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 admit 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 LOVE 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.

A Call to Curiosity

I was all geared up to write a reflection in response to seeing this striking picture*:

But I decided that it might be interesting to leave responses open for sharing. I'd like to know your initial reactions/thoughts on this picture and I'll share mine, too. You don't have to write a dissertation or anything (though dissertations are welcome). Leave a sentence or two, or maybe even a couple of words. Leave a verse or a poem if you want. I would love to know your thoughts.

My blog serves many self-indulgent purposes, but it is also a safe place for reflection that, when shared, leads to further understanding. :)

*photographer is Mark B, the subject being, "from church whose name I forget at Little Venice, Regency Canal, London."

It never fails..

Notes on Traveling
Lesson 4: Always Be Prepared
For further enlightenment see the following:
Lesson 1; Lesson 2; Lesson 3

Our ship lightly rocked into the Skagway harbor on the Fourth of July, and after a leisurely morning at the bacon trough, Rich and I stepped off of the boat and starting walking into town, excursion coupons in hand.

To our happy surprise, Skagway is still a genuine small town, full of small town pride and personality. It hasn't lost that quality, even though they cater to thousands of (surprisingly international) cruisers each day.

The town was bustling that day, and the streets were adorned with everything red, white, and blue. As we slowly waddled into town, Rich and I saw that there was a parade happening. This is not unusual for a small town on the Fourth of July (or on pumpkin harvesting day, or homecoming, etc.), but what was unusual was the number of bystanders waiting to get a glimpse of Bev and her can cans, the local fire department who were riding atop the decorated engine squirting water at the crowd, and the local kids who ran behind the truck squirting back with their Super Soakers. People cheered for the chamber of commerce float and for the glittery confetti that seemed to follow it. The obligatory classic cars decorated with beauty queens practiced in the art of waving meandered down the parade route, and locals in all sorts of costumes - from clown wigs to mounty garb, from red lipped brothel women to dachshunds wearing hot dog costumes - marched by surrounded by balloons and crepe paper, and all threw candy and kisses to the enthusiastic crowd.

Seriously, this was a sight that originated in some Leave it to Beaver montage or maybe from The Little Rascals. If I weren't busy clapping for confetti, streamers, and the jolly ranchers that were beaming people next to me (who, by the way, I only remember as large smiles, mostly Q-tip ones*), I might have imagined that I was caught in some sort of prosaic acid trip. But who can be cynical when dogs wearing top hats are parading by you?

After the parade, the town erected food stands (hot dogs, BBQ, and Crackerjacks all accounted for) and game booths up and down Main Street. We witnessed the potato sack races, three-legged races, and egg toss. Shop keepers ran out of their shops to participate, and no one minded - not even the international tourists - because the day was filled with that much glee.

After buying a Skagway volunteer Fire Department t-shirt (all proceeds going to support them) and a hot dog from the Bank of America booth (all proceeds supporting underprivileged children), Rich and I decided to go in search of the local brewery (all proceeds supporting the... uh.. local brewery). And after sampling all of the Alaskan brews (and receiving my free baseball hat for doing so), we decided to go in search of fudge and our free "genuine fake Alaskan bear claw".

Just as I was thinking that perhaps I shouldn't have eaten the extremely creamy and wonderful handmade Alaskan fudge after the beer samples, hot dogs, Crackerjacks, and bacon trough, and as Rich was still inquiring about the "genuine fake Alaskan bear claw", I heard - very faintly and surreally - these two words in the distance:

"Ms. Haag?"

My heart stopped.
Surely not. No really. Seriously? Here? Don't look up.

And then came,
"Ms Haag!!! It is you! I can't believe it! What are you doing here?"

I looked up, and sort of tried to smile, though anyone who knows me knows that when I try to fake an emotion, it looks really scary. Some might even use the word "psychotic" here, as my eyes sort of bulge out of my head and my eyebrows lift into some sort of creepy clown mask that leaves a very unflattering impression.

That look coupled with my gaping jaw must have made her fling herself at me - so that she wouldn't have to look at me anymore - for a hug. It was happening. I had traveled thousands of miles away, secure in my anonymity on a ship of thousands of people!

As a teacher, going anywhere public means that you will inevitably run into a student who doesn't understand that you are a real person outside of the schoolhouse. It means that in any given moment, you have to put on your school manners and stop saying, "fuck" every two seconds.

It means that you probably should not be wearing your newly acquired Skagway Alakan Brewery baseball cap, chocolate fudge smeared all over your mouth.

It means that under normal circumstances, you have carefully mapped out the local eating establishments and understand that if you go to that one, you might run into so and so, since she's worked there for three months - and you know this because you've read her reflective paper on how much she hates her job and that the boy she loves made it with her in the restroom there while on a break.

You know that if you travel across town to that establishment, there is less chance of being recognized, but that if you are, you have the following questions available on notecards for dialogue prompting: "So, how have you been this summer? Now, what college/trade school/ job will you being attending? How are your folks, brother/dog/ boyfriend/children?".

So, out of context, I am lost. I was completely unprepared when I saw this student in Skagway. I hugged her back, and awkwardly tried to chit chat with her in one of those conversations that you know is floundering with such verbal clumsiness that you and all of the animals within a mile radius are on edge, alert and awaiting some sort of predator warning. I excused myself from the conversation under the guise of caring about a "genuine fake Alaskan bear claw", and walked away a deer in headlights.

The rest of the day I looked for her. Just in case. I promised myself I would do better next time if I ran into her again because I didn't want her to feel like my blundering was a result of something she did, especially since my students and I have such a bond in the classroom. And I remember her fondly.

Unfortunately? Fortunately? I didn't see her again that day, and she wasn't on my ship. I spent a lot of time feeling bad about the awkwardness of our encounter, but at the same time, what the hell?!

Seriously.

* A Q-tip, in this case, is a person of a certain age, usually whose hair has turned white and who wears white orthopedic shoes. Q-tips are known to travel together to Alaska, especially on cruise ships.

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.

No way! Is it really today?

So, I'm an idiot. (No comment necessary.)

Today Rich and I have been married for 9 years!!

But that's not the only reason why I'm an idiot. (grin)

The main reason that I am an idiot today is that I forgot that it is our anniversary. Actually, we both forgot. I guess we're just not into time... Whatever. We celebrate our love just about everyday, sometimes twice, even. ;D

Happy anniversary, Baby.

I love you.

Where have all my politics gone?

This summer I've sort of dropped the ball on my ranting and discussing of things that matter to me politically. In short,

I haven't been paying attention.

I haven't been watching any national or international news. I haven't read a newspaper, other than the day that Gordon Brown took power in the UK. Oh, and I glanced at the headlines in the New York Times because the paper appeared at my doorstep each morning, and I might have tripped over it in my haste to get to (ironically) my international conference at the United Nations International School.

I skip the headline news on my homepage and have neglected the 'Help Humanity' section on my blog. Sorry to the PiCs. I've only briefly glanced at those mails. I have even managed to bypass the "Talk Of The Town" section in the New Yorker Magazine which tends to be political rants and have jumped straight to the David Sedaris (fiction) section and cartoons.

Ani DiFranco is losing her mojo on me, except for the fact that I feed off of her empowering female angst and intense sexuality. But that's a different post, and this has turned into quite the confession..

The ridiculous paradox of this is that when one is secure and unbothered (fat and happy at the bacon trough), she doesn't HAVE to worry about the state of things around her. It's when things start going to shit that she is forced to pay attention.

I need to kick my own ass for being that complacent girl, especially since I still believe in the "no man is an island" philosophy (we - all of humanity - are in it together, regardless of age, color, socio-economic status, or creed; 'and the greatest of these is love..' and love should be foremost in our minds when making decisions.) So even though things are OK for me right now, they aren't for others, and therefore I should pay attention.

The world is changing. Quickly. New leaders are being/have been elected in many different nations, including in our own. Policies are being redefined. Even the words we use (democrat, republican, libertarian, green, left, right, ) are taking on new meanings.

Perhaps this is the BEST time for voices to be heard.

But paying attention is hard. It means reading several sources, watching news, digesting information, and forming my own opinion according to what I've learned and in consideration of the whole. It's work. And it's work that might lead to debate, and disagreement which is difficult for folks like me who would rather jump off a roof than willfully participate in conflict.

Fortunately for me, I have really smart people in my life who turn to me with genuine motives (they really do want to know my opinion, as opposed to setting me up to hear theirs) and say things like, "What do you think will happen in the primaries?" or "Did you know that Cindy Sheehan is running for Nancy Pelosi's spot in the House, possibly as an independent?" or "Did you see the email that is being distributed that makes Americans seem outrageously blind and ignorant? I'm outraged!"

But I think it's well worth my time, especially since it's what I teach my students. We all should avoid giving in to the "electric sheep" in the "card castle comfort of America."

INCUBUS LYRICS

Talk Show On Mute
'Take a bow
Pack on powder
Wash 'em out with buzzing lights
Pay an audience to care
"Impress me" personality

Still and transfixed
The electric sheep are dreaming of your face
Enjoy you from the chemical
Comfort of America

Come one, come all
Into 1984
Yeah, three, two, one
Lights, camera, transaction

Quick, your time is almost up
Make all forget that they're the moth
Edging in towards the flame
Burn into obscurity

Still and transfixed
The electric sheep are dreaming up your face
And judge you from the card castle
Comfort of America

Come one, come all
Into 1984

Yeah, three, two, one
Lights, camera, transaction..

Your foundation is canyoning
Fault lines should be worn with pride
I hate to say so much more
You're so much more
Endearing with the sound turned off

Hey, she has a new music thingy!

I'm trying a new Music of the Mo site from Project Playlist, as you can see as it is posted in the margins of my blog. I'm not sure if I like it or not, yet, and I guess it's really up to you guys. I don't want it to be annoying, especially if you have different music taste than me. (In that case, please feel free to hit the pause button on the actual player.)

I have very eclectic taste in music and some of the songs are louder than others. You're welcome to skip around and see what I've got goin' on. Also, I didn't have time to preview all of my selections, so some of the songs might be samples. I am still adding music, so keep posted.

Let me know if you HATE having the music pop up automatically (especially since some of the songs buffer for forever! If that happens hit pause or skip to the next song), or if you like the button list better. OR let me know if you dig it.
:)

On Church

I'm not sure I'm in the right time space at the moment to share this experience with you. I don't want it to sound too melodramatic or churchy so I am writing in the morning when I am at my most logical. It's just too oppressively hot to write in the afternoon for me, and my entries end up developing a major crankitude as a result. Nighttime generally gives way to sentimentality and clouded judgement for me (esp after a glass or two of Woodbridge), and this topic needs to be genuine in content. So, morning it is.

Notes on Traveling
Lesson # 3: Do Something Non touristy
You can find Lesson #1 here and Lesson #2 here.

It seems like forever ago that I decided to ask my school if I could go to England for the International Baccalaureate conference, but I'm pretty sure it was during the fall, close to winter break. The second I saw the Oxford conference on the IB website, I remember having one of those feelings - like I knew it was supposed to happen. But in the reality of the day, the idea of the school actually sending me all the way to England for training, especially since there were other conferences closer to home, was ridiculous. I actually had to get up the the courage to ask my IB coordinator if it was even a possibility, which means that I dreamed about it, had millions of conversations with Christine about it, and changed my mind a billion times. I remember asking on a day when I felt a little bit untouchable for some reason which means I had either had a really good day (rare last year) or an "I really don't give a shit" kind of day (more probable). I needed an adventure, after all, and I had been trying to get out of town for some sort of Jack Kerouac experience (with fewer drugs and less anonymous sex).

This is all a really long introduction to say that, to my astonishment, the IB gods smiled on me that day, and the verdict was yes. Go to Oxford, Ginger! My response was, "Really?!" followed by an internal, "Oh hell no! What did I just sign-up for? I can't fly by myself! I'll have to actually talk to people, and maneuver my way around England!? The Underground ticket people are scary, and what am I going to eat? I've only been to England 8 or 9 times! I'll have to make friends! How in the hell am I going to do this? Shit!" followed by, "This is exactly what you need. Get a grip. It's England. You love England. You are an empowered woman - read your 'cunt-lovin' womanifesto! Plus, you're not a complete stranger. You know people there.."

That's when I decided to write to Mark and let him know that I might be in his town, hoping that he would have dinner one night with me so that I would at least see a familiar face. He immediately offered me hospitality and invited me to stay a few days before/or after my conference.*

To make a long story short(er), I took him up on the offer and spent a few days in London (Southgate - sort of the burbs of London, in a very different burbs kind of way) before I headed to Oxford for my conference.

During this time, I was privileged enough to see the goings on in Southgate and to meet several of Mark's brilliant friends! They were all so receiving and kind! I felt immediately at home with them, a sure sign of good-hearted folks.

On my last day in Southgate, Mark and I opted to go to church, possibly an odd thing to do when one is in London for a short time. and definitely a non-touristy thing to do since it wasn't a service at Westminster or something like that. Mark apparently adores the Quaker church in Southgate called Winchmore Hill. I was curious about it, thanks to his description. I had never been to a Quaker church before and for some reason I was really drawn to the idea. I honestly had no idea what to expect, other than what I had read on Mark's blog and what he mentioned to me in some of our wonderfully eclectic (frantically ADD) conversations.

So we went.

The service was different than any I had ever attended (and I have attended several denominations of Christian churches here (Baptist, Methodist, Church of Christ, Lutheran, Catholic etc.) and have even been to a Mosque for prayer time and to a Krishna church) in that it was a service of meditation. You sit in meditation for 30 to 45 minutes and if you feel led to speak, you simply stand and say what you are moved to say, the idea being that the participants are unified in the spirit, and each person's words further your experience. There is no structure or sermon. There is no music. It is all about contemplation and "silent waiting."

Anyone who knows me knows that within my anxiety ridden bones, "silent waiting" would sound almost tortuous for me. I am, after all, a tad OCD and ADD and I have to get things done according to my list. But that day (the whole day, even before the service) I had been still. I was completely calm and could breathe mindfully.

And we waited, silently, in that wood paneled room.

The first thing I thought was, "OK. Here you have me. I'm still. Oh shit. You have me, still." And I was confronted about my angry bitterness and my overwhelming need to not rely on anyone or anything, especially something as abstract as God, or a husband, or friends. And I did some confronting about Dot Wonderful, too. Especially about my Dot. And as I was beginning to shake within all of these confrontations, someone stood up to speak.

She mentioned the laughter of children who were playing outside near the church and the beauty in the simplicity of that.

(tears - and I felt embarrassed to have them in front of my friend, Mark, and the strangers in the room)

And then someone else stood up and read from a Quaker book of advices and queries. She read #21: Do you cherish your friendships, so that they grow in depth and understanding and mutual respect? In close relationships we may risk pain as well as finding joy. When experiencing great happiness or great hurt we may be more open to the working of the Spirit.

(more tears - and I reached out my pinkie finger to Mark for him to hold with his pinkie finger - like Amy and I used to do when we were kids at First Baptist El Paso, and like I continued to do with Lisa and Jen during any time when we needed each other, and like I do with Rich when I want to remember that friendship first connection with him)

And there was catharsis in that moment. And I felt warm, like I was standing in sunlight on an almost cold day. I felt that for the rest of the day - when I was having tea with the congregation, avoiding pictures on the Winchmore Hill grounds, having lunch at the art gallery.. Even when I had to say a quick good-bye at the train station and was sad to go so soon.

And I carried that warmth with me to Oxford, where I had one of the best camp-like experiences of my life and met more dear, dear people.

Because of the cathartic peace and stillness of that particular morning, some of my anxiety was calmed and my mind released its tensions for the rest of my time in England.

*I have to express my gratitude to Mark for allowing me to stay at his place in London. Not only was it helpful to me in that it made my first lone excursion across the pond familial and less overwhelming, but it also made London "real" to me, as opposed to it being the dream-like, Shakespearean wonderland that is portrayed when one stays only in touristy parts of town. Plus, Mark is way fun! So, thank you Mark and Ilham for allowing me, without any hint of my being an inconvenience, to be "one more thing" on your overbooked agendas. Thank you for your generosity and complete kindness. Oh - and for showing me around your neck of the woods. Hi to the glorious green peas and kind people at Mr. Bagels!

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!"

Happy Birthday!!

Welcome to the community Baby Allison!!!

And congrats to you Pat, Amanda, and Big Sister Ella!!