To think what you see on Duval Street:
1. A frat boy in pink undies drinking like he hadn't a care in the world or a pastel behind.
2. Women in heels of such towering heights my feet cringe at the memory of them. How do they manage to walk in them things without letting the pain overtake them?
3. The man with the reptiles who barked at my sister-in-law that she had to pay to take pictures of them. His business was to drape one of his snakes around the neck of paying customers. My sister Emma got revenge by snapping a couple shots on the sly.
4. The man with the sign "Michael Jackson is burning in hell." Did he have one at home waiting for the moment or is that the first thing he did when he heard the news?
5. The bachelorette party with the blow-up dolls. One woman made the doll wave to us and the bride started kicking the ersatz men in the crotch. If I were her groom, I'd be a bit disconcerted.
6. The two drag queens peddling up the street with the theme from Sesame Street blaring from the speakers attached to the bike.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Notes from Key West: the tourist thang
How great is it to be unabashedly tourist on vacation? No need to strike a pose, just pull out the map or slap on a sticker or stop and take a picture whenever the need hits.
1. The Butterfly Conservatory: This was better than I expected. Something about watching the flight of the butterflies and gazing at the koi in the pond soothed me. The funniest- and best- part of the visit was watching my sister Emma try to get a butterfly to land on her. She walked with her arms outstretched, swaying gently lak tay in de win, in an attempt to lure the butterflies near her. They were kind of stuck up and refused. Their loss.
2. The Conch Train: Very pricey, but my brother's treat so who could complain? We boarded the little train and listened to the twang of the driver as she talked about the architecture, sights, and vegetation of Key West. The highlights of her spiel were when she launched into a list of conch dishes- "Fried conch, conch fritters, conch chowder, steamed conch, conch tacos...Whew! I'm all conked out"- and when she ended every statement about the greenery with "And that's also a member of the ficus family."
3. Hemingway's house: The cats are all over the place. One laid in front of the fan, unmoving until a woman poked it in the face which caused it to snarl and hiss. I don't know why you would feel the need to poke any cat, let alone Poppa's. I like visiting the homes of writers. I always look at their studios and wonder if I'd be happy writing there.
4. The Ghost Tour: Much as I don't like the pitfall of comparison, the Key West ghost tour can't touch the one in New Orleans. I felt sorry for our guide- he had to wear a top hat and heavy cloak and didn't know how to cut his stories to an interesting length. I could feel the interest of the group drip down and land on the sidewalk. He also relied too much on "This guy told me a story once..." And his narratives didn't make sense at times. I don't mind being bullshitted, but I do mind the minute I can say, "Hey, wait a sec..." The story about Robert the Doll was too good to mess up. Seems like the servants of a rich doctor made a doll and gave it to the doctor's kid and it did funky things to the kid's soul. They sold replicas of the creepy little thing at the gift shop and Ella was going to buy one for our Christmas swap, but it was too expensive. I felt a palpable and superstitious relief at that.
5. The cemeteries: The big one had above ground graves and some of them were cracked open- very spooky. The Episcopal church had a little one with the grave of Captain Thomas, the notorious bane of pirates. The ghost tour guide mentioned creepy happenings about the grave and the next day, some idiot in our group- okay, it was me- laid on top on the stone while her sister-in-law took a picture. Nothing happened to me, but mere minutes after, my sister-in-law's cellphone (the one that took the picture) went apeshit- resending texts and not letting her turn it off. Coincidence?
6. Sunset at Mallory Square: The clouds were in the way for most of it, but just when we all gave up hope, a beautiful blaze of color spread across the sky. Amazing. The square was populated with vendors and performers. This kid of 15 or 16 juggled knives and fire. He kept the patter going and was charming. I can't picture him sitting at a desk in school.
1. The Butterfly Conservatory: This was better than I expected. Something about watching the flight of the butterflies and gazing at the koi in the pond soothed me. The funniest- and best- part of the visit was watching my sister Emma try to get a butterfly to land on her. She walked with her arms outstretched, swaying gently lak tay in de win, in an attempt to lure the butterflies near her. They were kind of stuck up and refused. Their loss.
2. The Conch Train: Very pricey, but my brother's treat so who could complain? We boarded the little train and listened to the twang of the driver as she talked about the architecture, sights, and vegetation of Key West. The highlights of her spiel were when she launched into a list of conch dishes- "Fried conch, conch fritters, conch chowder, steamed conch, conch tacos...Whew! I'm all conked out"- and when she ended every statement about the greenery with "And that's also a member of the ficus family."
3. Hemingway's house: The cats are all over the place. One laid in front of the fan, unmoving until a woman poked it in the face which caused it to snarl and hiss. I don't know why you would feel the need to poke any cat, let alone Poppa's. I like visiting the homes of writers. I always look at their studios and wonder if I'd be happy writing there.
4. The Ghost Tour: Much as I don't like the pitfall of comparison, the Key West ghost tour can't touch the one in New Orleans. I felt sorry for our guide- he had to wear a top hat and heavy cloak and didn't know how to cut his stories to an interesting length. I could feel the interest of the group drip down and land on the sidewalk. He also relied too much on "This guy told me a story once..." And his narratives didn't make sense at times. I don't mind being bullshitted, but I do mind the minute I can say, "Hey, wait a sec..." The story about Robert the Doll was too good to mess up. Seems like the servants of a rich doctor made a doll and gave it to the doctor's kid and it did funky things to the kid's soul. They sold replicas of the creepy little thing at the gift shop and Ella was going to buy one for our Christmas swap, but it was too expensive. I felt a palpable and superstitious relief at that.
5. The cemeteries: The big one had above ground graves and some of them were cracked open- very spooky. The Episcopal church had a little one with the grave of Captain Thomas, the notorious bane of pirates. The ghost tour guide mentioned creepy happenings about the grave and the next day, some idiot in our group- okay, it was me- laid on top on the stone while her sister-in-law took a picture. Nothing happened to me, but mere minutes after, my sister-in-law's cellphone (the one that took the picture) went apeshit- resending texts and not letting her turn it off. Coincidence?
6. Sunset at Mallory Square: The clouds were in the way for most of it, but just when we all gave up hope, a beautiful blaze of color spread across the sky. Amazing. The square was populated with vendors and performers. This kid of 15 or 16 juggled knives and fire. He kept the patter going and was charming. I can't picture him sitting at a desk in school.
Notes from Key West: the drinking
Hell yes, I wanted to drink on vacation especially since we weren't driving anywhere.
The girls and I made our way through a good number of bars on Duval. I couldn't help but think of Duval in terms of Bourbon Street, kind of like how things taste like chicken.
1. The slushies: I christened the frozen concoctions thus and the monikker stuck. We made a habit of snagging slushies (for some reason, I was taken with the mudslides) and kept to it until we got sick of the sweetness.
2. Hog's Breath, Irish Kevin's, The Lazy Gecko, Sloppy Joe's: It was nice to see the southernmost Red Sox nation represented at the Lazy Gecko. It's weird how one place can become a place that earns repeated visits. The beer was pretty cheap in all the bars and tables near the street were the best.
3. Margaritaville: Of course we'd go here although the choice was made out of expedience: the martini bar was too many blocks away and the ghost tour was nearby. The Italian Margarita was delicious and gave me a nice buzz for the too-long stories of the ghost tour guide.
Best of all, we could drink on the street. Coming from Puritan New England, buying liquor on Sundays and being able to drink on the street never fails to thrill me.
There was live music in most places, but that's the most I can say. Some of the performers weren't that much better than the guys playing on the sidewalk, but a girl can't have everything.
The girls and I made our way through a good number of bars on Duval. I couldn't help but think of Duval in terms of Bourbon Street, kind of like how things taste like chicken.
1. The slushies: I christened the frozen concoctions thus and the monikker stuck. We made a habit of snagging slushies (for some reason, I was taken with the mudslides) and kept to it until we got sick of the sweetness.
2. Hog's Breath, Irish Kevin's, The Lazy Gecko, Sloppy Joe's: It was nice to see the southernmost Red Sox nation represented at the Lazy Gecko. It's weird how one place can become a place that earns repeated visits. The beer was pretty cheap in all the bars and tables near the street were the best.
3. Margaritaville: Of course we'd go here although the choice was made out of expedience: the martini bar was too many blocks away and the ghost tour was nearby. The Italian Margarita was delicious and gave me a nice buzz for the too-long stories of the ghost tour guide.
Best of all, we could drink on the street. Coming from Puritan New England, buying liquor on Sundays and being able to drink on the street never fails to thrill me.
There was live music in most places, but that's the most I can say. Some of the performers weren't that much better than the guys playing on the sidewalk, but a girl can't have everything.
Notes from Key West: the food
My sister Ella is the person you want (and need) to organize anything. She's the one who scouted out places to stay- we decided on this great condo pretty much on Duval Street- and she asked a friend who frequents Key West to make a list of restaurants, bars, and sights.
The result? Not one bad meal during the entire visit.
1. Caroline's: Shrimp Po-Boy! Spicy fries! Plus we were all hungry as the proverbial ursas when we went there, so there was no way we wouldn't like the food (except for she-who-will-be-bashed-at-another-time). I think the waitress was a little drunk and that was funny. She kept saying she wanted to hang out with us- which was understandable. We're a fun bunch.
2. Pepe's: Excellent food. The mahi-mahi was the best I ever had and came with a comforting side of mashed and gravy and green beans. The service was efficient and never intrusive.
3. Camille's: A bad breakfast casts a pall over my day; an excellent one makes me feel as if I could take on the tropical heat and keep band-aids on my sweaty feet. Camille's was a wonderful place for breakfast and my mom got a kick out of the movie stars hanging on the wall. Everyone was quite pleased with their different dishes (except she-who-will-be-bashed in another blog).
4. Two Friends: A nice place for lunch and convenient since it was near Mallory. The waitress was cute and kept our glasses filled. The sandwiches were great.
5. Alonso's: This was my favorite. The six of us split into two groups: the outsiders and the insiders. We on the inside invested in a truckload of the peel-and-eat shrimp (beer and barbecue style) and peeled and ate to our hearts' content. The best shrimp I ever had. The price was sweet since apps and cocktails are half-price from 4-6:30. The broth for the shrimp was spicy and the bread that accompanied the little suckers was excellent for sopping. I know there's probably a way to peel in one easy motion, and I always feel like I'm doing it wrong, but that was no deterrent. The shrimp were well worth the mess. Washing them down with a couple of mohitos put me in heaven.
The result? Not one bad meal during the entire visit.
1. Caroline's: Shrimp Po-Boy! Spicy fries! Plus we were all hungry as the proverbial ursas when we went there, so there was no way we wouldn't like the food (except for she-who-will-be-bashed-at-another-time). I think the waitress was a little drunk and that was funny. She kept saying she wanted to hang out with us- which was understandable. We're a fun bunch.
2. Pepe's: Excellent food. The mahi-mahi was the best I ever had and came with a comforting side of mashed and gravy and green beans. The service was efficient and never intrusive.
3. Camille's: A bad breakfast casts a pall over my day; an excellent one makes me feel as if I could take on the tropical heat and keep band-aids on my sweaty feet. Camille's was a wonderful place for breakfast and my mom got a kick out of the movie stars hanging on the wall. Everyone was quite pleased with their different dishes (except she-who-will-be-bashed in another blog).
4. Two Friends: A nice place for lunch and convenient since it was near Mallory. The waitress was cute and kept our glasses filled. The sandwiches were great.
5. Alonso's: This was my favorite. The six of us split into two groups: the outsiders and the insiders. We on the inside invested in a truckload of the peel-and-eat shrimp (beer and barbecue style) and peeled and ate to our hearts' content. The best shrimp I ever had. The price was sweet since apps and cocktails are half-price from 4-6:30. The broth for the shrimp was spicy and the bread that accompanied the little suckers was excellent for sopping. I know there's probably a way to peel in one easy motion, and I always feel like I'm doing it wrong, but that was no deterrent. The shrimp were well worth the mess. Washing them down with a couple of mohitos put me in heaven.
Notes from Key West: the trip in general
My goals on any vacation? Drink a lot, eat a lot, and see a lot. Key West didn't disappoint.
I can understand the appeal of going to Key West. It's a pleasant town and overall, the locals seem to have a love-love relationship with the tourists. Or else they hide their contempt very well.
No man is an island. We are all swamps unto ourselves.
I never knew how much I could perspire and I'm glad I got into "I don't give a shit how I look mode" right quick. Dripping sweat? Frizzy hair? Same clothes? Who cares- I was on vacation.
It's a bad idea to bring only two pairs of the same shoes on vacation. Flip flops and sandals might be great in the short run, but for me, they don't stand up to the long run.
I imagine my sneakers were pressing their little noses against the window saying, "Why didn't she bring us? What did we do wrong?" I'm sorry, sneaks.
Aside from the aching feet- along with the drinking, eating, and seeing, there was much walking to be had- and the inability to keep band-aids on my blisters- re: inappropriate shoes and feet swamps- the trip was great. The first girls trip was a success with only a few qualifiers (aka bitching about a member of my family).
I can understand the appeal of going to Key West. It's a pleasant town and overall, the locals seem to have a love-love relationship with the tourists. Or else they hide their contempt very well.
No man is an island. We are all swamps unto ourselves.
I never knew how much I could perspire and I'm glad I got into "I don't give a shit how I look mode" right quick. Dripping sweat? Frizzy hair? Same clothes? Who cares- I was on vacation.
It's a bad idea to bring only two pairs of the same shoes on vacation. Flip flops and sandals might be great in the short run, but for me, they don't stand up to the long run.
I imagine my sneakers were pressing their little noses against the window saying, "Why didn't she bring us? What did we do wrong?" I'm sorry, sneaks.
Aside from the aching feet- along with the drinking, eating, and seeing, there was much walking to be had- and the inability to keep band-aids on my blisters- re: inappropriate shoes and feet swamps- the trip was great. The first girls trip was a success with only a few qualifiers (aka bitching about a member of my family).
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Reasons for loving summer
In no partickyoolar order:
1. reading and writing where, when, and what I want.
2. going nocturnal.
3. not knowing the date and (toward the end of July) the day. During the school year, I'm hyperaware of dates and days. That awareness isn't really needed during the summer.
4. having tons of family time.
5. listening to local bands playing on local beaches.
6. getting out of the state.
7. knowing that summer vacation now is just as good as, if not better than, when I was a kid.
1. reading and writing where, when, and what I want.
2. going nocturnal.
3. not knowing the date and (toward the end of July) the day. During the school year, I'm hyperaware of dates and days. That awareness isn't really needed during the summer.
4. having tons of family time.
5. listening to local bands playing on local beaches.
6. getting out of the state.
7. knowing that summer vacation now is just as good as, if not better than, when I was a kid.
When stories disappoint
I'm working my way through the Steampunk anthology slowly. I don't want to finish it right yet.
The stories are excellent overall. They gave me a nice introduction to the genre without making me feel like an idiot for not having a ton of foreknowledge.
Only two have disappointed me, and I kind of enjoyed trying to figure out the reasons for my let-down.
Don't get me wrong: these stories were not poorly written.
My dissatisfaction came from the fact that the authors set up the game and then broke their own rules. A deus ex machina here (not that I have anything against the trope: what's good enough for Euripides, Homer, and Ben Stiller is good enough for me) and an all powerful enemy and fatalistic ending there...I couldn't enjoy them. Don't ask me to suspend my disbelief or accept your universe and take advantage of it.
I don't mind being manipulated, but I'm not found of being mocked, and that's what I felt like these authors were doing.
The rest of the stories are immensely enjoyable (should've saved the book for the plane) and it's nice to have a pleasant experience with one or two tiny details to bitch about.
The stories are excellent overall. They gave me a nice introduction to the genre without making me feel like an idiot for not having a ton of foreknowledge.
Only two have disappointed me, and I kind of enjoyed trying to figure out the reasons for my let-down.
Don't get me wrong: these stories were not poorly written.
My dissatisfaction came from the fact that the authors set up the game and then broke their own rules. A deus ex machina here (not that I have anything against the trope: what's good enough for Euripides, Homer, and Ben Stiller is good enough for me) and an all powerful enemy and fatalistic ending there...I couldn't enjoy them. Don't ask me to suspend my disbelief or accept your universe and take advantage of it.
I don't mind being manipulated, but I'm not found of being mocked, and that's what I felt like these authors were doing.
The rest of the stories are immensely enjoyable (should've saved the book for the plane) and it's nice to have a pleasant experience with one or two tiny details to bitch about.
Year of Wonders (spoilage)
My sister lent me Geraldine Brooks's Year of Wonders in February and I misplaced it, but found it in time to read during exams.
I took a break from the Powell's nine because I want to bring at least one of the books on the plane and only three remain.
Brooks is an incredible writer. I read March and immediately started recommending it to my friends and family who had the slightest inclination for reconstructions.
Year of Wonders takes place during the seventeenth century in a little English village and tells of the year the Plague hit. The first chapter is at the end of the year and most of the book recounts the year.
Careful reading of the first chapter gives away major plot events, but when the events unfolded in the story, I was still saddened and surprised and frustrated. There was no loss of emotional impact despite the fact that I knew what was coming.
How do authors do that? From Shakespeare's "In Verona two star-crossed lovers meet their fate" to Hurston's "Back from burying the dead," it never fails to amaze me when a writer gives everything away at the beginning, but the reader loses nothing for having the knowledge. That's when writers really show their chops.
The characters' actions are extreme, but never out of character- a delicate balance. I loved the idea of setting a story during the Plague when society was so incredibly rigid. Any deviation from that rigidity was completely understandable and never struck me as anachronistic.
A great book and an author I'm glad to know.
I took a break from the Powell's nine because I want to bring at least one of the books on the plane and only three remain.
Brooks is an incredible writer. I read March and immediately started recommending it to my friends and family who had the slightest inclination for reconstructions.
Year of Wonders takes place during the seventeenth century in a little English village and tells of the year the Plague hit. The first chapter is at the end of the year and most of the book recounts the year.
Careful reading of the first chapter gives away major plot events, but when the events unfolded in the story, I was still saddened and surprised and frustrated. There was no loss of emotional impact despite the fact that I knew what was coming.
How do authors do that? From Shakespeare's "In Verona two star-crossed lovers meet their fate" to Hurston's "Back from burying the dead," it never fails to amaze me when a writer gives everything away at the beginning, but the reader loses nothing for having the knowledge. That's when writers really show their chops.
The characters' actions are extreme, but never out of character- a delicate balance. I loved the idea of setting a story during the Plague when society was so incredibly rigid. Any deviation from that rigidity was completely understandable and never struck me as anachronistic.
A great book and an author I'm glad to know.
Cowboy Up!
My netflix over the weekend were The Magnificent Seven and 3:10 to Yuma.
Looky there, my movies had a theme!
I dimly remember watching The Magnificent Seven as a kid and liking it, but I don't know what would've attracted me to it back then. I probably liked the music (who could resist that tune?) and the horsies.
Watching it again gave me a newfound appreciation for Yul Brynner (I'm ignoring that his accent was explained by his being a Cajun) and Steve McQueen. They made me want to write a story about cowboys, or just stare out the window and fantasize about them.
The acting isn't subtle and the director's predilection for separate reaction shots from all the men was a little annoying, but the movie was great nonetheless.
The best moments of badass were when someone would fire a gun at the hero, and the hero wouldn't flinch. I loved that!
3:10 to Yuma was good. I wish Christian Bale would stop equating character with a raspy whisper. He should trust himself more.
Russell Crowe, however, made me remember why I love watching him. He was the best part of the movie: a bad guy who's not without redeemable qualities while still showing his moral compass is off.
One of his loyal henchman was an actor I'd seen before, but couldn't place. That bugged me until my memory put me out of my misery and served up that he had been on My Name is Earl- the inmate who used to be a boy scout until Earl set him on a life of crime.
The ending was kind of predictable and lame, but the movie was enjoyable overall. Not as good as The Magnificent Seven, but then what could be?
Looky there, my movies had a theme!
I dimly remember watching The Magnificent Seven as a kid and liking it, but I don't know what would've attracted me to it back then. I probably liked the music (who could resist that tune?) and the horsies.
Watching it again gave me a newfound appreciation for Yul Brynner (I'm ignoring that his accent was explained by his being a Cajun) and Steve McQueen. They made me want to write a story about cowboys, or just stare out the window and fantasize about them.
The acting isn't subtle and the director's predilection for separate reaction shots from all the men was a little annoying, but the movie was great nonetheless.
The best moments of badass were when someone would fire a gun at the hero, and the hero wouldn't flinch. I loved that!
3:10 to Yuma was good. I wish Christian Bale would stop equating character with a raspy whisper. He should trust himself more.
Russell Crowe, however, made me remember why I love watching him. He was the best part of the movie: a bad guy who's not without redeemable qualities while still showing his moral compass is off.
One of his loyal henchman was an actor I'd seen before, but couldn't place. That bugged me until my memory put me out of my misery and served up that he had been on My Name is Earl- the inmate who used to be a boy scout until Earl set him on a life of crime.
The ending was kind of predictable and lame, but the movie was enjoyable overall. Not as good as The Magnificent Seven, but then what could be?
A hunger for place
I was reading Gumbo Tales (one of the Powell's nine) on Sunday afternoon and read myself into being hungry.
The descriptions of the food put me into a jaw-clenching hunger. The chapter on po-boys pushed me over the edge and at first, I only wanted a shrimp po-boy- fresh French bread, a slathering of mayo, tons of tabasco and shredded iceberg lettuce, and lots of fried shrimp.
But my fantasy is impossible around here. Eventually I decided to settle on a shrimp or clam grinder.
The three pizza places in town didn't make them and I didn't want to be annoying and ask for a special order.
I made an egg sandwich, which was decidedly unsatisfying, and continued reading the book, decidedly satisfying.
If I were incredibly rich, I wonder if I would have fired up the private jet to take a little jaunt to New Orleans.
The best and worst part of a wonderful city is the love of it that can't be sated by any types of substitute. I don't think it puts a big hole in my heart, but even a pin-sized one can be felt at times.
The descriptions of the food put me into a jaw-clenching hunger. The chapter on po-boys pushed me over the edge and at first, I only wanted a shrimp po-boy- fresh French bread, a slathering of mayo, tons of tabasco and shredded iceberg lettuce, and lots of fried shrimp.
But my fantasy is impossible around here. Eventually I decided to settle on a shrimp or clam grinder.
The three pizza places in town didn't make them and I didn't want to be annoying and ask for a special order.
I made an egg sandwich, which was decidedly unsatisfying, and continued reading the book, decidedly satisfying.
If I were incredibly rich, I wonder if I would have fired up the private jet to take a little jaunt to New Orleans.
The best and worst part of a wonderful city is the love of it that can't be sated by any types of substitute. I don't think it puts a big hole in my heart, but even a pin-sized one can be felt at times.
Reason one million and thirty seven why my mother is my favorite person
Wal-Mart is hectic on the weekends.
On Sunday, my mom went to buy my sister an iron because she noticed my sister needed one, and my mother is queen of seeing what a person needs and giving it to them.
She got home and noticed the iron didn't have a retractable cord.
Back to the store to return it. As she was checking out with an iron complete with retractable cord, she told the cashier that she returned the earlier iron.
Something was misunderstood and the cashier didn't charge her for the new iron, which wasn't discovered until my mother got home and checked the receipt.
Another person might have shrugged or performed a happy dance at getting free merch from a corporate giant.
My mother went back to the store (third time that day!) and paid for the iron.
I like to think I would've done the same.
On Sunday, my mom went to buy my sister an iron because she noticed my sister needed one, and my mother is queen of seeing what a person needs and giving it to them.
She got home and noticed the iron didn't have a retractable cord.
Back to the store to return it. As she was checking out with an iron complete with retractable cord, she told the cashier that she returned the earlier iron.
Something was misunderstood and the cashier didn't charge her for the new iron, which wasn't discovered until my mother got home and checked the receipt.
Another person might have shrugged or performed a happy dance at getting free merch from a corporate giant.
My mother went back to the store (third time that day!) and paid for the iron.
I like to think I would've done the same.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My ego what has joy in it
I've been visiting the Samhain website and every time I see my book up, I get happy.
The shine hasn't worn off.
It's certainly smoothed the edges of this week.
The shine hasn't worn off.
It's certainly smoothed the edges of this week.
I would've eaten the fruit, fer sher
A big old box from Powell's was waiting for me on my front steps.
Because of exams and the need for plane ride/vacation books, I put the unopened box in my bedroom and studiously ignored it for the rest of the night.
Yeah right.
I ripped that puppy open and immediately started rationalizing that it wouldn't be too bad if I dug in.
I finished Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen tonight. What a sweet read! It reminds me of Practical Magic and a couple of other Alice Hoffman books.
I liked the characters, loved the shifting points of view (with a good kind of envy), enjoyed the setting and minor characters. It's a story about sisters, which always does my heart good when it's done well, and it has a vein of magic. The magic isn't pronounced enough to make it paranormal, just enough to give it a glow.
I'm hoping I still have a couple books unread on the other side of this weekend, but the temptation is strong and I'm decidedly weak.
Because of exams and the need for plane ride/vacation books, I put the unopened box in my bedroom and studiously ignored it for the rest of the night.
Yeah right.
I ripped that puppy open and immediately started rationalizing that it wouldn't be too bad if I dug in.
I finished Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen tonight. What a sweet read! It reminds me of Practical Magic and a couple of other Alice Hoffman books.
I liked the characters, loved the shifting points of view (with a good kind of envy), enjoyed the setting and minor characters. It's a story about sisters, which always does my heart good when it's done well, and it has a vein of magic. The magic isn't pronounced enough to make it paranormal, just enough to give it a glow.
I'm hoping I still have a couple books unread on the other side of this weekend, but the temptation is strong and I'm decidedly weak.
When the hot is unintentional
The teacher I have a crush on said in all innocence, "When do you want me?"
My mind immediately went to dirty places, but I don't think my expression gave me away. I did pause as his words bounced around my brain.
Double entendres, even when the other person doesn't mean them, absolutely kill me.
My mind immediately went to dirty places, but I don't think my expression gave me away. I did pause as his words bounced around my brain.
Double entendres, even when the other person doesn't mean them, absolutely kill me.
When machines become sentient
My DVD player is messing with my head.
It spontaneously reset the time by 15 minutes this morning, which I didn't notice until I was down the street heading for work and happened to glance at the car clock. The car clock at least is loyal. For now.
The treacherous DVD clock is now three hours ahead. I'm afraid to change it because it might lash out or bide its time and eat my Netflix.
It spontaneously reset the time by 15 minutes this morning, which I didn't notice until I was down the street heading for work and happened to glance at the car clock. The car clock at least is loyal. For now.
The treacherous DVD clock is now three hours ahead. I'm afraid to change it because it might lash out or bide its time and eat my Netflix.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
My book is out!
Teacher's Guide to Wildlife has been released!
It was cool to the power of nth to see it on the Samhain home page under "New This Week."
The bottle of cheap champagne will have to wait until this weekend. I'm not up for drinking on a school night, but in my heart I'm tipsy.
It was cool to the power of nth to see it on the Samhain home page under "New This Week."
The bottle of cheap champagne will have to wait until this weekend. I'm not up for drinking on a school night, but in my heart I'm tipsy.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The cruelest of bugs
My sister Emma and her husband were bitten by the summer bug going around. If a summer cold is the worst insult, a summer bug is an outright bitchslap.
My mother went over to take care of the two littluns. It's not like my sister can tell the boys to watch TV and fend for themselves until Mommy and Daddy stop puking.
I don't know how single parents do it. What the hell do they do if they don't have any relatives nearby or any other support system?
I look at that situation and have a hard time believing I could cope.
I hope my sister and brother-in-law get well soon. Her weak and sickly voice cut straight to my heart when I called her today. I don't like picturing them out of commission.
My mother went over to take care of the two littluns. It's not like my sister can tell the boys to watch TV and fend for themselves until Mommy and Daddy stop puking.
I don't know how single parents do it. What the hell do they do if they don't have any relatives nearby or any other support system?
I look at that situation and have a hard time believing I could cope.
I hope my sister and brother-in-law get well soon. Her weak and sickly voice cut straight to my heart when I called her today. I don't like picturing them out of commission.
Your ink and my ink
A student showed me her new tattoo the other day. It was the same as one of mine, which is weird because I've only seen it on one other person.
I didn't tell her. I think knowing that your teacher- when you're in the mindset that thirty is old and over forty is ancient- shares your ink might take off some of the glow.
She selected the design to remember her dad. I selected it to remember myself.
I didn't tell her. I think knowing that your teacher- when you're in the mindset that thirty is old and over forty is ancient- shares your ink might take off some of the glow.
She selected the design to remember her dad. I selected it to remember myself.
Send in the clown
I was thinking last night on the way to my sister's house for the B-days cookout and realized the student's parent and the administration were right: I am ridiculous.
Not in my teaching.
But my actions do take on the ludicrous. I'm ridiculous because
1. Going to the hair salon produces the same anxiety as going to the dentist. That's the reason I trim my own bangs and periodically ask the nearest relative to take off a couple inches with the words, "You can't possibly mess it up. Even if it's uneven, it's still okay." Given this, my hair looks a hell of a lot nicer than it has the right to look.
2. I covet the red fuck-me stilts Britney wears in her "If You Seek Amy" video. I love them and want them.
3. I believe I could find anything on Google if I typed in the right search terms.
4. I will never tire of paranormals, kick-ass heroines, and stories set in New Orleans.
5. I hold my friends to wicked high standards.
6. I like strawberry jelly on my eggs.
7. I think green tabasco is the perfect condiment. I've been known to start out with a hankering for the verde stuff and decide what I want to put it on.
8. Saint Anthony works as long as you don't abuse the privilege.
9. I'm self-conscious, except when I'm car-seat dancing.
By Jove, they were right...I'm nothing more than a jester garbed in rags and patches. Now pardon me while I troll youtube for hairband videos.
Not in my teaching.
But my actions do take on the ludicrous. I'm ridiculous because
1. Going to the hair salon produces the same anxiety as going to the dentist. That's the reason I trim my own bangs and periodically ask the nearest relative to take off a couple inches with the words, "You can't possibly mess it up. Even if it's uneven, it's still okay." Given this, my hair looks a hell of a lot nicer than it has the right to look.
2. I covet the red fuck-me stilts Britney wears in her "If You Seek Amy" video. I love them and want them.
3. I believe I could find anything on Google if I typed in the right search terms.
4. I will never tire of paranormals, kick-ass heroines, and stories set in New Orleans.
5. I hold my friends to wicked high standards.
6. I like strawberry jelly on my eggs.
7. I think green tabasco is the perfect condiment. I've been known to start out with a hankering for the verde stuff and decide what I want to put it on.
8. Saint Anthony works as long as you don't abuse the privilege.
9. I'm self-conscious, except when I'm car-seat dancing.
By Jove, they were right...I'm nothing more than a jester garbed in rags and patches. Now pardon me while I troll youtube for hairband videos.
The platypus at noon
Does anyone else but me get a tiny bit irritated when interviewers describe the celeb's ensemble, but it doesn't match up with the picture next to the interview? It seems disjointed. Why describe the clothing?
Usually the interviews in Sunday's Parade are softballs, but I'm a little bit nervous for Shia LaBeouf. He sounded existentially angsty. I wanted to send him over to Wil Wheaton, who could tell him how to deal with fame and Hollywood, and would probably invite him for a game of D and D or frisbee with his dog.
When Shia talks about pulling his bike to the side of the road to see if he's recognized and how he wants to be recognized, I heard warning bells.
Usually the interviews in Sunday's Parade are softballs, but I'm a little bit nervous for Shia LaBeouf. He sounded existentially angsty. I wanted to send him over to Wil Wheaton, who could tell him how to deal with fame and Hollywood, and would probably invite him for a game of D and D or frisbee with his dog.
When Shia talks about pulling his bike to the side of the road to see if he's recognized and how he wants to be recognized, I heard warning bells.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Because kids are made of win
Smart Bitches put up a Friday video of a school choir singing "When I ruled the World".
The timing of this clip couldn't be better. It's ridiculous that I watched those students sing their everloving hearts out and couldn't stop the lump in my throat or tears in my eyes.
Those moments of transcendence, when students achieve a state of grace by being themselves enraptured in learning and expressing their learning, those aren't reserved for the lower grades. High school students reach that profound state as well, and when I can witness it- well, there's no place or nothing else I'd rather be.
Side note: The music teacher in the vid makes me rethink my scorn of cool teachers. Some cool teachers are just cool.
The timing of this clip couldn't be better. It's ridiculous that I watched those students sing their everloving hearts out and couldn't stop the lump in my throat or tears in my eyes.
Those moments of transcendence, when students achieve a state of grace by being themselves enraptured in learning and expressing their learning, those aren't reserved for the lower grades. High school students reach that profound state as well, and when I can witness it- well, there's no place or nothing else I'd rather be.
Side note: The music teacher in the vid makes me rethink my scorn of cool teachers. Some cool teachers are just cool.
Something in the whinge
It's easy to whine and let the crap take over my head. So I'll think about the ups.
Tattoo Queen gave me a Powell's giftcard for 100 smackeroos because her roll, it is a generous one.
I spent it today in an effort to time the books' arrival perfectly: not during exams and before I go on the girls' vacation.
I bought every single book I've been holding in my heart, a whopping nine total:
The Living Dead (because nothing says summer like zombie love)
Federations (research for my scifi story)
Steampunk (why wasn't this around when I was a kid?)
Strange Angels (more of the zombie love)
Beyond Heaving Bosoms (I read the blog, gotta buy the book)
Garden Spells (a student's recommendation)
Freakonomics (been wanting this for a while)
Kitty Goes to Washington (I read the first one and really liked it)
I can't for the life of me think of the ninth one...Oh well, it'll be a surprise. I actually am at that perfect balance of not wanting any books at the moment, which is a sweet, sweet rarity.
TQ is responsible for hours and hours of reading fun. It's moments like these when I don't know what I did to luck into such a friendship.
Tattoo Queen gave me a Powell's giftcard for 100 smackeroos because her roll, it is a generous one.
I spent it today in an effort to time the books' arrival perfectly: not during exams and before I go on the girls' vacation.
I bought every single book I've been holding in my heart, a whopping nine total:
The Living Dead (because nothing says summer like zombie love)
Federations (research for my scifi story)
Steampunk (why wasn't this around when I was a kid?)
Strange Angels (more of the zombie love)
Beyond Heaving Bosoms (I read the blog, gotta buy the book)
Garden Spells (a student's recommendation)
Freakonomics (been wanting this for a while)
Kitty Goes to Washington (I read the first one and really liked it)
I can't for the life of me think of the ninth one...Oh well, it'll be a surprise. I actually am at that perfect balance of not wanting any books at the moment, which is a sweet, sweet rarity.
TQ is responsible for hours and hours of reading fun. It's moments like these when I don't know what I did to luck into such a friendship.
We lump them together
My family's celebrating all the May birthdays today- a record breaking six B-days rolled into one cookout.
Scheduling conflicts caused us to run behind.
My nephew wanted a pair of Hyde sunglasses and promised he'd wear them. Apparently he likes That 70s Show.
The rest of the birthday people will be getting gift cards from Target and Best Buy.
I'm looking forward to putting a couple beers on my back.
Scheduling conflicts caused us to run behind.
My nephew wanted a pair of Hyde sunglasses and promised he'd wear them. Apparently he likes That 70s Show.
The rest of the birthday people will be getting gift cards from Target and Best Buy.
I'm looking forward to putting a couple beers on my back.
Red balloons
If my stressors were balloons and I could let them go, the sky would look like a freaking Nena song.
Tussles with a student, a student's parents, and the typical bullying of our beloved administrations and our heroine reacts by throwing out her back and spending the last couple nights with insomnia.
I'm tired of doubting myself and my ethics. I'm tired of defending what I shouldn't have to.
There are teachers who don't do their jobs, who have questionable relationships with students, and recent arrests, but somehow their behavior goes without question.
It's times like these when I feel like I'm in a Kafka story.
I don't want to be a giant cockroach.
I will never understand how a parent can defend a child who has done wrong. Support them, yes; stick up for them? There's no good parenting in that.
Once again, the administration throws me under the bus and I'm supposed to enjoy it.
What kills me is that I should be flying high. I have all my grades in, all my exams copied, my room is pretty much packed away, and I copied a shitload of stuff for opening day next year. I should be on top of the world instead of flat on my carapace waving my ineffectual insect legs.
Tussles with a student, a student's parents, and the typical bullying of our beloved administrations and our heroine reacts by throwing out her back and spending the last couple nights with insomnia.
I'm tired of doubting myself and my ethics. I'm tired of defending what I shouldn't have to.
There are teachers who don't do their jobs, who have questionable relationships with students, and recent arrests, but somehow their behavior goes without question.
It's times like these when I feel like I'm in a Kafka story.
I don't want to be a giant cockroach.
I will never understand how a parent can defend a child who has done wrong. Support them, yes; stick up for them? There's no good parenting in that.
Once again, the administration throws me under the bus and I'm supposed to enjoy it.
What kills me is that I should be flying high. I have all my grades in, all my exams copied, my room is pretty much packed away, and I copied a shitload of stuff for opening day next year. I should be on top of the world instead of flat on my carapace waving my ineffectual insect legs.
When nature calls
Tattoo Queen had to delay our chat because a raccoon crawled into her crawlspace and wouldn't come out.
She heard it ripping the insulation and scratching the bathroom floorboards. When she pounded on the floor, it hissed at her.
She called back an hour and a half later to say the police couldn't do anything, animal control didn't deal with situations like hers, and the critter guy would come out, but it was a before-hours call and would cost $375. If she called back in two hours, he'd charge her only $175.
By now she had figured out the larger raccoon hanging in her backyard wasn't the stuck raccoon's buddy, but its mother. The mama raccoon had paced near the hole and chirping in a concerned way. Or maybe it was saying, "You get your ass out of that hole or I'll shoot you myself!"
You want to be careful with raccoons. Even if they don't have rabies, they're still uncanny.
In a resigned voice, TQ told me, "I'm going to ignore it, have a conversation with my friend, and chill."
Because sometimes when there's a raccoon stuck under your house, all you can do is pretend otherwise.
As we wrapped up our call, she said, "I think it's gone."
All was silent in the crawlspace and under the floor. The mama raccoon was nowhere to be seen. Problem solved.
I used to think raccoons were cute and lovable until I had my own run-ins with the buggers- one was rabid. I don't think I'll be renewing my affection for them anytime soon.
She heard it ripping the insulation and scratching the bathroom floorboards. When she pounded on the floor, it hissed at her.
She called back an hour and a half later to say the police couldn't do anything, animal control didn't deal with situations like hers, and the critter guy would come out, but it was a before-hours call and would cost $375. If she called back in two hours, he'd charge her only $175.
By now she had figured out the larger raccoon hanging in her backyard wasn't the stuck raccoon's buddy, but its mother. The mama raccoon had paced near the hole and chirping in a concerned way. Or maybe it was saying, "You get your ass out of that hole or I'll shoot you myself!"
You want to be careful with raccoons. Even if they don't have rabies, they're still uncanny.
In a resigned voice, TQ told me, "I'm going to ignore it, have a conversation with my friend, and chill."
Because sometimes when there's a raccoon stuck under your house, all you can do is pretend otherwise.
As we wrapped up our call, she said, "I think it's gone."
All was silent in the crawlspace and under the floor. The mama raccoon was nowhere to be seen. Problem solved.
I used to think raccoons were cute and lovable until I had my own run-ins with the buggers- one was rabid. I don't think I'll be renewing my affection for them anytime soon.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Damages (spoilage)
On the recommendation of a teacher friend, I started watching Damages.
Holy shit, that's some good writing and acting!
I kicked myself last night for not having the last disc at the top of my queue.
The writers somehow make every single character sympathetic and despicable at different moments in the show. There are only two characters who avoid this moral ambivalence, and that's quite a feat.
Glenn Close's Patty Hewes and Ted Danson's Art Frobrisher are works of art. The main character is a little insipid, but she kind of has to be. The writers, however, give her flashes of brilliance and personality, so I think the bland part is intentional.
The show gives enough so that the viewer can guess what's coming next sometimes and also gives some real wotthehell twists. It's kind of what LOST tries to do, but fails miserably at.
There's a scene that opens with a covered pot boiling on the stove- I wonder if that's a shout out to Fatal Attraction (poor, poor, wittle bunny rabbit).
I have one disc to go for the season and it's taking all my will to keep from reading spoilers. I know I'd regret finding out, but I want so badly to find out.
I'm hoping the show wraps up the loose ends and gives a broad hint about who the murderer is. I hope the last ep isn't a cliffhanger. Or if it is, it's not a cheap one that makes me want to yank out my teeth and throw them at the screen.
Holy shit, that's some good writing and acting!
I kicked myself last night for not having the last disc at the top of my queue.
The writers somehow make every single character sympathetic and despicable at different moments in the show. There are only two characters who avoid this moral ambivalence, and that's quite a feat.
Glenn Close's Patty Hewes and Ted Danson's Art Frobrisher are works of art. The main character is a little insipid, but she kind of has to be. The writers, however, give her flashes of brilliance and personality, so I think the bland part is intentional.
The show gives enough so that the viewer can guess what's coming next sometimes and also gives some real wotthehell twists. It's kind of what LOST tries to do, but fails miserably at.
There's a scene that opens with a covered pot boiling on the stove- I wonder if that's a shout out to Fatal Attraction (poor, poor, wittle bunny rabbit).
I have one disc to go for the season and it's taking all my will to keep from reading spoilers. I know I'd regret finding out, but I want so badly to find out.
I'm hoping the show wraps up the loose ends and gives a broad hint about who the murderer is. I hope the last ep isn't a cliffhanger. Or if it is, it's not a cheap one that makes me want to yank out my teeth and throw them at the screen.
A diversion from the knot in my stomach
Because I make it a practice not to blog when I'm angry, I'm trying to write about anything but the source of the burning in my gut.
I think I'd like to talk about the weirdest Dear Abby letter.
Years and years ago, I read a letter in Dear Abby's column that stuck in my head.
This guy wrote in to apologize to a woman. On the last day of high school, he and his buddies went through the yearbook to find the person they judged to be the ugliest girl in the class. They called her and said, "You've been voted the ugliest girl in the class."
In his letter he referred to her by name and said he was awfully sorry to take part in the cruelty.
The questions I had, even at the age of ten or nine, were legion.
Why did he write the letter? Years later I thought he might have been doing the 12 steps.
What good did he think would come of it?
Did it make him feel good to see it in print?
Most important, what if the woman had been hurt and spent years of her life getting over that shard of glass? Maybe she was successful in her career and married with 2.5, sitting down to a well-earned cup of coffee one day and BAM! The hurt comes rushing in.
Maybe her husband and friends never thought her particularly unattractive, but after reading the letter- they must've recognized her even with her maiden name- they started looking at her differently.
The letter has haunted me for over thirty years. And it wasn't even about me.
I think I'd like to talk about the weirdest Dear Abby letter.
Years and years ago, I read a letter in Dear Abby's column that stuck in my head.
This guy wrote in to apologize to a woman. On the last day of high school, he and his buddies went through the yearbook to find the person they judged to be the ugliest girl in the class. They called her and said, "You've been voted the ugliest girl in the class."
In his letter he referred to her by name and said he was awfully sorry to take part in the cruelty.
The questions I had, even at the age of ten or nine, were legion.
Why did he write the letter? Years later I thought he might have been doing the 12 steps.
What good did he think would come of it?
Did it make him feel good to see it in print?
Most important, what if the woman had been hurt and spent years of her life getting over that shard of glass? Maybe she was successful in her career and married with 2.5, sitting down to a well-earned cup of coffee one day and BAM! The hurt comes rushing in.
Maybe her husband and friends never thought her particularly unattractive, but after reading the letter- they must've recognized her even with her maiden name- they started looking at her differently.
The letter has haunted me for over thirty years. And it wasn't even about me.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thinking about the Huxtables
There's an episode of The Cosby Show that features dialogue so uncomfortable that no one believes me when I recount the exchange.
I used to love The Cosby Show. On my days off years ago I used to watch back-to-backs followed by back-to-backs of A Different World.
I had a massive crush on Lisa Bonet. Even now I think of her as one hell of a cool person. My crush only intensified when she did Angel Heart. Look at that, a Cosby kid nekkid on the bayou.
---Tangent alert: I love Angel Heart for many reasons: Lisa Bonet, Robert DeNiro, New Orleans, Charlotte Rampling, pacts with the devil, but most of all, for the crack in Mickey Rourke's voice when he screams, "What happened to the boy!?"---
Anyway, the questionable dialogue takes place when Denise (Bonet) returns with- surprise!- a husband and step-daughter. Cliff takes Martin, the new husband, into the kitchen for a little man-to-man (hmmm...sounds like slash) and proceeds to question Martin on whether Denise WAS A VIRGIN OR NOT!
Martin tells him she was and Cliff is VERY HAPPY!
The scene is squicktastic on so many levels I haven't been able to get it out of my brain.
People refuse to believe me, but I swear to God I'm not making it up.***
***My sister Emma told me she recently saw this episode and confirmed every squicky detail. It's nice to know it wasn't a hallucination.
I used to love The Cosby Show. On my days off years ago I used to watch back-to-backs followed by back-to-backs of A Different World.
I had a massive crush on Lisa Bonet. Even now I think of her as one hell of a cool person. My crush only intensified when she did Angel Heart. Look at that, a Cosby kid nekkid on the bayou.
---Tangent alert: I love Angel Heart for many reasons: Lisa Bonet, Robert DeNiro, New Orleans, Charlotte Rampling, pacts with the devil, but most of all, for the crack in Mickey Rourke's voice when he screams, "What happened to the boy!?"---
Anyway, the questionable dialogue takes place when Denise (Bonet) returns with- surprise!- a husband and step-daughter. Cliff takes Martin, the new husband, into the kitchen for a little man-to-man (hmmm...sounds like slash) and proceeds to question Martin on whether Denise WAS A VIRGIN OR NOT!
Martin tells him she was and Cliff is VERY HAPPY!
The scene is squicktastic on so many levels I haven't been able to get it out of my brain.
People refuse to believe me, but I swear to God I'm not making it up.***
***My sister Emma told me she recently saw this episode and confirmed every squicky detail. It's nice to know it wasn't a hallucination.
When family gatherings turn awkward
My ex-brother-in-law threw a graduation party for my niece today.
Never mind that she graduated in October. Being a tool of the highest order, he rolls like that.
I usually love family get-togethers, but this one oozed the awkward. My family stayed to themselves, studiously ignored by the other faction. Any attempts at conversation were rebuffed.
Too bad the chill in the air didn't keep the soda and wine (in a box, 'cause he don't play with the bottled shit) cold.
I stayed long enough to ooh and aah over the powerpoint of my niece and give her a small bit of greenage.
I'm feeling slightly guilty about making an early escape, especially since I told the small falsehood of having papers to correct.
The coolest thing happened as I was stopped at the parking lot stop sign. A bird chased a moth through my car window, caught it on the dashboard, and hopped out.
If that was an omen of some sort, I can't figure out its significance.
Never mind that she graduated in October. Being a tool of the highest order, he rolls like that.
I usually love family get-togethers, but this one oozed the awkward. My family stayed to themselves, studiously ignored by the other faction. Any attempts at conversation were rebuffed.
Too bad the chill in the air didn't keep the soda and wine (in a box, 'cause he don't play with the bottled shit) cold.
I stayed long enough to ooh and aah over the powerpoint of my niece and give her a small bit of greenage.
I'm feeling slightly guilty about making an early escape, especially since I told the small falsehood of having papers to correct.
The coolest thing happened as I was stopped at the parking lot stop sign. A bird chased a moth through my car window, caught it on the dashboard, and hopped out.
If that was an omen of some sort, I can't figure out its significance.
But I read the script
The newest Entertainment Weekly did a write up on New Moon. The reporter mentioned the cast was busy reading the book.
Huh?
Doesn't that strike you as odd? Given that the cast- except the kid who plays Jacob- knew they were going to be in the sequel, wouldn't they have read the book before shooting?
Don't they have an investment in knowing the characters inside and out?
Freaking actors.
Huh?
Doesn't that strike you as odd? Given that the cast- except the kid who plays Jacob- knew they were going to be in the sequel, wouldn't they have read the book before shooting?
Don't they have an investment in knowing the characters inside and out?
Freaking actors.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Decisions, decisions
Tattoo Queen gave me a gift card to Powell's.
Not only am I turning worthy titles in my mind, I'm also trying to time the books' arrival.
Too soon and I'll blow off correcting final exams until the day before the day grades are due and that'll be a cluster I want to avoid. I'm tired of present-day self getting pissed off at my past self.
Too late and I'll blow a wad of cash for a start-of-summer orgy, which I'm trying to prevent.
It takes all the precision of landing an F-35B on the deck of a carrier.
Not only am I turning worthy titles in my mind, I'm also trying to time the books' arrival.
Too soon and I'll blow off correcting final exams until the day before the day grades are due and that'll be a cluster I want to avoid. I'm tired of present-day self getting pissed off at my past self.
Too late and I'll blow a wad of cash for a start-of-summer orgy, which I'm trying to prevent.
It takes all the precision of landing an F-35B on the deck of a carrier.
If a body catch a body
There's a sequel to Catcher in the Rye?
And the author's being sued by Salinger?
My co-workers in the department need to do a better job with the literary gossip.
The sequel doesn't sound that great: Holden sixty years later with the same smart-alecky voice. Teenage Holden was barely tolerable with that voice.
I always kind of hoped he ended up getting out of the hospital and maturing.
My idea for a sequel was much better: Pheobe's story. I wanted someone to capture her voice and intelligence and point of view.
The trouble with Catcher in the Rye is that people assume every English teacher loves it. The ones who looooovvveeee it in the department are the cool teachers. It's their wet dream to find themselves a Holden of their very own amid the clumps of average students who shuffle through their doors.
I like it and think it's a worthwhile read, but there's better out there.
And the author's being sued by Salinger?
My co-workers in the department need to do a better job with the literary gossip.
The sequel doesn't sound that great: Holden sixty years later with the same smart-alecky voice. Teenage Holden was barely tolerable with that voice.
I always kind of hoped he ended up getting out of the hospital and maturing.
My idea for a sequel was much better: Pheobe's story. I wanted someone to capture her voice and intelligence and point of view.
The trouble with Catcher in the Rye is that people assume every English teacher loves it. The ones who looooovvveeee it in the department are the cool teachers. It's their wet dream to find themselves a Holden of their very own amid the clumps of average students who shuffle through their doors.
I like it and think it's a worthwhile read, but there's better out there.
Star Trek (spoilage)
I think I was the last person with a fondness for Star Trek to see the new movie.
Loved it.
Kirk's overrated and I'm glad Abrams made the movie more of an ensemble piece with an emphasis on Spock.
I didn't mind his screwing with the canon's timeline. The explosions and fight scenes distracted me from that.
Pike was played by that guy from Double Jeopardy. He turns up when I least expect it and I'm always glad to see him.
If someone told me that Spock and Uhura should hook up, I think I would've recoiled, but the romance works. More sexual chemistry and tension than I would've believed. If I wrote fanfic and featured that couple, I'd be bragging right now. After seeing it on screen, the relationship seems so...logical.
Zachary Quinto plays Spock true to the original while adding his own touch. He has to play the character as being overrun with emotion, yet suppressing the emotion at the same time.
How the hell did he do that?
The movie was a credit to the series. I'd put it fourth on my list- the first three being Wrath of Khan, Voyage Home, and First Contact.
Loved it.
Kirk's overrated and I'm glad Abrams made the movie more of an ensemble piece with an emphasis on Spock.
I didn't mind his screwing with the canon's timeline. The explosions and fight scenes distracted me from that.
Pike was played by that guy from Double Jeopardy. He turns up when I least expect it and I'm always glad to see him.
If someone told me that Spock and Uhura should hook up, I think I would've recoiled, but the romance works. More sexual chemistry and tension than I would've believed. If I wrote fanfic and featured that couple, I'd be bragging right now. After seeing it on screen, the relationship seems so...logical.
Zachary Quinto plays Spock true to the original while adding his own touch. He has to play the character as being overrun with emotion, yet suppressing the emotion at the same time.
How the hell did he do that?
The movie was a credit to the series. I'd put it fourth on my list- the first three being Wrath of Khan, Voyage Home, and First Contact.
To sit or not to sit
I had made up my mind to treat myself to a tricked-out chair for next year. Something leather and comfortable that I would have to write my name on because other teachers might be inclined to steal it.
The chair I use now is older than my students and it's killing my back.
Then I made the mistake of reading some teacher blogs. This teacher happened to mention he was thinking of buying a new chair, but decided against it because he shouldn't be sitting in class. He knew he needed to mingle with the students from first bell to last.
Now I feel guilty.
If I were a good teacher, I wouldn't sit down in class.
My hope for next year is an end to comparison. It doesn't help that I begin and end the year with the students writing personal narratives. Most essays remind me of the teachers who shape their lives. The kind ones. The cool ones. The ones whose inspiration works better than a power ballad and whose presence compells the students to jump on their desks while stating, "O Captain, my captain."
Because that really happens. I saw it just the other day.
At the very least, I need to shut up the inner voice and buy the damn chair.
The chair I use now is older than my students and it's killing my back.
Then I made the mistake of reading some teacher blogs. This teacher happened to mention he was thinking of buying a new chair, but decided against it because he shouldn't be sitting in class. He knew he needed to mingle with the students from first bell to last.
Now I feel guilty.
If I were a good teacher, I wouldn't sit down in class.
My hope for next year is an end to comparison. It doesn't help that I begin and end the year with the students writing personal narratives. Most essays remind me of the teachers who shape their lives. The kind ones. The cool ones. The ones whose inspiration works better than a power ballad and whose presence compells the students to jump on their desks while stating, "O Captain, my captain."
Because that really happens. I saw it just the other day.
At the very least, I need to shut up the inner voice and buy the damn chair.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
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