This is a direct quote, punctuation included, from the back of my new bottle of conditioner:
"This Product keeps the desirable moisture of hair ends due to the double effects of shampooing and treatment. Special ingredients contained in this Product realize flexible and rustling hair. This Product expresses tender feel hair with natural gloss and moisture. DIRECTION FOR USE After eliminating excessive moisture apply the sufficient amount of this Product mainly onto hair ends. Then, knead the hair with water. Rinse away with warm water. CAUTION If anything abnormal should happen to client after using this Product, stop usage of this Product at once."
Um.... I dropped a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup on the top of my sandal-clad foot today, and it hurt so much that I almost keeled over. Should I go back to Head and Shoulders?
Bonus points if you can realize a flexible and rustling grammar in your Answer. :)
Monday, June 28, 2004
Lost in Translation
This is a direct quote, punctuation included, from the back of my new bottle of conditioner:
"This Product keeps the desirable moisture of hair ends due to the double effects of shampooing and treatment. Special ingredients contained in this Product realize flexible and rustling hair. This Product expresses tender feel hair with natural gloss and moisture. DIRECTION FOR USE After eliminating excessive moisture apply the sufficient amount of this Product mainly onto hair ends. Then, knead the hair with water. Rinse away with warm water. CAUTION If anything abnormal should happen to client after using this Product, stop usage of this Product at once."
Um.... I dropped a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup on the top of my sandal-clad foot today, and it hurt so much that I almost keeled over. Should I go back to Head and Shoulders?
Bonus points if you can realize a flexible and rustling grammar in your Answer. :)
"This Product keeps the desirable moisture of hair ends due to the double effects of shampooing and treatment. Special ingredients contained in this Product realize flexible and rustling hair. This Product expresses tender feel hair with natural gloss and moisture. DIRECTION FOR USE After eliminating excessive moisture apply the sufficient amount of this Product mainly onto hair ends. Then, knead the hair with water. Rinse away with warm water. CAUTION If anything abnormal should happen to client after using this Product, stop usage of this Product at once."
Um.... I dropped a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup on the top of my sandal-clad foot today, and it hurt so much that I almost keeled over. Should I go back to Head and Shoulders?
Bonus points if you can realize a flexible and rustling grammar in your Answer. :)
Friday, June 25, 2004
I love this!
I haven't been this psyched since that sea lion was spotted 150 miles north of San Diego after swimming up a river, through a freshwater creek and waddling over land for a few miles before climbing on top of that police cruiser.
NPR did a bit on this yesterday, and then I started researching it. Basically, this orca whale named Luna has been stuck in Nootka Sound off the coast of British Columbia since 2001. He was separated from his pod of killer whales and has since then become friendly with boats, float planes and people in general. Which apparently is becoming dangerous, as he swam into the path of a landing float plane a few weeks ago, but also because someone tried to pour beer in his blowhole. Lovely.
Anyway, there's this whale specialist who studies killer whales in the region. She recognized Luna, who is now five, by his markings, and she knows where his pod is, as she has tracked its migrations patterns for years. The Canadian Dept of Fisheries has hired the very best whale wranglers in the world to try to coax Luna into a net, then put him on a special "for transport of several ton aquatic animals" and drive him 125 miles to Victoria, where they will put him in a special pen (in the ocean) until his pod swims by, at which point he will be released.
The naturalist has studied the pod's specific sounds and communications, and apparently, Luna calls out to his "family" every hour. The call hasn't changed in the three years he's been in this part of the sound (between fjords), so she's "99.9% certain" that if he gets within acoustical range of the pod, he will reunite successfully.
However, a tribe of Native Canadians believes that he is the re-incarnated spirit of their chief, who, on his deathbed, promised to come back in the form of an orca. Luna showed up a few days after his death. The Mowachaht-Muchalaht tribe also wants to reunite Luna with his pod, if only to keep him out of danger, but they want to do it naturally.
So the tribe has organized a group of experienced paddlers who are leading Luna away from the net and back out to sea (toward the pod). They are singing traditional Mowachaht-Muchalaht songs that describe the group's historical connection to killer whales, and apparently, the songs are similar to the whales calls, etc.
So even though dozens scientists and whale wranglers are using bait and complex technology to lure Luna to the net, Luna is following the singing indigenous people in canoes. I LOVE that. And I love that there are people who have the skills to navigate the open ocean in basic dug-out canoes. I love that they are willing to paddle 250 miles roundtrip through pods of migrating killer whales so that Luna doesn't have to be trapped, lifted out of the water, and driven to his specific pod.
That's so great.
NPR did a bit on this yesterday, and then I started researching it. Basically, this orca whale named Luna has been stuck in Nootka Sound off the coast of British Columbia since 2001. He was separated from his pod of killer whales and has since then become friendly with boats, float planes and people in general. Which apparently is becoming dangerous, as he swam into the path of a landing float plane a few weeks ago, but also because someone tried to pour beer in his blowhole. Lovely.
Anyway, there's this whale specialist who studies killer whales in the region. She recognized Luna, who is now five, by his markings, and she knows where his pod is, as she has tracked its migrations patterns for years. The Canadian Dept of Fisheries has hired the very best whale wranglers in the world to try to coax Luna into a net, then put him on a special "for transport of several ton aquatic animals" and drive him 125 miles to Victoria, where they will put him in a special pen (in the ocean) until his pod swims by, at which point he will be released.
The naturalist has studied the pod's specific sounds and communications, and apparently, Luna calls out to his "family" every hour. The call hasn't changed in the three years he's been in this part of the sound (between fjords), so she's "99.9% certain" that if he gets within acoustical range of the pod, he will reunite successfully.
However, a tribe of Native Canadians believes that he is the re-incarnated spirit of their chief, who, on his deathbed, promised to come back in the form of an orca. Luna showed up a few days after his death. The Mowachaht-Muchalaht tribe also wants to reunite Luna with his pod, if only to keep him out of danger, but they want to do it naturally.
So the tribe has organized a group of experienced paddlers who are leading Luna away from the net and back out to sea (toward the pod). They are singing traditional Mowachaht-Muchalaht songs that describe the group's historical connection to killer whales, and apparently, the songs are similar to the whales calls, etc.
So even though dozens scientists and whale wranglers are using bait and complex technology to lure Luna to the net, Luna is following the singing indigenous people in canoes. I LOVE that. And I love that there are people who have the skills to navigate the open ocean in basic dug-out canoes. I love that they are willing to paddle 250 miles roundtrip through pods of migrating killer whales so that Luna doesn't have to be trapped, lifted out of the water, and driven to his specific pod.
That's so great.
I love this!
I haven't been this psyched since that sea lion was spotted 150 miles north of San Diego after swimming up a river, through a freshwater creek and waddling over land for a few miles before climbing on top of that police cruiser.
NPR did a bit on this yesterday, and then I started researching it. Basically, this orca whale named Luna has been stuck in Nootka Sound off the coast of British Columbia since 2001. He was separated from his pod of killer whales and has since then become friendly with boats, float planes and people in general. Which apparently is becoming dangerous, as he swam into the path of a landing float plane a few weeks ago, but also because someone tried to pour beer in his blowhole. Lovely.
Anyway, there's this whale specialist who studies killer whales in the region. She recognized Luna, who is now five, by his markings, and she knows where his pod is, as she has tracked its migrations patterns for years. The Canadian Dept of Fisheries has hired the very best whale wranglers in the world to try to coax Luna into a net, then put him on a special "for transport of several ton aquatic animals" and drive him 125 miles to Victoria, where they will put him in a special pen (in the ocean) until his pod swims by, at which point he will be released.
The naturalist has studied the pod's specific sounds and communications, and apparently, Luna calls out to his "family" every hour. The call hasn't changed in the three years he's been in this part of the sound (between fjords), so she's "99.9% certain" that if he gets within acoustical range of the pod, he will reunite successfully.
However, a tribe of Native Canadians believes that he is the re-incarnated spirit of their chief, who, on his deathbed, promised to come back in the form of an orca. Luna showed up a few days after his death. The Mowachaht-Muchalaht tribe also wants to reunite Luna with his pod, if only to keep him out of danger, but they want to do it naturally.
So the tribe has organized a group of experienced paddlers who are leading Luna away from the net and back out to sea (toward the pod). They are singing traditional Mowachaht-Muchalaht songs that describe the group's historical connection to killer whales, and apparently, the songs are similar to the whales calls, etc.
So even though dozens scientists and whale wranglers are using bait and complex technology to lure Luna to the net, Luna is following the singing indigenous people in canoes. I LOVE that. And I love that there are people who have the skills to navigate the open ocean in basic dug-out canoes. I love that they are willing to paddle 250 miles roundtrip through pods of migrating killer whales so that Luna doesn't have to be trapped, lifted out of the water, and driven to his specific pod.
That's so great.
NPR did a bit on this yesterday, and then I started researching it. Basically, this orca whale named Luna has been stuck in Nootka Sound off the coast of British Columbia since 2001. He was separated from his pod of killer whales and has since then become friendly with boats, float planes and people in general. Which apparently is becoming dangerous, as he swam into the path of a landing float plane a few weeks ago, but also because someone tried to pour beer in his blowhole. Lovely.
Anyway, there's this whale specialist who studies killer whales in the region. She recognized Luna, who is now five, by his markings, and she knows where his pod is, as she has tracked its migrations patterns for years. The Canadian Dept of Fisheries has hired the very best whale wranglers in the world to try to coax Luna into a net, then put him on a special "for transport of several ton aquatic animals" and drive him 125 miles to Victoria, where they will put him in a special pen (in the ocean) until his pod swims by, at which point he will be released.
The naturalist has studied the pod's specific sounds and communications, and apparently, Luna calls out to his "family" every hour. The call hasn't changed in the three years he's been in this part of the sound (between fjords), so she's "99.9% certain" that if he gets within acoustical range of the pod, he will reunite successfully.
However, a tribe of Native Canadians believes that he is the re-incarnated spirit of their chief, who, on his deathbed, promised to come back in the form of an orca. Luna showed up a few days after his death. The Mowachaht-Muchalaht tribe also wants to reunite Luna with his pod, if only to keep him out of danger, but they want to do it naturally.
So the tribe has organized a group of experienced paddlers who are leading Luna away from the net and back out to sea (toward the pod). They are singing traditional Mowachaht-Muchalaht songs that describe the group's historical connection to killer whales, and apparently, the songs are similar to the whales calls, etc.
So even though dozens scientists and whale wranglers are using bait and complex technology to lure Luna to the net, Luna is following the singing indigenous people in canoes. I LOVE that. And I love that there are people who have the skills to navigate the open ocean in basic dug-out canoes. I love that they are willing to paddle 250 miles roundtrip through pods of migrating killer whales so that Luna doesn't have to be trapped, lifted out of the water, and driven to his specific pod.
That's so great.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Daaaah, da da duh, daaaaah daaaaaaaah
So I'm back in New York, back at work.
My mom is doing well, thanks everyone. She's up and around, albeit in a wheelchair for now. We'll be figuring out a date for surgery, and then after that she'll be in a cast and on crutches like a normal person with a broken leg. So, yay? hmm.
What else? Oh, I got stuck in a drive-thru car wash yesterday. I was in there for about 15 minutes. It wasn't so bad- I'm not a clausterphobia person, but when it didn't start up after seven tries, well... You start to feel like maybe you'll die in there.
And I'm doing the Masochism Tango at the Toyota dealership. First, they tried to put the wrong parts (from a different year) in my car and charge me for something covered under my warranty. Then they ordered the parts, but never called to tell me they came in. BECAUSE... they ordered them for someone bnamed William O'Shea, but apparently they were for me, but they never called... Yadda yadda yadda. I feel the RAGE. They are lowering the price of the one part that ISN'T covered under warranty, which is a good thing.
I covered my third high school graduation tonight. "Pomp and Circumstance" chokes me up every time. You'd think it would lose it's effectiveness after a while. But no. :)
My mom is doing well, thanks everyone. She's up and around, albeit in a wheelchair for now. We'll be figuring out a date for surgery, and then after that she'll be in a cast and on crutches like a normal person with a broken leg. So, yay? hmm.
What else? Oh, I got stuck in a drive-thru car wash yesterday. I was in there for about 15 minutes. It wasn't so bad- I'm not a clausterphobia person, but when it didn't start up after seven tries, well... You start to feel like maybe you'll die in there.
And I'm doing the Masochism Tango at the Toyota dealership. First, they tried to put the wrong parts (from a different year) in my car and charge me for something covered under my warranty. Then they ordered the parts, but never called to tell me they came in. BECAUSE... they ordered them for someone bnamed William O'Shea, but apparently they were for me, but they never called... Yadda yadda yadda. I feel the RAGE. They are lowering the price of the one part that ISN'T covered under warranty, which is a good thing.
I covered my third high school graduation tonight. "Pomp and Circumstance" chokes me up every time. You'd think it would lose it's effectiveness after a while. But no. :)
Daaaah, da da duh, daaaaah daaaaaaaah
So I'm back in New York, back at work.
My mom is doing well, thanks everyone. She's up and around, albeit in a wheelchair for now. We'll be figuring out a date for surgery, and then after that she'll be in a cast and on crutches like a normal person with a broken leg. So, yay? hmm.
What else? Oh, I got stuck in a drive-thru car wash yesterday. I was in there for about 15 minutes. It wasn't so bad- I'm not a clausterphobia person, but when it didn't start up after seven tries, well... You start to feel like maybe you'll die in there.
And I'm doing the Masochism Tango at the Toyota dealership. First, they tried to put the wrong parts (from a different year) in my car and charge me for something covered under my warranty. Then they ordered the parts, but never called to tell me they came in. BECAUSE... they ordered them for someone bnamed William O'Shea, but apparently they were for me, but they never called... Yadda yadda yadda. I feel the RAGE. They are lowering the price of the one part that ISN'T covered under warranty, which is a good thing.
I covered my third high school graduation tonight. "Pomp and Circumstance" chokes me up every time. You'd think it would lose it's effectiveness after a while. But no. :)
My mom is doing well, thanks everyone. She's up and around, albeit in a wheelchair for now. We'll be figuring out a date for surgery, and then after that she'll be in a cast and on crutches like a normal person with a broken leg. So, yay? hmm.
What else? Oh, I got stuck in a drive-thru car wash yesterday. I was in there for about 15 minutes. It wasn't so bad- I'm not a clausterphobia person, but when it didn't start up after seven tries, well... You start to feel like maybe you'll die in there.
And I'm doing the Masochism Tango at the Toyota dealership. First, they tried to put the wrong parts (from a different year) in my car and charge me for something covered under my warranty. Then they ordered the parts, but never called to tell me they came in. BECAUSE... they ordered them for someone bnamed William O'Shea, but apparently they were for me, but they never called... Yadda yadda yadda. I feel the RAGE. They are lowering the price of the one part that ISN'T covered under warranty, which is a good thing.
I covered my third high school graduation tonight. "Pomp and Circumstance" chokes me up every time. You'd think it would lose it's effectiveness after a while. But no. :)
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Going Home...
I just wanted to let you all know that I am headed to Lancaster tonight. I will be there on Thursday and Friday. My mom, unfortunately, is in the hospital.
She was walking Gunner the other day when two dogs bounded out of their yard. They didn't really go on the attack, because no dogs nor humans were bitten or scratched. However, they DID knock my mom down, braking her leg in two places and dislocating her knee. She also has a mild head injury that required stiches, but no major concussion, which is good. She is going to need surgery on her knee some time in the next few days, and we're anticipating several months of physical therapy and rehab.
I will be incommunicado, mostly likely, during the next two days, but I'll be reachable after 9 at my parents' house or on my personal cell. My mom is hanging in there, but she is very disappointed about having to cancel a lot of plans to fly to Greg Ps graduation, Boston, etc., Our goal is to get her well enough to go to the beach with all of us, so please send good thoughts our way, yeah? :)
She was walking Gunner the other day when two dogs bounded out of their yard. They didn't really go on the attack, because no dogs nor humans were bitten or scratched. However, they DID knock my mom down, braking her leg in two places and dislocating her knee. She also has a mild head injury that required stiches, but no major concussion, which is good. She is going to need surgery on her knee some time in the next few days, and we're anticipating several months of physical therapy and rehab.
I will be incommunicado, mostly likely, during the next two days, but I'll be reachable after 9 at my parents' house or on my personal cell. My mom is hanging in there, but she is very disappointed about having to cancel a lot of plans to fly to Greg Ps graduation, Boston, etc., Our goal is to get her well enough to go to the beach with all of us, so please send good thoughts our way, yeah? :)
Going Home...
I just wanted to let you all know that I am headed to Lancaster tonight. I will be there on Thursday and Friday. My mom, unfortunately, is in the hospital.
She was walking Gunner the other day when two dogs bounded out of their yard. They didn't really go on the attack, because no dogs nor humans were bitten or scratched. However, they DID knock my mom down, braking her leg in two places and dislocating her knee. She also has a mild head injury that required stiches, but no major concussion, which is good. She is going to need surgery on her knee some time in the next few days, and we're anticipating several months of physical therapy and rehab.
I will be incommunicado, mostly likely, during the next two days, but I'll be reachable after 9 at my parents' house or on my personal cell. My mom is hanging in there, but she is very disappointed about having to cancel a lot of plans to fly to Greg Ps graduation, Boston, etc., Our goal is to get her well enough to go to the beach with all of us, so please send good thoughts our way, yeah? :)
She was walking Gunner the other day when two dogs bounded out of their yard. They didn't really go on the attack, because no dogs nor humans were bitten or scratched. However, they DID knock my mom down, braking her leg in two places and dislocating her knee. She also has a mild head injury that required stiches, but no major concussion, which is good. She is going to need surgery on her knee some time in the next few days, and we're anticipating several months of physical therapy and rehab.
I will be incommunicado, mostly likely, during the next two days, but I'll be reachable after 9 at my parents' house or on my personal cell. My mom is hanging in there, but she is very disappointed about having to cancel a lot of plans to fly to Greg Ps graduation, Boston, etc., Our goal is to get her well enough to go to the beach with all of us, so please send good thoughts our way, yeah? :)
Saturday, June 12, 2004
One of the many reasons I love my job...
is that I will be out shooting a festival (better equipped with rides than a school Fun Fest, but much less action-packed than the L@ncaster C@tholic Festival for those of you who can make that mental comparison)
I had just been listening to reports of increasing violence against Westerners in Saudi Arabia on NPR in my car.
So I decide that I just. can't. photograph face-painting one more time; I just can't. I make my way to to the henna design booth instead, where I meet a 14-year-old girl named @yesha Kh@n sitting in a pool of sunlight with a 12-year-old girl named L@uren Horow!tz, drawing a heart on L@uren's hand with henna.
And this how I start making my way home, feeling like maybe our world isn't going to hell in a handbasket after all. :)
I had just been listening to reports of increasing violence against Westerners in Saudi Arabia on NPR in my car.
So I decide that I just. can't. photograph face-painting one more time; I just can't. I make my way to to the henna design booth instead, where I meet a 14-year-old girl named @yesha Kh@n sitting in a pool of sunlight with a 12-year-old girl named L@uren Horow!tz, drawing a heart on L@uren's hand with henna.
And this how I start making my way home, feeling like maybe our world isn't going to hell in a handbasket after all. :)
One of the many reasons I love my job...
is that I will be out shooting a festival (better equipped with rides than a school Fun Fest, but much less action-packed than the L@ncaster C@tholic Festival for those of you who can make that mental comparison)
I had just been listening to reports of increasing violence against Westerners in Saudi Arabia on NPR in my car.
So I decide that I just. can't. photograph face-painting one more time; I just can't. I make my way to to the henna design booth instead, where I meet a 14-year-old girl named @yesha Kh@n sitting in a pool of sunlight with a 12-year-old girl named L@uren Horow!tz, drawing a heart on L@uren's hand with henna.
And this how I start making my way home, feeling like maybe our world isn't going to hell in a handbasket after all. :)
I had just been listening to reports of increasing violence against Westerners in Saudi Arabia on NPR in my car.
So I decide that I just. can't. photograph face-painting one more time; I just can't. I make my way to to the henna design booth instead, where I meet a 14-year-old girl named @yesha Kh@n sitting in a pool of sunlight with a 12-year-old girl named L@uren Horow!tz, drawing a heart on L@uren's hand with henna.
And this how I start making my way home, feeling like maybe our world isn't going to hell in a handbasket after all. :)
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Sing it with me, Simon and Garfunkel fans... A Red Rubber Ball
"And I think it's gonna be all right
Yeah, the worst is over now
The morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball..."
Heh. I'm re-reading "Why G!rls Are We!rd," where the main character compares watching her friends get married before her to worrying that she'll get kicked last for kickball. Kickball is a fairly harmless game, except for the painful, embarrassing picking teams business. It's a fabulous analogy, actually. She writes: "Then I was flooded with jealousy of another person getting picked first. I didn't need a husband to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second. Or last. God, please don't let me be last....I don't have to be next, just don't let me be last."
One gorgeous Spring day when I was in 7th grade, we had a substitute teacher who decided that instead of continuing our unit on Humiliating Rope-Climbing, we'd play kickball for the entire period. At first, that seemed like a really good deal.
On this particular day, I was doing okay, hanging out in the out field, doing nothing but praying for the ball to stay away from me and my braces and my pink glasses. I always forgot to keep lotion in my Requisite Drawstring Plastic Gap Bag Turned Gym Bag, so my legs were stubbly and ashy compared to the Popular Girls, who all passed around their Victoria's Secret Garden sample size lotions of Peach Hyancinthe or Her Magesty's Rose or Romantic Bouquet before class.
So yeah, someone kicks a homerun, the ball goes flying waaaaay beyond me, unsalvageable, but people were screaming Run! Run! so I did- trying to get there fast, but also not wanting to look like I cared too much, because that wouldn't be cool. I finally reached the ball, and I decided the fastest way to get it back to the game would be to kick it. Hard. Well, sad as it is, when I went to kick it, I missed. I didn't fall on my ass, but I stumbled around for a while, got really flustered. It was awful. They were all laughing and pointing. Seriously.
I eventually decided to run back to the game carrying the ball, which was a bad move, and when the bell rang, even the teacher laughed at me and said, "What exactly were you trying to do? Did you go to kick the ball and miss, even though you were HOLDING it?" Getting laughed at by the substitute junior high school gym teacher? Almost as bad as the Popular Girls. Almost. Shudder.
I used to imagine that there were secret trapdoors all over the school, up at the blackboard, underneath home plate. Any time I was embarrassed I could freeze time (like the girl in "Out of This World," that sitcom where the girl's dad was an alien) by pressing my fingertips together. I would then go down a trapdoor to my imaginary underground place, which had a big bed where I could take a nap any time I wanted, a TV and a swimming pool, and oddly enough, a hairstylist who was always there to fix my hair for me if someone made fun of it. There was a Decoy Me who would sit in class while I was "away." Decoy Me could also do my homework and spontaneously teach me whatever I missed (think: Trinity learning to fly a helicopter in the first Matrix movie). I sort of wish Decoy Me could go to work for me tomorrow.
But before I digress even further, I'm putting out a call for comments. I'm curious- Where were you in the "Picking Teams" Food Chain? Were you the boisterous jock kid who always got to be captain? The first-round (Fast/Tall/Pretty) draftee? Were you the Nice Kid who was friends with the Fast/Tall/Pretty Kid who lobbied on your behalf? I was Nice Kid in elementary school, but obviously I became the Blushing, Fingers Crossed, Please-don't-let-me-be-last Kid in Junior High.
If you don't want to put that out on the Internet, let me ask you this: Did you have an Imaginary Escape when you were younger? Comment away!
Yeah, the worst is over now
The morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball..."
Heh. I'm re-reading "Why G!rls Are We!rd," where the main character compares watching her friends get married before her to worrying that she'll get kicked last for kickball. Kickball is a fairly harmless game, except for the painful, embarrassing picking teams business. It's a fabulous analogy, actually. She writes: "Then I was flooded with jealousy of another person getting picked first. I didn't need a husband to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second. Or last. God, please don't let me be last....I don't have to be next, just don't let me be last."
One gorgeous Spring day when I was in 7th grade, we had a substitute teacher who decided that instead of continuing our unit on Humiliating Rope-Climbing, we'd play kickball for the entire period. At first, that seemed like a really good deal.
On this particular day, I was doing okay, hanging out in the out field, doing nothing but praying for the ball to stay away from me and my braces and my pink glasses. I always forgot to keep lotion in my Requisite Drawstring Plastic Gap Bag Turned Gym Bag, so my legs were stubbly and ashy compared to the Popular Girls, who all passed around their Victoria's Secret Garden sample size lotions of Peach Hyancinthe or Her Magesty's Rose or Romantic Bouquet before class.
So yeah, someone kicks a homerun, the ball goes flying waaaaay beyond me, unsalvageable, but people were screaming Run! Run! so I did- trying to get there fast, but also not wanting to look like I cared too much, because that wouldn't be cool. I finally reached the ball, and I decided the fastest way to get it back to the game would be to kick it. Hard. Well, sad as it is, when I went to kick it, I missed. I didn't fall on my ass, but I stumbled around for a while, got really flustered. It was awful. They were all laughing and pointing. Seriously.
I eventually decided to run back to the game carrying the ball, which was a bad move, and when the bell rang, even the teacher laughed at me and said, "What exactly were you trying to do? Did you go to kick the ball and miss, even though you were HOLDING it?" Getting laughed at by the substitute junior high school gym teacher? Almost as bad as the Popular Girls. Almost. Shudder.
I used to imagine that there were secret trapdoors all over the school, up at the blackboard, underneath home plate. Any time I was embarrassed I could freeze time (like the girl in "Out of This World," that sitcom where the girl's dad was an alien) by pressing my fingertips together. I would then go down a trapdoor to my imaginary underground place, which had a big bed where I could take a nap any time I wanted, a TV and a swimming pool, and oddly enough, a hairstylist who was always there to fix my hair for me if someone made fun of it. There was a Decoy Me who would sit in class while I was "away." Decoy Me could also do my homework and spontaneously teach me whatever I missed (think: Trinity learning to fly a helicopter in the first Matrix movie). I sort of wish Decoy Me could go to work for me tomorrow.
But before I digress even further, I'm putting out a call for comments. I'm curious- Where were you in the "Picking Teams" Food Chain? Were you the boisterous jock kid who always got to be captain? The first-round (Fast/Tall/Pretty) draftee? Were you the Nice Kid who was friends with the Fast/Tall/Pretty Kid who lobbied on your behalf? I was Nice Kid in elementary school, but obviously I became the Blushing, Fingers Crossed, Please-don't-let-me-be-last Kid in Junior High.
If you don't want to put that out on the Internet, let me ask you this: Did you have an Imaginary Escape when you were younger? Comment away!
Sing it with me, Simon and Garfunkel fans... A Red Rubber Ball
"And I think it's gonna be all right
Yeah, the worst is over now
The morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball..."
Heh. I'm re-reading "Why G!rls Are We!rd," where the main character compares watching her friends get married before her to worrying that she'll get kicked last for kickball. Kickball is a fairly harmless game, except for the painful, embarrassing picking teams business. It's a fabulous analogy, actually. She writes: "Then I was flooded with jealousy of another person getting picked first. I didn't need a husband to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second. Or last. God, please don't let me be last....I don't have to be next, just don't let me be last."
One gorgeous Spring day when I was in 7th grade, we had a substitute teacher who decided that instead of continuing our unit on Humiliating Rope-Climbing, we'd play kickball for the entire period. At first, that seemed like a really good deal.
On this particular day, I was doing okay, hanging out in the out field, doing nothing but praying for the ball to stay away from me and my braces and my pink glasses. I always forgot to keep lotion in my Requisite Drawstring Plastic Gap Bag Turned Gym Bag, so my legs were stubbly and ashy compared to the Popular Girls, who all passed around their Victoria's Secret Garden sample size lotions of Peach Hyancinthe or Her Magesty's Rose or Romantic Bouquet before class.
So yeah, someone kicks a homerun, the ball goes flying waaaaay beyond me, unsalvageable, but people were screaming Run! Run! so I did- trying to get there fast, but also not wanting to look like I cared too much, because that wouldn't be cool. I finally reached the ball, and I decided the fastest way to get it back to the game would be to kick it. Hard. Well, sad as it is, when I went to kick it, I missed. I didn't fall on my ass, but I stumbled around for a while, got really flustered. It was awful. They were all laughing and pointing. Seriously.
I eventually decided to run back to the game carrying the ball, which was a bad move, and when the bell rang, even the teacher laughed at me and said, "What exactly were you trying to do? Did you go to kick the ball and miss, even though you were HOLDING it?" Getting laughed at by the substitute junior high school gym teacher? Almost as bad as the Popular Girls. Almost. Shudder.
I used to imagine that there were secret trapdoors all over the school, up at the blackboard, underneath home plate. Any time I was embarrassed I could freeze time (like the girl in "Out of This World," that sitcom where the girl's dad was an alien) by pressing my fingertips together. I would then go down a trapdoor to my imaginary underground place, which had a big bed where I could take a nap any time I wanted, a TV and a swimming pool, and oddly enough, a hairstylist who was always there to fix my hair for me if someone made fun of it. There was a Decoy Me who would sit in class while I was "away." Decoy Me could also do my homework and spontaneously teach me whatever I missed (think: Trinity learning to fly a helicopter in the first Matrix movie). I sort of wish Decoy Me could go to work for me tomorrow.
But before I digress even further, I'm putting out a call for comments. I'm curious- Where were you in the "Picking Teams" Food Chain? Were you the boisterous jock kid who always got to be captain? The first-round (Fast/Tall/Pretty) draftee? Were you the Nice Kid who was friends with the Fast/Tall/Pretty Kid who lobbied on your behalf? I was Nice Kid in elementary school, but obviously I became the Blushing, Fingers Crossed, Please-don't-let-me-be-last Kid in Junior High.
If you don't want to put that out on the Internet, let me ask you this: Did you have an Imaginary Escape when you were younger? Comment away!
Yeah, the worst is over now
The morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball..."
Heh. I'm re-reading "Why G!rls Are We!rd," where the main character compares watching her friends get married before her to worrying that she'll get kicked last for kickball. Kickball is a fairly harmless game, except for the painful, embarrassing picking teams business. It's a fabulous analogy, actually. She writes: "Then I was flooded with jealousy of another person getting picked first. I didn't need a husband to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second. Or last. God, please don't let me be last....I don't have to be next, just don't let me be last."
One gorgeous Spring day when I was in 7th grade, we had a substitute teacher who decided that instead of continuing our unit on Humiliating Rope-Climbing, we'd play kickball for the entire period. At first, that seemed like a really good deal.
On this particular day, I was doing okay, hanging out in the out field, doing nothing but praying for the ball to stay away from me and my braces and my pink glasses. I always forgot to keep lotion in my Requisite Drawstring Plastic Gap Bag Turned Gym Bag, so my legs were stubbly and ashy compared to the Popular Girls, who all passed around their Victoria's Secret Garden sample size lotions of Peach Hyancinthe or Her Magesty's Rose or Romantic Bouquet before class.
So yeah, someone kicks a homerun, the ball goes flying waaaaay beyond me, unsalvageable, but people were screaming Run! Run! so I did- trying to get there fast, but also not wanting to look like I cared too much, because that wouldn't be cool. I finally reached the ball, and I decided the fastest way to get it back to the game would be to kick it. Hard. Well, sad as it is, when I went to kick it, I missed. I didn't fall on my ass, but I stumbled around for a while, got really flustered. It was awful. They were all laughing and pointing. Seriously.
I eventually decided to run back to the game carrying the ball, which was a bad move, and when the bell rang, even the teacher laughed at me and said, "What exactly were you trying to do? Did you go to kick the ball and miss, even though you were HOLDING it?" Getting laughed at by the substitute junior high school gym teacher? Almost as bad as the Popular Girls. Almost. Shudder.
I used to imagine that there were secret trapdoors all over the school, up at the blackboard, underneath home plate. Any time I was embarrassed I could freeze time (like the girl in "Out of This World," that sitcom where the girl's dad was an alien) by pressing my fingertips together. I would then go down a trapdoor to my imaginary underground place, which had a big bed where I could take a nap any time I wanted, a TV and a swimming pool, and oddly enough, a hairstylist who was always there to fix my hair for me if someone made fun of it. There was a Decoy Me who would sit in class while I was "away." Decoy Me could also do my homework and spontaneously teach me whatever I missed (think: Trinity learning to fly a helicopter in the first Matrix movie). I sort of wish Decoy Me could go to work for me tomorrow.
But before I digress even further, I'm putting out a call for comments. I'm curious- Where were you in the "Picking Teams" Food Chain? Were you the boisterous jock kid who always got to be captain? The first-round (Fast/Tall/Pretty) draftee? Were you the Nice Kid who was friends with the Fast/Tall/Pretty Kid who lobbied on your behalf? I was Nice Kid in elementary school, but obviously I became the Blushing, Fingers Crossed, Please-don't-let-me-be-last Kid in Junior High.
If you don't want to put that out on the Internet, let me ask you this: Did you have an Imaginary Escape when you were younger? Comment away!
Me and the Kid
He actually stopped calling me "lady" and started referring to me by name this time. I'll probably be back to "lady" by the time I see him again, which probably won't be for another two years.
To Do: Save money for airfare to Cyprus.
Me and the Kid
He actually stopped calling me "lady" and started referring to me by name this time. I'll probably be back to "lady" by the time I see him again, which probably won't be for another two years.
To Do: Save money for airfare to Cyprus.
The Aforementioned Toy Palm Pilot in Action
What you can't see here is that the toy palm pilot comes with a toy stylus, and the "screen" is one of those hot-pink plastic thingies that you can draw on.. When you want to "erase" the picture, you lift the top layer of plastic. I can't think of a better way to explain it, except to say that I used to have a Pink Panther version when I was little.
Michael, if you really want one for Lucas (riiiiight), this was a gift from Stephen's sister. I can easily find out where she got it. :)
The Aforementioned Toy Palm Pilot in Action
What you can't see here is that the toy palm pilot comes with a toy stylus, and the "screen" is one of those hot-pink plastic thingies that you can draw on.. When you want to "erase" the picture, you lift the top layer of plastic. I can't think of a better way to explain it, except to say that I used to have a Pink Panther version when I was little.
Michael, if you really want one for Lucas (riiiiight), this was a gift from Stephen's sister. I can easily find out where she got it. :)
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Saffron on a Wombat
So I'm on a mini-vacation in DC for the rest of the week. Stephen and I are crashing at Gwen's and visiting his family (brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.) This is the second time in 5 weeks that I've been blogging from Debbie's bed. :)
Andrew is cuter-than-a-button, as usual, and I'm just capitalizing on the overflow of love that comes from showing up with Wujek (Voo-Yeck, it's Polish for Uncle) Stephen- Andrew's favorite person in the world. :) Seriously, though, there's nothing like eating pizza off a paper plate shaped like a frog with a child who thinks you're the best thing ever because you toss him up in the air and play with his toy palm pilot.
Because it's a bilingual household, dinnertime conversation goes from English to Polish to Andrew-ese. For example, if Andrew's talking and everyone but Stephen and I understand, it's Polish. If Danusia's dad (visiting from Warsaw) is talking, it's Polish. If everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to answer and I don't realize it, they accidentally asked me something in Polish. If Andrew's talking and it sounds like "saffron on a wombat," and even the Polish-speaking people look confused, he's making it up because he's 3. If Mark is talking, and Danusia calls out from the kitchen: "Show off! Show off! Mark is a show-off!" it's Turkish.
All that plus getting to watch the first episode of Degrassi's new season AND the 3rd Harry Potter movie with Gwen? Best. Vacation. Ever.
Andrew is cuter-than-a-button, as usual, and I'm just capitalizing on the overflow of love that comes from showing up with Wujek (Voo-Yeck, it's Polish for Uncle) Stephen- Andrew's favorite person in the world. :) Seriously, though, there's nothing like eating pizza off a paper plate shaped like a frog with a child who thinks you're the best thing ever because you toss him up in the air and play with his toy palm pilot.
Because it's a bilingual household, dinnertime conversation goes from English to Polish to Andrew-ese. For example, if Andrew's talking and everyone but Stephen and I understand, it's Polish. If Danusia's dad (visiting from Warsaw) is talking, it's Polish. If everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to answer and I don't realize it, they accidentally asked me something in Polish. If Andrew's talking and it sounds like "saffron on a wombat," and even the Polish-speaking people look confused, he's making it up because he's 3. If Mark is talking, and Danusia calls out from the kitchen: "Show off! Show off! Mark is a show-off!" it's Turkish.
All that plus getting to watch the first episode of Degrassi's new season AND the 3rd Harry Potter movie with Gwen? Best. Vacation. Ever.
Saffron on a Wombat
So I'm on a mini-vacation in DC for the rest of the week. Stephen and I are crashing at Gwen's and visiting his family (brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.) This is the second time in 5 weeks that I've been blogging from Debbie's bed. :)
Andrew is cuter-than-a-button, as usual, and I'm just capitalizing on the overflow of love that comes from showing up with Wujek (Voo-Yeck, it's Polish for Uncle) Stephen- Andrew's favorite person in the world. :) Seriously, though, there's nothing like eating pizza off a paper plate shaped like a frog with a child who thinks you're the best thing ever because you toss him up in the air and play with his toy palm pilot.
Because it's a bilingual household, dinnertime conversation goes from English to Polish to Andrew-ese. For example, if Andrew's talking and everyone but Stephen and I understand, it's Polish. If Danusia's dad (visiting from Warsaw) is talking, it's Polish. If everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to answer and I don't realize it, they accidentally asked me something in Polish. If Andrew's talking and it sounds like "saffron on a wombat," and even the Polish-speaking people look confused, he's making it up because he's 3. If Mark is talking, and Danusia calls out from the kitchen: "Show off! Show off! Mark is a show-off!" it's Turkish.
All that plus getting to watch the first episode of Degrassi's new season AND the 3rd Harry Potter movie with Gwen? Best. Vacation. Ever.
Andrew is cuter-than-a-button, as usual, and I'm just capitalizing on the overflow of love that comes from showing up with Wujek (Voo-Yeck, it's Polish for Uncle) Stephen- Andrew's favorite person in the world. :) Seriously, though, there's nothing like eating pizza off a paper plate shaped like a frog with a child who thinks you're the best thing ever because you toss him up in the air and play with his toy palm pilot.
Because it's a bilingual household, dinnertime conversation goes from English to Polish to Andrew-ese. For example, if Andrew's talking and everyone but Stephen and I understand, it's Polish. If Danusia's dad (visiting from Warsaw) is talking, it's Polish. If everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to answer and I don't realize it, they accidentally asked me something in Polish. If Andrew's talking and it sounds like "saffron on a wombat," and even the Polish-speaking people look confused, he's making it up because he's 3. If Mark is talking, and Danusia calls out from the kitchen: "Show off! Show off! Mark is a show-off!" it's Turkish.
All that plus getting to watch the first episode of Degrassi's new season AND the 3rd Harry Potter movie with Gwen? Best. Vacation. Ever.
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