The Flowers and the Fartersons Paint the Town Red

Recently, we all got together and went to a Christmas concert in the Metropolis which featured Michael W. Smith and the Metropolis Symphony.

Full disclosure: Though I think MWS is a wonderful and talented composer and musician, I ... don't really like his voice. It always takes me back to when I first heard one of his Christmas albums and there was a choir singing beautifully--I don't even remember the song now, but it was a classical choir that was just lovely--and then MWS came in, and then I was struck by the difference between his voice and the choir's voices and now I feel like a big ol' snob.

So I was a little hesitant to accept the invitation to go the concert. But am I glad I did!

See, I was reading A Million Little Pieces, and it really affected my whole attitude. There is such a palpable rage in the book that it seems like it just sucks you in and makes you furious too. Also, there is a bit of a language issue, because angry people don't really use the word "dadgum" and so forth, so I was having a little problem there too. Like when I was caught in traffic and immediately--IMMEDIATELY--I was just a raging loony. And though I didn't say anything out loud, I said a mouthful inside my head. It surprised me a little, how mad I got, and how quickly. So I'd spent a day or two just popping off at every little thing, and it wore me out.

(I told my family this the night of the concert. Later on, Joon said, "You have a run in your pantyhose," and I said, "Yeah, it happened right after I put them on," and my dad said, "Did it make you want to cuss?" And we all laughed, but ... it DID make me want to cuss, a little. And then later, we went to Starbucks and my dad bought some gingerbread cake and Joon's husband MJ ate all the frosting off the cake so when I went to get some, it was all frosting-free. Joon said, "Are you gonna get mad?" And I said, "Maybe," so she hustled MJ off to a safe place. That's how we deal with heavy emotion in my family: by making fun of people.)

Anyway, as we were waiting for the concert to begin, Joon and I looked out over the audience and talked about what people were wearing. For November, there were an awful lot of Christmas sweaters.

The concert began, and let me tell you this: you could add a cello or a tin whistle to just about any song and I will turn into a musical zombie. (in a good way) Like that guy Elaine dated on Seinfeld, who had to stare off into space every time "Desperado" came on? That is me with the orchestral and Irish music.

I've been to about seven million symphonies, and I'm not really an aural person, so it is hard for me to sit still and concentrate on the music. It wasn't all that hard for me this time, though. I did watch the flutes a lot--there were only three. Joon watched the clarinets--also three. The guy who played the tin whistle also played several different recorders (though I think they have other names) and that Irish thing that is like bagpipes, and then he played actual bagpipes too. It made me want to get out my own tin whistle and also my pan flute, which rubbed my lips raw the first time I played it but sounds really cool.

I love Christmas music. The symphony played selections from MWS' Christmas album, the all-music-no-voices one. (I'm finding that, since I've stopped playing in the orchestra, I cannot remember any musical terms. I have actually referred to a half-rest as, "You know, it has two beats? THAT one.") There were also some vocal selections, but the music was what had me pinned to my seat.

Sometimes I feel like that cello can just pull my soul out of my body. And the tin whistle can move me to tears. That night, I felt like my spirit was soothed, that the music just calmed me and moved through me, removing that inner rage. It was almost like a cleansing. (And I haven't wanted to cuss since!)

During the intermission, Joon and I invented a game: Spot the Christmas Sweater. We looked all around the stadium for any sort of holiday clothing. We did that for the entire twenty minutes. MJ was like, "WHAT are you doing?" and my mom said, "We never had a problem with them on road trips." I think I won, but Joon says she did. Next time, we're writing the score down. (Incidentally, the next day I was walking in the hallway and saw another teacher wearing a Christmas sweater. In my head, I went, "Aha! I've got one!" And then I went and emailed Joon. Nerd!)

I was in such a good mood that MWS' voice didn't bother me at all, and that is something of a miracle right there. Though maybe it is a message from God, that my voice is going to be all raspy like that, since I'm still not over the laryngitis quite yet. Well, maybe it will make me some money then.

Okay, so, my point is this: if Michael W. Smith is coming to a Metropolis near you this Christmas, you should go. It'll get you in the Christmas spirit, the kind that doesn't have anything to do with malls or salespeople.

Tag! Seven Sevens

Okay, Cindy tagged me with this one, and I'm totally excited about it!

Seven Things to Do Before I Die

1. Be the best aunt ever
2. Go back to London
3. Apologize to Vania
4. Have one of my kids visit me after he/she becomes a huge success
5. Read Anna Kerenina (a book I have had for five years)
6. Be in a musical
7. Be a published writer

Seven Things I Cannot Do

1. Cook--nor do I want to
2. Close my mouth while I put on mascara
3. Tell people I'm a speech teacher without stuttering
4. Watch movies about animals (because one always dies)
5. Add 5+8 without my fingers
6. Sentence someone to the death penalty (I couldn't do it personally, though I do think the death penalty is necessary; it's a weird paradox)
7. Watch football on television

Seven Things that Attract Me to my Romantic Interest

1. His sense of humor
2. His teeth (don't judge me)
3. His smile
4. The way he looks at me
5. His laugh
6. His walk with God
7. He knows things I don't know and vice versa, so we complement each other

Seven Things I Say Most Often

1. TOTALLY
2. Um ... okay
3. Awesome
4. Good one
5. So I'm all ..
6. Like
7. Super- (super-nice, super-fast, super-cool, etc.)

Seven Books (or series) I Love (this one is tough; I could name, like, seven HUNDRED)

1. Anne of Green Gables
2. Little House on the Prairie
3. Richard III
4. Betsy-Tacy
5. Gone with the Wind
6. The Blue Castle
7. Not My Will

Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again

1. The Mummy
2. A Christmas Story
3. Love Actually
4. Pirates of the Caribbean
5. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
6. Where the Heart Is
7. Meet Me in St. Louis

Kara, Jenn, Joy, Mac, Kay, Shan, Cat ... what are yours?

Dear Fox: We Need to Talk About Prison Break

Okay, Stupid Executives, whose idea was it to put the show on hiatus UNTIL MARCH???!!! Do you know when March is? Yeah, it's FOUR MONTHS FROM NOW.

So what am I supposed to do until then? Watch friggin' American Idol? HA! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA good one.

Let's discuss:
(spoilers)

1. I'm still mad about the Abruzzi thing. I was starting to like that mobster, dadgum it. And how come when somebody finds Jesus, he dies? Are you trying to send a message?

2. I do not think C-Note could believably pull off his whole Iraq fraud. Are you kidding me? There's no mention of his trial in the paper? Or on television? What's the postmark on those Iraqi postcards?

3. I like Mike Jones. When I saw his name in the credits, I laughed, because I always think of his teeth. (I have a thing about teeth).

4. Seriously, Michael carries food poisoning around in his arm? Really? REALLY? I buy the tattoo, and even the chemicals in the toothpaste tubes; shoot, I'll even believe that he knew where to drill holes based on a devil drawing. But I've got to draw the line somewhere, boys.

5. Veronica is a moron. How come? Is it possible to have a strong female character on this show? who is not a murderous vice-president? or a conflicted rich girl bleeding heart governor's daughter doctor? Or am I asking too much?

6. Where's LJ?

7. How come Hale left his wife--his PREGNANT wife--alone? How come he didn't shoot Kellerman right away? How come he didn't whip out his gun during any of the five minutes Kellerman was jawing at him? And for crying out loud, HOW COME HE DIDN'T GIVE VERONICA THAT ENVELOPE???

8. The kicker: so you're gonna leave 'em in the maintenance closet for four months? I've gotta speculate until March as to what's going to happen? You are evil, Fox executives: EEEEEEEEEEEEE-VIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLL.

Furthermore, I would like to know: when the governor of Illinois released all of the death row inmates two years ago, was that before Lincoln was arrested? Because I'd think he would've been sent to Gen Pop.

And if it's been less than two years, there is NO WAY he'd be up for execution already. No ACLU lawyer in the worldwould pass up the opportunity for that kind of media coverage.

But then, if you paid attention to ... you know ... FACTS, you wouldn't have a show like Prison Break on your schedule. Sort of like it will be BETWEEN NOW AND MARCH.

Um, please reconsider, thanks.

I'll be back four months and please don't kill Sucre,

Mei Flower Scofield (because if a stripper can marry Michael I can too)

I Read an Oprah Book: A Million Little Pieces

I'm in a book club that grew out of daily lunches with other teachers. There are about ten of us, and our first book is James Frey's A Million Little Pieces.

I finished it last night, and I was writing a review of it, right here at this computer, and the lights blinked and I lost it all. I was really feeling that review, too, so anything I write here is going to feel like a red-headed stepchild, so I'm not going to try very hard. I hope you understand.

The thing about this book is this: I wouldn't say it's good, and I wouldn't say I liked it, but it was engaging and I read it in a few hours. Still, I probably won't read it again, at least not for a very long time.

That's a pretty weird paradox, because I love to reread books; I have read some books literally twenty or more times.

I think it's the subject of A Million Little Pieces that puts me off: addiction, and overcoming addiction.

I kind of feel like that makes me sound judgmental or hardhearted, but I don't mean to. It's very difficult to speak of this subject with any authority when I don't smoke or drink or do drugs. And I don't know what it feels like to NEED those things, to feel like I could die without them even though I know they are killing me.

I'm not complaining; I'm just trying to explain why I don't feel ... maybe ... as connected (?) to the book, or to the topic, as others might be.

That being said, I could hardly put it down.

This is a memoir, which I didn't know until I read the Amazon.com comments as I was ordering the book. Whee, I thought, I LIKE memoirs! But most of the memoirs I've read are from like, movie stars of the Forties, so this one was ... different. Waaaay different.

James Frey uses a lot of stream-of-consiousness to express his thoughts, so that could be difficult for some to read, though I tend to think and write like that myself, so I had NO problem. He also doesn't use a traditional paragraph format, or much punctuation, and that was kind of distracting to me at first, because I AM an English teacher, people, come on! Soon, though, I forgot about his technique and became absorbed in his message.

If you've seen fictionalized accounts of rehab on television or in movies, they will pale in comparison to the stories in this book. Actually, Frey describes a hospital show that portrays a beautiful heroin addict who kicks the habit within a few days and winds up living happily with a doctor. (I suspect the show is ER, but I couldn't say with any certainty). His rage at this portrayal is pretty evident, and he talks about how he would like to show the producers and writers of the show what happens to actual heroin users.

So the story opens with James Frey, at 23, waking up on a plane with a hole in his cheek and blood all over him. He has no idea how he got there, or where he's going, or what happened to him. He is going to a rehab clinic in Minnesota, and he doesn't want to. (That is the literary element: understatement).

Frey does not work to paint a pretty picture; his images are pretty graphic, and there's not much left to the imagination. It's not sexual, but be ready for lots of talk about puking and bleeding.

You can almost feel his anger, hurt, betrayal, self-hatred, and pain. Seriously, it's almost tangible. He talks about something he calls the Fury, which drives him and destroys him. It's his most basic need, and it's screaming to be fulfilled with booze and crack. It manifests itself in violent rages, and James gets into it with almost everybody he meets.

The secondary characters are the ones that I, frankly, like best. I like Leonard, James' father-figure who says he's in finance (if "finance" was another word for "the Mafia), and Miles, an alcoholic judge who wants to clean up so he can keep his family together, and Lilly. Oh, Lilly.

Hers is the most tragic story of all of them, and that is saying a lot. In the Clinic, men and women are not allowed to talk to each other, but Lilly and James meet and talk and eventually fall in love.

James refuses to follow AA, and he refuses to acknowledge a Higher Power. But really, Lilly IS his Higher Power. When James has the opportunity to forget all his rehab and therapy and memories, it's Lilly that keeps him from going back. His love for Lilly, I think, motivated him to succeed.

This is not a happy book. It hurt, sometimes, to read it. I was literally clenching my fists and biting my lip and curling my toes at some points. There's plenty of mental tension to be had, as well, so I wouldn't read this if you're looking for a feel-good throwaway holiday read.

It was hard to read, REALLY hard to read, but not because of the language. For me, it was hard to read because, most times, I prefer to think that most people are pretty much like me: they try hard and they mess up sometimes but, overall, they're pretty decent and they love God and they're nice. Well, my eyes, they were opened, opened WIDE. In shock, even.

I don't regret reading it; I'd even recommend it to others. I think it would work GREAT as a Scared-Straight tactic, because I for one will NEVER do drugs or even drink again, that's how much I don't want to end up like James Frey. And maybe that was his goal all along.

Places I Have Been: Stonehenge

Stonehenge fascinates me, because its origin is so uncertain.

Any person who talks to me for, like, thirty seconds will come away feeling as though he has been through an interrogation. I just like to ask questions! Like my mama always said, "How will you learn the answers if you don't ask any questions." So I ask. And ask and ask and ask and ask. I NEED ANSWERS.

It will not surprise you to learn, then, that I have tons of questions about Stonehenge. Most of these have been asked before. Some have even been conditionally answered, always prefaced by the words, "We think ..." But nothing is definitive.

But here's what I want to know: Is it true that Stonehenge is a mystical place? Because some people think that it is, and they tell stories about how they felt all weird when they stood in the circle and other crazy stuff like that. And there are those who think that Stonehenge was built by the Ancients as a temple or some kind of religious center (although their definition of religion and mine tend to differ--by a long shot).

So I was excited that I was going to be visiting Stonehenge during my U.K. Adventure. I just knew that I would finally be getting an answer to my question, that when I stood near the stones or placed my hands on them ... what? Oh, you can't do that? Well, crap.

Sure enough, just like happened in high school, a few stupid people mess everything up for all the law-abiding folks. Apparently, several years back, some people thought it would be fun to graffiti the stones. I'm gonna take a huge leap here and guess that these people were American, because it just sounds like something we would do. Even worse, there were others who were using their pocketknives to carve out little pieces of the stones so they could ... I don't know ... go back home and display them? Tell their friends, "Look what I've got!"? People are strange.

Stonehenge is surrounded by a huge chain-link fence. You can pay four pounds to get inside it, but that doesn't mean you can go up to the stones. You can listen to a pre-recorded lecture about it as you stare (from a distance), but that does not really lend itself to any mystical activity.

Now I happened to be on a bus tour, and we were stopping for twenty minutes at Stonehenge, so there would have been no time for the Four Pound Extravaganza of Staring anyway. I stood outside the fence for free and took pictures through the little chinks. I did not feel any Higher Power or soul-stirring or aura-cleansing.

So I guess my question was answered.

That is not to say that I didn't enjoy looking at Stonehenge. It's a lot smaller than you think, from looking at pictures, and it's pretty cool when you think that those huge stones have been in the same place for over 1000 years. In terms of commercialism, Stonehenge is still pretty much untouched, so to speak; there are no shops right next to the stones (although I think there is one across the street) and there isn't a huge banner that reads, "SEE STONEHENGE," and they don't have a mascot named Stonehenge Hank and some guy dressed up like an old gray rock running around having pictures taken.

Still, I would have liked to have gotten a little closer, at least.

Well, maybe next time.




It might be interesting to note that all my pictures of Stonehenge are blurry. Maybe that's all the mystical energy radiating through my camera.












Here, you can see the fence, a little. This is as close as I got. I stepped back into traffic, too, but I wasn't killed. MAYBE IT WAS THE MAGIC OF STONEHENGE!

Nick and Jessica Split

Um ... surprise?

Seriously. Raise your hand if you didn't see it coming.

Joon LOVES Nick and Jess. I think the news ruined her Thanksgiving.

Dear People at CSI Who Are Trying to Kill Me ...AGAIN:

Congratulations on your grossest episode ever!

Also, congratulations on your ironic? sarcastic? untimely? decision to show how overeating can kill you on THANKSGIVING. No, really. My distended stomach and I thank you.

Furthermore, I do NOT know whose idea it is to continue to show flayed bodies on the autopsy table, but I for one do not need to see a corpse's skin pulled back so his guts are poking out. It's just disgusting.

Plus, the visual parallels between Doc Robbins' strawberry-rhubarb pie and the autopsied body were just a leetle too close, if you know what I mean.

AND, because I've awakened from my triptophan coma and have lots of energy now, I can also say that if you NEVER poke a stick through a guy's nose again, I will still have seen it one time too many.

One more: it is no longer necessary to show David sawing into a skull and pulling out a brain. Because ... <shudder>

My next item of business is food. Specifically, food that has been digested. I would rather see ten skinless bodies all laid out in a row than see Hodges dump one more bucket of half-digested macaroni and cheese into a bowl. If you ask me, that was THE GROSSEST thing that has ever been done on this show, and that is saying a LOT.

Why do you have to actually SHOW a person vomiting? The sound is enough, believe me; I don't need to see contents spewing forth as well.

I guess what I'm saying is ... sometimes you can leave things to the audience's imagination. There's an old saying that goes, "Show; don't tell," but I am begging you, CSI -- tell. TELL!!

Happy Thanksgiving and Greg needs more lines,

Mei Flower

How The Amazing Race Lost the "Amazing"

There are two things that my students definitely know about me--every single one, all 132 of them, with no exceptions:

1. I loooooooove mummies. This, I will address at another time.
2. My favorite show EVER--which I can talk about for hours at a time and discuss and analyze and use as test questions and explain linking verbs with and compare to Dr. Faustus--is the Amazing Race.

EVERYONE KNOWS THIS.

Which is why I find it aggravating and disheartening to report that, when I watch all of the shows I have Tivo'd on a Tuesday (I never watch anything live anymore; how very 2004), I always come to TAR last.

In the past, this would not have happened. In the past, I even watched the show live. This summer, when GSN was showing reruns, I season-passed them, and then WATCHED THEM LIVE. Even the ones I had seen before.

So when I settle down for an evening of television, and TAR is right there on my Now Playing list, and instead I go to Oprah, Martha, My Name is Earl, The Office, Gilmore Girls, and Decorating Cents FIRST, and then BEGRUDGINGLY select the Amazing Race, and only after I have debated with myself as to whether or not I can leave it until tomorrow, THAT, my friends, is a sign of trouble.

TAR: Family Edition is not what I expected it to be. While I had no illusions that it would be as awesome as the regular show, I did NOT think it would sink to these depths. Currently, I have no one to root for, other than Whoever-Is-Not-A-Weaver. I still do not know the names of a majority of the contestants. I am sick unto DEATH of seeing huge office chairs and trailer parks and American scenery.

Let's have some Korean taxi drivers, or Indian trains, or that Fast Forward where you have to shave your head! Let's have contestants who just get down to business, and don't gripe about other teams, and understand that IT'S A RAAAAAAAACE!!!

Furthermore, I totally think that the producers, if they want to cast Christians, should consider having people WHO ARE NOT VILE UNEDUCATED PANPHOBIC GARBAGE-TOSSERS. Who spend all their time complaining about how other people hate them. Who would not know Christian behavior if it appeared to them as the face of Jesus in a plate of spaghetti. Who have the MOST abysmal lack of geographical knowledge. Who hate EVERYTHING, whether it is a volcano or a waterfall or Monument Park in Utah.

AND YES, I AM POINTING AT YOU, WEAVER FAMILY!!!

I suppose it's against your religion for me to speak so disparagingly of you. Just as it's "against your religion to be treated so unfairly." Hey! That's totally against MY religion too! And the Jews', I'm sure. And the Muslims'. And the Puritans' and the Lutherans' and the Hindus' and the Shintos' and the Buddhists'.

I'm sure what you MEANT to say was that it's against your religion to treat OTHERS unfairly. Which you haven't done at all. Nope. You never said a word about Mormons, or bike riders, or Phil, or the Linzes, or the Godlewskis, or Waffle Houses. You have been absolutely the PICTURE of the suffering Christ, bleeding out his life for the sinners. Yup. Oh, wait ...

Plus, to Mrs. Weaver, who is supposedly a teacher and who has home-schooled her own children, I would like to point out (since I am an ACTUAL teacher) that there is no such word as "injuvenate," and that you misused the word "revigorate," both of which were the latest of your crimes against the education profession.

In terms of your other crimes, let me make a list:

-There is no clear parent-child delineation in your relationship with your children.
-You whine too much, which is a bad example to your (whiny) children.
-You encourage your children to blame everything on other people.
-You think singing will show other teams that you are unaffected by anything negative.
-You almost ran over your kids with an SUV.
-You demand that other people show you compassion, but offer none in return.
-You allow your daughters to dress like streetwalkers.
-You think others should respect your beliefs, except that you actually remind me of a joke: I broke up with him because we had religious differences; he thought he was God, and I disagreed.
-You have made me not look forward to my favorite show, and THAT is your GREATEST and most HEINOUS crime, because it directly affects ME.

In short, the Weaver family as a whole is becoming one of my least favorite teams EVER on this show. Given that previous contestants include the Guidos (season 1), Tara and Wil (season 2), Flo (season 3), Chip (season 4), Colin (season 5), Jonathan (season 6), and Susan and Patrick (season 7), THAT IS SAYING A LOT.

What Kind of Flower Are You?

You Are A Lily

You are a nurturer and all around natural therapist.People see you as their rock. And they are able to depend on you.You are a soothing influence. You can make people feel better with a few words.Your caring has more of an impact than even you realize.

What Flower Are You?

My comment: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
Unless my nurturing and soothing words are, "Suck it up and quit whining!" this is totally, TOTALLY wrong.

I Explain My Secret Crush

Everybody has an embarrassing crush on someone, right? Like, didn't you, after Dirty Dancing came out, totally want to get with Patrick Swayze? I didn't; Swayze was, then at least, waaaay to old for me, not to mention married. Not that I'm judging, since at the time I was in love with Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: the Next Generation. Look, I've got skeletons too.

Still, a Wil Wheaton crush will be understandable to a certain demographic, maybe. (I should say here that I am totally over that, and have been for many years; QUIT JUDGING ME INTERNET!).

However, my REAL secret crush is a little ... weird. And, actually, not quite as secret as I'm making it out to be.

First, you should know by now that I am an English nerd. I love the literature of the pre-history era (which: animated Beowulf? I am so there!), the 1400s the 1500s, the 1600s, the 1700s, the 1800s, and some of the 1900s--though Faulkner can bite me--and I am warming up to the 2000s with the help of Oprah.

I can diagram a sentence within an inch of its life, I know a good bit of the MLA method of citation by heart, and I even love (whisper) grammar. I have a good bit of shame over that last one, but I am slowly but surely raising my head high and making a t-shirt that says, "I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ADJECTIVES AND ADVERBS!"

My point is that I really do love the study of the language arts. I love to read it; I love to talk about it; I love to teach it.

Which is why you should maybe not be so surprised if I tell you that my secret crush is one Master William Shakespeare.

Oh, shut up; it's not THAT strange.

I will say, however, that if I go out with a guy, and he's like, "I hate Shakespeare!" I totally know from that moment that nothing will happen between us, except that I might punch him in the face. I would totally be that ONE PERSON who starts a brawl while debating whether or not Shakespeare wrote all of his own plays. (My opinion: yes, and I'll be hearing no others).

So, Shakespeare. How'd that happen? To be honest, I ... have no idea. When I was in high school, I would have eaten glass before I voluntarily read any of his plays. (For the record, Randomville High School is still teaching the trifecta that I read: Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, and Macbeth.) I HATED those plays. To tell the truth, they're still not my absolute favorites (those would be Richard III, Othello, and Twelfth Night, for you Nosy Parkers out there), but I have grown to appreciate them more and more as I get older.

I think the secret lies in how you're taught.

R&J, for example, I was taught through the use of records that were roughly 900 years old. My teacher didn't explain anything that was being said (and, at 14, how was I supposed to know what they were saying?). The play itself is fairly depressing and the ending is a downer.

Julius Caesar, my teacher taught AGAIN with records, though she also showed us a movie version, which I tried to sleep through but couldn't. Not because it was so exciting, but because I have this fear that if I fall asleep in public I will drool all over myself.

I "read" Macbeth during my senior year, and it was a little more exciting, what with the witches and the blood and the beheadings, but still not, you know, GREAT.

And then I went to college.

I had the most fantastic Shakespeare teacher at my university. Her name is Dr. Jennie Cooper and she is one of the best teachers I've ever had PERIOD. Dr. Cooper was the kind of person who could make anything exciting, and I took every class she taught. If she'd taught chemistry, I would have taken it--and EXCELLED; she was that good.

Dr. Cooper did not shy away from anything in her classes. She told us all the dirty things Shakespeare put in his plays, and perhaps most importantly, she made the plays RELEVANT.

And as much as I love the plays, I believe I might love Shakespeare, the man, even more. Whenever I teach about Shakespeare, I HAVE to talk about his biography. His life was pretty mundane, maybe, for his first 18 years, but then it got exciting in a hurry: shotgun wedding, possible poaching allegations, the death of his son, traveling theater companies, performing for the Queen, and on and on and on and on. He was even interesting AFTER his death: leaving his wife his "second best bed," and putting a curse on his tombstone. That is AWESOME.

So anyway, I love William Shakespeare. I try to tone it down a little when I am teaching about him, because my kids already think I'm a little ... off ... on account of I'm 30 and unmarried and have a cat. Imagine their faces if they knew I'm just waiting for a random guy to speak to me in blank verse and like, soliloquize his love for me under a balcony. Or knock me up and run off to London (hee).

The Way We Were

I was at my dad's house today while he was getting his Tivo hooked up. It took a really long time, and I left and got my brakes fixed (which: EIGHTY-SIX DOLLARS FOR BOTH FRONT TIRES/WHEREEVER THEY ARE!!! I CAN TOTALLY AFFORD THAT!!) and then came back and they still weren't done, and it turns out that the receiver was broken or something, I don't know, so they left.

BUT.

The guy who was doing the installation? Apparently he knows Joon and me from high school. Specifically, from being in the marching band. And when he left? My dad goes, "That was Joe Schmoe; did you know him?" And I said, "No," because our band had about 150 people in it, and by the time I was a senior I stopped paying attention to the newbies. But then I did that huge gasping realization thing where your eyes bug out and you start coughing really fakely because ... I did know him. I TOTALLY knew him; I just didn't recognize him because, you know, we've grown up, and it's been twelve years since I graduated, and how could I be expected to remember him?

Before I do the big reveal, I feel it's only fair that I tell you that I did not dress for the day's activities. I was wearing jeans and a ratty old sweater that is, like, six times too big (it is from the fat days, but it's purple so I kept it), and I hadn't curled my hair or paid attention to my makeup so OF COURSE I would run into Someone From My Past today.

So who is Joe Schmoe? Actually, he's nobody really important. He's really just a short side-trip on the big roadmap that is my life.

However, I took that side-trip on a bus--a band bus, to be exact--in which I totally made out with him after an away football game.

Ah, memories.

My Voice, It Is an Inconsistent Thing

Please note that I have not talked more than, like, ten minutes in the past five days. One might think that one's vocal chords would appreciate one's sacrifice and HEAL THE HECK UP, but no.

Today I went to church and did not sing. This stinks, because I loooove singing period, but I really love singing church songs. They make me feel like I am growing taller, in a weird way, like I am about two seconds away from floating right out of my body. But that is beside the point, because it totally did not happen today.

My family went to dinner after church, and though I was able to talk, and my voice was audible, it was still noticeably unhealthy.

After dinner, we saw the new Harry Potter movie (good) and SOMEHOW, though I did not speak for two-and-a-half hours, MY VOICE GOT WORSE.

So now, if I try to talk, my voice cuts in and out, like a walkie-talkie that's not quite working, and I have to say that it's pretty annoying.

On the other hand, now I have the PERFECT excuse not to have Thanksgiving dinner with any relatives who may or may not be mine, and who may or may not be some of the rudest people to walk the earth, and who may or may not be reading this.

My Schedule for the Week

Monday: Fix brakes. Teach dad to use Tivo.
Tuesday: Nothing.
Wednesday: Buy pies for pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving with Joon's in-laws.
Thursday: Drown all (imagined) sorrows in dressing and pumpkin pie.
Friday: Nothing.
Saturday: Nothing.
Sunday: Mourn my lost vacation.

So far, my favorite days are Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday.

A Visit from the Mob

The doorbell rang this morning, and when I looked out the peephole, I saw two men wearing dark suits and hats and carrying large briefcases.

I did not open the door, because I don't want to get whacked unless my house is SPOTLESS.

Dear People at CSI Who Are Trying to Kill Me:

Um ... no.

I know there is someone at that show who really really likes Louise Lombard and who created this character of Sophia for her and now really really wants me to like her, but ... no. I don't. I won't. So forget it.

SPOILER AHEAD (if you haven't seen tonight's episode)

Look, I am not the most objective person in the world, I admit. Sue me. Still, when I thought Sophia was going to take the fall for the death of Officer Bell, I was all up in that house. And then when you went and made it so Captain Brass is the one whose gun fired that shot, I could've just killed you myself.

I'm not saying that the people I like are, by virtue of my liking them, perfect or innocent or good. I AM saying that when you are given a chance to unload some deadwood, TAKE IT, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

The character of Brass is probably the one on the show that is most like me, with the possible exceptions of Greg, when he knows trivial things that no one else does and then manages to crack a case wide open, and Nick, when he is confused by all the weirdo stuff that people do. But Brass! Oh, Brass, he brings the snark, and I love him for it. He doesn't take anything off anyone, and that is what I aspire to be. Perhaps if the detective thing doesn't work out, Brass can teach in a public high school.

But what I am saying, CSI people who hate me, is I think you screwed up, and big time, too. You made me mad, and that ain't good.

That being said, Paul Guilfoyle rocked my house tonight with his solid acting (which is something SOME people--SOPHIA--are unable to do), and I felt sooo bad for him at the funeral, and I loved Mrs. Bell for giving him that big hug. Sniff!

I might forgive you if there is an Emmy nomination for PG, but until then, consider yourself on my LIST--NOT THE GOOD ONE.

Best Wishes and Please Don't Kill Nick,

Mei Flower

My Day as a Mime

Well, I woke up without any voice again, but I was feeling all right, so I went to school. Also, how would THAT phone call to my assistant principal gone?

My kids were pretty okay. Once they figured out that I was going to talk to them in Crazy Lady Sign Language, they were right there with me. Fortunately, I had two classes that were giving presentations, so I had saved myself a lot of trouble right there (even though I didn't know it when I made the plans; I must be psychic!), and another class watched a video which was totally part of the curriculum, so it's not like they were watching, you know, The Mummy or anything. (Although I can pretty much guarantee that some class is going to be watching it this year. Like, we might read about the pyramids or something and I'll be like, "Hey! I know the perfect way to make this story come alive!" And then I will have an excuse to watch my favorite movie while I am at WORK).

I was told by my students that I am very good at enunciating so that people can read my lips. Shoot, I am good at enunciating PERIOD. That is partly because of my 11th grade English teacher, Mr. Bivens, who was the Enunciation Champion of the World and one of my role models for teaching, and partly because my sister Joon and I just started ending our words with FINALITY for whatever nerdy reason we have. ("JooN-ah," I would say, "shuT-ah uP-ah!" "Mei-yah," she would reply, "BiTe-ah mEEEE.")

I did ask if I could go home early, since my last period was planning, and by "home," I definitely mean "Wal-Mart." I couldn't talk there, either, and I just realized I forgot to pick up my Strattera, dang it, not that I could have asked the pharmacist for it anyway. Still, I got all the throat remedies I could find, plus the huge jug of orange juice, so--fingers crossed--maybe I'll be able to talk again soon.

But, you know, it would not be that big a tragedy if I couldn't. I'm getting kind of good at the Crazy Lady Sign Language.

I Talk without Saying Anything

I lost my voice today. Totally gone.

I forgot, though, and called my dad to ask him a question, and he did this: "Hello? HellO? HELLO?" click (hee). I called him back and croak-yelled at him and he said, "Nice voice." We are a very empathetic family.

Usually I stand outside my door and greet students as they walk in, but I stayed in the room today and waved and smiled. Like that guy who wears a chicken suit and stands outside a car dealership.

Once my first class figured out what was going on, one of my students, who is generally a goof-off, actually, said, "Well, I guess I'll just pound anybody who gets out of line today, so you can maintain some order."

Officially, I had to reprimand him (I shook my finger; not much else I could do). But, off the record, that may be the sweetest thing a kid's ever said to me.

I Do Not Know How I Kept a Civil Tongue in My Head

So today we had an afterschool in-service, which is horrible, because not only do I have to work all day, but then I have to stay an additional three-and-a-half hours AFTER work.

Here is my usual schedule:

3:00-3:15 - Listen and learn something moderately useful
3:16-6:30 - Roll my eyes and say rude things under my breath

Today's schedule was a little different, however, because I had to go to a meeting at another high school and learn about this new curriculum we're supposed to implement starting, apparently, LAST MONTH.

I would first like to mention that the students were sent home six minutes early just in case a tornado hit, but that I still had to drive myself to the other school even though it was raining so hard that I couldn't see two feet in front of my face. Message sent: Kids must be safe! Teachers can die, though!

Now, the reason I (and four other teachers) had to risk our lives to go to the other school is that their teachers are already using this new curriculum. So the idea was that we would find out how they were using it, how they had taught it to their kids, and what mistakes they had made that we could avoid.

I was all pumped for it, because frankly, I am excited about the new curriculum. Mainly because it is going to make things a heck of a lot easier on me.

I want to say that of the five teachers that have to use this curriculum, two have been teaching for over thirty years (each), one teaches special ed, I have taught for five years, and one thinks he knows everything.

Do you know which one I'm going to complain about?

Typically speaking, when your administration drops a curriculum change on you, the teachers who have the most years under their belts will be the biggest whiners. Not so with this group. I've already said that I am excited; the special ed teacher is apprehensive but hopeful; the two older teachers are working really hard to get everything in place and to understand how to use the program to its best advantage; and the Other Guy IS A STUPID BLOWHARD WHO WILL NOT SHUT UP WITH HIS STUPID BLOWHARD COMMENTS.

When I would try to ask a question (and it was hard, because I am battling a case of laryngitis right now), the Other Guy would interrupt with, "Well, I'VE been told by the administration that blooblahbleeblowbloo."

And every claim he made as to what he has been told is a DIRECT CONTRADICTION of what I myself have been told by the assistant principal IN PERSON and TO MY FACE, and also she goes to my church. (That is irrelevant, but I thought I'd throw it in there).

Then he would go into this long litany of complaints about who-knows-what and would make YET ANOTHER comment about the administration telling him something which would be YET AGAIN something that was the complete opposite of what I've been told by the other assistant principal, who has always been very supportive and helpful and has never lied to me, and also she was my dad's cooperating teacher when he was student teaching. (Again, no relevance, but I am totally going to believe HER over the Other Guy, because I tend to put more faith in people that I like than in people who make me roll my eyes a lot).

So basically, what my in-service experience boiled down to was four people desperately trying to learn something while one person explained over and over and over again how incredibly stupid the whole new curriculum is. But the one school that has used this program for three years has seen such a dramatic increase in their test scores that I am thinking it is not the CURRICULUM that is stupid, OTHER GUY.

Furthermore, a couple months ago, the Other Guy was supposed to spend a day at our Board of Education with teachers from the other schools in our area, putting together a plan of action for changing the curriculum for this particular class. On the day of the meeting, I was met as I walked in the door by the assistant principal, who told me that the Other Guy was absent, so I would have to go in his place. So I hustled my butt around trying to get sub plans together, when she came in and said the meeting had been rescheduled for the next week, and the Other Guy would go then.

So guess who was absent on the day of the rescheduled meeting? And guess who was--AGAIN--given thirty minutes to get her sub plans together so she could go in his place?

And guess who spent the least productive, most mind-numbingly boring day at the Board, putting together a plan that is irrelevant now?

And guess who has to spend the day at the Board tomorrow, continuing to work on said irrelevant plan, because apparently the Board doesn't care if the plan is relevant or not, as long as they have some paperwork that says we made a plan?

And guess who has been saying THE most cutting, bitter, sarcastic things about the Other Guy for going on three hours now?

Aw, that was too easy.

Evaluation Day

Today was my first evaluation of the year. Of course my children were geniuses, as well as being the best-behaved fourteen-year-olds in the entire universe.

So how do I get a principal to come to my class every day?

Based on Actual Events

The following is something I wrote when I was nineteen, during my second summer working as a cashier at the local Piggly-Wiggly.

I LOOOOVED this job during the first summer, but for some reason I totally hated it the second time around. I worked for a month and took the rest of the summer off.

Each of the things listed below really did happen to me while I was working in the express lane. You want humanity at its finest? Go to the Piggly-Wiggly!

THINGS NOT TO DO WHEN CHECKING OUT AT THE EXPRESS LANE
(SIX ITEMS OR LESS, CASH ONLY)

1. Do NOT bring your full basket to the counter and say, "I have a few more than six, but can you ring me up anyway?"

2. Do NOT divide your five hundred items between you and your eight children. Everybody knows you're cheating anyway.

3. Do NOT wait until the cashier has rung up all your groceries, then whip out your checkbook and say, "Is it all right if I write a check?"

4. Do NOT pay your $17.20 bill with seven $1 bills and ten dollars in dimes.

5. Do NOT sigh loudly, tap your foot impatiently, or stomp off angrily when the person in front of you pays his bill with seven $1 bills and ten dollars in dimes.

6. Do NOT recite the price of each item as it is rung up and then argue with the cashier if the price is not what you think it should be. She is not the one who put the prices into the register; it's not her fault. [ETA: Except one time this man came in and bought some disposable razors and they rang up at $160.00. I could understand bugging out over that. Four cents, though? Shut it!]

7. Do NOT insist on having a price check when there are fifteen people in line behind you.

8. Do NOT complain because your food stamps don't cover your five bottles of beer.

9. Do NOT, after complaining that your food stamps don't cover your five bottles of beer, pay for your cigarettes with at $100 bill. [ETA: Also, do NOT pull said bill OUT OF YOUR BRA, for crying out loud!]

10. Do NOT park your basket in front of the express lane and then go do your shopping.

11. Do NOT suddenly remember that you forgot something and then run to the back of the store to get it.

12. Do NOT come to the register unless you have enough money to pay for the things you buy.

13. Do NOT, after finding you're short of the amount of money you need, beg it off the person behind you.

14. Do NOT, after finding you're short of the amount of money you need, tell the cashier to take one of your items off the bill.

15. Do NOT, after telling the cashier to take one of your items off the bill, keep changing your mind about which item it should be.

16. Do NOT wait until the cashier has rung up your groceries to hand her your coupons.

17. Do NOT make the cashier wait while you run out to the car to get a coupon.

18. Do NOT complain to the cashier that the store is out of (an item). She doesn't order the stuff; she just scans it.

19. Do NOT propose to the cashier when she is trying to ring up your six-pack of beer. [ETA: Actually, it was his mother that proposed FOR him, while he was right there, which is even worse. And she paid for the beer, too, so ... no.]

20. Do NOT tell the cashier why you want paper bags (or plastic, whatever). She doesn't care, and anyway, there are people waiting behind you.

Places I Have Been: New York City

I was born in the Big Apple, the offspring of a Navy dad and an Army mom, who met and married within six weeks. How do you like those odds?

I have no memory of living in New York City, because that happened thirty years ago, and I don't remember what I ate for lunch yesterday. Maybe also because I lived there for a whopping two months before Uncle Sam told my family to move on.

Still, the way my mom tells it, NYC was going through a heat wave, and she--not knowing anything about babies--would wrap me up in a woolen blanket and carry me around the city, because she'd always seen babies wrapped up in blankets so she figured that's what she should do. Naturally, I developed a heat rash and my mom freaked out and took me to the doctor, who probably advised her to lose the blanket and then went to the nurse's station and said, "You will not beLIEVE what this woman did!"

We went back to the city when I was eleven for a one-day visit. Unfortunately, none of our photos of this trip developed correctly, which is another example of the Flower luck.

Here's what we saw:

-Wall Street, where we looked exTREMEly out of place amongst the yuppie elites in their Armani suits and cocaine hazes;

-The World Trade Center, where we went up to the highest floor we could get to before they start kicking you out for being a threat to national security;

-The Statue of Liberty, where we climbed eighteen jillion stairs up the inside of some lady's skirt to get to the crown, after which I immediately grasped the concept of vertigo;

-Battery Park, where a guy tried to sell us fake Rolexes for twenty dollars, and--I am not kidding!--totally held out his jacket so we could see the watches
hanging on the inside (I thought that only happened in movies);

-Lincoln Tunnel, which remains to this day one of the most horrifying travel experiences I've ever had, and is the reason I will never ever EVER use the Chunnel;

-Street vendors, one of whom was selling candles called Happy Sperm, which is really the most vivid memory I have about this day (what? I was eleven!); and

-Homeless people, about whom I had never heard, having lived a relatively sheltered and suburban life.

All in all, it was an educational experience, and sadly, much too short a trip. There is way too much stuff in New York to go there just for one day.

And you know that, when I do go back, I will totally be that wide-eyed, mouth-gaping, countrified pre-adolescent tourist who marvels at the tall buildings, masses of people ... and the Happy Sperm.


This is me, being super-cute on the sidewalks of New York.

Oh Yes It Does

I guess bribery does work if the bribe-ees are smart enough and hungry enough.

My second study skills class average: 83.

My third study skills class average: 90 (.47). I have rarely seen kids so excited about eating. I guess when you offer a little forbidden fruit ... wait, I'm probably not supposed to teach them that lesson.

Bribery ... It Doesn't Always Work

Now, any education professor will tell you that you are not supposed to bribe your students. Most times, I don't; the reward for doing well should BE doing well.

But I thought I'd try something.

My students are not allowed to eat or drink in class. It's because of my fear of roaches, but also because I just don't like the mess, or the crunching of Cheetos, or the crackling of foil bags, or the fact that I get papers with potato chip residue all over them. It's just gross, okay?

I told my speech class today that if they made, as a class, an average of 80 on their test, they could eat and drink in class all next week. We'd reviewed for the test during the last class, and I did a very short review with them right before the test. Class average: 73. (This is even after I curved it).

I set my study skills class's standard a little higher, at 90, since we have been reviewing for a solid week, and they only had to memorize ten words and definitions. They had five minutes in class to look over their words, which is something I never let them do, so I was pretty much setting them up to succeed. Class average: 81.

I feel that it is only fair to offer the same opportunity to the remainder of my classes. But if it doesn't work, I'm gonna have to tell my college professors that they were right, and frankly, after several years of teaching, this would be the FIRST THING they told me that would be applicable in an actual real-life school setting.

I Disassociate Myself from the Weavers

I want to make this clear: I am not ashamed of Christ. I have been a Christian for almost 15 years. Not always a great one, or even a good one, but still, a Christian.

That is why I just want to SCREAM when people who are/claim to be Christians COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY SCREW IT UP FOR THE REST OF US.

I am talking specifically about the Weaver family from The Amazing Race: Family Edition.

Somehow they have gotten the idea that all the other teams hate them because they are Christians. But you know what? I'm not so fond of them myself. Not because of their Christianity, but because they are just rotten people. I WANTED to like them; their backstory is so sad (dad died on a race track) and I almost always feel a kinship with fellow believers. But their kind of Christianity must be the off-brand, because ... dang!

It's not just the self-righteous tone of "We answer to a Higher Power." I can get behind that, because I believe it. However, I don't think it applies when you're talking about being Yielded in The Amazing Race. As if God is going to punish the Paolos for following the rules of the game! Probably, though, God might hand down some judgments for the Weavers' rude comments about other teams' appearances and occupations.

Calling other teams liars and saying, "I hate them," and calling them "stupid" and "retards" is just not being a good witness. And saying these things while pointing out that other teams curse is just a case of the pot and the kettle, because sometimes one is as bad as the other.

Also, hypocrisy? I am as guilty of it as the next person, but when you FREAK OUT because someone is saying, "Hey, batter batter batter, sa-WING batter!" at your son, and then try to convince a toll booth operator to slow down the team behind you, THAT is hypocritical. And it is also not what a good mother should do, LINDA WEAVER.

Then there is this: okay, I believe in prayer, I know the Bible says we should pray without ceasing, but I don't think it's right to pray a prayer that says, "And please help us to beat the other teams ... if it's Your will." I just feel squeamish about that; maybe it sounds too much like cheating to me. And what if the other teams are praying that as well? I just know that, for myself, in competitive events, my coaches would pray something like "Please help us all to do our best and to glorify You in whatever we do."

And now I just totally implied that I am a better Christian, which ... GAH! But I blame the Weavers, because I can.

My point is, the Weavers were part of 12 families' lives for about six weeks. Assuming that none of those other families are Christians, how many are going to be convinced of Jesus' love for them after being bullied, back-stabbed, and berated by the Weavers? Of the millions of unsaved people who watch TAR:FE, how many are going to be completely turned off because of the Weavers' behavior? Shoot, I'M totally disgusted; I'm ashamed to have them as representatives of my faith.

It's said that when you point a finger at someone else, you've got three pointing back at yourself. Well, maybe the lesson God wants me to learn from this fiasco is that I could be influencing a lot more people to turn AWAY from Him that to turn TO Him.

And I don't want to be that girl.

How I Stepped on a Bee and Ruined My Summer (1984)

I'm not allergic to bees, but one almost killed me when I was nine. So now I have a vendetta; I am the mob hitwoman of bees!

I was eight before I ever got stung. We were on a picnic in the Virginia mountains when I leaned back in my hammock and right onto a baby bee. My mom, the Indian (no, really), spit in some mud and made a poultice right there. I didn't even itch or swell up or anything.

So I was totally thinking that I was like bee kryptonite and no bee could ever take me down and ... what? I was eight!

Also? So, so wrong.

I was playing outside a year later, when we lived in New York, and a bee stung the fourth toe of my left foot. My mom was not around, but the sting didn't hurt too much, so I just put some peroxide on it and went back to my Chinese jump-rope.

That evening, I began to feel ill. My parents, by now, knew I'd been stung, and they gave me some Benadryl and sent me to bed.

I should mention here that I am, for all intents and purposes, allergy-free. So my parents were not being neglectful or anything; they just figured that I was showing the normal effects of being bee-stung.

Well, my foot swoll up (what? it's a word!) to the approximate size of a ripened watermelon, and my frantic parents rushed me to the emergency room, where the doctor prescribed ... Benadryl. And sent me home with instructions to keep my foot elevated.

I did keep my foot elevated, for all of eleven seconds, because it was SUMMER and I was NINE. Plus, people don't die from bee stings! (I thought that then, but I know better now, having watched that one episode of CSI). My parents did the best they could, but come on! As a teacher, I know that when a hyper little kid starts getting on your nerves, you're gonna get to the point of, "Do whatever you want! Just get away from me before my head explodes!"

So my family had a house party--I think a bridal shower or something--and when everyone had left I was sitting on the couch, keeping my leg elevated, which I ALWAYS remembered I HAD to do when it was time to do chores, and someone pointed out that my foot was purple.

It was! It was not even a pretty purple, but a disgusting mottled angry-looking purple. My mom got out the Benadryl again and threatened me within an inch of my life if I so much as THOUGHT about leaving the couch.

The next day, my foot was black, and my leg was starting to turn colors too.

I began to worry a little bit.

Oh, but not as much as my parents did. They SKIPPED CHURCH to take me to the hospital, and I remember that my dad CARRIED me to the car, because ... maybe they were afraid my foot would fall off if I put any weight on it.

I had to wait in the ER for about forEVer, but I got to ride in a wheelchair, which was pretty awesome. After about seven hundred tests, the doctor came back with his diagnosis: cellulitis. Evidently I was a couple of days away from getting gangrene in my leg, and that would have meant amputation.

Y'all, that bee could have CRIPPLED me. AND, it left me with a deformed toe!

Which is totally why I whack 'em without regrets now, twenty years later, because I am still carrying one heck of a grudge.

More TV ...

I know I watch too much television, but the life of a Cat-having Spinster Lady can be ... you know. Dull.

So here's is my favorite part from tonight's episode of How I Met Your Mother.

I should say here that Jason Segel, who played Neil in Freaks and Geeks (which was and IS one of the best television shows OF ALL TIME, even though it was only one season long), is one of the leads, and I loved him then and I love him now. I don't even know his name on this show; he is Neil, and that's that.

In this episode, [Neil] and his fiancee Lily discover this mutant creature that is half mouse, half cockroach. Which, ew! Cockroaches are gross anyhow, but mice are freaky because they have those weird disgusting tails and also HANDS LIKE A HUMAN (which is why I also cannot look at possums [the tail] and raccoons [the hands]). It's just too ... <weird dance of being freaked out>.

[Neil], talking to Robin --

[Neil]: So you really don't believe in the cockamouse?
Robin: Well, I believe that you saw something perfectly normanl, but you've exaggerated it in your mind ... you know, like the Loch Ness Monster.
[Neil] and Lily: gasps of shock
[Neil]: If by "like the Loch Ness Monster," you mean totally exists and is AWESOME, then yeah, it's like the Loch Ness Monster!

The reason I love that line? Because of [Neil]'s use and inflection of the words totally and awesome, which are identical to my way of speaking EACH AND EVERY DAY.

I Interrupt Myself for This Important Announcement

Do you read Dilbert and totally identify? Could Office Space have been filmed at your workplace?

THEN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, WATCH THE OFFICE !!

I have watched these episodes a jillion times, and I laugh and laugh; it never gets unfunny.

Here are some quotes to whet your appetite:

Jim: We're all getting excited to see this fight. The Albany branch is working right through lunch to prevent downsizing, but Michael, he decided to extend our lunch by an hour so that we couldall go down to the dojo and watch him fight Dwight. FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!


Dwight: I need to change my emergency contact information from Michael Scott ...
Ryan: Okay, to what?
Dwight: Just put, "The. Hospital." Contact number ... just put 911.


Michael: I told Dwight that there is honor in losing. Which, as we all know, is completely ridiculous. But there is, however, honor in making a loser feel better, which is what I just did for Dwight.

I Marvel at My Own Stupidity

Last night, for the first time in a couple months, I had to sleep with a light on. I'm not quite ashamed to tell people I'm afraid of the dark, but I am sort of ashamed of the sheer AMOUNT of fear that I have sometimes.

Last night ... I don't know, I just had ... a feeling.

There's no explanation for it; I was just scared all of a sudden and it was bed time and I wasn't going to turn out the light under any circumstances so I left it on.

And I still didn't sleep well.

So you'll probably agree with me that it was a GREAT idea for me to have chosen this play for our school production this year.

I Marvel at Other People's Stupidity

Look, I try to defend the South and Southern activities as much as possible, but I have discovered a new rebel trend-activity-thing that even I have to wonder at.

You know how everybody used to think it was really cool to get hydraulic systems in their cars and make the body bounce up and down? Well, apparently the "in" rednecks are now using the hydraulics to DRAG THE BEDS OF THEIR PICK-UPS ON THE ROAD.

I guess it is because they want to make sparks, but I think they could do it the old-fashioned way ... by biting wintergreen lifesavers in the dark.

Grey's Anatomy

I really, really like this show, and I really, REALLY liked the ending tonight.

Perfect.

Flower Girls Day

Yesterday, my mom, my sister Joon, and I had a Girls' Day Out.

We started off at a local antique store/tearoom, which was having its Christmas Open House. There, we ate a girly lunch of chicken salad and scoped out some old stuff. Joon is no fan of antiques, but I saw some interesting pieces.

This is the same place where I bought my antique teacher desk many years ago. It has served no real purpose other than providing a place for my cat Lulu to perch as she stares at the neighbor's dog. So that was $300 well spent.

We next went up to the County Seat, to the square, where every shop was also have Christmas Open House. We went in several stores, but still bought nothing. I did see an interesting dishtowel; it says, "Examine wildlife ... be a teacher." Joon and I laughed hysterically in a I-totally-get-that way.

Having searched for the perfect Christmas ornament in eleventy-billion stores, we went to our favorite flower shop, which was often frequented by my grandma before she died. Seriously, she kept this shop in business for about five years. I believe it was out of respect for Grandma that the owner waited until she died before divorcing his just-had-a-baby wife and moving in with his boyfried. I love that guy. If I were richer, I might even buy some of his flower arrangements.

We did see several awesome Christmas decorations, which, being the cheapskates we are, we decided we could replicate from common household objects bought at Wal-Mart. That was our next stop.

Here, we spent approximately four years in the craft department as Joon and my mom tried to make up their minds as to whether or not I was right about what items to buy. I had to finally bring them around to my way of seeing things by saying, "Okay, raise your hand if you watch Martha Stewart EVERY DAY." So I guess I won that debate.

We went over to Joon's house and proceeded to get glitter on every imaginable surface, including Joon's dog. But we had fun, and Joon has some new (inexpensive, but surprisingly expensive-looking) Christmas decorations, and that's what's important.

Shakespeare Speaks

Whenever I say, "We're starting our Shakespeare unit," I typically hear this:
"AAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWW!"
"GRRRRRRRRRR!"
"NOOOOOOO!"

I LOVE Shakespeare, even though I didn't when I was in high school, and I think everyone should read him. That includes you.

My theater class just read Othello. Of all of Shakespeare's plays, this one seems most relevant to the time and place in which I, personally, live.

As a Southerner, I realize that people who do not live in the South have certain expectations of me, specifically that I am 1) racist, and 2) stupid, and possibly 3) inbred. Well, suck it, Yankees, because I am none of those!

However, I fully admit that there are some people who DO fit that stereotype, although THEY DON'T ALL LIVE IN THE SOUTH. A great many of them live in Missouri, especially in the small(-minded) town where I used to teach. Bygones.

Othello, the Moor of Venice, was a great warrior who came from a royal family. He was black, and obviously, that was a problem for the people of Venice. Even though they respected his ability as a soldier, they still viewed him as inferior because of his skin color.

My increasingly brilliant and always impressive students have made comparisons between Othello and Emmett Till, Othello and O.J. Simpson, Othello and themselves. I LOVE when I don't have to spell everything out for them!

I've taught this play before, but this is the first class I've had with vocal black students. In the past, I've either taught an all-white class or a class that had two black kids who never said ANYTHING. It's really taught me a lot to have their perspective. Culturally and contextually, we see things differently. It's nice to have their perspectives, and they are not afraid of telling me what they think, either. (This is probably because I have had these kids in previous classes; we have an established relationship. Also, I LOVE them).

The whole class agrees that the villain of the piece is Iago, who is, by the way, white. Also, he is 28, which means that he is younger than I am, and still the very incarnation of evil. And, he doesn't just hate black people, he hates EVERYONE. Black, white, male, female, rich, poor, you name it. He's pretty much a jerk with no redeeming qualities. I think I dated him.

The students were given a variety of projects to choose from to complete the unit. (I got them from a website, but I don't know which one. Sorry, anonymous author of these projects! I would give you credit if I could!)

They could have chosen one of the following:

- Chart Othello's changes from the beginning to the end of the play. Create a chart to display on a poster board. Develop a time line of these changes, or create a sketched or computer generated story board. However you display these changes, you must document the scenes that reveal them.
- Create the first page of a Venetian newspaper in tabloid size and "tabloid" style. Cover some of the major newsworthy events in the play.
- Create a TV News Program that is 17th century-ish and covers the news breaking tragedies in Othello. It may be on videotape or performed live in the classroom.
- Create a bulletin board size board game for Othello. In a legend, give game objective, picture of tokens, etc.
- Choose a key scene from the play. Rewrite the scene updating the setting, situation, and characters. Perform the scene on tape player. Where necessary, add sound effects and music.

I got two games, one that was similar to Trivial Pursuit, and one that I think is sort of like Dungeons and Dragons. I have a variety of students in my class.

I got a news program--which interrupted the Maury show. Hee!

I got three tabloid covers, all of which dealt with the story in different ways.

I got one rewritten scene.

I got one timeline.

I got one cartoon, which was very much like The Boondocks.

And I had three who didn't do anything. That sounds about right.

Also, I got an assistant principal who did a walk-through evaluation during the presentations. He liked them, though, so that was good. And he called the play "a literature classic," which I liked. Especially since it's not officially in the curriculum.

Tomorrow's the test, and I am feeling optimistic.

And I think they love Shakespeare now, too.

I Smacked Down Some Kids and I Don't Regret It

Saturday, Joon, her husband MJ, and I took part in a Scrabble tournament for the Metropolis Literacy Council. Lest you think this is something we do on a regular basis ... well, stop thinking that. MJ's boss donated a bunch of money to the MLC, and then required all his employees to attend, and MJ himself hates a) games, and b) spelling, so he brought Joon and me in to carry out his Please God Don't Let Me Die Of Shame Plan.

And it worked!

Twenty-two teams competed in the tournament, and oh my. There were some real Scrabble freaks there. Like, I play Literati on Yahoo! Games, and I love to play Scrabble, but only with people who are HORRIBLE at it, but there were people there who HAD THEIR OWN HOMEMADE BOARDS. With their names on them and everything! I didn't know you could do that. The boards even spun around. It was like I had discovered another subculture of society, like when I learn about foam clubs and nipple piercing on CSI.

The way it worked was, each three-person team would compete against another three-person team for 40 minutes. You turn in the scores and move to another table, playing a total of three rounds. Whoever had the highest total number of points would win the tournament.

On our team, I'm the only one who had played before, Joon is a good speller, and MJ ran the timer (hee). And he did it very well, too.

We arrived, like, 45 minutes early, so I wrote the words "Metropolis Literacy Council" on a piece of paper, and Joon and I tried to make as many words as possible from those letters. (This is a time-filler game I do with my students all the time; it keeps them quiet, tests their spelling, and also they love it, which was an unexpected bonus).

In three minutes, Joon had come up with 16 words. I had 54.

Our first opponents were a dad, his ten-year-old kid, and a random old guy. I wrote a note to Joon: "That kid is probably a Scrabble rainman." And when she read it and looked at him, he was sure enough staring at the board and rocking back and forth. I could not have planned it any better. Joon got the Church Giggles for about ten minutes.

I felt bad, but I had to do it: we whooped that team, ten-year-old notwithstanding. I think our final score was something like 263 to 190. Not that I wrote it down or anything.

We moved on, and played next against some of the MLC volunteers, which would have been unfair except for the fact that Joon and I are both teachers as well as obsessive spellers. We won that round too, and the vicotry was even sweeter because those ladies were kind of rude.

At the end of the first two rounds, our team had 550 points, and we were feeling good about our tally until the scorekeeper wrote the total for team 22, which was 800-something. And that team? Was the Super Christian School Scrabble Team, nationally ranked in the Top Ten for three years running.

Number 1: Did you know schools had Scrabble teams? Me neither.
Number 2: I think it was the JV squad, because those kids could not have been more than fourteen years old.
Number 3: Joon looked at their coach and said, "You should go out with him," and I leveled her with the Death Stare and replied, "Joon. There are levels even to MY nerd-dom." Anyway, he was married.

During the third round, we played against a grandma, her son, and his son, who was approximately ten. Again, I felt bad, but I couldn't just NOT COMPETE; that is a Flower Family Rule that dates from like, 46248672589 B.C.:
PLAY TO WIN. DON'T BE A LOSER. EVEN BEAT LITTLE KIDS.

And you can't fight tradition, so I did; I beat that little kid.

At the end of the day, MJ, Joon, and I came in fifth, which isn't too bad considering that we were playing with ... well ... one-and-a-half players and one really really good time-keeper.

Of course the Super Christian School Scrabble Team was first; that is to be expected when you actually STAY AFTER SCHOOL TO PLAY SCRABBLE. (I guess I shouldn't talk, given my own Band Nerd status ... aw, whatever--even band kids look at the Scrabble Team and laugh).

I do wish we could have won, but I am definitely not going to the Metropolis Scrabble Club meetings that were advertised at the tournament. Definitely not ... this week.

Halloween 2005

I spent Halloween at Barnes and Noble, reading Oprah's magazine and Dilbert comic strips.

All in all, I'd have to say it was a successful holiday, especially because I didn't have to give out candy and I wasn't killed in any drive-by shootings, sooo .... WOO!

STOP IT, KID!!

I am going to break that freaking pogo stick in half.