When Marian Sang...

Larry Wilmore: "White people have to pretend to care about black people and black people have to pretend to care about history. Everybody loses."
--On February's Black History Month during The Daily Show with Jon Stewart

February first is one of my favorite days of the year because in English 9 we talk about Langston Hughes, and MORE IMPORTANTLY, I read aloud "When Marian Sang." Marian kicks ass, mm-kay? Magic happens during this story, I'm tellin ya!

Thoughts on the Golden Globe Awards

1. Yay America!!!! The best moment was America crying. And yea for Salma crying (and I don't even LIKE her ... mostly. Except in Desperado because I like how she wears two different shoes.)

2. Annette Bening was SO wasted ... and got wasted-er as the night went on. By the end, you could tell she was so wasted she was forgetting to hold her stomach in and keep her face smooth so she wouldn't get more crow's feet.

3. Hugh Laurie hugged Greg Grunberg aka Weiss ... and I missed it??? GodDAMmit, Jerri!!! And I already taped over it because, seriously, with the exception of America (and Hugh's acceptance speech), this was the most boring awards show ever.

4. Gillian Anderson looked HOT!!!

5. If George Clooney declared himself a deity, I would TOTALLY join his religion.

6. I used to be apathetic toward Jeremy Irons, but then I discovered that a lack of personality IS his personality, and it totally works for him. And now I love him.

7. Proud Charlie Sheen + Embarrassed Emilio Estevez = Freaking Adorable.

8. I used to hate Meryl Streep because she's so BLAH, but every time I see her at an awards show, I like her more and more. I like the way she never QUITE looks together and the way she mumbles under her breath and gets distracted by what's happening around her and makes fun of herself. I still don't ever want to see a movie because she's in it, but she's fun.

9. Ben Stiller is not blond, he's GRAY.

10. Drew Barrymore looks more amazing than I have ever seen her. Is it her hair color? Is it her tan? Is it her appearance with Hugh Grant? I really don't know, but Drew, do yourself a favor and just live in that dress!!

11. What is up with Angelina looking so angry? It's a nice reminder that, no matter her work in Africa, she is still super scary!!!

12. Forest Whitaker's shock at winning was quite endearing. Another shock: I was shocked when I discovered that the woman with the updo was Patricia Arquette.

13. Three words: "Ah'll be bahck!"

14. Jennifer Hudson, when you won the first award, I thought it was going to be such a good sign for awards to come. Alas, it was not (except for Hugh, Sasha, and America, of course!)

I Think...

I think dogs are the best kind of pets. I think Harper Lee made the greatest social statement of all time. I think chocolate chip ice cream is the best ice cream ever invented. I think Sex and the City and Scrubs have two of the most poignant scenes ever aired. I think cereal is the tastiest food on Earth and Cocoa Puffs are the tastiest cereal of the bunch. I think our president is an embarrassment. I think the word "literally" is overused. I think David Sedaris and Jon Stewart are the funniest men on the planet. I think Kathy Griffin is the funniest woman on the planet. I think a rose by any other name would not smell as sweet. I think the extras on ER are the best actors on TV. I think a kickass pair of shoes and a good lipstick can make a girl feel powerful. I think J.K. Rowling deserves to be the richest person in Britain. I think swimming is the closest thing to flying.

A Discussion of Rigor and Relevance

Principal: Okay, guys, according to the Department of Education, we have to have a one-hour inservice meeting. I'd like everybody to pull out an example of a test question and in our groups we'll rewrite the test question so that it's more rigorous and relevant.

Me (under my breath): Like we don't have anything #$*@ing better to do on the day when our *#$&ing grades are &@%! due.

K: No shit.

Principal: Okay, first group. What is your question. Remember the question needs to be cross-curricular as well as have an unpredictable outcome to be in the upper levels of the "rigorous and relevant" quadrant of the pyramid. Okay, Mr. Science Teacher?

Mr. Science Teacher: Okay, here was our question:
Explain the process of photosynthesis.

Now, here is our question that is now unpredictable, cross-curricular, and rigorous and relevant:
Part 1: You are walking (that's cross-curricular: physical education) through the park whistling Mozart's ninth symphony (that's music education) breathing deeply (that's health class). Explain how the oxygen you are using affects the process of photosynthesis of the plants nearby.

All teachers: applauding.

Mr. Science Teacher: Now part 2 of the question:
Now, compare that process to if you were jogging through the park whistling Mozart's ninth symphony. How does the faster exchange of gases make a difference?

Art Teacher: Well, that depends on the gases being exchanged.

K (under her breath to me): No, that depends on your definition of "relevancy."

Me: No shit.

Social Studies Teacher: Exchange of gases??? I think we're in the wrong class. This sounds like health class now. [Mimicking a health teacher] 'Now, class, the exchange of gases leads to AIDS because ...'

Health Teacher: The exchange of GASES doesn't lead to AIDS!!! Didn't you learn anything in health?

Social Studies Teacher: Well, what does?

All teachers: FLUIDS!!!

Social Studies Teacher: Oh, that's right. See, now this is why we still need basic knowledge questions. Forget how jogging affects the exchange of gases. New question: What gases are exchanged through photosynthesis?

Principal: Okay, time to go. Good discussion everyone! See you all Monday.

Overheard Conversation

Brennan to the dog: Lay down, Darcy.
Tara: Do you mean "lie" down?
Brennan: No, I mean lay down some carpet cause it's so cute when she pulls out her hammer and tools.

Poetry

Miss Rixie's Favorite Poems:


Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden

Resume by Dorothy Parker

Merry Go Round by Langston Hughes

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks

Sonnet 18 (Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day) by William Shakespeare

The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

If by Rudyard Kipling

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Blackbird Singing by Paul McCartney

The Sound of Silence by Paul Simon

And Miss Rixie's favorite poem of all time:

Alone
by Maya Angelou

Lying. thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionares
With money they can't use
Their wives run around like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can here the moan,
Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

My Writing Process

Okay, first things first. Do I have something to drink? (Preferably diet pop, although I’ve found alcohol to be an excellent catalyst in the writing process, although something of a deterrent in the revision process.) Check.

Do I have a good writing utensil? Pen or pencil, whatever the writing muse is calling for (usually pencil for poetry, pen for everything else.) Or, better yet, a computer—that way there is at least a chance my hands will keep up with my brain (oh, how many witty lines, brilliant flashes, original transitions, and (insert clever describing word here) descriptions have been lost due to the Cramped Hand Syndrome?) So, writing utensil? Check.

Is there a thesaurus available? Without this, my word choices are distracting and second-rate. In fact, before consulting the thesaurus, I used the word “although” twice in the first paragraph and I am still missing an adjective to describe ‘descriptions’ in the second paragraph. Thank God for preinstalled thesauri on my laptop! No thesaurus = Rixie's writing is repetitive and choppy and sometimes missing (re: second paragraph). But, one must soldier on anyway.

Am I ready to identify the tone of this piece? Academic? Dry and witty ala Agatha Christie? Flat out hilarious ala David Sedaris? Wordy and full of dialogue ala Jennifer Crusie? Character drive ala F. Scott Fitzgerald or even Janet Evanovich? Decisions, decisions. And in the end, pointless, as whatever I write never comes out as I intended it to—a fat I rely on or else my writing wouldn’t be mine, but the product of a wannabe.

I like my writing to have a conversational feel. I love dialogue. Whenever possible, I try to have people talking instead of describing something. Doesn’t matter what kind of writing it is—fiction, nonfictions, emails, etc. As Mark Twain said, “Don’t say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream!”

I read something somewhere once upon a time about a girl who was looking at her 20-year-old journals from high school and wishing she had written more transcripts of daily conversations, poignant or humorous or significant or run-of-the-mill—didn’t matter. I really took that to heart and try to emulate that now.

I need the perfect location! It must be quiet—or at least crowded and busy enough that I feel I am alone with my thoughts. My favorite place to write was the IMU at the University of Iowa (while eating breadsticks or a sub sandwich from the food court, of course). There was so much life around me—people laughing, talking, reading the newspaper, watching the big-screened TV, promoting clubs and activities at tables. So much to look at in so little time.

Next step: the actual writing. I usually write fast and hard. If it’s an academic paper, I write the intro, but leave the thesis for last. I write the paper based around quotes I have already picked out from whatever novel or article I’m analyzing or critiquing. When finished, I read what I’ve written and write a thesis, then do my best to tie the conclusion back to the intro. I then abandon the paper and never look at it again.

If it’s for fun, I many times try to outline my thoughts so they flow chronologically onto paper. I so want my thoughts to be organized, but they never are. The outline rarely works. Usually I start with points A and B, but by point C, I’ve abandoned all pretenses of jotting notes into an outline and am scribbling my actual material and just use letters D, E, and so on at the beginning of each paragraph to make myself feel better about abandoning the outline idea.

Once I have abandoned the outline idea, I usually skip ahead to the part I’m most looking forward to writing about. I then have to rearrange the paper around it. For example, in this paper, the first thing I wrote was the list coming up.

Almost as much as I love writing dialogue, I love writing lists!! For example, here are the types of writing I love to do:

1. Personal narratives

2. Journaling to get strong emotions (usually anger, frustration, sadness, loneliness, etc.)

3. Emails!! My best friends live in Chicago and Paris respectively, so emailing is key. I hate “here’s what I’ve been up to” emails, but I love what my best friend and I call “nonsense emails.” Nonsense emails consist of things like, “I was watching TV last night and there was a TV movie about a woman trapped in an elevator and it reminded me of when you and I got stuck on the Death Elevator and were stuck until the janitor let us out.”

4. Academic paper (I know—I’m a freak) if it’s on a topic I enjoy.

5. Transcripts of humorous or amusing conversations I’ve had or overheard.


Once I have finished writing the part I was looking forward to the most, I then go back and start at the beginning and try to forge through till the end. Usually, however, I end up getting bored about halfway through and think to myself, I’ll finish this later. Today—just for something new—I think I’ll try wrapping this up instead.

I just realized that throughout my analysis of my writing process, I haven’t addressed the issue of audience. Audience is (obviously) something I don’t consciously consider. Usually, I am my audience. Despite this, I always write as if there’s someone reading over my shoulder. In other words, I write to entertain. This should be its own paragraph.

My main purpose in writing is ultimately, unfailingly, always to entertain. Even if it’s only me. Especially if it’s only me.

A Christmas Medley

“Said the king to his people everywhere,
Listen to what I say.”

“Brennan, after we’re finished eating, I want you and Nathan to drag in my Christmas tree from the garage,” Mom announced as she served us all slices of ham.

Brennan gritted his teeth as he looked at Nathan. “Mom, my friends do not want to help us put up our tree.”

Nathan, ever affable, cut in, “Oh that’s okay; I don’t mind.”

Brennan glared at Nathan and then turned to Mom again. “Okay, I don’t want to help us put up our tree.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Geez, Mom, you don’t have to be so bossy.”

“I’m the boss. I’ll say what I want and you will listen to what I say. Besides, all you have to do is bring it into the house. Remember, last year you and I dragged it out to the garage still put together?”

“To say nothing of the lights and tinsel that you left on it,” Tara added dryly as she passed me the milk.

“All you have to do,” Mom continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “is bring it into the house. That’s it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“The girls will do your share of the dishes for you,” Mom bargained.

“What?” I piped up for the first time. “If that’s the deal, I’ll bring that stupid tree in for you, and Brennan can do my share of the dishes.”

“It’ll take you two seconds,” Mom continued, ignoring me, “and then you’ll have the whole night free to play shout and swear and kill people.”

“It’s called X-Box, Mom. If we don’t shout and swear, we’re doing it wrong.”

“Um, hello? I said I would bring it in,” I said again.

Mom gave me a cool once over. “I don’t think so,” was all she said.

“What?” I asked highly offended. “Why not?”

“You’re the shortest of all of us. Last year when Brennan and I moved it, we could hardly do it. If it was hard for me, imagine how hard it will be for you.”

“I don’t know,” Tara cut in. “You’re what? Three-quarters of an inch taller than Rix? It seems to me that it has more to do with how strong you are rather than how tall. And Mom, you’re the biggest wimp in the world—”

“That’s true,” Mom admitted.

“—while Erica, on the other hand, is freakishly strong.”

“Thank you for the show of sister solidarity!” I said “And it’s true, Mom: I am freakishly strong. Everyone says so. Now let me prove it to you by bringing in the tree.”

“Who’s gonna help you?”

“Nathan.”

“Erica!” Brennan scolded. “Don’t be volunteering my friend’s services.”

“Oh, he doesn’t mind.”

“No, Erica. Brennan and Nathan will do it, and they’ll do it right now,” Mom said meaningfully.
With grumbles and complaints (Brennan) and affable acceptance (Nathan), the boys left their plates on the table and went to the garage.

“Patrick?” my mom said to my dad. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Long pause.

“Patrick? Say something!”

My dad heaved a sigh. Then he said, “Well, at least it’ll get the tree out of the garage where you run into it with the car every day after work.”

My mom winced as if the memory physically pained her.

As the boys began maneuvering the tree through the front door my dad made his exit into the sanctuary of his basement workshop.

“Look!” Tara whispered to me. “They’re bringing the tree in from the stump up.”

“Mom!” I cried, still highly affronted. “Look! They’re knocking the branches off on the doorway. This operation is like the blind leading the blind. Now if I had been in charge—”

“Good work, boys! Good work! Set it up right there in front of the window. Oh, good job. Wait, wait—it’s gonna fall. There we go. Okay, thanks, guys! There! Doesn’t that tree look beautiful?”

“O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
How lovely are your branches!”

Once they had deposited the tree, the boys scampered off to their video game, leaving the three of us standing in the living room. Two of us were looking at the tree dubiously and the third was staring with anticipation.

“Umm…,” Tara began.

“I know! Wasn’t it such a great idea to leave it set up? Now all we have to do is the fun part. You know, hang up decorations and put the angel on top.”

I corrected, “Well, after we make sure the lights all work and straighten the branches and …”

Tara added, “Mom, not to rain on your parade, but I told you last January that this was a stupid idea. I mean, look at the tree. It’s … leaning.”

My mom tilted her head. “Is it?” She looked to me for confirmation.

“It’s definitely leaning.”

“It’s the leaning tree of Pisa.”

“And … where’s the top?” I ventured.

“The top of … oh my God! The top of the tree is missing!”

Tara was underneath the branches looking up. “Wait! Here it is. It definitely snapped off.”

“Oh what a laugh it would have been,
If Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.”

Thirty seconds later, my mom march back into the living room with my silent father in tow. He was armed with a drill. Sixty seconds later, the top of the tree was drilled back where it belonged and my father was safely back in his workshop.

Tara settled in for a long evening on the couch. I took a more hands-on approach and began helping my mom straighten out the branches.

When the branches were all back in their sockets and my mom’s excitement had begun to rub off on me, I said with tremulous Christmas spirit, “Okay, try the lights! Let’s see if they work!”
We held our breath while she plugged them in. A thousand twinkling blue stars lit up the living room. “They work! The lights work! It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“Yes, your tree lighting up compares to the immaculate conception and birth of baby Jesus,” Tara said drowsily from the couch.

“Quiet, you!” Mom shushed.

Tara rolled over and dozed off.

"Rockin around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop,
Everyone dancing merrily in the new old-fashioned way."

“Wow, Mom! That looks great!”

“It really does. … Although … does it still look like it’s leaning to you?”

“Just a bit. It’s much better than it was.”

“Okay, I’m gonna try to bend it back toward you. You hold that side in case it starts to fall.”

We braced ourselves on either side and amidst much shrieking managed to straighten it. We stepped back simultaneously to admire our work, just in time to see the tree topple to the floor.

“You two are rock stars,” Tara said before falling back asleep.

“Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear?”

“Here are the rules of Trivial Pursuit,” I began very seriously. “I don’t do sports questions.”

“Neither do I,” responded Tara.

“And I only do sports questions,” Brennan added.

“Agreed. And so we begin.”

While we busied ourselves passing out chips and arranging our pie pieces on the board, sounds of Christmas spirit drifted in from the living room. “Son of a bitch!”

“Mom?” Tara called hesitantly. “How’s it going in there?”

“… Fine …”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hanging the decorations on the tree. Everything’s fine. Goddammit!”

“Aah, there’s some Christmas spirit,” Brennan said. Raising his voice, he called, “Do you need some help?”

“No. Everything’s under control. I’m just putting the angel on the top of the tree.”

Dad appeared from the depths of the basement, and the four of us wandered into the living room. Mom, decked out in her Christmas pajamas, had the overhead lights off while she decorated the tree, with candles blazing and the tree twinkling. We slumped in the chairs and let the spirit of the season wash upon us.

“Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.”