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"Excuse me Trump, I'ma Let You Finish..."

Trump: 0, Corncob: 1

Trump: 0, Corncob: 1

Okay.  So I’m not one to rant about my political views.  Like ever. 

When my students ask me who I’m voting for I say Tom Hanks. 

I don’t often find value in spewing my political opinions on others because so many people do that already so who’s even got time to listen to what I have to say on the matter?

However lately things have gone too far and I shan’t hold me tongue any longer.  No I shan’t.

The political platform used to be a place to instigate change; a place to transform the nation and heal the country after wartime woes.  Politics have always been a means to create equality and unity on a national scale.  Now, let’s be clear on one thing:

Political leaders have always been hated.

After Abraham Lincoln was elected the 16th president of the United States he literally had to be shipped secretly in a midnight train to the White House to avoid assassination attempts. 

Rough gig, Abe.

Historically, all presidential leaders and candidates have been criticized for some reason or another.  I’m sure if I ran for president I’d have my own personal team of specialists just to sort through all the hate mail. 

But I’m not running for president you see, because I’m not qualified to do so.

Running a country is kind of a big job to do.  It requires knowledge of international affairs, negotiation techniques, economic wherewithal, public speaking skills, and like a lot of paperwork and signing of serious looking things like Amendments to the Constitution and education bills and whatnot. 

That’s a lot of power for one person.  But as Spiderman’s uncle once said,

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

And I rather liked that guy.

Maybe he should run for president.  Oh wait, that bad guy in the first movie killed him.  Darn it.

The reason I’m writing today is not to go on a gigantic sh-peal about politics and tell you who’s agenda is the worst or why our country is doomed.

Nah.

I simply want to point out that things are getting out of hand and we should all promptly pull our heads out of our you-know-what’s when it comes to politics in America.

Let’s just broach the topic of Donald Trump.  To me he’s a topic of discussion, yes a person (albeit one with a horrific head of hair), but also the butt of every joke I hear these days. 

For the longest time I paid no attention to Trump because I was sure it was a publicity stunt and would blow over in a matter of weeks along with his hair piece.  My mother refers to him as a "flash in the pan;" sure to make a big headline but not something to last over time.  Nope, still hearing about that guy.  So I did some research and found some of his policies.

Immigration Reform: According to Trump’s website, his campaign to “Make America Great Again” contains three pillars of immigration reform:

  1. A nation without borders is not a nation. There must be a wall across the southern border.

  2. A nation without laws is not a nation. Laws passed in accordance with our Constitutional system of government must be enforced.

  3. A nation that does not serve its own citizens is not a nation. Any immigration plan must improve jobs, wages and security for all Americans.

Included in this reform is his campaign to end Birthright Citizenship and deport all illegal aliens from the United States back to Mexico.  Now this is a hot button, so we’re not going to get into it right now. 

But I do think to really understand this issue we have to go back in history and back to our roots.  The true Americans, meaning the first Americans who actually lived on this land since day one, have all been slaughtered and moved onto small reservations. 

There I said it. 

Native Americans.  They are the true Americans.  The rest of us came from elsewhere and “claimed” this country as our own as is the human way for all of history of all time.  So historically speaking we are all immigrants of some kind, but that’s a whole separate conversation and you can now send hate mail to my receptionist Tammy.

Aside from Trump’s immigration reform (which we will not get into right now as I said), there’s not a whole lot I can gather about his political platform from his campaign website.  So I did more research.  What I found was a list of country issues and his stances on them, supported by citations and direct quotes.  You can find the full list here.

I will say that not all of his positions are publicized by the media.  But if you look a bit closer at some of the hot buttons like civil rights, you can see he has changed his mind about them in the past few years and made quite a few headlines as of late.

If you were wondering about his take on women as “fat pigs, dogs, slobs, and disgusting animals,” you can find his thoughts as well as a video with Fox News here:   

Now as if it weren’t enough that this man is trying to become president, we now have Exhibit B:

Kanye West, future presidential candidate in 2020.

All Hail Yeezy.

All Hail Yeezy.

For Jimmy Kimmel’s comparison of these two candidate’s here’s this:

I invite you now to join me as I slam my frontal lobe into the nearest hard surface.

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Send Brennyn to Britain!

I have a lot of friends. 

Ask my parents.  They often get confused at which friend I’m referring to in conversation and have requested that I make a spreadsheet so that they can keep track of which Mel is the Mel I worked with at the country club and which Mel is the roommate from Boulder who just got married.

I’m popular what can I say.

But long lists of gal pals and teaching buddies aside there is a special friend that I would like to give a shout out to today and every day.

Her name is Brennyn Hoose.

Back before we had cell phones, Snapchat, and real adult responsibilities she befriended me; a loud-mouthed theater chick who thought she was some cool business back in high school.  Back when lamenting over boys who didn’t know we existed was all we had to worry about.  We were 14 and had no idea what would become of our lives. 

She’s my rock.

When my heart was epically curb-stomped last year she was the first one I called at 4am, snot dripping out of my nose and writhing in pain in the corner of some dark parking lot.

When the shit hit the fan with my health last Fall she was the first one there again.  It took her all of two seconds to drop everything she was doing, drive across town in rush hour traffic, and arrive in my hospital room with a gigantic bag of chocolate and flowers.

Here we are in 2015. 

I am up to my elbows in new teaching stress and Brennyn is by my side every step of the way as she always is.  After my first day of school she dropped by my house to give me a box of chocolate and listen to me ramble on about my inability to work the copy machine and effectively manage my classroom.

She’s my rock.  And you know yuh' girl is all about that chocolate.

So when Brennyn told me that her dream in life was to go to England for a mission trip with YWAM (Youth With A Mission) to change lives, I knew I had to do something about it.  Big time.

So I invited Brennyn over for wine and chatted her up about her journey in front of a cheap front-facing camera on my parent’s couch.  We talked about how she discovered the program, what led her to her faith, and where she will be stationed to work. 

What you don’t see in the video (which is terribly edited by yours truly) is her non-stop hustle. For the past 6 months Brennyn has been working herself to the nubs for this dream.

Standing in line all day to fill out paperwork for her Visa.  Saving up every penny she has.  Talking to complete strangers about the importance of her journey and trying to convince them that she is worthy of this.  Getting denied from one program and applying to another.  Working two full-time jobs and still having time to call me on the phone and hear me dump my own emotional trauma on her.

I actually don’t know another human being who works as hard as she does.

The woman doesn’t quit.

So therefore I won’t quit until she achieves her dream. 

This is where you come in, my devoted readers.  I am asking you to give.  Give back to the woman that has made me who I am today.  Give back to a soul that is so selfless and real that she makes you want to be better than you ever thought you could.

Give her a dollar, a penny, a prayer.  Make her dreams come true.  Because if I know anyone who will make a difference in this world, it’s Brennyn.  So help get her there.

Below I have attached her personal blog and funding page.  I encourage you to read up on her mission and what she plans to do in England and other parts of the world.  I encourage you to donate to her cause and her never-ending dedication to her faith and her number one fan (me).

Join my campaign to send Brennyn to Britain!

Click here to read her blog and here to donate!

 

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This Day in History: Happy Brainiversary!

I’m a history buff.  Both because I studied history in college and because I attended CU Boulder.

Go Buffs.

As a furry buffalo friend who loves all things historical, I’m always a fan of learning about the significance of any day of the year.  Like did you know that on August 12th of 1865 Sir Joseph Lister, a British surgeon, pioneered the first antiseptic surgery that would go on to promote sterile procedures, therefore saving the lives of thousands of patients across the world?

Or that on this day in 1908 the Henry Ford Motor Company built the first Model T car?

Or that on this day in 1918 the Allies defeated the Germans at the Battle of Amiens, the last great battle on the Western Front in the First World War?

Oh my goodness, look how exciting history is.  Don’t lie.  You got excited by that last one.

But more interesting to me than any of these events was the event that took place on August 12, 2014.

It was the day I had a brain hemorrhage.

It was just your average day.  If average to you means a twelve hour work day, a broken down car, and a mediocre date with a stranger.  Go big or go home I suppose.

On this day in history I woke up like any other day and began what would be the most important day of my life.  I headed to work at East High school to start a long day of district meetings, planning, and organizing the classroom with my mentor. 

As a student teacher I was eager and ready for the challenge.  But after eight hours of running around like a chicken with my head cut off I began to feel a migraine sinking in.

I shrugged it off. 

“Normal.  Totally normal.”  I reassured as I plowed through the day without stopping to address basic bodily needs like drinking water, eating, and going to the bathroom.  Who’s got time for that?

By 5pm the work day at East had ended and my mentor drove me to a coffee shop.  Because my car had broken down a day earlier and I had to bum rides until it was repaired.  She offered me a Tylenol like the angel she is because I had been complaining all day about my headache also known as a brain hemorrhage.  I insisted that I was fine.

Off to my next meeting.

I sat in the coffee shop for an hour killing time until my meeting.  I remember ordering a champagne and fine tuning my first day of school PowerPoint.  Because I’m a champion.

By the way, alcohol and brains don’t go together so well.  Woops.

After about an hour I trekked several blocks to my next meeting.  I sat in the back among a sea of stressed out student-teacher faces.  I think I won a mug for answering a question about culturally responsive classrooms or something.

Teachers love free shit.

After that meeting I trekked another few blocks down to a nearby bar where I was meeting a blind date.  As I waited for him to arrive I pulled up my first day of school PowerPoint again and questioned whether I should go with a blue or a purple background and which YouTube video would engage my students the most. 

The date was as disappointing as the appetizers he bought for me.  Tons of potential, but I just wasn’t feeling the spinach artichoke dip.  I’ve had better.

At around 10pm my parents drove down to Denver to pick me up and take me home.  I remember being so emotionally spent and in pain that I cried the whole way home for no good reason.

Well I mean, for a good reason.  A brain hemorrhage reason.  But I just didn’t know it yet.

The throbbing in my ears and lack of coordination continued for the next week as I continued to pretend like it was no big deal.  As we all know it was a very big deal.  The kind of big deal that changes everything about a person.

Here I sit exactly one year later.  Today was the first day of school.  Another standard day if standard to you means teaching five 58 minute classes back to back, shoveling food down your face in between, and having a nervous pit in your stomach as you try to convince 14 year-olds to like you.

Go big or go home and take a large sized nap.

Holy shit, you guys.  What a day.

To make matters more significant on this day in history I actually had a headache today.  And yes.  Yes it did make me nervous beyond belief.

At certain points in the day I was entirely convinced that if I sneezed my brain would fall out of my head and onto the brightly carpeted floor.  That would have been a nice show on the first day of school.

But while I was nervous I was also excited; thrilled to be at where I am in life today despite what happened a year ago.

Another tradition of mine is to give a quiz on the first day.  Because obviously I’m as intimidating as the Godfather.

If you didn’t catch that, this is sarcasm.  My classroom is so covered in polka dots that it makes Zooey Deschanel look like a punk.  I am not intense.  But I carry a big stick.  Actually I do.  It’s my yard stick and I carry it to feel cool and rebellious. 

After announcing how “serious” this first day quiz was, my students groaned as they shot daggers out of their eyeballs and into my soul.

It’s an About Me quiz, you guys.  Stop taking everything so seriously.  Geaz.

As we got into silly questions about my favorite foods, my dog, and my history as a sports superstar, the kids lightened up a little bit.  But only a little.  Sometimes I swear this job is harder than doing stand up comedy for a room of five angry men.

I presented the following question:

Which of the following statements is true about Ms. H?

A.) She played 9 years of women’s ice hockey as goaltender

B.) She ran her own improv comedy group in college

C.) She had brain surgery last October

D.) All of the above

“Hey you guys, which one of these can we rule out right now?  Which one is just a gigantic lie?”

The room shouted A and C as answers. 

“There’s no way!  She has all of her hair!”  One lively student shouted.

"She's too tiny to play hockey!"  Another added.

Others shook their heads.  This lady is full of you know what.

I made a grand reveal.  The crowd went wild.  It’s crazy, I know you guys.  My life is really freaking crazy.

So I explained myself a bit.  I showed a few pictures of my scar, my Fall Risk bracelet, and told them about The Great Brain Costume that might make an appearance this Halloween.  The kids were stunned and so was I.  It’s hard to even believe myself when I say it out loud.

One year ago I had a brain hemorrhage that would knock my world upside down, show me humbleness, and teach me more about life than I could ever teach my students.  I feel my scar everyday and am still in denial about the resilience of my body and soul.  So here's to you, you stubborn lil' cuss!  May you have many more crazy years ahead of you.

Happy One Year, Brain. 

Am I going crazy or is there an elephant on my head right now?

Am I going crazy or is there an elephant on my head right now?

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Back 2 Skool Ain't So Bad

I hear a lot of disgruntled thought bubbles these days.  Whispered under the breath of an exhausted parent who can’t believe a teacher would ask a student to bring a box of pencils to class.  Or loudly audible among a sea of stressed out faces as the price of binders, folders, and colorful sticky notes continue to increase.

We have to go back again already?

Yes.  I understand the sentiment.

As a new teacher I have had my fair share of mild to moderate panic set in at the thought of the new school year.  There’s school supplies and clothing and teeth cleanings and car repairs and the dreaded readjustment to the 7am-3pm school day.  Sometimes I feel like I am swearing away my soul until Fall break; hoping that nothing malfunctions or runs out before then.  God forbid we run out of hand sanitizer in my class.

Teachers, parents, and students the world over are taking a deep sigh and settling in for the tidal wave of school to hit the mainland.

Here we go again.

But let’s take a second to reflect here.  Because we must.  Or else we will lose our minds and our freshly sharpened pencils.

Yesterday was really cool for me for a few reasons.

Yesterday I showed my best friend my first classroom for the first time.  Lots of firsts.  I held the door open for her as she joined me and a handful of other stressed teaching staff in the building on a Saturday.  I walked her into my room and gave her the tour.

“Eventually this will be where my white board is,” I said pointing to a hilarious sheet of paper hanging on my wall with the words “White Board Goes Here” scribbled on it.

Her face lit up.

“And this is my Word Wall for U.S. History,” I noted half interested as I eye-balled a pile of un-laminated pictures I had yet to get to.

She smiled some more.

“Oh my goodness, Mimi. You have a CLASSROOM. It felt like just the other day when little 14 year old you and me were sitting right here. Now some little kiddo gets to have YOU as a teacher.”

It took another second to sink in.

Up until recently I had the habit of calling myself a “Fake Teacher.”  I had student taught under a mentor, and while I had my own students and a shared classroom, I never really considered myself a true teacher.

A teacher in training, a newbie newb, a joke of sorts.

Brennyn began snapping pictures of me pointing to a variety of cheesy things around my room as she looked on with utter pride.

I am the real deal.

Polka dot cork boards, seating charts, a yard stick I plan on carrying around with me as I pester my students about their extra-curricular activities and if I can come to them and sit in the front row.  It’s the whole 9 yards…get it.  Because I have a yard stick.

Sorry.  Not sorry.  My students are going to have to get used to my awful puns.  But they had better Walken with a good attitude or else (I have a collage of Sir Christopher Walken posted on my front door).  Let the cheesy teacher-ness begin.

But my joy didn’t end there.

After a few hours of running frantically around my classroom making copies and contemplating essential questions for my lesson plans I went down to the Castle rock Outlets with my mom to do some shopping for the upcoming school year.

Our first stop was to an Express.  Because I’m cheap.  And poor.  And a teacher.

Here's a candid picture of me in my classroom.

Here's a candid picture of me in my classroom.

I picked out a handful of 50% off tops and skirts to channel my inner Zooey Deschanel and headed to the cash register.  As the sweet high school grad rung me up I made small talk.  I asked if she had another denim shirt that wasn’t snagged (I hadn’t noticed until that moment, again, cheapy cheap).  She was happy to grab me another.  I asked if she had any discounts this time of year for teachers.

Nope, unfortunately not.

Ah, well.  I thanked her for going out of her way to get me the shirt.

Then something amazing happened.

A man from behind me in line (and a long line at that since I was just chatting it up with my cashier) came up to me and the cashier and asked if he could give his military discount to me.  He insisted. 

Military ID in hand he said with the most special smile, “I really appreciate the work you do.  If anyone deserves a discount, it’s you.”

The wind was knocked out of my chest.

What?

You want to give little old fake-but-very-real teacher me your highly esteemed military discount?  I was completely taken aback.  I thanked him profusely and couldn’t believe it.  My faith in humanity was restored entirely.

Unlike so many of us this time of year, this amazing man saw the value in me when I could not.  When talking about my teaching and the work I do everyday I tend to throw around some jokes.  Surprise, surprise.

"Well that's why I get paid the big bucks," I jab.

It's no secret that my salary over the stretch of a lifetime will be a tad bit laughable.  And during this time of year it's easy to slip into the mindset that it's all for nothing and that the kids will eat you alive out there.  It's easy sometimes to forget what we're doing this all for.

When I get this way I watch this. 

Goose bumps, folks. 

So yes, going back to school can kind of suck.  And you had better believe that come October we will be having an entirely different conversation.  My classroom will be a petri dish of kid germs and I will likely be buried in ungraded papers, assessments, and grueling professional development meetings.

But you know what?

I wouldn’t change going back to school for anything in the world.

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How To Be in an Improv Class with a Sexist Frat Boy

I realize that I'm about to open up a juicy can of worms here.  But let's do this thing.

Bring it.

Bring it.

As I sit absorbing last week's festivities I can't help but contemplate a noticeable pattern in comedy: Careless Sexism.

I spent last week gallivanting in New York City taking an intensive Improv 101 course with the Upright Citizen's Brigade.  I loved the learning that took place and I met a lot of great people.  While it was a beginner class, it was a pretty mixed variety of talent and interest levels.

Some people in the class were stand up comedians who wanted to hone their ability to think on their feet.  Some were just graduating high school and looking for something new to try.  Some were fellow writers.

And a select few were misogynistic assholes.

Now let's take a pause here.

In all comedy - be it stand up, improv, or sketch - there is this thing called "The Low Hanging Fruit."  Dick jokes, racial slurs, jabs at the disabled, women suck.

Sure, sure.  If you're thinking it then it's probably been done before.  And some comedians can actually obtain this Low Hanging Fruit in a tasteful and funny manner.

After all, who doesn't love a good poop joke?

That's not the point I'm making here.  My aim is not to eliminate all inappropriate content from the comedy world and give everyone a soccer trophy.  Low Hanging Fruit jokes are here and they are here to stay.

But if I've learned anything from improv it's support.  Yes, and.

Being able to stand next to your scene partner and support them unconditionally.  To be the trapeze artist; to catch them when they throw themselves into the comedic unknown.  Because support was the pillar that I was taught to place improv UPon, the idea of throwing your scene partner under the bus, whether intentional or accidental, eats at the very core of my being.

So naturally it came as quite a shock when I began tallying up the amount of back-handed and sexist comments made in a variety of scenes during my week-long course.

I get it.  Improv is nerve-racking. 

The thought of having to say something funny in an instant can make even the most level-headed humans become riddled with anxiety.  But here's a fun case study.

Picture this improvised scene:

Two disgruntled men are standing outside of a house that has just been foreclosed on.  The house belongs to Steve.  Steve's neighbor and friend, Bob stands with him.  They are both upset and throwing rocks at the house in frustration.

Steve: Man, this sucks.

Bob: Yeah, dude. It does. You just keep doing crazy things and things keep happening to you. This is some bad luck.

Steve: Yeah. (Throws rock at house) I just hope I can beat this pattern...

Bob: Yeah, just like you beat your wife last night...

While the exact details of this scene are fuzzy to me now, I will never forget the sharp pain that hit my gut as I watched these words leave his lips.  Collectively the entire class's jaws dropped to the floor.

Are you fucking kidding me?  No, you are not kidding me because when people kid it's actually funny.

When, and I repeat when has violence against women ever been funny?

This isn't Low Hanging Fruit, my friend.  This is Pull Your Head Out Of Your Asshole and Think About What You Are Saying. 

In addition to the wife-beating comment, I also tallied up a garden variety of other comments including calling a woman a "bitch" for no reason, a nude dating scene where a woman was told to keep her legs closed because "I don't want to see that while I'm eating" as he proceeded to wave his parts around, and even a comment made to an immigrant waiter to "go away, you're taking good people's jobs."

Allow me to poke holes in why these comments are not funny from a non-feminist perspective because while my feminist insides are screaming I do think it's important to separate the two.

Here are my discontents as a comedian:

  1. In improv, it is essential to play "to the top of your intelligence." This means that improvisors must choose content with the logic and reasoning parts of their brains. It then follows that if you are playing a circus clown that you might be knowledgeable on which types of clown shoes produce the best squeaky noise and how to best tie balloon animals at a children's birthday party. Therefore if you are going to make a choice to call a woman a bitch, you had better be making an intellectual social commentary on the topic. See video below for the kings of social commentary, Keegan-Michael Key and Jordan Peele.

  1. There's so much more to play with in an improvised scene than the obvious. Why limit yourself? A nude dating scene at a restaurant could be so much funnier if other things were considered. Does this restaurant have any nude meal deals? Topless Tapas for $5.99? Are you required to shower before before you dine like at a public pool? I have so many questions about this reality and none of them include you shaming a women's body parts.

  2. If you are going to take a stance on a political issue, be it immigration, abortion, gun laws, gay rights, etc. you best be prepared to get down and dirty with the details. A simple comment will simply not do. That's just lazy comedy. Which "good people" is this immigrant taking jobs from? Which jobs? Do you have a proposed solution to the immigration policy? Shall we build a moat around America and pour scalding hot oil down on anyone who attempts to enter our castle doors? I want the details here, people.

It came as no surprise when I learned that one of the gentlemen with the above comments is joining a frat this year and only has two female artists on his iPod.  He was also convinced that the best way to get women to talk to him on Tinder was to say really offensive, gross things to them.

Classy, bro.

Now I want to also make a point of saying that I understand that not all men in frats are sexist scumbags.  It would be unfair to classify all men in this way.  It just so happened that the improvisor I took issue with just so happened to be in a frat and just so happened to have some very interesting views on women.  Maybe some views that he doesn't even realize are stone cold sexism.

Some might simply say, "Boys will be boys," to which I say no.  Absolutely not.

Humans should be humans.

Teach your sons and daughters to be smart with their humor.  Speak up when you don't feel empowered.  And shape up when you say something stupid.

Sometimes we get nervous and sometimes we grab onto the Low Hanging Fruit because it's right at our immature fingertips.

But for the love of all that is Holy, please, please don't be that person.

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