Remember When You Were Seventeen...

"Two Halves," My Morning Jacket

Heads or Tails and Fairytales in my Mind

"Are We the Waiting," Green Day

T-Minus 2 minutes until commencement of STAR Testing:
Me: Okay, so any questions? Yes, Adam?
Adam: Abraham won't stop calling me stupid! And he also said I'm a Satan worshipper!


Jackie (whispering): Ms. Murray? Tommy is high.
Me: How do you know?
Jackie: Well, his eyes are all red and blood-shot.
Me: Yeah, but--
Jackie: And I asked him and he told me.
(5 minutes later)
Me: Yes, Tommy?
Tommy: Can I get a drink of water?
Me: No. You need to finish your test.
Tommy: I did, man!
Me: ... I passed it out 9 minutes ago...? How on Earth are you done?
Tommy: I'm just...fast...but seriously, can I get some water?


Me: Do you need me to show you how many pages you're supposed to read each day? Okay...well, there's 11 days worth of reading. Somebody give me a number divisible by 11.
Nathan: 11.


Me: I posted the lit. assignment on schoolloop. Does anyone think they need a hard copy of it? (pause) Oh! Did you notice my indefinite pronoun error?
Greg: Yeah. Does anyone think HE needs a hard copy.
Me: Yes! Good! (pause) You know what? How about I give you extra credit when you notice if I make an indefinite pronoun error?
Hayden: HE!
Me: What?
Hayden: You messed up again! You said YOU! It should be HE!
Me: No. "You" is correct.
Justin (whispering to neighbor): I'm just going to periodically call out 'indefinite pronoun error!' and hope I'm right.

I Walk These Lines of Blasphemy

"What it is to Burn," Finch

It makes sense Tennessee Williams wrote A Streetcar Named Desire before Law and Order: Special Victims Unit was a television show. Had Williams seen an episode of SVU, perhaps he wouldn't have been so eager to depend on the kindness of strangers. As a newly avid viewer, everyone in real life is now a potential threat or perpetrator. The guy behind me at Vons? Nice cover up with the shaving cream, but I know what those Bic razors are really for. The overpowering stench near Tower 36 on Tamarack Beach? I no longer believe it comes from the nearby port-a-potty, but rather the decomposing body in the trunk of the parked Taurus at the curb. And the guy knocking at our front door pretending to sell magazines as part of a rehabilitation program? You don't fool me for a second, buddy. Your rap sheet's a mile long. Speaking of rap sheets, I am now somewhat well-versed in criminal and legal jargon (I even know what the acronym RAP stands for!) Affidavit? Got it. Injunction? Eminent Domain? Yup. Docket? Restitution? Subpoena? Habeas Corpus? You bet. Not impressed? In middle school I thought a "hung jury" was a group of jurors who had simultaneously killed themselves--I've come a long way. And yes, I realize how incredibly embarrassing, pathetic, and shameful it is, as the daughter of a lawyer, I was taught these terms through a television show.

These irrational and paranoid fears won't last, however. After I read Twilight, I searched the faces in my classes and at the grocery store for possible vampires for at least three weeks. Two years ago in Chicago, when I found out they were filming the street scenes for The Dark Knight while I was in town, Heath Ledger and Christian Bale were in the lobby of my hotel, in line at Dunkin Donuts, and guests at the wedding we were in town for.

But for now, I'll continue to look at my next-door neighbor with an accusatory eye. I'll wonder if the people walking their dogs in Poinsettia Park are actually tracking and recording the dialogues and actions of their next victims. And if I happen to be hired as the next editor for the latest edition of Streetcar, I will seriously consider changing the line to: "Whoever you are-- I have always depended on the kindness of those who I know very well and trust wholeheartedly."

That sound? Tennessee Williams rolling over in his grave.

My Own Epic Drama; My Own Scripted Page

"Rough Draft," Yellowcard

I overheard one of my students berating a sibling last week, and I started thinking about how easy it is to blame, criticize, judge, and condemn people we care about. Therefore, a tribute to my four siblings: biological or step, they're all certainly a part of my past, and will continue to affect and influence my future.

My brother Paul can be quiet, pensive, and brooding, but is also one of the wittiest and funniest people I know. He is passionate about music and can create melodies and lyrics encompassing teenage angst, loss and heartache, and life lessons with equal parts cynicism, honesty, and hope. While we were terrific at annoying each other growing up, he's one of my closest friends and knows me better than most.

My brother Chris is the most laid-back person I've ever met. He takes life as it comes, works hard, and plays harder. Chris doesn't let opportunities pass him by, and he finds adventures and takes risks wherever and whenever he can. As an avid surfer, skater, and snowboarder, his life and views are shaped by positive extremes.







My sister Brittany is observant, introspective, and strong. She can be indecisive, but only because she looks out for the best interests of others. She is brave and generous. She marches to the beat of her own distinct drum, which this year led her onto San Francisco State's rugby team. Brittany loves animals, treats everyone with respect, and has a heart of gold.







My sister Chelsea is the youngest, and she is wild, silly, strong-willed, and kind. She loves to laugh and entertain, and is my go-to source for all the latest rap music. She's a fantastic dancer, and teaches my mom all the latest moves. She has the perfect mix of generosity, tolerance, and rebelliousness. She has a great sense of humor and the unique ability to put up with the four of us as older siblings...

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds."
-Edward Abbey

Admit to the Truth...

"Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't," Brand New

Tim and I went to Panera for lunch on Sunday. I ordered the Fuji salad, and was settling into Gorgonzola heaven when I found a tiny green aphid-like creature amongst the leaves of Romaine. Because I apparently have no shame (is it shame I'd be lacking?), I simply plucked the sucker out, wiped him on my napkin, and proceeded to finish the meal. In a related story, two months ago a student brought me a sugar cookie from McDonald's. I left it at the side of my desk and promptly forgot about it; I didn't notice it again until after school as I was unabashedly avoiding grading Latin root tests and instead spending entirely too long wondering why colonel is spelled c-o-l-o-n-e-l, a question one of my students had posed minutes before the bell rang. I remember because I distinctly recall thinking, "I should know the answer to this, and I don't." In any case, I looked down on my desk to find the cookie covered with about 10-15 ants. With (maybe?) a split second hesitation, I picked it up, briskly wiped the ants hygienically onto the floor, and ate the cookie in about 3 bites. It was small; I was hungry.

I like to think of myself as a fairly clean person. Tim would, I'm sure, protest, but that doesn't really count because he puts "cleaning the apartment" in the same category as "going to Disneyland." Tim recently purchased a new vacuum, after making the comment: "Our old one just doesn't pick up as much as I'd like it to." (Sadly, my response to this was: "We own a vaccum?") He scoured websites and reviews with reckless abandon, and eventually brought home one of Costco's latest models.

Tim: Look what I got!
Me: Nice! You did the dishes earlier today, so I'll vacuum.
Tim: No way! This is my new toy. I get to use it first.

(I'm really, really not kidding; that conversation did actually take place).

I'm sure I should be more careful. One day I'm going to catch a disease from not washing my hands after touching a doorknob, and I'll regret that I didn't keep a little bottle of hand sanitizer in my back pocket. But until then, I'm going to hope for the best and continue to live daringly, even if an occasional insect stumbles across my lunch. And if I accidentally consume a little 6-legged treat, it's just arbitrarily adding a little bit of protein to the meal...


Yeah. It looked like that.

As a completed unrelated sidenote, I am so incredibly excited for October 16th and the release of Where the Wild Things Are:

http://www.mamapop.com/mamapop/2009/03/where-the-wild.html

I'll Miss the Playgrounds and the Animals and Digging up Worms

"Time to Pretend," MGMT

Last weekend, I got walking strep-throat (yes, just like walking pneumonia). No, it was not medically diagnosed, nor does it even exist on WebMD, but I'm certain that's what it is. I worked all week (the constant reading out loud did NOT help the situation) and felt like hell, but didn't think it was worth it to spend 3 hours writing lesson plans and hoping everything would go well with a substitute. I came home from school on Friday and crashed on the couch, People magazine in hand, and didn't move until I dragged myself into bed a few hours and bad TV re-runs later. Tim left Friday night to go on an overnight fishing trip to San Clemente Island on our neighbor's boat, The Horizon, out of San Diego Harbor.






Saturday morning I woke up still feeling sick, but I was determined to get through as much grading as possible. However, USA was having a Law and Order: SVU marathon, so of course that trumped analyzing thesis statements and underlining inaccurate evidence. I had never seen the show before, but that didn't stop me from becoming completely and unnecessarily immersed in the world of Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson, the two fictional New York detectives on-hand for any sexually-charged crime or offense NBC can stir up. It was the perfect sick day: 4 cups of weak coffee, a comfortable couch, and a bad but nevertheless engrossing TV show that didn't stop (seriously, I kept telling myself I would only watch one more episode, and then another would start, and no one could explain why the woman was found dead in the park, and...). Tim got home, exhausted, around 11 after a successful outing, and watched the last 30 minutes of the final episode with me. Most of the time, the scripts are entirely predictable and mediocre at best; Tim was able to call the shots before the detectives were. However, he didn't say a single negative word about it; he must have been silently thanking the powers that be I wasn't watching Lifetime.

Today, we took Bailey to the vet and, 300 dollars later, left with 2 antibiotic prescriptions, an ear collar, fish oil pellets, and a shaved and freaked out dog. Apparently, he is allergic to fleas, thus prompting his frequent itching, scratching, and hot spots. And then, our computer crashed, and now the geek squad at Fry's is doing what they do best, but have also told us the computer is finished and they may or may not be able to retrieve the files. And of course, they had all kinds of great questions to help us understand that, yes, this was a long time coming and, basically, we're idiots: Why didn't we back-up pictures and files using an external hard drive? Why did I leave iTunes open all night so the memory virtually fried? Why are we still using an IBM ThinkPad, which came out on the market about the same time as a record player?

And I haven't even done my freakin' taxes yet!

Sometimes it's hard to be a grown-up. I remember being 9 years old, FURIOUS my parents wouldn't let me stay up until 9:30 to watch Doogie Howser, M.D., and SWEARING I would let my own kids watch Doogie Howser when they were 9. My biggest problems consisted of deciding which Littlest Pet Shop toy I would buy with my week's allowance, figuring out how I would give my steamed carrots to the dog without Mom noticing, and getting to sit on the blue couch instead of the itchy, tan one while Paul and I watched Are You Afraid of the Dark? on Saturday nights. John Mayer sings,

"...and most my memories
have escaped me
or confused themselves with dreams
if heaven's all we want it to be
send your prayers to me
care of 1983..."

But that feeling is fleeting, and I know it. I'm overwhelmed, and tired, and ready for spring break. Because above it all, I'm happy, and fulfilled, and grateful. And I agree with my pal Jimmy Buffett:

"Oh, yesterday's over my shoulder
So I can't look back for too long
There's just too much to see waiting in front of me
And I know that I just can't go wrong"
"Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes"

And besides, I act like a kid about half the time anyway...

Piratical Nerve and a Vaudevillian Style

"School Boy Heart," Jimmy Buffett

1) We are semi-infatuated with the Travel Channel's "Mark and Olly: Living with the Machigenga," a show that documents two English men trying to assimilate into the isolated Peruvian tribal culture. Tune in to watch grown men ferment alcohol with their own spit, prove their manhood through demonstrating the ability to catch a frog, and eat monkey hands; hair, bones, fingernails, and all.

2) We tried to nurse an injured bird back to life last week. We found the bird on the side of the road, made a defunct habitat out of an animal crackers barrel from Costco, purchased trail mix (for the seeds) and an eyedropper, and were 3 minutes from home when we realized he had died. Tim buried him in the front yard and I cried for thirty minutes.

3) There are mice and rats in my building at school. I came into my classroom last Monday and found five visibly placed mouse traps in various corners of my room. Each morning I am terrified I will walk into my room and find a helplessly stuck or brutally murdered little mouse inside one of the traps, but so far the critters have outsmarted these devices. I did, however, catch one with my bare hands last week in the hallway, and set him free outside. Really.

4) I eat Kellogg's Special K Fruit and Yogurt cereal for breakfast most mornings, and have found that while the production company/FDA/ridiculously-small-people-of-America committee have decided one box should last 11 servings, I am finished after 4 bowls.

5) There was a huge lizard in my classroom last week. It was sitting, dumbstruck, on a pile of papers; panting desperately and eyes silenting screaming. In fear and protest and retaliation, it had dropped its tail somewhere along the way. One of my students informed me it had crawled out of another one of my student's purses. We checked her purse for the bloodied stump, but to no avail.

6) When John Lennon was killed, his murderer had a copy of The Catcher in the Rye on his person. While I realize that's certainly a morbid thought, I do understand the pure power, pull, wonder, and appreciation a book can offer. The first time I read A Prayer for Owen Meany, I was certain John Irving was my long-lost soulmate from another life; by the time I finished Cat's Cradle, I had already decided to name my next pet Jonah. Catch-22 made me laugh out loud and helped me appreciate the lunacy and hilarity of satire, and The Time Traveler's Wife simply made me want to be a writer. In a completely dissimilar vein, we are reading Jane Eyre in my sophomore honors class, and the process is not unlike getting a filling at the dentist.

As Kurt Vonnegut would say, so it goes.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
-Bob Dylan