Dear Mitzi,
I miss you.
It's been several years since we literally spoke to each other, and that last conversation was profoundly important to me. I remember that it was a phone conversation at the beginning of February and that you were calling to talk about one of the most important people in your life about whom you were deeply concerned. Until that conversation, I don't think we had spoken in a while. At the time it felt random that you called - not because we couldn't converse, but because it didn't matter how far apart we were; we were who we were to each other and we didn't need to have words to know the value of our relationship (though I so regret that I didn't call you more). In that conversation, I remember that your words were encouraging and uplifting to me, as they always had been, even when you were scolding me as a kid. How did you do that?
But we ended that conversation with an "I love you." And that "I love you" is oxygen to me. Especially today. There are some things I need to tell you today.
First and foremost, thank you for giving me one of my best friends on the planet. Thank you for lifting me over that stupid rock fence that day, when I was four and she was three.
Thank you for being a mentor to me and for being a beautiful role model, especially in my profession. I remember that when I was looking for a teaching job I called El Paso ISD and I mentioned your name. They asked me when I could start - just. like. that. - without an interview.
Thank you for helping me to feel loved, especially when I didn't think I was worth the effort.
Thanks for letting me sneak over to your house to watch Three's Company, and when I needed to get away from the circumstance at my house.. Thanks for being a safety net. In fact you were the one who told me to go home on the night that we both knew would change my life forever. I saw that you knew. I felt like it would be OK, no matter what, just in that one glance when you told me I needed to go home. The tone of your voice and your eyes said that you knew, and that it would be OK.
Thank you for including me in your family. Thank you for kissing me like you kissed your daughters. Thanks for assuming that I would be at all of the family gatherings even though I technically wasn't family.
Thank you for making me giggle, and for getting on to me for singing "Like a Virgin" when I didn't know what that meant.
Thanks for allowing your husband to buy the clapper and for not getting on to him for clapping fifty thousand times before the TV went off at night, a circumstance that made me laugh until my insides hurt on the many occasions I spent the night at your house.
Thank you for letting me make your casket arrangement, an effort that was both healing and communal. It still is the most beautiful flower arrangement I've ever made.
Thank you for letting me hear your voice one last time at your service. And I did. I heard your voice among the choir. You knew I needed that.
You're still here with me sometimes. Thank you for that, because I still need you.
I miss you. You were an amazing human being!
I'm so, so lucky that I got to have you in my life.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Friday Night Salon
Discussion topics for March 2, 2007:
1. What are the role and function of a presidential library?
2. Is immigration good for a democracy?
3. The defining adjective of American culture is "excessive." True or False?
OK, blogfriends, give me some foundational input here, especially since all I can think of for the first topic is that scene in Zoolander when Ben Stiller says, "How can we be expected to teach children how to read good when they can't even fit inside the building."
My reenactment of anything Zoolander might not be very welcome at the salon... I should probably stay away from Idiocracy, Spaceballs, and The Three Amigos as well:
El Guapo: Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas?
Jefe: A what?
El Guapo: A plethora.
Jefe: Oh yes. You have a plethora.
El Guapo: Jefe, what is a plethora?
Jefe: Why, El Guapo?
El Guapo: You told me I have a plethora, and I just would like to know if you know what a plethora is. I would not like to think that a person would tell someone that he has a plethora and find out that that person has no idea what it means to have a plethora.
Jefe: Forgive me El Guapo. I know that I, Jefe, do not have your superior intellect and education. But could it be that once again, you are angry at something else and are looking to take it out on me?...
1. What are the role and function of a presidential library?
2. Is immigration good for a democracy?
3. The defining adjective of American culture is "excessive." True or False?
OK, blogfriends, give me some foundational input here, especially since all I can think of for the first topic is that scene in Zoolander when Ben Stiller says, "How can we be expected to teach children how to read good when they can't even fit inside the building."
My reenactment of anything Zoolander might not be very welcome at the salon... I should probably stay away from Idiocracy, Spaceballs, and The Three Amigos as well:
El Guapo: Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas?
Jefe: A what?
El Guapo: A plethora.
Jefe: Oh yes. You have a plethora.
El Guapo: Jefe, what is a plethora?
Jefe: Why, El Guapo?
El Guapo: You told me I have a plethora, and I just would like to know if you know what a plethora is. I would not like to think that a person would tell someone that he has a plethora and find out that that person has no idea what it means to have a plethora.
Jefe: Forgive me El Guapo. I know that I, Jefe, do not have your superior intellect and education. But could it be that once again, you are angry at something else and are looking to take it out on me?...
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Fekkin' rip off!
Yesterday, Wratch! and I spent a pleasant day together on the sushi side of the metroplex (as opposed to the, "Aw hell. That there is bait! Pass the calf-fries," side of the metroplex - aka: where I feel more comfortable), despite the nasty wind that whipped around leaves and sand, leaving our skin and teeth completely exfoliated and shiny.
We saw The Queen at the Angelika and, just so you know, Helen Mirren was brilliant and WILL win Oscar gold tonight! (Or else she owes me five bucks.) Afterwards, I bought a madras summer hat, and then we fought our way, against wind and sand, to the area's best pub for dinner and music.
Here's What Happened at Trinity Hall Last Night:
So Rich and I walk into the extremely crowded, "fight for a seat in the most polite way possible - with a tip of the hat, to ya'" Trinity Hall in all of its Irish glory. It was Murphys and ciders all around to the tunes of live Irish folk music (and piped in U2 between sets) when, finally, we were able to snag a table for two and order dinner.
I have to say that Trinity Hall is an exceedingly friendly place. I have met many colorful folks there and have even kept in contact with some of them. I won third place in an ironic game of Texas Hold'em in this Irish pub, a win that earned me a bottle of free soda bread! We celebrated the New Year there and felt warm as we held hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne" in a circle of bleary-eyed familiarity. Trinity Hall is where we watched the World Cup semi-final last summer when Basement Barry asked, as he had his fingers in my plate, if he could eat the raspberries off of my desert.
"Sure Basement Barry. We met ten long minutes ago, but you are welcome to my desert berries. As a matter of fact, why don't you finish off the rest of my ice cream, while you're at it."
"Thanks. I love berries."
"OK, then. Would you like to borrow my spoon?"
The point is, people there sometimes forget their American cultural recognition of personal space, and I adore this place for that very reason. Because the hall was so packed last night, people were standing all around the tables, having drinks and conversations in small circles which is lovely (!), except when you are eating your dinner and a circle of drunk Irishmen keep slamming their beers on your table, and that beer keeps splashing into your mashed potatoes.
At first, they were pounding the beers down on the edge of the table. That was enough for me to feel a little bit uncomfortable, but I thought, "Hey, sure. You can share our table. No worries."
As the evening progressed, they kept dropping their glasses closer and closer to my plate. Every two seconds a disembodied, blue cuff would jolt into my peripheral vision and grab the nearest glass. On the return trip, the hand would slam the glass nearer and nearer to where my glass was.
I never looked up. All I could see was this arm, which occasionally moved my arm out of the way so that there was room enough for the 2 empty beer glasses, 2 full beer glasses, two half full SoCo tumblers, and a glass of club soda with a twist - oh, and our plates and glasses. In between the constant lifting and slamming of the glasses, all I could hear in an Irish accent was, "I can't believe it was fekkin' sixty-sev'n p'nds. Fekkin sixty-sev'n!"
I was NOT at all angry. In fact, I was laughing so hard it (the laughter) was silent - you know that laughter where you're face is frozen in an agonizing smile and you can't breathe because the laughter is so deeply seated that it stays there in your soul, pressing your gut into your spine - and it hurts because it can't come out, so all you can do is double over and cry. For at least 10 minutes, that's how I was laughing.
Every time I gained some sort of composure, in would come the arm and SLAM! At one point, I really wanted to see what would happen if I picked up the nearest drink (which was not my own), and either took a little sip or moved it to the other side of the table.
Wratch (!): Go ahead. They might not even notice, or you can say it was an accident.
Me: Or they might knock me up side the head!
Wratch (!): They're Irish! That's how they show their affection!
Irish Men: Fekkin' rip off, that! Sixty-sev'n p'nds, my arse.
(SLAM!)
Me: (silent laughter of death)
By the time we stood up to leave, there was an empty Stella glass smack dab in the center of the table and a leaning elbow keeping its owner propped on a stool. Neither the glass nor the elbow belonged to Rich or to me. And the Irish gents were still at it!
What a fun day!
I LOVE people!
We saw The Queen at the Angelika and, just so you know, Helen Mirren was brilliant and WILL win Oscar gold tonight! (Or else she owes me five bucks.) Afterwards, I bought a madras summer hat, and then we fought our way, against wind and sand, to the area's best pub for dinner and music.
Here's What Happened at Trinity Hall Last Night:
So Rich and I walk into the extremely crowded, "fight for a seat in the most polite way possible - with a tip of the hat, to ya'" Trinity Hall in all of its Irish glory. It was Murphys and ciders all around to the tunes of live Irish folk music (and piped in U2 between sets) when, finally, we were able to snag a table for two and order dinner.
I have to say that Trinity Hall is an exceedingly friendly place. I have met many colorful folks there and have even kept in contact with some of them. I won third place in an ironic game of Texas Hold'em in this Irish pub, a win that earned me a bottle of free soda bread! We celebrated the New Year there and felt warm as we held hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne" in a circle of bleary-eyed familiarity. Trinity Hall is where we watched the World Cup semi-final last summer when Basement Barry asked, as he had his fingers in my plate, if he could eat the raspberries off of my desert.
"Sure Basement Barry. We met ten long minutes ago, but you are welcome to my desert berries. As a matter of fact, why don't you finish off the rest of my ice cream, while you're at it."
"Thanks. I love berries."
"OK, then. Would you like to borrow my spoon?"
The point is, people there sometimes forget their American cultural recognition of personal space, and I adore this place for that very reason. Because the hall was so packed last night, people were standing all around the tables, having drinks and conversations in small circles which is lovely (!), except when you are eating your dinner and a circle of drunk Irishmen keep slamming their beers on your table, and that beer keeps splashing into your mashed potatoes.
At first, they were pounding the beers down on the edge of the table. That was enough for me to feel a little bit uncomfortable, but I thought, "Hey, sure. You can share our table. No worries."
As the evening progressed, they kept dropping their glasses closer and closer to my plate. Every two seconds a disembodied, blue cuff would jolt into my peripheral vision and grab the nearest glass. On the return trip, the hand would slam the glass nearer and nearer to where my glass was.
I never looked up. All I could see was this arm, which occasionally moved my arm out of the way so that there was room enough for the 2 empty beer glasses, 2 full beer glasses, two half full SoCo tumblers, and a glass of club soda with a twist - oh, and our plates and glasses. In between the constant lifting and slamming of the glasses, all I could hear in an Irish accent was, "I can't believe it was fekkin' sixty-sev'n p'nds. Fekkin sixty-sev'n!"
I was NOT at all angry. In fact, I was laughing so hard it (the laughter) was silent - you know that laughter where you're face is frozen in an agonizing smile and you can't breathe because the laughter is so deeply seated that it stays there in your soul, pressing your gut into your spine - and it hurts because it can't come out, so all you can do is double over and cry. For at least 10 minutes, that's how I was laughing.
Every time I gained some sort of composure, in would come the arm and SLAM! At one point, I really wanted to see what would happen if I picked up the nearest drink (which was not my own), and either took a little sip or moved it to the other side of the table.
Wratch (!): Go ahead. They might not even notice, or you can say it was an accident.
Me: Or they might knock me up side the head!
Wratch (!): They're Irish! That's how they show their affection!
Irish Men: Fekkin' rip off, that! Sixty-sev'n p'nds, my arse.
(SLAM!)
Me: (silent laughter of death)
By the time we stood up to leave, there was an empty Stella glass smack dab in the center of the table and a leaning elbow keeping its owner propped on a stool. Neither the glass nor the elbow belonged to Rich or to me. And the Irish gents were still at it!
What a fun day!
I LOVE people!
Friday, February 23, 2007
The Dandy Warhols-We Used To Be Friends
Don't you hate it when you can't remember the proper name for things? Daily I have a ridiculous number of conversations that go like this:
Me: Have you heard that song by that band that's on that show that comes on after Gilmore Girls?
Friend: What with the who now? Seriously. Are you on something? Give me a concrete noun, please!
Me: You know! That one song! (sigh)
Friend: Um. OK crack baby.
Me: Nevermind. Geez. (Seriously, I'm so misunderstood.)
So Fougs, it's "We Used to Be Friends" by the Dandy Warhols. Also, I haven't forgotten about the CD you wanted to borrow. I still remember the name of that one and will try to bring it to you soon.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Progressive Dinner
For tonight's post I've decided to do what I'm calling a "progressive post." The idea is I'm going to try and make dinner, take pictures of the cooking process, and describe it all to you live! This should be pretty awesome since I am known for my extraordinary culinary skills including, but not limited to, my amazing toaster proficiencies! I know. You're jealous, right? I can make a MEAN piece of toast and sometimes even a pop tart!
BAM! (channeling Emeril)
(This may be the last time you see my house as it might burn down during the course of this ambitious endeavor, but I do have fire insurance, so I'm willing to take the risk. )
Here we go:
Tonight I will attempt to make P-ta's Stir Fry.
Step 1: Open a bottle of wine, turn-on some music, and open a snack of some sort. I'm going with Sutter Home's White Merlot and Garden of Eatin' Greek Isle pita chips (made with organic wheat). I'm currently listening to a local radio station that is playing Def Lepard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" which actually seems right for cooking. All's well so far.
OK. Note 1: I DO NOT recommend the pita chip/White Merlot combo. SO GROSS! However, that has not stopped my consumption of either.
Step 2: Pull hair back into a clippy of some sort and wear shoes in the kitchen. You learn this in Food Handling 101, people.. and yes. I did take that course when I ironically worked at the healthy food store which turned into a BBQ place (I heart Texas!).
Step 3: WASH YOUR HANDS! for the love of God.
Step 4: Break out the ingredients:
1. One package of chicken tenders(cleaned with a lemon) OR if you're a vegetarian, substitute with tofu or another veg- whatever's your poison.
2. Organic yellow squash
3. Not organic zucchini (b/c the organic zucchini was looking exceptionally pitiful at the store)
4. One of each of the following:
-red bell pepper
-green bell pepper
-orange bell pepper (all organic. I am making a point of saying organic to try and impress Fougs with all of my organic awesomeness today)
5. Carrots
6. Teriyaki sauce (I chose Kikkoman Less Sodium because the bottle is orange and I totally dig things that are orange.)
7. Rice (I use Uncle Ben's Boil in a Bag rice because it's easiest.)
Step 5: Rinse and chop everything except for the sauce and the rice (duh!).
Tip: Start with the chicken so that can be cooking as you chop the veggies. Be careful not to cross contaminate!!! For me, that means over sanitizing with kitchen cleaner. I pretty much have to take a shower in between the chicken and the veggies.
Step 6: In a large skillet, add chicken covered in a light layer of Teriyaki sauce. Cook on Medium heat as you chop the other veggies.
Step 7: Cut the "thick" veggies first since they need longer in the skillet to soften. That means carrots, peppers, then squash.
Note 2: If your mom calls during the cooking/blogging/picture taking, talk to her! My mom is especially awesome, so that was fun! I LOVE you Mom!!!
Step 8: When the chicken is cooked, add the veggies into the same skillet one by one (until each has a chance to get a little bit soft) and another layer of sauce.
Step 9: Make the rice (according to the directions on the box:) )
Step 10: If you are not full on snacks or DRUNK by the time the stir fry is ready (which I am not), ENJOY! (Music is still on: Gwen Stefani's remake of "It's My Life" is especially appropriate as I taste the final product. I love this remake!)
All this AND I did a load of laundry! The Wonder Woman underoos certainly paid off!
(and if things didn't go according to plan, you can always order a pizza... there's no shame in ordering pizza)
BAM! (channeling Emeril)
(This may be the last time you see my house as it might burn down during the course of this ambitious endeavor, but I do have fire insurance, so I'm willing to take the risk. )
Here we go:
Tonight I will attempt to make P-ta's Stir Fry.
Step 1: Open a bottle of wine, turn-on some music, and open a snack of some sort. I'm going with Sutter Home's White Merlot and Garden of Eatin' Greek Isle pita chips (made with organic wheat). I'm currently listening to a local radio station that is playing Def Lepard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" which actually seems right for cooking. All's well so far.
OK. Note 1: I DO NOT recommend the pita chip/White Merlot combo. SO GROSS! However, that has not stopped my consumption of either.
Step 2: Pull hair back into a clippy of some sort and wear shoes in the kitchen. You learn this in Food Handling 101, people.. and yes. I did take that course when I ironically worked at the healthy food store which turned into a BBQ place (I heart Texas!).
Step 3: WASH YOUR HANDS! for the love of God.
Step 4: Break out the ingredients:
1. One package of chicken tenders(cleaned with a lemon) OR if you're a vegetarian, substitute with tofu or another veg- whatever's your poison.
2. Organic yellow squash
3. Not organic zucchini (b/c the organic zucchini was looking exceptionally pitiful at the store)
4. One of each of the following:
-red bell pepper
-green bell pepper
-orange bell pepper (all organic. I am making a point of saying organic to try and impress Fougs with all of my organic awesomeness today)
5. Carrots
6. Teriyaki sauce (I chose Kikkoman Less Sodium because the bottle is orange and I totally dig things that are orange.)
7. Rice (I use Uncle Ben's Boil in a Bag rice because it's easiest.)
Step 5: Rinse and chop everything except for the sauce and the rice (duh!).
Tip: Start with the chicken so that can be cooking as you chop the veggies. Be careful not to cross contaminate!!! For me, that means over sanitizing with kitchen cleaner. I pretty much have to take a shower in between the chicken and the veggies.
Step 6: In a large skillet, add chicken covered in a light layer of Teriyaki sauce. Cook on Medium heat as you chop the other veggies.
Step 7: Cut the "thick" veggies first since they need longer in the skillet to soften. That means carrots, peppers, then squash.
Note 2: If your mom calls during the cooking/blogging/picture taking, talk to her! My mom is especially awesome, so that was fun! I LOVE you Mom!!!
Step 8: When the chicken is cooked, add the veggies into the same skillet one by one (until each has a chance to get a little bit soft) and another layer of sauce.
Step 9: Make the rice (according to the directions on the box:) )
Step 10: If you are not full on snacks or DRUNK by the time the stir fry is ready (which I am not), ENJOY! (Music is still on: Gwen Stefani's remake of "It's My Life" is especially appropriate as I taste the final product. I love this remake!)
All this AND I did a load of laundry! The Wonder Woman underoos certainly paid off!
(and if things didn't go according to plan, you can always order a pizza... there's no shame in ordering pizza)
Saturday, February 17, 2007
A new homework excuse
This is the last week in the fourth six weeks grading period - which is really the seventh week this six weeks because we have to throw in an extra "ghost week" somewhere in order to meet the state's required number of school days, and we couldn't have put it at the end of the school year (final exam week) but whatever (stupid school district) - and so I've been dealing with the furious frenzy of marking last minute papers, incompletes due to absences from the "B" flu strain (everyone got vaccinated for the "A" strain) and, of course, this sort of thing:
That student: Mrs. H, I realize I did nothing but make your life really difficult this six weeks with all of my sleeping while you were lecturing/yelling out inappropriately/not doing any work/telling you that your hair is ugly and your shoes don't match your outfit, and today is the last day before grades are due, so what can I do to pass?
Me: Honey, do you really think there is anything you can do that will help bring up your 27 average? Also, no. I'm not sure you CAN do anything, seeing as you have chosen not to do anything for the last six weeks. Do better next year and YSEABOS.
I wish.
Really my reply is more like:
Me: Get me all 25 missing assignments by Tuesday, and if I can grade them by the end of the day (which I will bend over backwards to do because I'd rather do that than tell you that you won't graduate), that will bring up your average. Thanks and have a great week-end.
What's worse is when the parents call.
That student's parent: Hi Mrs. H. My son/daughter has a 27 in your class and is in danger of not graduating. Is there any extra credit I can do..uh.. I mean my son/daughter can do to bring up his/her grade?
Me: (SIGH)
I'm such a WUSS when it comes to these situations, but at the same time it's worth dealing with them in a passive manner since being a hard ass pretty much merits a hand-delivered invitation to parent/teacher/administrator conferences (notice no student is involved), extra tears from all, and it leads to that student further poisoning my room (a new personal vendetta implemented, after all it's not like he has any schoolwork to do) for the remainder of the school year! Plus, the grade outcome usually ends-up the same.
The point is that I have have been a neglectful blogger as a result, BUT I did invite (entice) one of my coolest friends to write for us again.
SO, following this post is a new one from the BRILLIANT and talented Jamie. You might remember him from the beloved Zombie Jesus post. To continue our monster theme, this one has to do with the vampires in corporate America, especially in the futbol arena. You'll love it!
Zombies (all together): I pledge allegiance to "the corporate man" of the United States of America..
ENJOY!
That student: Mrs. H, I realize I did nothing but make your life really difficult this six weeks with all of my sleeping while you were lecturing/yelling out inappropriately/not doing any work/telling you that your hair is ugly and your shoes don't match your outfit, and today is the last day before grades are due, so what can I do to pass?
Me: Honey, do you really think there is anything you can do that will help bring up your 27 average? Also, no. I'm not sure you CAN do anything, seeing as you have chosen not to do anything for the last six weeks. Do better next year and YSEABOS.
I wish.
Really my reply is more like:
Me: Get me all 25 missing assignments by Tuesday, and if I can grade them by the end of the day (which I will bend over backwards to do because I'd rather do that than tell you that you won't graduate), that will bring up your average. Thanks and have a great week-end.
What's worse is when the parents call.
That student's parent: Hi Mrs. H. My son/daughter has a 27 in your class and is in danger of not graduating. Is there any extra credit I can do..uh.. I mean my son/daughter can do to bring up his/her grade?
Me: (SIGH)
I'm such a WUSS when it comes to these situations, but at the same time it's worth dealing with them in a passive manner since being a hard ass pretty much merits a hand-delivered invitation to parent/teacher/administrator conferences (notice no student is involved), extra tears from all, and it leads to that student further poisoning my room (a new personal vendetta implemented, after all it's not like he has any schoolwork to do) for the remainder of the school year! Plus, the grade outcome usually ends-up the same.
The point is that I have have been a neglectful blogger as a result, BUT I did invite (entice) one of my coolest friends to write for us again.
SO, following this post is a new one from the BRILLIANT and talented Jamie. You might remember him from the beloved Zombie Jesus post. To continue our monster theme, this one has to do with the vampires in corporate America, especially in the futbol arena. You'll love it!
Zombies (all together): I pledge allegiance to "the corporate man" of the United States of America..
ENJOY!
Friday, February 16, 2007
From Zombies to Vampires: (North) American Futbol and the Global Community
Vampires, Zombies, and The Beautiful Game
Jamie F.
"At Ginger's request, I am back to attempt a sophomoric piece for her very excellent blog. Last time I wrote about zombies. And Jesus. There were lots of insightful comments, and at least one seemed to be offended that I spoke with light heartedness about the Lord. So, if I made some people laugh, learned something about zombies (holing up in Wal-Mart), and caused someone else to pray for my lost soul, then I think I did OK. In fact, that pretty much sums up the effect of my existence on the world, in a microcosmic manner.
"Just a few minutes ago, my boss told me about an episode of some show called something like "Moral Oral" that comes on during Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network. I have never seen this show, but apparently this episode involved zombies. My boss was showing it to his mother, whom he thought it would offend greatly. However, in an act ready-made for my Zombie Jesus piece, the zombies, immediately prior to eating the flesh of their victims as zombies are wont to do, say grace. Genius. Perhaps they are thanking the Great Zombie for supplying these lemmings for their violent consumption. My boss' mom loved it.
"So for this week, we move from zombies to vampires. For me, vampires do not hold the same apocalyptic charm as zombies. They are much more stylish and suave. They are the tornado to the zombie hurricane. The angle I'm going to take with vampires is to find them in corporate America. But I am not going to jump for the low-hanging fruit that is a holiday like yesterday's Valentine's day. Let's take a look at a different area in which corporate America is threatening to destroy something good. And maybe we'll see that zombies and vampires are interconnected.
"The potential victim is my beloved Major League Soccer. Ah yes, the league created in 1996 as a condition for FIFA letting us host the World Cup in 1994. I am a huge soccer fan. I have traveled around the world to watch games. I have played since I was 4 years old. I have endured 2 knee surgeries and three months of a casted wrist, among a myriad of other injuries and treatments, just to keep my aging body on the field. Since 2003, I have been a season ticket holder for the Metroplex's own FC Dallas (formerly the Dallas Burn). Christine and I drive 65 miles each way 20 times a season to watch the team play.
"The league was founded as a way to develop the American player. It provided a place where American players could play week in and week out in real, professional games. Before MLS, when the US National Team played in the World Cups in 1990 and 1994, most of the players were amateurs. Their foes were all professionals. Eurosnobs, comparing the fledgling league to ones in the Old World, decried the lack of big name players, among other things. They had many legitimate complaints.
"A set of loyal fans showed up for most games, meaning the league posted average attendance figures around 8000 or so per game when you remove their over inflated ticket statistics. The league fought for respect. Its players overachieved in the 2002 World Cup in Korea. ESPN made fun of the league. MLS had to pay ESPN to carry their games. But through it all, there was a camaraderie to it. The fans were die-hard. The players were accessible. In 2003, the Dallas Burn were so bad that when we went to a charity Celebrity Waiter night at Bucca di Beppo, we had dinner with three players, one of whom played in this last World Cup in Germany, because no one else was there.
"The league was built on parity. There was a strict salary cap. The league owned all the teams. The best US players were allocated to the teams through a lottery process. On any given night, any team could win. Most teams made the playoffs, so unless your team was just terrible, a championship was never too far out of reach. The owners considered passing rule changes that allowed buying more expensive players, but Dallas' owner, Lamar Hunt, was always the voice of reason. Hunt had loads of experience in founding the AFL when he was in his 20's and merging it with the NFL. He oversaw the creation of Monday Night Football and the Superbowl. Hunt always voted against breaking the bank on players until the league was more mature. He had gotten burned when the old North American Soccer League did the same thing in the late 70's. Mr. Hunt passed away at the end of last season. And with him, so did the voice of reason.
"The MLS Board of Governors passed the Designated Player Rule at the end of last season, allowing a team's individual owner to pay one player anything they want without counting it against the cap. It is know colloquially as the Beckham Rule. And true to its name, you may have noticed that the Los Angeles Galaxy signed Mr. David Beckham this off-season. Mr. Beckham will make an obscene amount of money while playing alongside players who make $12,000 a year. MLS players used to fly coach and stay in motels. The arrival of the Real Royalty will mean the Galaxy get chartered flights all of a sudden, unless David Beckham wants to fly from LAX to Kansas City in the middle seat of a 757. The New York team, owned by Red Bull, is still looking for their Beckham Rule player. The current rumor is they are courting 1998 World Cup Winner and renowned head-butter Zinedine Zidane.
"My extremely belabored point is that, all of a sudden, people are coming out of the woodwork. MLS season ticket sales are exploding as everyone wants to see Beckham. In the short term, this will give soccer in the USA a boost. In the long term, what is it doing to the sport? One player on a team is not going to dramatically change the quality of the product on the field. Beckham's novelty will wear off, but his contract will not anytime soon. What I predict seeing is the same scenario that occurred with the North American Soccer League. The coastal teams, in our case LA and New York, will invest huge money in their players and make it back with sponsorship deals, season ticket sales, jersey sales, and the like. Smaller-market teams, with the stingier owners who want to follow the original salary-cap model, will see attendance dry up except for those few games a year when the traveling freak show comes to town. The fans in Dallas will stay home and watch Beckham and Zidane on TV instead of coming out to watch another "dull" game between Dallas and Columbus. Eventually, I worry that, like with the NASL, whose New York Cosmos had all the league star power with players like Pele, Beckenbauer, and Chinaglia, the small market teams will go out of business. The league will fold, as did the NASL, and the owners of New York and LA will leave with their Beckham-provided profits.
"This is where the vampires come in. I am afraid the owners willing to pump in loads of money for star power now will use that star power to suck the league dry. The result will be some big buzz for the next couple seasons. The stadiums will be flooded with throngs of soccer zombies and tabloid zombies running to consume and see the prettiest soccer player in history hit some of the prettiest dead balls in history. Seriously- all these people who could not be bothered to buy a ticket for the last 11 years because the sport was boring and MLS plays it at a mediocre level, will now instantly be season-ticket holders and watch one very pretty man play mediocre level soccer. I promise you, even if Beckham is the best player in the world, which he is not, The other 21 players on the field will still be guys like Bobby Rhine and Chris Albright. If you get lucky it might be the world-famous Christian Gomez! Yeah, I don't imagine you've heard of them.
"This is a case where the big owners and sponsors have become short sighted. They are tired of losing money on American soccer. They are tired of waiting for the league to grow slowly. It looks like they are ready to start making some money now at any cost. What will happen when the zombies in the crowd realize that Beckham is not making the soccer much better overall? Give them a few years and the star power will fizzle like it did with Freddy Adu. The development of the US player will suffer, and the sport may be set back to where it was in 1994, minus the promise of a league about to start up.
"Soccer is a good, beautiful thing, for the most part. It gets vilified, as in the current situation in Italy. It has lots of problems- racism in Europe, corruption, commercialism. But it can bring people together in ways nothing else can. It has stopped wars temporarily. It facilitates conversations on trains between fans from the all over the world. Even when it divides, it unites.
"The United States needs to be a part of this global community for so many reasons, especially now. The sport is growing slowly over here. Now is not the time to suck the blood from it quickly and leave it for dead."
Jamie F.
"At Ginger's request, I am back to attempt a sophomoric piece for her very excellent blog. Last time I wrote about zombies. And Jesus. There were lots of insightful comments, and at least one seemed to be offended that I spoke with light heartedness about the Lord. So, if I made some people laugh, learned something about zombies (holing up in Wal-Mart), and caused someone else to pray for my lost soul, then I think I did OK. In fact, that pretty much sums up the effect of my existence on the world, in a microcosmic manner."Just a few minutes ago, my boss told me about an episode of some show called something like "Moral Oral" that comes on during Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network. I have never seen this show, but apparently this episode involved zombies. My boss was showing it to his mother, whom he thought it would offend greatly. However, in an act ready-made for my Zombie Jesus piece, the zombies, immediately prior to eating the flesh of their victims as zombies are wont to do, say grace. Genius. Perhaps they are thanking the Great Zombie for supplying these lemmings for their violent consumption. My boss' mom loved it.
"So for this week, we move from zombies to vampires. For me, vampires do not hold the same apocalyptic charm as zombies. They are much more stylish and suave. They are the tornado to the zombie hurricane. The angle I'm going to take with vampires is to find them in corporate America. But I am not going to jump for the low-hanging fruit that is a holiday like yesterday's Valentine's day. Let's take a look at a different area in which corporate America is threatening to destroy something good. And maybe we'll see that zombies and vampires are interconnected.
"The potential victim is my beloved Major League Soccer. Ah yes, the league created in 1996 as a condition for FIFA letting us host the World Cup in 1994. I am a huge soccer fan. I have traveled around the world to watch games. I have played since I was 4 years old. I have endured 2 knee surgeries and three months of a casted wrist, among a myriad of other injuries and treatments, just to keep my aging body on the field. Since 2003, I have been a season ticket holder for the Metroplex's own FC Dallas (formerly the Dallas Burn). Christine and I drive 65 miles each way 20 times a season to watch the team play.
"The league was founded as a way to develop the American player. It provided a place where American players could play week in and week out in real, professional games. Before MLS, when the US National Team played in the World Cups in 1990 and 1994, most of the players were amateurs. Their foes were all professionals. Eurosnobs, comparing the fledgling league to ones in the Old World, decried the lack of big name players, among other things. They had many legitimate complaints.
"A set of loyal fans showed up for most games, meaning the league posted average attendance figures around 8000 or so per game when you remove their over inflated ticket statistics. The league fought for respect. Its players overachieved in the 2002 World Cup in Korea. ESPN made fun of the league. MLS had to pay ESPN to carry their games. But through it all, there was a camaraderie to it. The fans were die-hard. The players were accessible. In 2003, the Dallas Burn were so bad that when we went to a charity Celebrity Waiter night at Bucca di Beppo, we had dinner with three players, one of whom played in this last World Cup in Germany, because no one else was there.
"The league was built on parity. There was a strict salary cap. The league owned all the teams. The best US players were allocated to the teams through a lottery process. On any given night, any team could win. Most teams made the playoffs, so unless your team was just terrible, a championship was never too far out of reach. The owners considered passing rule changes that allowed buying more expensive players, but Dallas' owner, Lamar Hunt, was always the voice of reason. Hunt had loads of experience in founding the AFL when he was in his 20's and merging it with the NFL. He oversaw the creation of Monday Night Football and the Superbowl. Hunt always voted against breaking the bank on players until the league was more mature. He had gotten burned when the old North American Soccer League did the same thing in the late 70's. Mr. Hunt passed away at the end of last season. And with him, so did the voice of reason.
"The MLS Board of Governors passed the Designated Player Rule at the end of last season, allowing a team's individual owner to pay one player anything they want without counting it against the cap. It is know colloquially as the Beckham Rule. And true to its name, you may have noticed that the Los Angeles Galaxy signed Mr. David Beckham this off-season. Mr. Beckham will make an obscene amount of money while playing alongside players who make $12,000 a year. MLS players used to fly coach and stay in motels. The arrival of the Real Royalty will mean the Galaxy get chartered flights all of a sudden, unless David Beckham wants to fly from LAX to Kansas City in the middle seat of a 757. The New York team, owned by Red Bull, is still looking for their Beckham Rule player. The current rumor is they are courting 1998 World Cup Winner and renowned head-butter Zinedine Zidane.
"My extremely belabored point is that, all of a sudden, people are coming out of the woodwork. MLS season ticket sales are exploding as everyone wants to see Beckham. In the short term, this will give soccer in the USA a boost. In the long term, what is it doing to the sport? One player on a team is not going to dramatically change the quality of the product on the field. Beckham's novelty will wear off, but his contract will not anytime soon. What I predict seeing is the same scenario that occurred with the North American Soccer League. The coastal teams, in our case LA and New York, will invest huge money in their players and make it back with sponsorship deals, season ticket sales, jersey sales, and the like. Smaller-market teams, with the stingier owners who want to follow the original salary-cap model, will see attendance dry up except for those few games a year when the traveling freak show comes to town. The fans in Dallas will stay home and watch Beckham and Zidane on TV instead of coming out to watch another "dull" game between Dallas and Columbus. Eventually, I worry that, like with the NASL, whose New York Cosmos had all the league star power with players like Pele, Beckenbauer, and Chinaglia, the small market teams will go out of business. The league will fold, as did the NASL, and the owners of New York and LA will leave with their Beckham-provided profits.
"This is where the vampires come in. I am afraid the owners willing to pump in loads of money for star power now will use that star power to suck the league dry. The result will be some big buzz for the next couple seasons. The stadiums will be flooded with throngs of soccer zombies and tabloid zombies running to consume and see the prettiest soccer player in history hit some of the prettiest dead balls in history. Seriously- all these people who could not be bothered to buy a ticket for the last 11 years because the sport was boring and MLS plays it at a mediocre level, will now instantly be season-ticket holders and watch one very pretty man play mediocre level soccer. I promise you, even if Beckham is the best player in the world, which he is not, The other 21 players on the field will still be guys like Bobby Rhine and Chris Albright. If you get lucky it might be the world-famous Christian Gomez! Yeah, I don't imagine you've heard of them.
"This is a case where the big owners and sponsors have become short sighted. They are tired of losing money on American soccer. They are tired of waiting for the league to grow slowly. It looks like they are ready to start making some money now at any cost. What will happen when the zombies in the crowd realize that Beckham is not making the soccer much better overall? Give them a few years and the star power will fizzle like it did with Freddy Adu. The development of the US player will suffer, and the sport may be set back to where it was in 1994, minus the promise of a league about to start up.
"Soccer is a good, beautiful thing, for the most part. It gets vilified, as in the current situation in Italy. It has lots of problems- racism in Europe, corruption, commercialism. But it can bring people together in ways nothing else can. It has stopped wars temporarily. It facilitates conversations on trains between fans from the all over the world. Even when it divides, it unites.
"The United States needs to be a part of this global community for so many reasons, especially now. The sport is growing slowly over here. Now is not the time to suck the blood from it quickly and leave it for dead."
Now to the comments! (that means you..)
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
The 80's Rule!
Also today, this article posted by Rockstar Mommy in the virtual mag, Faster Than The World, made me laugh.
If you were around during the 80's, you'll laugh too, especially at the picture!!
(I did watch the sunrise..)
If you were around during the 80's, you'll laugh too, especially at the picture!!
(I did watch the sunrise..)
Here's a story for you:
I woke-up at 5:00 this morning to the beautiful coos and purrs of our adorable, snuggley kitten who sweetly and gently nudged me into consciousness. He (Colin) wanted to remind me that sunrises are beautiful and that I should sit and watch this morning's with him..
Actually it was more like a freaking tornado siren coming from a 50 lb bag of potatoes balanced on two pencils (erasers down, thank God!) that were jabbing into my sternum. Wait. Where's my sternum? Anyway, Colin didn't give a damn about the beautiful sunrise. He wanted some breakfast and a chance to pee outside.
(sigh) What was that thing about mindful breathing again?
Whatever. Wish granted, you dastardly cat, but now I am awake (and apparently crabby)...
In all of my glorious crankitude, I started reading some blogs and I found this post by Yogabeans, recommended by Fussy. My mood changed instantly, and I found myself laughing out loud (sorry Rich and Casey). What would happen if superheroes and diabolical villains took a yoga class together? Go link and find out...
Here is a teaser:
Spiderman: "I thought we'd have class outside today on this rustic wood plank. Any objections?"
AND there are pictures - the best part and the worst part at the same time. (double think 101)
OK, then. Colin, I forgive you.
Actually it was more like a freaking tornado siren coming from a 50 lb bag of potatoes balanced on two pencils (erasers down, thank God!) that were jabbing into my sternum. Wait. Where's my sternum? Anyway, Colin didn't give a damn about the beautiful sunrise. He wanted some breakfast and a chance to pee outside.
(sigh) What was that thing about mindful breathing again?
Whatever. Wish granted, you dastardly cat, but now I am awake (and apparently crabby)...
In all of my glorious crankitude, I started reading some blogs and I found this post by Yogabeans, recommended by Fussy. My mood changed instantly, and I found myself laughing out loud (sorry Rich and Casey). What would happen if superheroes and diabolical villains took a yoga class together? Go link and find out...
Here is a teaser:
Ardha Baddha Padmottanasana
Spiderman: "I thought we'd have class outside today on this rustic wood plank. Any objections?"
Mr. Freeze: "As soon as I can think of a diabolical response to that question, I will impart it to you, web-slinging do-gooder."
Flash: "Dude, is this floor made out of an old fence or something?"
Woody: "Don't fence me in! Ha, ha!"
Green Lantern: "Oh my god, I think I'm in the wrong class."
AND there are pictures - the best part and the worst part at the same time. (double think 101)
OK, then. Colin, I forgive you.
I'm off to watch a sunrise!
Friday, February 09, 2007
Sunshine Speaks
I mentioned in the last post that Naomi Nye recommended Sunshine's blog called "Days of My Life." Sunshine is a 15 year old girl who lives in Iraq. She talks about teen-age stuff like all of my students (studying for mid-terms, friends, family, etc.), but she also talks about what's going on in her war-torn country. Her honest and innocent view of something absolutely horrific seems almost paradoxical, and it absolutely breaks my heart. Here is an excerpt from her latest blog post on January 18th that I find especially relevant (very heart-breaking indeed and beautiful at the same time).
"I got a letter from a dear friend of mine telling me that the media says that the Sunnis kill the Shiites and the Shiites kill Sunnites in Iraq .. OOOOHHHHH Of course that is not true , Sunnites and Shiites have been living together for ages , they marry each other , I have relatives married Shiites women\men, if that was true , that means my parents’ uncle should kill his wife ,my mom’s uncle should kill his wife , some of my parents’ cousins should kill their wives\husbands !!!!!!!! and I should kill my two best friends , that is ridiculous…In my grandparents’ neighborhood, there are people from many religions there are Muslims(Sunnites, Shiites) , Christians , Subba , &Armenians.. they are more than neighbors , like one family , when my eye problem happened ( I had Deplopia) our Christian neighbors went to the church and lightened candles for me , and our Shiites neighbors went to Karbala , she traveled to another city , just to pray for me ( Karbala is a religious place specially for Shiites ), the examples are so many . I’ve talked about that in many posts . and said that in many interviews , and I will keep saying that till the people in the world start to realize , that Iraqis (Sunnites and Shiites) live in Iraq for more than 1400 years, they are MUSLIMS and IRAQIS.We go shopping together , if we need any help , we ask our neighbors to help us , because we are all Iraqis , no matter what are our religion , nor creeds , I didn’t know what are Shiites and Sunnites until I was 12 years old, and lately it appears that there are more creeds , Shafee and hanafy !!!!!! and other creeds , I don’t know which one I belong to , and I don’t even want to know , those names are not important , we all believe in the same god , and say the same prayers , no matter how do we stand and those formals if we put our hand together when we pray or not !!!!!!, what’s important is what is there inside our hearts .So , NO we don’t kill each other , the terrorists who kill Shiites are the same who kill Sunnites , it is impossible that Good Iraqis kill each other , no matter what is their religions nor creeds …In my own big family , there are Arabs and Kurd , Sunnites and Shiites , Iraqis Americans , British , Turks , and Germans ( my parent’s uncle married a British lady , his daughter married a guy originally from Germany , and my dad’s cousin has a Turkish wife, many of my relatives married Shiites ) , what a mixture !!....From many nationalities and creeds. We are one big family.."
Sunshine could teach us a lot..
"I got a letter from a dear friend of mine telling me that the media says that the Sunnis kill the Shiites and the Shiites kill Sunnites in Iraq .. OOOOHHHHH Of course that is not true , Sunnites and Shiites have been living together for ages , they marry each other , I have relatives married Shiites women\men, if that was true , that means my parents’ uncle should kill his wife ,my mom’s uncle should kill his wife , some of my parents’ cousins should kill their wives\husbands !!!!!!!! and I should kill my two best friends , that is ridiculous…In my grandparents’ neighborhood, there are people from many religions there are Muslims(Sunnites, Shiites) , Christians , Subba , &Armenians.. they are more than neighbors , like one family , when my eye problem happened ( I had Deplopia) our Christian neighbors went to the church and lightened candles for me , and our Shiites neighbors went to Karbala , she traveled to another city , just to pray for me ( Karbala is a religious place specially for Shiites ), the examples are so many . I’ve talked about that in many posts . and said that in many interviews , and I will keep saying that till the people in the world start to realize , that Iraqis (Sunnites and Shiites) live in Iraq for more than 1400 years, they are MUSLIMS and IRAQIS.We go shopping together , if we need any help , we ask our neighbors to help us , because we are all Iraqis , no matter what are our religion , nor creeds , I didn’t know what are Shiites and Sunnites until I was 12 years old, and lately it appears that there are more creeds , Shafee and hanafy !!!!!! and other creeds , I don’t know which one I belong to , and I don’t even want to know , those names are not important , we all believe in the same god , and say the same prayers , no matter how do we stand and those formals if we put our hand together when we pray or not !!!!!!, what’s important is what is there inside our hearts .So , NO we don’t kill each other , the terrorists who kill Shiites are the same who kill Sunnites , it is impossible that Good Iraqis kill each other , no matter what is their religions nor creeds …In my own big family , there are Arabs and Kurd , Sunnites and Shiites , Iraqis Americans , British , Turks , and Germans ( my parent’s uncle married a British lady , his daughter married a guy originally from Germany , and my dad’s cousin has a Turkish wife, many of my relatives married Shiites ) , what a mixture !!....From many nationalities and creeds. We are one big family.."
Sunshine could teach us a lot..
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Naomi Shihab-Nye in Person
Today Naomi Shihab-Nye came to talk to our classes and she was MARVELOUS!
First of all, she wasn't the person I expected which says something, I think, about expectations. I thought she would be ethereal somehow, or maybe abstract - airy. I don't know. But I can describe the reality of her through my experience.
Fougs and I had been a bit stressed about the visit just because we wanted it to be perfect. We spent weeks researching and learning. We prepped the kids for the visit and had them color mark her poems. We asked them to think about who she might be as a person based on all of the introductions and jacket covers in/on her books. We wanted them to come up with three questions each based on this information in case an awkward silence descended upon the classroom. We studied and stressed and wondered and thought for days, and finally today came.
Thanks to our amazing librarian, MJ O' Beane (pseudonym of destruction!), we had an amazing lunch with Naomi Nye around a small round table in our tiny, beach muraled (thanks to an ambitious art department) B-hall lounge. Here is where I realized that all of the prep work we had done was in vain (as in vanity). Naomi Nye is one of the most friendly, talkative, easy-going people I have ever met.
We knew that Naomi liked food - she uses figs and melons and Palestinian cookies as imagery in her poems - but we did not know to what extent. Food for her is a sharing; it is an experience that brings us together using all of our senses. As we passed bowls of delicious, fragrant food around the table, we realized that we were not only enjoying a nice meal together, but we literally tasted the true meaning of communion. We were having family time and sharing with a complete stranger, who wasn't a stranger after all because she is a person and we are people. We are we.
Naomi told us that her dad says that if more people would share meals together, we wouldn't have any wars, which is a similar message, my mom says, to that of a country song about sitting together on the front porch...
Anyway, at lunch I discovered that I shouldn't have stressed, and that there wouldn't be an awkward moment because, unlike me, Naomi Nye is completely comfortable and confident in her own skin. In fact, she is so self-aware that no one notices anything other than the beauty of who she is: a dear, hilarious, out-going, spirited individual who is supremely aware of people's need for human connection - for pointing out the loveliness in them, and for praising their individual and collective voices.
She spoke very eloquently to the kids who sincerely absorbed her wisdom. She taught them about writing, about poetry, and about her life as a Palestinian Texan. She encouraged them to use all of their voices (we don't have just one) in their writing. She gave them mini writing assignments, had them share what they penned, and applauded them for creating something beautiful.
Naomi addressed the fact that one should not analyze poetry like one might analyze the polyester/cotton blend of a shirt, but that instead they should allow poetry to say something to them, to give them a reason to look at the world a little bit differently, and to share that experience in their own forms. Then she read some of her favorite poems from other writers and we breathed them in and let them become a part of us, as well.
She talked about the "miracle" of blogs and how people are reaching out across oceans with them. She especially likes Riverbend's blog called "Baghdad Burning" and Sunshine's, "Days of My Life".
She wanted us to remember that good writing isn't about something of the air. It is grounded and relatable, recognizable and beautiful like the “duende”; it is beautiful even if the subject is uncomfortable, ugly, funny, or disturbing. Poetry is community.
Naomi was so brilliant that though the bell rang for school to let out, several of the kids waited to actually shake her hand and tell her what an honor it was to meet her. She gave them her email address. She took pictures with them, and told them that they are beautiful.
And they are.
First of all, she wasn't the person I expected which says something, I think, about expectations. I thought she would be ethereal somehow, or maybe abstract - airy. I don't know. But I can describe the reality of her through my experience.
Fougs and I had been a bit stressed about the visit just because we wanted it to be perfect. We spent weeks researching and learning. We prepped the kids for the visit and had them color mark her poems. We asked them to think about who she might be as a person based on all of the introductions and jacket covers in/on her books. We wanted them to come up with three questions each based on this information in case an awkward silence descended upon the classroom. We studied and stressed and wondered and thought for days, and finally today came.
Thanks to our amazing librarian, MJ O' Beane (pseudonym of destruction!), we had an amazing lunch with Naomi Nye around a small round table in our tiny, beach muraled (thanks to an ambitious art department) B-hall lounge. Here is where I realized that all of the prep work we had done was in vain (as in vanity). Naomi Nye is one of the most friendly, talkative, easy-going people I have ever met.
We knew that Naomi liked food - she uses figs and melons and Palestinian cookies as imagery in her poems - but we did not know to what extent. Food for her is a sharing; it is an experience that brings us together using all of our senses. As we passed bowls of delicious, fragrant food around the table, we realized that we were not only enjoying a nice meal together, but we literally tasted the true meaning of communion. We were having family time and sharing with a complete stranger, who wasn't a stranger after all because she is a person and we are people. We are we.
Naomi told us that her dad says that if more people would share meals together, we wouldn't have any wars, which is a similar message, my mom says, to that of a country song about sitting together on the front porch...
Anyway, at lunch I discovered that I shouldn't have stressed, and that there wouldn't be an awkward moment because, unlike me, Naomi Nye is completely comfortable and confident in her own skin. In fact, she is so self-aware that no one notices anything other than the beauty of who she is: a dear, hilarious, out-going, spirited individual who is supremely aware of people's need for human connection - for pointing out the loveliness in them, and for praising their individual and collective voices.
She spoke very eloquently to the kids who sincerely absorbed her wisdom. She taught them about writing, about poetry, and about her life as a Palestinian Texan. She encouraged them to use all of their voices (we don't have just one) in their writing. She gave them mini writing assignments, had them share what they penned, and applauded them for creating something beautiful.
Naomi addressed the fact that one should not analyze poetry like one might analyze the polyester/cotton blend of a shirt, but that instead they should allow poetry to say something to them, to give them a reason to look at the world a little bit differently, and to share that experience in their own forms. Then she read some of her favorite poems from other writers and we breathed them in and let them become a part of us, as well.
She talked about the "miracle" of blogs and how people are reaching out across oceans with them. She especially likes Riverbend's blog called "Baghdad Burning" and Sunshine's, "Days of My Life".
She wanted us to remember that good writing isn't about something of the air. It is grounded and relatable, recognizable and beautiful like the “duende”; it is beautiful even if the subject is uncomfortable, ugly, funny, or disturbing. Poetry is community.
Naomi was so brilliant that though the bell rang for school to let out, several of the kids waited to actually shake her hand and tell her what an honor it was to meet her. She gave them her email address. She took pictures with them, and told them that they are beautiful.
And they are.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
WTF-C!?
So, the other night when the compadres (Fougs, Jamie, Rich, and I) set forth on our monthly expedition to the salon, our minds completely focused on the seriousness of the topics we would soon be discussing with other, more mature and enlightened members of the metroplex - as we were contemplatively and silently gliding (well, the boys were more like striding, and come to think of it, so was Fougs; it doesn't matter) to our vehicle*, we all ran into a brick wall of utter astonishment! Something was blocking our tread. Unable to comprehend the sight before us, we all simply stopped. We stared. We stood there some more. We were silent. Our mouths could not catch up to our brains and we stood there, yes, silently.
And then a wave of hilarity swallowed us whole, all at the same time and we were paralyzed with laughter - the kind that makes you cry a little, and leaves you gasping for air. What seemed like 10 minutes of laughter continued until someone got the camera. This is what stunned us:
And then a wave of hilarity swallowed us whole, all at the same time and we were paralyzed with laughter - the kind that makes you cry a little, and leaves you gasping for air. What seemed like 10 minutes of laughter continued until someone got the camera. This is what stunned us:
Here, in suburbia in Metroplex, America, a chicken was standing in our yard. I realize that I live in Texas and that my town might be considered an Ag town, but I live by a highway. Literally, it's in the backyard. We were heading to the salon in downtown. We have museums and plays and culture and poetry - bright lights, malls, marquees, and Ikea.
The chicken, according to one of us (who shall remain nameless), turned to attack. I personally only saw the chicken run from us, as chickens are wont to do, but whatever.
In fact we weren't sure we were really seeing it, so we followed it (Jamie chose to walk like the chicken in an effort to lure it to him (?)-uh, to entertain it(?)- to communicate(?) what the hell, Jamie?) to the neighbor's yard, salon be damned! Maybe it was a ghost chicken!
The question remains. How did a chicken wander into our front yard? Look what it did to us, especially at the salon!
Christine is saying, "Stuff like this only happens while I'm around Ginger."
(sorry about the shaky cam, but I was laughing and shooting-pictures- at the same time)
All night we had the "there was a chicken in the yard" gleam in our eyes. It affected some more than others. 
Especially Jamie..
*probably we were making fart jokes and tripping off of the porch step, but I'm trying to set a mood here
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Liz Phair Everything To Me
I bought Liz Phair's new cd, Somebody's Miracle, today. So far I love it and it will be one of those that I can listen to as I wind down and fall asleep (or on the airplane to soothe that damn anxiety attack that makes me hold hands with complete strangers - I guess I'm making friends (?)).
Liz Phair joins the likes of David Gray, KT Tunstall, and Nora Jones. These voices are so comforting to me.
Plus, I want to look like Liz Phair when I grow up!
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Zombie Jesus
Here's how the topic came about: I had read a hilarious David Sedaris essay about David participating in the equivalent of an English as a Second Language (ESL) class, only this one was in France and for non-French speakers. That would make it FSL? Anyway, according to the essay the class was trying to explain (in broken French) the idea of Easter to a non-Westerner. Think about it. A dad allows his son to die a horrible death. The son then comes back to life and visits his friends and family, and we celebrate this with colorful eggs, bunnies (and in France, the flying Easter bell), baskets, chocolates, and fake grass. I was trying to describe the hilarity of all of this to Christine, and as usual the topic became philosophical and serious in a surreal, circusy kind of way. You know. The usual.
ANYWAY, we thought that to people who aren't Westernized, we could be saying that Jesus is a zombie, and to others that may seem strange. We carried the metaphor a little bit further, but our ideas only went so far. We decided that we should consult the Zombie Expert of America, Jamie F. - my dear friend and Christine's dear hubby - for the REAL answers. Christine asked him, “Do you like zombies as a twisted expression of your Catholicism?” His response: “No, I like zombies as a twisted expression of my nihilism.”
Here is Jamie's dissertation on Jesus, zombies, nihilism, and the whole of humanity:
"The Jesus/zombie thing is interesting. I have thought about that as an ironic little funny before. I said to Christine once that Jesus was the ultimate zombie. He came back from the dead, but he did not conform to the mindless flesh-seeking that most zombies seem to. The idea that you and Christine presented, that Jesus is a self-sacrificing zombie who lets his flesh be consumed by the masses, is very interesting. That paints the picture to me of the mindless throngs of the masses (pun intended) mindlessly pursuing the flesh they want to eat, not because of conscious choice, but because of some primitive instinctual brain impulse provided by generations of indoctrination.
Ah ha...now I get it. It is the ultimate zombie movie, but not because Jesus is the ultimate zombie. What Jesus did, probably quite unintentionally, was create zombie-like masses of people who follow and never question.
Here is where the comparison really piques my interest. In zombie movies, there is generally some kind of plague that reanimates bodies. The top-level struggle is usually the remaining living trying to stay alive while fending off the zombie onslaught. What I love about this construct is that the living are doomed. The zombies have an unending supply of soldiers, while the living's numbers wane. The zombies are much less fragile than are the living. I like that it represents the pointlessness of the living's struggle; they try and try to survive and live and create a future, when in reality their own corpses are closing in on them and rendering what they're doing largely pointless.
That's the first level of conflict in the construct. The second is more powerful to me. The living, surrounded by death and the threat of death by former loved ones' corpses with the munchies, always end up causing more problems for each other than the zombies ever do. In Night of the Living Dead, the group shacks up in the farmhouse and boards it up. They are doing a successful job of keeping out the zombies. We, the viewers, know that if they survive until morning they will be rescued. Their undoing is each other, not the zombies. The alpha-male struggle between Ben and Mr. Cooper leads to Cooper's death, while Ben successfully wards off the zombies until morning, the sole survivor in the house, only to be shot by the hick sheriff who thinks he is a zombie.
In Dawn of the Dead the living have holed up in the mall, which is a well-stocked fortress. They are doing great until the motorcycle gang decides to loot the place, letting all the zombies in in the process.
And my favorite aspect is the way love is the downfall of the living. The most common way of otherwise intelligent people getting bitten by a zombie is because the zombie is their brother (Barbara) or their husband, or father, or whatever. The living are unable to separate a corpse from the sentimental attachments they have to the person it used to be.
So, ultimately, the living are screwed. Their world is closing in on them. Death is inevitable. No matter what they do to make life bearable, other living will screw it up through greed. If they love anyone, that will eventually cause them pain and even death. And no matter how clever they are, they will die. It is a huge metaphor for life. All that they can have is hope that they will be delivered somehow. Just as mankind has faith in an afterlife to make this life more bearable. It's not a happy picture at all, but it is fun to watch the living scurry around, and zombies are phat.
San Dimas High School Football Rules!"
Alright. Your turn. Respond please!
ANYWAY, we thought that to people who aren't Westernized, we could be saying that Jesus is a zombie, and to others that may seem strange. We carried the metaphor a little bit further, but our ideas only went so far. We decided that we should consult the Zombie Expert of America, Jamie F. - my dear friend and Christine's dear hubby - for the REAL answers. Christine asked him, “Do you like zombies as a twisted expression of your Catholicism?” His response: “No, I like zombies as a twisted expression of my nihilism.”
Here is Jamie's dissertation on Jesus, zombies, nihilism, and the whole of humanity:
"The Jesus/zombie thing is interesting. I have thought about that as an ironic little funny before. I said to Christine once that Jesus was the ultimate zombie. He came back from the dead, but he did not conform to the mindless flesh-seeking that most zombies seem to. The idea that you and Christine presented, that Jesus is a self-sacrificing zombie who lets his flesh be consumed by the masses, is very interesting. That paints the picture to me of the mindless throngs of the masses (pun intended) mindlessly pursuing the flesh they want to eat, not because of conscious choice, but because of some primitive instinctual brain impulse provided by generations of indoctrination.
Ah ha...now I get it. It is the ultimate zombie movie, but not because Jesus is the ultimate zombie. What Jesus did, probably quite unintentionally, was create zombie-like masses of people who follow and never question.
Here is where the comparison really piques my interest. In zombie movies, there is generally some kind of plague that reanimates bodies. The top-level struggle is usually the remaining living trying to stay alive while fending off the zombie onslaught. What I love about this construct is that the living are doomed. The zombies have an unending supply of soldiers, while the living's numbers wane. The zombies are much less fragile than are the living. I like that it represents the pointlessness of the living's struggle; they try and try to survive and live and create a future, when in reality their own corpses are closing in on them and rendering what they're doing largely pointless.
That's the first level of conflict in the construct. The second is more powerful to me. The living, surrounded by death and the threat of death by former loved ones' corpses with the munchies, always end up causing more problems for each other than the zombies ever do. In Night of the Living Dead, the group shacks up in the farmhouse and boards it up. They are doing a successful job of keeping out the zombies. We, the viewers, know that if they survive until morning they will be rescued. Their undoing is each other, not the zombies. The alpha-male struggle between Ben and Mr. Cooper leads to Cooper's death, while Ben successfully wards off the zombies until morning, the sole survivor in the house, only to be shot by the hick sheriff who thinks he is a zombie.
In Dawn of the Dead the living have holed up in the mall, which is a well-stocked fortress. They are doing great until the motorcycle gang decides to loot the place, letting all the zombies in in the process.
And my favorite aspect is the way love is the downfall of the living. The most common way of otherwise intelligent people getting bitten by a zombie is because the zombie is their brother (Barbara) or their husband, or father, or whatever. The living are unable to separate a corpse from the sentimental attachments they have to the person it used to be.
So, ultimately, the living are screwed. Their world is closing in on them. Death is inevitable. No matter what they do to make life bearable, other living will screw it up through greed. If they love anyone, that will eventually cause them pain and even death. And no matter how clever they are, they will die. It is a huge metaphor for life. All that they can have is hope that they will be delivered somehow. Just as mankind has faith in an afterlife to make this life more bearable. It's not a happy picture at all, but it is fun to watch the living scurry around, and zombies are phat.
San Dimas High School Football Rules!"
Alright. Your turn. Respond please!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)