count the TV references. count em!

Sorry I've been gone for a few days after my empty promises to stay true. It won't happen again--until I get a job, and who knows when that'll be. School starts on Monday for the kiddos, and I haven't heard anything yet. That's the way things work here; plus, who needs tutoring on the first day of school?

Anyway, I haven't written because I've been feeling utterly ashamed of my lazy lifestyle, which offers nothing noteworthy to write about. Just kidding! I am totally proud of the fact that I've been sleeping until 9:30, doing crosswords, and re-reading P.D. James mysteries to see if I can catch any of her clues this time.

Sadly, Ben had the cable shut off on Wednesday. That sounds like he's domestically abusing me by taking away my privileges one by one. Really, we had it changed from full cable to basic, so we still have Comedy Central and TBS (where you can now, I was shocked to learn, hear the S and the D words), but we've lost VH-1, E!, Bravo, A & E, Discovery Health (bye bye, Medical Mysteries) and, the biggest loss to me, Lifetime. I'll have to rely on memory from now on when making plans to reconstruct the Golden Girls. Lucky for you, Robyn, Stephanie and Lucrecia, I was at home every single Saturday night that GG was on the air. So I know it all.

This was not supposed to devolve into TV commentary, and pathetic commentary at that.

***
These asterisks oughtta do the trick.

I wanted to share my elation about a dramatic new turn my life is taking. Several months ago, Ben and I joined The Club, one of our town's two gyms, and haven't set foot in it since early July. Yesterday, I woke up with a newfound zest for life, and decided to go to a class called Body Combat, in the name of doing something positive for me.

Just kidding. What happened was, before RIP-cable-day, I watched Workout, the new series about trainers in L.A., and came down with a little COIAD. I realized that only by starting a strict fitness regimen would I have a chance at emulating Jackie Warner, the gym owner in Workout, in every way but for her lesbian girlfriend, Mimi. [Sorry, Ben.] She is buff but not intimidating, dresses adorably, and drinks white wine in almost every evening scene. I also may start painting my fingernails dark blue or black, but I'm wondering if this may be a well-known lesbian code.

Anyway, Body Combat (think ominously & hum Mortal Kombat song here). The class was basically Tae-Bo with some fake Asian moves (I got to bow to my sensei!). So of course I kicked ass, having done many hours of VHS Tae-Bo in my sister's Seattle apartment when I was an unemployed mooch. I also already knew "the claw" from an Oprah episode about defending yourself from parking lot rapists, and that was a key move in the workout.

I stopped working out about two years ago. This is, not coincidentally, when Ben and I started dating. As I would notice my muscles atrophying, lung capacity diminishing, energy level dropping and bones brittling, I would be mildly concerned, but never to the point of action. I kind of accepted it as part of my new teacherly persona: dowdy wardrobe from Macy's, comfortable shoes by Clarks', disdain for the music nowadays, addiction to prime-time shows, Olive Oyl (quoth Ben) limbs.

But as I left the gym after Body Combat, and today after Body Pump (unh!), I felt a flutter of a feeling that I had forgotten existed. Something about the hour-long oxygen deprivation to my brain, coupled with the mist of fatigue creeping its way through muscles that hadn't been used in Apple Paltrow's lifetime, evoked a sense of nostalgia for adobed days gone by. The scene it brought to mind: driving home from Defined Fitness into the sunset, sweat evaporating into the dry desert air, feeling both revulsion and envy for the pastel-hued, Mercedes-sheltering, faux Mexican folksy complexes I passed. [I feel that same love/hate for the beautiful scenery and unattainable property of Kona.] The post-gym grocery shop, filling the cart with things I think my friends would like instead of the weekday weighing of cost per serving and indulgence factor. [We had friends over for dinner tonight, now rare but back then, an almost daily occurence.] Exhilaration, uncertainty, pleasant anxiety as my mind swam with possibilities for the night ahead, or the life ahead. A cheesy fitnessy person would bring up endorphins. I prefer to think of it as some kind of magic that reminds me of someone I used to be, or maybe still am.

trash-talking

I'm spending the day (god, I hope it doesn't take all day) writing my dang Educational Philosophy, which is worth most of my grade in "Introduction to Teaching." I hate the word dang. It's so Britney-white-trash. But when you've eaten refried beans for breakfast and are sitting in the kitchen with a blob of aloe gel greasing up your burnt face, you may as well go whole-hog. Did I mention I'm wearing cut-offs and drinking Kool-Aid?

So, the point is, I'm stuck in front of my new laptop and will probably be posting random irrelevancies every 15 minutes.

distractions

Okay, so, I wanted to start writing more about matters of substance, however uninformed my perspective may be, and regardless of how few people care to hear my opinions.

It's just so hard to get away from the trivial when things like this keep happening to me: I heated up some refried beans in the microwave, and as I stirred them up, a red-hot blob of bean splattered up onto my face, burning my cheek in what I think is the second degree. I have a bean burn blister!

Naturally, I've lost my train of thought, which was headed toward solving the Middle East peace crisis.

casting call

Dear Friends,

There's no denying that we're getting older. It's never too early to think about the future. So, I'm throwing this out there: Who wants to be one of my Golden Girls?

We'll have a tastefully decorated house that's just a little over-the-top. We'll dress in 2030's version of flowing caftans, coral lipstick, and filmy blazers with whimsical brooches. We'll always look dignified, even when we gather around the kitchen table to eat cheesecake late at night when one of us can't sleep because we've gotten ourselves into a pickle.

Of course, participation requires that you be either widowed, divorced, or a lifelong spinster. But this is the postmodern version, so maybe we could work something out where any husbands live together in a house across town.

If interested, please respond with a brief description of your qualifications and what you would add to the house. I'll be out on the lanai having a mai tai.

P.S. I'm serious.

awesome

Ever since Theo was here, I have been afflicted with a touch of Baby Fever. So naturally I pay more attention to the commercials with babies-through-toddlers in them (my Fever only extends to about age four), which are usually for things like Juicy Juice, Silk soymilk, Cheerios.

Here's a little nugget I saw tonight. It's for Happy Meals, with Mother beaming at daughter eating Chicken McNuggets. Over the picture float various attributes, ending with

"100% Tender".

Think of the poor schlub who sold his soul to write this ad copy: "100 percent......um, well, I guess..... tender?" It's not like tenderness can be measured and regulated by the FDA.

Apologies to Steph for the ellipses. Any suggestions for another way I could have done it?

also

Whoops. I forgot that the whole reason I started that list in the previous post was so I could list this:

* living in a place where people have vanity plates that say things like "LA FABS."

sitting in the dark.....

Anonymous said...

Yeah, but you know you just wanna be hangin in the ghetto in ol' Abq sweatin' in 90 degree+ heaven sippin' your margarita in your favorite outdoor pub or eatin' pizza at joe's and havin' a beer while the neighborhood cats rub at your feet! You know ya miss it!

All right, aNONymous. Whomever you are. Maybe I do miss Albuquerque a little bit. So what if I do? I just try to keep my NM-stalgia in check to encourage Ben to let go of his belief that it's heaven on earth, to which Hawaii will never compare. It doesn't help that the other night, we went over to our friends' for dinner and they had a houseguest who used to go to UNM, and knew all the same weirdos as Ben did. (No offense to the few weirdos who may be reading.) The reminiscing was fast and furious, and freaking hilarious. Our hosts, who are from Boston and Philadelphia, were like, "Man, we never knew there were so many freaks in Albuquerque!" It was then that I realized how truly...unique Albuquerque is. Kona wouldn't tolerate a naked guy in a sandwich board parading along Palani Road for one day.

Some other things I miss about living in the Q:
* bread for under $4 a loaf
* the dollar theater
* the less-than-savory clientele at the dollar theater
* Mickey Mouse guy outside the Anodyne
* making snide remarks about slutty girls wearing miniskirts in below-freezing weather downtown
* hurrying away in fear from mean-looking slutty girls who may have overheard the snide remarks

Anyway...who are you, Anonnie? Let it be said that I enjoy anonymous commenters, at least to a point. The mystery adds a little spice to my life. If I can't guess who you are after a few days, I'll become annoyed. In this case, the consistent use of apostrophe-"n" in all gerund verbs is a big clue. As is the margarita reference.

some of that news I promised, plus unrelated photos

I think I have a job lined up! I'm a little disappointed that I won't need to apply to be a poolside cocktail waitress at one of the luxury resorts 40 minutes away, or a wisecracking secretary for a construction company.

The vice-principal of my school called and offered me a position as a reading and writing tutor for students who need extra help in the classroom. I'll spend three days a week visiting students in their English classes (thus accomplishing my goal of observing more experienced teachers), offering help to my assigned kids as well as anyone else who needs or wants it. I won't qualify to keep my health benefits, so they're trying to come up with a different position with a few more hours.

Either way, I'm psyched! I'll still make enough money to live on, I'll still get to commute 3 minutes to work, I'll still get to work in the classroom....but I won't have write lessons, grade papers, or overcome paralyzing fear every morning! Yesssss. (Let's leave aside the fact that I'm merely putting this off until next year, when I plan to get a real teaching job again.)

I'll probably still look for a waitressing gig to do a couple nights a week. I have my sights set on this sushi place that charges $6 for a spear of asparagus tempura. Or I may sign up to be a substitute teacher. School starts August 1st, and I don't think I'll start this new phantom job until a week or so after that. But the wolves are at bay!

The downside is, I'll have less time to spend on things like this:

Or this:

This post brought to you by the letter T and the number 2

All right, so this is my excuse this time:

Theo and I have been on some very important conference calls with Big Bird.

I can't go into details now, but I will drop the names Slimy the worm and Herry. Biff and Sully, the trash carriers who haven't been seen since the early '80s, are also involved.

sloth

I have completed my metamorphosis into vacation-mode Lazy Me. Yesterday I didn't leave the house at all until 5:30, when our need for groceries became inescapable. I finished Season Six of the Sopranos, watched four episodes of West Wing, and ate leftovers from a Thai and a Mexican restaurant.

Ben's mother is visiting us for two weeks, but she went to the island of Maui for a couple of days, so we are reveling in the bad habits we'd been hiding. I'll write more about her visit once I become certain she has never found this blog. Just kidding, Gail!

you aren't going to believe this

Friday was the last "real" day of school. (Tomorrow we get out at 11:30, so I've a feeling the three kids whose parents are sticklers will show up.) The day was kind of stressful, as all rules seem to go out the window, or at least my window, and I was worried I'd get in trouble for letting kids into my room without a pass, or, I don't know, letting my sixth period have a paper war for five minutes.

Our rollicking game of charades got so loud at one point, a neighbor teacher came over to huffily tell us he was giving a test. Who gives a freakin' test during the last period of the last day of school? I was vindicated when the madcap science teacher blew up a rather dicey sulfur bomb outside a few minutes later, and the entire school ran out to hoot and holler, as the crazy teacher continued to set off more explosions, almost losing his arm in the process. School-themed charades pale in comparison to reckless endangerment.

When the bell rang, something I had not expected to happen happened. I felt sad. That school was out! I'll never again have this particular group of gangly, self-important, insecure creatures squirming under my attempts at control. I felt a poignant let-down as they waved goodbye, calling, "Bye Miss! You're the bomb!"

Then I came home and felt blissful relief as I settled in front of a West Wing DVD with, for the first time in 9 months, no sense of guilt or impending doom.

whoopsie!

I didn't mean to imply that I was quitting missymussy. Just trying to make excuses for being a lame-ola poster.

We're going to the beach today! My mom's brother, his wife and two kids are visiting. It's always more fun to go to the beach with kids (they're in 4th and 8th grade). Last night the little one ordered nachos for dinner, and when the typically huge platter arrived, she gazed at it with wonder, like, "This is all for me? Yesss!" Then, of course, had to take almost all of it home. Stephanie and I wouldn't be caught dead taking home nachos. Or leaving one chip on the plate, right, Steph?

So anyway, the beach. Then I have to come home and whip up some games for the wedding shower I'm "throwing" tomorrow. It's not at my house, I didn't send out the invitations, and I'm contributing one dish. But I'm the maid of honor, so technically I'm throwing it. And thus will be responsible for the cringe-inducing games. But I have 28 prizes, so we'll have to play at least nine games. Any ideas? So far all I have is Celebrity: Couples Edition, where you have to guess famous couples instead of individuals. The best part is, I am providing all the couples. It's my dream version of Celebrity, where I don't have to fool around with other people's crappy contributions to the name bank.

this is how a blog dies

Hmm. I was going to write a bulleted list of various reasons that blogs either lose readers or the interest of their authors. But there's pretty much just one reason: that. The two reasons are one and the same. And there's one reason that I don't write much: I spend my time thinking about things like that.

So. News: Ben is at the brewpub, supposedly working. Pfft. There are 11 and a half days left of school. Only last week did I learn the secret to easy teaching: grammar. Not just grammar, but Xeroxed-from-a-workbook grammar, with the verb tenses and the Anglo-centric sentences. And the kids are actually listening to me! What the?

I guess this probably wouldn't fly for an entire year. But it's pretty fly right now to be able to read over a worksheet five minutes before class, acquaint myself with the future perfect tense (I honestly didn't know what it was before yesterday), come up with a few funny (or so I think) examples to put on the board, and spend a class period feeling like I'm teaching something. Kids like structure. I must remember this for next year, if there is a next year.

i'm still alive

SO-onnnn, I said. Have I got a little story for you. Man you thought was your daddy?

tee, hee.

But for reo, I'm alive. Stay tuned for further details. If you dare.

vocabulary list manifesto

A few months ago, I found a list of SAT prep words on the internet. I've been picking the ten each week that I think are the most important for an adult to know, whether or not s/he goes to college. The stock "use these words in a sentence" has become most students' favorite assignment, and mine. It's easy, may teach them some new words, gives them practice writing, and is a predictable task whose expectations they know well.

Lately, I've started to examine the thought process behind my choices. I realized that I have sentences in mind as I choose the words. While this allows me to pat myself on the back for keeping it relevant to their lives, I've sensed a pattern, and am wondering if I'm foisting an agenda on my hapless studes.

I mean, the sentences write themselves. And often do. But is my subconscious word choice unethical? Am I pushing a leftist agenda when I give them smiley faces for turning a clever phrase that happens to be Bush-bashing or anti-development? See if you can tell what I mean:

1. amass: After they have amassed wealth through generations of privilege, retired haoles from the mainland enjoy moving to Hawaii and exploiting our island while contributing little to the community.

2. animosity: There is a great deal of animosity between locals and tourists.

3. bolster: While tourism does bolster the local economy, one could argue that it leads to a colonialist mindset and strip-mines the island for dubious profit.

4. deter: Most adolescent discipline plans rest on the hope that strong consequences will deter behavior that cannot be legitimately prohibited by any other means.

5. disparity: The disparity between rich (white) schools and poor (brown) schools does not escape students, who recognize that the acceptable standard for their school is not quite as high as some others. [Today when we discussed possible topics for letters to the editor, school lunches aroused the most passion. Seems like a typical, frivolous issue...until you hear one of the free/reduced-lunch kids say, "Our lunches are like prison food, but on the mainland, I hear they get to choose their lunches!" Granted, those mainland kids are eating french fries and drinking Coke, but teri beef patties with white rice aren't much better. And the heartbreaking thing about it was to hear a fifteen-year-old voice the truth--that in some parts of the public sector, fourth-best is good enough--while not being quite able to frame it in relation to larger ideas of how the world works. To him, our lunches are unfair, and McDonald's is the answer. It's also unfair, as the same boy brought up, that he signed up for Auto Shop expecting to learn how engines work, but instead has hammered out dents and done free paint jobs all year.]

Hmm. I think I've built up a sufficient soapbox with five words instead of the intended ten.

What are the chances that a challenging course on engines would have inspired this guy to push himself in science, math, and eventually become an engineer? Probably not high. If he does end up running a body shop, he'll probably make more money than I ever will. But isn't this attitude defeatist, and defeating, at heart?

I know that I am guilty of the very same thing. Teach them how to fill out a job application after the first quarter was filled with failed essay and literature assignments.

I guess what I'm thinking about, as I decide whether or not to even try to do this again next year, is am I doing any good? Should you teach them to make do with what they have? Or try to incite a riot for what they deserve?

a happy relationship is built on posing for pictures against your better judgment

I don't have time to write anything, since I'm behind as usual, but here's a funny picture of Ben. Don't be intimidated by our utterly original photographic vision and whip-smart, dry sense of humor. We don't think we're superior to you.

Don't try this at home!




And here's another idyllic (to me) scene from Waipio Valley. I wonder if my dream home would still have a rusty tin roof if I pictured it in a dank, weedy city block. Probably not.

This was the view from our "sleeping loft." I'd follow it with a view of my classroom to make a point, but it would be too depressing.

It's not so bad. Tomorrow begins the sixth-to-the-last week of school. In the past week, I've eaten at eight or nine good restaurants, spent two days that should've been spent at work unrepentantly reading, and enjoyed the adoring benevolence of my Benj. So I will just try to be grateful that I had some nice days off, and not compare them to the asbestos-clogged week on which I now embark.

Also, I could remember how there were termites in the cottage and my allergies made my nose grow two sizes. AND I was constantly afraid of being bitten by a centipede.

If only Dawber were here.

My work week ends tomorrow, thanks to the self-granted 4-day weekend. Ben's dad and stepmom are visiting us for 10 days, and we are going away with them for two nights to this place.

Now, this all seemed like a grand idea when it first came about. I've wanted to stay here since Ben and I were planning to sneak away from the booksnore in 2004, and I would show photos of it to everyone at work, all, "Look at where I'm going!" We realized we couldn't afford it, and chose instead to stay in my childhood bedroom.

So I was psyched to stay in this cliffside perch, with its purported sweeping ocean vistas and moonlit hot tub. There's only one bedroom, but a sleeping loft sounds fine! According to the website, four people have stayed here and had a great time. Bring on the backgammon.

Until I watched an episode of Coach over the weekend, and realized, this is a mid-90s sitcom plot waiting to happen.

Hayden and Christine, Kelly and Stuart go off for a ski weekend. They arrive at their cabin, to find (to Hayden's fury) that instead of two bedrooms, it has one bedroom and a sleeping loft. Stuart's humidifier, which he needs to combat the altitude, won't work in the sleeping loft, so he and Kelly get the bedroom. Great tension ensues, and eventually Stuart accidentally locks Coach outside while he's soaking in the hot tub.

This would be way more parallel if we were going away with my parents.But I thought I'd still try to make it work. My dad's not a Big Ten football coach, but he is a dedicated UH Rainbow Warrior fan. His relationship to Ben could totally be blown up to Coach/Stuart proportions. And we could convince our tall friend, Alan, to cut his blondish hair into a tilted bowl cut.

Maybe enough years have passed that I could actually sell the story again to someone in Hollywood.

four eyes...that's me!

Guess what? Now I wear glasses!

Pic to come when Ben gets home. This will also be a good chance to show off my Rachel 'do.

Oh, but I only wear the glasses while driving. If I ever go to the movies, I'll wear 'em then too. Maybe now I'll achieve the gravitas and hipness I've long craved.

discipline

It's what I need.

Maybe if I posted everyday, I would write with an economy of words, happen upon daily insights, and gain the trust of you, my readers, that checking my site doesn't hold an 80 % risk of being a complete timewaster (there's something about visiting a site that hasn't been updated since 2003 that makes me very, very depressed, and this happens to me a lot as a teacher).

Other reasons why I need discipline:

* I spent Day I of my III-day weekend (Good Friday is a state holiday for some unfathomable reason I will not question) lying in bed unsatisfyingly until IX (I kept having dreams that I needed to wake up), watching the morning news (I detest Matt Lauer with the heat of a thousand balding, overpaid heads), and "helping" Ben at his paper. "Helping" because I was there for III hours, supposedly proofreading, and spent .V (how do you write fractions in Roman numerals?) of them proofreading, II reading a P.D. James novel, and .V picking at my fingernails.


* I've decided to quit junk food (a recent re-addition to my lifestyle after V years of stoicism), but today I both stopped at Wendy's AND bought a pack of powdered sugar donette gems from the gas station.

* I had to be formally observed by a vice-principal this week, and during the period she was there, three students came in late; I had to shout, "Hey, guys! Will you puh-LEASE listen!" at least five times; the same three students left class early without permission; and another ratted on me for selling drugs at recess. Just kidding about the last one. (Somehow, that is a writing "technique" I just can't seem to let go.) She said my lesson was great, but kindly noted that all first-year teachers struggle with classroom management. Yeah, it's the last quarter. I'm starting to realize that.

* I can't even maintain a lame-brained "theme" like Roman numerals for more than two bullet points.

* I can't restrain my use of parentheses (they make it so easy to write a run-on sentence that mirrors my thought process).

* This list sucks and I'm going to go watch Cheap Seats.