"Jack, baby, what do you remember about Morocco?"
"I remember there was yummy things to eat in Morocco. I remember the donkey came. I remember the donkey."
"What else?"
"I think we couldn't touch anything. Why we couldn't touch anything?"
"Because those things were for sale."
"Momma, what for sale mean?"
"It means that people might want to buy the things we couldn't touch."
"Do you remember anything else from Morocco?"
"I think that's all I know. We didn't see any butterflies in Morocco."
I have to admit, Morocco was the hardest part of our trip for me. Harder than slugging luggage through busy airports. Harder than keeping a three year old still on a 90 minute bus ride. What's worse is I really wanted to feel comfortable there.
To be fair, my viewpoint is a little skewed as I only saw the desert crumbles of Agadir on my way to Taroudant. Also, I was only on Moroccan soil for around 5 hours, most of it on a bus tour. Our guide, Aziz, was Moroccan and spoke broken English.
He made many jokes about how lazy the women get to be and that they are very happy to wake up, go to the market to buy meals for the day, cook for the family and then take a nap until time to prepare the next meal. "What I mean is they like life, the women.It is easy for them."
He was also seriously concerned that we Western tourists understand that Morocco was becoming wealthy and therefore as important as any Western European country, especially as several manufacturing companies were coming in and creating jobs for the people. "What I mean is, Morocco will be as good as UK and a very happy country." And then he would laugh and make a joke about shop keepers not really working until noon or so, or when they wanted. "It looks like we live in ruins, but the way it works is this. Men want garage. They make shop in garage and then build house on top, little by little."
All of these topics tended to make me feel a bit alienated, ashamed, or just plain sad.
As he spoke I watched children walk or ride their bikes to school. "In Morocco, boys and girls go to school together," Aziz proudly said. "We are not like other Arab countries. What I mean is boys and girls go to same school, no problem." I watched as the girls loitered on one side of the school yard while the boys played soccer on the other.
"It is nice to be important," he interjected, " but more important to be nice." And he would laugh.
"Morocco is not concerned about religion,"he said. "You find people can go to the Muslim church or the Jewish church or the Catholic church. No problem. What I mean is people in Morocco are not concerned with religion. Religion is between the people's heart and God."
We spent most of our time in the souk or market in Taroudant. Taroudant is a walled city that has maintained much of its Arab tradition. The open air stalls were filled with mostly men, bartering and haggling, occasional donkey carts and several motorcycles. The air was full of amazing smells and the most beautiful, vivid colors I've ever seen. Shop keepers would pick up Jack and add him to their displays for a photo opportunity (always expecting a little Euro for their entertainment, though we didn't have much money with us). One of the tour guides shopped as he herded us through the market. He would interrupt himself to squeeze a tomato and ask a price, continue what he was saying mid-sentence, and then wave away the merchant.
We stopped in a "traditional Moroccan house" to watch a man pitch his homemade apothecary serums. He would ask his assistants (mute ladies who shared no smiles) to please pass around the perfume or hold out the chicken spices for everyone to smell. Then he would hold up a product and ask how many we wanted to buy. "He's a good salesmen, he is," one of the British men next to me remarked.
I couldn't leave the souk without bartering. I knew I was terrible at it, and was, by the way. I tried to smile as I bargained, but it came across as a frightened grimace. Fortunately, I was told with an annoyed wave of a hand, to just take the scarf I wanted to buy for the original price I offered (little more than a fourth of the initial price) and move on. I didn't feel cheated, but I felt incompetent.
I suppose this huge rambling post illustrates my own confusion. I really want to believe Morocco is this wonderful, free, exciting place that Aziz described. I really wanted to feel completely at ease. People were, on the whole, friendly. Yes, the culture was incredibly different from one I'm used to, though perhaps not so different from the Hispanic culture I grew up (and felt comfortable) in. But I didn't feel at ease that day. Everything felt very severe to me and dire. I watched people walk across the desert and I couldn't see where they were going. And I also saw tree climbing goats reaching for fruit at the top of barren trees.
Showing posts with label random babel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random babel. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monumental
Sitting in the vulnerable position- under the hairdresser's color brush and foils - I told her how I was looking forward to the faculty Christmas party.
"Did you buy a dress?" Pantine asked as she worked her magic.
"I plan to go shopping this afternoon," I replied, "but I'm not exactly sure how to dress for this event. The theme for the evening is 'New York'."
"Oh right," she said. "That is a difficult one. Gosh. I mean what do they expect you to do after all? Go as the Eiffel Tower?"
"Did you buy a dress?" Pantine asked as she worked her magic.
"I plan to go shopping this afternoon," I replied, "but I'm not exactly sure how to dress for this event. The theme for the evening is 'New York'."
"Oh right," she said. "That is a difficult one. Gosh. I mean what do they expect you to do after all? Go as the Eiffel Tower?"
Saturday, September 01, 2007
And Scene...to be continued
So Mr. A, the principal of my school (my boss), walks into my room before the students arrive on the first day of school, as he does every first day of school, to have the same exact first day back conversation that we have every year. It's a bit and it goes like this:
Mr. A: Good morning, Ms. Haag!
Me: Good morning, sir. (large sigh) - (what? I'm allowed a sigh at freaking 7:00 A.M.) (AND I'm allowed as many stage directions as I want.)
Mr A: Don't you just love the first day of school?
Me: (pause before I carefully say) Mr A, I love the second semester.
(Mr. A grins at my smartassitude (probably because it's not unlike his own personality) and walks out of the room)
And scene...usually!
This year, the scene didn't end, as it ought to have done. In fact, the scene took a drastic turn for the worse in a way that happens only when the planets are disturbingly misaligned or when the 7th dimension devours the first and second ones in a spiraling wormhole of doom, leaving putrid detritus smeared on the walls of the subconscious mind. OK. I'm being dramatic. I don't think a 7th dimension exists. But if it does and if it decides to devour the first two leaving smeared detritus on walls and stuff, it would look something like this:
(On his way out of the room, Mr. A stops and glances at my peace corner (messages of peace from Einstein and Gandhi, in poster forms, and a huge rainbow peace flag that says 'pace' which is 'peace' in Italian - you know the one that my students consistently and "rationally" interpret as a banner homage to my adoration of gay picante sauce - ??). He stops, looks at me, points to my peace corner.)
Mr. A: There will never be peace, you know.
Me: (large gasp coordinated with a truly puzzled/horrified look on my face)
(Mr. A walks out of the room.)
Me: (turning to face the audience listening at home) But that's not how it goes! And what a shitty way to start the school year! Where's my coffee? Where's Christine?
And Scene... for reals, this time.
Because I knew I had to survive the first day of school, I put the conversation out of my mind until I could skip over to Christine's room for another rendition of the very popular, highly rated, and sometimes forced (as is the case on the first day of school) comedy hour called The Ginger and Christine Show. (We usually do the 'Ta da!" pose here, but alas, I am typing now which makes spirit fingers very difficult.) So, I go to her room and we decide to make the quarter of a mile trek (not kidding) to the main office to say hello to the office staff and because Mr. A's wonderful secretary told us that she had some money for us to pick up. Off we skip. (Loads of skipping happens in my school.. get it? skipping.. in high school.. HAHAHAHA. Dude. I promise. The only questionable substance in my body right now is Folgers medium/dark roast Colombian coffee with a shot of Cinnamon Vanilla Coffeemate.)
When we get to the office, I see Mr. A for the first time since he made that turbulent comment to me that morning. I poke my head into his office and we have this conversation:
Me: Mr. A, do you really think there can never be peace?
Mr. A: Actually I've thought about it and I think there can be peace.. (long pause) but only if we annihilate all of mankind.
Me: (intake of breath to say something, I'm still not sure what)
Mr. A: No wait. We'd have to get rid of all of the animals, too, because of that whole 'dog eat dog' thing.
Me: (grinning at my own discomfort with the understanding that he's doing this on purpose)
Mr. A: AND we'd have to get rid of all plants too. You know. Venus Fly Traps and what not. (smirks)
Me: (full on smile) So, you're saying that there will only be peace if we get rid of all living things, and the world is a cold, dead rock.
Mr. A: Or if everyone were naked. If everyone were naked, no one would want to fight.
Me: Why? Because they would be too horrified? Or is it because we would all be laughing, pointing at each other, and saying things like, "That can't happen!"
All: (laughter)
So now we have a new bit. Every time I see Mr. A, even in passing, we have a conversation about peace:
"Did you figure it out, yet?"
"Nope. You?"
"Well, what if..."
And I think it's good that we're working on it, even if some of the solutions seem sarcastic or unreasonable. In fact, I love that we're working on it. If only we all were.
And what a great way to start the year!
to be continued..
Mr. A: Good morning, Ms. Haag!
Me: Good morning, sir. (large sigh) - (what? I'm allowed a sigh at freaking 7:00 A.M.) (AND I'm allowed as many stage directions as I want.)
Mr A: Don't you just love the first day of school?
Me: (pause before I carefully say) Mr A, I love the second semester.
(Mr. A grins at my smartassitude (probably because it's not unlike his own personality) and walks out of the room)
And scene...usually!
This year, the scene didn't end, as it ought to have done. In fact, the scene took a drastic turn for the worse in a way that happens only when the planets are disturbingly misaligned or when the 7th dimension devours the first and second ones in a spiraling wormhole of doom, leaving putrid detritus smeared on the walls of the subconscious mind. OK. I'm being dramatic. I don't think a 7th dimension exists. But if it does and if it decides to devour the first two leaving smeared detritus on walls and stuff, it would look something like this:
(On his way out of the room, Mr. A stops and glances at my peace corner (messages of peace from Einstein and Gandhi, in poster forms, and a huge rainbow peace flag that says 'pace' which is 'peace' in Italian - you know the one that my students consistently and "rationally" interpret as a banner homage to my adoration of gay picante sauce - ??). He stops, looks at me, points to my peace corner.)
Mr. A: There will never be peace, you know.
Me: (large gasp coordinated with a truly puzzled/horrified look on my face)
(Mr. A walks out of the room.)
Me: (turning to face the audience listening at home) But that's not how it goes! And what a shitty way to start the school year! Where's my coffee? Where's Christine?
And Scene... for reals, this time.
Because I knew I had to survive the first day of school, I put the conversation out of my mind until I could skip over to Christine's room for another rendition of the very popular, highly rated, and sometimes forced (as is the case on the first day of school) comedy hour called The Ginger and Christine Show. (We usually do the 'Ta da!" pose here, but alas, I am typing now which makes spirit fingers very difficult.) So, I go to her room and we decide to make the quarter of a mile trek (not kidding) to the main office to say hello to the office staff and because Mr. A's wonderful secretary told us that she had some money for us to pick up. Off we skip. (Loads of skipping happens in my school.. get it? skipping.. in high school.. HAHAHAHA. Dude. I promise. The only questionable substance in my body right now is Folgers medium/dark roast Colombian coffee with a shot of Cinnamon Vanilla Coffeemate.)
When we get to the office, I see Mr. A for the first time since he made that turbulent comment to me that morning. I poke my head into his office and we have this conversation:
Me: Mr. A, do you really think there can never be peace?
Mr. A: Actually I've thought about it and I think there can be peace.. (long pause) but only if we annihilate all of mankind.
Me: (intake of breath to say something, I'm still not sure what)
Mr. A: No wait. We'd have to get rid of all of the animals, too, because of that whole 'dog eat dog' thing.
Me: (grinning at my own discomfort with the understanding that he's doing this on purpose)
Mr. A: AND we'd have to get rid of all plants too. You know. Venus Fly Traps and what not. (smirks)
Me: (full on smile) So, you're saying that there will only be peace if we get rid of all living things, and the world is a cold, dead rock.
Mr. A: Or if everyone were naked. If everyone were naked, no one would want to fight.
Me: Why? Because they would be too horrified? Or is it because we would all be laughing, pointing at each other, and saying things like, "That can't happen!"
All: (laughter)
So now we have a new bit. Every time I see Mr. A, even in passing, we have a conversation about peace:
"Did you figure it out, yet?"
"Nope. You?"
"Well, what if..."
And I think it's good that we're working on it, even if some of the solutions seem sarcastic or unreasonable. In fact, I love that we're working on it. If only we all were.
And what a great way to start the year!
to be continued..
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Mad Cow Night
In short, Action Cow Assembly Night* was a smashing success! All enjoyed the task, including my cool new friend, Becky, who didn't run away from the Ft. Worth crazies, screaming, hands flailing. (smile) In a way, Action Cow Assembly Night is a sure fire way to know who your real friends are. Anyone who is confidentially willing to assemble a cow using child safety scissors and a glue stick at a trendy restaurant and who later is willing to build a Tower o' Cow at a local coffee establishment can be my friend. Rich, Jamie, and Christine were game, but we knew that already. Becky played, too, so she's in. It was the waiter who was kind of shifty. Yes. He, too, received an Action Cow Assembly kit. I think he was worried for a split second that a paper cow was his tip.. (Get it? cow and tip.. cow tipping.. I know! It's udderly ridiculous! Hahahahaha. Alright. I'm done.) Anyway, see for yourselves. It was a great evening!
* Thanks Ben and Jerry's!!
p.s. For the record, you can love your newly assembled bovine friend, but you shouldn't LOVE him. Christine!
* Thanks Ben and Jerry's!!
p.s. For the record, you can love your newly assembled bovine friend, but you shouldn't LOVE him. Christine!
Saturday, August 18, 2007
I Heart Cow
As we were driving to the Modern Art Museum of Ft. Worth to see the (unusual) Ron Mueck exhibit, we saw this sign on the side of a truck:
It's a crappy picture, as pictures tend to be when one is barrelling through a tight intersection next to a large truck while whipping out an action cam from a ginormous purse/tote bag (I had to dig) while singing, "raspberry beret. I think I lo-o-o-ove her". I was greatly moved by this singular phrase, so much so that I knew I needed to share this universal truth with all of you, my fellow man. A statement like this could, after all, change the face of humanity! So I googled it to find a better picture. I typed in "ice cream makes you pretty" and found that the slogan comes from a place called Henry's Homemade Ice Cream. fine. yay. I'll go there someday..yadda yadda..thbpth - jog on.. There wasn't a better picture.
I know, right?! It IS awesome!! Instruction #6 is especially informative, and I can't wait to observe the 'realistic head bobbing action' (#7)! They are going to L.O.V.E. me at the dinner party* tonight when I pull these instructions out of my ginormous purse/tote bag as party favors. This will show my newly met friends that this girl, indeed, knows how to kick it! Ya-yuh!
*Of course I'll take the camera.. They're lucky that I am not also bringing a pinata and my "Abba Gold" cd
It's a crappy picture, as pictures tend to be when one is barrelling through a tight intersection next to a large truck while whipping out an action cam from a ginormous purse/tote bag (I had to dig) while singing, "raspberry beret. I think I lo-o-o-ove her". I was greatly moved by this singular phrase, so much so that I knew I needed to share this universal truth with all of you, my fellow man. A statement like this could, after all, change the face of humanity! So I googled it to find a better picture. I typed in "ice cream makes you pretty" and found that the slogan comes from a place called Henry's Homemade Ice Cream. fine. yay. I'll go there someday..yadda yadda..thbpth - jog on.. There wasn't a better picture.BUT I also googled the phrase as an image and was OVERJOYED to find this:
I know, right?! It IS awesome!! Instruction #6 is especially informative, and I can't wait to observe the 'realistic head bobbing action' (#7)! They are going to L.O.V.E. me at the dinner party* tonight when I pull these instructions out of my ginormous purse/tote bag as party favors. This will show my newly met friends that this girl, indeed, knows how to kick it! Ya-yuh!
*Of course I'll take the camera.. They're lucky that I am not also bringing a pinata and my "Abba Gold" cd
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
ick minus S
We are all aware that people are strange (when you're a stranger...), and I am constantly aware of that fact. I taught seventh grade, for the love of Mike, and have observed (sober) human beings doing things like smelling their shoes for pleasure, sticking pencils in their ears (also for pleasure), cutting their underwear out of their pants, and getting their heads stuck in sweatshirts then falling out of their chairs trying to get untangled. You may not know this, but some might even consider ME slightly strange. Fine. Whatever.
The point is that I'm not unfamiliar with human oddities and not very many things surprise me anymore.
But this did:
Scenario: Let's say that you have done your morning work out and you decide to hit the pool to relax and to finish your favorite poolside Janet Evanovich novel (the latest in the Stephanie Plum bounty hunter series). You're enthralled by the print. Will Stephanie die saving the kidnapped girl while sorting out her feelings for her loyal cop boyfriend, or will she forget herself and all rationality and (again) submit to the solicitations of the mysterious, sexy-as-hell bounty hunter who is currently in her bed? (What? It's a little break from all the serious stuff..)
Anyway, you're reading when you hear a familiar, but misplaced sound. It's a click of some sort. Your brain searches itself trying to figure out what that sound might be. You hear it again. When your brain draws a conclusion, all of the characters in the Evanovich novel pause, look at you, and simultaneously say, "Really? Here? No way! No one would actually..."and you HAVE to look up and see for yourself. And to your utter disgust and horror, you realize you're not imagining things. Your conclusion is right!? A grown woman is sitting on the side of the pool CLIPPING HER TOENAILS into the pool.
My question is: In what world is that OK?
I mean, I understand that any kind of public pool is unsanitary and that I may be the only person on the planet who actually adheres to the posted sign that says, "This is my ool. Notice there is no 'P' in it. Let's keep it that way." I understand what happens when people get water up their nose and have to blow it out. I won't even mention band-aids. Or bugs. Or hair. Swimming pools are gross, but also I know that CHEMICALS (the ones that burn your eyes red, singe your nasal cavity, and take off the outside layer of your skin) kill most of the nastiness. I take absolute comfort in the chemical burn because, really, what germ could actually survive that sort of nuclear holocaust? I've never seen the actual data, but I have thoroughly convinced myself (and don't tell me otherwise) of the validity of this argument.
But toenails? Seriously?
I can just imagine her thought bubble - "Wow. My toenails sure do need clipping. But I want to swim NOW!! I know! Throw the clippers in the swim bag! It will be like having a foot soak pedicure. Sweet! Two birds and one stone.. or something like that."
Unfortunately, that didn't prevent me from taking one more dip in the ool minus p. I pretended that the clippings stayed on her side and I didn't plan to swim over there anyway. As long as I constantly push water away from me, the clippings won't come over... Right?
Sick.
The point is that I'm not unfamiliar with human oddities and not very many things surprise me anymore.
But this did:
Scenario: Let's say that you have done your morning work out and you decide to hit the pool to relax and to finish your favorite poolside Janet Evanovich novel (the latest in the Stephanie Plum bounty hunter series). You're enthralled by the print. Will Stephanie die saving the kidnapped girl while sorting out her feelings for her loyal cop boyfriend, or will she forget herself and all rationality and (again) submit to the solicitations of the mysterious, sexy-as-hell bounty hunter who is currently in her bed? (What? It's a little break from all the serious stuff..)
Anyway, you're reading when you hear a familiar, but misplaced sound. It's a click of some sort. Your brain searches itself trying to figure out what that sound might be. You hear it again. When your brain draws a conclusion, all of the characters in the Evanovich novel pause, look at you, and simultaneously say, "Really? Here? No way! No one would actually..."and you HAVE to look up and see for yourself. And to your utter disgust and horror, you realize you're not imagining things. Your conclusion is right!? A grown woman is sitting on the side of the pool CLIPPING HER TOENAILS into the pool.
My question is: In what world is that OK?
I mean, I understand that any kind of public pool is unsanitary and that I may be the only person on the planet who actually adheres to the posted sign that says, "This is my ool. Notice there is no 'P' in it. Let's keep it that way." I understand what happens when people get water up their nose and have to blow it out. I won't even mention band-aids. Or bugs. Or hair. Swimming pools are gross, but also I know that CHEMICALS (the ones that burn your eyes red, singe your nasal cavity, and take off the outside layer of your skin) kill most of the nastiness. I take absolute comfort in the chemical burn because, really, what germ could actually survive that sort of nuclear holocaust? I've never seen the actual data, but I have thoroughly convinced myself (and don't tell me otherwise) of the validity of this argument.
But toenails? Seriously?
I can just imagine her thought bubble - "Wow. My toenails sure do need clipping. But I want to swim NOW!! I know! Throw the clippers in the swim bag! It will be like having a foot soak pedicure. Sweet! Two birds and one stone.. or something like that."
Unfortunately, that didn't prevent me from taking one more dip in the ool minus p. I pretended that the clippings stayed on her side and I didn't plan to swim over there anyway. As long as I constantly push water away from me, the clippings won't come over... Right?
Sick.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Happy Blogiversary To Me!!
So today is my one year blogiversary! I've come a long way since my awkward 1st post one year ago. This year I have gone through a whirlwind of change: I can actually be still and meditate; I am evolving into an internationally minded teacher and learner; I am more confident in my writing and in my opinions and am more comfortable in the sharing of these; I was a moma for 10 weeks and celebrated her existence, and now mourn her departure; I allowed myself to need other people; I traveled across the ocean by myself and then cruised north; I changed my hair color at least 4 times and learned to accept my mothiness - the girl who would someday be a butterfly if it weren't for that way-too-attractive flame. Well, that AND the fact that she constantly trips over the silly up-side-down welcome mat at her doorstep..
My life is FULL!
(a whispered thank you.)
My life is full.
In celebration I am toasting the computer screen with a watermelon martini. Cheers! Or as Mom and her friends say,
"Here's to Texas, Heroes, and Friends!"
Thanks to Lisa and Jen who helped me birth and continue to nurture this LOVELY blog addiction.
I am so lucky to be able to reconnect with all of you guys, my family, and for you to connect with each other in this space.
And thanks to those of you, my Stealthily Silent Visitors, who are interested enough to keep reading.
Thanks to all of you for loving me in the true spirit of communitas and for adding brilliant color to the circus show that is this Viaggio. :)
I love you!
My life is FULL!
(a whispered thank you.)
My life is full.
In celebration I am toasting the computer screen with a watermelon martini. Cheers! Or as Mom and her friends say,
"Here's to Texas, Heroes, and Friends!"
Thanks to Lisa and Jen who helped me birth and continue to nurture this LOVELY blog addiction.
I am so lucky to be able to reconnect with all of you guys, my family, and for you to connect with each other in this space.
And thanks to those of you, my Stealthily Silent Visitors, who are interested enough to keep reading.
Thanks to all of you for loving me in the true spirit of communitas and for adding brilliant color to the circus show that is this Viaggio. :)
I love you!
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
FC Dallas 5, LA Galaxy 6
So, the 
media was practically hyperventilating and the marketing morons for FC Dallas were having sustained climaxes at the realization that David Beckham, the megastar of all things football in Britain (and really around the world), was leaving his team (Real Madrid where, for a while he was considered a 'has been' but also where eventually he redeemed his reputation by playing some amazing soccer and leading that team to supreme victory) to come to the states and play Major League Soccer for Los Angeles. And also, LA threw stacks and stacks of cash at him..
There were obviously major advantages surrounding this buy out for American soccer since we are typically seen as the "joke league" around the world. We don't play as fast as the Europeans, we don't handle the ball as beautifully as the Latin Americans, and we play with more integrity (as in not as many dives or headbutts) than several countries which, unfortunately, means we lose. Our league IS a baby league and we are slowly bringing up the level of play so as to be as competitive as the rest of the world.
So, bringing Becks to the states was supposed to boost American interest in soccer. His (gorgeous) body on the field was supposed to put butts in seats and was supposed to be one of the first steps in bringing several football megastars to the US in order to raise the level of competition. As it stands now we only export our major players, especially since most of our players have to work two jobs to sustain any kind of living here and they can make the same income by asking you if you "want fries with that."
The point of me telling you all of this is that MLS was getting their big break. Or at least the world would be watching to see what would happen to Becks and Posh. (Could they stand living in such uncivilized filth?) But also maybe they would see that MLS is not a big lazy side show missing its main clown.
Only it was on Tuesday night.
The game was SOLD OUT which was a HUGE deal since the stadium is usually only 1/4 full. I even have to adm
it that when I bought my ticket package, I requested the "Beckham game." Two nights before the game, I was..um. - I mean- people were painting their "Becks, I want to have your baby!" signs for the game, and the marketers for FC were busy patting themselves on the backs (handshakes and toasts all around) when the news came that LA decided to leave David Beckham at home.
WHAT?
We knew Becks was injured, and that we weren't going to see him "bend" anything. But he was at least going to be on the sidelines, right? Nope. Life. as. we. know. it. ended!!!
OK, OK. It wasn't THAT dramatic, but we were disappointed. And those of us who actually support MLS who went to the game anyway knew that this was a major hit to Dallas soccer. The team was really going to have to put on a show at this game for all of the folks who had paid to see Beckham and who were going to have to settle for (choke) Landon Donovan.
In short, the first half was a disaster! We were down by 3 within the first twenty minutes. We got it together in the second half and FC (after a beautiful bicycle kick goal that was called back) brought back their game and lost by one point in this, the most bizarrely fantastic soccer show in the history of MLS. And we didn't need no stinking David Beckham!
Click here for a more intelligent, comprehensive game report by Jamie F.
END NOTES:
1. I LOV
E Juan Toja (#8) and his supersonic mullet.
2. Landon Donovan is an ungracious, nancy pants a-hole! And I will NEVER support him again, not even on the national team.
Guy sitting next to me: Did you see why Landon Donovan got that yellow card?
Me: Was it because he has an extremely large forehead?
Guy: (looking confused) No. It's because he shushed the crowd, pointed at us, and then pretended to slash his throat (while mouthing "game over") after he scored his last goal.
Me: I know. I saw it. (yelling) Suck my d____, Landon Donovan!
(sorry Mom. I did, in fact, risk my own yellow card at the game to yell this and it was in poor form. But I still mean it.)
3. Favorite fan signs at our Beckham-less game:
a. "Bench it like Beckham! "
b. "English exports:
2 million Harry Potter books - priceless.
250 million dollar football player - worthless.
Where the Beck are you? "
Pictures borrowed from 3rd Degree website, Reuters, AP, and my own camera.
media was practically hyperventilating and the marketing morons for FC Dallas were having sustained climaxes at the realization that David Beckham, the megastar of all things football in Britain (and really around the world), was leaving his team (Real Madrid where, for a while he was considered a 'has been' but also where eventually he redeemed his reputation by playing some amazing soccer and leading that team to supreme victory) to come to the states and play Major League Soccer for Los Angeles. And also, LA threw stacks and stacks of cash at him..There were obviously major advantages surrounding this buy out for American soccer since we are typically seen as the "joke league" around the world. We don't play as fast as the Europeans, we don't handle the ball as beautifully as the Latin Americans, and we play with more integrity (as in not as many dives or headbutts) than several countries which, unfortunately, means we lose. Our league IS a baby league and we are slowly bringing up the level of play so as to be as competitive as the rest of the world.
So, bringing Becks to the states was supposed to boost American interest in soccer. His (gorgeous) body on the field was supposed to put butts in seats and was supposed to be one of the first steps in bringing several football megastars to the US in order to raise the level of competition. As it stands now we only export our major players, especially since most of our players have to work two jobs to sustain any kind of living here and they can make the same income by asking you if you "want fries with that."
The point of me telling you all of this is that MLS was getting their big break. Or at least the world would be watching to see what would happen to Becks and Posh. (Could they stand living in such uncivilized filth?) But also maybe they would see that MLS is not a big lazy side show missing its main clown.
Only it was on Tuesday night.
The game was SOLD OUT which was a HUGE deal since the stadium is usually only 1/4 full. I even have to adm
it that when I bought my ticket package, I requested the "Beckham game." Two nights before the game, I was..um. - I mean- people were painting their "Becks, I want to have your baby!" signs for the game, and the marketers for FC were busy patting themselves on the backs (handshakes and toasts all around) when the news came that LA decided to leave David Beckham at home.WHAT?
We knew Becks was injured, and that we weren't going to see him "bend" anything. But he was at least going to be on the sidelines, right? Nope. Life. as. we. know. it. ended!!!
OK, OK. It wasn't THAT dramatic, but we were disappointed. And those of us who actually support MLS who went to the game anyway knew that this was a major hit to Dallas soccer. The team was really going to have to put on a show at this game for all of the folks who had paid to see Beckham and who were going to have to settle for (choke) Landon Donovan.
In short, the first half was a disaster! We were down by 3 within the first twenty minutes. We got it together in the second half and FC (after a beautiful bicycle kick goal that was called back) brought back their game and lost by one point in this, the most bizarrely fantastic soccer show in the history of MLS. And we didn't need no stinking David Beckham!
Click here for a more intelligent, comprehensive game report by Jamie F.
END NOTES:
1. I LOV
E Juan Toja (#8) and his supersonic mullet.2. Landon Donovan is an ungracious, nancy pants a-hole! And I will NEVER support him again, not even on the national team.
Guy sitting next to me: Did you see why Landon Donovan got that yellow card?
Me: Was it because he has an extremely large forehead?
Guy: (looking confused) No. It's because he shushed the crowd, pointed at us, and then pretended to slash his throat (while mouthing "game over") after he scored his last goal.
Me: I know. I saw it. (yelling) Suck my d____, Landon Donovan!
(sorry Mom. I did, in fact, risk my own yellow card at the game to yell this and it was in poor form. But I still mean it.)
3. Favorite fan signs at our Beckham-less game:
a. "Bench it like Beckham! "
b. "English exports:
2 million Harry Potter books - priceless.
250 million dollar football player - worthless.
Where the Beck are you? "
Pictures borrowed from 3rd Degree website, Reuters, AP, and my own camera.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
A mill-yin doller night
Our very generous friend, Kim, gave us tickets to the Texas Rangers v. Seattle Mariners baseball game last night. We had excellent seats, plus it was $1 hot dog night! This game was the third in a three game series, and the Rangers won! Yay!
As always, I was on strict people watch duty since I think people are extremely amusing, but this time I didn't need my eyes to be amused. We sat in front of a row of little boys who cracked.me.up. They had to be from Podunk, West Texas because every single sentence that they yelled (volume control is for sissies) had a drawl that lasted longer than each inning. Conversations about the game played out something like this:
Boy 1: Hey. Hey. Haaay! Ah betchew a mill-yin dollers he stee-yuls a bayse. A mill-yin dollers! Hey! a mill-yin dollers!
[He steals a base]
Ah told yew! Yew owe me a mill-yin dollers!
Boy 2: We didn't shayk on it!
Boy 1: Fine. Ah betchew three dollers...
Boy 3: Hey! Haaaaay! He pitches like a gur-yul! A stinkin' gur-yul could throw better'n'at!
Boy 4: Yer cray-zy! That'uz the beyest play tonite! Ah garunteeit!
I actually have a video on which you can hear the boys, but it's in need of some serious editing, unless you would like to watch the longest inning of the game..
Trust me. They were hysterical.
As always, I was on strict people watch duty since I think people are extremely amusing, but this time I didn't need my eyes to be amused. We sat in front of a row of little boys who cracked.me.up. They had to be from Podunk, West Texas because every single sentence that they yelled (volume control is for sissies) had a drawl that lasted longer than each inning. Conversations about the game played out something like this:
Boy 1: Hey. Hey. Haaay! Ah betchew a mill-yin dollers he stee-yuls a bayse. A mill-yin dollers! Hey! a mill-yin dollers!
[He steals a base]
Ah told yew! Yew owe me a mill-yin dollers!
Boy 2: We didn't shayk on it!
Boy 1: Fine. Ah betchew three dollers...
Boy 3: Hey! Haaaaay! He pitches like a gur-yul! A stinkin' gur-yul could throw better'n'at!
Boy 4: Yer cray-zy! That'uz the beyest play tonite! Ah garunteeit!
I actually have a video on which you can hear the boys, but it's in need of some serious editing, unless you would like to watch the longest inning of the game..
Trust me. They were hysterical.
Friday, July 20, 2007
2 things on my mind right now:
1. Diurnal is a disgusting word to me.
2. Do you ever think about your "crazy" cat lady neighbors and laugh at the stereotype of them? Then you realize that they were once 31, and they probably were productively creative at one point until they completely lost touch with the world. And then you look in the mirror and think to yourself in the horror of that futile recognition, "Oh Shit! Diurnal is a disgusting word to me!"
2. Do you ever think about your "crazy" cat lady neighbors and laugh at the stereotype of them? Then you realize that they were once 31, and they probably were productively creative at one point until they completely lost touch with the world. And then you look in the mirror and think to yourself in the horror of that futile recognition, "Oh Shit! Diurnal is a disgusting word to me!"
Sunday, July 15, 2007
from Weeds
A conversation between a middle aged suburban (unhappily) married PTA attending soccer mom and a troubled 10 year old boy- on life:
Soccer Mom: Everyone thinks I've lost my mind.
Boy: Everyone thinks I'm weird.
SM: Well, I can see why you may give that impression.
B: I really don't care what they think.
SM: Good for you. Let your freak flag fly!
B: Really?
SM: Really. I've recently stopped giving a shit about what anyone says, and I gotta tell you, I feel great!
B: But you have cancer.
SM: And you have a dead father.
Both of us make people feel really uncomfortable. There is no way around it. So either we can feel all self-conscious and pretend that everything is normal, or we can just be our strange selves.
B. Thank you.
SM: For what?
B: For telling me the truth.
SM: You're welcome.
It's a bitch though, ain't it?
B: (nods)
Soccer Mom: Everyone thinks I've lost my mind.
Boy: Everyone thinks I'm weird.
SM: Well, I can see why you may give that impression.
B: I really don't care what they think.
SM: Good for you. Let your freak flag fly!
B: Really?
SM: Really. I've recently stopped giving a shit about what anyone says, and I gotta tell you, I feel great!
B: But you have cancer.
SM: And you have a dead father.
Both of us make people feel really uncomfortable. There is no way around it. So either we can feel all self-conscious and pretend that everything is normal, or we can just be our strange selves.
B. Thank you.
SM: For what?
B: For telling me the truth.
SM: You're welcome.
It's a bitch though, ain't it?
B: (nods)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
London Calling.. and then Alaska... and then NYC
Tomorrow I'm off on an adventure (Viaggio!!) and may be gone from the comfortable space of this blog for a little while.
Here's the sitch:
I'm flying to London tomorrow where I'll be attending a 4 day workshop in Oxford for the new International Baccalaureate (IB) class I'm teaching at school. I've (sort of accidentally) sandwiched said workshop between 6 days of what I'm calling "reflection time" in London. (Thanks to Mark and his housemates for letting me crash the barbecue for a few days!!) And for the first time since college, I won't have a Rich to lean on or an agenda. That's the adventure part to me. I am going to force myself to throw away all (or most) lists and BE. Hopefully I'll run into some interesting happenings and will come back with loads of stories and new friends. (And I'll try not to get arrested, Mom! No promises, though.);)
Two days after I return from that adventure, I'm off to Alaska with my family!! I get to go to Vancouver where I'll embark on a 7 day cruise for more adventures. We'll do day excursions in all of the towns along the way, but the one I'm looking forward to the most is the "Bike and Brew." Yep. They're going to give us bikes and beer and see if we can NOT launch ourselves off of a mountain.(I'm imagining ET for some reason..) OK, so it isn't THAT ridiculous. But that's how it plays in my head. Mostly, I can't wait to spend time with my crazy family and friends, since we always manage to make the most of our insanity and have a great time!
Two days after that, I head to New York with Fougs for another 3 or 4 day IB conference at the UN school! Anywhere I go with Fougs is a BLAST. Plus, I'll be having some serious withdrawal angst from not having seen her in so long. I may be dead tired from the other adventures, but it won't matter since hanging with the Fougs is SURE to ROCK! Hopefully I'll also get to see Annie and John and the family (+ 1 by then!!).
Wish me luck (especially on the London part since I'm the most nervous about it, and also since I'm terrified of flying in general and this will make 6 flights in 30 days!).
I'll try to check in if I can find internet access.
Until then friends, be well!
Viaggio!!
Here's the sitch:
I'm flying to London tomorrow where I'll be attending a 4 day workshop in Oxford for the new International Baccalaureate (IB) class I'm teaching at school. I've (sort of accidentally) sandwiched said workshop between 6 days of what I'm calling "reflection time" in London. (Thanks to Mark and his housemates for letting me crash the barbecue for a few days!!) And for the first time since college, I won't have a Rich to lean on or an agenda. That's the adventure part to me. I am going to force myself to throw away all (or most) lists and BE. Hopefully I'll run into some interesting happenings and will come back with loads of stories and new friends. (And I'll try not to get arrested, Mom! No promises, though.);)
Two days after I return from that adventure, I'm off to Alaska with my family!! I get to go to Vancouver where I'll embark on a 7 day cruise for more adventures. We'll do day excursions in all of the towns along the way, but the one I'm looking forward to the most is the "Bike and Brew." Yep. They're going to give us bikes and beer and see if we can NOT launch ourselves off of a mountain.(I'm imagining ET for some reason..) OK, so it isn't THAT ridiculous. But that's how it plays in my head. Mostly, I can't wait to spend time with my crazy family and friends, since we always manage to make the most of our insanity and have a great time!
Two days after that, I head to New York with Fougs for another 3 or 4 day IB conference at the UN school! Anywhere I go with Fougs is a BLAST. Plus, I'll be having some serious withdrawal angst from not having seen her in so long. I may be dead tired from the other adventures, but it won't matter since hanging with the Fougs is SURE to ROCK! Hopefully I'll also get to see Annie and John and the family (+ 1 by then!!).
Wish me luck (especially on the London part since I'm the most nervous about it, and also since I'm terrified of flying in general and this will make 6 flights in 30 days!).
I'll try to check in if I can find internet access.
Until then friends, be well!
Viaggio!!
Friday, June 08, 2007
On Kissing and Catharsis
In case you didn't know, I LOVE books.
Even if you did know, I will probably mention this fact over and over and over again, just like that annoying kid in every fast food establishment who is jumping in concentric circles around his parent who is patiently trying to work out why the ice machine at the drink station isn't putting out. (ice - you perv) The kid yells, "Hey, look what I can do! Dad, look what I can do. Daaaad! Watch me! Look what I can do!!!" And then when Dad finally pays attention, the kid does something remarkably ordinary like kicking his leg just high enough to be able to clap his hands underneath it. --Yes. this did actually happen.
(sigh)
Hopefully I'm not that kind of annoying, but I DO love my literature.
Some might say that this is another in a (very long) list of addictions, and some might call me CRAZY when they learn about my reading rotation method or when they see me openly hugging and sometimes kissing books in public places.
I know what you're thinking.
Flagrantly kissing a new book out in the open, where God and all of creation can see, might cast a negative shadow on my otherwise pristinely pure persona. But don't worry. I am extremely responsible and have very strict boundaries on a first reading, especially in public. I only permit a slow amble to first base, allowing (maybe) a little bit of church tongue in the kissing, but only if that book is REALLY something special.*
Anyway.
The point I'm trying to make is that the reason I love my books is because they provide experiences that I wouldn't normally (and sometimes could never) have, and/or I get to meet people (alike and different from me) that I wouldn't get to know otherwise. This is certainly not a new concept --See The Princess Bride (Inconceivable!) and The NeverEnding Story (why don't you do what you dream, Bastian?...Call my name!...Save us!) as film reminders that books absolutely can provide an extraordinary adventure for the reader.
But more than that, good books, like all art (in any medium), provide for the reader an indescribably profound experience that the ancient Greeks called catharsis. [New Latin, from Greek katharsis, from kathairein, to purge, from katharos, pure.]
The word catharsis, according to ye good auld American Heritage Dictionary, is 'a release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit'.
Here's an example:
Do you remember the scene in the movie Garden State where Zach Braff's character climbs in the pouring rain onto the crane that's perched on the edge of a deep, unfathomable abyss? He stands there in his trash bag 'raincoat' and then screams as loudly as he can into the canyon. Then his friends join him on the edge and without any sort of words or exchange, they all three scream into the void. Together.
Though rationally it seems like a silly thing to do, we get that it's the exact RIGHT thing to do in the moment. We recognize/understand (without forming words) what 'that need' to scream into the void is. And we emotionally join the three of them even though obviously, we're not really with them. We're on our comfortable couches and easy loungers in our homes in real places like Dallas, Texas.
But we get it. And we're with them. And afterwards, like them (if we're not still looking for the Kleenex box), we FEEL better.
At the end of the scene the characters laugh, and they kiss. And there is a newness in them, and also a newness in us.
That's catharsis.
And as delicate humans in this chaotically changing world, where we are constantly being bombarded with unfathomable sadness and anguish, we NEED to experience catharsis. We need to experience it often and sometimes with others, so that we can be renewed from the inner secrets of our wounded spirits all the way to the tips of our feverishly working finger tips.
Catharsis is what makes our perception of the world tolerable and more than that, beautiful!
And that's what I get from my beloved books.
*At night in bed is a completely different situation, but I at least TRY to avoid the trashy. After all, we should only have edifying experiences at our most vulnerable..
Even if you did know, I will probably mention this fact over and over and over again, just like that annoying kid in every fast food establishment who is jumping in concentric circles around his parent who is patiently trying to work out why the ice machine at the drink station isn't putting out. (ice - you perv) The kid yells, "Hey, look what I can do! Dad, look what I can do. Daaaad! Watch me! Look what I can do!!!" And then when Dad finally pays attention, the kid does something remarkably ordinary like kicking his leg just high enough to be able to clap his hands underneath it. --Yes. this did actually happen.
(sigh)
Hopefully I'm not that kind of annoying, but I DO love my literature.
Some might say that this is another in a (very long) list of addictions, and some might call me CRAZY when they learn about my reading rotation method or when they see me openly hugging and sometimes kissing books in public places.
I know what you're thinking.
Flagrantly kissing a new book out in the open, where God and all of creation can see, might cast a negative shadow on my otherwise pristinely pure persona. But don't worry. I am extremely responsible and have very strict boundaries on a first reading, especially in public. I only permit a slow amble to first base, allowing (maybe) a little bit of church tongue in the kissing, but only if that book is REALLY something special.*
Anyway.
The point I'm trying to make is that the reason I love my books is because they provide experiences that I wouldn't normally (and sometimes could never) have, and/or I get to meet people (alike and different from me) that I wouldn't get to know otherwise. This is certainly not a new concept --See The Princess Bride (Inconceivable!) and The NeverEnding Story (why don't you do what you dream, Bastian?...Call my name!...Save us!) as film reminders that books absolutely can provide an extraordinary adventure for the reader.
But more than that, good books, like all art (in any medium), provide for the reader an indescribably profound experience that the ancient Greeks called catharsis. [New Latin, from Greek katharsis, from kathairein, to purge, from katharos, pure.]
The word catharsis, according to ye good auld American Heritage Dictionary, is 'a release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit'.
Here's an example:
Do you remember the scene in the movie Garden State where Zach Braff's character climbs in the pouring rain onto the crane that's perched on the edge of a deep, unfathomable abyss? He stands there in his trash bag 'raincoat' and then screams as loudly as he can into the canyon. Then his friends join him on the edge and without any sort of words or exchange, they all three scream into the void. Together.
Though rationally it seems like a silly thing to do, we get that it's the exact RIGHT thing to do in the moment. We recognize/understand (without forming words) what 'that need' to scream into the void is. And we emotionally join the three of them even though obviously, we're not really with them. We're on our comfortable couches and easy loungers in our homes in real places like Dallas, Texas.
But we get it. And we're with them. And afterwards, like them (if we're not still looking for the Kleenex box), we FEEL better.
At the end of the scene the characters laugh, and they kiss. And there is a newness in them, and also a newness in us.
That's catharsis.
And as delicate humans in this chaotically changing world, where we are constantly being bombarded with unfathomable sadness and anguish, we NEED to experience catharsis. We need to experience it often and sometimes with others, so that we can be renewed from the inner secrets of our wounded spirits all the way to the tips of our feverishly working finger tips.
Catharsis is what makes our perception of the world tolerable and more than that, beautiful!
And that's what I get from my beloved books.
*At night in bed is a completely different situation, but I at least TRY to avoid the trashy. After all, we should only have edifying experiences at our most vulnerable..
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Easy Does It, Until It Doesn't
Yesterday I decided that it was time to get back on that proverbial horse and ride.
Actually, it was a bike, not a horse.
Before the pregnancy, I was riding 6-10 miles every other day (just about) and was filling in the off days with circuit resistance training. I was eating right (or better than my usual cold pizza leftovers with a side of nothing much and chocolate). I was steaming all sorts of things and was all about the Uncle Ben's 90 Second Wild Rice pouches.
I actually felt healthy and my body looked fit for the first time since college!
Then when I got pregnant and the complications began, I was put on couch arrest (which lasted a month or longer), and I decided that I was supposed to crave things. By things, I mean dessert. And not the fruit parfait kind, but the chocolate covered in chocolate, resting in a moat of chocolate, on a chocolate plate kind, with a side of ice cream.
The couch/dessert combo was pretty much a disaster for all of my hard work.
After I miscarried, obviously my body was in no shape to do much of anything and my emotions kept me bed-ridden and sluggy, not to mention the "procedure" that accompanied it all.
BUT yesterday, for the first time in over a month, I decided to try and ride again! I was smart about it, too. I promised myself to ride at the pace of my Nelly Furtado CD, so as to keep things steady (and not sprint like I used to do). I promised to take frequent water breaks and to ride the shortest of the trails. I was going to try and "ease" myself back into the world of health and fitness.
Right. So the first part of the ride ROCKED. I was steady and paced, conscious of my breathing. My muscles seemed to recall how to do everything (um. like remembering how to ride a bike). I smiled and sweetly called out things like, "on your left" and generously passed along "hi, how are ya?" nods to others on the trail. Plus the weather was perfect. The temperature was in the mid 80's, and though a little humid, I still could feel tiny jet streams of cooler air occasionally and was thankful for the sunshine.
I got half way through the ride when I decided to stop and take a water break as per "the plan". I was, after all, a little bit winded, and I do understand the value of hydration. I stopped, sat on a lovely park bench among butterflies and GREEN vegetation, and allowed myself what I would soon consider very arrogant and ironic thoughts such as, "Good. This is pleasant. I needed this. Maybe tomorrow I can ride the longer trail. What should I steam for dinner?"
Needless to say, the ride back was not the same as the one before the water break. In fact about 3 minutes after I got back onto my bike, my muscles decided that THEY. WERE. DONE.
Shit.
I was not even close to home and my muscles were protesting every single push of the pedal! If you could look underneath my skin, I think you would've seen my muscles staging a sit in, holding signs that read, "Hell no! We won't go," the lead muscle on the phone with her union rep. I then wondered which of my muscles was the lead muscle (I'm guessing the quad?), which kind of made me chuckle despite the anguish, which in turn made me instantly aware of the intense humidity that was crushing my poor laughing lungs with all of its weight and density.
There was no more pacing; screw Nelly Furtado. The breathing was forced. Plus, was the ride home more up hill than usual? Where did my jet stream go? Forget the passers by pleasantries. Damn butterflies!
All I could think of with every forced movement was, "stupid (push) girl (push) stupid (push) girl (push)..."
I cannot tell you how I made it home, other than I was just too prideful to wave that white flag of surrender and accept defeat.
When I got home, I took a long shower and tried to revive the broken spirit that accompanies my perfectionist tendencey to beat myself up for not being able to do something perfectly the first time.
I did recover minute by minute and decided to draft a rather lengthy peace-keeping treaty (written, of course, in perfectly confusing legalese, using the most of my limited Latin skills) that would act as a compromise/diplomatic buffer between my lungs and leg muscles, and my brain. Fortunately for me, all have graciously agreed to sign said document, and we are going to try the mission again later today.
All seems to be more congenial for now, though my buttocks are still pretty sore, especially since they, too, endured the battle and were sadly left out of all consideration.
Actually, it was a bike, not a horse.
Before the pregnancy, I was riding 6-10 miles every other day (just about) and was filling in the off days with circuit resistance training. I was eating right (or better than my usual cold pizza leftovers with a side of nothing much and chocolate). I was steaming all sorts of things and was all about the Uncle Ben's 90 Second Wild Rice pouches.
I actually felt healthy and my body looked fit for the first time since college!
Then when I got pregnant and the complications began, I was put on couch arrest (which lasted a month or longer), and I decided that I was supposed to crave things. By things, I mean dessert. And not the fruit parfait kind, but the chocolate covered in chocolate, resting in a moat of chocolate, on a chocolate plate kind, with a side of ice cream.
The couch/dessert combo was pretty much a disaster for all of my hard work.
After I miscarried, obviously my body was in no shape to do much of anything and my emotions kept me bed-ridden and sluggy, not to mention the "procedure" that accompanied it all.
BUT yesterday, for the first time in over a month, I decided to try and ride again! I was smart about it, too. I promised myself to ride at the pace of my Nelly Furtado CD, so as to keep things steady (and not sprint like I used to do). I promised to take frequent water breaks and to ride the shortest of the trails. I was going to try and "ease" myself back into the world of health and fitness.
Right. So the first part of the ride ROCKED. I was steady and paced, conscious of my breathing. My muscles seemed to recall how to do everything (um. like remembering how to ride a bike). I smiled and sweetly called out things like, "on your left" and generously passed along "hi, how are ya?" nods to others on the trail. Plus the weather was perfect. The temperature was in the mid 80's, and though a little humid, I still could feel tiny jet streams of cooler air occasionally and was thankful for the sunshine.
I got half way through the ride when I decided to stop and take a water break as per "the plan". I was, after all, a little bit winded, and I do understand the value of hydration. I stopped, sat on a lovely park bench among butterflies and GREEN vegetation, and allowed myself what I would soon consider very arrogant and ironic thoughts such as, "Good. This is pleasant. I needed this. Maybe tomorrow I can ride the longer trail. What should I steam for dinner?"
Needless to say, the ride back was not the same as the one before the water break. In fact about 3 minutes after I got back onto my bike, my muscles decided that THEY. WERE. DONE.
Shit.
I was not even close to home and my muscles were protesting every single push of the pedal! If you could look underneath my skin, I think you would've seen my muscles staging a sit in, holding signs that read, "Hell no! We won't go," the lead muscle on the phone with her union rep. I then wondered which of my muscles was the lead muscle (I'm guessing the quad?), which kind of made me chuckle despite the anguish, which in turn made me instantly aware of the intense humidity that was crushing my poor laughing lungs with all of its weight and density.
There was no more pacing; screw Nelly Furtado. The breathing was forced. Plus, was the ride home more up hill than usual? Where did my jet stream go? Forget the passers by pleasantries. Damn butterflies!
All I could think of with every forced movement was, "stupid (push) girl (push) stupid (push) girl (push)..."
I cannot tell you how I made it home, other than I was just too prideful to wave that white flag of surrender and accept defeat.
When I got home, I took a long shower and tried to revive the broken spirit that accompanies my perfectionist tendencey to beat myself up for not being able to do something perfectly the first time.
I did recover minute by minute and decided to draft a rather lengthy peace-keeping treaty (written, of course, in perfectly confusing legalese, using the most of my limited Latin skills) that would act as a compromise/diplomatic buffer between my lungs and leg muscles, and my brain. Fortunately for me, all have graciously agreed to sign said document, and we are going to try the mission again later today.
All seems to be more congenial for now, though my buttocks are still pretty sore, especially since they, too, endured the battle and were sadly left out of all consideration.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Moody Muggings
People are strange. There has never been any doubt about that fact. The comforting part about this is that we're all strange in our own ways, and we ALL do and say "crazy" things. Just look around. The world is a virtual amusement park!
Maybe you'll notice the guy practicing his business (or romantic) proposal in a Macy's store window; or maybe you'll cock your head at the woman whose dog is sporting the same exact hair do as her own (or worse! Maybe it's the same as David Hasselhoff's). Perhaps your focus will trip at the sight of a kid visibly calculating his next mischievous action (involving a salt shaker, a dead June bug, and a bobby pin) aimed at his sweet, unsuspecting little sister.
Whatever the circumstance, I take comfort in knowing that I am equally (and sometimes MORE) strange than those around me. It's a nice feeling to be bonded to all of humanity in this way, and realizing that we have room for all of the beautifully odd ones around us makes life increasingly meaningful!
For my part, I realized this morning that I have a morning mug routine that mirrors/projects my mood for the day, another in a myriad of quirky habits I embrace.
One "normal" guy may determine the way in which his day will go by starting it off with mirror edification; "I'm good enough, smart enough and doggone it...". Or maybe he'll spend time in mindful meditation or prayer, breathing in the peaceful morning, the playful noontime, and the restful, lavender evening.
Maybe he'll start off with a shot of whisky and a Marlboro, kick ass cowboy style.
Or maybe he'll blink his way through a hot shower, allowing the droning daily news show to seep into his tired pores as he prays to stay awake through his mundane morning commute. (Here's where loud music is helpful. )
I've personally tried all of these morning routines in an effort to get ready for the day or to help jump start me into the "right" attitude. But lately the most effective day determining factor comes from my dependence on my morning mugs.
I am, straight up, a coffee addict, which is hilarious because the only reason I started drinking coffee in the first place was because it made me FEEL more like an intellectual, simply because I thought it made me look like one. After all, the smartest people on the planet are never without a mug of coffee. Even their breath smells smart.. or something like that.
Even though coffee is vital to my system, it's the mugs that are my morning crutch. Coffee, then, is the birth parent of my strange morning mug habit.
Here's how it works: If I am feeling giddy or playful about the day, I pour my medium/dark roast Folgers into my very favorite Kermit mug, an unusually random souvenir from a blissful vacation. If you see the Kermit mug in hand, the day is already a thumbs-up!
If I know I need an extra dose of ballsiness for the day, I sip out of my Judge Wilson mug, a parting favor from my time spent on a jury last year. (Did you know you get jury duty parting gifts? How very Bob Barker meets The People's Court!) No one messes with me on a Judge Wilson day. Judge Wilson mug + black lace underwear= get the hell out of my way!
If I'm feeling a little bit mousy and need an extra dose of warmth, it's the snowman mug to the rescue. This one was a gift from one of my seventh graders and was given to me among the dollar store ceramic Jesus statues and "rose" smelling bubble bath bottles. The little girl who gave it to me was full of warmth and was completely crazy (a girl after my own heart). This mug is slightly bigger than the others and for some reason it feels warmer to hold. The snowman mug is decidedly NOT a seasonal mug. (I have others that are.) 
Then there are the days that I need an extra boost of something. Those days require The Tanker. This one is a travel mug that I can take with me to school. I get made fun of for carrying The Tanker around, but I feel most confident that it's the RIGHT THING to do on those particular days. Maybe I think it can be used as a weapon? Or maybe it's cuddle ready? Perhaps I get my daily cardio work-out by hefting it around, since I usually can't finish the contents of the mug before the coffee gets cold. Whatever that "something" is that I need that day, even if I don't know what it is, I am certain that for some reason I can get it from this, the most magic of my mugs.
I'm not sure where relying on morning muggery puts me on the oddness scale, but I don't really mind being toward the top of said scale, as long as I have the right mug to accompany me on my journey.
So what about you?
What rituals/habits make you as crazy as me and the rest of the world?
Maybe you'll notice the guy practicing his business (or romantic) proposal in a Macy's store window; or maybe you'll cock your head at the woman whose dog is sporting the same exact hair do as her own (or worse! Maybe it's the same as David Hasselhoff's). Perhaps your focus will trip at the sight of a kid visibly calculating his next mischievous action (involving a salt shaker, a dead June bug, and a bobby pin) aimed at his sweet, unsuspecting little sister.
Whatever the circumstance, I take comfort in knowing that I am equally (and sometimes MORE) strange than those around me. It's a nice feeling to be bonded to all of humanity in this way, and realizing that we have room for all of the beautifully odd ones around us makes life increasingly meaningful!
For my part, I realized this morning that I have a morning mug routine that mirrors/projects my mood for the day, another in a myriad of quirky habits I embrace.
One "normal" guy may determine the way in which his day will go by starting it off with mirror edification; "I'm good enough, smart enough and doggone it...". Or maybe he'll spend time in mindful meditation or prayer, breathing in the peaceful morning, the playful noontime, and the restful, lavender evening.
Maybe he'll start off with a shot of whisky and a Marlboro, kick ass cowboy style.
Or maybe he'll blink his way through a hot shower, allowing the droning daily news show to seep into his tired pores as he prays to stay awake through his mundane morning commute. (Here's where loud music is helpful. )
I've personally tried all of these morning routines in an effort to get ready for the day or to help jump start me into the "right" attitude. But lately the most effective day determining factor comes from my dependence on my morning mugs.
I am, straight up, a coffee addict, which is hilarious because the only reason I started drinking coffee in the first place was because it made me FEEL more like an intellectual, simply because I thought it made me look like one. After all, the smartest people on the planet are never without a mug of coffee. Even their breath smells smart.. or something like that.
Even though coffee is vital to my system, it's the mugs that are my morning crutch. Coffee, then, is the birth parent of my strange morning mug habit.
Here's how it works: If I am feeling giddy or playful about the day, I pour my medium/dark roast Folgers into my very favorite Kermit mug, an unusually random souvenir from a blissful vacation. If you see the Kermit mug in hand, the day is already a thumbs-up!
If I know I need an extra dose of ballsiness for the day, I sip out of my Judge Wilson mug, a parting favor from my time spent on a jury last year. (Did you know you get jury duty parting gifts? How very Bob Barker meets The People's Court!) No one messes with me on a Judge Wilson day. Judge Wilson mug + black lace underwear= get the hell out of my way!
If I'm feeling a little bit mousy and need an extra dose of warmth, it's the snowman mug to the rescue. This one was a gift from one of my seventh graders and was given to me among the dollar store ceramic Jesus statues and "rose" smelling bubble bath bottles. The little girl who gave it to me was full of warmth and was completely crazy (a girl after my own heart). This mug is slightly bigger than the others and for some reason it feels warmer to hold. The snowman mug is decidedly NOT a seasonal mug. (I have others that are.) 
Then there are the days that I need an extra boost of something. Those days require The Tanker. This one is a travel mug that I can take with me to school. I get made fun of for carrying The Tanker around, but I feel most confident that it's the RIGHT THING to do on those particular days. Maybe I think it can be used as a weapon? Or maybe it's cuddle ready? Perhaps I get my daily cardio work-out by hefting it around, since I usually can't finish the contents of the mug before the coffee gets cold. Whatever that "something" is that I need that day, even if I don't know what it is, I am certain that for some reason I can get it from this, the most magic of my mugs.I'm not sure where relying on morning muggery puts me on the oddness scale, but I don't really mind being toward the top of said scale, as long as I have the right mug to accompany me on my journey.So what about you?
What rituals/habits make you as crazy as me and the rest of the world?
Friday, June 01, 2007
So I Married an Axe Murderer
I LOVED So I Married An Axe Murderer in high school! Mike Myers is a genius.
I'm a little disappointed, however, with the You Tube clip selection for this film. I couldn't even find the "Harriet. Har -ri- et, Hard hearted harbinger of haggis" poem! That's the heart of the movie! Sadly, no one has posted it, so you're all stuck with Head! Move it! Now!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
This headline worries me:
Healy Health Tip: Viagra for Jet Lag?
'A terrific study on the neurobiology of jet lag just appeared in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences', no fly-by-night journal, I assure you. It has created an international splash and serves up fodder for late-night TV. That's not because it happens to be an elegant study of biological clocks in hamster brains. Rather it's because the chemical the researchers from Buenos Aires used to successfully help the hamsters adjust to the equivalent of a forward time shift, such as a trip from New York to London, was none other than sildenafil. Viagra, that is. Even a low dose insufficient to affect male erectile function had a beneficial effect, though the higher doses worked better.'
NO!
I am especially concerned since I am about to make a long trip over the Atlantic...by myself! And most men are like. so. totally. gross! Argh! And so are hamsters!
It's a good thing my mom sent me to college fully aware of how to walk confidently so as not to be bothered, how to scream loudly if a stranger approaches, and how to hold a key as a weapon (I won't even mention the pepper spray, the whistle, and the personal belt loop alarm she packed in my luggage).
Also thank goodness for the school security guard who, during a teacher inservice, taught me to PRACTICE screaming so that my vocal chords will work when I need them. She also taught me to yell (and I quote), "Get the hell away from me you mother f*cking a#$hole!! I'll show you "a f*cking good time". Do you like crazy, b*@ch? Yeah. Come to momma, you P#*$y. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine called Genital Herpes!
Hellllp!!
Fiiiiire!!"
(We actually practiced this at school. Nothing fulfills a person more than hearing their school librarian or the 80 year old math curmudgeon take part in this "exercise.")
The security guard also told me to leave something behind at the crime scene so that the authorities could know how to find my body in a more timely manner, since, according to her, the a$@hole would car jack me, murder me (after the obligatory assault, of course), and then leave my body in Death Valley - apparently a very difficult place for finding bodies. And, after all, my family will appreciate the immediate closure.
Cheery, right? So you can see my cause for concern here. No one needs extra excuse, "jet lag" Viagra to perpetuate the situation!
Fortunately for me, the article ends with, "Since Viagra is known to cause blood-pressure drops and chest pain in those who have heart disease, this could be risky when you're flying high across the ocean far from a good emergency room. For now, I'd make those no-smoking flights Viagra-free too."
Whew. That was close.
Fear culture, indeed!
**Disclaimer - I do believe in protecting women, and I do believe that education and awareness do save women from horrendous crimes. And you better believe that I will be screaming if someone approaches me in a sinister way, and I will park under street lights. I won't be afraid to ask someone (even a security officer) to walk with me when I feel afraid, and I know there is safety in numbers. This is part of my Womanifesto.
**Disclaimer again - I have no idea why some of the profanity ended up as links, but I am wildly amused at this.. I guess blogger decided we needed some more enlightenment?
'A terrific study on the neurobiology of jet lag just appeared in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences', no fly-by-night journal, I assure you. It has created an international splash and serves up fodder for late-night TV. That's not because it happens to be an elegant study of biological clocks in hamster brains. Rather it's because the chemical the researchers from Buenos Aires used to successfully help the hamsters adjust to the equivalent of a forward time shift, such as a trip from New York to London, was none other than sildenafil. Viagra, that is. Even a low dose insufficient to affect male erectile function had a beneficial effect, though the higher doses worked better.'
NO!
I am especially concerned since I am about to make a long trip over the Atlantic...by myself! And most men are like. so. totally. gross! Argh! And so are hamsters!
It's a good thing my mom sent me to college fully aware of how to walk confidently so as not to be bothered, how to scream loudly if a stranger approaches, and how to hold a key as a weapon (I won't even mention the pepper spray, the whistle, and the personal belt loop alarm she packed in my luggage).
Also thank goodness for the school security guard who, during a teacher inservice, taught me to PRACTICE screaming so that my vocal chords will work when I need them. She also taught me to yell (and I quote), "Get the hell away from me you mother f*cking a#$hole!! I'll show you "a f*cking good time". Do you like crazy, b*@ch? Yeah. Come to momma, you P#*$y. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine called Genital Herpes!
Hellllp!!
Fiiiiire!!"
(We actually practiced this at school. Nothing fulfills a person more than hearing their school librarian or the 80 year old math curmudgeon take part in this "exercise.")
The security guard also told me to leave something behind at the crime scene so that the authorities could know how to find my body in a more timely manner, since, according to her, the a$@hole would car jack me, murder me (after the obligatory assault, of course), and then leave my body in Death Valley - apparently a very difficult place for finding bodies. And, after all, my family will appreciate the immediate closure.
Cheery, right? So you can see my cause for concern here. No one needs extra excuse, "jet lag" Viagra to perpetuate the situation!
Fortunately for me, the article ends with, "Since Viagra is known to cause blood-pressure drops and chest pain in those who have heart disease, this could be risky when you're flying high across the ocean far from a good emergency room. For now, I'd make those no-smoking flights Viagra-free too."
Whew. That was close.
Fear culture, indeed!
**Disclaimer - I do believe in protecting women, and I do believe that education and awareness do save women from horrendous crimes. And you better believe that I will be screaming if someone approaches me in a sinister way, and I will park under street lights. I won't be afraid to ask someone (even a security officer) to walk with me when I feel afraid, and I know there is safety in numbers. This is part of my Womanifesto.
**Disclaimer again - I have no idea why some of the profanity ended up as links, but I am wildly amused at this.. I guess blogger decided we needed some more enlightenment?
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
TMI, The Quiz Version
I seriously should be marking papers right now, but because I'm a big whiny procrastinator and because the catch phrase of the day happens to be "I don't wanna!", I'm going to go ahead and allow myself to be interviewed by a total stranger instead. (Hey Michelle, this is your fault..:) Oh! And if this guy turns out to be a stalker... well let's just say (shaking fist in your direction, biting lower lip).)
Safe or no, I don't want to grade and am apparently willing to risk bodily harm to not have to*, so here goes:
1. If you could spend a day with any living celebrity, who would it be and why? It depends. Wait. No it doesn't. Bono is the answer here. We need to talk about changing the world. We need to discuss me working for him in Africa - the Red Campaign, the One Campaign, etc. We need to talk about the fact that he does work effectively within the confines of "evil" capitalism (Mark say nothing) and that he actually gets things done, as opposed to simply talking about doing things. I want to learn about diplomacy and about meeting presidents and peacekeepers and even meeting those who are in opposition to his efforts. Of course I want to talk about music and poetry and the fact that he owes me the "One" dance. I want to talk about his faith, and how it's grown/changed, especially in the face of seeing the things he has seen.
(yes I am a true and loyal Bonophile.)
2. If you could spend a day with any living music celebrity, who would it be and why? (See the hyperventilated, pre-teen sounding, googly-eye answer for #1)
3. What place have you visited that has effected you the most and why? Chicago in the late 90's. This was probably the first mission trip I ever took where I actually got my hands dirty. I'm not talking about building churches or painting houses or that sort of thing, because I had done all of that before. On this trip I was actually forced to see things (other than extreme poverty) and actually be in uncomfortable situations without passing out a pamphlet or setting up a Sunday school . In Chicago, I wandered through Cabrini Green and got told to get my "white honky ass out of their neighborhood or [they] would shoot", even though I had just painted an apartment there. I went clubbing in the seediest dives in the gay district and sat and talked to people about their lives without offering anything to them but my company. (Meeting people where they're at). I stood in the business district and asked people what they needed prayer for that day (and it turns out that people needed to be asked that question). I visited a Krishna temple and a mosque for the first time and realized that the people there were not "enemies" because they prayed differently than me; they were lovely, and offered me cookies and kool-aid. In Chicago I slept on a cockroach infested floor with the lights on so that more of them would stay away, and was sincerely grateful for the place to crash.
I realized in Chicago that if I wanted to be any sort of humanitarian, I had to get the hell out of Six Flags Over Jesus where people all spoke "Christianese" and always knew the "right way" to pray. Jesus didn't hang out in those types of places. He would've been in the dark places.
There is where I realized that I simply needed to start loving people and building community.
4. Who’s the closest friend you ever had in your life thus far? That's hard. Friendships are all very different and valuable. Obviously Rich knows more of me than anyone else, but I can't discount my earliest/longest friendships (Jen, Lisa, Amy); and then there's Christine, whom I can't remember not knowing, though rationally I think it's only been 4 years.
5. How did you get into Blogging? Lisa, the blog Queen of America (and Jen too). We needed to keep in touch better.
6. Are you an athlete? If so, what sport do you play or have played? I danced for half of my life - ballet, jazz, modern dance. For a while I thought that I wanted to be a dancer, but I somehow got distracted..
7. Favorite movie and why? This is too hard. I really love Waiting for Guffman because it makes me laugh; Christopher Guest is a genius!
8. Favorite song and why? Today? I'm listening to a lot of Ani DiFranco lately, and Garbage, and Poe; anything girl power right now is my favorite song.
9. Most romantic date you’ve ever been on? When Rich and I were poor and couldn't afford to exchange gifts or go out to eat (for the love of God, he was selling his plasma to be able to afford his $25 rent and Ramen), he picked wild flowers for me and arranged them in an old bottle. We spent the evening in front of a wood burning stove and..
10. What is your favorite car that you have owned? Stealth! 1984 gold Buick Century (Aw yeah) with a baseball sized hole in the hood. She screamed every time she turned a corner, which is how she got her name. Damn belts! This was a character building experience..
*I even thought about stabbing my own eyes out with a pencil since that might actually feel better than actually reading some of these jewels
Safe or no, I don't want to grade and am apparently willing to risk bodily harm to not have to*, so here goes:
1. If you could spend a day with any living celebrity, who would it be and why? It depends. Wait. No it doesn't. Bono is the answer here. We need to talk about changing the world. We need to discuss me working for him in Africa - the Red Campaign, the One Campaign, etc. We need to talk about the fact that he does work effectively within the confines of "evil" capitalism (Mark say nothing) and that he actually gets things done, as opposed to simply talking about doing things. I want to learn about diplomacy and about meeting presidents and peacekeepers and even meeting those who are in opposition to his efforts. Of course I want to talk about music and poetry and the fact that he owes me the "One" dance. I want to talk about his faith, and how it's grown/changed, especially in the face of seeing the things he has seen.
(yes I am a true and loyal Bonophile.)
2. If you could spend a day with any living music celebrity, who would it be and why? (See the hyperventilated, pre-teen sounding, googly-eye answer for #1)
3. What place have you visited that has effected you the most and why? Chicago in the late 90's. This was probably the first mission trip I ever took where I actually got my hands dirty. I'm not talking about building churches or painting houses or that sort of thing, because I had done all of that before. On this trip I was actually forced to see things (other than extreme poverty) and actually be in uncomfortable situations without passing out a pamphlet or setting up a Sunday school . In Chicago, I wandered through Cabrini Green and got told to get my "white honky ass out of their neighborhood or [they] would shoot", even though I had just painted an apartment there. I went clubbing in the seediest dives in the gay district and sat and talked to people about their lives without offering anything to them but my company. (Meeting people where they're at). I stood in the business district and asked people what they needed prayer for that day (and it turns out that people needed to be asked that question). I visited a Krishna temple and a mosque for the first time and realized that the people there were not "enemies" because they prayed differently than me; they were lovely, and offered me cookies and kool-aid. In Chicago I slept on a cockroach infested floor with the lights on so that more of them would stay away, and was sincerely grateful for the place to crash.
I realized in Chicago that if I wanted to be any sort of humanitarian, I had to get the hell out of Six Flags Over Jesus where people all spoke "Christianese" and always knew the "right way" to pray. Jesus didn't hang out in those types of places. He would've been in the dark places.
There is where I realized that I simply needed to start loving people and building community.
4. Who’s the closest friend you ever had in your life thus far? That's hard. Friendships are all very different and valuable. Obviously Rich knows more of me than anyone else, but I can't discount my earliest/longest friendships (Jen, Lisa, Amy); and then there's Christine, whom I can't remember not knowing, though rationally I think it's only been 4 years.
5. How did you get into Blogging? Lisa, the blog Queen of America (and Jen too). We needed to keep in touch better.
6. Are you an athlete? If so, what sport do you play or have played? I danced for half of my life - ballet, jazz, modern dance. For a while I thought that I wanted to be a dancer, but I somehow got distracted..
7. Favorite movie and why? This is too hard. I really love Waiting for Guffman because it makes me laugh; Christopher Guest is a genius!
8. Favorite song and why? Today? I'm listening to a lot of Ani DiFranco lately, and Garbage, and Poe; anything girl power right now is my favorite song.
9. Most romantic date you’ve ever been on? When Rich and I were poor and couldn't afford to exchange gifts or go out to eat (for the love of God, he was selling his plasma to be able to afford his $25 rent and Ramen), he picked wild flowers for me and arranged them in an old bottle. We spent the evening in front of a wood burning stove and..
10. What is your favorite car that you have owned? Stealth! 1984 gold Buick Century (Aw yeah) with a baseball sized hole in the hood. She screamed every time she turned a corner, which is how she got her name. Damn belts! This was a character building experience..
*I even thought about stabbing my own eyes out with a pencil since that might actually feel better than actually reading some of these jewels
Friday, April 27, 2007
Save The Gerbils
When I saw this episode, I laughed so hard that I fell off of the couch.
Karma's a bitch, man.
Save the gerbils (and kittens).
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