Lost and Found
As you may or may not know, depending on how faithfully you follow these on-line postings, several months ago we became the proud foster family for a pair of baby desert tortoises that we wound up naming Uno and Dos in honor of our Spanish heritage (our living-in-Tucson heritage, not our actual lineage, which is not Spanish, but is in fact Scottish (Katie) and German (me) and which would have led us to name the tortoises Yin and Twa or Ein and Zwei, depending on whose heritage we wanted to honor). We also named them Uno and Dos because it was catchy and clever (and the names Connor suggested were ridiculous and silly), which is often the goal when coming up with names for animals, although there is a school of thought that animals shouldn't be given names at all because it's confusing to small children who begin to think that animals are people when they're really not, so you should name a duck, Duck or a chicken, Chicken, or a guinea pig, Pig (which is generally what I call whatever guinea pig(s) happen to be residing with us at any given time). Anyhow, these two baby tortoises are very, very adorable because they're little tiny creatures - and because tortoises are kind of cool looking even when they're not little or tiny, and we quickly set about updating our tortoise den so it would be suitable for babies. This involved digging out all the dirt that our dearly-departed-and-still-greatly-missed tortoise, Albert John, had dug into the den, then adding some cinder blocks around the outside so it was enclosed, putting down a layer of pea-gravel, adding a wading pool and some landscaping, and then covering the whole thing in chicken wire so the big bad birds can't swoop in and grab our little critters. Needless to say, the end result was both aesthetically pleasing and practical, and any tortoise would be thrilled to move into such a high-class joint. And so, Uno and Dos moved in and promptly went into hibernation. Every once in awhile, we would check up on them just to see how they were doing, and they were doing just fine until one day about a month or so ago, Katie went out to check on them and discovered that, while we thought they were sleeping, the little imps had actually been cooking up an escape plan. I'm not sure when they did it, but the little sneaks were secretly burrowing under a boulder that made up one of the walls of the enclosure (not sure if they were sneaking out the dirt by carrying it in their pockets, then dumping it on the ground, but I wouldn't put it past them). So when Katie discovered this, she burrowed in after them, and to her dismay, only found one of the tortoises - ironically enough, the one tortoise she found was Uno. Which meant that Dos was missing. She immediately formed up a search party and we wandered around the backyard calling, "Dos, Dos. Wherefore art thou, Dos?" and whistling and making tortoise calling sounds, but much to our dismay, Dos was not to be found. So we fortified our enclosure to keep Uno from following Dos and hoped that Dos would somehow manage to survive in the wild. As stated before, that was about a month or so ago. Well, yesterday afternoon, Carrie was walking out into the backyard and who do you think she spotted sitting by the door? That's right, it was Dos. He was looking kind of scraggly and dirty, but his eyes were shining and he obviously had been having a fine old time wandering around who-knows-where and getting into all kinds of mischief. And so this story has a happy ending because Dos is now back at home with Uno, the enclosure should be escape-proof (we hope), and… okay, I guess there is no and, because that's it.
Living the High Life
Katie and I spent the weekend in Estes Park (Colorado) celebrating cousin Molly's nuptials. It always feels a little surreal to get on a plane in Tucson, where it's pushing 100 degrees, and then a little over an hour later to arrive in Denver, where it's most definitely not in the 100's. Anyway, I suppose the wedding was beautiful and all that junk, but the most important part of all this (okay, the most important part to me, which just goes to show where my priorities lie) was that it gave me a chance to run a goodly portion (18 miles) of the Estes Park Marathon route in preparation for the Estes Park Marathon which I'll be running in about three-and-a-half weeks, and I have to say that the course is absolutely breath-taking. Partly because it's spectacularly beautiful as you wind around lakes, follow mountain streams, gaze up a snow-capped peaks, and pass through and pine/aspen forests and alpine meadows where deer and elk are grazing, and partly/mostly because the elevation is between 7,500 and 8,100 feet, and there's not nearly as much oxygen at 7,500 to 8,100 feet as there is in the "Old Pueblo" (elevation around 2,500 feet) and it's especially breath-taking on the four-mile stretch that goes up from 7,500 feet 8,100 feet. So after huffing and puffing my way around the course, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to set any speed records during this event, which I was pretty much figuring going in, but I'm also pretty sure that this might wind up surpassing the Anchorage Marathon as my favorite and most scenic course.
That does it for this edition, so until next time may your pens remain filled with ink, may your words of wisdom be honored and obeyed, and may your wayward wanderers return safely home (unless you want them to stay away, in which case, I hope they stay away).
Monday, May 18, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The Heat is On
The iceman cometh…
Here in the "Old Pueblo" we have a tradition which goes back lo those many years and which involves making wagers as to when the "ice will break on the Rillito River." When I first heard about this, I was rather confused - for a couple of different reasons. One was that while the sign next to the Rillito River says, "Rillito River," it doesn't really seem like much of a river, mainly because (except on rare occasions when we get big ol' rainstorms) it doesn't have any water in it. So how can you have a river without water? It's kind of like going to the restaurant and ordering a big ol' juicy hamburger, but then the waiter brings you a bun with no hamburger. Maybe there's a pickle and lettuce and a tomato and an onion slice, but you ordered a hamburger, not a pickle/lettuce/tomato/onion sandwich, right? So you storm out of the restaurant and vow to tell all your friends never to frequent this establishment, and if you're really, really steamed (and of the litigious mindset) you file a lawsuit against the restaurant for extreme mental suffering, which winds up taking over a large portion of your life and leads you down a self-destructive pathway tbat leaves you worse off than you were on that fateful day you walked into the restaurant in the first place. All because of the hamburger-less hamburger. Or the waterless river. And then the second confusing thing is that when I heard the phrase about the "ice breaking" it was May, and when it's May and you're in Tucson, it's generally pretty darned hot, so the only ice that you can find is in your freezer (or in an ice machine at the grocery store). So what was this ice people were talking about? Well, it turns out that they're not really talking about ice at all, and instead are being ironically humorous (as residents of the "Old Pueblo" are known to be) and what the phrase actually is referring to is the first day that the temperature officially goes above 100 degrees. Apparently, that day is today (though I haven't heard the official word yet) and it seems a couple of weeks too early to me, so in honor of the "ice breaking on the Rillito," here is a list of similes to describe exactly how hot it is now that the "ice has broken."
How hot is it?
It's as hot as…
…a sidewalk that's so hot you can fry an egg on it.
…the sun when it's surrounded by about a million other suns that are beating down on the sun with all the power of a million suns.
…a fire that's made out of wood that's been marinating in acid for a really long time (oh wait, that wouldn't work because the acid would eat away the wood, wouldn't it? So let's say it's acid-resistant wood that's been marinating in acid for a really long time).
…a furnace that's filled with that same acid-resistant, acid-marinated wood that's burning like a raging inferno.
…a towering inferno were people are trapped inside and everyone watching the movie is sure they're going to die, and some of them actually do (well, not actually, because it is a movie, after all).
…pepper that's been crushed and grated into little tiny pieces, but then one of the little tiny pieces somehow works its way under your gumline while you're eating so that it burns really bad.
…a piece of metal that's been in a forge for a really long time - but not until it melts - or wait, yeah, it is melted, because that's how hot it is - hot enough to melt metal.
…the hot air that's used to make a hot air balloon rise into the sky, only this hot air is so hot that the hot air balloon just keeps on rising until it leaves the atmosphere and goes into outer space (at which point, it loses its heat and the hot air balloon and everything in it reenter the atmosphere and burn to a crisp because hot air balloons aren't designed with heat shields like space shuttles are).
…the hot seat that you would be sitting on if you were in really bad trouble for doing something that was really bad and then you got caught and somebody had called you into their office and made you sit in the "hot seat."
…the extra hot hot sauce that's green instead of red and that has a warning label that says something like, "Warning, this hot sauce is really hot and may cause extreme discomfort if ingested by anyone who doesn't like really hot hot sauce."
…those little blackish-reddish peppers that come in Szechwan food - you know, the ones that you sometimes accidentally miss and wind up picking up with your chopsticks (if you use chopsticks - I don't because I get too impatient and it takes too long to eat with chopsticks) and putting into your mouth, and when you bite down on it, it feels like your whole mouth is on fire, so you drink a bunch of water, but that doesn't really help, and your face turns red and you start to sweat and it's really, really uncomfortable (though everyone else at your table finds it highly amusing).
…a really hot day in the desert, like when it's May and the temperature has just broken 100 degrees for the first time, and everyone is walking around saying things like, "I guess the ice has broken on the Rillito."
…a black leather car seat when the car has been sitting in the parking lot of the Tucson Mall for a couple of hours in the afternoon on a a really hot day, like the first day of the year when the temperature goes above 100 degrees, and you forget how hot it is because you're still in the "cool-weather mode" so you didn't put up the sun shade, and you're wearing shorts and you hop into the car and sit down without thinking about it.
…a big steaming bowl of five-alarm chili that's been cooking all day - at a high enough heat that it's bubbling, and then you take the bowl and put it in the microwave for a couple of more minutes, and when you pull the bowl out it's so hot that it burns the tips of your fingers, and when you put a spoon into the chili, it's so hot that it melts the metal so you have to tip the bowl out and pour it into your mouth, which is a really bad idea because anything that's hot enough to melt a spoon can't be good for your digestive system.
…a steaming vat of hot water that's been sitting over a roaring fire for so long that all the water has boiled away and all that's left at the bottom is a scorch mark and some mineral deposits.
…the planet Earth after the level of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere reaches a high enough level to create an extreme greenhouse effect that melts all the polar icecaps and raises the level of the oceans and wipes out all the coastal areas and makes large swaths of land uninhabitable, changing life as we know it forevermore.
…the bottoms of your feet when you go walking down a street on a really hot day when the sun is beating down on the blacktop and heatwaves are creating mirages on the horizon and buzzards are circling overhead and you're starting to hallucinate because you've got a mild case of heatstroke.
…my high school senior picture - which was displayed for my 8th grade class during a student presentation today thanks to my lovely wife who conspired with one of my students to provide secret information about me to that student, who then shared that information (in the form of a poem) with the aforementioned 8th grade class along with the aforementioned photo during her aforementioned presentation.
Okay, I could probably come up with a few more, but you get the idea (if you stuck around through all that mish-mash). So until next time, may your prose be purple, may your knots be tangled, and may your jellybeans come in all your favorite flavors.
Here in the "Old Pueblo" we have a tradition which goes back lo those many years and which involves making wagers as to when the "ice will break on the Rillito River." When I first heard about this, I was rather confused - for a couple of different reasons. One was that while the sign next to the Rillito River says, "Rillito River," it doesn't really seem like much of a river, mainly because (except on rare occasions when we get big ol' rainstorms) it doesn't have any water in it. So how can you have a river without water? It's kind of like going to the restaurant and ordering a big ol' juicy hamburger, but then the waiter brings you a bun with no hamburger. Maybe there's a pickle and lettuce and a tomato and an onion slice, but you ordered a hamburger, not a pickle/lettuce/tomato/onion sandwich, right? So you storm out of the restaurant and vow to tell all your friends never to frequent this establishment, and if you're really, really steamed (and of the litigious mindset) you file a lawsuit against the restaurant for extreme mental suffering, which winds up taking over a large portion of your life and leads you down a self-destructive pathway tbat leaves you worse off than you were on that fateful day you walked into the restaurant in the first place. All because of the hamburger-less hamburger. Or the waterless river. And then the second confusing thing is that when I heard the phrase about the "ice breaking" it was May, and when it's May and you're in Tucson, it's generally pretty darned hot, so the only ice that you can find is in your freezer (or in an ice machine at the grocery store). So what was this ice people were talking about? Well, it turns out that they're not really talking about ice at all, and instead are being ironically humorous (as residents of the "Old Pueblo" are known to be) and what the phrase actually is referring to is the first day that the temperature officially goes above 100 degrees. Apparently, that day is today (though I haven't heard the official word yet) and it seems a couple of weeks too early to me, so in honor of the "ice breaking on the Rillito," here is a list of similes to describe exactly how hot it is now that the "ice has broken."
How hot is it?
It's as hot as…
…a sidewalk that's so hot you can fry an egg on it.
…the sun when it's surrounded by about a million other suns that are beating down on the sun with all the power of a million suns.
…a fire that's made out of wood that's been marinating in acid for a really long time (oh wait, that wouldn't work because the acid would eat away the wood, wouldn't it? So let's say it's acid-resistant wood that's been marinating in acid for a really long time).
…a furnace that's filled with that same acid-resistant, acid-marinated wood that's burning like a raging inferno.
…a towering inferno were people are trapped inside and everyone watching the movie is sure they're going to die, and some of them actually do (well, not actually, because it is a movie, after all).
…pepper that's been crushed and grated into little tiny pieces, but then one of the little tiny pieces somehow works its way under your gumline while you're eating so that it burns really bad.
…a piece of metal that's been in a forge for a really long time - but not until it melts - or wait, yeah, it is melted, because that's how hot it is - hot enough to melt metal.
…the hot air that's used to make a hot air balloon rise into the sky, only this hot air is so hot that the hot air balloon just keeps on rising until it leaves the atmosphere and goes into outer space (at which point, it loses its heat and the hot air balloon and everything in it reenter the atmosphere and burn to a crisp because hot air balloons aren't designed with heat shields like space shuttles are).
…the hot seat that you would be sitting on if you were in really bad trouble for doing something that was really bad and then you got caught and somebody had called you into their office and made you sit in the "hot seat."
…the extra hot hot sauce that's green instead of red and that has a warning label that says something like, "Warning, this hot sauce is really hot and may cause extreme discomfort if ingested by anyone who doesn't like really hot hot sauce."
…those little blackish-reddish peppers that come in Szechwan food - you know, the ones that you sometimes accidentally miss and wind up picking up with your chopsticks (if you use chopsticks - I don't because I get too impatient and it takes too long to eat with chopsticks) and putting into your mouth, and when you bite down on it, it feels like your whole mouth is on fire, so you drink a bunch of water, but that doesn't really help, and your face turns red and you start to sweat and it's really, really uncomfortable (though everyone else at your table finds it highly amusing).
…a really hot day in the desert, like when it's May and the temperature has just broken 100 degrees for the first time, and everyone is walking around saying things like, "I guess the ice has broken on the Rillito."
…a black leather car seat when the car has been sitting in the parking lot of the Tucson Mall for a couple of hours in the afternoon on a a really hot day, like the first day of the year when the temperature goes above 100 degrees, and you forget how hot it is because you're still in the "cool-weather mode" so you didn't put up the sun shade, and you're wearing shorts and you hop into the car and sit down without thinking about it.
…a big steaming bowl of five-alarm chili that's been cooking all day - at a high enough heat that it's bubbling, and then you take the bowl and put it in the microwave for a couple of more minutes, and when you pull the bowl out it's so hot that it burns the tips of your fingers, and when you put a spoon into the chili, it's so hot that it melts the metal so you have to tip the bowl out and pour it into your mouth, which is a really bad idea because anything that's hot enough to melt a spoon can't be good for your digestive system.
…a steaming vat of hot water that's been sitting over a roaring fire for so long that all the water has boiled away and all that's left at the bottom is a scorch mark and some mineral deposits.
…the planet Earth after the level of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere reaches a high enough level to create an extreme greenhouse effect that melts all the polar icecaps and raises the level of the oceans and wipes out all the coastal areas and makes large swaths of land uninhabitable, changing life as we know it forevermore.
…the bottoms of your feet when you go walking down a street on a really hot day when the sun is beating down on the blacktop and heatwaves are creating mirages on the horizon and buzzards are circling overhead and you're starting to hallucinate because you've got a mild case of heatstroke.
…my high school senior picture - which was displayed for my 8th grade class during a student presentation today thanks to my lovely wife who conspired with one of my students to provide secret information about me to that student, who then shared that information (in the form of a poem) with the aforementioned 8th grade class along with the aforementioned photo during her aforementioned presentation.
Okay, I could probably come up with a few more, but you get the idea (if you stuck around through all that mish-mash). So until next time, may your prose be purple, may your knots be tangled, and may your jellybeans come in all your favorite flavors.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Shoes, Schools, Chocolate Bars, and the Four Corners Controversy
Patent leather
Way back when Caitlyn was first born, I made one of those ridiculous proclamations which I am wont to do - something like, "No daughter of mine will ever wear a pair of those black patent leather shoes." I'm not exactly sure what prompted me to make this proclamation, other than thinking that those black patent leather shoes that little girls wear are kind of silly. Anyway, as is often the case when I make these types of proclamations, it had no effect on future events, and Caitlyn wore not just one, but several pairs of black patent leather shoes during the course of her growing up. My only comfort was that I was never the one who actually purchased these shoes (her grandmother was the purchaser). And I have to admit she did look pretty cute when she was wearing them. Why this trip down memory lane? you ask. Well, I reply, imagine my surprise/shock/dismay when my wife and son returned from a shoe-buying expedition with, you guessed it, a pair of black patent leather shoes. Granted, they are black patent leather Air Jordan basketball shoes, but still.
My lovely, but somewhat confused, wife
One evening last week, Katie informed me that she would be home late the following day because she was helping out at some event at Cross Middle School. I didn't say anything, but I did wonder why she was helping out at Cross, since none of our kids are there this year. So the next day, she got home from helping out and said, "I was just finishing up with the setting up when the principal came and asked me how Carrie was doing in high school, and I realized that I don't have a kid at Cross - so why did I volunteer to help out?" Apparently, the principal didn't know, either.
Parenting 101
Many readers will already know that my son, Connor, like his mother, has a wicked sweet tooth. Because of this, we often have to hide things like chocolate chips or girls scout cookies, or they disappear in approximately 2.3 seconds. So Katie went to Trader Joe's the other day and got her weekly supply of dark chocolate, which she stores in the freezer and eats a little bit at a time to soothe the savage beast of chocolate craving that lives within her, and when Connor asked who the chocolate was for, she lied and told him it was mine so he'd be too scared to steal it. I'm not sure whether I'm flattered or offended by this, but it did make me laugh.
Happy birthday to you, you work in a zoo
Apparently, the chorus director at my school has a birthday policy which involves bringing the chorus to a person's classroom on their birthday and singing them a birthday song. She told me about this on the morning of my birthday, and I told her I didn't have a class that period, so she asked if I could come to them so they didn't have to haul all their stuff, and I said sure. Later that morning, I went into the chorus room expecting a souped-up version of the happy birthday song - or maybe the Beatle's Birthday song, or something along those lines. But is that what I got? No, it was not. They did sing a Beatle's song, but it was "Yesterday." As in, "Yesterday, all your troubles were so faraway…" and "Now I need a place to hide away…" and "I'm not half the man I used to be…" O-kay. Quite the picker-upper.
Newsflash
Many years ago, on one of our expeditions, Katie and I drove through the Four Corners area and stopped so that we could say that we had experienced the amazing experience that is standing at the only point in the US where you can stand in four states at the same time (AZ, CO, UT, NM). It was, without a doubt, one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. I still remember the chills that ran down my spine as I realized that I was standing - in - four - states- at -the - same - time. Needless to say, tears flowed and goosebumps tingled. Well, imagine my shock and dismay when I opened up the paper the other day and discovered that the spot that marks the four corners isn't actually the four corners spot at all. The real four corners spot is about 1 1/2 miles away because the surveyors who completed the survey that located the four corners way back in the 1800's messed up (apparently pretty badly if they were 1 1/2 miles off). So for all these years, millions of four corners visitors have been duped and deluded and are basically living a lie when they claim that they've stood in four states at the same time. And I'm one of them. Oh, the shame.
That's all I've got for now, so until next time may your shoes fit snugly but comfortably, may your mind remain clear and lucid, and may your claims to fame never be invalidated.
Way back when Caitlyn was first born, I made one of those ridiculous proclamations which I am wont to do - something like, "No daughter of mine will ever wear a pair of those black patent leather shoes." I'm not exactly sure what prompted me to make this proclamation, other than thinking that those black patent leather shoes that little girls wear are kind of silly. Anyway, as is often the case when I make these types of proclamations, it had no effect on future events, and Caitlyn wore not just one, but several pairs of black patent leather shoes during the course of her growing up. My only comfort was that I was never the one who actually purchased these shoes (her grandmother was the purchaser). And I have to admit she did look pretty cute when she was wearing them. Why this trip down memory lane? you ask. Well, I reply, imagine my surprise/shock/dismay when my wife and son returned from a shoe-buying expedition with, you guessed it, a pair of black patent leather shoes. Granted, they are black patent leather Air Jordan basketball shoes, but still.
My lovely, but somewhat confused, wife
One evening last week, Katie informed me that she would be home late the following day because she was helping out at some event at Cross Middle School. I didn't say anything, but I did wonder why she was helping out at Cross, since none of our kids are there this year. So the next day, she got home from helping out and said, "I was just finishing up with the setting up when the principal came and asked me how Carrie was doing in high school, and I realized that I don't have a kid at Cross - so why did I volunteer to help out?" Apparently, the principal didn't know, either.
Parenting 101
Many readers will already know that my son, Connor, like his mother, has a wicked sweet tooth. Because of this, we often have to hide things like chocolate chips or girls scout cookies, or they disappear in approximately 2.3 seconds. So Katie went to Trader Joe's the other day and got her weekly supply of dark chocolate, which she stores in the freezer and eats a little bit at a time to soothe the savage beast of chocolate craving that lives within her, and when Connor asked who the chocolate was for, she lied and told him it was mine so he'd be too scared to steal it. I'm not sure whether I'm flattered or offended by this, but it did make me laugh.
Happy birthday to you, you work in a zoo
Apparently, the chorus director at my school has a birthday policy which involves bringing the chorus to a person's classroom on their birthday and singing them a birthday song. She told me about this on the morning of my birthday, and I told her I didn't have a class that period, so she asked if I could come to them so they didn't have to haul all their stuff, and I said sure. Later that morning, I went into the chorus room expecting a souped-up version of the happy birthday song - or maybe the Beatle's Birthday song, or something along those lines. But is that what I got? No, it was not. They did sing a Beatle's song, but it was "Yesterday." As in, "Yesterday, all your troubles were so faraway…" and "Now I need a place to hide away…" and "I'm not half the man I used to be…" O-kay. Quite the picker-upper.
Newsflash
Many years ago, on one of our expeditions, Katie and I drove through the Four Corners area and stopped so that we could say that we had experienced the amazing experience that is standing at the only point in the US where you can stand in four states at the same time (AZ, CO, UT, NM). It was, without a doubt, one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. I still remember the chills that ran down my spine as I realized that I was standing - in - four - states- at -the - same - time. Needless to say, tears flowed and goosebumps tingled. Well, imagine my shock and dismay when I opened up the paper the other day and discovered that the spot that marks the four corners isn't actually the four corners spot at all. The real four corners spot is about 1 1/2 miles away because the surveyors who completed the survey that located the four corners way back in the 1800's messed up (apparently pretty badly if they were 1 1/2 miles off). So for all these years, millions of four corners visitors have been duped and deluded and are basically living a lie when they claim that they've stood in four states at the same time. And I'm one of them. Oh, the shame.
That's all I've got for now, so until next time may your shoes fit snugly but comfortably, may your mind remain clear and lucid, and may your claims to fame never be invalidated.
Friday, April 17, 2009
N.P.M.
In honor of "National Poetry Month"
According to the Academy of American Poets (now there's a group that probably has some rip-roaring parties), back in 1996, the Academy of American Poets decided to create a National Poetry Month which is now held every April and is a time when "publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events." Hmm. Isn't the whole idea of a group of dedicated poets creating a month that's dedicated to the thing they're dedicated to kind of suspicious? Kind of like if the Academy of American Novelists (is there such a thing?) were to declare a "National Novel Month". Or if the Academy of American Essayists (again, is there such a creature?) declared a "National Essay Month" (now that's just silly). Or if the Academy of American Memoirists decided that memoirs actually had to be true (yikes). Or how about if the American Dairy Farmers conducting a study that concludes that drinking chocolate milk after vigorous exercise is just as effective for recovery as sports drinks (oops, I guess they actually did that). Anyway, the point, if you missed it is this: isn't this a blatant example of self-promotion. And I actually like poetry, so imagine the uproar from people who have a negative attitudes towards iambic pentameter, rhymed couplets, metaphorical imagery, etc. Well, in the interest of maintaining some semblance of forward momentum, I imagine that you're probably wondering exactly what's involved in celebrating a "National Poetry Month" which we're currently in the middle of celebrating. Here are just a few ideas you can try on for size (all of these, and more, can be found at http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/41):
-You can sign up to receive a poem-a-day
-You can enter a "Free Verse Photo Competition" (not sure what that would be)
-You can purchase a copy of the official "National Poetry Month" poster (from this year or years past)
-You can go to a "National Poetry Map" to find out what's happening in your neck o' the woods
-You can read a book of poetry
-You can memorize a poem
-You can bring a poem to your place of worship (okay, this one seems like a stretch)
-You can play "Exquisite Corpse" (I've played it, and I have to say the name is better than the actual game)
-You can hear a poem (not sure if this is only for those who hear voices, or if it's open to all)
-You can take a poem out to lunch (now that just sounds pitiful and desperate - "Table for two"?)
-You can celebrate "Poem in Your Pocket Day" April 30 (I could make a snide comment here, but I won't because this is a family-friendly site)
Okay, that's enough for the here and now, but there are other suggestions and more if you are interested in perusing the above-mentioned website and getting into the spirit of things.
Let's celebrate "National Poetry Month" with some poems
Nothing says, "I love poetry" like writing/reading some really, really bad poems, so I always hold a "bad poetry" contest to encourage my students to write bad poems. Why? you ask. Well, I answer, because the ability to write a truly bad poem is a skill that comes in handy many times in the "real world." Just think of all the times you've been in a job interview and the interviewer has asked you to make up and recite, on the spot, a really bad poem, and when you were able to do so, he/she was so impressed that he/she offered you the job at a substantially higher salary than what they were planning on offering. I'll bet that has happened to each and every one of you more times than you can remember. Or how about those times when you've been lost in the wilderness with nothing but of those really big survival knives - how did you pass the time (after you got sick of whittling)? That's right, you composed really bad poems which made the time will fly by - plus you were then able to devise an amazingly intricate plan for getting rescued when you released your subconscious. Or what about the times when you were driving down the interstate and had a blowout and spun out of control, and at the moment when you began to panic, you calmed yourself by composing a bad poem that was so amusing that your heartrate slowed, your adrenaline spike leveled off, and rather than jerking the wheel in an overcorrecting manner, instead you were able to gradually regain control and decelerate safely. This is a life skill, people, and that's what I'm all about. So without further ado, here are a few of the better, and shorter, bad poems from this year.
The Best (by Garrett B.)
When you think you are the best,
you are wrong.
When you think you are not,
you are right.
Unless you are me,
which you're not.
Be Prepared (by Tara B.)
There was a guy in space
He was having a race
Then his mask broke
He began to choke
And gravity sucked out his face
Poems (by Galen V.)
Poems are like
flowers.
I don't know why.
People just say stuff like
that.
Windy Day (by Chloe M.)
I love the wind!
It's a great thing!
I love the sun!
And also the - -
Excuse me.
I do believe
I had a bug
in my trachea.
Driving Haiku (by Alex C.)
Driving my car through
the town. Chasing the people
and running them down.
I could go on with more selections, but you get the idea, and I'm tired of copying and pasting, so until next time, may your rhymes be slanted, may your allusions be clear, and may your heartfelt expressions of heartfelt feelings be completely and utterly heartfelt.
According to the Academy of American Poets (now there's a group that probably has some rip-roaring parties), back in 1996, the Academy of American Poets decided to create a National Poetry Month which is now held every April and is a time when "publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events." Hmm. Isn't the whole idea of a group of dedicated poets creating a month that's dedicated to the thing they're dedicated to kind of suspicious? Kind of like if the Academy of American Novelists (is there such a thing?) were to declare a "National Novel Month". Or if the Academy of American Essayists (again, is there such a creature?) declared a "National Essay Month" (now that's just silly). Or if the Academy of American Memoirists decided that memoirs actually had to be true (yikes). Or how about if the American Dairy Farmers conducting a study that concludes that drinking chocolate milk after vigorous exercise is just as effective for recovery as sports drinks (oops, I guess they actually did that). Anyway, the point, if you missed it is this: isn't this a blatant example of self-promotion. And I actually like poetry, so imagine the uproar from people who have a negative attitudes towards iambic pentameter, rhymed couplets, metaphorical imagery, etc. Well, in the interest of maintaining some semblance of forward momentum, I imagine that you're probably wondering exactly what's involved in celebrating a "National Poetry Month" which we're currently in the middle of celebrating. Here are just a few ideas you can try on for size (all of these, and more, can be found at http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/41):
-You can sign up to receive a poem-a-day
-You can enter a "Free Verse Photo Competition" (not sure what that would be)
-You can purchase a copy of the official "National Poetry Month" poster (from this year or years past)
-You can go to a "National Poetry Map" to find out what's happening in your neck o' the woods
-You can read a book of poetry
-You can memorize a poem
-You can bring a poem to your place of worship (okay, this one seems like a stretch)
-You can play "Exquisite Corpse" (I've played it, and I have to say the name is better than the actual game)
-You can hear a poem (not sure if this is only for those who hear voices, or if it's open to all)
-You can take a poem out to lunch (now that just sounds pitiful and desperate - "Table for two"?)
-You can celebrate "Poem in Your Pocket Day" April 30 (I could make a snide comment here, but I won't because this is a family-friendly site)
Okay, that's enough for the here and now, but there are other suggestions and more if you are interested in perusing the above-mentioned website and getting into the spirit of things.
Let's celebrate "National Poetry Month" with some poems
Nothing says, "I love poetry" like writing/reading some really, really bad poems, so I always hold a "bad poetry" contest to encourage my students to write bad poems. Why? you ask. Well, I answer, because the ability to write a truly bad poem is a skill that comes in handy many times in the "real world." Just think of all the times you've been in a job interview and the interviewer has asked you to make up and recite, on the spot, a really bad poem, and when you were able to do so, he/she was so impressed that he/she offered you the job at a substantially higher salary than what they were planning on offering. I'll bet that has happened to each and every one of you more times than you can remember. Or how about those times when you've been lost in the wilderness with nothing but of those really big survival knives - how did you pass the time (after you got sick of whittling)? That's right, you composed really bad poems which made the time will fly by - plus you were then able to devise an amazingly intricate plan for getting rescued when you released your subconscious. Or what about the times when you were driving down the interstate and had a blowout and spun out of control, and at the moment when you began to panic, you calmed yourself by composing a bad poem that was so amusing that your heartrate slowed, your adrenaline spike leveled off, and rather than jerking the wheel in an overcorrecting manner, instead you were able to gradually regain control and decelerate safely. This is a life skill, people, and that's what I'm all about. So without further ado, here are a few of the better, and shorter, bad poems from this year.
The Best (by Garrett B.)
When you think you are the best,
you are wrong.
When you think you are not,
you are right.
Unless you are me,
which you're not.
Be Prepared (by Tara B.)
There was a guy in space
He was having a race
Then his mask broke
He began to choke
And gravity sucked out his face
Poems (by Galen V.)
Poems are like
flowers.
I don't know why.
People just say stuff like
that.
Windy Day (by Chloe M.)
I love the wind!
It's a great thing!
I love the sun!
And also the - -
Excuse me.
I do believe
I had a bug
in my trachea.
Driving Haiku (by Alex C.)
Driving my car through
the town. Chasing the people
and running them down.
I could go on with more selections, but you get the idea, and I'm tired of copying and pasting, so until next time, may your rhymes be slanted, may your allusions be clear, and may your heartfelt expressions of heartfelt feelings be completely and utterly heartfelt.
Monday, April 13, 2009
An Easter Pageant
Easter Morning - The Drama
Easter begins as I shuffle out of my room and am met with Connor's proclamation that, "The Easter Bunny isn't real, and I know it because the chocolate bunnies are still in the cabinet, not in the basket, and you and Mom hide the eggs." Oh well, I think, the kid is in fifth grade, so I guess we've passed a major milestone and don't even have to pretend to perpetuate the holiday myths of childhood any longer. I get the feeling that I should be sad about this, like one of those "Sunrise, Sunset" moments where parents get all nostalgic and wonder where the years have gone, and all that jazz, but to be honest, it's kind of a relief. Maybe I really am a holiday humbug. The day proceeds, and Grandma and Grandpa swing by with Caitlyn, and even though the kids are older, they still want to have an egg hunt (Katie says she wants to participate as well, but when push comes to shove, she's too busy chatting to look for eggs). In fact, Connor has decided to challenge me by saying that I'm not very good at hiding the eggs and they're always way too easy to find, so with that gauntlet thrown down, I shoo them off to their rooms and begin to hide the eggs - and by hide, I don't mean place in plain sight like I did when the kids were little. They want an Easter egg hunt? Fine - I'll give them an Easter egg hunt. And for the first time, I'm taking the whole hiding thing seriously. There's a good spot, I think, as I move through the living room and out to the backyard. There's no way they'll find that one. And when the last egg is hidden, I send the kids off searching. Connor finds one egg quickly, but over the next five minutes, he doesn't find another. Meanwhile, Caitlyn finds five or six, and Carrie finds one or two, at which point, the whole thing pretty much falls apart (should have seen this coming) as we all revert to our lowest common denominators. Connor decides looking for Easter eggs is "stupid," because Caitlyn and Carrie are finding eggs and he isn't, and when anything gets hard, his first reaction is to throw in the towel, only in this case what he throws is his basket (and the one egg he found) on the ground and stomps off. While this is going on, Carrie goes into her poor-me routine and announces that, "I'm just not as good as Caitlyn at finding eggs," and starts moping around with her shoulders drooped. She won't quit - she's way too stubborn for that - but she will play the "poor me" role as far as it will take her. Caitlyn, though, continues to soldier on. I watch all this unfold, then roll my eyes and go inside to get away from the drama for a few minutes. When I peek out again to see if things have improved, I find that Connor has decided he'd rather watch "Sponge Bob" than participate, so being the rational, mature adult that I am, I tell him that he now has a choice - either he loses every form of entertainment in his life for the rest of the day or he looks for eggs (as I write this, it seems really, really ridiculous, but at the time it seemed to sort of make sense - to me at least) and he grudgingly turns off the TV and starts shuffling around while mumbling "Stupid eggs," and "Stupid Easter," and who-knows-what-else. Eventually, the majority of eggs are found (hints are needed to discover the final few), Connor's tantrum is semi-forgotten, Carrie's "poor me" routine is part of the past, and Caitlyn, bless her heart, shows us that she really has grown up quite a bit by admitting that she feels kind of bad about finding most of the eggs, and that she was trying to hold back and let the other two find some, but what's she supposed to do? I have to admit that I don't remember there being this much drama in the Easter egg hunts of my childhood, but maybe I've just blocked it out. I'll have to check with the padre y madre on that one.
Speaking of Caitlyn
I generally try really hard not to brag about my kids - for a variety of reasons - but about a week ago, we went to a play she was in at the UA and as I sat there and watched her perform, I kept wondering where on Earth this beautiful, talented, confident, and self-possessed young woman came from. So, yeah, I guess that counts as bragging. Sorry.
So What Else is New?
The UA finally hired a new coach (for $2 million a year), school districts across the city/state are being forced to cut positions and programs as the state slashes spending (does anyone else see the irony dripping down all of this?), the stock market seems to have settled down (keep your fingers crossed), our adopted cat seems to have finally gotten used to us and is starting to venture out from under the bed to socialize, our TNT team continues to train on Saturday mornings, rain or shine (lots of rain - and cold - last Saturday) and people are busting down barriers as they push beyond what they believed was possible, while I, on the other hand, have been sidelined with a flare-up of my leg injury from earlier this year. Hopefully, this too shall pass (keeping my fingers crossed and trying not to get too frustrated by the whole thing).
All righty - that's all I've got time for today, so until next time, may your pencils remain sharpened, may your paper clips remain flexible, and may your tape dispenser remain in plain sight (and filled with tape).
Easter begins as I shuffle out of my room and am met with Connor's proclamation that, "The Easter Bunny isn't real, and I know it because the chocolate bunnies are still in the cabinet, not in the basket, and you and Mom hide the eggs." Oh well, I think, the kid is in fifth grade, so I guess we've passed a major milestone and don't even have to pretend to perpetuate the holiday myths of childhood any longer. I get the feeling that I should be sad about this, like one of those "Sunrise, Sunset" moments where parents get all nostalgic and wonder where the years have gone, and all that jazz, but to be honest, it's kind of a relief. Maybe I really am a holiday humbug. The day proceeds, and Grandma and Grandpa swing by with Caitlyn, and even though the kids are older, they still want to have an egg hunt (Katie says she wants to participate as well, but when push comes to shove, she's too busy chatting to look for eggs). In fact, Connor has decided to challenge me by saying that I'm not very good at hiding the eggs and they're always way too easy to find, so with that gauntlet thrown down, I shoo them off to their rooms and begin to hide the eggs - and by hide, I don't mean place in plain sight like I did when the kids were little. They want an Easter egg hunt? Fine - I'll give them an Easter egg hunt. And for the first time, I'm taking the whole hiding thing seriously. There's a good spot, I think, as I move through the living room and out to the backyard. There's no way they'll find that one. And when the last egg is hidden, I send the kids off searching. Connor finds one egg quickly, but over the next five minutes, he doesn't find another. Meanwhile, Caitlyn finds five or six, and Carrie finds one or two, at which point, the whole thing pretty much falls apart (should have seen this coming) as we all revert to our lowest common denominators. Connor decides looking for Easter eggs is "stupid," because Caitlyn and Carrie are finding eggs and he isn't, and when anything gets hard, his first reaction is to throw in the towel, only in this case what he throws is his basket (and the one egg he found) on the ground and stomps off. While this is going on, Carrie goes into her poor-me routine and announces that, "I'm just not as good as Caitlyn at finding eggs," and starts moping around with her shoulders drooped. She won't quit - she's way too stubborn for that - but she will play the "poor me" role as far as it will take her. Caitlyn, though, continues to soldier on. I watch all this unfold, then roll my eyes and go inside to get away from the drama for a few minutes. When I peek out again to see if things have improved, I find that Connor has decided he'd rather watch "Sponge Bob" than participate, so being the rational, mature adult that I am, I tell him that he now has a choice - either he loses every form of entertainment in his life for the rest of the day or he looks for eggs (as I write this, it seems really, really ridiculous, but at the time it seemed to sort of make sense - to me at least) and he grudgingly turns off the TV and starts shuffling around while mumbling "Stupid eggs," and "Stupid Easter," and who-knows-what-else. Eventually, the majority of eggs are found (hints are needed to discover the final few), Connor's tantrum is semi-forgotten, Carrie's "poor me" routine is part of the past, and Caitlyn, bless her heart, shows us that she really has grown up quite a bit by admitting that she feels kind of bad about finding most of the eggs, and that she was trying to hold back and let the other two find some, but what's she supposed to do? I have to admit that I don't remember there being this much drama in the Easter egg hunts of my childhood, but maybe I've just blocked it out. I'll have to check with the padre y madre on that one.
Speaking of Caitlyn
I generally try really hard not to brag about my kids - for a variety of reasons - but about a week ago, we went to a play she was in at the UA and as I sat there and watched her perform, I kept wondering where on Earth this beautiful, talented, confident, and self-possessed young woman came from. So, yeah, I guess that counts as bragging. Sorry.
So What Else is New?
The UA finally hired a new coach (for $2 million a year), school districts across the city/state are being forced to cut positions and programs as the state slashes spending (does anyone else see the irony dripping down all of this?), the stock market seems to have settled down (keep your fingers crossed), our adopted cat seems to have finally gotten used to us and is starting to venture out from under the bed to socialize, our TNT team continues to train on Saturday mornings, rain or shine (lots of rain - and cold - last Saturday) and people are busting down barriers as they push beyond what they believed was possible, while I, on the other hand, have been sidelined with a flare-up of my leg injury from earlier this year. Hopefully, this too shall pass (keeping my fingers crossed and trying not to get too frustrated by the whole thing).
All righty - that's all I've got time for today, so until next time, may your pencils remain sharpened, may your paper clips remain flexible, and may your tape dispenser remain in plain sight (and filled with tape).
Friday, April 3, 2009
Jack or me - you decide
I decided to deviate from the norm this week for no real reason other than that's what I decided to do, and as sole owner and proprietor of this space I figured I have the right to do whatever I please, so if you've got a problem with that, oh well. Anyway, for the past several years, I've been sort of fascinated by the TV show "24." The whole premise of cramming an entire season into a 24 hour day, then showing how things unfold in real-time intrigued me from the very beginning, and I love the twists and turns - even though it often stretches the bounds of credibility pretty incredibly. Anyway, it got me to thinking about my own life and what it would look like as an episode of 24, especially after seeing all that Jack Bauer has gone through this season. So here we go, with a comparison, hour by hour, of my life to Jack's (since Jack's in the Eastern time zone and I'm in the Pacific time zone, I've adjusted the times accordingly - so his day begins at 8 a.m., while mine begins at 5 a.m). And since I don't know what's going to happen in the future, I've decided to focus on my yesterday, and we'll only go through the point where the show currently is (again, because I don't know what's going to happen in the future). Whose life is more engaging and exciting? You be the judge…
Hour 1: (8-9 a.m. for Jack, 5-6 a.m. for me)
Jack is on trial in front of the Senate for human rights crimes and torturing people - he admits what he's done, but says it was necessary (which, of course, you agree with if you watch the show because Jack is awesome and always right, but there are always weak-willed, ignorant people who stand in his way that he has to either bulldoze through or somehow get around so that he can thwart whatever evil force he's opposing) - then some FBI agents whisk him away and tell him that a friend of his who he thought was dead is actually alive and working with terrorists. Meanwhile, I get up, drive to the Y, and start swimming laps.
Hour 2: (9-10 a.m. for Jack, 6-7 a.m. for me)
Jack tracks down Tony with the help of the cute FBI agent (there's obviously some weird kind of chemistry going on between them, but it's not totally clear where this is going - if anywhere - but her boss/boyfriend is pretty obviously jealous of Jack (as well as being disgusted by Jack's penchant for playing fast and loose with the rules), and figures out there's a leak in the FBI when their suspect is shot. Meanwhile, I finish up my swim, then drive to school (keeping an eye out for terrorists or cute FBI agents - though I didn't spot any of either of these), eat a bagel with peanut butter (which I sniff first to make sure it's not laced with some kind of truth-telling serum or nerve agent that will paralyze me, or anything like that), and write the day's agendas on the whiteboard (which, sadly, doesn't include the FBI, terrorists, the President of the United States, or government moles).
Hour 3: (10-11 a.m. for Jack, 7-8 a.m. for me)
Jack nabs Tony (the guy he thought was dead), but when he's interrogating him, Tony whispers a code word which lets Jack know that Tony's actually a good guy, so Jack breaks Tony out of the FBI building so Tony can rejoin the terrorist group - which is their only hope of foiling the plot to terrorize (Jack is now pretending to be a bad guy - so the cute FBI agent is incredulous because you can tell she was starting to kind of like Jack's whole bad-boy aura, but this is too much bad even for her and her boss/boyfriend is all smug and "I told you so" to her). Meanwhile, I read through the directions for the AIMS test, then teach my first class (which is only twenty minutes long because of AIMS testing and conferences).
Hour 4: (11 a.m-12 p.m. for Jack, 8-9 a.m. for me)
Jack takes Tony to the new, underground "CTU" headquarters and finds out Chloe and Bill (former colleagues) are working with Tony and know about some huge corruption within the government, so basically, they can't trust anyone, and Tony and Jack decide to both go rejoin the terrorists so they can find out what's going on from the inside. Meanwhile, I give the AIMS math field test, which is a bunch of math questions they're testing out for future AIMS test, so basically, it's a test of the questions, not the kids, which seems like a really good use of instructional time to me, and I would rather be teaching students important life-skills like how to infiltrate a terrorist group so you can uncover conspiracies, which would probably come in a lot more handy in the "real world."
Hour 5: (12-1 p.m. for Jack, 9-10 a.m. for me)
Jack pumps poison gas into a safe-room to get a guy to come out for the terrorists (which means he's acting like a really, really bad person in order to ultimately foil the bad guys, which is quite dramatic and angst-filled) and the cute FBI lady that seems to kind of have this thing for Jack tortures a suspect to get information, which shocks her boss/boyfriend and just shows how much Jack has influenced her (and, we have to assume, reinforces the message that the "real heroes" of the world are willing to do anything, no matter how distasteful, for the greater good - like pump poison gas into safe-rooms or torture bad guys to get them to spill their guts). Meanwhile, I finish up the AIMS field test and start teaching another class (at no point do I even entertain the possibility of pumping poison gas into the room or torturing anyone to get them to "give it up").
Hour 6: (1-2 p.m. for Jack, 10 -11 a.m. for me)
Jack and Tony convince the guy that they forced out of the safe-room with poison gas that they're actually good guys, and they wind up killing some bad guys in a fire-fight. but figure out a way to make it work for them and continue to work undercover by taking this guy to the other bad guys so they can use him as a hostage. Meanwhile, school dismisses for the day so we can have conferences, and I eat lunch and read the newspaper, then chat with a colleague about this, that, and the other thing (we do talk about plots at some point, but terrorists never enter into the conversation).
Hour 7: (2-3 p.m. for Jack, 11 a.m-12 p.m. for me)
Jack confronts the bad guys, who are attacking a chemical plant in the midwest, which threatens a fair-sized town nearby with catastrophe, but Jack stops them in the middle of their plan while others put a stop to their threat (the plant manager sacrifices himself to shut things down). Unfortunately the bad guy leader manages to escape in the confusion, which leads Jack to utter his trademark cuss-phrase several times (sounds kind of like, "Darn it!"). Meanwhile, I work on my career ladder plan that's due next week, which involves going back to the previous parts of the plans and reminding myself of what I was doing, then searching for data I need to fill out the forms and putting it all together (but does not involve deadly chemicals or gunfire in any way, shape, or form).
Hour 8: (3-4 p.m. for Jack, 12-1 p.m. for me)
Jack and Bill manage to get the guy they saved (the one they forced out of the safe-room with poison gas) to convince the President of the U.S. to grant them an audience so they can explain what's going on and what they've been up to, while the cute FBI agent threatens the wife of a bad guy (whose only "crime" was to be fooled by this bad guy) in the worst possible way in order to get her to cooperate, which again just goes to show how much of an influence Jack has had on her and how much she's changed since she met him (which, if you're keeping track, was about 9 hours ago). Meanwhile, I keep working on my career ladder plan, which I plan on sending to the President of the U.S. just as soon as it's done.
Hour 9: (4-5 p.m. for Jack, 1-2 p.m. for me)
Jack and the cute FBI agent go to rescue the President's husband from the bad guy leader (he was kidnapped at some point) and in the scuffle that follows, the President's husband is shot (darn it!) and the bad guy leader gets away (again, darn it!), but Jack and the cute FBI agent find the bad guy leader's girlfriend and convince her to lead them to the bad guy leader, even though the cute FBI agent has misgivings because it's so dangerous, but Jack sways her by reminding her that, "It's the only way, darn it!" and she goes along with the plan reluctantly. Meanwhile, I meet with a couple of parents and discuss some issues about placement and services, and though I was thinking that one of the meetings might have the potential to be stressful, it really isn't because everyone is quite civil and reasonable and listens to each other with respect, so I don't have to resort to torture or poison gas or electric shots or those really scary hypodermics they always show that seem like they must be just about the worst possible thing to ever be injected into a human being, because everyone always freaks out when they pull them out of the case (plus, they've always got a whole bunch of them in a case, which is pretty creep in and of itself).
Hour 10: (5-6 p.m. for Jack, 2-3 p.m. for me)
Jack and the cute FBI agent get arrested while trailing the girlfriend of the bad guy (because the mole in the FBI put a fake alert out for them) so while they're detained, they lose her, but then they eventually find her and there's a big crash and the cute FBI agent tries to get her out of the car before it explodes but she can't and there's a big dramatic moment between her and Jack which seems to sour her affection for him quite a bit. So they catch the bad guy, but he winds up dying so they lose their lead, although Jack does discover a chip under his skin which he digs out and sends in for analysis - which is a threat to a whole bunch of people who are in on the conspiracy because their names are included on the chip. Meanwhile, I finish up my conferences and go up to the track to run, where I put in four miles at a very easy pace while listening to "The Fray" on my Ipod.
Hour 11: (6-7 p.m. for Jack, 3-4 p.m. for me)
Jack convinces Chloe (his computer buddy) to take a name off the list he provided so he has time to interrogate the suspect in the White House which means that he's going against what he's been ordered to do, but, "It's the only way, darn it!" so he goes ahead and does it and is just about to get the guy to spill his guts when the President and her crew find out what Jack's doing and stop him, which means Jack's put in handcuffs once again and taken into custody, plus the plot is still in the works and nobody knows what's going on. Meanwhile, I wrap things up at school and head across the district for a meeting with the other gifted specialists where we'll discuss reasons why the sky is falling and what we wish we could do about it.
Hour 12: (7-8 p.m. for Jack, 4-5 p.m. for me)
While Jack is being taken into custody, the bad guys attack the White House(!) in an attempt to take the President hostage, but Jack manages to get her into a safe-room (safe-room #2 today) and the bad guys can't get her out until they find out from another bad guy that the President's daughter is in the White House, so they grab her and threaten to cut her eyeballs out, at which point, the President caves and makes Jack open the door. At the same time, the cute FBI agent and her boss/boyfriend are trying to convince the Vice President to let them storm the White House and save everyone inside, but he decides not to let them (for political reasons, naturally), which frustrates everyone involved and makes us all angry at these bureaucratic types who aren't willing to do what's necessary when it's so clear what's necessary is what's needed - darn it! Meanwhile I continue to jabber and moan in the meeting - wishing I was in charge of the world so I could wave my magic wand and make the bureaucrats who run things quit posturing and politicizing and start doing what's necessary and right - darn it!
Hour 13: (8-9 p.m. for Jack, 5-6 p.m. for me)
This is a big one, as the standoff in the White House comes to a conclusion with explosions and another fire-fight, and Jack tries to sacrifice himself, but Bill takes his place because Jack's the only one that can move forward with uncovering yet another layer to the plot that he discovered, so Bill gets blown up, Jack starts shooting, the President and her daughter get rescued, and Jack is redeemed. This is only temporary, though, because he convinces them to let him go back and finish the interrogation he started earlier, but winds up getting knocked out with nerve gas by an assassin who kills the guy Jack was interrogating and makes it look like Jack did it, which means Jack is once again seen as the bad guy and has to take off before he's taken into custody once again (how many times has he been taken into custody today?). Meanwhile, I drive home from the meeting and start making dinner.
Hour 14: (9-10 p.m. for Jack, 6-7 p.m. for me)
Jack goes to the Senator who was originally after him for human rights crimes and torturing people (in the first hour) and manages to convince him that there really is this conspiracy and Jack really is a good guy, and just when he has the Senator convinced, the same assassin from the last hour shows up and shoots the Senator, which, of course, makes everyone believe Jack did it ("He did what?" exclaims the President when she's told) and the cute FBI agent is taken into custody because she helped Jack with all of this and her boss/boyfriend found out. Meanwhile, I eat dinner with my family, make my breakfast/lunch for tomorrow, and do the crossword puzzle.
Hour 15: (10-11 p.m. for Jack, 7-8 p.m. for me)
Jack and Tony manage to track down the bio-weapon the bad guys have smuggled into the U.S. and there's another fire-fight, during which Jack decides to save a security guard rather than let him get killed (which would have been the more prudent course of action, but it shows that even Jack doesn't always do what's necessary, darn it!) but because of this, Tony winds up being captured by the bad guys. Still, Jack manages to highjack the truck carrying the bio-weapon and take off, only one of the cannisters is damaged and when Jack stops to fix it, he's exposed to the chemicals and the bad guys show up in a helicopter and reacquire the bio-weapon (darn it!). Meanwhile, I kick back and watch the episode of "Lost" I taped last night, which is getting more and more confusing the further they go with it (but that's a whole other topic which we won't even get into here and now).
Hour 16: (11 p.m-12 a.m. for Jack, 8-9 p.m. for me)
Jack finds out he's tested positive for the chemical (which means he's going to suffer a terrible, painful death at some undetermined time) so he's taken back to the FBI building for "debriefing" by the cute FBI agent who is heartbroken when she finds out about Jack - which shows that there's still something going on there - especially when she finds out Jack saved the security guard and that he has awful scars from the time he was taken by the Chinese government and tortured (not sure which season that was). At the same time, Tony gets released by one of the bad guys and calls the FBI who swoop in to re-reacquire the bio-weapon, only the bad guy was playing them all and leading them on a wild goose chase to buy time for the bad guys to arm the bio-weapon, which works perfectly, and Jack is stuck at FBI headquarters with the cute FBI agent and a death sentence hanging over his head. Meanwhile, I brush my teeth and settle down in bed to read for a little while before turning off the light and going to bed.
The remaining hours
Jack's future is up in the air, though it's clearly not looking too rosy right about now, what with his impending death and all. But we'll have to tune in for the next few weeks to see what happens. Meanwhile, I slept through the night - and didn't die, which I consider to be a good thing even thought it's not nearly as dramatic. So looking this over, I guess Jack's life may be exciting and TV-worthy, but I still would rather be me - go figure. With that, I'll wrap things up once again, so until next time, may your plots be thick and juicy and filled with twists and turns, may your FBI agents be cute and sympathetic, and may your chemical weapons remain safely stored so they don't leak and leave a trail of death and destruction in their wake.
Hour 1: (8-9 a.m. for Jack, 5-6 a.m. for me)
Jack is on trial in front of the Senate for human rights crimes and torturing people - he admits what he's done, but says it was necessary (which, of course, you agree with if you watch the show because Jack is awesome and always right, but there are always weak-willed, ignorant people who stand in his way that he has to either bulldoze through or somehow get around so that he can thwart whatever evil force he's opposing) - then some FBI agents whisk him away and tell him that a friend of his who he thought was dead is actually alive and working with terrorists. Meanwhile, I get up, drive to the Y, and start swimming laps.
Hour 2: (9-10 a.m. for Jack, 6-7 a.m. for me)
Jack tracks down Tony with the help of the cute FBI agent (there's obviously some weird kind of chemistry going on between them, but it's not totally clear where this is going - if anywhere - but her boss/boyfriend is pretty obviously jealous of Jack (as well as being disgusted by Jack's penchant for playing fast and loose with the rules), and figures out there's a leak in the FBI when their suspect is shot. Meanwhile, I finish up my swim, then drive to school (keeping an eye out for terrorists or cute FBI agents - though I didn't spot any of either of these), eat a bagel with peanut butter (which I sniff first to make sure it's not laced with some kind of truth-telling serum or nerve agent that will paralyze me, or anything like that), and write the day's agendas on the whiteboard (which, sadly, doesn't include the FBI, terrorists, the President of the United States, or government moles).
Hour 3: (10-11 a.m. for Jack, 7-8 a.m. for me)
Jack nabs Tony (the guy he thought was dead), but when he's interrogating him, Tony whispers a code word which lets Jack know that Tony's actually a good guy, so Jack breaks Tony out of the FBI building so Tony can rejoin the terrorist group - which is their only hope of foiling the plot to terrorize (Jack is now pretending to be a bad guy - so the cute FBI agent is incredulous because you can tell she was starting to kind of like Jack's whole bad-boy aura, but this is too much bad even for her and her boss/boyfriend is all smug and "I told you so" to her). Meanwhile, I read through the directions for the AIMS test, then teach my first class (which is only twenty minutes long because of AIMS testing and conferences).
Hour 4: (11 a.m-12 p.m. for Jack, 8-9 a.m. for me)
Jack takes Tony to the new, underground "CTU" headquarters and finds out Chloe and Bill (former colleagues) are working with Tony and know about some huge corruption within the government, so basically, they can't trust anyone, and Tony and Jack decide to both go rejoin the terrorists so they can find out what's going on from the inside. Meanwhile, I give the AIMS math field test, which is a bunch of math questions they're testing out for future AIMS test, so basically, it's a test of the questions, not the kids, which seems like a really good use of instructional time to me, and I would rather be teaching students important life-skills like how to infiltrate a terrorist group so you can uncover conspiracies, which would probably come in a lot more handy in the "real world."
Hour 5: (12-1 p.m. for Jack, 9-10 a.m. for me)
Jack pumps poison gas into a safe-room to get a guy to come out for the terrorists (which means he's acting like a really, really bad person in order to ultimately foil the bad guys, which is quite dramatic and angst-filled) and the cute FBI lady that seems to kind of have this thing for Jack tortures a suspect to get information, which shocks her boss/boyfriend and just shows how much Jack has influenced her (and, we have to assume, reinforces the message that the "real heroes" of the world are willing to do anything, no matter how distasteful, for the greater good - like pump poison gas into safe-rooms or torture bad guys to get them to spill their guts). Meanwhile, I finish up the AIMS field test and start teaching another class (at no point do I even entertain the possibility of pumping poison gas into the room or torturing anyone to get them to "give it up").
Hour 6: (1-2 p.m. for Jack, 10 -11 a.m. for me)
Jack and Tony convince the guy that they forced out of the safe-room with poison gas that they're actually good guys, and they wind up killing some bad guys in a fire-fight. but figure out a way to make it work for them and continue to work undercover by taking this guy to the other bad guys so they can use him as a hostage. Meanwhile, school dismisses for the day so we can have conferences, and I eat lunch and read the newspaper, then chat with a colleague about this, that, and the other thing (we do talk about plots at some point, but terrorists never enter into the conversation).
Hour 7: (2-3 p.m. for Jack, 11 a.m-12 p.m. for me)
Jack confronts the bad guys, who are attacking a chemical plant in the midwest, which threatens a fair-sized town nearby with catastrophe, but Jack stops them in the middle of their plan while others put a stop to their threat (the plant manager sacrifices himself to shut things down). Unfortunately the bad guy leader manages to escape in the confusion, which leads Jack to utter his trademark cuss-phrase several times (sounds kind of like, "Darn it!"). Meanwhile, I work on my career ladder plan that's due next week, which involves going back to the previous parts of the plans and reminding myself of what I was doing, then searching for data I need to fill out the forms and putting it all together (but does not involve deadly chemicals or gunfire in any way, shape, or form).
Hour 8: (3-4 p.m. for Jack, 12-1 p.m. for me)
Jack and Bill manage to get the guy they saved (the one they forced out of the safe-room with poison gas) to convince the President of the U.S. to grant them an audience so they can explain what's going on and what they've been up to, while the cute FBI agent threatens the wife of a bad guy (whose only "crime" was to be fooled by this bad guy) in the worst possible way in order to get her to cooperate, which again just goes to show how much of an influence Jack has had on her and how much she's changed since she met him (which, if you're keeping track, was about 9 hours ago). Meanwhile, I keep working on my career ladder plan, which I plan on sending to the President of the U.S. just as soon as it's done.
Hour 9: (4-5 p.m. for Jack, 1-2 p.m. for me)
Jack and the cute FBI agent go to rescue the President's husband from the bad guy leader (he was kidnapped at some point) and in the scuffle that follows, the President's husband is shot (darn it!) and the bad guy leader gets away (again, darn it!), but Jack and the cute FBI agent find the bad guy leader's girlfriend and convince her to lead them to the bad guy leader, even though the cute FBI agent has misgivings because it's so dangerous, but Jack sways her by reminding her that, "It's the only way, darn it!" and she goes along with the plan reluctantly. Meanwhile, I meet with a couple of parents and discuss some issues about placement and services, and though I was thinking that one of the meetings might have the potential to be stressful, it really isn't because everyone is quite civil and reasonable and listens to each other with respect, so I don't have to resort to torture or poison gas or electric shots or those really scary hypodermics they always show that seem like they must be just about the worst possible thing to ever be injected into a human being, because everyone always freaks out when they pull them out of the case (plus, they've always got a whole bunch of them in a case, which is pretty creep in and of itself).
Hour 10: (5-6 p.m. for Jack, 2-3 p.m. for me)
Jack and the cute FBI agent get arrested while trailing the girlfriend of the bad guy (because the mole in the FBI put a fake alert out for them) so while they're detained, they lose her, but then they eventually find her and there's a big crash and the cute FBI agent tries to get her out of the car before it explodes but she can't and there's a big dramatic moment between her and Jack which seems to sour her affection for him quite a bit. So they catch the bad guy, but he winds up dying so they lose their lead, although Jack does discover a chip under his skin which he digs out and sends in for analysis - which is a threat to a whole bunch of people who are in on the conspiracy because their names are included on the chip. Meanwhile, I finish up my conferences and go up to the track to run, where I put in four miles at a very easy pace while listening to "The Fray" on my Ipod.
Hour 11: (6-7 p.m. for Jack, 3-4 p.m. for me)
Jack convinces Chloe (his computer buddy) to take a name off the list he provided so he has time to interrogate the suspect in the White House which means that he's going against what he's been ordered to do, but, "It's the only way, darn it!" so he goes ahead and does it and is just about to get the guy to spill his guts when the President and her crew find out what Jack's doing and stop him, which means Jack's put in handcuffs once again and taken into custody, plus the plot is still in the works and nobody knows what's going on. Meanwhile, I wrap things up at school and head across the district for a meeting with the other gifted specialists where we'll discuss reasons why the sky is falling and what we wish we could do about it.
Hour 12: (7-8 p.m. for Jack, 4-5 p.m. for me)
While Jack is being taken into custody, the bad guys attack the White House(!) in an attempt to take the President hostage, but Jack manages to get her into a safe-room (safe-room #2 today) and the bad guys can't get her out until they find out from another bad guy that the President's daughter is in the White House, so they grab her and threaten to cut her eyeballs out, at which point, the President caves and makes Jack open the door. At the same time, the cute FBI agent and her boss/boyfriend are trying to convince the Vice President to let them storm the White House and save everyone inside, but he decides not to let them (for political reasons, naturally), which frustrates everyone involved and makes us all angry at these bureaucratic types who aren't willing to do what's necessary when it's so clear what's necessary is what's needed - darn it! Meanwhile I continue to jabber and moan in the meeting - wishing I was in charge of the world so I could wave my magic wand and make the bureaucrats who run things quit posturing and politicizing and start doing what's necessary and right - darn it!
Hour 13: (8-9 p.m. for Jack, 5-6 p.m. for me)
This is a big one, as the standoff in the White House comes to a conclusion with explosions and another fire-fight, and Jack tries to sacrifice himself, but Bill takes his place because Jack's the only one that can move forward with uncovering yet another layer to the plot that he discovered, so Bill gets blown up, Jack starts shooting, the President and her daughter get rescued, and Jack is redeemed. This is only temporary, though, because he convinces them to let him go back and finish the interrogation he started earlier, but winds up getting knocked out with nerve gas by an assassin who kills the guy Jack was interrogating and makes it look like Jack did it, which means Jack is once again seen as the bad guy and has to take off before he's taken into custody once again (how many times has he been taken into custody today?). Meanwhile, I drive home from the meeting and start making dinner.
Hour 14: (9-10 p.m. for Jack, 6-7 p.m. for me)
Jack goes to the Senator who was originally after him for human rights crimes and torturing people (in the first hour) and manages to convince him that there really is this conspiracy and Jack really is a good guy, and just when he has the Senator convinced, the same assassin from the last hour shows up and shoots the Senator, which, of course, makes everyone believe Jack did it ("He did what?" exclaims the President when she's told) and the cute FBI agent is taken into custody because she helped Jack with all of this and her boss/boyfriend found out. Meanwhile, I eat dinner with my family, make my breakfast/lunch for tomorrow, and do the crossword puzzle.
Hour 15: (10-11 p.m. for Jack, 7-8 p.m. for me)
Jack and Tony manage to track down the bio-weapon the bad guys have smuggled into the U.S. and there's another fire-fight, during which Jack decides to save a security guard rather than let him get killed (which would have been the more prudent course of action, but it shows that even Jack doesn't always do what's necessary, darn it!) but because of this, Tony winds up being captured by the bad guys. Still, Jack manages to highjack the truck carrying the bio-weapon and take off, only one of the cannisters is damaged and when Jack stops to fix it, he's exposed to the chemicals and the bad guys show up in a helicopter and reacquire the bio-weapon (darn it!). Meanwhile, I kick back and watch the episode of "Lost" I taped last night, which is getting more and more confusing the further they go with it (but that's a whole other topic which we won't even get into here and now).
Hour 16: (11 p.m-12 a.m. for Jack, 8-9 p.m. for me)
Jack finds out he's tested positive for the chemical (which means he's going to suffer a terrible, painful death at some undetermined time) so he's taken back to the FBI building for "debriefing" by the cute FBI agent who is heartbroken when she finds out about Jack - which shows that there's still something going on there - especially when she finds out Jack saved the security guard and that he has awful scars from the time he was taken by the Chinese government and tortured (not sure which season that was). At the same time, Tony gets released by one of the bad guys and calls the FBI who swoop in to re-reacquire the bio-weapon, only the bad guy was playing them all and leading them on a wild goose chase to buy time for the bad guys to arm the bio-weapon, which works perfectly, and Jack is stuck at FBI headquarters with the cute FBI agent and a death sentence hanging over his head. Meanwhile, I brush my teeth and settle down in bed to read for a little while before turning off the light and going to bed.
The remaining hours
Jack's future is up in the air, though it's clearly not looking too rosy right about now, what with his impending death and all. But we'll have to tune in for the next few weeks to see what happens. Meanwhile, I slept through the night - and didn't die, which I consider to be a good thing even thought it's not nearly as dramatic. So looking this over, I guess Jack's life may be exciting and TV-worthy, but I still would rather be me - go figure. With that, I'll wrap things up once again, so until next time, may your plots be thick and juicy and filled with twists and turns, may your FBI agents be cute and sympathetic, and may your chemical weapons remain safely stored so they don't leak and leave a trail of death and destruction in their wake.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Early mornings, Hedgehogs, and Howie Long
Spring Break ends with early wake-up calls
During normal life, I get up at 5 or 5:30 pretty much every day to go to work, but over Spring Break I took advantage of the opportunity to be kind of lazy and "slept in" till 7 pretty much every day. Until this weekend, when I had to get up early (on Saturday to get to a 6 a.m. TNT practice, and on Sunday to get to a 7 a.m. race). So what? you may be asking yourself. Well, to be honest, I don't have any idea what the point of this is. It's not particularly amusing, and there's nothing deep or philosophical about it, so why did I bother to write about it. I sense there might be some hint of irony in the whole "getting up early on the weekend" thing, but that seems like a stretch (and a pretty lame one at that). After all, don't farmers get up early every day? And milkmen (or, to be more PC, milkpeople)? And the DJ's or news anchors who have early morning shows (or are those only on the weekdays - in which case, they wouldn't fit here at all)? Anyway, the race was great this morning (nice segue, eh?). Beautiful weather (a little chilly as we waited for the start, but not bad), a good turnout, and I felt pretty good considering I haven't really been able to push it since I hurt myself a couple of months ago. Managed a few miles at a sub-8 minute pace, which was highly encouraging (and reminded me how good it feels to just let it go and run).
Hedgehogs on the wall
On Saturday, at the aforementioned TNT practice, some of us were hanging around at the ramada (because we were racing the next day in the half-marathon, we kind of slacked off on our coaching duties Saturday and spent more time standing around than running) and were not really doing much, just chatting and cheering people on as they passed by and watching folks run/cycle past on the path. Then a couple rode by on their bikes, and they were talking about these little critters that live all along the path, and the woman said something like, "What are those things - packrats?" and the guy said, "I think they might be packrats," and the woman said, "No, I think they're hedgehogs," and then they were gone, and we were all like - packrats? hedgehogs? they're ground squirrels, people. I mean, does a ground squirrel look anything like a packrat? Okay, maybe a little. But a hedgehog? Anyway, this then led to a discussion about hedgehogs and someone who shall not be named (but if he were to be named, his name would be Rick) told us about how when he was a kid, he and a friend would go out with a jeep and a bow and arrows and they would shoot hedgehogs, then they would skin them and tack the pelts up on their bedroom walls. Which created this really weird (and slightly disturbing, in a "isn't this one of the first signals of psychopathic behavior in children?" kind of way) image in my mind of a teenage boy's bedroom with the walls plastered by little tacked up hedgehog skins - which made me think back to my own teenage bedroom which didn't have any hedgehog (or, for that matter, any small/medium/large animal) skins on the walls. But I did have the iconic Farrah Fawcett-Majors poster. Not sure which is worse. Or better.
The master
Moving right along, as some of you are no doubt aware, my lovely wife, Katie, has been struggling with various running injuries over the past few months and hasn't been able to run like she'd like to. This led to a general funk for her, which I completely (okay, sort of) understand. Mainly because when I have injuries that make it so I can't run, I get in a funk, but I also find some other form of exercise so I can continue to exercise. So when she wasn't able to run, I tried on numerous occasions to get her to come to the pool with me to do some swimming. And she did tag along - once or twice - but usually she had some kind of really good and completely justified excuse for not going, like, "I can't go swimming because I'm busy being in a funk about my injury." So I was glad when she decided to sign up for the Master's swimming program that they just started at the Y, because I knew that if she paid for it, and if there was a group that was meeting at a specific time on a specific day, she would go. And she has been - faithfully for a couple of weeks now. The problem, though, is that now that she's a "master swimmer," I've lost my edge over her in the water. Not that I had it for very long. Katie was a swimmer in high school, but when I picked up my efforts in the pool and she slacked off a bit, I got to the point where I was actually a little faster than her (for freestyle only - she could always whip me at butterfly, backstroke, or breast stroke - maybe because my technique in those strokes could only be described as… let's call it floundering). But those days are over, which is okay (really, it is, I'm not being sarcastic at all here, I have no problem with her being a better swimmer than me because she is a better swimmer than me) but I do get a little tired of hearing how hard "masters swimming" is as compared to "ordinary swimming" (which is what I do). So when she does speedwork in the pool with her "master's swimming group," she's "really, really tired," but when I go and do speedwork in the pool on my own, I'm not really, really tired (maybe I'm a little tired, but definitely not really tired) because I'm not a "master's swimmer." And she is. Oh well.
Another annoying commercial
I wasn't going to do this, but this particular commercial is so darned annoying, I just have to go off on it a bit. It's the one with Howie Long and some dorky little red-haired girls, who he says is "Really smart," and then they show the little middle seat of one vehicle, and she says, "That's a little girl seat. I'm a big girl," and then they show the vehicle they're endorsing and she says something like, "That's a big girl car," and Howie says, "See, I told you she was smart," and I just want to smack them both upside the head (although if I ever was actually in the same room with Howie Long, I wouldn't dream of smacking him upside the head because he's a very large, imposing person even though he makes stupid commercials). And now that I think of it, I wouldn't smack the little girl either, because that would just be wrong. Dang. I guess I'm stuck. But I do hate the commercial.
How low can they go?
Remember Willie Ames? Well I do, because I used to watch him on "Eight is Enough" (although I didn't ever watch him on "Charles in Charge - mainly because I thought Scott Baio was really, really annoying). Apparently things haven't gone so well for Willie, which is actually kind of sad, but there was a story today on the internet about him having a garage sale to try to raise money to pay off his debts. There's something about this that just makes me sad - not that he had a garage sale, because I've had several of those, and I don't think there's anything desperately wrong with trying to raise a little money while getting rid of some junk - but that he was so in debt and was suicidal after his wife left him and his house was in foreclosure. I suppose there's also a part of me that feels the urge to gloat a little bit (as in - Ha! This famous actor/teen idol has a rotten life and I don't) but that just seems petty and mean and makes me a little sad that it would even enter my mind.
That's all for now, so until next time may your feet remain fleet, may your fingers remain nimble, and may your nose keep it's eyes on your toes.
During normal life, I get up at 5 or 5:30 pretty much every day to go to work, but over Spring Break I took advantage of the opportunity to be kind of lazy and "slept in" till 7 pretty much every day. Until this weekend, when I had to get up early (on Saturday to get to a 6 a.m. TNT practice, and on Sunday to get to a 7 a.m. race). So what? you may be asking yourself. Well, to be honest, I don't have any idea what the point of this is. It's not particularly amusing, and there's nothing deep or philosophical about it, so why did I bother to write about it. I sense there might be some hint of irony in the whole "getting up early on the weekend" thing, but that seems like a stretch (and a pretty lame one at that). After all, don't farmers get up early every day? And milkmen (or, to be more PC, milkpeople)? And the DJ's or news anchors who have early morning shows (or are those only on the weekdays - in which case, they wouldn't fit here at all)? Anyway, the race was great this morning (nice segue, eh?). Beautiful weather (a little chilly as we waited for the start, but not bad), a good turnout, and I felt pretty good considering I haven't really been able to push it since I hurt myself a couple of months ago. Managed a few miles at a sub-8 minute pace, which was highly encouraging (and reminded me how good it feels to just let it go and run).
Hedgehogs on the wall
On Saturday, at the aforementioned TNT practice, some of us were hanging around at the ramada (because we were racing the next day in the half-marathon, we kind of slacked off on our coaching duties Saturday and spent more time standing around than running) and were not really doing much, just chatting and cheering people on as they passed by and watching folks run/cycle past on the path. Then a couple rode by on their bikes, and they were talking about these little critters that live all along the path, and the woman said something like, "What are those things - packrats?" and the guy said, "I think they might be packrats," and the woman said, "No, I think they're hedgehogs," and then they were gone, and we were all like - packrats? hedgehogs? they're ground squirrels, people. I mean, does a ground squirrel look anything like a packrat? Okay, maybe a little. But a hedgehog? Anyway, this then led to a discussion about hedgehogs and someone who shall not be named (but if he were to be named, his name would be Rick) told us about how when he was a kid, he and a friend would go out with a jeep and a bow and arrows and they would shoot hedgehogs, then they would skin them and tack the pelts up on their bedroom walls. Which created this really weird (and slightly disturbing, in a "isn't this one of the first signals of psychopathic behavior in children?" kind of way) image in my mind of a teenage boy's bedroom with the walls plastered by little tacked up hedgehog skins - which made me think back to my own teenage bedroom which didn't have any hedgehog (or, for that matter, any small/medium/large animal) skins on the walls. But I did have the iconic Farrah Fawcett-Majors poster. Not sure which is worse. Or better.
The master
Moving right along, as some of you are no doubt aware, my lovely wife, Katie, has been struggling with various running injuries over the past few months and hasn't been able to run like she'd like to. This led to a general funk for her, which I completely (okay, sort of) understand. Mainly because when I have injuries that make it so I can't run, I get in a funk, but I also find some other form of exercise so I can continue to exercise. So when she wasn't able to run, I tried on numerous occasions to get her to come to the pool with me to do some swimming. And she did tag along - once or twice - but usually she had some kind of really good and completely justified excuse for not going, like, "I can't go swimming because I'm busy being in a funk about my injury." So I was glad when she decided to sign up for the Master's swimming program that they just started at the Y, because I knew that if she paid for it, and if there was a group that was meeting at a specific time on a specific day, she would go. And she has been - faithfully for a couple of weeks now. The problem, though, is that now that she's a "master swimmer," I've lost my edge over her in the water. Not that I had it for very long. Katie was a swimmer in high school, but when I picked up my efforts in the pool and she slacked off a bit, I got to the point where I was actually a little faster than her (for freestyle only - she could always whip me at butterfly, backstroke, or breast stroke - maybe because my technique in those strokes could only be described as… let's call it floundering). But those days are over, which is okay (really, it is, I'm not being sarcastic at all here, I have no problem with her being a better swimmer than me because she is a better swimmer than me) but I do get a little tired of hearing how hard "masters swimming" is as compared to "ordinary swimming" (which is what I do). So when she does speedwork in the pool with her "master's swimming group," she's "really, really tired," but when I go and do speedwork in the pool on my own, I'm not really, really tired (maybe I'm a little tired, but definitely not really tired) because I'm not a "master's swimmer." And she is. Oh well.
Another annoying commercial
I wasn't going to do this, but this particular commercial is so darned annoying, I just have to go off on it a bit. It's the one with Howie Long and some dorky little red-haired girls, who he says is "Really smart," and then they show the little middle seat of one vehicle, and she says, "That's a little girl seat. I'm a big girl," and then they show the vehicle they're endorsing and she says something like, "That's a big girl car," and Howie says, "See, I told you she was smart," and I just want to smack them both upside the head (although if I ever was actually in the same room with Howie Long, I wouldn't dream of smacking him upside the head because he's a very large, imposing person even though he makes stupid commercials). And now that I think of it, I wouldn't smack the little girl either, because that would just be wrong. Dang. I guess I'm stuck. But I do hate the commercial.
How low can they go?
Remember Willie Ames? Well I do, because I used to watch him on "Eight is Enough" (although I didn't ever watch him on "Charles in Charge - mainly because I thought Scott Baio was really, really annoying). Apparently things haven't gone so well for Willie, which is actually kind of sad, but there was a story today on the internet about him having a garage sale to try to raise money to pay off his debts. There's something about this that just makes me sad - not that he had a garage sale, because I've had several of those, and I don't think there's anything desperately wrong with trying to raise a little money while getting rid of some junk - but that he was so in debt and was suicidal after his wife left him and his house was in foreclosure. I suppose there's also a part of me that feels the urge to gloat a little bit (as in - Ha! This famous actor/teen idol has a rotten life and I don't) but that just seems petty and mean and makes me a little sad that it would even enter my mind.
That's all for now, so until next time may your feet remain fleet, may your fingers remain nimble, and may your nose keep it's eyes on your toes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)