Whistlin'

I thought it was funny yesterday when I noticed that I whistle fairly regularly while walking down the halls of school, but what I whistle is pretty unusual stuff for the halls of a junior high school in the hood. Yesterdays playlist included Nirvana's "Nevermind," Sublime's "Date Rape," and Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

I was experimenting with food tonight, and dinner was Chipotle polenta with greens and butternut squash. It was pretty good, but I wouldn't serve it to guests, because after it was all put together I noticed how similar in color and texture the polenta and squash were. Still, it was nicely spicy, and I added fake sausage to the greens.

I also got handy around the house. I needed a plate for the doorjamb to make my lock work, so I bought a light switchplate (yeah, YOU find the right hardware for doors installed in the 40s), jury-rigged it big time (broke several pieces off, hammered it flat), then drilled into my doorjamb and installed the damned thing. I also put picture wire on the back of a big mirror and hung it sideways (much more aesthetically pleasing than it was vertically).

Now I want popcorn, or something salty. Mmmm.

Even keel

Well, things must be getting back to normal in the old psyche, because several bad or sort-of-bad things happened today, yet I'm not freaking out, and actually feel pretty okay and relaxed about it. My car got keyed at school. Well, I was going to have to take it to the shop anyway to get another ding fixed. I have a mega-busy day (school, drama club, poetry reading, back-to-school night, and birthday celebration with friends) which will keep me from my home from approximately 7:30 this morning until well after 9 tonight. And at the poetry reading, no-one showed. Well, that's not entirely accurate. Mom was there, and Piggs. Oh, and the guy who organized it, Evan. I assume it wasn't some outright rejection of me, though. Rather, it was probably a combo of bad time and location, because even if people don't show up to hear an unknown featured reader, they usually stand in line to read their own stuff at an open mike, and nobody seemed to be there for that purpose, either.

We're a few minutes from being inundated with parents (ha ha, just kidding!) so I'm going out to the car to get my book so I'm not bored. Bye!

Other people's houses

I went on the East Sac Remodel tour yesterday. It was fun -- kind of a smaller tour than usual with only 6 houses (and we skipped one due to a Hatfield/McCoy type feud), but there were definitely mixed results. Most of the houses looked nice, although I'm not into taking some 1940s home and putting in granite countertops (which it seems like nearly everyone does). One had a cool kitchen, and they'd kept the original cabinetry as much as possible, and even matched the new moulding to the old stuff. It was amusing though, because I could walk through the rooms going "Pottery Barn, Pottery Barn, Pottery Barn . . ." I'm serious, the mirrors, the light fixtures, the draperies, the rugs. Actually, several of the places had really recognizable PB stuff, but this one practically looked like the PB model home or something. On the sad end was a house that a divorced guy had built that was huge -- something like 3500 sq. ft., but totally un-lived in. For example, the designer (and you could tell the whole place was professionally designed) had chosen several frames, and the guy hadn't put any pictures in them, so there were all these empty frames, or frames with the Target models still in them. It felt so lonely.
The funniest one by far though (and by funny, I mean in the disturbing way) was a house that when you walked in, had all this white furniture, and rose-colored walls. As you went in further, it turned out that EVERYTHING was rose-colored and white and flowery and chintz and toile and feminine and HORRIBLE. AAAHHH! I wanted to run away screaming. Fuzzy white carpet. Flowers. Lavender bathroom. Pink girl's bedroom. We started theorizing that it must have been a single woman that lived there, until we saw the family photos -- a dude lives there, too! A dude poops in the lavender potpourri bathroom! There is not a single comfy leather recliner or sand-colored wall in the place. The guy has got to be either totally emasculated or cheating. Poor thing. Even worse, was they had those Glade Plug-ins all over the house -- there were like twenty of them choking me with their stinking floral reek. Could your house possibly smell bad enough to need those things? Even if you have a dog? What's that about, anyway?

Okay, I need to get away from electronic media (TV and internet) and get to my book, "Round Ireland with a Fridge," about exactly that. Dude makes a bet that he can hitchhike all around the perimeter of Ireland while toting a refrigerator, and that people are nice enough that they'll stop and pick him up. It's funny so far, but I'm barely into it. G'night, all.

Sweet relief!

Oh my god, it's 7th period, and I have time to blog, because they're all working quietly. All of them! I just walked around and checked. They're all doing it right, too! Today has been a much better day, for those of you who were considering calling the authorities on me. I still have a lot to do after school today (at least 6 parent phone calls and quite a bit of grading) but it's a meeting-less day, so I might still get out of here by 3:30! It's a miracle. Also, Melvin moved. Heh.

Omens, Swiffer, and good stuff

So, I should have known yesterday was going to be a bad day when they didn't have any fat-free muffins left at the coffee shop a full 20 minutes before I usually get there. Then I was reading the paper, and there was some mention of Robert Downey Jr. covering the Yes song "Your Move," ("move me onto any black square, use me any time you want . . .) and that piece of prog rock shit got stuck in my head.

I gave in and bought the Swiffer. It didn't change my life. Maybe because I got the generic Target version. The dry part was okay, except you still need to get out the broom and dustpan to pick up the pile of junk. It does cut down on that thing that happens at the end of the brush-stroke, though, when you kick dust up into the air. The wet Swiff was only okay, as it was rather impossible to put any pressure on the floor, so I ended up kind of stepping on it to add some muscle. What I wondered though, was whether I was swiffering or swiffing. Later, would I say "oh, I swiffered the floor today" or "I swiffed the floor?" I guess it depends on whether the "er" in Swiffer is a morpheme, that is, a syllable with its own meaning, or just a phonemic unit. Like, I mow the lawn with the lawn mowER (I actually have a gardener, it's just an example). I clean with cleanERs. I dusted with the dustER. But I also vacuum with the vaccuum and iron with the iron. Is Swiffer more like whole name of the tool or does it describe the action of swiffing? Swiff, to swiff, I swiff, he swiffed, she is swiffing, they shall swiff, the swiffer. One can only guess.

I got a copy of a CD that Jim McClain burned at the Gynas' most recent show, and it pretty much rocks. I mean, we're not guitar gods or nothing, but it captured the spirit of Gyna pretty well, and as Jim put it "You guys are fun, and you don't suck."

I also saw a marquee on the Colonial Theatre advertising "SPW Wrestlin." Now, the fine folks at SPW might argue that they deserve a "g," but I found it wholly appropriate, and probably wouldn't argue if it was spelled "rasslin."

I'm not unstressed yet, but I've made some choices that have helped. Like, I am trying to recognize that, despite the well-intentioned slogan "no child left behind," it is just not my job to drag them kicking and screaming. They've gotta put in some effort, and if they choose not to, I'm gonna take the field trip to education-land with the rest of the class, and leave their unwilling ass behind in the vice-principal's office. Also, I'm trying real hard to do what I feel like doing, not do what I don't, and not yell at myself about it later. I skipped two ballet classes this week because I needed some time at home to rest (I'm nursing a sinus infection), and didn't make either of them up today, and I'm obstinately not yelling at myself for having done so. Also, yesterday I completely dismissed my Weight Watchers points, but I decided I just can't have a day like that and come home and deny myself some Ben and Jerry's frozen yogurt in favor of a nice glass of water. Fuck it. There's only so much I can do at once, and right now, my mental health is falling overboard. I need to concentrate on saving that. Everything else can be safely put on hold. Okay, Mockula out.

Living vicariously

I've decided to live vicariously through Mac. Mac is my neighbor. Mac teaches at a school in a juvenile detention facility. I said, "Mac, what do you do when the students talk back?" He says "They don't talk back." I said "But what if they do?" He says "They get removed from the class and I don't see them all day.' "Wow," I said. "Want a job?" he said? Maybe . . .
I totally threw a hissyfit in class today. Here's just a sample of a few minutes of a two-hour block.

Me (demonstrating): Okay, fold your paper like this.
Kid: What paper?
Me: The one you just got out. Okay, now fold it like this (demonstrating to all).
Kid: What are we doing?
Me: We're folding. Okay, now fold it again (demonstrating) like this.
Several kids: What!!! I tore mine! I thought we were supposed to tear it in half! Aw, man, can I have another sheet of paper?
Me: Yes, here you are. Now just fold like this . . .
Kid: Can I go to the bathroom?
Me: No, we don't have bathroom passes in this class.
Kid: I gotta go!
Another kid: He gotta go!
Another kid: Man that, ain't right. Why can't he go?
Me: We don't have bathroom passes in this class because you just got here and you have a break again soon. And I've said that 12 days in a row, now.
Kid: I haven't asked all 12 days. I was absent Tuesday.
Me: You're right, I'm sorry. Now open your papers . . .
Kid: Man, you always be accusing me of stuff I didn't do. How come we can't go to the bathroom anyway?
Me: Because you just got to school five minutes ago. Now open your papers. You have 8 sections now, 4 on the front, 4 on the back . . .
Kid: I only have 4.
Me: No, look. (Pointing and counting at side one) 1, 2, 3, 4 (flipping paper) 5, 6, 7, 8.
Kid: Why you always gotta treat us like we dumb? Like, ONE, TWO. Shoot, I know how to count!
Me: I certainly didn't mean to imply you were dumb. I was just showing you again because someone asked.
Kid: That was me.
Another kid: You dumb!
Me: No, we don't talk like . . .
Kid (singing): OH BAAABEEEEY WHY . . .
Me: No singing in class please.
Kid: What are we doing?

Yeah, for two hours straight. I'm usually ready to quit or hang myself by the end of period 2. I seriously considered walking out today for mental health reasons. Grrrr. Anyway, I'm now going to do my best not to think of them again until Monday morning, when I have to look at their shining little mugs again. I checked the job listings today -- there's a new high school in town that has three positions open for Language Arts teachers . . .

The Governator

My governor is a fuckwit.
Okay, so not everyone agrees on the whole "Redskins" issue. I can respect healthy disagreement. My personal opinion is that using names like that for teams and mascots is degrading to American Indians, and that we wouldn't name a team the Fighting Kikes or the L.A. Wetbacks, so we probably should back off from using team names that degrade any group. But many people disagree with me, and I'm okay with that. Still, to veto a measure banning the name (a very reasonable measure that gives teams until 2006 to change) by calling it "silly," is a bit beyond the pale. Is the gov indicating that it is silly to address issues of cultural sensitivity?
Let's talk about silly for a minute -- this is the man who has used his movie tag lines in stump speeches. This is the guy who sued someone using his likeness on a bobblehead doll. This is the guy who helped flood the Capitol building by having artificial turf laid over the drainage grates in his "smoker's patio" at the Capitol. Silly indeed.

First the good news

Okay, the good news is first because I need to remind myself of it so I don't go ballistic. I attended a wedding reception in sunny (ha) Portland Oregon last weekend, and not only was it lovely, I am very happy for the couple. In addition, I was thrilled to spend time with the members of Piggs' family who were able to attend. I also just had a good time with sweetie and his/our friends, too. I feel really enriched by the people in his life. They're all interesting, great people that I'm happy to know.
Also, my mom had a birthday this weekend, and we had a nice (though smaller than usual) celebration. I made a German's Chocolate cake )go look at the package, I'm right) that came out wonderfully. In fact, while I was making the frosting, it was storming out, and the frosting wasn't setting up right, so I was mentally preparing myself for the third worst cake ever (#1 -- the one that wouldn't de-pan properly and was served as a large pile of crumbs, #2, the frosting never set up and the wet part sank into the cake, while the coconut and pecans sat in a dry heap on top), but as it turned out, I just had to cook it for about 30 minutes longer than usual, and it turned out great. The cake itself was extra fluffy, too. I think she had a good birthday. She seemed to like my presents, which always thrills me. And the only time every year that she eats her very favorite ice cream is on her birthday, and I was able to pick that up, too. Yay!
Monkeygirl got a cute duplex. I can't wait to help her move, buy her housewarming presents, and hang out there with her. I will really miss her as a roommate (she is by far the BEST roommate ever), but I'm happy that she's getting her own place for the first time in a long time, and I owe her thanks, too, because of why she decided to move out. Which is . . .
Piggs is moving in. I'm excited. I feel really confident and happy about our relationship, and I'm glad to be taking another step.
The band is back together! And getting shows! We had one last week and have another coming up in mid-October, and probably one the first week of November. It's fun to play!

Now for the stressful stuff. First, I am feeling extremely overwhelmed at my job. Partly it's just that it's the beginning of the year, and I have yet to fall into a rythym with the classes. But I also seem to have a lot more things encroaching on my time. I have the liaison committee (which sucks), drama club, the leadership team, house meetings, and department meetings. Now, I had some of these things before, but they've changed -- like the liaison committee: we used to be able to meet during lunch, but now we have different lunch periods, so have to meet after school. Or department meetings, which have doubled from once a month to twice, and changed from taking place during our prep period to after school. Consider that I work about 20 days a month -- that's 17 days out of 20 that I have something scheduled for at least an hour after school. And those hours, even the paid ones, tend to sneak into overtime. Like leadership meetings, for which I get an hour's pay, but which start 15 minutes after school and usually run half an hour or so long. Which, if you're keeping a tally, gets my ass to my car almost 2 hours after school, if I completely skip doing any errands, paperwork, parent phone calls, grading . . . And you know, I still have to do all that stuff at some time.
I'm also still cranky about my weight, and I have a sore throat and a constantly stuffy nose (I might have a sinus infection), plus my ankle and shoulder are both a little sore, and just in general I'm feeling a little emotional and tired. It's probably all stress-related, and I need to chill out. I have ballet in an hour, but I might skip it just to have some time where I'm not on the go. Still, that makes me feel guilty, because I need the exercise and also because I know that going usually makes me feel better. But when I think of running around gathering all my ballet stuff, driving across town through traffic, and getting home after 8 my head hurts.
Also, I'm a little worried about money. I'm not totally without money, it's just that I wanted to pay off my couch and then save all the rest of it for a future vacation, but I also needed some career clothes, and soon I will need a new toilet, printer, and bed. Which would EASILY eat up all my savings and more, even with sweetie helping where appropriate.
Ugh. That's all for now, I've just been so busy I haven't even had time to write! I had to get some of this off my chest. Thanks for reading if you did. -- The Count.

School and chaos

Well, Miss S may have an uphill battle this year. We had our first house meeting this year with the new house members, and oh my goodness!! Okay, you know how some people have a tendency to start speaking while other people are not yet finished? I have THREE of those in my house (small learning community) this year. So there is an average of three people talking at once at any given time. And what these people don't seem to understand is that if you haven't heard all of what the other person was saying before you start to talk, you are often addressing a subject you don't know enough about, or are addressing the wrong issue. I find this irritating to say the least. Perhaps the funniest moment today (funny in an exasperating way) was when, after we had covered all the agenda items, I asked if anyone else had any other items. Mrs. R did. Five items. We volunteer our time for these meetings, and typically end them at around 2:20 (an hour of volunteered time per week). I was done at 2:15 (and would have been done earlier had the union rep not visited and taken 10 minutes), and Mrs. R's five items took about another 15 minutes (now it's 2:30), and the final item was (no kidding) whether our meetings usually ended promptly or whether they dragged on past the scheduled time, because she had to pick up her kids and it was really important that she got out on time. Huff.

The kids are another matter entirely. We already have 17 kids we want to schedule parent meetings for, and the worst by far is my little friend Melvin. Oh yeah -- if you're a friend of mine, you may have heard of Melvin last year, before he got kicked out of school because of his behavior. Well, he's back. It's kind of odd, because he can be very polite, often calls me "ma'am," and promises me nearly every day at lunch that he's really going to try to be better today. So I don't think he's malicious, nevertheless, he's by far one of the most disruptive children I have ever taught. If a thought comes into his head, it also comes out of his mouth. He stands up. All the time. He giggles. He does pratfalls. He embarasses himself to amuse the other kids. He dances. He slaps his head loudly. And the worst is, if I gently say "Melvin, please don't talk while I'm talking," instead of just saying "okay, sorry," he says "I wasn't, I was just, no, Khiry was, what? Miss S., I wasn't, I didn't mean to . . . " This can last several minutes and often does.

I also have three different "preps," meaning three different things I'm teaching, including two I've never really taught before (although one is a program I've taught before, just extended by an hour and using additional materials). I'm packed to the gills with students -- one class has two more students than chairs. I'm a little stressed right now, but I'm hoping that evens out a little as time goes on. Probably the most troubling thing right now is that the lowest kids (the ones who scored Below Basic or Far Below Basic on the California Standards tests) are in a program called High Point, which is really geared towards elementary school students. Tomorrow's lesson? Fill in a subject in a sentence like this "_______ drew a picture." There are four of these. Whew! Hard work! Okay, I'm actually feeling a little too stressed to keep talking about this. I think I'll have a snack and play some Tetris.
Bye all.

First day of school

It's the first day, it's my prep period, and I only have one more class to go. So far it has been really nice to see all my students from last year again. That's what I like best about tracking or looping, is getting to see how much progress and growth kids can make in two years. I'm really excited about this year, and I have so much I want to do with them, like help them reach the 8th grade standard of reading one million words by the end of the year. It's hard to keep track of, there's a lot of work involved, but I think we can make it fun, too. I need to get some planning done (I have a sub for Thursday and Friday so I can attend a wedding in Tahoe), but just wanted to update quickly. I really think it's going to be a good year.

I'm bloggin', yessiree, and I'm talkin', 'bout you and me . . .

And Fleetwood Mac, Calvin pissing stickers, gum, maybe other things . . .

Okay, so we're in Trader Joe's this morning, and music rarely gets past me, so I always notice what's playing over the speakers, and this morning it was Fleetwood Mac's "Go Your Own Way." Well, a month or so ago, I felt pretty stupid for purchasing said song over iTunes, along with Rhiannon, Gold Dust Woman and Landslide. But you know, they're only a dollar on iTunes -- I spend more on gum, so I figured what the hell. But back to this morning, they're playing it in Trader Joe's, and I'm over by the Powerbars and I hear two women singing along with the chorus. "You can go your own way!" they emphatically intone, then kind of giggle. I pick up a couple Pria bars and head to the cereal to get more Peanut Butter Panda Puffs (I don't know why I'm all over the brand names today, just go with me) and glance at the Gorilla Crunch, when the chorus comes around again, and I hear a woman's voice (not a member of the Mac) singing "You can go your own way!" in an enthusiastic fashion. I turn, expecting to see the two women of a minute ago, but no, it's someone new. Since I myself had been singing along a minute before, I start to wonder how this song has seeped into the collective unconcious so pervasively. It's kind of sick. And even weirder . . . that line and the one after it ("you can call it another lonely day") are the only lyrics I know, and I kind of have the feeling I'm not alone.

Hey, speaking of music, my grandma wanted me to help her get some pictures off her digital camera and printed, and most of them are of an awards ceremony I went to 18 months ago. So she wants me to print them for her (for me) all in 8x10, and I'm trying to tell her that the ink and photo paper are expensive, and that anyway I really don't need 8x10s of me with, like, my professors, but she insists. So now I've twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against me. Just kidding, but that's what I think of every time I look at them and try to decide what to do with them, and if you are not currently singing "Step right up it's around the back, just a half a mile from the railroad track, you can get anything you want . . . " then you won't know what I'm talking about anyway.

Calvin pissing stickers have been around for awhile, so I'm a little late blogging about them I guess, but they have generally irritated me since their inception, mainly because I've read all the introductions to all the Bill Watterson Calvin & Hobbes collections, and I know that he never authorized any merchandise, so he's not seeing any money from these, besides the fact that they're kind of antithetical to the spirit of the strip, which I always enjoyed. Still, I just accepted that this is how our culture works sometimes -- people need to express their distate for Ford, or the Raiders, or whatever. I got even more agitated when I saw Calvin praying, which is just ridiculous. If you've got a Calvin praying sticker, have you ever even read the strip? Know what it's about? Its like having a picture of Michael Newdow embroidered onto your American flag. Yay, I'm going to have a picture of William Burroughs on my car with a halo and praying hands. That's fuckin' strange. Calvin as a girl is even weirder. It's like no one even remembers where the figure came from anymore. But now, oh now I have seen it all. Literally everything, as Calvin pissing stickers have him pissing on the word "everything." Yeah. Now, I get negativity, I understand the glass is half empty philosophy, I can even comprehend misanthropy, but hating and denigrating everything? It seems like it's going a tad too far. Like, you're saying you hate homemade strawberry ice cream, hugs, Calvin stickers, nice weather, clear roadways, tax refund checks, oral sex, good coffee, air conditioning, your mom, babies, and everything . . . EVERYTHING. Now maybe you DO hate a lot of things, but everything? Seriously? Then go kill yourself. That's all that's left for you. If you didn't even get a temporary thrill out of sticking your Calvin pissing sticker on your car, if you were hating it even as you did it, then there is no hope. It will never get better. The world will be a better place without you in it. Calvin is pissing on your grave.

I like gum. I'm a pretty regular gum chewer. Generally I like minty flavors and cinnamon-y flavors, and the stronger the better. Not too long ago, a thought struck me -- lemon flavored gum! Wouldn't that be refreshing? Mmmm, lemons and gum. And then a few weeks later, I saw Eclipse Lemon Ice. No way! My dream come true! And upon testing the product, I was even more pleased and satisfied, as it fulfilled all my lemony refreshing gum requirements. Delicious! Now, generally when I choose my gum, I'm looking for strong mint flavor, so I go for dark blue packages. I don't know why, but across the brands, dark blue is the code for strong minty goodness. But with the advent of lemon gum, I decided to branch out. I was willing to go crazy. I looked over the descriptions of the Eclipse gum, Refreshingly Minty, Distinctly Cool, Pleasantly Intense, Sweetly Powerful, Surprisingly Fresh, and Uniquely Soothing. I couldn't tell which mint was most likely to be strong. Is "pleasantly intense" more or less intense than "sweetly powerful." I would have to call their descriptions "frightfully unhelpful." But still, I was so pleased with the lemon gum that I decided to give their "Cherry Chill: Uniquely Soothing" gum a chance. I am now "deeply regretful." That shit is foul, ladies and gentlemen. It tastes like Robitussin. I almost coughed and took my temperature just out of habit. See, cough syrup doesn't taste good just because they color it red and put a picture of a cherry on the bottle. You still have to shoot it, then shake your head around and stick your tongue out. It's like watching a 14-year old try whiskey each time I take a shot of DayQuil. Usually the sound effect is "GAAAAAHHHHHWHuggawhuggawhuuuuuuu." And this Cherry Chill? It's like that. How can they market something this disgusting? Well, they still sell those dried salted plums in the Mexican markets, so I guess there are some people out there with freakish tastebuds. Man. Nasty gum. Whuguggugugugggwhhuuuu.

Yesterday I was having one of those up-and-down days. Like, good breakfast, but sucky service. Good time with friends at band practice, but I forgot some lyrics and thought the tempo on one song was screwy. My cat got out, got onto the roof, and I had a hard time getting her down, and while searching for her, I fell and conked my head on some bricks. But then I got her down and corralled in the house. I was having dinner with my sweetie, but while getting dressed for dinner, my evil brain was saying really mean things to me about being too fat. Then my stepmom called and said she had something for me. When she and my dad showed up, they had a check. A big check! Apparently, she was the beneficiary to a will of a friend she'd been taking care of. I didn't even know him, so I certainly don't feel entitled to any of the money, but they said that all three of us (my stepbrother and stepsister) all got the same, and I accepted it. I was pretty stunned. At first, I was like "shit, I can get all that stuff on my wish list from the other day!" But then I decided that I'll pay off my Pottery Barn couch with half of it and sock the other half away. That was I'm not paying interest on the Pottery Barn card, and can save money each month that I would have paid toward that bill. So maybe in a couple months (after the Xmas presents are bought), I WILL get that ocean kayak I've been wanting. 'Cause I'll be like a grown-up, with no debt beside the house and car, and will be able to save some money, a long-elusive goal. Wow. I'm still stunned. I pretty much ran to the bank to put it in so I didn't do anything stupid and me-like with the check. Dang. Wow.

Mockula out.

Random thoughts

Okay, so school's starting soon. I went to two workshops this week. Yesterday's was with Ernie Stachowski, who is a soft-spoken, energetic older man (in fact, we dragged him out of semi-retirement) who mainly gives common-sense, easy-to-understand trainings on issues like lesson planning and classroom management. Yesterday's was primarily focused on creating objectives for each lesson, since students need to understand where they're going in order to get there. I had a training from him years ago and he illustrated this beautifully be taking a participant by the hand and walking him around several desks, the projector, up to the front of the room. Since the gentleman didn't know where he was going, there was a lot of stumbling and surprise stops. The second time, Ernie said "Okay, first we're going to go here, then around here, then left up there, and we're stopping at the front of the room. This time, of course, it went smoothly. See, it all seems very common sense (Duh, tell the kids what you're trying to teach them!), but even in college classes it often doesn't happen, and you leave thinking "What the hell was that all about?"

Today the training was in a program called "Step up to Writing." It seems like a good program -- it is basically the exact method I already use, but with transparencies, posters, and all the materials already made, plus a nice system of color-coding. I'll be interested to see how it goes. It's always difficult when administration says "Hey, I know you're already pressed for time with the program we're using now, but could you add a whole 'nother program on top of it?"

Some goals for this year:
Stay in more contact with the parents. I always intend to make phone calls to the good kids just to say hi and tell the parents how great they are, but then I never have time, because the more challenging kids seem to need the calls more desperately.

Keep the classroom looking tidy, and keep only the most current work on the walls (it's so easy to fall into the trap of getting some really great-looking work in September and keeping it up forever).

Get even more organized with grades -- over the last several years I have taken ot from a whole-life task (taking papers to the coffee shop every evening and weekend) to a mostly-at-school-during-prep task. What I'd like to do now is do an even better job of using the work I grade to give feedback and re-teach as necessary.

Dress more professionally. I never look like a scuzball, but the first couple years, I was pretty poor, and then I went from fat to not fat, and none of my clothes fit, but I couldn't afford to replace my whole wardrobe at once, so I wore ill-fitting clothes. Also, I am lazy, and whereas in the beginning of the year I press my clothes and wear jeans only on casual Friday, by mid-Fall I tend to leave the house un-ironed, with curly hair (it usually looks better if I take the time to blow-dry it straight), no make-up, and in jeans or other casual pants three days a week.

Other interesting school notes -- my cousin Allen will be attending my school this year. His mom can't pick him up until 3:30, so I think he might hang out with me in my room after school, which is cool.
I will be teaching drama, but it will be after-school, and not five days a week (the actual schedule is yet to be determined). It will also be for extra money, maybe a couple hundred a month, which will be nice. I also just got my transcripts turned in, so I'll be getting a little extra moolah for having an M.A. Yay me!

Other non-school notes -- I bought a new desk at Target and have transferred almost everything from my old desk to my new one. I still need to go through some stuff that looks suspiciously like junk. It's great, though, because it takes up a lot less room than my old desk, so I can turn my office into a guest room eventually!
I feel very greedy when I do this, but every once in a while I create a wish list, and it's usually a mix of stuff and projects. I'm sharing it this time.
I want:
to finish painting my bedroom.
to paint the office.
to clear space in my closet for a sweetie's wardrobe.
an ocean kayak.
several plants for the yard, including hydrangeas, gardenias, jasmine (more), some dwarf citrus trees, and a japanese maple.
to get rid of a couple old, dead, ugly trees.
more professional, well-fitting clothes.
to lose 20-25 pounds.
a new fireplace screen and a log holder.
a new queen size bed.
a new scanner/printer.
to get involved in community-supported agriculture again.
to read more new young adult literature (I already read quite a bit, but want to read more)
to replace my carpeting with laminate flooring.
to paint most of the rest of the house (the white paint has an odd pink tinge)
to make it to my favorite hot springs at least once every two months.
to travel more (my recent trip gave me the travel bug!).
to simplify -- my garage is FULL, and I could only name what's on about three shelves -- Xmas decor, camping stuff, and tools. What's all the other shit?
to build several large planter boxes on the side of my house and get soaker hoses so that next summer I can have an even more rockin' garden and grow more stuff.

I think that's it for now. I'm just a big wanter. I want stuff. It's materialistic, but having a nice house, especially, makes me feel secure. Oh well. Take care everybody!
K

Boastworthy!

So, I know it's wrong to brag, but I didn't really have much to do with this, so I'm gonna -- my tomatoes are EXCELLENT! One of the ballet ladies brought tomatoes to class and I took a few home because our teacher said "Oh, take some of Judy's tomatoes, they're the best." Well, I tried Judy's tomatoes, and they were good, but I've got some beefsteaks growing in the back yard that are deep red, juicy, and incredibly flavorful. I've been pretty much just slicing them up, salting them and eating them. One day I added basil from the garden, but it was unneccesary. They rock. I really love tomatoes when they're good. When they're pink and tough, I don't even want them, and usually push them to the side of my plate, but good tomatoes are hard to beat and I'll happily eat every last damn one of them.

I feel busy and a little stressed right now -- I'm trying to move into my new classroom, prepare lesson plans for a subject I've never taught (and an elective, too, which I imagine to be different from an academic class), stay in shape, do some necessary things to my house and a few more cosmetic things, prepare for a show with my band on the 11th (I really need to take some time to memorize lyrics to a couple songs), figure out lesson plans for half of the first week of school (I took the other days off for a wedding, which I'm delighted to attend, but the timing could have been better), and keep up a few social/family obligations (my grandma is going to kick my ass and probably call me by my middle name if I don't stop by in a day or two), and if I were a really good person I would call my cousin Cynthia and my niece Marissa to hang out, and call my half-brother to arrange the barbecue I promised. Also, it's probably just girl hormones, but I've been feeling a little emotionally overwhelmed lately. What's weird, though, is that when I used to feel this way, I would watch Harold and Maude, cry a little, and get over it, but I've been so emotionally level lately that I don't even really feel like crying. I'm happy and very satisfied with my life (don't worry, anybody), but there's just a lot going on and I need to process it and get over it. Most likely, I'll be back to normal after school starts and I'm in a routine again. It's a little strange to have this much free time. I'm also kind of nervous about not being a student for the first time ever -- what if I fail at not being a student? You know, never undertake the art projects I mean to, or lose the weight I want to, or write any more, or fulfill my post-school goals, like learning Spanish? What if it turns out that I'm secretly really lazy, and only ever did things because I had timelines and due dates and syllabi? You probably think I'm being stupid, but this is totally new for me. Ah well, check back with me in October and we'll see how the lazy life is going -- without school, I'll only have my job, the band, ballet, my boyfriend, my family, the garden, the cat and the house to take up my time!!! What will I ever do?!?!?!?!

Music stuff

Okay, this is the last of my blog-a-thon for a while. On Friday I had a ticket to the Patti Smith concert at the new Empire nightclub. Monkeygirl went with me, and it was kind of a weird set-up. They made us stand outside in line for a long time, even though they'd only pre-sold 300 tickets. The doors were supposed open at 6:30, but they were a little tardy getting us in. Then the band actually didn't come out until 7:30, but it was totally worth the wait. I first heard of Patti Smith when I was in high school and I watched the "History of Rock" series. A fairly brief section of her performing Van Morrison's "Gloria" at CBGBs had me hooked. I was kind of in love. She sang with such passion, such disregard for the standards of rock 'n' roll beauty, such intensity . . . That video was filmed about thirty years ago, but she is every bit as intense now, at 57. She kind of looks like somebody's hippie grandma, appearing onstage in torn jeans, a t-shirt with what appeared to be a hand-drawn peace symbol, and a men's jacket. While she sings, she looks completely absorbed, but in the breaks between songs, she sometimes seems to recognize that the audience is exploding with noise, and she rewards us with a gigantic, beautiful beaming smile. She looks genuinely happy to be singing and performing and to have us all there. She played a number of hits, including "Because the Night," "Dancing Barefoot" (during which she sat down and took off her shoes), "Summer Cannibals," "Free Money," as well as songs from her new album, Trampin'. The crowd was really into it, and whenever Patti would put the mic into the crowd she would find us shouting the lyrics at the top of our lungs. It surprised me to see that Monkeygirl and I were among the youngest people there -- I would say the average age was 45. When the band finally left the stage, I was exhilirated, but also a tiny bit disappointed. "Gloria" is my favorite Patti Smith song, and she hadn't played it. But we screamed and screamed until they came back out for an encore, and she played two more songs, the second being Gloria. I could have cried. I don't go to too many concerts, but this ranks among the top two -- David Bowie was incredible, too, but I was far away, whereas I was about 8 feet from Patti Smith the whole time. Man, if you like her music at all, I'd say go see a show when you get the chance, she really puts on a good one.

I also saw local band Amphora Saturday night at the Blue Lamp. I really, really like their music, but I don't much like the bands they play with. They're selling a CD now, which I should get, since I only have a demo, and love that. I really hope they go somewhere with it, because they deserve to. Just between my blog readers and me, I am not sold on the keyboardist. I don't relaly think they need one, and he looks silly, sitting with his knees pinched together on his little stool. He tries really hard to rock out, though, bending from the waist spasmodically to sort of upper-body-bang. Okay, I've been the blog queen, so I'm taking a little break for a while. Take care, all.
K

Back to New York a little for culture shock

I experienced a little bit of culture shock in Manhattan. See, in the movies, you get the idea that New York is filled about equally with wealthy, well-dressed socialites, punk rockers, and tough guys. Well, we saw exactly one tough guy on the subway (imagine a big beefy dude in a wifebeater telling someone in a very thick Brooklyn accent "Yo, move in bro. Move in. I'll let you out when you need to get off, just move in, bro!"). We hardly saw anyone dresed particularly well -- in fact, we saw about a trillion people getting onto and off of the subways every day, not to mention the thousands more walking around during the day (and we went inside Bloomingdale's and Barney's, don't forget) and most of them were in navy suits with cream blouses. How boring!
As for punk rockers, forget it. I thought Henry Rollins was going to be on like every corner, but instead I saw about two lip piercings, five or so nose rings, about 6 people with funky-colored hair (most of them tourists), two mohawks (one of them twice), and about 40 tattoos. Keep in mind that this is over the course of four days in extremely populated areas, and we did NOT hang out in the hotel -- we were out in public for more than twelve hours every day. You could see more freaky people in Sacramento in one afternoon on K street.
Also, I just assumed that certain aspects of California style were widespread and prevalent on both coasts. Wrong again! In four days I didn't see a single Birkenstock, not one white person with dreadlocks, not one exist broomstick skirt, and none of those shirts that just tie on in the back. Nobody there even looked like they'd heard of the Grateful Dead. It was a little refreshing, actually.
The hippie thing is pretty Bay Area, but I also kind of assumed that L.A. culture wasn't specific to L.A. We have plenty of people in Sacramento with expensive highlights, bodies that scream 'personal trainer,' fake boobies, fake nails . . . but that really didn't seem to exist at all in Manhattan. In fact, not only did the white girls not have highlights, the ethnic girls didn't have highlights either. Nobody did! It was the most brunettes I've ever seen in one place in my life.
I mentioned the mediocre food. I think that may have just been bad luck on our part, but really, being so close the the Bay Area and Napa Valley has amped up the quality of food in my town, too. There is some really good food to be had around here, and I appreciate it.
There were very few panhandlers. In fact, I really didn't see any if you don't count the people that are working for it by singing, playing instruments, or otherwise performing. Not once in four days did we have to step around a homeless person on the sidewalk.
It was dreadfully short of coffee shops. I think the market was so saturated by cafeteria-type places that there wasn't room for the cozy cafes that fill the West Coast.
There was very little litter (although each night there was a mountain of garbage bags on every street, and in the morning they were gone). We only saw one laundromat and one gas station.
We also saw a TON of police officers. They were everywhere! Anytime you wanted to ask directions (and they were cute, so we came up with a lot of questions), there was one right there!
A lot of people in NY smoke cigarattes. Now, part of the enormous clouds of smoke we ran into can be explained by the fact that it was just really crowded and there were a lot more people than we generally run into near home, but I honestly think that more people smoked, too.

Wednesday, last day in the Caribbean (sniff)

We had a delicious breakfast again today, and a light rain created a really long-lasting rainbow which you could see both ends of, and the colors were really clear and defined, too. Then we walked our companion to the ferry to say goodbye. We returned to the Arawak room, which really was a nice place to sit and talk, although it was exceptionally hot and muggy that day. We decided to go to the beach and take out kayaks. My sunburn was actually kind of nasty, so I covered myself from my waist to my feet with a sarong. I looked like a granny, but at least the sun wasn't blazing on my burn. Still, it was really hot, so I wet down the sarong with my paddle. Well, I almost needn't have bothered, because as Mom and I paddled out toward the bouys the weather got even muggier and the sky grew overcast, and quite suddenly, it was raining. Like, really raining. And then it amped up some, like someone turned it to 5. Then 6. It was really noticeable. At one point the raindrops were about the size of fava beans and almost hurt. It probably rained for ten minutes, but we didn't make any move to go in, we jsut paddled closer to shore. It was actually really refreshing, because it cut the heat and the mugginess, but wasn't cold by any means, either. And now I can say I've been on the ocean in a kayak during a rainstorm! When it calmed and then ended, we paddled back along the shoreling, where we saw a ton of pelicans just chilling in the mangroves. Cartoons would have you believe that pelicans are goofy and clumsy, but I actually found them kind of lovely and majestic. We got pretty close to them and they just held still and watched us.
Back at the beach, we found our stuff had gotten a little wet, but not bad -- the notebook I had pretty much filled (and am consulting right now) was only damp, thank goodness, and my hat and sarong were quite wet but dried quickly. It was the last beach barbecue day. Again, everything was fantastic (although they didn't serve the same potato salad as the first day, which was mildly disappointing). We read for a little while longer on the beach, and I finished Barbara Kingsolver's "Prodigal Summer," which was wonderful. We then packed most of our stuff. I was regretful that I didn't get to try windsurfing in the right conditions, that I didn't get to take the dinghy out again, and that I never tried the Hobie catamaran (although I can't say that I never have, I was on one in high school once). Still, I was pretty desperate to get home, too, and see my cat and my garden (and sorry for being gushy, but Piggs most of all). At our last dinner I had cream of asparagus soup, red pepper and eggplant tian with kalamata aoli. Lennox made us two special drinks, a Caribbean Sea and a Buttercup, both of which were good. We said our goodbyes to the people we'd met, the staff and visitors alike. Henry and Imogen, the British children, came over to say goodbye. Henry informed us that they'd met some new friends, American teenagers, that day, so that he'd have someone to talk to when we were gone. Incidentally, Jan asked Henry at one point what his favorite part of the trip had been so far, and he answered "Not goggling off my bike, not getting stung by the jellyfish . . . " He actually got stung 5 times! He had stings all around his torso. He also got bitten by the iguana, although Imogen informed us that the iguana wasn't being angry or mean, he just "took an extra big bite." The teenagerd had taught them some game that Imogne said was quite easy, and Henry looked at her like she was insane, then quickly recovered and said "Oh, yeah, it was quite easy once you got the hang of it."
We had some Caribbean battle scars -- mom broke out in hives from her sunscreen, got stung by a jellyfish, and "goggled" off her bike (just like Henry, and in the exact same spot). I came down with Eurasia (for those of you only skimming, a nasty collection of bug bites that swelled up), had a panic attack and got a sunburn. But even despite that, our trip was amazing. I'll close with a direct quote from my notebook: "I would love to come back someday. I want to see so much of the world, but Biras Creek has had the nicest people, the best amenities, the most delicious food and the warmest, bluest ocean of anywhere I've been, ever. Out of paper, the end."

Tuesday on the Fat Virgin

We had arranged for the 7 am ferry to take us to another part of the island, where we met a "taxi" that would take us to the other side of that part of the island. The taxi was a pickup truck with the bed extended and with bench seats bolted into it and a canopy on top. It was a steep and bumpy ride, but very cool. We went through the town where many Biras Creek employees live and passed the post office, the police station, a bunch of buildings under construction, colorful apartments, and one cool pink gigantic private home. We also passed the Last Stop Bar and the First Stop Bar, as well as a truck labeled "Tents and Tings." We were headed to the Baths, an area where right at the shore a bunch of boulders had fallen together in cave-like formations. The path through them was cool: you had to crouch, wade, crawl, climb ladders and stuff, and the light was streaking in through the gaps in the rocks. The goal, unfortunately, was Devil's Bay, which was not really all that cool. I mean, it was beautiful -- everything there was -- but the beach was much smaller than the one at Biras, there were no recliners and no eqipment to use, it was ridden with biting sand fleas, and there wasn't much shade (by then, I was burned and staying out of the sun). We didn't stay long, and we hiked back along another trail. We ate breakfast at the restaruant there and shopped around at the three gift shops (I did get a few things, including a buttery-yellow beaded sarong for me). The we met the taxi again and headed back to Biras. I was in a kind of cranky mood, and I might have enjoyed the Baths more if I'd been in a better mood.
We were late getting back for lunch, so we got a voucher and headed back to the gift shop area and ate lunch at the Fat Virgin Cafe. I had vegetable roti (a West Indian dish that resembled an Indian curry with flatbread). It was delicious, and I briefly felt regretful that despite all the wonderful food, we hadn't really had any local dishes until just then.
NOTE TO THE EASILY GROSSED-OUT: DO NOT READ THIS PARAGRAPH. Okay, Monday while I was diving, I sat on the platform for a while and noticed an itchy and slightly painful spot on the back of my left thigh, but I was trying to ignore it. I slapped at it quite a bit to avoid scratching. By Tuesday afternoon it was still itching a lot, and I checked it out in the mirror. Dude, it was nasty. I had gotten bitten or stung by something (my guess is spiders or mites), and there were about 150 individual bites, but you couldn't really tell that then, because it just looked like one giant (maybe 5 inch in diameter) topographical map of Eurasia. It was swollen and purply-red, and took up most of the back of my thigh, as well as some of my inner thigh. Ever, just for fun, looked through the skin disease section of a medical textbook? It looked like all of them. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any Benadryl, so I did my best with Bactine and tried not to appear in public in my bathing suit.
That night we went to tea and talked until nearly dinnertime. At dinner a local named Morris Mark played guitar and sang somgs like "Take it Easy," "Brown Eyed Girl," "Sounds of Silence," and a few sad country songs like "Always on My Mind" and "Crazy." He had a sweet mellow voice like Cat Stevens, and he played right to our table, since we were swaying and singing along. I had artichoke salad, a mushroom tart and bread pudding for dessert.

Frangy Pangy day! Monday in Virgin Gorda.

I biked down to the beach early today and read for a while. It was completely deserted. Then we went to breakfast where I had pain au chocolate (just half, and it was delicious!). There was a garden walk this morning led by Alvin, who was the landscaper there, and had worked there for 30 years! Also on the walk were Meredith and Jan, a sweet older lesbian couple who had just gotten married on Saturday! (They were from Massachusets.) Alvin was older, very dark-skinned, and he had a heavy accent. His manner was kind of funny -- he would meander over to a plant, listlessly point at it, and say "Dis one yellow Alamanda." Then we'd all stare at it for a minute, and he'd start meandering again. He was a little mroe animated if we asked him questions, too. I really liked the Flamboyant tree -- it had leaves that were almost fern-like and bright orange flowers sprayed across the top. I also liked the sea hyacinth, which had delicate conical yellow flowers that looked like gently wrinkled tissue paper. We also saw mangroves, turpentine trees (if you rub the sap, you can smell the turpentine), frangipani (which smelled incredible, like a cross between jasmine and gardenia, and was pronounced charmingly by Alvin as frangy-pangy, with hard Gs), cottonwood trees, ironwood trees, a bunch of cacti (some were spherical with a red fuzzy thing popping out of the top, and the red things sprouted fuschia fruits that looked like hot peppers but tasted like kiwis), almond trees with big almonds (and another garderner told us that on Dominica, they mix the almonds with sugar syrup and a bunch of spices and lay them on some kind of slab and cook them, and they called it sweet cake), three colors of vivid bouganvilla, enormous spider lilies, and about three kinds of sweet white and blue flowers that I now longer remember the names of. Whew. Thank you for reading the world's longest sentence.
The walk ended right outside Jan and Meredith's suite, which they offered to show us -- it was one of the big and really expensive ones, and it was COOL! They had big windows all along one side that had a perfect ocean view. They also had a big sitting room at least as big as my living room at home, and a super-deluxe bathroom. The whole thing was probably 750 square feet, bigger than two apartments I've lived in.
Then I went straight to the beach and asked for windsurfing lessons. Shawn, the instructor, was about 18, and he told me right off the bat that it wasn't a good day for windsurfing. There wasn't much wind and the water was rough. Still, I knew I'd kick myself if I didn't at least try it while we were there. He gave me the basics and helped me steady myself on the board. I must have fallen on my ass about 50 times, but I still had a good time, and was just laughing every time I fell. So now I can officially say I tried windsurfing. To be fair to myself, I did get going several times, but the wind was pointed directly towards shore, so every time I got balanced and got the sail up, I would be pushed immediately up onto the sand. Oh well. I do think that with some practice I might be able to get the hang of it. I got into the kayak again and paddled to a platform out in the middle of the bay. There didn't seem to be any jellyfish around, so I dived off several times before coming back in for another great beack barbecue. I sunned a little and kayaked some more after lunch, but came in when I realized I was getting burned. Then I read in the shade for a while. It's really relaxing. Basically, except for at mealtimes, the beach is nearly empty, so it's completely quiet except for the surf.
That evening was the general manager's cocktail party, and mom and I each had a rum punch, then we split a painkiller. I had several delicious appetizers, too, including little baguette slices with bleu cheese mouse and cherry tomatoes with feta. It was nice, and we got to socialize a great deal with th eother guests, including this British couple we'd been running into a lot but hadn't talked to. I mentioned to the husband that we'd also been admiring his wife's amazing physique (listen, I HAD to say something, her abs were better than Janet Jackson's or Serena Williams'), and he laughed and said "Oh, I know, I keep telling her she'd better watch it or people will think she works out!" My jaw may have dropped, and I asked him what she did do, exactly, and he said that since their daughter, Imogen, rides horses, the mom hauls around a lot of bales of hay and jumps and things. We also found out that the reason Luke and Kristin moved to Georgia was that Luke just passed the Bar exam and got a job with a law firm there.
Then we went to dinner and I had a Stilton souffle, another first for me! Delicious.

Sunday, day 4 in Virgin Gorda

Hey, a note on the name Virgin Gorda. When we first got there, someone told us that the explorers who first visited the island thought it looked like a pregnant virgin, but his cronies told him that was dumb, so they changed it to fat virgin. Later we heard that actually, unmarried pregnant women are referred to locally as fat virgins. Hmmph.
Breakfast was delicious again, and by this time I was totally aware of how much I'd been eating. I tried to lighten up a little, but everything is so good! I took Mom out in a two-person kayak, then I went and checked out some snorkelling gear. We biked back to the beach and I put on all the gear and swam out about ten feet. I saw a few jellies, but tried not to freak out, rather, just admire them. But they're not like deer, you know? You don't just see one from a distance. They're more like raindrops -- once you've seen one, you're about to get deluged. I can see around my head, but don't really know what's going on in the vicinity of my legs, so I start getting pretty nervous. Still, I'm not scared, just a little creeped out. But I'm also starting to feel a little confined. This may sound stupid, but I have a real thing about having my breathing restricted -- I don't even wear turtlenecks or choker-style necklaces (and one of the things I was wearing was a hood that was tight on the neck), and I always breathe through both my mouth and nose. I'm a lifelong asthmatic, which probably had something to do with it. So anyway, I try to relax and take a few deep breaths, but you really can't through a snorkel, which DID make me freak out a little, and I started to hyperventilate. I pulled my head above water and ripped all the equipment off to get a deep breath. Then I tried to put it back on, but had gotten saltwater in the mask, and immediately tried to breathe through my nose and got a big sinus-ful of saltwater and I got some in my eyes, too. By then, I pretty much was having a full-blown panic attack. I swam back to shore fast as hell and relaxed there on the beach for a long time.
Time out for rumination. I consider myself a pretty brave person. I've jumped off bridges, I've skydived, I've been in some pretty nasty mosh pits . . . and beyond that, I've done a lot of emotionally brave things, too -- leaving a bad marriage, leaving a good career to try education . . . but this whole snorkelling thing? I chickened out, I freaked, I panicked, I was scared. I did not like the whole restricted-breathing thing, I did not like the jellyfish, I was just totally uncomfortable. I might consider trying it again someday, but definitely in a no-jellyfish area, and after maybe a real lesson, too. I'm doing most of this writing from memory and just consulting my notes occasionally, but here's a direct quote from my notebook about the experience "Suddenly we were in jellyfish-LAND. It was like the ballpit at Chuck E Cheese, excpet that these menacing globby fuckers were the size of dinner plates."
After I had calmed down sufficiently, I took a sit-on-top ocean kayak out toward the bouys that cordon off the swimming area and let the waves rock me a little and powered through them a little and felt brave and confident and capable and strong again. It was definitely palliative. For lunch, I had salad and rice and a johnnycake and puppodum with chutney and a "Faye's sweet potato cake." I have been diligent about slathering on SPF 50, but I am still getting dark. My blond arm hairs are starting to really stand out against my tan arms. Our sailboat ride is scheduled for 5:30 tonight. We fed the iguana some more (a little one this time, and he still devoured like 30 flowers!). It was actualyl really funny, because we couldn't find him at first, and we were at a sort of crossroads. I had two huge handfuls of flowers, and we'd been out there calling "here, iguana" for about 15 minutes, and finally I walked around the corner and shrugged and said "Well, I guess he'd not coming out!" Mom laughed, and pointed behind me. The iguana was following me!
I noted at this point that I had just finished Anne Lamott's "Traveling Mercies" and a silly mystery called "Pipsqueak." Another short note here is that on the beach earlier they were listening to Elvis in the bar area, and singing along in their rad island accents.
The sailboat ride was great! Chris was the captain, and sorry baby, but this guy was a hunk. Like, a blond surfer-haired buff blue-eyed British hunk. Rachel was the first mate (and possibly his girlfriend) and she made us rum punch that, because it wasn't stirred, had about an inch worth of rum floating on top! It was called a sunset sail, but it was a little too overcast for a nice sunset. Nevertheless, I really just liked being out there on the water. There were about six couples from Biras on the trip, and we had a nice conversation with the ones closest to us (including the couple from North Carolina). I wore my new red dress that I picked up in New York, and I felt glamorous. We went to dinner and had anothe ramazing meal, with a tomato mozzarella tart and a chocolate fondant for dessert (it was like a tiny chocolate cake with a melty middle). I took advantage of the cheese and port again, too.

Saturday, Virgin Gorda day 3

I read for a while in the morning while my companions slept, then I checked out the window, and yep, it still looks like that! We have an ocean view, as well as a charming look at the landscaping between the buildings and the bicycles leaned together with their little wicker baskets. It was sweet and perfect. We had breakfast, a nice assortment of breads and fruits and yogurt and tiny cute glass jars of jam and good coffee. We reserved a dinghy for 1:30, then went to the beach briefly. We saw a bunch more jellyfish and mom got stung. She said it felt like a bee sting and stopped hurting after about a minute. The one that got her was particularly tenacious -- we had tried to gently wave it away several times. We also got a pretty good look at them. They're called moon jellies, and are about the size of dinner plates (it varies), with a purple ring around the outside with little purple hairs coming off it. Inside are what look like two purple infinity symbols and some waggly clear turkey waddles. They seem to locomote by contracting into a dome shape and expanding again. We hung out in the warm water until lunchtime, then wandered back. Mom forgot that you have to backpedal to brake on the bikes, and ran straight into a hedge. She only got a little scratched, so it was okay to laugh. A few yards beyond us some people were crouching down looking in a very interested manner into a hedge. We sidled up and found them feeding red hibiscus flowers to a big iguana. We had already seen a bunch of small lizards all over the island, but this guy was massive, and had a big spiky lizard mohawk all down his back. He was ravenous, too. We all fed him, and when we would take a break to talk, he'd get bored and start to wander away, but the second we offered another blossom, he was back. I liked him. I also liked the couple from North Carolina that we met -- the woman was telling us about her grinning dog, Shiner, who does a waggly-bootie happy dog dance, which she gleefully demonstrated for us. The husband has a very attractive face, but Andy Warhol hair.
We had dilly-dallied and got to lunch right at the end, but I had a spinach mushroom feta quiche with tomato-olive tapenade and a salad with roasted vegetables. I also jhad what they called strawberry parfait, kind of a semi-frozen strawberry mousse with salty crumbles of pistachio on the plate, as well as "creme anglaise." We walked down to the marina and looked around the gift shop, and by the time we were done we had missed our reservation time by a long shot. At the marina, we met "Captain," whose real name is Ernest, and he can't tell us why they call him Captain. He said mom and I looked like we were at the horse races (it was our big pasty white girl hats). We also asked him what these plants were called, and he said they were sea grapes, and that you can eat them. Some of them are sweet, but some of them can make your mouth go (here he made a great nasty-bitter-sour-dried-up face). He was very expressive and funny. He also told us that the sea grape trees are formed by the wind and that because they often bend into an arc, people put benches under them. It sounded lovely.
We decided to go to the other beach, but got sidetracked, so just went to the pool for a while before dinner. We had another very late dinner, herb-encrusted Camembert on mixed greens with mango vinagrette and some of Mom's pecan blue cheese apple spinach salad. The entree was a delicious butternut squash and pea risotto. I tasted two desserts, a hazelnut chocolate/white chocolate mousse and a strawberry-apple cobbler with ginger ice cream. The petit-fours that night were chocolate coconut things and ginger-cream scones. Fuck, this was some of the best food I've had in my life. Also, there seems to be something vegetarian on the menu for the starter and the entree every single night. We also killed a bottle of Gewurtzraminer before I could no longer resist the steel pan band that was playing, and I went down to the deck where they were playing and danced to their last two songs of the evening. Earlier, while we were waiting to be seated, I was boogie-ing mildly (I can almost never help myself) and a staffer told me "Hey, you still got sugar in your feet!" Among others, they played "Hot Hot Hot," "Imagine," and "Blowing in the Wind." Somehow, everything sounded upbeat.
The women here especially have lovely accents. We stayed late by the restaurant, and as they walked to the ferry with their bags, several of them called out "Good night, ladies" in soft lilting tones.