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.”

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.