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...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
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?
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