Just as a quick side note. I want to let it be known that, as I am on my way to do my civic duty today, any "poll watcher" who decides to accost me is going to be picking up his teeth.

A Thank You Note, Long Overdue

It occurred to me how old some of my pop culture heroes have become. How many of them have been lost to me before I ever had a chance to send a note to tell them how much they meant to me. Yes, I know, what is one little note from one insignificant teacher in Florida, when compared to the years of awards, accolades, and hearty congrats from myriad public figures and famous folks. Well, it will make me feel better anyhow.

Ray Bradbury has been a favorite of mine since I stumbled upon a book of plays in a used bookstore at the age of 8. The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit and Other Plays; I read that book, and drifted off to the library in a daze of beautiful words, eager to read more. Over the years I have read almost all of the stories and novels, and have taught a few of them, too. Well, I did my best to teach them; modern youth are notoriously difficult to engage in anything that doesn't come with an electrical cord.

Bradbury's work has meant so much to me, especially Fahrenheit 451. Every year I have to laugh at the irony of 120 teenagers whining that they don't see why they have to read “this dumb book”, completely failing to recognize with a shudder, as I do, that this is the world they live in, laid out in fine detail by an author-prophet some 40 years ago.

Oh, Little Sony, We Hardly Knew Ye...

I have a love-hate relationship with technology. I love it when it works. I hate it when it breaks and costs me money.

My wonderful, beautiful little digital camera is no more. It was a gift from a good friend, and it went on to its reward this weekend, right after I snapped my second picture from the Guavaween parade. Maybe the sight of the middle-aged, cigar chomping man dressed up as Tinkerbell, complete with pink tutu, magic wand, and bag of glittery "fairy dust" was just too much for its poor circuits. After all, the thing has been accustomed to taking far tamer pictures: the cats at play, the cats at rest, the cats trapping each other under various household objects. Also, the occasional photo of a piece of furniture. A pretty sedate life for a digital camera.

But then to be suddenly thrust into a whirlwind of iniquity. Pirates and brigands of every stripe, dancing bears rolling beers kegs down the street, several high-kicking can-can girls, an assortment of ghosts, ghouls, goblins and a woman walking a spike-collared guy on a lenth of chain. Not to mention the writhing masses of humanity just outside the parade barrier, greedily grasping for a gift of beads. I am sure the camera must have died of shock.

Next time, I will be sure to get a camera with a sturdier constituition. And I need to let it get out of the house more, expose it to more varied sights, get it inured to the tumult of modern living. Perhaps a quick sightseeing trip to the nudist retreat up the road. The new little camera is bound to be shockproof after that.