Is the Slut in Me Showing?

Because it is spring and the kids are playing baseball, I have been spending quite a bit of time going into gas stations, Wal-Mart and the ball park to buy drinks and bubble gum before games. Lately, I have been getting quite a bit of commentary on my bumper sticker which says, "Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History." For some reason, it is usually from men wearing shorts and loafers with a tan line that starts at their ankles, and they are often lighting a cigarette.
"I like that bumper sticker!"
They say with a laugh that sounds extremely perverted. I talked to Kirsten about this before, and we decided that these men think the bumper sticker means I am a slut that likes to misbehave. They see it as an invitation to try and see if I will misbehave with them. Should I correct them and yell, "It does not mean I like to tie you up and beat you! I will not sleep with you and your hound dog! I will not piss on you in bed, or wear platform sandals and step on your neck while pissing on you!" Well, maybe I will, but that is not what the bumper sticker means.
The other day, my friend Nick said, "I like your bumper sticker" and I felt I needed to clarify its meaning, "It does not mean I am a slut Nick." He looked at me for a minute and said, "I know what it means." I felt shame creep up my neck. I had made an assumption and I was wrong. It was very embarrassing, so from now on, I am going to pretend that every guy that says "I like that bumper sticker" to me, knows what it means and does not want me to step on their neck.

New Poets and Television Shows

Hope

What's the use
of something
as unstable
and diffuse as hope -
the almost-twin
of making-do,
the isotope
of going on:
what isn't in
the envelope
just before
it isn't:
the always tabled
righting of the present


As always, I find that the best book and poet referrals come form trusted friends. Brandi sent me an article about Kay Ryan, who is now one of her favorite poets, and I can see why. She says a lot in a still, small way. She reminded me of Emily Dickinson when I first read her. The poem at the top of my blog is by her and I really liked it.

Now from poetry to TV. I had a dream about Hugh Laurie, the star of House last night. We were sitting in a small church together, surrounded by people, when I tried to refill one of those small sample bottles of perfume. I ended up spilling perfume all over the place, but I did not want to leave him because as soon as I went to the bathroom, he would leave. Alas, he left as soon as I opened my eyes. I have to recommend the show House to those of you who have not seen it. I have been trying to recruit Kirsten for ages, but so far, no dice. It is a very interesting show and Laurie absolutely grows on you. If you get a chance, watch it Tuesday's at 9:00. If you have watched it, tell me what you think.

My Mom

 

A Mother's Day Moment

"I studied the little girl and at last rediscovered my mother."
Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

I love old photographs. I guess I agree with Roland Barthes' theory of photography in that when I see certain pictures, there is something in them that "speaks" to me, but they also produce a sense of sadness of what can "never be again." As my mother goes older, and I can clearly see it in her body, the way she seems smaller, shorter, her walk slower; her hair grayer, I begin to fear life without her. Being without her scares me more than my own death. As I watch my children grow older, I understand how much she loves me, and why she does for me what she does, and why she did what she did when I was a child. Her death would remove the only person in the world that loves me unconditionally. Sometimes I think about my life after my children; the life my mother is living right now. Will they roll their eyes when I call, as I sometimes do, when my mom calls for the fourth time that day? It is a scary thought to spend so many years of your life dedicated to your children and then to have them leave you behind as they build another life with their own family. I try to look at it in another way: that is what you try so hard for; you want to teach them to be happy and productive members of society; independent and capable of living without you. But their is a small piece of me that wants them to always need me for something.

Yesterday, I had a "mother's moment. " I was tired after getting up early to take my test and driving to and from Savannah, and the kids were being really mean to one another. Sometimes I ignore it and hope they will come to appreciate each other one day, but yesterday I felt compelled to say something. At the end of my rope, I pulled out an old trick of my mom's:
"Maybe one day I will drop dead and then you will be nice to each other."
Really, it makes no sense, and I had always vowed to not say such things to my children, but in a moment of weakness, I broke out the guilt. The kids looked sad, and then, after a few quite seconds, started blaming it all on Trey. It never worked when I was a child either. Not until late at night, when I lay alone in my bed in my dark room. Then I worried and cried with the thought of losing my mother. Now, I see why she resorted to guilt. Not because she was mean, but because she was desperate to make us stop fighting. It was a moment of weakness, and it is often felt by all parents.

When I look at these pictures of my mom, I look at her with the eyes of a parent now. Did that little girl of six have any idea how much she was loved by her grandmother who raised her? Did that beautiful girl in the diamond necklace know that her grandmother lay in bed at night and prayed for her granddaughter to make the right decisions in life. Probably not. We never realize until we have our own children how much our guardians, whoever they may have been, longed for our happiness and well being. I am glad that my mom is still around for me to let her know that I understand, now, why she spanked me for leaving home and not telling her where I was going; why she took the car keys from me when I stayed out to late; why she would not let me watch Helter Skelter because she knew it would give me bad dreams; why she would not let me go to the skating ring on Friday nights, even though I begged and begged and told her all the other girls could go. Happy Mother's Day and Thanks.

Random Stuff

These are two of the books I am expecting this week

Well, I am finally finished with school. I have one class to take this summer and then I can start my teaching career. I am past worrying anymore about whether or not I will like it. I will, or I won't. If I do, great, and if I don't, then I move on. Either way, it will be an experience. I have not been able to put down Alice Munro's book of short stories, Runaway. It is fabulous. Tomorrow I start a new summer job, and Thursday I take my chance at the Praxis. I am not worried about the reading and writing section, but the math section worries me. I have no idea how to do anything beyond addition and subtraction. I even have problems adding and subtracting fractions! I am fortunate that Hope is a math whiz and she is helping me study for the test. Sad, I know.

New Treasures

I went to the used bookstore yesterday and found a few good titles, and also the weirdest book cover I have ever seen. The Stranger by Albert Camus is a book I have always wanted to read, but have never bothered. When I saw this cover, I had to buy it, even though these weird characters freak me out! The first novel was suggested by Kirsten as "fun and delightful trash." I can't wait to read it. After reading Night Train by Martin Amis, I felt like a really good detective novel so I chose Sue Grafton another author I have never read before.

 

My New Obsession: Nightmare Alley

Now that I am done with finals, I can start my fun, summer reading. Yesterday, I read an article in The Writer's Chronicle called "One Man's Nightmare: The Noir Journey of William Lindsay Gresham." The book the article focused on was clalled Nightmare Alley, and I became immediately interested in reading it when the writer of the article said, "It's the only novel I have ever encountered that made me feel unclean by the time I had finished it." Apparently, this noir novel is an examination into the lives of circus freaks and hobos, ala Carnivale on HBO. It has recently been rewritten as a graphic novel, but to very little praise, so I have no interest in it. The book is out of print and it seems hard to find. If any of you bibliophiles (Brandi, you are the master at locating books) find the original book published in 1946, please let me know.

Summer Reading

I have a couple of papers left, and I cannot wait to begin my summer reading. I already have the books lined up. Here are a few:

Bananas, Beaches and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics by Cynthia Enloe

Wide Blue Yonder by Jean Thompson

Who We Love another Jean Thompson

Maus II by Art Spiegelman

Feminism Without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity by Chandra Talpade Mohanty

The Problems of Philosophy by Bertrand Russell, John Perry

Narrative Design: Working with Imagination, Craft, and Form by Madison Smartt Bell

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood

Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris -the only one I have not read

What about you? What are you reading this summer?

Another Movie Review

"There was some empty space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it you've got to stand it"
Brokeback Mountain - Annie Proulx

After watching Brokeback Mountain this weekend, I wanted to read the story, so last night I did just that. If you have not seen the movie, I highly recommend it, but don't watch it with your mother Brandi. Not because there is a lot of sex, but there is some and I would hate for anyone to be embarrassed. The short story was good, but no where near as good as Ang Lee's rendition of two cowboy's in love. The scene above is one of my favorites. If you watch the movie, you will understand why. After watching the film, I hate that it has become a punch line or an easy one-liner on late night talk shows. In fact, I have been in a funk since I watched it. Maybe I grew up with a strangely large number of gay men, but I have known so many that this story really touched me. I understand the struggle as much as anyone can who does not actually live through an experience. I have probably never told any of you the story of my friend Steve. When I was growing up, I had a really good friend named Steve. He was from a wonderful, loving family. His father was a pastor who was charismatic and loving, everyone adored him, especially me. Steve was very good-looking, in fact, he later moved to California and became a model, not famous, but he did do some ads for Calvin Klein before the drugs brought him down to nothing more than a skinny waif who looked older than his years. Steve was also gay. Many suspected that when he was younger, but out of respect for his father, no one would shun him or mistreat him.

Eventually, Steve came out of the closet, but only after putting a thousand miles between him and his family. His father stood by him. Looking back, I knew he would be that kind of man, his love for his family was so seeable, but Steve could never get over the guilt he felt; could never get past the idea that he had disappointed someone he respected and loved so much. Steve would keep in contact and tell me what was going on in his life and it was always one step forward and two steps back for him. I told him to come home and get away from the fast life; let those that loved him take care of him. He said, "I can't come back to a place I feel I don't belong." Steve found a place where he could stand it. Maybe movies like Brokeback Mountain will move us in the direction of fixing it.

Really Knowing

I have always heard the lines engraved at the bottom of the statue of liberty, but I don't believe I have ever read the entire poem until this morning. It really is quite beautiful. I am all over the place on the immigration debate, and I really don't know how I feel. I recoil at the language some of people use when they talk about deporting illegals, but I also know that the work force of illegal immigrants hurts the poorest of americans. At some point, something has to be done. Follow this link to The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus.

http://www.libertystatepark.com/emma.htm

Saying All the Wrong Things

"It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels . . . " Mrs. Dalloway

Last night I went with an all-star cast of ladies to Charleston to see David Sedaris "in concert." He is one of my all-time favorite writers, and if you have not read him, I highly recommend that you do. He read several stories and I was glad that they were new to me. When he said "I am going to finish up with a few entries from my dairy," I turned to Julia to see if she wanted to go get in line for the book signing. She said "Yes," because the hour was late and there were 2500 people there, so it would be worth it to miss the last few minutes of the show to get a book signed by Sedaris. Little did we know that we were going to miss a good half hour of the program, including a question- answer session. However, it paid off because me and Julia were the first in line. Nerd ingenuity.

I am very bad at speaking to people that I admire. I tend to say silly things and say them breathlessly. Last night was no exception. What makes it so bad is that I have foreknowledge of my problem, but still I stumbled.
"So," Dave asked,"Where are you from."
"We are from Savannah."
"Who are you here with."
"My friends over there, and one of our professors."
"She looks to young to profess."
"hahahahahahaha. She is"
It only gets worse from there. It involved words such as THE Cracker Barrel, not just Cracker Barrel, and the word "rasslin" as in wrestling. Not good, and not things you want David Sedaris to remember you by. I comfort myself with the idea that I was the first in a very long line, and I am sure her forgot our weird conversation seconds later.
What I really wanted to say was: "I love your writing. I love the way you talk about Hugh, and how clearly I see your love for him when you talk about your life together. I cry when you talk about your mother Sharon and laugh when you talk about your dad and brothers and sisters. In the middle of your humor, your work always touches me with something that goes beyond the laugh, and I often finish your stories smiling through tears. Thank you so much for signing my book and taking a minute to talk to me."
If you haven't read any David Sedaris, you should.

Moving On

Illusion is the first of all pleasures.
Oscar Wilde

As many of you know, in a moment of insanity, Dr. Winterhalter offered me a job teaching a Intro to Women's Studies class in the fall. I was very tempted to do it and struggled with the question of "Can I do it?" Many of you gave me great advice and suggested I should not let fear rule my life, and made me feel good because you all thought I was capable of taking on such a large task. However, I decided against taking the position. It was a temporary job that, realistically, would not have had any long term benefits. It would have looked nice on my resume, but I hope that, in the future, I will have another opportunity to teach at the college level. Kirsten told me that I made "a very grown-up decision." That made me feel good because in the past I have not made very grown up decisions and sometimes they were disastrous. Thanks for the cheerleading; each of you made me feel capable of anything.

Sheba

This is my beautiful Sheba. Thanks to all of you for your concern.

 

Random Stuff

Movie Review
If you haven't already, you should go and see Spike Lee's new movie Inside Man with Denzel Washington and Clive Owen, if for nothing else but to listen to Clive Owen talk and look at Jodie Foster's fabulous calve muscles. She looks beautiful in this film, plus it has an excellent story with a delicious surprise ending. very clever. If you have seen it, let me know what you think.

Romance Update:
Kerry_loves_Reese@hotmail.com is no longer. Now Kerry_loves_Cody@hotmail.com. I can't say that I am disappointed, but this shows me to settle down and not get so excited about young love. It is very transient.

Neighbors Suck:
One of my less-civilized neighbors kicked my German Shepherd Sheba, who is the sweetest dog in the world, yesterday and dislocated her hip. She is at the vets office today having it reset. I know she should not wander around, but she keeps up with the kids everywhere they go, and for that, I am grateful. Whatever happened to picking up the phone and asking your neighbor to keep your dog out of their yard? Mean people really do suck.

On the Edge

"Their love is gentle and discreet. If it were a plant it would be a fern, light green and feathery and delicate; if a musical instrument, a flute. If a painting it would be a water lily by Monet, one of the more pastel renditions, with its liquid depths, its reflections, its different falls of light."
The Robber Bride


At this time in my life, I am the verge of many edges. I going to graduate soon, and while in the past, I have been hesitant to finish school, I now feel ready. It is time to step out of the familiar and safe world of Gamble and into a paid position where I actually have to be a grown-up. I also feel like I am on the verge of ending a long-term, but unhealthy relationship. I am both excited and afraid of this prospect, but like school, I think I am ready to move on. I am very bad at meeting guys, well not meeting them, but once I meet them I cannot seem to feel comfortable with any type of "romantic talk." I am fine as long as I am the one doing the flirting, but I get scared as soon as the flirting is returned (not too often).

I was thinking about this when we were reading The Robber Bride. One of the characters accepts her flawed relationship, I think, because she feels that it is safe and comfortable. She will not be asked to give anything that she cannot, and so she stays and feels safe. But I wonder if she is really happy and in love, or just comfortable. I guess my concern is that I will die alone, or I will never find anyone I feel comfortable with. Is a light, feathery love enough?

More Fun Than A Barrel of Monkeys

I am so excited about a new web site that I found that I wanted to share it with all of you immediately. It's an online tool for cataloging your books. It is totally unnecessary, but extraordinarily exciting. Bibliophiles (AKA Nerds, enjoy!)

http://www.librarything.com/index.php

Operation Heart Cream: Part Deux

"If Charis ever hears any more voices telling her to slit her wrists, Tony is the one she'd call . . . Tony would know what to do, step by step, one thing at a time, in order. She wouldn't call Roz at first, because Roz would freak out, would cry and sympathize and agree with her about the unbearablility of it all . . . But afterwards, after she felt safe again, she would go to Roz for the hug."
The Robber Bride

Our friends always serve different purposes in our lives. Some give us comfort, while others bring us safety and order. I am just thankful that we have them. It is impossible for me to give you, my Lindy-Lou, the language based inspiration that Brandi is able to give you. That is not my role, but I want you to know how wonderful, talented and special you are to us. I know this may not soothe your fractured heart, but I hope it will help.

I am quite a bit older than you, and although I am not very mature, I have learned that what seems like a disappointment, is really an opportunity. To cut that line from a story, that piece from our painting, clip our bangs, or take off those heels, is a moment of freedom that will one day have a larger effect on our very short lives. You are wonderful, you do wear pointy-toe shoes better than anyone I know and have an incredibly sharp wit. You will be fine, but you know that already.
Here is the Munro piece:
"Sing," my brother commands my father, but my father says gravely, "I don't know, I seem to be fresh out of songs. You watch the road and let me know if you see any rabbits."
So my father drives and my brother watches the road for rabbits and I feel my father's life flowing back from our car in the last of the afternoon, darkening and turning strange, like a landscape that has an enchantment on it, making it kindly, ordinary and familiar while you are looking at it, but changing it once your back is turned, into something you will never know, with all kinds of weathers, and distances you cannot imagine."
Walker Brothers Cowboy

Kerry_loves_Reese@hotmail.com

Yesterday, my 14 year old son was on the computer checking his email. I had promised to send someone an email by 4 yesterday afternoon and had forgotten, so I told Reese to quickly get off the computer so I could use it for 5 minutes. Instead of closing it out, he just minimized it. When I finished, I brought his page up for him and the title of this blog is what I saw. I promise, I had no intention of looking at his email, so don't judge me too harshly. It was like passing a train wreck, you felt dirty, but you had to do it. I found out that the little girl down the street, also 14, is in love with Reese. Apparently he asked her out (where to I do not know) and she responded, "Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to ask?" All of two weeks I am sure. I also discovered something unpleasant. She also said something about "making out." I did not get the whole thing, but it can't be good. I surprised myself by, not only reading his email, but also by the strong effect the content had on me. I felt physically sick and wanted to cry. I understand young love. In many ways, I am still a 14 year old waiting on love to happen to me in the only way it can happen to the innocent. I guess what bothers me is the idea of any, and I mean any type of sexuality in my children. That type of progression means they are getting older, and in turn, so am I. Donald Trump just recently had a baby. At 59, he is getting older and is facing his immortality. He is quoted as saying, "I keep having kids, so I stay young right?" No Donald, you do not, but I can see where he is going. The progression of time is easily measured outside of our own minds and bodies. We see our parents grow older and our children get taller, but we are too inside ourselves to witness our own aging process. In the future, I will remind him to close his email before I use the computer. The less we see, the better.

Movie Review and Other Stuff

I know Kirsten is sick of hearing me talk about A History of Violence, but I enjoyed it so much that I thought I would recommend it to others. It is not the greatest movie ever made, but it is a really good story and a cliffhanger as well. I was interested in it because it is based on a graphic novel. Something a little different.

I also started a new book that, so far, is very interesting. Its called Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater who also wrote Prozac Nation. I think Brandi would be interested in it, if for nothing else other than its concept. It sort of reminds me of the book you read, I think it was called The Girl in the Plaid Skirt. I've had it for a while, but have been to busy to read it. I probably will not finish it, The Robber Bride awaits, but at least I have started.

Also, props to McDonald's. The fast food giant, and makers of a fabulous chicken sandwich, have changed coffee, and with the distribution of free coffee coupons, has drawn me into their web. I was tempted to try their brand when I read an article that said in a blind taste test, McDonald's new coffee beat out Starbucks.

A new poet on the rise -- Of late, Trey has been writing poetry. All of it involving colors. He told me that he plans to write a poem about every color in the rainbow and then he will combine all of the poems in the shape of a rainbow. Needless to say, I am impressed. Publication is forthcoming, so look for it in the future.

The Loss of UnnamedThings

"Each child is living the only life he has - the only one he will ever have. The least we can do is not diminish it." Bill Page

It seems strange to me that I am quoting a man who is an educator, and not a writer. In fact, I know very little about Bill Page, but lately I have found myself interested in what people like him have to say. I spent last night creating a wish list on Amazon that was not filled with novels, but rather books about educating high school students. Instead of the "Book Lovers List" I used to have, my list is now named the "Future Teachers Survival Pack." That is quite a change for me; someone who hates education classes and all of those in them.
I have been spending quite a bit of time in the classroom this week observing the way a high-school class operates. I have to admit, that on some days, I am extraordinarily excited about teaching, but on other days, I feel completely inadequate and unprepared. Yesterday, the class played a game of Jeopardy!, and they seemed to enjoy it. Several of the kids are very funny, and I have trouble pretending that I am not listening to them, but during the game, they told me that I had to be on their team. I laughed and refused, "It wouldn't be fair," I said, "They answered the same questions in the first block so I already know the answers." They laughed and I laughed, and one of the boys on the other team mocked my laugh. I felt the familiar sting of tears behind my eyes and a lump swell in my throat. For him, it was meaningless. I am sure he meant no real harm, but to me, the emotional reaction that I felt, said, "They will eat you alive. You are not tough enough."
In my old high school, the teachers there never sought to make a difference. The only way they touched me was in pinching my shoulder when I turned around, or tapping me on the head when I was talking. I have no memories of them reaching out to me and showing me what I could do well, or trying to engage me in any real conversation about life. I think what scare me the most is that I too will be ineffectual. The life that these kids live - the only life they will live - will be diminished by me in some way, and in turn, my life will somehow be diminished. Either would be tragic.

Pictures!

All of you have heard so much about the conference this weekend, that I thought I should put some faces with names. I also thought I should change my blog template because it looked so much like Brandi's. Everytime I looked at it, I felt like a thief. This one is kind of lame, but at least I don't look like a copy cat anymore. I was aiming for kirsten's template next!
Dr. Winterhalter and the much-loved Grace Paley. I could just put her in my pocket and take her home!


The equally loved Dr. Hollinger! Making sure everyone stays on schedule.
















Dr. Winterhalter scolding Dr. Hollinger for something, while Grace Paley looks on.











Brandi and her blue bike. She looks very Sex and the Cityish!

 

Words of Wisdom

Today, one of my favorite professors told me about a great line she heard Grace Paley use this weekend. One of my friends, who lives too far away for a hug, is having a tough week, and is in need of a little reassurance, so I will hug her with words and hope this helps her feel better.

Grace wanted to go on the walking tour to see the studio of one of the artists, but she feared she would not be able to handle the walk. She said, "I feel that I can walk very far, but not very fast."

Applied to life, this is a wonderful thought. Slow down; enjoy the walk; go farther.

Learning New Things

One of the things I love about conferences is the opportunity to learn new things. Some presentations put me to sleep, but there are always a couple that sparks my interest, or introduces me to something new. At this years women's studies conference, I was put to sleep a couple of times but I learned some wonderful new things.

At one presentation, I learned that all of the beautiful people that we see both in print and on television, are digitally enhanced. The beautiful women we strive to look like, don't even look as they appear. The ideal body image is unattainable because it does not exist. Makes me feel better anyway.

I also learned about a writer I had never read before. Grace Paley was fabulous! I loved her spunk and I have already ordered her book of poetry. All for this one line: "I was moved by the strong desire to kiss his explaining lips." In the context of the rest of the poem, this was so very moving. I will post the poem in its entirety when I receive the book.

At a session on art, I learned about an Iranian photographer that takes some very disturbing and beautiful photographs. Visit this site and see some of her work:The photo above is her work.
http://www.iranian.com/Arts/Dec97/Neshat/

Alice Munro

"Writer's don't know more than other people; they see more than other people."

Alice Munro

I love it when I find a writer that is old to many, but new to me. I read a couple of short stories by Alice Munro yesterday and I fell in love with her style. She writes, to me, like a southern writer, and I have always loved southern writers. They remind me of my family: People who are proud of being southern, but not in the way of the "redneck southerner." People who respect the past without glorifying it, who recognize hatred as incompatible with southern grace. The above quote from Munro made me think of my very special friend who sees things in ways that I cannot, and then records them in the most beautiful language. Here's to writer's that feel compelled to write. The world is a softer place because of you.

Beautiful Sunday

These cute little chickens were in a display window on St. Simons. The kids and I went to the park this weekend and enjoyed a beautiful day at the pier. I could not resist taking a picture of this.

Happiness Is . . .

Brandi will forgive my theft of title I am sure.

Going to the Friends of the Library sale in Brunswick and finding no one around the literature section. In that section I find beautiful, old copies of The Bell Jar, War & Peace, Jane Eyre, Villette, The Great Short Stories of Tolstoy, a book by Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities (I thought I would give him another chance), a collection of essays by Roland Barthes, a love story written by Simone de Beauvoir (did not know she had one), and Slaughterhouse Five. All of these great books with unusual covers for a grand total of 5.00. Bliss.

Nice Guys Sometimes Finish First

I watched the news this morning because I was curious to see who had won the 365 million dollar jackpot. I was so happy to see that it was eight co-workers from a meat packing plant somewhere in Nebraska. It was wonderful to see the faces of guys and girls who have worked hard ,and would probably have worked hard until retirement, find themselves set for life. One of the winners said "I always thought I would buy a plane if I won, but I really don't care that much for flying. I said I would buy an island, but i don't care too much for water." Another guy said, "We couldn't all just quit, management has been too good to us." I am always amazed at the kindness and sensibility of people. I am ashamed that at times what I do have is never good enough. 365 million would be nice, but really, would the me that is me be any different? I am not opposed to experimenting, but I don't think my soul would be any better off.

Unsure and Upset

Brandi has tagged me and I am unsure of what to do. There are two options: (1) I could answer on her blog, or (2) I could answer on mine. I am going to answer on mine and see if she scolds me later. If that happens, I will rush to the computer and answer on hers.

Four jobs you've had:
1. American Greetings clerk -- we hated Hallmark clerks -- they thought they were the gold standard of the card world -- no offense Brandi
2. Waitress
3. Front Desk clerk
4. Graduate assistant

Four Movies I can watch over and over:
1. An Affair to Remember
2. The Royal Tennenbaums
3. Serendipity
4. Napolean Dynamite

Four Places I've Lived:
1. Brunswick, Ga
2. St. Simons Island, GA
Sorry for myself, but that's it

Four TV shows I love:
1. Law and Order
2. The Office
3. My Name is Earl
4. CSI

Four Places I've vacationed:
1. Baltimore, Maryland
2. Atlanta, Ga
3. Washington, DC
4. Clearwater Beach, Florida

Four of my favorite Dishes
1. Drunken Noodles
2. Chicken Salad sandwiches
3. mac & cheese
4. pimento cheese

Four sites I visited daily:
Way more than four, but . . .
1. Brandi's blog
2. Kirsten's blog
3.Malinda's blog
4. Christy's blog

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. San Diego, CA
2. Atlanta, GA
3. Gloucester, MA
4. Anywhere in Vermont

Four bloggers I'm tagging:
1. Christy
2. Kasey
3. Malinda
4. Kirsten

Laughing and Thinking

Things that make me laugh:
When I use the computer at work, go to "Favorites," and see a new addition: "Filipino Friend Finder: The leading personals for finding a woman."

Things that make me think:
"How is it possible to defeat not the author but the function of the author, the idea that behind each book there is someone who guarantees a truth in that world of ghosts and inventions by the mere fact of having invested in it his own truth, of having identified himself in that construction of words?"
Italo Calvino

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

I hope all of you have a very happy Valentines Day.

Four things I love and cannot live without:
1. Reese, Hope and Trey (I am counting them as a collective noun)
2. My friends
3. Great books
4. The prospects of the future -- whatever they may be --

(btw, that is NOT me dressed up like a Bill Clinton cupid!)

Stupid Signs

Here are a couple of stupid signs that I saw today:

Barnes Restaurant on Waters:
"Come and try our wild shrimp! They are great!"
I was not aware that there were "Tame" shrimp being served anywhere. Maybe I am being snotty about this.

Sticky Fingers Rib House:
"Do you really think she deserves fine dining?"
I think this is stupid on many levels.

Life's Dangerous Moments

I usually judge the importance of a holiday based on the kind of delicious treats that will be present. Thanksgiving is of course the dessert heavy holiday. You can always expect pies and cakes to be present for at least a few weeks after this day has passed -- my french professor love just went running past my office, literally running -- and these heavy desserts often grow old. At christmas, I look forward to chocolate covered cherries. I usually grow tired of them, but only because I have eaten my weight in them.
However, this time of year the most dangerous temptation for me arrives in stores. It is the Cadbury Bunny. As soon as I see Easter grass, I know that the Cadbury Cream Egg is right aound the corner. Brandi has her organic raspberry chocolate, Kirsten has Cool Ranch Dorito's, and the last time I checked, Malinda has her Cake Batter Milk Shake. For me, I have the Cadbury Cream Egg. If you have not tried one, I reccommend that you avoid them at all costs. That is, if you value your waistline. It is no wonder that the eggs appear this time of year. They are the second easter miracle. I say WWJE (What Would Jesus Eat): Cadbury creme Eggs of course. Hopefully, I can restrain myself this year. It helps me to say to myself that I should not waste the hour I spend at the gym every morning by eating an egg, but that may not be enough to deter an egg binge. I am not good at avoiding temptation, whether it be an egg or a bad boy, I seem to have no self-restraint. What is your weakness and how do you keep yourself fom overindulging in the things you love but know are bad for you?

In other equally important news, my interesting friend Malinda has started a blog. I am sure she will shock you with funny and insightful commentaries. Visit her at http://underthetefloncouch.typepad.com/.

My Own "No Wire Hanger's" Moment

I just got the most annoying phone call. I will provide a transcript:
Phone Rings:
Me: Coastal Georia Writing Project
Annoying Girl: Yes, hello. I would like to know if you are still doing the Kid's Cafe downtown.
Me: Yes, we are in the process of organizing the Kid's Literacy Cafe, but I am not sure of the details yet.
Annoying Girl: Well, what do you like do at the Kid's Cafe?
Me: We provide after school tutoring to kid's. We help with reading and make sure they have somewhere to go and something to eat when they get out of school.
Annoying Girl: Well, are these like, you know, bad kids. I mean, are they like troubled?
Me: Are you an education major?
Annoying girl: No, I jut want to like get some like community service hours for Sigma Crap Something (my words here), and I like want to help kids, but not, like bad kids.
Me: OK, well you need to call back and talk to Ms. West.
Annoying girl: OK, so like when should I like call back?
Me: Never

The actual conversation was not as bad as her whiney, stupid, slow voice. I had to take a moment not to scream "No dumb-asses ever!!!!!"

New meaning to the word "Google"

The Banned Word List

Back by popular demand, and frankly necessity, is the banned word list. This is an evolving list of words that are used either too often or in the wrong context by the dope at work or the show-off in one of your classes. Here are the entries for today:
1." Perhaps" -- Example: "Perhaps Austen was trying to critique the upper-class by making her heroine a member of the working class." "Perhaps Nabokov was just showing off his liguistic skills."

2. "Thusly" I got this word second hand, but from a reliable source. I cannot imagine the context in which this clown used the word "thusly."

You are encouraged to add words to the list. You don't have to include examples; sometimes just the word is enough to make you roll your eyes.

Right now

Although some of you have some serious reservations about my lovely little french professor, Right now, I am listening him speak the most beautiful french (in his god-awful sweater) to his class while they laugh and enjoy his sense of humor. I understand your horror at the vest, I too admit it tempered my attraction to him, but like the guy who speaks with a British accent in Brandi's class, some men have attractions in other areas.

Update

Just a quick note to let you know what is going on with me this week, or at least today. It is official: I am officially in love with the French professor. Although he could possibly be gay, I am beginning to seriously doubt it.
However, if the thing with the French professor does not work out, then I have another target in my Contemporary lit. class.
On another note, someone hurt my sweet friend's feelings and it makes me mad. Just so she knows, she is perfect and it was not her fault.

New Beginnings

I have a movie recommendation for you. It is The Constant Gardener with Ralph Fiennes and a beautiful Rachel Weitz. It is a spy movie, but more than that, it is a love story on many different levels. There is the love of a man and his wife, but also, there is the love story of one human to another. People unknown, but still loved. I wanted to rush out to Africa after watching this film and help those that are so helpless, but I started to think about the many children that are in need here. I am so unsure of my future in teaching, but I think back to my first days of college when I was an early childhood education major. It is easy to lose sight of what you want to do in life, but you have to look back and ask yourself, "What have I been consistent in wanting to accomplish?" When I ask myself that question, it is always the same answer, I want to help the kid who has no hope. I want to mean something to someone with nothing. I have no desire to teach the prep school brat who has everything, but sees no responsibility to the world around them. Noblesse oblige exists for few today anyway. Maybe it is for my own selfish reasons. I fear leaving nothing behind that says I was here, or knowing I will not be missed. The other day I was listening to Dr. Laura, who I hate for her lack of compassion but admire for her common sense, and she told a man something that made me gasp in horror. She said "Right now, I bet there is not a single person in the world that would care if you were dead and gone because you have lived your life for anger." I cried in the parking lot of Target while I thought about how it must have felt to hear those words. Of course, it is probably not true, but imagine if it was. The sad reality is that there are people in this world that are seen as "disposable." After watching The Constant Gardener, I was renewed in my sense of wanting to actually do something valuable in this world. I want to put aside my qualms about teaching and just dive in and do it. Forgive me for rambling.

Things to do:

Many of you know that I have a morbid fear of death. I guess it is the unknown that frightens me so much, but I am also afraid that I will fail to do many of the things I want to accomplish in my life. Here is a list, in no particular order, of what I am afraid I will miss out on:

1. I want to go to Paris, England, Africa, Egypt and Ireland before I am too old to enjoy it.
2. I want to be a photojournalist and be dropped into a volcano to take pictures for National Geographic.
3. I want to be able to run a marathon.
4. I want to see Elton John in concert.
5. Read Moby Dick
6. Kiss my grandchildren (many, many years from now)
7. Vote for Malinda to be president
8. Read a novel written by Brandi Kincaid
9. Hold Kirsten's babies (and not kittens)
10. Watch my children graduate from college and marry the love of their life (preferably before #6)
11. Fly to Chile for the wedding of Christy and Gerado where I will meet some handsome Argentian man and we will be the godparents to Christy and Gerado's 8 children. ok, so maybe that is excessive, both the 8 kids and the man, but I hope Christy will be very happy either way.
What do you most want to do in life? Give me your wildest dream.

Oh well

Since my life has been pretty routine of late, I thought I would just update you on the small things that have happened.
1. My hair is now brown. Close really to its original color. No big whoop.
2. I bought a new blender.
3. Bought two new books: One is Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater and Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. Don't know when I will read them.
4. Watched all of the episodes of CSI that I missed the past two weeks.
5. Found out that a dear friend was not dead, merely busy.
6. Bought a new notebook to keep as a food journal so I will keep up with my food choices.
7. Talked several times to a boy toy from the past that I love to fantasize about running away with (I never can forget the ones that treat me bad).
8. Contemplated going to Loco's and participating in a game of trivia. Sean, you have provoked my interest.

I really hope to have better things to say next week. I may stop taking the Slutcillin; it is working to well.

Happy Birthday MLK! It would be nice to have you around today.

Changes

Today I am going to go from a partial blonde to a warm brown. I have been frightened by the appearance of four grey hairs, counted to precision by Trey, standing up prominently in the middle of my part. Those grey hairs are witness to what I want to deny: I am getting old, and being old in America is not a good position to be in. I was sickened when I saw a club at Armstrong named "Help, I have an old person in my class!" I thought of beautiful Ms. Judy. How could anyone be angry at her for taking the later years of her life and finding something she enjoys and doing it? We should all be so courageous. Sean says our blogs are depressing, and I guess they can be, but as I thought about it, I don't feel sorry for Ms. Judy, I feel sorry for the people that dismiss her as irrelevant. Who could be more relevant?

Hatred Is . . .

Brandi does this really cute thing where she says "Happiness Is . . ." and then she lists a really nice moment where someone or something made her happy. I am going to go negative here and talk about things that make me sad and annoyed and, almost, violent.

First on my list is the girl at the gym that has a great body and wears skimpy outfits. You know the girl that walks to the middle of the cardio room and does her stretching and push-up's using the treadmill or stair stepper as a prop. She always picks the machine in front of a guy, who sits and watches, just as she wants him too. I just hate her.

Next is the student that does not know what class they are taking, who their instructor is, or where the room is located. They expect you to know their schedule and cannot follow directions to the LLP office. They just annoy me.

Where To Begin

I really don't know where to begin this post, but I knew I had to write something. Last night, when I went to sleep, it was with a light heart. Reese and I had been watching the news all night and praying for the 12 miners that were still trapped 260 feet under the ground. Like Brandi, we could not imagine how frightening it must be to feel the weight of the world, literally, on top of you. Reese was captivated by the story and I watched as he became genuinely vested in the fate of these men he did not, and would probably never, know. We were so happy to see the faces of the families as they cried and celebrated what seemed to be a miracle. Who wouldn't?

I was shocked when I woke up and saw the news. It was a case of "miscommunication." The families celebrated the miracle that would return their husbands, fathers, sons and uncles back to them. No doubt some made promises to treat them better, to love them more, and appreciate even the largest fault they possessed. I cannot imagine the pain they felt when they realized they would be denied their resolutions. I cried when one grieving wife said, "We may be dumb, but we love our family. We should not have been treated like this." As if she had internalized the view of working-class, country people as dumb. As if she thought that the world would view the loss of these men as somehow less-than the loss of others, either more affluent or educated, than these men who went deep into the earth to bring out coal. Another lady said, "We have been praising God for the miracle, and now we wonder if there is a God. We are Christian people, and that was a hard thing to say." I am sure it was. It is hard to hear.

Now the blame game will start. The first blamed will probably be the media. They pushed for information and got it wrong. The next will be the owners of the mine, who probably does bear a lot of the blame, and then some one will politicized this tragedy, much like Hurricane Katrina. The mine had over 200 violations. People will blame them and Fox News will turn around and defend business. I can hear Bill O'Reilly now, "No one forced these guys to do this work. They were paid well and they did it. It is a tragedy, but what can you do?" All of this will detract from the real tragedy: loved ones were lost. It is hard to make sense of this.

First Lines

I have been thinking a lot lately about how easily I fall for first lines. If an ugly guy has a good line (or not so good to be honest) he usually peaks my interest. I am not hit on very often, but here are some of the lines I remember the most and the ones that were most effective with me. Please do not judge me for my stupidity. "I can't believe you don't have a man a home who is watching the clock and counting down the minutes until you get home." That was the charming Seaborn that only got better as time went on. The other day, a nice painter from Peru said, "The minute I looked at you I was like, wow, I am in love with this women." No, I did not sleep with him, but he almost had me. Men are usually not that creative, at least the guys who hit on the girl behind the front desk are not. I guess that is why I love the first line of a book. There is really nothing better than to stand in the aisle of a bookstore, open the cover of an unknown novel, and be taken into the world the author will create in the pages that follow the first. It is my belief that no book with a great first line will disappoint. I wish I could find a man that would excite me as much as the first line of some of my favorite books.

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."
Love in the Time of Cholera

"Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself."
Mrs. Dalloway

"This is the saddest story I have ever heard."
The Good Soldier

"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day."
Jane Eyre

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."
Pride and Prejudice

"The sun shone, having no alternative, on nothing new."
Murphy

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."
One Hundred Years of Solitude

Although I am not a fan of westerns, this line is my new favorite. It sucked me in and made me read it. I have loved the book.

"See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves. His folks are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father has been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him."
Blood Meridian

I know this is more than the first line, but I could not find a good place to stop. I could have given you the first two pages. The book is very Faulkner and Melvillesque.
What are some of your favorite first lines? Don't worry if one of your favorites has already been taken; add it anyway.

Good New(s) Year

Dr. Winterhalter sent me some good news the other day and I thought you all might like to know it. She and I applied for a research grant for the summer of '06 to work on a book she, along with a professor at Georgia Southern, is compiling. The book is called Feminist Locations, and it is composed of essays from professors all over the south. Dr. W let me know that we won the grant and I will be able to work as an assistant editor on the project next summer. I am happy for the experience. I know there are many other people who are more qualified for this position, but I am thrilled to have the opportunity.

The Dreaded Resolution

Every year, about this time, I begin to start thinking of my new year's resolution. Every year, this resolution is the same: to lose weight. While I was married, we would always go to church on New Year's Eve and at midnight, we would come together as a church and pray for the year ahead of us. I always imagined that the people around me were praying for world peace and an end to world hunger, while I bowed my head and asked God to give me the strength to lose the 60 pounds I gained when I was pregnant with Reese. I was ashamed to be so shallow, but it meant so much to me.

This year is no different. I have enjoyed bread and desserts during the holiday season because I know on January 1st, I will be right back on my diet. This year I started to question my resolution because it has been so ineffective in the past. Hopefully, I will start teaching this fall and I do not want to have to turn my fat ass to a group of insecure, and potentially mean, teenagers, so I have a lot of motivation to finally succeed. Outside of the physical, I have other issues I need to work on. I have ignored other areas in my life that could use some improvement to focus on this one wish, as if this achievement will fix all the other problems in my life. Maybe it would, but maybe not. I am going to try a different approach this year: I am going to keep my resolution to lose weight, but I will not make this my single goal. How about you? What resolutions have you had in the past, and how successful have you been? What is this year's resolution?

Kid's Say The Darndest Things

I don't want this to be a blog about the joys of motherhood, so I try to decide what to put based upon the rule of would I repeat this story if it did not involve my child. This is one story that I would probably tell no matter who it involved. Me and Trey were watching television together last night, actually I was watching television and Trey was composing a Christmas letter to Kirsten, when a commercial for Ruby Tuesday came on. The announcer said "Enjoy our Hang off the Plate Ribs, slow cooked for hours." Trey said, "I would never order those things." I disagreed,"I would, they look delicious."
"But Mama, think about it. It would take forever. The man said they cook it for hours."
After I quit laughing, I explained that they started cooking it long before the person ordered it from the menu. I thought it was very cute.

On another note. I do not know if any of you have seen the beautiful Reese Witherspoon in Vanity Fair, but I watched it the other night and loved it. It got such horrible reviews that I had never had any interest in seeing it, but I could not sleep and it was on HBO so I watched it. I fell in love with Becky Sharp's card-shark husband(James Purefoy). Seriously, it was like a teenage girls crush on the New Kid's on the Block. He is adorable (see picture above). I am going to the book store today to read all 912 pages of the novel to see how much they changed it in the film version. I always heard Becky Sharp was a horrible girl, but Reese Witherspoon could never be anything but sweet as pie. Casting may have been off here a little. If you get a chance, watch it, or if you have already watched it, tell me what you thought.

Merry Christmas!

Only the strong survived. The plastic reindeer did not have a chance.

For all my petty complaints about my life, this christmas I am thankful for the goodness in simply being alive. I have wonderful friends, people that I truly, truly like, and a beautiful family. I hope each of you have a merry Christmas and a fabulous year. I look forward to sharing them with you.

It's The Most Wonderful Time

I started this post several times but I kept erasing it because I could not find the right thoughts to put down. I felt that I had depressed everyone with my musings on death, so I wanted to talk about something different. I could have talked about my relentless pursuit of the xbox 360, and how maddening it was to keep missing out on the hottest gift this Christmas. I woke up at 7am each morning, threw on a baseball cap and sneakers and went to Wal-Mart and Circuit City, and then before I went to bed at night, I got out and repeated my trip to the stores, hoping that the person at the desk would say, "Boy are you lucky. We just got a shipment in." I would gladly write out a check, stuff the xbox in my car and plan on ways to keep it hidden from my boys. It would be my Christmas gift to myself to have pulled off the impossible and made two kids very happy. It was not meant to be that way. Instead, I woke up one morning, sad and depressed and feeling like a failure, only to stumble along a premium xbox 360 package at WalMart.com. I could not click the "checkout" button fast enough. It was, as Kirsten would say, "a Christmas miracle." It was not until I had to confirm the order that I realized this "premium" package was over 1000 dollars. I did not care: I bought it anyway.

The next morning, I slept late. No early morning trek to Wal-Mart hell, so I sat at my computer and out of habit, I checked to see if Circuit City had any 360's in stock, and yes, they did, and at half the price. The only problem was that I had to call and order it over the phone and Reese just happened to overhear my order. I lost the element of surprise I love so much. There would be no "Oh my gosh" upon seeing the presents under the tree on Christmas morning. I thought I could work it out later. The next day, I told the kids that Circuit City called and said there had been a mistake and they could not send out the xbox 360, but would be happy to send us a regular xbox. They are so gullible! Sad faces abounded for the rest of the day. I had the advantage back.

I cancelled the order at walmart and waited for the order from circuit city. I convinced the kids that after Christmas we would get them an xbox 360. I went shopping and when I finished I stopped at my mom's to see my brother. Everyone kept mouthing something to me and pointing to the spare bedroom, but I had no clue of what they were talking about. I went into the kitchen with my mom and she said, "The UPS guy took the xbox to your house and the kids saw it. It is all in the guest room. Reese called me and said 'Please come get it Granny so mama will not know we saw it. She will be disappointed if she knows she can't surprise us.'" She had tears in her eyes when she told me, and at first I did not understand why, but then I thought about the fact that they had not said one word to me about their "surprise." There was no cheers of triumph or "can we play it now since we already saw it?" Three little people cared about dissapointing me more than they cared about their own fun times. I can't say that, as an adult, I always do that. I have no doubt that they would never have told me they already knew what they were getting. So, I got my own little surprise for Christmas. In a world that has commercialized the holiday season, and I am just as guilty of this, you can still find a moment of selflessness. I thought to myself, maybe, just maybe, I am doing an ok job. That I am not failing at the most important task I have been given: to not completely screw up the lives of three beautiful individuals. It was a gift that cannot be wrapped up in paper, or bought in a store, and it will be the best gift I receive this year.

Memories of My Melancholy Whores

I am reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's new short story Memories of My Melancholy Whores. I love Marquez (I know you do too Christy) so I thought I would keep a little journal while I read it. When I told Dr. Torres that I planned to read it over the break, she said, "In Spanish, the title is very shocking. When I saw it I gasped." Initially, I was attracted to the word "Whores," but I knew it would not be about lascivious sex, but a love story of some kind. Sex is usually secondary to love in Marquez's work. So far, I love it. Here is one of my favorite lines: "I don't have to say so because people can see it from leagues away: I'm ugly, shy and anachronistic. But by dint of not wanting to be those things I have pretended to be just the opposite. Until today, when I resolved to tell of my own free will just what I'm like, if only to ease my conscience."

I'm not very far into it, but my heart already aches for the narrator, who is a ninety year old man preparing for his death. That is how Marquez always makes me feel and why I keep on reading his beautiful prose.

The Art of Losing

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

I am not easily frightened. I am unfazed by spiders and bugs. Finances never keep me up at night. I don't fear that the random man walking towards me will rape or kidnap me. But I am terrified at the thought of death. Rape me or take me, but don't kill me. Bite me and gross me out, but just don't inject me with any poison that will cause my heart to stop.

Yesterday, I found out that a girl I used to work with died Sunday night. She was my age and had a six year old daughter, Jasmine, who was her inspiration for going back to school to get a degree. Because she was a single mother, she used to bring Jasmine to work with her and, while she cleaned rooms, I would keep the precocious six-year old at the front desk. Because I lost my father at a young age, I can imagine what this little girl will go through. Every Christmas will be a reminder of what she does not have, and what she is missing. She is learning what some people will be lucky enough to never learn: that life can be unfair to the poor and the young and the vulnerable, who are all too often one in the same. Many times she will ask herself "How would my life be different if my mother had lived?" The sad part is that she will never know.

My 85 year old neighbor died last week. He had struggled with cancer for years and his death was no surprise to his family. His youngest son is my age and his oldest is in her fifties. They lived a nice, full life with their family intact and whole. I admit, I am jealous. Not only for me, but for Jasmine and others that I know have lost someone important to them too early. My tears for Jasmine are tears for myself. I have not yet mastered the art of losing.

Insightful Insight

This morning on Imus, George Carlin said something that I think applies to this billboard on the side of a West Virginia highway: "When you are born, you get a ticket to the freak show. If you live in America, sometimes the seat is on the front row."

Dixie Lee Swogger Higginbotham Jacobs . . .

Cast of Characters

Going along with the theme of my previous post, I have to tell you a little bit about my family history. Most of you know I went to a bizarre little school where the only literature we ever studied was the Bible and Pilgrim's Progress. I never wrote an essay and the only science I learned was intellilgent design, or as we called it back then, " we don't come from no monkeys!" Many of the kids that went to school there, were there because their family either, did not want them around black people, they had been kicked out of public schools for abnormal behavior, or their parents went to the church that was in charge of the school. I was part of the last group.

I believe that I was a born radical. I read books that no one else even heard of and was constantly in trouble. I believe I got my rebellious streak from my grandmother, who refused to be called Granny, Grandmother or anything else maternal sounding. She was one of those women that are in every small southern town that was close friends with the sheriff and could get a ticket fixed with a phone call. She had several husbands (5 to be exact) who were prominent blue-collar businessmen and she owned a restaurant called "The Blue Bird Cafe" that is still opened in downtown Brunswick. Her husbands were strange men. Her first husband, my grandpa, owned a boarding house for horses and would take me to all the horse shows. He would sit in a chair and yell at the horses as they went around the barrel's. I would sit between his knees and feel like the luckiest little girl in the world. He had left Dixie and my mom and her sister when they were very young, but as he grew older he decided to be a part of his grandchildren life. He died shortly after this decision, which is how my luck seems to go.

Dixie's next husband (I won't go though them all as some are more memorable than others) was Cecil. Cecil owned a Catepillar dealership and he was the love of Dixie's life. When he tried to leave her, she pulled out her pistol and tried to shoot him, but the gun went off and she shot herself in the foot. She was never charged with anything (see the note about the sheriff above). A few years after Cecil, Dixie married a man named Hershel. Hershel was a drunk chef who owned a catering business that had recently suffered because of his drinking. I will never forget the Thanksgiving after they married. Herschel impressed everyone with a fabulous spread. I have never since had better sweet potatoes than Herschel's. After a couple of glorious thanksgiving dinners, Dixie got tired of Herschel and kicked him out. We were all devastated. I loved Herschel and his funny drunken ways. Herschel got drunk one night after their divorce and was killed in a car accident. God bless his soul, he was a good man in spite of the drink.

I could go on and on about Dixie and her stories, but this has been to long and I need to get to my point: I have a lot of Dixie in me. My first best friend in school was kicked out because they caught her in the bathroom unfolding sanitary napkins and looking at them. I married a man that loved to drink and have a good time and was a fabulous chef. I also contemplated killing him several times, and if I had a gun, I may have followed through. I get tired of guys after a few years and want to move on, but I have too much of my mom in me as well and I try to do the "right thing," whatever that may mean. Dixie's granddaughter all have a bit of her in them and we know this, but we seemed doomed to repeat her mistakes. I guess there is a lot of power in the blood.

There Is Power In The Blood

"In whatever form a slowly accumulated past lives in the blood . . . It has the same power of broadening and deepening the individual existence, of attaching it by mysterious links of kinship to all the mighty sum of human striving."

This quote comes from The House of Mirth. Lily's life is destined for heartbreak because of her past. Wharton seems to blame her misfortunes on the "power of the blood, " and her family history. That is why Lily had to die: she could have never overcome her fate because it is in her blood.

I thought about this when my beautiful niece came by my mom's the other day to help us make fruit cake. She said, "I have 'shit magnate' across my forehead. If a guy is a jerk and a loser, I will find him out in a crowd of winners." She should have better luck. She is tall and thin, blonde, beautiful and smart. She is working on her master's in education, goes to a big university and has an amazing personality. However, it's in her blood to have that kind of luck. Everyone says she reminds them of me (not that I am tall, blonde or beautiful), but she has my type of luck. She thinks with her heart and not her head. She makes choices on how it will feel right now and not how will it feel ten years from now. I like to go to school and have fun, and if there is a loser in the room, I find him like a heat seeking missile. I wonder, Are we destined for our life? Can we do anything to change our fate? Wharton and Hardy seem to think not.

Free At Last, Free At Last!

This may be overdoing it, but only to a small degree. I am the angel and I am free. Get it?

Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last! Let Freedom ring!, Operation Iraqi Freedom . . . Well maybe not the last one, but it is fabulous to be free. After taking my last final yesterday, I am able to once again enjoy freedom. I know why it was such a big deal. It feels great to wake up and lay there in my nice warm bed and not feel guilty. To know that I have no certain number of pages to read, no paper to write, and no lesson plan to make up, is wonderful. The sad part is that in a couple of weeks, I will be ready to go back to school,with my new pens and pencils, and laugh with Kirsten and listen to Brandi's elopement fantasies. For now though, it feels good to have nothing to do. I hope all of you are almost done, and when you are, let me know how it feels.

It's Finals Time

I will return, if I have the power of language, after my last final on Wednesday.

Sean Has Taken Over

Sean keeps coming up with lists that he would like for me to post, so here is another. I have to admit that I am partial to these as well.
I told Sean that I don't know if I can come up with 10 of my favorite movies. List as many, or as few as you want.
What are you favorite movies?
1. Grapes of Wrath
2. Gone with the Wind
3. Braveheart
4. Shine
5. Malcom X
6. Closer
7. Thelma and Louise

I don't think these are my favorite movies, but it's finals week and I have zero brain capacity.

What We Love

My friend Sean loves to debate the merits of certain books that have historically been called "great." I think he has some strange ideas, but he does share my love for books. I was sharing a quote with him and a couple of other friends, and, as anti-sentimental as Sean is, he thought it was a great paragraph and sentiment:

" Vendler is evoking one of the great myths about those of us who take literature seriously enough to major it in college, perhaps enough to want to spend out lives teaching literature to others: that in our Edenic childhoods we grew up enchanted by the pleasures and powers of literature . . . However we got hooked by literature, it seems to be a lifelong addiction, and studying it is the tribute we pay to the power it has over us."
Falling Into Theory
I told Sean I would try and start a debate, or at least a list, of books others feel are great. Here's mine, in order of greatness:
1. The Waves
2. Jane Eyre
3. The Brothers Karamozov
4. Love in the Time of Cholera
5. To the Lighthouse
6. Mrs./ Dalloway
7. The Portrait of a Lady
8. As I Lay Dying
9. One Hundred Years of Solitude
10. The Good Soldier
I could go on and on, but I am already questioning my top ten list. I would love to see what books show up again and again on this list. Add yours and make Sean happy.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

It's almost obscene.

Life's Little Nuisances

I saw a list on a blog the other day and thought it was very funny, so I came up with a list of a few of the students that I see in my classes at Armstrong. Most of these are found in my education classes. Feel free to add one of your characters to the list.

1. The student who uses the wrong word, or uses unnecessary words, because they are trying to sound smart.

There is a lady in one of my classes who loves to speak articulately and enunciate everything perfectly. She ends up sounding like a minister. Some of her favorite words are "Holistic"and (my personal favorite), "Dramastically." Last night she sounded the battle cry for teachers everywhere to "Give of yourselves" (pause here) "that is the best we can do for our children." One semester, a guy was so out of control, that we had to create a banned word list. If I recall correctly, "Juxtaposition" was at the top of the list.

2. The student who is connected in some way to every situation:

One of the women in my class has a little bit of everybody in her family. "I have been accused of being Jamaican," "I have been around a lot of Muslims,"" I like to eat bean Pies," "My Auntie is an Indian," "I had a great-uncle who was from Turkey," "Jehovah Witnesses always knock at my door." You get the picture. Her initial revelations always end up in a 15 speech that rambles on about things that no one cares about.

3. The student who is so PC that she qualifies everything she says:

There is a girl we call "Lily White" in one of my classes. She is so conscious of everything she says that she has to say two sentences for every one sentence she says. Example, "I never knew that black children had such problems, you know what I mean when I say black, I don't mean black children."

4. The student that "helps out" the teacher by bringing in articles or news stories that she thought we would find "interesting."

Many times these articles are of no interest to me at all. They end up be more paper that I have to toss out of my already too cluttered book bag. I have to confess though; sometimes I am this student. But I do not bring these articles to the whole class, just to the teacher and a select few who I know will be interested in it.

A New Metaphor

Oak Tree on Sapelo

I have my theory that life is like a merry-go-round; there are ups and downs, but you have to stay on the ride. Today, as I was watching Meet the Press, I decided that life is not only like a merry go round, but it is also like a television show. We live life in production mode; presenting ourselves as who we want others to think we are. When we are being observed through the lens of the camera, those watching only see what we want them to see. It looks pretty good to them. We read from the teleprompter and make as few mistakes as possible. We only let a few see the behind the scenes action. The wires that hang free and make the set, when seen in its entirety, look messy and disordered, are cut off when others narrowly observe us. When the camera widens out, others can see that our set is not as perfect as it seems through the selective eye of the lens, so we try to keep them from that wide shot. We try to keep the camera in tight and the frame under our control. When the microphones are turned off, we say things we would rarely say when others could hear our broadcast.

Some may think this is a criticism of the way we live, but it is not. We cannot, no matter how we would like to, walk around saying or doing whatever we please with no consideration of those around us. We live, not only for ourselves, but for others as well. Independence is great, but so is interdependence. I was told by a very wise man once, "Before you say something, ask yourself, Is it necessary and is it kind?" As long as I can present a decent picture to the people in my viewing area, then I can work on the behind the scenes stuff. I can reach back and tuck in a wire that may be hanging in way of the shot. At least I can try.

It really is sad

The Chili Cheese Dog

This post is dedicated to Malinda. Her reaction to Willie's just shows you how, once bitten by the Willie Bug, you can never recover. I also realize how sad it is that I have dedicated so much time to a hot dog stand. Tomorrow we are going to St. Simons to play in the park. Look for the pics. I promise there will be none of Willie's.

Well Put Candide

"'That is very well put,' said Candide, 'but we must cultivate our garden'"

Voltaire in Candide

Sometimes I am amazed at the hurt we can feel for others. I remember reading the end of "Candide" and being so disappointed that he did not find the happiness he had fought for throughout this novella. I felt the same way for Newland Archer at the end of Age of Innocence.

But these are characters in books. I have never, and will never know them. I cry because I feel their pain in a way that I relate to my own life.

Last night I went to a sports banquet for Reese and Hope's football and volleyball teams. Although Hope was never able to play (I am glad to say she is an artist and not an athlete), she was very excited to be able to receive a certificate and stand on the stage with her friends. But when the members of the volleyball team were called up to receive their rewards, Hope's name was not called. She smiled and said "It's OK. I don't mind." But I knew better, and I hurt for her much like I hurt for Candide and Newland.

Tha' Real Willie's

As promised:

Making Your Own Space

I believe that, no matter the circumstances, people find a way of making their own space. I thought you might like to see some of my spaces in Brunswick. What more do you need besides a great restaurant, a good cup of coffee, a delicious cheeseburger and an independent bookseller that sells great old books?

To Will

We are alone, absolutely alone on this chance planet: and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us.
- Maurice Maeterlinck

When I read that quote earlier today, I did not give it much thought. It seems like one of life's cruel moments because my beloved dog Will was killed tonight. It was Phil's fault, and I am going to be completely bitter and unbearably mean for a little while. I hope I can forgive him and be the kind of person I aspire to be, but right now it seems unlikely.

Differance

Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished without passion

G. W. F. Hegel

When someone asks me what my major is, I am always a little proud to tell them "I am an English major." I am sure there are other people with different majors that feel the same way I do. They ask, "Why would anyone want to be an English major?" while I wonder why anyone would be a business major. Having a degree in English is not especially prestigious, and will probably not bring me great wealth, but I am pursuing my passion. I love that I walk around work all day and talk to people who love, not only to read, but to think. I am convinced we look at the world differently.

When I was younger, I was different from my friends. I was reminded of this last night when I went to dinner with four girls I've known since elementary school. Four times a year, for each others birthday, we go out to dinner. I always think about how we were when we were growing up for several days before we meet. I am convinced that we are who we are and there is not much we can do to change it. Our school did not encourage reading, but I read. I read Austen, Bronte, Shakespeare, Sewell, Alcott and even Margaret Mitchell. I listened to Opera music on large records. or Frank Sinatra as he crooned about love. I was just different. One of my favorite people in the world confirmed this difference for me today. When she was in the sixth grade, her idea of a great Halloween costume was to dress up like a Picasso painting. No one else recognized what she was, they had the nerve to ask if she were "trash," but even then, she knew what she liked and did not care that no one else shared her view of the world. She was different then and she still is, but I hope now she values that difference. One day, I am convinced, she will be famous because of her unique vision.

I was reminded of that difference last night as my friends pulled up in their large SUV's with their American flag magnetic stickers on the back window. They stepped from their cars perfectly pressed, grabbed their Vera Bradley bags and walked to the restaurant confident in their good looks. I picked up my bag from the Junkman's Daughter, smiled and followed them in, confident in the fact that I am where I want to be and, tomorrow, I will walk into a building to a group of people from whom I am not so different.

Killing Time Without Injuring Eternity

"Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates his fate."

H. D. Thoreau

I love where I am right now in my life. I love school and homework and being told that I have to read certain books. There are very few days that I am truly depressed. I may be blue or out of sorts, but it is a fleeting feeling and insignificant in the large scheme of things.

I fall in love at least eight times a day with guys I will never talk to. I am aware that, if I did talk to them, I probably wouldn't like them anymore. My life is not perfect, but it is life and it is here and it is mine.

I got the title for this post from Thoreau, who always makes me think of life a little more carefully. The direct quote is, "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity." Amazing. As happy as I am, there are people that keep asking me when am I going to get on with my life. "Get a job," they say, and "Start living." As if life begins at certain landmark moments, such as graduation, a new job, or turning 30 or 40, or whatever. We spend our life waiting to live. These "landmarks" come and go and we are eternally disappointed because it is never what we thought it would be. I felt that way when I got my undergrad degree. I was let down because I felt the same as always. Now I realize that each day I live and love what I do and where I am, I am not killing time. If I spend each day waiting for something to happen, then I guess that would be injuring eternity. Maybe, if I try really hard, I can avoid doing that.

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

I just took my son, Reese, to see a one-man show at the Conference Center at Coastal Georgia Community College. The show consisted of one man who looked like a perfectly sane Edgar Allen Poe. The actor lectured on literary criticism and read some of Poe's best known poems. The crowd was larger than I expected, but it soon became obvious that they did not have any idea what the hell was going on in the darkened auditorium.

Several times during the performance, someone would clap at inappropriate times, such as when the actor would pause in the poem. One lone pair of hands would begin to clap, only to quickly realize their error and stop, but not before some other idiot had joined in on the applause. It was not just inappropriate cheering;there was also someone's cell phone blaring out the Battle Hymn of the Republic, while the cell phone owner frantically dug in their purse to silence the offending phone. Then there was the child in front of me whose mother had bought him a bag of cheetos during intermission so they could get through the rest of the show. Crinkle, crinkle, crunch, crunch. They were on the front row, right in front of me.

Although the actor was probably oblivious, or drunk, I felt acute embarrassment for my fellow citizens. Some were intelligent senior citizens who probably relocated here from a large city and, thirsty for a taste of culture, decided to grab an evening with Poe, only to have it ruined by their new compatriots in Brunswick, or as some call it, "The 'Wick." I don't know why I take this type of embarrassment to heart. Why do I care if strangers in the same room as I am, behave like backasswards lunatics? Have any of you ever experienced that feeling? I want to hear about it, unless it was me that embarrassed you by acting a fool.