the best thing to do would be to write a 1500-word essay about why I’m such a douche.

The essay ended up being just over 1700 words and includes a bibliography. Sorry if the citations are done incorrectly. I do them OLD SCHOOL, mofos.

Why I’m Such A Douche – the essay


It’s been nine long years


Categories: Children, Family, Just for You, The Captain, Tags:

IMG_1192Not really. Not really long years. Nine ridiculously short years. Nine years that feels like days. Nine years that passed in the blink of an eye.

Your brother was in his stroller. I clutched my go-mug of coffee with one white-knuckled hand and the stroller with the other. We took pictures of you out in front of the garage with your new backpack. Well. Your dad and Papa took those pictures because I couldn’t. We started walking across the street, and you reached up and took my hand as soon as I put my coffee in its holder.

“I’m scared, Mama,” you said.

“I know,” I told you. “I’m scared too. But I think it’s going to be okay.”

You with your round cheeks and your bright eyes. Your hands were still chubby-knuckled and you wore the sweater I’d knit for you with the Irish wool mum sent back from Kilkenny. I thought about how proud she would be of you. Then I pushed that thought as far away as I could because I’d already been sobbing for weeks about your first day of Kindergarten. Of COURSE all of the other parents were crying (well, some of them, who may have been on their fifth kid, pretty much just drove by and slowed down to let the little urchins out of the  car).

You were the only child I could see on that playground. I heard some of your hockey teammates call out to me, and I suppose I must have waved to them.

Your teacher came to greet us at the gate, and she knelt down and said, “I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. Everyone’s a little scared on their first day.”

Then you hugged me tightly and took your teacher’s hand and you walked onto the playground. I stood for just a moment watching you, and in that moment felt so pleased. Yet letting you go was the hardest thing I’ll ever do. It will always be the hardest thing I’ll ever do.

Somewhere there is a place where all of the little pieces of mothers’ hearts go.



Everybody get down, make love


Categories: Children, Something or other but True, Tags: ,

I am about a week late for this, I guess, but I’m not one to jump on bandwagons and talk about things because it’s the official week of talking about things, so…there you are. And really, it’s always a good time to talk about love. And it’s almost always a good time to talk about things that are pretty sure to make people squicky. That is so too a word. It’s an adverb.

I have kids. My children currently identify as male. I don’t really care if that’s how they continue to identify, because as the fancy image (from says, love has no gender. I don’t care whether they wear skirts or trousers or kilts or sarees. I don’t care if they want to wear a beard or a brassiere. I don’t care which bathroom they use.

When I talk to my kids about their futures, about romance and dating, about marriage and child-raising, I have always, *always* been clear that I don’t care what the gender is of their preferred partners, either. “When you are older and have a girlfriend or boyfriend,” I say… or  “some day, the woman or man to whom you are married may…” We have always been very clear, both His Nibs and I, that it really doesn’t matter what sort of genitals the person has with whom our children fall in love.

I took some flak for this, of course. My father one time heard me say  something like “the woman or man you choose to marry”, and he later said, “Jesus, don’t say that. You wouldn’t want your kids to turn out gay.” My father is a wonderful man, and when I told him I’m bisexual, he didn’t really seem to care. My mum was a little upset, but she got over it. Both my parents have been very strong supporters of equal rights, and they both have been very strong supports for their gay and bisexual friends. I guess sometimes there’s still a knee-jerk reaction when it’s your own kids or grandkids that you don’t want them to have to face a life of discrimination, loathing, and upward battles just to be able to live the life the rest of us get to live without question.

I told my Dad that actually, I didn’t care if my kids “turned out gay”. That their sexual preference and/or gender identification had absolutely no bearing on how I felt about them. That I would continue to say what I had said because it’s true.

As I write this, it occurs to me that we far less frequently indicate that we don’t care what cultural background their potential life partners have. I mean, we do talk about it, but it just doesn’t come up all that often. Maybe because we assume that’s a given. I think we’ll have a very interesting dinner table conversation tonight.

A few years ago, I read an article about a family who refuse to disclose their children’s gender to their families and friends, and I always thought that was really interesting. Some people claimed it was child abuse, and that response really mystifies me. How is it abusive to let your children determine their own gender identity without outside pressure? That’s kind of the opposite of child abuse. I mean, when we heard about how some communist countries were determining a child’s future career by the time the child turned six, we were HORRIFIED. And this is part of what upsets us so much about Orwell’s HUXLEY’S* Brave New World. Or at least, it should be. So how can permitting children the freedom to choose the way they wish to become part of society *abusive*?

It isn’t of course. The people who say those things are saying things from a place of fear.

I should also point out that I think it’s perfectly fine to disagree on a personal level (for whatever reason you like) with someone’s lifestyle. I, for instance, don’t agree with the way our neighbours train their dog. I don’t agree with the way some people raise their children. There are some sexual practices or relationship practices/models that I don’t like and/or which don’t interest me. So you know what I do? I don’t do those things, that’s what. Unless you can prove to me that the way someone lives their life is harmful to themselves or others, I kind of try to have an STFU attitude about a lot of things. Sure, I might be a little snarky about it in private conversations, but for the most part, do what you want.If you want me to be a part of it, I will politely decline. But I’m fairly certain my neighbour is not going to ask me to train his dog (although I wish he would); those people aren’t going to ask me to raise their children; and you probably aren’t going to invite me to join in your evening proclivities.

So that’s okay. We can still be friends, even if we don’t agree on some things. If my children end up marrying people of the same gender, they might still invite you to the wedding. And you can say no thank you! That’s okay! If they end up marrying someone Welsh, I will personally remove all the vowels from the alphabet! And again, you can b plt nd s n thks. Heh. Little fun at the expense of the Welsh, there.

Anyway. This is a thing I do. I have no problem explaining my reasoning. And when the kids have friends over who say “God says gay is bad”, I say “I don’t believe that a God like that exists.” And when they say “my mother says gays are going to hell”, I say, “what a sad thing to believe in. I believe that things will only get better in the next life.” Probably, I should be hauled away. For child abuse.

*See comments section: In Which cenobyte Thinks “1984” and writes “Brave New World” and goes all Orwellian on her Huxley.


Call me Ducky


Categories: Children, gaming, Good Idea, The Nipper, Tags: , ,

The Nipper has the Best Ideas Ever Invented. He said, last night on the way to rehearsal, “you know what would be cool, would be if they made a Call of Duty ™ game that’s age-appropriate for kids and they called it Call of Ducky. And you’d play this duck having adventures all over in the meadows and fields and stuff and maybe even a lake. But instead of shooting bullets and guns, they’d spit water out of their mouths. Their eyes wouldn’t turn to Xs when they got hit, because the water doesn’t kill a duck, but their eyes would go all googly and roll around when they got hit and they’d be stunned and then they’d fly away or walk away or whatever.

Then for grenades, they’d poop out eggs, and -”

“Birds don’t poop out eggs, boyo,” I interrupted. “They lay them. Kind of in the same manner a woman births a baby.”

“Okay, so they’d lay eggs and the eggs would be like grenades and they could throw them and they’d break and then the other guy would get all eggy and that’d be really gross. And then THOSE other guys would fly away or wander off because they’d need a bath. Do ducks bath?

“And there could be other kinds of birds instead of airplanes and jets and things.”

The Captain said, “You could have eagles for airplanes.”

“And swans,” The Nipper went on, “for the navy.”

“And some of the birds could drop bombs. You know, like poop bombs. If they’re flyers.”

“They’d go on missions to find some ducklings and rescue them, or to find a new nest…you know what else would be cool would be if you started out as, like, an egg. With just feet sticking out the bottom. And you had to find your way back to the nest and had some kind of sonic attack for if you got in trouble. Then as you go through the game, your stats would improve and you’d eventually break out of the egg and level up.

“But then you’d be a yellow duckling and you’d be all fuzzy and you’d have your sonic peep attack and a scratch attack, because you wouldn’t know how to spit water yet. Then when you levelled up you’d grow proper feathers.

“And you could level up again and learn how to dive in a pond, and you could level up again and learn how to fly.”

So I’m thinking this would be a wicked game for kids to play. So. My gamer peeps, please make this happen. The Nipper would be forever grateful. I’ll help with the writing and editing. I’m very good at “quack, quack, peep peep peep”.

But seriously. This game would rock. And I bet all of the gamer parents out there would buy it for their kids.

I…took the liberty of designing a game case for you:

Call of Ducky

Call of Ducky




Categories: gaming, The Captain, The Nipper, Tags: ,

Behind the DM's screen

Behind the DM’s screen

Something ridiculous happened today. Before I get to that, though, I’m’a set some ground rules, because this is the kind of discussion that gets out of hand really, really fast.

1) I’m not interested in any anti-religion comments. What follows did not happen because people believe in God. This isn’t a discussion about belief versus fact, religion versus atheism, etc.. And specifically, please don’t post anti-Christian comments. Think them to yourself if you’d like.

2) I’m not interested in incendiary or antagonistic comments. I’ve heard them all, and they’re not helpful.

This morning, The Captain told me how much he and his friends are enjoying the D&D game I’m running for them. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned how wonderful it is to watch a bunch of 12-13yo kids (and one 8-yo kid) experience traditional tabletop D&D for the first time. I mean, they’re excited and they’re working together and they’re creative and they’re brilliant and I get to watch their own stories and adventures light up their faces and ignite their spirits. You can’t buy that.

It’s incredible when you get to share something you’re passionate about with your kids. His Nibs joined in too because the kids were all over the ranger, halfling rogues, wizard, and dwarf fighter, but nobody wanted to be the cleric. And everybody knows that 0-5th level parties kind of…flounder without a cleric. Here I’m using the word ‘flounder’ to mean ‘die horribly in writhing pits of fire and rotting wraith entrails’.

Most of The Captain’s friends are great. I like them. I like having them at the house (when they get loud, they get booted outside). There are one or two I’d rather not see on a regular basis, but for the most part, the majority of his friends are fly. Heh. I said ‘fly’. Anyhow, I feel a little guilty admitting that there are kids I don’t much like, but where is it written that you have to like every kid you meet? I think that’s ridiculous.

Anyway, so The Captain and his gaming friends are super into the game, which is wicked. And there are more kids in his peer group who are kind of curious and interested to try it out. There are a few who just aren’t interested, and that’s okay too. And there’s one kid who said he’s not allowed to play D&D because “he’s Christian and D&D is the devil’s game”.

So when I heard that I went a little ballistic. I don’t know where and when that stupid moniker was coined, but I suspect it was sometime in the 70s, in the bible belt down south, by people who were just generally uncomfortable at the idea of a bunch of men hanging out with each other and playing make-believe. But I don’t care. I don’t *care* where the rumours were started. I’m sure that every pastime out there that isn’t theological study or hymn sings have been called ‘the devil’s game’.

I used to just laugh at people who spouted crap like this, then I went through a phase where I figured they just didn’t understand the game and tried to explain it to them, in the mistaken view that if someone understands something, they will change their mind about it (this is so very rarely the case). Eventually, I just kind of resigned myself to swearing and muttering under my breath for a while. If in public and confronted with this kind of statement, I still laugh out loud. Because it’s ridiculous. It’s RIDICULOUS.

Trust me, if I was worshipping some dark and eldritch god or demon in my basement, I wouldn’t be chatting about it nonchalantly with my children’s friends.

…okay, I *might*…but that’s not the point.

So then The Captain said, “you know, I don’t know if he really believes that or not. I think he just doesn’t want to play and doesn’t really want to say it.”

And fine. Fair enough.

And really, ultimately, if you think a roleplaying game is against your religion, you probably misunderstand your own religion’s doctrines and liturgies. I’ve studied comparative religion, and for much of my life have followed established religion (not just Christianity, either). I’ve never really understood the fear that some people have of fiction and gaming, particularly as it refers to their religion, but I also don’t care very much. It is they who are missing out, not me. I’m certainly not going to call this kid’s family up and try to disavow them of their mistaken opinion. Particularly since this is the same kid who one day announced to me that, and I am quoting, “gay is wrong because the bible says it’s wrong.”

In that case, he was right in front of me, and I said, “well, I know there are some people who think that way, and that’s unfortunate, because gay is no more wrong than having blonde hair or liking sports. The bible also says it’s wrong to eat bacon, fish, and lobster, and to wear the clothes you’re wearing right now. I don’t want to be too heavy-handed, here, but I won’t have that kind of language in my house. If you choose to believe that homosexuality is wrong, that’s your prerogative, but spouting uninformed opinions like that in my house will simply not do.” I didn’t get a call from his parents. I thought I would, but I didn’t. I’d have been glad to tell them exactly why I’d said it, too.

This isn’t about Christianity being wrong or right, and I don’t want to hear that BS. This isn’t about religious people being bad or stupid, and I won’t hear that BS either. This is about what comes next, and it pertains just to this one family:

They have no problem letting their kids play über violent computer games and watch completely inappropriate horror movies. Zombie movies that scared the bejeezus out of 8 year old The Captain? No problem. Pornographic images on the iPod at school in grade 4? No problem. Call of Duty and Grand Theft Auto for 9 year olds? While 4 year olds watch? Not a problem. D&D? CALL THE MORALITY POLICE!

Let’s be clear: I don’t care what you believe in or don’t believe in. I think you’re doing a huge disservice to the rest of the world when you teach your kids things like ‘homosexuality is wrong’, regardless of how you justify that belief. And honestly, I have friends who don’t let their kids play RPGs OR video games. Like, any video games. They also don’t let their kids watch TV. For a variety of reasons.

But this one really stuck in my craw. Just the blatant hypocrisy of it. It’s okay to objectify people as sex objects, and it’s okay to objectify people as targets for aggression and violence, and it’s okay to glorify violence and wanton murder, but it’s somehow amoral or wrong to play a goddamned tabletop roleplaying game?

I mean, I kind of want to ask where in the bible it says “thou shalt not roll polyhedral dice and pretend to be a different character”. Because then I think I’ll probably hear something about false idols and worshipping other gods, and then I’ll be all, “how many hours a day do your kids spend at church versus in front of a screen?” Yeah. That’s what I thought.


New Math


Categories: Crackpot Theory, Questions, The Captain, Tags: , ,

Struggling with Math

“Takoda and Wesley are collecting shells on the beach in identical pails. Takoda estimates she has filled 7/12 of her pail. Wesley estimates he has filled 4/10 of his pail. Suppose the children combine their shells. Will one pail be full? Explain.” — from Math Makes Sense 7 published by Pearson Education.

Before we tackle this maths problem, let me just talk for a moment about the gross misstatement apparent in the title of this textbook. Maths does NOT make sense. If maths made sense, we wouldn’t need great huge textbooks full of obscure and insensible phrases like “write an algebraic expression for the number of pieces of garbage picked up by students”. First, it’s completely insensitive to refer to a group of students as “n”s. That’s discrimination. And we all know that discrimination is evil. We learned that from the presentation we had from the people in pink shirts. Or maybe it was purple shirts. Anyway, someone wearing a shirt told us that stuff is, like, bad. And whatever.

Second, what kind of name is Takoda? It’s like a weird spoonerism for “Dakota”, which itself is an odd name. I mean, that’s a dialect. And a tribe, I think. But I could be wrong about that, because I was sick the day we learned about First Nations. It’s just weird to be named after a whole language. It’s like having someone called “Welsh” or “Italian” or “Drawl” in your class. So I don’t believe for a minute that “Takoda” is a real person.

Likewise, Wesley is a character in a science fiction programme. I doubt that two fake people would be hanging out on a beach collecting shells. I mean, maybe in fiction, but this is supposed to be basic maths, and not Advanced Applied Theoretical Mathematics for Use in Propulsion and Predictive Statistical Research. That’s a four-hundred-level class, I think. Anyway, the question itself doesn’t even make sense.

Third, what kind of child runs up the beach and hollers, “Look, Ma! I’ve collected seven-twelfths of a pail of shells!”

Fourth, how do we know the pails are IDENTICAL? Was there an accurate measurement made before the commencement of the exercise? You can’t just go claiming your variables are standardized if you haven’t applied rigorous testing. That’s not how science works. I know that because I have read books about people who claim to know scientists. And the people in those books say that their scientist friends MAKE SURE that the conditions under which they collect data are the same each time. Or else their research does not stand up to rigorous challenge, and cannot be replicated.

Fifth, how could a child tell the difference between 4/10 and 5/10? Are there measurements indicated on the sides of the pail? And if so, are Takoda’s measurements in increments of twelfths and Wesley’s in increments of tenths? And if so, their pails are NOT IDENTICAL. And if not, how does Wesley know he has 4/10 and not half a pail? Takoda and Wesley might not actually be children. And if that’s the case, the basic statements of fact are incorrect. And therefore, any conclusions drawn from the experiment will be fallacies.

Sixth, what kind of child would willingly give up nearly half a pail (or just over half a pail) of shells to their buddy? A weird child, that’s who. Not that there’s anything wrong with being weird.

Explanation complete.

And this is why I failed grade nine maths.

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