Your Burning Questions About Nose Piercings: Answered

I mentioned in my last post that I recently had my nose pierced. I've wanted a nose stud for years: I always used to look with deep envy at the tiny diamonds some Indian women wear (actually, if I had my way, I'd just BE Indian and wear saris everyday, etc...but that's another entry), so the day before Easter, I finally pulled the trigger. And I'm NOT SORRY.

Now, if you're anything like I was, you probably used to look at people with nose rings and wonder things like "how do you get it in there?" and "what happens if you get a cold?" I don't claim to be any great expert, me with my eight-day-old piercing, but I can give you a quick FAQ for the uninitiated.

1) Yes, it hurt. Not as badly as I thought it would, but I had a burly guy shove a 2.5 inch L-shaped needle manually through my cartilage. To be honest, the insertion of the jewelry was a bit more uncomfortable than the needle part. It bled, too: my sister said it looked like "turning on a faucet" This statement makes me a little worried about the plumbing at my sister's house, but never mind.

2) Sneezing is not a problem, despite what you might think, although it's a good idea to sneeze with your mouth open. I actually was afraid to sneeze for several days, what with images of shooting the stud across the room (ping!). Blowing one's nose, however - that's tricky. I'll let you know when I figure out an option that doesn't involve Q-tips (sorry). The biggest issue is that very little in the world makes you want to sneeze like having a giant metal rod in your nostril.

3) I am wearing what is called a "nose screw", which is kind of questionmark-shaped and holds its place with surprising security. It kind of curls around the upper edge of the nostril so that there's not a big thing of metal just floating loose in the cavity. There is no need for a back like an earring (talk about your germ traps) and no need to shove one's fingers up one's nose.

Tomorrow is my first day in front of students. I'll let you know how it goes.

The Man is Bringin' Me Down

So this past week I have been on Spring Break, and celebrated by 1) dying my hair jet-black with a magenta fringe; and 2) getting a nose piercing. Now, I love them both dearly, but in light of the fact that I have a major citywide string festival to conduct this coming week, I decided that I needed to pick my battles where school was concerned...so as of this morning, the magenta is gone, replaced with a still-edgy but much more believable brown-black. *sigh*

I also teach a preservice teacher class on string methods at a local college, and I did let them have the full effect of the nose ring and the pink hair. (They were duly impressed.) I told the young impressionables that they too can be all counterculture like me provided that they meet all of the following criteria:

1) The district in which you work has no dress or appearance code (check)
2) You're tenured with at least ten years of positive evaluations, a good reputation, and no infractions on your record (check)
3) Your brother-in-law is an attorney with a hate-on for dress codes, just in case (check - Thanks, Glenn!)

So I'm off to school, and I will have my little nostril stud, but my hair will be the same color it was when we left for break, and for a few weeks I will not wear my loud eyeshadows (I look really good in Urban Decay "Graffiti" but what can you do), and I will fly under the radar.

But I can't promise that the magenta - or maybe I'll do violet next time? - won't be back. I looked good. Take that, establishment!

Consequences, Shmonsequences...As Long As I'm Rich

Reality TV is a scourge. A guilty pleasure, but a scourge nevertheless. The worst and most virulent pox upon the television landscape (and this is a tightly contested race - I'm looking at YOU, Fox network) is The Moment of Truth. (look! Fox and Pox! It's a Dr. Seuss book...from Hell.)

So let me get this straight: we are going to take the most morally sketchy individuals we can find (and does anyone else notice how many of them seem to be women? I don't watch the show, the commercials are a veritable Estrogen Extravaganza) and we REWARD them (monetarily) for telling the truth for ONCE in their ethically bankrupt lives? They squeeze out a few crocodile tears and ruin a few lives and walk away with dollar bills floating in their wake like the Monopoly Guy. And people tune in and boo them or cheer them or...what DO they do, exactly? Feel superior, I guess. I know I do.

Now, you can make an argument for "it's only money" and blah blah but that's just what these people want: 5 minutes of greasy fame and a bunch of cash. I guess, though, that it's the logical extension of daytime talk shows ("Oh Maury, I just don't know which of these 11 guys is the father of my baby. ")

Revisionist History? Or Dumbassery?

Dear Car Company Whose Commercial Claims That "Joan of Arc ruled for only one year":

Charles VII would probably take exception to this, seeing as how HE was crowned during Miss Of Arc's tenure as titular head of a branch of the army.

Jeanne d'Arc never "ruled" anything. She was a figurehead whose family was given noble status before she was famously executed for heresy. The end.

Your commercial makes me so angry that I commence raving the instant your bizarre pseudo-historical fact hits the screen, with the result that I don't even know which make of vehicle you're shilling.

Maybe I just need to get out more.

A Sign of the Coming Cultural Apocalypse

This week's Sign that the End is Nigh:

A kindergarten class in one of my schools just had a pre-Spring Break party that included Grilled Fruit and Shrimp Skewers as the snack. First of all, who gives sharp sticks - with or without food on them - to a bunch of 5-6 year olds? Secondly, what the hell is wrong with cookies and milk? It's healthy and all, but fruit and shrimp? PTA moms with toooooo much time on their hands, my friends.

Several kindergarteners were then picked up BY LIMO to be taken to the local Dairy Queen.

The End Times Are Upon Us!

OK, so I spent an hour of my life - an hour that I will never get back, an hour that I will perhaps have to answer for as I lay on my deathbed cataloging my regrets - watching Rock Of Love. Season Two. It was then that I truly understood the truth: that western culture is dying a slow, horrible death, and all that is left is to choose your means of going down with the ship.

Option One is to become one of those psuedo-intellectual toolbags who self-righteously declares things like "I don't watch television/use the internet because I read only the Times."

Option Two is to embrace the lowest common denominator and become the type of person (I'm talking about ADULTS here, mind you) who purchases and uses things like the "American Idol Planner" (which I found sitting in the staff room of an elementary school where I work) so that you don't lose track of all the important events. When, that is, you're not reading your Mitch Albom books or telling someone that The DaVinci Code is a really excellent book that you should totally read.

Option Three (my personal choice) is to be fully capable of appreciating honestly good art, writing, or entertainment, but at the same time joyfully participating in and monitoring the signs of the coming cultural collapse. You know who you are. We all pretend to be ironic and above it all, and make snarky comments, but there's a small voice that loves every minute of it. It gives us something to feel angry and superior about (just like the tools who choose option 1) but at the same time allowing us the guilty pleasures of shows like Real Housewives. You, who frequent sites like Television Without Pity - you are my people. For you, this blog exists, and we shall share signs of the coming Cultural Apocalypse, and we shall both laugh and weep. And snark. Oh, my friends, we shall snark.