So Much of So Little to Say

1. I like church. Usually. Especially that moment when I finish the Sunday School lesson and don't have to teach for another two weeks.

2. Star gazing up in the canyon is mercilessly hindered with an almost full moon.

3. I don't want to think about the fact that I technically have a mere two weeks of summer vacation left. It creates a colossal pit of dread in my stomach.

4. The annual "Welcome Back Teachers!" letter arrived in the mail only to turn the knife of my summer despair. And don't even get me started on my suck-schedule. The final period of the day is no time for 10 Basic Language Arts. That's all I'm saying.

5. My DVD player has officially left the building. Last night's flick suddenly split-screened and the people turned an eery shade of blue. And my newest Netflix period piece will be here tomorrow. Blast!

6. Remember how once upon a time I lived life sans air conditioning. This is no longer true, my friends. And I revel in the invention of man-made cold air.

7. Except when the bill comes. Then I might have to turn the thermostat up a degree or five.

8. S'mores from the microwave will never be the same as the real thing. But all that hassle for a fire hardly seems worth it.

9. This is why I need a man in my life: building fires, grilling, and the like. And for fixing things I don't want to figure out how to fix.

10. I am 95% of the way through a book that has annoyed me more than anything else. The problem is that I made it through 50% of the thing and thought I shouldn't give up at that point. I think this is a downside of the Kindle. I feel some sort of strange guilt about simply reading another book (though I've never struggled with this in the past). Perhaps it is that whenever I turn it on, it returns to the page at which I left off leaving me with a sense of obligation. I need help.

11. This has put a cramp in my summer reading list goals. Further evidence that I need help.

12. I attempted self-tanner on my legs recently. I'm still not certain how I feel about this. I think I need to admit to myself that I'm a pale white woman--there is no hope for incandescent-free gams.

13. I won't let this thoroughly destroy my self-image. Because

14. At least I paid off the SOBs of Lane Bryant this month. Once and for all. And if they try and send me another tempting coupon in the mail to lure me in to their den of sinfully overpriced clothing, I'm just going to remember that $50 t-shirts, even with a coupon, are a rip off. See: SOBs wasn't too harsh an invective.

15. Besides, most of the store looks like someone went a little crazy with The Bedazzler.

16. Furthermore, my alabaster stems don't matter because I'm a kick-A teacher. 90% of my AP students passed their exam. Over 50% of them had 4's and 5's. I will continue to brag about this all year. Even if they're the ones who accomplished such a feat.

Peace out,

The Rookie

(who happens to be enjoying her summer too much for it to be over already)

Determined

This morning I put on the color red and my new favorite scarf that I've worn three days straight now. The morning brought about many encounters with the snooze function on my phone, and a strange memory of a dream about a bewitched PVC pipe. Sunday nights never cease to offer entertaining sleep.

Yesterday I taught the adult sunday school class at church. The lesson was about self sufficiency and work and the feeling of worth that comes from such things. So when I (finally) awoke today, I said a prayer, determined to enjoy this Monday, this week. Determined to feel all the good things about work. You see, I've been in a funk about my job. This funkiness is not for me. I did go to all that trouble, after all, the anxiety and expense of getting an education in something I loved. I did experience the hassle of searching for a career I knew I'd care for equally so as to avoid such funks. But there is a difference between my ideals and my realities--another post altogether.

I can't put my finger on the source of the funk, either. It is a sense of melancholy diluted into me. Maybe it is the boy at church that flirts and little else. Maybe it is the teenagers and their adolescent stint of irrationality. Perhaps it is the weather or the light.

So here I sit, still in red and my new favorite scarf I wear too much in a cold humming office and a darkening classroom. I'm taking a short break from the grading stacks. In my hours here the sun has risen in a window somewhere away from my own western view; and now it has set behind hills across the basin, its last light filtering into a hazy dusk of approaching winter.

I still feel slumped in my own personal job funk. Adolescents do not cheerful companions make.

But I tell myself this: I did something good today for someone who will never tell me so.

If I didn't tell myself this truth each and every day, even in endless Mondays of slumping such as this, I don't know that I could carry on when I only see the sun through my windows and never feel it on my face. If I didn't believe that the students have a secret all their own, that I wasn't giving someone only the best parts of myself, I don't know why else I could stand to be here.

image by sabino

In Which Oprah Reveals the True Extent of My Neuroses

As many of you already know, NieNie was on Oprah yesterday. Nie was, of course, simply amazing. And she looked beautiful.



I got to thinking about Oprah. I've watched Oprah off and on since I babysat two boys from the neighborhood every day after school in junior high. Sometimes she miffs me into madness, but usually I think she's good people. For whatever reason, I thought about being on The Oprah Winfrey Show. More specifically, I thought of all the reasons I would rather not appear on The Oprah Winfrey Show:

1. A decade makeover. Now, a makeover is grand, but if I'm on for a decade makeover it means I have given up. Oh, may I never be the equivalent of that sickening combination of bad mom jeans and feathered hair.

2. From prison, on Skype for being inappropriate with a student. Let me be honest here, I've never, not even once, been attracted to a student. That is the "no duh, you simply don't do that!" cardinal rule of teaching. The key here: they're adolescents. Children. And everything about them screams that pubescent fact. Which simply isn't tempting to me at all. Is that clear? I have no intentions of ever, ever going there. But before I started teaching it seemed a special on Mary Kay Letourneau and her counterparts appeared in the news every other day. So you become paranoid that you'll one day lose your mind and think that sick, predatorial kind of thing is okay. They didn't go into teaching with that intention, either. So I guess my paranoia leads me to secretly fear I will, like Mary Kay and her Crew of deviants, lose all touch with reality and find that option worthwhile.

3. We really should just combine this one with #2: basically, I don't want to be on Oprah's for anything in which I appear in the headlines. I like my privacy.

4. To ask Dr. Oz an embarrassing question. I don't think my pride could ask what some of those people do.

5. For any kind of furniture jumping.

6. To have my book, reputation, pride, and integrity slaughtered and hung for the world to see. I can't believe James Frey sat through that a few years ago.

That's pretty much it. Frankly, I just want to be invited to an all-teacher audience favorite things show. Is that so much to ask? Oprah, are you listening? I'll wear something bright and pretty.

180 Instruction Days to Go

I just finished my first class of the school year. (Confession: yes, I'm blogging during my 2nd period prep instead of tackling the world's largest to-do list.) So, indulge me. Let me just rant randomly about the things on my mind at the moment.

1. I love everything about my new classroom: the divine view, the large tables instead of miniature desks, the storage space with room to grow into, its close vicinity to the faculty restroom. The chalkboards, on the other hand, could go far, far away and I wouldn't miss them. I hate the gritty feel of chalk, the dust of chalk, the smell, the sound. Oh, how I loathe waiting on the carpentry department to install white boards (six months of waiting).

2. Freshmen get younger and younger yet try to look older and older every year. I swear by this.

3. I'm never going to memorize all of these names.

4. I adore my old students that came to visit me today and can't possibly see how I'll like these new ones just as much. I go through this every year, however, and somehow it just happens.

5. It amazes me how the first day of a class reveals what will be experienced for the entire school year. So far, I'm thinking I'll enjoy my A-1 Language Arts 9 class.

6. I'm exhausted and already my feet hurt. Between moving this weekend (more on that later) and setting up class and planning ahead for school I am worn out. I think I need to install a hammock in my office. I miss my bed.

7. I've already got grading piling up. I love teaching. Grading, on the other hand, can go the way of the chalkboard.

On Wealth, Taboos, Sociology and other Snore-able Topics

Money is a funny thing. Enough of it is always necessary in life, but over time its value shifts. In high school, when my friends and I would make the rounds sharing and complaining about our mediocre after-school jobs, a question was often raised: "How much do they pay there?" Anything over minimum wage and you were lucky. Make over eight dollars an hour and you were an icon. Similar conversations could be had with the right crowd and the correct context in college. But the minute you shook the Dean's sweaty palm and grasped your own around that paper saying your degree would be arriving in the mail shortly, all of that conversation goes out the window.

You see, when it comes to money, it seems there is only one unspoken rule to follow: don't talk about it. Especially not what you make in a single year.

The paradox, you might have noticed, is that money, and the demonstration thereof, exists everywhere (much like our traditional Puritan ideals and sex: avoid the topic altogether while it is salaciously demonstrated at every bend in the free market). In the United States, and other countries to be sure, the demonstration of one's income is a national tradition. We don't use the cliche "keeping up with the Joneses" without provocation. Even more disturbing: we place so much emphasis on the demonstration of that income.

One of my favorite AP prompts I have my students study with includes a quote from Lewis Lapham's Money and Class in America. It reads:

I think it is fair to say that the current ardor of the American faith in money so easily surpasses the degrees of intensity achieved by other societies in other times and places. Money means so many things to us—spiritual as well as temporal—that we are at a loss to know how to hold its majesty at bay.

Lapham's words bring me back to Sociology 1010 my first year in college. It was here that I was introduced to Social Comparison Theory (essentially, it is the measuring up we do in order to place ourselves as--hopefully--elite amongst our peers). Like most sociological theories, it is relatively common sensical. In Leon Festinger's theory (thanks, Wikipedia), launched in the 50's, the comparing was usually done between one's skills, abilities, and opinions and another individual's skills, abilities and opinions. Today, however, I believe Lapham is more spot-on. Especially in the middle and upper classes. Money is a currency far more valuable than previously suspected. Rather than waiting to find out if one is intelligent, or trustworthy, or good based on their actions, we assume by their mere appearance whether or not this is the case. And when I say their appearance I mean *What (or whom) are they wearing? *Is their hair styled professionally? *Are their teeth whitened/straight? *What do they drive? *With what technology do they accessorize?

And all of us are just climbing and scrambling to the top of the best dressed, latest, greatest heap. We gauge an individual's value by how wealthy we perceive them to be--in comparison to ourselves. Other factors enter in, obviously. Festinger's theory wasn't all wrong: we feel better when we feel better than somebody else. But my-oh-my, how our national psyche (and subsequent economy) have been screwed over time and again by our own little egos.

Yes, money is funny. And taboo. But I think, sadly, the joke is on us.

Me x 2

At this particular moment in time I am recalling a certain really lame movie from my childhood: Multiplicity, starring Michael "My Hair Hasn't Changed Since 1983" Keaton. If you're not familiar with the film, seriously, don't waste the 117 minutes, just know that Dolly the sheep was probably its inspiration. Its general concept: old same-hairdo clones himself to get things done and as soon as the clones figure out the privileges of looking like the husband of a certain Andie MacDowell and the benefits of cloning themselves things go awry in predictable Hollywood craptacularity.

Anyway, I'm thinking I wouldn't mind if there were two of me. Even if Me #2 was a little slow, I could have the clone do certain things for me. Grading and cleaning would tie for first on their to do list. Showing up to things I don't want to go to would be next. On easier, laid-back days, this clone could even come in and teach for me (they'd fit in with the adolescents, I'm sure of it). I could come in later, after getting my beauty rest.

Because I am the world's ultimate fan of multi-tasking. And at this particular moment in time I should be getting a variety of things done all at once (writing these thoughts not being one of them). And frankly, on days like this, I could use an extra hand with all of this. I delegate quite nicely.

What about you? If there were two of you, what tasks would you give your other?

The Weird Stuff I Think About

I’ve never been that great at saying “sorry.” I don’t mean the sarcastic “sorry!” I don’t mean the offhand “sorry” because you bumped into someone. Those small, accidental blips make for easy apologies. It is the big one’s I struggle with. The fighting sorrys. The offensive sorrys. The sorrys that feel unfair and filled with injustice. While I may feel horrible, every emotional nuance of that word raging through me, self-loathing sinking in, I sometimes can’t get that one out of my mouth. It is a strange paradox: I believe in the power of the word. I believe in meaning it when you say it. I believe it is one of the most important words we frail and faulted human beings utter. But I’m not always the best at saying it when I’ve really, truly messed up. In spite of what I know, swallowing my pride, my hurt, my offense can be very, very difficult. And I hate that fact about myself.

Last weekend I taught the lesson in Sunday school. It was about a lot of things, but what stood out to me were the sections about meekness. I’ve thought a lot about meekness lately. As a culture, I think most believe meekness is not an attribute to be valued. In fact, meekness spends much of its time mistaken for passivity. But I think that meekness is much different than being the doormat. For one thing, the response of meekness is consciously decided upon, it is an active state of being. Passivity requires nothing beyond sitting back and feeling victimized as life happens TO you. Meekness requires turning the other cheek. It requires forgiving, apologizing, letting go of one’s hurts, one’s pride, one’s own ego. It requires apologizing even when it doesn’t feel fair or just or easy. It requires actively putting the needs and emotions of another before your own. And, oh, how painfully impossible that can be!

I mean this jabber more as discussion-starter than as a complete and absolute thought I have. This is all more of rumination and meditation going on in my little head. These days it seems as though my life runs in winding circles of unanswered, incomplete and unsettled. This post is more about the things I want to improve upon. So what do you think about all of this? Are you meek? Do you swallow your pride? How does one say sorry for those big goof ups? Even harder still, how does one say “I forgive you” and mean it completely? And does anyone feel like they’re improving at any of this stuff? Because lately I feel like some of my weaknesses will never go away

What is Sacred?

There's been a great deal of hoopla in my home state (and beyond) about last night's episode of the HBO series Big Love. Apparently, though I do not watch Big Love, there was a depiction of an ordinance performed in the temples of my personal religion of choice, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Alice, my bestie and brilliant roommate, wrote this post about her opinions on this controversy last week. My church officially made this statement and recently posted this video on you tube:



Then, today, I listened to a local radio program conversation (Radio West) and frankly, I wasn't too impressed by the discussion that took place.

So, now that I have links galore to the official and unofficial thoughts on the matter, I couldn't help but state my own:

I suppose there was a piece of disappointment when I learned HBO would be airing such things. Not angry-disappointment--I feel there really is little reason for outrage to enter the equation (after all, what purpose would that serve me?). Not surprised-disappointment--this isn't the first time, nor will it be the last, I'm sure, that this kind of misrepresentation has occurred in the media or by other means. But a sense of saddened disappointment. Saddened because the ceremonies performed in these temples are sacred to me. So sacred, in fact, that I do not speak of them outside the walls of the temple. And while what happens here may be cause for curiosity and perhaps even confusion in others, for me it is a deeply spiritual experience separate from the other ordinary, day-to-day parts of my life. And having something so special to me used for purposes other than what they were intended is hurtful.

I'm not calling for a boycott of HBO. I'm not out to get the executive producers, the writers, or the actors in the show. That all seems really fruitless for a no-name English teacher to take on. Instead, what this whole conversation has gotten me thinking about is humanity and the sacred. It has me thinking about how we all have different definitions of what is and what is not sacred, and that is okay. It has me thinking that I could always stand to improve in this department. That, though I view myself as a respecter of all beliefs--I find religion in all its forms beautiful and filled with many truths--I could still do better. We all could.

What this experience has reminded me of is that it hurts when someone doesn't recognize how important something is to you and treats it trivially. It doesn't feel okay when, because of their own ignorance or lack of understanding, they take something of a serious nature (to you) lightly or they take it out of context or they simply misuse or misrepresent it because they don't understand.

So, rather than let my feelings of hurt transform into feelings of anger, I think I want to let my hurt transform me. Every faith has beauty in its rituals and beliefs. Every faith is sacred. Every faith deserves to be treated as such--if for no other reason than that the individuals who follow and believe in its doctrines and philosophies are beautiful and deserving of all the respect and understanding I have to give.

should sleep. can't sleep. must blog.

Don't even waste your time reading this post.  Seriously, I'm warning you.  It is random.  You can expect this post to be unforgivingly, utterly, and completely random.  It has been a long week and that is about all the material I can muster.  And none of it really merits the energy of a full-blown post.  And yet, I am propelled to write something about the following:

1.  Went to Chinese and then off see Happy Go Lucky tonight with this sister and this roomie.  The sister and I thought it was good.  Alice didn't really like it.  Ever since then I have been thinking about happiness and attitude and how these two are entirely interrelated.

2. And then I thought a bit about this post. And how quickly I got over it once I had a good night of sleep and a good session of prayer. Because apparently, I forget every now and again about the importance of fitting heartfelt, sincere prayer into my busy life. It grounds me. It reminds me of what really matters. It is healing and rejuvenating and good. And I am grateful for it.

3. I worked out with my roommate/self-appointed trainer last night (okay, I better put a disclaimer in here: Alice is meeting with a trainer every week and then she teaches me everything she learns). Anyway, last night was arms and back. And today I feel like a received a thick, painful vaccination shot in every single muscle in each of my arms. Only maybe a little bit worse.

4. All this working out is good because it makes me sleep well and gives me more energy during the day (usually). But wouldn't you know it is not doing a dang thing about that cruel, cruel number on the scale. Of course, that could be the caramel sundae I ate tonight and similar cheating habits (hence the can't sleep part of the title).

5. Today, instead of teaching, I went to a conference with several students at my school. It was put on by the inclusion center at a nearby college. During this event, we talked about several -isms, but focused deeply on only two (apparently, this is going to be a repeat thing with an eventual retreat). Anyway, the facilitators focused our attention on sexism and racism today and listening to the students' perspectives on the subtle images and expectations of men and women was enlightening. It felt like college all over again. I loved how fresh and new these ideas were for them. I forget how these issues aren't brought up in high school in quite the same way. At least, I don't get those same opportunities in my class. I forget how much they all still have to learn. I forget how college changes a person forever.

6. I don't know what I was thinking (okay, maybe it is the worry of a car payment, debt, desired travel opportunities, Christmas' approach), but I applied for a part-time job last night at Lane Bryant last night whilst unloading myself of the burden of a gift certificate (it's a tough job, but someone had to do it).  I love the idea of just a few extra bucks every month to swing around.  I loathe the idea of fewer hours of my own every week.

7. I love that tomorrow is Saturday. I love that Thanksgiving is on the way and I can put my Christmas tree in its corner soon. I love that it is this time of year.  I only wish it didn't include the worry of purchasing presents and the "well, I better get one for them in case they got one for me" stress.  I don't want that present worry downside of Christmas.  I want to decorate my house and put on a wintery candle and eat hot cocoa and maybe just wrap presents of items I already own so there are presents neath the tree.  And, really, wouldn't these presents feel new again after being hidden for a month?  

8. Finally, to end this randomness with a real bang, I thought I'd include this "how's that for random?" cartoon. Why not, right?

Lessons in the Arbitrary

My sister, who shall remain nameless as I have many sisters, recently took her adolescent daughter and her daughter's friend to the theater to enjoy a chick flick. The advertisements for this particular film did not indicate the sexually explicit innuendo that was a near constant in the dialogue nor did it mention the questionable "props" that were featured in the film. And so, two hours later, she exited the theater with these two 13-year-olds asking questions she was not prepared to answer, most of which she shouldn't have to answer.

Was this trailer false advertising? Possibly so--but aren't they all. Could she have walked out? Yes. But how many of us have actually walked out on of a theater that we felt a little bit uncomfortable in? I can count two times that I've done this in my life and half of these early-exits were with this particular sister. And both times I didn't have the guts to ask for a refund because I figured it was up to me as the consumer to research the films/plays I watch and make a decision based on that research. Knowing that I paid good money for a movie, my cheap side insists I stay while my angelic side (yes, I have one)says "sunk cost, sister, get the heck outta here!" My cheap side, as you can tell by my two early-exits record, typically wins out. But I digress.

My question is, as a consumer, shouldn't I have some sort of quick-guide which tells me the appropriateness of a film? Oh wait, there is one: enter the MPAA Film Ratings System. This ratings system, as many of you know, places a film in four categories: G (General Audience), PG (Parental Guidance), PG-13 (Parental Guidance for children 13 and older), and R (Restricted Audience). Now, there is an NC--17 rating, but this particular rating doesn't register on my radar and I'm assuming the same of my readership, so I'm not going include it in my discussion here. We'll just say that I rely on these four little categories to determine which films I will see and which films I will most likely skip. But, I think there is a fault or two in this system. No offense to the board who is, in all actuality, trying to provide a needed service. But the truth is that your little system ain't working so well.

Did you know that the ratings of films are selected by vote. Yes, the board of Los Angeles-based parents votes on the rating after viewing and holding a discussion. So if the majority says PG-13, and a few say R, PG-13 wins out. Bada-bing: you take your 13 year old to the movie they've been harrassing you about for the past month "because it's only PG-13, Ma!" and regret caving in within the first half hour. All the while knowing, that if you, as a parent, would have cast your vote that baby would have been a solid R. No discussion needed.

Now, if you research a little more you will discover why a film received the rating that it did with little warnings like: Rated PG-13 for "drug usage" or "partial nudity" or "strong language" or "adult content." Now, I know what drug usage is, but how much drug usage is going to take place in this particular film? And does it convey that drug usage in a positive or negative light because that makes a difference for me. And that strong language, are we talking I stubbed my toe in the dark and maybe slipped a curse out or are we talking about the kind of language I hear in the halls at the public high school I teach at? And adult content, what the heck is adult content? And we all know the nudity in Schindler's List isn't the same as the nudity in some films. You see, for me, their additional guidelines don't guide me all that much, rather, these guidelines serve to confuse me even more.

So, here I am, little old consumer, left dumbfounded, uncertain, and pretty sure I don't even want to go to the movie for fear of what my eyes or ears might be accosted with when I thought I was going to watch a kid's film with "mild violence". But I am not here to merely complain. I also want to offer a solution.

Film-makers, here's the thing: You have got to start making more appropriate movies for general audiences. While I'm not one to say "censor, censor, censor," especially when it comes to one's art, I'm one who thinks "selling sex" isn't an art form. And please do tell me how most major blockbusters should be considered "art" because last I checked it was more about plots, special effects, and big name-actors than being artistic. (As an unnecessary side note: strangely, many of the "artsy" indy-films I've been to aren't as prone to accost my senses.)

I repeat myself: You have GOT to start making more appropriate movies for general audiences. Movies that aren't pushing envelopes. Movies that entertain. Movies that don't just drop the f-bomb because they can do it and still receive a PG-13 rating. You, Hollywood, are forgetting your audience is a human audience with a variety of values and standards. We go to these blockbuster kinds of movies for two glorious hours of suspended reality and sheer entertainment. We don't go for the sexually graphic material. Some of us actually cringe when it comes to violence. And I can stop my students from dropping the f-bomb, sure, but you just shout it out willy-nilly and there ain't much I can do about it but shake my head in disappointment.

Film makers, did you know that I get a little worry knot in my stomach when I say, "Let's catch a movie"? Some weekends I have my choice of either the one sole G-rated film with talking pandas (every 27-year-old single female's dream) or 12-16 R-rated violence-filled, sexually-laden, language-defiling films at my local mega-plex. Surely you can do better than that. Because, at this rate, I, the movie-lover among movie-lovers, am just not going to show up anymore.

To Read and Not to Read

May I vent a moment? Because I am going to vent. You see, earlier this summer I picked up two books and because summer is awfully busy sometimes, I finally finished both of them (and started a couple more in between because that's just my style), and one was okay and one really, really ticks me off.

I liked this book:


It was fairly well-written, the characters were developed quite nicely, the plot was simple enough, but the writer understood the complexities that can spring from that simplicity. I didn't appreciate the sexual content, but then, I never appreciate the sexual content because, frankly--who needs to read that? It wasn't grocery-store-paper-back-romance-novel-graphic or anything, but I think it could have left more off the page in that regard. I would recommend it with that warning to you all.

Then, there was this book:


Let me be honest, I finished this book for the mere purpose of writing this seething review. I picked this number up thinking, oh, that could be good, the inside flap made it sound like it could be intriguing. Wrong! All wrong. I felt insulted as a reader. James Patterson and Gabrielle Charbonnet co-wrote this monstrosity of a book. So, Jim, Gabby here are a few words of wisdom for your mass-produced crap: People come in many different categories, as do characters. But the good or bad, black or white, flat, stagnant, boring characters you've created (and I use that term loosely) in Sunday's at Tiffany's don't seem to fit in any categories familiar to me--write some more complexity into them and I might feel slightly more connected. Also, the female psyche is not as cut and dried--"in order to be happy I need ice cream and somebody to love me" as you make it out to be. As I feel that your book was marketed to a female readership, I must ask you, What in the SAM HAM HILL were you thinking in creating women as either the bitch or the ice-cream eating victim? Seriously, Gabby, Jim, terrible, terrible novel.

And I won't even get started on the Junie B. Jones-sized font, margins, spaces, etc. (And Junie, honey, I love you, you are great and fantastic and more complex than any of the characters in this book I'm discussing--I'm sorry I made reference to your 2nd grade reading level sized font, but I needed to prove a point).

I only tell you all this to say don't waste your hard-earned money as I did. And if you liked it, okay, I'm glad you liked it. Frankly, I think there probably is a readership for this book, but it sure as heck wasn't me.

Oh, and I think James Patterson is an ego-maniac. First clue--his photo covered the entirety of the back cover of the book. Big, fat-headed Jimmy on the back cover of the book! HELLO--I should have known the minute I picked the blasted thing up that it wasn't for me. That is NOT my kind of author.

Random Thoughts for a Friday

After a wretched work-filled week of teaching (same old-same old), ESL Endorsement class (gag), parent teacher conferences (snore), I have today off. I've spent the morning sleeping in and catching up on blogs from the week. Today my motors are on mellow mode but I want to post something. Here is a sampling of the randomness floating through this noggin o' mine:

1. For some odd reason I feel really awful about Leap Year babies. It all stems back to first grade when Mrs. White/Green/Black (okay, I only know it was a color...my 1st & 5th grade teachers were named after a color) made a big stink about how it wasn't ACTUALLY Joe's birthday, but we were celebrating it on the 28th nonetheless. Poor Joe, the kid born on February 29th who only saw his birthday every four years. I, with my birthday just around the corner, was devastated that he didn't REALLY get his birthday. It seemed cheap and merciless. It did then. It still does now.

2. I believe in big earrings. If you are going to wear earrings, they should be noticeable. Not gaudy. Just noticeable. I think we can attribute this to my dark, curly hair, which swallows up the simplest of studs. Perhaps big earrings are the antidote to this little problem. For example:

Oooh-la-la:

and

Oooh-la-WTF-is-on-your-ear?

3. I love fresh basil. I really do. I spent the extra $2.73 for some at my local grocer last time I went and I chopped some up on my frozen Kashi pizza I had for brunch this morning (I'm such a nutritional health nut on these days off of mine, later I'll be breaking into the chocolate, be sure). And do you pronounce basil the British way (Baaaa-Zill) or the American way (Bay-zill)?

4. Why is it that on the days I have not many pressing things to do (like, say, work), I delay showering as long as possible?

5. I recently purchased a pair of these (with corral pink piping, instead of banana) on clearance from Old Navy and I LOVE them. Surprisingly comfortable. Many compliments ensue whenever I wear them. I'm thinking of what I could wear them with today...once I shower, of course.

6. I cannot live without I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Spray. Seriously, what did I do before this stuff?

7. I'm looking for a new perfume scent for my upcoming birthday (someone's bound to gift it to me, right?) and I really feel at a loss. Echo by Davidoff has been my signature scent. I'm thinking I need something new. Any suggestions?

8. I really think this girl is great:

You should read her blog and all feel green with the jealousy of knowing that she is MY best friend (and a very loyal best friend at that).

9. And, lest I reveal my completely shallow and trivial nature: Yesterday, I heard a dreary statistic. In the United States today every 1 in 100 adults is in the prison system. We are, of course, paying more tax dollars for the prison system than for higher education now. Does anyone else think we are doing something very, very wrong in this country?

And I guess that is that. I think I give off the appearance of intelligence, but truth is I have simple, uncreative thoughts scooting through my brain ALL DAY LONG...and everybody knows it.