Monkeygirl and I are crafting fools. We totally made one thing, and it was really rad, and then we made this other thing, and it turned out equally rad, and now we're working on this other thing, and it started out really hard, but now it's like Ford assembly line and the finished product is awsome. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what these things are, because at least two of my readers will be the recipients of these gifts at Christmastime. So, uh, anyway, I'm really proud, because sometimes my crafty stuff is like really nice... for an eight year old. But this year they look hecka professional, and like the kinds of things you might buy in stores. Fancy.
In other news, putting up lights is a bitch-ass pain in the ass. They worked, then they didn't work, then I replaced all the bulbs and they still didn't work, then I replaced the fuse and they worked then one broke and they stopped working so I replaced all the bulbs again and fiddled with the fuse, and they still don't work. Now I have one of two strands up and the strand that's up won't light up. Plus, it kind of seems like the big C9s that I love are out of fashion, because I can only find them in clear, and that's not very fucking festive, now is it? I must have green, blue, red... I need festive, people!
That's about it. I'm ready for bed. Good night.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
It's freezing!
Okay, I admit, it's not as cold as that picture. In someplace like Illinois, this is probably picnic weather, but I am from Sacramento, California, and I am freezing! It's about 46 out right now and windy, and we had a low of about 28 degrees! That's really, really cold for here. I have to switch to my wool winter coat for real now. Everyone on campus is wandering around with their shoulders up at their ears and their arms hugging their torsos.
In other news, I sometimes don't read our local weekly, the Sacramento News and Review, when I'm busy. But this week I skimmed it, and I was reading the music column, which I often just browse for the names in bold print to see if I'm really interested or not. Well, I was barely looking at it, but noticed at the end it mentioned "Drago's," a cafe that hasn't existed since I was about a sophomore. I back up to read that a little, and find a reference to the cafe that came after it, Cafe Montreal, where I frequently saw bands years ago, including Cake (several times). I went there the night of Junior prom. I skim backwards a little further and further, until I discover that the yogurt shop with the cool "donations-only" shows has closed down. Sad, but then there at the beginning of the column is the news that the True Love cafe is opening again! In the building that Cafe Montreal used to occupy. The building that The Gynas had one of their first shows in! I'm excited, since it was always a cool venue (even if I didn't always feel cool enough for it), and I foresee some good shows coming out of that. Yay, and congratulations Kevin and Allyson Seconds for getting the True Love going again. Sacramento thanks you...
In other news, I sometimes don't read our local weekly, the Sacramento News and Review, when I'm busy. But this week I skimmed it, and I was reading the music column, which I often just browse for the names in bold print to see if I'm really interested or not. Well, I was barely looking at it, but noticed at the end it mentioned "Drago's," a cafe that hasn't existed since I was about a sophomore. I back up to read that a little, and find a reference to the cafe that came after it, Cafe Montreal, where I frequently saw bands years ago, including Cake (several times). I went there the night of Junior prom. I skim backwards a little further and further, until I discover that the yogurt shop with the cool "donations-only" shows has closed down. Sad, but then there at the beginning of the column is the news that the True Love cafe is opening again! In the building that Cafe Montreal used to occupy. The building that The Gynas had one of their first shows in! I'm excited, since it was always a cool venue (even if I didn't always feel cool enough for it), and I foresee some good shows coming out of that. Yay, and congratulations Kevin and Allyson Seconds for getting the True Love going again. Sacramento thanks you...
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
LOOKEE!!
I'm a winner!!! Well, my NaNoWriMo novel may not actually be finished plot-wise, but I've hit 50k words. So I am officially a winner three years running. And this year, I'm actually done a couple days early! I may have slacked, but I still did pretty well and met almost all my goals. I'm really proud of this totally meaningless achievement. Yay, me!
Saturday, November 25, 2006
NaNoWriMo again
Hey. Well, I'm now over 43,000 words, and the Secret Service still hasn't even shown up! I was worried that I'd end it too soon, so I had a party escapade... Anyway, now with less than 7,000 words to go (or an average of 3 1/2 days' writing for me), I'm nowhere near the resolution. Which is interesting. My last two novellas ended right in the early 50,000s, like, I wrapped them up fairly shortly after I hit my goal. But maybe this one will run a little long. That's okay, too. I'm looking forward to it being done, though, because then I'll get back to the gym, maybe go to ballet a little more often, just have a little more time to myself (I know novel time is time to myself, but it's not the same).
Thanksgiving was nice. We went to my uncle's, and I was glad I'd had some toast, because almost everythings was meaty. There was turkey, ham, and beef, green bean casserole, jello salad thing, and even the mashed potatoes looked suspiciously brown (like, brothy brown). So I had some salad and some pie. It was fun to watch my husband and cousins play together, and to watch my cousins torment my little second cousins, who are sweet as the dickens. I also discovered (thanks, Uncle Mick!) Hershey's cherry cordials. Delish. Thanksgiving, indeed.
Yesterday I took my grandma to lunch, and she's a character. Maybe not as much as my friend Suzanne's, but a character nonetheless. For example, we went to Cafe Bernardo to eat. The menu said that breakfast was from 7-11 on weekdays, so we looked at the lunch menu and decided what we would have from there. But when we approached the counter, the young lady said that they were still serving brunch because it was a holiday weekend. I said "ooh, then I'll have the huevos rancheros!" Those and the French toast are my favorite things there. Oh, and the two egg breakfast. Mmm. Anyway, grandma says "Ohh, that sounds good. I'll have that, too!" So we take our tea and go sit down. When our plates come, grandma says they smell good, but looks skeptical and starts poking one of the eggs with her fork. "Is that an egg?" she asks. "Well, yeah. That's what 'huevos' means..." "Oh," she says, clearly disappointed and wrinkling her nose in disgust. She picks up both egg yolks, sets them on the side of her dish, and commences to eat. "Grandma," I ask "didn't you know what huevos rancheros was when you ordered it?" "No, I just trusted your taste." If she'd have just asked, I'd have told her to have the French toast. What a goof.
Yesterday evening I went to Tupelo to do some writing undisturbed (to clarify -- my husband doesn't disturb me, I do. I find other crap that needs my immediate attention and go do it instead of writing). Well, I've been having undisclosed girly problems again, which seems, the last few days anyway, to involve bloating and HORRIBLE gas. I had my earphones in, parked by a roasting machine away from everyone else and just let go whenever necessary. I hope no one had to hear them, but at least no one had to smell them. Sorry, Tupelo patrons!
Today I had lunch with my 4th grade best friend who lives in the Bay Area now. I was surprised and delighted to find out that she has reunited with her husband and is pregnant! Yay for babies with rockin' mommas!! Apparently it's a big baby already, but Erinn is tall and so is her husband, so duh. It's a boy. I'm super-excited for her.
Okay, I've actually done all 2,000 words today, but I think I might write a little more to ease the burden of the next few days.
Take care,
Mockula.
Thanksgiving was nice. We went to my uncle's, and I was glad I'd had some toast, because almost everythings was meaty. There was turkey, ham, and beef, green bean casserole, jello salad thing, and even the mashed potatoes looked suspiciously brown (like, brothy brown). So I had some salad and some pie. It was fun to watch my husband and cousins play together, and to watch my cousins torment my little second cousins, who are sweet as the dickens. I also discovered (thanks, Uncle Mick!) Hershey's cherry cordials. Delish. Thanksgiving, indeed.
Yesterday I took my grandma to lunch, and she's a character. Maybe not as much as my friend Suzanne's, but a character nonetheless. For example, we went to Cafe Bernardo to eat. The menu said that breakfast was from 7-11 on weekdays, so we looked at the lunch menu and decided what we would have from there. But when we approached the counter, the young lady said that they were still serving brunch because it was a holiday weekend. I said "ooh, then I'll have the huevos rancheros!" Those and the French toast are my favorite things there. Oh, and the two egg breakfast. Mmm. Anyway, grandma says "Ohh, that sounds good. I'll have that, too!" So we take our tea and go sit down. When our plates come, grandma says they smell good, but looks skeptical and starts poking one of the eggs with her fork. "Is that an egg?" she asks. "Well, yeah. That's what 'huevos' means..." "Oh," she says, clearly disappointed and wrinkling her nose in disgust. She picks up both egg yolks, sets them on the side of her dish, and commences to eat. "Grandma," I ask "didn't you know what huevos rancheros was when you ordered it?" "No, I just trusted your taste." If she'd have just asked, I'd have told her to have the French toast. What a goof.
Yesterday evening I went to Tupelo to do some writing undisturbed (to clarify -- my husband doesn't disturb me, I do. I find other crap that needs my immediate attention and go do it instead of writing). Well, I've been having undisclosed girly problems again, which seems, the last few days anyway, to involve bloating and HORRIBLE gas. I had my earphones in, parked by a roasting machine away from everyone else and just let go whenever necessary. I hope no one had to hear them, but at least no one had to smell them. Sorry, Tupelo patrons!
Today I had lunch with my 4th grade best friend who lives in the Bay Area now. I was surprised and delighted to find out that she has reunited with her husband and is pregnant! Yay for babies with rockin' mommas!! Apparently it's a big baby already, but Erinn is tall and so is her husband, so duh. It's a boy. I'm super-excited for her.
Okay, I've actually done all 2,000 words today, but I think I might write a little more to ease the burden of the next few days.
Take care,
Mockula.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Big ol' Thanksgiving cliche
I am thankful for:
My family (including, naturally, my sweet husband and all my in-laws and steps and everything...)
My friends
All the health, happiness, and successes of those family and friends
My house
My job and my rockin' students
My health
Lankees
My moody tabby, Miss Wilhelmina
Music
Art
Film
Books
Food
Heat
Humor
Beauty
Talent
Passion
Empathy
Love
Chocolate
Postcards
the Sunday paper
Coffee
Sex
Optometry
my bicycle
a working car
the material things I've managed to hang onto since childhood, like my bluebird necklace
Holidays
photographs
vintage clothing
cinnamon gum
nature
the ocean
flannel sheets
cushy socks
the hammock
Two Rivers cider
fireplaces
the internet
ballet class
flowers
yummy smells
darn near everything I am lucky enough to have or witness.
Thanks!
My family (including, naturally, my sweet husband and all my in-laws and steps and everything...)
My friends
All the health, happiness, and successes of those family and friends
My house
My job and my rockin' students
My health
Lankees
My moody tabby, Miss Wilhelmina
Music
Art
Film
Books
Food
Heat
Humor
Beauty
Talent
Passion
Empathy
Love
Chocolate
Postcards
the Sunday paper
Coffee
Sex
Optometry
my bicycle
a working car
the material things I've managed to hang onto since childhood, like my bluebird necklace
Holidays
photographs
vintage clothing
cinnamon gum
nature
the ocean
flannel sheets
cushy socks
the hammock
Two Rivers cider
fireplaces
the internet
ballet class
flowers
yummy smells
darn near everything I am lucky enough to have or witness.
Thanks!
Monday, November 20, 2006
Yeah, I, whoa, I'm still alive.
Hi. I'm still NaNoWriMoing. I'm over 30,000 words, which feels good, but I have missed a couple days here and there. Yesterday, for example, we had "pre-thanksgiving," or as Boompah called it "We ain't waitin' day." Because we're not all going to be together on real Thanksgiving, my mom made the whole shebang of a dinner yesterday. And it was delicious! We had leftovers tonight, and there's pie to be had later.
My sweetie had a good birthday yesterday, so now he is three years older than me (for slightly less than 2 months). Best present? The Arsenal piggy bank.
I need to get going on the writing tonight. I swear that as soon as November's over I will be spending more time at the gym again. My main character, Jilissa, has been caught for ignoring her parents request that she not go to an anti-war rally in San Francisco, and she's grounded for a month. She has created her anti-Bush MySpace group. But what happens now? When do the Secret Service agents show up? How does it all resolve? I just don't know. I guess I'll find out as I write it. My wrists are becoming chafed from resting them on my laptop instead of hovering above it like a goood ergonomic girl.
Sometime soon I will have to write a blog on my strong feelings about cover songs and my wishy-washy feelings about women and facial hair. But tonight, it's NaNoWriMo...
My sweetie had a good birthday yesterday, so now he is three years older than me (for slightly less than 2 months). Best present? The Arsenal piggy bank.
I need to get going on the writing tonight. I swear that as soon as November's over I will be spending more time at the gym again. My main character, Jilissa, has been caught for ignoring her parents request that she not go to an anti-war rally in San Francisco, and she's grounded for a month. She has created her anti-Bush MySpace group. But what happens now? When do the Secret Service agents show up? How does it all resolve? I just don't know. I guess I'll find out as I write it. My wrists are becoming chafed from resting them on my laptop instead of hovering above it like a goood ergonomic girl.
Sometime soon I will have to write a blog on my strong feelings about cover songs and my wishy-washy feelings about women and facial hair. But tonight, it's NaNoWriMo...
Friday, November 17, 2006
Lawrence
Hi everybody. A few weeks ago I asked if you could spare some good thoughts for my Boompah's dad. Today's blog is in memory of him.
First, a few notes about my Boompah, who, for those not in the know, is my step-dad. He doesn't read this blog, so I can say nice things about him and he won't be embarassed, as he would if I said stuff like this to him. He's been in my life for somewhere in the vicinity of twenty years, although for the first whole bunch, my mom was very protective of my time with her, so I didn't see Boompah much. Nevertheless, he always had something for me for Easter, Saint Patrick's Day, Valentine's Day... He still does that: I'm thirty, and I got a bar of fancy dark chocolate for Halloween. He has always been really thoughtful of me, and I don't mean that all the stuff that's great about him is material stuff that he gives me, but consider this: every year for Christmas and my birthday, he manages to find presents for me that I like, that fit, that look good on me, that I'm interested in, that I usually haven't heard of. In short, he's a really good gift-giver, which, if you have anyone in your life who ISN'T one, you know what that means. It means they know you, they pay attention, they understand who you really are. He always saves articles for me that he thinks I might be interested in. He has practically adopted a friend of mine in his affection (Monkeygirl). He even e-mailed me last night because he found something interesting on the web. Anyway, part of the reason I'm so sad about Lawrence is because I really love my Boompah, and I saw him out walking in the fog this morning at 7:30 (sounds like poetic fiction, but I really did). I know he must be really hurting, and I'm sorry for that.
On to Lawrence. Every time I have ever seen Lawrence in my life, he has been having a good time. Isn't that nice? He knows everyone in his little delta town, partly because he ran a bar there for years and years. He has scores of friends, and everywhere in town, people would greet him, happy to see him. I suspect that "birthday dinner," an occasion when the family and friends got together for dinner every July to eat, drink, and be merry, was a real highlight for him. He liked a good joke, a good drink, and a pretty girl. He was always delighted with the big-breasted girlie stickers that Boompah would find for his birthday cards, chuckling to himself as he read the cards. He always bought everyone dinner on that night. He was quiet about the gifts he received, preferring not even to open them in front of people if he could avoid it. I remember Mom telling me that he wouldn't even drink an expensive bottle of Scotch (I think it was) that they gave him one year, because it was too extravagant. But when it came to sharing things with others, he always did. I remember worrying the first few times that I went to Rio Vista to do things with Boompah's family that I would be an interloper -- Boompah's girlfriend's teenage daughter -- but as soon as I got there, my fears were allayed. It was always clear that I was welcome, and the general feeling was "the more the merrier." I think the first time I went down there, Mom had made a chocolate cake with the Portuguese flag on it, and Lawrence was delighted. Once, at Christmas at Lawrence's, I mentioned that I wanted to find the Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" album. Lawrence had it, and insisted that I take it.
While I am really sorry I will never see Lawrence again, and upset for both my Boompah and my mom, who loved Lawrence, too, I am relieved in one sense. For the past month or so, Lawrence hasn't been out on the town, hasn't had a drink, hasn't mingled with his friends, hasn't been greeted by affectionate waitresses, hasn't had a decent steak dinner, likely hasn't heard a joke or played with his grandson. He's been in a hospital bed, at times unsure why he was there or what was going on. He was in pain. He was unhappy. He kept asking to go home. Well, Lawrence, you're home now. "À nossa saúde!" Tchau, adeus.
(In Portugese, a toast meaning "to our health" and goodbye.)
First, a few notes about my Boompah, who, for those not in the know, is my step-dad. He doesn't read this blog, so I can say nice things about him and he won't be embarassed, as he would if I said stuff like this to him. He's been in my life for somewhere in the vicinity of twenty years, although for the first whole bunch, my mom was very protective of my time with her, so I didn't see Boompah much. Nevertheless, he always had something for me for Easter, Saint Patrick's Day, Valentine's Day... He still does that: I'm thirty, and I got a bar of fancy dark chocolate for Halloween. He has always been really thoughtful of me, and I don't mean that all the stuff that's great about him is material stuff that he gives me, but consider this: every year for Christmas and my birthday, he manages to find presents for me that I like, that fit, that look good on me, that I'm interested in, that I usually haven't heard of. In short, he's a really good gift-giver, which, if you have anyone in your life who ISN'T one, you know what that means. It means they know you, they pay attention, they understand who you really are. He always saves articles for me that he thinks I might be interested in. He has practically adopted a friend of mine in his affection (Monkeygirl). He even e-mailed me last night because he found something interesting on the web. Anyway, part of the reason I'm so sad about Lawrence is because I really love my Boompah, and I saw him out walking in the fog this morning at 7:30 (sounds like poetic fiction, but I really did). I know he must be really hurting, and I'm sorry for that.
On to Lawrence. Every time I have ever seen Lawrence in my life, he has been having a good time. Isn't that nice? He knows everyone in his little delta town, partly because he ran a bar there for years and years. He has scores of friends, and everywhere in town, people would greet him, happy to see him. I suspect that "birthday dinner," an occasion when the family and friends got together for dinner every July to eat, drink, and be merry, was a real highlight for him. He liked a good joke, a good drink, and a pretty girl. He was always delighted with the big-breasted girlie stickers that Boompah would find for his birthday cards, chuckling to himself as he read the cards. He always bought everyone dinner on that night. He was quiet about the gifts he received, preferring not even to open them in front of people if he could avoid it. I remember Mom telling me that he wouldn't even drink an expensive bottle of Scotch (I think it was) that they gave him one year, because it was too extravagant. But when it came to sharing things with others, he always did. I remember worrying the first few times that I went to Rio Vista to do things with Boompah's family that I would be an interloper -- Boompah's girlfriend's teenage daughter -- but as soon as I got there, my fears were allayed. It was always clear that I was welcome, and the general feeling was "the more the merrier." I think the first time I went down there, Mom had made a chocolate cake with the Portuguese flag on it, and Lawrence was delighted. Once, at Christmas at Lawrence's, I mentioned that I wanted to find the Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" album. Lawrence had it, and insisted that I take it.
While I am really sorry I will never see Lawrence again, and upset for both my Boompah and my mom, who loved Lawrence, too, I am relieved in one sense. For the past month or so, Lawrence hasn't been out on the town, hasn't had a drink, hasn't mingled with his friends, hasn't been greeted by affectionate waitresses, hasn't had a decent steak dinner, likely hasn't heard a joke or played with his grandson. He's been in a hospital bed, at times unsure why he was there or what was going on. He was in pain. He was unhappy. He kept asking to go home. Well, Lawrence, you're home now. "À nossa saúde!" Tchau, adeus.
(In Portugese, a toast meaning "to our health" and goodbye.)
Thursday, November 16, 2006
An end in sight?
Well, I'm over 28,000 words in to my novel, and I'm wavering over whether I feel confident abotu it or not. In the past, I've sort of shot my plot wad early, and then had to stall and make up new stuff for the last half. This time, I cane up with multiple sub-plots and wove those all in, and just now introduced what will kick off the climax, but I'm still unclear how I'm going to deal with the next 22,000 words. The guy who writes the NaNoWriMo update pep talk letters says it will all get better around 35,000 words. So, by Monday I should be feeling better. Then there'll be a holiday, only 15,000 words to go, and ten days left.
In other news, I have been working on creating more "me time" in other ways. Like, I said "no" to the three-hour after-school grading session today. "Gee, sorry I can't make it." I also talked to the other speech and debate coach and expressed an interested in bowing out at the semester. We haven't talked about exactly how that would go, but at least I've said it now. The idea is out there in the atmosphere.
I have a Speech and Debate field trip Saturday, then a field trip Monday (whoops, better do my sub planning tomorrow!), and then things kind of taper off except for the holidays. I tend to want to go really all-out and make absolutely everyone handmade presents and baked goods and stuff, and I may have to scale back this year and just accept that. So, I'm chilling. There's an end in sight, sort of. Good news.
In other news, I have been working on creating more "me time" in other ways. Like, I said "no" to the three-hour after-school grading session today. "Gee, sorry I can't make it." I also talked to the other speech and debate coach and expressed an interested in bowing out at the semester. We haven't talked about exactly how that would go, but at least I've said it now. The idea is out there in the atmosphere.
I have a Speech and Debate field trip Saturday, then a field trip Monday (whoops, better do my sub planning tomorrow!), and then things kind of taper off except for the holidays. I tend to want to go really all-out and make absolutely everyone handmade presents and baked goods and stuff, and I may have to scale back this year and just accept that. So, I'm chilling. There's an end in sight, sort of. Good news.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
OJ and the Gynas
Hey all. First, just in case you're wondering, we're letting our domain name expire since there really is no more The Gynas any longer. We'll always be The Gynas in our hearts, but today's just about the last day to see http://www.thegynas.com
Sigh.
Incidentally, I saw a preview on TV last night for an interview with OJ Simpson called "If I did it, here's how it happened." Is that sick or what? Apparently he's got a whole book coming out with the same title and on the same subject. How does this sick fucker keep getting away with it? I mean, if he was innocent (oh, I just chocked on my own spittle in my disbelief), he'd be so ashamed of being falsely accused, he'd be so mournful for the two families, that he'd never pull a stunt like this. I mean, this is his children's MOTHER he's talking about. What a sicko. It really makes me ill. It's like bragging. I don't want to punch many people in the face, but I'd like to punch him in the face.
Sigh.
Incidentally, I saw a preview on TV last night for an interview with OJ Simpson called "If I did it, here's how it happened." Is that sick or what? Apparently he's got a whole book coming out with the same title and on the same subject. How does this sick fucker keep getting away with it? I mean, if he was innocent (oh, I just chocked on my own spittle in my disbelief), he'd be so ashamed of being falsely accused, he'd be so mournful for the two families, that he'd never pull a stunt like this. I mean, this is his children's MOTHER he's talking about. What a sicko. It really makes me ill. It's like bragging. I don't want to punch many people in the face, but I'd like to punch him in the face.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Two more field trip notes, cultural style.
I thought my readers might appreciate this. Sometimes I really do forget how multicultural California is, and especially Sacramento, and I am reminded how lucky I am to be here. But here are two stories.
We are on the earthquake walk and a woman stops to overhear the lecture. She looks at our kids, looks at me (hanging a bit back) and says "Are they exchange students?" "No," I answer cheerily, "we're from Sacramento."
Then when we were at the lighthouse, a guy went to squeeze behind me on a narrow ledge around the outside of the building. I turned to him and said "You're lucky you're skinny, mister." He turned to me with a look of friendly confusion and said, in a heavy accent, "I'm sorry, what?" I looked appropriately ashamed, waved my hand and said "I was teasing. Never mind." Well, while this exchange was going on, it caught the attention of the students (all but two were female), who started laying the heavy-hitting flirtation on this poor guy. They asked where he was from, and he said "Brazil. Where are you from?" They answered, in their perfect little valley-girl-tinged voices, "America!"
It's just rad.
I guess I should have mentioned that of the thirteen kids, 10 were Southeast Asian and three were Indian.
We are on the earthquake walk and a woman stops to overhear the lecture. She looks at our kids, looks at me (hanging a bit back) and says "Are they exchange students?" "No," I answer cheerily, "we're from Sacramento."
Then when we were at the lighthouse, a guy went to squeeze behind me on a narrow ledge around the outside of the building. I turned to him and said "You're lucky you're skinny, mister." He turned to me with a look of friendly confusion and said, in a heavy accent, "I'm sorry, what?" I looked appropriately ashamed, waved my hand and said "I was teasing. Never mind." Well, while this exchange was going on, it caught the attention of the students (all but two were female), who started laying the heavy-hitting flirtation on this poor guy. They asked where he was from, and he said "Brazil. Where are you from?" They answered, in their perfect little valley-girl-tinged voices, "America!"
It's just rad.
I guess I should have mentioned that of the thirteen kids, 10 were Southeast Asian and three were Indian.
Fanny packs and saggy sacs
and little lambs eat ivy.
I was listening to my ridiculous radio morning show*, and they were doing a list of top five emasculating things. The list and discussion thereof included things like having bumper stickers about the honor roll, eating pizza with a fork, taking dance classes, being in a book club, watching soap operas, wearing pink, and wearing a fanny pack.
Well, the fanny pack has been on my mind anyway. Listen, I realize it is horribly ugly and tends to look like a big lumpy fabric tumor around the waist. But I wore one all weekend on the camping trip. And it was great. I kept all my grooming stuff in it so I just dragged it to the shower with me. On our several-mile hikes, I kept an apple and a granola bar in it. I was the only one who had soap after using the national park's scary restroom. I had my wallet in it for whenever we stopped to eat, so I never had to go digging in my backpack. I was able to carry everything I needed and kept my hands free. (A backpack would theoretically do the same thing, but don't you find yourself holding the straps? I do.) Anyway, I also found it kind of amusing that my Reebok fanny pack is so old that it is officially back in fashion with its teal 1980s netting. Yes, I have had this fanny pack since I was a kid. Every time I think about getting rid of it, I recall the previous summer, when I threw sunscreen, chapstick, money, and tampons in it inside a Ziplock bag and went whitewater rafting. Or I think of the hiking trip where I had a handy snack and didn't have to carry a bag. I tell you, the goddamn thing is useful. It's function over form this time, I'm afraid. I am not giving up my fanny pack.
Next up: During the commercial break of the terrible radio program, I turned to another terrible radio program, this one arguably worse. I suspect it is nationally syndicated, since the host was on a popular cable show and it's produced in L.A. Anyway, their guest is a plastic surgeon, and although when I first tuned in, they were talking about transsexuals and the surgeries they went through (and the host made a ridiculous fucking analogy about how if he felt like he was Napoleon inside, he should be able to get shortening surgery -- what a dick), the first caller was like "Hey, my wife's pregnant, and she has stretch marks all around her belly. What can be done about that?" Um, I think the answer is you can get kicked in the ding ding. She's about to give birth to your child, and you're worried about some marks on her belly? Fuck you, the horse you rode in on, the blacksmith that shod it, and the farmer that grew the hay.
I flipped back to the other station and listened, and then right as I arrived at school, another commercial came on and I flipped to the syndicated show again. Another caller was calling about his pregnant wife, and was worried this time about sagging breasts! Wow. The host made some joke about talking about sagging sacks later to even out the calls. Of course, I have no idea whether they did, but what a lot of anti-feminist nonsense on the radio this morning. Actually, it was kind of anti-people. Misanthropy all around.
I was thinking last night of an old boyfriend who used to say "My pussy hurts" when he or someone else was whining. He and his Air Force buddies had used it on one another, as in one would be talking and saying something like "Man, I had to work a long shift last night, and then I hurt my shoulder..." and they would interrupt with "Wah, my pussy hurts."
I actually still think of this phrase sometimes, as it's funny and effective, and the overall effect is rather emasculating (which it was designed for), but it is of course ironic, too. You see, the only time an actual woman might be tempted to say "my pussy hurts" is after pushing an eight pound sack of bone and muscle through it, ripping the skin to her ass and up her urethra, and then being stitched back up. Chicks are tough.
By the way, does that "Mares eat oats" song ever make anyone else think of Twin Peaks? I swear, I can't so much as hear the tune without seeing Laura Palmer's dad with his hair suddenly turned white.
*I suppose I could boycott the show, but since I don't buy from their advertisers, never answer surveys on what station I listen to, and basically my presence as a listener in no way supports their continued existence, I don't feel the least bit guilty about listening. They're funny. I think my favorite part is that the main host of the show is always talking about how brilliant he is, and the two other hosts seem to agree with his assessment, but he's actually kind of dumb. Like, he'll use some ten dollar word, the token dumb fat guy will ask for clarification, and then Mr. Spartypants will give a definition... that's wrong! Cracks me up every time.
I was listening to my ridiculous radio morning show*, and they were doing a list of top five emasculating things. The list and discussion thereof included things like having bumper stickers about the honor roll, eating pizza with a fork, taking dance classes, being in a book club, watching soap operas, wearing pink, and wearing a fanny pack.
Well, the fanny pack has been on my mind anyway. Listen, I realize it is horribly ugly and tends to look like a big lumpy fabric tumor around the waist. But I wore one all weekend on the camping trip. And it was great. I kept all my grooming stuff in it so I just dragged it to the shower with me. On our several-mile hikes, I kept an apple and a granola bar in it. I was the only one who had soap after using the national park's scary restroom. I had my wallet in it for whenever we stopped to eat, so I never had to go digging in my backpack. I was able to carry everything I needed and kept my hands free. (A backpack would theoretically do the same thing, but don't you find yourself holding the straps? I do.) Anyway, I also found it kind of amusing that my Reebok fanny pack is so old that it is officially back in fashion with its teal 1980s netting. Yes, I have had this fanny pack since I was a kid. Every time I think about getting rid of it, I recall the previous summer, when I threw sunscreen, chapstick, money, and tampons in it inside a Ziplock bag and went whitewater rafting. Or I think of the hiking trip where I had a handy snack and didn't have to carry a bag. I tell you, the goddamn thing is useful. It's function over form this time, I'm afraid. I am not giving up my fanny pack.
Next up: During the commercial break of the terrible radio program, I turned to another terrible radio program, this one arguably worse. I suspect it is nationally syndicated, since the host was on a popular cable show and it's produced in L.A. Anyway, their guest is a plastic surgeon, and although when I first tuned in, they were talking about transsexuals and the surgeries they went through (and the host made a ridiculous fucking analogy about how if he felt like he was Napoleon inside, he should be able to get shortening surgery -- what a dick), the first caller was like "Hey, my wife's pregnant, and she has stretch marks all around her belly. What can be done about that?" Um, I think the answer is you can get kicked in the ding ding. She's about to give birth to your child, and you're worried about some marks on her belly? Fuck you, the horse you rode in on, the blacksmith that shod it, and the farmer that grew the hay.
I flipped back to the other station and listened, and then right as I arrived at school, another commercial came on and I flipped to the syndicated show again. Another caller was calling about his pregnant wife, and was worried this time about sagging breasts! Wow. The host made some joke about talking about sagging sacks later to even out the calls. Of course, I have no idea whether they did, but what a lot of anti-feminist nonsense on the radio this morning. Actually, it was kind of anti-people. Misanthropy all around.
I was thinking last night of an old boyfriend who used to say "My pussy hurts" when he or someone else was whining. He and his Air Force buddies had used it on one another, as in one would be talking and saying something like "Man, I had to work a long shift last night, and then I hurt my shoulder..." and they would interrupt with "Wah, my pussy hurts."
I actually still think of this phrase sometimes, as it's funny and effective, and the overall effect is rather emasculating (which it was designed for), but it is of course ironic, too. You see, the only time an actual woman might be tempted to say "my pussy hurts" is after pushing an eight pound sack of bone and muscle through it, ripping the skin to her ass and up her urethra, and then being stitched back up. Chicks are tough.
By the way, does that "Mares eat oats" song ever make anyone else think of Twin Peaks? I swear, I can't so much as hear the tune without seeing Laura Palmer's dad with his hair suddenly turned white.
*I suppose I could boycott the show, but since I don't buy from their advertisers, never answer surveys on what station I listen to, and basically my presence as a listener in no way supports their continued existence, I don't feel the least bit guilty about listening. They're funny. I think my favorite part is that the main host of the show is always talking about how brilliant he is, and the two other hosts seem to agree with his assessment, but he's actually kind of dumb. Like, he'll use some ten dollar word, the token dumb fat guy will ask for clarification, and then Mr. Spartypants will give a definition... that's wrong! Cracks me up every time.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Nanowrimo
I'm still doing well -- on target with my word count. I set a goal for myself of 2,000 words a day, and today is the 7th and I'm just over 14,000, so we're all good. I front-load a little bit so that if it gets too crazy at Thanksgiving or with field trips or whatever, I don't get too behind. Sweetie kindly pointed out that I usually fall behind anyway and end up doing marathon writing sessions toward the end of the month.
Two people so far this month have said something to me like "I don't know why you do this to yourself every year." It's because I like to. It's a good motivation to write, something that I always wish I did more of. It's a challenge that not everyone can complete, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment. It's interesting to be part of an international writing community, if only for 30 days. It's cool to say that I've written two novellas (three after this year!). Anyway, I don't see it as masochistic; I really enjoy it. That is all.
Two people so far this month have said something to me like "I don't know why you do this to yourself every year." It's because I like to. It's a good motivation to write, something that I always wish I did more of. It's a challenge that not everyone can complete, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment. It's interesting to be part of an international writing community, if only for 30 days. It's cool to say that I've written two novellas (three after this year!). Anyway, I don't see it as masochistic; I really enjoy it. That is all.
Total days of instruction...
lost to testing this year: 7
That same number in weeks of the year: 1.4
Total days we have been in session: 45
Percentage of instructional time given over to non-teacher-initiated testing: 15.5
No Child Left Behind, my sweet round ass.
*Numbers based on Freshmen classes. Actual tests include the CELDT test for English learners, the Action Learning Systems benchmark tests adopted by the school district, and a writing proficiency exam generated here at the school. Numbers for 11th grade classes are similar, but the CELDT testing was done in pull-out sessions and they had a day of PSAT testing as well.
I wonder what I could have done with those seven days if I had been allowed to use them to teach.
That same number in weeks of the year: 1.4
Total days we have been in session: 45
Percentage of instructional time given over to non-teacher-initiated testing: 15.5
No Child Left Behind, my sweet round ass.
*Numbers based on Freshmen classes. Actual tests include the CELDT test for English learners, the Action Learning Systems benchmark tests adopted by the school district, and a writing proficiency exam generated here at the school. Numbers for 11th grade classes are similar, but the CELDT testing was done in pull-out sessions and they had a day of PSAT testing as well.
I wonder what I could have done with those seven days if I had been allowed to use them to teach.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Field trip
Hi all. We went to Point Reyes this weekend. I want to tell you about it, but I have to be fast, because I haven't done my NaNoWriMo writing tonight.
Yesterday we hit the road with several fewer students than planned (they dropped out at the last minute and P-man, our lead teacher, thinks they probably used their fundraising money). One of the chaperones dropped out, too, because her dog died. We immediately lost our parent chaperone, then stopped for lunch and P-man got a flat tire. Auspicious start, right?
We finally make it to Point Reyes, go to the Bear Valley visitors center and enjoyed the earthquake walk (you can see evidence of where a fence split right on the San Andreas Fault, and half the fence is about 20 feet west of the other half!) We picked up a straggler -- a woman who thought P-man's science talk was interesting, so she ended up going on our whole walk with us.
From there, we drove to North Beach and looked at sedimentary rock and walked around in the sand.
Then we went to the lighthouse. We were at a high enough altitude that we were in the clouds, and the kids were attempting to suck clouds through straws. We walked 310 steps down to see the historic one, which was really cool. The foghorn was going off in our ears and it was a heck of a hike. There were little resting areas that were enclosed in chain link, and at one point I made some joke about locking the kids up in the little jail, and they all crowded in for a picture. But wait! We couldn't take it until they'd made a sign that said "Asians for sale." Sheesh. Then I got into a gray whale skull for a photo. Good times.
The last stop, at a little after 5, was an oyster farm. It was stinky, as it was next to a salt marsh. We learned some more stuff, I think. (Hey, the kids were responsible for an assignment -- I wasn't!)
Finally we went back to the hostel and made dinner. It was Gardenburgers and salad for me, and burgers and oysters for almost everyone else (the Hindu girls and parent chaperone ate veggieburgers too, so I didn't feel all alone). Then we cleaned up, and by we, I mean the adults. It's supposed to be the kids' job, but freshmen are... freshmen. They were "going to" clean up, but they had to run up to the bunkhouse where we were staying and change clothes and stuff first. Since we just worked continuously, we were done by the time they got back, ready to "help."
We then went on a night hike that P-man said was a mile each way, but I think he was wrong. We walked about 45 minutes to get there at a pace somewhere between moderate and leisurely. Then we ran around the beach under the just-past-full moon. We saw some bioluminescent stuff, which was really cool.
We told the kids it was lights out at ten, but admitted we would find it acceptable if they continued to talk quietly. Apparently, we needed to clarify that we meant "with the lights out, lying down in your bunks, in a whisper." I finally laid down the Mockula law at about 11, and thereafter there was only stifled whispering and giggling.
Today we got up and had breakfast, then thoroughly cleaned the bunkhouse. When we got the okay from Bob, we drove to a trailhead and took another long hike through a lot of scrub and grass and stuff. One of the kids had worn shorts, and there was all this needle-sharp grass in the trail, and the poor kid was suffering. Hey, we told her to wear long pants. Oh well. Then we crossed over the dunes to the beach side and walked the rest of the way back in the sand. It was pleasant, but my feet were so tired from all our walking that I really started to get sore. Walking on the beach is nice, but it's kind of hard on the arches when you do it for like a mile.
We then headed for lunch on the way home, stopping at the same place we'd stopped yesterday. Upon leaving, I immediately got lost and we took the scenic route home through the wine country. Whoops! Ah well, we weren't really far behind the rest of the group. I then returned the van, took light rail home, and got to see my sweetie. I could probably still use a foot soak.
Some observations -- the Freshmen do need a little more structure: we needed to assign them chores and times, not hope they would volunteer. Also, these guys are TOTALLY camera-happy! P-man couldn't stop to explain something about how a conifer found new life after a forest fire without having three of the kids jump in front of the tree, throw up peace signs, and have six of their friends take pictures. It was funny, but got a little old.
I'm sure there's some good stuff I'm leaving out, but in 6 minutes I'll be getting darn close to too-late-to-successfully-NaNoWriMo. And there's still cocoa to be had this evening.
Take care, everyone!
P.S. -- Don't you think a car company like Scion could make a killing with funky seatbelts? Like, my guitar strap for my bass is purple and has a lightning bolt. Wouldn't that make a RAD seatbelt? Just thinking...
Yesterday we hit the road with several fewer students than planned (they dropped out at the last minute and P-man, our lead teacher, thinks they probably used their fundraising money). One of the chaperones dropped out, too, because her dog died. We immediately lost our parent chaperone, then stopped for lunch and P-man got a flat tire. Auspicious start, right?
We finally make it to Point Reyes, go to the Bear Valley visitors center and enjoyed the earthquake walk (you can see evidence of where a fence split right on the San Andreas Fault, and half the fence is about 20 feet west of the other half!) We picked up a straggler -- a woman who thought P-man's science talk was interesting, so she ended up going on our whole walk with us.
From there, we drove to North Beach and looked at sedimentary rock and walked around in the sand.
Then we went to the lighthouse. We were at a high enough altitude that we were in the clouds, and the kids were attempting to suck clouds through straws. We walked 310 steps down to see the historic one, which was really cool. The foghorn was going off in our ears and it was a heck of a hike. There were little resting areas that were enclosed in chain link, and at one point I made some joke about locking the kids up in the little jail, and they all crowded in for a picture. But wait! We couldn't take it until they'd made a sign that said "Asians for sale." Sheesh. Then I got into a gray whale skull for a photo. Good times.
The last stop, at a little after 5, was an oyster farm. It was stinky, as it was next to a salt marsh. We learned some more stuff, I think. (Hey, the kids were responsible for an assignment -- I wasn't!)
Finally we went back to the hostel and made dinner. It was Gardenburgers and salad for me, and burgers and oysters for almost everyone else (the Hindu girls and parent chaperone ate veggieburgers too, so I didn't feel all alone). Then we cleaned up, and by we, I mean the adults. It's supposed to be the kids' job, but freshmen are... freshmen. They were "going to" clean up, but they had to run up to the bunkhouse where we were staying and change clothes and stuff first. Since we just worked continuously, we were done by the time they got back, ready to "help."
We then went on a night hike that P-man said was a mile each way, but I think he was wrong. We walked about 45 minutes to get there at a pace somewhere between moderate and leisurely. Then we ran around the beach under the just-past-full moon. We saw some bioluminescent stuff, which was really cool.
We told the kids it was lights out at ten, but admitted we would find it acceptable if they continued to talk quietly. Apparently, we needed to clarify that we meant "with the lights out, lying down in your bunks, in a whisper." I finally laid down the Mockula law at about 11, and thereafter there was only stifled whispering and giggling.
Today we got up and had breakfast, then thoroughly cleaned the bunkhouse. When we got the okay from Bob, we drove to a trailhead and took another long hike through a lot of scrub and grass and stuff. One of the kids had worn shorts, and there was all this needle-sharp grass in the trail, and the poor kid was suffering. Hey, we told her to wear long pants. Oh well. Then we crossed over the dunes to the beach side and walked the rest of the way back in the sand. It was pleasant, but my feet were so tired from all our walking that I really started to get sore. Walking on the beach is nice, but it's kind of hard on the arches when you do it for like a mile.
We then headed for lunch on the way home, stopping at the same place we'd stopped yesterday. Upon leaving, I immediately got lost and we took the scenic route home through the wine country. Whoops! Ah well, we weren't really far behind the rest of the group. I then returned the van, took light rail home, and got to see my sweetie. I could probably still use a foot soak.
Some observations -- the Freshmen do need a little more structure: we needed to assign them chores and times, not hope they would volunteer. Also, these guys are TOTALLY camera-happy! P-man couldn't stop to explain something about how a conifer found new life after a forest fire without having three of the kids jump in front of the tree, throw up peace signs, and have six of their friends take pictures. It was funny, but got a little old.
I'm sure there's some good stuff I'm leaving out, but in 6 minutes I'll be getting darn close to too-late-to-successfully-NaNoWriMo. And there's still cocoa to be had this evening.
Take care, everyone!
P.S. -- Don't you think a car company like Scion could make a killing with funky seatbelts? Like, my guitar strap for my bass is purple and has a lightning bolt. Wouldn't that make a RAD seatbelt? Just thinking...
Friday, November 03, 2006
The numbers
Heya.
We had a staff meeting yesterday, and the principal went over some numbers from a survey that was taken last spring. It asked things like "Do you feel safe at school?" (Well, technically it said "I feel safe at school," then offered choices that ranged from "strongly disagree" to "strongly agree." But you get the gist.)
Other questions were more academic, like "I am being prepared for college," "I feel comfortable talking to my counselor about my classes," "I know what I will be tested on," "I know how grades are calculated," "I know which standards I am learning each day." You get the idea.
But a lot of the items were sort of more personal, like "There is an adult on campus I can trust," and "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name."
In all areas, we smoked the competition. I mean, our scores were compared to those from the four other big high schools, and our scores in pretty much every category were anywhere from 3 percent to twenty percent higher than the other schools! I mean, wow, right? Makes you think we're some special hoity-toity school, right? Wrong. Our school has one of the worst reputations in town. It was so good to see that, reputation aside, the kids that actually attend the school feel welcome, valued, safe, and as though they are learning.
But then something hit me. The item that read "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name." Well, we smoked the competition again in this category, at 86 percent! Whoo, 86 percent!! But... well... who are the 14 percent that thinks there is not a single adult on campus who knows their name? How sad is that? Enough to have made me tear up twice, actually. I mean, I realize that there are some jokesters who are going to write "strongly disagree" on every single question just as a prank or because they hate school or are having a bad day or whatever. But fourteen percent? I mean, in a school of almost 2,000 kids, that's over 200 kids out there, lost and lonely, thinking that there's not a single teacher, hall monitor, counselor, vice principal or aide who could greet them with "Morning, Jimmy, how're you?" How sad.
We had a staff meeting yesterday, and the principal went over some numbers from a survey that was taken last spring. It asked things like "Do you feel safe at school?" (Well, technically it said "I feel safe at school," then offered choices that ranged from "strongly disagree" to "strongly agree." But you get the gist.)
Other questions were more academic, like "I am being prepared for college," "I feel comfortable talking to my counselor about my classes," "I know what I will be tested on," "I know how grades are calculated," "I know which standards I am learning each day." You get the idea.
But a lot of the items were sort of more personal, like "There is an adult on campus I can trust," and "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name."
In all areas, we smoked the competition. I mean, our scores were compared to those from the four other big high schools, and our scores in pretty much every category were anywhere from 3 percent to twenty percent higher than the other schools! I mean, wow, right? Makes you think we're some special hoity-toity school, right? Wrong. Our school has one of the worst reputations in town. It was so good to see that, reputation aside, the kids that actually attend the school feel welcome, valued, safe, and as though they are learning.
But then something hit me. The item that read "There is at least one adult on campus who knows my first name." Well, we smoked the competition again in this category, at 86 percent! Whoo, 86 percent!! But... well... who are the 14 percent that thinks there is not a single adult on campus who knows their name? How sad is that? Enough to have made me tear up twice, actually. I mean, I realize that there are some jokesters who are going to write "strongly disagree" on every single question just as a prank or because they hate school or are having a bad day or whatever. But fourteen percent? I mean, in a school of almost 2,000 kids, that's over 200 kids out there, lost and lonely, thinking that there's not a single teacher, hall monitor, counselor, vice principal or aide who could greet them with "Morning, Jimmy, how're you?" How sad.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Sucky
I feel a wee bit feverish. I'm mad that I had to change my 7th period class to Wednesday, because that means that for the rest of the year, I can't take stretch class at ballet, which I really enjoy. I have grades due in less than two days and SO much grading to catch up on. I'm trying to read the juniors' in-class essays, and they're sucking so hard I have no idea how they're ever going to improve. Like, the logic seems to be "I don't think The Handmaid's Tale is a feminist novel because the women get treated really bad and they have to have sex with like these guys they don't even know." God help me.
Off to 7th period.
On the bright side, Sweetie is making dinner tonight, so I can't wait to get home and enjoy the yummy!
Off to 7th period.
On the bright side, Sweetie is making dinner tonight, so I can't wait to get home and enjoy the yummy!
Not all bad
Okay, phew! Mom called, and the heater should be fixed soon. The fireplace guy is coming tomorrow. My gas cap was loose (only $47 to figure that out). Anyway, it all costs money, but maybe not as bad as it could have been, and now we have heat, comfort, and car.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
So, I woke up freezing because our heater doesn't work. We can't have a fire because some work needs to be done to the fireplace and chimney. At the old house, there was a huge leak and the floor warped. A TON of plumbing work needed to be done, and Mom took care of it (we owe you, Mom). The sprinklers now leak and additional work needs to be done to get the valves above ground. We have about a thousand dollars worth of termite work that needs to be done at the old house. Of course, the old house still hasn't sold or really come anywhere close. And this morning on the way to work, my "check engine" light came on. My car's at the dealership right now.
What else, do you think? Um, tree branch falls on the roof? Sewer line backs up in the yard? Stove quits working? What massively expensive thing could happen next?
What else, do you think? Um, tree branch falls on the roof? Sewer line backs up in the yard? Stove quits working? What massively expensive thing could happen next?
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Halloween is fun.
I thought it was fairly clear I was Frida Kahlo, but I got guesses of Carmen Miranda, an Indian princess, a geisha, and a Ukranian (?). Of course, I also thought it was eminently goddamn clear the years I was Bettie Page, Twiggy, Kali, a valkyrie, and Alex from A Clockwork Orange. I don't think my costumes are obscure -- I think people are stupid.
My principal said he was a "nerdy Jewish principal." Right on. It reminded me of the year I went trick-or-treating with my friend and goddaughter. I showed up in costume, Kriste was in costume, Siobhan was in costume (the cutest little Powerpuff Girl ever), even the dog, Steve, had angel wings and a halo. But our friends Kelly and Rudy show up, Kelly in her ever-present overalls and Rudy in his work clothes. Kriste comes to the front door and hollers "Hey! It's a hillbilly and a Mexican!" I busted a gut, and it still makes me giggle. You probably had to be there.
Happy Halloween!!
Bee oh
Oh. My. God. How often do I use the periods in 'oh my god'? Ever so rarely. But today, they deserve it. I have a student in my 2nd period class whose BO is normally sort of a minor annoyance, but today is an outright assault on mankind. I had to take him outside to talk to him. He says it's "part of the costume" (i.e. Michael Myers). Um, unless you poured the contents of a stinkbomb on yourself, nuh-uh. You just reek. You stink like ass. You're Stinky McRancid. I'm serious, he left to go to the bathroom about 5 minutes ago and the room STILL smells.
I took him outside and when he said it was the costume, I (very delicately said) "oh good. 'Cause you know, it's so easy to stay smelling good... just some deodorant after you shower every morning, make sure you're washing your clothes after you wear them, I mean, obviously YOU know..."
Incidentally, he came back from the bathroom, and now there's a 10 foot radius around him of BO and Axe cologne, so he must have taken note, anyway.
Holy god, let this period end.
I took him outside and when he said it was the costume, I (very delicately said) "oh good. 'Cause you know, it's so easy to stay smelling good... just some deodorant after you shower every morning, make sure you're washing your clothes after you wear them, I mean, obviously YOU know..."
Incidentally, he came back from the bathroom, and now there's a 10 foot radius around him of BO and Axe cologne, so he must have taken note, anyway.
Holy god, let this period end.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Virtual housewarming
Since so many of our loved ones are not in Sacramento, I thought it would be nice to post some pictures of the house so it would be like you're here, only without the hugs and sugar cookies. Sorry if the page takes a while to load -- I'm just going to post them all at once.
This is the kitchen.
This is the kitchen from the opposite view.
This is really the dining room, but I've got my desk in it. I thought a table would sort of interrupt the flow from the front door to the back door. Plus, the space in the kitchen is perfect for my dining table.
This is the office. It's mainly Reza's, but those are my books on the left.
The photo above was from the left side of the office, but there are two doors, so this one is from the other door as you head toward the hall and bedrooms. This is pretty much the view you would have seen during the party, too.
This is a bedroom. So far, it is not a purpose-specific bedroom, but I've been thinking of it as the baby room. I've also been thinking lately how nice it is that my family really hasn't been pestering us about having babies. No one but my grandma and my dad (at the urging of my stepmom) have said anything unless I've brought it up. But apparently there was some sort of agreed-upon timeline, and that timeline is UP. So yes, it's the baby room. Yes, we're working on it. Yes, we're, you know, using applied science. We PROMISE, we will bring you a baby to sniff and hold and coo over. Sheesh.
Here is the bathroom as seen from the hallway.
I took this one and the next one of the bathroom because no-one actually went in there and looked at my cool stuff, and I'm so proud. See if you can name the movies those pictures are from. I also caught my movie star shower curtain in the mirror.
This is above the bathtub. I like how Alfred's looking at you, sitting in judgment while you're sitting on the can.
This is our bedroom. A little plain compared to the colors at our old place, but so's the whole house, really. Someday I'll paint, but I really don't mind it for now.
Another angle on the bedroom.
This is the living room. I was just wondering where the hell the ottoman is in this picture, then I looked up and realized I still hadn't moved it back.
Here is the fireplace. We can't have a fire yet because some work needs to be done to the bricks and we also need a screen, so in the meantime I created a "candlescape." I know, how cheesy. Monkeygirl and Gynagirl both brought flowers -- aren't they pretty?
I am only posting this because everyone seems to dig our built-in entertainment thing. I like it, too.
Our back porch (with adirondack chairs courtesy of Mom),
I should have taken pictures of the backyard before dark, but I got too busy before the party, so I had to wait until after.
More backyard. There's a lemon tree, and that's Sweetie's kumquat. Dad gave me the bench for my birthday a couple years ago.
And of course, my hammock. There is some lawn back there, some overgrown plants, including rosemary, cannas, mock orange, a berry vine, a camellia...
Well, that's it for now. I'll write some text-y stuff later. I would like to say, though, that I know how lucky I am to have the supportive, wonderful, loving friends and family we have both near and far. It is by far the greatest blessing in my life. Thank you.
This is the kitchen.
This is the kitchen from the opposite view.
This is really the dining room, but I've got my desk in it. I thought a table would sort of interrupt the flow from the front door to the back door. Plus, the space in the kitchen is perfect for my dining table.
This is the office. It's mainly Reza's, but those are my books on the left.
The photo above was from the left side of the office, but there are two doors, so this one is from the other door as you head toward the hall and bedrooms. This is pretty much the view you would have seen during the party, too.
This is a bedroom. So far, it is not a purpose-specific bedroom, but I've been thinking of it as the baby room. I've also been thinking lately how nice it is that my family really hasn't been pestering us about having babies. No one but my grandma and my dad (at the urging of my stepmom) have said anything unless I've brought it up. But apparently there was some sort of agreed-upon timeline, and that timeline is UP. So yes, it's the baby room. Yes, we're working on it. Yes, we're, you know, using applied science. We PROMISE, we will bring you a baby to sniff and hold and coo over. Sheesh.
Here is the bathroom as seen from the hallway.
I took this one and the next one of the bathroom because no-one actually went in there and looked at my cool stuff, and I'm so proud. See if you can name the movies those pictures are from. I also caught my movie star shower curtain in the mirror.
This is above the bathtub. I like how Alfred's looking at you, sitting in judgment while you're sitting on the can.
This is our bedroom. A little plain compared to the colors at our old place, but so's the whole house, really. Someday I'll paint, but I really don't mind it for now.
Another angle on the bedroom.
This is the living room. I was just wondering where the hell the ottoman is in this picture, then I looked up and realized I still hadn't moved it back.
Here is the fireplace. We can't have a fire yet because some work needs to be done to the bricks and we also need a screen, so in the meantime I created a "candlescape." I know, how cheesy. Monkeygirl and Gynagirl both brought flowers -- aren't they pretty?
I am only posting this because everyone seems to dig our built-in entertainment thing. I like it, too.
Our back porch (with adirondack chairs courtesy of Mom),
I should have taken pictures of the backyard before dark, but I got too busy before the party, so I had to wait until after.
More backyard. There's a lemon tree, and that's Sweetie's kumquat. Dad gave me the bench for my birthday a couple years ago.
And of course, my hammock. There is some lawn back there, some overgrown plants, including rosemary, cannas, mock orange, a berry vine, a camellia...
Well, that's it for now. I'll write some text-y stuff later. I would like to say, though, that I know how lucky I am to have the supportive, wonderful, loving friends and family we have both near and far. It is by far the greatest blessing in my life. Thank you.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Yesterday
was crazy. I taught all day (including 7th period until 4:30), practiced with the staff band for the rally today until about 5:20, dashed home and got my bass and amp (thanks for packin' them for me sweetie), went to Starubucks (I know, the evil empire) to meet my realtor to counter an offer we got on the house*, then went to my uncle's house to "jam" and eat Chinese food. I got home a few minutes before 10.
*Don't congratulate me just yet -- it was a shitty offer from an "investor" that came in at 60k less than we're asking. I wasn't even sure it was worth countering, but we came down about 15k. If they take it or come pretty close to it, fine. If not, screw 'em, because I'm not going to play around with an offer so insulting.
By the way, I don't want my blog to become some sort of world-wide prayer center, but if you could spare a good thought today for my Boompah's dad, my step-grandpa, I'd appreciate it.
*Don't congratulate me just yet -- it was a shitty offer from an "investor" that came in at 60k less than we're asking. I wasn't even sure it was worth countering, but we came down about 15k. If they take it or come pretty close to it, fine. If not, screw 'em, because I'm not going to play around with an offer so insulting.
By the way, I don't want my blog to become some sort of world-wide prayer center, but if you could spare a good thought today for my Boompah's dad, my step-grandpa, I'd appreciate it.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
I got Phished!
I got a call yesterday from a bank that we have recently opened an account with. The caller identified himself, gave me my name and address, then offered to send me a credit card. I said I didn't want it and wouldn't use it. He said he'd send it to me anyway, but we never had to use it. He just needed my date of birth to confirm. He sounded so official that I gave it to him. Then he wanted my mother's maiden name. I told him I was hanging up on him and hung up.
I'm about 90% sure that he was a fake now, but at the time, he was very convincing. I've never been phished by phone before, because we've always been unlisted (I thought we still were). I'm really good at spotting the e-mail phishers, but I sort of got drawn in my this guy. Now I'm doing the Chris Farley "Stupid Stupid Stupid!"
Technically this is not Spam-related, but what a good picture, huh?
It even has the mark of the beast on it.
I'm about 90% sure that he was a fake now, but at the time, he was very convincing. I've never been phished by phone before, because we've always been unlisted (I thought we still were). I'm really good at spotting the e-mail phishers, but I sort of got drawn in my this guy. Now I'm doing the Chris Farley "Stupid Stupid Stupid!"
Technically this is not Spam-related, but what a good picture, huh?
It even has the mark of the beast on it.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Springtime for Hitler
In our shared students discussion this morning, the science teacher brought up a very bright, kind of odd kid. He's in my advanced English class. He's from Romania, has a heavy accent, and sometimes struggles for words, but he's extremely smart and personable, and knows the bible "chapter and verse" as they say.
He came up because apparently she asked him what he was going to do after graduation. He replied that he wanted to go back to Romania and "separate the races." He apparently particularly felt that the gypsies were getting out of control, and their presence was bad for the nation.
Um.
We're not sure if he was so smart that he was putting her on and that was the most absurd deadpan humor I've ever heard or if he's both intelligent and really, really crazy. She's known the kid for over two years and thought he was sincere. I've only known him two months, but would be surrpised to learn that he was. I guess I'll have to wait to find out, because I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of pulling the kid aside and saying "Hey, Ms. G said you wanted to go back to Romania and separate the races. Were you f-ing with her or are you chock full o' nuts?"
He came up because apparently she asked him what he was going to do after graduation. He replied that he wanted to go back to Romania and "separate the races." He apparently particularly felt that the gypsies were getting out of control, and their presence was bad for the nation.
Um.
We're not sure if he was so smart that he was putting her on and that was the most absurd deadpan humor I've ever heard or if he's both intelligent and really, really crazy. She's known the kid for over two years and thought he was sincere. I've only known him two months, but would be surrpised to learn that he was. I guess I'll have to wait to find out, because I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of pulling the kid aside and saying "Hey, Ms. G said you wanted to go back to Romania and separate the races. Were you f-ing with her or are you chock full o' nuts?"
Opposite day
Today in Spirit Week, it's Opposite Day. They suggested that you wear your clothes "inside out, backwards... whatever!" I was thinking about being a student, but didn't have a gigantic enough t-shirt, so instead I'm a boy! I'm wearing a pair of Sweetie's old army pants (seriously oversized), a polo shirt with the collar "popped," a cabbie hat, Docs, and no make-up. I tried to do shaggy emo-boy hair, but I'm not sure how well it worked, so I'm keeping the hat on. Overall, the effect is less "man" than Dykey McBulldyke, and I mean that in an affectionate way.
The kids are LOVING it, and all wanted pictures of me this morning.
Then the principal came into our meeting to ask if I would be willing to sponsor the LGSA club (Lesbian Gay Student Alliance). I said I would, but it depended on when their meetings are, because technically I already sponsor three other clubs. Jokingly (but deadpan), I asked whether it was because of how I am dressed today. He looked panicked and quickly blurted "No!" then recovered with "Not that there's anything wrong with that." I laughed at him, but then later he saw me in the hall and took me to meet the current club sponsor. We had our little conversation about how we could co-ordinate, when the meetings are, etc. and as he walked away, he turned suddenly back, walked close to us, and explained to the other gal "but it has nothing to do with how she's dressed. Today is opposite day." The other teacher then said "What, you think because she's dressed like that I thought she was a big bulldyke? Get outta here." And she shooed him away. That cracked my ass up.
As usual, that's not a photo of me -- it's whatever I could find on Flickr in order to blog undetected... If I get a picture of me, I'll post it. But in the meantime, feel free to look up "drag king" on Flickr. It's very interesting, and you also get a lot of "lesbians bellydancing."
The kids are LOVING it, and all wanted pictures of me this morning.
Then the principal came into our meeting to ask if I would be willing to sponsor the LGSA club (Lesbian Gay Student Alliance). I said I would, but it depended on when their meetings are, because technically I already sponsor three other clubs. Jokingly (but deadpan), I asked whether it was because of how I am dressed today. He looked panicked and quickly blurted "No!" then recovered with "Not that there's anything wrong with that." I laughed at him, but then later he saw me in the hall and took me to meet the current club sponsor. We had our little conversation about how we could co-ordinate, when the meetings are, etc. and as he walked away, he turned suddenly back, walked close to us, and explained to the other gal "but it has nothing to do with how she's dressed. Today is opposite day." The other teacher then said "What, you think because she's dressed like that I thought she was a big bulldyke? Get outta here." And she shooed him away. That cracked my ass up.
As usual, that's not a photo of me -- it's whatever I could find on Flickr in order to blog undetected... If I get a picture of me, I'll post it. But in the meantime, feel free to look up "drag king" on Flickr. It's very interesting, and you also get a lot of "lesbians bellydancing."
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
You should dress Indian every day!
That was an odd compliment I received from another teacher earlier today. This is spirit week (the week before Homecoming), and today is "Multicultural day." The signs advice us to dress in the clothing of our culture, but since I don't have any overalls and muddy boots and have no intention of dressing like a Leprechaun, I went with the "multi" part, and decided to dress in someone else's cultural dress -- a sari.
I got here this morning and the first student of mine I saw was Indian, and she said "Oh, Ms. Mockula. You're wearing a sari. Who wrapped it for you?" I proudly replied "I did!" She tilted her head to one side, examining me, and stated "you needed help." SInce one typically wears a sari with another long skirt and a shirt underneath, I took off the sari itself and she helped me re-wrap it. Anyway, now I'm very proud. I've gotten many compliments. Of course, my students all walk in and go "You're Indian? I thought you were Irish?" and I reply in my best mock-teacher voice, "I am, but white people don't have culture, children."
I got here this morning and the first student of mine I saw was Indian, and she said "Oh, Ms. Mockula. You're wearing a sari. Who wrapped it for you?" I proudly replied "I did!" She tilted her head to one side, examining me, and stated "you needed help." SInce one typically wears a sari with another long skirt and a shirt underneath, I took off the sari itself and she helped me re-wrap it. Anyway, now I'm very proud. I've gotten many compliments. Of course, my students all walk in and go "You're Indian? I thought you were Irish?" and I reply in my best mock-teacher voice, "I am, but white people don't have culture, children."
You should dress Indian every day!
That was an odd compliment I received from another teacher earlier today. This is spirit week (the week before Homecoming), and today is "Multicultural day." The signs advice us to dress in the clothing of our culture, but since I don't have any overalls and muddy boots and have no intention of dressing like a Leprechaun, I went with the "multi" part, and decided to dress in someone else's cultural dress -- a sari.
I got here this morning and the first student of mine I saw was Indian, and she said "Oh, Ms. Mockula. You're wearing a sari. Who wrapped it for you?" I proudly replied "I did!" She tilted her head to one side, examining me, and stated "you needed help." SInce one typically wears a sari with another long skirt and a shirt underneath, I took off the sari itself and she helped me re-wrap it. Anyway, now I'm very proud. I've gotten many compliments. Of course, my students all walk in and go "You're Indian? I thought you were Irish?" and I reply in my best mock-teacher voice, "I am, but white people don't have culture, children."
I got here this morning and the first student of mine I saw was Indian, and she said "Oh, Ms. Mockula. You're wearing a sari. Who wrapped it for you?" I proudly replied "I did!" She tilted her head to one side, examining me, and stated "you needed help." SInce one typically wears a sari with another long skirt and a shirt underneath, I took off the sari itself and she helped me re-wrap it. Anyway, now I'm very proud. I've gotten many compliments. Of course, my students all walk in and go "You're Indian? I thought you were Irish?" and I reply in my best mock-teacher voice, "I am, but white people don't have culture, children."
Sunday, October 22, 2006
The Liz Phair train left and I wasn't on it.
Blogger is acting goofy, so I don't know if this'll work, but here goes.
We're having a housewarming next weekend (well, an open house -- we're not begging for presents) so I spent a lot of time this weekend cleaning up. Every time someone asks me "well, are you all settled in?" I answer "Yup, I unpacked the last box this weekend." But then I find one more box. We're more settled in, but there are always things that need to be done. I cleaned up the backyard a lot yesterday, but am nowhere near done with that. Everything's thorny and overgrown, like giant Muppets with pokey bits. I cut a lot of stuff back and dragged the big pile to the street. It was hard work, and I got several scratches, but it smelled delicious!! Really. The first thing I cut back was the rosemary. Then I moved on to the mock orange, and if you have never gotten a whiff of this citrusy, soapy, tangy, astringent smell, then go find somebody with a mock orange and cut off a branch. It's really an interesting and pleasant smell. Then I went to the lemon tree. At first, I balked a little at pruning it at all and losing some lemons, but we have way more than we can use anyway. But when I cut it, there was serious lemon smell, too. So depending on what I was cutting or walking on or dragging to the street, it smelled absolutely delightful.
I've made some really yummy dinners lately, including last night's stuffed squash (don't balk --Sweetie even went back for seconds), but Blogger has been seriously fussy, so I probably won't update Count Broccula tonight, but soon.
I bought Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville" last week. I've been hearing about this album literally for years. It's supposed to be this seminal riot grrl feminist rockin' masterpiece. I've kind of felt guilty all these years for not owning it. I've never even heard any of the songs off the album, so I finally saw it at Tower's clearance sale and went for it. I had really high expectations and... it was okay. I think I was expecting ROCKING, like, PJ Harvey or Hole. But it's almost folky. I think it rocks about as hard as Suzanne Vega. I mean, I don't dislike it, and I've listened to it several times through, but it is completely not what I thought.
I still have to go grocery shopping tonight and do some other stuff, so I'm out. Take care everyone.
We're having a housewarming next weekend (well, an open house -- we're not begging for presents) so I spent a lot of time this weekend cleaning up. Every time someone asks me "well, are you all settled in?" I answer "Yup, I unpacked the last box this weekend." But then I find one more box. We're more settled in, but there are always things that need to be done. I cleaned up the backyard a lot yesterday, but am nowhere near done with that. Everything's thorny and overgrown, like giant Muppets with pokey bits. I cut a lot of stuff back and dragged the big pile to the street. It was hard work, and I got several scratches, but it smelled delicious!! Really. The first thing I cut back was the rosemary. Then I moved on to the mock orange, and if you have never gotten a whiff of this citrusy, soapy, tangy, astringent smell, then go find somebody with a mock orange and cut off a branch. It's really an interesting and pleasant smell. Then I went to the lemon tree. At first, I balked a little at pruning it at all and losing some lemons, but we have way more than we can use anyway. But when I cut it, there was serious lemon smell, too. So depending on what I was cutting or walking on or dragging to the street, it smelled absolutely delightful.
I've made some really yummy dinners lately, including last night's stuffed squash (don't balk --Sweetie even went back for seconds), but Blogger has been seriously fussy, so I probably won't update Count Broccula tonight, but soon.
I bought Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville" last week. I've been hearing about this album literally for years. It's supposed to be this seminal riot grrl feminist rockin' masterpiece. I've kind of felt guilty all these years for not owning it. I've never even heard any of the songs off the album, so I finally saw it at Tower's clearance sale and went for it. I had really high expectations and... it was okay. I think I was expecting ROCKING, like, PJ Harvey or Hole. But it's almost folky. I think it rocks about as hard as Suzanne Vega. I mean, I don't dislike it, and I've listened to it several times through, but it is completely not what I thought.
I still have to go grocery shopping tonight and do some other stuff, so I'm out. Take care everyone.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Thank You Card
Awww. Sometimes you do start the day right. I had my scone, got to school and found a thank you card in my box. A student of mine from last year had asked for a recommendation letter for a scholarship, and I gave it to him Wednesday and found my card today.
Now let me tell you -- most kids don't ask me for letters until about the day before they're due. This kid asked for one in September. And I have NEVER gotten a thank you card. It was a really thoughtful one, too, and included his senior portrait. What a nice kid, huh?
Now let me tell you -- most kids don't ask me for letters until about the day before they're due. This kid asked for one in September. And I have NEVER gotten a thank you card. It was a really thoughtful one, too, and included his senior portrait. What a nice kid, huh?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Modesto, real estate, Blockbuster
I'm going to Modesto tomorrow for a meeting with the Renaissance Society, which has nothing to do with funny costumes. It's some sort of incentive program for schools. So I have no idea why I'm still up at 10:20, since I have to be at school at 6:30 tomorrow. Sigh.
I e-mailed the real estate agent we used to buy our new house in the hopes that he can sell our old one. I've been fairly unhappy with our old agent, and I'm looking forward to our contract being up in 2 weeks. I know the market is slow and perhaps any agent would have had trouble selling the house in a market like this, but I kind of suspect our agent had an EXTRA-hard time. She's kind of weird.
And finally -- I hate Blockbuster. I really do. I don't even know why I have a membership, other than that I don't know where the hell else to rent movies and I do occasionally need to rent movies faster than I can Netflix them. I've been teaching stage make-up to my drama classes, and I had to come up with a sup plan, so I thought I'd show "A Midsummer Night's Dream," since it has some good makeup, and I also have a student who's chosen Nick Bottom as the character he's studying for this unit. Not there. So I try Cyrano for the same reasons. Not there. So I try several other Shakespeare plays, because even if the makeup's not there, several of the kids are doing Shakespeare characters. I try Hamlet, Macbeth, The Taming of the Shrew, even Shakespeare in Love. No. I start randomly browsing the shelves for any movie that has makeup in it or was based on a play, ever. Blockbuster blows.
I e-mailed the real estate agent we used to buy our new house in the hopes that he can sell our old one. I've been fairly unhappy with our old agent, and I'm looking forward to our contract being up in 2 weeks. I know the market is slow and perhaps any agent would have had trouble selling the house in a market like this, but I kind of suspect our agent had an EXTRA-hard time. She's kind of weird.
And finally -- I hate Blockbuster. I really do. I don't even know why I have a membership, other than that I don't know where the hell else to rent movies and I do occasionally need to rent movies faster than I can Netflix them. I've been teaching stage make-up to my drama classes, and I had to come up with a sup plan, so I thought I'd show "A Midsummer Night's Dream," since it has some good makeup, and I also have a student who's chosen Nick Bottom as the character he's studying for this unit. Not there. So I try Cyrano for the same reasons. Not there. So I try several other Shakespeare plays, because even if the makeup's not there, several of the kids are doing Shakespeare characters. I try Hamlet, Macbeth, The Taming of the Shrew, even Shakespeare in Love. No. I start randomly browsing the shelves for any movie that has makeup in it or was based on a play, ever. Blockbuster blows.
When I am very sad
sometimes I do silly things to make myself feel better. Today I am wearing a gigantic purple ring that is plastic but cut to resemble a large jewel. It is approximately the size of a kiwi.
I went to the restroom just now, in the middle of our PSAT tests, and my back hurts, so I did a couple yoga stretches. It struck me that it would be funny to do a handstand in the bathroom, so I did. I washed my hands thoroughly afterwards.
I don't know what "Lothar" over there is about, but it was the picture I liked best when I searched for
"handstand" on Flickr. I am pretty sure the dude has a frog puppet on his foot.
I went to the restroom just now, in the middle of our PSAT tests, and my back hurts, so I did a couple yoga stretches. It struck me that it would be funny to do a handstand in the bathroom, so I did. I washed my hands thoroughly afterwards.
I don't know what "Lothar" over there is about, but it was the picture I liked best when I searched for
"handstand" on Flickr. I am pretty sure the dude has a frog puppet on his foot.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
I'm a highly qualified teacher!
Finally! I got a letter today informing me. Don't think for a moment I won't be photocopying that fucker for my files.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Poker, Apple Hill, pathetic poetry night
Hi all,
I don't really have anything to say, but thought I'd update anyway. On Saturday I met some friends at Apple Hill, which is basically just a collection of apple orchards about an hour east of here. I know that probably doesn't sound like the world's greatest tourist attraction, but we've been going since I was a kid, and I really love it. Most of the orchards sell not just apples, but pies, crumb cakes, caramel apples, cider, other fruits and veggies and funky gourds, sometimes fudge and candy, recipe books, and all sorts of ridiculous crafts. Several of the places have stuff for kids, and it's kind of lame stuff ("Go stick your head through the hole in the plywood pumpkin, honey!"), but it's also sweet and innocent, and I think the kids have as good a time reaching through the fence to pet the ponies and ride the tricycles and go through the hay maze and climb around the pumpkin patch as they would doing something zippier, like going to Magic Mountain. They seem to have fun, anyway. (I went with several friends with kids.) Anyway, I always like to buy as many different varieties of apples as I can so we can try them. This time I didn't get to because I was planning to get them at the last orchard we went to, and we were planning to go to High Hill Farms (which has a fudge factory, kettle corn, a trout pond, and a cider mill where you can watch the apples getting smooshed into juice), but when we got there it was insanely crowded, so I only came home with the few Granny Smiths and Empires I bought at Mother Lode. I also got a bunch of pumpkins for the porch, so now we have a whole little family out there.
Saturday evening we went to Sweetie's co-worker's house for poker. I've played about three hands of poker in my entire life. It showed. I really, really sucked. I had fun though. The hostess kept making me virgin Cosmos, which were delightful, and I ate a cupcake, and we had some nice conversation. I really had a hard time following the game, though, because we switched what kind of game we played each time, from 5 card stud and 7 card stud (which I sort of understood) to Texas Hold 'Em (which I got), to Mexico, something High-Low, Baseball Black Moriah (which I finally won some money back on)... it was crazy!! Plus, there was all this intricate stuff about knocking on the table and sometimes it seemed like we went around betting a couple times and other times just once, and frankly I had to work to sort out what "of a kind" meant, because the only way I can remember what "full house" and that stuff means is from playing Yahtzee. I had a good time, and I'll totally go back if invited, but... well, I just blow.
In early September I sent an e-mail to all the other English teachers telling them that our students had been invited to be the featured readers at the Sacramento Poetry Center. I encouraged them to send their students to me to get directions and everything. Then I reminded them. And I put posters up (lots of posters). And then I sent the teachers the directions, just in case. And then I sent the ENTIRE staff an e-mail. Ultimately, I had five kids say they wanted to come, and two showed up. There were 8 people in the room -- the two students, one's brother, me, another English teacher, the host, a regular guest, and a girl who went to community college who was getting extra credit for attending. Sigh. I really try to drum up excitement for stuff like this, but after so many disappointments, I don't know how much energy I should continue putting into it. Like, if somebody ELSE wants to organize a poetry reading or something, I'll support it, help them out, encourage my students to attend (and offer them extra credit), and do whatever I can to foster creative writing on campus, but I can't, like, give birth to it. If that makes sense. It's probably not even true. In a couple weeks, I'll be organizing something new. It's what I do...
How selfish is it that I'm happy no one has responded to the art meme? It means I don't have to do anything, and I still get art from my brother. MWAHahahahahaha!! I'm kidding, you can still reply.
I don't really have anything to say, but thought I'd update anyway. On Saturday I met some friends at Apple Hill, which is basically just a collection of apple orchards about an hour east of here. I know that probably doesn't sound like the world's greatest tourist attraction, but we've been going since I was a kid, and I really love it. Most of the orchards sell not just apples, but pies, crumb cakes, caramel apples, cider, other fruits and veggies and funky gourds, sometimes fudge and candy, recipe books, and all sorts of ridiculous crafts. Several of the places have stuff for kids, and it's kind of lame stuff ("Go stick your head through the hole in the plywood pumpkin, honey!"), but it's also sweet and innocent, and I think the kids have as good a time reaching through the fence to pet the ponies and ride the tricycles and go through the hay maze and climb around the pumpkin patch as they would doing something zippier, like going to Magic Mountain. They seem to have fun, anyway. (I went with several friends with kids.) Anyway, I always like to buy as many different varieties of apples as I can so we can try them. This time I didn't get to because I was planning to get them at the last orchard we went to, and we were planning to go to High Hill Farms (which has a fudge factory, kettle corn, a trout pond, and a cider mill where you can watch the apples getting smooshed into juice), but when we got there it was insanely crowded, so I only came home with the few Granny Smiths and Empires I bought at Mother Lode. I also got a bunch of pumpkins for the porch, so now we have a whole little family out there.
Saturday evening we went to Sweetie's co-worker's house for poker. I've played about three hands of poker in my entire life. It showed. I really, really sucked. I had fun though. The hostess kept making me virgin Cosmos, which were delightful, and I ate a cupcake, and we had some nice conversation. I really had a hard time following the game, though, because we switched what kind of game we played each time, from 5 card stud and 7 card stud (which I sort of understood) to Texas Hold 'Em (which I got), to Mexico, something High-Low, Baseball Black Moriah (which I finally won some money back on)... it was crazy!! Plus, there was all this intricate stuff about knocking on the table and sometimes it seemed like we went around betting a couple times and other times just once, and frankly I had to work to sort out what "of a kind" meant, because the only way I can remember what "full house" and that stuff means is from playing Yahtzee. I had a good time, and I'll totally go back if invited, but... well, I just blow.
In early September I sent an e-mail to all the other English teachers telling them that our students had been invited to be the featured readers at the Sacramento Poetry Center. I encouraged them to send their students to me to get directions and everything. Then I reminded them. And I put posters up (lots of posters). And then I sent the teachers the directions, just in case. And then I sent the ENTIRE staff an e-mail. Ultimately, I had five kids say they wanted to come, and two showed up. There were 8 people in the room -- the two students, one's brother, me, another English teacher, the host, a regular guest, and a girl who went to community college who was getting extra credit for attending. Sigh. I really try to drum up excitement for stuff like this, but after so many disappointments, I don't know how much energy I should continue putting into it. Like, if somebody ELSE wants to organize a poetry reading or something, I'll support it, help them out, encourage my students to attend (and offer them extra credit), and do whatever I can to foster creative writing on campus, but I can't, like, give birth to it. If that makes sense. It's probably not even true. In a couple weeks, I'll be organizing something new. It's what I do...
How selfish is it that I'm happy no one has responded to the art meme? It means I don't have to do anything, and I still get art from my brother. MWAHahahahahaha!! I'm kidding, you can still reply.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Meme (I still don't really know what a meme is)
"The first five people to respond to this post will get some form of art, by me, about them. I make no guarantees about quality or type, but I will assure that I will give it good effort and that the art will be individual to you, so if you get a mixed CD or some sort of painting doodle, yours is the only one like it.
The only catch, of course; as with most memes, if you sign up, you have to put this in your own journal as well."
I stole that outright from my brother so that I could score some art from him. If anyone responds to this, I will follow through, but since he's a real-live artist and I'm more of a, um, an English teacher, mine will probably involve a glue stick and glitter. Or be a mix CD, but I'm good at those...
The only catch, of course; as with most memes, if you sign up, you have to put this in your own journal as well."
I stole that outright from my brother so that I could score some art from him. If anyone responds to this, I will follow through, but since he's a real-live artist and I'm more of a, um, an English teacher, mine will probably involve a glue stick and glitter. Or be a mix CD, but I'm good at those...
Friday, October 13, 2006
I feel like a number...
I actually sent this e-mail this morning:
Good morning,
I went to three training days before school started and I filled out my user ID incorrectly. My classroom was packed, and my ID number with it. I have since received 15 notices that remind me of my user number, or just about one a day for the last three weeks. Not to worry; I've got it now. I've had it artfully tattooed in a tasteful location and never intend to forget it again.
Thank you,
Count Mockula
#23263
Good morning,
I went to three training days before school started and I filled out my user ID incorrectly. My classroom was packed, and my ID number with it. I have since received 15 notices that remind me of my user number, or just about one a day for the last three weeks. Not to worry; I've got it now. I've had it artfully tattooed in a tasteful location and never intend to forget it again.
Thank you,
Count Mockula
#23263
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Recyclemmings
Tonight I got home and discovered that several people on my street had put out their blue recycling bins next to their garbage bins. But I'm pretty sure it's not recycling day. Or is it? Why would they have put them out if it wasn't the right night? How much is in my bin? If it's not overflowing, it's not recycling night. Plus, I just cleaned out the garage a week and a half ago, and I had all the boxes in there...
It was like all of a sudden, their confusion had affected me! I almost put the bin on the street. I seriously can't let a recycle day go by, because while we average only one small bag of actual garbage a week, we recycle like mofos... If my recycling doesn't get picked up, the house starts overflowing with newspaper and water bottles.
I was also thinking that it's funny how if one person accidentally puts the blue bin out, it's like contagious, and other people start putting theirs out, too. I thought, "there should be a word for that..."
Which started me on an entirely different tangent. See, in my newspaper, there's this TERRIBLE trend toward trying to make the paper more appealing to younger readers. Ultimately I guess it's a good thing if it secures the future of the newspaper industry, because I LOVE my newspapers. But I want my newspaper old-people style. It doesn't have to have graphics on the header. It doesn't have to have teasers to stories inside. It should eschew crapass fluff pieces where editorials used to be. And I certainly don't need news articles that use slang terms like "gonna" unless it's a pretty necessary quote.
I was thinking that there's a really lame semi-regular feature on Sundays written by one of the Bee's two trendoid Lifestyle reporters. I'm fairly sure it's called "So Sacramento." and the subtitle is "Words that should be in the dictionary but aren't." They're always stupid words like "Thursweekend." (I made that up, 'cause I can't find any of them online, but it's something like that.) Then there'll be the definition: "Thursweekend: the way traffic backs up on Thursdays before a three-day weekend on highway 50 out of town." Then, the mandatory use in a sentence. "Hey, we'd better sneak out of the office early, because it's going to be a Thursweekend out there!"
Anyway, it's stupid and pointless and no one would ever use the words (they tend to be really awkward, long constructions) and it just irritates me. Nevertheless, I like "recyclemmings."
It was like all of a sudden, their confusion had affected me! I almost put the bin on the street. I seriously can't let a recycle day go by, because while we average only one small bag of actual garbage a week, we recycle like mofos... If my recycling doesn't get picked up, the house starts overflowing with newspaper and water bottles.
I was also thinking that it's funny how if one person accidentally puts the blue bin out, it's like contagious, and other people start putting theirs out, too. I thought, "there should be a word for that..."
Which started me on an entirely different tangent. See, in my newspaper, there's this TERRIBLE trend toward trying to make the paper more appealing to younger readers. Ultimately I guess it's a good thing if it secures the future of the newspaper industry, because I LOVE my newspapers. But I want my newspaper old-people style. It doesn't have to have graphics on the header. It doesn't have to have teasers to stories inside. It should eschew crapass fluff pieces where editorials used to be. And I certainly don't need news articles that use slang terms like "gonna" unless it's a pretty necessary quote.
I was thinking that there's a really lame semi-regular feature on Sundays written by one of the Bee's two trendoid Lifestyle reporters. I'm fairly sure it's called "So Sacramento." and the subtitle is "Words that should be in the dictionary but aren't." They're always stupid words like "Thursweekend." (I made that up, 'cause I can't find any of them online, but it's something like that.) Then there'll be the definition: "Thursweekend: the way traffic backs up on Thursdays before a three-day weekend on highway 50 out of town." Then, the mandatory use in a sentence. "Hey, we'd better sneak out of the office early, because it's going to be a Thursweekend out there!"
Anyway, it's stupid and pointless and no one would ever use the words (they tend to be really awkward, long constructions) and it just irritates me. Nevertheless, I like "recyclemmings."
I call BS
I got an e-mail (a mass mailing, not just to me) this morning about how we shouldn't be checking our personal mail from work. You know what? F--- that. Here's why:
1: My calendar is linked to my e-mail account. I can keep track of field trips, appointments with students, meetings, etc. THROUGH MY E-MAIL ACCOUNT. I am not organized enough to write stuff down in one place and carry it with me, and this is the best method I've found for me.
2: Just because I am at school doesn't mean I'm working. I arrive here at least 30 minutes prior to the time my contract states, ALWAYS stay at least 15 minutes late, and my 40-minute lunch is my own. You mean to tell me I can't access my personal life during those times (which add up to about 200 hours a year that I am on campus, mostly working, entirely for free each year)?
3: Who is it hurting? If I take 30 seconds during a passing period to tell my husband I'll be home late, what harm is that doing? Yes, I could be out in the halls watching kids, but we've been specifically asked not to this year. Nope, administration told us to be in our rooms.
4: It's a double-standard. No one has been told not to bring cell phones to school. Yes, the cell phones are ours, not school property, but that's the sole difference. Why does it matter if we're connecting with someone electronically rather than cellular-ly?
5: I conduct school business using my personal e-mail. It's much easier to check from home, and it's way shorter. My home e-mail is myname@sbcglobal.net. My work e-mail is something like My_name@FHHS.CA.SCUSD.post-office.internalservererror/stillreading?.shutup. Even I don't get it right half the time when I try to send something to my work e-mail. I give the e-mail to my kids to turn in assignments or ask questions. I communicate with parents via e-mail. I send myself useful links, articles, and documents. I keep in touch with the community about school events (like an upcoming student poetry reading)... Yes, when I check my mail, it's a mix of personal and school, definitely leaning more towards personal, but I do use it for work.
Anyway, I really don't plan to stop checking my e-mail from work unless they come have a personal chat with me about it. And if they do, I plan to tell them about those reasons above. Hmph. It just put me in a grumpy mood.
1: My calendar is linked to my e-mail account. I can keep track of field trips, appointments with students, meetings, etc. THROUGH MY E-MAIL ACCOUNT. I am not organized enough to write stuff down in one place and carry it with me, and this is the best method I've found for me.
2: Just because I am at school doesn't mean I'm working. I arrive here at least 30 minutes prior to the time my contract states, ALWAYS stay at least 15 minutes late, and my 40-minute lunch is my own. You mean to tell me I can't access my personal life during those times (which add up to about 200 hours a year that I am on campus, mostly working, entirely for free each year)?
3: Who is it hurting? If I take 30 seconds during a passing period to tell my husband I'll be home late, what harm is that doing? Yes, I could be out in the halls watching kids, but we've been specifically asked not to this year. Nope, administration told us to be in our rooms.
4: It's a double-standard. No one has been told not to bring cell phones to school. Yes, the cell phones are ours, not school property, but that's the sole difference. Why does it matter if we're connecting with someone electronically rather than cellular-ly?
5: I conduct school business using my personal e-mail. It's much easier to check from home, and it's way shorter. My home e-mail is myname@sbcglobal.net. My work e-mail is something like My_name@FHHS.CA.SCUSD.post-office.internalservererror/stillreading?.shutup. Even I don't get it right half the time when I try to send something to my work e-mail. I give the e-mail to my kids to turn in assignments or ask questions. I communicate with parents via e-mail. I send myself useful links, articles, and documents. I keep in touch with the community about school events (like an upcoming student poetry reading)... Yes, when I check my mail, it's a mix of personal and school, definitely leaning more towards personal, but I do use it for work.
Anyway, I really don't plan to stop checking my e-mail from work unless they come have a personal chat with me about it. And if they do, I plan to tell them about those reasons above. Hmph. It just put me in a grumpy mood.
Teen pregnancy
As a teacher, I have had several students over the years end up pregnant. The saddest was when I still taught junior high. A girl came back to visit me during her freshman year and told me she was pregnant. I saw her at the bus stop less than 9 months later and she didn't appear pregnant, so I never found out what happened. Anyway, one of my students from last year got knocked up, and I didn't realize it until almost the end of the year. She's a very petite girl, so during puffy-winter-coat season, there was no way to know. Anyway, now that we're back in school in the fall, she's had her baby. I asked some of her friends yesterday whether she was raising it or giving it up. They were shocked and offended that someone might give up their child for adoption. I mean, it was like they'd never heard of such a thing, and the idea was incomprehensibly cruel. How, they asked, could I have thought of such a thing?
Well, she's sixteen, I responded. They asked if I would have given up a child for adoption if I gave birth at sixteen. I said I would have (not precisely true: I probably would have had an abortion). Now I guess it's ironic, because I'm 30 and want so badly to be pregnant. But no, at 16 I still had big plans! I would not have tried to raise a baby at 16. If I did, there's a decent chance my mom would have taken over primary baby-raising responsibilty, because I was SO immature! How would I have provided for a child? What did I know about nutrition? What did I know about ANYTHING? Shit, if you can't figure out birth control at 16 (sorry if that's offensive -- I know it doesn't apply to everyone), how are you supposed to figure out raising a baby?
Anyway, we ended up in a discussion about teen parents, and the kids seemed to think that a teen parent can be every bit as good as an adult. While I agree that a teen parent can be a good parent, and an adult parent can be a bad one, I think that maturity, self-sufficiency, job skills, life experience, and a stable relationship do add a lot to parenting, kind of automatically. It surprises me that my students don't think that way. Gotta go to a meeting...
Well, she's sixteen, I responded. They asked if I would have given up a child for adoption if I gave birth at sixteen. I said I would have (not precisely true: I probably would have had an abortion). Now I guess it's ironic, because I'm 30 and want so badly to be pregnant. But no, at 16 I still had big plans! I would not have tried to raise a baby at 16. If I did, there's a decent chance my mom would have taken over primary baby-raising responsibilty, because I was SO immature! How would I have provided for a child? What did I know about nutrition? What did I know about ANYTHING? Shit, if you can't figure out birth control at 16 (sorry if that's offensive -- I know it doesn't apply to everyone), how are you supposed to figure out raising a baby?
Anyway, we ended up in a discussion about teen parents, and the kids seemed to think that a teen parent can be every bit as good as an adult. While I agree that a teen parent can be a good parent, and an adult parent can be a bad one, I think that maturity, self-sufficiency, job skills, life experience, and a stable relationship do add a lot to parenting, kind of automatically. It surprises me that my students don't think that way. Gotta go to a meeting...
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Food/poetry/yoga
Hiya. I made a really yummy risotto yesterday. I'll try to get it up on Count Broccula this week. I called it "Three Sisters Risotto" on the vague notion that I picked up somewhere that Native Americans called squash, corn, and peppers "the three sisters." It may be wrong, and possibly even culturally insensitive, who knows... It was tasty, though.
Tonight I did a poetry reading. It was cool. I was rather unprepared, but I pulled it off. Mom showed up at the last minute, which was cool. I think I read well, even if my poetry is only okay. I at least use gestures and voice modulation and know how to breathe and slow down. Unlike, I'm sorry to say, the two guys who went before me. I think I would have enjoyed reading both their stuff on paper, but it was really hard to understand in fast-forward. Also, have you ever had your bottled water sitting on your lap, and the condensation caused a little wet spot right at the crotch, and then you had to stand up and do some public speaking and you wondered if people thought you'd peed yourself? We did.
I took the "yoga challenge" class tonight since it was too late to go to ballet after the reading. Dude, it was HARD! No lie! We did this downward dog to plank to crocodile to cobra back to downward dog about a THOUSAND times. Imagine doing pushups, but having to hang out in the down position for, oh, say, the time it takes for your instructor/coach to walk over to the stereo and adjust her microphone and come back. Or putting your arms in the air and lunging with your legs for the time it takes for your instructor to have a chat with somene abotu her shoulder problems. Several people left early, and one big guy was sweating up a storm! Okay, so now I know that "challenge" really does describe the class.
Sorry for the quickie, but I've been pretty busy lately, and I still need to do a little tidying around here before bed...
Tonight I did a poetry reading. It was cool. I was rather unprepared, but I pulled it off. Mom showed up at the last minute, which was cool. I think I read well, even if my poetry is only okay. I at least use gestures and voice modulation and know how to breathe and slow down. Unlike, I'm sorry to say, the two guys who went before me. I think I would have enjoyed reading both their stuff on paper, but it was really hard to understand in fast-forward. Also, have you ever had your bottled water sitting on your lap, and the condensation caused a little wet spot right at the crotch, and then you had to stand up and do some public speaking and you wondered if people thought you'd peed yourself? We did.
I took the "yoga challenge" class tonight since it was too late to go to ballet after the reading. Dude, it was HARD! No lie! We did this downward dog to plank to crocodile to cobra back to downward dog about a THOUSAND times. Imagine doing pushups, but having to hang out in the down position for, oh, say, the time it takes for your instructor/coach to walk over to the stereo and adjust her microphone and come back. Or putting your arms in the air and lunging with your legs for the time it takes for your instructor to have a chat with somene abotu her shoulder problems. Several people left early, and one big guy was sweating up a storm! Okay, so now I know that "challenge" really does describe the class.
Sorry for the quickie, but I've been pretty busy lately, and I still need to do a little tidying around here before bed...
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Dents can usk my _____.
Okay, my car is only three years old. I did some damage to it when I first got it (backed into a basketball pole when we were asked to park on the basketball courts at school), but I had it fixed. Almost immediately thereafter, a bicycle ran into me. Yes, you read that right. I was turning left onto a 4-lane plus chicken lane street, and a cyclist who was travelling the opposite direction on the other side of the street suddenly veered across four lanes right towards me with his head turned backwards the entire time. I slammed on my brakes, two other cars slammed on their brakes to avoid hitting me, and the cyclist kept coming until I finally saw him turn his head, but at that point he was an inch from my bumper, and he and his bike ended up ON my hood. To make it clear, I was at a COMPLETE, DEAD STOP and the cyclist ran into me. Anyway, I ended up with some dents and scratches on the hood. Then my car was stolen and when I got it back, it had a couple new dents -- one in the driver's side door and another on the trunk. The other day, my windshield cracked out of nowhere. I got in the car in the morning and there was a crack. I put a tiny paint scratch in the front bumper recently, and then on Thursday, a HUGE (hand-grenade sized) hunk of blacktop fell off a truck, bounced across two lanes, and hit my hood. Are you keeping track? I now have scratches on the hood, dents on the hood, a dent in the door and the trunk, a cracked windshield and a scratch in the bumper and the only one I had any part in was the scratch. My car is starting to look significantly beaten up, and I'm actually a pretty decent driver! I've never been in a serious accident (and the two minor ones I've been in weren't my fault), I have done a couple stupid things, basketball pole included, but like with the basketball pole, it was under extremely wierd circumstances (I was blocked in completely on the right and in front and back by cars -- I was angling myself out successfully, but the pole was painted white, the sun was shining on it, and it was exactly in my blind spot, so it was damn near invisible. I actually had to get OUT of the car to see what I'd hit. So I feel as if my car does not accurately reflect my driving record. It's kind of irking me. I really want it to still look good, since I am hoping to have it for many years to come...
You must be wondering what "usk my ____." is about. I was listening to a Beastie Boys retrospective on KWOD, and it kind of took me by surprise. I like the Beasties a great deal, and frequently listen to them in the car, but they rarely come on the radio. So I was surprised to hear the edited versions. It seems as though for some words, they reverse a few of the sounds, while others are just blanked out. Which led to the really odd experience of hearing a familiar song as "People come up to me and they try to talk ISH, man. I was makin' records when you were USKing your mother's _____." It was totally nonsensical. Now, I'm not saying that usually the Beasties make sense (they are the band, after all, with lines like "I got girls in a castle and one in a pagoda, you know I got rhymes like Abe Vigoda"), but at least the words they are using are generally real words, and they go in the grammatical order you might expect.
All right, I've got stuff to do. Take care.
You must be wondering what "usk my ____." is about. I was listening to a Beastie Boys retrospective on KWOD, and it kind of took me by surprise. I like the Beasties a great deal, and frequently listen to them in the car, but they rarely come on the radio. So I was surprised to hear the edited versions. It seems as though for some words, they reverse a few of the sounds, while others are just blanked out. Which led to the really odd experience of hearing a familiar song as "People come up to me and they try to talk ISH, man. I was makin' records when you were USKing your mother's _____." It was totally nonsensical. Now, I'm not saying that usually the Beasties make sense (they are the band, after all, with lines like "I got girls in a castle and one in a pagoda, you know I got rhymes like Abe Vigoda"), but at least the words they are using are generally real words, and they go in the grammatical order you might expect.
All right, I've got stuff to do. Take care.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Umm, Blondie, stage fighting, the Chipotle conundrum, Count Mockula would never lie to you, the blues...
Okay, a week or so ago, I made a vague reference to the "staff band" I think. I said I would follow up on it, and I haven't. Here's the deal -- there are several guitarists, a bassist, and a drummer on staff. They know I sing, so they invited me to perform a song with them at the homecoming rally. They're doing Blondie's "Rapture." I'm trying to memorize the lyrics, and I'm going to be able to fake the singing (she sings it REALLY high, which I can do if I only have to do it once). If I had my choice of Blondie songs, I'd have probably chosen "The Tide is High" or something, but I like "Rapture" all right, even if I have occasionally wondered what the fuck she was talking about. Now that I actually know, and am obligated to sing it, I find myself rolling my eyes in embarassment as soon as I start the "rap" part, which begins with "Fab Five Freddy told me everything is fly. DJ spinning, I said 'My, my!'" It continues on with such delightful lines as "Don't hurt your brain, paint a train, you'll be singing in the rain." The narrative, if you will, is told in the second person and is about a Martian who attacks the listener and eats his or her head. Now that the listener is inside the Martian, he too travels the world eating cars (Mercurys and Subarus), bars (where the people meet), and guitars. It's really quite strange. Also, did you know there's an F-word in there? I had no idea, and in fact when I first read it in the lyrics, I didn't believe it. I had to listen to the song to confirm it. Sure enough, the line is "And it's finger fucking, 24 hour shopping in rapture."
I'm teaching stage combat in my drama class today and tomorrow. Oh, you might ask, what qualifies me to teach stage combat? Well, about 45 minutes of it one day when I was in the 9th grade. And the internet. But god damn, can I fake it! They think I know everything! And it's working, too. We had some really decent-looking fake punch-to-the-stomach/lift-'em-up/right-cross combos going. And third period had a killer spin-your-opponent-around/haymaker combos going on. I had to tell them, though, not to go around "practicing" in front of administration. I could just picture it; "Hey, Mr. Apple, look what we learned in Ms. Mockula's class!" Grunt! Pow! Still, it's pretty fun. The kids are being good sports, too.
Here is my Chipotle conundrum: I usually only go there when I'm starving nigh on to death. And their portions are mammoth, so it's perfect. But when to stop eating? Usually, I'm so hungry that I get to the half-way mark and really still want more. So I keep eating, but when I get about three bites from the end, I start to feel really stuffed. But you can't wrap up three bites for tomorrow's lunch, so you might as well eat the rest. And I do. And then I hate myself and want to die and roll around with my pants unzipped moaning in pain.
Listen, I don't want to give you the impression that I'm not hyperbolic, because I sometimes am. And don't think I include every little detail of my life, because I don't. But if I write something in here, it is because to the best of my knowledge, it is true. Or has the quality of truthiness, whatever you prefer. And so it struck me as funny that last week when I had Monkeygirl over, she looked in the garage and laughed. "You really DO have the old people thing!" she exclaimed, pointing at my hanging-windshield-parking-spot-indicator. I know I have it! Mockula does not make up things like this. Mockula tells the truth. She just mocks it.
And finally, I try to not repost other people's shit too often, but I found this online today, and it really cracked me up. It's the rules for playing the blues.
If you are new to Blues music, or like it but never really understood the
why and wherefores, here are some very fundamental rules:
1. Most Blues begin with: "Woke up this morning..."
2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, unless you stick
something nasty in the next line like, "I got a good woman, with the
meanest face in town."
3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it.
Then find something that rhymes - sort of: "Got a good woman with the
meanest face in town. Yes, I got a good woman with the meanest face in
town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher and she weigh 500 pound."
4. The Blues is not about choice. You stuck in a ditch, you stuck in a
ditch... ain't no way out.
5. Blues cars: Chevys, Fords, Cadillacs and broken-down trucks. Blues
don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sport Utility Vehicles. Most Blues
transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft and
state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a
major part in the Blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.
6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues. They ain't fixin' to die yet. Adults
sing the Blues. In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the
electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.
7. Blues can take place in New York City but not in Hawaii or anywhere in
Canada. Hard times in Minneapolis or Seattle is probably just clinical
depression. Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Memphis, and Nawlins are still
the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the Blues in any place
that don't get rain.
8. A man with male pattern baldness ain't the Blues. A woman with male
pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg 'cause you were skiing is not the
Blues. Breaking your leg 'cause a alligator be chomping on it is.
9. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is
wrong. Go outside to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.
10. Good places for the Blues
a. highway
b. jailhouse
c. empty bed
d. bottom of a whiskey glass
11. Bad places for the Blues
a. Nordstrom's
b. gallery openings
c. Ivy League institutions
d. golf courses
12. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen
to be an old person, and you slept in it.
13. Do you have the right to sing the Blues?
Yes, if:
a. you're older than dirt
b. you're blind
c. you shot a man in Memphis
d. you can't be satisfied
No, if:
a. you have all your teeth
b. you were once blind but now can see
c. the man in Memphis lived
d. you have a 401K or trust fund
14. Blues is not a matter of color. It's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods
cannot sing the Blues. Sonny Liston could have. Ugly white people also got a
leg up on the Blues.
15. If you ask for water and your darlin' gives you gasoline, it's the
Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:
a. cheap wine
b. whiskey or bourbon
c. muddy water
d. black coffee
The following are NOT Blues beverages:
a. Perrier
b. Chardonnay
c. Snapple
d. Slim Fast
16. If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death.
Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So are
the electric chair, substance abuse and dying lonely on a broken-down cot.
You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or while
getting liposuction.
17. Some Blues names for women:
a. Sadie
b. Big MamaD
c. Bessie
d. Fat River Dumpling
18. Some Blues names for men:
a. Joe
b. Willie
c. Little Willie
d. Big Willie
19. Persons with names like Michelle, Amber, Jennifer, Debbie, and Heather
can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.
20. Blues Name Starter Kit
a. name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)
b. first name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi,
etc.)
c. last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.)
For example: Blind Lime Jefferson, Pegleg Lemon Johnson or Cripple
Kiwi Fillmore, etc. (Well, maybe not "Kiwi.")
21. And I don't care how tragic your life is, if anyone in your family
plays soccer, you can't sing the blues.
I'm teaching stage combat in my drama class today and tomorrow. Oh, you might ask, what qualifies me to teach stage combat? Well, about 45 minutes of it one day when I was in the 9th grade. And the internet. But god damn, can I fake it! They think I know everything! And it's working, too. We had some really decent-looking fake punch-to-the-stomach/lift-'em-up/right-cross combos going. And third period had a killer spin-your-opponent-around/haymaker combos going on. I had to tell them, though, not to go around "practicing" in front of administration. I could just picture it; "Hey, Mr. Apple, look what we learned in Ms. Mockula's class!" Grunt! Pow! Still, it's pretty fun. The kids are being good sports, too.
Here is my Chipotle conundrum: I usually only go there when I'm starving nigh on to death. And their portions are mammoth, so it's perfect. But when to stop eating? Usually, I'm so hungry that I get to the half-way mark and really still want more. So I keep eating, but when I get about three bites from the end, I start to feel really stuffed. But you can't wrap up three bites for tomorrow's lunch, so you might as well eat the rest. And I do. And then I hate myself and want to die and roll around with my pants unzipped moaning in pain.
Listen, I don't want to give you the impression that I'm not hyperbolic, because I sometimes am. And don't think I include every little detail of my life, because I don't. But if I write something in here, it is because to the best of my knowledge, it is true. Or has the quality of truthiness, whatever you prefer. And so it struck me as funny that last week when I had Monkeygirl over, she looked in the garage and laughed. "You really DO have the old people thing!" she exclaimed, pointing at my hanging-windshield-parking-spot-indicator. I know I have it! Mockula does not make up things like this. Mockula tells the truth. She just mocks it.
And finally, I try to not repost other people's shit too often, but I found this online today, and it really cracked me up. It's the rules for playing the blues.
If you are new to Blues music, or like it but never really understood the
why and wherefores, here are some very fundamental rules:
1. Most Blues begin with: "Woke up this morning..."
2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, unless you stick
something nasty in the next line like, "I got a good woman, with the
meanest face in town."
3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it.
Then find something that rhymes - sort of: "Got a good woman with the
meanest face in town. Yes, I got a good woman with the meanest face in
town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher and she weigh 500 pound."
4. The Blues is not about choice. You stuck in a ditch, you stuck in a
ditch... ain't no way out.
5. Blues cars: Chevys, Fords, Cadillacs and broken-down trucks. Blues
don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sport Utility Vehicles. Most Blues
transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft and
state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a
major part in the Blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.
6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues. They ain't fixin' to die yet. Adults
sing the Blues. In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the
electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.
7. Blues can take place in New York City but not in Hawaii or anywhere in
Canada. Hard times in Minneapolis or Seattle is probably just clinical
depression. Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Memphis, and Nawlins are still
the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the Blues in any place
that don't get rain.
8. A man with male pattern baldness ain't the Blues. A woman with male
pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg 'cause you were skiing is not the
Blues. Breaking your leg 'cause a alligator be chomping on it is.
9. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is
wrong. Go outside to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.
10. Good places for the Blues
a. highway
b. jailhouse
c. empty bed
d. bottom of a whiskey glass
11. Bad places for the Blues
a. Nordstrom's
b. gallery openings
c. Ivy League institutions
d. golf courses
12. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen
to be an old person, and you slept in it.
13. Do you have the right to sing the Blues?
Yes, if:
a. you're older than dirt
b. you're blind
c. you shot a man in Memphis
d. you can't be satisfied
No, if:
a. you have all your teeth
b. you were once blind but now can see
c. the man in Memphis lived
d. you have a 401K or trust fund
14. Blues is not a matter of color. It's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods
cannot sing the Blues. Sonny Liston could have. Ugly white people also got a
leg up on the Blues.
15. If you ask for water and your darlin' gives you gasoline, it's the
Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:
a. cheap wine
b. whiskey or bourbon
c. muddy water
d. black coffee
The following are NOT Blues beverages:
a. Perrier
b. Chardonnay
c. Snapple
d. Slim Fast
16. If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death.
Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So are
the electric chair, substance abuse and dying lonely on a broken-down cot.
You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or while
getting liposuction.
17. Some Blues names for women:
a. Sadie
b. Big MamaD
c. Bessie
d. Fat River Dumpling
18. Some Blues names for men:
a. Joe
b. Willie
c. Little Willie
d. Big Willie
19. Persons with names like Michelle, Amber, Jennifer, Debbie, and Heather
can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.
20. Blues Name Starter Kit
a. name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)
b. first name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi,
etc.)
c. last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.)
For example: Blind Lime Jefferson, Pegleg Lemon Johnson or Cripple
Kiwi Fillmore, etc. (Well, maybe not "Kiwi.")
21. And I don't care how tragic your life is, if anyone in your family
plays soccer, you can't sing the blues.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
hubby penguin
Just cheering myself up. I'm okay today -- I did go to ballet last night to see the girls just so I wouldn't miss out on any group hug action. It sounds like we're going to channel our energy, if at all possible, into turning the studio into a cooperative, like the "Bader Dance Collective" or something. It would be pretty darn cool if we could, if only to keep our little community intact. I've sort of been thinking that with some more training I could teach a (very introductory) belly dance or yoga class. Might be fun...
School's been quiet today. I told my "study buddy" that I wouldn't be able to make study team because I have prior committments, and I do -- to my husband, my ballet class, and my CSA (I have to pick up my veggies). Wednesdays just suck and I'm pressed for time. I'm planning to show my face at these study teams every couple weeks, and check in and do my assignments and be a good girl, but you can't make me go to all of them. It's frickin' VOLUNTARY. That's what that means...
Okay, I'm going to get back to modelling good behavior to my class, not being off-task. Just wanted you to know it's not as bleak as yesterday.
School's been quiet today. I told my "study buddy" that I wouldn't be able to make study team because I have prior committments, and I do -- to my husband, my ballet class, and my CSA (I have to pick up my veggies). Wednesdays just suck and I'm pressed for time. I'm planning to show my face at these study teams every couple weeks, and check in and do my assignments and be a good girl, but you can't make me go to all of them. It's frickin' VOLUNTARY. That's what that means...
Okay, I'm going to get back to modelling good behavior to my class, not being off-task. Just wanted you to know it's not as bleak as yesterday.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Black cloud
Hmm. It seems like there's a bit of a black cloud hanging overhead lately. I'm not actually depressed or anything -- there are just a lot of bummer things going on. Friend losing jobs, other friends being "re-deployed," friends so miserable and alone on vacation that they came home early, death of a teacher, Sweetie's sick... I have online friends who have lost babies or have triplets (yes triplets) with a bacterial infection putting their birth at risk. Work is stress-y (it's gotten to let's-go-talk-to-the-union-rep level -- not for me, thankfully, but all around me). We got an offer on the house, sort of, but they'd really like to borrow fifty-six-thousand dollars from us. Another friend who crossed the divide between online real life sounds like she's concerned about her new life (after quitting her job). A good, old friend is undergoing major changes in her life, and she's far away and has advised me not to e-mail her usual address... We're still "trying" and kind of unmotivated (oh, and by the way, thanks Grandma for responding to "We're still working on it" with "Well, it's not working! I'm ready for another grandbaby.") It's just kind of sucky.
Tell me something good...
Tell me something good...
Monday, October 02, 2006
Miss Bobbi
About four and a half years ago, after my breast reduction surgery, I decided it was time to return to ballet. I had taken a nearly eight year break and gained a lot of weight in those years. I was nervous about starting ballet again, fearing that I was clumsy and old and overweight, but I really, really wanted it. I started by looking in the phone book, but it was hard to tell who offered adult classes, and most of the studios were geared towards tap and jazz. I went to the local dancewear store to pick up a leotard, tights, and shoes, so that when I did find a place, I'd be ready to go. While I was there, I overheard someone asking whether there were any studios in town that taught adults. The reply was "Oh, you've got to go to Bobbi Bader." I inquired further, and the answer was that yes, she was the only teacher in town that was really a good adult teacher, primarily an adult teacher, and taught all levels. I gave her a call and she asked me some questions about my training, then invited me to a beginner class.
I came, and I really enjoyed the class. I was challenged, but felt invigorated to find that I still "had it," as it were. I could still dance. I may never be able to play poker, tennis, run a 10k -- but damn, I can DANCE. And it feels good. After class, Bobbi circled on a schedule all the classes I was welcome to attend. As time wore on, she complimented me on my arms. We talked about my childhood teacher, whom she knew (and reminded me of). We worked on my abdominal strength, my footwork, my balance and my turns. I went up a level or two. I joined the pointe class, then dropped it. I confided my joint issues in Bobbi, and she always worked around me, but still expected my best.
She worked us hard, but never failed to notice and compliment improvement. I'm struggling with the past tense.
Two weeks ago, we had a sub. Miss Bobbi had the flu. In the last 4 years, we've had a sub maybe twice. Last week, we had a sub again. I was surprised. People had called her, but weren't getting any information about what was wrong. One of my classmates is a doctor, but even when she called, all Bobbi would say was that "she had someone there 24 hours a day." Last night I got a call from a classmate and friend who said that Bobbi was in a nursing home, and as they weren't sure it was covered by her insurance, it would be great if I could continue to go to classes (and pay tuition). I, like everyone else, am more likely to skip when Miss Bobbi is not there, since only she really knows my ability, my potential, and who keeps the class moving at our preferred pace.
Tonight I got the call that she passed away. We still don't know how or why. I guess I'll leave it there. I'm sad. Miss Bobbi is younger than my parents.
I came, and I really enjoyed the class. I was challenged, but felt invigorated to find that I still "had it," as it were. I could still dance. I may never be able to play poker, tennis, run a 10k -- but damn, I can DANCE. And it feels good. After class, Bobbi circled on a schedule all the classes I was welcome to attend. As time wore on, she complimented me on my arms. We talked about my childhood teacher, whom she knew (and reminded me of). We worked on my abdominal strength, my footwork, my balance and my turns. I went up a level or two. I joined the pointe class, then dropped it. I confided my joint issues in Bobbi, and she always worked around me, but still expected my best.
She worked us hard, but never failed to notice and compliment improvement. I'm struggling with the past tense.
Two weeks ago, we had a sub. Miss Bobbi had the flu. In the last 4 years, we've had a sub maybe twice. Last week, we had a sub again. I was surprised. People had called her, but weren't getting any information about what was wrong. One of my classmates is a doctor, but even when she called, all Bobbi would say was that "she had someone there 24 hours a day." Last night I got a call from a classmate and friend who said that Bobbi was in a nursing home, and as they weren't sure it was covered by her insurance, it would be great if I could continue to go to classes (and pay tuition). I, like everyone else, am more likely to skip when Miss Bobbi is not there, since only she really knows my ability, my potential, and who keeps the class moving at our preferred pace.
Tonight I got the call that she passed away. We still don't know how or why. I guess I'll leave it there. I'm sad. Miss Bobbi is younger than my parents.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Busy, just checking in.
Hey all,
I have about 400,000 words worth of essays to read (really) and I've put it off until 7pm on Sunday, so I won't be long here. But I had a nice relaxing weekend. Sweetie and I went to the old house to mow and found our realtor staging it for an open house Saturday. Hopefully something will come of that.
We chilled out most of yesterday. I cleaned out the garage and FINALLY got all our boxes unpacked and our stuff put away. There isn't really enough room for the books, but someday we'll have shelves built. Last night I went to a birthday party for a work friend, and it was a cute retro cocktail party theme. I drank a White Russian and two Black Russians (small ones) and ate cake and traded stories and had a good time. Her place is SUPER-CUTE. It's got a green vintage oven and cooktop, and she built on that and has a whole ultra-lounge retro theme going on, so naturally I love it. I also got to talk to a new co-worker I just met and had a good time in general.
I caught up with Gynagirl this morning. We had a yummy breakfast at Fox and Goose and a great talk. She is in a really good place right now, and I'm delighted to hear it.
I did get bad news about my ballet teacher, but it's extremely vague bad news. I'm worried about her. She's in her early 50s, but she's in a nursing home for some reason. We knew she was sick, but not how sick or with what illness. We still don't...
I guess that's about it. I finally got the rest of our art, including our stained glass, up. That feels like an accomplishment.
I'd better go plan and read essays. Oh, and don't worry: I'm reading some of the essays carefully, but about 350,000 words worth of them are journals that I'm planning to skim.
Take care,
CM
I have about 400,000 words worth of essays to read (really) and I've put it off until 7pm on Sunday, so I won't be long here. But I had a nice relaxing weekend. Sweetie and I went to the old house to mow and found our realtor staging it for an open house Saturday. Hopefully something will come of that.
We chilled out most of yesterday. I cleaned out the garage and FINALLY got all our boxes unpacked and our stuff put away. There isn't really enough room for the books, but someday we'll have shelves built. Last night I went to a birthday party for a work friend, and it was a cute retro cocktail party theme. I drank a White Russian and two Black Russians (small ones) and ate cake and traded stories and had a good time. Her place is SUPER-CUTE. It's got a green vintage oven and cooktop, and she built on that and has a whole ultra-lounge retro theme going on, so naturally I love it. I also got to talk to a new co-worker I just met and had a good time in general.
I caught up with Gynagirl this morning. We had a yummy breakfast at Fox and Goose and a great talk. She is in a really good place right now, and I'm delighted to hear it.
I did get bad news about my ballet teacher, but it's extremely vague bad news. I'm worried about her. She's in her early 50s, but she's in a nursing home for some reason. We knew she was sick, but not how sick or with what illness. We still don't...
I guess that's about it. I finally got the rest of our art, including our stained glass, up. That feels like an accomplishment.
I'd better go plan and read essays. Oh, and don't worry: I'm reading some of the essays carefully, but about 350,000 words worth of them are journals that I'm planning to skim.
Take care,
CM
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