The Crumble

Apple crumble
Originally uploaded by Kitty Vane.

Okay, same kid from yesterday's dwarf story tells me today that he's chosen his play. He is going to bethe character Parris, from "The Crumble." "The Crumble? I've never heard of it... Can I look at the book?"

It's Arthur Miller's "The Crucible." I'm not making fun of this kid's reading skills, I just think his misreadings always come out hilarious! So dramatic... I've got tickets to opening night of "The Crumble!"

I'm cranky

Windshield Cracked
Originally uploaded by pulpolux.

Yeah, I've had a sore throat for 3 days -- the kind where I could drink the ocean out of a never-ending drinking horn like fricking Odin and my throat would still feel dry. It's been keeping me up at night. Last night I went to bed early and slept a little better but had disturbing dreams.

Plus, on Wednesday I was invited to a party at a co-worker's house -- a retro cocktail party. Right up my alley, right? It's Saturday night, which is Gynagirl's birthday, but Gynagirl's in Europe, so I don't think twice about accepting. Plus, I'm always bitching about the lack of camaraderie, so when someone from work reaches out, I figure I'd better accept. Well, later that day I hear that Gynagirl has come home early and they're planning a birthday party on Saturday. Well, etiquette would clearly indicate that I have to decline the 2nd invitation. But my years-long dear friendship with Gynagirl makes that a difficult choice. Of course, I had to flake on the girls at work the last time they invited me (last spring), so that makes flaking on them less appealing. So I'm already stuck feeling like an asshole pretty much either way, and I ask Drummergirl what I should do, and I got the reply "Well it IS Gynagirl's BIRTHDAY." So now I feel like even more of an asshole. I was supposed to call Gynagirl last night, but I've been feeling so tired and sick that I pretty much ate dinner, went to mom's house to check on it, and came home and went to bed. As much as I missed her and want to talk to her, I have to admit I'm not looking forward to a call like "Hey, I missed you so much! How are you?! Gonna have to miss out on your birthday..."

And then I got in the car for work this morning and my windshield is cracked. Can I hold off on replacing it until we've sold the old house and are feeling better money-wise? Who knows... Tune in for the next episode of never-ending drama.

Hot Blooded Dwarves!

pervy dwarves!!!!
Originally uploaded by revenante.

I almost always wake up with a song in my head. Sometimes I had a dream with the song, sometimes I heard it the day before, sometimes it's random, and when I used to have a clock radio alarm, sometimes it was whatever song was on the radio. There was also a several-month period (I almost killed myself) when I woke up every morning and heard "Duh nuh nuh nuh, duh nuh, duh nuh, It's SHOWERTIME" to the tune of MC Hammer's "Hammertime."

Some of you know I'm keeping track of all my girly information. This includes taking my temperature every morning when I first wake up. This has led to the unfortunate circumstance that most mornings now, the first song in my head is "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner.

Totally unrelated, a kid transferred into my class a little late this year. I didn't have him last year, and I'm enjoying him as a student. He's smart, but not a great communicator. When he talks to me, sometimes I find myself shaking my head to get the confusion out. He also has a fantastically alliterative name, and sounds like a character in a Carl Hiassen book.
Anyway, he joined Speech and Debate, and I asked all the kids to go find an article on a current event and bring it to me. This kid says he doesn't have any resources to look for articles, so I suggest some, and he decides he'll use my computer at lunch. So he's in here using the computer and asks me "Hey, do you know that story with the dwarves?" "Um, what?" "I'm looking for that story about the dwarves in Africa." "Uhh (shake), you mean that ancient fossil they found?" "NO." (He's frustrated with me at this point.) "I'm talking about the genocide of the DWARVES. Don't you know? It's all over the news!!!" I said "I'm sorry, is that something you read about in Mr. P's class? I mean, I don't doubt the story; I just haven't heard it myself." He huffs, frustrated, and turns to the computer.
A few minutes later, he has printed out an article and pokes a word in triumphant satisfaction. "There!" hs says, "Dwaves!" He is pointing to the word "Darfur."

I hate to be a dork, but...

wedding again
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

I was randomly looking at blogs from a year ago, just to see where I was and what I was doing, and I hit upon my description of our wedding reception. Then today I was looking for a blank CD to burn Blondie's "Rapture" onto for a co-worker (a story for another day), and came across the CD of all our wedding photos. Well, I just want to say that I am as happy today as I was on that day, if not happier. I love being married, I love Sweetie, I love our life, and I'm so glad that we've travelled down this path together. I realize that that's important to about, oh, two people in the world, but I wanted to say it. Being married rules. Good relationships rule. Love rules. Look at our little picture -- aren't we happy? Yes, we are.

/Dorkiness.

Sailors take warning

the red planet
Originally uploaded by liquidysquids.

As usual when I'm at work, this is soemone else's photo from Flickr, but that's what the sun looked like here this morning. It was wacky.

I drove 25 miles round-trip to get a bag of felt last night. Sigh. The dangers of Freecycle. I don't want to be one of those people who's like "Wanted: brand-new DVD player and flat-screen TV, must be in excellent condition." So my ad was like "Wanted: craft supplies for my drama class, wood, fabric, foam board, etc. It is easiest to pick up within ten miles of downtown." So when someone offers me something nice but they live in Gold River, I don't want to be an asshole and say "No thanks, you're too far away. Keep your craft stuff." So I find myself going to get it and, well, driving 25 miles round trip for a bag of felt. Could I have just paid for felt and not had to drive for almost an hour? Yes. Was it wise to drive out for this felt? Probably not. Did I do it anyway to avoid people thinking I'm a picky asshole? Yes.

Speaking of driving all over the goddamn planet... I hate driving outside my box. I know downtown, midtown, and east Sac really well. I know South sac and the Arden area well enough to get to places, but not well enough that you could say "You know that market by the blah blah?" and always have me say yes. If you expand the circle to about Watt Avenue on the East, Del Paso on the North, the river on the West and Florin on the South, then I can get just about anywhere. Other places further out? I almost never go there, or if I do, it's to the same place over and over. So when I have to go to a new place out there, I almost invariably get lost or frustrated or both. One reason? We have two freeways both called 80. Yeah, that's right. Different freeways that go to different places, both with the same name. Now, Mapquest calls one of them the Capital City Freeway, and so do many people including the traffic reporters. But the signs (most of them, anyway) don't. No, the signs say 80, and above most of them is, in small letters, the word "business." Sometimes it says "Business loop." The other one, theoretically, is called "Interstate 80." But the signs on it say "80." So I may be directionally challenged and quick to frustration, but this shit is not helping.

Both productive and relaxing...

Today was a goood day. I read the paper, shared a seeded baguette with feta and jam and honey, had a damn fine cup of joe, then went to yoga.

At home, I did a little dinking around and a little cleaning, then went to the old house to put in a handle and see if I could mess around with the plumbing. It had been squealing, and I found online that it was probably a problem with the valve, so I took a big monkey wrench and a couple tools over hoping it might be obvious and easy. It wasn't. I called my dad for advice and he came over (I really did just want advice, not to interrupt his Sunday afternoon, but I was glad he came over). I gave him the history, told him about all the troubleshooting and research I had done, and he took the valve apart, found that the round thing inside the valve that shuts off the water flow had been rubbing up against something and didn't close properly. He banged on it to re-shape it, then assembled it all. We waited (and talked) for several minutes, and it didn't even do the faint warbly hum it had been doing as it warmed up to the full-on squeal. So, problem solved! And no need for a $300 plumber visit.

Then I went to Tupelo and did some lesson planning for school. I meant to plan out the whole year for drama class, but instead of thinking big, I started doing very specific day-by-day planning for October. So even though I didn't do what I meant to do, I accomplished something really cool anyway. (October is "bring a character to life" month, so we're doing dialects and accents, stage make-up, costumes, and movement (including pratfalls, just for fun).

I came home and made dinner, then fussed around the garage for a while, rigging up one of those old people things so I know how far to pull the car in. This probably seems like a waste of time, since there's plenty of room for the car, but I had a reason. If I pull up too far, it's impossible to go from the kitchen door to the exterior door where the garbage can is. If I am too far back, I can't open the trunk to get the groceries out. So now I have a hula girl and a little souvenier from China hanging on a fuzzy pink ribbon. When it hits the windshield, I stop!

I did a few more things around here (not much, but folded laundry and stuff), then finished watching "The Fog of War," which I started last night. I like documentaries, but I don't watch them all that often. This one, although there was very little to it besides Robert MacNamara talking and still photos and text, was really fascinating. I mean, here is a guy saying "yeah, we firebombed Tokyo, yeah, we escalated the Vietnam conflict based on wrong information, yeah, we knew civilians were dying... but it was for the greater good, we thought we were doing the right thing, sometimes you have to do evil to do good." It was really interesting. The direction and editing were so subtle, but there were really effective choices made. For example, MacNamara would be trying to explain why he wasn't a war criminal. He says that if we'd lost (in WWII), he'd be called a war criminal, and actually asks why he would be called a war criminal if we'd lost, but not if we'd won. He then peters out, realizing, I guess, that there was no good answer. His face shows what seems to be a mix of emotions -- guilt, defeat, defiance, sadness -- and the camera just lingers there long after he stops talking.

Now I'm not doing a hell of a lot. I'm sort of watching Iron Chef, although I've already seen this one (battle eggplant). Sweetie's in bed with a headache. I'm considering just hitting the hay early tonight, too.

Hope you're all well.

You learn something new every day

I learned something from the Playboy Playmates, and now there's a good chance that you'll learn something from me!

First of all, I would like to say that I was not actually watching that show with the playmates. I often sit here and play on the internet while the TV is on, but if you asked me what program was on, I wouldn't even know. I just like background noise. I wish I were all zen, and like "Oh, I love the sounds of a silent house," but that's not me. Anyway...

Last year at school, the kids were teaching me slang in exchange for me teaching them vocabulary of a higher register. I learned lots of things, like what a scraper is, what stunnerz are, what it means to thizz... but I never quite got the hang of "ghost riding the whip." They explained that it means letting the car drive itself while you get out of it. But why would you do that? I asked. Do you put a brick on the gas pedal? Do you just let it drive until it hits something? Are you abandoning the car? Deciding that I was hopelessly unhip, they just sighed and shook their heads. I really didn't know why you would jump out of a moving car, especially if it were yours!

But as I looked up the other night, some trashy blondes on the TV screen were walking alongside their Lexus SUV and doing a very white sort of booty-dance. It was taking place at exceptionally slow speeds, like an automatic transmission that is in drive when you take your foot off the brake. I thought to myself "Who are these ditzes, and what the hell are they doing outside that car?" And just then, the girl explained! She was ghost riding the whip! That's what that means!

In light of that, I realized I had seen it before! On 65th street on the way home to my old house, I saw several teenagers in a car in the left hand turn lane slow down well before the limit line. They were maybe 15 yards back and almost came to a stop. I had my eye on them (hey, it's a crime-ridden area, and you never know when someone's going to do something stupid), so I watched as about four teens got out of the car, walked along side it as it rolled toward the limit line, did a halfhearted dance, then got back in. At the time, I thought it was a really odd and slow sort of Chinese fire drill (I apologize if that's insensitive, but I don't know another term for it), but in retrospect with my new Playboy knowledge, it all makes sense!

So, now you know what ghost riding the whip is. I suspect it would be a lot more difficult in a stick shift like mine, but I also have no desire whatsoever to try. I wonder if the originators of this unusual fad dance better, or if the whole point is a sort of lame and arrythmic booty shake? I guess I'll never know.

Mostly irritable, with a chance of pride and gusts of irrelevance

Irritable: That lady who can give me my Highly Qualified gold star is on vacation until 10/3, and she's got her out-of-office automatic reply on. I wrote a letter, and it's Highly Cranky. I don't actually expect you to take the time to read it, but I'm including it at the end of this post just so you can admire my balance of snarkiness and professionalism. Well, I may need to edit to go more professional and less snarky.

Pride: I might have mentioned before that the one thing missing at my new school is a sense of camaraderie among the staff. Well, I could probably have made a life's work out of bitching about it, but that's the kind of path my dad would choose. I did something else: I invited everyone to lunch. I sent out an e-mail asking if people would be interested in a pot-luck salad, where each person brings one ingredient (lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, cheese, dressing...) and we all eat together. I got quite a few responses, and we did it today. I sat in the sunshine at a picnic table with my co-workers, eating a salad we'd created together and sharing conversation. Instead of, I should mention, in my room with 20 teenagers playing minesweeper while I eat a Weight Watchers frozen meal. It was nice. We're doing it again in two weeks.

Pride, part deux: My friend-who-is-sort-of-also-my-boss (in that he coordinates the program I teach in) has an extra prep period to do all his coordinating. He is trying to stop by everyone's classrooms periodically and just observe so he knows what's going on. It's a good idea, and I support it, but like anyone, I'm made a little nervous by professional observation. And I am a major goofball, so today I'm describing to the kids what kinds of oral presentations they can do, and acting out super-fast versions thereof when he comes in. I may, in fact, have been in the middle of something like this as he walked in; "You could be a character many years after the book ends reminiscing about those years, like, uh... 'Hi, I'm Jimmy Cross, and it's thirty years later, and I still regret not touching Martha's knee all night.'" So I'm imparting information, but I'm also jerking around. Afterwards, he came up to me and said "I always like watching you teach. You're so passionate." That felt good. At least he didn't say "goofy."

Pride part trois and three and a half: I got a note from one of our union reps asking me to join their ranks. The note was very flattering, saying that she thought I'd be really good at it. So I was proud of that. But I turned her down, knowing that at this point in my life I have about as much on my plate as I can handle, and I need to continue to devote time to myself and my relationship. So I'm also proud that I said no. Very few of my readers know why that's a good but difficult decision for me, but there's a history, too. See, my pop has been a site rep for years and years, and he's devoted a lot of evenings to it, a lot of hard work, and invested a lot of emotion into it. And it's pretty much made him crazy and unavailable. I can't be those.

Irrelevant: And finally, on a goofy note, I asked the kids in 6th period if they were done copying down the assignment from the overhead, and the student nearest the overhead reached for the off button. But another student said he still needed it, so I asked button-girl not to push it yet. She said "But I want to push the button." And I had a full-on Tiny Toons flashback to the episode when Plucky Duck pushes all the buttons on the elevator ("elelator") and possibly flushes the toilet countless times. I don't even remember it that well other than his voice saying "I wanna push the button!" Which I probably said to my closest high-school friends one thousand times. And I realized I couldn't do the little voice for my students, because they have never seen Tiny Toons. How old am I, fer chrissakes?

The letter I promised with identifying shit deleted:
9/22/06

Dear Ms. L,

I am aware that you are out of the office, but when you return, I would respectfully like to request a reply to this letter.

In the 2003/2004 school year, my school secretary, BLANK, requested my Highly Qualified Teacher paperwork. I turned it in at that time (we were using the “point” system) and never heard anything more about it.

In the 2004/2005 school year, I was informed that I was not a Highly Qualified Teacher, and therefore must submit the paperwork to prove that I was. At that time I was given the “flow chart,” which I promptly turned in. I never heard anything about it.

In the 2005/2006 school year, I moved to Horticulturalist High. I was informed by our assistant principal, BLANK, that I was not a Highly Qualified Teacher and I needed to submit my paperwork immediately. I had a flow chart, copies of all my credentials, test scores, and diplomas and a cover sheet signed by the principal, BLANK. I never heard anything about it.

On September 21, 2006, at the beginning of the 2006/2007 school year, I was summoned to a meeting in principal Blank’s office. I was again informed that I was not a Highly Qualified teacher, and must immediately rectify the situation.

As you can imagine, I am confused and frustrated. I have no way of knowing whether my paperwork was received or not, and no way of knowing whether I fit the qualifications or not. Is there something missing? When I am actually accepted as a Highly Qualified Teacher, is there some sort of certificate or letter of acknowledgement I should expect? To the best of my knowledge, I fulfill the requirements in any number of ways (I have a B.A. in my core subject, an M.A. in the same subject, have passed the Praxis, SSAT, and CBEST, and have been teaching for seven years). I feel as though I am doing my best to prove that I meet the requirements of No Child Left Behind, but have had woefully poor communication in return. If there is something missing, I will happily and promptly rectify it, but I need to know what it is. I am looking forward to your reply.

Thank you,

Count Mockula

Gold star!

Gold star!
Originally uploaded by Vote For Summer.

I'm so fucking frustrated. I had a meeting with the principal this morning and found out I am not a "Highly Qualified Teacher" according to the school district. Which, if I really weren't, wouldn't piss me off. Or if I had only submitted the paperwork to prove I am once? Maybe a little irritated. But no, this will be the FOURTH year in a row I've submitted the paperwork. And it should be so easy! You have to have three things -- a bachelor's degree, a credential, and proof you've passed an exam in your area of teaching.

Last year I was so frustrated I sent them copies of my B.A., my credential, my M.A., and THREE qualifying exams. But this year, same thing. Huff.

Candy candy candy I can't let you go.

Sometimes my brain just goes places I wasn't expecting, and last night I started thinking about candy and I couldn't stop. I like candy. I started listing the kinds of candies I liked in my head (listing in my head, candy in my mouth!).

I like Skittles, Starburst, cinnamon bears, M&Ms (especially almond and peanut butter), Reeses (cups and pieces), Lemonheads, hot tamales, red hots, root beer barrels, saltwater taffy, Abba Zabbas, Mary Janes (taffy with peanut butter inside), butterscotches, starlight mints, those strawberry hard candies with the goo inside, conversation hearts, dinner mints, mint pastilles, the round ones that are vaguely foreign that have a shell and some chocolate and minty stuff inside, Junior Mints, peppermint patties, Red Vines, any See's candy that involves nuts or caramels and dark chocolate but not fruit, Milk Duds, Tootsie Rolls and Pops, Dum Dums, jelly beans (especially Jelly Bellies), chocolate covered almost anything (but especially almonds or cashews), toffee, Almond Roca, Jolly Ranchers, Nerds, Lik M Aid, Pop Rocks, about half the Necco wafers, ginger chews (Ting Ting Jahe), chocolate covered cherries,



Some candies I don't like include Sugar Babies and Daddies (feel like my fillings are going to pop out), Runts (preponderance of bananas, too crunchy), Now and Laters (fillings, banana), Dots (fillings, plus kind of flavorless), Airheads (just taste like sugar), Laffy Taffy (too horrible to consider, AND banana), the other half of the Necco wafers, most candy from the Asian market (it salty tamarind is your bag, enjoy).

What's funny is that there are probably hundreds in both categories that I'm forgetting. I feel like I should go blog from the candy aisle at the grocery store so I can remember everything. I really like candy. I find it hard to resist. Even if it's not my favorite candy, I'm likely to have just a little. Like those crappy chocolate balls in foil or marshmallow things in milk chocolate you get at Halloween? I'll eat those. Give me a valentine with a milk chocolate and puffed rice heart? It's in my mouth. It might not get eaten until I'm out of other, better chocolate, but I'll eat it. I didn't even put candy bars in the above list. Just straight candy. Mmm. Candy.

Oh geez

What a day. I was wearing a nice white button-down shirt and spilled voluminous amounts of coffee on it. So, since my room is locked and I'm wearing an undershirt anyway, I take my shirt off and try to wash out the coffee. I mostly get it out, but the shirt is soaking. So I dry it briefly in the microwave, but I have to go to my meeting! I put the damp shirt back on and attend my meeting. Afterwards, I make a quick potty stop, and for reasons that delicacy prevents me from disclosing, I find that I have to make an emergency run to Rite-Aid*, then back to the bathroom where I wad my underpants into a paper towel and shove them in my purse. So now I'm freeballing, which is fine. I've done it before. But today I am wearing a knee-length full pleated skirt and it is WINDY AS FUCK. I was sure all day that all my co-workers and about 1,500 teenagers were about to be treated to a shot of my naked snatch. Anywhere I walked today, I did so with huge handfuls of skirt wadded up in my fists. Nice.

*Incidentally, I am normally better-prepared for this sort of emergency, but having just withstood a practically Guinness record-worthy eighteen days of undisclosed reasons, I thought I had another day or two free.

Score

score
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

My grandma's crazy, and I love it!

She calls me yesterday and says "You like hats."
I say yes. It's not really a question, but that's her way. So she tells me that this friend of hers (to whom she gives pie when her live-in lover doesn't like it) has a lot of hats. And bags. And "big shoes;" if I know anyone with big feet, I should let them know. "Oh, what size are they?" They're 8 1/2. I'm a 9 1/2 or 10. Thanks, Grandma.
So how did he come across all this stuff and why is he getting rid of it? Well, it turns out that he was in a relationship with a woman who had a shopping problem, and he went to the trouble of building another room on the back of the house for her stuff. Well, they broke up (apparently amicably) and he introduced her to a new fellow. This fellow sold his house and they bought a mobile home together. Well, one day grandma's friend got a call from the woman wondering whether he had heard from the new boyfriend. No, he hadn't. Apparently the guy DROVE OFF with their home... So she tracks him down to L.A. and shoots him twice, once in the face. He lives. She's in jail.

Anyway, so now he has all this stuff to get rid of. My thing is actually vintage, not just people's wierd 80s cast-offs, but Grandma really seemed to want me to go, and Grandma often gets what she wants. I ended up taking several scarves, a bag, a couple pieces of costume jewelery, some vintage stockings in the packaging (I don't know if I'll wear them, but the packaging is cool), and a bunch of goofy sunglasses in the style that one of my students is ga-ga for. I can't wait to give them to her tomorrow.

Anyway, it was worth it for a good story, if nothing else.

The couch -- now with pictures!

couchbefore
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

This is the before.

This is the after.

This is not even a particularly good photo of the damage it did to just one of the doorframes.

And here is just one of the spots where it damaged the floor.

You know you're jealous.

bikelicense
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

You like my laser pink streamers?

I'm sorry you can't really see this one, but this is my sticker from CUSS. Thanks, Suzanne!

Cool-ass shirt

A&KSHIRT
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

This is the shirt I got at the AIDS walk. It's one of those mechanic-type ones with the patches over the pockets, but the patches have been taken off. I overheard some people behind me saying "Oh my gosh, how ironic. It's called Alive and Kicking, but there's a picture of a cow all carved up that's probably going to be made into hamburger!"

How ironic indeed! I'll bet in 20 years of producing that paper, Jerry Perry has never thought of that! You're clever...

Yay, pictures!

hammock
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Here's the hammock in which I read the paper. Perhaps this picture will give you an idea of what a nice day it is out.

Instant karma's gonna get you

Yea, and after the mighty struggle with the sofa bed, didst the good karma train come a-rollin' back in. I had a fabulous morning.

Got up early and rode my newly pimped bike to light rail, took light rail to the Capitol. Overcame a moment of confusion ("Holy shit, where is everybody! Oh, I'm approaching the South steps, not the West steps."). Hooked up with the Alive and Kicking group and got my shirt (they're super-cool this year). It seemed like kind of a small group this year. I don't know for sure what the numbers were, but there was a year (2000 maybe?) where we took up an entire section of the South steps and Jerry had to go WAY back to get us all in the picture. This time we filled two park benches with people standing behind them and a few people crouching in front. It's such a mixed emotion -- the reason less money is going to AIDS charities is because it's out of the public eye, and it's out of the public eye because fewer people are dying of it. Which is good. But there are new infections all the time and people don't see it, so they're giving less money. Which is bad. Anyway...

Soon, about 11 of my students showed up! Yay! I wasn't sure who was really coming and who was just considering it, but these are the best kids, and several of them were in the Notorious Mockula 5 on the Yosemite trip last year. Three of them actually did the 5K run, the rest of us just did the walk. I ended up walking with one of the kids the whole way, and had a really nice talk with her.

When it was over, they were debating whether to stay and hear the music, go to the mall, see a movie... I told them to be good, don't lie to their parents, and I was going home. I was hoping to catch Sweetie before he went to work. I caught light rail, but as we approached 16th street station (about 3 stations from where I got on) they announced that it was a train bound for the South area. I haven't ridden light rail much since they added the second line (the Blue Line), so I had forgotten that was an option. I got off, and considered what to do. I didn't have a watch and didn't see a train schedule, but decided there must have been a cosmic reason that I was off the train downtown with my bike on a lovely Sunday morning. I pinpointed it -- I was one block from my favorite coffee shop in town! I went to Naked Lounge, ordered a mocha, used the potty, and saw a guy in an "Iowa shucks" t-shirt which I will probably get for my mom. I hope she's not reading my blogs while she's in England, because it'd be a good surprise. The baristas always make the top of your coffee drinks look pretty, usually with little abstract swirls. I heard them talking today about one that was a "work of art." They called my name, and it was my mocha. Noah (head barista guy) said "check it out, she made a perfect apple." And it was!!! And for those of you who know me well, the apple is like my personal symbol!! Frickin' awesome.

I decided I would ride part-way home and if I was tired, I'd hop light rail when I got to 23rd street or something. But I wasn't tired. I think I was energized by my pink laser streamers. I rode all the way home, and it was great. It's a really pleasant day out -- sunny, but not hot. I feel relaxed, happy, energetic, young - and not young in the way I felt when I was actually young, but young like "Hey, I'm 30, relaxed, I can do anything I want, I have security, and that provides a little freedom." It's like being in your early 20s, but without all the anxiety. I'm really happy. Now I'm going to read one of my forums then read the whole paper in the hammock. Oh yeah, then all the grading. Then I think I'm making French toast for dinner. See? This is a great life.

Ho Le Phuc. Or, Molehills into Mountains.

So remember that thing about me Freecycling a sofa bed? Well, somebody wanted it, so Sweetie and I decided to move it out to the garage so it would be easier for them to pick up. So, we moved the couch and there you have it. NOT, times ten thousand!!!

First we both crouch down so we can lift with the legs, and at the same time that an Ikea couch would lift to waist level, this couch is still sitting on the floor, and we are giving one another confused looks which say something like "Holy shit! My end is heavy! Is your end heavy? Am I just a pussy? Please let it not just be me..."

We stand up and dust our hands off. We devise a plan. The plan involves putting magic slidy coaster things on the feet and just sliding it out the door. It involves moving the bed in there a little, but we get it slid over to the door with a minimum of problems. But we can't get it out the door. There's a leg or something of the bed part inside (which we believe to be made of cast iron or lead) that is hooked on the doorjamb and has already scratched it slightly. We manouever, jiggle, adjust, push, remove legs, lift, and eventually (with a little more scratching) get it into the hall. Now, the layout of our house is such that the bedrooms are opposite each other across a hallway with the bathroom on one side and a door to the living room on the other. We are trying to angle it out the living room door, but it won't go. We push it towards our bedroom, thinking that then we will be able to angle it into the bathroom, then out the other door. It scratches the living shit out of the bedroom doorjamb. We are frustrated.

We try to unfold the bed and get the mattress out, thinking it will make the couch lighter. It does, but we are then COMPLETELY unable to get it to fold back up. We now have a couch folded out into a bed in the middle of our bedroom, and though it is a fairly spacious room, there is not enough room for that. We have to climb to get to one another. We flip it onto its back to try and slide it out like that, with the bed part pushed halfway in, but apparently some of the cast-iron legs (or hinges, or something -- we really lost all perspective on this thing) were sticking out the back and badly scratched our hardwood floors.

At this point, I call the person who wanted the couch and leave a message with her husband. I'm paraphrasing, but it was something like "Hi, I just wanted to let you know that we were trying to move the sofa bed out so it would be easier for you to get, but it has damaged two of our doorjambs and badly scratched our floors, so we're going to go ahead and destroy it in a fit of pique."

Which Sweetie promptly got to work on with a hammer and much cursing. I won't elaborate, but it was kind of scary. Unfortunately, it's surprisingly hard to destroy a cast-iron sofa bed. Bits were welded, other bits were screwed in tightly (and stripped when we tried to unscrew them. Other bits were a size we didn't have a socket wrench of. And all the bits were pointy and sharp. We had to take a break at one point to staunch my bleeding: we figured the floor had sustained enough damage. Anyway, 30 minutes later or so, we had it broken into manageable chunks and dragged it to the garage.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I know it's probably not Wylda Fitch's fault -- she's old, and I believe it was her son/daughter-in-law MIKE and LISA FITCH, who failed to comply with the terms of the sale and failed to remove the couch, which we specifically asked them to do, and those are the people who suck and whom we hate. MIKE FITCH and LISA FITCH. Go ahead; Google yourself, bitches. You suck. You ruined our floor, hurt my toe, and fucked up our Saturday night. Not to mention all the other crapola you left around here. You're big crappy crapheads. I hope your new home, wherever it is, has radon. And mice with Hanta virus. And lead paint for your babies to chew.

I probably will feel better tomorrow, but I'm pretty cranky right about now.

I was a DUDE today!

But still a total girly-girl.

I worked on my bike, changing a tire and stuff... the stuff included putting on pink "laser" streamers and a license plate with my name on it. I also cleaned up the basket and tightened the bell.

I cleaned out the garage and jury-rigged the garage door opener... but not very well, because now you have to have the light on to open the garage door.

I mowed the lawn... with a push mower. I still can't start a gas engine.

I was going to barbecue... veggie burgers with bleu cheese.

Incidentally, I didn't barbecue because I can't find any matches in the whole place. I have no idea what happened to the contents of our "junk drawer" at the old place which had handy shit like matches in it.

Anyway, that was the day. Tomorrow I do the AIDS walk. I still have a bunch of papers to grade and laundry to fold. If I really get my shit together, I'll clean up all the papers on my desk, too. There are stacks of mail I haven't dealt with yet -- mostly stuff I simply have to file, not actually respond to, but it's accumulating faster than I have been able to deal with it.

Ah well. I Freecycled some stuff today and I got rid of our moving boxes and a wine rack thing, but still have no interest in the abandoned sofa bed or the "household items" that might just end up in the trash. The previous owners just left stuff everywhere. It's like "Hey, thanks for the two half-empty bottles of Woolite and the big chrome eagle flag holder. Yeah, I could really use your old mop, too!" Oh well. We're still getting there. My other goal for today (although I don't know whether it'll happen or not) is to get more of our art hung up.

I did ride my new flashy bike to the store for dinner stuff. Yay bike riding! Yay living close to decent stores! Yay having cleaned up the house! Yay for listening to the Beatles all day, even though it's only because Sweetie's at work, which is sad.

Sigh, gotta go do alternate cooking of the veggie burgers.

Oh, wait -- funny note from last night: We walked down the street to Three Sisters, a sort-of Mexican restaurant (more "California" than their other place, Tres Hermanas). We had a nice dinner there (and for a moment, suspected a scandal! I saw one of my old English professors walk in a few moments after the Dean of the English department! Were they having a secret, torrid affair? But then another English professor walked in and I figured it was a meeting. Or a menage a trois, I guess. Longest. Parenthetical. Ever.), then walked another block and parted ways. Sweetie needed something from Trader Joe's and I needed something from the drugstore across the street. Well, I noticed they had Halloween candy, and since this is the only time of year they sell Milky Way Midnights in "fun-size," I bought a bag. Sweetie, when we met again, induced me to look in his bag, because he had bought two kinds of ice cream: "Chocolate AND coffee, so you can mix them together and have mocha!" I then showed him my purchase, and he said "Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one with no self control."

Okay, now I'm really done. Bye!

The novel is dead, long live the novel!

First of all, before we begin, I'd like to report that I'm writing under the influence of screw-top Pinot Blanc with ice cubes in it. The screw top is a Bonny Doon winery thing. The ice cubes are unusual for me, but my kitchen's like 90 degrees, so the wine is, too.

Anyway, I'd just like to address all you Ethan Frome, Great Gatsby, Red Badge of Courage, Crucible-haters. Everyone who's ever said "Gawd, I hated having to read BLANK in high school." Guess what? You win. In English class in high school now, we read articles from the newspaper, editorials, black-and-white-photocopied text, and NON-fiction. The novel is out. The article is the new novel.

In fact, we're so anti-novel that if you talk to someone in on campus and ask whether they're using novels... they look around to make sure the principal, the English Department head, and any representatives of Homeland Security aren't lurking around the corner listening before they guiltily admit to having "snuck in" a novel.

Are novels necessary? Let's make it easier -- is fiction necessary? I know there's room for debate here, but I come down strictly on the pro side. First of all, probably the cleanest argument is this: We are supposed to be preparing our students for college, and in college, they are going to have to take English 1B (or whatever it's called now), which is a literature class. If they have never studied literature, they will be woefully unprepared.

Second, and this is where it starts to get fuzzy, literature is FUN. If students are going to stay motivated throughout this four years of hormones and algebra, we need to give them an opportunity to relax and enjoy.

Third, literature encourages good moral values. Hey, Christian right, whatever you might think, the great majority of the books we read in high school end up with some sort of family value. Even the dirty-mouthed Holden Caulfield wants to save children from the F-word and ultimately is defined by his relationships with his family. It's the death of his younger brother that undoes him.

Fourth, literature teaches empathy. Read the Joy Luck Club -- you might not know a damn thing about Chinese culture, but when you read this story and find yourself relating to it? Maybe you have a better understanding of how other people live.

Fifth, literature helps you understand what other people are talking about. Ever heard that something was a Catch-22? Someone's in the catbird seat? He's a real Romeo? Some politician is Machiavellian? Someone is quixotic or tilting at windmills? Sure, it's possible to know what these things mean, but they make a damn sight more sense if you understand the context.

Sixth, it encourages a love of reading. You read a newspaper article and you're done. You get caught up in a story? You're hooked!

Seventh, it makes you smarter. I'm sure I can find statistics that back up "reading= smart," but that's not exactly what I mean. I mean, you end up making connections that you would not otherwise. Is a person who has not read "1984" ever going to make a connection between this administration and double-speak and the thought police? Is a person who's never read "The Crucible" going to really understand when something is a "witch hunt"?

Eighth, reading novels makes you a better problem-solver. Say you've read three or four books where the narrator faces an ethical crisis. Do you have a better chance of solving a similar crisis than someone who hasn't and has no experience in this area?

Ninth, reading novels makes you more interesting. My teenage cousin keeps insisting that he would rather have money for his Christmas and birthday presents, but I keep giving him books. I teasingly tell him that someday he will meet a woman and she will bring up the novels of D. Manus Pinkwater (I'm still buying him young adult books), and he will say "Oh yes, Lizard Music is one of my favorite books! And they will laugh and reminisce... and I'm only sort of kidding. At the very least, he will have more to talk about than some kid who spent the best years of his life playing Grand Theft Auto.

Tenth, reading novels makes you part of a broader cultural experience. You can go and join the rest of the Crucible-haters in the bars, clubs, grocery stores, book clubs, day-cares, and construction sites of America. When someone says "Man, I hated The Scarlet Letter!", you can say "me too," rather than "the what now?"

We've already severely cut music and art. We rarely if ever offer dance, Latin, radio production, jazz band, swimming... Our students take history, gym, math, science, English, foreign language, and an elective (often a "support") class. Are we now going to strip that curriculum of even more art, of literature? It makes me want to cry. If I were a student now, a student in these programs of essays and articles and black and white photocopies -- well, I can't say what I'd do, but I think my chances of being a teacher now would be dramatically lessened. I think it's much more likely I'd have been a drop-out or woiuld still be working in customer service. The literature was what I loved, what inspired me, what moved me to continue. I don't know who I'm addressing, but whoever you are, don't take it away.