Picture a room full of kids with shitty attention spans. They’ve done their class work, had lunch, and took a nap. What do you have them do now? I know!
“Everybody, sit at the table. Here’s some paper, crayons, scissors, glue and a few sheets from old magazines. Draw a picture, make a collage, have fun…” Which means “I have nothing better for you to do, so keep yourself busy.”
And so the kids do, entertain themselves. They grow socially and express themselves creatively. A positive side effect, often unintentional. In the long run, it’s great and a very important moment for children to learn and experiment with art and being social.
So now there’s Mixel. If your an adult or just have access to an iPad and have nothing better to do with your time, sit at the table. Grab some scissors, glue, crayons, paper and a some scraps from a magazine. Play nice, kill time.
The meat not fit for middle class consumption, the fruit easiest to harvested and the vegetables too lacking in quality to reach the tables of the rich, is what generations had been forced to consume for survival.
This same food made edible with copious amounts of grease and salt, hunger and heat, desperation and hard labor has become a mainstay in the diets of these people’s ancestors.
Generations continue to poison themselves for the familiar taste that is called; cuisine by the poorly informed, peddled as cost efficient grocery by cooperate America and embraced as a celebrated staple of a community in decline.
My 3 year old recently started Gymnastics. Her excitement aside it was visibly difficult for her. The Gym, which has trained 3 Olympic gymnasts is full of the typical perfectionist, annoying, stage moms you’d expect. So my expectations were low from the start. Her teachers are two young girls who seem to chat amongst themselves more than giving patient direction to the kids.
2 weeks in, my 3 year old daughter says she wants to quit because “It’s hard”. Quitting isn’t acceptable at any age, but then again, her teachers are bitches. So I’m thinking about letting her slide. She later tells her mother “Mom, my thighs are fat.”
Ok. Now I’m pissed.
But, we send her back. On a different day with a different teacher. This time a 72 year old Russian man. He quickly gives her a nick name “Mishka”. My daughter jumps, bounces, balances, tumbles and smiles. She comes home and tells me how much she likes gymnastics, and that yes “it’s fun.”
My take away. Fuck quitting, and as Mo’Nique says “Skinny bitches are evil.”
