On the last day of the year...

Today I purchased my tickets to go to Paris this summer. It cost me $1300 ... but it already feels worth it.

Books I've Read in 2006

1. Size 12 Isn't Fat by Meg Cabot
2. Murder on Astor Place by Victoria Thompson
3. Murder on St. Mark's Place by Victoria Thompson
4. Murder at Gramercy Park by Victoria Thompson
5. Murder in Washington Square by Victoria Thompson
6. Murder on Mulberry Bend by Victoria Thompson
7. Murder on Marble Row by Victoria Thompson
8. Murder at Lenox Hill by Victoria Thompson
9. Murder in Little Italy by Victoria Thompson
10. Snobbery with Violence by Marion Chesney
11. Hasty Death by Marion Chesney
12. Sick of Shadows by Marion Chesney
13. Our Lady of Pain by Marion Chesney
14. Murphy's Law by Rhys Bowen
15. Death of Riley by Rhys Bowen
16. For the Love of Mike by Rhys Bowen
17. In Like Flynn by Rhys Bowen
18. Oh Danny Boy by Rhys Bowen
19. Still Life with Murder by P.B. Ryan
20. Murder in a Mill Town by P.B. Ryan
21. Death on Beacon Hill by P.B. Ryan
22. Murder on Black Friday by P.B. Ryan
23. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
24. Anyone But You by Jennifer Crusie
25. Don't Look Down by Jennifer Crusie
26. Body Movers by Stephanie Bond
27. Northern Lights by Nora Roberts
28. River's End by Nora Roberts
29. The Witness by Sandra Brown
30. The Switch by Sandra Brown
31. Unspeakable by Sandra Brown
32. Hello, Darkness by Sandra Brown
33. Eragon by Christopher Paolini
34. Catherine, Called Birdy by Karen Cushman
35. Bella at Midnight by Diane Stanley
36. The Undomestic Goddess by Sophie Kinsella
37. Do You Want to Know a Secret? by Sophie Kinsella
38. Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie
39. Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot
40. Nemesis by Agatha Christie
41. Eleven on Top by Janet Evanovich
42. Metro Girl by Janet Evanovich
43. Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich
44. The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
45. Two Little Girls in Blue by Mary Higgins Clark
46. The Mirror Crack'd by Agatha Christie
50. What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw by Agatha Christie
51. Inside Out by Terry Trueman
52. Acceleration by Graham McNamee
53. A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly
54. Stormbreaker by Anthony Horowitz
55. How to Be Popular by Meg Cabot
56. Motor Mouth by Janet Evanovich
57. The Thief's Moon by Tara Acton
58. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare (school)
59. The Giver by Lois Lowry (school)
60. And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie (school)
61. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (school spring semester)
62. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (school fall semester)
63. Warriors Don't Cry by Melba Patillo Beals (school fall semester)
64. Murder on the North End by P.B. Ryan
65. Finding Your Mojo by Stephanie Bond
66. The Secret at Chimneys by Agatha Christie
67. The Seven Dials Mystery by Agatha Christie

Ode to Dog

“Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go,
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifted snow.

Over the table and under the tree,
to the kitchen trash she goes;
the dog knows the way
to ruin the day
her destruction grows and grows.

Over the trash can and through the house,
While deepening my woes
Knocking o’er the tree
And barking at me
As out of the house she goes.

Putting up the Tree '06

Dad: Kids! Supper's ready!
Mom: After we eat, I want Brennan and Nathan to bring in the Christmas tree from the garage.
Brennan: No.
Mom: Why not? Remember, it's already set up with the lights and tinsel on it.
Tara: Already set up? Don't you mean "never taken apart after last year."
Mom: Semantics. Whatever.
Brennan: No.
Mom: Why not?
Brennan: Because we don't want to.
Nathan: I don't mind.
Brennan: Shut up, Nathan.
Nathan: Okay.
Me: I'll do your dishes, Brennan, if you bring in the tree.
Brennan: Why don't you bring in the tree?
Me: Because I don't want to.
Mom: She can't bring in the tree. She won't be able to.
Me: Excuse me? I happen to be--
Tara: Freakishly strong?
Me: Exactly. [Turning to Mom] I'm very strong, Mom. I could TOTALLY bring in that tree.
Mom: You're too short.
Me: Too short?!? Didn't you bring that tree out to the garage last year? And you're, what, three quarters of an inch taller than I am?
Mom: Well, I brought it out, but it was very awkward. It would be worse for you because I'm taller than you are.
Me: Excuse me? It would be EASIER for me because I am waaay stronger than you. You're the biggest weakling that ever lived.
Mom: Well, that's true, but I don't want you to do it.
Me: [offended] Somebody help me out here. Tara, I could totally bring that tree in, couldn't I?
Tara: [all for sister solidarity] Totally. Mom, Erica' WAAAY stronger than you.
Mom: Don't care. Brennan and Nathan are bringing the tree in. Go do it, boys!
[Brennan and Nathan leave to bring tree in. In the meantime, we sit in silence, me royally offended and feeling discriminated against.]
Mom [to Dad]: Say something, honey.
Dad: I told you it was stupid to put the tree away before taking it apart.
Mom: Say something else.
Dad:
Me: [all huffy and breaking my silence] Fine! But just say it: I am strong enough to bring that tree in.
Mom: You are strong enough to bring that tree in.
Me: I can tell you don't mean that. Say it again from the top and this time with feeling.
Mom:
Me: Mom!! Say it! Or you'll live to regret it. I could totally bring that tree in. And [catching a glimpse of Nathan and Brennan bringing the bottom of the tree in first] I could do it in a way that made sense. You know, so that the branches didn't get stuck in the doorway and lose all their bristle things.
Mom: Boys! Turn it around and bring the narrow end in first so that the tree doesn't loose all its branches. [Under her breath.] Idiots!
Tara: [to me] Satisfied?
Me: For now.

TV Couples I'm Rooting for...

1. Matt and Harriet from Studio 60
Obviously this is the couple everyone is rooting for and I hate to be unoriginal (but seriously, in a blog titled "TV Couples I'm Rooting for..." how can I not be? Unoriginal, I mean) however, I'm willing to make an exception for this couple. How can you not root for a couple with sizzling chemistry and blatant roadblocks. Their problems seem real (if the characters themselves seem less than tolerant) and the characters are clearly defined. Plus, I love that I never know how they will react around each other. Teasing each other like old friends or blowing up at each other or ridiculing the other's beliefs or (like in the Sting episode, one of my all-time favorites) none of the above? It's a mystery but one definitely worth watching.
Example:
Danny: We don't need to do it now, but at some point I'm gonna ask you to level with me about Harriet. I need to know how big a problem it's gonna be.
Matt: It's not gonna be a problem at all.
Danny: It will if you're in love with her.
Matt: I'm not. (beat) I'm not. Danny. I love her talent. The woman's got millions of fans, but there are maybe fifty guys in town who really understand how good she is and we're two of them. That's all, I admire her. I'm knocked out by her talent. I like it when she makes me laugh and I like making her laugh, which isn't an easy thing to do, so it's gratifying. She's undeniably sexy, and I like it when she smiles at me, and a couple of other things, but that's it.
Danny: Oh my God, we are so screwed.
Matt: I know.


2. Jim and Pam from The Office
The real question is: who doesn't want to see these two get together? It's hard to decide what I love more: the deliciously awkward
Example:
Pam: What time is it there?
Jim: What time is it here? Um, we’re in the same time zone.
Pam: Ah yeah, right.
Jim: How far away did you think we were?
Pam: I don’t know. It felt far.
Jim: Yeah.

or the ridiculously hilarious.
Example:
Pam: I’m inventing new diseases.
Jim: Oh great.
Pam: So like, let’s say that my teeth turn to liquid …
Jim: Mmm-hmm.
Pam: … and then, they drip down the back of my throat, what would you call that?
Jim: I thought you said you were inventing diseases. That’s spontaneous dental hydroplosion.
Pam: Oh … nice.
Jim: Thank you.


3. Bones and Booth from Bones
Their relationship is the perfect mix of professionalism and ribbing/teasing. The hint of romance that occasionally appears along with David Boreanaz's and Emily Deschanel's palpable chemistry only makes me hope that they string us along for quite some time before Bones and Booth hook up. Plus, it's a nice switch to see the man be the one to connect and identify with living victims while the woman can only connect with them after seeing their dead bodies. It's also refreshing to see someone who has no sense of popular culture. These always make for interesting exchanges.
Example:
Booth (on their partnership): We're Mulder and Scully
Bones: I don't know what that means.

OR
Booth (to Bones in a Hazmat suit): How's it going there, Darth? Seen anything on Saturn? Please tell me you've seen at least one Star Wars movie?


4. Veronica and Logan from Veronica Mars
Okay, let's face it: they have so many problems that there's no way they would EVER make it in real life. However, Kristen Bell and Jason Doring are such talented and believable actors that I totally buy whatever they are selling week after week. Even convenient coincidences (Logan just happening to stumble upon a drugged Veronica in an abandoned parking lot and saving her before she is raped) are swallowed easily. I have the following conversations with myself every Tuesday after watching the latest episode: "Jason Doring is the most talented actor on TV. No, Kristen Bell is. No, Jason Doring. No, Kristen Bell. But then Jason Doring. Okay, Kristen Bell is the most talented actress on TV and Jason Doring is the most talented actor. Yeah."

Example:
Veronica: I love the smell of testosterone in the morning.
Logan: This is why I suggested attack dogs, but no, my mother wanted an Alpaca.
Veronica: My father sent me with paperwork for your mom.
Logan: You just wanted to say hi. I would have had my slam book out.
Veronica: I wanted to ask you about the game.
Logan: I've been meaning to ask you something. Does your super sleuth kit come with a decoder ring? Do you have a pen that writes with invisible ink? Never mind. Don't care. Mush! Mush!


5. Danny and Jordan from Studio 60
Just the perfect mix of sophistication, wit, charm, and unencumberedness. Their dialogue is charming and I love how they can both be very detached from the chaos that's going on around them and get extremely (perhaps overly?) worked up over the chaos that's going on around them.
Example:
Danny: You're very winning.
(Jordan looks stunned.)
Danny: ...Not to me. But to everyone else.

6. Charlie and Claire from Lost
Even though they look like long lost twins separated at birth, I can't help but love Charlie and Claire the mostest. They're sweet and simple, a refreshing change from Kate/Sawyer/Jack. So come on, you all everybody (i.e. Lindelof & Co.): we want moe Charlie and Claire!!
Example:
Claire: Charlie read me the riot act last night for waking him. And as mad as it made me - turns out he was right. You know, it's like we're playing mum and dad to this baby. Yet, I don't remember marrying him.


7. Matt Albie and Danny Tripp from Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Sometimes it's hard for me to decide who is the cutest couple: Matt and Harriet, Danny and Jordan, or Matt and Danny. Okay, I'm gonna be honest: I totally am voting for Matt and Danny. The relationship between Matt and Danny is always a highlight of the show for me.
Example:
Matt: Are you people using the confidential information that Danny failed a drug test to force him into taking over Studio 60 to deflect attention from what happened on the air tonight?
Jack: ...he failed a drug test?
Jordan: Yeah, actually Matt, I was the only one who knew about that. Shoulda trusted me a little, Danny.
Matt: Sorry about that, that one was all me.

The Telaissance

Greetings all! It's been a while. I've been distracted by the 100 screaming freshmen in my face all the time asking questions like, "How do you want this paper stapled? Is it okay if I staple it three times down the left hand side, or do I need to take those out and just staple it once in the top left hand corner?" I'm telling you, after you deal with staple questions all day, there's no way you can come home and write a blog with your usual wit and charm. As Diane Keaton oh-so-wisely knew, something's gotta give and unfortunately, it's you, dear readers, who suffer.

What I have been filling my time with instead is television. The 2004-2005 and 2005-2006 television season was like the Renaissance, a rebirth in quality television shows with a minimum amount of reality TV. The Telaissance, if you will. I'm happy to say that the 2006-2007 season seems to be more excellence.

So here it is: the first annual Television You Should Be Watching. Appearing in a day-by-day format for you convenience!

Sundays: Desperate Housewives. Not much to say about this. I'm not quite as thrilled with it as I have been, but I still watch it out of loyalty and the occasional hilarious remark. (Gabby to Lynette: "I know. Your life sucks.") I also tried Brothers & Sisters, but as it turns out, that show is bo*ring. Like, super boring. Which is too bad because I like Sally Fields.

Mondays: While awaiting the return of Medium, I tuned in to Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Studio 60 is now my favorite show. To quote Chandler, it's awe-some! And amazingly, I like everyone on the show! With the exception of Friends and Veronica Mars (who could not like him? and him? and him? to say nothing of Veronica "It's all fun and games til one of you gets my foot up your ass" Mars) when was the last time that happened? Speaking of shows with characters I don't like, give The Class a try. Here's what I like about this show: Lizzy Caplan. Here's what I don't like about this show: everyone else and their storylines. Although it must not be too bad or I wouldn't still be watching. I'm hoping it will get better. What can I say? I'm a diehard optimist.

Tuesdays: Even though Gilmore Girls is dead in my heart, I continue watching it (well, watching House and taping GG to be watched later, when I'm desperate for entertainment), eternal optimist that I am, hoping that someone can repair the Luke and Lorelai break-up mess that we all had to endure the season before. I'm not saying L&L have to get back together (but, I mean, they DO. Come on!) but please FIX the mess that was the seventh season finale, already!) Also, does anybody else find themselves liking Rory less and less with each passing episode. So although I watch GG, I do not recommend it. Unless it's a rerun of the first three or four seasons. I do, however, highly recommend Veronica Mars, the greatest TV show in the history of time. Veronica "Their case is fuzzy and circumstantial" Mars kicks ass! Which brings me to tonight's word. Wait, that's later. It does bring me to some sad news: Meg Cabot is dead to me. Not watching Veronica Mars is one thing, but not watching it because you've fallen behind and will never catch up? This from a woman who downloaded four weeks of television from iTunes?!? Really? Don't insult our intelligence! Buy the first two seasons--I happen to know for a fact that Wal-Mart is selling Season 1 for $19.99, and take the weekend, and watch the best damn television you've ever seen. Ever. Until then, we're SO broken up. After Veronica, I watch Law & Order: SVU, but I'm so upset by the snub to Veronica, I can barely type this.

Moving on. Wednesdays: Bones! My new favorite! The chemistry between David Boreaniz's Seely "What's the matter with her" Booth and Emily Deschanel's Temperance "I don't understand that pop culture reference" Brennan, aka Bones, is the number one reason for watching. Then there's Lost, of course, although I'm even getting annoyed with this show. Who CARES about the Others? Anyone? No? That's what I thought. I'm also watching The Nine which I like after it's over, but have to talk myself into watching before it comes on. Very strange. Gave Tina Fey's 30 Rock a try, but was kinda bored. I'll stick with Studio 60, thanks.

Thursdays: My favorite day of television. My Name is Earl, The Office, (I tape Ugly Betty and watch it later), Grey's Anatomy, and ER. A beautiful night.

Friday: Nothing, can you believe it? (Well, Psych and Monk on USA when it comes back from hiatus, but that hasn't happened yet.)

In addition to all those shows, I like to watch The Daily Show with Jon Stewart every night on Comedy Central, and, if I'm feeling really strong, The Colbert Report after The Daily Show. Or at least The Colbert Report through The Word segment.

Saturday: Again, nothing. I like to spend the day recovering from my long, hard week of TV watching and preparing myself for another week of it.

Now I know that's a lot of TV, but somebody's got to do it. I don't expect your thanks or gratitude for my service, but I DO expect you to be watching Veronica Mars. You'll thank me later whether I want you to or not.

Another posting soon...

My goal is to post a real entry in the month of October. Just not now because I'm lightheaded and delirious from my cold & flu medicine and my dog is chewing my Dr. Scholls $10 gel shoe inseam things.

Random Thoughts During TV Watching

Clearly this blog is several months old, but I thought I would post it anyway...

Arrested Development: The funniest bit is the clucking Gob does when making fun of Michael's lack of courage.


Ever After (The Drew Barrymore movie): Dude! The movie's setting is supposed to be France. Why on EARTH are all these Americans speaking with a British accent? (Which reminds me of a certain conversation I had recently with my sister:
Me: Why does Superman's father sound British?
Sister: What, do you want him to be American?)


The greatest thing on TV right now, I swear, is Stephen Colbert's The Word. Even though I'm utterly exhausted every night by 10:30, I force myself to stay up and watch The Word. I then go to bed in a happy mood. And his "monologues" have me in stitches. Like this one: "The 9/11 Commission says we are woefully unprepared for another terrorist attack, calling it inevitable. Well, it's inevitable now that we've told the terrorists about it! [whispers] Shut the fuck up!" HA!


The Office: More Jim and Pam!! More Jim and Pam!! More Jim and Pam!! (And maybe a little bit more of Kelly torturing Ryan.) And more Jim and Pam!!


I just flipped by the Super Nanny show and there was some kid smacking his mother in the head. Not trying to pass judgment here, but seriously. How does it get to that stage? If my kid smacked me, I would smack *him* upside the head. Great. Now when my kid falls out of his high chair, and DCF comes to investigate me, they'll read this blog and arrest me.


American Idol: Oh my God, Chris just winked at Paula!!!!!! Oh, I'm giggling. And giddy. I'm like his groupie. If it's possible to be a groupie from a couch several hundred miles away.


Scrubs: I truly believe that with the possible exception of Veronica Mars this is the best show on television. Proof? May second's episode:
Dr. Cox: J.D.? Thank you.
J.D.: Welcome.
Yes, I cried. Of course, earlier today I cried at a "Mastercard: priceless" commercial, but the difference is this time the crying continued after the scene was over.


Veronica Mars: Okay, I don't want to give anything away, so I won't say anything specific, but earlier, when i was making a mental list of my favorite parts in the season finale, I got up to 11 before even having to stop and think. This show rocks!! More Veronica and Logan!!!!


Is anyone else super sick of political commercials? Ick!! Why can't we all just get along? Or at least film an effing commercial without mentioning our competition?



Oprah: The only time I watch Oprah is when she has on a cool guest--and it has to be somebody really cool. Super cool. Like, royally cool. So of course I watched when Queen Rania was on, and it seriously kicked ass!! As Oprah said, she's "a quote a minute." She's totally like the new Princess Diana. Only without all the bulimia and royal cheating that went on in that palace. Rania rocks!! [Sidebar: Sarah McLachlan was on as well, and if you haven't watched her video, DO IT NOW!!! Talk about heartwarming, inspiring, and just beautiful!!

Books I've Read This Summer:

Murder on Mulberry Bend
Murder on Marble Row
Murder on Lenox Hill
Eragon
Catherine, Called Birdy
Bella at Midnight
Murder in Little Italy
The Undomestic Goddess
Sleeping Murder
Queen of Babble
Nemesis
Eleven on Top
Metro Girl
Twelve Sharp
The Moving Finger
Two Little Girls in Blue
The Mirror Crack'd
What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw
Inside Out
Acceleration





Books to Read:
Queen of Babble
The Undomestic Goddess
Rebecca (reread)
Can You Keep a Secret?
Murder in Little Italy
The Princess Diaries VII
Twelve Sharp
Two Little Girls in Blue
Good in Bed
Anyone But You
Nemesis
The Burning Questions of Bingo Brown
How to Be Popular

Seven Children, A Dog, and a Guitar (revised)

The night my parents sat my sister and me down in our living room and explained to us that Mommy was going to have a baby, I imagined a baby doll waiting in the garage for us. I waited patiently, and then expectantly as they explained that soon we would have a little brother or sister. Neither of us spoke, and at the time I assumed Tara was waiting with diminishing patience, as I was, for one of them to go out to the car and bring in the baby. Of course, Tara was only three at the time, and once he arrived, it took her close to a year to even realize she had a brother. It is more probable she was watching Sesame Street in her head or pretending she was a puppy. I, on the other hand, remember a distinct feeling of confusion when I realized that not only was there no doll, we wouldn’t even get the baby for months.

Talk about a letdown.

When the call came from the hospital, and my baby-sitter informed me that I had a baby brother, I congratulated God on his listening skills. I was not-so-secretly praying for a brother, not being all that impressed with the sister I already had.

While my sister and I had much in common, we differed in the details. I could never understand why Tara insisted—despite all evidence to the contrary—that she was a dog. I slowly began to appreciate that, when life hand you a lemon, well, you just gotta get on all fours and pretend that lemons were dog food.

I, too, lived in a dream world, but my dream world took place on the mountaintops of Austria. “My name is Leisl,” I would announce. “Oh look, here is my sister Louisa.”

But Tara was having none of it. “I’m not playing. I’ll only play if I can be the dog.”

“Tara, the von Trapps did not have any dogs.”

“What about ‘when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling bad…’” Tara sang.

“Then you simply remember your favorite things—and nobody’s favorite thing was a dog!"

“Then I’m not playing. I’m only playing if I’m the dog.”

“Unh! Why do you have to ruin everything? Just be Louisa for a little while!”

“Woof,” she said matter-of-factly before settling on the floor with her head on her paw to rest.

I sighed. My mom really did enjoy singing and playing the guitar, and I would often put on her dress clothes and mope around the house, pretending my father had given orders that under no circumstances were we to have play clothes. The lack of children in our family wasn’t really a problem, because we so obviously made up for what we lacked. It was only Tara’s insistence that she was a dog that was keeping the rest of the world from knowing it too.

“Woof,” Tara repeated stubbornly.

I stomped my foot impatiently. “The von Trapps did not have a dog; they had guitars, and fun uncles, and Nazis!”

I thought to myself, this wouldn’t be a problem if Brennan had wanted to the dog. Brennan had never seen The Sound of Music and so was resigned to the lowly role of Kurt, who had barely any lines. But Tara knew the lines and, more importantly, knew the songs. She knew exactly when to step back and let Leisl have her solos. Tara understood that Leisl was the oldest and sweetest and kindest and prettiest, and therefore the most important.

Louisa, on the other hand, was manipulative and liked to crawl into normal people’s bedrooms with whole jars of spiders in her hands. Tara was perfect for Louisa and if she couldn’t see that …

I tried again. “What if Louisa is a girl who thinks she’s a dog?”

Tara chewed on that. “Can I bark whenever I want?”

“I guess.”

“Can I have a solo?”

“What do you want to sing?”

“I don’t want to sing, I want to bark.”

It became clear that I was going to have to say so long, farewell, auf weiderhesen, good-bye to Leisl and her siblings. No one wants to play with me, I would moan to myself. I may as well be an orphan.

It’s a hard knock life.

Death Elevator

For as long as I can remember, I knew I wanted to go to college at the University of Iowa. When I was accepted, I eagerly signed up for freshmen orientation during the month of July.

My tour guide at orientation was a tall, wiry college student with frizzy brown hair. She had obviously spent many hours in the sun, but was more of a weathered brown than bronzed gold. Two pencils stuck out of her head, keeping her hair in a loose bun.

With a large group of other incoming freshmen, I stood outside the Iowa Memorial Union and listened as our tour guide pointed vaguely in the direction of Market Street.

“If you go up Market Street back to the dorms on the east side,” she said, “be careful of the hill. In the winter time, I’ve personally seen more than one person fall down the hill.” She said this with the significance one might give to witnessing a drive-by shooting.

I remember the comment because I’d already climbed up and down the hill several times that day. If I were a mountaineer or even a hiker, I probably would have enjoyed it. As it was, I was more of an indoor girl—shopping and reading were my two main hobbies. The temperature was hovering around 95 with 99% humidity, and I shrieked each time I saw my increasingly frizzy hair in the reflection of buildings as we passed by. I made a mental note to avoid that hill.

The following August, once I’d moved into Burge Hall, I quickly realized that to get to the English-Philosophy Building from the east-side dorms, you must go up and down that hill. As an English major, it was unavoidable.

The first week of classes, my roommate and I would arrive at our dorm at the same time, both huffing and puffing, “I … hate … (gasp) that (sputter) hill!”

After about one week, however, my body quickly adjusted to climbing up and down it several times a day. The trick was to bend over at the waist in a 90 degree angle to keep your equilibrium so you didn’t topple over backwards. Going down the hill was trickier because inertia and gravity tended to make your feet pound the pavement faster than you really wanted to go, and before you knew it, you were at the bottom of the hill barreling into the intersection with no way to stop. The hill became an adventure.

Around December, with the first snowstorm, that adventure became a little more life-threatening. After one night of sleet and decreasing temperatures, the ground was covered by a thin layer of ice.

My best friend Natalie and I were tromping our way to class one early Wednesday morning. We approached the top of the hill chatting and laughing about daily events, what happened the day before on General Hospital, where to hang the posters we had stolen from the video rental store the week before, and how the girl who lived next to me really needed to stop playing Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline”—I don’t care if her name was Caroline, enough was enough.

When we got the corner of Clinton and Market, all conversation ceased. Our steps became tentative and we both silently wondered how we were going to get down this hill without killing ourselves.

There was a small group of people gathered next to the parking ramp. “Um …” one girl said. “How do we get down?” We stared down the sidewalk to the bottom where the street lay waiting.

Next to us, a car drove by slowing, brake lights lit up. As the driver began going down the street, the tires locked, and the car began plummeting to the bottom of the hill. The brake lights flashed on and off, on and off, as the driver began pumping his brakes to gain some traction. We all watched in silence. Then the driver applied his horn as a warning as the car slid half a block and into the middle of the intersection. No other cars were around, and the driver straightened his wheel, applied some gas, and took off.

The small crowd at the top of the hill all released the breath we’d been holding in anticipation of an accident and turned back to the business at hand. “Well,” the first girl said, “here goes nothing.” She and her friend both began sliding down the hill. Encouraged by their progress, a handful of others followed.

Natalie and I looked at each other. I distinctly remember Nat shrugging at me and we both set off. Within two steps, we were holding tightly onto one another’s hand (if I go down, I’m taking you with me) and no longer picking our feet up, choosing instead to just hold as still as possible and hope gravity would deposit us safely.

All was going smoothly until someone called, “Erica!” At the sound of my name, I tried turning around to see who was calling me, upsetting Nat’s equilibrium in the process. Down she went!

She shrieked, and in the next second, down I went, shrieking all the way after her. She was still clinging onto my hand, and, like a game of Red Rover gone bad, we slid down the hill, Nat her on her back and me on my side, both of us shrieking the whole way.

It wasn’t long before we slammed into another girl who had been carefully edging her way the street. Like a chain reaction, down she went, sliding after us. It wasn’t long before she hit a boy—but he was ready. Observing our ascent, he had grabbed a tree on the side of the road and was holding on for dear life. His expression of utter disbelief as we slid by him is engrained in my memory until the day I die.

After about twenty feet of sliding, Natalie managed to get a grip on the ground beneath her and pulled us both to a stop. We were both nearly catatonic in the middle of the sidewalk on our backs, panting, rather like the little brother in A Christmas Story. I had an image of some bully jumping into the frame while we lay paralyzed, but was distracted when Nat seemed to find her voice.

“I … don’t … believe that just happened,” she finally croaked.

I had nothing to add to the conversation. Her remark pretty much summed up the situation.

After that experience, we decided we needed a new route to get to and from the EPB. The following day, we discovered behind our dorm, sitting parallel with the hill was a parking ramp. We could leave Burge by a back entrance, walk about 10 yards, and enter the parking ramp at street level. Then we could either walk down three flights of stairs or ride the elevator down three floors, and exit the parking ramp at street level, thereby omitting the hill completely.

It was brilliant, and we weren’t the only students who had discovered this.

The first time we tried this, our experience was less than what we’d hoped. We’d eliminated the hill, but traded it for a foul-smelling elevator with suspicious liquid puddles on the floor and fishy smudges smeared over the windows and buttons.

The alternative, however, was falling on your ass in front of dozens of students and flailing downwards half a block, so we made the best of it and quickly adapted, even forgetting what the conditions were like in the ’vator.

We were reminded again, when our friend Sara rode on it once with us.

“What the hell is that smell?” Sara shrieked when we entered.

“Oh, we’re pretty sure that’s the smell of death,” Natalie said cheerfully.

“Watch out for the plasma on the floor,” I added helpfully pointing at the puddle.

“The plasma?” Sara looked horrified.

“Well, we don’t know for sure that it’s plasma,” Natalie said hurriedly, to ease her mind.

“It just seems like the most logical conclusion, since we’re pretty sure someone had to have died in this elevator to make it smell like this.”

Sara shook her head and stuck out her hand to push the ground level button. “Wait!” Nat and I shouted in unison and she snatched her hand back in fright.

“Don’t ever,” Natalie said sternly, “ever touch anything in this elevator.”

“Do you want to get a herpe?” I cried. “Look around!! Does this place look sanitary?”

All three of us scrutinized the dirt-smudged windows, crumpled wrappers, and what looked like a mass of leaves leftover from autumn in the corner.

Finally, Sara said, “No. This place looks like where garbage comes to die.” She looked at me. “You’re wearing gloves. You push the button.”

I looked horrified. “I’m not ruining my gloves by touching that button. Forget it. Move out of the way.”

She moved and I deftly kicked the button with my boot. The elevator chugged to life and we slowly began to ascend. “I see that Taebo is really working out for you,” she said wryly.

“Your backpack is touching the wall,” Nat told her matter-of-factly. “You’ve definitely caught the plague now.”

Sara looked around the conditions surrounding her and then turned to face us. “Who’s idea was this? I hate you both. I’ll die before I ride this death elevator again.” The doors dinged open and she stomped out, narrowly missing a girl and her boyfriend waiting to get on.

Nat murmured to me under her breath, “Well, she’ll probably die anyway. Do you see that clump of … whatever it is on her arm? That will definitely get her, if her infected backpack doesn’t first.”

“This death elevator is nature’s answer to medical breakthroughs. Survival of the fittest,” I replied as I followed her out and we struggled to catch up with Sara.

From behind me, as the doors began to close, I could hear the boyfriend say to his girlfriend, “Gross! Don’t touch anything in here.” From the other direction, off in the distance, I could hear the descending shriek of another sacrifice to the hill.

Oh, the Places You'll Go

This is actually a reworking of a piece I originally posted in the summer of 2003.

Oh, the Places You’ll Go…

“Some books are meant to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some to be chewed and digested.”
--Francis Bacon

"Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing."
--Scout Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

I am a book junkie. Just as I have to breathe, I have to read. My security blanket is not warm and fuzzy; it is square with rough edges and a shiny hard cover, but I sleep with it just the same. I rarely use my library card, preferring instead to hoard my money and spend my hard-earned cash on books, so after I am finished reading, I can keep them. One does not throw away their childhood stuffed animals; I cannot part with my books. Is there anything more delicious than picking up a brand new book, running your fingertips lovingly over the spine, feeling the coarse edges of the pages as you flip through them, and finally—after much internal fanfare—opening the front cover and hearing the satisfying split of the binding. The split that marks the initiation of the brand-new to the cherished. The split that allows the book to say to the world: Not only was I anticipated, paid for with hard-earned currency, and read, I was treasured.

Perhaps the only thing more delicious than a brand-new book is an old tattered, worn-out book. These are the books that show I don’t just see words on a page or even just pictures in my mind. I see a time in space and a space in time. I know where I was and what was happening in my life during the reading of these books. Each tattered copy marks not just a novel finished, but a landmark on my mind or—if I’m really lucky—in my life.

At the sight of my tattered copy of Little House on the Prairie, I recall curling up in a ball underneath piles of blankets while my dad read to my sister and me. I was so young that I didn’t understand a lot of the story, but I remember how the edge of the mattress would cut into my neck. I was unable to move—paralyzed with pleasure at the images the words were conjuring.

The scent of lilacs today reminds me of a warm spring at the end of eighth grade. I sat in our backyard as flowers bloomed and I sobbed over the ending to Sharon Creech’s poignant Walk Two Moons.

Whenever I see a Hemingway book today, I remember one Saturday night in my sophomore year in college. My roommate and I were taking a novels class, and instead of dressing up to go out with our friends, we curled up (she on our depressed-looking futon, and I on my lofted bed) with our copies of In Our Time. Every few pages we would pause to wait for the other to catch up or exclaim over what was happening. All of the stories were better because they were shared.

I was not allowed to watch television while I was growing up (a gift I will never be able to fully thank my mother for, despite the hours I spend in front of the TV now). From an early age I watched pictures in my head instead of on the screen. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is book that took me to a new time and space. I was not prepared for Narnia, the lion, the witch, or most especially, that wardrobe. The idea that one could escape into a different world from such an ordinary, mundane thing as a closet! Although the story has dissipated somewhat in my mind, the memories of wonder, awe, and plain and simple pleasure have evolved from feelings to moments of time and space inside me. For me, Narnia—or Alice’s Wonderland—or that Wrinkle in Time—is not found through a door in my closet, but inside a 6x8-inch square sitting on my bookshelf.

Miss Rixie's 2005-2006 School Year Goals: a Reflection

Please refer to the August 2005 blog to review the goals:

1. I will leave no child left behind ... except those who blatantly refuse to keep up by not doing their homework, yeah, they're so getting left behind. It's like those kids who won't get back in the car at the rest stop when Dad stops to go to the bathroom, and then he has to drive away to teach Kid a lesson so that it won't happen again. Well, I'll be the one teaching those idiots a lesson: You snooze, you lose ... but beyond that, I will leave no child left behind. Unless they really deserve it. Obviously. Okay, will leave a minimal amount of children behind.
Reflection: Okay, several children were left behind, mainly because they are too lazy to do their goddamn homework. Well, they weren't so much left behind as advised, then warned, and finally threatened that if they weren't waiting at the bus stop, not only was I leaving without them, I wasn't looking back. One kid's MOTHER actually said to me in May, "Why should he bother doing any more work because we're 95% sure he's going to flunk fourth quarter." In the words of Justin Timberlake, um, cry me a river. Hello, he still could have passed the SEMESTER. But he didn't do any work, so he didn't pass. And he wasn't the only one.


2. Will do a minimal amount of study guides and instead try to find a more engaging way to teach students.
Reflection: This was a fairly successful goal. Many reading strategies were done, but I tried to pick fun ones and didn't hear many complaints.

3. Will not allow Scary-Mary from next door to torment me by blazing in the door in all her glory to yell at students to keep noise down and glaring at me from behind her glasses only to mock-apologize the next hour. Will simply explain that I, unlike her, do not choose to teach by making my students keep their noses in their books five days a week without ever discussing what they're reading or doing activities to keep them engaged.
Reflection: Amazingly, Scary-Mary did not blaze in the door in all her glory even one single time this year. She did send a student in once, but it was minor. And, of course, now I'm moving rooms, so her reign of terror has come to an end. For me, anyway.

4. Will write a kickin' choral reading script for speech season beginning in November/December. My choral reading kids will not be subjected to Scary-Mary's "I am a better speech coach" attitude because they will be too caught up in what an awesome job they are doing putting it together.
Reflection: We did "How to Eat Like a Child" by Delia Ephron. And we kicked it!! I had a great group of kids and they had a great time!!

5. Make choral reading more of a student-led event. Instead of having me do everything (write script, figure out poses, etc.) will encourage the kids to figure out how they want to stand, what they want to do, how they will be grouped, etc. Yeah!!
Reflection: Didn't do any of the blocking by myself. At one point, when we were trying to set up a scene that looked like a classroom, I even said, "Help me!! I'm not sure what to do and I need your input!" and one of the kids came up with the inspired idea of having two students sit at the back of the "classroom" wearing Dunce caps. Brilliant!

6. Will not allow self to feel intimidated by scary/psycho members of staff such as scary gym teacher who looks me up and down and could be my grandfather (well, a really young grandfather anyway) and Bitchy-Brenda and Bragger Barb and, obviously, Scary-Mary. Will introduce self to new student teacher since I know how it feels to be a young woman on staff in a building full of middle-aged men who haven't been outside small town in last two decades.
Reflection: Wow!! Was just realizing at the end of the year, around April, or so, that I'm starting to know and feel comfortable--amazingly, like colleagues--with most members of the staff.

7. Be tougher when grading--make my students have to work for it. But also motivate them by doing kicking activities that stretch their critical thinking and application skills.
Reflection: Feel pretty good about this. Want to keep doing it. It's tough to remember in today's grade inflation world, that average means a C--not a B+ as most teachers seem inclined to give.

8. Will concentrate on reading skills and improving reading abilities in classroom by doing research, practicing different reading strategies with students, and generally, becoming Queen of the Reading Pool of Knowledge.
Reflection: Did lots of reading strategies that seemed to work, and built a reputation for myself. So much so that I am teaching a remedial readings strategy class next year. While I'm not the only one, I am the one my boss chose to have go with him while we were scoping out different programs, and I am the one that ultimately chose the program and designed the curriculum.

9. Will not allow self to get roped into doing things for other teachers such as stage or technical manager or director, etc. Will be strong and stick to my guns. Will be self-confident and self-assured. Mean what I say and support what I mean.
Reflection: Well, I got rid of the title "Speech Contest Manager" and refused to take on stage manager again. This may be the thing I am most proud of. Look at my little backbone growing!!

10. Will kick Iowa Standards and Benchmarks of Teaching in the ass, rock my Individual Career Development Plan into orbit, and make my Reading Strategies rule all. As Esme said, I will kick pedagogical ass.
Reflection: My portfolio of Iowa Standards and Benchmarks ruled all, but I still feel like I could use some improvement here. I hope that the reading class next year will actually improve reading scores. That is my number one goal as a teacher, and the reason I do everything I do.

In Reponse to...

In response to my sister's post entitled "The Day I Became My Sister ... or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Montage."

I long ago gave up the General Hospital video montages and have moved on to Jim and Pam from The Office. There are some pretty rocking video montages of Jim and Pam entitled things like "Just Once" played to some pretty rockin songs, like ones by Journey and Jessica Simpson. The cheese quotient is high, the longing looks are frequent. What's not to love?

P.S. There is a two hour The Office marathon tonight on NBC. Be there or be square.

The Romance Collection: Jane Eyre

I recently spent $80 on a 14-DVD set collection of A&E/BBC miniseries (it was totally worth every penny and I would have paid more for it). The DVDs included:

Pride & Prejudice (the single greatest miniseries ever created with the possible exception of Anne of Green Gables)
Victoria & Albert (which I first saw as a sophomore in college when it first came out)
Ivanhoe
Emma
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Lorna Doone
Tom Jones
Jane Eyre


Here comes the fourth review: Jane Eyre
I wasn't entirely sure how I would feel about this miniseries. I've seen other versions and it's always hard to be objective when you have something else to compare it to. This version of Jane Eyre, however, was delightful. Ciaran Hinds as Mr. Rochester was deliciously deranged and almost insanely passionate--everything a true Mr. Rochester should be. Samantha Morton did a lovely job repressing her emotions while still allowing enough of them to show that the audience felt what she felt every step of the way. Gemma Jones was also in the miniseries as it had been at least two weeks since I watched a British movie that she wasn't in and she was overdue.

My one complaint is that the relationship between Mr. Rochester and Jane could use a little more build up before it's obvious that the two of them are in love. Mr. Rochester meets Jane, she wows him with her spirit, and the next thing you know, he's sharing the most important--well, second most important--part of his past with her, with only one line about them taking many walks together to explain. Ten minutes past that, however, it's easy to forget their budding relationship was rushed.

My favorite parts included Mr. Rochester turning into a giant baby throwing a temper tantrum. You'll have to watch to see what I mean, but it's thoroughly delightful. And the ending's not bad either.

Perfect Society

The date: Thursday, 27 April 2006
The time: 11:15 a.m. Fourth hour English 9 class
The activity: Prereading questions over Lois Lowry’s The Giver
The people: A group of 4 15-year-old boys … and one English teacher nearby eavesdropping

Okay, question #1. Have you ever read another book by Lois Lowry. If so, what was it about?

Yeah, we read that one in sixth grade.

Yeah, what was that called?

Something about dogs and Denmark. And a picnic basket. Oh yeah, and the Holocaust.

Wait, was it that one about the Holocaust?

Oh yeah—it was.

You can’t remember it was about the Holocaust, but you remember there were dogs and a freaking picnic basket in the story?

Attention to detail, my friend.

Moving on. Let’s answer question two. You guys, what was the story about?

People died.

People cried.

You guys are doing it wrong. You’re supposed to put what you thought about the book, not what it was about. So put … [in a monotone voice] it was good.

Yeah, it was good, it was … extravagant.

It was inspirational.

Put stars around “inspirational”.

Yeah, so she knows it’s good.

Okay, we have it was good, extravagant, and inspirational with stars. Next question: what would it take to make a perfect society?

Bunnies!! Lots of bunnies.

Penguins can fly.

Air-powered cars.

Lots of water.

With floodgates. [Defending his choice] What? We don’t want to die from the rain.

No guns. Wait, let’s have guns! … BUBBLE guns.

Law #1: Everyone must have a bubble gun on them at all times.

Lots of machines that do our work.

Robots!

Willy Wonka exists.

There’s sand everywhere!! We live on a beach.

Everyone’s rich!

(scoffing) That wouldn’t work—everyone can’t be rich!

Oh, Willy Wonka can exist but everyone can’t be rich?!?

Okay, okay, here’s what we should do: Let’s take off the beach thing. That wouldn’t work. We’d all have to drive SVUs for that to work.

Good point.

So cross off the beach thing and just leave everyone is rich. If anyone argues the point with us, we’ll just say we meant everyone’s rich with …

Love! Everyone’s rich with love.

Except us. We’re rich with money.

Just us?

Yeah. And that’s how we know it’s a perfect society. Because *we’re* the happy ones. We have money and lots of pet bunnies. What could be better?

Another Day, Another Blogger ... named Rixie

So I was in the process of googling "rixie" to try to find the etymology of the name, and came across another blog about another Rixie. I began reading it and was horrified to discover that this Rixie was a Republican, who not only was extremely conservative, but also condemning Democrats for continuing to vote Ted Kennedy into office. She went on to say that the red Southern states were often criticized as being "clueless" or "uneducated." Her question was if the red Southern states (of which she, apparently, is a part of) are so "clueless" and "uneducated", why is it the educated and with-it (my words, not hers) blue Northern states that keep electing Ted Kennedy?

Her point, mind you, as far as I could tell, was that despite being seen as "uneducated" and "clueless" (her words, not mine), the red Southern states were actually the smarter and "with-it" states. And while I'm sure she had other points beyond that first paragraph, I did not still stick around long enough to find out what it was. (Well, I'll admit, I skimmed and read a part where she defended Rush Limbaugh's actions by saying what he did was not nearly as bad as what some Democrats had done, at which point I closed out the window completely. Without getting too political, anyone who defends Rush L. is obviously uneducated and clueless.) The point is, however, I did not stick around any longer, because while she was trying to prove that they were not "uneducated" and "clueless", she managed to spell the following words wrong: prescription, alibi (she spelled it "aliby"), and allowed (she spelled it aloud).

And that, class, is why we study homonyms. And irony.

Class dismissed.

The Death of PurplePuppy

My sister made me a little PurplePuppy out of origami. I carried it around in my laptop so I would always have something purple and pretty to look at for inspiration. And now Darcy has eaten PurplePuppy. Well, not eaten actually. Chewed. She likes to chew, not swallow. So she chewed PurplePuppy. And now the inspiration appears to be gone.

So concludes this entry. Good-bye PurplePuppy.

Last night

10:00 Think to myself: I'll just stay up for another hour or so. I'm not tired at all!!

10:30 I'll get into bed and watch Arrested Development. Or maybe be a rebel and watch two.

11:00 Open book. Can't find place. Read three pages. Seems vaguely familiar.

11:03 Realize already read those three pages last night. Nothing more annoying than when you want to read and can't remember where you were, and read three pages and realize you already read it.

11:11 I'll watch more Arrested Development and knit. Yes, that's right: KNIT. I'm making a trendy, fashionable scarf. It's currently two inches long. Go me!!

11:37 Consider turning off the TV and going to bed. Have school tomorrow. Should be well-rested.

12:01 Or whatever.

12:15 Have now watched entire disc. Will either have to get out of bed to switch to the next disc or turn Arrested Development off.

12:16 Turn TV off. Still not feeling tired, so decide to read.

12:20 Finally find correct spot in book. Tell self will only read for 20 minutes.

1:01 Look at clock. Marvel at how time flies when you've got to get up in six hours and don't want to go to sleep.

1:02 Turn out light.

1:03 Yawn.

1:04 Try to play the ABC game with myself to get mind to settle down. Topic: Characters on television shows I watch.
A is for Ana Lucia
B is for Barbara Walters (she counts as a character, right? Surely that can't really be her personality!
C is for ...

1:05 Am stuck. And bored.

1:06 Abandon game.

1:07 Wonder if anyone has actually ever counted sheep.

1:08 Get up and turn heat down.

1:09 Decide while I'm up, might as well pick out clothes to wear for tomorrow.

1:32 Decide on brown cropped pants and short sleeved T-shirt if it is going to be nice; black pants, black boots, and sweater if it's going to be like I think it will be tomorrow

1:33 Check weather. Supposed to be 56 degrees and rainy. Reluctantly hang the cropped pants and short sleeved shirt back in the closet, knowing full well will pull them out again and wear them in the morning regardless of the weather.

1:36 Go back to bed.

1:38 Get out of bed to drink glass of water.

1:44 Decide must seriously concentrate on getting to sleep.

1:57 Have to pee. Bad. Damn water.

1:59 Do the math: if I fall asleep now, I can still get five hours of sleep.

2:18 Have to pee. Again. Damn water.

2:21 Figure as long as I'm up ...

2:22 Do some online research. Check all my favorite sites: tvguide.com, stephen colbert's site, jennifer crusie's site, meg cabot's site, imdb.com, sister's blog, read an article by Tom Hanks about his make-up artist, read an article about the Daytime Emmy results, veronica mars site, etc.

3:02 Have checked all the sites, and oddly, none have been updated since I last checked (about five hours previous)

3:03 Check own blog to see if it was magically updated by someone other than me.

3:04 Sadly, no.

3:05 Ponder what else I can research.

3:26 End up reading telepathic stories about identical twins. Freaky!!

3:27 Drink a mug of warm milk.

3:32 Begin to feel sleepy.

3:33 Go back to bed. If I fall asleep now, I can get three and a half hours of sleep.

3:45 If I fall asleep now, I can still get three hours of sleep.

3:54 If I fall asleep now, I can ...

still get three hours of sleep. Open eyes to look at clock. 6:54. DAMMIT!!!

Adventures of a First Year Teacher

Just discovered a forgotten journal I was keeping for the first few days of teaching last year. Here are selections from my entry beginning with the second day of my first year of teaching.

The Good:
Today I had my first crackdown, discipline-wise, and I handled it tremendously well, if I do say so myself. I handed out this assignment to the kids and told them not to worry about finishing it tonight; it wasn’t homework, that we’d finish it in class tomorrow, but that they should use their time today wisely. The kid—who we’ll call Andrew because that is his name—packed up early. I told him to sit back down and finish working. He said he’d do it tonight. I said, well then why am I giving you time tomorrow? He said nothing. I said sit down and finish it. We had a stare down. The thing is, he was standing up first and was much taller than I was, but as I stared him down, he gradually sank into the chair until I was taller (never underestimate the importance of body language, as Ursula would tell me, if I were a mermaid named Ariel). But even though he did that, I could tell he wasn’t going to back down. So I stared at him for a few more seconds and then said, “Okay, it’s homework. For everyone.” He immediately said, “No, I’ll do it. Look I’m getting it out.” But I completely ignored him and turned around to a bunch of girls digging through my books and said, “Did you hear that girls? The assignment’s homework. If anyone doesn’t have it done tomorrow at the beginning of class, it’s late.” And since I have a really strict late policy, I think it will all be finished. I heard one of the kid’s say, “Way to go, Andrew,” but I didn’t even look at him for the next minute or so until the bell rang. No skin off my back. It was great!! I really don’t think I’ll have another problem like that one with him again. Knock on wood…

It’s so weird to have my own classroom. To know I can do anything type of curriculum I want. I don’t have to answer to anyone (am having a bit of a problem remembering I don’t have to do all of the previous teacher's curriculum, especially all the stuff with careers). I’m the teacher. I can do whatever I want. THERE’S SO MUCH FREEDOM!!! I LOVE IT!!!

Good day all around. Knew everybody’s name as they walked out of my classroom. Hopefully at least half of them will carry over. WOB came in during sixth hour when the kids had their dictionaries open and were working-slash-quizzing me over their names. Very good moment for him to observe meJ Am excited to get back there tomorrow morning and get to work again.

The Bad:
I’m having lots of fun, but am physically exhausted at the end of every day. I fall into bed and am asleep in minutes. Plus, I have no life and I’m broke. I have $1.90 in my checking account and don’t get paid for eight more days. Hmm.

The Inbetween:
Me, today in school sixth period: In the scene of Romeo & Juliet you read last night as homework, can anyone tell me what the nurse and Lady Capulet are talking about.

[Several hands go up]

Me: Emily?

Emily: They’re reminiscing about Juliet’s childhood

Me: Exactly! Nice work. What else? Andrew?

Andrew: Is there a war going on in Iraq?

Me:

Amanda: Andrew! Shut up!!

That kid is unlike any other student I’ve ever met in my life. Despite his inability to focus on ANYTHING at hand, I do really like him. He’s fun…although I wish he’d quit flirting with me. It’s especially embarrassing when kids from other classes comment on it.

Ha! How hilarious!! I'm happy to say that the flirting did stop once I no longer had him in class. I am currently laughing to myself about how excited I was to get back to work the next day. I am now counting down the days until summer vacation (for the record, it's 21--four full weeks of classes plus one day for the teachers).

Corsage Catastrophe

So today is the day of my brother's prom and I decide to go with my mom to pick up the corsage for his date. We're running behind after spending an hour at the library looking for books on endangered species for my mother's sixth graders to research and we still need to go to Wal-Mart to get my dad some garden seed plant thing so he won't accuse us of blowing him off and to get me insulin so I won't die. I tell my mom I'll run in to Hy-Vee and pick up the corsage to save us the time of parking, etc. so we can get a move on and brother won't be late.

Only I go into Hy-Vee and tell them my name and there's no flower. They look in the refridgerator where they keep all their flowers and there's nothing back there. "It's lime green," I say helpfully, in case they're retarded and can't read their writing. "There are three lime green sweetheart roses with white foliage." They look blankly around. Clearly, it's not there.

We check out the sheet with the order, and in the column that reads "Done" there is no checkmark. The fucking flower never got made and he has to leave in forty minutes to pick his date up on time.

"No problem," the older woman with stupid blonde hair in a stupid cut says. "I'll do yours next." Then, as I stand there and watch, another woman comes up to the counter. She's clearly A Mom as she's got at least two decades on me, maybe more. Hers isn't made either. I throw her a sympathetic look until I hear Stupid Blonde say, "No problem. I'll do yours next." I immediately take back my sympathetic look as I worry about my place in line. Then Stupid Blonde says, "Michelle, refund this woman her money." I look to see who she's talking about and it's The Mom--NOT ME. Stupid Blonde has just become Stupid Blonde Bitch and I now hate her.

I wait patiently for five minutes while they tell The Mom it will be ten minutes for her order and probably twenty for mine. Then I run to the parking lot and explain the situation to my mother. We agree she will go to Wal-Mart and pretend to be me picking up my insulin and come back and pick me up.

Then I call Brother. He's rather apologetic while I seethingly explain the situation through clenched teeth--"I'm experiencing agism RIGHT HERE--discrimination right in the middle of the florist section of the local Hy-Vee! If I were a MAN--"

"That doesn't fit in with the ageism theory."

"Oh. Right. Thanks. If I were a MIDDLE-AGED MOTHER, this would NEVER happen."

He is appropriately sympathetic because he's grateful: 1) I'm picking up his corsage and it has now been 25 minutes since I walked in, and 2) he's driving my car to pick up his date.

We hang up and I watch the clock. Thirty minutes tick by and I call my mom and tell her to take her time--the corsage was supposed to be ready ten minutes ago and she's busy making an orange corsage and sticking baby's breath into some bouquet at the same time while I stand trying to be tall enough to glare at her over the top of the discount roses.

I decide to run and get pop for work as I'm pretty sure that my boss has been stealing mine again. Then I remember that I'm out of cereal and if I don't have any of that, I will definitely starve. All of my pants have been a little tight lately, so that may not be a bad thing, but I buy the cereal anyway. Then I go stand in front of the florist again.

There are now three employees working on one bouquet of flowers, one working at the cash register, and zero working on my corsage. I pretend my phone rings and say loudly into, "Well, I don't know what to tell you. I'm still at Hy-Vee and they haven't even STARTED on your corsage yet. You'll just have to call Cathy and tell her you'll be late for your PROM." I glare some more at Stupid Blonde Bitch, who has the decency to drop the carnation she'd been busy shoving into a vase and pick up some white sweetheart roses. "I'll call you when I leave," I say, continuing my fake conversation into the cell phone, "if I ever DO leave."

I see Stupid Blonde Bitch whispering to the woman named Michelle who, I notice on her name tag, has worked here eight years and yet can't run a fucking cash register, or really do ANYTHING except stand around apologizing to people for not having their orders finished.

Michelle calls me over and refunds my money (really my mother's money, $27, thank you very much) and when I go back to standing in front of Stupid Blonde Bitch, she says, "I apologize for the wait. I don't know what happened; everything got all messed up." I think in my head, don't EVEN try to be friends with me now, Bitch!

The thing is, I worked in a grocery store for four years and I know how customers blame you for things that are not your fault. It was clearly NOT her fault that mine wasn't made--the night staff had prepared next weekend's corsages instead of this weekend's corsages--but it IS her fault that she ignored me, made someone else's corsage in front of my face even when I was clearly the first customer in line, refunded that woman's money but NOT mine until she'd made me wait 40 more minutes, and worked on other people's orders instead of mine while ignoring me some more. I was beyond the point of pretending to be courteous.

So I say, "I just wish I'd known when she said it would take 20 minutes, she really meant an hour." Then I stomp away and pull out my cell phone to check in with my mother again.

Ten minutes later, she FINALLY finishes the corsage (seriously, why do they have four people working back there when only one of them can actually do anything???) and begins working on the boutinierre.

"Wait a minute," I say, "we didn't order a boutinierre."

She ignores me (shocking!) and shows me a picture of a purple caterlilly. "We don't have these in stock," she says.

I stare at her blankly, then realizes she expects an answer. "Oh. Well, we didn't order that, so it's okay."

She and Michelle look at my order form. Then they look back at the picture. "But we don't have that," Stupid Blonde Bitch repeats.

"Well," I repeat, "we didn't order that, so it's okay. We ordered a lime green wrist corsage with three sweetheart roses, baby breath, and white leaves."

"But this is a purple caterlilly," she tells me.

I think, don't care! but answer, "Not mine."

Finally, they realize that they mixed up the order (ya think? I think) and continue making the boutinierre despite my repeated, "We only ordered a corsage!"s. They hand over the corsage and boutinierres and I glance at the clock as I leave. I have spent a full sixty minutes waiting for a stupid corsage that was supposed to have been done six hours ago.

As I'm leaving, Stupid Blonde Bitch smiles and says gaily, "Thank you. Come again!" and I want her dead.

Happy birthday ... to me.

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 24.

It's incredible to me. Even as I look at the number, I can't believe it. When my students asked me how old I was and I replied, "Twenty-four," some of the girls responded, "I didn't know you were that young," which prompted the boys to joke, "Any day now you'll be over the hill." I replied, "I know! It's getting to the point where I can say, 'Twenty years ago...' and actually remember what happened!"

Which got me thinking.

I had a lovely birthday yesterday. The weather was beautiful and since it's Easter weekend, I have several days off from school now. I got loads of wonderful presents from my fam, including a new DVD/VCR combo and several books and movies I'd been coveting. My mim and I went grocery shopping for Easter dinner on Sunday and it was nice to spend time with her, I'm currently rereading one of my all-time favorite books (Jennifer Crusie's Welcome to Temptation) which is one of those books that makes me feel happy just looking at it, and my dog was behaving herself for a change. All in all, it was perfect.

And even so, when I went to bed, I turned out my light earlier than I usually would so I could float in the darkness and let my age and memories and feelings wash over me. I had a perfectly lovely day, and although it's not as traumatic as my last birthday was, I felt awash with feelings of nostalgia and change, all swirled into one indefinable emotion. I like to be able to identify my emotions, so it's particularly puzzling when I'm unable to. I guess it's just as my mother told me last year, "Birthdays are emotional." What I'm discovering more and more is that--they are.

They signify age and mortality, and yet, inevitably, I reflect back on previous years and feel youthful as well. They signify achievement--look at all I've done--and unconquered dreams--here's what I still want to do. They make me reflective and dreamy and hopeful and inspired and, well, emotional. And even though I'm one big ball of confusion, I still can't help but think: ooh, I can't wait until next April 14th!

It's reassuring that as I approach mid-twenties, part of me set up camp along time ago in the single digits.

Discussions in Class

Overheard conversations while watching the movie Cannery Row with 11 senior boys suffering from senioritis.

After seeing Nick Nolte, complete with mustache, Jacob (complete with a mustache himself) shouts out: "Hey! That's me!" The screen flashes to an ugly looking octupus. Jacob cries: "And that's Rhett!" The screen flashes to a scantily clad woman: "And that's Lucas. Wow! Look at the legs on Luke!"

After Nick Nolte swears, the class unanimously gasps in mock shock.
Me: "Do we need to take out our mature caps and secure them tightly to our heads."
(Various students mumbling to each other): "Our what?"... "I've lost mine"... "Lost it? You never had it!" ... "What the hell's a mature cap? Is that like a tampon?"

Telepathic Conversation

Conversation between my sister and me about Pride & Prejudice

Me: Do you think Jane Austen--

Sister: I know! I think about that all the time.

Me: I don't think she did.

Sister: Me either. But it's still--

Me: I KNOW!! It totally is.

[Pause.]

Sister: Totally.

The Life of a Teacher

"Don’t be mad, Miss A., but I lost my essay.
I didn’t know they were due today."

But today’s the day I’m figuring your grade,
So… be afraid. Be very afraid.

By mid-morning, my classroom’s in disarray;
Papers and trash every which way,

The mountains of papers piling up on my desk
Have moved beyond frightening and into grotesque.

Gazing around, I can’t hide my dismay,
Lessons and textbooks and backpacks, oh my!

All these things my job does feature,
Welcome to the life of a teacher!

A Day in the Life of Darcy the Puggle

6:45 Wake up. Wait patiently for Rixie to let me out of crate.

6:46 Begin wagging tail ferociously so it hits against the side of crate thus waking Rixie up to let me out.

6:47 Wag tail harder. Nothing.

6:48 Fall back asleep.

7:59 Wake up. Begin to cry very softly to be let out of crate.

8:00 Nothing. Cry louder.

8:01 Go back to sleep.

8:56 Wake up. Cry softly to let Rixie know am awake. Hear expletive coming from Rixie's room. She's awake. Take expletive as encouragement and begin to cry in earnest.

9:01 She's coming, she's coming, she's coming to let me out. Make excited noises to know am appreciating it.

9:02 Let out of crate. Get so excited by the prospect of breakfast, forget what I am doing and run into next room. Run directly back when hear puppy chow being poured into bowl. Run into cabinet door in excitement.

9:03 Begin eating.

9:03 and a half Finish eating. Run to door and tackle Rixie from the back to show am ready to go outside.

9:04 Do business. Come back inside.

9:15 Jump on Rixie's bed. Get pushed off bed by Rixie who is burrowed under blankets.

9:16 Try again. Get pushed down again.

9:17 Eat used Kleenexes out of bathroom garbage can.

9:20 Am so excited by something, run around the loop in house four times. Am shooting for five when I discover Rixie is up and making something in the kitchen.

9:21 Climb on table to find out what she is making.

9:22 Get yelled at. Get off table.

9:23 Play fetch while Rixie is eating and reading.

10:01 Tire of fetch. Sit on chair in living room staring into space.

10:46 Find living room boring. Move into blue room. Sit on chair staring into space.

11:03 Hear Rixie calling me. Do not respond.

11:04 Rixie finds me and sits with me in chair. She is talking baby talk which I do NOT respond to. Ever.

11:17 Hear neighbors getting home. Am upset by noise they are making as they enter their apartment. Bark to let them have it.

11:31 Do not stop barking until Rixie threatens, "Kennel up." Am silenced immediately.

11:37 Play more fetch.

12:02 Run more loops in the house.

12:13 Chew a bone.

12:15 Abandon bone for highlighter.

12:16 Get yelled at for chewing highlighter.

12:18 Growl at a cat through the window.

12:21 Sniff in bathroom garbage while Rixie takes shower. Get yelled at.

12:42 Scratch at door to go outside.

12:43 Scratch at door to go inside. Am ignored.

12:44 Begin sniffing leaves and diggin holes.

1:02 Am let back inside. Rixie is talking on phone. Burrow under couch hoping to find buried treasure.

1:04 Climb on kitchen table hoping to find treasure.

1:06 Scratch at pillows on Rixie's bed hoping to find treasure.

1:08 Am thrown outside.

1:31 Am let back inside.

1:32 Fall asleep on Rixie's lap.

2:37 Go for a drive with Rixie. She is clearly feeling guilty for abandoning me for speech contest the last two months.

3:03 Run more circles in the house.

3:46 Fall asleep on the couch.

4:02 Bark at doorbell on TV.

4:26 Bark at ringing phone on TV.

5:46 Run back and forth between living room and kitchen to let Rixie know it's time for supper.

5:55 Eat supper.

5:55 and a half Finish supper.

5:56 Go outside. Do business.

5:59 Come inside. Run loops in the house.

6:03 Chew bone.

6:09 Attack stuffed bear like it is a predator. Tear stuffing out.

6:15 Abandon bear for Rixie's pants. Attack ferociously.

6:16 Get thrown outside.

6:23 Get let back in after much begging.

6:24 Knock over trash.

6:25 Fall asleep on the couch.

8:01 Move to chair. Fall asleep on chair.

8:31 Bark at own reflection in window. Get yelled at.

9:13 Cuddle with Rixie.

9:15 Am finished cuddling, but she won't let go. Bite her. Hard.

9:16 Get pushed off the furniture and yelled at.

9:32 Fall asleep on Rixie.

10:02 Kennel up. Fall asleep.


Repeat process tomorrow. It's a good life.

The Romance Collection: The Scarlet Pimpernel

I recently spent $80 on a 14-DVD set collection of A&E/BBC miniseries (it was totally worth every penny and I would have paid more for it). The DVDs included:

Pride & Prejudice (the single greatest miniseries ever created with the possible exception of Anne of Green Gables)
Victoria & Albert (which I first saw as a sophomore in college when it first came out)
Ivanhoe
Emma
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Lorna Doone
Tom Jones
Jane Eyre


Here comes the third review:

The Scarlet Pimpernel
IT ROCKED MY FACE OFF!!!!!! First of all, the actors were AWESOME!!! Usually in these miniseries, you're lucky if you find even one person that you warm up to (obviously not counting Pride & Prejudice) or find attractive. My biggest pet peeve is when (and it happens in EVERY BBC production script) Character B says about Character A, "S/he is so beautiful" and viewers at home are like WTF??????????? because they are totally NOT beautiful and it's an insult to the average person's intelligence to believe that they are. You know? Well, in this case, the actors are EFFING PERFECT!!!! The actor playing the Scarlet Pimpernel is just the right amount of foppishly flamboyant. That totally makes him sound gay, but, believe me, if you're watching it, you don't think that at all because he is also really cool (not in a leather jacket and shades kind of way, but in a suave, grace-under-pressure kind of way) and a little sexist (but in the bossy/macho/Captain von Trapp/"I must protect my wife no matter what!"/hot kind of way).

His wife, Lady Blakeney, has just the right amount of repressed I'm-still-in-love-with-my-husband-even-though-he's-distant-with-me heartache to make us feel for her while her anger at being rejected by her emotionally unavailable (for reasons she doesn't understand) husband saves her character from being a sap. Not to worry, you purists out there, her anger at him is distinctly lady-like. For you feminists out there, her anger is especially satisfying because he's such a cold fish (until, of course she figures out he's the Scarlet Pimpernel and then she's no longer angry, but all kick-ass in a Victorian sort of way. Well, except for the fact that she's French.)

The best part is it's surprisingly funny and the flirting between Sir and Lady Blakeney (post her discovery he's the pimpernel) is deliciously adorable. All in all, I give it 5 stars out of 5.

The Romance Collection: Tom Jones

I recently spent $80 on a 14-DVD set collection of A&E/BBC miniseries (it was totally worth every penny and I would have paid more for it). The DVDs included:

Pride & Prejudice (the single greatest miniseries ever created with the possible exception of Anne of Green Gables)
Victoria & Albert (which I first saw as a sophomore in college when it first came out)
Ivanhoe
Emma
The Scarlet Pimpernel
Lorna Doone
Tom Jones
Jane Eyre


Here comes the secondreview:

Tom Jones
The miniseries is a farce in the typical Henry Fielding way, so if you're into that, you will probably enjoy this miniseries. I, however, while enjoying it, had a hard time getting past a couple of things:

1) Lurkey, Tom's cousin (affectionately nicknamed so because of his habit to lurk in the corners and spy on all the other characters), is boh-ring!! Good thing he's fairly good looking!

2) Fate REALLY had it in for these characters. I mean in a Romeo & Juliet I-am-out-to-get-you-no-matter-what-you-do kind of way. Until the very end, that is. (Not to spoil it for you, but it is a happy ending. Otherwise, I totally would NOT have watched it. )

3) But it almost ISN'T a happy ending and there's only one reason for it. To put it bluntly, TOM JONES IS A WHORE!!!!!! If Tom could keep his pants zipped, EVERYONE would have been saved a lot of heartache and trouble, including Sophie, the love of his life, nearly getting raped twice and married off to different but equally disturbing men (one of those men being Lurkey who is only marrying her to make her miserable and to get back at Tom Jones for being fun and popular. Here's an idea, Lurkey: SMILE once in a while and maybe you'll make friends. Also, stop letting people's favorite pets run away. That may help too.) Course, if Tom could have kept his pants zipped, there wouldn't have been a story, but all things considered, I'm not sure that would have been that bad of a punishment.

Still, for the most part, it was fairly enjoyable. There were some funny lines and amusing parts. Most of the credit, however, goes to Sophie, who's love eventually redeems Tom's whoring, and who's portrayer eventually redeems the story with her delightful acting. I give it 3 out of 5 stars.