STRONG TO THE FINISH.

Why can't there be E Coli in something like ice cream or wine? Then maybe I'd stay away from those things which are not good for me. Or not.

18 long miles this morning. I wonder how I will fare 36 short days from now. The last few today were tough. And me without my spinach.

DANG ME INNARDS.

I was a total tomboy growing up. I blame it on having two older brothers. It drove my Mom crazy because she'd always wanted a little girl she could dress in pink, and who would be into playing with dolls and dancing ballet. What she got instead was me: jeans, skateboards and sports.

As an adult, I have realized how much greater it is being female. It's clearly the more superior gender. We're smarter, more intuitive, and can get out of speeding tickets by playing dumb to even dumber male cops. I'd say our only downfall is those pesky internal reproductive organs.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have "penis envy" or anything like that. In fact, I often marvel at how strange penis's are, and how miserably inconvenient they must be -- always popping up or flapping around. And let's face it, even the best penis is ugly to look at (except YOUR's -- it's STUNNING!!)

But at least if something goes wrong on a guy, they pretty much know it right away. Women not so much. Tomorrow I have to go in for a colposcopy. After two abnormal Paps, the doc wants to get a better look at things. So this kind of sucks. I'm kind of nervous.

It's still better than having a penis, though.

NEVER CLICHÉ, THAT DAY.

I was half-listening to the news while making dinner a little while ago. They were covering 9/11 stuff - local tributes, etc. - and suddenly I got all verklempt while slicing a tomato.

It's strange... Five years have passed and people talk about that day on a regular basis. We talk about who's to blame and what the world has become since that day. And with all that 'coming to terms' with stuff, I kinda feel like my heart should be stronger by now. But I think it's the personal accounts that get me.

People have come to ask, "Where were you when the towers were hit?" I was at school. It was the first week and since we hadn't yet had Band sign-ups, I didn't have any classes going on. I remember walking down the hall towards the bathroom and another teacher telling me that a Cessna or something had hit one of the twin towers. I went to the bathroom thinking, "Duh..."

When I was finished, I wandered down to the main office and knew something was wrong as soon as I went in. The principal, secretaries and a few other teachers were standing around a radio, their faces ashen. I stood with them and listened to the chaos that was ensuing in New York. It felt like the world was coming to an end.

I remember walking back to my room in a daze, passing by classrooms where teachers and kids who had not yet heard were going about their business - laughing, learning. "They have no idea," I remember thinking. And for those brief moments, we were living in two different worlds.

The rest of the day was a blur. I joined the principal and counselors in going to the different classes to talk to the kids. So many of them had Moms or Dads who worked in the city. Parents came in droves to collect their children, and I acted as a runner, finding their kids and bringing them to the office.

The memory that haunts me most is that of a newly widowed mother collapsed with her daughter in the hallway. The husband/father didn't make it out. Another boy - one of my trumpet players - lost his Mom that day.

I didn't see any television until I got home. And when I saw the images, I could not turn them off. At the time, I was sharing a house with a crazy Canadian chick and when she got home from work, we took a drive up to this condo complex on a huge hill. From where we stood we could see the twinkling New York skyline, a large patch of it cloaked in darkness. We could see the smoke still rising from its gaping wound.

I suppose everyone remembers that day in their own way. I remember the faces of the people in the main office. I remember that woman and her daughter in the hallway, broken. I remember U2's "Stuck In A Moment" playing on the radio as I drove home from school, and how I can never hear it without thinking of that day.

I also remember the days following, when we as a nation felt the type of camaraderie that only comes from surviving a tragedy. I remember wondering how long that bond would last. And now, five years later, I still feel it, and I can say that my life has changed. I think I stop to smell the roses a little more, and I tell the people in my life that I love them.

Our world is so complex and so very fragile.

XXVI

I have been going "Back To School" in some capacity - as a student or a teacher - every single September for 26 consecutive years.
That's 26 "First Days of School."
And tonight also marks the 26th "Night Before the First Day of School."
Cue the jitters-induced insomnia, and... ACTION!

HEMINGWAY CAT.

Fuuuuck. Today was just plain hard. I did 16 miles, but they were neither fun nor easy. I think running without the iPod is a bad idea because without the music, my mind has nothing to concentrate on except for the looming miles and the little aches and pains.

I'll be going along fine and then I'll start to think about how much farther I have to go and how I can't fathom taking one more step. I'll think, "Fuck it, I'll just stop... 'cause really, who's making me do this anyway?" And the answer is as simple as it is frustrating: I AM. If I stop, I'm only letting myself down. So I press on.

And I did finish, even though it sucked. I think I was probably a little stupid to go out for Happy Hour yesterday. I didn't get hammered or anything, but I've learned by now that alcohol + running = shitty results. Shame on me. And shame on you, Cosmos, for being so damn tasty.

Ah well, at least I did gain something from today's run. I appear to be growing a sixth toe on my left foot. Maybe I'll move out to Key West when all this training is over. I hear the conch fritters are to die for. Mmmm... conch.

EH...

First day back was okay. It's weird: after spending three months being more or less alone 80% of the time, I found it really uncomfortable to be around so many people. It's like I'd become de-socialized or something. I felt a little anxious, truthfully. Not sure what that was all about, but I didn't really like it.

We had a Coffee Hour from 8-9 AM in the high school cafeteria. That entailed standing around asking everyone you see, "How was your summer? Do anything cool?" and then feigning interest, while not giving a rat's ass and wishing you were home in bed. I lasted about 2 minutes before escaping to find the two band directors, who were naturally hiding in their bandroom.

After the district and teachers' union meetings, we were sent to our respective buildings for yet another meeting. Then they fed us lunch and we were dismissed to do stuff in our classrooms.

I dunno what it is. All summer I've been psyching myself up to have a really positive, exciting year. And now that it's upon me, I feel less than enthused. Anxiety. But I don't know why.

CRIKEY!


I just read that Steve Irwin died this weekend. A stingray's spiny tail punctured his heart while he was swimming with it off the Australian coast. I'm not sure why this made me sad - clearly, it was bound to happen sooner or later - the guy made his living pissing off dangerous animals. But maybe that's the whole reason why it's so sad.

While running this morning I saw the first round of this year's school buses, zooming around to pick up disgruntled high schooler's all seemingly wearing dark jeans, black sweatshirts, and dour expressions. Ah, September...

My district starts Thursday and Friday for teachers, and the kiddies come next Monday. It's been a great summer but I am looking forward to getting back into the swing of things. I'm ready for a good year, even if my job is not as glamorous as the Croc Hunter's.

But then again, I've never heard of anyone being killed by an angry pre-adolescent trombonist.

BAND CAMP UPDATE.

Four days down, two more to go. The weather has been crappily rainy and cold, except for the two hours yesterday when it got Africa-hot and we were swarmed by mosquitos (the ones that had been breeding in the puddles and were now awake and hungry for geeky band-flesh.) We start rehearsals at 10 AM and go until 9 PM - essentially eleven hours, give or take an hour for a meal here and there.

I have to say, the kids have been AMAZING. Were I a kid in this band, I probably would have quit on Saturday. But they have an incredible work ethic, and a seemingly endless amount of energy. So many times I've just wanted to sit down and/or start crying because I'm tired, cold and wet. But then I look around and realize I haven't heard one kid complain -- and then I feel like a wuss.

I have gotten very used to working with middle school kids. I've learned that their attention spans are about 23 seconds, max. And as a result, I've gotten used to teaching in a sort of rapid-fire way to keep them engaged. Working with high school kids - especially ones as hard core as these - has been a shock to my system. I forgot how GOOD they can sound, and how they are able to really pay attention to detail. Truthfully, it's been a little intimidating for me.

I guess I can make it through two more days. It's probably good for me. Maybe I need to raise my own bar and the bar of my own students a little higher this year.

P.R.

So I woke up this morning
the rain was coming down.
The idea of fifteen miles
did make me wanna frown.

I thought just for one second,
"Fuck it - I will not go."
But then a bigger voice piped up,
"You're not gonna melt, you know."

And so I donned my sneakers,
and took off on my run.
And soon enough i found my pace.
I didn't miss the sun.

I went through several phases:
from "Doing great!" to PAIN.
Running is so mental -
A workout for the brain.

Around the seventh mile,
my stomach stirred a bit.
And by the time I hit mile twelve
I totally had to shit!

And when I thought I couldn't
hold that poop inside my body,
fate stepped in and saved my life
in the form of a Port-A-Potty.

I ducked on in and emptied out.
I felt so light and free!
The rest of the miles were easy as pie,
and I sailed through the final three.

Through this book I've been a-skimmin'
(Hal's the author's name)
he talks of "personal records"
being more valuable than fame

If that's the case, I'm lucky
for on this one morning's run
I achieved TWO "PR's"
and two is better than one.

Not only did I cover
more miles than I had never,
I also crapped in the middle of nowhere -
I'll remember THAT forever.

"THIS ONE TIME? AT BAND CAMP...?"

Last night I had a dream I was back in college. Or maybe that I'd never left? Regardless, it was a pretty cool dream.

I had a lot of fun in college. Being a Music major is probably different from being a Business or Engineering major. Although I did have to take some general ed. classes during undergrad (English, math, science, etc.) the bulk of my coursework was music-related. So while my peers were busting their brains doing stock analyses and the like, I was tooting away on a bassoon and singing solfege syllables to nursery rhymes.

To you peers, I simply say: Ha.

College was so fucking awesome. I had a great group of friends, and we only left the music building to eat, sleep or drink. And actually, we did most of those things there as well. When we graduated, we went our separate ways, but lots of us stayed local and we see one another at the annual music teacher conferences and state band auditions.

Next week I'm teaching a band camp (go ahead and say it...) Band camp is the week at the end of summer when the marching band kids learn their "field show" (aka: the intermission during halftime when most people go buy their hotdogs.) I like working with high school kids... in small doses. And since our district's high school doesn't have a marching band, I have to whore myself out to other towns.

This one is at a big high school nearby, with three band directors: one with whom I went to college; one with whom I went to high school; and one with whom I taught for a couple years. The two other guys - directors in the district's two middle schools - are also friends from college. In short, the week promises to be one big, dysfunctional family reunion -- and I can't wait!

Aside from the chaos and fun that's sure to transpire, I think it will help me to get back into "teaching mode" after a long summer of sloth. And perhaps our zany collaboration will inspire other youngsters to pursue careers in music so that they may be left with the many fond memories (and dreams!) as I have.

MOO.

Ever have one of those mornings when you wake up and think, "Hmm.. Maybe today I'll go buy some paint and cover the white walls of my classroom with cow spots?"

Me too.

1.21 JIGGAWATTS

On Friday, my friend L and I travelled back in time. The dial on our silver time machine (which bore a remarkable resemblance to L's Jetta) was set for 1986, and what a year it was...

Big hair. Reebok hi-tops with the velcro straps on the top. Def Leppard and Poison blaring from speakers. And the piece de resistance: airbrushed bajas.

How did we manage to travel back 20 years and still make it home before midnight, you ask? Simple. We just hopped on the Garden State Pkwy and headed SOUTH.

Ahh... SLEAZ-SIDE Heights - the Jersey Shore's finest. May I never forget my roots.

ERRRR...?



My long run reached 13 miles last week. I found a great route that takes me down country roads (yes, we do actually have those in New Jersey) and past several farms.

Not only do I get to see standard horses and cows, I also pass by alpacas, miniature donkeys and peacocks! It's like being in my own little Disney film.

I usually do my longer runs while plugged in, but this morning I decided to savor the serenity of my 10-miler and forego using my iPod. And it was going FABULOUS (normie) for a while until a verse from the 1980's Salt 'N' Pepa rap "Supersonic" lodged itself into my brain on a repeating track.

It was the part where Salt and/or Pepa break down the word 'super' like an acronym. And I easily remembered that:

S is for Super
U is for Unique
P is for Perfection
E ...
R is for RAP ("so tell those motherf**ers just to stay the hell BACK")

What I could not remember is what E was for.

So for 10 miles, it ate away at me. And it occurred to me that this may be what drives people to mental breakdown. I envisioned myself sitting in the corner of a room in some asylum, silently rocking back and forth, clutching a ratty Cabbage Patch doll. I'd be mute, except for the sound the drool made as it trickled out the corner of my mouth. The acronym would play over and over in my head (minus the E) until I finally hung myself with my shoelaces.

If anyone out there remembers what the E is for, please help me out. Perhaps you'll spare me (and those lovable state psychologists) from such a hideous fate. Thanks.

LETTING GO AND HOLDING ON.

Children -- so fragile.
Mere lumps of clay.
We shape them with actions,
not just what we say.

By being there for them,
their trust we do earn.
They're safe when they're with us,
we help them to learn

that if they get weary
or life gives them a scare,
our shoulders are strong,
their burden we'll bear.

We teach them it's okay
to depend on "others" -
For children, this usually
means fathers and mothers.

So that when they're older
the dependency moves
from early role models,
to the partners they choose.

They won't have the walls,
or in bitterness drown.
No looming expectancy
of being let down.

It's harder to learn
how to love now, I'm older.
That it's really "okay"
to lean on a shoulder

of one who is unlike
the model I knew.
As a kid, I grew up
with one model - not two.

And so I learned early
that it's better to stay
alone, with my guard up -
I'd be there anyway.

Never knowing a strong man
to stand by my side,
I built up my fortress
and hid deep inside.

Its rooms are so empty,
its floors just grow colder.
I'm no little kid,
and as I grow older

I'm starting to realize
the thing I want most,
is what I never got
from my father, The Ghost.

To terms I have come
and I feel like I'm ready
to let go and let HIS hand
be what keeps me steady.

If you have your own child,
or one dear to your heart -
remember these words:
Teach well, do your part.

So then they can grow up
with hearts in good health,
knowing love is by far
the greatest of wealth.

HELL ON WHEELS.

A few weeks ago, my friend P.McQ's daughter "Brat" got a pair of rollerblades for her 9th birthday. One evening she was dying to try them out, so we geared her all up and got her rolling. Within ten minutes, she was practically a pro. I thought to myself, "Hmm. It looks so easy, I really should dig my blades out of the closet and give it another try. Maybe it won't be anything at all like the last time...."

[Cue 'dream sequence' music]

I'd bought a pair of rollerblades one summer when I was in grad school up in Rochester, NY. My friend James was a doctoral music theory student and a Canadian. He was also very good on rollerblades (the Canadian thing, no doubt) and inspired me to give it a go.

And so I did and it was fine. We spent many a weekend cruising along the scenic Eerie Canal path which was flat with grassy edges.

Did I mention it was flat? That's an important detail because, due to the path's flatness, I never quite learned how to stop.

When I came back down to NJ, I decided to go out for a spin in the parking lot of a local college. This was a very fancy, multi-tiered parking lot with lots of hills. And I was by myself that day.

I started out pretty confidently - perhaps a little TOO confidently - and figured I'd just 'whip down' one of the hills to the next tier. And as I was 'whipping', I remembered having never learned how to stop. And I was really picking up speed and starting to get scared, as there was nothing but asphalt all around me.

Suddenly I had a brilliant idea: "Maybe if I drag one foot against the curb, it will slow me down enough so I can regain control!"

Yeah, I know. But it seemed like a great fucking idea at the time. And when I connected the side of my right foot with the curb, my foot DID stop. But the rest of me kept going. And I spun down to the ground and rolled about 20 yards.

Now that I think about it, it probably would have been cool to see -- kind of like a stunt woman. But at the time, I pretty much thought I had broken every bone in my body (save for my wrists, as I was wearing wrist guards. JUST wrist guards).

So I dragged my bloody self back to my car. I peeled off the cursed wheel-shoes and threw them into the closet when I got home. Which is where they've been for the past 7 years.

That is, until today.

HE has a pair that have gone unused as well, and we've been discussing the idea of trying to rollerblade together. So this afternoon, I dug out my [bashed up] rollerblades and drove over to the local elementary school's FLAT parking lot. I put on my long socks and donned the skates (and wrist guards), and I cautiously stood up.

I clomped about 3 ft. into the lot and said out loud, "Screw this, " then promptly removed them.

I think I am still a bit traumatized. Rollerblading simply does not feel natural to me. And I've got nearly 250 miles invested in this marathon training, and about 250 left. A broken leg might throw a bit of a wrench into all that.

*SIGH*


You win again, rollerblades. Back to your comfy old closet. But don't get too cocky or I may have to leave you out in the rain.

F.U. HAIKU
(FOR DR. ATKINS)



This cereal rocks.
Two boxes for a dollar?!
WalMart's greatest carb.

HUH.


What if Junior Mints are really just little chocolate-covered blobs of toothpaste?

MOM'S NEW FRIEND.

MEMO

TO: Dog Owners
FROM: The Pensive Turtle
DATE: August 10, 2006
RE: WTF?

This morning during my run, I was nearly assaulted on three separate occasions, by three different dogs. None of these dogs were on leashes.

Owners, are you BEGGING for lawsuits? Are your lives really so empty and your pockets so full?

The first dog was one of those stealthy, shepherd types. I didn't even know it was there until I was about ten feet from it, at which point it sprang to life in a barking frenzy. Luckily I knew what to do in a situation like this: scream my ass off and run faster. Which, in turn, caused Kujo to go even crazier.

Finally I heard the owner (who sounded like a 90 year-old, chain-smoking waitress) bellow from inside her screen door for the dog to back off.

The second incident occurred about fifteen minutes later. This dog I heard and felt, but did not actually see. It had a deep bark and was on the other side of a wooden fence I was passing. It followed me the distance of the fence and all I could do was pray that its owner had latched the gate.

Owner, you're damn lucky.

By this point, I'd had enough. My adrenal glands were running dry. But just for spite in the last leg, the third and final dog - an Irish Jack terrier - decided to add its two cents. It came careening down the driveway at me and while my initial response was to kick it back up to its house like a soccer ball, I refrained. Jacks are my favorite dogs.

Bottom line: Owners, please leash your mongrels. For the sake of all involved.
Thank you.

PS: Please note that this memo was not directed toward the two men standing in their driveway watching the [unleashed] pit bull sparring with the Doberman. Fortunately the dogs were way too consumed with killing each other to notice me.

And fellas, your instigation of such a grudge-match (and obvious delight) is twisted enough to warrant your own memo, forthcoming.

SOMEONE ELSE.

Ever see something that needs doing and think, "Eh, someone else will do it?"

Like an overturned garbage can - "Someone else will pick it up." Or an empty roll of toilet paper - "Someone else will replace it." I know I've certainly left a lot for 'someone else' to take care of.

Maybe that's part of what's wrong with the world today: a lack of accountability. It's easier to walk away from something - tell yourself that it will somehow remedy itself.

But what if that 'someone else' never comes along to do it?

This morning I was out running and made a painfully disturbing discovery. About a 1/2 mile away from returning home, I came upon a tiny kitten that must have been hit by a car, lying dead near the sidewalk. Having had many cats in my lifetime, and having lost more than a few to cars, this really hit me hard. I got home and showered, but the image of the kitten stayed in my head.

Several hours later in the day, I was driving home from being out and about and passed by the same spot. The kitten was still there. My initial reaction was, "Someone else will take care of it," and I continued home.

But then I started thinking about the kitten's owner. What if it was a little boy like Bean and he was the one who found his kitten lying there? That's something he'd never forget. Or what if it belonged to an elderly woman? Maybe her only source of companionship, and she was left to discover it as she teetered out to get the mail?

I'll never forget the heartbreak I experienced as a kid when Louie, my favorite cat of all time, got hit in front of our house. He didn't die right away, and we found him and had to have him put down. That pain did something to me from which I've never quite recovered.

Then there were our other cats - Baby, Bear, Maggie, Pumpkin - that got out and just never came home. And while part of me is pretty sure they met similar fates as Louie, it's somehow more comforting NOT to have that closure. Maybe it gives me the hope that they just found a place to live that served better food than I did.

More than likely, 'someone else' had picked up those other cats from the side of the road. For the same reasons I needed to go and take care of that kitten. And so I did.

Because today it was my turn to be 'someone else.'

BEAN WISDOM.

I had a little visitor come have breakfast with me yesterday.



His Mom dropped him off Sunday afternoon. When I got back from Philly, I took him to the playground by the lake. He's becoming a real boy (that sounded very Pinnochio). He runs around and climbs like a rabid monkey. When we got back home, I had to give his stank ass a bath.

Yesterday, Mom and I took him up to her friend's house in Bumblefuck, PA. Her friend's daughter was visiting from CA with her 3 year-old little boy and Mom wanted the two grandkids to play.

Funny. At first all they would do was hide behind grown-ups' legs. Then one pulled out his toy horses and the other his Matchbox cars and - POOF! - half an hour later they're the best of friends.

Why can't life be as simple now as when we're 3? When the simple act of waking up in the morning is an amazing experience? Just thrilled by the potential of what each new day can bring?

Bean's learning so much every day. New words and phrases. New concepts of how things work in this great, big world. Being a role model for a nephew like him is both a responsibility and an honor. I want so much for him to grow up to be a good man.

And in the process of teaching, it seems I'm the one learning so much more from him.

1 + 1 = 1
MATH IS GOOD.

BIPED, I.

This morning I ran the twelve miles
of tomorrow's long run - today.
'Cause tomorrow I'll be in a car, en route,
and figured there's simply no way

To run such a distance, to cover such ground -
along roads that were both flat and hilly,
then sit for some hours in a car getting stiff
while I travel with HIM down to Philly.



HIS old college pal is tying the knot,
it's an elegant black-tie affair.
So HE'll wear HIS tux, and I'll wear a dress
(Hell, I may even shampoo my hair!)

Today's run was good, the weather was better -
the humidity's dropped quite a bit.
At the end of the run, I felt nice and strong.
Could it be I'm becoming more fit?

I'm psyched for tomorrow - our first formal soiree,
and some of HIS friends I will meet.
It'll be nice to dance, but lots I must drink
so I don't feel the pain in my feet.

SUMMER VACATION = INTROSPECTION OVERLOAD.

My daily quote today says:

"The one predominant duty is to find one's work and do it."
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
(1860-1935)

Okay. What if you've found your work and you do it, but you're not sure it's the work you're supposed to be doing? What if you're just doing it 'cause they hired you, they pay you, and you don't hate it?

Sometimes I wonder how I even wound up teaching Music. I remember being in high school, and when the time came to figure out what I should go to college for, I kind of stopped and thought, "Well hell -- what do I like doing?" And at the time, I was a pretty big Band geek, so I guess I figured, "Maybe I'll just be a Band geek for a living?"

Music itself was never a huge 'passion' for me like it is for some. It was just something I enjoyed, mainly because of the people who were involved.

But that was it. I went to college and majored in Music, and met people like me. Then in grad school, I met even bigger and better Band geeks. And before I knew it, I was a Music teacher.

Don't get me wrong - it's a great job. I'm lucky to be in an awesome district with great colleagues. But I can't help wondering: what if I'd set off in a completely different direction back in high school? Where would I be? Would I be happier? More fulfilled?

I often wonder how different people end up where they do in their lives. Like, how come I didn't opt to become a real estate agent or a veterinarian? How is it that my one brother became an architect, and the other sells water softeners?

I guess a lot has to do with where and/or what you're born into. And I suppose your role models play an important part. I could definitely say that my strongest role models as a kid were my teachers.

I dunno. I sometimes feel like the world is so very huge, and the options are endless. And I think about all the places I want to go and the things I want to try, and it's just overwhelming to think of everything I could do, if I choose to.

But I don't.

Instead, I sit and blog. Or I put on my sneakers and run. Or I pick up a book and read. And then, before I know it, another day has come to an end. But have I truly done my duty?

FUCKING HEELYS.


Right.

As if kids running aimlessly through the mall were not annoying enough.

No.

Let's put wheels in their shoes.

Brilliant.

THE SHORTS.



I have this pair of shorts. I got them about 6 years ago as a hand-me-down from an old roommate.

Every year, The Shorts are resurrected from the bowels of my closet. And every year, I wonder if it might be The Shorts' last summer.

The Shorts have many holes in them and have been repaired many, many times by my creative Mom.

I think The Shorts scare people, but I don't care. My sister-in-law is repulsed by The Shorts, so I make sure to wear them whenever I know I will see her.

The Shorts have been everywhere with me. From Jersey up to Maine. From the Rockies in Colorado, to Arizona and California. From Italy to Switzerland, France to England, to the peaks of the Austrian Alps and back over to Germany. They've hiked, climbed mountains, dug rocks from gardens, suffered through middle school Field Days, and relaxed on many a couch.

The Shorts represent something that I can't quite put into words.

But I love The Shorts.

KARMIC POSTAL EXPERIENCE.

This morning Mom had the rummage bug. Being that it's 100+ degrees outside with 200% humidity, there's not much else to do except wander around the centrally air-conditioned house. She's looking to get a new wall of sliding glass doors and fancy windows installed in the dining room. In order for this to happen however, the mountains of boxes and crap must be removed from the existing wall.

Most of the stuff was my aunt's. We cleaned out her apartment after she died (the apartment which I now occupy) and threw out lots of stuff. And saved even more than we threw out. Among the saved stuff were five boxes of vinyls that we didn't know where to put, but also couldn't bring ourselves to throw out. I suggested the basement. It's a veritable graveyard of stuff we don't know what to do with.

I decided to brave the heat for a little while and do some errands. After the dry cleaners and the bank, I headed to the post office to buy stamps. Apparently the rest of New Jersey decided to go to the same post office at the same time. I thought, "Screw this - I'm not waiting behind 50 people to buy stamps. I've got better things to do."

Sadly, I realized I had absolutely nothing better to do, so I may as well just stand there. Besides, it's air-conditioned in the post office, and you can do some top-notch people-watching. I like to imagine what these random people's lives are like - careers, family lives.

The guy ahead of me, for instance, was totally an eBay dealer. He had three crates of records and CDs, wrapped in brown paper, waiting to be mailed. Judging by his Skynyrd t-shirt and scruffy appearance, it was probably his one source of income, which afforded him a comfortable residency in his parents' basement. (Yeah yeah - glass houses...)

Behind me was an ancient little man who kept asking everyone who came in if it was "Hot enough for ya?" He told me he was finally getting around to mailing in his tax forms. "But don't worry, I got an extension." Whew!

Then there was a woman a few people ahead of me who had one of those Oozinator water guns - the package of which she was voraciously tearing apart. She looked like a five year-old on Christmas morning, ripping the cardboard off in pieces, and feverishly yanking at the plastic ties which held it in place. I looked around and noticed that most of the people in line were watching her, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing.

"You know, those things kind of twist off," eBay Guy offered.
"Yeah. I'm trying to get this open so I can mail it," Oozinator replied.
"She's gonna mail it like that?" asked Ancient Taxes.
"No idea," I replied.
"Ya know, if you're mailing that you should probably leave it in the box," eBay Guy suggested.
"Hey - do you happen to collect records too?" I asked eBay Guy. What the hell - as long as we were all friends now.
"Yeah. Is this lady retarded or what?"
"Clearly. So I have like five boxes of records to get rid of. Do you want them?"
"Yeah sure."

So I gave him the address while Oozinator bought a new box so she could overnight the gun to her 14 year-old daughter at camp.

And an hour later, eBay Guy and his wife showed up in their SUV to pick up my aunt's records. The wife was a booking agent for bands, the husband made profits off of the albums and stuff from the groups. Eh, so I was a little off. They live about half a mile from me, and the wife actually knew a lot of the people on my street. She chatted with Mom while we carted out the records, and we all lived happily ever after.

Huh.

IT'S ALL GOOD.

BORN WITHOUT THE "MOMMY GENE".

Alright Breeders, I know you love your kids and all. But there is not and never will be a reason for this:



Please explain what parent, in their right mind, would actually indulge the child that asks, "Mommy, can I have a trampoline?" I would think that ranks right up there with, "Mommy, I want a pony" - or "Daddy, I want a goose that lays golden eggs for Easter."

Maybe Veruca Salt lives here?

I can't figure how a trampoline is a wise investment. One like this goes for about $900. How much jumping can a kid actually do before they get bored? I figure ten minutes, tops. Maybe more if they have a friend over. Then what? It sits there and gets moldy from rainwater and green from pollen. Do you really need to OWN one?

And for God's sake, why - if you're dumb enough to buy a trampoline - would you put it in YOUR FRONT YARD?!

I dunno, I just don't think I could ever love something enough to justify such a bizarre act.

* The best part of this photo (aside from the obvious) is that it is of a house down the street from me. And prior to the current bouncy residents, my best friend from childhood lived there. Her Dad was a raging prick, who was also highly anal retentive about his house and yard. My friend spent most of her afterschool hours picking up twigs from the grass while he shellacked the rocks in the garden. As soon as she turned 18, she moved to Arizona to get far away from the man. Shortly thereafter, he sold the house. I would love to see his reaction to the new lawn ornament.

WEIRD.

I started going to a chiropractor a couple months back when I had this bad feeling in my lower back, and my left leg started to go numb. Turns out it's sciatica caused by this weird degeneration in one of my vertebrae. I believe my Doc's exact words while showing me my x-rays were: "It's like this vertebrae here is somehow 30 years older than the rest of you."

Great.

So anyway, I started going three times a week. Each time, he puts a moist-heat pack on my back and turns on the traction for 15 minutes, then he adjusts me. After about a month, this became twice a week, and now just once. He's also a sports physician and nutritionist. I like him -- trust him, even.

Today was my regular appointment, and when he came in and asked how I was, I told him I have a cold. He asked me if I'd ever gotten a 'sinus adjustment'. I said, "No. Is it like an 'attitude adjustment'? Cause I've been told I could use one of those."

I also like him because he laughs at my lame jokes.

So he puts on a rubber glove and starts pressing on my jaw, inside my mouth. He explains that he's opening up some of the bones around my sinuses, allowing them to drain better. It hurts like a motherfucker. After that, he starts sticking his fingers in my ears, I guess doing similar sinus opening?

When he's done, I sit up and I can breathe! And the feeling like my head is in a fishtank is totally gone. I am astonished.

"Is it possible that this draining worked so fast that I can feel it so soon, or is this psychosomatic?" I ask.

"It's extremely possible - you should feel very open now. In fact, carry tissues with you today cause there might be additional drainage."

Mmmm... drainage.

I think there's definitely something to this holistic medicine. I am such a hypocrite, though. I claim to be this big anti-drug-needer, but at the first sign of pain or discomfort, I am popping open a bottle of something. Advil Liqui-gels have become my fifth basic food group. Maybe this very strange day will help me become less dependent upon chemicals?

LAZY. HAZY, SNEEZY DAYS OF SUMMER.

Who the hell else gets a cold in the middle of July? I felt it Sunday night: the scratchy, itchy throat. And sure enough, yesterday I woke up with the snot. And it got progressively worse throughout the day. Every four hours, I took a different type of decongestant, hoping one would work. I took a Benadryl before going to bed.

Benadryl's effects on me have changed over the years. As a young kid, I had terrible allergies and was sick with bronchitis at least once a month. I blame that on the fact that both my parents were smokers. Or on my tonsils. Or both. 'Cause eventually they both quit smoking and, at age 21, I finally had my tonsils removed after a hideous bout with mono.

Have I digressed again? Of course. Benadryl... right.

I used to take a Benadryl and it would knock me on my ass for 8 hours. Then I'd wake up feeling hungover and dried out. But at least it stopped the allergy attacks. Now when I take it (or Nyquil - or anything else with the sleep drug in it) I fall asleep for like 2 hours, and then wake up in a state of manic hyperactivity.

So I was up for a good portion of last night, drinking Cup-A-Soup and reading yet another book from my new favorite author, Augusten Burroughs. I drifted in and out of sleep - got up around 7:30 and decided to go running. At least for the duration of a run, my head is clear and I can breathe. And it was so. And I feel a little better today than I did yesterday.

Bottom line: Don't live with smokers. Don't keep unnecessary bodily organs. Exercise regularly.

[Alright, that post just sucked. I'll do better next time.]

TOP 10 EVENTS OF THE WEEKEND

10. Watching "The Birdcage" for the 10,048th time.

9. Running 10.5 miles and not dying.

8. My 3 month-old nephew farting on my arm.

7. The fact that he then LAUGHED about it.

6. The realization that no matter how old (or young) you are: farts are funny.

5. Buffalo wings + 1/2 a bottle of wine + Rita's ice = well-rounded dinner.

4. Livia Soprano dying in the 3rd season of Netflix SopranoFest?!

3. HIS Dad harassing a gay waiter about squirrels.

2. The renewed appreciation for blue skies and life after attending someone's wake.

1. The naked, bald man... playing a fife.

"HEY... YOU GOTTA FREAKIN' PROBLEM?"



ALIAS: "Baby Bing" aka "Fat Cheeks"
STATUS: NJ Mob Boss
CHARGES: Labor racketeering and Enfamil drug ringleader.

THURSDAY MORNING.

Coming back home from my run this morning, I noticed there were an awful lot of cars at the neighbor's house, especially for 7:00 in the morning.

Billy (the neighbor) had been in the hospital for about a month. He'd gone in for some routine bloodwork and they found that he had cancer, but they couldn't find where. Turns out most of it was in his brain. He was also diabetic and had all kinds of complications from that. He quickly went downhill.

We'd all grown up together. Billy's three daughters Sandy, Jennifer and Becky; me and my two brothers; and the two kids in the house on the other side of ours. We'd spent countless summer days riding bikes, playing cards, kickball... Mostly just tormenting the shit out of each other - in good fun. A great crew of kids and a wonderful way to grow up. We've lost touch over the years, but I guess that's what happens in life.

Billy was the "guy" Dad. Always working in the yard - shirt off, beerbelly hanging out. He kept tabs on everyone. If he got your ear, you were in for at least 45 minutes worth of conversation. He kept up on my running, too. More than my own family. He'd be outside walking his beagle and always want to know how far I'd gone, which race I was training for. He'd tell me stories of when he was in the Army and liked to try and run faster than the black guys ("And I always beat them!")

This morning as I made my way back to the house, I saw Jennifer standing in the front yard, smoking a cigarette.

"My Dad died this morning."
"I'm so sorry..."
"Yeah - I was working. Didn't get to see him."
"..."
"Just sucks so much, ya know?"
"..."

I tried to remember what people said to me when my Dad died. The fact that I can't remember probably means it wasn't that important. What helped most was just being able to talk to someone - anyone - and have them listen.

I remember the day my Dad died and how we all just sat around in the livingroom, not knowing what to do or say. I guess that's what they're doing over there now. Alternating between tears and laughter. And an overall sense of numbness. Hard to put words to the feelings, just a shared sense of mystery, of shared grief.

It's been kind of gray and gloomy all day today. Except for a minute or so this morning when the sun burst through the sky, and seemed to flood my entire living space in radiance. A warmth. A sense of calm.

A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE.

The human mind has limitless potential. Think about all of the progress mankind has made over the past few thousand years. We can travel into space, cure deadly diseases, build babies from test tubes and clone sheep. The most complex supercomputer in the universe could not even come close to the human brain. Great thinkers - the Greek philosophers, Albert Einstein, Ben Franklin - have used their mindpower to change the world as we know it. And every day, another brilliant idea is born from a powerful mind.

My mind? It's too busy remembering the lyrics to a song I sang in 4th grade Music class called "Pop Bottle Hoedown":

'Turn to the rootbeer
Bow to the orange
Swing with a Pepsi
Promenade the cherry soda
'til it meets the bubbly Seven-Up
[bum bum bum]
Bubbly Seven-Up...'

It also remembers that I sat next to Jeff Arnowitz, and that he had a squeaky voice and always wore the same blue & white striped shirt.

Yeah, it's a damn good thing all my billions of brain cells are being put to good use. Would sure be a shame to waste them curing cancer or some other trivial shit like that.

MAINELY BLISS.



Just spent the past few days up in Ogunquit, Maine. Was quite possibly the best vacation I've ever been on. The location itself was magnificent - the weather was perfect. We stayed at this picturesque B&B run by these two adorable gay guys. Naturally, their attention to detail was impeccable - everything was spot-on. But what truly made the trip for me was the company.

I tend to get antsy. Being OCD (never diagnosed, but I'm sure if I were, that would probably be the first disorder -- on a list of MANY) I do better with routine, or at least an agenda. But we went into the trip with no solid plans (aside for my burning need to fly a kite at some point).

And it was bliss.

Life should always be as easy as it is when I'm around HIM. With HIM, I never have that nagging urge that something else is going on - like I'm somehow missing out on something. That used to be huge for me. But with HIM, I can just... be. And it's good.

SAD, FAT CAT... BEHIND GLASS.

"I SEE DEAD PEOPLE."

My brother & his wife took Bean camping down the shore and they've left the new one (Pudge) with my Mom. Every now and then, I pop over and see what he's doing. I also have the job of keeping an eye on him when Mom needs to use the bathroom. I'm okay as long as he's

A) Sleeping - or

B) Content to just lay there and look at stuff.

Anything else (hungry, smelly or generally uncomfortable) and I am useless. He's only 3 months old, so basically there's not much else he does, aside from the above-mentioned activities. And while I can appreciate his cuteness, I really don't think I could handle having one of my own. I am SO not a breeder.

I was "keeping an eye on" Pudge this morning (he was doing B) and I noticed that he kept looking at something over my shoulder and smiling. As if he saw something - or someone - that I could not. And it gave me the warmest feeling cause I thought, "What if babies can see spirits of relatives who have passed?"

I imagined my Dad... my Aunt... or grandparents - just kind of popping in to smile down at him and make sure he's doing alright. "What do you see?" I'd ask. And he'd just smile.

Yeah, maybe he just has a lot of gas (I mean come on, he IS my nephew) - or maybe he's just trying out all his new little face muscles. But I'd like to think otherwise. That he's meeting all his angels, and that they'll be with him throughout his life.

AMERICANA.

How much do I love a good 4-day weekend? I'm sitting here rehashing the hundreds of potential blog entries, and figure I'd better narrow it down to a handful. Here they are - in no chronological order whatsoever..

- We took a drive out to Hershey Park on Monday. It was a billion degrees and there were two billion people in the park. AND there was a Def Leppard/Journey concert taking place at the Hershey Stadium that evening, so you can imagine what the majority of the park crowd looked like...

Amusement parks take on a different light when you're a "grown-up" (and believe me, I use that term very loosely). Waiting in line for 90 minutes to ride a 30-second roller coaster is harder to justify. But we did have a blast passing our critical judgment on just about every person standing in line. Perhaps the biggest amusement in the park is the people-watching.

- Yesterday we went over to my brother's house to take part in the family BBQ scene. While my nephews certainly rock harder than any other kids in the universe, spending time at their house - with crying, pooping kids and an annoying, chewing dog - is still the most effective form of birth control I can imagine. We left after the required amount of time, escaping back to HIS fortress of solitude, and to our pals Rita & the Sopranos.

- Among the high points of the weekend was our first major trip to the grocery store together ("Awww"). We're very different, HE and I, and I tried my very best to bite my tongue and not interfere with the way HE shops. I've realized that some people may not yet have accepted the fact that MY way of doing things is the ONLY way. We had fun nonetheless, knocking over a display of Swiss Knight cheese, and arguing over Little Debbie - the bitch you love to hate.

By far, the highlight of the shopping excursion was coming across this tasty little item in the canned meat section.

Libby's "Potted Meat Food Product" contains: mechanically separated chicken, partially defatted cooked pork fatty tissue, beef tripe, partially defatted cooked beef fatty tissue, vinegar, salt, spices, sugar, flavorings, sodium erythorbate, and sodium nitrite.

Potted Meat: The Breakfast of Champions. I'll end now, as I'm sure that's about all anyone can stomach in one sitting.

TAO OF THE SQUIRREL
(For HIM)



Just got your morning poem
and I'm sitting here, in ponder.
Thinking 'bout your sadness,
and I can't help but wonder

if there's something I can say
(since I've oft been there before)
discontent, afraid and blue,
and life is such a chore.

Sometimes we think ourselves to death
with thoughts devoid of hope,
not realizing it's the opposite mind
that truly helps us cope.

Why do we waste away today
with fears about tomorrow?
Spend all day feeling negative,
And fill our nights with sorrow?

I look out my kitchen window
and see a squirrel perched on the fence.
"What must life be like for him,
living solely by primal sense?"

For surely he's not worried
about what he's got to do.
He'll start to think about winter
when time comes for him to.

But for now he finds contentment
in simple little things -
like finding goodies in the grass
as the bird above him sings.

And though his little rodent brain
is no bigger than a pea,
it seems that he's the lucky one,
'cuz he's happy: just to be.

Life is full of beauty, babe
you needn't look too far.
It all depends on how you choose
to look at where you are.

DEAD PEOPLE = GROSS + EDUCATIONAL.

Yesterday I went into the city with L to hang with one of our friends from college. E lives in Manhattan and is a singer/waitress. I'd say she was a 'struggling musician', but she works at a really classy restaurant on the Upper West Side and makes more money than I do. So no, she's not allowed to be called 'struggling'. We ended up going to South Street Seaport to see this.

Wow. First of all, I am a fairly squeamish person. I can't cut up raw meat, and I get really freaked out by those surgery programs on TV. Hell, I can't even change a diaper (if you can consider that relative). And, while it did take me a little while to get over the initial shock and nausea, I ended up finding the whole thing extremely fascinating.

I've always wondered what a person looks like on the inside. Like, how can 25 ft. of intestines fit in your abdomen, along with all the other organs? And if someone has something like their appendix taken out, is there a big hole somewhere? Seeing the real deal put a lot of things in perspective. The human body is absolutely amazing -- I couldn't help but get a little religious/spiritual about it all.

I think what got me thinking was the fact that every single one of us has all this stuff inside us - all the different systems and parts - and yet, who ever thinks about it? I mean, unless we start to get sick or something we just kinda take it all for granted.

Afterwards, we went to a place on the pier for dinner (but not too soon afterwards, as we needed some time to clear the images). We dined outside for optimal people-watching. It was neat for me because I was thinking that even though no two people looked alike on the outside - different sizes, shapes, colors, etc. - inside, everyone's the same. [swell dramatic music and roll credits]

I then proceeded to beat up my liver with a Cosmo.

TECHNO-GEEK.

Yesterday I attended a two-part media workshop on iMovie. I began dabbling with the program back when I was still with the Brit - he was a fairly accomplished media nerd - and I really liked working with it. So much that I started making my own school-based projects of trips and stuff. Which ended up making the Art teacher look bad, as he has served as Media Coordinator for the past few years and his responsibilities included making school-based projects of trips and stuff. As fate would have it, Art Teacher has decided to step down next year so I can take a shot at it. Mmm... stipend.

So yesterday I got up early and drove out to the local university. It's amazing how soon one can forget what it's like to have to get up and go anywhere work-related. I can't even BELIEVE the amount of traffic I sat in - both on the way there and back. New Jersey's population is becoming like China's, and the further east you head in the state, the worse it gets. I quickly grew surly and wished Blue Beetle had a pair of testicles dangling off its back. I'm pretty sure people woulda done got the hell outa my way if it did.

The workshop was part of a three-day digital media institute, and there were tons of courses in many different programs being offered. It was really quite awesome. I was one of eight people registered for iMovie, most of us were public school teachers, I was probably the youngest one there.

One thing I hate about taking any kind of computer-related workshop with older people is that well, they're just plain STUPID. Okay, perhaps that's a bit harsh. And frankly, I'm sure that people younger than myself would find ME to be technologically inferior to them, and that would probably be true. Cause doesn't it seem like these days, one's level of technological savvy is somehow an inverse correlation to their age? I know some 12 year-olds who could definitely kick MY ass.

So there was the one lady behind me who kept mumbling things like, "What does he mean by 'desktop'?" The woman next to her couldn't control her computer's volume and just KEPT ON CLICKING various audio samples. There was an older guy somewhere who insisted on adding his personal comments to every one that the instructor made. And then there was the woman next to me who kept asking for my help, and then kept getting mad at me for helping her.

At one point, the instructor made a fatal mistake by quickly demonstrating a program called Sketchup. Their eyes got wide and they began to drool. You would think he had shown them how to make fire for the very first time. Getting them back on task was no small feat.

All in all, it was a great class. I learned a whole lot more about a great program, and the media lab at the college was AMAZING -- the new Macbooks are sweeeet. And so with my new-founded technological wizardry, I shall set off to do great things. Starting with videotaping the cats.

PEOPLE I HOPE NEVER TO MEET, VOL. I

Anyone who hangs these off the back of their vehicle...

Have you seen this? Today I had the good fortune of driving behind a giant, black pickup which was sporting a set. They complimented the gun rack nicely. The ensemble was tastily rounded with the bumper stickers: No Fear, NRA, W2004 and those yellow ribbon "Support Our Troops" magnets (the profits of which I am certain go straight to our troops).

So I came home and Googled "balls for trucks" and found that there are actually more than one company that manufactures truck testicles. I guess it's because when you're looking to purchase automotive genitalia, it's always best to comparison shop.

WEEKEND UPDATE.

Wow! How is it Sunday night already? It's been a great weekend, despite the rain. And the fact that it's supposed to rain for the next - oh, ten days or so. It was so very good.

Last night we went to see The Amazing Kreskin. What was truly amazing is that we were easily the youngest people in the audience. I have never seen so much osteoporosis in one room that wasn't a geriatric ward. Funniest comment of the evening was by HIM as we were watching one particularly afflicted gentleman, who was shaped remarkably like the letter S:

"God, I hope I never end up looking like that guy... who... happens to be wearing the same shoes as me."

Golden.

In other news, I am a recent subscriber of NetFlix, and have been renting the DVDs of "The Sopranos, Season I". I'd never seen any episodes, and am basically a self-proclaimed hater of all things Mafia. I've never even seen "The Godfather" (I know, shut up). In fact, my only mob-movie experience was "Casino", which I saw kind of by accident, as it was playing during a trip I took on a charter bus and I really didn't have much choice but to watch. And I hated it.

But I fucking LOOOVE "The Sopranos"!! And I love NetFlix. And today I also watched "Deliverance" because it's one of those cult classics that I always hear referenced but had never seen. And kind of wish I never had. Thank God I saw it AFTER the kayak trip otherwise I'm sure I'd have spent the whole ride listening for dueling banjos.

That's all. Oh, and I got new sneakers. And they're great. You can tell sneakers are great when you put them on and don't feel like you have anything on your feet.

That's it.

ANOTHER HAIKU.



We had our first fight.
Through tears and talks, we resolved.
Make-up sex is good.

BRAVO ZULU.

A few years ago, I was dating a guy whom we now refer to as "Psycho Jim" (for a myriad of reasons, none of which I will bother to expound on at this time.) One evening, Psycho Jim and I went to JCPenney's so he could be fitted for a suit. While he was having his inseam measured, I took a stroll around the Men's department and came upon a bin of random pieces of clothing marked for clearance. While sifting through the garments, I happened upon the BIGGEST FUCKING PAIR OF UNDERPANTS EVER! And they were only 99¢ - so naturally, I bought them, knowing full well that they possessed unlimited potential for fun.

Alas, Psycho Jim did not last very long. But as anticipated, the BIG underwear (aka: "The Mighty Whities") have served me well.

Today, my school-teacher colleagues and I embarked on our annual 'Faculty Float Trip' down the Delaware River. It was a perfect day and we had a great group of fun people - in canoes and kayaks - covering the eight miles from Milford to Dingman's, PA. There was a nice wind which I was able to take advantage of...



Summertime. And the livin' is oh-so-easy.

FATHERS DAY

Dear Dad,

You've been gone four years now. So much has changed since then. The world is still a crazy place - war, famine, debt, natural disasters -- you're not missing too much in that sense. But it's not all bad.

Ma has two new hips & two new knees - she's practically bionic. You have two beautiful grandsons. There have been many times when Bean will look at me a certain way and I see you looking out through his eyes. I have no doubt that you're with him.

I think about you so much. There's so much I'd like to talk about if you were here. I know I wasn't always the greatest daughter, but let's face it, you weren't exactly Ward Cleaver either (you've certainly helped to make me the insecure, commitment-phobic cynic that I am today... thanks.)

Mental illness is a terrible thing to live with - you struggled with it throughout your whole life. But somewhere underneath it all was a kind, caring man. Every now and then, we'd catch a glimpse of him in your occasional smile and through your artwork. I'd like to think that he's the one you became when you died - shedding your shroud of darkness like a snake sheds its skin.

I saw your real eyes once - dark, wide and terrified. But they were ALIVE. And they're the eyes I choose to remember. In the end, the bad memories fade and we're left with only the good, warm ones that leave a mark in our hearts. I wish I'd known you better. I wish you could see your family now as I know you would be so very proud. I am proud to be your daughter.

Much love always.

I WANNA FIND THIS GUY AND PARTY WITH HIM.

What's cool about life is that at any given moment, we're making a choice. And whatever we choose to do at that moment will alter future moments and choices. Like a real-life "choose your own adventure" book.

Everything we have right now - where we are, our jobs, our relationships, etc. - were all brought about by choice. True, sometimes life throws a curveball - illness, accidents, etc. - but it's ultimately up to us to choose how we deal with the situation. And those choices go on to shape the rest of our futures.

Ever be driving down the highway and think, "if I were to jerk my wheel over to the left, my car would flip onto the median and life as I know it would end"? That's a scary realization of power when you think about it.

I'm happy with the choices I've made in life so far. I think I've been lucky.

THESE KIDS TODAY.

We were watching a TiVo'd episode of The Colbert Report tonight [one of the greatest shows ever] and the topic was how kids today are smarter than those of generations past. And how the video games they are playing are actually helping to make them smarter.

I hafta say, I think I may agree.

As someone who spends her days around kids, I definitely find them to be a whole lot more savvy than I was at that age. Keep in mind, I may have just been stupid. But sometimes my 12, 13 & 14-year old students say and do things that blow my mind. For instance, this year a group of 8th graders formed an independent organization to raise awareness of the situation in Darfur. They even went down to Washington DC for the rallies.

When I was in 8th grade, I was far too busy posting Ralph Macchio and Kirk Cameron pin-ups on my walls, and standing in line to get tickets for the "New Kids On The Block" concert to take notice of such trivialities as genocides in third-world nations.

And my students say really funny shit.

Like when we were up in Boston at the House of Seven Gables. I had a group of about 10 kids and we were being led on a tour of the house. Our tour guide was a little, old woman named Betsy - white hair, period clothing, the whole bit. The house was filled with tons of antiques, each bearing a small sign reading: "Circa [date]".

"Does anyone know what 'circa' means?" asked Betsy.
"Yeah - like when it was from," one of them answered.
"Right!"

As we moved on, I heard two of my students talking under their breath...

"When do you think Betsy's from?"
"I'm thinking circa Pangaea."
"Hehe... circa Big Bang."

Now come on, how could I possibly scold them for such comments, when what I really wanted to do was hold them up and celebrate their budding genius? Once again, I may not be the best model of authority. Good thing school's out. Now I can stop pretending to be an adult.

THINE EYES.

HE woke up this morning and HIS eyes were puffy and swollen shut. So HE called in sick to work and actually made an appointment to see a doctor. This is major, cause HE's not a big fan of doctors.

Throughout the course of the day, I got text messages - updates on HIS appointment time, when HE was sitting in the waiting room, etc. Finally, HE called to let me know the outcome. It turned out to only be a stye - and I do believe HE was disappointed...

"All that drama and it turns out to be a stupid stye," HE sulked.
"That's too bad. I was hoping for your sake it would at least be eye cancer or something."
"I know."
"Well, maybe next time. Meanwhile, maybe I can bring you home some chlamydia?"

GOOD SHIT.

Wow, what a great week it's been! Where do I start? I guess with the Boston trip. I'd volunteered to chaperone the annual 8th grade trip to Boston because this was one of the greatest classes of kids ever. I remember thinking back when they were 6th graders, "Shit - one day these kids are going to be 8th graders and they're going to graduate." And sadly, that day has come.

The trip was really great, despite torrential downpours and monsoon-like conditions for 2 out of the 3 days. We did Quincy Market, the USS Constitution and the Science Museum. One night, we saw a performance of Blue Man Group (it's some crazy-ass shit), and the next night we took a harbor dinner cruise (which felt a lot like being in a floating VFW post). On the last day we drove up to Salem and did the House of Seven Gables (zzzzz) and the Witch Dungeon (creepy).

The kids were so much fun. They never bitched about the rain, they just really enjoyed each others' company. And I loved seeing them "out of the element" - outside school. Being fourteen is such an awkward and exciting time. It was cute watching couples form throughout the trip - sitting boy/girl on the bus - and embarrassing them by doing periodic "hand checks".

Then there was after-hours at the hotel. As chaperones, we had to sit in the halls and make sure no one escaped to other rooms. Every few minutes a door would crack open and a head would peek out, see us out there and quickly close the door. And then there was the brilliant room of girls that actually used a mirror to scope things out.

I thought back to my high school band geek days and all the trips we took. And all the trouble we'd get in... Disconnecting the water to the staff cabin (this one time, at bandcamp) Stealing mini-liquor bottles of the airplane on the way to Florida. Locking one of the younger teachers in the bus bathroom at a rest stop en route to Virginia Beach (little did we know he was claustrophobic -- until his ass came smashing through the window). Yes, good times indeed...

With all these fond memories, it made it very hard for me to be a stern chaperone. After all, it's the naughty stuff that you remember, and what makes the trip fun. Hell, it's probably why I went into teaching in the first place!

So it was a great time. And I was able to get to know some of the other teachers too. We teachers tend to be a little clique-y amongst ourselves, so this was a good opportunity to step outside my little circle. And I liked it.

And I've rambled but have only gotten through Boston, and still have so much to say! But school is over on Tuesday and I have three months ahead of me with nothing on the agenda (aside from an assload of running). Perhaps I'll save some topics for those lazy, hazy days.

GODSPEED.

Leaving for Boston tomorrow morning.

Chaperoning the 8th grade trip for 3 days, 2 nights.

Yes, I volunteered.

No, I wasn't not drunk.

FIELD DAY 2006

Yesterday was Field Day at my school. For those of you unfamiliar with the occasion, Field Day is an annual event in which the student body is divided into 2 teams - in our case, Orange & Blue - and they compete against each other all day long in field events [hence "Field Day"]. It's the one day of the year when the gym teachers are running the show. They assign all of the teachers, in pairs, to oversee each event. We all hate it. It's kinda like doing community service.

When I got up in the morning and checked the weather, they were calling for heavy rain, and I assumed we'd have to cancel. Except that our two gym teachers are former Nazi soldiers. I was paired with PMcQ on a game called "Hidden Ball" [yes, innuendos did fly all day long]

It actually wasn't all bad. PMcQ had lawn chairs in her car and we decided to move the playing field over just enough so we could park our asses in the shade. The game kind of runs itself -- all we had to do was explain the rules before each round. Our 'rules' speech became more elaborate as the day passed, including such tidbits as: "Tagging is not tackling" and "Cheating is wrong. Remember, solid foundations of relationships are built on trust and communication." [confused, blank expressions]

It did finally rain at the end of the day, causing us to cancel the last round and move inside for the closing ceremony: 300+ sweaty, muddy, screaming, face-painted kids in the [un-air conditioned] gym. Mmmmm...

All in all, not a bad day. And afterwards, we teachers had our own Field Day. With cosmos.

IT'S HOT.

And it's also 1:00 AM. And I am laying here, not sleeping. Because of afore-mentioned hotness. I could put on the air conditioner, but I won't -- for two reasons:

1. I am ALWAYS cold. And when the weather finally started getting warm, I went on and on about how "I'll never use A/C... I just loooove warm weather... blah blah blah." Asshole.

But also because

2. I'm afraid there are creepy things that have been living in the A/C unit all winter and if I turn it on without cleaning it (or more likely, begging someone else to clean it for me) a swarm of said creepy things will blow out at me.

So instead, I am laying here, not sleeping.

So today was Memorial Day (I guess technically it was yesterday) and, as tradition dictates, I baked in the sun with about 65 of my kids at the town's ceremony. For a long long time. And through many many speeches. When it ended, I wanted to bolt the hell out of there as fast as I could. I was gathering up all the percussion stuff and loose music when the Superintendent of Schools came over to thank me for being there.

Normally I get a simple handshake, but perhaps the heat had affected his brain or maybe he was extra-grateful, because he leaned in to do the cordial 'fake-kiss-on-the-cheek'. At the exact moment when I happened to turn my head to yell at a kid. And so the Super got ear. And that was awkward as ass.

I stopped off at my friend D's BBQ for "one drink" -- which became four drinks. And lots of food. And I came home and I think I fell asleep by like 8:30. Which may explain why I am awake now. And my head hurts.

And it's fucking HOT.

TWO QUICK THINGS

1. Who's better than me? Who predicted this in March? Thank you.
No no -- you're too kind. Really.

- and -

2. As promised, and in reference to this, I proudly present: "Asian Nail Salon Buddha Shrine" [photo courtesy of HIM]


Apparently Buddha takes his coffee black. And, let's face it, even "The Awakened One" cannot resist the snacktastic, chewy goodness of a Rice Krispy Square. Mmmm...

TOP 10 REASONS WHY I LOVE HIM.

10. HE is absolutely brilliant in every area that appeals to me (linguistics, art, music, politics, religion, etc.) And HE is completely humble.

9. HE sat (with HIS laptop) waiting while I got a manicure.

8. HE snuck his digital camera into the Asian nail place - during above-mentioned manicure - to get a photo of the Starbucks offering at the Buddha shrine for my blog. [picture forthcoming]

7. When we're at my brother's house, HE spends the majority of the visit playing cars with Bean, or paying attention to their needy puppy.

6. Two words: "daily poems".

5. Instead of bringing me a boquet of flowers at my concert, HE gave me several packages of chocolate Twizzlers.

4. HE takes great pride in making HIS family's secret-recipe salad for gatherings, sometimes spending hours getting it just right.

3. Our last postcoital activity consisted of HIM trying to get HIS cellphone to "talk dirty" by punching in "7-8-9 ... 7-8-6-2" in Voice mode. We laughed way too hard over this.

2. HE gets me more than anyone ever has. Because of this, I am able to be myself. And HE STILL likes me.

1. HIS ass.

GRATUITOUS CUTE PHOTO: Bean & Co.

GEEZ.

You know a post isn't funny when your dead relatives give you shit about in your dreams.

Who knew there was internet access beyond the grave?

MARTHA STEWART'S GOT NOTHING ON ME.

I am doing a piece of music with one of my bands that calls for rainsticks. Real rainsticks are expensive. So I found a website (all hail the internet) that shows you how to make one out of mailing tubes and dried corn. I made the first one last week with the help of my good friend, P.McQ and her cute little spawn. I showed it to my kids the next day at school and they were actually impressed!

In case you've forgotten, middle school kids are highly apathetic and, even if they think something is really cool and interesting, they work very hard NOT to show it. But there were definitely a few sparks, and three kids have already brought in rainsticks they themselves made at home. So I'm gonna run with it, damn it.

Tonight I decided to make another one. I got really big mailing tubes this time and sat on my floor with my hammer, nails and a cup of tea. And I watched about an hour of this horrendous TV-movie about what life will be like when the Bird Flu hits us. What a grim depiction. We are so fucked. The scene where the dump truck drops a load of dead bodies (wrapped in sheets and duct tape) into a ditch was about all I could take.

Luckily, since I am becoming Martha Stewart, I plan to be quarantined on house arrest. So while all you suckers are coughing up your lungs, I'll be making sweet centerpieces out of IV bags, and brewing up pots of Cipro tea.

INTERESTING THEORIES RELATING TO DEJA VU

One of my favorite things to do during my classes is to get off-topic. Kids do say the darnedest things, and sometimes it's just a blast to let them go off. This is especially fun during my small group lessons, which generally consist of about 5 to 10 kids.

A few years ago, we got on the topic of deja vu. I remember one of my 8th grade boys said, "I once heard that deja vu is the soul's way of letting you know you're in exactly the right place at the right time." I sat there kinda stunned -- cause it struck me as being such a great theory. I've since shared that with many people, always crediting Ian (the afore-mentioned kid).

Ya know how when you're lying in bed (or, God forbid, driving your car ;) and you are just beginning to drift off to sleep? When your mind is still working, but suddenly your thoughts become extremely disjointed - and you kinda know you're not fully conscious? During this phase the other night, a thought occurred to me. And yes, it was among the disjointed thoughts so I don't think I was fully conscious. But here was the thought: perhaps it is during this semi-lucid state that our deja vu moments are born.

Do you get it? Like, you're having deja vu one day and you think, "I've been here before -- but when?" Well, perhaps it was during that semi-conscious state. Right? I dunno... it made perfect sense at the time. And no, I wasn't smoking anything prior to going to bed that evening.

THE "Mmm" HOUSE.

So I've registered for the Chicago Marathon. While crossing the finish line of the Rochester 1/2 last fall, my immediate thoughts were: "God, I'm tired" and "I'm thirsty". But after catching my breath and getting some beverage, I marveled at how well the race went, much better than I could have anticipated. So I decided - pretty much right there and then - that I'd like to try going the whole distance. From what I've read and been told, the first 13 miles of a marathon are relatively easy, it's the second 13 that kill you. I guess this is why I was able to make such a confident decision, having never ventured past that 13-mile mark. But I'm gonna give it a go. Hell, if P. Diddy can do it, why not me? I mean, we've got so much else in common and all.

Two weeks ago, I began a "pre-training" training program. The miles are pretty low right now, but the runs are more frequent and regimented. I need that. I need the chart on my refrigerator telling me which days to run and how far. Funny - the rest of my life is so very scattered - following no set course whatsoever. But this really seems to work for me. There's this nice little boost I get when I cross off each completed run. Like when I was little and got a "Good Job!" sticker on a quiz or something.

I have several routes of different mileage. This morning was 5 and I decided to take a route past this one house that ALWAYS has these great smells coming from it. Sure enough, they were frying up the bacon for Sunday morning breakfast. In the evenings, it always smells like pot roast or grilled burgers. There's something very comforting about this [very carnivorous] family: the idea that they probably take time out to have meals together, a somewhat foreign notion these days.

When I was little (Christ, here she goes, being that old fart again) I remember playing outside after school with this mob of neighborhood kids. We'd ride bikes in each others' yards until each house had its own muddy moat around it. Or play catch in the street. Or brutally mock whichever kid who's turn it was to be the outcast. Meanwhile, there was the warm aroma of dinners being cooked, wafting through windows. And somehere around 5:00, Moms would begin calling their kids home.

I guess that's what running past "The Mmmm House" reminds me of. Simpler times. Good times. Maybe that still happens and I just don't see it. In any case, it's a nice feeling - the memory. Also, having something happy to think about seems to make the miles go by faster.

FLOATING IDIOTS AND HAWAIIAN RODENTS.

Lying here, wishing I could've slept longer. Had a surprisingly tame - but great - night last night. Me & 4 of my girls celebrated "Bees L's" 30th birthday/Cinco de Mayo. I didn't get home and into my bed until after 2 AM due to much commotion in the city.

You know, the usual traffic, crowds, stops at various sex shops... Oh, and the detour I begged them to take past Lincoln Center so I could see that idiot, David Blaine, floating in his human fishtank ("Come on - it's not THAT far out of the way!") I don't know which is more bizarre: his stunt, or the fact that there were 500+ people lined up to see him at 1:00 AM. And wouldn't you know? The bastard was SLEEPING! I did, however, manage to get this fine photo of his foot.

So my plan was to sleep late. But 6:30 AM came and the birds began their grand opera outside my window. It's actually quite nice to lie here and listen to all the different songs (yes, I can get crunchy). But we also have an enormous colony of chipmunks who make this incessant, "chit chit chit chit chit..." - and all at the exact same time. How can one word [chit] mean so many things? Maybe it's like "Aloha" or "Shalom." Or "Smurf."

And also the neighbors next-door have FOUR children under the age of 8. Two are twin 5 year-old boys. And one of them is ALWAYS doing something wrong. And Dad ALWAYS catches him. Loudly. Louder than any chitmunk.

BUENOS CINCO DE MAYO!


Today we commemorate the victory of the Mexican militia over the French army at The Battle Of Puebla in 1862. It seems that we in the U.S. love to celebrate just about ANYONE kicking French ass, and what better way to do so than over a frosty pitcher of margaritas? I, for one, plan to do my part this evening at Burrito Loco in the Village. Let no man call me anti-American - er, I mean anti-Mexican...?

Today also happens to be a special day because it marks the birth of two of America's most influencial figures: Ann B. Davis and Tina Yothers.

So if you find yourself out and about this evening - shooting tequila and hating the French (ole!) - be sure to drink a very special toast to both Alice (80) and Jennifer Keaton (33).

PUBLIC APOLOGY TO MY FRIEND MIKE:

I'm sorry I called your concert an "aural assault". Had I known you read this blog I might've written my true opinion of the performance: that it was easily the finest display of talent by the largest group of child prodigies ever gathered in one room. I am hardly worthy to even ATTEMPT putting on my own school concert in 2 weeks (which, by the way, you better fucking be at).

I hang my head in shame.

Tonight HE and I endured a 90-minute aural assault.

My friend Mike, a first-year middle school music teacher, had his first Spring concert.

It was my first time in a long time as a "spectator."

It was also my last.

I AM TWO DEGREES FROM KEVIN BACON.

A few years back I was out with a couple of my gals, having dinner -- and lots of drinks. After dinner in one of our favorite hip towns, we went to this cool theatre we sometimes go to - it shows indie films. When we first got there, my friends went to the bathroom and I went in to get seats. I think it was a weeknight cause I remember there only being two other people in the theatre.

So I am sitting there - slightly inebriated - and the movie starts while they're both still in the bathroom. And something about the opening scene strikes me as eerily familiar: the town - the setting - the buildings... as if I'd been there before. And then I realize - much too slowly - IT'S MY TOWN! And I say aloud (to the other two people in the theatre) "Holy shit! That's MY town!!" It was all very surreal - especially with the drunk factor. When my friends finally came in, they shared my awe. And we spent most of the movie watching the background, seeing if perhaps I would go running by.

Not long after, I was at the movies again - this time I had gone to see "Mystic River" (I'm not sure if I was drunk or not - movies following dinners out usually come with a 50% chance of drunkenness. Alright - maybe more like 80%.) All of a sudden, it strikes me that one of Sean Penn's 'kids' looks remarkably like one of my students. Sure enough, there's her name in the closing credits! Naturally when I saw her in school the next day and said, "Guess what movie I saw this weekend?", she blushed and replied, "Mystic River?" Jeez! It turns out she'd been in quite a few movies. This one with Kevin Bacon - hence the title of the post.

That's twice with the weirdness. But wait --

Tonight I'm sitting there watching this odd indie film I borrowed from the public library (did you know you can get free DVDs at the library now?) Lo and behold, ANOTHER one of my students appears! WTF?!

I just hope that movie I starred in never falls into the wrong hands...