Loopy, Jaded, and Sleep-Deprived

So today at church the best thing happened. You see, it's been one busy week and next week looks almost as bad. And this guy got up to speak, and he maybe didn't really want to (?) and he said so! And he said that this talk could go any direction because he had gotten in this morining at 2am, and he felt loopy, jaded, and sleep-deprived. And his talk was really good, and it was so refreshing to hear someone just honestly say that things in their life are busy! and that was just splendid. Because we all feel loopy, jaded, and sleep-deprived more often than we admit, and maybe we just need to declare it a little more often.

Snow Again

It shouldn't snow on a Saturday. Plans have been made to head to Williamsburg to see House of Flying Daggers, and it snows. Snow should only come during the week, and only in large enough quantities to prompt snow days. It's probably not enough to prevent the trip, but people here are such stupid drivers when it snows. The last storm prompted over 150 accidents in the area. I would just as soon stay home and away from these idiots. So plans are in the balance until I see that it quits.

Classroom Exchange

One of my most energetic and inventive students came into class the other day blinking and squinting, and complaining that his eyes were dried out. I was very sympathetic, because especially when I am tired (the whole school year) I have the same problem. So I told him that I was sorry to hear that his eyes were dried out, and then added, "I hate that. Especially since when it gets bad I always wonder if my blinking is going to cause my cornea to tear off." I turned to close the door because the bell had just sounded. It took him just a second, and then from right behind me, the reaction: "EEWWW!! I didn't need that image!"

Poor kid. He's probably scarred for life.

Ice Cold Pepsi, Anyone?

Of course the best Oscar moment of all was the Pepsi commercial during the first commercial break of the night. The one with Spartacus. I called Dad, we called Amilynne, we laughed and laughed and laughed. Hopefully that gets played again and again.

Falling Snow and Little Gold Men

A storm has hit the East Coast, and happily it's cold enough that the stuff falling here is white and/or icy. Snow day! Unexpected, and quite probably the last one of the year. What a gift. I've got lots to do.

So last night was the march of the golden statues. And let me say that the 77th Annual Academy Awards were just plain terrible. They were so predictable, and yet since so few of the movies being celebrated had actually looked interesting enough to see, there was just an empty who cares feeling about the whole thing. Not to mention that Chris Rock was so annoying in his first introductory bit - a constant crescendo in bad taste and volume - that I had to put him on mute. My theory is that someone behind stage told him to quit screaming into the microphone after that, because his next bit was in a normal voice, which to Chris Rock must seem the quietest whisper.

The best acceptance speech of the night belonged to Jorge Drexler, who just sang his song from Motorcycle Diaries simply and beautifully and walked off. The garish performance by Santana and Antonio Banderas had also prompted muting action with my remote. It was so far from the tone and feel of the film. The magic of the story is the emergent change prompted by seeing real life in South America as a whole and being introduced to revolutionary ideas gradually throughout the process, not some sudden and loud epiphany brought on by a rock concert. Hooray for Drexler for standing up to the Academy when it wouldn't let him perform his own beautiful song.

And speaking of singing, when did Beyonce suddenly become the only woman in the world who can sing? Her voice is pretty, but how annoying was it that she sang every song?

Hooray that Morgan Freeman finally got an Oscar! Hooray that The Aviator, Hollywood's narcissistic love letter to itself, didn't get best picture! Scorsese may be a good director, but he needs to direct something we want to see. Although I do admit that I probably will see it at some point for the purpose of catching Cate Blanchett's portrayal of Katherine Hepburn.

Elizabeth and I were on Instant Messenger through the whole event. We both agree that we would like to wake up as Cate Blanchett. Or even Gwyneth Paltrow. But mostly Cate Blanchett. Watching the proceedings with Elizabeth was so fun! Three years ago I threw a fantastic Oscars Party in Texas and having Elizabeth a computer screen away was the most fun I've had watching the ceremonies since my party. If the Academy actually has movies nominated next year that I care about, I really should just take a day or two off and go to Texas to throw another party. Wouldn't that be fun.

At the 2002 party, I made foods to celebrate the best picture nominees. That year, there was some fun competition. Although the Fellowship of the Ring was, in hindsight, my lasting favorite, I was pulling for Moulin Rouge. A Beautiful Mind won it. Gosford Park and In the Bedroom were also nominated. I served chicken wings for In the Bedroom because it seemed kinda white trashy. The Fellowship got a braided stuffed bread ring, Beautiful Mind got caramel apple cider (apple for the teacher), but Moulin Rouge was the coup de grace: a red velvet cake smothered in chocolate ganache and decorated with chocolate dipped strawberries. I honestly don't remember what I did for Gosford Park. Cheese? There was always cheese. There was also a veggie tray in honor of Sting, who performed that night.

So here's the gaping difference between the ceremonies then and now. Then: I had seen and liked four of the five nominations! Now: I hadn't bothered seeing any of the nominations! I wouldn't mind seeing Finding Neverland, Ray or Million Dollar Baby, but that still didn't get me out to see them in anticipation of the big night. The academy needs to put itself in order. Where was I ♥ Huckabees in this whole mess? The show was brilliant! And why don't they make an Oscar for best ensemble cast? And why didn't someone just shoot Chris Rock when he started trashing Jude Law? Just Saturday Amilynne and I were commenting on some of the brilliant fine points of his performance in I ♥ Huckabees (although we both love Marky Mark Wahlberg even more). Thank you Sean Penn for setting the record straight.

Here is what the Academy is going to have to do if they want me to continue watching:

1. Fire Chris Rock. Who should take his place? Let's think. Who did a wonderful job of it for years and years? Johnny Carson. So why aren't we looking for someone like that who entertains us nightly and hosts these stars all the time anyway? Letterman? Conan? Even Carson Daly? (n.b., Leno did not make this short list). They won't do it? Then how about someone who is funny: Tina Fey! Even Ray Romano would have been an improvement over Chris Rock.
2. Nominate some good and daring movies like I ♥ Huckabees and Motorcycle Diaries. Part of this includes just giving Martin Scorsese the lifetime achievement award so we can quit feeling like we have to nominate him every time he makes a movie for the sole purpose of earning said nomination. Really. Do you know anyone who saw Gangs of New York?
3. Increase the practice of nominating outstanding foreign language talents for the acting awards. I was so shocked and pleased to see Catalina Sandino Moreno (Maria Full of Grace) nominated. This must continue.
4. Stop inviting Puffy to the party. Ugg. His blatant self-promotion is so ugly. (His wife's dress was beautiful, though!)

And there you have it, and there I'll stop, even though I could probably continue. The 77th Annual Academy Awards will hopefully fade from memory quickly, leaving behind just enough of a trace that we remember not to repeat it.

94 Minutes in Band

Today the secretary called to request that I substitute in band class the last period of the day. I agreed, and although I knew I didn't want to do it, I was even agreeable in agreeing. I've done this once before. It was very loud, but it went all right. So when lunch ended, off I went to the band room.

Some kid who graduated a couple of years before was there. He was quite self-important: he obviously thought of himself as being among the most glorious products our school's band program has ever produced. Probably out there someone would agree. So as the bell rang and I began calling the roomful of moving bodies to take a seat, he came over to me to request that, if I didn't have anything planned, he might have the band play a song that he liked. I said that would be fine, but that nothing would happen until the students got their bodies into seats and I took roll. The band teacher, as usual, had left whomever was unfortunate enough to be substituting no lesson plans and at first glance I hadn't seen a rollbook either, although that did surface later. (Let me add as an aside that in this room the substitute is pretty much a prisoner: the telephone is locked in the band director's locked office...)

Seeing my adamant insistence on taking roll, the visitor began urging the students to take a seat as well. Let me simply state that this took MUCH too long. A group of adolescents should be mature enough to see a chair and get their hind parts into it, but this group simply could not. When they were finally seated, I held up the sheet for roll and stated that no one was to get out of their seat until every person's name was on the roll. I then passed it to the front row. Two of the young men found sitting in their seats too difficult and wandered about a bit. Ten minutes in and I was already going crazy.

As the roll began its slow journey around the room, the visitor decided to take advantage of the relative order to introduce himself. "I'm So-and-So, I used to be the drum major, I play this instrument and that instrument and this instrument and that instrument but I don't play that instrument because, pardon me, I don't like it, and I want to play this song with you because it is my favorite..." and a rude little girl near the front chimed in with "I think someone is bragging. Do you hear someone bragging? I do believe that someone is bragging." I told her to be quiet, but mouths like hers don't stop. She was classic prima donna of band class. So cute and so sassy. So annoying.

When the roll came back to me, a name was missing, so I had to call out the names to figure out who couldn't put two atoms of their brain together long enough to sign a piece of paper. The culprit was identified (of course this was one of the two who couldn't stay in their seats during the rolltaking process) and the visitor decided that he could take over.

His first order of business was to request that the students who hadn't brought their instruments to class be permitted to go fetch them. I halted the mad rush, stating that no one would be leaving the room without a hall pass and that students would go one at a time. I then went about looking for a pad of hall passes. Most teachers have them stowed in an accessable place. Not this one. If she had any, they were locked in the office. This was the last period of the day, a time when students feel that wandering the halls is their right and priveledge. I was simply not going to send them out without a proper hall pass. So I said that no one would be leaving. They would have to play the song with the instruments of the students who came prepared for class.

And the clamor began.

And it became scales, in unision, then in harmonics, and it became a piece of music with some obvious parts missing but melodic nontheless. The problem was its brevity: the entire exercise lasted only 10 minutes or so, and that left this group with their instruments out and no direction. And a boy bolted out of the classroom. He must have broken into a run the minute he cleared the door, because by the time I got there, he was gone. I waited and stopped him on his way in. He had gone for the mouthpiece of his tuba. I told him that he was completely off, thinking that he could leave without permission. He tried to say "sorry" to get me off my back. The thing is, these kids don't understand the meaning of the word "sorry," beyond its obvious function as a way to get someone off one's back. Not this time. I told him I would be writing him up.

Unfortunately, the tuba was now in full assembly and ready to go. The tuba player and the visitor, who had brought his own baritone tuba, began to play as loudly as their lungs could blow to the beat of the big marchingband drum. I was in hell. Every nerve ending in my body was standing on end. The visitor turned into a corner to amplify the noise. At some point, I must have had an awful look on my face, because the tuba player asked me what was wrong--were they misbehaving? No, I said, I just was not used to noise at this level. And that's the truth. Nothing in my life is that loud, not even my neighbors, who I'm sure will subject me to all kinds of poundings and slammings and yellings and playings of bass beats on the stereo at full blast this weekend.

And the visitor got bored and left.

With half an hour to go, a girl came up claiming that she absolutely had to use the bathroom. I told her that her teacher had left her high and dry without a hall pass. She sulked off, but I kept my eye on her. She appeared to be dancing, so I wrote a pass for her on pink paper and told her to go straight there and back. She did.

Around this time a boy in a grey hoodie came in the door, buzzed past me holding up a hall pass, and went to talk to a group that was practicing drumline. I went right over and asked to see his pass. He showed it to me. It said his first name, the destination was marked "RR", and the teacher's signature was illegible. The lines for date and time were blanked. I asked the young visitor who had written the pass--he gave me the name of a teacher across the hall, a new young thing who feels it's very important to be cool with the kiddies. I informed him that this room was not the restroom and told him to leave. He began to protest and I had to take him by the arm to start his movement toward the door. This was an instant when the phone would have been handy--to get security to come and haul him away (ha! as if security answered calls for help!).

A little while later he was back, with what appeared to be the teacher's handwriting having scratched out "RR" and written "bandroom." Give me a break. A teacher cannot give a child a pass to hang out in another classroom! I sent him out again, just in time for a little girl to come buzzing in. At this point, only about 15-18 minutes remain of the period. As she marches in, I ask her who she is. She snaps at me something about being the TA and moved off. I told her to turn around and speak with me, which she really did not want to do. And all of the other children are screaming "She's the TA! She can do that!" and I ask her if she has a pass. No. Where has she been? Helping another teacher with the Black History Month program. Well would she please sign in so she can be counted present today? She does and she turns around to talk with some other students.

At this point, many of them are playing a song together, and when it ended, I pounced on the opportunity. "OK! Let's get everything packed up!" I couldn't handle another minute. The TA echoed me. "Come on. Pack up." Oh. Wow. Thanks for the support. I'm sort of standing by the door now. And she heads right past me to leave. I stop her. "Where are you going?" She needed to pick up a CD from the teacher she had been working with before. This teacher's room is right down the hall. I tell her she can get it on her way out of the building when school ends. She turned around and told me no, she was going to get it now, because she had something after school, and she was not going to do it later. I told her no, she doesn't get to take that tone with me, she gets to ask permission and in this case the answer is no, because even if I had a hall pass to issue, it's only ten minutes to the bell and school policy prohibits hall passes the first and last fifteen minutes of class. She turned to leave, and I warned her that if she walked out the door, I would write her up, and she waved her arm at me and walked out.

And a big group was banging on the piano and hitting things with drumsticks, and then they moved closer to the door, and finally the bell rang and we were free. As I was waiting outside the door for someone to come lock it, I saw the grey hoodie kid emerge from the classroom across the hall, and I had to wonder why the teacher in that class felt he had time to roam the halls, it being a core area class and all, and what with the administration pressuring us to integrate some of that into our classes because the core area teachers just don't have enough time to cover all of the standards.

I went to my classroom and wrote the two referrals. Then I went to the office hoping to catch a principal. I caught all three. I first expressed my unbelief and dismay that the children play all of those instruments at full blast in such a tiny room, and then offered my two referrals, stating that the children acted attrociously, that I did not let them into the halls because half of them had not brought their instruments, and that I had not called the parents of the two children whom I had referred, implying that I wanted one of the principals to take this hell over from that point. One did. I then turned around to see my department head, who usually gets saddled to watch the band, but who had been with another class that period. She told me that the band teacher's husband had just gotten back from the middle east, but that she knew he would be coming a month ago, and why didn't she get a substitute? I laughed and said that no substitute would take them. And then I said very loudly that she needs to start leaving plans for her students to do something when she's not there, and that I was going home to put myself in an isolation tank so my nerves would quit twitching. And I didn't care who heard.

Update on the blinds

I hope the school board never finds out that since I received my new blinds I have stayed at school working until 8:00 pm twice. I would hate for them to know how easily I can be bought.

How to Make a Girl Happy

Ok, guys: Listen up. I am about to reveal to you the true secret for how to make a girl happy. And I'll tell you that the answer is not what you think.

To make a girl happy, alleviate pain. Perhaps I should explain? For me, the answer lies in home furnishings. Today I received new blinds in my classroom. They are big clunky industrial blinds--nothing gorgeous. Unlike the old blinds, they are clean, and they are not broken. So why am I so happy? One of the five 15-foot high windows in my classroom has not had blinds for a very long time. And my classroom faces south. This means that the afternoon light and heat flood into my classroom and stay there, trapped, causing mild discomfort at best and frequent raging migraine headaches at the worst. And today it ended. The window now has blinds. The number of headaches should subsequently decrease, and I should be happy!

So I'm not saying that pleasure-inducing things like chocolate don't help keep a girl happy, but to start the happy mood, one must seek out pain and destroy it.

Scatterbrain

Nothing seems to be where I think it is. My great-grandma had an explanation for such things: gremlins. I'm about to be a believer. It's almost like I'm living a double life: the first, in which I am certain that I am taking a number of actions, and the second, in which it becomes evident that I haven't. The scary thing will be when this progresses to a point where I am uncertain not only of my actions but also of what actions need to be taken! Is this the brink of a midlife crisis?

Bad Week at Home

This has been a terrible week. First Jena died, then my dad went into the hospital. Fortunately, from what he's telling me, he'll be back home today (he went in on Tuesday), and he's feeling better. Some kind of an infection in his foot was making it impossible to walk. Yesterday he took a couple of short walks in the hospital, though, and he sounded cheerier (maybe less drugged is a better way of explaining it). I really wish I could be home.

Jena

My friend Jena died this morning. My dad called to tell me this afternoon. I am so sad for her parents. And I can't believe that she is gone. Jena has always been there, just a house away from home. Her family already lived there when we moved onto the street. I wasn't even three yet. So I don't remember much before Jena and I were friends. Our birthdays were 12 days apart, and we always celebrated those together. We went to school together and we played together for days on end, then "hung out" together once we outgrew playing, watching TV and videos, listening to Motley Crue and Guns N' Roses, and experimenting with makeup. I borrowed her clothes when we would go out dancing. The summer after we graduated from high school, we got old enough to sit on her porch in the summer drinking Diet Cherry Cokes and listening to Garth Brooks. She permed my hair when she was in cosmetology school, and teased me that I looked too much like a co-ed when I wore sweats at home for the entire Christmas break. And for years and years we talked. I would get in trouble in high school for talking on the phone with her for too long. Later, she was the nearby listening ear for long hours when my parents were getting divorced. And even though we ended up running in different crowds and taking different paths in life, we always visited when I went home. And even though I'll still visit her parents, I really will miss visiting her.

A Night with the Green Pen

I correct my students' work in green. When they correct their own work, they use red, but I use green so as to make the page look less like it's bleeding. I suppose that on some alien planet there is a teacher who uses red ink because her blood runs green. But at any rate, tonight I've been up correcting papers. A big stack of them. And I'm only half through it, and today at school I'm sure to get another stack. But I'm going to quit for tonight and get a couple hours of sleep before going back.

I love this time of year because many of the students tend to be at their best. It's splendid to look at the papers and see how much they have learned, and to see the new ways they're using the language creatively. My third and fourth years do a journal every week. They are so fun to read, especially when the topic allows them to really be creative. I also love this time of year because most of the first years are finally settling down a bit. There is a break through point where the language seems a little less foreign--it usually begins to hit some of the students after about a semester, although for some of them, it hits the next year. For one student, this is the fourth year of working with the language and it's finally opening up. I get this mental image of their heads just opening up and light streaming in and out.

I love teaching!

Glory, Glory!

My luck has held--longer than I had dared to hope.

Tomorrow we have yet another day of weather-related school closings. I do love a stolen day. Nothing gives me more pleasure than having a planned and structured day abolished with nothing to take its place. Now, of course, since I am also a world-class procrastinator, there is plenty of work to do here at home to get ready to go back to school on Wednesday, but I'm terribly happy nontheless, and I'm probably even more excited for a snow day than the kids are, in spite of the fact that some might frown on that. Frown away. I'm sleeping in tomorrow.

Goodbye, Johnny

I know that this blog is resembling paparazzi celebwatch recently, but Johnny Carson's passing has invoked some memories that beg to be written about. When I was growing up, Johnny Carson was an institution at my house. My dad is a night owl who loves a good joke (two traits he passed on to me), so as I hit high school, it wasn't uncommon to be called into the living room to watch the monologue or to see who Johnny had on the show. Dad would be laying on his stomach on the floor, with his chin on his fists while his elbows dug into a couple of pillows to prop him up, and with his knees bent so that his feet (always in dark socks) were up in the air. And he would chuckle at the jokes and explain who unfamiliar guests were and it was always a good chance to laugh together, especially since we tended to ruffle each other's feathers a good bit back then. So we would watch together for a while, then maybe I would head back downstairs to finish my homework, or if it was summer maybe I'd stay up and watch longer, but at any rate humor from Carson was a unifying force. And the guys on late night now are good, but no one can touch Johnny Carson. It's too bad to see someone like that slip from the world, even if he had been out of the public eye for a while.

Winter bulbs

It has happened! My amaryllis plant is beginning to bloom. It's amazing how you can watch the thing grow for a month, then one day, it looks like it might bloom, and the next, there is a fantastic flower in full glory. The bulb I planted boasts petals that varigate from white centers to reddish pink tips and it's gorgeous. Today is a day when I could really use a digital camera to show it to everyone. I took pictures with my film camera instead, and in about six months when I finish this roll, I may remember to post pictures. I really don't hate film. In fact, for some reason I feel that negatives are one of the miracles of the modern world. It's just that there will always be days like today when my postmodern insistance on immediacy is forced to take a back seat to a system that really works perfectly well. So for today, my flowers will be a joy for me alone.

On a related yet completely different tangent, I wonder why so many bulb flowers come from the Netherlands? One would think that bulb flowers would be more widely dispersed. Or were the Dutch somehow the only ones to culture them to the forms we so admire? Somethng to look into on a day when I'm not writing semester exams. But thank heavens in the mean time. It doesn't feel so wintery in here with such an springish beauty sharing my house.

note: Since posting this, I have learned that calla lillies are from Africa, and amaryllis comes from South America. Phew. Just because my bulbs were cultivated in Holland... but this makes much more sense!

Does she need glasses?

Sure, she's pretty, but has anyone else noticed how much Melania likes to squint (glare) at the camera? EVERY PICTURE. She looks pouty and unhappy. I wonder if she'll start smiling now that she's actually married to the money--or if it will just get worse as she waits for The Donald to drop dead...

Words from The Edge

Last night I had a dream that involved attending a U2 concert in an ampitheater. So in my dream, The Edge catches up with me. He is under the mistaken impression that I was stalking Adam Clayton. In reality, if I were a celebrity stalker, Adam Clayton is the last of the band that I would stalk. In my dream, I wisely kept from The Edge the fact that he would actually be the first on my list. So I didn't scare him off, and he started talking, and spouting words of wisdom that I wanted to keep, so I wrote them down on the dirt on the hill inside the ampitheater, while some kind of hunt and capture war went on in the background. Just as I was finishing, security chased the last few of us out of the ampitheater, but once back at wherever home was (some kind of tunnel world), I realized that I had to have those words, so I set off to break into the ampitheater, riding a high wave and dodging police helicopters as I went. Of course, security caught me as I got there, and I was just beginning to make progress in persuading them to let me go look for the words when the dream ended. It feels a bit like the Hitchhiker's Guide--somewhere in my cerebral landscape, the answer is written in the dirt, but I don't know that I'll pass that way again.

Madness

Last night one of my students came upon a mugging. Thankfully, there was a group of people between him and the girls who were getting mugged (by two guys at gunpoint/knifepoint). He had stayed late at school for a basketball game. He left here at 10:00 and didn't get home until after midnight. He says that the muggers had demanded the girls' purses, one handed it over, the other said no, and the mugger with the pistol put it right up against her forehead, so she handed it over. One of the girls was also deprived of her expensive shoes. I know that this student is almost an adult, but I still am so outraged that someone would cause so much fear anywhere near him. He is a great guy with a big heart and he deserves a much better world than this one.

Back in the Saddle Again

Today my third years were correcting dialogues they had written over Christmas break, and I was poking my nose in and helping out here and there--I was pointing something out on a dialogue, when my spunkiest student protested, "To err is human!"
"But to speak Italian is divine." My response was immediate. It took them just a second to realize how quickly and perfectly the comeback had arrived.

I rock.

Christmas Break, Day 16

If I could reach out with my mind and snap one thing in half, it would be the car horn of the person who comes to my apartment complex and honks and honks for someone to come out. I don't know who the honker or the honkee (not to be confused with honky) are, but I hate that horn. It comes at normal times, like now, a Sunday evening, but it also comes on holidays (like Christmas) and at times that should be peaceful, like early Saturday morning. It's an every-other-day occurrence at least, and the horn does not stop until the person comes out. A simple solution for this would be cell phones. The honker politely calls the honkee on the phone as he/she is approaching, and the honkee answers and says "I'll be right down" or "I'll be down in five minutes" or whatever, and if the honkee takes too long to come out, the honker can make a slightly irritated call to the honkee, but the peace is kept for the rest of the apartment complex, which would have no idea of what is going on, and could go on sleeping in on a Saturday morning.

School is back in session tomorrow and I still have lesson plans for the week to write. I hope I don't have to write any tests this week. I would just like a normal week of teaching to ease back into things. I've been reviewing in my mind what I thought I would accomplish over Christmas break and comparing it to the reality of what I've done:

1. Goal: Make chocolates. Result: Not done. Centers are ready for dipping, but we'll see when that happens.

2. Goal: Make caramels. Result: One batch, thought I would do more, but haven't. Still need to cut and wrap the one batch.

3. Goal: Clean house. Result: Sort of done. Christmas isn't put away yet, but I figure I can use Epiphany as an excuse--if I take stuff down by next weekend, I can just say I was celebrating that.

4. Goal: Lots of R&R. Result: Sort of done. I spent way too much time chasing around and shopping. Must shop less in the new year. This will involve learning to plan and make a list so I can make fewer trips to the store.

5. Goal: Go see The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and Ocean's Twelve. Result: complete.

6. Goal: Finish preparing for the PRAXIS test and make an appointment to take it. Result: not even touched. Must go ahead with the appointment making this week in spite of feeling unprepared for math section.

So here is what I did instead of finishing all of these goals:

1. Chasing around shopping. See above.

2. Rearranging bedroom to make room for exercise bike.

3. Lots of talking on the phone. I hope Amilynne's bill isn't sky high this month.

4. Other things as explained in other blog entries.

Well, I must make some lesson plans or pay the consequence tomorrow.

Christmas Break, Days 14 & 15

So with this I reach across two years...

I regret to say that I spent my last moments of 2004 at a dance. It was horrible and boring, and I even spent some time hiding in the bathroom just because being outside of the bathroom was such a boring prospect. I am swearing off church dances forever. They play stupid music, trying to play a bit of everything thereby screwing up any prospect of playing any danceable music, and I really don't remember the last time I met a new person at a dance because people come in with a crowd and stay with that crowd until they leave. The night would have been salvageable had I been invisible. I admit that the people watching at such a place is fascinating. There was one group I could have watched all night--beautiful people, the women in beautiful dresses and insanely capable in spike-heeled shoes, salsa dancing and having so much fun. (Yes, the dj had enough sense to play a salsa music segment, which was fun and very danceable.) Unfortunately people tend to notice if someone they know is sitting and watching the dancing for too long, and they come over with pity, slightly annoyed, to try to pull the watcher back onto the dance floor. So I hid in the bathroom to ease their discomfort and mine.

Let it not be feared that the trip was a total loss. The reason I actually went was to hang out with the girls in the car on the way there and the way back. Had a blast on the way there. Less so on the way back--I think people were pissed at me for being bored at the dance and didn't have much to say to me. Which is nutty because I went there knowing the dance itself would suck, I just wanted the journey. So I fell asleep for the first half of the trip back, then woke up and tried to trace my way back into the conversation. Who knows.

So anyway it's the new year. I spent the day in bed with a book, Eragon, quite engrossing and had I been wise I would have just stayed in bed with the book last night too.

A vile little nudging is worming its way back into my consciousness: I have to go back to school Monday. There is much yet to do to prepare, as I have done nothing toward that end in the past two weeks. Tomorrow will be a busy day.

Christmas Break, Days 11, 12, & 13

Tuesday I went to see The Life Acquatic With Steve Zissou. Amilynne summs it up best by saying it's like Bottlerocket: Little Boys playing at being grown-ups with jobs, and floundering about a lot, but really just playing. It was a lot of fun--especially all of the David Bowie songs in Portughese (Major Tom being the best-placed of them all). Afterward I got my new exercise bike. Which prompted a re-arranging of everything in my room to make a spot for it. Moving bookcases is slow work, especially because I took the time to rearrange the books into basic categories.

Wednesday I picked Thomas up at the airport and got him to help me put the bike together. I was going to do it myself until I opened the instruction manual and the first instruction was "While another person holds it up..." Hmph. So I enlisted help and got it put together.

Around this time Amilynne and I started having conversations something like this.

Me: I got a bike.

Amilynnne: It's not a bike, it has no wheels.

Me: It does have two pedals that cycle around.

Amilynne: It is not a bike. Quit calling it a bike. You are a liar.

Me: I'm not a liar. (Then, to piss her off...) I think I'll go make some s'mores.

Amilynne: S'mores?

Me: Yeah, but I think I'll use Fudgeshop cookies instead. (This brilliant idea is rightly attributed to Daryl, who made s'mores this way while camping, and I must say that it's better this way than with nasty grainy Hershey's chocolate.)

Amilynne: That's not s'mores. S'mores have chocolate bars and graham crackers. You're a liar.

Me: No, I'm toasting a marshmallow, and eating it with chocolate. It's s'mores.

(S'mores is a word that is not in the dictionary. Amilynne and I have both looked, I in my Webster's and she in her almighty Oxford American. Will someone tell me, please, why this word has been overlooked?)

Amilynne: You're a liar.

Me: Well, you claim you sell coffee, but it's really just milk. (Amilynne works for a certain Seattle-based coffee empire.)

Amilynne: Yeah, it's just milk. With a little coffee.

Me: Expensive milk with a little coffee. Yet it's supposedly coffee. You're a liar and a price gauger.

Amilynne: You're a liar.

Me: You're a liar.

And it disintigrates from there. I can't think of anything that can keep Amilynne busy for longer than an argument about semantics. There's something else she claims I lie about, but I can't think what it is at the moment, I'm sure it will come to me eventually.

Tonight I mixed Nutella with fondant to make some candy centers. At the outset of this break, I was sure that I would make chocolates, yet here it is, day 13, and none made yet. Blah. But I must say that the Nutella centers are glorious.

Christmas Break, Day 10

I sat down with 8 1/2 again to finish it. The movie is so bewildering until it finally starts to pull itself together and Fellini's genius is staring you in the face. Then as I was doing some dishes, I put it on again with the commentary track and learned a whole lot, like I already knew that Fellini would choose his actors for their looks, then have them say their lines in their own language, and dub in their voices later in Italian, but this commentary track pointed out that the studios at Cinecittà were built before sound movies and were therefore not soundproof, and so this voice dubbing thing was actually quite pragmatic. It is also why even the Italian actors' voices don't really seem to be coming from them all of the time, why, for example, Mastroiani's voice often seems so much larger than it should be, even though they matched the words to his lips pretty well. Anyway the film is delicious and worth watching so many times. And listening to the commentary, I realized that I had understood and followed along watching it just in Italian without subtitles just fine, even though it was confusing enough that I worried that I had missed something at the beginning. I know that in all reality, I really do understand Italian, but I look at watching a movie without subtitles as a proof and a test, and that always makes me a little nervous, like failure is immenent, and like I will suddenly lose it and be pulled back to the world of speaking only English.

I went to lunch with Katie--we just met at the food court of a mall, because niether of us would decide what we felt like eating--then we walked around the mall and shopped and chatted for a while. We went into this store that specializes in really garish things for pre-teen and teenage girls--rugs and pillows and handbags and the such, all with lots of fucsia feathers and sequins. They had a cool pillow, though, a Tootsie Pop, with a stick--I imagined myself bopping my students on their heads with it to keep them in line, the fantasy soon ended when I realized that their reactions in this situation would amount to pure chaos, and that eventually they would steal the pillow from me and bop each other, and possibly with the stick, not the pillow end. That wouldn't have ended well.

After that, I went to a karaoke party. Actually, when I got there, they were watching Napoleon Dynamite, which makes me laugh a lot, especially since Dad's from Preston, and it shows the spirit of the town well even if the film portrays everything stuck a little too much in the 80's. I have to say that the movie loses a lot on the small screen, because part of what makes it great is Napoleon's dance at the end, and a big part of that is him being blown up larger than life on a movie screen. At any rate, the party moved forward to karaoke, which proved quickly that there were really only two people at the party who could sing, (I was definitely among the non-singers) but we all had fun anyway.

Christmas Break, Day 9

Yikes! Christmas Break is half over!

Tonight I tried to watch 8 1/2, but the phone kept ringing and I kept falling asleep. Maybe tomorrow. The problem was in trying to watch some dumb French film first (a movie with Amelie in it before she made Amelie)--so I started off bored. I'll try again tomorrow.

Christmas Break, Days 6, 7, & 8

Shopping Cooking Shopping Cooking Shopping Shopping Shopping Cooking Cooking Cooking Cooking Cooking Cooking

Merry Christmas!

Shopping: Last year, Thomas gave me one of those shiatsu massage chairs. Fantastic. So fantastic that earlier this month I broke it. And I have missed it terribly. So terribly that I went shopping, only this time I got a massage mat that I can lay down on and that has heat. I ♥ it. ♥ it, ♥ it, ♥ it. Deeelightful.

I've also spent a lot of time making candy--fondant for fondant centers of chocolates, and a batch of carmels. I have yet to dip any chocolates, but I would hate to be without a project, wouldn't I?

For Christmas Dinner, I went to Jane's. She was my department head my first year here, and her best friend was my principal the first two years. They always have Christmas and Thanksgiving together, and they are kind enough to invite me along when I don't go home for a holiday. When I called to see what I could bring, Jane said an appetizer, so I made a spinach and ricotta cheesecake with smoked salmon and capers on the top. I must admit that it turned out well. Unfortunately, though, there was a lot left over, so I'll be eating it for a while. The dinner was fantastic, delicious beef tenderloin with a bleu cheese sauce, everyone there was so nice, I had a wonderful time. Although I don't think I'll be invited to play spades again, as I tend to bid a little wildly, and Jane's mother is a card shark.

I also spent a lot of time on the phone with my family and with Elizabeth. I think Dad liked the glasses I got him, a lovely red, and Alan was very funny giving me the play-by-play as he opened them. Amilynne called me early before she went to work and we opened presents over the phone. She got me a cool persian rug mousepad, it's beautiful, but she got the one that replicates the rug Freud draped over his couch, so now that my mouse rests on it, it tells me a lot about its mother. David sent me 8 1/2, a Fellini film that I like a lot.

I also talked to mom, she got engaged.

Tonight when I got home from dinner, my carbon monoxide alarm was going off, and I couldn't get it to stop. You can silence it for like two minutes, but then it goes off again. I feel bad for my neighbors, because I'm sure they could hear it (I can hear theirs), and I don't know how long it had been going off, since I was gone for about 6 hours. I had to call the emergency maintenance number and get them to come--I had a pilot light on my stove that wouldn't stay lit, so he cleaned that up re-taped a hose, and replaced my alarm. I was sad to call the on-call guy at 10pm on Christmas, but I didn't want to die in my sleep, either.

So that's the big day. Now a week to recover, and then back to the grind.

Christmas Break, Day 5

Well, I didn't manage to complete ANYTHING on my plate today. I got up early to take Thomas to the airport, and on the way home stopped off at the grocery store (I think it was so early that I was their first customer of the day) to buy some unsalted peanuts for making peanut clusters. I came home and did nothing--talked on the phone, but nothing--I wanted a nap but I wasn't quite tired enough. What a grumpy, cranky mood.

In the afternoon I used a free movie pass (free is good!) to go see Ocean's 12. Which was more of a fun character sketch than serious burglary planning like in Ocean's 11, but I found it delightful, and laughed out loud a lot. Sometimes it's splendid to go to a movie alone. It's like the effect of watching is amplified 10 times because all of those little moments when you would elbow or grab onto or mumble something in a friend's ear has to remain inside, so the emotional effect builds up to the point of bursting. Not that movies with friends are bad--especially after the movie when you're out to dinner and rehashing it--the point is that a lot of people don't like going to movies alone and I do relish it. One other plus side: if the movie's a weeper, and I'm not with anyone I know, the embarrassment factor goes way down, becuase I admit that I'm a weepy one, and it is SO embarrassing to cry in front of people I know, especially when you've cried in the last 3 movies you've been to, and especially if they aren't crying, especially if they're guys, or most especially if it's my dad, who laughs at me when I cry at movies.

I ended up the night on the winning side of a Cranium game (my favorite game) at a party. A splendid way to end the evening.

Christmas Break, Day 4

Finally I got a chance to watch the Return of the King extended edition! Hooray! Great show! Long show! Great, long show! I have to admit--I do love it, and I loved the extra goodies, but I was quite ready for it to end. Four hours is just a long show. Or maybe it's just a long time when I'm sitting on my couch (not the most comfortable piece of furniture in the world).

I also finished decorating for Christmas. The living room is clean, the nativities are out, it's beautiful and joyous and festive.

Christmas Break, Day 3

I worked hard today! I finished packaging packages, and did Christmas cards, and took the whole lot down to the post office. Living far from home is not cheap around the holidays. The post office lady kept looking at me like I was a loon for sending so much stuff, and I just said "It's the holidays, and this is the price you pay when you don't go home." C'est la vie. It wasn't even really the whole bunch--I'm waiting on one updated address and I'm still waiting on one thing that I ordered for Amilynne. These items might get shipped in August.

I did some surfing on epitonic and found a great new band called Bedroom Heroes, which I liked so much that I ordered their disc.

I also began the monumental task of cleaning my house. Ick.

I collapsed before 7:00, and slept until about 10-ish, then spent a couple of hours on the phone with Elizabeth and Amilynne, and made some fondant. The bad thing about having made good cooked fondant in the past is that I now expect good cooked fondant every time. It is very labor intensive, but the creaminess of the final product can't be matched by uncooked methods--no matter what, they turn out grainy. So there may be fewer chocolates, but they will be of a higher quality. I figure I'll need to make at least four more batches, plus carmels. It's busy, and all of the mixing and kneading is labor intensive, but it is relaxing to do something besides reading a textbook or correcting tests (although there is some of that to do on a later date as well).

Amilynne is reveling in the family-sized jar of Nutella she bought. She's eating it with vanilla wafers. I must say the combination sounds delightful.

Christmas Break, Day 2

Today I did very little. I got up and popped in Rushmore and worked on the dishes and a bit of gift wrapping. Then I went to church. It was the Christmas program, the choir really sounded good, but I was cramming the last half of Ether because I had a feeling that I would be teaching Sunday School. You see, we alternate weeks, and I was talking to a friend and found out that a couple of weeks ago the guy who teaches opposite me was asking for volunteers to teach while he was gone for Christmas, but I just kind of felt like I should be ready to fill in. So I was cramming during the Christmas program.

Sure enough, Sunday School came and no one was ready to teach. I got up after a while--everyone was just visiting--and said "Is anyone teaching?" and no one said that they were, so I said I would wing it, and I did. The good thing is that I focused on chapter 12 (faith) and ignored chapter 15 (complete destruction), and there wasn't a ton of time, so I got through it without being reduced to tears.

I came home and wrapped more presents and talked on the phone. Filomena called me and it was so nice to talk with her! She is fantastic and patient with me when I speak Italian. I also talked with Alan and Dad, and Amilynne. Amilynne is busy reading The Best American Non-Required Reading of 2004. She called me in sheer delight, reading something to me about parent-child relations that was, in fact, delightful, but of which I forget the details at the moment. I also called Sara to confirm that there is no "h" in her name. There's not.

Tonight we had a Thunder/Snow storm. Thunder and lightning with snowfall, fantastically wierd. I think it's time to make a nice cup of tea and pop in a movie (maybe Mary Poppins?) while I finish wrapping gifts. I also need to get the annual Christmas letter written. Ho Ho Ho.

Christmas Break, Day 1

I spent the day wrapping presents and getting them ready for the mail. I know that wrapping presents shouldn't take the whole day, but each one must be considered in the light of which of the 500 wrapping papers I purchased for this year should go on each. I know that having a wrapping paper room is kind of a joke, but I need one.

Wrapping presents also took all day because I did it while watching movies: Mulan, Shakespeare in Love, and Maverick. All three are such good flicks, and worth multiple viewings, such as today, when I was in the middle of a package when the movie ended, I just hit play again. I watched some of the bonus material on Shakespeare in Love. For a long time, I proclaimed that that was my favorite movie. I really don't know what my favorite movie is, but that one is up there. Maverick is great too. First off--just the scenery is splendid. It makes me miss the Southwest a lot, since it was filmed around Kanab, Utah, and that's just a hop from Jacob Lake, where I spent two summers while I was in college. All of the red cliffs--it's really a beautiful part of the world. Second, the writing is just splendid and fun, and the great script is only matched by the fantastic cast. And don't we all want to be Jodie Foster in that fantastic blue dress?

Amilynne and I also spent some time on the phone. A lot of time on the phone. I am completely worried because the recent AT&T Wireless and Cingular merger almost certainly spells sudden death for my phone plan. Maybe it's time to start shopping around again.

Well, there are more presents to wrap, but tomorrow is another day.

New Chair

Tonight as I work at the computer, I am doing so in lush comfort, because yesterday I broke down and bought a new office chair for my house. When I had been out of college for about a year, I bought an 8' table and a dinky $25 office chair for my computer from Office Depot. The table is still here, although there are items besides its legs underneath helping to prop it up, but the chair had to go. It had been on its last leg since about two years ago--its early demise being prompted by my becoming a teacher and suddenly doing a LOT of work at home. The seat became unattached, so it would flop around, and I even fell out of it a couple of times, and all of the hours on a broken chair were doing a number on my back.

I did have standards for the new chair, though: I wanted adjustable arm rests that would go up and down, and I wanted an adjustable back. I've been seriously looking for the right chair for over a year--and yesterday I saw it, brought it home, and put it together immediately. And I am now blogging in the most heavenly comfort--compared to the other one, this is like sitting on a cloud.

So here's to another late night working...

Cheers.

The best things in life are chocolate.

I don't think I need to say anything more.

MoTab for Christmas

Amilynne called me the other night and practically the first thing out of her mouth was "ARE YOU LISTENING TO MoTAB?" MoTab, for anyone new to the abbreviation, is the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. A fine institution celebrating 75 years of Music and the Spoken Word this year. Actually, get me on the wrong day, and I can't stand it. In general, choral music is not my favorite, and I usually like something grandiose and symphonic (which the MoTab sometimes is, but isn't always) and more instrumental, or just some rock-n-roll. However, this all magically changes at Christmas time, because it is the time of year for choirs of angels, or of people, whichever you have handy. Ergo MoTab for Christmas.

So to Amilynne's query of "ARE YOU LISTENING TO MoTAB?" I instantly responded "Yes, it's Christmas. There is little better than MoTab for Christmas, except maybe Barbara Streisand, heaven bless her for doing it in spite of being Jewish." And to my surprise Amilynne came right back with "Yes, there is very little better than MoTab for Christmas." I admit I was a tiny bit shocked, but I soon recovered because I realized that she did grow up in the same house as I did and therefore she had been subject to the same range of Christmas recordings as I had been. MoTab would make sense for her too, thanks to our dad.

(Not thanks to our dad, we were also subjected to Manheim Steamroller's Christmas. We can entertain ourselves for a very long time immitating Manheim Steamroller's version of Deck the Halls. I do not suggest listening to it, or one may find onesself immitating it for hours on end, and I would propose that one's time could be put to better use doing just about anything else.)

At any rate, Amilynne commented on how the Christmas music at her work drives her nuts, until every once in a while MoTab comes on, and then she is happy.

I have listened to too much MoTab, though, because yesterday instead of working on all of my classwork and work work I got into the Christmas spirit and decorated my trees. (Yes, trees plural--but don't mistake it for anything fantastic. It's a group of three trees ranging from 18" to 3' high). In spite of their diminuitive size, the task took a few hours, as I decorated each individually and differently than its fellows. The best little detail is a nutcracker of a Venetian gondolier hanging from the largest tree. Also there's a bear that hangs from the lowest tree down to the ground, so he has his own forest to walk through. Very sweet. Makes me happy.

So at any rate I find myself coming out of this weekend even farther behind than I was before going into it, and yet there are lit trees, MoTab carols, and a jug of eggnog waiting for me when I get home. Sometimes putting onesself in the position of having to face stress and consequences is almost justifiable.

November 31

The calendar that's above my work area says that today is November 31. I probably won't find out otherwise until I turn the page tomorrow and find that it's December 2.

Fantastic Little Chicadees II

I have raised my kids right. Today one of my fourth years brought a panettone in for the class. She was like "Is this the stuff you brought for us last year?" and "It is from Italy, so is it right?" Turns out that she was thinking of pandoro, but that's all right. Later this afternoon I located and found pandoro to bring before Christmas break (my own tradition). But I thought, how fantastic that she saw something Italian cultural, recognized it, and brought it in! I was impressed.

A bit too much ink still smudging the top, but not too shabby for my first attempt at printmaking!

Fantastic Little Chicadees

I had the best time yesterday with two of my little chicadees at the Virginia Museum of Art's Teen Renaissance Symposium. And my two little chicadees were so good. We left the school around 9am and they threw everything they had in the back of my car and I looked at their empty hands and said "I notice that there are no notebooks in your hands." So I pulled out some new notebooks for them, admonishing them to use them for this symposium and for other fantastic lectures that they will have the opportunity to attend in college--lectures that maybe have nothing to do with what they are studying, but that will be interesting and that will broaden their minds anyway. I also asked them to think of questions they have and to write them down. We all piled into the car and soon arrived at the museum.

The first session of the day was on Michelangelo and the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. It was based on findings by a Dr. Meshburger reported in the Journal of the American Medical Association Oct 10, 1990 that the red cape around God and the cherubs in the Creation of Adam resembles the cross-section of a brain. We then listened to some Renaissance music and danced a Renaissance dance. After lunch, there was a fantastic lecture on Fibonacci's number and the Mona Lisa, a lecture on feminism in Shakespeare, and a commentary on the work of Durer (a special exhibit of his engravings is currently at the museum). We also made intaglio prints (my first attempt, which I will post). Dinner and a lecture on Leonardo's view of the body and soul. I had a blast. The kids had a blast. The kids were renaissance dancing in the parking lot. It was a fantastic day.

Amilynne and Vincent

I just got off the phone with Amilynne and she had the best news: this weekend, she saw her first Van Gogh. There was a special exhibit that came to her museum with lots of cool artists, but of course the Van Gogh was really what mattered. She said that she stood in front of it for 10 minutes and cried. I did the same the first time I saw a Van Gogh--the resident one at the Kimball Museum in Fort Worth. When Ami was telling me about it I was the biggest geek but I cried too. Standing in front of a Van Gogh just evokes such strong emotions.

It's one of those things that you really just have to DO. Van Gogh has to be seen in person, becasue he is all about the paint. And no matter what, a flat reproduction can't get the fantastic effect of the paint across.

I have to admit, though, that it was quite fun this last summer before Amilynne had seen a Van Gogh to tell her about the fantastic Van Gogh exhibit that came through here. A couple of years ago I got us a pair of matching Van Gogh books, and all of the paintings from this exhibit were in there, so over the phone I was all "...Now if you'll turn to p. 128, I saw that one too..."--she was green with envy. Her eyes even turned green. Permanently.

Next we just need to take a trip to New York to see the Starry Night.... We might need 15 minutes of weep time in front of that one.

Who am I kidding? The must is that my sister and I just plain must museum hop until we're dead. It's all so much better in real life.

Electric Coconut

Today I was administering a test in another teacher's classroom. This classroom belongs to an English teacher, and the walls were plastered with definitions of literary terms and parts of speech. As I looked around, I really had to wonder why parts of speech are so foreign to my students. The information is there for them.

The first thing that hit me, though, as I walked into the room was an overpowering coconut/vanilla smell. Woah! The teacher had a plug-in air freshener in the wall. By the time I left 90 minutes later, I was heady with coconut. I wondered how the students, still in the room testing, were faring.

It's unfortunate, though, that as strong as that coconut scent was, once I left the room I left the smell. If I had been in a room of cigarette smoke, I would have stunk like cigarettes all day. I do wonder why it is so hard to make a pleasant smell stay.

Catapults

Last night the Simpsons had a catapult in their intro: the couch in front of the TV was attached to a catapult and they ended up catapulted over a mountain range. I laughed. I do love a good catapult. It all started with seeing Monty Python and the Holy Grail in 10th grade English. I laughed so hard that I fell out of my chair when that cow came flying over the castle wall. Then again, a couple of years later, I was watching Saturday Night Live and they had one of their fake commercials for the Yard-A-Pult, a personal size catapult that gets rid of nasty things like baby diapers, hot coals, and dead pets by flinging them over the fence. Once again: laughed so hard that I rolled off the couch.

The real mystique is being able to throw things really really far using only physics. No gunpowder, no explosions, just gravity and torque, and CRASH! (or BOOM! or SPLAT!, depending on what you're throwing...) Total destruction.

When I was in Torino, I went to the medieval park they have down by the Po, and inside there was the coolest weapons shop, and they had a working mini-catapult. WOW. I wished so much that I had space in my luggage for that. It was beautiful, made of polished wood and all. And it would be so fun for flinging things around the house.

They also had guillotines in two sizes. But that's a topic for another day.

Life ReDesign

Sometimes I waste time thinking about what I would have designed into my life if I had started out with a bit of foresight. Nothing major--I'm not talking about warping into some weird life that doesn't resemble mine, because I have a good life and I'm quite happy with it. All the same, sometimes I find that I'm confronting a task and that my skill set doesn't quite measure up, and I think about when I could have possibly gotten the training I would need to attack said tasks head on. The skill set most often popping up as deficient is my skill with computers.

Now I'm not a complete idiot. I am a beast on Word and I'm darned good with Excel, and I make the meanest PowerPoint presentation you've ever seen. I love to play around on Illustrator and Photoshop, and I've even created (rudimentary) classroom materials with them. It's all kind of fun, because I don't know computers very well and so I can believe that computers inhabit a world with order where the right formula can get you what you want every time. It is this idealism that sinks my soul when I come up against a task that I want to figure out for myself but that just doesn't make sense, especially if it's something frivolous that I really could do myself but I just think it would be fun to make a bit fancier.

Or like blogging for instance. I would love to know enough to widen the column of writing on this page just a bit more. Why? No reason besides the fact that I think it would look better. Or I would love to be able to put together a cool web page, but I honestly don't have the skill, especially because I would want it to look good, not amateurish.

So should I ever come up with the ability to go back in time knowing what I know now, I wonder if I wouldn't make another choice--say web design--instead of what I do now. Or somehow in addition to what I do now.

It just would be kind of cool to understand better this cute little box I sit in front of every chance I get.

Breathing Again

How splendid is it to be able to breathe in again without accidentally inhaling too much political rhetoric! Sure, not all my guys won on Tuesday, but after watching the presidential race whittle down since last winter, WHO CARES! It's just nice to be able to see something different on the news (or to ignore the news altogether without feeling guilty about it).

On the downside, the people who live above me have been SO loud lately. They were shouting so loudly about 40 minutes ago that Amilynne could hear them over the phone. Now they're pounding around and stomping or dropping things on the floor or something. I usually try not to pound on the ceiling until nighttime, because during the day things are just more loud than they should be at night, but this is rediculous, and far beyond the noise of normal life. This has got to be the worst thing about living in an apartment.

The first nine weeks ends this week! Yippee! We're 25% through! And Thanksgiving's in 2 1/2 weeks! Yahoo!

Maria Full of Grace

Monday night we excursioned out to Williamsburg for a flick: Maria Full of Grace. All about a Colombian girl who decides to take a job smuggling drugs into the US by swallowing them. You would think that this would be tragic, and at times it is, but happily the movie didn't end in an absolute tragedy (although there is tragedy along the way) and that's good.

The movie also provides a glance into life as an illegal immigrant. It presents a very organized community that understands its environment and how to get by in it. What an issue illegal immigration is! I am worried that so many states are taking measures to withhold services to illegal immigrants. Of course I would prefer that all immigrants were legal, but I don't think that withholding services will effectively stem the tide of people leaving everything for a bite of the American hamburger. It will only create a wider diaspora between those that have and those who don't. How many people pushing for these reforms employ illegal immigrants to perform menial tasks an American wouldn't do?

How to fix all of this? I don't know. Giving opportunities for the poor of these countries to learn a trade may be the first step. Being willing to give legal status to the people who do our grunt work may also be a part of it. Keeping needed services from illegal immigrants is not the way to do this: it will only contribute to poverty, crime and disease in our society.

Mix Tapes

Yesterday I got the BEST thing in the mail. Amilynne sent me a mix tape. This was in response to an urgent SOS because the mix tape that she gave me when we saw each other in August has begun to self-destruct in my car tape deck. It's all I've listened to in my car since I got it, and it's starting to go. So last night I called Ami and said "Hey! I got your tape!" and she said "Pop it in!" and I said "No, I think I'll save it for the car--I'm going to watch I'm Not Scared tonight and then go to bed." "Oh." I could hear that she was a little disappointed that I hadn't popped it right in. But here's the deal: it's for the car, and it's not like I won't be SOSing in 2 months saying "Help! This tape is starting to warp! Make me another!"

But I couldn't wait. I popped it in when we got off the phone. It's magical. Where else can you listen to Brian Jonestown Massacre one minute and Bert and Ernie the next, and not much later you hear the Smiths? She even has Counting Crows on there, and I don't remember her liking Counting Crows.

I fell asleep in the middle of I'm Not Scared.

There is something about a mix tape. I've made lots of them; I've gotten lots of them. You're always in the mood for one. And somehow they end up getting shared around. Mix tapes are for being in love, for declaring independence from being in love, for letting friends know you miss them even though you live far away, for cool things you do with friends like roadtrips or climbing water towers. And sometimes exchanging them with your sister is just a hats-off nod to the enormity of her disc collection--so good you want it all; so big you know that in all of the Christmasses at Dad's you'll never get it all burned. I've got one mix tape from a friend I used to work with. She's a Beatles fan, so there's some of that, but nuttiest of all is an old recording of "When It's Springtime in the Rockies." I was singing it one day--she was like "Woah! My grandpa used to sing that to me when I was going to sleep!" and I was like "My great-grandma wrote the words."

I caught an interview on some talk show with Quentin Tarantino. When asked what he does to show a girl he's interested, he says he makes a mix tape. Woah. That would have to be the #1 reason to get up close & personal with Quentin Tarantino. He's got to have the bossest music collection around. That would be one heck of a mix tape.

All About Eve

No. All about Amilynne.

Amilynne is in class right now. She feels sad that I haven't posted many updates about her. She's right. I should definitely talk about her more.

We just spent a few minutes on the phone. Ami has seen I ♥ Huckabees. She reports that there is a Kafka moment and that it is the funniest movie in a long time. I must say that a Kafka moment is enough to get me into the theater, although I must also say that a Kafka moment is the reason why Amilynne and I should see this movie and our brothers should not. I do still need to see it myself. Something about fall and school, I tend to miss a lot of the shows I would really love to see.

Amilynne got to go see Senator Kerry do his campaign song-and-dance on Friday. She came away all signed up to help with the election. What a good little trooper Amilynne is! I've been looking at the Senator's website. His stance on education makes me hopping mad. He says that teachers aren't treated like professionals because they aren't paid enough and because they don't have enough responsibility. What? Not enough responsibility? Is that why I have to sleep for a week solid after school lets out for the summer? Because tonight I'm going to go see I ♥ Huckabees instead of writing the test I'm giving to my first years? Dad told me that Teresa Heinz Kerry said that Laura Bush had never had a real job. Hmmm. I'm pretty sure she was a teacher once upon a time. The Kerrys can take their opinions about teachers and shove it.

Sorry. I got off track. I'm writing about Amilynne.

Amilynne made me another mix tape. The one she gave me in August has not left my car stereo and is about worn out. I gave her some constructive criticism for this one: no Missy Elliott. Apparently she took the constructive criticism and I am looking forward to a real boss tape.

The Suicide of Ajax by Exekias, c. 540 BC. 

It's All About the Greeks

I picked up a copy of the complete plays of Sophocles. I haven't read Greek drama since my freshman year in college, when I had a fantastic Intro to Classical Lit class from Dr. Timothy (I think that was his name) Winters. He was so good that when he picked up and moved to some college back east the next year, there was a real temptation to switch to classical studies, pick up, and follow. We read the Orestia of Aeschylus. I remember really liking it, and I just dug open my treasure chest of files of notes from my undergrad work and found that the person I would have liked most to play was Clytemnestra. (Side note: there is nothing happier than my treasure chest of files of notes from my undergrad work. Everyone should get the chance to major in Humanities at least once--completely impractical, but what a richness, having the charge to study the best work and greatest achievements of humanity. It makes my soul soar just to think about it.)

At any rate, it's Sophocles I've got now, and not knowing which play would be best, I started with the one at the front: Ajax. Now. I do love the tale of Ajax. There is a fantastic Greek black figure vase by Exekias where Ajax is planting his sword in the ground to fall on it. I'll have to try to post an image. So back to Sophocles. Let me just say that for "saying it like it is" in a very straightforward yet naked with feeling way, it's all about the Greeks. And it's because of the whole strophe-antistrophe chorus thing: they have the ability, within just a few lines of dialogue, to lay bare a hidden agenda or emotion or to state the epiphany of the whole play. How do we know how deeply Ajax's wife dreads his death? She says how much, but rather than saying it to herself and sounding like an introspective fool, she talks it out with that most perceptive chorus. (Could the Greek chorus be the predecessor to modern psychology?) It doesn't just work with the wife; it works with the brother as well: Imagine! A manly way to express one's deepest griefs, fears, thoughts, and feelings!

It is no wonder that terms as singular as drama and pathos come from the Greek. The theater is their ballgame, and they describe it best.

Black Elk Speaks

Today I finished reading Black Elk Speaks, a narrative by Black Elk, a Lakota medicine man who tells about Custer's Last Stand and the Wounded Knee Massacre. A link to read it online can be found by clicking on the title of this posting.

The book is fascinating because of its details about what it means to be a visionary in Native American cultures, and because of its descriptions of everyday and special happenings at the end of the ninteenth century as native peoples experienced the injustices and changes related to the settling of the West. Black Elk talks about so many battles, and I found it amazing that he lived through all of them.

It was good and thought-provoking reading. And I so enjoyed having it online so I could just look up a chapter while I ate my lunch.

But I never wanted to see the underside of a semi

A lovely day today (yesterday now, I guess). Thomas and I headed for the hills for some autumn foliage viewing. On the way west, we stopped for gas and found gelato! The skinny's on the other blog (linked by clicking on the title of this entry). We then headed for the Blue Ridge Parkway and drove south. We dodged random showers and some clouds, but found mostly sun and a lot of breezes causing showers of leaves to fall on us on our way. We did a bit of walking at a couple of spots. We found one overlook, Big Spy Mountain, which was better viewed from the hill that the trail didn't lead to. Then we found Crabtree Falls and hiked up partway, but darkness was starting to fall and I wasn't sure I remembered how to get back to the main highway and we decided to make sure we got out while it was still light.

Then we hit the traffic. BLAH! As soon as we hit Hwy 81, we were at a standstill. It took us two hours to cover the 8 miles to the next exit. Needless to say, we hadn't planned for that slowdown. At fault was a wreck almost to the next exit: what we saw was a tow truck attached to a semi on its side with its wheels facing us. Scary! Well, best guess was that at some point it was across most of the road, because traffic was so stopped for so long. After we'd been in the traffic jam for more than an hour, a police car came by on the shoulder. Another one followed half an hour later, along with a big-blinking-arrow-sign truck. It was so nice to finally pass it all and be moving forward. By the time we were arriving home, we had started to run out of music to listen to, and I had brought the music, so you know how long that takes.

Red Skies at Morn...

... teachers be warned. I drove to work today with a most beautiful sunrise all around me. The skies were pink and orange and the trees in silhouette were still leafy and as I was crossing the bridge I thought how glad I was not to be a sailor.

Can I please be a sailor? No rainstorm, thunderstorm, or squall can compare with a roomful of 25 tenth graders taking the PSAT.

Gentile reader, you may wonder what tenth graders are doing taking the PSAT. Isn't that an eleventh grade thing? Well, I asked, and apparently all of the tenth graders are taking it this year too. What a waste of money.

You see, they haven't grasped the idea that standardized tests have a schedule and that they must be silent while they take them. There was also a guy who wanted to go to the bathroom as soon as I restarted things after the bathroom break. Too bad. If this had been an SAT session, I would have ejected about ten of them.

I wonder how much of a pay raise teachers could have had if they weren't wasting money having the tenth graders take the PSAT.

Too yummy for a title

I just had the great joy and privilege of introducing ten teenagers (my 3rd year class) to the bliss that is Nutella. Y-U-M-M-Y, or, put simply in Italian, che buono! Every job should have moments as fulfilling as this. It seriously reminds me of the day before I came home from Italy when Roberta Z. made me eat Nutella crepes. I had sworn not to eat the stuff because of its devastating effect on waistlines. The crepes were good. I didn't make crepes for my students--we had Bistro Cornbread crackers, which are super yummy with Nutella. But to make up for it, they got lemon Loacker too. They had to earn it by using various forms of the partitive to ask for it. (Repeat: Vorrei un cracker con della Nutella. Vorrei qualche biscotto. Vorrei un po' di tutto.)

Which reminds me that a while back I was watching a Will and Grace rerun and Grace was smacking on some lemon Loacker. Hee Hee!! It wasn't a product placement at all--you had to recognize that bright yellow bag in her hand. And recognize it I did.

Well, I was pretty good and only had half a cracker with the Nutella stuck on the knife scraped onto it. Then I had my lunch of a sandwich, an apple, and some edamame. Now it's back to work. We'll see how long the Nutella stays locked in the closet.

www.nutella.it

3-Way Calling, Ad Infinitum

Tonight all of my family was on the phone together! First it was Dad and Ami and me, then David called and Dad called him back. We needed Alan! I tried to explain to Ami how to go get him. Dad and David kept talking over me... Ami eventually hung up on us trying to get Alan, so I took the opportunity while I was getting her back to explain the process to her without male intervention. ;) It worked, and we were all on the phone together. It was like Christmas.

The best part is that now that we've done it, there is no excuse not to do it again. I love talking with my family! We laugh and joke and have such a good time. I would say that the only thing better is actually getting together, but this does have some advantages: 1. No one is sneaking off to their room to read a book or to the family room to watch TV; 2. No poking (except mental poking); 3. It sure costs a lot less! Hooray for good phone plans!

Little Miracles

This afternoon as I was doing some correcting after school, I had my door propped open and two of my former art history students stopped by to say hi. The first one had a locker outside my door last year so I used to see her all the time. (She was my student two years ago.) In fact, earlier today while I was standing in the hall between class changes I was thinking that I hadn't seen her for a while. She's the nicest girl and it was great to talk to her. A little bit later, another girl stopped by with a friend. I asked her how she's doing and she said that sometimes she misses art history class. That about floored me. I mean, I worked really hard on those classes, and I think that some students got to a point where they were thinking about art and were able to recognize basic formalist characteristics in it, but I didn't think anyone would ever tell me that they miss the class sometimes. That was so fulfilling because above all I want for my classroom to be a safe place where everyone has the respect and nurturing they need to have the confidence to learn. And I think that both of these students were responding to that more than they actually responded to the subject of art history. It was such a nice end to the school day.

Mirah

Ok, please follow this link and download the song "Cold Cold Water." I was listening to Launch tonight while lesson planning and this singer came on with an Italian song that I teach my students (it's a fun WWII song that the Communist party has picked up as its unofficial anthem...)

Anyway so I went online searching for the song, and I found this page, and this song rocks. The other one is good, too, but "Cold Cold Water" is where it's at. Let me know what you think.

http://www.epitonic.com/artists/mirah.html