Poetic Champions Compose

~~She'll loan you her toothbrush, She'll bartend your party~~



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Thursday, July 31, 2003
 
FOR THOSE OF YOU PLAYING ALONG WITH THE HOME VERSION


The answer to yesterday's trivia question can be found here.

It is one of my all-time favorite childhood memories. Maurice Sendak's Nutshell Library is a collection of his short stories for kids which were IMMENSELY popular with my first grade class. We listened to the "Really Rosie" album, we watched the "Really Rosie" TV special, we sang the alphabet song "Alligators All Around" (which I can STILL to this day sing all the words to), and the months of the year song, "Chicken Soup with Rice" (ditto for the lyrics and tune to this song).

And, lo and behold, there was even a song about Pierre, "who only could say 'I don't care'."

*sigh*

What great memories.

Tune in tomorrow when we discuss Marlo Thomas' AMAZING album and film, "Free to Be You and Me."

In a land where the river runs free, in a land through the green country, in a land to the shining sea...
 
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
 
THERE ONCE WAS A BOY NAMED PIERRE

Written today in an email to Zam:

So, let me just tell you about the guy who sits behind me in this stinking class...

First of all, I am so freakin' bored out of my mind during the "instruction" part of the class that I would rather jab my eyes out with knitting needles than sit there and wait...and wait...and wait for everyone else to catch up.

Secondly, part of the reason why it takes so long for everyone to catch up is because of Pierre. Yes, that is his real name. Pierre sits right behind me, and is probably about 40+ years old. He is not a teacher yet. He is a culinary arts guy who wants to become a cullinary arts teacher. He is taking this class to "get a jump" on the educational stuff since he is also taking his ed classes through Temple U.

Pierre is a moron.

I doubt that Pierre has ever used a computer before in his life. Even the simplest of things, Pierre has to ask for help with, or to have repeated. Such as:

Teacher: "Ok, let's click on the disk icon and save this. *pause* Alright then, let's open a new slide..."
Pierre: "What do I click on to save?"
Teacher: "The disk icon in the upper left on your toolbar...ok...now, we should have a new slide up..."
Pierre: "How do I start a new slide?"

This is usually followed by a very audible heavy SIGH from both myself and the cool chick who sits next to me.

Another thing that irks me about this guy is that he is VERY vocal. He will interrupt by calling out when he gets lost--which is about every 5 seconds--and he (this is the worst) answers RHETORICAL questions. Out loud. As if he speaks for all of us. Yesterday, the teacher asked if everyone was ready to move on. He belted out, "YES."

WTF?!?!? How the hell do you, Pierre, know if I am finished?

It's torture, dammit.

P.S. Bonus points to anyone who can figure out where the post title comes from. Hint: Think elementary school...think musicals...Think Maurice Sendak
 
 
SLACKER

Yes, I realize that my postage on this blog has been lacking.

Yes, I apologize to all 5 of you who read this.

Unfortunately, this is my busy week. Not only am I taking a 4-day class, I attended a baby shower tonight and I have been helping a co-worker (for whom the shower was thrown) move into a new house since last Friday. I must say that for 2 people living in a small townhouse, this couple has more crap that they own than anyone I have ever met. It is unfathomable to me that all of the stuff we have moved--which is barely fitting into the new house--actually fit in that townhouse. As they cleaned out their downstairs closet, they were finding things that they hadn't seen in years. Old Christmas gifts (old, like, in excess of 2 years) for friends that they had misplaced...in the closet. More blankets and pillows than any human needs. It was insane.

Also, on Thursday, I am going to get my book signed by the author. Giddy up.

So, probably sometime next week, the posting will get back to a higher volume.

Until then, the 5 of you who read this will just have to be patient.

Gracias mucho.
 
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
 
LE...WHOOPS!

As my 30th birthday has begun to approach, some of you may recall my recent resolve to get myself back into some modicum of shape. I am proud to say that I am still on that quest, and I have been making a tad bit of progress. Of course, it is just a tad, but a tad is better than sitting on my ass and eating a bag of chips.

Well, tonight as I was out for my usual evening run, I encountered something which I certainly have never encountered before.

My usual run consists of (basically) 10 times up and down the alley behind my house. Yes, I realize this sounds strange, but, there are several reasons why I do this:

  1. I know that one time up the alley is exactly .2 miles, and therefore, it is easy for me to track exactly how far I have run without going to the track (10 times = 2 miles).

  2. I am much better at doing things like running if I have a finite goal that I can see in mind--I don't do well just running through town because it is too abstract for me; even if I know where I am going, and where I want to end up, the end is never in sight.

  3. I am accustomed to running in this manner from pre-season workouts in college--we ran sprints on the soccer field for HOURS.

  4. It is not a highly trafficked alley (i.e. no one sees me), yet it is well lit, and (obviously) near my home.

  5. I enjoy running in the alley.


Well, tonight, while I was completing my run, I was just about to make my last run up the alley, and I saw what I thought was my neighbor's cat emerging from beneath the fence in their backyard, and crawling into the alley. This was not unusual to me. Often, the cat will roam around and it will frequently cause the motion detector light by the alley to turn on.

The cat is black with some white on its face and paws, and a little bit on its tail, and so, when I saw the shadowy creature squeeze its way out from under the fence, I didn't hesitate to keep running. The cat always tears off at the sight of me anyway, so, I wasn't about to stop.

Except, as I got closer, the thing didn't run away. As a matter of fact, it froze in its tracks in the middle of the alley. And, as I got closer, I noticed that the tail was a whole lot bushier than that cat's. And it was a whole lot pudgier, and the big, bushy tail had a nice white stripe down the middle of it.

It, however, did not speak with a French accent.

Yes, folks, tonight was my close encounter with a skunk. Thank goodness I was as close to my house as I was. I made a direct u-turn and didn't stop running until I was inside the house. Didn't bother to look back to see where little Pepe went. He was still frozen in his tracks when I made my mad dash for the house, but I wasn't about to wait around for him to do his little handstand and take aim. (Just in case you may not have known, skunks stand on their front feet and literally do a handstand when the are about to spray--their butts kind of flip over their heads like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat, and they hit you from that position. So, don't ever wait for them to turn and point their asses at you, cause it won't happen. It's not like in the cartoons.)

The funny part of the whole thing is that this COULD have been Pepe Le Pew, seeing as how the bugger crawled out from under the fence of the house where the black and white cat resides. What was going on over there? I didn't hear any serenading. I didn't smell any Eau de Parfum. I didn't see any frantic, yet playful chasing around the neighborhood. There was no French being spoken...

It's le mystery to me.
 
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
 
THERE'S A STORM OUTSIDE AND THE GAP BETWEEN THE CRACK AND THUNDER IS CLOSING IN


Well, last night we had the biggest-assed storm that this area has had in quite some time. And, even now, we are still under a flood watch. However, it doesn't look all that ominous today. The threat of rain is supposed to continue throughout the week, but I guess that remains to be seen.

In my infinite wisdom, yesterday, I mowed my grandmother's lawn for her, seeing as how the weather prediction for the rest of the week did not seem conducive to lawnmowing. Good job I did it--it was a monsoon last night.

Normally, the mowing of the lawn is my responsibility because of my entire family, I am the only one who doesn't have to work a lick during the summer. I understand this. But, my grandmother has a freakin' HUGE yard, and she doesn't have a riding mower. Up until a few summers ago, she mowed her own lawn (that was before she fell one day while mowing, broke her leg, and had to have surgery to fix it), so, at about 60 years younger than she is, I suppose I should be able to handle the task. Which, I can. I have no choice. If I (or someone) doesn't do it, she will do it herself. And that's a great big no-no. She'll be 89 in a few months. Still spry, but not mammoth lawn-mowing spry.

It just takes a while to mow that lawn.

Even with the mower set on its highest speed, it still takes me a good hour and a half to mow the whole yard. And, with the self-propelled mower basically dragging me along, it's a pretty good workout. The downside is that when it is soooo freakin' hot, the grass clippings all stick to me--ALL OVER. Arms, legs, face, back (cause I usually wear a swimming suit and shorts). Gross.

Yesterday, though, was almost the end of my lawnmowing career. As I was mowing the front yard, my already poorly constructed ankle decided to *pop* because I stepped on the edge of where the grass meets the street in an awkward manner. I wish I had a video of it because there I was, hopping on one foot while trying to push the stupid mower back up the small bank of the front yard because I was standing in the middle of the street. I couldn't really put any weight on the bad ankle, and so I hobbled into the garage and sat down for a second.

After a minute or two of sweating and manipulating my ankle a bit, I felt a second *pop* and all was restored to order. It's the craziest thing, I know. But, my ankle has pretty much nothing left in it except some bones and probably one tendon that is holding it together due to all of the injuries it has sustained. So, with everything back in place, I went out to finish my mowing.

Later, as I thought I was finishing, I stepped in a small divot in the yard and almost broke my OTHER ankle. Another narrowly averted disaster. Then, soon after, I had to avoid a patch of mysterious poop. Whence the poop came, I know not. My grandmother has no animals, nor do any of her neighbors. It was not bunny poop, and it was not bird poop. It was a pile o' poop. It will be a mystery.

Lawn mowing is dangerous work, yo.
 
Monday, July 21, 2003
 
JUST LIKE HOMER SIMPSON...

Much like the absence of talking during dinner time may be summed up by Homer Simpson as, "Can't talk...eating," the absence of posting on this blog by me may be summed up as, "Can't type...reading." (Please see What I Am Reading Now... in the links to the right.)

I picked up my copy of The Da Vinci Code today, and I have about 200 pages to go. It's just getting exciting now, and I can't put it down! Not to mention, the theories in this book are mind boggling, and as a result, I am sure I will have to look into reading Holy Blood, Holy Grail as well.

After all, I already did a Google search for a picture of The Last Supper and Madonna of the Rocks.

This book is highly intriguing.
 
Friday, July 18, 2003
 
DRAWING A BLANK...

THIS is why I could not participate in the Blogathon. I am drawing a complete blank. Nothing whatsoever is going on at the moment. So, now, all I have is drivel. I burned a cd today and called it the "Because I Was Bored Mix."

Let's see...in the past 24 hours I have done the following:

  1. Blogged (Woo hoo.)

  2. Saw "Pirates of the Caribbean" (I give it 4 stars ****. I liked it--entertaining)

  3. Watched "The Amazing Race" (GO, Reichen & Chip! Go, Clowns! Go, Kelly & John! I am SOOOO anti-Millie/Chuck it's not funny)

  4. Watched "Forensic Files" and "Body of Evidence: From the Files of Dale Hinman" on Court TV (I am addicted to any and all Forensic Science shows--LOVE "The New Detectives"--as well as books--John Douglas is awesome)

  5. Ran 2 miles (go, me)

  6. Blogged (again)

  7. Slept

  8. Woke up

  9. Tried to think of something to blog about (obviously THAT didn't work out for me)

  10. Read some blogs

  11. Showered

  12. Emailed the author about a time for him to sign my book (Probably Tuesday of next week)

  13. Sat back down here, and started to write about nothing.

And, we're up to date.
 
 
SENT YOUR SOUL LIKE A MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE TO ME AND IT WAS MY REBIRTH


Back when I was a sophomore in high school, the 4th Indigo Girls album "Rites of Passage" was released. There is a song on that album entitled "Virgina Woolf" which is (you guessed it) about the famous author and the connection that Emily felt towards her after reading her diaries. As a 16-year-old kid, obviously, I could not have cared less about Virgina Woolf, the author. (I had not yet blossomed into my English-teachery self at that point.) I listened to the song, enjoyed it, but never thought much about it. It wasn't one of my favorites from the album.

It was not until several years later when the girls released their 2-cd live album "1200 Curfews" that I became intrigued by Virgina Woolf. On the live track from the set, Emily prefaces the performance with an explanation of how she came to write the song (her mom is a librarian, she loaned her a copy of Woolf's diaries, she was drawn in by the words of the author). It piqued my curiosity for sure. Yet, I never found the time to learn much more about Virginia Woolf. I was in college, I had sooooo much reading to do for my English courses (surprisingly, none of which included any Woolf), I was playing Div. I hoops...I just never got around to it.

(Trust me, there's a point coming here, soon.)

Cut to 2003. The major motion picture The Hours is released, based on Michael Cunningham's Pulitzer Prize winning novel of the same name. (Wait...what's this? Nicole Kidman is wearing a fake nose? Oh...she is supposed to be Virgina Woolf.) Suffice it to say, The Hours was the best damn movie of the year. The last movie that made as much of an impact on me after watching it was In the Bedroom (another film based on a piece of literature--Andre Dubus' short story "Killings").

I am ashamed to admit it, but I violated my cardinal rule about movies for this film--I saw the movie before I read the book. I NEVER do that, but, the film was being shown in limited locations around here and I had to grab the opportunity when it presented itself, or I would have had to wait for video. In hindsight, I am so glad that I did it. But, I am also left with this situation in the wake:

The movie re-awakened my interest in Virgina Woolf--as a writer, and as a person. (And here comes the now somewhat convoluted point of this whole thing...) I decided that to fully understand The Hours, I would first have to read Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf. Little did I know what a daunting task this would be.

When people talk of Virginia Woolf and her stream of consciousness writing, it is usually classified as "difficult reading." Um...understatement.

I am a voracious reader. My friends, still to this day, are amazed at how quickly I can read a book. Average time, 2 days, for a 350 page novel--depending on the book and/or author and how much time I am willing to devote to reading. One of Patricia Cornwell's Scarpetta novels would be done in 6-8 hours, max. I consumed all of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on a bus going to and coming back from North Carolina--9 hours each way, 790 pages, give or take a few. The latest, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (870 pages), took me 4 days of intermittent reading.

Mrs. Dalloway is about 200 pages long. I have been trying to read this thing for about 2 weeks now. It is killing me because she does write with an incredible style and has some truly amazingly complex sentences and vividly detailed descriptions. Yet, I am finding it soooo hard to read. I want so badly to read this book because already I can see the connections that Cunningham has made to it in The Hours...but it is tough.

I will continue to force myself, though.
 
Thursday, July 17, 2003
 
YOU SET YOUR GOALS AND YOU GO FOR THEM

Sorry. I just couldn't resist posting this.

When I was 15, this guy would have been the coolest man on the planet.
Now, it makes me sad that his aspirations are to go back to school to become, of all things, a teacher (math & science, of course). I can see the scenario...

"Sorry, class...I didn't get those tests corrected because I was out in the garage videotaping myself playing Donkey Kong all night in an attempt to break the Guinness Book record for high score."
 
 
AND THE WINNER IS...

Well, the Emmy nominations are out, and once again, it seems that the stupid Emmy voters have forsaken Joss:

Moreover, a number of new or almost-new series that have earned critical plaudits and good ratings -- among them "Boomtown," "Without a Trace" and "Scrubs" -- were ignored. "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," which ended its critically lauded seven-year run in May, went out the way it came in, with zero major nominations.

Oh, well. WE all know what a hidden treasure that show was.

Come on, Season 5 DVD's.
 
 
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO DARWIN'S LAW?

I thought the weaker (and more idiotic) members of any species were, according to the "survival of the fittest" theory, supposed to get themselves killed off more quickly so that the stronger members would help the species to thrive.

If this is true, then how is this douche bag still alive and spewing his venomous crap?

*sigh*
 
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
 
INTO EVERY GENERATION, A SLAYER IS BORN...

I have just received the surprise of my life.

As I was sitting here idly blogging my summer hours away, I received an email from an address which I did not recognize. Against my better judgement, I opened it because although I had never corresponded with this person, there was something strangely recognizable about the name.

If you have been an avid reader of my blog (please stop laughing...there are a few people who come here on a quasi-regular basis), you know that I am quite staunch in my assertion that, for a variety of reasons, there is no better show on television than "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." And, if you have been reading my blog since before I switched to this new design and location, you may recall reading a story about my purchase of a new "Buffy"-related book called Slayer Slang. Suffice it to say that I was a little bit more than excited to purchase my copy of that book. It's every Buffy-fan/English teacher's dream.

Ok...so here's the great part. Back to the email. I opened the email to find that it was from none other than Michael Adams--author of the book. He explained that he is working on another article about the use of the term "slayer slang" and in searching the internet for occurrences, he came across my humble little blog. He read my story about buying his book, and thanked me for my positive reaction, and then suggested that if I wanted, we could arrange a time to meet (since I work just up the road from Albright College) and he would sign my book for me!

How cool is that?

Excuse me while I go pee my pants.
 
 
I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR

Since the news from the homefront has been somewhat lackluster here the past few days, I should hate to bore anyone with the minutiae of my daily life. There already is a blog for that.

Instead, I choose to go back to the events of the past weekend. After relating the whole story of the picnic to my friend who was in absentia for the soiree, I have--in hindsight--become more irritated than I realized.

This lovely picnic was thrown by the girlfriend of my friend Jim*.

*Absolutely no names have been changed to protect the un-innocenty ones.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am all about female empowerment and that I staunchly spout my "anything you can do" attitude often. THIS, however, is one instance when I totally think that the stereotypical gender roles should have been followed.

Ok. Re-reading that last sentence, I need to clarify. I guess it is not the gender roles that I believe need to be followed. It's really more common human courtesy. In fact, that's all it is. Common courtesy.

Allow me to explain.

Jim's girlfriend was technically the one throwing the party. It was at her house, the majority of the people invited were her friends, and I am sure (knowing Jim) that the money spent on all the food and drinks was primarily hers. That being said, however, Jim invited QUITE a few of his own friends (myself and others included) to attend as well--which we did. Therefore, in some respect, Jim had as much of a vested interest in this picnic as she did.

She felt the pressure of being the hostess--and she did a wonderful job, might I add. The drawback of being the hostess is that you never can have quite as much fun as your guests because you are trying so hard to make sure that your party doesn't suck. This, of course, was the case at the picnic.

Now, here's where all the normal people in the world (an by "normal," I mean all non-social-neanderthals) would, if they were in a cartoon, have the little lightbulb of realization *blink* on above their cartoon noggins.

Rather than getting up off of his ass to help her with the food, the guests, the whateverthehellneedstobedoneatapicnic, Jim chose to perch himself on his lawnchair throne ALL FREAKIN' DAY. Even after numerous thinly-veiled attempts to hint to him that perhaps he should be helping her in some way ("You know, Jim, there seems to be smoke billowing from the grill, and she's kind of busy trying to get the condiments for the burgers and dogs out on the table. Maybe you should check on the burgers before the fire department arrives."), he still would not budge. The only task apparently worthy of his man-skills was the "checking of the keg." For a full hour at the beginning of the party, he made about 35 trips to THE KEG to make sure that the set-up was properly iced, the air pressure was correct and that the brew was flowing cleanly. Yet, if the task was anything other than that, he was glued to the seat.

Here's my gripe: if this is someone you supposedly LOVE, wouldn't you want to do everything you could to help make the party a success? And to ensure that your partner had just as good a time as you did? And wouldn't you feel that the whole thing reflected on you as well, since you are part of a recognized couple (which constitues a team of sorts)?

*sigh*

I suppose I shall never understand the psyche of Jim.
Then again, we have long recognized that Jim and his brother are a breed of their own.
 
Monday, July 14, 2003
 
PICTURE PAGES, PICTURE PAGES

By the way, I have also added a link to my Photo Album, which currently is empty. Hopefully, it will soon be filling up with many pictures of my adventures.

Enjoy.

Just not yet.
 
 
I WANNA ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIGHT...

The weekend update.

Attended a picnic/party at a friend's house. She lives in the coal regions. Oh, the comedy just waiting to happen.

Don't get me wrong here; in no way do I think that we PA Dutchies are more "civilized" or high-falutin' than the 'crackers (coal crackers, that is). Personally, I just enjoy some good people-watching. But, as all good people-watchers know, there are areas which are RICH in specimens. The coal regions are a hotbed of... *ahem*... interesting people.

That being said, I'd like to preface these pictures with the following statement:

No egos or feelings were hurt in the photographing of these images. All comments were kept strictly to onesself, and I was extremely cordial and polite to all new people I met. As a matter of fact, said new people were VERY nice.

Here are the photos:

The full effect

A bucket hat like no otherKISS ARMY

Who knew that Kiss was building a militia?
(By the way, the picture placards go a full 360° around the hat.)

Buffy Quotes have been amended to reflect today's post.
 
Friday, July 11, 2003
 
FRIDAY FIVE

1. Do you remember your first best friend? Who was it?

Of course I remember my first best friend. It was Jenny Smith. We were inseparable from 1st through 4th grades. We collected stickers together, and rode bikes all over town. Oh, the days...

2. Are you still in touch with this person?

Unfortunately, I don't see or hear from her much. She still lives near me, but, she's a mom of 2 (I think) and has her hands quite full. We do still get along, though.

3. Do you have a current close friend?

I have the best friend in the world.

4. How did you become friends with this person?

Honestly, we became friends when we worked together when I was about 16, but then lost touch for a while. A few years later, after I had finished college, we ran into each other, and the rest, as they say, is kismet.

5. Is there a friend from your past that you wish you were still in contact with? Why?

I suppose there are lots of people from my past that I wish I were still in contact with. I think that there are far too many for me to choose just one. I have been fortunate to have met and known a lot of truly wonderful folks, and if I had to choose just one, I think that I would love to see my old pal who I have known since elementary school, Chris Schucker. He truly is one of the nicest guys I have ever met, and I was very upset that he was unable to attend our last class reunion. I hope I get to see him soon.
 
 
AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A HOUND DOG

Dogs are weird.

My dog is the weirdest.
Sophie, doing what she does bestAt attentionMUST you take all these pictures of me?Not the birthday picture AGAIN...

She cracks me up. Today, she tried (once again) to bury one of her tasty pig ear treats inside the comforter on the bed. But, today, for some reason, I actually stood there and watched the whole procedure she follows.

It's so fascinating how animals' instincts work. She really truly doesn't notice or realize that she isn't outside in the flower bed digging and burying, but rather, that she is in the house, in a bedroom, on a bed, pawing at some covers. Don't you wonder what goes through their minds while they are doing this?

*Hops up onto bed*

*Sniffs* Nah...no good.

*Spins in circle 3 times*

*Sniffs* Hey...This place looks like a good spot. I'm must be pretty sharp to find THIS spot. Go, me. *Wags tail*

Alright. Better get started before someone else finds this primo hiding spot.

*Digs*

Hmm. Not too much progress there. Everything seems awfully...fluffy...today. Maybe if I just take my nose and...

*Pushes pig ear into covers and between pillows*

Why--*shove*--won't--*shove*--this--*shove*--fit?!?

Perhaps this would work better if I abandoned the "fill a void" approach, and adopted the "cover it up" approach...
Now all I need is some stuff to cover this with... A ha! I am SOOOO clever!

*Pushes blankets with nose to cover the ear*

Finished! Oh how cleverly I have disguised this booty! I must now bark loudly at my completed project to show my triumph!

*Barks for 5 minutes*

And, I'm spent...

*Goes and takes a nap on the recliner*


Oh, to be a dog.
 
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
 
HERBIE DOESN'T LIKE TO MAKE TOYS

Ok, so today was my bi-annual visit to the dentist.

I must say that as a kid, I never minded going to the dentist, but the older I get, the more and more I dislike it.

I don't exactly know when it happened, but it was the change in hygienist that triggered this disdain for the experience of having my teeth cleaned. Suddenly--somewhere during my late teens, I think--instead of hygienists, my dentist apparently decided to hire former meat packers, or someone like that, because now all they do is dig around in my mouth with big metal hooks.

I never remember having to take an entire day and a half to recover from a visit to the dentist that only involved a cleaning. Now, it takes that long for my poor aching gums to return to normal. It's crazy. Sitting in the chair today, slack-jawed and mouth agape, there was a moment when I actually winced and physically flinched as the hook dug into my gumline. I had a small tear in the corner of my eye--like when someone punches you in the nose, your eyes well up as a natural reaction. It was painful.

And then, she had to use the lumberjack technique with the floss--like she was trying to saw through my already red and raw gums (the state of which was caused by her giant steel hook). And it's not even nice waxed floss. I mean, I know, Glide Floss would be too much to hope for, but come on...not even waxed? No, no. No minty flavor, no easy sliding wax. Nope. It may as well have been a roll of twine from Home Depot.

And don't get me wrong, here. I LOVE my dentist. He is the greatest man on the planet. When I got my teeth busted up playing basketball (Dec. 23, 1994 vs. Colgate University--yes, the irony is too much, I know) my dentist came into the office on Christmas Eve to fix my choppers and save me from 3 days of "All I want for Christmas is my 2 front teeth" taunts. He is never rough, and is very conscious of inflicting pain (or avoiding doing that). He tries (quite successfully) to keep his patients at ease and calm in what, for some, is a place of very high anxiety. He actually hides the novocaine needle behind his back until the last possible minute when it's time for a filling. That's the kind of guy he is.

But, he needs to work on hiring some kinder, gentler hygienists.

Anyone else have this problem?
 
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
 
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER?

Ok, here's the Friday Five....on Tuesday. *sheepish grin*

1. What were your favorite childhood stories?

Hmm...I loved the Cat in the Hat books, Are You My Mother?, Go Dog Go, and Snow

2. What books from your childhood would you like to share with [your] children?

Well, I am going to say that as a little-little kid, I loved the classics like Ezra Jack Keats' Whistle For Willie, and books like Make Way For Ducklings. But also, I loved the Grimm Brothers' Fairytales.

3. Have you re-read any of those childhood stories and been surprised by anything?

Funny...today we were just discussing the horrors of the cute fluffy little Beatrix Potter tales...things like the farmer boiling and skinning bunnies.

4. How old were you when you first learned to read?

I could read the books that people had been reading to me at around 2 and a half, but I was actually about 3 years old when I started reading the newspaper on my own--I read the comics. I was a huge "Garfield" fan at 4. (I know. It's scary.)

5. Do you remember the first 'grown-up' book you read? How old were you?

Not sure what qualifies as "grown-up" (hopefully nothing smutty), and so, I don't know what that is or when I read my first one. Geez, I read all the Harry Potter books now, and I am almost 30 years old. I do have a vivid recollection of reading Charlotte's Web on the livingroom floor of my grandparents' house, and desperately trying not to cry when I got to the end and Charlotte died. I think I was about 10 years old.
 
Monday, July 07, 2003
 
SCHOOL'S OUT FOR SUMMER...OR IS IT?

Well, just when I was thinking I would finally have some time to relax and unwind, I find out I was wrong.

It has been a whirlwind summer so far. I barely had time to get into my "summer mode" before I had to abandon that all and enter "car parking mode" at the PA German Festival. For the last 8 days (should have been 9, but I played hookey to go to NYC), I have spent 8 hours a day telling people where to park their cars. That may not sound like much, but let me tell you, it is quite a task, and there really is a science to the job.

The PA German Festival is probably one of the biggest events in Berks County every year--it's DEFINITELY the biggest event in Kutztown each year. On average, we get about 1,500 to 2,500 visitors per day. On a big day, I am sure we have parked at least 3,500 cars. Possibly more. This is no small task in a town that has barely 5,000 people LIVING in it year-round. The Festival has become so huge in the last few years that they now rent a field from a local farmer and use it as a parking lot for the 9 days; this is in addition to the fairgrounds parking lot, the University parking lots across the street, and the vast expanse of land atop the hill at the local armory.

The field is the worst place in the world to work parking cars. First of all, allow me to preface this whole rant by saying that when behind the wheel of a car, the majority of society--I'd wager about 85%--becomes somewhat retarded. Then, they decide to go on vacation and visit this Festival. So, people are grumpy because they have to park (what seems to be) far from the festival grounds. They are annoyed because they have sat for 30 minutes in a line of traffic waiting to get to the Festival, and then they are directed to a FIELD to park, so they come FLYING into the field like Mario Andretti, and their vehicles look like the Dukes of Hazard, sailing over the bumps and undulations of the ground.

Also, think about all of the farmer's fields you have seen in your lifetime. How many of them have lavish giant shade trees in them? You know how many? ZERO! ZERO many have shade trees! And, of course, as it NEVER fails, we always have SWELTERING, BLISTERING heat for the 9 days of the festival. This year? It had rained EVERY freakin' day since school ended--I began to think that I was living in London, and the beginnings of a deep depression had begun to set in throughout most of Eastern Pennsylvania (the great collective "deep blue funk" of 2003)--but when it came time for the Festival...NOTHING. The week before? Rain every day. First day of the Festival? 90 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. The Executive Director of the Festival said it best on one of the last days of the event: "Ben Franklin was a wise man, and he always said, 'God watches over sinners and fools,' and we have here at this Festival one of the BIGGEST collection of sinners and fools in Pennsylvania!" (Not an understatement at all if you know the people who work at this thing!)

Then there are the giant groundhog holes in the field--Not to mention the groundhogs themselves. This year, prior to the start of the Fetsival, the farmer had been doing some target practice with the little buggers, and the day that we arrived to mark off the rows in the field, there were about 5 or 6 buzzards chowing down on the remnants of a groundhog. We left that bad boy there. On the next to last day of the Festival, a man got out of his car, which was parked next to the carcass, and said to his wife, "Look, honey...a frog." Ah, yes...the rare Eastern Pennsylvania Field Frog. Large, and furry, the field frog does not need an aquatic environment to survive. The only known mammalian frog in existence, it burrows to make its home, and looks strangely similar to the groundhog...*slaps head*

We usually try to mark the groundhog holes with stakes so people know that they are there, but this year, some old dude with a handicapped plate wanted to get out of the field and park inside the fairgrounds--which he could, due to the handicapped plate. After I gave him directions on how to get out of the field, he backed right into the stakes we had marking one set of holes, and snapped them right in half. THEN as he tried to pull away, the half-stake got caught underneath his rear bumper. Undaunted and quite oblivious to his accident, he drove off. I'm quite certain that THAT left a mark...

Anyway, the point of all this is that today was my first day after the Festival. Finally, I didn't have to get up early. I slept in a bit, and then did some laundry.
 
Friday, July 04, 2003
 
WAX ON, WAX OFF...

Well, whaddaya know...


EARTH is your chinese symbol!
What Chinese Symbol Are You?
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Thursday, July 03, 2003
 
IT'S LIKE A LIFETIME™ ORIGINAL MOVIE

Ok, I totally need to finish this story about NYC because it is SOOOO last weekend.

Anyway, this part needs to be recorded for posterity because it is just such a cool story.

So, think back to my last post...we had just left our hero and heroines as they finally arrived at McSorley's...

*Dreamy music begins and vision becomes wavy and blurry*

Well, Larry began to explain to us why he had been having such a good time all by himself while we were at the show. It turns out that when he arrived at the bar, he was fortunate enough to squeeze himself in at a spot at the bar, and as he was standing there, a young man--recently 21--came in and stood next to him. The young man proceeded to ask the VERY busy bartender if he could peruse the old log book which is kept behind the bar. The bartender told him that she was too busy to give him the log book at the moment, to which he replied, "It's really important."

So, the bartender relented and gave him the old log book. The young man explained to Larry that back in 1982 when he was born, his dad had come into McSorley's after the birth of his new son, and signed an entry in the log book, and addressed it to his son. He explained to the young man that when he turned 21, he should go to McSorley's, ask for the log book, and read what he had written.

As Larry watched, the young man flipped through the old yellowed pages of the smoky log book until he found what he was looking for: his father's handwriting and his entry. As he read the words that his father had written to him 21 years ago, the young man began to cry, and so did Larry. Larry was so moved by the whole IDEA of the entry that this man left for his (then) newborn son, and the love with which it was done, that Larry asked for the new log book that is in use. He opened to a blank page and with tears streaming down his face as he moved his pen across the page, he addressed a small entry to his 3-year-old son, Jack, in the hopes that when Jack turns 21 and goes to visit the big city, he will find the tiny little bar called McSorley's Old Ale House and he will read what his dad wrote to him, and know how much he loves him.

After we heard this story from Larry, of course, Jen also asked for the log book. Not wanting her daughters to feel left out, Jen opened to the page on which Larry had written his entry, and pen in hand, began to write her own meaningful entry to their daughters:

To my girls,

Daddy forgot to write to you...


That's our Jen for ya.

PART DEUX: DRUNK AND WEARING FLIP FLOPS ON 5TH AVENUE

Well, ok...maybe we weren't ever on 5th Avenue--but we were on 7th. And, maybe we weren't all wearing flip flops--but Jen was...sort of. (Some big-assed Sketcher sandal-y type things that made some sort of combination of "flip" and "squeak" noise as she walked.) But, those 2 components aside, WE SURE AS HELL WERE ALL DRUNK!

The rest of the trip was a hoot and consisted of all of us getting WAY too drunk and trying to navigate our way around the city. It was a wild time. So much so, that we decided to skip the 9pm bus and lollygag around the town some more, and just catch the last bus home, which was midnight. By that point, we were all pretty well spent, and ended our evening with nightcaps at the ESPN Zone bar, and then the Port Authority Bar (classy).

All in all, it was a great day/night.

The next morning, however, was not so great for me, as I had a colossal headache and was quite nauseus all day--AND I had to be at the PA German Festival by 7am to park cars all day in the hot sun. It may have gone down in history as one of my all-time great hangovers. I am not looking to repeat that anytime soon.

Yuk.
 
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
 
SIX...ER..."FIVE" IN THE CITY

Ok, ok... so, there is a lot more to the story when it comes to the NYC trip than what I have already told here.

First off...after the musical ended, we played a real life game of a cross between "Where's Waldo?" and "The Amazing Race" in the city that never sleeps. I'll call it, "The Amazing Race to Figure Out Where's Larry Before We Lose So Much Time That We Can't Have Any Fun Because We Will Miss Our Bus Home."

The Participants: My peeps--The girls. Myself, Sue, Dawn, and Jen.
The Target: Larry--Jen's husband, and proprietor of our favorite hangout, McArdle's Pub. Larry opted to NOT attend the musical, but rather, to aimlessly wander the streets of New York alone and sample libations from various establishments throughout the day.
The Destination: McSorely's Old Ale House--Oldest bar in all of New York City. Established in 1854, McSorley's is full of atmosphere (sawdust on the floor; only 2 kinds of beer: "light" or "dark"), and brandishes a sign warning patrons, "Be good or be gone."
The Mission: Find Larry at McSorley's by 5:15pm in order to allow enough time to sufficiently hop various bars prior to the bus home's departure time.

4:30pm: Larry phones my cell phone and leaves 2 messages.
Message #1: "Hey...you guys...it's me. *Hee hee hee* I have no idea where I am. *click*
Message #2: "Hey...it's just me. Calling you again. *Hee hee hee* *click*

4:45pm: First contact with Larry is made. He is on his way to McSorley's. The address, according to him, is 7th & Cooper. That is all we have to go on. We decide to catch a cab. Easier said than done.

5:00pm: We finally catch a cab, and the driver has no clue where McSorely's, OR 7th & Cooper is. We instead decide we'd like to be dropped at Washington Squre Park, thinking we should be close. Little did we know...

5:15pm: We find Officer Ryan on the street and ask directions to McSorley's (he's a nice young cop with a VERY Irish name...he should know, right?). Officer Ryan doesn't drink. Officer Ryan has no clue. He sends us to 7th AVENUE--not 7th STREET. Precious minutes have been wasted in our misdirection.

5:45pm: We have realized our mistake, and after asking for directions at "Tobacco City" we have turned ourselves back around and headed BACK towards the park, and UP the Avenue of the Americas FINALLY towards Cooper SQUARE. (This distinction between STREET and SQUARE is a major sticking point in the reason why we couldn't find "7th & Cooper.") Frantically, we try several times to call Larry back on his cell, to no avail. We would later find out that he cannot hear it ring inside of the packed barroom.

5:55pm: We reach Cooper Square and can almost smell the ale, which is virtually right under our noses.

6:00pm: Miraculously, we finally locate 7th Street, AND the infamous McSorely's Old Ale House. It is quite a FULL Old Ale House upon our arrival, but...

There's more to be told tomorrow! Bring your hankys, kids, cause the next story is a true tear-jerker!
 
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    BUFFY Quotes of the Day
    Anya: It's possible that he's in the land of perpetual Wednesday, or the crazy melty land, or you know, th-the world without shrimp.
    Tara: There's a world without shrimp? I'm allergic.

    ~from "Triangle"


    Anya: I don't see you winning too many beauty contests... unless the Miss "My Face Fell Off" Pageant gets going.

    ~from "Bargaining: Part Two"

    Anya: Here's a little something you should know about Vengeance Demons. We don't groove with the "sorry." We prefer the "Oh God, please stop hitting me with my own rib-bones!"

    ~from "Same Time, Same Place"


    Buffy: It's just like, nothing's simple. I'm always trying to work it out. Who to hate, or love...who to trust...It's like the more I know, the more confused I get.
    Giles: I believe thats called growing up.
    Buffy: I'd like to stop then, ok?

    ~from "Lie to Me"


    Riley: Got big stories to tell you, too. We get half a sec, we can compare and contrast.
    Buffy: Did you die?
    Riley: No.
    Buffy: I'm gonna win.

    ~from "As You Were"


    Xander: Giles lived for school. He's still bitter there were only 12 grades.
    Buffy: He probably sat in math class thinking, "There should be more math! This could be mathier!"

    ~from "The Dark Age"


    Giles: In the end, we are all who we are, no matter how much we may have appeared to change.

    ~from "Lessons"


    Dawn: How are you?
    Willow: A little confused. I mean, I'm sweaty, I'm trapped, no memory, hiding in a pipe from a vampire...and I think I'm kinda gay.

    ~from "Tabula Rasa"


    Buffy



    101 Reasons Why I Love Buffy the Vampire Slayer






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    I'm beginning to understand this now. It's all about the journey, isn't it?

    ~Giles, "Restless"

    The End of an Era


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