So, I know it's been covered ad nauseum, but I didn't take my husband's last name. He didn't care, and I've been my last name all my life and I'm kind of attatched to it. Well, even though the people at our reception might have been clued in (our wedding favors said shit like "Count Mockula and Mr. Piggs -- wouldn't it be funny if we hyphenated our names?" and "Count Mockula and Mr. Piggs, July 8, 2005."), some of them, including members of my family, still apparently don't realize it. Now, a few of them have at least finally begun to spell sweetie's last name right (they were adding an extra syllable, like Piggiggs), they are putting it on my name, as though I am Count Piggs. Sigh. Well, at least this is a pretty common problem, and I know a number of people who are dealing with the same issue. And I love my family very much, and the only reason it's even currently an issue is because my Grandma wrote me a check to "Count Piggs," so I have to go to the bank to convince them it's me. So I can't complain too much, because I'm getting money out of it.
What the odd, new twist is, is that people keep assuming that Sweetie is a vegetarian. Like when we married, he took on my diet. Isn't that strange? He's a confirmed meat eater, lover of bacon and lamb, and if he eats vegetarian food, it's only because that's what I cook at home. The only thing I can think of is that sweetie's pretty skinny, and I guess people think skinny dude=vegetarian. Or it's the Pulp Fiction maxim -- "my girlfriend's a vegetarian, which pretty much makes me a vegetarian, too." But no, I assure you -- should you want to send Sweetie a salami, he would eat it with vigor and visual pleasure.
Oh, and a note for you Deadwood lovers -- can you understand Calamity Jane? Does it take practice? Because I seriously had to turn on the subtitles when she was on screen.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Thoughts on old house
First, the house has not closed escrow yet, so this whole post is very KNOCK WOOD. I can't assume it's selling until it's really sold, but it's sure looking positive. Knock wood.
Second, any melancholy tone henceforth should not be interpreted to mean that I regret moving, don't like new house, or anything like that. In fact, I LOVE new house, I'm so glad we moved, and I am very happy to be getting rid of old house. But here we go.
I bought old house by myself (with downpayment help from Mom) as a second-year teacher when I was 26. I did all the painting, flooring, refinishing, etc. with just me and Mom. There's hardly an inch of that house which has not been touched somehow by me. It has undergone enormous change since I moved in, mostly because I put in a lot of hard work. It's a little hard to say goodbye to that.
I got Mina kitty when she was genuinely a kitty the very month I moved in. I didn't have anything in one of the bedrooms yet, so it became her room.
I had Skye and Jenny both live with me as roommates in that house. The band practiced at that house for almost 4 years.
We had a few big rip-roarin' parties at that house.
I met Sweetie, moved him in, and married him in that house. (Okay, while living in the house.) I got ready for my wedding in that house.
I bought grown-up furniture and a car while living in that house.
While living in that house, I became one of the more senior members of the English department, then got my new great job.
I got my credential and my M.A. while living there. There are pictures of me in the front yard in my graduation robes.
I made Mother's Day brunches, had 4 Christmases, got broken up with, wrote probably twenty songs, got poems published and won awards, hosted the editorial board of the literary journal, had people over for dinner parties, made pho for the first time, had barbecues a-plenty...
I planted pink jasmine in the backyard that is growing all over the side fence. I planted a wisteria that came from Dad's house that I barely expected to survive, and now covers the entire patio. I planted a gardenia that has survived.
I got broken into and my car was stolen. I had bad neighbors, but I also had some great neighbors. In fact, I'm planning on baking them cupcakes later.
Anyway, saying goodbye to old house was harder than I thought it might be. It represents a good chunk of my life, and I don't just mean "good" in terms of large, I mean I had four and a half really good years there. So, goodbye old house. Now I get to make some memories in new house. I hope the new owners appreciate you.
Second, any melancholy tone henceforth should not be interpreted to mean that I regret moving, don't like new house, or anything like that. In fact, I LOVE new house, I'm so glad we moved, and I am very happy to be getting rid of old house. But here we go.
I bought old house by myself (with downpayment help from Mom) as a second-year teacher when I was 26. I did all the painting, flooring, refinishing, etc. with just me and Mom. There's hardly an inch of that house which has not been touched somehow by me. It has undergone enormous change since I moved in, mostly because I put in a lot of hard work. It's a little hard to say goodbye to that.
I got Mina kitty when she was genuinely a kitty the very month I moved in. I didn't have anything in one of the bedrooms yet, so it became her room.
I had Skye and Jenny both live with me as roommates in that house. The band practiced at that house for almost 4 years.
We had a few big rip-roarin' parties at that house.
I met Sweetie, moved him in, and married him in that house. (Okay, while living in the house.) I got ready for my wedding in that house.
I bought grown-up furniture and a car while living in that house.
While living in that house, I became one of the more senior members of the English department, then got my new great job.
I got my credential and my M.A. while living there. There are pictures of me in the front yard in my graduation robes.
I made Mother's Day brunches, had 4 Christmases, got broken up with, wrote probably twenty songs, got poems published and won awards, hosted the editorial board of the literary journal, had people over for dinner parties, made pho for the first time, had barbecues a-plenty...
I planted pink jasmine in the backyard that is growing all over the side fence. I planted a wisteria that came from Dad's house that I barely expected to survive, and now covers the entire patio. I planted a gardenia that has survived.
I got broken into and my car was stolen. I had bad neighbors, but I also had some great neighbors. In fact, I'm planning on baking them cupcakes later.
Anyway, saying goodbye to old house was harder than I thought it might be. It represents a good chunk of my life, and I don't just mean "good" in terms of large, I mean I had four and a half really good years there. So, goodbye old house. Now I get to make some memories in new house. I hope the new owners appreciate you.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Me and Kevin Bacon
I know I'm like a decade late on this, but I wanted to establish once and for all my Kevin Bacon number, as in -- how many degrees am I from Kevin Bacon. I haven't been in any actual movies, so I'm going to have to use actors I know from working in theater. These include Keith Coogan, Elizabeth Nunziato, Anne O'Sullivan, and Tim Busfield.
Elizabeth Nunziato was in Phenomenon with John Travolta. John Travolta was in "A Civil Action" with John Lafayette. John Lafayette was in Loverboy with Kevin Bacon.
Keith Coogan gets a little closer, actually, as he was in Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead with Jim Holmes.
Jim Holmes was in Beauty Shop with Kevin Bacon.
Tim Busfield is the same. Timothy Busfield was in Little Big League with Kevin Dunn.
Kevin Dunn was in Stir of Echoes with Kevin Bacon.
Anne O' Sullivan was in Speed with Beau Starr. Beau Starr was in Where the Truth Lies with Kevin Bacon.
Almost no matter how you slice it, I have a Kevin Bacon number of 3. That's right -- 3. I'm three degrees from Kevin Bacon. Ha! In your face!
NB: Ms. Nunziato played Forest Whittaker's wife in Phenomenon. Anne O'Sullivan played Baby Carriage Woman #2. Keith Coogan was the goofy annoying neighbor (and is the grandson of Jackie Coogan, "the kid" in the movie with Charlie Chaplin). I'd be surprised if you didn't know Tim Busfield from his TV work, which includes the West Wing and Thirtysomething.
Thanks to Oracleofbacon.org, without which I would not have been able to do this...
Elizabeth Nunziato was in Phenomenon with John Travolta. John Travolta was in "A Civil Action" with John Lafayette. John Lafayette was in Loverboy with Kevin Bacon.
Keith Coogan gets a little closer, actually, as he was in Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead with Jim Holmes.
Jim Holmes was in Beauty Shop with Kevin Bacon.
Tim Busfield is the same. Timothy Busfield was in Little Big League with Kevin Dunn.
Kevin Dunn was in Stir of Echoes with Kevin Bacon.
Anne O' Sullivan was in Speed with Beau Starr. Beau Starr was in Where the Truth Lies with Kevin Bacon.
Almost no matter how you slice it, I have a Kevin Bacon number of 3. That's right -- 3. I'm three degrees from Kevin Bacon. Ha! In your face!
NB: Ms. Nunziato played Forest Whittaker's wife in Phenomenon. Anne O'Sullivan played Baby Carriage Woman #2. Keith Coogan was the goofy annoying neighbor (and is the grandson of Jackie Coogan, "the kid" in the movie with Charlie Chaplin). I'd be surprised if you didn't know Tim Busfield from his TV work, which includes the West Wing and Thirtysomething.
Thanks to Oracleofbacon.org, without which I would not have been able to do this...
White herrings, whistlin' dixie, movies for real...
I wore my iPod and earbuds today (my brand-new sparkly pink ones from Monkeygirl), not with any music on, but because I had to go to Sears and I didn't want anyone to talk to me. That's right -- no music on, just the earbuds. I was worried I'd have to stand in line a long time (I didn't). Remember my recyclemmings post a few months ago where I made up a new word? Well, that word is now outdated, since we got weekly recycling as of last week. So my new new word/term is "white herring." It means wearing earbuds to deflect unwanted conversation. I toyed with "pod herring" and "bud herring," but I ended up preferring "white herring." So feel free to use it in conversation, as in "I pulled a white herring in the office today."
I love the term "you ain't just whistlin' dixie," but unfortunately, when people say things to me which I want to emphasize the truth of, I tend to forget to say it and say instead "Yeah!" or "I know, huh!" or "For real" or "no shit." But I remembered today; one of the gals at ballet heard that we might be officially selling the house this week (knock wood -- no, DO IT!) and she said "That must be a relief." And then came the phrase. So well-timed. So fitting. I even got a laugh from her husband, who was standing nearby. I LOVE outmoded old people phrases. I need to incorporate more into my conversations...
I realized a few posts ago I had "movies" in the subject line, then forgot to write about them. I saw "50 First Dates," and it was fine. I didn't think it was amazing, and I kind of hate Rob Schneider, but Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore were fun, and have good chemistry. It was no "Wedding Singer," though. Then I saw "Mad Hot Ballroom," and it was SO good. Go rent it right now, or bump it to the top of your Netflix or whatever. I LOVED it. I cried more than once, first when one of the teachers choked up about the kids turning into "young ladies and gentlemen." Sappy, I know, but I know JUST how that feels. Watching the kids learn, interact, spend time at home and with their families, talk about whether they like the opposite sex yet.... and I got so involved with the competitions, rooting for them, hoping all three schools could win, but of course they can't. It was great. I like documentaries more than the average bear, but I'm still discriminating. I'll get bored. But this was just an all-around good movie. Can't recommend it highly enough.
Next on the Netflix list (already shipped!) is Kinky Boots, which Monkeygirl recommended, and the first season of "Deadwood," which has come highly recommended by pretty much everyone who's seen it. Interestingly, whenever I mention it, people start cussing at me. Like, "Oh, Deadwood. Haha! Fucker!" I understand that the series has a great deal of cursing, and I'm okay with that, but I am not sure why it gives other people license to just curse at will. I have no problem with cursing whatsoever, but generally I prefer it in context, not just the random Tourette's-style "Fuck! Ass!" So feel free to curse at me in the comments, but in a sentence, please.
I love the term "you ain't just whistlin' dixie," but unfortunately, when people say things to me which I want to emphasize the truth of, I tend to forget to say it and say instead "Yeah!" or "I know, huh!" or "For real" or "no shit." But I remembered today; one of the gals at ballet heard that we might be officially selling the house this week (knock wood -- no, DO IT!) and she said "That must be a relief." And then came the phrase. So well-timed. So fitting. I even got a laugh from her husband, who was standing nearby. I LOVE outmoded old people phrases. I need to incorporate more into my conversations...
I realized a few posts ago I had "movies" in the subject line, then forgot to write about them. I saw "50 First Dates," and it was fine. I didn't think it was amazing, and I kind of hate Rob Schneider, but Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore were fun, and have good chemistry. It was no "Wedding Singer," though. Then I saw "Mad Hot Ballroom," and it was SO good. Go rent it right now, or bump it to the top of your Netflix or whatever. I LOVED it. I cried more than once, first when one of the teachers choked up about the kids turning into "young ladies and gentlemen." Sappy, I know, but I know JUST how that feels. Watching the kids learn, interact, spend time at home and with their families, talk about whether they like the opposite sex yet.... and I got so involved with the competitions, rooting for them, hoping all three schools could win, but of course they can't. It was great. I like documentaries more than the average bear, but I'm still discriminating. I'll get bored. But this was just an all-around good movie. Can't recommend it highly enough.
Next on the Netflix list (already shipped!) is Kinky Boots, which Monkeygirl recommended, and the first season of "Deadwood," which has come highly recommended by pretty much everyone who's seen it. Interestingly, whenever I mention it, people start cussing at me. Like, "Oh, Deadwood. Haha! Fucker!" I understand that the series has a great deal of cursing, and I'm okay with that, but I am not sure why it gives other people license to just curse at will. I have no problem with cursing whatsoever, but generally I prefer it in context, not just the random Tourette's-style "Fuck! Ass!" So feel free to curse at me in the comments, but in a sentence, please.
Dreams
Hiiya,
I had the strangest dream last night, and I have to write it down before I forget. I was going by my old high school, and there were several cars in the parking lot. I thought "What are these people doing here? It's Christmas break." I decided to take a closer look, and there were about twenty people sitting on the curbs in the parking lot. Among them were a few of my current students and some people I haven't seen since junior high. (I'll just name them, because that would be an interesting thing to find when Googling your own name, wouldn't it?) Mimi Matthews and Trevor Benson were there. They were signing up for some classes, and I realized I had to take the class, too. I joined them. Then we all went into the library and they were having a RIF (Reading is Fundamental) book giveaway. I was excited, because I've always liked those. I was looking around the library and found a book called "The Secret Lives of Elves," which had cool illustrations, and I was hoping that would be one of the books available for me to take, but then I remembered that there are hardly ever any cool books in the giveaway. Someone questioned my right to be there, because I was in my early twenties and everyone else was in their early teens, and I said "I know I look older, but I'm a student, too." There, I finally got to migle with Trevor, who said "Oh my gosh, I haven't seen you since elementary school!" I reminded him that we'd gone to junior high together, too, and he said "Oh, whatever, I don't remember." Then I talked to Mimi for a while, and the oddest thing about her was that in real life, she has copious curly hair -- so big she regularly broke rubber bands on it. In the dream, it was lank and thin. She introduced me to her Ukranian mother-in-law, who didn't put her thumb in the right place when we shook hands. Finally, we all started getting ready for the big dinner. One of my current students, an Indian kid, got all gussied up in knee-high tan suede moccasins with a lot of embellishment, a very colorful striped shirt and a cowboy hat. (I suppose there is some irony to the cowboys and Indians-from-India thing there.) I made sure I looked nice, then took my plate of very well-done steak. I ate two bites, and it was delicious, in the way things were delicious when I was ten and they were drenched in A-1 sauce. Somone wandered over (a current friend, like G3 or IB coordinator, but I can't remember which) and told the lovely young lady next to me that I had been a vegetarian for 17 years. She looked skeptically at my plate, and I said "No, it's true! I haven't had a bite of meat -- except for this one -- in 17 years. Only I've decided just this moment to become a flexitarian, and eat meat once in a while."
That was about all I remember. Freaky, huh? I had the grossest dream the night before that I can't tell you (although I e-mailed Suzanne of Cussandotherrants.com) but involved a Busby Berkeley style musical number with toilets as fountains.
I had the strangest dream last night, and I have to write it down before I forget. I was going by my old high school, and there were several cars in the parking lot. I thought "What are these people doing here? It's Christmas break." I decided to take a closer look, and there were about twenty people sitting on the curbs in the parking lot. Among them were a few of my current students and some people I haven't seen since junior high. (I'll just name them, because that would be an interesting thing to find when Googling your own name, wouldn't it?) Mimi Matthews and Trevor Benson were there. They were signing up for some classes, and I realized I had to take the class, too. I joined them. Then we all went into the library and they were having a RIF (Reading is Fundamental) book giveaway. I was excited, because I've always liked those. I was looking around the library and found a book called "The Secret Lives of Elves," which had cool illustrations, and I was hoping that would be one of the books available for me to take, but then I remembered that there are hardly ever any cool books in the giveaway. Someone questioned my right to be there, because I was in my early twenties and everyone else was in their early teens, and I said "I know I look older, but I'm a student, too." There, I finally got to migle with Trevor, who said "Oh my gosh, I haven't seen you since elementary school!" I reminded him that we'd gone to junior high together, too, and he said "Oh, whatever, I don't remember." Then I talked to Mimi for a while, and the oddest thing about her was that in real life, she has copious curly hair -- so big she regularly broke rubber bands on it. In the dream, it was lank and thin. She introduced me to her Ukranian mother-in-law, who didn't put her thumb in the right place when we shook hands. Finally, we all started getting ready for the big dinner. One of my current students, an Indian kid, got all gussied up in knee-high tan suede moccasins with a lot of embellishment, a very colorful striped shirt and a cowboy hat. (I suppose there is some irony to the cowboys and Indians-from-India thing there.) I made sure I looked nice, then took my plate of very well-done steak. I ate two bites, and it was delicious, in the way things were delicious when I was ten and they were drenched in A-1 sauce. Somone wandered over (a current friend, like G3 or IB coordinator, but I can't remember which) and told the lovely young lady next to me that I had been a vegetarian for 17 years. She looked skeptically at my plate, and I said "No, it's true! I haven't had a bite of meat -- except for this one -- in 17 years. Only I've decided just this moment to become a flexitarian, and eat meat once in a while."
That was about all I remember. Freaky, huh? I had the grossest dream the night before that I can't tell you (although I e-mailed Suzanne of Cussandotherrants.com) but involved a Busby Berkeley style musical number with toilets as fountains.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Okay, just updating
Got home from the doctor. Nothing particularly interesting or conclusive. Have to go in for blood work sometime. Have an ultrasound appointment in February so they can look at my insides. If nothing much happens or shows up, we just have to (get to) keep trying until May-ish. Then there are things to do. Medicines, analyses... if that doesn't take after a while, then there's an alphabet soup of interventions, most of which I don't even want to think about yet. I still don't really know what Kaiser covers in terms of that stuff yet. Some of it can be awfully expensive, and frankly, as much as I want a baby, I don't want to bankrupt us to get one. *Sigh* Que sera, sera, I guess. Wish us luck.
More Christmas & movies
Well, I got super-duper extra spoiled yesterday. Mom and Boompah always go all-out for me and my sweetie. Biggest present? A new fireplace screen, which is awesome, because the one that was here when we moved in was super wobbly and fell over, so I got rid of it, but then we couldn't have fires. Now we can again! And it's gorgeous and fits perfectly and matches the fireplace tools and wood holder that they got me before.
Also, I got new clothes, some movies I've really been wanting (Limbo and The Secret of Roan Inish, both directed by John Sayles), several cool books, a Bettie Page fridge magnet, some "disgruntled housewife" dish towels. spatulas, an Alice in Wonderland book, and some jewellery I semi-facetiously asked for months ago. (Semi-facetiously because although I really wanted them, I hate to seem greedy and just ask for stuff.)
Also, the day was lovely -- Mom made pancakes and there was coffee and fresh OJ. Mmmm. Monkeygirl shared breakfast and present-opening with us, and gave us several rad presents (although she TOTALLY didn't have to, because we all know what kind of financial status we all have, and we love everybody even without presents, even if they include hot pink blingin' earbuds).
We went home mid-day and called Oregon to talk to the Piggs family, and spoke at least briefly to everyone (well, mostly Sweetie talked to everyone and I sat next to him and eavesdropped and yelled "Merry Christmas" at the appropriate time). We then just dinked around the house, honestly avoiding grandma, although I feel really guilty for it.
We went back for dinner, which was delicious potatoes, salad, and bread for me, and that stuff plus ribs for everyone else. Mom made lemon meringue pie for dessert, and I am about to revise my chocolate-desserts-forsaking-all-else status, 'cause that pie frickin' RULED. Mmm, so good. Mom offered me some to take home, and I'm trying not to gain holiday weight, so I had to say no, because I suspect there are a lot of eggs involved.
Today I went to the old house and picked some things up. It will take one more trip, but in that trip all I'll have to get is the lawn mower, edger, ladder, a few cleaning products, and a big framed poster of Marilyn Monroe. I haven't heard a thing about the house, and I called the title company -- I've just been waiting for them to call me back. I hope it's all going through.
Well, next I'm off to the gym, then it's doctor visit time. I feel kind of nervous, because I really don't know what to expect. I'm not going for a regular exam, and I'm not exactly sick, but I am having some issues I need to address, and I just really don't know how it will all play out. Will I need medication? Surgery? Will I find out I won't be able to have kids? Will I find out nothing? Will I need a follow-up appointment? I'm wearing my muppet socks for good luck so I can stare at them in the stirrups to make myself laugh. Lord knows what the doctor will think.
I have really mixed feelings about finding out nothing. If there's nothing wrong, then what the hell is wrong? If there's something wrong, at least we can go about fixing it or sorting out a plan B. But if there's nothing? I guess that's good news, but sort of not, you know? You don't start planning adoption if there's nothing wrong. You -- okay, I would start blaming myself -- I'm too stressed out, I have too much on my plate, it's my fault somehow. Meh. I have to go to the gym. Take care, and I'll let you know (without graphic details) how it goes...
Also, I got new clothes, some movies I've really been wanting (Limbo and The Secret of Roan Inish, both directed by John Sayles), several cool books, a Bettie Page fridge magnet, some "disgruntled housewife" dish towels. spatulas, an Alice in Wonderland book, and some jewellery I semi-facetiously asked for months ago. (Semi-facetiously because although I really wanted them, I hate to seem greedy and just ask for stuff.)
Also, the day was lovely -- Mom made pancakes and there was coffee and fresh OJ. Mmmm. Monkeygirl shared breakfast and present-opening with us, and gave us several rad presents (although she TOTALLY didn't have to, because we all know what kind of financial status we all have, and we love everybody even without presents, even if they include hot pink blingin' earbuds).
We went home mid-day and called Oregon to talk to the Piggs family, and spoke at least briefly to everyone (well, mostly Sweetie talked to everyone and I sat next to him and eavesdropped and yelled "Merry Christmas" at the appropriate time). We then just dinked around the house, honestly avoiding grandma, although I feel really guilty for it.
We went back for dinner, which was delicious potatoes, salad, and bread for me, and that stuff plus ribs for everyone else. Mom made lemon meringue pie for dessert, and I am about to revise my chocolate-desserts-forsaking-all-else status, 'cause that pie frickin' RULED. Mmm, so good. Mom offered me some to take home, and I'm trying not to gain holiday weight, so I had to say no, because I suspect there are a lot of eggs involved.
Today I went to the old house and picked some things up. It will take one more trip, but in that trip all I'll have to get is the lawn mower, edger, ladder, a few cleaning products, and a big framed poster of Marilyn Monroe. I haven't heard a thing about the house, and I called the title company -- I've just been waiting for them to call me back. I hope it's all going through.
Well, next I'm off to the gym, then it's doctor visit time. I feel kind of nervous, because I really don't know what to expect. I'm not going for a regular exam, and I'm not exactly sick, but I am having some issues I need to address, and I just really don't know how it will all play out. Will I need medication? Surgery? Will I find out I won't be able to have kids? Will I find out nothing? Will I need a follow-up appointment? I'm wearing my muppet socks for good luck so I can stare at them in the stirrups to make myself laugh. Lord knows what the doctor will think.
I have really mixed feelings about finding out nothing. If there's nothing wrong, then what the hell is wrong? If there's something wrong, at least we can go about fixing it or sorting out a plan B. But if there's nothing? I guess that's good news, but sort of not, you know? You don't start planning adoption if there's nothing wrong. You -- okay, I would start blaming myself -- I'm too stressed out, I have too much on my plate, it's my fault somehow. Meh. I have to go to the gym. Take care, and I'll let you know (without graphic details) how it goes...
Monday, December 25, 2006
Spoiled, and the kitty Christmas miracle!
Well, I'm so spoiled, and I haven't even gone to Mom's house yet!!!
From my sweetie -- an assortment of super-dark chocolates, a gift certificate to a spa (for massages, yay!), a McSweeney's book I've been wanting, and these socks with toes!!!
I also got from, my cousins, the movie "A Fish Called Wanda," so sweetie has to deal with me running through the house like a maniac yelling "Uh-oh! K-k-k-Ken's coming to k-k-k-kill me!" And an electric kettle so I can make coffee or tea at school. And from my auntie, the Neil Gaiman book "Fragile Things" and some air-bake cookie sheets.
From my Sister-in-law, a gorgeous hand-made calendar illustrated with seasonal pics of our niece and nephew and an Ikea gift certificate. From mom-in-law, cute Xmas towels and a book I've been wanting. From younger sister-in-law (and the families, of course), an Amazon gift certificate! Whoo-hoo!
From my uncle, See's truffles!!! From grandma, money (made out to myname husband's lastname, so I think I'll have to take the ol' marriage certificate to the bank -- at least she spelled it right, because people seem to keep thinking it's got another whol syllable). And Dad and stepmom went kind of overboard -- I got jammies, a robe, a pizza stone (with cutter and grater thing), a zen fountain, towels, and a cake/cupcake tote carrier deal. It was very thoughtful, although if they'd asked what I wanted, I'd have said a garbage disposal.
And, miracle of miracles, my weird, fat, lazy cat actually played!!!
I gave her a fuzzy catnip-filled mouse, which at first she was wary of:
But then after a little while, she started jumping around and attacking it! She hasn't done a lot of that since she was a kitten. Even now, I can hold one of those little bell-and-feather-on-a-stick things and shake it at her for an hour, and she'll just watch it as if she's strategizing. But look! Photographic evidence of Mina playing.
So a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good morning!
From my sweetie -- an assortment of super-dark chocolates, a gift certificate to a spa (for massages, yay!), a McSweeney's book I've been wanting, and these socks with toes!!!
I also got from, my cousins, the movie "A Fish Called Wanda," so sweetie has to deal with me running through the house like a maniac yelling "Uh-oh! K-k-k-Ken's coming to k-k-k-kill me!" And an electric kettle so I can make coffee or tea at school. And from my auntie, the Neil Gaiman book "Fragile Things" and some air-bake cookie sheets.
From my Sister-in-law, a gorgeous hand-made calendar illustrated with seasonal pics of our niece and nephew and an Ikea gift certificate. From mom-in-law, cute Xmas towels and a book I've been wanting. From younger sister-in-law (and the families, of course), an Amazon gift certificate! Whoo-hoo!
From my uncle, See's truffles!!! From grandma, money (made out to myname husband's lastname, so I think I'll have to take the ol' marriage certificate to the bank -- at least she spelled it right, because people seem to keep thinking it's got another whol syllable). And Dad and stepmom went kind of overboard -- I got jammies, a robe, a pizza stone (with cutter and grater thing), a zen fountain, towels, and a cake/cupcake tote carrier deal. It was very thoughtful, although if they'd asked what I wanted, I'd have said a garbage disposal.
And, miracle of miracles, my weird, fat, lazy cat actually played!!!
I gave her a fuzzy catnip-filled mouse, which at first she was wary of:
But then after a little while, she started jumping around and attacking it! She hasn't done a lot of that since she was a kitten. Even now, I can hold one of those little bell-and-feather-on-a-stick things and shake it at her for an hour, and she'll just watch it as if she's strategizing. But look! Photographic evidence of Mina playing.
So a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good morning!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Your Grandma is here for Christmas? You must be so excited!
Must I? Well, if "excited" is in any way related to "trepidatious and indifferent."
I know I shouldn't air the ol' family bidness on the Intranets, but mainly this is to amuse my mother, who desperately needs it. Well, the photo anyway. The rest isn't that amusing.
Here is why I'm not looking forward to seeing my grandma.
1. She never shuts up. (Plus, she's an interrupter.)
2. She never shuts up about stuff I don't care about.
3. She doesn't care a whit about any of the stuff I care about.
Back to the numbers in a minute. I'm not just talking generation gap here or being uncharitable for no good reason. I'm talking about her priorities. Let me elaborate: If I were to tell my grandmother that I was about to win the Nobel Peace Prize, her interest level would be approximately a 3. If her neighbor's cousin's hairdresser had tendonitis, that would rate a 9. I don't know why. No one knows why. But if it's her own family, especially if it's good news, she just doesn't give a shit. If it's a stranger and it's bad news, that rocks. One of her favorite topics is other people who have gotten in financial trouble or been bad parents. She enjoys casting judgment on them, which is ironic, as you'll see.
4. She ran through a LOT of money, then accepted every credit card offer in the known universe, maxed them out, then borrowed money from everyone she knew, then got kicked out of her apartment for letting her scumbag son (NOT my uncle) live with her and bring his druggie friends around the senior center. So on the verge of homelessness, she confesses. But the whole story still did not come out. Every once in a while, another bill will show up, or another distant cousin will call, or she'll have gone through the $600 a month she uses for "groceries" and need more before the month is up.
5. You know how some people hit the parent jackpot and others don't? I did. My own mom didn't. She sometimes says that she raised me by thinking "what would my mom do?" and then doing the opposite. She also can recount dozens of times growing up when she thought to herself "I am NEVER going to do this to my own child." Long story short? Grandma sucked as a mom. My mom was a freak anomaly who survived bad parenting. Her two brothers basically didn't.
6. She is still, at 80, a liar and a manipulator, and my mom is just too nice to cut her off entirely and let her sink or swim (probably sink). So Mom, because she's a decent person, still gets jerked around.
7. She just doesn't care much about us. She babysat me for about the first 10 years of my life, which involved us watching Days of our Lives, me eating as much junk food as I could stuff in, and then playing with the neighbor kid (usually something bad, like burning things). As long as my schedule, my needs, or my homework didn't get in her way, I was tolerated. I really don't call her (Hey, I send presents!), but Mom does. I don't know for sure, but I suspect there's not a lot of "How's Mockula?" unless Mom brings me up. She'd rather talk about whatever gossip there is about people we don't know.
So I am taking her out to dinner tomorrow, and another day during the break I think I'll take her to a movie, but I'm doing it to rescue Mom from her constant company rather than because I'm really excited to see my Grandma. I will probably feel kind of bad about all this when she dies, but you know what? I have another Grandma, and that one always asks after me, knows what's going on in my life, makes an effort to spend time with me, and even though she's got her faults, she's just a lot more grandmotherly. I know she cares. I know she loves me. Hell, she asks about my FRIENDS for goodness sake. She knows my friends' names! I'm not 100% sure my Mom's mom knows my HUSBAND'S name.
Anyway, the other thing about it is that people think you're a total rotten bitch if you don't love your grandmother, especially when she tends to be much nicer to outsiders, so they see her as a cookie-baking fudge-making bastion of peace. The truth? Check the picture.
I know I shouldn't air the ol' family bidness on the Intranets, but mainly this is to amuse my mother, who desperately needs it. Well, the photo anyway. The rest isn't that amusing.
Here is why I'm not looking forward to seeing my grandma.
1. She never shuts up. (Plus, she's an interrupter.)
2. She never shuts up about stuff I don't care about.
3. She doesn't care a whit about any of the stuff I care about.
Back to the numbers in a minute. I'm not just talking generation gap here or being uncharitable for no good reason. I'm talking about her priorities. Let me elaborate: If I were to tell my grandmother that I was about to win the Nobel Peace Prize, her interest level would be approximately a 3. If her neighbor's cousin's hairdresser had tendonitis, that would rate a 9. I don't know why. No one knows why. But if it's her own family, especially if it's good news, she just doesn't give a shit. If it's a stranger and it's bad news, that rocks. One of her favorite topics is other people who have gotten in financial trouble or been bad parents. She enjoys casting judgment on them, which is ironic, as you'll see.
4. She ran through a LOT of money, then accepted every credit card offer in the known universe, maxed them out, then borrowed money from everyone she knew, then got kicked out of her apartment for letting her scumbag son (NOT my uncle) live with her and bring his druggie friends around the senior center. So on the verge of homelessness, she confesses. But the whole story still did not come out. Every once in a while, another bill will show up, or another distant cousin will call, or she'll have gone through the $600 a month she uses for "groceries" and need more before the month is up.
5. You know how some people hit the parent jackpot and others don't? I did. My own mom didn't. She sometimes says that she raised me by thinking "what would my mom do?" and then doing the opposite. She also can recount dozens of times growing up when she thought to herself "I am NEVER going to do this to my own child." Long story short? Grandma sucked as a mom. My mom was a freak anomaly who survived bad parenting. Her two brothers basically didn't.
6. She is still, at 80, a liar and a manipulator, and my mom is just too nice to cut her off entirely and let her sink or swim (probably sink). So Mom, because she's a decent person, still gets jerked around.
7. She just doesn't care much about us. She babysat me for about the first 10 years of my life, which involved us watching Days of our Lives, me eating as much junk food as I could stuff in, and then playing with the neighbor kid (usually something bad, like burning things). As long as my schedule, my needs, or my homework didn't get in her way, I was tolerated. I really don't call her (Hey, I send presents!), but Mom does. I don't know for sure, but I suspect there's not a lot of "How's Mockula?" unless Mom brings me up. She'd rather talk about whatever gossip there is about people we don't know.
So I am taking her out to dinner tomorrow, and another day during the break I think I'll take her to a movie, but I'm doing it to rescue Mom from her constant company rather than because I'm really excited to see my Grandma. I will probably feel kind of bad about all this when she dies, but you know what? I have another Grandma, and that one always asks after me, knows what's going on in my life, makes an effort to spend time with me, and even though she's got her faults, she's just a lot more grandmotherly. I know she cares. I know she loves me. Hell, she asks about my FRIENDS for goodness sake. She knows my friends' names! I'm not 100% sure my Mom's mom knows my HUSBAND'S name.
Anyway, the other thing about it is that people think you're a total rotten bitch if you don't love your grandmother, especially when she tends to be much nicer to outsiders, so they see her as a cookie-baking fudge-making bastion of peace. The truth? Check the picture.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Jeffree Star
Not a good photo, but I noticed my earlier one didn't work. This was actually taken at the concert we attended.
Us
Just a reminder to my husband that if he doesn't want cute pictures of us on the internet, he shouldn't send them to me. This is us at his staf party Saturday night.
Peaches etc.
Hello all! On Friday night, Monkeygirl and I went out to dinner at R15, the new Paragary enterprise which is like Cafe Bernardo but not exactly the same. I had the mushroom burger (a veggie burger with a patty made of mushrooms) and it was good, better than the mushroom sandwich at Bernardo's. My only complaint (about both, really) is that the bun is really unsubstantial. It's like wonderbread. Then we split a lovely buttery fruit cobbler a la mode. Dee-lish. A group of about 15 sat down near us, and we could tell by their dirty emo hair that they were one of the bands. We were right. We finished dinner and headed in to the show next door.
On stage was Jeffree Star
Perhaps I'm behind the times, as his MySpace page declares him an "internet phenomenon" or some such, but I'd never heard of him. He was this skinny (I mean SKINNY) white guy with long pink perfectly coiffed hair and dramatic eye makeup. He was singing about Louis Vuitton, and the lyrics were of the "everybody loves me and wants to be me or have sex with me" variety. At first, we were a little "whatthefuckisthis", but it grew on me. He had two dancers (although no band at all -- it was all prerecorded as he sort of talk-sang over the music), and one was a super-hot (though also skinny as shit) girl in underpants and like a cape or something, and the second was an insanely skinny man with vato cholo hair (shaved on the sides, but the top mohawk-y part was long and luxurious and cascaded down his back) and a Frank Zappa moustache and soul patch. He was in super-short shorts and knee high athletic socks. He and the girl were sexy dancing together, and he was flirting with Jeffree, who peeked into his short-shorts! It was the first of a very gender-queer evening.
Next up was Whitey, whose logo looks like the Disney logo, and who basically sucks ass. It was like 40 minutes of "we are too emo to live" in greezy hair and striped t-shirts. The best part of this set was the people-watching. I LOVE people watching, and there were many great opportunities here. The big queen who pranced around looking fab. The ugly-but-happy lesbian couple who ran, holding hands, through the venue. The architectural hairstyles. The bad 80s retro looks (seriously, feathered hair? The mullet?) The ridiculously short skirts on the extremely underaged. The three (count them, three) I-Live-in-the-Upper-Peninsula bear hunting flappy fur hats (think "Strange Brew" -- we did).
Finally, Peaches came on. As it was her 99th show of the "Impeach my Bush" tour, she decided to let the audience choose the set list, which probably worked better in theory than in practice, as it involved about a hundred people all shouting different song titles at once. We were having a good time, and the show was amazing. Peaches is a fantastic performer with a lot of stage presence (a note -- I'm not a musician-toucher. I am not one of those people stretching my arms out to pat hands with whichever star deigns to reach out from the stage. But at one point, Peaches jumped off the stage, ran over to the bar and sang from atop the bar, then ran into the crowd and announced "I want to be part of the crowd," so turned her attention to the stage and jumped and cheered. Well, at this point she was RIGHT NEXT TO ME, and I jumped and cheered with Peaches, and our arms were touching. It was cool.) She had about four different tiny sexy outfits on, one over the other, which she peeled off during the performance until she was in a silver bra and panty set. THe performance was about the music, of course, but it was also fun to watch her ride the pink Scurvy bicycle,
get a piggyback ride from a roadie, have the two androgynous band members do pushups at her feet, etc. (Another side note: one of them looked JUST LIKE J.D. from Le Tigre.)%20(2).jpg)
Anyway, it was fantastic, but it was starting to get really sweaty and pit-like. The guy in front of me was dancing right on me, leaning against my front with his sweaty back. I began the elbow manouver, keeping my elbow firmly 8 inches in front of me and pointing straight out. After dancing pressed into my elbow for about 15 minutes (and taking his shirt off at one point) he turned to his girlfriend, pointed subtly at me, then turned to me, looked at my elbow and said "that hurts." I said "Yes, and it also hurts when you smash your head into mine, so give me some space." I put the elbow down, and he did give me some space.
But then there was this pussy fart of a Whitesnake-haired slut who edged up behind Monkeygirl. I knew it was crowded, and I knew she, in all her diminuitive glory, was probably a little squished, but I didn't exactly know what was going on until I heard the girl go "Can you please not elbow me in the stomach?" I looked over, and realized that Monkeygirl was employing the backwards elbow. Which is different than actually elbowing someone. It is the equivalent of holding your fist at arm's length and having someone slam their face into it. If you're that goddamn stupid, you deserve it. I cast the girl a dirty look on Monkeygirl's behalf, and right then, she looks straight at me, then does the double devil horns, leans WAY over so that Monkeygirl's head is pretty much wedged between slut's bosoms and her sweaty armpits are touching Monkeygirl's ears. She then screams "WHOOOOO" as loudly as possible. She is literally draped over Monkeygirl like a sweaty skank stole. I say loudly "Get your dirty DNA off my friend." I think there was a "What?" and a repitition, and she was like "You're going to see some DNA in a minute" and pointed at the stage. I'm like "okay, whatever." She then says "We're just really big Peaches fans." I say "that's nice, but it doesn't require blowing people's eardrums out. Back off." I was SOOOOO waiting for her to continue it, but she didn't. I was feeling a little aggro and was totally ready to punch her out. I knew I could get at least two punches in before the security guard could get over. I found out later they had been talking behind Monkeygirl's back like "You want me to punch her?" Later, she and her friend ended up in front of me, the friend swinging her long-ass ponytail in my face. I seriously was trying to figure out how I could get my pantyliner out unobserved and stick it on the dirty DNA girl. What a whore. That cast a bit of a pall on the show. I walked over to the bar area and we watched the end together from there.
Saturday she came over and we had lunch and crafted our little heinies off. She is now embellishing some of the stuff that I made, and yesterday I finished all the rest of my crafting (although I may iron some stuff as a finishing touch). I still have to wrap stuff and get to the post office to send it to Oregon. Then there are a few gifts here and there that aren't taken care of by my crafting efforts, so I have to sort out how to handle those. It may involve baking. Still, I'm almost done!
My Dad's b-day is today and I'm seeing him tomorrow. My Grandma gets into town from Iowa tomorrow and I am taking her out to dinner on Thursday. I'm going to be a busy little bee! Take care, all, and happy holidays, whatever you're celebrating.
On stage was Jeffree Star
Perhaps I'm behind the times, as his MySpace page declares him an "internet phenomenon" or some such, but I'd never heard of him. He was this skinny (I mean SKINNY) white guy with long pink perfectly coiffed hair and dramatic eye makeup. He was singing about Louis Vuitton, and the lyrics were of the "everybody loves me and wants to be me or have sex with me" variety. At first, we were a little "whatthefuckisthis", but it grew on me. He had two dancers (although no band at all -- it was all prerecorded as he sort of talk-sang over the music), and one was a super-hot (though also skinny as shit) girl in underpants and like a cape or something, and the second was an insanely skinny man with vato cholo hair (shaved on the sides, but the top mohawk-y part was long and luxurious and cascaded down his back) and a Frank Zappa moustache and soul patch. He was in super-short shorts and knee high athletic socks. He and the girl were sexy dancing together, and he was flirting with Jeffree, who peeked into his short-shorts! It was the first of a very gender-queer evening. Next up was Whitey, whose logo looks like the Disney logo, and who basically sucks ass. It was like 40 minutes of "we are too emo to live" in greezy hair and striped t-shirts. The best part of this set was the people-watching. I LOVE people watching, and there were many great opportunities here. The big queen who pranced around looking fab. The ugly-but-happy lesbian couple who ran, holding hands, through the venue. The architectural hairstyles. The bad 80s retro looks (seriously, feathered hair? The mullet?) The ridiculously short skirts on the extremely underaged. The three (count them, three) I-Live-in-the-Upper-Peninsula bear hunting flappy fur hats (think "Strange Brew" -- we did).
Finally, Peaches came on. As it was her 99th show of the "Impeach my Bush" tour, she decided to let the audience choose the set list, which probably worked better in theory than in practice, as it involved about a hundred people all shouting different song titles at once. We were having a good time, and the show was amazing. Peaches is a fantastic performer with a lot of stage presence (a note -- I'm not a musician-toucher. I am not one of those people stretching my arms out to pat hands with whichever star deigns to reach out from the stage. But at one point, Peaches jumped off the stage, ran over to the bar and sang from atop the bar, then ran into the crowd and announced "I want to be part of the crowd," so turned her attention to the stage and jumped and cheered. Well, at this point she was RIGHT NEXT TO ME, and I jumped and cheered with Peaches, and our arms were touching. It was cool.) She had about four different tiny sexy outfits on, one over the other, which she peeled off during the performance until she was in a silver bra and panty set. THe performance was about the music, of course, but it was also fun to watch her ride the pink Scurvy bicycle,
get a piggyback ride from a roadie, have the two androgynous band members do pushups at her feet, etc. (Another side note: one of them looked JUST LIKE J.D. from Le Tigre.)
Anyway, it was fantastic, but it was starting to get really sweaty and pit-like. The guy in front of me was dancing right on me, leaning against my front with his sweaty back. I began the elbow manouver, keeping my elbow firmly 8 inches in front of me and pointing straight out. After dancing pressed into my elbow for about 15 minutes (and taking his shirt off at one point) he turned to his girlfriend, pointed subtly at me, then turned to me, looked at my elbow and said "that hurts." I said "Yes, and it also hurts when you smash your head into mine, so give me some space." I put the elbow down, and he did give me some space.
But then there was this pussy fart of a Whitesnake-haired slut who edged up behind Monkeygirl. I knew it was crowded, and I knew she, in all her diminuitive glory, was probably a little squished, but I didn't exactly know what was going on until I heard the girl go "Can you please not elbow me in the stomach?" I looked over, and realized that Monkeygirl was employing the backwards elbow. Which is different than actually elbowing someone. It is the equivalent of holding your fist at arm's length and having someone slam their face into it. If you're that goddamn stupid, you deserve it. I cast the girl a dirty look on Monkeygirl's behalf, and right then, she looks straight at me, then does the double devil horns, leans WAY over so that Monkeygirl's head is pretty much wedged between slut's bosoms and her sweaty armpits are touching Monkeygirl's ears. She then screams "WHOOOOO" as loudly as possible. She is literally draped over Monkeygirl like a sweaty skank stole. I say loudly "Get your dirty DNA off my friend." I think there was a "What?" and a repitition, and she was like "You're going to see some DNA in a minute" and pointed at the stage. I'm like "okay, whatever." She then says "We're just really big Peaches fans." I say "that's nice, but it doesn't require blowing people's eardrums out. Back off." I was SOOOOO waiting for her to continue it, but she didn't. I was feeling a little aggro and was totally ready to punch her out. I knew I could get at least two punches in before the security guard could get over. I found out later they had been talking behind Monkeygirl's back like "You want me to punch her?" Later, she and her friend ended up in front of me, the friend swinging her long-ass ponytail in my face. I seriously was trying to figure out how I could get my pantyliner out unobserved and stick it on the dirty DNA girl. What a whore. That cast a bit of a pall on the show. I walked over to the bar area and we watched the end together from there.
Saturday she came over and we had lunch and crafted our little heinies off. She is now embellishing some of the stuff that I made, and yesterday I finished all the rest of my crafting (although I may iron some stuff as a finishing touch). I still have to wrap stuff and get to the post office to send it to Oregon. Then there are a few gifts here and there that aren't taken care of by my crafting efforts, so I have to sort out how to handle those. It may involve baking. Still, I'm almost done!
My Dad's b-day is today and I'm seeing him tomorrow. My Grandma gets into town from Iowa tomorrow and I am taking her out to dinner on Thursday. I'm going to be a busy little bee! Take care, all, and happy holidays, whatever you're celebrating.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Cautiously optimistic
On new medicine. Crossing my fingers.
Going to a concert tonight! Yay, Peaches!
Playing matchmaker for Monkeygirl. Hope it works...
Got an offer on the house, for just a few grand under what we're asking. Pro? It's an offer, for god's sake. Plus, they want to close before January, which means no more mortgage payments on the old place! Con? They want $8k in shared expenses and repairs money and stuff, which reduces the overall profit, but still within our "we make the money we need" numbers. So I'm signing a very gentle counter today. Hopefully, this'll do it.
Man, that would be JUST what we need. If we were able to pay off our bridge loan and our SMUD loan, plus not have to pay utility bills at the old place, it would free up almost $2k in our monthly budget, which used to include, oh, you know, savings, eating out, books, and vacation money. Plus, we both feel horrifically guilty for having to depend on my mom, and we could pay her back, which would ease our budgets AND our minds. She's been so good to us...
It's not in time for Christmas, but if this house sold, it would sure make for a Happy New Year. I feel like planting something just to see some new life... Our haft seen table at Persian New Year (Nowrooz) has sprouts growing in it. I feel like I should do that now. Or catnip, so Mina could benefit.
Going to a concert tonight! Yay, Peaches!
Playing matchmaker for Monkeygirl. Hope it works...
Got an offer on the house, for just a few grand under what we're asking. Pro? It's an offer, for god's sake. Plus, they want to close before January, which means no more mortgage payments on the old place! Con? They want $8k in shared expenses and repairs money and stuff, which reduces the overall profit, but still within our "we make the money we need" numbers. So I'm signing a very gentle counter today. Hopefully, this'll do it.
Man, that would be JUST what we need. If we were able to pay off our bridge loan and our SMUD loan, plus not have to pay utility bills at the old place, it would free up almost $2k in our monthly budget, which used to include, oh, you know, savings, eating out, books, and vacation money. Plus, we both feel horrifically guilty for having to depend on my mom, and we could pay her back, which would ease our budgets AND our minds. She's been so good to us...
It's not in time for Christmas, but if this house sold, it would sure make for a Happy New Year. I feel like planting something just to see some new life... Our haft seen table at Persian New Year (Nowrooz) has sprouts growing in it. I feel like I should do that now. Or catnip, so Mina could benefit.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Now
It's just fuckin' with me. Let me try to be delicate. I'll talk about my "cycle" in binary code.
Most women go like this:
1111100000000000000000000000
This month, I'm like this:
11110000111111111111111111111
So I e-mailed the doctor and I'm getting a 'scrip. For fuck's sake, anyway!! By the way, I love him. His response to me was "Don't make me get out the cork!"
By the way, that's my Christmas tree. And yes, it's Marvin the Martian, and yes, about 80% are the rest of them are characters in Alice in Wonderland.
Most women go like this:
1111100000000000000000000000
This month, I'm like this:
11110000111111111111111111111
So I e-mailed the doctor and I'm getting a 'scrip. For fuck's sake, anyway!! By the way, I love him. His response to me was "Don't make me get out the cork!"
By the way, that's my Christmas tree. And yes, it's Marvin the Martian, and yes, about 80% are the rest of them are characters in Alice in Wonderland.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Cat and acronyms
Here's a picture of my cat.
And here's a list of acronyms I came up with for our secret society. Feel free to suggest others.
Classrooms United in Novel Teaching
Teachers Coordinating for Knowledge through Literature and Exposittion.
Campaign for Literature In Teaching
For United Classroom Knowledge
Didactic Academia is Never Advantageous when Silencing Universal Complaints from Knowledgeable Sources*
Good Educators Enhancing Knowledge Symbiotically
*Our department head is named, coincidentally, Dana.
And here's a list of acronyms I came up with for our secret society. Feel free to suggest others.
Classrooms United in Novel Teaching
Teachers Coordinating for Knowledge through Literature and Exposittion.
Campaign for Literature In Teaching
For United Classroom Knowledge
Didactic Academia is Never Advantageous when Silencing Universal Complaints from Knowledgeable Sources*
Good Educators Enhancing Knowledge Symbiotically
*Our department head is named, coincidentally, Dana.
Random stuff
Got my tree up.
Craftin' my booty off.
Less than two weeks to winter break!
Work: Vive la revolucion! LONG story short, there are two dueling philosophies in the English department, one which says we should focus on getting the kids to be able to write an essay that will pass the exit exam, and spending most of the last two years of high school on this task. We should, according to this theory, almost exclusively use photocopied articles from newspapers, most of which are three to four years old. The justification behind this is that "most of these kids aren't going to be English majors anyway." The other camp believes in an approach that involves direct instruction in writing, grammar, and analysis of various kinds of literature, poetry, and expository prose.
To my mind, one of these sounds infinitely smarter than the other, and if my bias isn't obvious, then I've misjudged myself. Anyway, Plan A there is sort of the "in" thing, especially since our sort-of-department head is behind it all. There is, however, a secret underground of teachers walking around, checking for KGB, then whispering "Are you teaching novels?"
A few weeks ago, we decided that instead of just one "study team" (which is another rant entirely, but it's completely non-voluntary voluntary time), we would have several that focused on different areas of instruction. A good friend suggested one called "best practices," where we would discuss teaching practices. I know this friend is a member of the underground, so I decide this is the study team I will attend. After pussyfooting around for a little while at the last meeting, but getting the distinct feeling that most of the people there are, in fact, in the underground (I think we ought to have a password), I said "Well, I'd like to overthrow the system." The meeting's leader got up and closed the doors. We talked openly about teaching literature and the benefits thereof, even getting to the point where we asked "why are we even defending teaching literature? It should be so f-ing obvious that we shouldn't have to!"
Cut to last Wednesday. It is department meeting time, so we're ALL together. These are often tense times, because said department head is, um... well, she's obvious in her bias, too. Like, if someone from my small learning community says something, she makes some witty, dismissive comment with a smile. Everyone laughs. She has painted it to the rest of the staff as though we have the world's cushiest jobs because we have the honors students. Never mind that I have ONE class of honors students and four of regular or pre-honors students. But fine. Well, we're talking about something only sort of related (testing), and it's coming at us in a sort of "top-down" manner. Like, the teachers aren't trusted to make decisions, people just hand us stuff and say "do it." My friend, C, wigs out. I don't even know why -- I think it must have just been building up. But he's like "I just think these neetings are a waste of time. What are we even doing? Do we have a goal for today? Are we going to talk about teaching practices?" I sit, a deer in headlights, and don't say a word. I feel like an asshole, because I want to back up C, but it's also a completely inappropriate time. It's like firing the first shot at a pancake breakfast. Anyway, I don't say anything then, but SINCE then, one of our other secret society members has had a meeting with the principal about our teaching "strategies" and philosophy, and made it clear that we disagree with the dominant paradigm. We may actually stop going to the department meetings, although that's not very immediate, since the next one isn't until January. In the meantime, I'm sort of flaunting my passive resistance, wandering through the halls with stacks of books from the bookroom. "This? Oh, it's just class sets of 'Hamlet' and "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead." Ha! F*** you and your paradigm!
Craftin' my booty off.
Less than two weeks to winter break!
Work: Vive la revolucion! LONG story short, there are two dueling philosophies in the English department, one which says we should focus on getting the kids to be able to write an essay that will pass the exit exam, and spending most of the last two years of high school on this task. We should, according to this theory, almost exclusively use photocopied articles from newspapers, most of which are three to four years old. The justification behind this is that "most of these kids aren't going to be English majors anyway." The other camp believes in an approach that involves direct instruction in writing, grammar, and analysis of various kinds of literature, poetry, and expository prose.
To my mind, one of these sounds infinitely smarter than the other, and if my bias isn't obvious, then I've misjudged myself. Anyway, Plan A there is sort of the "in" thing, especially since our sort-of-department head is behind it all. There is, however, a secret underground of teachers walking around, checking for KGB, then whispering "Are you teaching novels?"
A few weeks ago, we decided that instead of just one "study team" (which is another rant entirely, but it's completely non-voluntary voluntary time), we would have several that focused on different areas of instruction. A good friend suggested one called "best practices," where we would discuss teaching practices. I know this friend is a member of the underground, so I decide this is the study team I will attend. After pussyfooting around for a little while at the last meeting, but getting the distinct feeling that most of the people there are, in fact, in the underground (I think we ought to have a password), I said "Well, I'd like to overthrow the system." The meeting's leader got up and closed the doors. We talked openly about teaching literature and the benefits thereof, even getting to the point where we asked "why are we even defending teaching literature? It should be so f-ing obvious that we shouldn't have to!"
Cut to last Wednesday. It is department meeting time, so we're ALL together. These are often tense times, because said department head is, um... well, she's obvious in her bias, too. Like, if someone from my small learning community says something, she makes some witty, dismissive comment with a smile. Everyone laughs. She has painted it to the rest of the staff as though we have the world's cushiest jobs because we have the honors students. Never mind that I have ONE class of honors students and four of regular or pre-honors students. But fine. Well, we're talking about something only sort of related (testing), and it's coming at us in a sort of "top-down" manner. Like, the teachers aren't trusted to make decisions, people just hand us stuff and say "do it." My friend, C, wigs out. I don't even know why -- I think it must have just been building up. But he's like "I just think these neetings are a waste of time. What are we even doing? Do we have a goal for today? Are we going to talk about teaching practices?" I sit, a deer in headlights, and don't say a word. I feel like an asshole, because I want to back up C, but it's also a completely inappropriate time. It's like firing the first shot at a pancake breakfast. Anyway, I don't say anything then, but SINCE then, one of our other secret society members has had a meeting with the principal about our teaching "strategies" and philosophy, and made it clear that we disagree with the dominant paradigm. We may actually stop going to the department meetings, although that's not very immediate, since the next one isn't until January. In the meantime, I'm sort of flaunting my passive resistance, wandering through the halls with stacks of books from the bookroom. "This? Oh, it's just class sets of 'Hamlet' and "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead." Ha! F*** you and your paradigm!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Crafty, undisclosed reasons again, cover songs
I did a little more work on one of Monkeygirl's and my craft projects last night. Now they need a bit of embellishment, but they're looking good. They're going to be good gifts, I think.
So, I'm just wondering if I win a prize for having the world's longest.. That's right, I said ".". I had a four-ish day one, and then a couple day break, and today completes day fourteen. Still confused? I'm doing something that rhymes with "reading" but is a lot less fun. We're having a blood drive at school on Friday, and all the kids are like "Hey, Miss. Mockula, are you donating blood?" And I want to set a good example and support the cause, but I don't think I have any left!! I want to ask "don't you notice that I'm looking even whiter than usual?" But instead I'm answering that I will "try." Under the best of circumstances, I am sometimes too anemic to donate, and I can pretty much guarantee you that I won't get past the finger-stick on Friday.
I said a while ago that I was going to talk about cover songs. I used to hate cover songs. I remember railing against them when I was a teen. Of course, that's because when I was a teenager most of the cover songs I was hearing were, like, the Lemonheads covering Simon and Garfunkle. I'm still against the BAD cover song, and there are still plenty to choose from. I can hardly turn on the TV without hearing a robotic, emotionless Beatles cover or a thin and reedy Cat Stevens cover. But a good cover song can really open up a song to new interpretation and shed a whole new light on it. I am haunted by Tori Amos' cover of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire." The Sacre version of "Mad World" by Tears for Fears is, probably, better than the original. I love hearing Aretha Franklin do "Eleanor Rigby." Johnny Cash's covers make me cry. Patti Smith's "When Doves Cry" gives me chills. I love hearing cover songs that take the song and re-interpret them, add something, give it their own touch. I can't stand covers that are essentially re-makes note for note. I think it's usually not worthwhile for someone to cover a song that was really, really great the first time -- like, what are YOU going to do to improve on, say, Norweigan Wood? You can't. Anyway, that's about all for now. I'm tired.
So, I'm just wondering if I win a prize for having the world's longest.. That's right, I said ".". I had a four-ish day one, and then a couple day break, and today completes day fourteen. Still confused? I'm doing something that rhymes with "reading" but is a lot less fun. We're having a blood drive at school on Friday, and all the kids are like "Hey, Miss. Mockula, are you donating blood?" And I want to set a good example and support the cause, but I don't think I have any left!! I want to ask "don't you notice that I'm looking even whiter than usual?" But instead I'm answering that I will "try." Under the best of circumstances, I am sometimes too anemic to donate, and I can pretty much guarantee you that I won't get past the finger-stick on Friday.
I said a while ago that I was going to talk about cover songs. I used to hate cover songs. I remember railing against them when I was a teen. Of course, that's because when I was a teenager most of the cover songs I was hearing were, like, the Lemonheads covering Simon and Garfunkle. I'm still against the BAD cover song, and there are still plenty to choose from. I can hardly turn on the TV without hearing a robotic, emotionless Beatles cover or a thin and reedy Cat Stevens cover. But a good cover song can really open up a song to new interpretation and shed a whole new light on it. I am haunted by Tori Amos' cover of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire." The Sacre version of "Mad World" by Tears for Fears is, probably, better than the original. I love hearing Aretha Franklin do "Eleanor Rigby." Johnny Cash's covers make me cry. Patti Smith's "When Doves Cry" gives me chills. I love hearing cover songs that take the song and re-interpret them, add something, give it their own touch. I can't stand covers that are essentially re-makes note for note. I think it's usually not worthwhile for someone to cover a song that was really, really great the first time -- like, what are YOU going to do to improve on, say, Norweigan Wood? You can't. Anyway, that's about all for now. I'm tired.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Oh Christmas Tree, Lakme, the sacred and the profane.
I haven't the faintest idea what the lyrics are to "Oh Christmas Tree" (or "Oh Tannenbaum" for that matter) but I can sing the emtire thing. Yeah, I know the melody, so I just wander around singing "Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree. Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree." We got ours today, thanks to Mom and Boompah. We haven't put it up yet, but it's there, and we re-arranged the living room furniture to accomodate it. Yay!
I just heard a Ghiradelli chocolate commercial with the Flower Duet from Delibes' "Lakme" in the background. I love that piece. I'm not a gigantic classical music fan, but there are pieces I'm totally devoted to, and this is one of them. And hey, I like chocolate.
I made a run to Home Despot for C9 lights, and they had exactly one pack of clear. If it's going to go that way, I thought, I'd better just get the clear ones! So I did, as well as another whole string (there were three left), and then I came home and put them up. I changed the fuse in the first strand (the one that was giving me pains the other day), and it lit up! I hung the rest of the lights with much moving of the wobbly ladder and more blasphemous cursing than is probably normally employed in the celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus. Especially since I have a peculiar form of Tourette's which causes me to come up with creative and profane middle names for the Savior. Good thing I don't believe in all that.
Which might lead you to wonder why I do all this Christmas stuff. There's a simple answer: I LOVE Christmas. I'm a total goober for it. It's not a religious thing at all for me (and I know some religious people would really take issue with that), but it's a family tradition, a time for us all to be together. It's full of nostalgia for the best times of childhood. It's a great time to establish traditions as a family with my sweetheart. It's got pretty lights and decorations. It smells like pine. It glows in the living room in the mornings. It actually feels special and different on Christmas morning. It has good songs, both secular and religious. It involves fudge and cookies. It allows me to give gifts to people and see them open them. It allows me to see my little cousins exploring their newest toys. People tell each other they love each other, sarcastic uncles and grown cousins included. There are fires in fireplaces. There's a poisonous plant that provides a good excuse to kiss people. I like a little nog. We get cards from people we don't usually exchange mail with. I pull out ornaments and tell stories about where they came from, who gave them to me or made them, or what they represent. I love so much of it. I don't much like shopping in crowded stores. I'm not crazy about Jingle Cats. I don't like how furiously busy I sometimes feel. But otherwise, Christmas rules.
Oh, and by the way, my sweetie brought me beautiful yellow mums in a nice arrangement tonight for no reason. Isn't he the greatest? Yay, sweetpie!!!!!
I just heard a Ghiradelli chocolate commercial with the Flower Duet from Delibes' "Lakme" in the background. I love that piece. I'm not a gigantic classical music fan, but there are pieces I'm totally devoted to, and this is one of them. And hey, I like chocolate.
I made a run to Home Despot for C9 lights, and they had exactly one pack of clear. If it's going to go that way, I thought, I'd better just get the clear ones! So I did, as well as another whole string (there were three left), and then I came home and put them up. I changed the fuse in the first strand (the one that was giving me pains the other day), and it lit up! I hung the rest of the lights with much moving of the wobbly ladder and more blasphemous cursing than is probably normally employed in the celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus. Especially since I have a peculiar form of Tourette's which causes me to come up with creative and profane middle names for the Savior. Good thing I don't believe in all that.
Which might lead you to wonder why I do all this Christmas stuff. There's a simple answer: I LOVE Christmas. I'm a total goober for it. It's not a religious thing at all for me (and I know some religious people would really take issue with that), but it's a family tradition, a time for us all to be together. It's full of nostalgia for the best times of childhood. It's a great time to establish traditions as a family with my sweetheart. It's got pretty lights and decorations. It smells like pine. It glows in the living room in the mornings. It actually feels special and different on Christmas morning. It has good songs, both secular and religious. It involves fudge and cookies. It allows me to give gifts to people and see them open them. It allows me to see my little cousins exploring their newest toys. People tell each other they love each other, sarcastic uncles and grown cousins included. There are fires in fireplaces. There's a poisonous plant that provides a good excuse to kiss people. I like a little nog. We get cards from people we don't usually exchange mail with. I pull out ornaments and tell stories about where they came from, who gave them to me or made them, or what they represent. I love so much of it. I don't much like shopping in crowded stores. I'm not crazy about Jingle Cats. I don't like how furiously busy I sometimes feel. But otherwise, Christmas rules.
Oh, and by the way, my sweetie brought me beautiful yellow mums in a nice arrangement tonight for no reason. Isn't he the greatest? Yay, sweetpie!!!!!
Sunday, December 03, 2006
DUDE
Monkeygirl and I are crafting fools. We totally made one thing, and it was really rad, and then we made this other thing, and it turned out equally rad, and now we're working on this other thing, and it started out really hard, but now it's like Ford assembly line and the finished product is awsome. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what these things are, because at least two of my readers will be the recipients of these gifts at Christmastime. So, uh, anyway, I'm really proud, because sometimes my crafty stuff is like really nice... for an eight year old. But this year they look hecka professional, and like the kinds of things you might buy in stores. Fancy.
In other news, putting up lights is a bitch-ass pain in the ass. They worked, then they didn't work, then I replaced all the bulbs and they still didn't work, then I replaced the fuse and they worked then one broke and they stopped working so I replaced all the bulbs again and fiddled with the fuse, and they still don't work. Now I have one of two strands up and the strand that's up won't light up. Plus, it kind of seems like the big C9s that I love are out of fashion, because I can only find them in clear, and that's not very fucking festive, now is it? I must have green, blue, red... I need festive, people!
That's about it. I'm ready for bed. Good night.
In other news, putting up lights is a bitch-ass pain in the ass. They worked, then they didn't work, then I replaced all the bulbs and they still didn't work, then I replaced the fuse and they worked then one broke and they stopped working so I replaced all the bulbs again and fiddled with the fuse, and they still don't work. Now I have one of two strands up and the strand that's up won't light up. Plus, it kind of seems like the big C9s that I love are out of fashion, because I can only find them in clear, and that's not very fucking festive, now is it? I must have green, blue, red... I need festive, people!
That's about it. I'm ready for bed. Good night.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
It's freezing!
Okay, I admit, it's not as cold as that picture. In someplace like Illinois, this is probably picnic weather, but I am from Sacramento, California, and I am freezing! It's about 46 out right now and windy, and we had a low of about 28 degrees! That's really, really cold for here. I have to switch to my wool winter coat for real now. Everyone on campus is wandering around with their shoulders up at their ears and their arms hugging their torsos.
In other news, I sometimes don't read our local weekly, the Sacramento News and Review, when I'm busy. But this week I skimmed it, and I was reading the music column, which I often just browse for the names in bold print to see if I'm really interested or not. Well, I was barely looking at it, but noticed at the end it mentioned "Drago's," a cafe that hasn't existed since I was about a sophomore. I back up to read that a little, and find a reference to the cafe that came after it, Cafe Montreal, where I frequently saw bands years ago, including Cake (several times). I went there the night of Junior prom. I skim backwards a little further and further, until I discover that the yogurt shop with the cool "donations-only" shows has closed down. Sad, but then there at the beginning of the column is the news that the True Love cafe is opening again! In the building that Cafe Montreal used to occupy. The building that The Gynas had one of their first shows in! I'm excited, since it was always a cool venue (even if I didn't always feel cool enough for it), and I foresee some good shows coming out of that. Yay, and congratulations Kevin and Allyson Seconds for getting the True Love going again. Sacramento thanks you...
In other news, I sometimes don't read our local weekly, the Sacramento News and Review, when I'm busy. But this week I skimmed it, and I was reading the music column, which I often just browse for the names in bold print to see if I'm really interested or not. Well, I was barely looking at it, but noticed at the end it mentioned "Drago's," a cafe that hasn't existed since I was about a sophomore. I back up to read that a little, and find a reference to the cafe that came after it, Cafe Montreal, where I frequently saw bands years ago, including Cake (several times). I went there the night of Junior prom. I skim backwards a little further and further, until I discover that the yogurt shop with the cool "donations-only" shows has closed down. Sad, but then there at the beginning of the column is the news that the True Love cafe is opening again! In the building that Cafe Montreal used to occupy. The building that The Gynas had one of their first shows in! I'm excited, since it was always a cool venue (even if I didn't always feel cool enough for it), and I foresee some good shows coming out of that. Yay, and congratulations Kevin and Allyson Seconds for getting the True Love going again. Sacramento thanks you...
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
LOOKEE!!
I'm a winner!!! Well, my NaNoWriMo novel may not actually be finished plot-wise, but I've hit 50k words. So I am officially a winner three years running. And this year, I'm actually done a couple days early! I may have slacked, but I still did pretty well and met almost all my goals. I'm really proud of this totally meaningless achievement. Yay, me!
Saturday, November 25, 2006
NaNoWriMo again
Hey. Well, I'm now over 43,000 words, and the Secret Service still hasn't even shown up! I was worried that I'd end it too soon, so I had a party escapade... Anyway, now with less than 7,000 words to go (or an average of 3 1/2 days' writing for me), I'm nowhere near the resolution. Which is interesting. My last two novellas ended right in the early 50,000s, like, I wrapped them up fairly shortly after I hit my goal. But maybe this one will run a little long. That's okay, too. I'm looking forward to it being done, though, because then I'll get back to the gym, maybe go to ballet a little more often, just have a little more time to myself (I know novel time is time to myself, but it's not the same).
Thanksgiving was nice. We went to my uncle's, and I was glad I'd had some toast, because almost everythings was meaty. There was turkey, ham, and beef, green bean casserole, jello salad thing, and even the mashed potatoes looked suspiciously brown (like, brothy brown). So I had some salad and some pie. It was fun to watch my husband and cousins play together, and to watch my cousins torment my little second cousins, who are sweet as the dickens. I also discovered (thanks, Uncle Mick!) Hershey's cherry cordials. Delish. Thanksgiving, indeed.
Yesterday I took my grandma to lunch, and she's a character. Maybe not as much as my friend Suzanne's, but a character nonetheless. For example, we went to Cafe Bernardo to eat. The menu said that breakfast was from 7-11 on weekdays, so we looked at the lunch menu and decided what we would have from there. But when we approached the counter, the young lady said that they were still serving brunch because it was a holiday weekend. I said "ooh, then I'll have the huevos rancheros!" Those and the French toast are my favorite things there. Oh, and the two egg breakfast. Mmm. Anyway, grandma says "Ohh, that sounds good. I'll have that, too!" So we take our tea and go sit down. When our plates come, grandma says they smell good, but looks skeptical and starts poking one of the eggs with her fork. "Is that an egg?" she asks. "Well, yeah. That's what 'huevos' means..." "Oh," she says, clearly disappointed and wrinkling her nose in disgust. She picks up both egg yolks, sets them on the side of her dish, and commences to eat. "Grandma," I ask "didn't you know what huevos rancheros was when you ordered it?" "No, I just trusted your taste." If she'd have just asked, I'd have told her to have the French toast. What a goof.
Yesterday evening I went to Tupelo to do some writing undisturbed (to clarify -- my husband doesn't disturb me, I do. I find other crap that needs my immediate attention and go do it instead of writing). Well, I've been having undisclosed girly problems again, which seems, the last few days anyway, to involve bloating and HORRIBLE gas. I had my earphones in, parked by a roasting machine away from everyone else and just let go whenever necessary. I hope no one had to hear them, but at least no one had to smell them. Sorry, Tupelo patrons!
Today I had lunch with my 4th grade best friend who lives in the Bay Area now. I was surprised and delighted to find out that she has reunited with her husband and is pregnant! Yay for babies with rockin' mommas!! Apparently it's a big baby already, but Erinn is tall and so is her husband, so duh. It's a boy. I'm super-excited for her.
Okay, I've actually done all 2,000 words today, but I think I might write a little more to ease the burden of the next few days.
Take care,
Mockula.
Thanksgiving was nice. We went to my uncle's, and I was glad I'd had some toast, because almost everythings was meaty. There was turkey, ham, and beef, green bean casserole, jello salad thing, and even the mashed potatoes looked suspiciously brown (like, brothy brown). So I had some salad and some pie. It was fun to watch my husband and cousins play together, and to watch my cousins torment my little second cousins, who are sweet as the dickens. I also discovered (thanks, Uncle Mick!) Hershey's cherry cordials. Delish. Thanksgiving, indeed.
Yesterday I took my grandma to lunch, and she's a character. Maybe not as much as my friend Suzanne's, but a character nonetheless. For example, we went to Cafe Bernardo to eat. The menu said that breakfast was from 7-11 on weekdays, so we looked at the lunch menu and decided what we would have from there. But when we approached the counter, the young lady said that they were still serving brunch because it was a holiday weekend. I said "ooh, then I'll have the huevos rancheros!" Those and the French toast are my favorite things there. Oh, and the two egg breakfast. Mmm. Anyway, grandma says "Ohh, that sounds good. I'll have that, too!" So we take our tea and go sit down. When our plates come, grandma says they smell good, but looks skeptical and starts poking one of the eggs with her fork. "Is that an egg?" she asks. "Well, yeah. That's what 'huevos' means..." "Oh," she says, clearly disappointed and wrinkling her nose in disgust. She picks up both egg yolks, sets them on the side of her dish, and commences to eat. "Grandma," I ask "didn't you know what huevos rancheros was when you ordered it?" "No, I just trusted your taste." If she'd have just asked, I'd have told her to have the French toast. What a goof.
Yesterday evening I went to Tupelo to do some writing undisturbed (to clarify -- my husband doesn't disturb me, I do. I find other crap that needs my immediate attention and go do it instead of writing). Well, I've been having undisclosed girly problems again, which seems, the last few days anyway, to involve bloating and HORRIBLE gas. I had my earphones in, parked by a roasting machine away from everyone else and just let go whenever necessary. I hope no one had to hear them, but at least no one had to smell them. Sorry, Tupelo patrons!
Today I had lunch with my 4th grade best friend who lives in the Bay Area now. I was surprised and delighted to find out that she has reunited with her husband and is pregnant! Yay for babies with rockin' mommas!! Apparently it's a big baby already, but Erinn is tall and so is her husband, so duh. It's a boy. I'm super-excited for her.
Okay, I've actually done all 2,000 words today, but I think I might write a little more to ease the burden of the next few days.
Take care,
Mockula.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Big ol' Thanksgiving cliche
I am thankful for:
My family (including, naturally, my sweet husband and all my in-laws and steps and everything...)
My friends
All the health, happiness, and successes of those family and friends
My house
My job and my rockin' students
My health
Lankees
My moody tabby, Miss Wilhelmina
Music
Art
Film
Books
Food
Heat
Humor
Beauty
Talent
Passion
Empathy
Love
Chocolate
Postcards
the Sunday paper
Coffee
Sex
Optometry
my bicycle
a working car
the material things I've managed to hang onto since childhood, like my bluebird necklace
Holidays
photographs
vintage clothing
cinnamon gum
nature
the ocean
flannel sheets
cushy socks
the hammock
Two Rivers cider
fireplaces
the internet
ballet class
flowers
yummy smells
darn near everything I am lucky enough to have or witness.
Thanks!
My family (including, naturally, my sweet husband and all my in-laws and steps and everything...)
My friends
All the health, happiness, and successes of those family and friends
My house
My job and my rockin' students
My health
Lankees
My moody tabby, Miss Wilhelmina
Music
Art
Film
Books
Food
Heat
Humor
Beauty
Talent
Passion
Empathy
Love
Chocolate
Postcards
the Sunday paper
Coffee
Sex
Optometry
my bicycle
a working car
the material things I've managed to hang onto since childhood, like my bluebird necklace
Holidays
photographs
vintage clothing
cinnamon gum
nature
the ocean
flannel sheets
cushy socks
the hammock
Two Rivers cider
fireplaces
the internet
ballet class
flowers
yummy smells
darn near everything I am lucky enough to have or witness.
Thanks!
Monday, November 20, 2006
Yeah, I, whoa, I'm still alive.
Hi. I'm still NaNoWriMoing. I'm over 30,000 words, which feels good, but I have missed a couple days here and there. Yesterday, for example, we had "pre-thanksgiving," or as Boompah called it "We ain't waitin' day." Because we're not all going to be together on real Thanksgiving, my mom made the whole shebang of a dinner yesterday. And it was delicious! We had leftovers tonight, and there's pie to be had later.
My sweetie had a good birthday yesterday, so now he is three years older than me (for slightly less than 2 months). Best present? The Arsenal piggy bank.
I need to get going on the writing tonight. I swear that as soon as November's over I will be spending more time at the gym again. My main character, Jilissa, has been caught for ignoring her parents request that she not go to an anti-war rally in San Francisco, and she's grounded for a month. She has created her anti-Bush MySpace group. But what happens now? When do the Secret Service agents show up? How does it all resolve? I just don't know. I guess I'll find out as I write it. My wrists are becoming chafed from resting them on my laptop instead of hovering above it like a goood ergonomic girl.
Sometime soon I will have to write a blog on my strong feelings about cover songs and my wishy-washy feelings about women and facial hair. But tonight, it's NaNoWriMo...
My sweetie had a good birthday yesterday, so now he is three years older than me (for slightly less than 2 months). Best present? The Arsenal piggy bank.
I need to get going on the writing tonight. I swear that as soon as November's over I will be spending more time at the gym again. My main character, Jilissa, has been caught for ignoring her parents request that she not go to an anti-war rally in San Francisco, and she's grounded for a month. She has created her anti-Bush MySpace group. But what happens now? When do the Secret Service agents show up? How does it all resolve? I just don't know. I guess I'll find out as I write it. My wrists are becoming chafed from resting them on my laptop instead of hovering above it like a goood ergonomic girl.
Sometime soon I will have to write a blog on my strong feelings about cover songs and my wishy-washy feelings about women and facial hair. But tonight, it's NaNoWriMo...
Friday, November 17, 2006
Lawrence
Hi everybody. A few weeks ago I asked if you could spare some good thoughts for my Boompah's dad. Today's blog is in memory of him.
First, a few notes about my Boompah, who, for those not in the know, is my step-dad. He doesn't read this blog, so I can say nice things about him and he won't be embarassed, as he would if I said stuff like this to him. He's been in my life for somewhere in the vicinity of twenty years, although for the first whole bunch, my mom was very protective of my time with her, so I didn't see Boompah much. Nevertheless, he always had something for me for Easter, Saint Patrick's Day, Valentine's Day... He still does that: I'm thirty, and I got a bar of fancy dark chocolate for Halloween. He has always been really thoughtful of me, and I don't mean that all the stuff that's great about him is material stuff that he gives me, but consider this: every year for Christmas and my birthday, he manages to find presents for me that I like, that fit, that look good on me, that I'm interested in, that I usually haven't heard of. In short, he's a really good gift-giver, which, if you have anyone in your life who ISN'T one, you know what that means. It means they know you, they pay attention, they understand who you really are. He always saves articles for me that he thinks I might be interested in. He has practically adopted a friend of mine in his affection (Monkeygirl). He even e-mailed me last night because he found something interesting on the web. Anyway, part of the reason I'm so sad about Lawrence is because I really love my Boompah, and I saw him out walking in the fog this morning at 7:30 (sounds like poetic fiction, but I really did). I know he must be really hurting, and I'm sorry for that.
On to Lawrence. Every time I have ever seen Lawrence in my life, he has been having a good time. Isn't that nice? He knows everyone in his little delta town, partly because he ran a bar there for years and years. He has scores of friends, and everywhere in town, people would greet him, happy to see him. I suspect that "birthday dinner," an occasion when the family and friends got together for dinner every July to eat, drink, and be merry, was a real highlight for him. He liked a good joke, a good drink, and a pretty girl. He was always delighted with the big-breasted girlie stickers that Boompah would find for his birthday cards, chuckling to himself as he read the cards. He always bought everyone dinner on that night. He was quiet about the gifts he received, preferring not even to open them in front of people if he could avoid it. I remember Mom telling me that he wouldn't even drink an expensive bottle of Scotch (I think it was) that they gave him one year, because it was too extravagant. But when it came to sharing things with others, he always did. I remember worrying the first few times that I went to Rio Vista to do things with Boompah's family that I would be an interloper -- Boompah's girlfriend's teenage daughter -- but as soon as I got there, my fears were allayed. It was always clear that I was welcome, and the general feeling was "the more the merrier." I think the first time I went down there, Mom had made a chocolate cake with the Portuguese flag on it, and Lawrence was delighted. Once, at Christmas at Lawrence's, I mentioned that I wanted to find the Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" album. Lawrence had it, and insisted that I take it.
While I am really sorry I will never see Lawrence again, and upset for both my Boompah and my mom, who loved Lawrence, too, I am relieved in one sense. For the past month or so, Lawrence hasn't been out on the town, hasn't had a drink, hasn't mingled with his friends, hasn't been greeted by affectionate waitresses, hasn't had a decent steak dinner, likely hasn't heard a joke or played with his grandson. He's been in a hospital bed, at times unsure why he was there or what was going on. He was in pain. He was unhappy. He kept asking to go home. Well, Lawrence, you're home now. "À nossa saúde!" Tchau, adeus.
(In Portugese, a toast meaning "to our health" and goodbye.)
First, a few notes about my Boompah, who, for those not in the know, is my step-dad. He doesn't read this blog, so I can say nice things about him and he won't be embarassed, as he would if I said stuff like this to him. He's been in my life for somewhere in the vicinity of twenty years, although for the first whole bunch, my mom was very protective of my time with her, so I didn't see Boompah much. Nevertheless, he always had something for me for Easter, Saint Patrick's Day, Valentine's Day... He still does that: I'm thirty, and I got a bar of fancy dark chocolate for Halloween. He has always been really thoughtful of me, and I don't mean that all the stuff that's great about him is material stuff that he gives me, but consider this: every year for Christmas and my birthday, he manages to find presents for me that I like, that fit, that look good on me, that I'm interested in, that I usually haven't heard of. In short, he's a really good gift-giver, which, if you have anyone in your life who ISN'T one, you know what that means. It means they know you, they pay attention, they understand who you really are. He always saves articles for me that he thinks I might be interested in. He has practically adopted a friend of mine in his affection (Monkeygirl). He even e-mailed me last night because he found something interesting on the web. Anyway, part of the reason I'm so sad about Lawrence is because I really love my Boompah, and I saw him out walking in the fog this morning at 7:30 (sounds like poetic fiction, but I really did). I know he must be really hurting, and I'm sorry for that.
On to Lawrence. Every time I have ever seen Lawrence in my life, he has been having a good time. Isn't that nice? He knows everyone in his little delta town, partly because he ran a bar there for years and years. He has scores of friends, and everywhere in town, people would greet him, happy to see him. I suspect that "birthday dinner," an occasion when the family and friends got together for dinner every July to eat, drink, and be merry, was a real highlight for him. He liked a good joke, a good drink, and a pretty girl. He was always delighted with the big-breasted girlie stickers that Boompah would find for his birthday cards, chuckling to himself as he read the cards. He always bought everyone dinner on that night. He was quiet about the gifts he received, preferring not even to open them in front of people if he could avoid it. I remember Mom telling me that he wouldn't even drink an expensive bottle of Scotch (I think it was) that they gave him one year, because it was too extravagant. But when it came to sharing things with others, he always did. I remember worrying the first few times that I went to Rio Vista to do things with Boompah's family that I would be an interloper -- Boompah's girlfriend's teenage daughter -- but as soon as I got there, my fears were allayed. It was always clear that I was welcome, and the general feeling was "the more the merrier." I think the first time I went down there, Mom had made a chocolate cake with the Portuguese flag on it, and Lawrence was delighted. Once, at Christmas at Lawrence's, I mentioned that I wanted to find the Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" album. Lawrence had it, and insisted that I take it.
While I am really sorry I will never see Lawrence again, and upset for both my Boompah and my mom, who loved Lawrence, too, I am relieved in one sense. For the past month or so, Lawrence hasn't been out on the town, hasn't had a drink, hasn't mingled with his friends, hasn't been greeted by affectionate waitresses, hasn't had a decent steak dinner, likely hasn't heard a joke or played with his grandson. He's been in a hospital bed, at times unsure why he was there or what was going on. He was in pain. He was unhappy. He kept asking to go home. Well, Lawrence, you're home now. "À nossa saúde!" Tchau, adeus.
(In Portugese, a toast meaning "to our health" and goodbye.)
Thursday, November 16, 2006
An end in sight?
Well, I'm over 28,000 words in to my novel, and I'm wavering over whether I feel confident abotu it or not. In the past, I've sort of shot my plot wad early, and then had to stall and make up new stuff for the last half. This time, I cane up with multiple sub-plots and wove those all in, and just now introduced what will kick off the climax, but I'm still unclear how I'm going to deal with the next 22,000 words. The guy who writes the NaNoWriMo update pep talk letters says it will all get better around 35,000 words. So, by Monday I should be feeling better. Then there'll be a holiday, only 15,000 words to go, and ten days left.
In other news, I have been working on creating more "me time" in other ways. Like, I said "no" to the three-hour after-school grading session today. "Gee, sorry I can't make it." I also talked to the other speech and debate coach and expressed an interested in bowing out at the semester. We haven't talked about exactly how that would go, but at least I've said it now. The idea is out there in the atmosphere.
I have a Speech and Debate field trip Saturday, then a field trip Monday (whoops, better do my sub planning tomorrow!), and then things kind of taper off except for the holidays. I tend to want to go really all-out and make absolutely everyone handmade presents and baked goods and stuff, and I may have to scale back this year and just accept that. So, I'm chilling. There's an end in sight, sort of. Good news.
In other news, I have been working on creating more "me time" in other ways. Like, I said "no" to the three-hour after-school grading session today. "Gee, sorry I can't make it." I also talked to the other speech and debate coach and expressed an interested in bowing out at the semester. We haven't talked about exactly how that would go, but at least I've said it now. The idea is out there in the atmosphere.
I have a Speech and Debate field trip Saturday, then a field trip Monday (whoops, better do my sub planning tomorrow!), and then things kind of taper off except for the holidays. I tend to want to go really all-out and make absolutely everyone handmade presents and baked goods and stuff, and I may have to scale back this year and just accept that. So, I'm chilling. There's an end in sight, sort of. Good news.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
OJ and the Gynas
Hey all. First, just in case you're wondering, we're letting our domain name expire since there really is no more The Gynas any longer. We'll always be The Gynas in our hearts, but today's just about the last day to see http://www.thegynas.com
Sigh.
Incidentally, I saw a preview on TV last night for an interview with OJ Simpson called "If I did it, here's how it happened." Is that sick or what? Apparently he's got a whole book coming out with the same title and on the same subject. How does this sick fucker keep getting away with it? I mean, if he was innocent (oh, I just chocked on my own spittle in my disbelief), he'd be so ashamed of being falsely accused, he'd be so mournful for the two families, that he'd never pull a stunt like this. I mean, this is his children's MOTHER he's talking about. What a sicko. It really makes me ill. It's like bragging. I don't want to punch many people in the face, but I'd like to punch him in the face.
Sigh.
Incidentally, I saw a preview on TV last night for an interview with OJ Simpson called "If I did it, here's how it happened." Is that sick or what? Apparently he's got a whole book coming out with the same title and on the same subject. How does this sick fucker keep getting away with it? I mean, if he was innocent (oh, I just chocked on my own spittle in my disbelief), he'd be so ashamed of being falsely accused, he'd be so mournful for the two families, that he'd never pull a stunt like this. I mean, this is his children's MOTHER he's talking about. What a sicko. It really makes me ill. It's like bragging. I don't want to punch many people in the face, but I'd like to punch him in the face.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Two more field trip notes, cultural style.
I thought my readers might appreciate this. Sometimes I really do forget how multicultural California is, and especially Sacramento, and I am reminded how lucky I am to be here. But here are two stories.
We are on the earthquake walk and a woman stops to overhear the lecture. She looks at our kids, looks at me (hanging a bit back) and says "Are they exchange students?" "No," I answer cheerily, "we're from Sacramento."
Then when we were at the lighthouse, a guy went to squeeze behind me on a narrow ledge around the outside of the building. I turned to him and said "You're lucky you're skinny, mister." He turned to me with a look of friendly confusion and said, in a heavy accent, "I'm sorry, what?" I looked appropriately ashamed, waved my hand and said "I was teasing. Never mind." Well, while this exchange was going on, it caught the attention of the students (all but two were female), who started laying the heavy-hitting flirtation on this poor guy. They asked where he was from, and he said "Brazil. Where are you from?" They answered, in their perfect little valley-girl-tinged voices, "America!"
It's just rad.
I guess I should have mentioned that of the thirteen kids, 10 were Southeast Asian and three were Indian.
We are on the earthquake walk and a woman stops to overhear the lecture. She looks at our kids, looks at me (hanging a bit back) and says "Are they exchange students?" "No," I answer cheerily, "we're from Sacramento."
Then when we were at the lighthouse, a guy went to squeeze behind me on a narrow ledge around the outside of the building. I turned to him and said "You're lucky you're skinny, mister." He turned to me with a look of friendly confusion and said, in a heavy accent, "I'm sorry, what?" I looked appropriately ashamed, waved my hand and said "I was teasing. Never mind." Well, while this exchange was going on, it caught the attention of the students (all but two were female), who started laying the heavy-hitting flirtation on this poor guy. They asked where he was from, and he said "Brazil. Where are you from?" They answered, in their perfect little valley-girl-tinged voices, "America!"
It's just rad.
I guess I should have mentioned that of the thirteen kids, 10 were Southeast Asian and three were Indian.
Fanny packs and saggy sacs
and little lambs eat ivy.
I was listening to my ridiculous radio morning show*, and they were doing a list of top five emasculating things. The list and discussion thereof included things like having bumper stickers about the honor roll, eating pizza with a fork, taking dance classes, being in a book club, watching soap operas, wearing pink, and wearing a fanny pack.
Well, the fanny pack has been on my mind anyway. Listen, I realize it is horribly ugly and tends to look like a big lumpy fabric tumor around the waist. But I wore one all weekend on the camping trip. And it was great. I kept all my grooming stuff in it so I just dragged it to the shower with me. On our several-mile hikes, I kept an apple and a granola bar in it. I was the only one who had soap after using the national park's scary restroom. I had my wallet in it for whenever we stopped to eat, so I never had to go digging in my backpack. I was able to carry everything I needed and kept my hands free. (A backpack would theoretically do the same thing, but don't you find yourself holding the straps? I do.) Anyway, I also found it kind of amusing that my Reebok fanny pack is so old that it is officially back in fashion with its teal 1980s netting. Yes, I have had this fanny pack since I was a kid. Every time I think about getting rid of it, I recall the previous summer, when I threw sunscreen, chapstick, money, and tampons in it inside a Ziplock bag and went whitewater rafting. Or I think of the hiking trip where I had a handy snack and didn't have to carry a bag. I tell you, the goddamn thing is useful. It's function over form this time, I'm afraid. I am not giving up my fanny pack.
Next up: During the commercial break of the terrible radio program, I turned to another terrible radio program, this one arguably worse. I suspect it is nationally syndicated, since the host was on a popular cable show and it's produced in L.A. Anyway, their guest is a plastic surgeon, and although when I first tuned in, they were talking about transsexuals and the surgeries they went through (and the host made a ridiculous fucking analogy about how if he felt like he was Napoleon inside, he should be able to get shortening surgery -- what a dick), the first caller was like "Hey, my wife's pregnant, and she has stretch marks all around her belly. What can be done about that?" Um, I think the answer is you can get kicked in the ding ding. She's about to give birth to your child, and you're worried about some marks on her belly? Fuck you, the horse you rode in on, the blacksmith that shod it, and the farmer that grew the hay.
I flipped back to the other station and listened, and then right as I arrived at school, another commercial came on and I flipped to the syndicated show again. Another caller was calling about his pregnant wife, and was worried this time about sagging breasts! Wow. The host made some joke about talking about sagging sacks later to even out the calls. Of course, I have no idea whether they did, but what a lot of anti-feminist nonsense on the radio this morning. Actually, it was kind of anti-people. Misanthropy all around.
I was thinking last night of an old boyfriend who used to say "My pussy hurts" when he or someone else was whining. He and his Air Force buddies had used it on one another, as in one would be talking and saying something like "Man, I had to work a long shift last night, and then I hurt my shoulder..." and they would interrupt with "Wah, my pussy hurts."
I actually still think of this phrase sometimes, as it's funny and effective, and the overall effect is rather emasculating (which it was designed for), but it is of course ironic, too. You see, the only time an actual woman might be tempted to say "my pussy hurts" is after pushing an eight pound sack of bone and muscle through it, ripping the skin to her ass and up her urethra, and then being stitched back up. Chicks are tough.
By the way, does that "Mares eat oats" song ever make anyone else think of Twin Peaks? I swear, I can't so much as hear the tune without seeing Laura Palmer's dad with his hair suddenly turned white.
*I suppose I could boycott the show, but since I don't buy from their advertisers, never answer surveys on what station I listen to, and basically my presence as a listener in no way supports their continued existence, I don't feel the least bit guilty about listening. They're funny. I think my favorite part is that the main host of the show is always talking about how brilliant he is, and the two other hosts seem to agree with his assessment, but he's actually kind of dumb. Like, he'll use some ten dollar word, the token dumb fat guy will ask for clarification, and then Mr. Spartypants will give a definition... that's wrong! Cracks me up every time.
I was listening to my ridiculous radio morning show*, and they were doing a list of top five emasculating things. The list and discussion thereof included things like having bumper stickers about the honor roll, eating pizza with a fork, taking dance classes, being in a book club, watching soap operas, wearing pink, and wearing a fanny pack.
Well, the fanny pack has been on my mind anyway. Listen, I realize it is horribly ugly and tends to look like a big lumpy fabric tumor around the waist. But I wore one all weekend on the camping trip. And it was great. I kept all my grooming stuff in it so I just dragged it to the shower with me. On our several-mile hikes, I kept an apple and a granola bar in it. I was the only one who had soap after using the national park's scary restroom. I had my wallet in it for whenever we stopped to eat, so I never had to go digging in my backpack. I was able to carry everything I needed and kept my hands free. (A backpack would theoretically do the same thing, but don't you find yourself holding the straps? I do.) Anyway, I also found it kind of amusing that my Reebok fanny pack is so old that it is officially back in fashion with its teal 1980s netting. Yes, I have had this fanny pack since I was a kid. Every time I think about getting rid of it, I recall the previous summer, when I threw sunscreen, chapstick, money, and tampons in it inside a Ziplock bag and went whitewater rafting. Or I think of the hiking trip where I had a handy snack and didn't have to carry a bag. I tell you, the goddamn thing is useful. It's function over form this time, I'm afraid. I am not giving up my fanny pack.
Next up: During the commercial break of the terrible radio program, I turned to another terrible radio program, this one arguably worse. I suspect it is nationally syndicated, since the host was on a popular cable show and it's produced in L.A. Anyway, their guest is a plastic surgeon, and although when I first tuned in, they were talking about transsexuals and the surgeries they went through (and the host made a ridiculous fucking analogy about how if he felt like he was Napoleon inside, he should be able to get shortening surgery -- what a dick), the first caller was like "Hey, my wife's pregnant, and she has stretch marks all around her belly. What can be done about that?" Um, I think the answer is you can get kicked in the ding ding. She's about to give birth to your child, and you're worried about some marks on her belly? Fuck you, the horse you rode in on, the blacksmith that shod it, and the farmer that grew the hay.
I flipped back to the other station and listened, and then right as I arrived at school, another commercial came on and I flipped to the syndicated show again. Another caller was calling about his pregnant wife, and was worried this time about sagging breasts! Wow. The host made some joke about talking about sagging sacks later to even out the calls. Of course, I have no idea whether they did, but what a lot of anti-feminist nonsense on the radio this morning. Actually, it was kind of anti-people. Misanthropy all around.
I was thinking last night of an old boyfriend who used to say "My pussy hurts" when he or someone else was whining. He and his Air Force buddies had used it on one another, as in one would be talking and saying something like "Man, I had to work a long shift last night, and then I hurt my shoulder..." and they would interrupt with "Wah, my pussy hurts."
I actually still think of this phrase sometimes, as it's funny and effective, and the overall effect is rather emasculating (which it was designed for), but it is of course ironic, too. You see, the only time an actual woman might be tempted to say "my pussy hurts" is after pushing an eight pound sack of bone and muscle through it, ripping the skin to her ass and up her urethra, and then being stitched back up. Chicks are tough.
By the way, does that "Mares eat oats" song ever make anyone else think of Twin Peaks? I swear, I can't so much as hear the tune without seeing Laura Palmer's dad with his hair suddenly turned white.
*I suppose I could boycott the show, but since I don't buy from their advertisers, never answer surveys on what station I listen to, and basically my presence as a listener in no way supports their continued existence, I don't feel the least bit guilty about listening. They're funny. I think my favorite part is that the main host of the show is always talking about how brilliant he is, and the two other hosts seem to agree with his assessment, but he's actually kind of dumb. Like, he'll use some ten dollar word, the token dumb fat guy will ask for clarification, and then Mr. Spartypants will give a definition... that's wrong! Cracks me up every time.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Nanowrimo
I'm still doing well -- on target with my word count. I set a goal for myself of 2,000 words a day, and today is the 7th and I'm just over 14,000, so we're all good. I front-load a little bit so that if it gets too crazy at Thanksgiving or with field trips or whatever, I don't get too behind. Sweetie kindly pointed out that I usually fall behind anyway and end up doing marathon writing sessions toward the end of the month.
Two people so far this month have said something to me like "I don't know why you do this to yourself every year." It's because I like to. It's a good motivation to write, something that I always wish I did more of. It's a challenge that not everyone can complete, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment. It's interesting to be part of an international writing community, if only for 30 days. It's cool to say that I've written two novellas (three after this year!). Anyway, I don't see it as masochistic; I really enjoy it. That is all.
Two people so far this month have said something to me like "I don't know why you do this to yourself every year." It's because I like to. It's a good motivation to write, something that I always wish I did more of. It's a challenge that not everyone can complete, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment. It's interesting to be part of an international writing community, if only for 30 days. It's cool to say that I've written two novellas (three after this year!). Anyway, I don't see it as masochistic; I really enjoy it. That is all.
Total days of instruction...
lost to testing this year: 7
That same number in weeks of the year: 1.4
Total days we have been in session: 45
Percentage of instructional time given over to non-teacher-initiated testing: 15.5
No Child Left Behind, my sweet round ass.
*Numbers based on Freshmen classes. Actual tests include the CELDT test for English learners, the Action Learning Systems benchmark tests adopted by the school district, and a writing proficiency exam generated here at the school. Numbers for 11th grade classes are similar, but the CELDT testing was done in pull-out sessions and they had a day of PSAT testing as well.
I wonder what I could have done with those seven days if I had been allowed to use them to teach.
That same number in weeks of the year: 1.4
Total days we have been in session: 45
Percentage of instructional time given over to non-teacher-initiated testing: 15.5
No Child Left Behind, my sweet round ass.
*Numbers based on Freshmen classes. Actual tests include the CELDT test for English learners, the Action Learning Systems benchmark tests adopted by the school district, and a writing proficiency exam generated here at the school. Numbers for 11th grade classes are similar, but the CELDT testing was done in pull-out sessions and they had a day of PSAT testing as well.
I wonder what I could have done with those seven days if I had been allowed to use them to teach.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Field trip
Hi all. We went to Point Reyes this weekend. I want to tell you about it, but I have to be fast, because I haven't done my NaNoWriMo writing tonight.
Yesterday we hit the road with several fewer students than planned (they dropped out at the last minute and P-man, our lead teacher, thinks they probably used their fundraising money). One of the chaperones dropped out, too, because her dog died. We immediately lost our parent chaperone, then stopped for lunch and P-man got a flat tire. Auspicious start, right?
We finally make it to Point Reyes, go to the Bear Valley visitors center and enjoyed the earthquake walk (you can see evidence of where a fence split right on the San Andreas Fault, and half the fence is about 20 feet west of the other half!) We picked up a straggler -- a woman who thought P-man's science talk was interesting, so she ended up going on our whole walk with us.
From there, we drove to North Beach and looked at sedimentary rock and walked around in the sand.
Then we went to the lighthouse. We were at a high enough altitude that we were in the clouds, and the kids were attempting to suck clouds through straws. We walked 310 steps down to see the historic one, which was really cool. The foghorn was going off in our ears and it was a heck of a hike. There were little resting areas that were enclosed in chain link, and at one point I made some joke about locking the kids up in the little jail, and they all crowded in for a picture. But wait! We couldn't take it until they'd made a sign that said "Asians for sale." Sheesh. Then I got into a gray whale skull for a photo. Good times.
The last stop, at a little after 5, was an oyster farm. It was stinky, as it was next to a salt marsh. We learned some more stuff, I think. (Hey, the kids were responsible for an assignment -- I wasn't!)
Finally we went back to the hostel and made dinner. It was Gardenburgers and salad for me, and burgers and oysters for almost everyone else (the Hindu girls and parent chaperone ate veggieburgers too, so I didn't feel all alone). Then we cleaned up, and by we, I mean the adults. It's supposed to be the kids' job, but freshmen are... freshmen. They were "going to" clean up, but they had to run up to the bunkhouse where we were staying and change clothes and stuff first. Since we just worked continuously, we were done by the time they got back, ready to "help."
We then went on a night hike that P-man said was a mile each way, but I think he was wrong. We walked about 45 minutes to get there at a pace somewhere between moderate and leisurely. Then we ran around the beach under the just-past-full moon. We saw some bioluminescent stuff, which was really cool.
We told the kids it was lights out at ten, but admitted we would find it acceptable if they continued to talk quietly. Apparently, we needed to clarify that we meant "with the lights out, lying down in your bunks, in a whisper." I finally laid down the Mockula law at about 11, and thereafter there was only stifled whispering and giggling.
Today we got up and had breakfast, then thoroughly cleaned the bunkhouse. When we got the okay from Bob, we drove to a trailhead and took another long hike through a lot of scrub and grass and stuff. One of the kids had worn shorts, and there was all this needle-sharp grass in the trail, and the poor kid was suffering. Hey, we told her to wear long pants. Oh well. Then we crossed over the dunes to the beach side and walked the rest of the way back in the sand. It was pleasant, but my feet were so tired from all our walking that I really started to get sore. Walking on the beach is nice, but it's kind of hard on the arches when you do it for like a mile.
We then headed for lunch on the way home, stopping at the same place we'd stopped yesterday. Upon leaving, I immediately got lost and we took the scenic route home through the wine country. Whoops! Ah well, we weren't really far behind the rest of the group. I then returned the van, took light rail home, and got to see my sweetie. I could probably still use a foot soak.
Some observations -- the Freshmen do need a little more structure: we needed to assign them chores and times, not hope they would volunteer. Also, these guys are TOTALLY camera-happy! P-man couldn't stop to explain something about how a conifer found new life after a forest fire without having three of the kids jump in front of the tree, throw up peace signs, and have six of their friends take pictures. It was funny, but got a little old.
I'm sure there's some good stuff I'm leaving out, but in 6 minutes I'll be getting darn close to too-late-to-successfully-NaNoWriMo. And there's still cocoa to be had this evening.
Take care, everyone!
P.S. -- Don't you think a car company like Scion could make a killing with funky seatbelts? Like, my guitar strap for my bass is purple and has a lightning bolt. Wouldn't that make a RAD seatbelt? Just thinking...
Yesterday we hit the road with several fewer students than planned (they dropped out at the last minute and P-man, our lead teacher, thinks they probably used their fundraising money). One of the chaperones dropped out, too, because her dog died. We immediately lost our parent chaperone, then stopped for lunch and P-man got a flat tire. Auspicious start, right?
We finally make it to Point Reyes, go to the Bear Valley visitors center and enjoyed the earthquake walk (you can see evidence of where a fence split right on the San Andreas Fault, and half the fence is about 20 feet west of the other half!) We picked up a straggler -- a woman who thought P-man's science talk was interesting, so she ended up going on our whole walk with us.
From there, we drove to North Beach and looked at sedimentary rock and walked around in the sand.
Then we went to the lighthouse. We were at a high enough altitude that we were in the clouds, and the kids were attempting to suck clouds through straws. We walked 310 steps down to see the historic one, which was really cool. The foghorn was going off in our ears and it was a heck of a hike. There were little resting areas that were enclosed in chain link, and at one point I made some joke about locking the kids up in the little jail, and they all crowded in for a picture. But wait! We couldn't take it until they'd made a sign that said "Asians for sale." Sheesh. Then I got into a gray whale skull for a photo. Good times.
The last stop, at a little after 5, was an oyster farm. It was stinky, as it was next to a salt marsh. We learned some more stuff, I think. (Hey, the kids were responsible for an assignment -- I wasn't!)
Finally we went back to the hostel and made dinner. It was Gardenburgers and salad for me, and burgers and oysters for almost everyone else (the Hindu girls and parent chaperone ate veggieburgers too, so I didn't feel all alone). Then we cleaned up, and by we, I mean the adults. It's supposed to be the kids' job, but freshmen are... freshmen. They were "going to" clean up, but they had to run up to the bunkhouse where we were staying and change clothes and stuff first. Since we just worked continuously, we were done by the time they got back, ready to "help."
We then went on a night hike that P-man said was a mile each way, but I think he was wrong. We walked about 45 minutes to get there at a pace somewhere between moderate and leisurely. Then we ran around the beach under the just-past-full moon. We saw some bioluminescent stuff, which was really cool.
We told the kids it was lights out at ten, but admitted we would find it acceptable if they continued to talk quietly. Apparently, we needed to clarify that we meant "with the lights out, lying down in your bunks, in a whisper." I finally laid down the Mockula law at about 11, and thereafter there was only stifled whispering and giggling.
Today we got up and had breakfast, then thoroughly cleaned the bunkhouse. When we got the okay from Bob, we drove to a trailhead and took another long hike through a lot of scrub and grass and stuff. One of the kids had worn shorts, and there was all this needle-sharp grass in the trail, and the poor kid was suffering. Hey, we told her to wear long pants. Oh well. Then we crossed over the dunes to the beach side and walked the rest of the way back in the sand. It was pleasant, but my feet were so tired from all our walking that I really started to get sore. Walking on the beach is nice, but it's kind of hard on the arches when you do it for like a mile.
We then headed for lunch on the way home, stopping at the same place we'd stopped yesterday. Upon leaving, I immediately got lost and we took the scenic route home through the wine country. Whoops! Ah well, we weren't really far behind the rest of the group. I then returned the van, took light rail home, and got to see my sweetie. I could probably still use a foot soak.
Some observations -- the Freshmen do need a little more structure: we needed to assign them chores and times, not hope they would volunteer. Also, these guys are TOTALLY camera-happy! P-man couldn't stop to explain something about how a conifer found new life after a forest fire without having three of the kids jump in front of the tree, throw up peace signs, and have six of their friends take pictures. It was funny, but got a little old.
I'm sure there's some good stuff I'm leaving out, but in 6 minutes I'll be getting darn close to too-late-to-successfully-NaNoWriMo. And there's still cocoa to be had this evening.
Take care, everyone!
P.S. -- Don't you think a car company like Scion could make a killing with funky seatbelts? Like, my guitar strap for my bass is purple and has a lightning bolt. Wouldn't that make a RAD seatbelt? Just thinking...
Friday, November 03, 2006
The numbers
Heya.
We had a staff meeting yesterday, and the principal went over some numbers from a survey that was taken last spring. It asked things like "Do you feel safe at school?" (Well, technically it said "I feel safe at school," then offered choices that ranged from "strongly disagree" to "strongly agree." But you get the gist.)
Other questions were more academic, like "I am being prepared for college," "I feel comfortable talking to my counselor about my classes," "I know what I will be tested on," "I know how grades are calculated," "I know which standards I am learning each day." You get the idea.
But a lot of the items were sort of more personal, like "There is an adult on campus I can trust," and "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name."
In all areas, we smoked the competition. I mean, our scores were compared to those from the four other big high schools, and our scores in pretty much every category were anywhere from 3 percent to twenty percent higher than the other schools! I mean, wow, right? Makes you think we're some special hoity-toity school, right? Wrong. Our school has one of the worst reputations in town. It was so good to see that, reputation aside, the kids that actually attend the school feel welcome, valued, safe, and as though they are learning.
But then something hit me. The item that read "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name." Well, we smoked the competition again in this category, at 86 percent! Whoo, 86 percent!! But... well... who are the 14 percent that thinks there is not a single adult on campus who knows their name? How sad is that? Enough to have made me tear up twice, actually. I mean, I realize that there are some jokesters who are going to write "strongly disagree" on every single question just as a prank or because they hate school or are having a bad day or whatever. But fourteen percent? I mean, in a school of almost 2,000 kids, that's over 200 kids out there, lost and lonely, thinking that there's not a single teacher, hall monitor, counselor, vice principal or aide who could greet them with "Morning, Jimmy, how're you?" How sad.
We had a staff meeting yesterday, and the principal went over some numbers from a survey that was taken last spring. It asked things like "Do you feel safe at school?" (Well, technically it said "I feel safe at school," then offered choices that ranged from "strongly disagree" to "strongly agree." But you get the gist.)
Other questions were more academic, like "I am being prepared for college," "I feel comfortable talking to my counselor about my classes," "I know what I will be tested on," "I know how grades are calculated," "I know which standards I am learning each day." You get the idea.
But a lot of the items were sort of more personal, like "There is an adult on campus I can trust," and "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name."
In all areas, we smoked the competition. I mean, our scores were compared to those from the four other big high schools, and our scores in pretty much every category were anywhere from 3 percent to twenty percent higher than the other schools! I mean, wow, right? Makes you think we're some special hoity-toity school, right? Wrong. Our school has one of the worst reputations in town. It was so good to see that, reputation aside, the kids that actually attend the school feel welcome, valued, safe, and as though they are learning.
But then something hit me. The item that read "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name." Well, we smoked the competition again in this category, at 86 percent! Whoo, 86 percent!! But... well... who are the 14 percent that thinks there is not a single adult on campus who knows their name? How sad is that? Enough to have made me tear up twice, actually. I mean, I realize that there are some jokesters who are going to write "strongly disagree" on every single question just as a prank or because they hate school or are having a bad day or whatever. But fourteen percent? I mean, in a school of almost 2,000 kids, that's over 200 kids out there, lost and lonely, thinking that there's not a single teacher, hall monitor, counselor, vice principal or aide who could greet them with "Morning, Jimmy, how're you?" How sad.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Sucky
I feel a wee bit feverish. I'm mad that I had to change my 7th period class to Wednesday, because that means that for the rest of the year, I can't take stretch class at ballet, which I really enjoy. I have grades due in less than two days and SO much grading to catch up on. I'm trying to read the juniors' in-class essays, and they're sucking so hard I have no idea how they're ever going to improve. Like, the logic seems to be "I don't think The Handmaid's Tale is a feminist novel because the women get treated really bad and they have to have sex with like these guys they don't even know." God help me.
Off to 7th period.
On the bright side, Sweetie is making dinner tonight, so I can't wait to get home and enjoy the yummy!
Off to 7th period.
On the bright side, Sweetie is making dinner tonight, so I can't wait to get home and enjoy the yummy!
Not all bad
Okay, phew! Mom called, and the heater should be fixed soon. The fireplace guy is coming tomorrow. My gas cap was loose (only $47 to figure that out). Anyway, it all costs money, but maybe not as bad as it could have been, and now we have heat, comfort, and car.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
So, I woke up freezing because our heater doesn't work. We can't have a fire because some work needs to be done to the fireplace and chimney. At the old house, there was a huge leak and the floor warped. A TON of plumbing work needed to be done, and Mom took care of it (we owe you, Mom). The sprinklers now leak and additional work needs to be done to get the valves above ground. We have about a thousand dollars worth of termite work that needs to be done at the old house. Of course, the old house still hasn't sold or really come anywhere close. And this morning on the way to work, my "check engine" light came on. My car's at the dealership right now.
What else, do you think? Um, tree branch falls on the roof? Sewer line backs up in the yard? Stove quits working? What massively expensive thing could happen next?
What else, do you think? Um, tree branch falls on the roof? Sewer line backs up in the yard? Stove quits working? What massively expensive thing could happen next?
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Halloween is fun.
I thought it was fairly clear I was Frida Kahlo, but I got guesses of Carmen Miranda, an Indian princess, a geisha, and a Ukranian (?). Of course, I also thought it was eminently goddamn clear the years I was Bettie Page, Twiggy, Kali, a valkyrie, and Alex from A Clockwork Orange. I don't think my costumes are obscure -- I think people are stupid.
My principal said he was a "nerdy Jewish principal." Right on. It reminded me of the year I went trick-or-treating with my friend and goddaughter. I showed up in costume, Kriste was in costume, Siobhan was in costume (the cutest little Powerpuff Girl ever), even the dog, Steve, had angel wings and a halo. But our friends Kelly and Rudy show up, Kelly in her ever-present overalls and Rudy in his work clothes. Kriste comes to the front door and hollers "Hey! It's a hillbilly and a Mexican!" I busted a gut, and it still makes me giggle. You probably had to be there.
Happy Halloween!!
Bee oh
Oh. My. God. How often do I use the periods in 'oh my god'? Ever so rarely. But today, they deserve it. I have a student in my 2nd period class whose BO is normally sort of a minor annoyance, but today is an outright assault on mankind. I had to take him outside to talk to him. He says it's "part of the costume" (i.e. Michael Myers). Um, unless you poured the contents of a stinkbomb on yourself, nuh-uh. You just reek. You stink like ass. You're Stinky McRancid. I'm serious, he left to go to the bathroom about 5 minutes ago and the room STILL smells.
I took him outside and when he said it was the costume, I (very delicately said) "oh good. 'Cause you know, it's so easy to stay smelling good... just some deodorant after you shower every morning, make sure you're washing your clothes after you wear them, I mean, obviously YOU know..."
Incidentally, he came back from the bathroom, and now there's a 10 foot radius around him of BO and Axe cologne, so he must have taken note, anyway.
Holy god, let this period end.
I took him outside and when he said it was the costume, I (very delicately said) "oh good. 'Cause you know, it's so easy to stay smelling good... just some deodorant after you shower every morning, make sure you're washing your clothes after you wear them, I mean, obviously YOU know..."
Incidentally, he came back from the bathroom, and now there's a 10 foot radius around him of BO and Axe cologne, so he must have taken note, anyway.
Holy god, let this period end.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Virtual housewarming
Since so many of our loved ones are not in Sacramento, I thought it would be nice to post some pictures of the house so it would be like you're here, only without the hugs and sugar cookies. Sorry if the page takes a while to load -- I'm just going to post them all at once.
This is the kitchen.
This is the kitchen from the opposite view.
This is really the dining room, but I've got my desk in it. I thought a table would sort of interrupt the flow from the front door to the back door. Plus, the space in the kitchen is perfect for my dining table.
This is the office. It's mainly Reza's, but those are my books on the left.
The photo above was from the left side of the office, but there are two doors, so this one is from the other door as you head toward the hall and bedrooms. This is pretty much the view you would have seen during the party, too.
This is a bedroom. So far, it is not a purpose-specific bedroom, but I've been thinking of it as the baby room. I've also been thinking lately how nice it is that my family really hasn't been pestering us about having babies. No one but my grandma and my dad (at the urging of my stepmom) have said anything unless I've brought it up. But apparently there was some sort of agreed-upon timeline, and that timeline is UP. So yes, it's the baby room. Yes, we're working on it. Yes, we're, you know, using applied science. We PROMISE, we will bring you a baby to sniff and hold and coo over. Sheesh.
Here is the bathroom as seen from the hallway.
I took this one and the next one of the bathroom because no-one actually went in there and looked at my cool stuff, and I'm so proud. See if you can name the movies those pictures are from. I also caught my movie star shower curtain in the mirror.
This is above the bathtub. I like how Alfred's looking at you, sitting in judgment while you're sitting on the can.
This is our bedroom. A little plain compared to the colors at our old place, but so's the whole house, really. Someday I'll paint, but I really don't mind it for now.
Another angle on the bedroom.
This is the living room. I was just wondering where the hell the ottoman is in this picture, then I looked up and realized I still hadn't moved it back.
Here is the fireplace. We can't have a fire yet because some work needs to be done to the bricks and we also need a screen, so in the meantime I created a "candlescape." I know, how cheesy. Monkeygirl and Gynagirl both brought flowers -- aren't they pretty?
I am only posting this because everyone seems to dig our built-in entertainment thing. I like it, too.
Our back porch (with adirondack chairs courtesy of Mom),
I should have taken pictures of the backyard before dark, but I got too busy before the party, so I had to wait until after.
More backyard. There's a lemon tree, and that's Sweetie's kumquat. Dad gave me the bench for my birthday a couple years ago.
And of course, my hammock. There is some lawn back there, some overgrown plants, including rosemary, cannas, mock orange, a berry vine, a camellia...
Well, that's it for now. I'll write some text-y stuff later. I would like to say, though, that I know how lucky I am to have the supportive, wonderful, loving friends and family we have both near and far. It is by far the greatest blessing in my life. Thank you.
This is the kitchen.
This is the kitchen from the opposite view.
This is really the dining room, but I've got my desk in it. I thought a table would sort of interrupt the flow from the front door to the back door. Plus, the space in the kitchen is perfect for my dining table.
This is the office. It's mainly Reza's, but those are my books on the left.
The photo above was from the left side of the office, but there are two doors, so this one is from the other door as you head toward the hall and bedrooms. This is pretty much the view you would have seen during the party, too.
This is a bedroom. So far, it is not a purpose-specific bedroom, but I've been thinking of it as the baby room. I've also been thinking lately how nice it is that my family really hasn't been pestering us about having babies. No one but my grandma and my dad (at the urging of my stepmom) have said anything unless I've brought it up. But apparently there was some sort of agreed-upon timeline, and that timeline is UP. So yes, it's the baby room. Yes, we're working on it. Yes, we're, you know, using applied science. We PROMISE, we will bring you a baby to sniff and hold and coo over. Sheesh.
Here is the bathroom as seen from the hallway.
I took this one and the next one of the bathroom because no-one actually went in there and looked at my cool stuff, and I'm so proud. See if you can name the movies those pictures are from. I also caught my movie star shower curtain in the mirror.
This is above the bathtub. I like how Alfred's looking at you, sitting in judgment while you're sitting on the can.
This is our bedroom. A little plain compared to the colors at our old place, but so's the whole house, really. Someday I'll paint, but I really don't mind it for now.
Another angle on the bedroom.
This is the living room. I was just wondering where the hell the ottoman is in this picture, then I looked up and realized I still hadn't moved it back.
Here is the fireplace. We can't have a fire yet because some work needs to be done to the bricks and we also need a screen, so in the meantime I created a "candlescape." I know, how cheesy. Monkeygirl and Gynagirl both brought flowers -- aren't they pretty?
I am only posting this because everyone seems to dig our built-in entertainment thing. I like it, too.
Our back porch (with adirondack chairs courtesy of Mom),
I should have taken pictures of the backyard before dark, but I got too busy before the party, so I had to wait until after.
More backyard. There's a lemon tree, and that's Sweetie's kumquat. Dad gave me the bench for my birthday a couple years ago.
And of course, my hammock. There is some lawn back there, some overgrown plants, including rosemary, cannas, mock orange, a berry vine, a camellia...
Well, that's it for now. I'll write some text-y stuff later. I would like to say, though, that I know how lucky I am to have the supportive, wonderful, loving friends and family we have both near and far. It is by far the greatest blessing in my life. Thank you.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Yesterday
was crazy. I taught all day (including 7th period until 4:30), practiced with the staff band for the rally today until about 5:20, dashed home and got my bass and amp (thanks for packin' them for me sweetie), went to Starubucks (I know, the evil empire) to meet my realtor to counter an offer we got on the house*, then went to my uncle's house to "jam" and eat Chinese food. I got home a few minutes before 10.
*Don't congratulate me just yet -- it was a shitty offer from an "investor" that came in at 60k less than we're asking. I wasn't even sure it was worth countering, but we came down about 15k. If they take it or come pretty close to it, fine. If not, screw 'em, because I'm not going to play around with an offer so insulting.
By the way, I don't want my blog to become some sort of world-wide prayer center, but if you could spare a good thought today for my Boompah's dad, my step-grandpa, I'd appreciate it.
*Don't congratulate me just yet -- it was a shitty offer from an "investor" that came in at 60k less than we're asking. I wasn't even sure it was worth countering, but we came down about 15k. If they take it or come pretty close to it, fine. If not, screw 'em, because I'm not going to play around with an offer so insulting.
By the way, I don't want my blog to become some sort of world-wide prayer center, but if you could spare a good thought today for my Boompah's dad, my step-grandpa, I'd appreciate it.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
I got Phished!
I got a call yesterday from a bank that we have recently opened an account with. The caller identified himself, gave me my name and address, then offered to send me a credit card. I said I didn't want it and wouldn't use it. He said he'd send it to me anyway, but we never had to use it. He just needed my date of birth to confirm. He sounded so official that I gave it to him. Then he wanted my mother's maiden name. I told him I was hanging up on him and hung up.
I'm about 90% sure that he was a fake now, but at the time, he was very convincing. I've never been phished by phone before, because we've always been unlisted (I thought we still were). I'm really good at spotting the e-mail phishers, but I sort of got drawn in my this guy. Now I'm doing the Chris Farley "Stupid Stupid Stupid!"
Technically this is not Spam-related, but what a good picture, huh?
It even has the mark of the beast on it.
I'm about 90% sure that he was a fake now, but at the time, he was very convincing. I've never been phished by phone before, because we've always been unlisted (I thought we still were). I'm really good at spotting the e-mail phishers, but I sort of got drawn in my this guy. Now I'm doing the Chris Farley "Stupid Stupid Stupid!"
Technically this is not Spam-related, but what a good picture, huh?
It even has the mark of the beast on it.
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