Bloody Bex!

I stole this pic from Rockstar Mommy. I couldn't help myself, and I will (eventually) admit to having a problem..

I think I mentioned before that he will be playing for the LA Galaxy (for an exorbitant, ungodly, -I'm ashamed to say how much- sum of money), and I will be attending the FC Dallas v. Galaxy games, despite my anti-capitalist dry heaves.. Sorry folks. I'm only female...I mean human.

Seriously, just look at the picture.

I find little need for words at the moment. (dreamy sigh)

Hey kids! Pay attention!

Fougs sent me this article via her dad in Cape Cod. This is pulled from the Cape Cod Times, and I think it's a GREAT idea!

At D-Y, students take a stand
By K.C. MYERSSTAFF WRITERSOUTH YARMOUTH -

What with the dress, the tux, and the limo, the average high school student spends $500 to $600 on prom night.

A group of Dennis-Yarmouth students - who call the single-night expenditure frivolous and ridiculous - have a better idea. Zak Jason, and other D-Y Amnesty International members, review a presentation on the crisis in Darfur. The group is planning "No Prom for Darfur," an alternative dance and fundraiser.

Members of Students Take Action Now: Darfur, or STAND, are planning a ''No Prom for Darfur'' party sometime in March. Although the date and place have yet to be finalized, the group is inviting students Capewide to skip the formal wear, updos and corsages, in favor of a big fundraising party to help stop the mass murder of black Africans in the Sudan.

''The original idea was, quite frankly, the prom is ridiculous, particularly when you think what $500 could do for Doctors Without Borders, for example,'' said Jeffrey Howell, a Dennis-Yarmouth High School English teacher and the staff adviser of STAND. This thought was reinforced when Zak Jason, the president of D-Y's student branch of Amnesty International, and fellow Amnesty member Ross Desmarais, studied Darfur for separate school projects last year. The Thursday afternoon Amnesty International discussions were soon dominated by talk of the horrors in Darfur.

''We found all these crazy statistics,'' Jason said. At this time last year, he said, there were 300,000 deaths and 15,000 rape victims. In November, several members of Amnesty went to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge to listen to Eric Reeves, author of ''A Long Day's Dying,'' a book about Darfur.

''It was too dramatic to ignore,'' Howell said. Amnesty members formed a chapter of STAND the next day, Howell said. ''I was disheartened (after his talk),'' said Sarah Hodgdon, vice president of STAND. ''He said nothing will happen unless enough people get together.''

Since 2003, militia known as Janjaweed have been systemically raiding black villages, burning the houses, and murdering and torturing civilians in an attempt to drive black Africans from the area. The death toll is numbing. To put it into perspective, STAND member Connor Gramazio estimated that at the rate of 10,000 deaths a month, small towns like Harwich and Chatham would be gone in two months.

Unfortunately, the group of about 50 concerned students were met with blank stares and angry words when they tried to schedule the ''No Prom'' on prom night.
''There was a lot of drama,'' Hodgdon said. ''People said, 'What's Darfur? Why should we give up our prom for them?' The thing is, if people saw the movies we've seen, they wouldn't feel that way.''

Though the controversy got students talking and raised awareness about Darfur, STAND members ultimately relented. They now plan to hold the event on a non-prom weekend, probably in March. They are exploring venues, such as Cape Cod Community College or Barnstable High School, because they want students from all over the region to attend.
And they're hoping to raise big bucks to donate to humanitarian efforts in Darfur.

But are STAND and Amnesty members ready to give up their prom?
''We haven't thought that far yet,'' Hodgdon admitted.

K.C. Myers can be reached at kcmyers@capecodonline.com.
(Published: January 16, 2007)

So close..

Soneto XVII
Pablo Neruda

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

Sonnet 17
Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Rouge, Gnarles, and Peppers

Last night was the Red Hot Chili Peppers show at American Airlines Arena.

Rich and I got ready (and successfully avoided the student who has my home phone number somehow and who wanted to know where I was sitting at the show), drove through the freezing rain and made it to the concert. We found our section, our row, and then we turned to get to our seats and OF COURSE I hear, "Mrs. Haag?!" Yep. One of my IBers was sitting on my row a few seats down from me. As I was trying to hide my beer (I don't know why) and was trying to not look flabbergasted (after all, I do really like this kid), I said, "Oh, hi J. How are you? Yeah, this is fun. A is here, too? really? where? (uncomfortable glance around the aisle) OK, I'm gonna head to my seat now. See you later." J and I only exchanged one other conversation when she came over to chat a little and then we gave each other one extra side glance as Rich was being elbowed in the face by Rouge. All in all, it wasn't an unpleasant situation.

Who is Rouge?

Rouge - short for Baton Rouge, as in the place where this drunk RHCP groupie was raised - sat next to us and flailed like a mad fiend, falling all over every one around him, spilling (more like pouring) beer on his own crotch, and putting on and taking off his shirt over and over again. This is him:The boy was "feeling the love" quite literally. At least I got something like four hugs (and I say something like because they were only "sort of hugs" that were more like the hugs boxers give each other in order to stay standing) before Rich traded places with me. Rich must have had 75 "sort of hugs" as the evening progressed (and he got at least one nipple tweak), as did everyone else in a 5 mile radius - hugs, not tweaks. I was worried about the guy getting sick, but I was amazed at Rouge's stamina. I think Rouge even tried to buy shots for the people serving beer (who wisely cut him off) which is really ballsy seeing as they don't serve shots. This happened all before the music started. As responsible members of society, and since Rouge was by himself, we made sure that he wasn't driving. Rich thought Rouge was pretty funny and anyway, he is used to being beat-up at concerts.

Gnarles Barkley kicked off the evening and was good. How can you go wrong with funky, bluesy, hip-hoppy soul ? Oh. You play it in an arena... The string section - who do some pretty impressive chair dancing - are called the G-strings: clever and cool. Overall, Gnarles Barkley was a fun, friendly warm-up.
Then it was the Chili Peppers' turn



They started off boldly and I was pretty excited when Anthony Kiedis hopped onto the stage. How can hopping be sexy? Anthony Kiedis is a sexy hopper! Musically, I thought they were pretty strong, especially John Frusciante, the guitarist. But at the end of the night I left completely disappointed. The only band member who talked to the audience was Flea - and we love Flea - but Anthony Kiedis barely said anything. When he did, he said something derogatory about football which almost got him booed out of the arena. Dude! You're in Texas! We invented Friday Night Lights! He left he stage pretty early and the band didn't even play "Tell Me Baby", one of their most popular tunes on Stadium Arcadium. Anything they played off of Blood Sugar Sex Magik was good and "Snow" was fun, but the band didn't even attempt to connect with the audience. I could have watched this show at home on TV in surround sound and had the same experience!

I realize I'm spoiled because NO band can compete with the type of show that U2 gives. Even in a giant stadium, you feel like U2 is playing for you. And let's not forget that Joan Jett rocked hard! So what gives? Obviously, the RHCP are talented musicians and they are still around after 20 years so they're doing something right.

Also, the Star Telegram had a similar review:

There's not a whole lot new going in the Chili Peppers act these days. Flea still overplays his bass with considerable ferocity, Anthony Kiedis still sings nonsensical lyrics about California and has trouble hitting a good portion of the harder-to-reach notes, and drummer Chad Smith, well, still wears hats on stage. The only real change in the band's classic sound is guitarist John Frusciante.
Frusciante, who has always been just a touch better than the rest of the band, continues to explore new ground as a guitar player. Where he's considerably reined in on disc, he runs wild live. Where Flea gets noticed for how much he plays, Frusciante does more while playing less than anybody this side of Prince.

Maybe they would be better in a club show. Most bands are.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Snow (Hey Oh)

I'm so super pumped about this show tonight!!!

The BEST Margaritas EVER

For those of you who are of age, here is the recipe for the best margaritas EVER. This is my mom's recipe. We call them "He is Risen" margaritas which sounds exceedingly sacrilegious -and come to think of it, it probably is - but we had them on Easter at my mom's once and quipped that while everyone else had chocolate bunnies and fake grass (also sacrilegious?), we were having the best margaritas in the world:

Mix one to one of each:

1 12oz can of frozen limeade
12 oz of Tequila
(use the empty limeade can to measure)
1 12 oz bottle of Mexican beer (any beer will work, but we are partial to Corona)

12 oz of Sprite or 7up (Sprite is more sweet)

Stir.

Add fresh lime and salt to the edge of a cool-looking glass and voila!

You have the PERFECT Margarita!

Here's a word of caution: These will knock you on your ass if you're not careful. That AND they are especially popular at baby showers (the mom to be should not partake, as you already know). Maybe you should consider the fact that we are not model baby shower hosts seeing as our baby showers involve Texas Hold'em.. BUT that was one helluva baby shower, right Pat and Amanda?!

Enjoy and drink responsibly!

Personally Beckham

I've gotten away from what most would consider the main purpose of blogging (literally writing a web log as in keeping a journal on the web), though I think that blogs should be whatever we want them to be. That being said, there is a lot of stuff going on with me personally (and publicly too).

Here is a sampling (the part where I get to be a braggart):

1. As I've said before, our literary magazine won an award at Columbia University which is fantastic(!). I received a letter the other day asking me to speak at one of the journalism workshops that precedes the awards ceremony at Columbia U, but I think I'll decline for two reasons: a. I can't get to New York this spring break for the workshops because in Texas, football trumps anything to do with the liberal arts, so that's where the money (and love) goes. Believe me, I've already fought this battle. b. I really don't know what I'm doing. My staff is incredible. Apart from begging for money, redirecting, and knowing what looks good on a page, I have relatively little to do with the production of the mag. It still feels good to be asked. Yay for the nod.

2. Also, as I've mentioned, I am teaching (co-teaching with the amazingly brilliant Christine) International Baccalaureate English A1 at my school. This is an advanced course which operates like a college class. I have to study LIKE MAD to keep up and my grading gets graded by the IB gods who reside in places like Geneva and Cardiff (but no pressure...oh and no extra money, either. sucker!). The Arlington Star Telegram (our local paper) came to visit our class yesterday. They interviewed us and watched us in action. I think they got some interesting pictures of me redirecting some students who thought it might be funny to catapult waded paper across the room, but also, they took some classic teaching pictures: Me pointing to a book on a student's desk... Me explaining something with my hand up, palm open... One of me squatting next to the desk of an inquisitive student (you get the idea). These were not staged, exactly, because I really do posture like that, but I felt pretty cheesy having others see my true teachery stance. Next I'll be wearing apple vests and jean skirts. Whatever. Hopefully now I'll be famous and the LA Galaxy will ask me to play for their team and will pay me a quarter of a billion dollars to fill seats in a stadium... (sidetracked - or derailed, really.) Mmmmm. Beckham...(sigh.)

3. This week-end is the RHCP concert and I am COMPLETELY stoked about that. I'm diggin' the music scene this year. My students will be there too, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, it's sort of a bonding experience and I do get "cool teacher" points which actually carry over into the classroom. On the other hand, I like to be me on the week-ends, disassociated from that part of my life. The kids once told me that they hadn't made a fake face book site or a you tube parody for me because they didn't hate me enough... yet. As they were talking about one of these mocking you tube videos, and as we (Christine and I) were shutting down that conversation, one of them said to both of us, "But don't worry. We haven't made one for you because you're pretty and nice." Later, we thought about which one of us would be pretty and which one would be nice and SADLY, we both wanted to be the pretty one. Damn-it! I thought we'd finally made it past the superficial. We're mostly nice. At least I think we are... and pretty. (grin) ANYWAY the point is, concerts and similar events help me at my job, but I also like NOT seeing my students at every restaurant and show in town.

So there are good things all around. I just have to remember to look up occasionally!
This concludes the personal blog without all of the ugly/relevant emo bits (which might include something to do with the president's announcement yesterday, gradual global destruction, sectarian violence, anarchism, and/or moths and butterflies).

Haddaway meets Jim Carrey

Listen to this as you read Martini-weeny.

Martini-weeny

I went out last night with one of my favorite people on the planet. H and I have been (creative) banter enthusiasts, brainwave sharers, and - most importantly - soul sisters (!) for nine years or so . We hadn't seen each other in a year (NO excuse!) and we wanted to have a girl's night out. We headed over to a local place - a flip-phoney, trendy type establishment where one can order kick ass martinis with names such as "the naughty Asian" and "saketini," AND at which one can get beautifully ornamented, volcanic sushi. As usual, we giggled (less girlie-like and more rotund in intonation, I think - maybe guffawed is more like it), gestured wildly, and pretended to have dueling chopsticks lodged in our eyes. Ours is the kind of friendship that is bigger than time barriers. The cliched phrase goes something like, "Even if an entire year goes by (and again, NO freaking excuse!!!), it feels as though no time has passed."

It wouldn't be an evening with Ginger if something interesting (and circusy) didn't happen, so here it is - my very own Martini-weeny Drama:

The scene: We sit, literally "perched" at our very tall, very wobbly cocktail table, our backs to the minimalist grey concrete wall. The curvy bar really "pops!" in front of the blue back-lighted wall which doubles as "atmosphere". Sexy niches line this wall and flaunt the clear, liquidy brilliance of displayed (and rather functional) bottles of vodka and gin. Several panels of cinched, velvety red curtains separate the bar area from the white tablecloths and candles in the main dining area. Also in the main dining area - in a dark corner of the room - is the musician du jour. This time it's a lovely acoustic guitarist. The place is warmly modern - cozy even, and a little bit jazzy in a John Mayer-y kind of way.

Things could not have been better; We had a great view of the goings-on, our waitress, Diane - who we wished was sitting with us instead of working - was AWESOME, and we were loving the dialog, the chill martinis, and of course the chop-sticks (which for me are used more as props and less as utensils) and sushi. That is UNTIL...

(cue Haddaway's "What is Love")

...we saw Todd. H and I decided that his name had to be Todd. He decidedly looked like a Todd and he will forever be known to us as Todd. Let's see. How do I describe Todd to you in a way that is more "oh, bless his heart," and less Mean Girls... OK. (sigh) I'll tell it straight. Todd is a middle aged man who is drunk by 5:30, who has the leftovers of an 80's feathered mullet, and who likes to give every person who has even a hint of breast the OBVIOUS once over. Todd is one who might shoot you with his index finger, click his tongue, and wink at you while smacking on his Double Mint - you know the gesture. He's the kind of man who goes to the martini bar and orders Amstel Light. Todd is the guy who becomes more and more confident as the evening progresses, and eventually he is not only turning his head as the ladies walk by, but he is also giving them all handsy hugs (poor Diane!). He works the entire room, engaging in what he thinks is "witty schmoozing" but which is more akin to some sort of moose-like mating yawp. You get the picture. Oh, and bless his poor little heart. (That's what Texas Christians are supposed to say in an effort to clear their own guilty consciences after being brutally mean to someone.)

The question becomes: How does one deal with the socially awkward "Todds" of the world? H and I did what we always do - we observed Todd: we predicted various physical outcomes, mentally formulated hypothetical (hysterical) and unavoidable verbal train-wrecks, and grinned at what we consider to be our own genius. Then we went back to performing chopstick theater.

It was fine, until we had to use the facility, which was on the other side of the room which meant we had to either walk by Todd or interrupt the white tablecloth-ers to get there. H decided to take the road less traveled: option two, tablecloths be damned! When she got back and it was my turn, I decided that no Todd was going to interrupt my OCD paved walking path to the ladies room.

But I froze.

(Ginger's internal dialog to the tune of a weepy string ensemble): What if Todd doesn't give me the once over!? (enter stage right: Insecure Girl, cape a-flyin') OK. I'm just going to go. A frank and decidedly confident friend once told me (in Dr. Phil terms) that most people, "probably don't think about you as much as you think about them." Why do I even want Todd's approval? Stupid! I'm going.

And I went - without worrying about Todd - though I may have pulled my shoulders back a little more than usual, and one might have observed (only if they were really studying) something of a stiletto strut... (sigh again and a whispered, "damn it.") H later told me that I got three Todd once-overs. Does that make me successful or pathetic? Wait. Don't answer that.

As is required in any bathroom corridor in the US, there was a line. That was not unexpected, except that it gave Todd a chance to catch up to me.. And for the record, I honestly do not think Todd really was following me. Actually I'm quite sure he wasn't because he was really too wobbly to be following anyone. Todd was "kind" enough to slur out an invitation for us to use the men's (ahem, boy's) restroom ahead of him. We - the girl's line - politely declined, but Todd insisted, assuring us that though the men's room might not be as sanitary or clean-smelling as the women's, it was in fact, available. Also he, "didn't blame us for not using the men's because after all [he] too prefer[s] the women's restroom." (wink)... The girl's line quickly dispersed after the silent and uncomfortable time pause and fight or flight shuffle. About that time, the door to the ladies opened and I got to duck-in and lock the door, relieved in my Todd-free sanctuary.

In the end, Todd went to his corner and I went safely back to mine.

(and SCENE!)

Though I've been incredibly ass-ish and insensitive about this whole incident, I genuinely feel sad for the Todds of the world because I recognize him in my own psychosis. I know that I have been the insecure, lonely Todd (without the mullet) in one form or another in many circumstances in my lifetime. That being said, how do we save ourselves when we turn into the Todd? and probably more importantly, how do we allow Todd to be Todd and accept (and like(?)) who he is without allowing him to be an objectifying ass?

Anyway, the rest of the evening went swimmingly well and I so enjoyed catching up with my H, who did, incidentally, have her own special encounter with Todd; but that's a different drama and I'll allow her to tell you about it.

Happy New Year!

Despite the great clothing pandemic of 2006, our New Years evening at Trinity Hall was a great success! Thanks to Marius and his awesome staff for the excellent food(!), for entertaining us with all of the jig-a-licious Irish music, and for providing a venue for the perfect verbal fireworks*. Thanks also for the noisemakers, hats, and other traditional New Years accoutrement! You rock!

*Verbal fireworks at the end of this post

here are some pics from the event:

Happy New Year from our little corner of the world!

I had a great view!

The theme of the evening was pinwheels...Here's mine.

The countdown begins: FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO

One.

*Statements overheard at our table:

1. g- What a beautiful dress! I wish I looked like that tonight..

r -No baby. That's a kilt - it's just for boys.

2. g - Either that girl is drunk or her shoes hurt real bad.

3. g - I'm cold like there's a window open somewhere.

r - I'm feeling that way too. You just need to drink more.

4. A guy walks by with a plunger.

r - Should we lift our feet? It does seem early in the evening for a plunger.

5. g - look out! Here comes Kenny Rogers!

6. to the waitress from the guy at the next table - Today is Trish's birthday. I don't know who Trish is, but Happy Birthday Trish!

7. from a random guy to all - You want cowbell? You get cowbell!

8. r or g - I don't know what this is, but it's NOT Guinness.