We did it AND we rocked it!

more than kisses, letters mingle souls. For, thus friends absent speak. - John Donne in a letter "To Sir Henry Wotton"

I can't believe it is already November 30th and the end to NaBloPoMo! More than writing practice, to me blogging has been a catalyst through which I've been able to connect and reconnect with all of you. In my opinion, that's what life is all about. Also, everyday I get to know what's going on in your lives and I LOVE that familial transaction. It's home to me. So let's blog often (without the stress of having to) and keep these lines connected.

'And I draw a line
To your heart today
To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe'

-PJ Harvey "One Line"

Not a bit worried

So, tomorrow I'm F_L_Y_I_N_G to Denver for an IB conference. The week-end will be really fun, I think, especially since I get to hang out with my favorite friend Fougs. Here's the thing: I HATE to fly! You know this, but I can't say it enough. What's the etiquette on drinking before noon? in front of your boss? on a school trip? To make matters worse, Denver just had a huge truck load of snow dumped on it, which is OK except that that exact weather system is supposed to bring sleet to my area around the time we are supposed to fly out tomorrow. Yay. Dangerous flight conditions. Super. Winter weather warning. Not stressed at all. Clearly.

On top of all of this, right now we are under a tornado watch, I have to pack, and make sure all is right for the sub tomorrow. So, I should probably go do those things... but which one first?

They keep getting better and better!

Cover design by Parker J.

The new LitMag is being printed as I type!!! The printer brought the proof to school today and it looks B-U-tiful! We only had a few minor adjustments. Overall I am extremely proud of my staff this year. They really work well together and our publication couldn't be more professional. I can't wait to see they do next semester for the spring extravaganza!! Congratulations you Litmagger Scalawags! Temp U will rock! And for the rest of you: Buy your fall 2006 edition of In The Margins ASAP! Here's a sneak peek...

Spread design by Amira A.


Spread design by Sean D.

Spread design by Catie L.

Spread design by Hannah H.

Spread design by Kathryn F.

Spread design by Hannah H.

Spread design by Catie L.

Potable Politic

Terry Blair is one of my favorite people on the planet. The second I met him I knew that we were creatures cut from the same cloth. He calls me "daughter" and he is one of the most kind, compassionate men I have ever met. He is a brilliant teacher and mentor, literally; he shines! The following are in a delicious quote journal filled with marvelous poetry, philosophy, quips, and aphorisms that Terry spent years compiling and then generously handed to me for no other reason than he wanted me to share it with him. His efforts have become the foundation for my own. Thank you Terry! I love you!


I'm feeling a bit political today, especially with all the goings on in the world. Here are some ingredients for those of you who like to mix politics and poetry (shaken, not stirred):

Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.
John Adams

Democracy is a device that ensures that we shall be governed no better than we deserve.
George Bernard Shaw

The death of democracy is not likely to be an assassination from ambush. It will be a slow extinction from apathy, indifference, and undernourishment.
Robert Hutchins

Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.
Winston Churchill

The best government is a benevolent tyranny tempered by an occasional assassination.
Voltaire

I predict future happiness for Americans if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them.
Thomas Jefferson

Once upon a time in Mexico...my version:

When I was in college and apparently invincible, Rich, our good friends Russell and Amanda, and I left the cozy comfort of the home-made house/chicken coop/migrant farmer shack in Wolfforth (another post,another day) with our sights set on Mexico City.

We drove 10 hours to Nuevo Laredo, parked the car, and crossed the border, toting backpacks, a very small amount of cash, and high hopes. We walked directly to the Laredo bus station where we bought 4 round trip tickets on the next bus to Mexico City. Four hours later, we began our 12 hour journey on a bus that's only amenity was the mounted TV screens for movies - 12 hours of Bruce Lee action films dubbed in French and subtitled in Spanish. Since the bathroom was um...not OK, we were happy when we stopped half-way to Mexico city but soon learned that the "rest stop" consisted of a toilet-less stall (more of a drain) and no tp. Note: a cultural difference - when at a rest stop on a 12 hour bus trip to Mexico, it is recommended that during the one rest stop you run ahead of the others to be first to the "toilet" before you get shoved out of the way. I learned this the hard way and had the bruises that proved it...
Anyway, once we got to Mexico City, we found a great hotel near The Zócalo and settled in. The rest is a blur of activities and thoughts. Here is what I remember:

*The pageantry, colors (including the red and green confetti falling from the roofs around the square when el presidente was returning to his office), and arm to arm street vendors in The Zócalo

* Drinking Corona at every meal, even with pastries at breakfast because the only alternative was hot Pepsi, which was too expensive, and water, which we learned was decidedly NOT purificado! (That is how you know who your friends are - if you can be "Mexico sick" while sharing space in a cubicle of a room and they still talk to you.)

* Visiting the Museo Nacional de Antropología and realizing that I would never be able to understand the word "ancient"

* Being completely afraid of, intimidated by, and in awe of the murals by Diego Rivera.

* Climbing the Pyramid of the Moon at Teotihuacan and realizing at the top that I was so small and insignificant in the grand scheme of the world, but also knowing that that was OK and comforting even

*Drinking coconut milk in Puebla outside of the most beautiful church I've ever seen

* Being completely humbled by the pilgrims crawling across the gravel on bleeding hands and knees to get to the Shroud of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and being confused when I got to the entrance of the church and found a moving sidewalk that swiftly conveyed the pilgrims by the holy relic and that ended at a gift shop where you could purchase bottles of holy water in the shape of the Blessed Virgin (twist -top head is all I'm saying)

* Being disgusted and a little intrigued (since it was my first experience in a situation like this) by the second hotel we accidentally happened upon outside of the city; this accommodation was obviously meant for secret, dubious liaisons: a garage in which one could hide his/her car; a sliding door within the door so that food could be passed from the staff to the occupant(s) without them ever having to be seen (or probably having to dress); the "hot tub" (dear god!, but the pictures of us in this over sized bathtub are funny); the bed with built in tissue dispensers; the TV...um you can guess what stations came in clearly... We can say that we all learned something new from this experience...and we will never mention it again...

* Loving the street tacos - some mystery barbacoa in a corn tortilla with cheese (sin cebollas y sin cilantro por favor!), but having the not quite rights after eating them for two weeks straight.

and more!
The last night we were in Mexico City, we were all completely exhausted and spiritually drained. All we wanted was one last night of rest before we got back on a 12 hour bus ride, followed by a 10 hour car trip back to college. Unfortunately, when we finally got settled in for the night, the disco across the street started thumping. I thought that at least the bass was rhythmic and I could probably sleep through it... until an hour later some construction started - we're talking jackhammers and table saws. Note 2: a cultural difference - construction happens at night in Mexico City because the streets are too crowded during the day. To add additional insult, an hour later a band of mariachis showed up outside of the disco (probably hoping to get a few pesos from the tourists at the club). No joke. This actually happened. Needless to say, the ride home was not a very pleasant one.

Mostly, after backpacking to Mexico City, I learned that even in the hard times, the experience of traveling and learnng is well worth it! Europe is a bit more forgiving...

Exit Post

When I knew that I would be participating in NaBloPoMo, I decided to poll my students- the blogging, texting, technologically adept experts- on what I should blog about. After the laughter subsided and they realized that I was serious, some of them offered lists or topics should I run out of things to say. This is one of those times. Actually like friend Michelle, I feel like I have a slight case of SARS, a touch of the bird flu, a smidge of West Nile, and possibly a little Ebola of the mucus membranes. I don't really mean to make fun, but I am actually sitting upright for the first time in three days and, other than the mountain of snot rags, a very, very sore abdomen (from incessant hacking), and the fact that I'm sort of snoring even though I'm awake; other than these, I'm feeling much better which means I get to be my normal self, sarcasm and all.
So this is my cheap, wimpy, "the exit is this way" post.

Here are 20 blogging topics from the brightest teens in the nation (I brag because they're mine and I get to):

1. Politics= poly (meaning many) + tics (meaning bloodsucking parasitic creatures)
2. Why U2 is the best band ever! (this student received extra credit, especially since he was sincere... Surely he wasn't prompted by the five U2 posters hanging on my classroom wall...)
3. Why Buddhism is (only slightly) crazy
4. Lawn gnomes (for 'em or again' 'em)
5. What the wombat war cry sounds like
6. Immigration in Texas
7. Racism: why it won't die!!!
8. What it's like to watch a person drink a gallon of milk in under an hour and what happens to him.
9. Awkward sex chats with dad
10. Trying to catch Sasquatch
11. Driving until you find some place to go.
12. How David Letterman is not dead (after eating Floam, lip gloss, Crisco, etc.)
13. Why criminals have more rights than the people they commit crimes against
14. Why driver's license pictures always turn out badly
15. Where pumpkins end up after Halloween
16. Murphy's Law
17. Why fire ants will take over the world
18. Creative alternatives to fossil fuels
19. The 50th anniversary of the alien landing at Roswell (I actually did attend this "event")
20. The over politicised topic of gay marriage and the fact that there are more important things to worry about

They're pretty cool, aren't they!

My family is decidedly pro-small town. You wouldn't know it by talking to me as I put on a pretty big front about being a city girl who enjoys the humanities, wine, and all things culture. (You can hardly catch my accent.) I mean, I do enjoy those things, but my roots stem from another place too. My mom and dad both grew up in the flat-lands of Texas. When I say flat, I mean that you can see twenty miles in all directions and if you stand on a tuna can, you can see thirty more miles. There are maybe three trees and a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. Tiny lakes sneak up on folks and are there, it seems, to add some thirst relief to the otherwise dusty landscape. The small towns surrounding the "hub" which is Lubbock are places where kids have to be on the basketball team, the cheerleading squad, and of course in 4H all at the same time because otherwise the teams wouldn't exist for lack of team attendance.

Mom describes her hometown like this: "The people get their entertainment from the land. They do things that other people wouldn't consider"fun." They hunt deer, quail, rattle snakes, and they fish. It's a place where your entertainment fund includes shot gun shells, bait, and beer money. These days, unless your a big-time farmer, it's hard to remain there." Like all small towns, Mom's is fading away. She realizes that it was a great place to grow up, but that that type of lifestyle is dwindling and people have to move to the cities in order to make it.

This is sad, especially since "they do grow good people there. It is a place where you learn to care for and support others and they care for and support you. You know everybody; you know their troubles and heart aches. As a result people care for each other and look-out for one another," says Mom. It's true and it makes me a little apprehensive about losing that sort of shepherding to the big city. We just have to be more intentional about loving one another and participating in each others lives: Bring over condolence caseroles and soup for the sick, attend the area sporting events and cheer for your friends' kids, participate in school functions and fund raisers, etc.

Don wranglin' a rattle snake

Me learning a lesson (probably on how to use my knuckles when throwin' a punch) from Just Don.



My Big Dutch! I absolutely ADORED this man. He was/is my hero. He lived through the Dust Bowl, he cooked outside like a real cowboy (dug a hole in the ground, filled it with coals (a sort of dutch oven) and made sourdough rolls, cobbler, etc. and he was ALWAYS on my side. Perhaps it was because I was the only granddaughter...



Mom and Don before the rattle snake days... I'm sorry I missed this picture before Don died. I would've given him hell about wearing high heels and carryin' a purse! What a city slicker!

Mimi (flat-land diva), Don, and My Big Dutch (fixin' a Seagram's VO and coke) at the lake

Happy Thanksgiving

I don't know these guys but I like them, and they remind me of Guffman for some reason.
I'll have to try the pie and jack!(?)
Happy Thanksgiving! I am sincerely thankful for you everyday and love you!


g

How I ended up like this

10 reasons why my mother is the coolest person in the world:

1. She loves people unconditionally and models such an amazing example of tolerance and temperance for me and the Putz. She has always helped us see that we need to put ourselves in other people's shoes. Of course there is sometimes the "Oh good gravy!" outburst (who says that?) when she is flustered, but she would rather feed people in a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and visit people who are lonely or sad than participate in any of the other pomp and circumstance that life sometimes blinds us with. Please don't misunderstand; Mom is the first to lead an impromptu baton twirling march around the backyard (sorry about your ankle), but she knows what is most important.

2. She keeps a Ginger drawer at her house and fills it with articles from magazines, newspaper clippings, clothing and shoe catalogues, and other "treasures" that remind her of me or that she knows will be relevant to me. I look forward to pilfering through the Ginger drawer at each visit.

3. She has "Elvis church" on Sunday mornings. As soon as she wakes up, the Elvis gospel CD is on and Mom sings loudly enough that God AND the neighbors can hear it, and she has such a beautiful voice that no one minds. In fact it's contagious!

4. Music has always been a major part of our household, whether it was a holiday (we were usually startled out of our beds with blaring Sousa marches on the morning of the 4th of July, at Christmas time it was usually Jingle Bell Rock, and I've already mentioned Sundays), or just because. Each morning she would wake us with "You Are My Sunshine" and would respond to our cranky morning sour faces (since we woke up to that damn sunshine song) with "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile." At the time, we felt that she was sick and twisted and singing just to torture us, but now I miss it. Every time I see her, she wants to introduce us to a new song she just heard. Hey Mom, remember when we were at Texas Roadhouse and you were telling us about "I Hope You'll Dance" and the song played three times back to back - probably because a management type really liked the song - but we pretended it was a personal message to Putz, Wratch and me? I loved that! Also since I was a budding musician (I was in every music class CHS offered), she tolerated a lot of music practice from me and my friends. Her favorite (and she still mentions this) is when my friend Neal would come over and play "Hey Jude" on the piano. So from Willie Nelson to Chopin, from show tunes to "Save a Horse and Ride a Cowboy," and from to AC/DC to "Do Lord," my mom influences (and sometimes berates us) through music.

5. She has a purse dog, but doesn't groom it like a typical purse dog. The dog's name is Sugar (short for Sugar Plum Fairy) and runs the household, but we love her. There is still much debate over whether she actually trained Sugar to sit on our heads or whether she simply encourages Sugar with her strict and bold discipline of "oh Sugar, no. It's bad manners to sit on people's heads. Rich and Ginger are our friends. Yeah. Come here to me. Who-zha-bebe?"

6. My mom thinks that ruby slippers, feathery fringe, and sparklers can save the world.

7. Mom welcomes all of my friends into her house, even the seriously silly ones.

One of my favorite trips was the one where Fougs and I went on a road trip to visit. Right before we left town, we went to the dollar store and bought fuzzy pink boas and glittering tiaras in Mom's honor and in order to get into the perfect mind set for the visit (which is completely ironic since Fougs and I are more the tree climbing, tomboy, we will verbally kick your ass but only if the other is there for back-up, philosopher types). We wore them the entire 5 1/2 hours it took to get to Lubbock and Mom loved it! She keeps the tiara on her kitchen cabinet. By the way, this was the first time Fougs went to visit Mom. Thanks for being a good sport, Fougs, and a total goofball to match my goofballery, and thanks Mom for welcoming us and for the homemade hot chocolate!

8. Mom makes a damn good margarita.

9. She is hilarious in movies. Mom generally interacts with the film, loudly. She claps during the redemption scenes; she yells "That can't happen!" during the unbelievable or ridiculous parts; she gasps loudly and puts her arm across the person next to her, stranger or no, (like a human seat belt) when something startling happens; and she cries at both the happy and sad moments. (A classic example from when I was a kid is when she cried during The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie because the Footclan (little boys) didn't have mothers to take care of them.) Going to the movies with Mom is quite the experience! (and thanks for always wearing long skirts to the movies so that when Putz or I got cold, you could spread the skirt over us like a blanket)

10. She thinks I can do anything, but she still lets me sit in her lap.

This short list does not do Mom justice, because she is so much more! I didn't even mention the Lady Raiders, The Nutcracker, Harley engines, the fireplace table, the fact that she worries I might be arrested someday (I'll leave you all guessing at that one), that her alias (just in case she needs one) is Monique, or pot roast!

I love you Mom! I'll see you soon!

Basketballs and Guinea Pigs

There are 5 or 6 little neighborhood boys (one might be a girl) who are constantly playing outside together. Everywhere they go, they carry a ball of some sort; today it was a basketball.
Anyway, they don't know my name but they know that I'm Mr. Haag's wife, and they know Mr. Haag because their big brothers were in his class last year, they think. They are nice enough to wave at me if they see me outside and they are happy to sell me cookie dough for their school fundraiser (and I'm happy to buy, though I've never actually received any cookie dough). It's a reciprocal relationship.

Today the doorbell rang and when I opened the door, there stood the lot of them, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing the basketball. They stood there for a second looking confusedly at me, like they didn't remember that they were the ones who initiated the contact. The one wearing the blue shirt pulls something out from behind his back and holds it up to me as he says, "Hey, do you want this?"
That something is squirming.
Because I've been teaching for 9 years and because I taught 7th graders for 5 of them, I didn't jump back or squeal or do anything girlie, but it did take me a second to recognize that the boy in the blue shirt was holding a guinea pig.
Me: Is that a guinea pig?
Boy in Blue: Uh. I think so.
(Boy in Blue passes the flailing, terrified rodent to me around the bouncing basketball. I take it and hold it close, petting its back because I feel sad for it.(Ok. So I am girlie))
Me: Is it yours?
All of the boys: yes!
Boy in Blue: But I don't want it anymore. Do you want it?
Me: Why don't you want it?
Boy Who Needs a Haircut: My dad and I really want it, but my mom said no.
Red Headed Freckled Boy: See, I told you it was a bad idea to go door to door to give it away!
Me: But look how sweet he is. Are you sure you don't want him?
Boy in Blue: Yes.
Me: How long have you had him?
All: (Say different numbers at the same time.)
Red Headed Freckled Boy: No. You've had him for 2 days.
Me: Does he have a name?
Boy in Blue: No.
Me: You didn't name him? Do you have a cage for him?
All: Yes.
Boy Who Might be a Girl: But you dug that cage out of the trash.
(All nod)
(Basketball continues bouncing and boys blink at me)
Me: I don't think I can keep him because I have two kitties who might eat him.
Red Headed Freckled Boy: Oh yeah!
Boy Who Might be a Girl: I have two dogs!
(All nod)
Me: I'll tell you what. Let's wait until Mr. Haag gets home and we'll see what he says, but I'm pretty sure he'll say no because of the cats (Rich is a good scapegoat). Look how calm your guinea pig is.
Boy Who Needs a Haircut: (to the Boy in Blue) He never acts like that when you hold him.
Me: All you have to do is make sure to hold him real close and hold his feet so that he knows you won't drop him. Also, don't make any loud noises because that makes him nervous.
(Basketball stops bouncing. Boy in Blue smirks and looks at his friends who are wide-eyed. I pass the guinea pig back to him. Boy in Blue is already heading towards the next house. Basketball resumes bouncing.)
Red Headed Freckled Boy calls after him: Hey! You forgot to say thank you.
All boys turn and yell: Thank you!
I close the door.

My thoughts:
1. Those kids are hysterical!
2. I wonder if their parents know they are giving away the family pet, or even worse, a little sister's pet.
3. I need to wash my hands

Already the boys have forgotten about the guinea pig. They are currently riding bikes, playing with a remote control car and yes, bouncing that basketball. I hope the guinea pig made it home.

Billie Holiday

Relax to this sultry, delicious sound while you read the following.

A Billie Holiday Evening

It's a Billie Holiday kind of evening. There's nothin' like coming home, relaxing to some bluesy jazz music, sipping on a sweet-ish red, and perusing the newest edition of The New Yorker. This is a Gatsby lifestyle, friends.

I love being completely immersed in and embraced by the glamorous sadness of the sound- the sexy confidence of the bass, the airy pulse and brush of the high-hat, the winking subtlety of the piano, the flirty trumpet, maybe a slip of the clarinet, and the melting whisper of Lady Day's voice or Ella Fitzgerald's or Diana Krall's or Lena Horne's, or any of the others, tragedy and all.

Yes, tonight I've got the world on a string... and whatever your dreams may be, dream a little dream of me...It's the nearness of you... You haunt me...Darling, save your love for me...I've got it bad and that ain't good.

The candle lit bubble bath is inevitable.

Wine with Emily

If Emily Dickinson were my friend, we'd have to have a long chat, preferably over a full bodied merlot and cigarettes. First off, I'd have to get her to come out of her shy, shackled seclusion and leave the security of her home and her generation. We could talk about lost loves, the delicacy of the spirit, and what it means, exactly, to have faith in...anything, really. I'd ask about why she allows diction and syntax to imprison her in such melancholy moments, and then I'd read some Dorothy Parker to her as an experiment to see if she would laugh or cry, or do both at the same time. Finally, I would address the Truth found in this poem and ask her how she knew:


202
by Emily Dickinson

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond -
Invisible, as Music -
But positive, as Sound -
It beckons, and it baffles -
Philosophy - don't know -
And through a Riddle, at the last -
Sagacity, must go -
To guess it, puzzles scholars -
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown -
Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies -
Blushes, if any see -
Plucks at a twig of Evidence -
And asks a Vane, the way -
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -
Strong Hallelujahs roll -
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul -

Pandora Pretty Much Rocks

If you have not been introduced to Pandora, please allow me.
Pandora is a music site that allows you to enjoy the music you already love, and it provides other artist suggestions in an effort to acquaint you with new music in a similar genre. It's all very easy and user friendly.

Step 1: You create a radio station. So, for example, I created a KT Tunstall station. Pandora plays a KT Tunstall song, and if you like that particular song, Pandora analyzes the sound. KT's looks like this:
basic rock song structures; a subtle use of vocal harmony; mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation; a vocal-centric aesthetic; major key tonality; electric pianos; subtle use of acoustic piano

Step 2: Pandora plays other songs by other artists who have a similar sound. So in the KT Tunstall genre, Pandora plays Liz Phair, The Cardigans, Sixpence None the Richer, etc.

Step 3: If you hate the song, you can give it a "Thumbs Down" and Pandora will skip it and move on. If you love the song, you can give it a thumbs up and even bookmark it for later.

Step 4: All of the songs provide album information if you want to know about a particular one. Also, you can buy the album directly from the site...or not.

Step 5: Enjoy your radio station!

You can create several radio stations and play them at any time, according to your mood. The best part about all of this is it is FREE!!
And it is!

Brian Haw and the Great Dictator


I have traveled to London many times in my life and I've never seen Parliament Square without Brian Haw's banners, placards, and rainbow peace flags. I've often wanted to meet him, though I didn't know his name until a year or so ago, just to talk to him about his life and his cause. I'm embarrassed to say that I have never been brave enough to cross the square and (still) am more than horrified, grossly intimidated, and frightened by the photos on some of the placards (This is, I think, part 1 of the intended reaction to this display. Part 2 would be to think about what it means). Also, I'm an American (a Texan, even!) so I wasn't sure about what kind of reception I would receive. It turns out that Brian Haw is a humanitarian above all. If the British government allows Brian Haw to keep his allotted protest space, I think I'll pay him a visit next time I'm in London.

It's kind of cool that through the PiCs I've learned about him and get to hear his voice. Thank you PiCs and thank you to Dan for this particular clip! It really is a small world.

Oh, and Big Ben chimes in the middle of this recording. Regardless of your thoughts on the state of democracy today, the chiming of Big Ben is still one of the coolest sounds in the world!

Nerdalicious Saturday

Finally, it's Friday! Tonight the weather even changed for us a little and it is at least cold enough that I can actually wear long sleeves and a scarf (not just for the fashion) without dying of heat stroke! I think I even smelled a fireplace fire in my neighborhood- a rarity for sure! As usual, the metroplex forgot Fall and we're moving straight into winter - then summer for two days- then sleet when you least expect it. You gotta love Texas weather! Anyway, I love Fridays because, more importantly, they are Saturday eves!

I seriously dig Saturday mornings during the winter: unlimited coffee, warm in my favorite snowman mug; newspaper/magazine/novel reading whilst nuzzled under a soft blanket beside my fuzzy, oatmeal scented kittens; and the delicious solitude of the early morning quiet...
Until Wratch wakes-up! Then it's Car Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me blaring on NPR. What- a -NERD! Geez! It's a good thing I'm head- over- heels attracted to the NPR listening, nerdalicious types! (Don't tell Wratch, but I do like to listen to the Car Talk fellas. They're wicked retarded!)

I love Saturdays. It is this anticipation of a lazy Saturday morning that gets me through the week!

Where's my Michelangelo?

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free."
Michelangelo Buonarotti (1475-4564 A.D.)
Italian architect, painter, and sculptor

If you have ever been to the Accademia museum in Florence, you might have seen the unbelievably beautiful "trapped sculptures" by Michelangelo. You know that the sight, though beautiful, is a bit unnerving. Maybe it is only unnerving to those of us who have trouble separating the spirit of the art from the actual material, in this case marble. Either way, it is true that Michelangelo believed that the complete sculptures already existed within the marble, and his job was to free them.

As you walk toward the very famous and more than radiant The David (which can understandably eclipse anything else in the museum or the universe), you may or may not notice that trapped sculptures flank both sides of the corridor. Though masterpieces because Michelangelo began them, these sculptures are sadly unfinished. Parts (faces, hands, torsos) of these struggling subjects protrude out of their stoney blocks. My heart broke to see them like that because I sincerely wanted them to be complete, to be free. Some would say that these sculptures are what Michelangelo intended them to be - stuck in their anguish. This means that some of them were not supposed to be complete... Whether or not you agree with this, they are there, immediate and palpable.

As irrational and, to borrow a term from my students, emo as it sounds, I trembled at the thought of existing as one of those unfinished sculptures, probably because I feel trapped in this imperfect flesh at times. I want so badly to be "finished," to be beautiful, and to be "free". I don't know exactly what that means, which may be part of the issue, but I know that I identified with the trapped figures and was frightened at the desperation I felt for them.

Maybe there is comfort in the fact that some of us do get close, for at the end of the corridor stands The David, created from a "trash" piece of marble. The David is stunning and stopped me in my tracks. I became lost in the beauty of his gentle presence and I completely fell in love with him in that light and in his expression. I couldn't look away once I saw him. He made it. The David- finished, beautiful, and free- truly exists! The others must be envious.

I was gutted to leave them all there and was heart-sick at the realization that that was it. American tourist Ginger,one of the millions who get to visit this museum each year, was moving on and might never see this beauty again.

My hope is that there truly is beauty in the anguish of the unfinished, and that eventually we can become free of our "marble" confinements.

My brain needs the crash cart

I have nothing left to give today. School hijacked all of my brain cells, all of my energy, and some of my spirit. This just happens sometimes, and when it does, all I know to do veg. Vegging means listening to music and reading something mindless or watching TV. Today the need to veg is bad. I would rather sit here in motionless silence and stare at the wall (though my brain continues to reprimand itself for all of the "things" it should be doing instead) than actually get up and turn on the TV. (sad face...sigh...)

Blogging is not vegging, so what the heck?!

The least I can do (since this is a crappy attempt at preserving my NaBloPoMo) is offer you something Dorothy Parker:

The Searched Soul

When I consider, pro and con,
What things my love is built upon -
A curly mouth; a sinewed wrist;
A questioning brow; a pretty twist
Of words as old and tried as sin;
A pointed ear; a cloven chin;
Long, tapered limbs; and slanted eyes
Not cold nor kind nor darkly wise -
When so I ponder, here apart,
What shallow boons suffice my heart,
What dust-bound trivia capture me,
I marvel at my normalcy.

WE MET JOAN JETT!!!!

(Extreme zoom - see below)

Rich and Joan Jett(!)


Me and Joan Jett(!) -
Here's how it went:

Me: "Hi Joan Jett. My name is Ginger."
Joan Jett: "Hi, Ginger." (hand shake)
Me: "Hey, thanks for a wicked awesome show!"
Joan Jett: "Hey, thanks for comin'"
Me: "May I take my picture with you?"
Joan Jett: "Sure come on up, babe."
(picture with Joan Jett and a squnch)
Me: "That's my husband, Rich. You're his birthday present. Will you autograph his CD?" (She writes,"Happy Birthday, Rich! Keep Rockin'! Love, Joan Jett")
Joan Jett: "Wow. There are a lot of birthdays tonight. It's Beef's birthday, too. (yelling outside of the bus)Hey, Beef! This is Rich. It's his birthday too!" (Beef is a roadie)
Beef: "Happy birthday, man!"
Rich: "Thanks, man."
Me: "Yeah, Beef gave me a stick (that would be the drum stick in my hand...)." "Let me get a picture of you and Rich." (extreme zoom picture...bad... attempt 2, good)
Me: "Thanks Joan Jett!"
Rich "You kick serious ass!"
Joan Jett: "Thanks and you're welcome"


Lame, yes...BUT

WE MET JOAN JETT!

more to come... (Don't judge the "after rock show" hair. You'll see before pics later.)

Liquid Liner Sucks!

Yes. It's all anyone can talk about these days - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. So, it's 4 hours until showtime! I really did buy a whole new outfit, make-up and all, for this specific outing because I really want to rock out tonight. My intended image is an ultra sexy, femme fatale who will not hesitate to impale you with her sleek black, Matrix looking stiletto boot. I have seriously had a great time planning for this and it wasn't at all embarrassing running into students when I was shopping for the new lacy, black, push-up undergarments and more. (This happens EVERY TIME I try to act like someone other than a literature addicted, word loving high school English teacher!!!)

I think I've got my bases covered wardrobe-wise. The make-up alone is amusing. I bought hooker red, I mean sunset red, lipstick, XXL Volume+ Length mascara (guaranteed to immediately thicken and extend (!), silver and grey eye shadow AND my first liquid eye-liner. This one's called black shimmer. My regular eye-liner is tattooed on so that I don't have to worry with it (and yes getting a tatoo on your eye hurts. Ask Fougs. She was there (and what a friend!)). I sometimes add a little bit of smudge to my eyes to enhance the liner (I still use Origins products to be good to the environment) , but I have never tried to apply liquid liner! Um. It's hard! I've been practicing and so far, the best I've done is Tammy Fay meets Courtney Love who is in the ring with Rocky Balboa when he is losing to the Russian - overdone, stoned looking, and bruised! I'm going for something like Shirley Manson meets...Joan Jett. Help! It is painfully clear that my roots are that of the tree hugging, granola, hippie chick who didn't wear make-up until she was forced to by the MAN (the man being the school district dress code for teachers)!

This commentary is all you guys get for now.

Yes, I'll send pics to those who requested them and maybe I'll even post a couple... as long as there is no gasp followed by extreme, heart attack inducing laughter. I'm doing my best with what I've got and I can only do so much...

My mom would be so proud!

Joan Jett

The fish-nets, knee-high boots, and ultra black eye-liner are bought... It must be Joan Jett night!

Random Facts and Mind-ness

I am often made fun of (thanks Wratch and students) because I can't concentrate on any one thought at a time. If you ask me what I'm thinking about, be ready for a list. It takes serious effort on my part to really sit and absorb an idea for more than 5 minutes. Meditation is excruciatingly hard for me, especially since I get mad at myself for not being able to simply be. My thoughts are like quick capture snapshots and are generally random, so writing them out requires further explanation here. The following is a part of my list right now:

1. This is litmag crunch time and this year's staff has made an exceptional magazine, especially when considering that this is their first attempt. The design has a 1960's Mod mini skirt (photographed in black and white) marries Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright theme which turns out to be a very cohesive, honest, visually stimulating union. This collaboration is due to go to the printer next week which is an exciting time for the litmaggers but a stressful time as well (especially when InDesign is saving files to random places on the network. Stupid InDesign! Stupid network!). Temp U (Temporary Utopia, the magazine release party) will be held at a really cool, really red firehouse turned modern art gallery here in town (thanks K-Flo!). All are excited BUT there is work to be done!!! (So staff (specifically "Anne" and "Tina"), stop secretly reading this "illegal" blog and get back to work!)

2. I saw Borat last night and laughed so hard I cried. I think the only redeeming quality I gleaned from seeing this film (other than my mother is wrong (and she shouldn't see this movie); bodily functions ARE humorous) is prostitutes have feelings, too. I think Borat deflated some of the brain cells that I pumped up at the salon on Friday. I do, however, think that those who go and see this movie have probably already identified or recognized the political and satirical statement that Sacha Baron Cohen is trying to make about our country (unless they are the drunk frat boys who are only in the theater for the naked bits). Don't know where I'm going with that...

3. I read an article in The New Yorker by Robert Gottlieb called "A Lost Child." The article is about a French child prodigy named Minou Drouet. Minou Drouet is known for her astoundingly mature poetry that she wrote when she was only eight years old. She survived, at eight, a horrendous plagiarism scandal and a brutal media bashing, and now lives her life in seclusion, timidly vowing never to make her life public again. Here is an excerpt from the article about a letter Minou wrote before she gave-up on the world. It contains beautifully haunting imagery:

"Perhaps the most extraordinary [letters] are those addressed to her friend Philippe, who's fifteen and has sworn to marry her when she grows up, and with whom she's made a pact: they will always think of each other at exactly eight in the evening. This is from the last letter that appears in "Arbre, Mon Ami": 'My darling, it's eight o'clock, our eight o'clock. You remember the night when you said to me, in our cedar, 'I love you so madly that if you want I'll go and find you the moon.'... Philippe, at the eighth stroke of eight o'clock I plunged the silver crystal you sent me into the sea, at the place where the moon trembles, and I held it out to you, the moon, that living petal in its crystal cage. And I threw back my head and held out my hair to you, my hair in which you so loved to bury your face, it was the color of sad water and tasted of salt, and its tendrils were saying to you: You're loved.'"

4. What am I going to wear to the Joan Jett show? I think I need to go shopping for some liquid black eye-liner, fish-net stockings, one hell of a sex kitten dress (rock n' roll!), red boots, and maybe something in leopard print (?).

5. I'm hungry.

6. I have 130 Stranger tests I need to be grading instead of blogging. They're essay ones (Why do I do this to myself?! Stupid integrity!... I miss multiple choice...). Also I need to read "Fra Lippo Lippi" for IB. I love Browning. I love creepy, twisted dramatic monologues. Oh yeah, and I need to grade the character analyses from the IBers. I seriously need to stop being frivolous... I'm stalling...I want to clean the house instead...

7. I wonder if it's going to be cold today (cold meaning 50 degrees Fahrenheit in my neck of the woods). (still stalling)

8. I'm hungry (still)

Descartes to Plato to JT

The salon was amazing last night! Here's the scene: After driving to Dallas in frightening traffic, you end up in the arts and cultural district of the big city. This means that in the heart of tall, beautifully lit buildings - night is gorgeous in Dallas - sculpture gardens, twinkle lights, small boutique type stores, and wineries begin to materialize around you. One immediately feels like she should use correct grammar, hold a glass of chardonnay, and utter phrases like, "Yes, but invariably Descartes's Aristotelian way of thinking would have you believe that the enlightenment... "Je pense, donc je suis" and what not...and let's also remember Newton...".

OK, so I am a huge nerd, but even if I wanted to say something hoity-toity, what comes out is really something like, "Ooooh. Pretty!"

Once in the Dallas Institute, everyone is invited to partake in a variety of wines, whiskeys, and brandies after which you may make a sweep (or in my case, a pillage) past the snack table, usually adorned with all kinds of fancy finger-foods, most of which you are encouraged to spread on a cracker. People mingle. They talk about the horrendous traffic, shake hands and meet new friends, and discuss the fact that they know Dr. L wants them to sit in the inner circle, but that they'd rather sit outside of the spotlight.

Wonderful Dr. L eventually invites everyone to join him in the "living room" of the Institute. This literally is a large, cozy common room where chairs are set up in a huge circle that can accommodate 25 people or so, and there are chairs behind this inner circle if there are more than 25 attending the salon (which is ALWAYS the case). The inner circle is considered the hot seat. In other words, if you signed up to be at the salon (as opposed to just walking in), you are supposed to sit in the inner circle and are expected to be more proactive in the discussion than those who sit behind the circle.

Dr. L, as usual, senses my plan to wait until the last second to join everyone in the common room so that I can take a seat in the wings and always says, "Ginger, you'll be sitting in the inner circle tonight, won't you?" To which I sheepishly reply, "Yes, Dr. L,"eyes cast down to the floor. (Dang-it!)

We assemble. Dr. L reminds us about the salon guidelines:
1. A salon is a venue for conversation rather than argument or debate.
*The best salons are marked more by ideas than by opinions.
2. Conversation consists of both listening and speaking.
3. There is a difference between casual and serious listening an speaking.
4. Every remark made should be taken seriously. Most so-called "dumb" questions or comments are really honest inquiry.
5. One doesn't have to be staid or colorless in conversation, but one should try to say thoughtful things. Personal style should not mask a thoughtless utterance.
6. If one hears one's own voice two times consecutively, one should probably not speak again for a while.

Then we dive into the topics. The people who participate in the salon represent all walks of life. I think Rich and I are usually the youngest in the room. Most people there are business men and women. Some are teachers. Some are students. Some are retired. Some are not from the US. We are not all the same race, and many of us have different belief systems (in other words, the salon is not a place that only represents the stereotypical white Southern Baptist Texan), and this means that there are a variety of opinions and suggestions which is MARVELOUS. Also, despite (or maybe because) of our differences, the salon feels very familial. People are incredibly edifying to each other; they actually take time to consider all opinions and they value all input. Giving one's opinion to a large room of strangers requires that 25-35 people in the room become vulnerable to each other, which, interestingly enough, helps to create that familial bond.

After the discussion, people mill around some more and talk, gesturing with half empty wine and brandy glasses, and they depart with well wishes and pats on the back, as friends do.

The more salons I attend the more comfortable I am in the inner circle. I know that even if I simply sit and absorb the conversation, I am maturing mentally and spiritually.

The salon is good for my soul.

I do want to conclude this entry with some thoughts/ideas from last night's salon. Feel free to comment:
1. Is the West's privileging of reason over emotion a prejudice?
* This was a difficult one because it required a yes or no answer.
* We had great difficulty defining reason and discussed that possibly the individual is the balance between reason and emotion. (Plato's charioteer and the two horses)
* We wondered if the ability to reason took away from the emotion. We wondered which came first reason or emotion (Do we make decisions out of emotion first, and then use reason to justify them? Do we make reason-based decisions which then define our emotions?)
* When we say emotion, do we mean passion? What's the difference?
* Can choice be emotional?
* Is reason scientific?
* Transcendence requires both reason AND emotion.
* Is reason intelligence?
* What does this have to do with the West? Is the statement true; do we PRIVILEGE reason over emotion? How is that a prejudice?
* We (the US) wanted to be the first to the moon. This is a decision that was qualified rationally and scientifically, but really didn't we just want to beat the Russians to it, an extremely emotional argument?
2. "In the long term secularization holds more dangers for the human race than religious fanaticism." - Historian Paul Johnson. What are the dangers of secularization?
* Define secularization: Is it the opposite of a religion base in which one's behavior is conducted according to reason? Generally, religion is a catalyst for morals. People are more readily able to accept rules in a religious circumstance (especially if God says this is right and this is wrong). A secular society does not have that catalyst/tool, therefore it may be more difficult to set rules.
* Does secularization lose the value in human life?
* Does religion have something that secularization does not?
* What about the sacred? (the sacred transcends doctrine or religion; ie. The Native Americans knew the sacred just as much as a devout Catholic, Muslim, or Buddhist does) .
* In fanaticism, there is no sense of moderation. Fanaticism is the antithesis of the sacred.
* The danger is that religious fanaticism creates an "us v. them" mentality, but what are the benefits of this?
* Secular=non-threatening
Religious= turn or burn type threat
* Moral values are not dependent upon religion.
* Is religion secular control?
3. Why, in fact, did Justin Timberlake choose to bring sexy back now? From whence did he have to bring it?

Happy Birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WRATCH!!!

It's Rich's birthday today, and in true Morgan/Haag fashion, we are going to extend the birth "day" into a week long celebration! Tonight it's dinner with our most excellent compadres, Pat and Amanda (and beer since Rich and Pat are the utimate brew connoisseurs). Tomorrow is a salon night (which I think rocks), and afterwards we'll get to see P-ta and Steve in Big D. Saturday and Sunday we'll do whatever Rich wants... BUT Monday, we have tickets to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Aw yeah! Retro Magic is about to overtake us. Get ready!!!

In the mean-time, listen to the new Killers album and channel our energy!

Duck Heads!

A Church in Edinburgh, Scotland

Auld Town Edinburgh, Scotland

Overlooking England

Little girl at a wedding, Edinburgh, Scotland

Duck Heads!

Ok. This is the boy band of ducks. It represents cohesiveness... World unity... The MODness of the 90's. Please note that the angle of beaks is almost perfect. These ducks are singing the same note, at the same time, black head, white head, then black again. Also, the heads are symmetrical. Is this art?

This is one of my favorite pictures of all times. My little Putz, Dutch Mac, is the artist. He has a knack for capturing the absurdity in life, and also the beauty as seen in the first several photos.

Love you, Putz!

g

Salon Topics

My freedom topic didn't make the list this week for the salon (sigh). I'll have to wait until next month. In the meantime, here are the topics for this week. Enjoy:

Discussion topics for November 10, 2006:

1. Is the West's privileging of reason over emotion a prejudice?

2. "In the long term secularization holds more dangers for the human race than religious fanaticism."--Historian Paul Johnson. What are the dangers of secularization?

3. Is memory moral? Do we have an obligation to remember some things--and to forget others?

Books or Bread

Reading is second only to oxygen to me. Seriously. If I am really absorbed by what I'm reading, I'll forget my basic needs: Am I thirsty? Hungry? Hot? Cold? Do I need to duck and cover due to weather? Etc. Unfortunately, because of my insane schedule at school (3 very involved preps), I am usually reading for class or looking to enhance my lesson with another piece of literature. As a result, I rarely get to read for pure pleasure, though when I do I'm lovin' life! The confusing part is I am usually reading 4-10 books at a time... on purpose.

I tend to round robin the "for fun," "just because," and "my soul could really use this" books which means it takes me sometimes months to finish one (especially since when I'm tired I have the attention span of a gnat). Here's how the system works: I am given/find/purchase/borrow a book that really interests me. I start reading it. If it is exceptionally interesting, I continue reading until the end. Very few authors merit this kind of attention from me (Jeffrey Eugenides is one who is worthy). If I get bored/ scared/bogged down in rhetoric the book is placed under the bed (face down if the book is scary... I have a friend who puts scary books in the freezer, so I'm not THAT weird). The same procedure happens for the next book. Again, if uninteresting or if my imagination overtakes me, the book is placed under the bed. This means that the initial book is scooted further under the bed. The process continues until the first book pops out on the other side of the bed. At that point, the rotation officially begins. Rich generally hands me the book that has "mysteriously ended up on his side" (we're very territorial) and I say to myself something like, "Oh yeah! I remember what was happening in this book. That was interesting," and I read; or I might say, "Oh yeah. THAT book. Maybe I should give it another go." That book usually gets put under the bed again after 2 seconds of consideration and is rotated back into the system. (There may be close to 20 books under my bed right now...)

I am not a book snob. I think books are meant to be loved on. I think they should be written in, chewed on, personalized, beat-up, and hugged. I think people should write in books; they should share their wisdom, underline important passages, and write personal, secret (sometimes) comments. Books should definitely be dog-eared and like dogs, they should be taken wherever their masters go. I've even taken particular books to places where I knew I would need encouragement just so the words would be there for me if I needed them. I'm sounding ultra nerdy and a bit pathetic, but books are that vital to me.

I think one of the most personal things someone can do for another is share a book. Sharing a book is like sharing your soul. It's saying, "This is important to me and I hope it's important to you, too." No one should own books. They should only be shared, in my opinion. That being said, one of my students, Brittany, gave me a book to read last week (she has been forewarned about the rotating system). I've only opened the cover, but already I've found significance. I'll leave you with one of the opening poems in the Time Traveler's Wife:

Love After Love
by Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome.

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Freedom, meet Fear; Fear, this is Freedom (handshake)

Fear in relation to freedom has been a burdensome topic on my mind lately. For several weeks, I've mentally wrestled with the idea of what makes a person free. Some would say that living in a "free" country in which one can make their own decisions (for the most part) makes one free. Some would say that freedom is a state of mind, that even those who are in prison can be free, if only their minds can conceive it. Some would say that being cleansed of sin means freedom (Psalm 51). "The truth will set you free!", whatever the definition of truth is. According to some, freedom "presupposes the absence of any obligations or constraints" (Hobbs). V for Vendetta asserts that the absence of fear is freedom.

The absence and/or presence of fear is something I would like to specifically address in an effort to come to some sort of conclusion about freedom, especially in this day and age and in this country:

Yesterday I watched V for Vendetta for the first time, ironically and unintentionally on the eve of Guy Fawkes Night. According to the movie, the West has become so immersed in fear (of terrorists, epidemics, war, etc.) that the people are willing to sacrifice their civil liberties in exchange for the illusion of governmental protection. Sound familiar? Here's the thing: The main character, Evey (played by Natalie Portman who is beyond brilliant, but who doesn't sell me on the forced British accent), becomes fearless (through torture (!)) and is, according to the film, now absolutely free. I think I disagree with this idea, though I am happy to equivocate.

Honestly, I think that a lot of times people embrace their fear. We like fear. It puts us on a side (us v. them: the people v. the monsters; the individual v. the challenge; the proletariat v. big brother; the free nation v. "the evil doers"; etc.) and we like being part of a team. Also, fear requires that we be saved from something/someone, a ridiculously romantic idea. Fear promotes the all too familiar dysfunctional love/hate relationship. Embracing fear means, in this instance, that we value personal safety over freedom(?), an idea that many think plays into the hands of big government. This symbiotic relationship between fear and freedom is what keeps us from breaking the law, keeps us away from the "shady" characters, and is even what makes us patriotic.

BUT perhaps being fearful or not being fearful doesn't matter in the freedom arena (she said as she dodged the storm of pumping fists and freedom placards).

It is difficult for me to qualify this reasoning, seeing as my whole life I have been afraid of something. To me, those fears were/are real and I mostly lose to them or am held back by them, though I am getting better at resisting. For example (and a bit off topic, but wait for the point), I am terrified of flying (yes, we all know it is probably a control issue, yadda, yadda, psychosis summary, yadda...). Two glasses of merlot and a zanex later not only am I not afraid of the big bad plane, but I am totally stoked that I get to fly. In fact, maybe turbulence would be fun, especially since rationally I know that statistically flying is the safest mode of transportation, terrorists or no terrorists! Does this count as freedom from fear? In this case, my fear is numbed, but if the plane crashes, it didn't matter whether or not I was afraid. The fear, whether actually there or not, had little to do with the outcome. So, what does this mean in relation to freedom? Will the outcome be the same regardless of whether or not we fear "the enemy"?

The fact is I don't know. (stupid abstract nouns!) There is still no conclusion. I have no concrete definition of freedom. There are only ideas of freedom. Maybe I am extremely disillusioned seeing as I have only ever lived in a "free" state. Rousseau asserts that people can be forced into freedom (which is deliciously ironic and fodder for a different entry... Thanks for the bedtime reading, Spark). I know that whatever freedom is, we're going to fight for it, by God! After all, and back to V, "one man's terrorism is another man's freedom fight". Maybe that's something to be feared, too.

This topic will hopefully be addressed at next week's salon at the Dallas Institute. I'll keep you updated. In the meantime, what is your opinion (and please be nice).

Have You Ever...

Thanks for this, Lisa! It saves everyone from having to read about the miracle of spam (the other pink "meat"). The same rules apply for my listing:

Here's a list of some things one might have done in his or her lifetime: the ones I've done are highlighted and I put little parenthetical notes beside some of them. It's kind of long but it's interesting--and we all know it's fun to learn new things about each other! If you decide to post this on your blog, leave a comment with a link to it!

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain (Help me with this, Fougs!)
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Talked your way out of a ticket
08. Said “I love you” and meant it (say it often and to many, and I mean it)
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise.
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a major sports game (Stars (!), Cowboys, FC Dallas, Rangers, etc.)
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa (no, but chose not to on purpose)
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby’s diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity (I should do this more)
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment (at a baptism, even!!! I suck!)
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight(usually a frozen mud with a tiny bit of snow/ice mixed in fight)
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse (not directly, obviously)
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking (all the time)
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk.
42. Had amazing friends (I'm lucky to have many)
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country (Florence, Edinburgh, and Amsterdam(that was an eventful girls trip...))
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe
47. Taken a road-trip(I'm ready for another. Who wants to go?)
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach (romantic until the unfortunate hammock incident of 2004)
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your CDs
57. Pretended to be a superhero (Lisa said,"Wonder Woman underoos ROCK!" I had a pair too!!!)
58. Sung karaoke (Rich has..Johnny Cash and Bob Dillan (God help me!))
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football
61. Gone scuba diving (Mark, help me with this!)
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured ancient sights (Mayan pyramids...and I relieved myself on/near Hadrian's Wall. Does that count as touring?)
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party (the best was with a tourist, a witch, Clint Eastwood, and a male ballerina in a tutu)
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake River
82. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
83. Got flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas (Jen, help me with this!)
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Kissed on the first date
89. Gone to Thailand (would love to go!)
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently well enough to have a decent conversation (Americans suck...)
95. Performed in Rocky Horror(How am I still a RH virgin, I ask you? Pathetic!)
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
98. Been arrested (Hey Zapatista, can you help with this? (sorry, couldn't resist))
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge (Fun college trip, P-ta!)
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking (daily)
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
105. Written articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Touched a stingray
110. Broken someone’s heart
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol (Texan)
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse (again, Texan)
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states (I'll save the states for later)
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Touched a cockroach(unfortunately)
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes (why does this have to go next to the cockroach question?)
134. Read The Iliad (only parts)
135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions (so far)
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care (I haven't done this one by myself.)
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair (If I can get my stuff together, a stained glass booth would be wicked awesome!)
146. Dyed your hair
147. Been a DJ
148. Shaved your head
149. Caused a car accident
150. Saved someone’s life (possibly, but not in the way this question means)

Wow! I've lived a fairly full life so far. I still have so much more to do!

Garbage - sex_is_not_the_enemy

Garbage is one of my all time favorite bands. They're my release, especially after tough days...

Six Week Sorrow

I had a crazy end of the six weeks Friday. I am still buried in grading and am exhausted from a week of:
"Ms. Haag, Mrs. Haag, Mrs. Haag... What can I do to bring up my grade (today, the last day of the six weeks) ?"
"But I have to pass... I play football...But you don't understand...I play football!"
"Have you seen the graphics on Final Fantasy 15 billion? They look real, except they're not."
"I hate you Mrs. Haag; eat a bag of shit (said in a whisper loud enough for only everyone in the room to hear). You're the worst teacher ever."
"I love you Mrs. Haag, you're the best teacher ever!"
"I wanted to come back and visit so that I could show you my new baby... the father? Yeah, he moved to Australia."
"Today is the last day to make up work? Can I come in on Monday?"
"Why is my grade so low? I know I didn't do any work or read the assignment. But, why is it THAT low?"
"I got busted last week for an MIP."
"Are you going to come to my ________ (game, play, concert, parole hearing, etc.)? Please! You HAVE to come."
"I really like your class, but don't ever wear that outfit again. It clashes with your hair."
"Mrs. Haag. I need someone to talk to. I had sex for the first time last night and I was supposed to wait."
"I didn't plagiarize! I only copied the information from Wikipedia. You didn't say not to!"
"Mrs. Haag, I just found out that my mom has ______ cancer."
"I really enjoyed that assignment. I want to send you an email this week-end so we can talk more about it. I really do feel like Mersault sometimes. Is there meaning to life?"
"Mrs. Haag, are you OK?"
These are actual statements/versions of statements that I hear almost every day, but especially today. I sincerely and absolutely LOVE my students. That's what makes what I do the best AND the worst job of all time. Sometimes I'm just drained. You know?

Geocaching Geofun!

Until last week, I had never heard of the extraordinary phenomenon called Geocaching. Fortunately for me, Rich and our good friend Pat went to a training on it and immediately introduced me (and Amanda and Ella) to it. The salutation went something like this, "Ginger, this is Geocaching. Geocaching, Ginger." (Wow, the Safety Dance murders brain cells... someone should tell the government...Oh wait. They created the Safety Dance! Soilent Green is people!!!)
For those who are unaware, geocaching (pronounced "geo-cashing"), is like a massive global scavenger hunt. The participant uses civilian GPS units to find all sorts of pre-placed, hidden treasures in all sorts of places (parks, buildings, on the sides of cliffs (for those who like to repel), and even underwater (for the scuba-ing types). When one finds a cache, he might get to take a treasure (if one is available), leave one from his treasure trove, and then sign the log book, indicating that "______ was here." After a silent (so as not to alert any other cachers to the placement of the cache), "I found it!" celebration dance (or in our case the gentle signal whistle and tap of the rhythmic woodpecker), it is mandatory to return the cache container, be it a film canister or a Star Wars lunchbox, to its original hiding place, so as to prevent the next cacher from leaving the search distraught over not having found that cache. Sometimes there are clues as to the size of the cache (the tiny ones are the hardest to find). Sometimes there are hints as to where the cache might be hidden. Sometimes one is left to find the cache without any guidance at all.

There is a secret lingo involved with geocaching. Those who steal caches or who give away any information about a cache are called spoilers. Occasionally, the spoilers are Muggles (sadly, stolen from Harry Potter) who don't realize that they've spoiled something. Mostly, Muggles are confused as to why the cachers (mere people in their eyes) are walking in the same circles over and over again, searching as if they've lost something irreplaceable. Also, there is a strict code. One must respect the environment, one may not trade items that are harmful, one must not endanger themselves or others, one must observe all the laws and rules of the area, etc.

All you have to do to participate (assuming you have access to a GPS unit) is go to geocaching.com and enter your zip code. You'll find a geocache sheet that tells you latitudes and longitudes, and you're off! There are caches all over the planet, even in the most remote places, so no need to worry about geowithdrawal, especially when visiting in-laws in places like Amarillo, Floydada, or (god forbid) Hobbs! So, go! Enjoy! My only caution to you is beware of the frisbee golfers (who yell "head's up" and then nail you in the face with a pig), the poison ivy lurking in the undergrowth (poor Rich!) and the nickel sized mosquitoes (west nile!)!

safety dance

Right. I had never seen this video before. I have no response to this...BUT enjoy as you read the following.

The Sundays - Summertime

This is in my head today. Listen to it as you read the blog below.

Gaucho Muse

I would say that my Creative Muse has recently had his hand severely crushed in a slammed car door, that he believes my intentions to be like oh my god, shallow, or that he took a flying leap out of my nearest cerebral window (because he had a super hero complex?). Whatever it is that has happened, my CM is severely impotent at the moment, no matter how many glasses of merlot I swallow in an effort to seduce him. All week I've been anticipating this blog, for it is the first of the 30 day challenge! All I came up with was Summertime by the Sundays and also the dysfunctional comfort of gaucho pants... So, I'll leave you with the music in the above blog and with this exceptional poem that Kristen D. from the litmaggers introduced me to, possibly in an effort to define themselves and me, but probably not.

Lineage
by Jeffrey McDaniel
When I was little, I thought the word loin and the word lion were the same thing.
I thought celibate was a kind of fish.
My parents wanted me to be well-rounded so they threw dinner plates at each other until I curled up into a little ball.
I've had the wind knocked out of me but never the hurricane.
I've seen two hundred and sixty-three rats in the past year, but never more than one at a time. It could be the same rat, with a very high profile.
I know what it's like to wear my liver on my sleeve.
I go into department stores, looking suspicious, approach the security guard and say what, what, I didn't take anything. Go ahead. Frisk me, big boy!
I go to the funerals of absolute strangers and tell the grieving family: the soul of the deceased is trapped inside my rib cage and trying to reach you.
Once I thought I found love, but then I realized I was just out of cigarettes.
Some people are boring because their parents had boring sex the night they were conceived.
In the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, a little boy died, who had the exact same scars as me.