Obama-nate

Here's the transcript of a recent [frightening] conversation with a student:

STUDENT: what does "abominate" mean?

ME: basically it means "to hate"

STUDENT: oh, good, that's easy to remember. I hate Obama, so "Obama-nate." [chuckles and congratulates self for cleverness]

ME: why do you hate Obama?

STUDENT: well, first of all, he's not even black.

ME: [thoughts: !!!!!!!????] Huh?

STUDENT: he's Muslim.

ME: um. . . o. . . kay?

STUDENT: and you know the Muslims' whole goal is to take over America.

ME: all the Muslims?

STUDENT: see, I knew it -- you like Obama, don't you?

Friendly Conversation

Haven't posted in a LONG time, so I'll ease back in with this riveting conversation I overheard while dining at Friendly's the other day:

[special note: these girls were NOT being sarcastic]

GIRL 1: So I'm on my way out the door this morning -- late of course -- and he decides he wants to "talk." [actual air quotes were visible] I mean, every time I want to talk, he's too busy watching the game or whatever, but when I'm in a hurry, then he wants to talk. [huffs loudly]

GIRL 2: Jesus.

1: I know, right?

2: So what was the big deal?

1: Oh, get this: he says he wants to talk about my drinking. Says he really wishes I'd quit drinking.

2: You mean totally? Like, NEVER drink?

1: That's what I said! I'm like, "Dude, you've GOT to be kidding me. Practically the only time I'm happy is when I'm wasted." [is it me, or should this have been a sign to her?] So he's like, "Well, why can't we have fun without drinking? I mean, you know I don't drink -- can't you at least quit drinking when you're with me?"

2: Psshh -- as IF!

1: I know, right? So I'm like, "Well, you know I DO drink, so can't you just START drinking when you're around ME?"

2: omg [these letters were her actual words], what did he say?

1: Huh! This is the best part! He's like, "C'mon, Baby, you know I'm an alcoholic!" [laughs uncontrollably] I mean, can you beLIEVE this guy? Could he BE more selfish?

2: Jesus, Lisa, when're you gonna drop his ass?

Open Letter

The following is one of those hilarious-because-it's-sadly-true things that I just had to share. Borrowed from McSweeney's:

AN OPEN LETTER
TO MY ABANDONED
MA ENGLISH DEGREE.

June 11, 2010

- - - -

Dear Abandoned MA English Degree,

We could've been big, MA English Degree. God damn huge! Working together, our forces finally combined with BA English Degree to form that ancient tripartite power of analysis, critical thinking, and original content. We could have taken the world by storm. There was no shortage to where we could have gone: non-paying internships at publishing houses, a PhD program, the list... well, the list kind of peters out there, but man, what we could've done in either of those, it would've really set the world aflame! But alas, here is where we must part ways. Two semesters into our supposed two year relationship I must take my leave from you.

Ah, just thinking about all we've done together, and all we could've done, makes me get a little misty eyed. We had grand plans. Together we were going to finally shed light on the latent homosexuality running through the short stories of Flannery O'Connor. And our thoughts on why the Harlem Renaissance was actually BAD for African Americans... man, that really would've zinged 'em!

But these are ideas for another time, another student who comes to you full of piss and vinegar and a new way to read the great works (was Shakespeare really a woman?! Now, the world may never know...) But it won't, nay, it can't be me, not anymore. I've finally realized that I can no longer change my life or myself for you. You see, MA English Degree, I want a real job, one that lets me wake up and go to sleep at a reasonable hour, gives me health insurance and grants at least the possibility of future employment. No longer can I pretend that I'm satisfied with what you offer. You try to seduce me into staying, offering teaching assistant jobs with possible adjunct professorships to follow. Perhaps, you say, I can publish my original short story in the campus lit magazine or sit in on a creative writing class, even though I'm not an MFA student? It's tempting, but no, I must stay strong. Don't make this any harder than it is.

Will I regret abandoning you? After all, we were so close to finishing. How does the old song go... "Didn't we almost have it all?" Yes, MA English Degree. We almost did. And perhaps, thirty, forty years from now, when I'm in the twilight of my life, I will look back and feel a sadness in our unfinished business. Standing in the door of my English classroom as the high school English teacher I will inevitably become, I'll wonder what life could have had in store for us. Giving papers at academic conferences in South Dakota? Uprooting my family and relocating for a job at a small community college in Ohio? Maybe even a book, something with a ridiculously long title and a colon or a semicolon thrown in, like Home Sweet Home: Domestic Violence in the Early 20th Century and its Affect on Children's Literature; Looking at the Adolescence of Young Girls in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn and To Kill A Mockingbird, published at a university press? Who knows the wonders you could've opened up to me. Like the genie (who, as you've taught me, is actually a metaphor for the oppression of the mystical practices of various indigenous tribes in the Middle East) you could have granted me riches beyond my wildest imagination. But I'll never know for sure.

So it is, with a slightly heavy heart, that I abandon you, MA English Degree. It's not as callous as you might think. I don't regret our time together. And whenever I read a book, I will think fondly of how you taught me to stop at every word and wonder, what does that mean? But I cannot care for you anymore, not in the way you want, the way you need. I'm sorry MA English Degree. I do hope you find someone else, someone who can give you the time, patience, and obtuse thinking you so desire.

Best wishes,
Liz Skoski

Highest Rank

Tonight was the first time I've ever been the highest rank in a Taekwondo class. I've been second highest before, but never highest. For those who don't know, the highest rank lines up first (furthest to the right) in the first row and is responsible for saying the necessary words to bow everyone in and begin and end class. This involves knowing (and in my case remembering) some key Korean words/phrases: cha-ryuht (attention); geuk gi hyang kyung-nae (bow to the flags); sabumnim kyung-nae (bow to the Master); kahm sa hamnida (thank you).

More than the words, though, being the highest rank comes with a responsibility I didn't anticipate. Everyone is looking to you for an example of, well...everything. How to pronounce the words, how to behave while Master White is speaking or instructing, how to move your body in the right way. I realized as we were warming up, and I was going through the same warm up exercises I have done for three years now, that the white belts at the back of the room only know me as a black belt. They didn't see me progress; they weren't there while I struggled at the back of the room, trying to figure out how to turn my hips so I could execute a good round kick. They only know me as the highest rank, one who's supposed to be experienced and polished. And while I'm sure they don't expect me to be perfect (or maybe they do -- did I expect the black belts to know everything back then?), they certainly look to me as an example of how to do things properly.

When I think about it like that, it all seems pretty crazy -- I mean, I'm no expert. I may be a black belt, and sure it took lots of training and hard work to get there, but I have so much to learn. Becoming a black belt is really just the beginning. I hardly feel capable of teaching, and yet, here I am doing exactly that. And people are calling me "Ma'am," and that's weird too.

Theoretically, none of this affects my performance. I still give 100%. But somehow that 100% seems more focused, more aware of details in my stances and kicks, and less willing to slack off when things get tough. At the end of class, as we bow out, we all say kahm sa hamnida to each other (Master White included). We say "thank you" for teaching us, and he says "thank you" for being my students. And now I know why.

The Better Mouse Trap

Lately I've realized I have a mouse problem in my house. Oddly enough, real mice are not as cute as they seem in nursery rhymes. I have two traps for them, and so far I've caught a mouse a day (does that have the same effect as an apple a day?). Luckily for me, Indy has been willing to help.

Each morning we have a ritual: I check the traps, usually find a long, rigid tail sticking out above two petrified little feet, and I pick up the trap and head outside to release the carcass. Indy follows, more than willing to help me find a good dumping spot. The trick is, I have to throw the mouse over our fence far enough that Indy can't retrieve it and adopt it as her new toy -- like any healthy dog, she has quite the taste for the delicacy of rodent carcass (and bird carcass and fish carcass and...you get the picture).

On Monday of this week, I failed. I threw the mouse over the fence and headed back inside, quickly realizing Indy was not with me. I looked back just in time to catch Indy rooting her nose under the fence just far enough to snatch the tail and rescue the dead rodent. She then pranced around the yard with the limp body in her mouth, looking at me as if to say, "Mom, look at my new bitch!" Then she broke into a run -- a zoom, actually -- in repeated ovals around the tree in the center of the yard, stopping only briefly to give the mouse a good wrenching back and forth. Eventually she gently dropped the dead body in the hole she's been digging in the yard, preparing to give it a proper burial (and not, I'm sure, planning to dig it up again later), at which point I ran over to that spot and guarded the mouse while yelling at Indy to stay away. This upset her greatly, and she barked back at me like any good teenager.

Then I realized the difficulty of my new mission: somehow guard the mouse from Indy, while simultaneously corralling Indy back into the house and discovering a way of picking the mouse up and throwing it back over the fence without touching it. In the end I used two sticks to pick up the carcass chop-stick style (which was difficult, as I can't even use real chop sticks), chased Indy back into the house, and shut the door so she couldn't see the mouse's final resting place (far into the woods on the other side of our fence).

Looking forward to tomorrow morning.

I Heart Vermont

On my recent trip to Georgia, I was once again reminded of the vast differences between the North and the South. I really think we should give some more thought to this whole secession thing -- we're already like two different countries. But, while I do love my family and friends in the South, this trip only cemented in my mind how much I love and appreciate Burlington and Vermont in general. So I thought I'd post a top ten list of things I love about Vermont.

Top Ten Things I Love About Burlington/Vermont: (not in order)

1. Great breakfast places: Sadie Katz, Penny Cluse, Magnolia's, Mirabelle's

2. Outdoor life -- the fact that you can walk, bike, ski, etc. to anywhere you want/need to go, besides the fact of just doing that stuff for fun

3. Shiny Happy People -- the most open, accepting, fun, spirited, socially conscious people I've met in any place I've ever lived; this is a place where truly anything goes

4. Lake Champlain and the Mountains

5. Size -- a big enough city to have culture and stuff to do, with a small-town feel, without much of the drama of a true small town

6. Photo opps!

7. Seasons -- four full, beautiful seasons (okay, Spring a.k.a. "mud season"...not so great; and yes, the Winter is long, gray, and cold; but both of those inconveniences are totally worth it for Summer and Fall!)

8. Green in so many ways -- landscape, ecology, attitude, education...

9. Blue Wave Taekwondo (so this one doesn't apply to everyone, but it's definitely on my list)

10. Maple Everything! yum...

Ode to the Girls

In honor of Rue McClanahan (who died yesterday), Bea Arthur and Estelle Getty (who have apparently already died, and I didn't realize it! :'-( ), and Betty White (who is, thankfully, still very much alive), I must write a tribute to my beloved Golden Girls. I have the entire series on DVD, and I have gone to them for comfort many times over through the years. Last night I had some cheesecake in their honor.

So here are my Top 5 Favorite Golden Girls Episodes (and my favorite quotes from each):

1. "The Way We Met"
[Dorothy and Rose are arguing over who gets the better room after Blanche promised it to
both of them; they flip a coin and Rose wins]
Rose: I'll make it up to you, Dorothy. I promise. Listen, if there's ever a night where you
can't sleep, I'll come to your room and sing "Kumbaya."
Dorothy: Oh, Rose, I don't know what to say. . . . Yes I do. Don't ever do that.

2. "My Brother, My Father"
[Sophia's brother/Dorothy's uncle Angelo, who's a priest, is visiting from Italy; Dorothy and
Stan are pretending to still be married; Rose and Blanche, who are acting in a local
production of The Sound of Music, enter dressed as nuns]
Rose: Hi, I'm Sister Rose
Blanche: And I'm Sister Blanche. We're, uh...
[looks at bra and panties in her hands]
Blanche: ...collecting lingerie for. . . needy sexy people.

3. "Valentine's Day"
[The girls reminisce about Valentine's Days past; in one memory, they're going on a cruise
with their boyfriends, and they're shopping to prepare]
Blanche: We are giong away on a romantic cruise to the Bahamas with Jeff and Rich and
Randy. In this day and age it might be a good idea to take along some protection.
Rose: What kind of protection?
Dorothy: Two armed Pinkerton guards! No, Blanche is talking about...
[drawing Rose's attention to items on a nearby shelf]
Rose: A Nestle's Crunch?
Dorothy: One over.
Rose: An enema bag?
Dorothy: To the right.
Rose: Dentu-Grip?
Dorothy: Condoms, Rose! Condoms! Condoms! Condoms!
Drug Store Clerk: Hey, take it easy lady! You just get out of prison?

4. "Isn't It Romantic?"
[Dorothy's friend Jean develops a crush on Rose]
Sophia: Jean thinks she's in love with Rose.
Blanche: Rose? Jean has the hots for Rose? I don't believe it! I do not believe it!
Dorothy: I was pretty surprised myself.
Blanche: Well, I bet! To think Jean would prefer Rose over me, now that's ridiculous!

5. "Sophia's Choice"
[Sophia's upset over the treatment of her friend in a nursing home; meanwhile, Blanche
decides to use her bonus to get breast implants]
Sophia: Why do we let things like this happen? Why can't we take care of our elderly like
they do in Japan? Why are there 17 sets of hooters on the coffee table?!
Blanche: Oh, those are mine, Sophia.
Sophia: Oh, well let me put on my big "surprise face"!


Thank you all for being friends, girls.

Who Makes These Lists?

A few years back, the Modern Library published their list of the Top 100 Best Novels -- a board's list and a reader's list. And so, being the list lover (and book lover) that I am, I immediately set out to find out how many of those I had read, and then subsequently vowed to fill in the gaps on both lists. Then I got to James Joyce's Ulysses (which is #1 on the board's list and #11 on the reader's list), and I decided these kinds of self-imposed challenges are silly.

Then recently I was looking for something good to read, so I thought, hey, why not recommit myself to this quest? So I made a list of all the books I've already read and those I'd need to read to complete both the board's and the reader's lists.

I saw Ulysses again, I vowed to power through it this time. Then I saw Finnegan's Wake, another Joycean masterwork. The inclusion of this book on the list makes me seriously question the lives and minds of the listmakers. For those who aren't familiar with this title, let me quote a paragraph from the first page of the novel (which, by the way is often cited as "comic fiction"):


The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-
nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later
on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the
offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan,
erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends
an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes:
and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park
where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since dev-
linsfirst loved livvy.

Really??! I have a very difficult time believing enough people have read this to warrant a place on the Top 100!

I've decided I'm ok with my incomplete list.

Lost and Found

For six years, I have been a devoted follower of Lost. I've watched it by myself, with friends, with my Mom (I consider getting her hooked a big achievement!); I've pondered it, discussed it, written about it -- even presented on it at a national conference (Popular Culture Association). And now that it's over I find myself...well, lost...in a way. Not necessarily because I have all this free time and no show to watch (because, believe me, I have plenty), but moreso because of the things I've observed about humanity revolving around this show.

Through the years, I've endured lots of ridicule and harrassment from "non-believers," who say, "It's just a tv show -- what's the big deal?", implying that only an imbecile would get so wrapped up in a tv show that it would affect her world. I've encountered all kinds of reactions to it -- people love it, hate it, claim they "can't be bothered" by it (as they sit down religiously each week to watch it). What I've noticed is that, by and large, admitting to being devoted (as I have just done) and discussing it as though the characters were real makes you at best uncool and at worst emotionally disturbed and unstable. I gather that the "cool" attitude would be to either not watch it at all (because you're too busy, have more important things to do, or are categorically against television), or to watch it but maintain a disaffected, take-it-or-leave-it attitude about it. What's cool about apathy? What's wrong with admitting you like something? What's wrong with admitting that fictional characters and their situations affect our lives, and that that doesn't make us childish or crazy?

I've also encountered people who love to deconstruct the show and expose all its anachronisms and "unrealistic" situations. I suppose if you can pick a show apart and destroy its logic, you can use that as an excuse for watching it religiously? Maybe it makes them feel somehow "smarter" or less vulnerable -- like they haven't been fooled by the show's writers or whatever.

The truth is, our lives revolve around stories. Everyone has a story. Stories feed us and fulfill us, whether they're true or not. So of course we're drawn to complicated, interwoven plots and characters we can identify with. Of course those characters' stories affect us. I think all of this "covering" is just people being afraid to admit how deeply these stories do run. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not suggesting that everyone around the world secretly loves Lost, even if they say they don't -- I'm simply saying that television (and movies, and books, and any form of narrative) directly affects who we are. And admitting that means opening yourself up to participate in a conversation that you're already a part of.

One of my ex-students emailed me today and said, "I can't believe Lost is over. I really can't believe that when it started I was reading Lord of the Flies in your tenth grade class, and now I'm applying for grad school!" That made me think: because of Lost, I've made some lifelong friends, I've had some highly philosophical discussions that have changed the way I saw the world, and I've grown as a person. The show's life has seen me through a very momentous time in my own life -- I have fully engaged with its stories, and those stories have helped me understand myself. And no matter the content of the show (I wasn't particularly thrilled with the ending), I am a richer person for having watched it.

When Does "Free" Become a Burden?

I like Craig's List. Really. I think it's one of the greatest things to come out of this Internet thing. And I especially like that people use the "free" category to pass on their hoardes of stuff that might be useful to someone else. Canned cat food, pvc pipe, frames without glass, stained mattresses, lawn gnomes (last year's model). These are just a few of the items listed today in Burlington's free section.

But here's where I draw the line: Diaphragm, only used once. First come, first served.

No, I am not making this up.

When Things Fall Into Place

Lately I've been thinking a lot about how the universe works, and about the Law of Attraction. Despite what I know about how you have to give off light to attract it, it's always a struggle for me. I have to keep reminding myself to think positively, and I constantly catch myself slipping back into "woe is me" sort of negative thoughts.

Today I had a sort of epiphany: everyone struggles with this same concept. I don't think maintaining a regiment of positive thought is easy for anyone. And in the end it's our intention that matters, moreso than our actual output. I was getting overwhelmed with anxiety that I was sending out negative energy into the world, despite my best efforts at avoiding that, to the point where I had become afraid to feel "bad." But I realized that 1)it's ok to feel bad sometimes, and 2)feeling bad doesn't automatically mean bad things will happen to you -- it's your intention and your reaction that matter. Allowing yourself the space to feel whatever you're feeling is an important step in getting yourself to the point where you can see the positive and reflect that positivity back to the universe. You can't have the yin without the yang, and vice versa.

Recently some key aspects of my life have clicked into place. Without really much searching, I found a very sweet housing situation -- one which met all of the criteria I had laid out for my "perfect house" -- including cost. And now, it seems, the same can be said of my job situation. I can't say it's happened without much searching -- or anxiety and doom, for that matter -- but I can say that I'm entering one of those moments when I'm seeing first-hand that things happen for a reason. The universe puts you where you need to be until everything falls into place and you're ready to "move."

So this weekend I'll be doing a lot of moving, in many senses of the word.

Homemade Mother's Day

Student A: What's that? [points to the card in Student B's hand]

Student B: Mother's Day card. I made it in Graphic Design.

Student A: Who'd you make it for?

Student B: Who do you make your Mother's Day cards for, your girlfriend?

White Madness

So I'm driving back home from visiting the folks in New Hampshire yesterday, and when the rain started about forty minutes outside Montpelier, I thought, well this sucks, but at least it was beautiful all weekend. I try to be an optimist.

Then I got about ten minutes outside Montpelier and that rain turned to snow, and I thought, It's April 27th..........................

WTF????

This is ridiculous!!!

See how quickly that optimism can disappear?

I tried my best to "enjoy" this freakish weather by taking some pictures, which worked temporarily. Then I got up this morning to a perfect ground covering of (what did they say on the radio?...SIX INCHES?!).

Come on, Vermont. There's a reason the song isn't "I'm Dreaming of a White Mother's Day."

Play Date

When I drove out to my friends Sally and Cindy's house last weekend, I actually wasn't sure I was going to make it.  They had warned me that it would be best to park at "The Shed" and walk in to the house, and then they'd called me again and said I should just park at "the bottom of the hill" and they'd come get me, since there had been some rain and the road was "a little rough."  But I quickly realized I hadn't fully grasped the big picture.  I arrived at "the bottom of the hill" and sat, car idling, gazing up at the long and winding mud ditch otherwise known as Ridge Rd., where they live.  I looked up and saw them waiting at the top of the hill, so I decided this wasn't the place they had said to stop, even though I was unsure of my Toyota Corolla's ability to brave the elements, no matter how good the front-wheel drive was.  When I finally got to where they were parked, they said, "We didn't know [the neighbor] had fixed it!"  Uh-huh -- fixed.  Right.  We then parked at The Shed and proceeded on the "short walk" -- a fifteen minute hike -- to their house.  I briefly thought, maybe I should've brought more gear.

It turned out to be a fabulously great time, though, and I was fascinated by their house -- which Sally designed and built from the ground up, with her actual hands.  And I loved meeting their chickens and goats, particularly Gus, who was aptly described as a "lap goat."

  The best part of the night, though, was the four straight hours Sally and I spent playing music -- she on guitar and me on drums -- with Cindy jamming away in the background.  Adult play date!

East Middlebury Falls

Last Saturday was a beautiful day, so Indy and I drove out to the falls near the Green Mountain National Forest, just outside Middlebury, VT -- a favorite spot of ours.  These are some shots from that day.  On the left is a really cool piece of wood I found -- every time I look at I see a lamb, but that's just the way it naturally was (not carved or anything).

Indy was mostly occupied with trying to teach the water a lesson -- it was not cooperating with her when she tried to take a drink, so there was much barking and pouncing, which of course led to getting wet, swimming, and then shaking herself dry at my expense.  A good time was had by all I'd say.

Things You Learn Through Experience

Sometimes Life gives you lemons and then cackles hysterically as it screams, "We're out of sugar, so good luck with the lemonade!"

Note on Blogger's Facilitation of Graphic Design Creativity

It's really frustrating to try to fix a post layout the way you want in Blogger.  (see previous post)

Fire and Ice

Helen and I seem to gravitate toward sunsets.  OK, so maybe I gravitate toward sunsets all by myself.  Either way, I find myself taking lots of pictures of them lately, an activity which satisfies me on several levels.  I mean, there's my obvious love (ok, let's say obsession) with sunsets; then there's my love of photography (which seems to be growing now that I have a partner in crime); and then there's just something about spending a lot of time watching nature in action -- sunrise, sunset and all that.  Of course I generally miss the sunrise part, but you can't have it all.  It just seems like I can be having the worst day imaginable, and but then I take a minute -- or an hour or two -- to watch the sunset, and my mind clears.  Nature breathes for me.

When we came upon the beach at Oakledge,

we were greeted by these ice formations.  We both took scads of pictures of them -

- they fascinated me to no end, and I tried desperately (as I often do) to capture the real beauty in my photographs, but this is as close as I could come.

One time I took a photography class, and the teacher, who was basically worthless for most other things, gave us one piece of advice that has been 

indispensable in helping me catch some of my most awesome shots.  He said, "Whenever you're in awe over a breathtaking scene, and you're clicking your shutter as fast as your camera will let you, turn around.  Usually the most incredible stuff is behind 

you."  After I'd taken about a hundred shots of ice sculptures and sunsets,

I turned around, and this is what I saw.

Sunset Over St. Albans

Some pictures from sunset on the waterfront at St. Albans, Vermont.

I'm Lovin' It

Today I discovered another reason not to eat at McDonald's that has nothing to do with how unhealthy it is. OK, maybe a little to do with health.

I sauntered up to the counter and ordered a Crispy Chicken Ranch BLT with cheese, to which the register girl said, "I'm confused." I was confused too -- I wasn't sure how to break it down any further than that, especially since my order was taken directly from the large neon menus above my head.

I tried again: "I'd like a Ranch BLT with crispy chicken, and I'd like to add cheese to that."

"I definitely don't know what you're asking," she said. Well, at least she was definite about something.

Oddly enough, the food came to me exactly as I had envisioned it would, despite her unresolved confusion. And here's the part where I once again thought (as I have MANY times before) I have to stop eating at McDonald's. The box in which the sandwich was nestled bore a warning: Product may contain chicken and/or bacon. There are two things that worry me about this statement:

a) The existence of the warning in the first place. Picture it: you have asked for and purchased a sandwich bearing the name "Crispy Chicken Ranch BLT." Because you have spent a significant amount of time frequenting fast food joints and grills across America, you recognize that the acronym "BLT" stands for "Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato." Unlike many of life's messy experiences, this order presents a very predictable, black-and-white situation for you. Then you open up your sandwich and, to your utter surprise, the sandwhich is filled with -- what? -- chicken and bacon! But wait -- they didn't warn you -- and you're allergic to chicken and bacon -- how could you have known? Oh, the humanity.

b) The words "may" and "and/or." As explained in the above statement, when I order a sandwich with both chicken and bacon in the name, I do not expect it to be a game of Russian Roulette. I don't expect to have to consider the odds. I pretty much expect -- demand, even -- that my "product" does contain both chicken and bacon. But then again, I'm told I'm "high maintenance."

For Loser Wannabes

I wanted to give a shout out to a great book I've just finished reading: Secrets of a Former Fat Girl, by Lisa Delaney. If you've struggled with weight -- not just the physical aspects of trying to take off the pounds or dealing with life as a person of more-than-average size, but the mental hurdles of the Fat Girl psyche -- then this book is most definitely a must read. Delaney names and elaborates on seven secrets that address all the things that so often plague us Fat Girls, and her advice is practical yet also light-hearted and witty. I swear she's been spying on me for the last thirty years.


I give it 5 Caramel Sundaes (eaten stealthily, alone in your car of course)!

Link to the Future

Inspired by Helen's recent post, I have decided to finally announce my engagement. This is a picture of my soon-to-be husband. Please don't be jealous -- it took me a lifetime to find my true love.

The Care and Feeding of Teenagers

The following is a transcript of a real-life encounter with a teenager (the names have been changed to protect the guilty):

I look up from my desk when I see a football shoot across the classroom out of the corner of my eye.

ME: Chester, what are you doing? [sheepish shrug from Chester] OK, I didn't really think this is something I'd ever have to say, but please don't throw your football across the room.

CHESTER: Sorry.

I go back to my work. 30 seconds pass. I look up again when I see another type of ball shoot across the classroom out of the corner of my eye.

ME: Chester!

CHESTER: What??!! I'm not throwing a football!

ME: [flashing Chester a gimme-a-break scowl] Let me be more specific: please do not throw any kind of ball across the room.

I go back to my work. 30 seconds pass. I look up again when I see a ball of several wadded up sheets of notebook paper fly across the room and hit another student in the head, which elicits peels of laughter from the entire class.

ME: OK, let me be VERY SPECIFIC: please do not throw ANY OBJECT, ANY DISTANCE, within a 50 mile radius of me, until the END OF TIME!

CHESTER: Sorry.

I pretend to go back to my work, but really I keep a sharp eye on Chester and company. Five minutes pass. All seems well. I go back to my work. I look up to check again just as Chester completes a beautifully spiraling hail mary pass to Paul, the student he previously hit in the head with the wadded paper.

ME: [getting up and walking over to Chester's seat with my hand held out] Alright, that's it. Give me the football.

CHESTER: [hurriedly stuffing said football in his backpack] No -- I'm good. I'm good, I'm good, I promise, I'm good.

ME: I didn't ask you how you were doing. I said give me the football.

CHESTER: No seriously -- I'm good. It's gone. Won't happen again.

ME: Give me the football.

CHESTER: I'm putting it away.

ME: No, you're putting it in my hand. Now!

CHESTER: Fine. [licks the football] Still want it?

ME: Yes I do. Because I can wash my hands, while you, on the other hand, have just licked a football.

Class erupts into laughter; I take football. Game, set, match.

Give Paws a Chance

Recently I've been looking for an apartment. Yes, after three years of living on the third floor (what used to be the attic) of what used to be a very nice Victorian home but what is now best described as Pothouse Central for Responsibility Challenged Fortysomethings, I have finally decided I've had enough. I need more space. I need less stairs. I need to be able to walk into my home without getting high from second-hand cannabis fumes. This seems like a reasonable request to me.



But apparently reasonable does not translate into easily doable. So many nice place, the majority of which specify, usually in bolded, all-caps letters, NO DOGS! That brings me to my current frustration: what do you people have against dogs?? Dogs are friendly -- they're lovers, not fighters. The worst they can do is lick you to death.



Okay, so not all dogs are like that. But mine is! Indy is sweet and playful and harmless. Granted, she may get a little excited when she sees people she loves, like her grandparents or Helen Auntie, and she may jump up to say hi. But basically, she's a good puppy. I mean, how can you resist a face like this:


The overwhelming lack of tolerance for dogs leads me to believe that Burlington landlords have had consistent, serious problems with dog-owning tenants. And since behavior is not really a dog's fault, this leads me to have some very serious unresolved anger toward the mass of apparently stupid, irresponsible people out there who spoil it for the rest of us! [disclaimer: I aplogize to those who are smart and responsible and have simply been unfairly judged].


So, Burlington, if you're listening, take a chance on us!

Peppermint Patty

In th' spirit o' St. Patty's Day (often miswritten as "St. Paddy's Day" by those not in th' know), I'll be celebratin' me Irish heritage in th' followin' tribute...

LUCKY CHARMS:

If ye come across any o' dese t'day, ye can consider yerself lucky:

Leprechaun: one o' th' most well known (but also th' hardest to find) lucky charms. As ye know, Ireland is a land o' many mystical, supernatural phenomena, an' Leprechauns are just th' most fun o' dat bunch. If ye come across a Leprechaun in yer travels t'day, be sure an' ask 'em fer three wishes -- an' don't ferget t' use yer first wish t' wish fer more wishes!

Shamrock: known as th' National Flower o' Oirland (or Eire, as we natives like t' say), a shamrock brings good luck, lifetime happiness, and many Pots o' Gold (see below) t' all who have 'em. Unfortunately, shamrocks kin only be found in th' fields of Western Eire, where all th' damn Buddhists have settled, so at th' moment they got a monopoly on happiness. Dirty Jezebels.

Rainbows: as ye know, rainbows kin only be seen in Eire herself. True Rainbows (as in those over th' cloudy skies o' Eire) are formed from dat special mix o' chemicals in th' air, plus a wee bit o' Leprechaun magic. If ye get a good photo of a True Rainbow, ye'r said to be ensured o' luck in marriage and livestock. Oh, an' don't ferget th' Pot o' Gold (see below) at th' end!

Pots o' Gold: all ye hafta do t' find a Pot o' Gold is t' find th' end ofa True Rainbow. Once ye find one, ye'r sure t' have, well...lots o' gold! Good luck with dat!

And luckiest charm ofall?....

Th' oft-heard of but rarely seen 21-Leaf Clover.

If ye actually get t' hold one o' these beauties in yer hand, ye'll have a lifetime o' luck in life's most important tings: sex, sanity, an' metabolism.

I'M JUST SAYIN'

Now that ye have all th' luck ye kin stand, here's a few handy traditional Irish phrases an' stuff ye kin use t' brighten th' day of yer favorite Irishmen (and women):

Top o' th' mornin' to ye! (with enthusiasm an' emphasis on th' morn) -- dis is a highly cheerful an' appropriate ting t' say t' any friend ye meet, any time o' day. Ye'll be sure t' draw a smile with dis one!

Pog mo thoin (pronounced "pogue mahone") -- dis is a friendly Irish greetin' dat ye kin use in any situation. Roughly translated it means "pleasure t' meetya!"

Cead mile failte (pronounced "Hey!") -- quite commonly used t' insult yer friend's mum. Roughly translated it means, "a pox on yer sheep!"

***dis post is dedicated to me dear Oirish friend, Pghelinbhnmbh Volshghbhaosbh (pronounced "Helen Walsh")***

Sunrise, Sunset

And the sun sets on the Black Belt testing.

Helen and I went up to Overlook Park, in Burlington, and watched the sunset that Sunday, after my parents had gone home and the Blue Wave Winter Camp was over, and the biggest physical challenge I've ever attempted or accomplished had been conquered. Nothing speaks to my soul more than a beautiful sunset. It was the perfect ending to a pretty perfect weekend.

Kick Board

I've had a request for some pics and discussion of my black belt test. Well, as you can imagine I have about a thousand pics from various people who were there, so it was hard to choose just a couple, but here are two of my favorites.

The one on the bottom is of me breaking the second of a two-board combination. The first kick was a roundhouse kick, and the guy kneeling down was holding that board (which broke like a good little board should!). This picture is a perfectly placed back kick and my foot going through the second board. I was actually pretty nervous about this combo because the night before I had gotten a verbal beating from one of the higher ranking black belts about my form. This woman (we sometimes call her "Bad Cop") went on and on about how I wasn't chambering my back kick and how I wouldn't break a board like that, and I had to practice the combo like seven or eight times, each time waiting for her critique. It was unnerving to say the least, especially the night before the test. But during the actual test I just cleared my mind and focused only on the task at hand -- which is huge for me.

The one on the top is Master Gordon White tying on my black belt as my good friend (and fellow tester), Ramsey Papp, looks on. I have to say that I have never felt more proud of myself than I did at that moment. I thought I would actually cry, but I didn't. If this had been one of those underdog-overcomes-obstacles-and-wins-game/contest/prize movies, though, I'd have been a blubbering mess. It was a very emotional moment, though, joking aside. And what made it even better was that I had so many friends and family watching me (and testing with me)...not only am I a badass, but I am loved.

Tie Breaker

Well I noticed that I'd written 9 blog posts in 2009 and 9 in 2010, so I thought it was time for a tie breaker. Not that I necessarily have anything important to say.

At the moment I'm sitting in Barnes and Noble because, ever since my neighbors moved and disconnected their internet service, this is the only place I can consistently get online. Why don't you just get your own internet connection? one might ask. Ah, yes, that is a question for the ages, isn't it?

In the meantime, the booksellers and barristas here at B & N have come to recognize me on sight, and I fear first-name basis will be soon to follow. But Saturday night is a fascinating time to be here, I must say. Not like Friday night (see previous post: Friday Night Lights). No, it appears that Saturday is for the ultra cool -- people merely stopping at B & N on their way to somewhere bigger and better, like, oh say, a movie or bowling perhaps.

Tonight the Most Intriguing People Hanging Out in B & N on a Saturday Night Award goes to: four teenage boys to my right -- 15? 16? -- who are trying desperately to look like they are some of those people who have merely stopped here on their way to something better, but who, with the wave of a hand and a sheepish cut-away of the eyes, have just given away the ugly truth that they are, in fact, here with their mother. Clearly none of them can drive. But they are exhibiting the requisite I'm-not-here-for-the-books behavior: lots of espresso (very mature), non-fru-fru, "safe" cafe foods (bagels with cream cheese), four tables thrown together that make a perfect paper football playing field (no books in sight), and lots of looking around feigning boredom. My guess? Somebody thought this would be a great place to meet "mature" women. And in that case, they're in luck, because other than them and me, no one here is under the age of fifty. Score!

What Now?

Well, now that I've gotten my black belt (YAY!), I'm a little lost. I've been working toward that goal for so long, and now I feel like I "should be doing something big" but when I wrack my brain trying to think of what it is, I draw a blank. Helen says I'm suffering from "reaction"...not sure about that. But I'm sure about one thing: I feel restless. I feel like I have it in me to accomplish something great, and I'm just sort of stuck in a kind of limbo. Time to set a new goal I guess.

Final Black Belt Essay

Indomitable Spirit

 “Any wisdom that exists, exists in what we already have.  Our wisdom is all mixed up with what we call our neurosis.  Our brilliance, our juiciness, our spiciness, is all mixed up with our craziness and our confusion, and therefore it doesn’t do us any good to try to get rid of our so-called negative aspects, because in that process we also get rid of our basic wonderfulness.  We can lead our life so as to become more awake to who we are and what we’re doing rather than trying to improve or change or get rid of who we are or what we’re doing.”

 “A further sign of health is that we don't become undone by fear and trembling, but we take it as a message that it's time to stop struggling and look directly at what's threatening us.”

                                            -- Pema Chodron

I have never been comfortable in my own skin.  I have struggled all my life with insecurities about my physical appearance and limitations.  I haven’t always been overweight, but I’ve always been “bigger” than everyone else, or disproportionate in some way.  I’ve always stood out in the crowd, in unflattering ways, and because of this, every time I endeavor to do something physical, I come face to face with some very deep-rooted fears and anxieties:  I don’t want to look stupid; I don’t want to be last; I don’t want to mess up; I don’t want to let anyone down.  I’ve always thought of myself as the “weakest link,” physically speaking, and that perception has been reinforced repeatedly over the years, whether through external influences or self-fulfilling prophecy.

            People often say that unrelenting perseverance is one of my best qualities:  I simply decide what I want and then do whatever it takes to make it happen.  And while this is true, it’s also true that in the cerebral areas of life – academics, art, writing, music, teaching – I am blessed with significant natural talent and mental agility, so I can usually achieve goals related to those areas more readily.  For some reason, though, I have not been able to apply that same goal-driven mentality to anything in the physical realm.  Part of this, I know, is that, proportionately, I’ve attempted so many more intellectual pursuits that I’m just used to doing well quickly, so it always surprises me how much work and effort yields so little success in physical activities.  Another part is that my perfectionistic nature won’t let me participate in something at which I cannot be “one of the best.”  The combination of these factors has led me, in the past, to conclude that sports and exercise simply aren’t my “things,” to accept that I just wouldn’t ever be successful at those kinds of activities.

            Those thoughts are probably what kept me out of a dojang until I was twenty-eight years old, despite the fact that I’ve felt drawn to martial arts since I saw Karate Kid when I was ten.  Those same fears have plagued me throughout my Taekwondo training, but they’ve become especially loud and aggressive since I obtained my red belt and began the journey to black belt.  In fact, my “training” has really been more about overcoming the obstacles in my mind than about preparing my physical body.  And I have only just recently realized that I don’t actually think like that anymore.  It’s not that I can’t be successful at physical activities; it’s that achieving those goals takes more time, sweat, and tears than anything else in my life.  Instead of a month or a year, it’s taken a lifetime.  Taekwondo has taught me that.  Master White and my Blue Wave family have taught me that.

            Early in the fall, when I was having extra difficulty drowning out those aggressive fears, Master White responded to my concerns by asking me a question:  “When you make a fist, which finger is the weakest?”  The answer?:  The one that’s not participating.  This was a pivotal moment in my mental development.  I realized that, for the first time in my life, I am part of a team – not just because they have to let me play, but because I am integral; my participation is an important part of what makes the team work.  Granted, Blue Wave is not a team in the traditional sense; Taekwondo is, at heart, an individual sport.  But in a broader sense, I have not made this journey alone.  In one way or another, everyone in my testing group – my “team” – has helped me overcome an obstacle or two, and I have done the same for them.  Along the way, we have all been guided and encouraged by the Burlington black belts, as well as those from other gyms.  When we stand before the board at testing, we represent ourselves, individually and collectively, and all those who have helped us get to this point.  That makes Blue Wave Taekwondo the best of both worlds:  a team that works together, uniting in mutual friendship, to encourage individual and group success.

            Of all the verbal definitions we have to learn for the gup rank tests, the meaning of taeguek four seems to be the most confusing to people.  They scratch their heads and snicker a little when they read that jin, thunder, is the “element of fear and trembling,” and that “because Taekwondo is comprised of virtuous actions, it defines fear as courage.”  I suppose to many people fear and courage seem to be at cross-purposes, but to me the definition makes perfect sense.  Courage is the flip side of fear.  Courage is being terrified of falling but putting one foot in front of the other anyway.  Courage is picking yourself up off the floor and doing another spin hook kick, even though you know you might end up on the floor again.  For me, sometimes courage is just showing up.  I still get anxious when I walk into the dojang; at times I’m still afraid that I’ll make a fool of myself or that I won’t be able to do something.  But I still come to class.  I do my best to silence that old negative tape in my head and work through the fear.  I kick harder, kiyup louder, and refocus my anxious energy toward improving my technique.  I am jin.

            When I successfully attain first dan rank on March 5, 2010, it will be the first time I have ever achieved a major physical goal, the first time I have ever persevered, gone the distance, and refused to let my fears get the best of me.  But it definitely won’t be the last.