Emmy Rant

All right, I know I have done lots of little posts tonight, but here is one more. The Emmys are on, and I just have a couple of things to say:

1. If Lost doesn't win, I will never watch another awards show. Ok, maybe I still will, but Lost had just better win.

2. I hate Kenneth Branagh. He is the world's worst actor. He was nominated for playing FDR. Does anyone really believe he played FDR, or did he just play Kenneth Branagh playing FDR? I wouldn't know, I wouldn't watch him, but I could venture a guess. Ugg. I don't know why anyone would nominate him for anything. He makes my spine shudder and my gag reflexes jump. And now as I'm typing, the show he was in won for best made for TV movie. Uck. Uck. Everything else about it had better have been fantastic, because Branagh is NOT.

Three More Caterpillars.

THREE MORE CATERPILLARS. I can't believe how many the mint attracted. To be honest, I'm glad they're in the mint and not in something else. Actually, now they have joined their friends in the canal. At any rate, I will have to check the plants again tomorrow. I hope I have adequately eradicated them.

On a sad note, Amilynne went with a friend tonight to a free production of Richard III. The whole thing was kind of scary because it was free--would it be good? Richard III is one of the best plays--Amilynne and I have both seen it (different seasons) at the Utah Shakespeare Festival, and it is the play we agree was the best. Anyway, I got a call a few minutes ago and the free production tonight was so bad that 3/4 of the audience (including Amilynne and friend) left at intermission. How disappointing.

I would love to make a trip for the Utah Shakespeare Festival! What a fantastic event. And in such a beautiful area. I think I'll daydream about southern Utah for a while now.

Amilynne Weighs In

Amilynne called today to say that her favorite tracks on Odditorium are "Holding Me Up" and "Easy." Must be a good album if everyone has a different favorite.

In other news, gigantic fuzzy wuzzy caterpillars have found my garden. I found one yesterday on the underside of a laurel leaf--it was so fuzzy that at first I thought I had found a super fuzzy mold of some kind. Anyway, I snipped off the leaf and walked down to the canal behind my house and threw it down there. (The canal is dry for the most part.) Today I just came in from throwing four more down there--one from the sage and three from the peppermint. Vicious little creatures, but I hate killing them honestly because they are orange striped fuzzy like the tail of a big orange cat, so I throw them down in the canal, which I will probably regret because they are sure to find the plants growing there and next year I'll have a zillion fuzzy caterpillars in the garden. It's so interesting to watch them walk along the stalks of the leaves I'm carrying them on, though--their feet are like little paddles and they just wrap all around the stem to find the next juicy bit of herb to gnaw on. What a nuisance.

Postscript

The kids weren't very happy taking the insomnia quizzes I wrote. Apparently I am more wicked mean in the middle of the night than I am during the day. I say a little pain is good for them.

Another Night of Insomnia

It's approaching 1 a.m., and although I recognize that this is not late for a lot of people, it spells doom for me on a Tuesday night. I'm not even halfway through the school week yet, but here I am, unable to sleep. Someday I'll spend the summer keeping teacher hours so I don't have to train myself to sleep early once the school year arrives (NOT!). This is seriously one of the worst aspects of my job--I am a night owl, so I need a job where I can arrive at 11 or noon and leave around 8 p.m. Teaching high school is not that job.

And so here I am, nightowling it. Writing lesson plans and quizzes and worksheets. Wow I'm creative at night!

On the plus side, I am also listening to the new disc from The Dandy Warhols, Odditorium or Warlords of Mars. Such a mellow, smooth groove for the most part. This is one band I don't mind hearing just jam for a while. The album was released today, but it is also available for streaming at http://www.warlordsofmars.com/. I super dig tracks 4, 8, and 11. I talked to Amilynne tonight, and she confirmed that the release made today a very good day. There is one spot, though, that completely freaked me out. Here it is so late at night, and at one point there is a voice just talking--and it sounds very outside of the song, so when it happened I completely jumped because it was like someone was in the house. Yikes! One good thing is that the horns are back in at least one song. It's such a good sound--I'm not usually one for horns, but here they totally work. (They also work in Johnny Cash's verson of Ring of Fire, of course.)

Well, there is more work to do and more music to which to groove. Which is good, but insomnia sucks all the same, if for no other reason than that I will be paying for this tomorrow. Ugg.

I LOVE Maps

Maps are really very cool. I have spent hours looking at them and dreaming of being anywhere but where I am! Map toys, therefore, are also way cool. Like the Google map application that the title of this post links to. It answers the question, "If I were to dig a hole through the middle of the earth, where would I end up?" I'll just say that you'd have to be in Chile to hit the middle of China, and that if you're going to dig from the continental U.S., you'd better take some swimming lessons first.

Books

I finished two more this week:

Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister (Gregory Maguire)--fun fun fun, with a twist in the narration at the end. It's Cinderella (of course) set in 16th century Haarlem. Central to the story is the change in painting that occurred there at this time, and a Medici queen is thrown in at the end. That is important, of course, because I was a Medici in my last life.

Cat's Cradle (Kurt Vonnegut)--If there is one author to whom I really need to pay more attention, it is Vonnegut. Cat's Cradle was a trip! Scientifically founded, with fantastic brain exercises that make absurdity seem perfectly sane. Loved it, loved it, loved it. Need more.

School and a Refugee

I don't know what happened but I just have to say how happy I am with my first year class that is currently assembled. We learned new words today and they all took notes. Without being terribly prodded. I asked for volunteers to do a short dialogue in front of the class and students volunteered. It was fantastic. I asked them what we had learned today and they all knew. I put them into groups to throw little balls around and count and no one tried to attack someone else with a ball. This is great! I am a happy teacher. Not to mention the wonderful students who are doing the advanced classes with me. It's fun to be back.

In other news, Thomas picked his teenage brother up at the bus station yesterday. He's here to attend school for a while. I think it will be fun to have him here--he's a great kid. At the very least, his arrival probably signals the start of some excitement around here. It's so sad, though, to think of how many families are having to send their kids away because of the hurricane. And some would call them the lucky ones because it means that the family still has some reason to stay in the region and that they have a place where they can send their kids.

So a toast to a new year. Cin cin.

Hurricane Thoughts

In the French Quarter, Labor Day Weekend 2001.

I took the picture four years ago when I went with friends to New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast on the Best Roadtrip Ever. We were hooked up with great accommodations, enjoyed the city, went out to the beach, and just had a fabulous time.

Things have definitely changed there this week. It's been a bit anxious, as we've been waiting for news from Thomas's family about the state of things in Mississippi. They evacuated north before the storm, and he just got word today that his parents' and his brothers' houses are still standing. His parents and one brother had water up to the 2nd floor in their houses, but their whole family is alive, and that's the main thing to be thankful for, since people in their area did lose their lives. Apparently the whole area is littered with seaweed and jellyfish too. What an image that brings to mind.

It seems so trivial to even mention that I am sad to see so much destruction in the area. I'm sure my mind isn't really wrapped around the losses at all. All I can do is just hope for a miracle for those who are down there.

Thought on the end of summer:

AAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!

Catching Up: Summer Books & Stuff

Of course, even though I've been on vacation, I've had my nose stuck in a book for a good part of it. Here's what I've found:

Mirror Mirror, by Gregory Maguire, the author of Wicked. I enjoyed this very very much (last summer I enjoyed Wicked very very much--I think I wouldn't mind seeing the musical). At any rate, Mirror Mirror is absolutely fantastic because we meet a somewhat fictionalized Lucrezia Borgia, and because Italian Borgia politics are mixed in throughout. Also because Maguire is on top of his game creating a fantastic origin for the dwarves (all 8 of them). A fun, light read.

The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason. Once again, Renaissance Italy comes into play--this time as an object of study. The book is a tight little mystery, almost suspenseful, with some good plot twists. Once again, a fun, light read--one that really left me wanting to go to Italy.

Nine Horses and Sailing Alone Around the Room, poetry by Billy Collins. I don't know that there is another poet like Billy Collins. He makes my soul fly and crash land in the same line. I smile and laugh and gasp, and my eyes grow big as saucers, and I read a poem over again (and even again) before moving on to the next one. I want to shout his poetry from the tops of mountains. Wow wow wow wow wow.

Dreams of My Russian Summers, by Andrei Makine, translated by Geoffrey Strachan. This book, set mostly in the Soviet Union, contains an intriguing look at the power of language and the effects of multilingualism. The protagonist's summers spent with his French grandmother on the Siberian tundra contrast starkly with his school years in a Russian city. It's a coming-of-age tale (and I admit to loving those), pitting realism and idealism against each other (of course)--I won't say outright which -ism wins, (but it is a Russian author writing a French novel).

Speaking of Russian writers, I admit I've been trying to get through Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov since spring. What a foul book. He should have just called it Perverted Pedophile and left it at that. Amilynne says I must read it before reading Reading Lolita in Tehran, but yuck! I don't know why they would want to read that book anywhere, much less in Tehran.

I must also comment on one disc: Absolution by Muse. Let me just say that if High Mass and Rock were wed, it would be this album. Fantastic.

100 Best Foods

While in Texas, my friends and I came up with a list of the 100 best foods, plus overflow. Since then, I have edited the list in order to bring to you the top 100. My apologies to any friend whose favorite food I have stricken from the list--please feel free to comment and put it back.

The foods are listed in no particular order.

homemade ravioli (spinach/pork/ricotta or pumpkin), fresh fresh fresh juicy small fruits (berries, cherries, plums, mandarin oranges) (especially the first strawberry of spring with cream), finest darkest chocolate, chocolate chip cookies, Don Pablo's chocolate volcano cake, big fat bacon cheeseburgers, saag paneer, pad thai, the basil noodle dish at Bangkok City, medium rare steak, garlic mashed potatoes, grilled pork chops, grilled corn on the cob, corn from the cornman in Oak Cliff, spinach, 4-cheese risotto, polenta with cinghiale (wild boar) sauce, meatloaf sandwiches, hot dogs at the ballpark, hot fudge sundaes, pesto on fresh noodles, butterkase cheese, parmigiano reggiano, vento d'estate cheese, shrimp scampi, crab legs w/drawn butter, hot fresh crusty bread, steamed broccoli, siopao filled with bbq pork, baklava, Alabama sausage, gelato (lemon and yogurt or chocolate/hazlenut), nutella, gooey brownies, Blue Bell homemade vanilla bean ice cream, rainbow sherbet, big honkin' humungous black olives, funnel cake, popcorn at the movies with extra butter, homemade grape or strawberry jam, tuna/tomato/fresh mozzarella drizzled with olive oil, chicken or lamb cooked with fresh rosemary, nachos, chopped brisket or pulled pork BBQ, homemade carmels, lemon truffles, lasagna, orange chicken, brown stew, dreamsicles/fudgesicles, grilled asparagus, gnocchi with red pepper sauce, grits/cream of wheat/germade, tortillas at Tia's Tex Mex w/butter or queso, chocolate cake at Macaroni Grill, sushi, Junior Mint cheesecake, chili relleno, homemade tamales, eggplant, pfo, homemade macaroni & cheese, beignets (especially at Cafe du Monde), Navajo tacos, glogg (the "o" should have a slash through it, but I couldn't find the code to make it), Norwegian waffles with jam and gjetost cheese, jarlsberg cheese, limonata, fajitas, focaccia di Recco, homemade chili, homemade clam chowder, homemade fudge, Indian curry, dutch oven potatoes, BLT, horchata, churrascaria, tom gai, buffalo wings, hot chocolate, cornbread, reuben sandwich, swiss cheese, pizza, crawfish, dirty rice, Philly cheesesteak, havarti with dill, gourmandise with walnut paste, grand bull sandwich, carne asada, waffles that Dad makes when I come home, shrimp po' boy sandwiches, banana splits, hummus and pita, flan, homemade lemon merengue pie that has been sitting in the fridge for a day or so until the lemon juice seeps out of the pudding and into the crust, mango sticky rice, white or yellow cake with icing, apples in caramel, and Italian sodas.

Eat your heart out.

All in One Day

Things you get to read about in this posting:

Waking Up in the Mountains

Coming Home to Amilynne

Peterson Johnson, Silversmith Extraordinaire

Doober the Dirtbike Architect

Part I: Waking Up in the Mountains

Today I woke up and walked out on the most wonderful view: Mount Moran in the Teton Range. Wow. We camped there for four days and we really could have stayed twice that long before even wishing the tiniest bit to come home. I'm becoming Dad: more pictures of the Tetons in my photo album than I have of family and friends. They are just so beautiful, the way they change in every light and from every point of view. Grand Teton National Park is really my favorite place on Earth.

I must add quickly that Dad almost got into big trouble yesterday. We took the boat across Jenny Lake and I hiked up to Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point, but before I left, Dad said "Be careful. There is one place where you will think you have arrived at Inspiration Point, but it's fake. You have to keep going until you see that the trail turns into Cascade Canyon." So up I hiked, and it was all pretty and everything, and I got to the place where I was sure that it was Inspiration Point, but I was curious about the canyon so I decided to hike in just a little. WOW. Cascade Canyon is so lush and wonderful, just a high mountain paradise. I went for a while, but knowing that Dad was waiting for me below, I reluctantly turned around. When I got back down to Dad, I told him that he was in trouble, because he hiked up there with the Kiddo and not with me. How could he take anyone but me up there? I'm the one who should see it! At any rate, I know where I am headed next summer. Let me also say that I would really love to take a glacier-fed lake home with me. After a long day on my feet teaching, I figure that wading in a glacier-fed lake would feel just as nice as it did after my walk up the canyon. I wonder how much it would take to ship that across the country.

Also, quickly I must add that the other night, Dad and I went to Bar J for dinner. It's a rollicking good time with great steaks and cowboy singing. We didn't get back to the campsite until after midnight. and what did we find at the campsite when we returned? Another car in our parking space. Squatters. We quickly found a flashlight, then Dad went down to the campsite, but saw no sign that they were there, so he came back up to the parking, and there were people asleep in the car. He knocked on the window with the flashlight, policeman style. "What are you doing in our campsite?" "This is your campsite?" "Yes. Get out of here now." My dad is so cool. Anyway, the guy finds his way back into the driver's seat and they went away. Too bad it was a rental car (Enterprise sticker on the back) but if I'll tell you my eyes were peeled for a blue minivan with Colorado plates for the rest of the trip. But I digress.

Part II: Coming Home to Amilynne

The reason leaving the Tetons was all right: Amilynne was waiting back at home. Hooray! The best weeks of the year are the ones spent with Amilynne and Dad. Dad called ahead and told her (jokingly) to make lunch, so she greeted us at the door with an assortment of sandwiches: ham, turkey, and PB&J--with strawberries. Amilynne has been busily cleaning out the parts of the house where we have tended to leave things behind in "storage," and she found what had to have been the very best toy ever. For just a couple of years, Fisher Price made the Woodsies, a family of little squirrels (which we now just call "woodsies") that squeak. The company's stupidest move was discontinuing them. Anyway, not knowing that Amilynne had been so busy excavating the basement, I picked up a squeaking squirrel for her in the Tetons. It is Godzilla-sized compared to the classic Woodsies, but they're all so cute together anyway.

Part III: Peterson Johnson, Silversmith Extraordinaire

After cleaning up from camping, Dad, Amilynne, and I took off for the Sho-Ban festival. Amilynne and I took money for jewelrey. Dad took money to feed us Indian tacos after we spent all of our money. So much jewelrey, and so pretty, but we were really looking for something that just stands out and there was a silversmith there who came to this festival for the first time this year. His name is Peterson Johnson, and his work, though still traditional, has a lightness to it that so many others just don't have. His signature style is flowers and leaves, and Amilynne and I just died. Completely. There was no way to choose what to get because it was all so beautiful across the board. There was not any "well, I like these things but those things aren't done well." No. All of it blew us away. We applauded Mr. Johnson and gushed over the pieces in an embarrassing manner. Amilynne chose a ring with an amber stone, and I got a pendant with turquoise. We floated away. The most incredible piece, really, but so far out of our league, was a squash blossom necklace. Amilynne and I have both always said that we would someday like to get squash blossom necklaces, but Mr. Johnson's squash blossom necklaces are so much more beautiful than any others we have seen. Simply breathtaking. Words cannot describe. Please see a sample of his work here.

Part IV: Doober the Dirtbike Architect

We got back in town after dark. Driving along downtown, we came to a right-hand turn, and on the corner was this guy sitting on a bike. I waited for him to see if he was going to cross the street, but he gave no indication of desiring to do so until I started forward. Then he lurched into the street. "What a Doober!" exclaimed Amilynne, and Doober he was. He had several tubes of something in his arms, and the bike he was riding would have fit a 10-year old kid. So rather than pedal, he tottered to and fro pushing himself along with his feet, weaving back and forth in what seemed a drunken reel. Doober finally got out of my lane (and into oncoming traffic), and as we drove away, Amilynne and I began to wonder aloud what he had been doing with all those tubes. "It was like blueprints!" - "Doober the Architect!" - "Doober the Dirtbike Architect!!!" - and by the next light we were laughing so hard that it's a good thing the light was red so I could re-compose myself for driving. So rediculous. Amilynne has graciously drawn a picture that I will scan and add when my vacation is over. It's actually an extremely accurate depiction.

So that's life as it stands at the moment. What a big, wonderful day. I wonder if I wouldn't just die of wonder if every day were like this one. But that's enough posting for now, because Amilynne and I have mischief to make. Or something. Have we outgrown mischief? I hope not. Although Amilynne's suggestion of TPing the neighbor's house just doesn't seem like the right kind of trouble to make...

As promised, Amilynne's illustration. (posted Aug 28)

Miscellanea

So many things to write about:

The Breeze

I am sitting next to an open window, and the most wonderful breeze is coming in to make things cool. No humidity, no heat, just a wonderful, cool breeze coming in through the window. This is heaven.

Must Hate Must Love Dogs

Of course since I am home and there is a film with the word dog in the title, off we went to see it. What an inane, cliche-driven, poorly written, mind-numbing, had-to-get-up-in-the-middle-to-re-butter-the-popcorn movie. With a cheesy horrid soundtrack. After the Kiddo leaned over to gesture to me that maybe going out for a smoke would be a good idea, I leaned back and promised him the soundtrack for Christmas. Thank heavens for Diet Coke and 3 Musketeers so my mind could be removed from the screen for brief moments. I give that film zero stars. Of all the films I haven't seen, that was not the one to watch.

Camping

We are leaving in about 6 hours to go camping! What a nice time I plan to have, in a wonderful piney forest in my mountains. Don't make me ever leave, please.

Fantastic Things to Love About Texas

Since the time has come to leave Texas again, I thought I would pinpoint some of the things that keep me coming back:

• Most importantly, of course, my FANTASTIC, FABULOUS friends. No one could be blessed to know better people.
• Chopped brisket BBQ.
• The beauty of Texas hill country.
• Watching King of the Hill and knowing you're here in the thick of it.
• Restaraunts, restaraunts, restaraunts.
• Bangkok City.
• TexMex.
• Grocery stores with fun imported cheeses.
• Humidity low enough that you can take a walk outside even when the temperature is above 90.
• My good friends.
• The store in the Valley View Mall where I buy cheap little white gold earrings, and where they always act like they are giving you a great deal even though you know you're probably getting their actual regular price.
• U-turns under the freeways for turning yourself around on the access roads. Brilliant.
• Lots of movie theaters with stadium seating.
• Six Flags over Texas.
• The mix of cultures you meet as you move through town.
• Gelato.
• Still being able to give fairly reliable directions, even though I haven't lived here for a while.
• My friends. 'Nuff said.

I'm not much of a mountain goat.

Today a trip to Dinosaur Park proved that nothing really ever changes much at all. Less than five minutes into the water, and after having been thoroughly mocked by my dear friends who remember (all too well) my prior spills, I passed off my camera (it's too dangerous for me to hold it), slid on the slime, and flew face-first onto a nice big rock. Cue the uproarious laughter. For you see, my dear, dear friends had just been deciding whether to place bets on just how thoroughly I would fall--waist deep (not a chance), neck deep, head deep--and the one with money on head deep would have made a whole lot of money, except that odds were less than 1:1.1, so hey, a lot of money would have had to have been riding on it.

The maddening thing is that I always fall. Always. ALWAYS. My record is perfect. You would think that I would learn a tiny bit of balance, but no, the ground is a supermagnet and I'm a chunk of iron.

The reward for falling? Chopped brisket BBQ in Glen Rose. YUM. And suddenly it's all worth it, and I'm ready to go flop face-down in the creek again. Hooray for Texas!

Rex Kwan Do in German

I love to surf blogs. But please imagine with me just a moment as I describe my shock at just how small the world really is. I'm clicking along on the "next blog" button, and suddenly a scene from Napoleon Dynamite is staring at me and the words all around are in German. There is no way that should happen. Napoleon Dynamite was filmed in and around Preston, Idaho, where my dad grew up. No place on earth could be so insignificant and remote. No film on earth could be more of an insider's joke about Preston, and yet it's funny, and it resonates, and somebody in a real city in Germany found a picture of it to put on his blog (click the title of this post for the link).

Preston has been living it up since Napoleon came out. People actually come to see the stage he danced on at the high school, and my dad said that there was some kind of gathering there sanctioned by the city a few weeks ago. I don't know why anyone would want to set foot in Preston unless they were going to visit their grandmother. It's just not a place to go.

The Idaho legislature even passed a resolution commending the makers of the film. Here's the link: http://www3.state.id.us/oasis/HCR029.html If I didn't have even less respect for the way our national legislature wastes time in Washington, I might think that Idaho legislators had nothing to do. I would really, really laugh, except that the film really gave people from Idaho something to rally around -- something more recognizable than spudnuts and more germaine to the state than nuclear power.

And do you see the orange pillow sitting behind Napoleon in the picture? I swear that that pillow belonged to my grandma at one point. It used to sit on her couch. I have a theory about how it migrated from her couch through a series of yard sales and secondhand stores until it landed in Napoleon's room. You don't have to believe it (my dad doesn't), but I tell you, it's hers.

A portent of things to come...

Here I am with an open book collapsed on my head a long long time ago. If I had a dollar for every time this has happened...

Thanks to mom for scanning the pic.

Hooray for summer vacation!!!

Summer Books

My schoolwork is suffering because I haven't been able to tear myself away from some good reads this summer. After all, in my eyes reading is the main purpose for summer. Why go outside to brave scorching heat and stifling humidity when the air conditioner is on inside and there are books on the shelf that I haven't gotten to yet? Why pick up a required book that I have to write a paper on when there is a novel on the shelf that I haven't gotten to yet? And why take classes, if not to fill the shelves with books to be read that colleagues recommend? The latest such book arrived today: Dreams of My Russian Summers by Andreï Makine. The postman stuffed it into my tiny mailbox along with the usual smattering of credit card offers. That stressed me out a bit because I envisioned a crumpled, bent book as I tore the envelope off, but happily it survived and it is sitting here tempting me greatly.

Yesterday I got no work done becuase I had to finish Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake. I had started it on the recumbent bike Monday--the only way I'll exercise is with interesting reading material in hand--and had managed to limit myself to a chapter a day until yesterday, Wednesday, when it gripped me and declared that I should do no more work until I had consumed it. I did this gladly. Today I read my assigned reading on the bike. Not as much fun, but there are acts for which one must perform rites of cleansing and retribution. I've got about 18 more pages of it, and then I get to write a paper and a journal on it (yippee--ha!) The class ends Saturday, though, and then I can devote myself more fully to my reading.

I've been thinking, though, that I'm in a pickle: I don't know what I'll take with me to read on vacation. I will be gone a very long time, and I don't want to carry that many books with me. I thought about taking the Chronicles of Narnia, which I bought in a one-book edition at the beginning of the summer, but I've already read two of the books this summer so that would mean hauling around two books I have no intention of reading. I will probably take The Name of the Rose with me, although that will cause me to be the butt of more than one joke from my dad and my sister, because I've been reading it for three summers now (in Italian.) Two months ago, Amilynne thought she would read it (in English), but she found it poorly written and boring and refused to continue. I was appalled that she would find it boring becuase I have been fascinated by it, even if I've been reading it very slowly. We argued until one of us decided to blame the translator. Anything to keep the peace.

Well, the assigned book calls, not as loudly as the unassigned ones do, but since the paper is due Saturday I must face priorities.

And by the way,

I didn't go read book 5 before digging into Harry Potter 6. And I'm having an awful time getting back into my homework now. I really just want to spend the rest of the summer reading novels. (Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake is calling...) Much more fun than trying to report on whether or not it's ethical to have schools.

Mosquito in the House

Several days ago I let a mosquito in the house while watering the plants. (The plants, by the way, are gorgeous. I have a red rose blooming right now, which is a relief because for a while there, I thought I had over-pruned the bushes.) At any rate, the mosquito is driving me insane. It just bit my finger, and it has already knawed up my arms. One would think it would be dead by now, but I have special ever-live blood that mosquitos love and thrive upon. Which is ironic because I don't have blood, I have dark chocolate running through my veins. Maybe the mosquitos love the flavonoids. Or something. Time to get out of the house.

Yes, the Big Geek in the corner is me.

Well, Harry Potter released tonight. Party across the nation! Except that I decided to stay home because I am having way too much fun writing a paper for my ethics class. The fun is trying to articulate ideas that I can barely get my mind around, especially since the paper is about using linguistics as a narrative that justifies school. It's based on The End of Education by Neil Postman, which was a fantastic read. At any rate, Harry Potter will have to wait until after class tomorrow.

The conundrum is this: do I go back and re-read book 5 before starting the new one? I honestly don't think I've read it since it came out, although there is the possibility that I have (the last one came out so long ago). If I do, I will end up toting gigantic book 6 with me on vacation, and really, lugging big books around the airport isn't that fun. But do I remember enough of book 5? Maybe if I just read the ending I can finish book 6 before flying out....

Dang it ALL!!!!

I am such an idiot! I spent this weekend suffering through a book on educational theory for my ethics class. The book is all about how we should completely revamp education and make the primary goal be to create caring, decent people. AAAAACK!!! The author is a pretty severe feminist who obviously feels that it is society's job to raise the children. She wants the schools to teach all aspects of human life, from fixing toasters to spirituality. I would literally have to put the book down and make loud noises to drown out her self-assured posturing. I have to say that if I were a parent, the LAST thing I would want would be for schools to teach my child a caring-based curriculum! Certainly schools need to be staffed with caring professionals, but parents have a responsibility to raise caring and moral children, and I certainly don't think that the schools have the right to mess with the spirituality practices I would teach my children.

Anyway. I read all that, and then looked at the syllabus so I could start working on the paper associated with it. Oops. I didn't have to read the whole book, only chapters 1-5 and 11-12. And (hooray) no paper.

I guess I should consult the syllabus from now on before I start working. I used to have a pretty good mind for this stuff, but maybe not so much anymore.

Poetry

Hee heee heeeee. I found the perfect personality quiz for me. What kind of poetry are you? And yes, although I wouldn't have dared predict, here I am: I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You? How fantastic--Dante has seeped into my subconscious. On a scarier note, I think I just heard what I would describe as a gunshot. I consider my computer room the safest in the house because it has no windows and there is brick between me and the outside, so I'll just stay here a moment until I feel like moving about again. This time of year, I guess you never know if it's fireworks or what, but this was really loud and considering where I live I think the gunshot is a real possibility. Or maybe it was just a celebratory "hooray for freedom" gunshot like you imagine in a rowdy party in Mexico. But I doubt it. Anyway, poetry is a happier topic. Amilynne went to see Billy Collins do a reading and ever since, she has been calling me to read Billy Collins poetry to me. Some Billy Collins poetry can be found by clicking on the title of this posting. One of my favorites is called "Consolation" and it makes me very happy to be spending my summer taking two graduate courses. Also, Amilynne and I spend a lot of time fighting over "Litany" and who gets to be the moon in the trees. I do hope the hotlinks work. I am experimenting, as HTML editing is not something I'm particularly skilled with.

Regretfully Moving Onward

Well, last night I was kindly reminded that it has been quite some time since my last posting. Things have been busy with school getting out, blah blah blah, but to tell the truth, the real reason I have hesitated to write anythng is this: I LOVE having that cool image of Dante at the top of the page, and I know that by writing this I am sending him down the line to eventually end up only on an archive page, and that makes me sad. So in one way, my continued blogging makes me feel like a traitor against Dante, who has beeen my benefactor by inspiring both my study of Italian and the many college papers I have tied to his poem. And we know that traitors against benefactors end up in the lowest circle of Hell, being chewed up in one of Satan's three mouths. Move over, Judas, Brutus, and Cassius. I'm coming in.

An Explanation of the Cosmic Landscape

Dante, from the Cathedral in Florence.

I am a conscientious objector to Moby Dick. After reading "Billy Budd" (about 120 pages) and almost dying of the most intense boredom I've ever experienced, I swore off Melville forever, and decided expressly to avoid his big fish tale (about 700 pages). When I was assigned to read Moby Dick in my American Humanities class in college, I didn't. The fact that I still did just fine in the class only reinforced my resolve.

Now Amilynne, in a bout of guilt over being an English major and not having read the beastly book, is about halfway through it. And she has decided that I cannot get out of Purgatory until I follow suit.

Time in Heaven, you see, is spent enjoying the Heavenly Lecture Series--fascinating symposia on the most interesting topics that help the heavenly make sense of being. And Amilynne and I both really, really, really want to go. Amilynne, though, by her own admission, will have to sneak in if she wants any part of it. And that won't be easy, because she would have to shake Johnny Cash, her personal guide through Hell. So if she can't get in, the plan is that I'll sneak in a tape recorder and slip the bootleg copies to her under the Pearly Gates. Amilynne and Johnny Cash can then spend the rest of their time cruising around the River Styx with David Bowie in his boat. Which makes me a little jealous.

Tonight, though, Amilynne threw me out of Heaven and consigned me to an eternity in Purgatory. She has decided that reading Moby Dick is my pennance for something or other, and although I adamently insist that this punishment does not fit my crimes, she says that the day will come when Virgil is begging me to read it so I'll be off his hands and can join Beatrice and Dante in Paradise. Here's the problem: how can I possibly read Moby Dick? I am a conscientious objector! Should I read it, I would be forsworn, guilty of lying, and could no longer enter Heaven anyway!

Amilynne figures that she is being merciful. Reading Moby Dick, she says, beats the alternative: a neverending dinner party with the Shelleys (Percy and Mary) and William "Billy" Blake in the newly-opened Cavern of Hell, just below where Satan sits encased in ice chewing on Judas et. al. It's no use, though--I just can't do it. I just can't read Moby Dick.

So I guess now Amilynne and I are both looking for someone who will slip us bootleg copies of the Heavenly Lecture Series that we can enjoy in our own eternal realms. Because if I have to sit at the top of Mount Purgatory with nothing but Melville for entertainment, I might as well just go down to Hell, stop in for appetizers, and then go find a cozy tree to climb into with the other suicides.

Boy Rocks!; or XP Service Pack 2 Sucks

Boy rocks! Boy is the bomb! Boy saved my computer from the evil grips of XP Service Pack 2! Thanks, Boy! What a great brother you are!

Retraction

Apparently my elation at having my life back was premature. Today in talking with one of the math teachers at my school, I found out that ABC plans to rebroadcast Lost, first episode onward, starting June 1. Hooray! So much for my freedom, but this is much better than waiting for the DVDs.

Whew! I can have my life back!

Well, bring on the boring summer TV. Lost had its season finale tonight, 24 happened two nights ago, and Desperate Housewives is of course over--There's nothing else to watch until fall, and that's a good thing.

The Drawtoy on zefrank.com

So after Revenge of the Sith last night, this is what I found myself drawing on the computer today.

Kind of a Muppet Sith Lord--one whom Yoda could dispatch in one fell swoop. The fun thing about it is that on the original drawing, the blue squares that make up the light saber move--it's very much alive. Unfortunately that doesn't translate here.

I did like the movie so very much. I've finally decided--I want to be a Jedi when I grow up.

Find the drawtoy on www.zefrank.com (or find the direct link by clicking on the title of this post). And may the Force be with you.

Shopping

I can't keep up with inflation. I went out to get gifts for my honor society students who are graduating. I wanted to get something also as a thank-you to the one who has been my student aide this year and who has really been a big help. So in considering what would be a little fun and Italian cultural, I went to look for a pasta roller. Last check, they cost between $18 and $20, even at Williams Sonoma. So off I went to pick one up, except in the last year or two they have jumped from $18-20 to $50. I was in complete shock. I was too shocked to look at the motor next to it and see if its price had also jumped, and they don't sell that online. But let me show you what I'm seeing: it's not only a price jump from $18-20 to $50, it's that now you also have to pay an extra $30 for the spaghetti attachment that used to be included for free. www.williamssonoma.com, search "Imperia"
Now with all due respect, they have apparently re-designed one aspect of the machine, adding a tray that slides down into the main roller. This may make it easier for one person to operate the machine alone, but I don't think it's any reason to effectively quadruple the price.

The crazy thing is that Sur La Table has the machine for $60, but they have brought the price of the motor down from the $80 I paid to $70. www.surlatable.com, search "Atlas" for the machine and "Imperia" for the motor.

The new pricing makes no sense at all. There is no way that the value of a pasta machine has quadrupled in two years. I will blame the rich people who want to claim fresh pasta as their own, in spite of the fact that pasta has its origins in Italy with the poor.

So to everyone who has a pasta machine, treat it like gold, becuase its value is increasing as though it were made of the shiny stuff.

Walking

CONGRATULATIONS AMILYNNE!

Amilynne is graduating from college today. With Distinction and a star by her name in the program. She's brilliant, and she rocks.

Please, Please Pinch Me

I just woke up sobbing from the dumbest dream, a nightmare of epic proportion. NOTHING in this dream was based on fact except that it was about me giving a test to my second year class. Which, in a matter of fact, I actually am doing first thing tomorrow morning. Well, in this dream, it wasn't even the right class--one of the students had been switched out--and I had just distributed the test and sat down when a principal came in to observe. Now this was not a real principal. It was this young blonde thing in her twenties, all cute and critical. And suddenly the kids were rambunctious, talking and trying to get me to give them the answers and pulling out CD players to listen to. And the principal calls me back to tell me all of the things I'm doing wrong--her worry is that the kids take the class to casually, that it's too structured like hanging out, etc. etc. And I tried to defend myself, and she kept telling me what I was doing wrong, and finally I just yelled at her. I called her a nasty name and asked her why on earth she had chosen to come in and do my formal assessment right in the middle of SOLs, since I've been tied up in those for the past month, and no, right now I'm not the best teacher I could be, I can barely breathe I've got so much to do. Well, if I wasn't going to be fired for being a bad teacher, I figured I would be after that. She pulled a ladder up to a switch high up on the wall (that doesn't exist in reality) and played with something, then handed me my copy of the evaluation and left. I started to look at the evaluation. It was all about how cute my outfit was that day, and how if she had crayons she would draw a picture....At this point I woke up sobbing.

Then I came out to the computer and the screensaver was up--the screensaver I loaded to run in Italian--and it was running Spanish and French and German instead--I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone.

Maybe it' s a good thing I don't have much time for sleep these days if dreams like that are what's going to happen.

Orchids

At the National Botanical Conservatory

So last night I had a crazy dream in which orchids were very, very important. I have no idea why. But I was trying to explain an orchid to someone, and a way of getting the beauty of them across completely eluded me.

At the National Botanical Conservatory

Funny how I dream of orchids and not of this crazy cucumber desert plant.

On Architecture

Why, in America, do we so mistrust the arch? We even put them down--McDonald's being the "golden arches"--yuck. Is there anything more beautiful in architecture than an arch? A marriage of straight lines and curves, able to be repeated row upon row: look at the colisseum. A fantastic rhythm of rises and falls, gentle as the sea.

And the dome--the arch in 360 degree splendor. We just don't use it. We love steel and glass and poking right angles, and we forget the embrace of a curve.

And in the poking we forget-- we forget the holiness of a dome: its similarity to the dome of the heavens above, the marvel of something so big and open floating above us, rising on its own strength. And we lose that holiness, and our lives become the streamlined and functional architecture all around us. I am a three-bedroom ranch. I am a cube at the bottom of an apartment building. I am a cardboard box cluttering the corner by the park. I have lost my beauty. I have lost my meaning. I have lost my soul.

Celebrity Powder Room

Just over a month ago, a filming crew came to our school to film some scenes of a pilot for a TV show. All kinds of rumors were flying around the school about who was in it and what it would be about. It drove home to me how racist American TV is because they brought in droves of cute happy white high school kids to play the high school kids--not a single member of our largely black population made the cut, even though we've got cute happy kids too. But this posting is not going to bemoan racism in major network television. I'm writing about the magic transformation of the women's faculty restroom.

The women's faculty restroom has two stalls of disproportionate size. I think one is supposed to be wheelchair ready, but you'd have to be an acrobat to actually wheel a chair into it. It has its own sink inside. The other stall is built with wall all around and has a real door, but the sink is on the outside. At some point in the past, the art teacher put a couple of abandoned student canvases inside to decorate, and I think someone put a fake flower in a vase full of marbles inside too.

When the film crew came, dramatic changes happened in the large wheelchair-ready stall. Most notably, a bathmat appeared on the floor. A big, loopy, sky blue one. And up on the shelf a nice selection of beauty products appeared: mostly various lotions and a tube of petroleum jelly. Our lowly faculty restroom had become Powder Room to the Stars!

The film crew left, but the restroom improvements stayed. Over the next month, they became commonplace: something to chortle about silently in the back of my mind as I took care of business. All this until I walked in yesterday to find more "improvements": Ladies Home Journal next to the lotions and paper towels, a new tube of hair goo to keep us from unsightly female baldness, and a bathmat in front of the other sink. Finally, after a month of inequality, users of the walled-in stall are free of the burden of shame of actually standing on the ground.

Equality for all.

Zoning Changes

Apparently I now live at a dance club.

I don't know when the zoning change went though to change this from an apartment building to a dance club, but the change has definitely taken place. I can't listen to music because it is drowned out by music from one or more neighbors' apartments. It's like I'm under assault 24/7. Last night I called the police about one neighbor. Today it's coming from someone else's apartment. Does this not disturb anyone else? I can't even think straight. Boom Boom Bo-Boom Boom. Boom Boom Bo-Boom Boom. And it's not just the bass-- it's the vocals as though I were playing this in my apartment. I'm going to go crazy. I even bought ear plugs, but they are no cure, becuase then I'm stuck listening to the bottled-up white noise pulsings of my head.

I am in Hell.

Thanks, CNN!

Peeps war: Before

...and after. (Don't mind the dirty microwave, I'm sure yours gets that way sometimes too.)

The first morning of Amilynne's trip, we were in the hotel and as I showered she was watching CNN. And I heard hysterical laughter--it was the day before Easter, and apparently CNN was showing a story about how to destroy marshmallow Peeps. They dunked them in acid and all but their eyes disintegrated, and a couple of other things, but the kicker was a Peeps war. Stick toothpicks in the chests of two Peeps, set them facing each other in the microwave, turn it on, and let the games begin. As the Peeps expand, the first Peep to poke the other with the toothpick wins. It was a must-duplicate experience. As soon as we got back to my place, we went for Peeps, and as luck would have it, I had actual plastic sword picks that we used. We rigged the Peeps up on a graham cracker and chocolate sled, and held the war. As you can see, the pink Peep won. Too bad not even the title kept it from becoming a delicious s'more.

Some things that happened

What to say. It's been a notably long time since I last posted. Foreign language week came and went, spring break came and went, and the week after spring break came and went. 10 weeks to summer vacation.

I just phoned the apartment complex to complain about the idiots who moved in on one side of me. Their living room borders my bathroom, and they play their music so loud that the bass makes the fixtures in my bathroom vibrate. I went over a few weeks ago to ask them to keep it down. The evening I did that, the music was so loud that they couldn't hear me knock on the door, and the doorbell was apparently broken. So I don't feel like wasting my time pounding on their door. Over spring break I was sleeping in the living room so Amilynne could have the bed, and one morning at 3:00am their music woke me up and I had to pound on the wall. So anyway, today they're back at it, the apartment offices are currently open, and I called to complain. The girl said she'd send them a noise violation. I hate the feeling that I have declared war, but I'm really not the one who started it here. Besides. I'm in the part of my apartment furthest from their stereo, and I can still hear the bass and the rapper voice. I shouldn't have to live like this.

Did I mention that Amilynne came to visit? Wow we had a fabulous time. I miss her terribly. I'll post some pictures of the week. She got in to Washington on Friday and we went to the Mall and walked around a bit, but we crashed early at the hotel that night (but not until after we had shopped at Trader Joe's and eaten at On The Border--I do miss good Tex Mex restaraunts, as there are NONE here.) The next morning while I was in the shower Amilynne started to laugh hysterically--apparently CNN had a story on ways to destroy Peeps. (You know, the marshmallow chickens available in pastel colors at Easter time.) They showed methods of waging Peeps war. That immediately went on our list of Things To Do.

That day we did one of the coolest things of the whole week--the new National Museum of the American Indian. First we went to pick David up--he had caught a ride down with friends--then off to the museum. We could have easily spent the whole day in there. At noon we had finished the first exhibit, and we realized we would need to pick up the pace if we wanted to do anything besides the NMAI that day. We picked up the pace (with difficulty) and eventually made it out. Anyway, it was one of the many fun things we did, and I hope to post pictures soon to tell the stories with.

Countdown to Amilynne

I am so excited! In less than a week, Amilynne will be here visiting! I've got to say, it has been a long time since I've been this excited about anything. As with most good things in life, the number of obstacles between now and the time of her arrival seems insurmountable. We are celebrating foreign language week at our school this week, a very labor-intensive... (I don't know what to call it)... celebration? I guess. Ordeal also describes it. We've been doing a foreign language film festival for the kids after school since last week, and it all caps off this Thursday night with a big banquet where the students bring foods from the countries whose languages they study. It's a big deal, and it's really cool, but as with all big deals that are really cool, it takes a LOT of work to produce it. So Thursday I'll pretty much be at school 15 hours plus, then Friday it's off to get Amilynne and spring break! I hope I'm still alive. I think I will be. I don't think Amilynne will let me have a choice.

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.