Well, I've been pretty busy. We're leaving tomorrow at 6am for Eugene, Oregon to see the family! I'm excited -- it's been way too long since we've seen them. I bought chains for the car, I changed insurance companies, we bought snacks for the car ride, I loaded CDs into the car, I packed my clothes, got all my grading done, and Reza cleaned the house quite thoroughly! We are staying in Euguene every night except Wednesday, and Wednesday we'll be in Portland. Tonight I have to clean the car a bit, but then otherwise I'm ready.
I had my first computer class last night. While we worked on creating folders and moving things between them, I created a Powerpoint with animation and timings that included a picture of me holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres and a creepy pic I stole off Flickr of someone holding popcorn. The theme was "I'm hungry." During the class, a woman in her 50s asked what a scanner was. I saw two people's bras, too. One young lady had a very thin t-shirt on, and her bra was totally visible. Another older woman was wearing a crocheted top with a fairly open weave. Am I becoming prudish?
We were in the import grocery store near our house earlier, and I heard someone asking what a samosa was. A few minutes later, someone else was asking how to pronounce "basmati." What are people eating? Pimento loaf and Wonderbread?
The Brilliant Idea is going well -- still primarily in the planning stages, but it's a good plan. We'll see how much I get done while we're gone. (I always anticipate more free time than we really have.)
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
I'm lopsided!
For real! Last night in ballet, as we cooled down we did a stretch where we tilt our head to the right and left, ear to shoulder. I mentioned casually that I hadn't been able to tilt my head to the right at all for about a week and a half. The teacher looked at me funny, asked a little bit about it, and then appeared to be ruminating. I mentioned that my lymph nodes were also swollen. When class got out she came over to talk to me, and I noticed her staring at my shoulder region. She asked, "have you looked in the mirror lately?" Which is usually a kind of insult, but I didn't think it was this time, so I answered "well sure. I mean, not, like studied myself..." She said "Come here" and motioned to the big mirrors in front of the room. I stood there. She said "You're lopsided!" She pointed out that my left shoulder is about half an inch to an inch higher than the right, and the distance from neck to shoulder is actually a little shorter. I don't know how the hell that happened! One of the other ballet gals (whose expertise appears to come from having "several friends who are chiropractors and massage therapists") says it's a bone out of place. Too bad I can't do anything about it before we leave for Oregon.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The day that Count Mockula decided to Do Something and happened upon a Brilliant Idea
I've been thinking that it's time for a Positive Update. I've been really stressed out and depressed, and felt the need to Do Something. Part one of Doing Something is putting away my thermometer, moving "FertilityFriend.com" out of my bookmarks bar, and trying to ignore what Cycle Day it is. People keep telling me to relax, stop being so stressed, and it seems like approximately 95% of people who ever had trouble trying to conceive did so successfully after quitting. I'm not quitting, but I am backing off of it, because it had kind of become my part time job. I have enough jobs.
And then I was thinking of Doing Something, and that Something sort of transformed itself into a Brilliant Idea. And I thought about this Brilliant Idea all day, and at no point did I think "Ah, no, that is actually a rather Silly Conceit." It remained a Brilliant Idea. An idea that is most certain to help me, and maybe someday could possibly help Someone Else. I'm not going to reveal what it is, on the (rather large) chance that it turns out instead to be a Horrible Failure.
Now, if you know me well, you will know two things right now. First, that I hate to try something and fail, so I'm not going to reveal what this Brilliant Idea is. Second, that I am terrible at keeping secrets for very long, so if you want to know, you most likely will not have to wait long.
If you know me VERY VERY VERY well, you may have a guess as to what my Brilliant Idea is.
*The capital letters are not a clue -- I was just feeling very A. A. Milne-y today.
And then I was thinking of Doing Something, and that Something sort of transformed itself into a Brilliant Idea. And I thought about this Brilliant Idea all day, and at no point did I think "Ah, no, that is actually a rather Silly Conceit." It remained a Brilliant Idea. An idea that is most certain to help me, and maybe someday could possibly help Someone Else. I'm not going to reveal what it is, on the (rather large) chance that it turns out instead to be a Horrible Failure.
Now, if you know me well, you will know two things right now. First, that I hate to try something and fail, so I'm not going to reveal what this Brilliant Idea is. Second, that I am terrible at keeping secrets for very long, so if you want to know, you most likely will not have to wait long.
If you know me VERY VERY VERY well, you may have a guess as to what my Brilliant Idea is.
*The capital letters are not a clue -- I was just feeling very A. A. Milne-y today.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Lame
Post removed for being excessively maudlin and self-pitying. But THANK YOU to the anonymous reader who offered support.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Amused by simple things
One of my oldest friends used to say "Don't be amused by simple things." It was when he'd catch me, you know, winding up the chattering teeth in the novelty shop, that sort of thing. Now he's a zen master and denies ever saying it, but he used to say it ALL the time. Anyway, I've always been sort of the antithesis of that. I'm totally amused by simple things. I had a fantastic day today, all because of simple things.
I read the paper and ate baklava and drank coffee.
I folded the laundry and put it away.
I watched an episode of Deadwood.
I cleaned the house a bit.
I went to ballet and stayed for two hours, and I did a series of really great double pirouettes.
I've lost four pounds and I'm feeling cute.
I got a non-fat iced latte at Tupelo and a hot soy latte for sweetie.
I rode my bike (with the pink streamers and the basket and the bell) and looked at people's landscaping and rang my bell at the other girls on bikes and the families and had TWO people ring their bells back at me.
I barbecued tofu and asparagus and we also had salad and artichokes, and we ate outside and I had a Stewart's diet Orange and Cream soda and everything was delicious.
Last night when we went to Maloof's, Abdul gave us another, extra, piece of baklava for us to "fight over." We're sharing it later.
See how easy it is to make me happy?
I read the paper and ate baklava and drank coffee.
I folded the laundry and put it away.
I watched an episode of Deadwood.
I cleaned the house a bit.
I went to ballet and stayed for two hours, and I did a series of really great double pirouettes.
I've lost four pounds and I'm feeling cute.
I got a non-fat iced latte at Tupelo and a hot soy latte for sweetie.
I rode my bike (with the pink streamers and the basket and the bell) and looked at people's landscaping and rang my bell at the other girls on bikes and the families and had TWO people ring their bells back at me.
I barbecued tofu and asparagus and we also had salad and artichokes, and we ate outside and I had a Stewart's diet Orange and Cream soda and everything was delicious.
Last night when we went to Maloof's, Abdul gave us another, extra, piece of baklava for us to "fight over." We're sharing it later.
See how easy it is to make me happy?
Friday, March 23, 2007
Updates, mainly good
Well, we found a place to hide all our play stuff -- sets, costumes and everything. So glad I have a master key, 'cause I'm SURE no one would want me storing them with the *gasp* graduation robes.
On the schedule front, my friend/IB coordinator is as committed to making sure the schedule is fair for me as I am to making sure it's fair for others. He's being creative, and has several ideas. So that's cool.
It looks as though this month has been another waste of prenatal vitamins, but I did have a cool moment last night. A little background -- my uncle owns a business, and the guys we play music with are business associates of his. One of them, Matt, is an engineer. He's a great guitarist, and shortly after we met, we realized his wife is a friend of mine from years back. Well, my uncle and the arrythmic drummer often drink and smoke pot during our band practice. Sometimes I'll have a drink, and other times I won't. Matt usually has a drink, but doesn't go out and smoke with them. So often, the two of us end up talking and waiting. As it turns out, he used to smoke pot, too, but quit out of deference for his wife, because they're trying to get pregnant, too, and she says if SHE can't smoke, neither can he. I shared that we're trying, too, which is why I don't always drink (depends on the time in my cycle). So we have this sort of bond going on. Well, last night was a no drinking night, and in fact, I brought myself some orange soda. They started to pour a shot for me and I said "oh, no thanks." Usually, that's the end of it. But last night, the arrythmic drummer was like "Aw, come on." I said "No, I'm cool." He sort of screwed up his eyes and said "why aren't you drinking?" And Matt pipes up "That's none of your fuckin' business." The arrythmic drummer continues "Wait, do you think you might be having a baby?" Now Matt actually looks pissed, and he says "That's even MORE none of your fuckin' business." I kind of joked it off to defuse the tension -- something about my uncle being in the room and him not knowing I have sex. But I really appreciated it. I guess they've been trying for like four years, so he's used to it. It kind of cracked me up, though.
On the schedule front, my friend/IB coordinator is as committed to making sure the schedule is fair for me as I am to making sure it's fair for others. He's being creative, and has several ideas. So that's cool.
It looks as though this month has been another waste of prenatal vitamins, but I did have a cool moment last night. A little background -- my uncle owns a business, and the guys we play music with are business associates of his. One of them, Matt, is an engineer. He's a great guitarist, and shortly after we met, we realized his wife is a friend of mine from years back. Well, my uncle and the arrythmic drummer often drink and smoke pot during our band practice. Sometimes I'll have a drink, and other times I won't. Matt usually has a drink, but doesn't go out and smoke with them. So often, the two of us end up talking and waiting. As it turns out, he used to smoke pot, too, but quit out of deference for his wife, because they're trying to get pregnant, too, and she says if SHE can't smoke, neither can he. I shared that we're trying, too, which is why I don't always drink (depends on the time in my cycle). So we have this sort of bond going on. Well, last night was a no drinking night, and in fact, I brought myself some orange soda. They started to pour a shot for me and I said "oh, no thanks." Usually, that's the end of it. But last night, the arrythmic drummer was like "Aw, come on." I said "No, I'm cool." He sort of screwed up his eyes and said "why aren't you drinking?" And Matt pipes up "That's none of your fuckin' business." The arrythmic drummer continues "Wait, do you think you might be having a baby?" Now Matt actually looks pissed, and he says "That's even MORE none of your fuckin' business." I kind of joked it off to defuse the tension -- something about my uncle being in the room and him not knowing I have sex. But I really appreciated it. I guess they've been trying for like four years, so he's used to it. It kind of cracked me up, though.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Cranky cranky
(Note: I don't know what the fuck this picture is, but it's cracking me up. I just searched for "theater.")
Okay, so here's what's up at work:
We're making next year's schedule. I can have a semi decent schedule where I only have to have three different classes to teach, but then another good English teacher doesn't get the kids in their tenth grade year. Which he should, 'cause he's good at it.
I can have a really fun schedule but one of the other teachers would have to teach nothing but shitty classes.
I can have four different classes, three of them shitty, but everyone else would be treated fairly and the kids would get the teachers they deserve.
So where do I find myself? Advocating taking four different classes, three of them shitty, because I don't think any of the other solutions are fair and reasonable.
Then, do you remember last Spring, then late summer, when I was talking about what classroom to pick? And it was no AC and no natural sunlight vs. old building in the agriculture area with sunlight and AC? I took AC, but what I didn't consider is that the ag area smells strongly of pigshit.
And finally, teaching drama is fun, right? Well, sometimes. The rest of the time you have to deal with building permits, your shit getting repeatedly destroyed because other groups use the auditorium, your shit getting stolen or hidden, kids not doing their work because it's a big auditorium and you can't see all of them at once, the kids failing to wash paintbrushes time after time and destroying about 20 of them in total, the VP asking you to move ALL your stuff out of the auditorium a few days before the play so that another community group can use it (even though you have the building permit), and then the date of the play being changed not once but twice due to other teachers' needs. Sucky sucky sucky sucky sucky. And now I have to teach my student teacher's class because she's got interviews during this time period about four times in the next two weeks. I hope she gets a job and I wish her well, but damn! If I was trying to complete a student teaching gig, I'd try to show up sometimes.
That's all for now.
Okay, so here's what's up at work:
We're making next year's schedule. I can have a semi decent schedule where I only have to have three different classes to teach, but then another good English teacher doesn't get the kids in their tenth grade year. Which he should, 'cause he's good at it.
I can have a really fun schedule but one of the other teachers would have to teach nothing but shitty classes.
I can have four different classes, three of them shitty, but everyone else would be treated fairly and the kids would get the teachers they deserve.
So where do I find myself? Advocating taking four different classes, three of them shitty, because I don't think any of the other solutions are fair and reasonable.
Then, do you remember last Spring, then late summer, when I was talking about what classroom to pick? And it was no AC and no natural sunlight vs. old building in the agriculture area with sunlight and AC? I took AC, but what I didn't consider is that the ag area smells strongly of pigshit.
And finally, teaching drama is fun, right? Well, sometimes. The rest of the time you have to deal with building permits, your shit getting repeatedly destroyed because other groups use the auditorium, your shit getting stolen or hidden, kids not doing their work because it's a big auditorium and you can't see all of them at once, the kids failing to wash paintbrushes time after time and destroying about 20 of them in total, the VP asking you to move ALL your stuff out of the auditorium a few days before the play so that another community group can use it (even though you have the building permit), and then the date of the play being changed not once but twice due to other teachers' needs. Sucky sucky sucky sucky sucky. And now I have to teach my student teacher's class because she's got interviews during this time period about four times in the next two weeks. I hope she gets a job and I wish her well, but damn! If I was trying to complete a student teaching gig, I'd try to show up sometimes.
That's all for now.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Dreams
I had this dream last night that I had to go to Monkeygirl's office to get some files off the computer. I was in there and no one else was around (it was early morning) and I was trying to put a CD in, but couldn't find the slot. Then one of her co-workers came and helped me; there was a ten-CD changer in the back of the motherboard. Then Monkeygirl herself came in, dressed in a robe with a towel on her head. She was going to Mervyn's later for some clothes, I think.
Then Sweetie and I had a baby, but because it was so little, it was really boring, so we parked it on the couch with my Grandma to watch reruns of Sanford and Son while we played (I think we were teenagers). We got a dog, because that was more fun to play with. We laid butcher paper over the pool and tried to walk on it. That's all I remember. Dreams are weird.
Today I'm at the California Scholarship Foundation conference, teaching Capoeira and Belly dance as though I'm qualified to do so. Whatever, twenty middle schoolers and forty minutes -- I can fake it through that. Lunch is in a couple minutes, so I'm off!
Then Sweetie and I had a baby, but because it was so little, it was really boring, so we parked it on the couch with my Grandma to watch reruns of Sanford and Son while we played (I think we were teenagers). We got a dog, because that was more fun to play with. We laid butcher paper over the pool and tried to walk on it. That's all I remember. Dreams are weird.
Today I'm at the California Scholarship Foundation conference, teaching Capoeira and Belly dance as though I'm qualified to do so. Whatever, twenty middle schoolers and forty minutes -- I can fake it through that. Lunch is in a couple minutes, so I'm off!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Assembly and stuff
Well, the assembly actually went off without a hitch. If I was the big bad queen in charge of everything, I would have cut the Viet dance and the Hmong dance by about four minutes each and turned the lights up a little on the Viet dancers (they were holding candles with glow sticks in them, so they turned the lights WAY down so you could see 'em, but then you couldn't see their pretty dresses). I would have also forced the Hmong band to TUNE the rhythm guitar, use some notes below the 12th fret on the high E, and maybe take singing lessons (it wasn't quite American Idol badness, but it was bad). Anyway, I'm glad it's over, although I still have a billion more things to do.
I had an interesting realization yesterday. I was looking at the picture of the tea party in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and thinking that I've always loved it. One of the things I like is that she looks so damn cranky. I remember that about ten years ago, I wrote a justification for why I liked Alice, and I believe it was that she was lost in the world, dumbfounded by how it all works, confused, unsure of her identity... And yesterday I realized that I like Alice now for an entirely different reason. It's that in the face of all that, she rails against it, protests at every turn, even disrupts the system (bringing down the cards at the end). I like that she is angry and strong enough to assert herself and question the illogic. When the hatter asks her whether she wants more tea, for example, she doesn't just say "Oh, sure, thank you," like a polite little Victorian girl would. She says "I haven't had ANY yet, so how can I have more?" Anyway, just some thoughts on that.
Sacramento is in a weird mood -- there's a train trestle burning that's been burning since yesterday, and the whole town is enveloped in thick, cresosote-filled smoke. I've heard of several car accidents, part of a freeway buckling --- traffic's a nightmare. I almost got killed this morning by Skippy. I noticed a car right next to me (I was NOT in his blind spot, but right up next to him) starting to move, so I looked quickly at the lane next to me, moved over, and honked as I did it. Then the bastard proceeded to hang around me, changing lanes into each lane I was in. I feel that if you almost kill someone, you ought to have the decency to avoid them afterwards. Anyway, he gets off the freeway with me and everything, and I realize it's Skippy, my co-worker!! Bad driver, Skippy!! Bad! (Incidentally, the principal asked that all the new teachers this year introduce themselves and give their childhood nicknames. Unfortunately, this had the effect of causing me not to remember either their actual names or their childhood nicknames, so I think of them all as Skippy or Scooter now.)
Okay, that's all for now. I really keep meaning to post a picture for Suzanne, but haven't had the motivation.
I had an interesting realization yesterday. I was looking at the picture of the tea party in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and thinking that I've always loved it. One of the things I like is that she looks so damn cranky. I remember that about ten years ago, I wrote a justification for why I liked Alice, and I believe it was that she was lost in the world, dumbfounded by how it all works, confused, unsure of her identity... And yesterday I realized that I like Alice now for an entirely different reason. It's that in the face of all that, she rails against it, protests at every turn, even disrupts the system (bringing down the cards at the end). I like that she is angry and strong enough to assert herself and question the illogic. When the hatter asks her whether she wants more tea, for example, she doesn't just say "Oh, sure, thank you," like a polite little Victorian girl would. She says "I haven't had ANY yet, so how can I have more?" Anyway, just some thoughts on that.
Sacramento is in a weird mood -- there's a train trestle burning that's been burning since yesterday, and the whole town is enveloped in thick, cresosote-filled smoke. I've heard of several car accidents, part of a freeway buckling --- traffic's a nightmare. I almost got killed this morning by Skippy. I noticed a car right next to me (I was NOT in his blind spot, but right up next to him) starting to move, so I looked quickly at the lane next to me, moved over, and honked as I did it. Then the bastard proceeded to hang around me, changing lanes into each lane I was in. I feel that if you almost kill someone, you ought to have the decency to avoid them afterwards. Anyway, he gets off the freeway with me and everything, and I realize it's Skippy, my co-worker!! Bad driver, Skippy!! Bad! (Incidentally, the principal asked that all the new teachers this year introduce themselves and give their childhood nicknames. Unfortunately, this had the effect of causing me not to remember either their actual names or their childhood nicknames, so I think of them all as Skippy or Scooter now.)
Okay, that's all for now. I really keep meaning to post a picture for Suzanne, but haven't had the motivation.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
So busy...
Hello all,
I'm crazy busy, as usual. Maybe more so than usual. I'm the sponsor for the "multi-cultural assembly," which kind of SOUNDED like it was going to require just supervision, not a lot of work. But I was wrong. There is basically no way to describe this all that doesn't include the word "clusterfuck," so I'll just give a few impressions:
The boys who play guitar never stop in two hours, no matter what else is going on. And worse, they don't seem to be aware that there are strings below the 12th fret on the top two strings.
The Philipino girls don't really need to "get used to the microphone." They're just stage hogs who want to sing while everyone waits for them.
One 4-minute "fashion show" practice in the first hour of TWO hours that I volunteered to hang out for after school for two days in a row? Assholes.
How cool that five other teachers agreed to help supervise. Wish any of them had showed up.
I thought if I said "sign up with the secretary," but then everybody signed up with me, I could just assume that that was how it went down around here. No, it turns out that there are now two separate (and wildly different) lists. And the secretary is pissed at me.
No, you can't have open flame. No, not if it's cultural. No, not after I said "no" once already. No, don't tell the Viet club that you "think it'll be okay."
Yes, you have to show up at practice.
No, you can't just randomly get excused from your class. You have to get permission from the teacher.
Dear Principal -- I would have been fine with the schedule change if you had suggested it more than 48 hours before-hand.
Dear everyone else -- I'm sorry the schedule changed. Yes I KNOW you made plans. Yes I KNOW this is inconvenient and last-minute. Yes, I'm sorry. But the principal is making me.
Hey, AV kids. Cut the fucking Metallica and clean up. It's time to go home.
Where's the hammer? Where are those bones we borrowed from the science department? What happened to our moon? Has anyone seen the broom? I'm sorry, drama class prop department; we have to start all over because people are ASSHOLES.
I'm already looking toward the next couple months in dread. I have assigned huge essays to be due every week for six weeks (that I need to correct and return). I have a computer class starting on Thursday nights. I agreed to chaperone the Physics trip. I agreed to go to Yosemite. I am chaperoning the IB banquet. This weekend is the CSF conference. The Aztec festival (and the play I'm putting on) is in two weeks. I can't even remember everything, but I suspect there's more. I was thinking of a river clean-up day for community service.
I've been planning to teach summer school, but if they don't call or something, I'm not going to follow up. This is a busy, difficult job. I kind of need my summertime. I'm feeling stressed.
Everyone's been saying maybe I'm not getting pregnant because I'm a stress case. Maybe it's true. Maybe this is a bad time. Maybe it being a bad time will be the kickstart an embryo needs. "Say, this chick's got a ton going on? Time to make it worse!"
I'm crazy busy, as usual. Maybe more so than usual. I'm the sponsor for the "multi-cultural assembly," which kind of SOUNDED like it was going to require just supervision, not a lot of work. But I was wrong. There is basically no way to describe this all that doesn't include the word "clusterfuck," so I'll just give a few impressions:
The boys who play guitar never stop in two hours, no matter what else is going on. And worse, they don't seem to be aware that there are strings below the 12th fret on the top two strings.
The Philipino girls don't really need to "get used to the microphone." They're just stage hogs who want to sing while everyone waits for them.
One 4-minute "fashion show" practice in the first hour of TWO hours that I volunteered to hang out for after school for two days in a row? Assholes.
How cool that five other teachers agreed to help supervise. Wish any of them had showed up.
I thought if I said "sign up with the secretary," but then everybody signed up with me, I could just assume that that was how it went down around here. No, it turns out that there are now two separate (and wildly different) lists. And the secretary is pissed at me.
No, you can't have open flame. No, not if it's cultural. No, not after I said "no" once already. No, don't tell the Viet club that you "think it'll be okay."
Yes, you have to show up at practice.
No, you can't just randomly get excused from your class. You have to get permission from the teacher.
Dear Principal -- I would have been fine with the schedule change if you had suggested it more than 48 hours before-hand.
Dear everyone else -- I'm sorry the schedule changed. Yes I KNOW you made plans. Yes I KNOW this is inconvenient and last-minute. Yes, I'm sorry. But the principal is making me.
Hey, AV kids. Cut the fucking Metallica and clean up. It's time to go home.
Where's the hammer? Where are those bones we borrowed from the science department? What happened to our moon? Has anyone seen the broom? I'm sorry, drama class prop department; we have to start all over because people are ASSHOLES.
I'm already looking toward the next couple months in dread. I have assigned huge essays to be due every week for six weeks (that I need to correct and return). I have a computer class starting on Thursday nights. I agreed to chaperone the Physics trip. I agreed to go to Yosemite. I am chaperoning the IB banquet. This weekend is the CSF conference. The Aztec festival (and the play I'm putting on) is in two weeks. I can't even remember everything, but I suspect there's more. I was thinking of a river clean-up day for community service.
I've been planning to teach summer school, but if they don't call or something, I'm not going to follow up. This is a busy, difficult job. I kind of need my summertime. I'm feeling stressed.
Everyone's been saying maybe I'm not getting pregnant because I'm a stress case. Maybe it's true. Maybe this is a bad time. Maybe it being a bad time will be the kickstart an embryo needs. "Say, this chick's got a ton going on? Time to make it worse!"
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Guest blogger! My sweet husband
This poem he wrote beautifully sums up my Saturday. Thanks honey!
The home repair was to be simple; a snake, a sink, a resolution
and then the comedy of errors began.
A broken U-Pipe led to one visit from the father-in-law,
one visit from the mother-in-law (to investigate a possible crime scene),
one argument between lovers,
and two visits from the plumbers.
It also included five trips to Home Depot (two for the lovers, two for the wife, one for the husband),
which resulted in one set of galvanized nipple extractors (of which a million jokes could be made),
one 10-inch pipe,
one plumbers wrench (which didn't work),
two faucet-handle combinations,
and three hoses with adaptors.
All of this around $300, which will be less after we return items as recommended by Mr. Plumbing.
Yet the cost of the home repair goes far beyond money.
It cost the lovers one saturday,
over 12 hours of sunny weather,
dinner for the husband at his favorite restaurant,
and untold amounts of stress.
And yet in the end the disaster was not so much of one.
The father-in-law felt useful (and showed us tools he was proud of),
the mother-in-law didn't have to put her past profession to use,
dinner was had by the wife and friend (and they sat at the owner's table),
dinner was brought to the husband,
a new set of faucet handles were installed,
one plumber's hammer is being held hostage,
and the lovers made up.
All because the home repair was to be simple; a snake, a sink, a resolution.
(adapted from "The Diameter of a Bomb" by Yehuda Amichai)
The home repair was to be simple; a snake, a sink, a resolution
and then the comedy of errors began.
A broken U-Pipe led to one visit from the father-in-law,
one visit from the mother-in-law (to investigate a possible crime scene),
one argument between lovers,
and two visits from the plumbers.
It also included five trips to Home Depot (two for the lovers, two for the wife, one for the husband),
which resulted in one set of galvanized nipple extractors (of which a million jokes could be made),
one 10-inch pipe,
one plumbers wrench (which didn't work),
two faucet-handle combinations,
and three hoses with adaptors.
All of this around $300, which will be less after we return items as recommended by Mr. Plumbing.
Yet the cost of the home repair goes far beyond money.
It cost the lovers one saturday,
over 12 hours of sunny weather,
dinner for the husband at his favorite restaurant,
and untold amounts of stress.
And yet in the end the disaster was not so much of one.
The father-in-law felt useful (and showed us tools he was proud of),
the mother-in-law didn't have to put her past profession to use,
dinner was had by the wife and friend (and they sat at the owner's table),
dinner was brought to the husband,
a new set of faucet handles were installed,
one plumber's hammer is being held hostage,
and the lovers made up.
All because the home repair was to be simple; a snake, a sink, a resolution.
(adapted from "The Diameter of a Bomb" by Yehuda Amichai)
Friday, March 02, 2007
If I taught sex ed.
I would tell the kids that masturbation is normal.
I would tell the kid that loving someone is best, but if you can't wait for love, at least you have to really TRUST the person you're with.
I would tell them about all the safe sex methods, including dental dams and finger condoms, and then I would tell them that it's important to use all this stuff from the very beginning -- don't let anbody tell you "Let's just do [i]this[/i] for a minute, and THEN we'll use safe sex methods."
There's more, but those are probably some of the reasons I would not be a good sex ed teacher. Well, I'd be GREAT, but fired.
I would tell the kid that loving someone is best, but if you can't wait for love, at least you have to really TRUST the person you're with.
I would tell them about all the safe sex methods, including dental dams and finger condoms, and then I would tell them that it's important to use all this stuff from the very beginning -- don't let anbody tell you "Let's just do [i]this[/i] for a minute, and THEN we'll use safe sex methods."
There's more, but those are probably some of the reasons I would not be a good sex ed teacher. Well, I'd be GREAT, but fired.
Jeff the arrythmic drummer
(Note -- this photo was just randomly stolen from Flickr)
So, here is why Jeff the arrythmic drummer gets on my nerves.
1: He doesn't seem to get that we are interested in doing a tune a couple times to work on it and get it right. He just wants to pound through songs one after the other.
2: Drumming is hard. I get that. I can't do it myself, and I'm impressed with anyone who can. But let's be honest: it's not as important if a drummer knows a song as it is if the guitarists do. With a drummer, you can say "Give us a rock beat in 4/4 time, at about this tempo." With a guitarist, you can't really just go "Hey, do you know Nickelback's Photograph? No? It's really easy, it's just like 'broww neeow woowweewwooowwooo.'" He keeps wanting to do songs that he knows and that we don't, which doesn't work that well.
3: Arrythmic doesn't entirely describe him. He can keep a beat... for a while. But the problem is, when we REALLY get in a groove, like when we're playing our super-long version of "Hey, Joe," he gets so... into it, that he goes into, like, a drum trance and closes his eyes and just hits the drums whenever he feels like it. Often the drum beat retards severely at this point (and that's a music term, not a "special needs" joke), leaving us trying to match him, but it doesn't work very well.
4: Dude. I'm not a guitarist, but I understand the importance of a guitar solo. Don't drum over the guitar solo. Can he even hear it? 'Cause usually right in the middle of the guitar solo, he starts a drum solo.
5: He gets high, which I don't have a major problem with, but then you have to talk to him when he's fucking high. Case in point. "Okay, here's the song." (Plays it on the CD player.) We all listen and appreciate. We look at the chords. We say, "Okay, shall we try the song then?" We pick up our bass & guitars, and look to Jeff. He says "Guys, I don't know what song we're doing! You gotta tell the drummer what song we're doing!" "Uh, dude, it's "Because the Night." Jeff: "I don't know that one." Us: "Yeah, we JUST listened to it." Jeff: "What is it now?" Us: "Because the Night, you know... *we sing*" Jeff: "Oh that one!"
Case in point #2.
Eric: So, starting at the end of this month, Mock's got a class on Thursday nights for eight weeks. What do we want to do?
Matt: Well, let's pick another night.
Mock: Tuesdays and Wednesdays are out for me.
Jeff: Tuesdays are good for me.
Mock: Tuesdays are bad for me. They're out.
Jeff: Yeah, Tuesdays are great, 'cause I don't have my kids on Wednesday morning.
Eric: Yeah, but Mock can't do Tuesdays.
Jeff: Aww, man, you guys gotta respect that I'm a single father, I'm the only single dad. On Wednesdays I can sleep in because the kids are with their mom and I don't have to get them up to go to school.
Matt: Yeah, yeah, man. What are some... other days that work for you?
Jeff: How about Thursdays? What's wrong with Thursdays?
Eric: Well, Thursdays are what we do NOW, but Mock's got a class starting.
Jeff: Oh, oh cool. What about every other week?
Eric: No, her class is every Thursday.
Jeff: Oh, see that works, every other week, then!
And so on... after about another five minutes we finally wrapped it up.
Sigh. Skye, I miss you... I miss the Gynas.
So, here is why Jeff the arrythmic drummer gets on my nerves.
1: He doesn't seem to get that we are interested in doing a tune a couple times to work on it and get it right. He just wants to pound through songs one after the other.
2: Drumming is hard. I get that. I can't do it myself, and I'm impressed with anyone who can. But let's be honest: it's not as important if a drummer knows a song as it is if the guitarists do. With a drummer, you can say "Give us a rock beat in 4/4 time, at about this tempo." With a guitarist, you can't really just go "Hey, do you know Nickelback's Photograph? No? It's really easy, it's just like 'broww neeow woowweewwooowwooo.'" He keeps wanting to do songs that he knows and that we don't, which doesn't work that well.
3: Arrythmic doesn't entirely describe him. He can keep a beat... for a while. But the problem is, when we REALLY get in a groove, like when we're playing our super-long version of "Hey, Joe," he gets so... into it, that he goes into, like, a drum trance and closes his eyes and just hits the drums whenever he feels like it. Often the drum beat retards severely at this point (and that's a music term, not a "special needs" joke), leaving us trying to match him, but it doesn't work very well.
4: Dude. I'm not a guitarist, but I understand the importance of a guitar solo. Don't drum over the guitar solo. Can he even hear it? 'Cause usually right in the middle of the guitar solo, he starts a drum solo.
5: He gets high, which I don't have a major problem with, but then you have to talk to him when he's fucking high. Case in point. "Okay, here's the song." (Plays it on the CD player.) We all listen and appreciate. We look at the chords. We say, "Okay, shall we try the song then?" We pick up our bass & guitars, and look to Jeff. He says "Guys, I don't know what song we're doing! You gotta tell the drummer what song we're doing!" "Uh, dude, it's "Because the Night." Jeff: "I don't know that one." Us: "Yeah, we JUST listened to it." Jeff: "What is it now?" Us: "Because the Night, you know... *we sing*" Jeff: "Oh that one!"
Case in point #2.
Eric: So, starting at the end of this month, Mock's got a class on Thursday nights for eight weeks. What do we want to do?
Matt: Well, let's pick another night.
Mock: Tuesdays and Wednesdays are out for me.
Jeff: Tuesdays are good for me.
Mock: Tuesdays are bad for me. They're out.
Jeff: Yeah, Tuesdays are great, 'cause I don't have my kids on Wednesday morning.
Eric: Yeah, but Mock can't do Tuesdays.
Jeff: Aww, man, you guys gotta respect that I'm a single father, I'm the only single dad. On Wednesdays I can sleep in because the kids are with their mom and I don't have to get them up to go to school.
Matt: Yeah, yeah, man. What are some... other days that work for you?
Jeff: How about Thursdays? What's wrong with Thursdays?
Eric: Well, Thursdays are what we do NOW, but Mock's got a class starting.
Jeff: Oh, oh cool. What about every other week?
Eric: No, her class is every Thursday.
Jeff: Oh, see that works, every other week, then!
And so on... after about another five minutes we finally wrapped it up.
Sigh. Skye, I miss you... I miss the Gynas.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Band practice
Had a good band practice tonight. We're figuring out what to do while I have a class for 8 weeks on Thursday nights.
Me: I actually just ran into a friend who plays bass. I could hook you up with her...
Matt and Eric: No! You're family! No way. (Miscellaneous protests...)
Me: Well, she's better than me, so you'd probably lose me anyway. You'd, like, TELL me there was no practice, but have it anyway. "Hey, we're not practicing tonight, but, uh, can we borrow your amp?"
*Laughter*
Jeff the arrythmic drummer: No, seriously, hook us up though. Give her a call.
Me: Yeah, that's a good idea. You know, she also drums.
Jeff the arrythmic drummer: Oh. (Drops subject never to bring it up again.)
Also, Uncle Eric and Matt are both in the heating and air conditioning field, so I mention my "robot turd" theory to them, and they appreciate it, then inform me that the industry term for it is "donkey dick." Which is nice in its way, too.
Me: I actually just ran into a friend who plays bass. I could hook you up with her...
Matt and Eric: No! You're family! No way. (Miscellaneous protests...)
Me: Well, she's better than me, so you'd probably lose me anyway. You'd, like, TELL me there was no practice, but have it anyway. "Hey, we're not practicing tonight, but, uh, can we borrow your amp?"
*Laughter*
Jeff the arrythmic drummer: No, seriously, hook us up though. Give her a call.
Me: Yeah, that's a good idea. You know, she also drums.
Jeff the arrythmic drummer: Oh. (Drops subject never to bring it up again.)
Also, Uncle Eric and Matt are both in the heating and air conditioning field, so I mention my "robot turd" theory to them, and they appreciate it, then inform me that the industry term for it is "donkey dick." Which is nice in its way, too.
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