Short update

I'm tired, so I won't go on and on, but I do have news.

My interview for the Burbank position will be on Thursday. I'm a little nervous -- I know I'm a good interviewer and I know they've already been talking about me. I feel confident, but at the same time, this will be a big change. Farther drive, working with Dad, older kids, totally different program, and of course leaving the place I'm comfortable and familiar with,not to mention all my friends. So I have a little stress, but not bad,

My friend Chris' wife is pregnant! I'm excited for them. And in other baby news, my newest cousin should be in the world within a few days. I can't wait to meet him.

We had a great time with the Portland crew and they left today. It sounds like they got home safely. Come back any time, guys, I loved having guests.

I'm reading this Joan Didion book, and I left off today at a really interesting part. She was talking about a planned community in SoCal that sounded much larger than my neighborhood, but similar in some ways. I thought it was interesting that it was sold as a "middle class" neighborhood, when in reality middle class folks don't live in those planned communities. The houses were all built for people who worked at the nearby military base, as was mine. The one she's discussing also has sort of gone downhill as the bases closed and business moved away. I'm too tired to talk much more about it right now, but it definitely has me thinking about planned developments versus communities that developed more organically (not Hippie organic, but neighborhoods that people moved to because of the resources nearby and built houses). Okay, I give. Crawling into bed in 5 . . .4 . . . 3 . . .

Portlandians and Sacramentans unite!

This has been a fun weekend so far. Several of sweetie's friends are, I'm assuming, still asleep in the house. It's been cool to have a houseful of people, especially since sweetie is having a great time. We all enjoyed ourselves in Berkeley yesterday, and came across even more interesting stuff than usual, like a big "Divest from the war profiteers" skate rally/punk show (catchy title, huh?). We also saw a crusader (or perhaps just a crazy guy in a caftan with a big cross on it). On the way home, we saw a one-vehicle accident. We stopped to help, but were incredibly unsuccessful ("Thank you for calling 911, all operators are currently busy, please stay on the line . . . Thank you for calling . . .") The poor thing was about twenty and really shaken up, which I would have been, too, if I'd flipped my pick-up truck on the freeway, landed in the median, and had to pull myself up through the passenger window. We also got to go to several cool book and record stores (I didn't intend to, but I bought more stuff, including several postcards that will make Leif's postman look sideways at him). Tonight is Mom night, and I also have to pay bills and do my grocery shopping, so the boys are on their on for the day. Well, I'd better start organizing my classroom for the day.

Oh, yeah! We saw a really good fight Saturday morning. The guy across the street had two friends over, and they were arguing about something. The big guy kept backing the little guy up, getting in his face and tryint to start something. There were hardly any punches thrown, and just a little wrestling, but at one point the big guy picked up a shovel. I picked up a phone, but all he did was walk over to the little guy, throw the shovel on the ground, and say "pick up the shovel! You don't ever disrespect me! Pick it up!" So naturally, all weekend we've been saying "Pick up the hat!" "Pick up the monkey!" Eventually the little guy jumped the fence, got in his car and sped off. Now I've really got to go.
Bye.

Aargh

These kids drive me nuts sometimes. Seriously. My 5th period is just CRAZY. Like, I had to tell a kid two days ago that it's not appropriate to wipe his sweat with our shared reading material. Yesterday, he did it again. I also had to inform him that one doesn't normally discuss one's bodily functions in public (he had let us all know he had to go "number 2"). Today he kept singing "M-A B-Y" I said "Are you trying to spell "maybe?" He says "No, that's the song. It spells 'Baby's Mama.' That's how the song goes. M-A B-Y!" Then he jumps up on a desk and starts singing the song and pumping his hips. I was astounded, ordered him down, and asked what his mother would think if she walked in right now and saw him doing that. He replied that we were having a discussion about the song, and that basically he was just illustrating the discussion.

Another student got REALLY mad today when I pronounced Manuel "Man-well," saying he has a friend with that name and it's "Man-yule." I said that it can be pronounced both ways and that Spanish speakers say it "Man-well." He indicated that I am a total idiot, and started the "here in America we speak English" spiel. I said that his attitude smacked of bias, and he just went on and on.

These two aren't even my worst students in the class, and no, it isn't special ed. It's not even my lowest level class. Scary, huh? Not to mention the girl who grabbed her crotch and yanked at it, and the boy who, seeing this, started laughing so hard that he fell to the floor and lay there.

Fortunately, the rest of my classes are much more orderly. If they were all like this I'd have quit after my first year.

Number 7

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	High
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Today's 6th post

Sorry, I have blogghorrea. Anyway, I'm working my ass off on the room partly because I really want Reza's Portland buddies to see our house well put together, so they can see that I'm a domestic goddess, and totally worthy of the awesome dude sharing my living quarters. I guess that's kinda stupid -- they're guys, after all -- but I honestly want them to see the domestic bliss as it is, rather than torn up and half done. I know it doesn't matter, one of them has turned his bedroom into a library and sleeps in the living room; I'm as big a bibliophile as anyone, but seriously MB, that's not going to get you into Better Homes & Gardens. I actually don't know what Toltec's place looks like, but sometimes I like to picture him in an easy chair in an otherwise totalyl empty room, cleaning his guns. So I know they won't be judging the place, but still, it's important to me. And that said, I'm off to spackle some more.

spackled

spackled
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Here's the wall after I scraped off the glue and put on the spackle. I haven't yet sanded it.

before

before
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Here is the floor, pre-laminate. This is old 70s peel & stick vinyl.

before2

before2
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Here's a good shot of the gluey chipped-up wall.

Irritant of the day

Sunsweet Ones. These are prunes. INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED prunes. Listen, I thought it was a little silly when they started calling them "dried plums" but whatever. Individually wrapping them is just insanely wasteful. It's like having individually wrapped raisins. Stupid.

I need the orange apron!

Well, that does it. I’m a frickin’ PRO now. Yep, I’ve earned my home improvement stripes. See, if you’ve been following along, then you know that I decided to remove the wainscoting when I put the flooring down. Underneath, however, is peeled paint, huge gobs of glue, and bare cinderblock. So, the steps, as I see them, are
1: apply adhesive remover
2: scrape glue
3: wash walls
4: apply putty
5: sand putty
6: prime
7: paint

Yeah, and we all know that painting involves its own steps, like taping and cutting in.

So today I did steps one through four on about half a wall, and steps one through three on another half. I also bought, painted, mitered, and installed moulding in the closet only so that I could move my gigantic shoe storage appliance back in. I bought the rest of the moulding, too, but haven’t done anything to it yet. I rule, dude. I even used the “pro” lane at Home Depot today. What that means, I don’t know, but it was the only one open besides the self checkout, and I had stuff you couldn’t self-check.

I’ve taken pictures, but I’m not online just at the moment (Sweetie’s gaming), so I’ll have to upload them later. Ta ta all!

A joke you will only get if you were a Tesla fan.

D'oh!!! A week late, I came up with a perfect thing to say to that guy who wanted "statistical density" out of Gyna music:
"I don't know if we have any, what was it? Mechanical Resonance?"

Trust me, by the looks of the place, there were a couple of Tesla fans around.

Picture

No, not of the floor yet, I'm still procrastinating. My friend who was visiting last week sent a photo Piggs took of the two of us. I have looked back at it several times. There's something about it that strikes me as meaningful, although I can't put my finger on it. I won't post it here, because I try not to put up other people's images without asking. But I can describe it -- we're in my bedroom, cinderblock wall, messy bed, and sheer curtains all apparent. We're both sitting on the edge of the bed. She's like Julia Roberts-pretty, totally coiffed, accessorized, sassy boots on, make-up, things match . . . She's smiling. Next to her, I have already kicked my shoes off, I'm wearing jeans and a tank top, and my posture is such that my gut is visible. I've also troubled to blow-dry my hair and apply tinted lip stuff, but I just basically look like me, nothing fancy. I am, however, laughing my fool head off. My eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks squeezed up and flushed, and I'm damn near ready to fall over.

Later, after the picture was taken, she spent some time telling Piggs stories of how bad I was in high school, what disregard I had for societal norms, what a rule-breaker and a troublemaker I was. I don't even remember half the events she mentioned, but I believe them. Nevertheless, I've ended up fairly settled, fairly successful, somewhat a homebody, and intensely happy. I mean, look at my last post -- I started out complaining that I nearly cracked my skull open, but ended by being thankful for everything I have. That's not just for show or something -- I really have nearly everything I want in life. Maybe what I want to put into words about the picture is that I like me: laughing, pudgy, troublesome, comfortable, barefoot, low-maintenance, aging . . .

Although it must be nice in some ways to appear put together, accessorized, smiling . . . I'm really pretty happy with being flawed and goofy, and snorting when I laugh.

By the way, this is in no way a comment on the character of out-of-town-friend -- I love her and admire her in many ways. But I also know she's plagued by self-doubt and depression, and that a lot of times that smile is just a veneer. (Not, like, a dental veneer -- you know what I'm saying.) Anyway, I guess that's it. Actual floor pictures later, plus possibly some before pictures of the office (it's scarier than the Amityville Horror right now).

This frickin' week

I'm sitting here with an ice pack on my head, and I just thought this image was particularly evocative of how my week is going. Earlier today I conked my head on the corner of a desk (usually I am only metaphorically beating my head against a desk in this class, today's was both literal and an accident). But it really sums up the week so far.

I have been allergy girl big time.

I realized I couldn't realistically come up with a solution for making laminate flooring and wainscoting co-exist, so I decided to rip out the wainscoting, which, I discovered, is both nailed and glued. I can't decide which is worse -- the patches where the glue rips off the paint and exposes the cinderblock, or the part where big wiggly glue lines stay on top of the paint.

I got two appointment reminders from Kaiser, for appointments 4 days apart. Knowing I should only have one, I called to make sure that I really had two, and then cancelled the less-convenient time. Then today I thought to wonder whether the one I had kept was in fact simply my come-get-your-shot reminder, and called to confirm that it was. I won't tell you what appointment I accidentally cancelled, but let's just say that having to postpone it to May is going to put a crimp in my non-platonic activities.

Grades are due tomorrow, and the good news is that my computer is FINALLY working. The bad news is that it wasn't for the last three weeks, so I'm nearly a month behind in my grading. Seriously, I was annoyed at the teacher who said she was just going to turn her grades in late. I've been busting my ass to get these things done on time and I couldn't even touch my grades for weeks. She's had no such similar problems and is acting all blase about it.

I guess that's it. I have my health (mostly) and I'm financially secure (although I'll be more so once my raise, which is now seven months late, finally comes through), and despite the difficulties of home ownership, I'm a homeowner . . . I guess I shouldn't bitch at all. I'm really lucky to have everything I do, friends and family especially. Well, that just took the air out of my self-pitying sails. Oh well. Got to get back to the wainscoting of doom.

Laminate Addiction

That sounds like one of those fake spammer names. "Hello from Laminate C. Addiction."

I never told you how the flooring thing ended! My dad took a few boards to school adn ripped them lengthwise (the saw we had wouldn't do it), and I put two into the last row, then when Mom came over we jigsawed the last piece to the right size adn installed it. Then came the moulding. Apparently I did a HORRBLY, RIDICULOUSLY BAD job at measuring, because I would have testified in court that I had at least 3-4 inches of excess per board, but in fact a couple were too short and the others were barely long enough. Still, we managed to get them in and glued properly, then we patched up the few little chips and things, and it looks great! I'll try to put up some pictures later. It turns out that installing this flooring is a litlte addictive, like playing Minesweeper or something. Like, "I could just lay down a FEW more boards. Oh, and here's one that's the right length to start a new row, so I suppose it wouldn't hurt to put that one down, then another long one . . ." I just want to see more and more floor get covered up by laminate. It's fun. We're doing another room next week, so I have to start clearing my office out.

I'm not 100% caught up at school, but I'm sure getting closer, so I feel comfortable taking a little blog break. We had a meeting yesterday, and I used to do crap like this all the time, but I rarely do anymore. Still, I just couldn't help myself. This woman was talking, and it went like "Black black black black black, you see what I'm saying? So clearly white white white. And also gray. Definitely we all, I think, would agree: black." It went on for like 6 minutes, and when she got done she'd changed course so many times that eyebrows all around the table were furrowed in confusion. I just said "Tina, I'm sorry, I'm a little fuzzy-headed because of my allergies, but I have no idea what you just said."

It looks like the position at the school I want will be posted in a couple days (I keep refreshing the page, just in case), and I still feel pretty confident that I have a shot at it. I told my principal I was applying so that he wouldn't get a call out of the blue. He was encouraging. Okay, I just had another teacher come over and talk to me for a while, so now I really have to get on the ball. Later,
CM

Systematic Diversity

Sympathetic Diplomacy
Scientific Idolatry

No, okay, it was Statistical Density that this guy wanted out of us . . . we played a show last night, and this older guy came in right before we played, hoping that we could provide some "art." He really wanted to hear some art that evening. I assured him that Underclass would be up right after us, but that all we were aiming for was rock 'n' roll. I was kind trying to politely and humorously end the conversation, because I was setting up, tuning, getting ready to play! I was busy. But no, it goes on. He says rock CAN be art. Have I heard of Joe Satriani? Why yes, I have, and if he's looking for Satriani, he may want to go and wait on the other side of the bar. He actually does disappear around the corner for a minute, then right before we start playing, comes back and requests "statistical desnsity." I make some smartass comment about statistics indeed making me feel dense, but he doesn't get it, and goes away and comes back a minute later to tell me again that we should be aiming for statistical density. I think he had plenty of it in his gut. Perhaps also his head.

It was actually a pretty good show, even though it was at the trashy dive bar again and the crowd was a little light. The other two bands and their handful of fans/friends seemed to like us. We even had a few guys singing along to "Way of the Slut." My favorite part was probably when I finished "Flagon" (our prog rock Viking song) by doing my gooofy spoken-word about Valkyries, then rolling around on the floor quoting Spinal Tap and Jim Morrison. Here are the last few lines of what I said, a direct quote: "I am the lizard king, I can do anything. Mother, I want to . . ." Now, if you were a Doors fan, you'd recognize that, right? Well right as I was picking my ass up off the floor, an old guy who had been playing pool earlier asked if I liked the Doors, because "some of that stuff you were doing at the end reminded me of Jim Morrison." Reminded you? Okay, that would be like the Saturday Night Live skit where Will Ferrell does his impression of George W "reminding" you of the president. Weird how that would happen . . .

On the way home, people were driving like SHIT. It was nearly midnight, but traffic was still fairly heavy, and in the entire drive from Citrus Heights home, I don't think I saw one single turn signal in use. Oh, there was lane-changing and turning, but no signals, and I'm not even sure they were really looking most of the time. But the non-signalers pale in comparison to the guy who nearly killed us. Sweetie didn't really see it, so he doesn't appreciate how damn close we were to being hit from the rear at high speeds (which tends to not be fun), and he was like "You should have let the guy hit us, we could have sued." No, 'cause you can't sue if you're dead. I'd have been decapitated by my owm amp, I'm sure of it. I heard squealing tires (my hearing was jacked up because of the show, but fortunately I still caught the sound) and quickly checked my side view mirror. There was a white sports car fishtailing all over the road behind me, yet still gaining on me big-time. As he fishtailed into my lane, I bailed off the road into a parking lot and stopped. I was actually briefly worried he'd end up in the parking lot with me, as it was apparent he had almost no control of his car, but instead he managed to round the corner onto Broadway. He was going so fast I couldn't even catch a plate #. If you hadn't seen it, you probably couldn't picture how close we came to a serious collision, but I was watching my mirrors, and the INSTANT I left the lane and hit the lot, he was in the spot I had been in. I hope he didn't hurt anyone last night.

And lastly, I hope I'm not unjustifiably irritated here -- I find that I am extremely tolerant of people's children. I never even really notice if kids are screaming, and I don't really have mental restrictions as to where kids can go (bars and R rated movies excepted). But I was a little irritated yesterday at the gym. When I went in to change and shower, there was a boy who was probably between three and four in there with his mom. No problem, you can have kids in the locker room, and boys under four are allowed. She looks like she's changing to leave -- she's pulling opaque tights up over her thong. I changed discreetly, wrapped myself in my towel, and hit the showers. Then, because I had a little more time than I had anticipated, I sat in the hot tub for ten or fifteen minutes. So between the shower and hot tub, I've been in the locker room for nearly twenty minutes, and I wander back to my locker, and she's still there with her kid. He's bored, and playing some kind of game that involves counting to three a lot. At one point I hear her say, in a really fed-up mommy voice "Nicky knock it off!" I start discreetly changing back into my clothes again, and notice that she's leaning into a mirror applying mascara. I'm not paying close attention, because I am trying to keep my back turned to them, but I think, okay, twenty minutes is reasonable -- they have somewhere to go afterwards, and she's getting ready. But as I gather up my stuff to leave, I notice that no, the tights are part of her Jane Fonda-style 1980s workout gear, as is, apparently, the full makeup she's been applying. Then she gets on the cell phone (and there is a "no cell phone use in the locker room" sign) and starts chatting to someone. At this point, I am finally irritated with the woman, and a reader sympathetic to her plight might be thinking "okay, she has bad fashion sense, but where else is this poor kid supposed to be?" Well the answer, my friends, is IN THE CHILD CARE FACILITY TEN FEET DOWN THE HALL.

I'm on a mission from God

I have a funny student -- he got in trouble the other day, just talking too much, etc, and I decided that instead of sending him on a time-out or something, I'd give him a job. I asked him to go retrieve my TV/VCR combo from another room which had been empty and locked earlier. Because he might have had to wander around campus looking for a hall monitor, I wrote on his pass "On a mission to get Miss Mockula's TV." He looks at it, and goes "All right! I'm on a MISSION!" A few minutes later he comes back with the campus monitor, who unlocks the door for him, and he runs inside to start wheeling the TV out. She tells me he ran up to her and said "I'm on a mission!" She said "Let me see your pass." Apparently, it cracked her up. You might have had to be there, but I thought it was funny, too.

We got a printer last night. It's a cool HP PSC 2355. Pretty reasonably priced, at least in comparison to the power cord I had to buy (mine died). Dude, the power cord was $80! Anyway, we got it all set up last night so that we can both print wirelessly to the same printer. Cool, huh?

I had a funny dream Thursday night. I was visiting a Buddhist temple, but it was a huge one, as big and as crowded as the Catholic church I once visted for a midnight mass before Christmas. The ceremony part was over, and people were all standing around talking. They'd opened the temple to visitors, and had like an interpreter or spokesperson to answer people's questions about the faith. In response to a question someone asked, an old Hispanic-looking woman with a large, decorative cane sitting way up in the balcony yelled out something like "We all love the lord!" I asked someone near me what that was about and she replied "Oh, that's Lena, we try to stay away from her." I asked what she meant about the lord, since I hadn't heard people call Buddha the "lord" before. She says "Oh, we believe in God. It's like how you believe in God, but also know that John Lennon walked the earth? We believe in God, but also that Buddha walked the earth." Still puzzled, I walked into the smaller room next door, where a band of men playing what looked like traditional Japanese stringed instruments were playing. In front of the stage, a number of microphones were set up facing out, so that if the audience wanted to chant, they could be heard. On a stool among the players, but near the front of the stage, was an incredibly large avocado half, the flesh cut into squares. Suddenly beside me was my friend Michael, who, as a part of the experience, decided to "sound the avocado." He reached out to touch it, but it didn't actually make any noise. It just squished a little and he got avocado on his finger.

All for now -- we have a show tonight. There's a baby shower in a few hours. I still need to clean house a little and go to the gym. Later today we're invited to a barbecue . . . It's a busy one. Bye!

4 hours! I'm funny . . .

Yeah, so at 4 hours we were done all right, but only about a third of the floor is. We kept having trouble with the table saw until it finally blew out altogether. We had tried using an electric handsaw, but couldn't really get a straight cut, so the table saw was working much better, except that it didn't. There was a steep learning curve at first -- how to cut the pieces so that the groove is on the right side, how to use the mallet and pushbar thing (hit it hard, don't fool around) -- but once we got going, it went fairly well. I had the feeling that if we could get the saw working, we'd have a very Ford Motor Company type assembly line going. I feel really bad, since Sweetie is kicked out of his office (well, he can go in, but not move all his stuff in, since there's only a third of a floor), and we probably won't get to finish until next week, when we can rent a table saw. I really thought we would get done today without any major hitches -- I guess that makes me the face of stupid.

No, actually, the "face of stupid" I was going to talk about earlier has to do with driving. See, when somebody pulls some real jackass manouever, I almost always try to get an opportunity to get a good look at them. Why? To see what stupid looks like. "Ah," I tell myself, "so that's what stupid looks like." Unsurprisingly, the face of stupid often has a cell phone attached to the ear. Seeing their faces almost never actually tells me anything, but I still do it. Anyway, somebody was unsafely swerving lanes a lot today, but it wasn't getting them anywhere, so that in fact she pulled up behind me at a light. I checked the rear view, and OH MY GOD! It was the face of UGLY instead. Her most common expression (which kept dragging me back) was a strange, lopsided sneer, pulling her lip straight up to the side of her nose. And worst of all, she was missing an eyetooth, so there was a big gap smack dab in the middle of the sneer. It was horrible.

Well, that's about it for now. Happy birthday, if you read this K. Bye everybody,
Count Mockula

Dairy Queen and the face of stupid

Okay, those are only very marginally related. See, I've been on a little bit of a protein binge lately. As a vegetarian, I don't really have a problem getting protein, since I eat a ton of whole grains, beans, nuts, etc. Nevertheless, I occasionally go on a protein binge, where all I want to snack on is peanut butter, hard boiled eggs, cheese . . . I've been in one of those phases lately. I was driving home from Jamba Juice (where I got the Strawberry Sunrise, which has yogurt in it), and thinking that nearly every meal I've eaten in the last few days has had dairy in it -- cheese on my lunch salad, a hard boiled egg, the Jamba . . . Anyway, I thought to myself, "Hey, I'm the Dairy Queen!" But when I said that, it reminded me that I've been meaning to blog for ages on the newest Dairy Queen confection.

It's called the Moo-Latte. Now, there is SO much wrong with that. First, "latte" means milk, so you don't need the "moo" to indicate that the product is milk-based. Second, when I'm about to drink something, I really don't like to be reminded of cows. Seriously, let's get a lovely milkshake and start imagining a cow's teats all hooked up to a machine. Let's not even get started on the vegan people's diatribes about cruelty and pus . . . Anyway, drink up! But third, doesn't "Moo-latte" sound dangerously like "mulatto?" Is it just me? Am I crazy? I swear, it's like the Fresh and Fruity Octoroon-y breakfast! Or the Pickanninnyberry Smoothie. Am I making connections that aren't there? I don't know . . .

Later on the face of stupid, I guess -- band practice time is here!

I want some sauce!

There was this lady next to us at sushi tonight who kept passing her plates of sushi back to the chefs to get them doused with mayonaise sauce. But that wasn't the bad part -- who cares if she's clogging her own arteries anyway? The worst part was that she REEEKKKEEDD of perfume. One of those ones that hits you before she even sits down. And it wasn't even a nice smell, it was one that I recognize from my grandmother (Chantilly Lace?) -- a very powdery, flowery thing. We were both put off our food, and actually quit eating before we probably would have otherwise. So anyway, we had a good time making fun of her in the car later. I WANT SOME SAUCE! GIVE ME SAUCE! I'M GOING TO BATHE IN THE SAUCE!

Well, I'm very excited about putting in the flooring tomorrow. I think I have everything. It'll be a busy day -- breakfast, then grocery shopping, the gym, band practice at 12, flooring at 2. I don't know how long it will take, but it is a small room, we're using the glueless kind of floor, and I've pre-painted the trim (well, primed it, and I intend to paint it tomorrow morning). I really don't think it will take much more than 4 hours. That's my estimate. Keep in mind, of course, that I've never done this before. Well, we'll see. Cutting the planks to the right size is going to be the most difficult and time-consuming part. Also, the end of the room, where you have to cut the pieces lengthwise, will take time. Don't forget daylight savings tonight! Bye.