The first rule of hurricane coverage is that every broadcast must begin with palm trees bending in the wind.
Carl Hiaasen
I went to Wal-Mart today after Sunday School to pick up a couple of tiny radios in case we lose power in the next few days. For those of you who don't know because you live in another country or because you haven't turned on a TV or seen a newspaper lately, a big whopping hurricane called Katrina is approaching the Gulf Coast. The city I live nearest to is a major interstate hub, and from the time I went to church this morning to the time I came home from town this afternoon, the traffic coming from the Coast and New Orleans had quadrupled. They've one-wayed the south-bound interstates and now, everybody is rushing north to escape.
Every car that passed was loaded to capacity with people, pets, and possessions. I saw a big white and brown hound riding in the back of a pickup truck. In true dog form, he had his long ears flapping in the breeze. He was the only comical element in what was really a deadly serious flight.
Some of the cars were curiously empty; others were taxing the springs with the weight of their cargo. Almost all of them bore Louisiana plates. New Orleans, always on the brink of being under water, is being evacuated because if Katrina walks into town, the great pumps under the streets won't be enough to keep it dry. In the cars, I'd see odds and ends pressed up against the windows, and I kept trying to figure out how you'd even chose what to take in a situation where everything you love might be under water in 48 hours.
People in Wal-Mart were frothing at the mouth and ready to cut each other for bottled water and batteries. I hate it when emergencies bring out the crap in people. It seems like everyone would try to be kinder and more helpful, but instead, it was a snatch and grab environment. I only had three items in hand having bought supplies a few days ago, but cartloads of the oddest stuff were being pushed to the registers. I've never seen so much sliced ham and so many cases of coke being bought at one time.
Katrina is one of the biggest hurricanes ever to hit the Gulf Coast. Of course, comparisons are being made to that mother of all storms, Camille. My father was in the Coast Guard in N.O. when Camille came in, and he tells stories that will turn your hair white. This was when my mother and father were still dating, and Dad had to drive from where she lived down the state back to New Orleans through the storm. Just another one of those cases of God protecting, or there's no way he would have made it back in one piece.
I can almost visualize the hurricane as an entity. I have this picture in my head of a female wraith-like creature dancing on the water. The face is horrible. I don't know why this keeps coming to me, but since I first imagined it this way, I can't get rid of it.
Right now, of course, the sun is shining. Yellow swallowtail butterflies are feeding on my abelias. Only the increasing wind and the ominous, distant, gray curtain of cloud tells that something terrible is coming.
My windchimes are ringing with growing urgency, and in a couple of hours, I'll go outside and take all the birdfeeders and windchimes down. I'll also find safe places for all the potted plants and rocking chairs on my porch, unhook the chains on my porch swing, and put away all the decorative doodads that accumulate. I'll park my car under the car shed, and call my parents to put Mom's van in, too. I'll run a work cooler full of water, make sure my hurricane lamps have oil, and arrange lighters and flashlights in places where they can be found. I'll generally batten down the hatches and hope for the best. When faced with one of nature's Furies, what else can you do?
They're expecting Katrina to walk right over where I live, so it's likely that you won't hear from me for a few days. Hopefully, I will be writing to you tomorrow evening, but if we're without power, then I'll be back when the electricity is. I hope all of you are battened down and ready as well. Take care.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Not Really What I Had In Mind
Procrastination gives you something to look forward to.
Joan Konner
I got up this morning with every intention of grading. I had it all planned out. Then, around 11:30, Mom called saying she and Dad were on their way back from the landfill with an empty trailer. They were planning to stop off here and pick up more stuff to take in another load.
That's how it started. We loaded the two ancient, broken-down recliners from the guest bedroom, then the microwave that practically glowed every time it ran. Once we'd loaded the worst of the junk, we started to shuffle things from the house to the storage van out in the yard. The small bed I replaced earlier this year was moved out of the guest room from where it had been standing against the wall for months. Several pieces of bed linen were folded and put away. Curtains were discussed.
By the time I realized it, most of the day had crept away.
Intending to do work, I took a minute to eat some lunch. While I ate, I picked up a book, Something Rotten by Jasper Fforde, and read. That turned into a several-hour long reading spree in which I finished off the book and lost the rest of my day. Oh well....
Tomorrow, after church, I will HAVE to grade. I hope nothing else shiny comes along to catch my attention.
Joan Konner
I got up this morning with every intention of grading. I had it all planned out. Then, around 11:30, Mom called saying she and Dad were on their way back from the landfill with an empty trailer. They were planning to stop off here and pick up more stuff to take in another load.
That's how it started. We loaded the two ancient, broken-down recliners from the guest bedroom, then the microwave that practically glowed every time it ran. Once we'd loaded the worst of the junk, we started to shuffle things from the house to the storage van out in the yard. The small bed I replaced earlier this year was moved out of the guest room from where it had been standing against the wall for months. Several pieces of bed linen were folded and put away. Curtains were discussed.
By the time I realized it, most of the day had crept away.
Intending to do work, I took a minute to eat some lunch. While I ate, I picked up a book, Something Rotten by Jasper Fforde, and read. That turned into a several-hour long reading spree in which I finished off the book and lost the rest of my day. Oh well....
Tomorrow, after church, I will HAVE to grade. I hope nothing else shiny comes along to catch my attention.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Blues in the Soul
Blues is easy to play, but hard to feel.
Jimi Hendrix
I drove home from a rich meal of fried shrimp and a dessert called Death By Chocolate to the sounds of one of my favorite radio shows, "Highway 61". Our local public radio station has made Friday into a blues night. They play three blues shows back to back, and it makes for a very nice way to relax after a long, hectic week of crap.
The sun was setting, and as I flew down the highway, Howlin' Wolf's big wonderful voice filled up my car. It's said he was a giant of a man, more than six feet tall and weighing in at 300 plus pounds. Nobody else has a voice like his. It's raw and powerful, yet capable of presenting every subtle nuance of the lyrics.
I have always wished that I could have seen him perform. The biographies and reports that I've read say he swayed like a man possessed. He got his nickname from the way he howls when he sings. I think I would have enjoyed seeing him live. When he howls in the recordings, it's like an electrical current runs right up my spine.
The blues move me. I don't know if I absorbed it gradually through the water and the red clay of Mississippi, but there is something in those simple patterns that feels elementally right. Even though I don't know the harsh life of Delta farming, I, too, have baked in the sweltering heat of Mississippi summers. I've played in cow pastures and waded in creeks. I've eaten real barbecue and gotten the sauce from ear to ear. I've read Faulkner and Welty, and I recognize family and community members in their stories. I've seen incredible prejudice and incredible unity in the face of hatred. I've known people who are fulfill every Southern stereotype and others who completely destroy them. It hasn't been necessarily the same experience of a Delta Blues artist, but it has been a Mississippi life, barring a few extended trips elsewhere.
I love the Delta Blues most of all. Simple guitars and bared emotions, tales of love, loss, and revenge, the human heart exposed with all its gold and dross before refining, these are what I hear in those oldest and purest blues. When I feel my worst, I turn to Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, B.B. King, and the magic master of them all, Robert Johnson. I dance and sing, feeling the slide guitar pulling the weariness away.
All in all, it was a great way to end a cruddy week. As the sun hung on the edge of the horizon, and the rolling ultra-green Mississippi pine hills unfolded on either side of the highway, I felt the emotional catharsis of the blues, and I felt at peace with world.
Jimi Hendrix
I drove home from a rich meal of fried shrimp and a dessert called Death By Chocolate to the sounds of one of my favorite radio shows, "Highway 61". Our local public radio station has made Friday into a blues night. They play three blues shows back to back, and it makes for a very nice way to relax after a long, hectic week of crap.
The sun was setting, and as I flew down the highway, Howlin' Wolf's big wonderful voice filled up my car. It's said he was a giant of a man, more than six feet tall and weighing in at 300 plus pounds. Nobody else has a voice like his. It's raw and powerful, yet capable of presenting every subtle nuance of the lyrics.
I have always wished that I could have seen him perform. The biographies and reports that I've read say he swayed like a man possessed. He got his nickname from the way he howls when he sings. I think I would have enjoyed seeing him live. When he howls in the recordings, it's like an electrical current runs right up my spine.
The blues move me. I don't know if I absorbed it gradually through the water and the red clay of Mississippi, but there is something in those simple patterns that feels elementally right. Even though I don't know the harsh life of Delta farming, I, too, have baked in the sweltering heat of Mississippi summers. I've played in cow pastures and waded in creeks. I've eaten real barbecue and gotten the sauce from ear to ear. I've read Faulkner and Welty, and I recognize family and community members in their stories. I've seen incredible prejudice and incredible unity in the face of hatred. I've known people who are fulfill every Southern stereotype and others who completely destroy them. It hasn't been necessarily the same experience of a Delta Blues artist, but it has been a Mississippi life, barring a few extended trips elsewhere.
I love the Delta Blues most of all. Simple guitars and bared emotions, tales of love, loss, and revenge, the human heart exposed with all its gold and dross before refining, these are what I hear in those oldest and purest blues. When I feel my worst, I turn to Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, B.B. King, and the magic master of them all, Robert Johnson. I dance and sing, feeling the slide guitar pulling the weariness away.
All in all, it was a great way to end a cruddy week. As the sun hung on the edge of the horizon, and the rolling ultra-green Mississippi pine hills unfolded on either side of the highway, I felt the emotional catharsis of the blues, and I felt at peace with world.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Sisyphus Days
No quote. Too tired/lazy to look it up. Also too tired for complete sentences. Grammatical nightmare.
Okay, enough of that. I was having a really crappy day today. I won't go into huge details, but I didn't feel well. I was having one of my disconnected days. I hate that.
The kids were also whiny today. Some of them are about to drive me crazy about grading. I do at least a double set of papers/cards every day, and by the time I get that done, I am completely burned out. Tomorrow, I have to get them off my back. It's time they figured some things out, such as, they'll get the stinking essays when they get the stinking essays.
I got this really nice email in the afternoon, though, from a friend. It had a short funny story in it, and that moment of connection to another adult, to a friend who knows the real me and not the me I have to be in front of the kids, made all the difference.
That difference between who I really am and who I have to be in the classroom weighs on me. I can be more of my real self with the AP kids, but there won't ever be a time that I can take down all the masks and illusions. It's nice to touch base with my friends and feel like I am an entity outside of the classroom.
The wonderful lady who ran our AP seminar this summer talked about that. I didn't realize how MUCH I would feel this way, though. I've taught challenging courses before, but this one feels like a giant stone pressing down on me. I feel like all I do is grade papers. I am at school long after everyone else has gone home to family and relaxation, and I am still always behind. I feel like Sisyphus and that damn rock.
More and more this year, I long for somebody to lean on. There's a U2 song that I increasingly identify with, "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own". I am in that place right now. I need somebody who will help hold me up, make me eat real food, and be sure that I come home before all the weirdos start hanging around our school. Until that time, I'll have to keep pushing the rock up the hill and focusing on the tiny sweet bits that come my way.
Okay, enough of that. I was having a really crappy day today. I won't go into huge details, but I didn't feel well. I was having one of my disconnected days. I hate that.
The kids were also whiny today. Some of them are about to drive me crazy about grading. I do at least a double set of papers/cards every day, and by the time I get that done, I am completely burned out. Tomorrow, I have to get them off my back. It's time they figured some things out, such as, they'll get the stinking essays when they get the stinking essays.
I got this really nice email in the afternoon, though, from a friend. It had a short funny story in it, and that moment of connection to another adult, to a friend who knows the real me and not the me I have to be in front of the kids, made all the difference.
That difference between who I really am and who I have to be in the classroom weighs on me. I can be more of my real self with the AP kids, but there won't ever be a time that I can take down all the masks and illusions. It's nice to touch base with my friends and feel like I am an entity outside of the classroom.
The wonderful lady who ran our AP seminar this summer talked about that. I didn't realize how MUCH I would feel this way, though. I've taught challenging courses before, but this one feels like a giant stone pressing down on me. I feel like all I do is grade papers. I am at school long after everyone else has gone home to family and relaxation, and I am still always behind. I feel like Sisyphus and that damn rock.
More and more this year, I long for somebody to lean on. There's a U2 song that I increasingly identify with, "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own". I am in that place right now. I need somebody who will help hold me up, make me eat real food, and be sure that I come home before all the weirdos start hanging around our school. Until that time, I'll have to keep pushing the rock up the hill and focusing on the tiny sweet bits that come my way.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
The Screen
You learn something every day if you pay attention. ~Ray LeBlond
Today, I won a huge victory. I got an overhead projector screen for my room. I wanted to dance with glee. Now that I've achieved this unreachable goal, I don't know what I'll set my eyes on next. I can take down the square of white paper that's been what I've used for so long.
Yes, this is hyperbole, but not by much. I have been waiting for so long for something that most people probably wouldn't even spend money on. Such is teaching in America.
I heard a piece on NPR this morning talking about the lawsuit Connecticut is filing against the government for No Child Left Behind. I don't know all the particulars, but from what I heard, I am saying GO CONN!!! The Federal government and their ivory tower bastion of edu-experts (and I use the term loosely) can't possibly have any idea of how much pain their mandates create.
I'm a teacher in a state that doesn't really make much of a priority of education. In fact, I'm a citizen in a nation that spends vast amounts of money on everything except education. The only time politicians seem to worry about those of us in the trenches is when they need numbers to throw at each other to get this pet project pushed through or that candidate smeared. I'm sick of it.
I wish that TPTB could see that we are fighting a war with no equipment other than raw courage. I wish that TPTB could spend one full week substituting in one of our classrooms and understand some of the realities of dealing with teenagers.
I am not criticizing our kids. For the most part, they are doing the best they can. I am saying that if our governments (national, state, and local) don't quit padding their own pockets and pointing accusatory fingers, the war will officially be lost, and worse still, there won't be any replacement troops coming up to try to turn the tides. After all, none but the truly dedicated would be excited over the prospect of getting a bright, shiny, new overhead screen.
Today, I won a huge victory. I got an overhead projector screen for my room. I wanted to dance with glee. Now that I've achieved this unreachable goal, I don't know what I'll set my eyes on next. I can take down the square of white paper that's been what I've used for so long.
Yes, this is hyperbole, but not by much. I have been waiting for so long for something that most people probably wouldn't even spend money on. Such is teaching in America.
I heard a piece on NPR this morning talking about the lawsuit Connecticut is filing against the government for No Child Left Behind. I don't know all the particulars, but from what I heard, I am saying GO CONN!!! The Federal government and their ivory tower bastion of edu-experts (and I use the term loosely) can't possibly have any idea of how much pain their mandates create.
I'm a teacher in a state that doesn't really make much of a priority of education. In fact, I'm a citizen in a nation that spends vast amounts of money on everything except education. The only time politicians seem to worry about those of us in the trenches is when they need numbers to throw at each other to get this pet project pushed through or that candidate smeared. I'm sick of it.
I wish that TPTB could see that we are fighting a war with no equipment other than raw courage. I wish that TPTB could spend one full week substituting in one of our classrooms and understand some of the realities of dealing with teenagers.
I am not criticizing our kids. For the most part, they are doing the best they can. I am saying that if our governments (national, state, and local) don't quit padding their own pockets and pointing accusatory fingers, the war will officially be lost, and worse still, there won't be any replacement troops coming up to try to turn the tides. After all, none but the truly dedicated would be excited over the prospect of getting a bright, shiny, new overhead screen.
Monday, August 22, 2005
When You Really Should Be In Bed
"Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." -- Ben Franklin
I don't know why I'm doing this instead of sleeping, but here you have it.
Today was a crapfest of epic proportions. We were giving the retest for our state mandated NCLB stuff and the master computer at the state department of education from which every tester's computer in the state gets its data went down. I spent 15 minutes frantically running from computer to computer with my "magic password" trying to right the situation, but it didn't work. The students were bemused, then bored, and I finally let them play solitaire or surf the web.
It wasn't until lunchtime that I was told the test had been called off by the state dept. Apparently, they couldn't get the system back up. Lucky us, we get to do the whole crappin' thing over again next Tuesday. That means another day of my classtime for THIS year's testers has been stolen. Oh how I hate it....
Well, there's more to tell, but I guess I better finish my copying and go to bed. I'm late enough as it is.
I don't know why I'm doing this instead of sleeping, but here you have it.
Today was a crapfest of epic proportions. We were giving the retest for our state mandated NCLB stuff and the master computer at the state department of education from which every tester's computer in the state gets its data went down. I spent 15 minutes frantically running from computer to computer with my "magic password" trying to right the situation, but it didn't work. The students were bemused, then bored, and I finally let them play solitaire or surf the web.
It wasn't until lunchtime that I was told the test had been called off by the state dept. Apparently, they couldn't get the system back up. Lucky us, we get to do the whole crappin' thing over again next Tuesday. That means another day of my classtime for THIS year's testers has been stolen. Oh how I hate it....
Well, there's more to tell, but I guess I better finish my copying and go to bed. I'm late enough as it is.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Spam on the Blog
I had my first blog spam today. Some stupid wretched advertiser actually had the nerve to post their crappy ads as a response to my blog. I just want to go on record as saying that they SUCK and I wish them ill.
It wasn't a little ad, either. It went on for pages and pages. It was some absurd crap about speculating in forestry. Since I have relatives in that business, I was doubly offended.
There are so many places to advertise in this world. Heck, it seems like you can't even sit in your own living room without being attacked by some form of advertising, even if you're not watching TV, using the computer, or listening to the radio. It's all-pervasive.
Don't advertising companies realize how much it hacks people off when they keep shoving stuff down our throats? My advice to them is: make a good product, tell people about it in a reasonable fashion, and then leave them the heck alone. My top don'ts? Simple: DON'T SPAM MY BLOG, don't call me and try to sell me crap at home (I'm on the No-Call, but sometimes they're adventurous), and don't make commercials that an amoeba would find intellectually inferior.
Once you take a look at all the subliminal/psychological stuff going on in ads, it's really quite insulting. Actually, it might be more frightening than insulting since they are apparently based on solid research about the things that motivate humanity. Maybe if we elevate ourselves, advertisers will follow suit.
Oh well, that's probably enough for a Sunday night. Again, all manner of Egyptian curses and voodoo evil to you blog spammers out there. For all the normal readers and those of you just out cruising cyberspace, a good night and a better day tomorrow.
It wasn't a little ad, either. It went on for pages and pages. It was some absurd crap about speculating in forestry. Since I have relatives in that business, I was doubly offended.
There are so many places to advertise in this world. Heck, it seems like you can't even sit in your own living room without being attacked by some form of advertising, even if you're not watching TV, using the computer, or listening to the radio. It's all-pervasive.
Don't advertising companies realize how much it hacks people off when they keep shoving stuff down our throats? My advice to them is: make a good product, tell people about it in a reasonable fashion, and then leave them the heck alone. My top don'ts? Simple: DON'T SPAM MY BLOG, don't call me and try to sell me crap at home (I'm on the No-Call, but sometimes they're adventurous), and don't make commercials that an amoeba would find intellectually inferior.
Once you take a look at all the subliminal/psychological stuff going on in ads, it's really quite insulting. Actually, it might be more frightening than insulting since they are apparently based on solid research about the things that motivate humanity. Maybe if we elevate ourselves, advertisers will follow suit.
Oh well, that's probably enough for a Sunday night. Again, all manner of Egyptian curses and voodoo evil to you blog spammers out there. For all the normal readers and those of you just out cruising cyberspace, a good night and a better day tomorrow.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
James Bond
No quote.
What is it about James Bond that makes people like to watch him? Right now, I'm typing and watching AMC's month-long Complete Bond movie festival. It's The Man with the Golden Gun, not one of my favorites, but here I am watching it all the same.
I think part of it is the travel aspects. He's always in some exotic location. In the past two I've watched, I've had the odd experience of actually having been in some of the same places he's in. It's kind of neat to be able to say, "Hey, I saw that."
Another draw has to be the gadgets. Especially starting with the Roger Moore movies, Bond just had cool stuff. I think it satisfies that little kid with the overactive imagination in all of us. Who didn't want a car that could turn into a submarine or suddenly sprout wings or skis? Heck, I still want that.
As I've gotten older, one thing that sometimes amuses and sometimes annoys is the cheesy double-entendre. Sometimes I wonder how the actors ever delivered those lines with even the slightest straight face. For that matter, I wonder how the actresses who were playing the evil women with the sexual names ever managed to get through that inevitable scene where they introduce themselves. I think the all-time worst character names were Pussy Galore and Plenty O'Toole. I mean, COME ON. Those actresses were underestimated if they could deliver those lines without even a bit of irony.
That, of course, is the whole basis of the Mike Myers Austin Powers series. That's another post, of course. Well, I guess I'd better go. I have laundry to dry and no Bond magic toy to do it for me.
What is it about James Bond that makes people like to watch him? Right now, I'm typing and watching AMC's month-long Complete Bond movie festival. It's The Man with the Golden Gun, not one of my favorites, but here I am watching it all the same.
I think part of it is the travel aspects. He's always in some exotic location. In the past two I've watched, I've had the odd experience of actually having been in some of the same places he's in. It's kind of neat to be able to say, "Hey, I saw that."
Another draw has to be the gadgets. Especially starting with the Roger Moore movies, Bond just had cool stuff. I think it satisfies that little kid with the overactive imagination in all of us. Who didn't want a car that could turn into a submarine or suddenly sprout wings or skis? Heck, I still want that.
As I've gotten older, one thing that sometimes amuses and sometimes annoys is the cheesy double-entendre. Sometimes I wonder how the actors ever delivered those lines with even the slightest straight face. For that matter, I wonder how the actresses who were playing the evil women with the sexual names ever managed to get through that inevitable scene where they introduce themselves. I think the all-time worst character names were Pussy Galore and Plenty O'Toole. I mean, COME ON. Those actresses were underestimated if they could deliver those lines without even a bit of irony.
That, of course, is the whole basis of the Mike Myers Austin Powers series. That's another post, of course. Well, I guess I'd better go. I have laundry to dry and no Bond magic toy to do it for me.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Grading
I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. -- Douglas Adams
I've been grading too long. I have a feeling in my head that's like the high-voltage buzz of an electrical transformer. I also have another set of papers in my work bag that are awaiting grades. I don't know if I can do this tonight.
The grading is killing me. I still like the teaching, but I need a vacation from the constant grading. I don't guess that's going to happen, though.
This is one of those teacher things. It's just one of those things that you have to do. I just hope it slacks off some before I go outside and howl at the moon. I know this isn't one of my deeper or better entries, but this is really all the energy I have tonight. Maybe I'll be profound tomorrow.
I've been grading too long. I have a feeling in my head that's like the high-voltage buzz of an electrical transformer. I also have another set of papers in my work bag that are awaiting grades. I don't know if I can do this tonight.
The grading is killing me. I still like the teaching, but I need a vacation from the constant grading. I don't guess that's going to happen, though.
This is one of those teacher things. It's just one of those things that you have to do. I just hope it slacks off some before I go outside and howl at the moon. I know this isn't one of my deeper or better entries, but this is really all the energy I have tonight. Maybe I'll be profound tomorrow.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Run Away! Run Away!
No quote tonight. Look out...
I'm sad and tired tonight. It may be hormonal, or it may be because I was up WAY too late last night grading essays. I don't know.
I found out today that I may have to start taking allergy shots. Apparently, I'm allergic to most of the great outdoors and a good bit of the inside, too. Ugh. I hate needles. There is no good shot. Something about the thought of that sliver of metal sliding into my skin makes me shiver. Even the thought of it just now raised the hairs on the back of my neck. You'd think a "big girl" like me could grow up about that, but although I've come a long way from screaming and crying over it, I still have to fight it every time I get a shot.
The allergy shot thing wasn't the biggest deal today. It just kind of topped off a long, odd day. We were without air conditioning for the most part today. My classroom hovered around 80 degrees all day. The brilliant head of maintenance sent an email telling us the heat was "all in our minds" and to leave him the heck alone, basically. Of course, he was safely off campus. Otherwise, I might have had to have tracked him down and smacked him around.
All day, whether because of the heat or the massive paper stack weighing me down like a millstone round the neck, I've been in full-fledged run away mode. I have postcards and pictures from places I've been on my speakers' stand on my desk, and I sometimes daydream between trying to wrangle my students through the subtleties of subject-verb agreement.
Today, I was wishing I was in Ireland. It was even more pronounced because I've set my computer desktop at school to a picture of a place we went on our trip. I'd like to just have time to take a book, sit on a hill, and get all this crap off my back. I would like to be safely anonymous and go back through some of the places I went on the trip without a big group to be responsible for. I'd like to see a couple of the people I met on the trip and just sit and talk with them some.
I guess I'll have to settle for a stuffed baked potato, some cheesecake (none of which I had to cook), and a Fred Astaire movie. It's not hardly Ireland in any degree, but maybe I can rest a little in the world of overly-happy vintage Hollywood.
I'm sad and tired tonight. It may be hormonal, or it may be because I was up WAY too late last night grading essays. I don't know.
I found out today that I may have to start taking allergy shots. Apparently, I'm allergic to most of the great outdoors and a good bit of the inside, too. Ugh. I hate needles. There is no good shot. Something about the thought of that sliver of metal sliding into my skin makes me shiver. Even the thought of it just now raised the hairs on the back of my neck. You'd think a "big girl" like me could grow up about that, but although I've come a long way from screaming and crying over it, I still have to fight it every time I get a shot.
The allergy shot thing wasn't the biggest deal today. It just kind of topped off a long, odd day. We were without air conditioning for the most part today. My classroom hovered around 80 degrees all day. The brilliant head of maintenance sent an email telling us the heat was "all in our minds" and to leave him the heck alone, basically. Of course, he was safely off campus. Otherwise, I might have had to have tracked him down and smacked him around.
All day, whether because of the heat or the massive paper stack weighing me down like a millstone round the neck, I've been in full-fledged run away mode. I have postcards and pictures from places I've been on my speakers' stand on my desk, and I sometimes daydream between trying to wrangle my students through the subtleties of subject-verb agreement.
Today, I was wishing I was in Ireland. It was even more pronounced because I've set my computer desktop at school to a picture of a place we went on our trip. I'd like to just have time to take a book, sit on a hill, and get all this crap off my back. I would like to be safely anonymous and go back through some of the places I went on the trip without a big group to be responsible for. I'd like to see a couple of the people I met on the trip and just sit and talk with them some.
I guess I'll have to settle for a stuffed baked potato, some cheesecake (none of which I had to cook), and a Fred Astaire movie. It's not hardly Ireland in any degree, but maybe I can rest a little in the world of overly-happy vintage Hollywood.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Cancer
We have common enemies today. It's called childhood poverty. It's called cancer. It's called AIDS. It's called Parkinson's. It's called Muscular Dystrophy.
Jerry Doyle
First of all, for those of you who know me and read this, this isn't a revelation that I have it. And for those of you who read this often, this is a theme I've visited before.
Cancer has been the red specter floating through my life for years now. When I was a sophomore in high school, my father's mother died from lung cancer. She was the first person that I'd ever lost. She was also the person who took care of me when I was a baby. I stayed with her until I went to kindergarten. She taught me to do needlework, to woodburn, to love books, and so many other things. I'll never forget seeing her gasping for breath. She'd had half a lung removed in an effort to get the cancer.
I lost my mother's father and my mother's mother to it. I lost a beloved cat to it. Now, the shadow is back. Another pet, a dog we've had for 10 years, has it.
I hate cancer. I hate the stealthiness of it. It's a vicious, backstabbing sort of disease. How horrible that your own body can betray you. How nightmarish that cancer can stroke you with its bony, putrified finger and the future can shrink from years and retirement to day-by-day. I wish with all my soul that I had been given the wisdom and the intelligence to be a part of the fight against it. I see it as a physical presence, a living, sentient thing. I want to take up a sword and hack at it.
One of my biggest fears is that I'll develop it. I don't want to die that way. I had rather whatever happens be quick, a snap of the fingers and a transition from this world to the next. I don't think I'm strong enough to die by inches. I remember watching my grandparents, and they were all so strong. They had time to make their peace with the disease, to say goodbye, and to take care of the things that were most important to them.
They thought I might have cancer once. I had surgery, and once they checked what they removed, they found that it wasn't. Ever since, when I go to the doctor or have a twinge in my side, I think about it. I remember driving home from tests that showed the original problem and the Chris Rice "Time Means So Much" being on the radio. I had to pull to the side of the road. The meaning of the song seemed crafted for that one moment in my life.
Now, as we try to take care of our sick pet, all these issues are coming back again. It may seem trivial to some, but for us, it's another battle with the monster.
Jerry Doyle
First of all, for those of you who know me and read this, this isn't a revelation that I have it. And for those of you who read this often, this is a theme I've visited before.
Cancer has been the red specter floating through my life for years now. When I was a sophomore in high school, my father's mother died from lung cancer. She was the first person that I'd ever lost. She was also the person who took care of me when I was a baby. I stayed with her until I went to kindergarten. She taught me to do needlework, to woodburn, to love books, and so many other things. I'll never forget seeing her gasping for breath. She'd had half a lung removed in an effort to get the cancer.
I lost my mother's father and my mother's mother to it. I lost a beloved cat to it. Now, the shadow is back. Another pet, a dog we've had for 10 years, has it.
I hate cancer. I hate the stealthiness of it. It's a vicious, backstabbing sort of disease. How horrible that your own body can betray you. How nightmarish that cancer can stroke you with its bony, putrified finger and the future can shrink from years and retirement to day-by-day. I wish with all my soul that I had been given the wisdom and the intelligence to be a part of the fight against it. I see it as a physical presence, a living, sentient thing. I want to take up a sword and hack at it.
One of my biggest fears is that I'll develop it. I don't want to die that way. I had rather whatever happens be quick, a snap of the fingers and a transition from this world to the next. I don't think I'm strong enough to die by inches. I remember watching my grandparents, and they were all so strong. They had time to make their peace with the disease, to say goodbye, and to take care of the things that were most important to them.
They thought I might have cancer once. I had surgery, and once they checked what they removed, they found that it wasn't. Ever since, when I go to the doctor or have a twinge in my side, I think about it. I remember driving home from tests that showed the original problem and the Chris Rice "Time Means So Much" being on the radio. I had to pull to the side of the road. The meaning of the song seemed crafted for that one moment in my life.
Now, as we try to take care of our sick pet, all these issues are coming back again. It may seem trivial to some, but for us, it's another battle with the monster.
Friday, August 12, 2005
The Friend I Lost
Without friends the world is but a wilderness. There is no man that imparteth his joys to his friends, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his grieves to his friend, but he grieveth the less.
Francis Bacon
I had a dream last night about the friend I lost. It was actually not so much about her as it was a bizarre collage of memories and daily trivia. Japan was mixed in, as it almost always is, and a person who was a friend in high school. At the end, the person from high school morphed into my missing friend, and I woke up feeling sad again.
I met her in graduate school. Being in a small department means you have classes with all the same people. We started and finished at the same time and worked together teaching at the university. We discovered an affinity for chili cheese dogs, kitsch, and old movies. I went to Japan and she stayed, but after my first year, she was looking for a job, the Japanese university was looking for a teacher, and she came to Japan. She had the apaato under mine and we had a great time. We'd go shopping at the 100 yen store and enjoy the wonderfully, cheerfully tacky stuff in the shops at the train station.
After Japan, we communicated about twice, and suddenly, all communication stopped. The horrible part is that I don't know why. It's not like we had a big fight. I don't know what happened. I think about it often. Did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong? What could it have been? I know I was late sending a birthday present, but would that cause a person to end a friendship?
Maybe I was wrong about the strength of the friendship. Maybe it was one of those things that meant more to me than it did to her. I counted her as one of my very best friends, and trusted her with things very few other people know. She knew not just the public person, but also the flawed, cracked clay pot under the glaze. Maybe, ultimately, the imperfections were more than she could tolerate.
I have tried at least three times to contact her. I've emailed several different people who knew us both, but nobody seems to know anything. I guess I must have somehow done something horrible. I just wish I knew what it was. I keep hoping that one day I'll open my inbox and find a letter from her telling me about her life in the interval, or simply telling me to go to perdition. Anything would be better than the horrible, incomprehensible communication vacuum I'm currently in.
Very simply, I miss my friend. A part of me has been wounded and I don't know why. If ever you read this, my friend, I wish you'd give me the chance to know what it was that I did and a chance to put it right.
Francis Bacon
I had a dream last night about the friend I lost. It was actually not so much about her as it was a bizarre collage of memories and daily trivia. Japan was mixed in, as it almost always is, and a person who was a friend in high school. At the end, the person from high school morphed into my missing friend, and I woke up feeling sad again.
I met her in graduate school. Being in a small department means you have classes with all the same people. We started and finished at the same time and worked together teaching at the university. We discovered an affinity for chili cheese dogs, kitsch, and old movies. I went to Japan and she stayed, but after my first year, she was looking for a job, the Japanese university was looking for a teacher, and she came to Japan. She had the apaato under mine and we had a great time. We'd go shopping at the 100 yen store and enjoy the wonderfully, cheerfully tacky stuff in the shops at the train station.
After Japan, we communicated about twice, and suddenly, all communication stopped. The horrible part is that I don't know why. It's not like we had a big fight. I don't know what happened. I think about it often. Did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong? What could it have been? I know I was late sending a birthday present, but would that cause a person to end a friendship?
Maybe I was wrong about the strength of the friendship. Maybe it was one of those things that meant more to me than it did to her. I counted her as one of my very best friends, and trusted her with things very few other people know. She knew not just the public person, but also the flawed, cracked clay pot under the glaze. Maybe, ultimately, the imperfections were more than she could tolerate.
I have tried at least three times to contact her. I've emailed several different people who knew us both, but nobody seems to know anything. I guess I must have somehow done something horrible. I just wish I knew what it was. I keep hoping that one day I'll open my inbox and find a letter from her telling me about her life in the interval, or simply telling me to go to perdition. Anything would be better than the horrible, incomprehensible communication vacuum I'm currently in.
Very simply, I miss my friend. A part of me has been wounded and I don't know why. If ever you read this, my friend, I wish you'd give me the chance to know what it was that I did and a chance to put it right.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The Potential for Evil
Never write a letter while you are angry. ~Chinese Proverb
Something happened this afternoon and I got angry. I don't mean I was hacked off, I mean the red haze came down, the hackles stood on end, the teeth bared, and, had the object of my ire been handy, I probably would have done a considerable deal of damage.
It was no trivial matter. I don't get really angry over trivia. It takes quite a lot to really make me literally see red. Of course, like anyone else, I get irritated, but I learned a long time ago to keep the leash on the starving attack dog of my true anger. Someone I love very much had an injustice committed against them, and if I could rush to this person's defense and do some good, I would.
It has always scared me that something that powerful and dark lives inside. Maybe I come by it honestly. My heritage is Irish and Apache. If you go back to the bizarre genetic race heritage theories, I guess maybe I get my temper and my poetry from them. I don't buy that too much, though.
It passed through me like an evil wind, and now I'm tired beyond description. Where does that darkness come from? Do we carry it around in us all the time like a deep well full of horror movie monsters? How do we kill it off and purify the flow? I don't have all the answers, just more questions and what feels like sandbags beneath my eyes. I think it's time for a shower and bed.
Something happened this afternoon and I got angry. I don't mean I was hacked off, I mean the red haze came down, the hackles stood on end, the teeth bared, and, had the object of my ire been handy, I probably would have done a considerable deal of damage.
It was no trivial matter. I don't get really angry over trivia. It takes quite a lot to really make me literally see red. Of course, like anyone else, I get irritated, but I learned a long time ago to keep the leash on the starving attack dog of my true anger. Someone I love very much had an injustice committed against them, and if I could rush to this person's defense and do some good, I would.
It has always scared me that something that powerful and dark lives inside. Maybe I come by it honestly. My heritage is Irish and Apache. If you go back to the bizarre genetic race heritage theories, I guess maybe I get my temper and my poetry from them. I don't buy that too much, though.
It passed through me like an evil wind, and now I'm tired beyond description. Where does that darkness come from? Do we carry it around in us all the time like a deep well full of horror movie monsters? How do we kill it off and purify the flow? I don't have all the answers, just more questions and what feels like sandbags beneath my eyes. I think it's time for a shower and bed.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Geekdom
Whatever the reason, being a nerd, a geek, a dork - whatever you want to call the tragically unhip - is becoming a source of pride. BellSouth News
Look, I'm ahead of the curve again. I saw this article today in my lunchtime news browsing, and I had to laugh. How quaint that the feeling I've had all my life of not quite fitting, of seeing things through a different lens, is now the fashion of the day.
I don't know how many of you out there have ever been a geek, but I have never really wanted to be any other thing, at least not seriously. To me, it was never a matter of labeling myself as this or that. I just tried to pursue the things that I liked, and devil take the hindmost. Isn't that supposed to be what life's all about?
And who decides what is cool or worthy of attention anyway? Hasn't it ever struck anyone as odd that the "cool" things are almost always addictive or self-destructive? Why is that?
Back to the concept of Geekdom, I have to admit that I'm looking for a geek to date/marry. I could never get serious about someone who allowed the outside world to dictate what he liked. I want a man who knows why Tom Baker was the best Dr. Who EVER. I would love a guy who collects PEZ, likes to spend a long time in bookstores because HE READS, and doesn't mind having bizarre and abstract debates late at night. He may have had a D&D character, even. Unfortunately, my consort, the Geek King, doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight. :(
I was glad to see in the article that perhaps for a short time anyway, teenagers are feeling free to be themselves. I don't know how long it will last, but Viva la Geek!
Look, I'm ahead of the curve again. I saw this article today in my lunchtime news browsing, and I had to laugh. How quaint that the feeling I've had all my life of not quite fitting, of seeing things through a different lens, is now the fashion of the day.
I don't know how many of you out there have ever been a geek, but I have never really wanted to be any other thing, at least not seriously. To me, it was never a matter of labeling myself as this or that. I just tried to pursue the things that I liked, and devil take the hindmost. Isn't that supposed to be what life's all about?
And who decides what is cool or worthy of attention anyway? Hasn't it ever struck anyone as odd that the "cool" things are almost always addictive or self-destructive? Why is that?
Back to the concept of Geekdom, I have to admit that I'm looking for a geek to date/marry. I could never get serious about someone who allowed the outside world to dictate what he liked. I want a man who knows why Tom Baker was the best Dr. Who EVER. I would love a guy who collects PEZ, likes to spend a long time in bookstores because HE READS, and doesn't mind having bizarre and abstract debates late at night. He may have had a D&D character, even. Unfortunately, my consort, the Geek King, doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight. :(
I was glad to see in the article that perhaps for a short time anyway, teenagers are feeling free to be themselves. I don't know how long it will last, but Viva la Geek!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Nothing to Say
Sorry about last night. There was just nothing I needed to say. I have been so tired lately that all I ever want to do is sleep.
Today was okay. The kids are starting to come out of their comatose states. Some of them are showing signs of life, anyway. The AP kids took their first reading test today. You could practically smell the desperation. Now, the desperation is on my end with the grading.
The afternoon turned into a crap fest, though. We just got an LCD projector for our department. It's going to be my little friend and live in my classroom. It's GREAT...but my classroom computer is so crappy that it won't run it. I'm going to have to figure something out for that. Maybe I can convince somebody to donate one. I am going to write some letters and see what happens.
That in and of itself was merely frustrating. The true crap began when I went to the local Sprint store to try to get a new battery for my phone. Talk about singularly unhelpful. Had they degrees in being not helpful, I don't think they could have done a better job. I waited a good 30 minutes in line only to be told that they couldn't answer any of my questions OR help me get a replacement battery. I was exceedingly pissed. I was given a phone number and dismissed so the person at the desk could continue to flirt.
I called the number on the way home, wrangled with the world's most annoying invention, the automated help line with a smarmy, unctuous voice, and almost had several wrecks before finally getting connected to the sales department. It was so bad it brought out a small church steeple in the other lane (see previous postings). It was the first steeple I'd seen in some time, but as bad as the day had turned, I was also looking over my shoulder for a tank or a load of fire hydrants.
Well, I need to get some stuff done and go to bed. Tomorrow will come early whether I'm prepared or not. Groan....
Today was okay. The kids are starting to come out of their comatose states. Some of them are showing signs of life, anyway. The AP kids took their first reading test today. You could practically smell the desperation. Now, the desperation is on my end with the grading.
The afternoon turned into a crap fest, though. We just got an LCD projector for our department. It's going to be my little friend and live in my classroom. It's GREAT...but my classroom computer is so crappy that it won't run it. I'm going to have to figure something out for that. Maybe I can convince somebody to donate one. I am going to write some letters and see what happens.
That in and of itself was merely frustrating. The true crap began when I went to the local Sprint store to try to get a new battery for my phone. Talk about singularly unhelpful. Had they degrees in being not helpful, I don't think they could have done a better job. I waited a good 30 minutes in line only to be told that they couldn't answer any of my questions OR help me get a replacement battery. I was exceedingly pissed. I was given a phone number and dismissed so the person at the desk could continue to flirt.
I called the number on the way home, wrangled with the world's most annoying invention, the automated help line with a smarmy, unctuous voice, and almost had several wrecks before finally getting connected to the sales department. It was so bad it brought out a small church steeple in the other lane (see previous postings). It was the first steeple I'd seen in some time, but as bad as the day had turned, I was also looking over my shoulder for a tank or a load of fire hydrants.
Well, I need to get some stuff done and go to bed. Tomorrow will come early whether I'm prepared or not. Groan....
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Taking Care of the Minimum
No quote tonight.
I went to bed very early last night. I was more tired than I had realized and slept for about 12 hours. I felt rested this morning for the first time in weeks.
I spent the day cleaning up messes. I had stuff stacked everywhere, and I couldn't even see my dining table. It was full of paperwork and souvenirs from the trip. I sorted, round-filed, and stored until I had two bags of trash, a clean table, and my office reassembled and functional.
I don't know why it always takes me so long to do this stuff. I already feel better because the space doesn't scream "crap pile" every time I walk through the room. It's horrible to see a big pile of unresolved mess when you come in the door every day.
I did laundry, mowed grass, cleaned up the kitchen...basically, I did what the title says. I took care of the minimum number of things necessary to keep the house from falling in or looking like white trash lives here. There's still a lot to do, but at least I got the stuff that's several months old taken care of. ;) Off to finish cleaning....
I went to bed very early last night. I was more tired than I had realized and slept for about 12 hours. I felt rested this morning for the first time in weeks.
I spent the day cleaning up messes. I had stuff stacked everywhere, and I couldn't even see my dining table. It was full of paperwork and souvenirs from the trip. I sorted, round-filed, and stored until I had two bags of trash, a clean table, and my office reassembled and functional.
I don't know why it always takes me so long to do this stuff. I already feel better because the space doesn't scream "crap pile" every time I walk through the room. It's horrible to see a big pile of unresolved mess when you come in the door every day.
I did laundry, mowed grass, cleaned up the kitchen...basically, I did what the title says. I took care of the minimum number of things necessary to keep the house from falling in or looking like white trash lives here. There's still a lot to do, but at least I got the stuff that's several months old taken care of. ;) Off to finish cleaning....
Friday, August 05, 2005
Hummingbirds and Hydrogen Bombs
Including those initially listed as missing or who died afterward from a loosely defined set of bomb-related ailments, including cancers, Hiroshima officials now put the total number of the dead in this city alone at 237,062. -- MSNBC 8.5.05
I spent some time this evening sitting on my front porch petting my dog. I am home so little that I don't get to spend much time with him. He's a lap-sized dog, and it was pleasant to sit out in the cool of the evening on my porch in a rocking chair.
While I was out, the hummingbirds were furiously buzzing around the feeder I have in my rose bed. I guess there were about five of them, and they dipped and swirled, fussing at the top of their tiny lungs. One of them had decided that he was the sole ruler of the six-seat feeder, and he wasn't allowing anybody else to have any of the sugar water inside.
I never really knew hummingbirds fought like that. I always think of them as fragile creatures. They seem to be so tiny; they must be almost glass-like, ready to shatter at the slightest blow. The aggressive little birds poked each other with their beaks and became so involved in their combat that they almost crashed to the ground before one of them broke and fled.
Something about that scene was so metaphorical to me. How much of the current strife in the world is caused by someone hoarding plenty? How many times do people destroy in their single-minded goal for possession?
Today marks the 60th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. I did not go to Hiroshima when I was in Japan. It was a conscious choice. Just thinking about the magnitude of pain and death that happened in moments and the suffering that continued and continues for generations makes me weep.
It's just another instance of humanity's seemingly endless well of cruelty and terrible skill at creating new methods of destruction. Like the hummingbird at the feeder, we are so good at pushing away and keeping out when we should be sharing. I can't help but wonder how much longer it's going to be before this spiral of battle and fighting causes us all to crash to the ground.
I spent some time this evening sitting on my front porch petting my dog. I am home so little that I don't get to spend much time with him. He's a lap-sized dog, and it was pleasant to sit out in the cool of the evening on my porch in a rocking chair.
While I was out, the hummingbirds were furiously buzzing around the feeder I have in my rose bed. I guess there were about five of them, and they dipped and swirled, fussing at the top of their tiny lungs. One of them had decided that he was the sole ruler of the six-seat feeder, and he wasn't allowing anybody else to have any of the sugar water inside.
I never really knew hummingbirds fought like that. I always think of them as fragile creatures. They seem to be so tiny; they must be almost glass-like, ready to shatter at the slightest blow. The aggressive little birds poked each other with their beaks and became so involved in their combat that they almost crashed to the ground before one of them broke and fled.
Something about that scene was so metaphorical to me. How much of the current strife in the world is caused by someone hoarding plenty? How many times do people destroy in their single-minded goal for possession?
Today marks the 60th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. I did not go to Hiroshima when I was in Japan. It was a conscious choice. Just thinking about the magnitude of pain and death that happened in moments and the suffering that continued and continues for generations makes me weep.
It's just another instance of humanity's seemingly endless well of cruelty and terrible skill at creating new methods of destruction. Like the hummingbird at the feeder, we are so good at pushing away and keeping out when we should be sharing. I can't help but wonder how much longer it's going to be before this spiral of battle and fighting causes us all to crash to the ground.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Deer in the Headlights
Every beginning is weak. -- Celtic Proverb
Today was the first day of a new school year. It was strange to have been there at the beginning and be prepared. The last few years of my teaching life have been start-late-fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants experiences. Today, my room was set up and all the elements were in place. It was nice.
My tenth graders had the distinctive, vacant-eyed, deer in the headlights expression today. They said almost nothing, and hardly even moved. I suppose the shock of a new environment had incapacitated them. Don't worry. It won't last. The new will wear off quickly and then we'll see what they're really made of.
The AP classes were another matter altogether. One class is boisterous and the other is more subdued. I think they're both going to be great fun. They, too, were shell-shocked, but not by environment. Course expectations were what struck them between the eyes. I wonder if any of them will bail on the class.
Well, tonight, too will be short. I'm very tired and tomorrow will be another long day. Sigh. Maybe over the weekend I can get the grass mowed and make my house look something like a house again.
Today was the first day of a new school year. It was strange to have been there at the beginning and be prepared. The last few years of my teaching life have been start-late-fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants experiences. Today, my room was set up and all the elements were in place. It was nice.
My tenth graders had the distinctive, vacant-eyed, deer in the headlights expression today. They said almost nothing, and hardly even moved. I suppose the shock of a new environment had incapacitated them. Don't worry. It won't last. The new will wear off quickly and then we'll see what they're really made of.
The AP classes were another matter altogether. One class is boisterous and the other is more subdued. I think they're both going to be great fun. They, too, were shell-shocked, but not by environment. Course expectations were what struck them between the eyes. I wonder if any of them will bail on the class.
Well, tonight, too will be short. I'm very tired and tomorrow will be another long day. Sigh. Maybe over the weekend I can get the grass mowed and make my house look something like a house again.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The Day Before School
He who opens a school door, closes a prison.
Victor Hugo
Today has been a very long day. It started with a meeting at our vocational school, progressed to a horrible test results review, and concluded with me working way too late. Right now, the copier is humming in the background, and I am craving my bed.
Tomorrow will be the first day with kids. I am looking forward to it, but I'm not sure how prepared I am. I never feel prepared for the first day. I could have a script memorized, but I still wouldn't feel adequately prepared.
I've gotten several complements on my classroom, and I am not worried on that account. Mostly, I never know whether or not I have enough stuff for us to do. I hate it when there are 5 or 10 minutes at the end where everybody is just staring at each other. It's also bad if there's too much and something gets left off or rushed. Pacing on the first day is just problematic.
This is going to be very short because I need to prep some more stuff for tomorrow. Suffice it to say, I'm alive and getting ready for tomorrow.
Victor Hugo
Today has been a very long day. It started with a meeting at our vocational school, progressed to a horrible test results review, and concluded with me working way too late. Right now, the copier is humming in the background, and I am craving my bed.
Tomorrow will be the first day with kids. I am looking forward to it, but I'm not sure how prepared I am. I never feel prepared for the first day. I could have a script memorized, but I still wouldn't feel adequately prepared.
I've gotten several complements on my classroom, and I am not worried on that account. Mostly, I never know whether or not I have enough stuff for us to do. I hate it when there are 5 or 10 minutes at the end where everybody is just staring at each other. It's also bad if there's too much and something gets left off or rushed. Pacing on the first day is just problematic.
This is going to be very short because I need to prep some more stuff for tomorrow. Suffice it to say, I'm alive and getting ready for tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Teeth
Trips to the dentist - I like to postpone that kind of thing.
Johnny Depp
After a long day of preparation for Thursday, I went to the dentist to have my two invisible cavities drilled and filled. This is a fairly new event for me. Until this year, I had no fillings of any kind. I don't know if genetics, diet, or obsessive brushing protected me for so long, but I enjoyed my "perfect record."
My dentist is quite good. The most uncomfortable moment is when he gives me the shots to deaden my gums. I hate needles, and even the sight of one hovering that close to my mouth gets me very, very tense.
It all took less than 30 minutes. It's amazing how fast something like tooth drilling and reconstruction takes now. Granted, these were sort of pre-cavities, so I'm guessing they weren't very deep. However, I seem to remember such things taking a lot longer for other friends and my family who've had cavities in the past.
My dentist also made a point of telling me that these fillings would be white, so if I looked, I probably wouldn't see anything. Hmmm....several centuries of dentistry, and they just now got around to making them white? Why didn't this occur to somebody before?
There's really not much else to tell about today. I have some other stuff that I may get to in another post, but that's it for now. Now, I'm going to bed so I can get up for another day of fun, fun, fun. At least now I'm dentally sound. :)
Johnny Depp
After a long day of preparation for Thursday, I went to the dentist to have my two invisible cavities drilled and filled. This is a fairly new event for me. Until this year, I had no fillings of any kind. I don't know if genetics, diet, or obsessive brushing protected me for so long, but I enjoyed my "perfect record."
My dentist is quite good. The most uncomfortable moment is when he gives me the shots to deaden my gums. I hate needles, and even the sight of one hovering that close to my mouth gets me very, very tense.
It all took less than 30 minutes. It's amazing how fast something like tooth drilling and reconstruction takes now. Granted, these were sort of pre-cavities, so I'm guessing they weren't very deep. However, I seem to remember such things taking a lot longer for other friends and my family who've had cavities in the past.
My dentist also made a point of telling me that these fillings would be white, so if I looked, I probably wouldn't see anything. Hmmm....several centuries of dentistry, and they just now got around to making them white? Why didn't this occur to somebody before?
There's really not much else to tell about today. I have some other stuff that I may get to in another post, but that's it for now. Now, I'm going to bed so I can get up for another day of fun, fun, fun. At least now I'm dentally sound. :)
Monday, August 01, 2005
Old Movies
I don't take the movies seriously, and anyone who does is in for a headache.
Bette Davis
When I got home today, a treat awaited me. I had ordered a used copy of All About Eve from amazon.com (oh, how I love used DVD's) and it arrived. I popped it in and am watching the story unfold. Even though I know how it will end (I've seen it a million times), I am still gripped by the performance.
I love old movies. It seems as if the characters were so much stronger then. I don't know why. Maybe it's because the actors were different somehow. Most of them had such forceful (euphemism, anyone) personality off screen that perhaps their performances were flavored by it. So many of them must have been fascinating to know. Difficult, vain, primadonnas, and real jackasses, but probably fascinating to know.
Some of my favorite movies are All About Eve, Some Like It Hot, Singin' In the Rain, and Sunset Boulevard. Two are silly, and two are serious. I am trying to build a collection of my favorites, but, in truth, I can watch almost any old movie.
Some of my favorites are seasonal. For Halloween, I like Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte or House of Wax (the original, not the crappy new one). Another really scary b/w film is the original The Haunting of Hill House. It's based on a Shirley Jackson story and even though there are no mega special effects, the tension is fifty times greater than that awful remake of a few years ago. I scared myself silly with that one on a summer night when I was staying in the dorm by myself.
When I was in grad school, the film studies department at that university offered a series of free screenings of classic films. I got to see Casablanca from film just as it would have been shown in the theater. They showed a great selection every year. It was great to go in and sit in the dark with people who also liked those great old films and just enjoy.
Another of my favorite old movie memories happened when I was very young. The town near us has one of those enormous, elaborate movie palaces built in the 20's. It has a theater organ that has been restored, and to celebrate the completion of the renovation, they brought in an organist from the state capital and showed the original silent version of The Phantom of the Opera. It was spellbinding. Maybe that's when my love of old films began. There was an intermission with a sing along. They also showed a serial and a news reel. I was captivated. They've never done it again, but every year I hope for the magic to come back.
Those movie palaces were built to transport people away from their normal world. I love that. As you may already know, I am a big proponent of fantasy. Today's theaters don't really transport me anywhere, nor do the films they show. I guess that's one reason why I don't go very often. I'd much rather be in a place like the Orpheum in Memphis watching their organist rise up out of the pit in his white tux with tails and see something truly funny like Some Like It Hot on the big screen. Maybe if I can build up enough of a collection here at home, I can capture some tiny sparks of that feeling to revisit from the comfort of my couch.
Bette Davis
When I got home today, a treat awaited me. I had ordered a used copy of All About Eve from amazon.com (oh, how I love used DVD's) and it arrived. I popped it in and am watching the story unfold. Even though I know how it will end (I've seen it a million times), I am still gripped by the performance.
I love old movies. It seems as if the characters were so much stronger then. I don't know why. Maybe it's because the actors were different somehow. Most of them had such forceful (euphemism, anyone) personality off screen that perhaps their performances were flavored by it. So many of them must have been fascinating to know. Difficult, vain, primadonnas, and real jackasses, but probably fascinating to know.
Some of my favorite movies are All About Eve, Some Like It Hot, Singin' In the Rain, and Sunset Boulevard. Two are silly, and two are serious. I am trying to build a collection of my favorites, but, in truth, I can watch almost any old movie.
Some of my favorites are seasonal. For Halloween, I like Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte or House of Wax (the original, not the crappy new one). Another really scary b/w film is the original The Haunting of Hill House. It's based on a Shirley Jackson story and even though there are no mega special effects, the tension is fifty times greater than that awful remake of a few years ago. I scared myself silly with that one on a summer night when I was staying in the dorm by myself.
When I was in grad school, the film studies department at that university offered a series of free screenings of classic films. I got to see Casablanca from film just as it would have been shown in the theater. They showed a great selection every year. It was great to go in and sit in the dark with people who also liked those great old films and just enjoy.
Another of my favorite old movie memories happened when I was very young. The town near us has one of those enormous, elaborate movie palaces built in the 20's. It has a theater organ that has been restored, and to celebrate the completion of the renovation, they brought in an organist from the state capital and showed the original silent version of The Phantom of the Opera. It was spellbinding. Maybe that's when my love of old films began. There was an intermission with a sing along. They also showed a serial and a news reel. I was captivated. They've never done it again, but every year I hope for the magic to come back.
Those movie palaces were built to transport people away from their normal world. I love that. As you may already know, I am a big proponent of fantasy. Today's theaters don't really transport me anywhere, nor do the films they show. I guess that's one reason why I don't go very often. I'd much rather be in a place like the Orpheum in Memphis watching their organist rise up out of the pit in his white tux with tails and see something truly funny like Some Like It Hot on the big screen. Maybe if I can build up enough of a collection here at home, I can capture some tiny sparks of that feeling to revisit from the comfort of my couch.
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