In Her Shell

I'm Back, Baby

2011-04-03T16:29:00.003-04:00

So... I tried to stay away. I thought it was over. But I miss this. I'm going to be back. Anyone who is still checking in, stay tuned.

Moving the efforts

2010-08-07T12:37:00.003-04:00

As I've neglected this blog for a good six months, it's time to move the efforts elsewhere. I've loved pushing myself to write, and to publish, and I've been truly grateful for your comments, and have loved getting to know some of you through your writing. If you're curious, please check out Next Blog Poetry, where I've decided to run with (or at least trot with) one of my favorite ideas to come out of this endeavor.

Why I Should Be Allowed To Call Myself 'Retarded'

2010-01-09T17:22:00.003-05:00

I'm a teacher, so I know all about the scarring effects of name-calling. I also know that words have a lot of power and can contain violence.

This week I think I may have said "I feel retarded" to a Special Ed teacher.

I was driving home when I realized this and felt horrified. But then I thought, 'retarded' really just means 'slow,' like a retard in music. I was feeling retarded when I asked the question of my colleague. Not fundamentally different in intellectual capacity than an average woman of my age. Just slow.

It wasn't until the mid-seventies that children with disabilities were declared legally deserving of a free and appropriate public education. Before that, if you had braces on your legs and couldn't handle the stairs up to Biology, they could shut the doors on you and say, "Sorry, no thanks." If you had a learning disability you'd probably just be tracked into a vocational course at school, and if you had Down Syndrome, nobody would even think of sending you.

Before that, the preferred term was "Feeble Minded," an umbrella which could include everyone from the insane to the developmentally disabled to the promiscuous or just plain rebellious, especially if you were a woman. These people, so labeled, often ended up on "farms," sprawling campuses with dormitories and manual labor and often some form of abuse, including forced sterilization.

So it hasn't been very long that civil rights and liberties have been guaranteed to people with disabilities in this country, and things like IDEA and the ADA were huge steps up. Of course, prejudice persists. Once mainstreamed into the general population, at least at school, all the childhood stories with disfigured, limping 'monsters' predisposed lots of kids to fear. It's getting better, but still isn't a great situation, as with most prejudices.

But these kids, in classes, were called "retarded," because they were slower than the average kid. Then the average kids started calling each other 'retarded' when they said something stupid, and the whole thing went downhill. It's not the most flattering name in the best of circumstances, I admit. But it is a fun word to say aloud.

Being aware of how far we've come in being sensitive to differing abilities, and how far we still have to go, when I recognize slowness in myself, shouldn't I be able to identify it with a cool-sounding word like 'retarded'? If I don't apply it to anyone else? I didn't feel stupid when I had a question for the Special Ed teacher. I just felt, well, sort of slow.

Wonderturtle...

2009-12-17T19:52:00.003-05:00

...has a cold.
...has been overwhelmed with professional and personal committments.
...has been planning the wedding.
...has not gotten any of her holiday shopping done. Any of it.
...has started thinking in mundane, snarky, one-sentence observations, instead of paragraph-long, poignant observations with ironic accompanying pictures.
...feels bad about not blogging.
...feels good about getting many comments on her mundane, one-sentence 'updates.'
...knows that it's Facebook that has (hopefully temporarily) muffled her creativity.
...held out for a really long time before succumbing!
...sees its merits.
...will be back.

Why I Don't Watch Television, or Brooke Shields Why?

2009-10-03T10:34:00.004-04:00

I don't have television anymore, primarily because I am very susceptible to advertising, and I think it is evil. However, I still enjoy some television shows, which is why the Internet is wonderful. Lately though, my excellent ad-blocking software has opened a loophole that allows my favorite online television site to squeeze through 10- and 30-second ads in my programming. This is infuriating, but I can usually ignore or quickly mute them.

This week, though, Brooke Shields appeared on my computer lamenting her "inadequate or not enough" eyelashes. Another makeup ad, I assumed. But no, Brookie is now shilling a medication to grow thicker eyelashes. If you don't believe, watch it here, and take special note of the bizarre side effect warnings. It could be a great SNL digital short if it weren't so completely horrifying. And if another news story hadn't just popped up on my Google News Spotlight about another woman who fell into a coma and became braindead after a "routine liposuction." And my students still tell me that feminism is no longer relevant, or needed.

New Blog

2009-09-25T18:41:00.002-04:00

Please be sure to check out The Goddess Writes, gorgeously and hilariously written by my dear friend Elizabeth. My favorite sentence so far:

"In these dreams, there was nothing anyone could do to stop me. I was a penguin kicking bad-ass."

See what I mean?

Unsettling Thoughts On A Tragic Death Made Symbolic

2009-09-20T17:05:00.006-04:00

Like many others I've been following a Connecticut murder case involving a pretty young woman whose body was found stuffed in a wall on the day she was supposed to be married. Just as I was starting to think up a blog post about my shame in this voyeurism, about all the disappearances and murders that aren't covered by the national media or cared about by so many, articles started popping up in Google News to that very effect. The comments section of this article, while disturbing, got me thinking about what draws our attention to certain tragic stories, and it made me think about old Aristotle and the classic tragic hero. So the question is, are we gruesomely fascinated by Annie Le because she was "true to life and yet more beautiful," because her plot was "of a certain magnitude"? I teach my students about Oedipus, Macbeth, Antigone. Do we find it so hard to look away because it's scary that this could happen to someone so high up on the social ladder? Does it make us feel more vulnerable? Or is there some creeping schadenfreude that reassures us that intelligence, beauty, money and power don't insulate people from random cruelty and violence? That wants to generate some rationale, some narrative, to show that she must have had some hubris, done something to cause this, that it couldn't have been so random, so violent? That wants to see how the mighty have fallen? Here is a woman who was killed. She is one of many who are not so roundly mourned but also not so roundly analyzed. She is not one of many but only herself, and irreplaceable.

Thank You, Mrs. Exley

2009-08-22T09:15:00.005-04:00

I never liked gym class, but in kindergarten it wasn't so bad. Still, my favorite days were when we gathered around the edge of the big parachute, each gripping a bit of the rim. Holding it low to the floor, we made ripples across the surface like choppy water. Mrs. Exley would call out a student's name and he would get to stand and walk across it. She called it "walking on the moon." One exciting day, she called my name, finally, but it was harder than it looked. Giant steps really are what you take.

After the moon walk we would stand, still holding the edge, and on Mrs. Exley's command lift the parachute high above our heads, then bring it down behind us and quickly sit our bottoms on the edge, grinning at each other inside our bubble until the air seeped through the hole in the middle and we had to crawl out.

Yesterday, on the fourth and last day of our canoe trip, we saw lightning in the distance and pulled our metal canoes up to the bank. As they caught up in the third canoe, R. said we should have waited for them; this was private property we were bumping up against. But the clouds got darker and the wind kicked up, and I held the dog's leash as my friends struggled in the sucking mud to tie the canoes to a tree. We scrambled up the slipping, sliding hill but the dog would not come until she was sure everyone was following. A. reached the embankment first, but it was lined with trees and a small branch fell and glanced off of him, and someone shouted that we had to get out into the open. An air horn sounded in the distance. We ran up the next hill, a little ways out onto the golf course, A. shouting "stay low!", fat drops starting to fall and more lightning. C. was unfolding the big blue tarp, throwing it to us, and he gave a command and we all lifted it up above our heads and brought it down behind us, sitting along the edge. For one terrifying moment Anthemsled wasn't in there with us, but then he was and we all sat in our little bubble, looking at each other. We smiled in dazed disbelief. We made jokes about the manicured grass and sang "Row Row Row Your Boat" and talked about the stupid camp games we could play, all the while wincing when we saw lightning flash and silently counting the beats until the thunder followed. The dogs lay down on our feet and went to sleep. My glasses got foggy and I took them off. The wind changed the shape of our tarp, and the rain lashed at it and came through a little. Every once in a while we would vent it a bit at the bottom, and the grey world outside looked positively orange compared to our blue one, like a sunset in the middle of the afternoon. Through one of these vents I saw headlights approaching; the rain had started to let up. We had been anticipating the rap on the tarp, being asked to leave. We said we'd be polite, we'd go if we had to, but when the men arrived it was only to ask if we were OK. Later, in the warm car, we saw how many big trees had been felled by this storm, and that's when I started to feel scared for us back there, in our bubble.

Last night the lightning and thunder cracked so loud above our big safe bed that I quailed, and cried a little, in gratitude.

A Loss

2009-07-19T23:03:00.003-04:00

Frank McCourt, 1930-2009

"There’s no use saying anything in the schoolyard because there’s always someone with an answer and there’s nothing you can do but punch them in the nose and if you were to punch everyone who has an answer you’d be punching morning noon and night."
-Angela's Ashes

"After a full belly all is poetry."
-Tis

I can never seem to get anything really done in a summer day. One, maybe two things--a visit, a few chapters of a book, some phone calls--but summer is torpid and winter is still, they lack the industrious preparatory spirit of spring and fall.

I floated through the day today, not really doing much of anything, and now Frank McCourt is dead and it seems like an important day. Though I was never his student I feel like I've lost a teacher, or a kind neighbor. I got to hear him read a couple of months ago, and he was clearly ill and tired, but still wry and dry and funny as hell, and I'm so glad I went.

Something Is Wrong With Me

2009-07-13T20:52:00.002-04:00

This staggering conclusion was reached this afternoon when I persisted in leafing through Martha Stewart Weddings (Summer 2009), which I had actually PURCHASED this morning, even though it had just been the catalyst for a ridiculous fight with Anthemsled. L. told me when we got engaged that I wouldn't have to bother buying any of those wedding magazines, because people would just give them to me. Pff, I thought, I don't want those stupid wedding magazines anyway. Which I guess everyone could tell because no one gave me any. So I had to go out and spend six dollars on this one.

I wouldn't spend six dollars on a used paperback in an independent bookstore this weekend, but I would spend six dollars on this. Exhibit A.

I think it's the ennui of the summer. I know no one will feel bad for me on this, but as a teacher, most of my creative energy goes into my job, and most of my bitching energy goes into complaining about that. But now, two weeks into my vacation and I am gnawing on wedding shit like a beaver who needs to keep filing down his teeth.

Some brief research into past In Her Shell summers supports this. When I wrote anything, it was largely about celebrities or weird dreams I was having. Or both. Exhibit B. Last week I dreamed that I was in a play with Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph and that doofy guy from The Office. Maya Rudolph warned me not to get too close to him, but I was intrigued.

Dear Everyone,

2009-07-06T18:11:00.002-04:00

Don't put music on your website. It's annoying. It does absolutely nothing for me except create an immediate antipathy toward you and whatever you are selling.

Regards,
Wonderturtle

Belated Fourth Of July Post

2009-07-06T13:59:00.002-04:00

from Tagore, Gitanjali:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action--

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Next Blog Poetry*

2009-07-03T16:40:00.003-04:00

Mi clase de Yoga (Os conflitos)

And from the front of the house...
I went fishing for the first time today.
It is the hallmark of exclusivity.

This is the kind of wild boar I'm talking about
It comes in 4 colours, and I decided to get the electric blue one,
and who should greet us first, but Mrs. Mallard:
Oh well, we have 3 ducks in the freezer, so better than none!

*Each line from a different "Next Blog." I realized that it seems to be a July tradition of mine.

Friday Revelation

2009-07-03T16:16:00.003-04:00

The beach is actually really boring.

This goes right up there with I don't actually like yogurt. Or New York City.

Insight Into Me, For Those With A Morbid Curiosity, Or: Why I Haven't Written Anything For Weeks

2009-06-02T20:47:00.003-04:00

Oh ma ga what if it rains? What if it's so hot people are miserable and don't want to dance? What if we can't find a venue we like or agree on? If we can't afford what we want? If the food isn't good? Where are we going to find a cool rabbi that we feel a connection to? How am I going to explain to all the sensitive people in my life what their roles will be during the ceremony? How do people pay for this without going into debt? What if we manage to pay for it, or put it on credit, or whatever, and then the boiler breaks? This photographer website looks really cool, I must have her. This one looks cool too. This one looks cool too. Who will alter my dress and how do I explain exactly what I want? Hm, a forum for brides in the UK. I think I will read it for ideas, even though I can't take most of them because they all relate to living in the UK. I must pore over this forum, I must read every word. What is the optimal combination of search terms for "unique wedding venue NJ" that will unlock Google's treasure trove of unique wedding venues in NJ that I know it is hiding from me? Am I a bad person if I order calla lilies in bulk online and arrange them myself, even though they are not native to this area or in season, and were probably grown with illegal pesticides by exploited child laborers? I'd like to have barbequed ribs, and also sushi, and speakers with an Ipod. I'd like to feel more confident when calling caterers. I'd like our wedding to be a perfect, shining, beautiful, clever expression of who we are as people and where we've come from and where we are going, individually and collectively, and I'd like everyone in attendance to smile the whole time and exclaim over how cool everything is and stay until the very last call, when they drag their feet off the dance floor with a kind of sweet despair that it ever has to end. I'd like to not care what people think. I'd like to do this knowing that everyone, everywhere has the right to do this and be legally wed. I'd like to turn off the computer and stop thinking about it.

Dear Barack Obama, We Are In A Fight

2009-05-14T19:33:00.003-04:00

Not to be a stalker or anything, but I sent a strongly worded (and, perhaps, even inspirational) letter to you through your online "form." It was about merit pay for teachers. I asked when you would be forming your task force on education and I secretly hoped you would ask me to be on it. But I heard nothing back--not even an automated e-mail saying thanks for the message we read them all but kiss off.

I did, however, receive positive feedback on my letter when I modestly e-mailed it to all of my family and friends.

A few weeks later, passionate enough about it, I printed out my strongly worded letter and, after attaching a Post-It note with a little FYI about the online "form" snafu, snail-mailed it to you at the White House.

Still nothing.

I mean, it has been weeks! For someone who is purportedly "committed to creating the most open and accessible administration in American history," you are really falling down on the response time. For Pete's sake, George W. Bush used to write back to me all the time! We were regular pen pals! Of course, he had a real e-mail address, that he could set up with an automated reply message. He probably did not have, as your website advertises, a Facebook, Twitter, or MySpace page. Dude, I don't have one of those either.

I really believed in you, and now you don't even stand up for polar bears. What the heck.

Missed The Memo

2009-04-30T20:00:00.003-04:00

1. A friend at work just bought a house and casually said to another friend, "Well, we'll have to finish the basement because it just has a living room, no family room, for the TV and stuff." Forgive me, I love the idea of keeping one's TV hidden away, but I absolutely missed the memo about houses needing to have a "family room" or "den." I did have a friend growing up whose house had one, and I thought it was a cool extra feature, but could not for the life of me figure out what they did with the "living room," since for all the years I hung out there no one ever used it. My house growing up had a tiny living room where we hung out, laid around, watched TV and entertained guests, and it was good enough for us, dagnabit!

2. Not using the front door. What? Twice in my formative years I was dropped off at a friend's house only to stand forlornly, knocking on the freaking door, only to have the friend finally figure out I was there, and let me in, the whole family laughing their heads off because I went to the front door. Definitely missed the memo there; why the hell did they have a nice walkway up to it with scrubby suburban bushes on the side if no one is supposed to use it? And how was I supposed to know that? Jerks.

10 Years

2009-04-19T09:32:00.003-04:00

I was interning in New York when we saw the news about Columbine High on TV. This one changed everything, even though there had been shootings before and would be shootings after.

Then, and now, my heart still goes out most to the parents of the shooters. Their children died, but no one grieved for them. Their children were killers. I searched for a while this morning for anything about them now, but found that they've stayed pretty quiet over the years as they were sued by parents of victims and pursued by reporters. It's best, I guess; what could they possibly say?

It's very popular to blame all children's behavior on their parents. It's very easy, and sometimes very accurate. But I've witnessed children spin out of control in my own family, with parents who were just imperfect human beings who did the best they could, and still carry the terrible guilt for how it all turned out.

The lone news article I could find this morning in my search about the Klebolds and the Harrises had only one reader comment at the bottom: "If kids were a stock on Wall Street, no one would invest in them."

Brief History Of Balm

2009-04-08T11:25:00.008-04:00

When I was small and on the school bus, I would take out my Chapstick and put it on over and over again, pretending it was makeup. It felt thick and smelled thick, but plain or cherry, it was mine and I loved it.

Later it was Bonne Bell lip gloss, the kind you squeezed out of a clear plastic tube or applied with a wand. Girly and shiny, it was also gooey and messy. When we figured out that Blistex achieved the same or even a better shine, and was way cheaper, we converted, and enjoyed the satisfying masochistic burn.

In high school we felt cool with little pots of gloss from places like The Body Shop, which you had to stick your finger in to use. This made it harder to share (an important ritual) and harder to maintain one's nails (also important), so while cute, these little pots got little use.

Softlips was my favorite in college, because it combined the convenience of Chapstick with the tingle of Blistex and the shine of gloss, while still feeling light and non-sticky. I thought I had met my lip balm mecca, but it was expensive and each tube ran out quickly. After graduating I shifted my allegiance to Burt's Bees, which was also expensive and came in lots of tantalizing, but ultimately weird-looking, "tints." It made me feel virtuous.

Yesterday I found an old tube of Chapstick and put some on. It didn't smell like chocolate or tingle or shimmer. It smelled thick, and felt thick, and incredibly satisfying.

Happy Birthday to Gmail

2009-04-05T10:45:00.002-04:00

Five years ago I was teaching my first advanced course at the high school. Even though I was probably overwhelmed and surprised by their abilities in contrast to the kids I'd had the year before, I still think they were some of the sharpest I've had.

I got a Gmail "invite" (because you had to be invited to use Gmail) from one of those students. A strange, awkward, outspoken girl who usually excelled in math and science, she didn't believe me when I recommended her for the gifted program in creative writing. She would e-mail me all the time, long, rambling philosophical e-mails that I thought carefully about before replying. She didn't understand when one of her classmates started a Gay-Straight Alliance, bluntly asking (because that was how she asked everything--bluntly) why it was needed. When I explained as best I could about education and equality, a look of excitement came over her face and she exclaimed something like, "We can just show them the evidence that it's biological, and then they won't be able to be prejudiced!" She became the club's first secretary, and came out after she graduated.

But before all that, and after she invited me to Gmail, she disappeared from my class suddenly, and I got a note from the Guidance Counselor that she was in the local hospital's psych ward under observation, because she had written some things about hurting herself. I wondered about all those e-mails she had sent me, if there was something in her challenging, dark ramblings that I should have recognized. At the time I was still a relatively new teacher, just trying to respond as best I could to my students. I hadn't accepted her invitation to Gmail, wouldn't get on the Gmail train until that summer, when Lulu converted me. Then I just hoped she would be OK, and five years later, she is.

The Real Reason

2009-03-29T11:14:00.004-04:00

Madonna has been discouraged by a UK charity from adopting another child in Malawi. Perhaps they are concerned about her insistence on keeping a zombie and a vampire in her entourage.

Used

2009-03-19T18:29:00.003-04:00

I was looking around my house today, evaluating my stuff.

This was primarily motivated by the fact that we were about to have a major appliance delivered, and whenever there are delivery people or workmen about to come into my house, I wonder vaguely whether they got into this business so they could case houses for their primary business of robbing houses, and I look around my home and think about whether, if I were a house-robber disguised as a skilled laborer or delivery person, there is anything here I would bother to come back for, under cover of darkness.

This is a part of my general paranoia. When I was little I convinced myself that it was plausible that a robber could get caught in my house by surprise when we came home, and be sneaking from hiding place to hiding place for weeks. For years I checked behind every closed shower curtain before going to the bathroom, just out of habit.

Casing my own joint today, I thought that even though I have "a lovely home," and a wonderful embarassment of riches, it's not what you'd call robber-worthy. Almost everything (with the exception of this appliance, which was just delivered by two kind men who even set it up for me even though we didn't pay for that) is used.

I started thinking about the time in my life when I didn't buy anything new. I shopped exclusively in used record stores, used book stores, and thrift shops. It hadn't yet been packaged as 'recycling' or 'repurposing' or 'keeping it out of a landfill.' It was cheap. And so much more of a stalking adventure, to dig through a disorganized mess and come up with a gem, even if it was scratched/falling apart/didn't fit. It was only $2!

I still shop in those places, but not with the same fierce loyalty. I still love the cheapness and the weird people there, the unique stuff you find and the way it makes your self, and your home, a true representation of you, and not something anyone would bother coming back to steal.

This is not me. But what a perfect ambience, right?

Another Thing I Feel Bad About (St. Patrick's Day Edition)

2009-03-17T20:24:00.002-04:00

In fourth grade on St. Patrick's Day, I told Rob Hammer I was Irish when he asked, even though I had no idea if it was true (it wasn't). He seemed happy, though, and smiled at me. Sigh.

Things I Feel Bad About

2009-03-11T20:12:00.002-04:00

1. I regularly foist books on other people and insist that they MUST read them. Then, if they don't read them right away, I get irritated. However, I prefer to pick out my own books and when someone loans a book to me I procrastinate and rarely finish it.

2. I can't stop watching Veronica Mars. Someone loaned me Season 1 and even though I think it's pretty bad, I watch 3 episodes every afternoon and will continue until they run out. I've had this song in my head for the last week and today I actually IMDB'ed this guy.

My New Favorite Video

2009-03-08T10:16:00.003-04:00

The first time I watched this, I laughed so hard I was crying.
Still a good mood-lifter.

Questions

2009-03-05T15:54:00.002-05:00

One of the downsides of having Google News as my home page is that I always know what's going on with Chris Brown and Rihanna. I don't have any idea who either of these people are.

The latest, however, reminded me of something I was given when I was training to be a volunteer at a local women's crisis center. I do understand the anger when She goes back to Him; I've been on the bewildering and frustrating end of a loved one's refusal to leave. And some of it is less applicable to wealthy pop stars, but it's still worth thinking about.

The Right Questions
What's wrong with this man?
What makes him think he can get away with that?
Did the cops arrest him?
Is he in jail?
When will he be prosecuted?
Is he likely to get a serious sentence?
Is she getting adequate police protection?
Are the children provided for?
Did the court evict him from her house?
Does she need any other help?
Medical help or legal aid?
Affordable housing?
Temporary financial aid?
Child support?

The Wrong Question
Why doesn't she leave?

Reasons Why Twilight Is A Big Steaming Pile, Part II

2009-03-02T11:35:00.003-05:00

Let me start this post by saying that I did not actually finish the book. I got to about page 300, and I just couldn't bear it anymore, it was that boring. I did, however, skip ahead to about page 400, when the heroine is in danger yet again and he saves her life, again, and then to the end of the book, when absolutely nothing has changed. Here are my final thoughts:

-In addition to the multiple times the vampire boyfriend physically overpowers her over her "protests," she takes to curling up in his lap "like a child," he carries her or strokes her hair or whatever "like a child" many times. Creepy and paternalistic.

-The tired old vampire-biting-as-sex metaphor gets teened up in tired old ways as well. The main character is always fretting about not "making it harder for him" and he's always talking about how scared she should be that he might "lose control." She asks him if they'd ever be able to actually do it, and he (of course the decider about such things) says no because he thinks he might lose control so much that he could "crush her skull" in a moment of passion. She repeatedly says that she knows she should be more afraid of him than she is, since its only his willpower that keeps him from "destroying" her, and he often seems irritated with her that she isn't more afraid of him.

Thematic elements aside, the writing is just crap. M. told me she thinks it captures the mindset of a teenage girl really well, but I think it just reads like it was written by a tweenybopper.

-The narrator loses her shit every. time. she sees him, fawning over the way his shirt clings to his "finely muscled chest," etc. My favorite excerpt in this vein: "No angel could have been more glorious."
-The vampire "chuckled," the narrator "scowled," and one of them "grimaced" on nearly every page. You think I'm kidding.

And worst of all:

-There is no sub-plot. None. By page 300, the whole thing was about how fucking hot this vampire is, and how unworthy she feels to be with him, and how tormented he is because he wants to "kill" her, and on and on and on, page after breathless page. There are other characters, but they are mostly Other Boys Who Like Her and The Girls Who Don't Like Her Because Of That. It seemed like around page 400 another vampire appears who wants to kill her, but I consider that only part of the main plot because it is just more of the narrator sacrificing herself and the vampire boyfriend coming to the rescue.

To sum up, this is nothing more than a cut-rate romance novel written by your Mormon neighbor's sexually frustrated, self-loathing 12 year old. And I'm out.

Unhelp

2009-02-28T12:14:00.002-05:00

On NPR the other morning, Hil was quoted as saying, "The possible missile launch that North Korea is talking about would be very unhelpful." Was this a purposeful understatement? Was she being sarcastic? Or is this just more politician double-speak, as in, "Don't you dare, you bastards, or you will be permanently uninvited to our birthday party and we will tell everyone how much you totally suck." Seriously, word choice. Since when does North Korea try to be helpful?

Then I wondered, can "unhelpful" ever be used without irony? If you are unhelping, aren't you hurting? Or undermining or destroying or distracting? I guess it's more diplomatic to say something was "unsuccessful," instead of "a failure," but "unhappy" is about the same as "sad." And when you are talking about something like a possible missile launch, the un- prefix doesn't seem like quite enough.

Wedding Porn

2009-02-22T10:54:00.003-05:00

I went all day yesterday without saying anything about weddings. I made a promise to myself. Even though our wedding is likely a year and a half away, and we said we would "just enjoy being engaged for a while," Anthemsled recently realized that I already have more links bookmarked under a folder marked "Wedding Stuff" than he has bookmarked links total.

It had gotten so bad a couple of days ago that I was tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep because wedding-related questions or concerns would not go away. I experienced a similar phenomenon when we were looking for a house. Prior to that, I hadn't had such trouble sleeping since the early 90s, when I was playing too much Tetris and the little pieces kept falling behind my eyelids every time I closed my eyes.

A friend recently gave me a copy of something called Wedding Sites and Services for our area. It is filled with the kind of reception halls that I grew to loathe during my career as a bridesmaid. I had fun looking through it and reading silly things aloud, but then I got to an article titled, "Looking Gorgeous on your Wedding Day," by Irina Feygin, BA. It includes such tips as, "Prepare your lips by using lip balm for two weeks before the wedding, three times a day and overnight--including the morning of your wedding day, when you should keep re-applying it until the makeup artist applies lip color," and "To look your best for your wedding day, you have to start preparing your skin in advance." Another favorite: "Heavy makeup will make you look not like a bride, but like a Las Vegas showgirl. You don't want that to happen."

I started to feel sick. I can see through the bullshit, for the most part, but I can also see how it can become oppressive.

"Wedding Porn" is the heading on one website for pages and pages of wedding pictures--on this site, they are unique and/or themed. Life-affirming porn, that doesn't degrade anyone or create unrealistic, hurtful expectations. Even so, I'm staying away from the obsession. For a few days.

Reasons Why Twilight Is A Big Steaming Pile

2009-02-21T18:15:00.003-05:00

I'm only 100 pages in, but so far:

-The heroine has been 'rescued' twice by the guy
-The guy has generally been a dick to her in every conversation they have, including laughing at almost everything she says, making her feel stupid, glaring at her viciously making her wonder what she did wrong, and sending her mixed signals by ignoring her, then summoning her to sit with him at lunch and telling her that he's really dangerous, and she shouldn't be hanging out with him
-The guy has physically overpowered her, over her protests, twice--once to carry her to the nurse's office and once to drag her by the back of her coat to his car

I can understand why so many of my students love this--the ones who went to the midnight showing of the movie when it opened and wore the t-shirt to school the next day are the really good girls, the ones who belong to all the school choruses. They care about school and are only friends with other girls. The bland main character of Twilight, who is smart but shy, mature beyond her years, and physically awkward, moves to a new town and is suddenly the object of every guy's affection. Of course, the only one she wants, against her better judgment, is the bad boy loner.

And of course he wants her too. But then we get into all that creepy, abusive relationship behavior that she can't resist, and the creepier Mormon overtones because they can't even dry-hump without him totally losing control, she's such a temptress and he's such a beast.

I'm reading it, finally, because of these students of mine who are so obsessed with it. They take out each successive sequel in between quizzes and class discussions, and devour them voraciously. I'm trying to remember how I would have romanticized these characters when I was their age, and trying not to get too twisted up about it, but it's still disturbing.

When They Were Bad

2009-02-18T10:59:00.003-05:00

This weekend during a visit to the Clarion Content offices, Aaron tried to distinguish for us between neighborhoods that might actually be dangerous, and the ones people are just scared of. It got me thinking about the way ignorance and confidence have protected me in more than one unfamiliar city.

In 2003, with the Cantankerous Consumer, I blithely strolled through a prostitute- and drug-ridden area of Toronto, two nights in a row, to get to the gay bar we liked. In New Orleans, three years earlier, Dana, Jared and I walked back to The Funky Butt to hear some music, after passing it with a walking tour earlier in the day. In both instances, a local later shook his head at us with widened eyes, saying, "you shouldn't have done that." I guess the best bars are in the worst places.

On the first day of my last year of college, I was driving around the outskirts of Trenton when my old Volvo started belching black smoke, so I pulled off in a quiet neighborhood of decaying Victorians. Being pre-cell phone, I started walking, but the neighborhood being residential, I had to walk for a while. Finally I found an elementary school that hadn't opened yet for the year, where the janitor let me in and I used the phone in the faculty room to call my roommate and a tow truck. Back at the car, I started getting antsy and was heading back to call again when I saw the janitor, a wizened old black dude, walking down the street toward me. When we met he said, "I just had to come back to check on you, miss. This isn't a good neighborhood for you to be walking around. A young girl was killed here a little while ago, and you really favor her. You look so much like her, I had to come back to see if you were OK."

Of course then, with the knowledge about how scared I should have been, I felt scared. The tow truck pulled up, so I hugged the janitor, and thanked him. Turns out I had friends who lived on that street, and one of them had her car stolen from outside the house shortly after. When she got it back, it had a pen jammed in the ignition and she had to replace it. There was a dog who hung around their house that they referred to as "Bloody Dog." Sometimes it's better not to know.

Beginnings (A Shmushy Post)

2009-02-13T17:12:00.004-05:00

This is my favorite time of vacation. The first night, when it's all in front of me and I haven't wasted any of it by watching shows on Hulu. I'm not thinking gloomily about how many days are left and I'm not one bit worried about the heavy bag of ungraded papers sitting by the front door.

Beginnings are always good. It would be pretty hard for me to move to a climate where I couldn't have the first days of a new season four times a year--when someone spots snow outside the window and the teachers are just as excited as the kids, the first day I can go outside without a jacket, or ride with the car windows down, and buds coming out all over. It's officially summer weeks before school lets out, but for me it really begins when I wave to my colleagues and walk out into that parking lot at the very end of June... and the best day, when the air turns crisp again and smoky from the first fireplace fires of the season.

It's the anticipation I've always been a sucker for. When I was a kid onstage, directors and my dad always told me I leaned forward too much. Even now I catch myself sitting on the very edge of chairs. Ramona Quimby got in trouble for taking one bite (the first, the best) out of all the apples in the basement, and I won't read a book unless it grabs me on the first page.

I like beginnings best, with one exception that I realized today. With Anthemsled I've surprised myself; as good as the beginning was, it has gotten better and better as time has gone on. Another first.

The Ship That Doesn't Sink

2009-02-09T16:42:00.002-05:00

We lost another student yesterday. No one is releasing any official information, but unofficially, it seems that she chose to ingest a lot of illegal stuff, all at once.

I knew this student only a little; she hung out in my study hall. A pretty mild-mannered kid; came in of her own accord during her lunch, just to read quietly and sit next to her friends.

My colleagues who taught her are hurting. It's always hard, but there is something particular about a student who doesn't show warning signs or give cries for help, who is high functioning and friendly and then, suddenly, is gone.

On the bottom of one of the last assignments that she handed in, she wrote a riddle.

What kind of ship never sinks?

And beneath, upside down: Friendship.

My teacher friend who collected this assignment is haunted by it. Was it a cry for help? A clue? Why didn't the ship hold her up? Why did she sink?

I said another way to see it is that the ship is still sailing--we in our arrogance assume that because we can't see the person and talk to her anymore, that she's gone. Sure we want her to be here, and whole, and well. The best is lost. Maybe it is a message, though: that friendship reaches across the veils we know so little about. It doesn't sink, ever.

What Was In The Basement (A Dramatic Scene)

2009-02-07T14:34:00.002-05:00

Wonderturtle is sitting on the lid of the toilet, clipping her toenails. She hears Anthemsled come up the stairs.

Anthemsled: Huh.
Wonderturtle: What?
AS: I found our squeaky friends.
WT: Really? What were they?
AS: Bats.
WT: No shit.

(She comes out of the bathroom.)

WT: What did you do?
AS: I threw them outside; they are right there, you can see them if you come here.

(WT comes to the stair landing, where AS is standing looking out the window. She nobly says nothing about the fact that he is standing in his slippers on a damp spot that she just mopped.)

AS: Look straight down. They don't seem to be doing very well.
(She looks down to the space between their house and the next. In the snow are two bats, tangled together and feebly moving their limbs.)
WT: Maybe they're sick.
AS: They looked pretty exhausted and dehydrated. They were curled up together in a bucket that I was going to use.

(They watch the bats pathetically struggling in the snow.)

AS: I don't really want to watch their struggle for survival.
WT: Do we have a shovel?
AS: What? (He looked at her, horrified.)
WT: Well, if you feel bad, you could use it to scoop them up and put them under a bush or something, where it might be warmer.
AS: They probably don't like how bright it is.

(They look out the window again.)

WT: I'm glad you found them and not me. I probably would have screamed and left them there.

(AS says nothing, watches the bats. His face is hidden by the curtain, but he seems mournful.)

WT: Wherever we live, we are going to be where wildlife used to live. We're bound to have some interactions that are...
AS: Unpleasant.

(He keeps watching the bats.)

AS: Hey, one of them seems better! He's walking!

(WT looks out the window.)

WT: I see one...
AS: (excited) The other one just walked away down there! (Indicating the direction right below them, toward the outside wall of the house.)
AS: They're moving! Good for them!

(WT laughs. AS glares at her.)

AS: What?
WT: Hopefully not back into the basement.
AS: (disgusted, walking back down the stairs) I think they've learned their lesson.

(WT decides now is not the time to speculate aloud on the discerning powers of two freezing, possibly ill bats who are scrambling for warmth and darkness. She goes back upstairs.)

Fin.

Two Important Things

2009-02-02T20:11:00.004-05:00

One: all evening I have been listening to the chattering, squeaking, shuffling sounds of some sort of rodent (I'm guessing) in the basement or possibly under the stairs. It's so loud that I can hear it while sitting in the living room with the basement door closed. It also sounds a little bit like steam escaping from a pipe, or the slow turn of a rusty old wheel, but the fact that it stops when I turn on the basement light or step on the basement stairs makes me suspect that it is sentient. Anyone with thoughts on what type of creature this might be or how to rid my basement of it, please comment.
Two: We got engaged! Holy crap, right?

Times I Don't Hate My Job

2009-01-18T10:17:00.002-05:00

We are reading Hamlet. When we got to the line "the serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown," about six of them gasped. They gasped! How did they not see that coming?

Apart of History, or The Day I Didn't Go To The Inauguration

2009-01-10T11:29:00.005-05:00

So I was invited to go to the inauguration, or, more accurately, to go to Washington D.C. and be in the proximity of the inauguration. A teacher at my school, in a prescient move, made hotel reservations last January right near the action. He also got tickets--not enough to go around for me or the teacher who invited me to go and share the room with them, but she didn't want to stand in the crowd alone. She e-mailed me to invite me, and closed with the line, 'BE A PART OF HISTORY!'

At first, I was flattered and excited. What an opportunity! I asked her some questions about travel plans and cost, and was all ready to say yes, but said I had to think it over for one night.

Then I went online. And read some of the following fun facts about attending the inauguration:

Be prepared to walk several miles, possibly in cold, wet weather. Among the items banned by security are umbrellas.
Plan to stand for five, six, even seven hours.
You may be about four blocks from the event itself, and you may not have a direct line of sight. But there will be large video screens, so everyone can see and hear what's going on.
Estimates vary, but at least 1 million people are expected to attend. (The district's new estimate is around 2 million.) There will be 5,000 portable toilets.
The Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies (JCCIC) has issued a warning about "crush-level crowds" and "crush capacity" public transportation during the event.
The inauguration is an attractive target for international and domestic terrorists, but U.S. intelligence officials have no information about specific threats.
The major bridges that connect Washington with northern Virginia will be closed to everything but mass transit and pedestrians.

So are you surprised that I wussed out? I feel kind of crappy about it, but recalling my recent experience at the Bowery Ballroom (see 'Cranky McGram Gram' below), I knew I would just hate it, and then still have to watch it on TV.

The Pride Of Ownership*

2009-01-05T21:10:00.002-05:00

So owning the house is pretty cool and all. Especially since we haven't had to make a mortgage payment yet, since the big bleed at closing. Our winter break was spent moving furniture around and discussing how and where to best display our book collections (which have been--eek--integrated). I sat quietly with my breakfast (at normal hours, in the daylight) and watched the birds in our yard. We reveled in giving people 'the tour' as they dropped in to visit. We even braved the cold one night and walked the couple blocks to Main Street to eat at the new Pakistani restaurant in town. But perhaps the most exciting moment for me came today, when I got my new car insurance cards in the mail, and discovered that I now get a freaking "Homeowner's Discount!" Heck yes.

*this one's for you, TenS.

Been Quiet

2008-12-27T10:09:00.002-05:00

because I've been moving! We are homeowners! And Internet piraters! Once things settle down, I will be back and will share some pictures. But I'm happy. It's nice.

Adventures Of Cranky McGram-Gram

2008-12-07T15:50:00.003-05:00

Some friends took us to see a show at the Bowery Ballroom last night. We got there early and hung out in the hip, red-lit basement bar, knocking back Jack and Gingers and signing a petition for Oxfam. When they opened the doors about 9:00 we went upstairs and staked out some prime real estate front and center, just a few yards from the stage. The first opening band was pretty tight, even if their music wasn't totally interesting, then after about twenty minutes of setup the second opening band went on and they were better and rocked well. I was bopping and swaying along noncommittally, surveying the scene, trying not to be too judgey, and thinking wistfully about my time as a city dweller, how I could have made it different or better, what I miss about it and why I left. By the time 11:00 rolled around and roadies were setting up for the headliner, I was sitting on the floor thinking, this has been nice, but it's crowded, my back hurts and I'm ready to go home. Even the good-smelling, funny gay man who helped us stake out our territory when people started trying to push closer to the front couldn't lighten my mood. About three songs in I was angrily elbowing the chick next to me who just wanted to sing along and dance around, but she wanted to do it in my area, and I had to pee, and it was too hot, and I realized that I am old and there is a reason I stopped going to see bands in the city.

There's Something In My Navel (An Ongoing Series*)

2008-12-07T11:17:00.003-05:00

Reading about Coaster Punchman's paint job in his new house reminded me about a theory that I heard once and immediately adopted as my own: that the least stressful jobs are the ones that have the shortest time between work and result. Painting, for instance, or carpentry--you can labor, then look at a thing and say "I did that." Teaching isn't like that. Even if students do well on a writing assignment or do something cool with their lives, you can't know that it was your effort that impacted them. Sometimes, years after you have a kid in class, he might come back to visit and say "Thanks, you really helped me." If you are really lucky one of them will say it at the end of the school year. Not that teaching doesn't have its satisfactions, but the wait time between throwing the pebble in and hearing it plink is long. Ergo, stress.

Which is why I'm happy for CP and excited about tackling my own house soon. Working in the abstract is fun and all but it just encourages types like me to go further and further inside our own heads, where we impress ourselves with theories like this one, and words like ergo.

*Part One can be found here, another self-referential post, but I also refer to it here, somewhat less offensively. I even worried about this in my very first post.

People I Still Hate

2008-12-07T10:56:00.005-05:00

My last landlord, Mimi. What a spiteful, controlling, vindictive jerk. That $100 she held out of my security deposit (only mine, by the way, not my roommates') for "cleaning the oven" (a common area), "cleaning the carpet under the Singer sewing machine" (after we paid to have the carpets professionally cleaned, per our lease) and "cleaning the master bathroom" (which I admittedly didn't keep spotless but scrubbed when I moved out) was total bullshit. She was totally unhelpful, annoying, and interfering while we lived there, made us pay for stuff that she should have paid for and repeatedly addressed us as "Now, girls..." Even though it's been almost two years, I still 'grr' when I think about it.

I guess that's it. I don't really carry that much hate around in my heart.

Possible Topics For A Blog Post

2008-12-04T16:35:00.004-05:00

No one I know can seem to get over their age. From the time I was, I don't know, ten, I've shared the 'I can't believe we're...' conversation with my friends. It shouldn't be that surprising--after a year goes by, we call ourselves by another number. There's this weird perception of what someone that age is 'supposed' to be and do, but yet as we reach each successive milestone and 'don't feel' it, wouldn't we catch on that there isn't a 'way' to feel? I guess we all know enough people who seem to have their shit together that it keeps the dream alive.

When I was in high school we wrote each other notes, obsessively. The kids don't do that anymore. They don't pass notes, in class or the halls, because they text. They are never out of contact with their friends. Ever. That must change friendship.

My brother irritated me today by leaving unsolicited suggestions on my voicemail about what to buy my sister-in-law for Christmas. Our ideas about gift-giving are totally different and I need to get over it.

Last week a student told a hilarious story in class about convincing another child to pee in a litter box while they were pretending to be animals.

Good And Bad Things About Being A Teacher

2008-11-25T15:56:00.002-05:00

First the bad: today I had to deal with my first mean girl situation. Amazing that in six years I have not had to face this before now. One of my sweetest students came to me on Friday after school and told me that she was being harassed by three of my most irritating students--no surprise. Maybe it's my inner 13-year-old, but I managed to get increasingly more worked up and nervous about the confrontation as the weekend wore on. Last night I had a nightmare about it. I didn't want to make the situation worse for this girl, and it's so nebulous; I thought about calling a parent and trying to explain how his daughter was bullying someone: whispering. Giggling. Plus I think I'm still a little scared of the mean girls. Pathetic. But I was the grownup and confronted the ringleader today, in general terms, about her behavior toward other students in the class. She was clearly taken aback--this is the kind of successful kid who is good at snowing most teachers--and said she understood, but looked pissed. I stayed composed, but felt shaken.

On the up side, I got one kid to give me a cookie in the morning, and in the afternoon I made a girl share her clementine with me.

Sunday Is Shallow Shameful Voyeurism Day

2008-11-16T11:18:00.004-05:00

Every once in a while, out of some perverse curiosity, I Google my ex-boyfriends. It's usually after I've skimmed the news and read all of your blogs and checked my three e-mail accounts, watched The Office and 30 Rock and The Daily Show on Hulu, and have laundry or grading I really should be doing, but can't seem to get off the couch. Some vague insistent impish part of my mind wonders how much I could find out. Usually, it's not much, and boredom or embarassment or hunger pulls me away.

Today I found out that one of them, the first one who was important to me, has a child, and for some reason I can't explain, it made me feel sad. Strange that something so far in my past should make me feel this way. I thought, maybe it's because we used to know each other's every idle thought, and now major life events go by unknown. Or maybe it puts me in mind of the capriciousness of fate, how easily one new child arrives to have its impact on the world, while so many other possible people disappear and fade into parallel universes as their potential parents drift away from one another. Or maybe it's disappointment I'm feeling, because what I really wanted was to find out something deliciously terrible, to gloat over.

HECK YEAH

2008-11-05T19:17:00.003-05:00

Last night started out like this:

And ended up like this...

It's our time!

On Being Terrified

2008-10-27T20:28:00.002-04:00

We are really buying a house. As in, the sellers have agreed and the attorneys have agreed and the mortgage company has agreed, and in two months all of that theoretical responsibility will become actual payments and repairs and dusting and scrubbing and neighbors we're stuck with for the foreseeable future. And that heart-and-mind commitment we've made to each other will become bricks-and-mortar too. And I thought getting the family plan on our cell phones was a pretty big deal.

The fireplace and the deck and the view of the hills in the distance, the setting up our books on new shelves and walking to the post office, the Thai restaurant or the tattoo parlor are all things that calm the palpitations a bit. The writing checks toward an end, instead of a black hole, and the building something together, something we've chosen together--these are things I've wanted for a long time. But after a decade of renting (and seven different apartments, and eleven different roommates) and a longer list of relationships that fizzled out before I got comfortable calling someone 'boyfriend,' I'm actually facing these things that I've wanted and getting these things that I've wanted and it is new, and overwhelming.

On Being A Bitch

2008-10-22T20:16:00.003-04:00

I have been a real bitch lately. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

I've been teaching for six years now, and when a student comes up to me with an excuse (not the same thing as a reason) I don't have that sad, this-hurts-me-more-than-it-hurts-you expression on when I tell them too bad, you are losing points/failing/being written up/kicked out of the play/etc. I used to really feel it, too--that it hurt me as much or more than it did them. Now I don't. I don't know when this changed.

That's not entirely true. I do feel compassion for the kid who has to come to me, scared (they never used to be that scared before) and give me his excuse. I don't ever yell. I just tell him, plainly, if something is unacceptable; I look him in the eyes, I don't furrow my brow. I don't check with him twice to see if he is OK afterward. I move on.

The same is true of my interactions with colleagues and supervisors. I don't smile as readily as I did before, and I don't try to accomodate others' needs before my own. I listen, then respond. If something is disappointing or frustrating to me, I name it that way.

It's disappointing that I (the crusader against sexist dress code policies! the presenter of controversial plays!) see this confidence, this lack of bullshit, as bitchiness. Even though it has made some things easier for me, I still feel kind of bad about it. It's frustrating that for the gains it has gotten me, I know it has made me a bitch in some people's eyes, and lost me a little too.

Bitching About Television: The Fourth* In A Series

2008-10-17T20:32:00.006-04:00

I used to really enjoy 'Weeds' and I don't try to hide my crush on Mary-Louise Parker. I really liked how, in the first season, her character, Nancy, would make these bad choices about who to sleep with, but for the most part didn't get 'punished' for it like sexy ladies usually do in movies and TV shows. Of course she was totally exploited because she's hot, but she usually had the power in whatever situation she was in.

Nancy has power

Now I've gotten to season three and she has been held at gunpoint, forced to dance/box/etc., choked, and forcibly kissed in a hostage situation. OK, her drug-selling lifestyle is getting dangerous, I get it. Showtime, wtf? The sex-violence conflation is pretty well handled by the major networks and every Hollywood movie. Oo, look at this smart, confident woman being physically degraded! Look how scared she is! Isn't she so hot? I'm done.

Nancy doesn't have power

*And hopefully final. Real-life stuff is a little intense for me right now, so I've been focusing on the fake-life stuff. I'll be back to my regularly-scheduled blogging soon.

Dear Jon Stewart,

2008-10-15T19:24:00.003-04:00

Please stop talking.

Just for a second. I love you, I really do. I mean, I really, honest-to-god, Teen Bop poster taped to the wall, informed about your former job at the Quaker Bridge Mall, angry when you got married love you. But you are seriously bad at your job.

Not the SNL-esque fake news anchor part of your job. That part is really great. Keep it up!

But the interviewing. My god Jon, when you are interviewing people you've got to let them talk. Ask a question that doesn't require a great deal of lead-in or sermonizing on your part, then... stop talking. Seriously, I mean it. It's their turn to talk. After the question, listen.

When you first started working there (which was around the time I first started working there, so I felt our kinship), I gave you some slack, because you were new and nervous and not used to interviewing. But what has it been, eight, nine seasons? I mean it, the chattering through these 'interview' segments while your interviewee laughs appreciatively at your jokes has long grown old. You are starting to sound like as much of a dick as Colbert does, and he's trying to do that.

Don't be afraid, Jon. If you ask a good question, they'll have something to say. Even if they have to take a breath first, and sound doesn't immediately come out, that doesn't mean it's your turn again.

Love (still, regardless),

Wonderturtle

Lest You Think I'm Not Shallow*

2008-10-06T19:55:00.004-04:00

Or, Why I'm Not Watching Heroes* Anymore

Sylar: It's all behind me now, like a long night after a bad taco.

(dramatic music)

*because even without TV, you can watch TV shows, without commercials, online.

And seriously? This dude is still the gay best friend from So NoTORIous.

Why I Don't Have TV

2008-10-04T10:57:00.008-04:00

When I was small I got it into my head that the cable box on top of the TV really controlled TV. Not just our TV; TV in general, everyone's TV. I'd get worried when my mom told me to turn it off because we were going to have dinner, because what if someone else was watching that show? I felt burdened with responsibility to watch things that a variety of people might be interested in, so I wouldn't bore anyone.

We didn't get the TV until I was four or five, and after that it dominated the living room and adjacent kitchen. My father installed himself on the floor in front of it, stretched out with a pillow under his head, and grunted in response to questions. My mom had held out for so long for just this reason, and because she wanted me outside playing. I continued to play outside, and I'm grateful that she didn't wean me on TV from the very start. But my dad couldn't resist it, and she later said that was when the marriage started to end.

I am prone to hermitage and a TV doesn't help. When I've lived with roommates who wanted cable, I've fought them but then spent the most time staring blankly at the screen. One year I lived by myself without TV, and in February I merrily gave valentines to everyone at work. The next year, in the next apartment, I sat on the couch and felt shitty about myself for being alone, as commercials told me I should.

I still have a big glass eye that dominates my living room, but I don't have cable hooked up; we watch DVDs. This week I visited friends' TV to watch the VP debate, and lasted all of about ten minutes before I literally started to feel sick and had to leave. On the one hand, I wanted to see it for myself before reading the distortions in the press. On the other, it's only my own distortion I was seeing.

I cannot understand it when people leave the TV on 'for company' or while they fall asleep. When I'm somewhere with a TV on, I cannot look away from it, still feeling responsible to watch, and keep watching.

Thoughts From A Stressful Week

2008-10-01T16:48:00.002-04:00

Tooling along the highway, what if I get in a car accident and die? Oh, people would say, she was about to buy a house, but what about the person who just got married, just had a kid, had four kids, just got promoted, or was living her dream in some other way? It's always tragic; people attach these descriptors to the person's life as if it makes it more so, but any way around, it's always tragic.

Dear Barack Obama, will you go to a dance with me?

The job I want: everyone leaves me alone.

John McCain Is Already Dead

2008-09-28T19:24:00.003-04:00

If you're wondering why John McCain, with his face sagging off and his deep black eyes, looks like he is already dead, here's why: John McCain is already dead. Voldemort has taken the husk of his body and propped it up inside with his evil snake, Nagini.

Carry on.

The Hard Work Of Our Children

2008-09-12T17:44:00.003-04:00

On the radio yesterday, an elementary school principal in Connecticut credited the subject line above, along with increased professional development for teachers, with getting his school off of the state's Failing list. Listening, I pictured dozens of small first- and second-graders bent over desks, scribbling away with their pencils, maybe a tongue or two stuck out the side of a mouth in concentration.

I couldn't help but fixate on that phrase: "the hard work of our children." It seems wrong, somehow. Maybe it's my cushy 20th century upbringing, but hard work doesn't seem like something children should be doing. I recognize, of course, that 'hard work' for them may not be hard work for me, and it's all relative. I know that children used to be put right to work on farms as soon as they could walk. But that work was useful work, and practical, and more often than not, designed for each little worker's abilities.

And I know about standardized tests. I know what they do to students and teachers when too much emphasis is placed on them. Their benefits are abstract, they matter most to politicians and faraway capitalists. Seven and eight year olds should be doing the hard work of reading and math and playing well with others, and maybe geography. Not multiple choice, timed reading or writing, or anything following the words "high stakes."

Fun

2008-09-09T17:25:00.002-04:00

Try wordle.net, which creates pretty 'word clouds' from any text you paste in, based on the frequency of the words' appearance. Here's one I created from my last blog post:

But you can do all sorts of fun ones from the Gettysburg Address, your resume or your favorite song. Wordies, prepare to spend some time there.

Dear Sarah Palin,

2008-09-09T17:01:00.003-04:00

Yes, you have boobs. That doesn't mean that, because I have boobs, I will automatically vote for your creationist, wildly conservative, inexperienced self.

Dear "Liberal" Media,
Please stop feeding this fire by implying that, because I have boobs, I will be so short-sighted, shallow, and downright stupid as to switch my support from Barack Obama to John McCain just because Sarah Palin has boobs.

Dear American Women,
Please don't fall for that shit.

Dear McCain Supporters,
Don't get all excited and act like you're being progressive because of the boobs on McCain's ticket. You are the spiritual descendants of the folks who got behind women's suffrage because it was a distraction from civil rights for black people, and don't you forget it.

Dear John McCain and Barack Obama,
Way to make yourselves even more exactly the same.

Love,
Wonderturtle

Dear Linda,

2008-09-06T10:21:00.002-04:00

I'm sorry that when you called me, from a Restricted number, at 4:00 in the morning, that I wouldn't tell you my last name. I may have been a bit short with you when I told you that you could not reach someone called "Diane" in my bedroom. Thank you for pulling me out of the nightmare I was having, which included a friend falling asleep dangerously with a joint in her hand and a disabled West Indian woman who kept trying to get out of her wheelchair. However, your blunt request for my name did inspire some disbelief, and I hope you understand my cranky response, "Who is THIS?" Your claim that "this number is in [your] phone" and your lack of satisfaction with my grudging release of my first name only did surprise me, the request for further identification coming as it did at 4:00 in the morning. When I brusquely told you so, you quietly said that you understood and hung up, leaving me to stare sleeplessly at the ceiling, wondering about your story, and also my dream.

Differences

2008-09-01T16:35:00.003-04:00

In the summer I wear underwear.
In the fall, I also wear pants.

In the summer, my mid-day naps are long and luxurious.
In the fall, I nap on the couch in the faculty room, while everyone else is eating lunch.

In the summer I let my hair air-dry and ignore it.
In the fall I wrestle with it, gumming it up with pomade and blasting it with a hair dryer. (The difference is not noticeable.)

In the fall I wear a little bit of makeup, and real shoes.

What I talk about in summer: how we really should go miniature golfing.
What I talk about in fall: how we really should go pumpkin picking.

In August I berate myself for not spending more time outside.
In September I blame the school.

Happy Labor Day!

Fun Quote Friday

2008-08-29T14:20:00.002-04:00

“It turns out that the women in America aren’t finished yet,

and we can shatter that glass ceiling.”

-Sarah Palin, John McCain's newly announced running mate

Whew! We're not finished? Thank you America, thank you John McCain. Let me just make a note here by my computer: "Cancel suicide." Hear that, ladies?

In Her Shell Contest!

2008-08-22T19:08:00.003-04:00

My cell phone took this picture while it was in my purse:

Can you correctly identify the subject of the picture?

Seriously, can you?

Why Is Europe So Much Better Than Us?

2008-08-20T17:03:00.004-04:00

Reading the news that some university presidents want to lower the drinking age put me in mind of the many, many students of mine who have written persuasive papers to this effect. I understand it and I agree with them; the debate is nothing new.

My students would make the "old enough to fight for your country" argument and the "forbidden fruit" argument, and sometimes they even pointed out that in countries with lower drinking ages, teenagers seem to have a more balanced perspective about drinking, or at least learn how to hold their alcohol better.

This article points out that stricter laws and more public transportation options make drunk driving less of an issue in France than it is here. It isn't expected that every kid will have a car. They don't all 'need' one, and really, they don't all need one.

So what the heck? Why is Europe so much better than we are? They have pervasive public transportation!

In grad school I mentored high school age foreign exchange students, finding them host families, taking them on outings, listening to their problems, etc. But they were pretty self-sufficient; they got here two weeks before 9/11/01 and on September 12 they sat around my dining room table and talked in a balanced way about world politics and international relations. Not one of them said they were scared and wanted to go home. All of them spoke at least two languages, none of them got into trouble while they were here, and they made me look back at my own self-involved high school days with chagrin.

OK, I know they were the cream of the crop and highly motivated and had been given the lecture about being embassadors and all that. I'm sure there are some tools out there in European high schools. But seriously. Why is Europe so much better than we are? What is it about their schools that makes them so mature, so far-seeing? Or maybe it's just that--are their schools not seen as the only major preparation for society (read: workforce) and so they are better able to see things outside their own doors?

I remember reading about how adolescence is this artificially created stage, because physically we're ready to start breeding and that's how we used to do it, before advances in industry and medicine lengthened our lives and changed our priorities. So here they are in this holding pattern, not quite adults but not children anymore, and here we are building the holding pens. It's not really working.

Good Weekend

2008-08-10T21:13:00.003-04:00

I always said I wouldn't let this space become my journal, but every once in a while I get off the couch and it's kind of fun. So here's what I did this weekend:

Had potluck dinner with some friends on Friday night. I made fried rice.

Went to the State Fair with Anthemsled on Saturday, ate some meat on a stick, and saw some farm animals. Discussed the viability of backyard chickens, and goats.

This morning I gathered tasty local goods at the Farmer's Market, then went to the Tomato Festival with our neighbors. We sampled lots of varieties; these were my favorites:

Nearby was a Children's Garden; here was one of the homemade signs in a plot:

Came home and put my developing sewing skills to work making a bag out of a t-shirt. It came out OK:

Then I tried to re-create a pizza I'd had at someone's home, using strange German flatbread, carmelized onions, pesto, black olives, and mozzarella. Just finished eating it; not bad.

Now I'm back on the couch, blogging between online episodes of "30 Rock." All in all, a good weekend.

Food For Thought, And For Eating

2008-08-09T11:17:00.004-04:00

"It's almost impossible to say that we're ever going to get totally free of all food contamination - hopefully we'll minimize it..."

-Jean Kinsey, co-director of the Food Industry Center at the University of Minnesota

"Rao [a marketing professor at the University of Minnesota] said if he were advising Whole Foods, he would tell them to follow Johnson & Johnson's example after Extra Strength Tylenol was tainted in 1982 and seven people died. The company quickly responded with an ad blitz and the biggest coupon giveaway in commercial history. Within four months, after recalling $100 million worth of product, Tylenol had regained its market share."

-"Whole Foods recalls ground beef"

"The degree to which you rely on today’s artificial corporate structure determines the extent of your vulnerability."

-freedomgardens.com

See You At The Debates, Bitches

2008-08-06T15:30:00.003-04:00

I know next to nothing about Paris Hilton and don't like her anyway. But her 'campaign ad' was funny. And I wish I could insert the above line into more situations.

PSA For Lactards

2008-08-05T17:21:00.005-04:00

Attention my lactose intolerant brethren! The following animals produce dairy products that we can safely consume:

Sheep

Goat

In related news, yogurt is OK too, because all those active cultures apparently break down the lactose for you. By extension, frozen yogurt is safe, since it is mostly reconstituted powder anyway. But I wouldn't recommend overdoing it.

My Place In The Compound

2008-08-04T18:08:00.004-04:00

If the apocalypse came I might not qualify for the end of the world compound. I have been fretting for several years over this. I just don't have any useful skills; I don't know how to build things or fix things, I don't have any particular mechanical or gardening genius, and my cooking skills are not particularly standout. I couldn't even be the compound's minstrel, unless he/she needed someone to sing along.

With this in mind, and also in search of a creative outlet to focus on that does not involve my job or looking for a house, I decided to learn how to sew. I made a wrap skirt a few years ago on a borrowed sewing machine, using an existing wrap skirt as a pattern, and it was fun. It's totally uneven and weird-looking, but I enjoyed it and feel proud enough of my work to at least wear it around the house.

So today I bought a sewing machine. It was less expensive than I thought it would be, and I am looking forward to learning how to really use it, although I am somewhat intimidated by the bobbin.

Shocking Nature Secrets Revealed

2008-07-30T16:34:00.006-04:00

I went for a walk in the woods with my mom today. We walked about 2 miles, had lunch, and walked back. It was nice, but buggy, since we were mostly walking along a river. We saw an old grist mill, a bunch of tiny frogs (like the size of my thumbnail), ate some wild raspberries that we found along the path, and generally enjoyed the scenery.

However. I was shocked when we came across some goose poop on the trail, and there were two butterflies, eating it! OK, I couldn't exactly tell what they were doing with it, because they fluttered away in shame and embarassment as soon as we rounded the corner, but I stayed and watched them (they were pretty--yellow and brownish-black), and they totally came right back and landed on the poop again! How undignified.

Sad Celebrity News

2008-07-27T17:31:00.003-04:00

Estelle Getty, Golden Girl, dies at 84

Shia LeBeouf, who was actually really funny on Disney's Even Stevens, arrested for DUI

Costumes

2008-07-20T12:14:00.001-04:00

I often feel like I'm wearing a costume. Not in a metaphorical, "we all have a face that we hide away forever" kind of way, but literally. Maybe it comes from my community theatre upbringing.

Today as I was leaving for the Farmer's Market I noted that I was wearing one of my mother's hand-me-down wrap skirts, an orange tank top, a head scarf, and flip flops. The Hippie Costume. Whenever I go to the gym (not that often, in fits and starts really) I put on the Jock Costume: sports bra, ankle socks, sneakers, tight tank and some form of sweatpants. When I wear my What Would Joan Jett Do (W.W.J.J.D?) t-shirt with green pants and a belt, that is my Hipster Costume. The button-down shirts and slacks I wear 10 months out of the year is my Teacher Costume, although that has gotten more and more erratic since I got tenure.

I don't think I'm necessarily trying to fool anyone with these costumes; I think they all represent facets of my personality and I've always enjoyed playing Dress Up. An actor friend once posited that the reason many women get so hyped up about their traditional weddings and wedding dresses is because they get to Dress Up and be the Center of Attention, and that if you've been on stage a fair amount, of course your wedding is still exciting and wonderful, but it doesn't so much need to be All About the Bride.

I went to a wedding last night where no one was in costume. We were all dressed up, including the bride and groom, but they are just such wonderful, down to earth people, and so in love, and so loveable, and their ceremony and reception absolutely reflected that. They looked beautiful, but absolutely like themselves.

How Sitting At A Red Light Can Make One Philosophical

2008-07-14T15:34:00.005-04:00

Two teenagers in a car pulled up behind me at a red light, laughing. Looking in the rearview mirror, I suddenly remembered what that felt like--to suddenly have a driver's license, to be able to go pick up a friend and go where we wanted to go, to exist separately from our parents. I felt so intensely proud of everything about my first car, from its sticky vinyl seats to its ugly boxiness to its tendency to overheat. It represented my independence, of course, but also me, for the first time moving on my own.

I felt that way again during my first semester of college. Everything in the dorm was a revelation; I remember holding a package of cookies in my hand and thinking about how I was eating them for dinner, how no one was going to stop me. Sitting in the hallway at three in the morning, hands pressed to the cheap scratchy carpet, looking around at the diverse crowd I was sharing intimate details with, I was exhilarated with ownership over my place in the world.

When I finally started teaching after bouncing from job to job and town to town, I moved into my very own apartment. Every decision in that apartment was mine, from when to wash the dishes (when I ran out of clean ones) to where to put the furniture to how loud to play which music. It overlooked a parking lot and smelled like fresh paint and cost way too much, but it belonged to me. Again I had that tingly feeling of awareness of the boundaries of my own body, the incredible luck I had to be where I was, and the energy sparking from the ends of my fingers. Even though I still feel lucky and I still feel happy, it's been a while since I've had that dizzy feeling of possibility and awe. I miss it.

Dream Blogging

2008-07-09T10:48:00.002-04:00

I dreamed last night that I was working on an elaborate blog post about a new MTV ad campaign.

It began when I saw an ad on TV for a new MTV show (or possibly new trend; it was unclear, plus I don't actually have cable in real life) about girls doing sumo wrestling. The main character was stick-thin with long blond hair (some realism) and the tagline was something like, "The latest distraction that boys like!"

I was so dedicated to this post that I toted my laptop to MTV studios in New York to write it as I did research on the set of the half hour show that was created solely to promote this female sumo wrestling trend. I remember making a note on my laptop that the show also starred "the guy who plays Peter's brother on Heroes." Who during this dream I found very hot.

As I was leaving the building, totally disgusted by what I saw, I stopped at the snack counter in the lobby. The slightly dotty old woman behind the counter seemed to think I was a regular there, and apologized because the high-powered executive lady in line in front of me had bought every last homemade chocolate frosted cupcake she had. She offered to mush a big chocolate chip cookie into a muffin tin for me, and I accepted. On the way out another woman asked me where I had gotten it.

Out on the sidewalk, I realized that I was way, way uptown, so far uptown that it looked totally suburban, and I would have to walk all the way down to Penn Station. Also I was on Fifth Avenue, and was trying to decide when to cut over to Eighth. I felt unsafe and wanted to cut over in a more populated area.

As I approached the corner, everyone who passed me was wearing an outlandish hat. I realized that I might miss my train, and started to run.

A Loss And A Memory

2008-06-28T09:23:00.002-04:00

This week one of my former students was shot and killed by the police in his hometown, right around the corner from the school.

I don't know why he tried to leave when he was pulled over. I don't know why the policeman felt he needed to shoot him. I don't know the point of entry of the bullet. I don't know why he always slept in my class or why he didn't do a research paper. I do know that he was polite, when I woke him up, when I talked to him about his failing grade. He looked sullen but he was a nice boy. Looking back, I realize that he was probably a candidate for the Student Assistance Counselor or a Student Under the Influence Form. But as a first year teacher what I knew what that he was polite, not a behavior problem, a little unmotivated.

At my first pep rally I looked into the rowdy group in the stands helplessly--wondering how I could intervene while craning my neck, over the bouncing sounds of feet stomping and voices. Like me, a first-year History teacher found this student in the crowd and called out to him, reprovingly. This teacher seemed surprised, as I was, that a nice boy, a quiet and sullen boy, was at the center of a jostling, air horn blowing, silly string shooting crowd.

We looked at this kid. We were first year teachers, we were hopeful and desperate in that mess, and he looked at us and smiled. You can't get me now, he smiled at us. Then he looked away, and didn't look down again.

Evolving Standards Of Decency

2008-06-25T15:48:00.003-04:00

The Supreme Court ruled today that people convicted of child rape cannot be executed. In their opinions, Justices discussed the relative impact of first degree murder and the rape of a child. They discussed the impact on the victim and the patterns of the offenders. Justice Kennedy wrote that the death penalty in this case would violate the Eighth Amendment and "evolving standards of decency" in this country.

I am waiting for the day our country's sense of decency evolves to the point that we don't execute people at all. Kennedy wrote about "proportional punishment." Being killed at the hands of your government isn't punishment; it's vengeance. This is just a nice way of saying "an eye for an eye." Yes, sometimes it feels f*ing good to know that a psychopath has been permanently erased. Especially if that psychopath has directly impacted your life.

But that kind of barbarism doesn't have a place in government. Take a look here, at the list of countries that permit the death penalty. If you go here you can read the abstract for a fascinating article in UK medical journal The Lancet (if you can get your hands on the full article, it is worth a read) about how inhumane the process of lethal injection is, and if you don't really care if the psychopaths suffer, consider that there are lots of mistakes that have been discovered--wrongful convictions that were overturned before the accused could be executed. Then there's the dubious claim that the death penalty is a deterrent to crime, which is not exactly debunked, but certainly crimped, here and elsewhere.

As far as overcrowding in our prisons goes, maybe if mandatory sentencing for non-violent offenders didn't make this particular industrial complex so profitable, there would be more room to pen away--and truly punish--those who cannot be allowed to participate in society.

Still Dancing

2008-06-23T18:39:00.002-04:00

It's the last week of school. Every other district in the county (OK, every other district) is out for the summer by now. We have final exams and for me, grading advanced junior exams (four essays each), it is somewhat torturous. I'm sure the kids feel that way too.

It was a tough year. The state test pressure hit us hard, and even though the scores are in, the higher-ups are being remarkably cagey about whether any of that time and curriculum-sacrifice did us any good. It seems that most of the students who live in district but attend special schools have failed the exam, and their scores count against us, even though they don't attend our school. We may well be on the watch list yet again.

I'm still trying to decide whether to cave and add extra points to the quarter grades of my students who did well on the state test, as I've been instructed to do. I think it's gross, but it may not be a battle I have the energy for right now.

I got some really nice letters from my students this year. It helps when I'm questioning my choice to work in this building, in this profession. It was a tough year.

All of it gets put into perspective when I think about floods, ethanol and Mugabe, among all the rest. I'm tired.

By some whim I wandered over to YouTube today and stumbled across this. I think it's an updated version, but it doesn't much matter-- it still makes me cry, it still makes me feel jealous, it still makes me feel good.

Death Of Irony, And A Bunch Of Brown Characters

2008-06-18T16:32:00.008-04:00

I saw "Iron Man" last week. Sometimes I like an action movie. Sometimes I like Robert Downey Jr. Lukewarm reviews be damned, I thought. I trusted the reviews on "The Piano" and look where that got me.

Well I was just as horrified and disturbed by "Iron Man," but in a different way. First of all, its treatment of international issues was about as complex as "I don't know how but they found me. Run for it, Marty!" Much of the plot, much to my surprise, revolved around our boy Robert kicking ass and taking names in various terrorist caves and sandy villages. I like my dick-swinging to take place in fictional dark metropolises, not simulations of contemporary war-torn countries, thank you very much.

Oh, if you don't want any of the crappiness spoiled for you, don't read the rest of this post.

When the movie opened with RDJ and a bunch of American soldiers getting ambushed in the desert by a group wielding complex American weaponry, I thought: this is manipulative, but perhaps the filmmakers have shocked us with soldier deaths in order to make a point later.

When RDJ escaped his captors by building a suit with arms that are part machine gun/part flame thrower, and torched the shit out of the whole camp, I thought: that seems unnecessary.

When his character returns home and announces that his profitable weapons manufacturing company will no longer manufacture weapons, I thought: right on!

When he then devotes himself to building the biggest, baddest weapon EVER, I was confused.

When he then uses said weapon to kill a bunch more people to superhero rock god guitar music in the background, I waited for the ironic twist.

When he looked through the viewfinder of his suit and it identified people in the village as "Civilian" or not, then automatically shot the non-civilians dead, before leaving the one non-civilian to the hands of the angry mob, walking away stoically and saying, "He's all yours," I thought: holy crap this is blockbuster violence porn.

He might as well have been GWB in a bulging flight suit announcing Mission Accomplished. He was Cowboy-Kill-Em-All. The audience absolutely loved it. And Gwyneth? Really?

The Adventures Of Origami Turtle

2008-06-11T17:02:00.005-04:00

On the way home from work I always sit for a long time at one traffic light. It is a four-way light, a short light, people get confused, trucks take a long time to gear up, etc. To pass the time, I've started taking pictures with my cell phone of things in and around my car. The following series stars an origami turtle that Anthemsled got at a Japanese restaurant.

Origami Turtle steers the car

Origami Turtle looks out the window

Origami Turtle plays with my IPod
Origami Turtle turns up the radio

Fin

File This Under What An F*ing Tragedy

2008-05-31T17:26:00.003-04:00

I've just read this article about how the FDA is outlawing traditional asthma inhalers because they are CFC-powered. Lots of patients are having trouble with the new inhalers, which don't work as well and need to be cleaned regularly.

Talk about distraction.

Major corporate interests can keep pumping tons of pollution into the air, water, and earth. Builders can clear-cut trees. Our government can stay in their pockets. But people can't get the life-saving medication they need.

I'm as in favor of individual responsibility and consumer power as the next (informed, fired up, and terribly attractive) gal, but all this "simple ways to save the environment" hoo-ha is NOT ENOUGH. Attention must be turned to the big earth-killers, and it's gotta be now.

For more on this subject, check out this book:

...and stay alert.

Dear Hillary,

2008-05-23T12:45:00.003-04:00

Girl, I feel you. I have totally been there before. And even though I'm loath to recommend any book purported to instruct women on how to behave, I'd like you to just riffle through that book by those annoying Sex and the City people.

Because Hillary, we're just not that into you.

It's not because we're just getting out of an 8-year commitment or we don't want to ruin the friendship. We aren't too intimidated and we aren't too busy to call.

We are a little afraid to get hurt again. But that's not really the point here, Hil. You are better than this. It's getting awkward. We're with someone else. Seriously, stop calling.

Attention Home Owners

2008-05-13T15:13:00.001-04:00

The answer is:

Something you wish someone had told you when you were looking to buy a house.

What's the question?

Third Post Of The Day

2008-04-30T17:32:00.002-04:00

PS. This month marked my two-year blogiversary. That first month probably hosted my best posts to date, but it's been fun since then anyway. Thanks Lulu and HB, for the push!

On Fellating A Banana And Other Appalling Scenarios

2008-04-30T17:11:00.002-04:00

Jersey Aikido Girl posted recently about jaw-droppingly bad television, and it reminded me: what the f**? TV sucks so much, that is the best question I can ask about it.

At the gym I listen to music on my IPod and watch several TVs at once. It's hard for me to look away because a) I don't have TV at home so it's a novelty and b) the gym is so f*ing boring. I always end up near the one showing MTV because I like to get my cardio in the corner. You know the basic format for "Parental Control," right? Some parents and their kid who want to be on TV pretend to complain about the kid's girl/boyfriend, who in turn acts like a complete jackass while clearly being coached by producers. Then some other kids who want to be on TV go on staged dates with the original kid, and the other three "watch" and "fight" annoyingly. It's actually better without the sound.

At the beginning of the episode I witnessed, the unwanted girlfriend struts up to the (low-angle) camera in a mini-skirt, turns her back on the lens, and smacks her own ass. Cut to: close up of girlfriend licking a peeled banana from bottom to top, gently tonguing the tip, then nibbling a tiny piece off, while lolling her eyes weirdly at the camera.

I'm there on the elliptical thinking, holy crap, they just showed a teenage girl fellating a banana. It's 4:00 in the afternoon, and they are not even pretending anymore.

In other news, if TV had been in every home in the 1930s, FDR wouldn't have been elected and say what you will, I do not want to see either Hillary or Obama perform a sex act with a banana. Even metaphorically.

Another Dispatch From The Tampon Disposal Box

2008-04-30T16:53:00.004-04:00

A bit ago I posted about my pride in an anonymous graffiti writer who shamelessly proclaimed her activity status in black ink on a tampon disposal box in a stall of the Girls' bathroom. (The female high school jackals have since descended on her, by the way, with nasty scribbled responses.)

I was amused again when, in the same bathroom (different stall), I saw this written on another tampon disposal box:

"Dear Everybody,
Please stop wearing those H&M "Peace" shirts that are made in China. They do not support peace.
Thanks."

I guess bathroom-wall activism comes in many forms. Words of the prophets and all that.

Tampon Disposal Box

For the lads: here's what one looks like--they are generally mounted on the wall opposite the toilet paper. So you can get a visual. :)

Return Of Next Blog Poetry*, Multilingual Edition

2008-04-27T14:12:00.003-04:00

Assalamualaikum
(és mooooolt de temps)

First up is my cactus,
Pour fêter le début de sa 90 ième année de vie
doch dort sagten sie genau das gleiche.

Aqui está uma pequena amosta
She is lovely see!

...och för övrigt är jag numera lycklig
on the first beautiful warmish day

*in a move that seems to amuse only me, I pull lines from each blog I hit on the Next Blog button, and arrange them into poem form.

Another Good Day Spoiled By Hatred And Ignorance

2008-04-24T19:36:00.002-04:00

I suck, right now.

What do you do when someone you've just met and who seems really nice says something that you realize a second later is actually pretty racist? But you were too surprised or embarrassed or whatever to say anything about it? And now when you look back on it you think that in your silence this person thinks they found complicity? And what if, because you were silent, they did?

I know regret is a wasted emotion but I can't stop thinking about this one. I don't know what I can do about it. Do better next time, I guess.

The Multiple Listings Service Is My New Porn

2008-04-23T14:43:00.002-04:00

So we are thinking about buying a house. More than thinking, actually--gotten the pre-approvals and a realtor, we know our price range and potential location(s). And I cannot. stop. looking. at houses online. It's gotten to the point that I immediately recognize when a new listing is posted. When I tire of looking at houses we might actually consider, I'll do searches for other counties, to marvel at how expensive or bemoan how cheap things are there. I'll scroll until my eyes glaze over and I can't tell one house from the next. The voyeurism of looking in people's lighted windows when I drive past has been taken to a whole new level. I feel like I could take a photo from each listing and write a short story about it--a depressing, judgemental short story. I can't stop.

Another Good Book Spoiled By Hatred And Ignorance

2008-04-18T21:52:00.004-04:00

So I just re-read Gone with the Wind. The last time I read it was in seventh grade, and I guess I knew it had really racist parts in it then, but I don't think I remembered how really racist. Holy shit. Too bad, because otherwise the story is pretty good.

Some Things I Was Wrong About

2008-04-03T17:09:00.002-04:00

It's all about lists lately here in the shell. And although I am famed for my overwhelming accuracy and astute predictions, here are some things that turned out differently, and statements I now rescind.

1. "Zach Braff is cool."
2. "Mandy Moore is not cool."
3. "The American people will never elect George W. Bush president."
4. "I don't think I'm going to like this Fight Club movie."
5. "There is no way the American people will re-elect George W. Bush."
6. "I will never become a teacher."
7. What that Irish guy mumbled in that movie I watched with Anthemsled.

Some More Things I Like

2008-03-30T11:21:00.001-04:00

1. When I'm sitting at a red light, and the green left turn arrow comes on, and someone in front of me releases their brakes momentarily, because they thought it was their green light. Ha ha.

2. Snacks.

You Know What I Really Like?

2008-03-26T18:11:00.002-04:00

Inappropriate nicknames.

Like "Pookie" for our serious, awkward friend Chris in high school.

Or "Sunshine" for my sullen students.

It never gets old. For me, at least. I don't know how they feel about it.

Reasons Easter Is Uncool*

2008-03-23T10:23:00.004-04:00

1. Easter egg hunts. What hunt? Big matted field with tufts of hay "hiding" some crappy pieces of plastic. If you are small and passive, you will be pushed down and trampled by the other children.

2. Scariest ghost story ever.

3. Chocolate Easter bunnies = depressing.

4. Pastel colors. Unflattering and everywhere.

5. Church-related discomforts: Ash Wednesday (black smudges on the foreheads of my friends); Palm Sunday (cloying smell); Lent (unexplained).

*To a child at least; that's the last time I remember celebrating it.

The Man Or The Monster

2008-03-21T10:22:00.004-04:00

When I started teaching Frankenstein five years ago I thought I could tell the sensitive kids by who sympathized more with the creature. I couldn't stand Victor Frankenstein--he was spoiled, coddled, self-involved and self-aggrandizing--he made poor choices and then justified them by pointing to the maliciousness of his creation. But the creature wasn't malicious, not at first--he wanted love and acceptance, was gentle and sought to help others, and was rewarded by beatings, anger, fear, stones, and gunshots. The vengeance he sought on his creator was only a function of his total rejection by society. He was alone, never had a chance, and therefore less to blame for the horrible things he eventually did.

When students sided more with Victor I thought they were shallow. He had everything, then had it taken away from him, they said. He lost his friends, family, and wife, as a result of something he created. He had to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. Yes, he made bad decisions, but he didn't kill anyone! They were smug in their dismissal of the creature. A bad childhood doesn't excuse someone from moral responsibility, they insisted.

The interesting thing about Frankenstein is this dilemma: who do you root for? The book is certainly not terribly well-written; it's riddled with digressions and overblown language, plot threads picked up to be conveniently dropped and forgotten about, long wordy descriptions of the mountains in winter that can only be explained by the Romantic period and the fact that the author was only 18 at the time.

This year, suddenly, I can see Victor's side. He does make some stupid mistakes, boy, starting with running away from his creation as soon as it is given life, and blindly hoping that it will just die somewhere and he can forget all about it. He blunders along, wracked by guilt, but never asking anyone for help until the very end, when he's already lost everyone he wanted to save. He's blinded by his emotions, easily manipulated, single-minded, and has a tendency to fall into fevers. He has everything the creature longs for, but destroys it to serve his own ambition.

He's so incredibly flawed, but he's the title character--the one we're supposed to look at and think, holy crap, this could be me. He makes mistake after mistake. He lashes out at the wrong people. He mopes, he's weak, he tries and fails. Even his deathbed advice is riddled with contradictions. He's human.

Please Advise

2008-03-17T19:10:00.004-04:00

When someone is telling a story that you've heard already, but the person forgot that they told you, but you know that other people in the group haven't heard the story so you can't say, "Yeah, you told me about that," but the person is looking at you for a reaction, do you pretend you are hearing it for the first time, which could backfire later if the person remembers that they told you and wonders why you forgot about it so fast, or do you just nod sagely, which might make the person think you don't give a crap about their story?

Some More Things That Frustrate Me About Public Education

2008-03-10T15:57:00.002-04:00

1. Even though our school has a passing rate on The State Test in the mid-90s, we are still a "failing school" because one sub-group of students (special education) does not meet Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP).

2. Many of our special ed students are not required to pass The State Test to graduate high school because of their disabilities, but they are still required to take it and their scores still count for our AYP.

3. AYP means every Y. Everyone is supposed to be passing The State Test by 2014. Everyone. 100%.

4. Because we have failed to meet AYP for several years, we are in danger of state takeover (read: privatization.)

5. If you were looking to turn public education into a profit system, good job.

6. Our school is in such a panic about this that regular curriculum has been effectively abandoned in many of our classrooms, in favor of "test taking tips and practice."

7. The school has also decided to bribe students to try harder on The State Test by telling them that people with high scores will have points added to their grade in English and Math. Despite my strong objections (and the fact that my students think this is a stupid incentive) I have been told that I will have to do this. (Jury's still out on whether I will.)

8. Education in our state is funded primarily through property taxes, the quickest way to ensure inequity between rich and poor neighborhood schools.

9. In what other system do you find the whole thing being run by lay people? I understand that it is public ed, so the public is entitled to a say. But the last word? On everything from the business end to the curriculum? Given to people whose only required expertise about education is that they attended school. That's the Board of Education for you.

10. There are so many amazing things that go on in classrooms every day--so many vibrant teachers and students making connections and really learning and challenging each other and having fun--but the frustrating stuff takes center stage, people like me who are on the inside gripe loudly about it, and the reputation of public education just gets worse and worse.

Dear Computer,

2008-02-16T10:19:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry about everything I've said to you in the past. I know it's cold in the office. Please don't die.

2008-01-21T10:55:00.000-05:00

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality....
I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word."
~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Home

2008-01-21T10:40:00.001-05:00

There is a rumor going around that someone was mugged on our corner a few nights ago. By "going around," I mean that our downstairs neighbor told our across-the-hall neighbor, who told us. I am so pissed off.

At first I was surprised; we live in a quiet immigrant neighborhood. Dads, uncles and older brothers walk down to gather by the train station in the morning, waiting for work in the form of a pickup truck with a flatbed big enough for all of them. Moms and sisters walk to the bus in uniforms; little kids walk home after school with oversize Dora backpacks and chase each other around, shouting "Hola" at me from porches. It's quiet at this time of year, but in summer there is always someone out on the street, blasting salsa music from the car that's being worked on in the driveway, hanging out, playing cards. When I first moved here from suburban stroller land, where they roll up the sidewalks at 7:00, I felt assaulted by the noise and life surounding me at all hours. Then I came to remember how safe it is to have the eyes of the neighbors always on the neighborhood.

A robbery on our corner? A natural homebody, I've felt a little nervous on my walk from car to house in every place I've ever lived, from woods to city. I'm forever telling myself I need to lift more weights, take a self-defense course so I won't feel so vulnerable all the time. But now to think I might have a reason to be afraid, steps from my door... it has left a stone in my stomach that won't quite go away.

Even though I know this is a rumor, even though I can rationalize and say it may have been an isolated incident, that I've lived in "dangerous" places before, even though I can say a mugging isn't the worst street crime I could encounter, I'm still parking right in front of the door on our one-way street, instead of around the corner where the car can face the start of my commute. I'm still looking both ways, as if the sidewalk were a busy thoroughfare I have to cross.

I'm in mourning for our corner. It's become less ours. I've lost it, a little.

Wonderturtle And Hapabukbuk Catch Up After The Holidays

2008-01-06T10:42:00.000-05:00

WT: So I finally read The DaVinci Code.

HB: Oh yeah? What did you think?

WT: Stupid.

HB: Ha ha (etc). But I liked that it brought up all that stuff about the Catholic Church.

WT: Yes but two thirds of the way through the book I thought if I read the words "the sacred feminine" one more time I would vomit. Vagina, vagina, vagina! I get it!

HB: How's work?

WT: Some teachers at my school won the lottery. They are each going to get 4 million dollars.

HB: That's... infuriating.

I Also Don't Like Toast

2007-12-22T15:41:00.001-05:00

Something Else I Don't Like

2007-12-18T17:13:00.001-05:00

Lettuce.