Slice of Pink

Solid Ari Gold

Although I didn't watch the Emmy's, I saw Jeremy Piven's hilarious attack on Access Hollywood reporter Billy Bush. Bush--cousin to George Dubya--started a line of questioning regarding Piven's interaction with celebrity babies. Piven responed that he doesn't "go hunting for celebrity babies...I have 116 other things to do, thank you, Billy."

But Billy kept asking about the babies. And Piven, how I love that man, responded with four sentences that I would like to memorize and use on a daily basis.

"You need another job. You have potential as a human being. This may not be right for you. Seriously--can you focus on other things?"

Truth

Driving past a mexican restaurant in town:

Me: Oh! Rocamar! We haven't been there in forever!

Will: Oh, yeah. Great burritos.

Me: Their pina coladas are deeeelicious!

Will: Forgive me for saying, but you think every pina colada is delicious. You think that the free pina coladas in Vegas are deeeelicious and they are made with cheap, watered-down, bottom-shelf ingredients. You've never met a pina colada you didn't like.

Take a Number

It has been one of those weeks.

And it's only Tuesday.

I hate to complain.

But.

Things I need to do: call the LA Superior Court to tell them that I did send them the $10 processing fee on the fix-it ticket they returned to me but I sent it in a separate envelope because there was no mention of the processing fee on the original ticket; find my home phone which is dead and therefore does not respond when I page it; figure out how to use this grade book thingy; finish my book club book; make fee cards for my class; order supplies for my class; mail photos from the wedding I attended last weekend; pack for weekend trip to San Francisco/Berkeley; study; go through the 14 million work emails that appeared in my inbox today and which have mostly a lot to do with absolutely nothing that applies to me; fill out 25 pages of paperwork, which, seriously? why don't we move into the computer age and stop with all the silly paper forms; explain to 180 high school students that I will not write them a pass to be late to class, that I will not tolerate their scream-o music, and that they need to throw away their coke cans into proper trash receptacles rather than leaving them on the desks for me; avoid about four people who are so incompetent that it is downright amazing they were ever hired (and yet totally not amazing); and buy a mousepad.

Wow, can I complain.

The thing is: I can handle a lot of shit. No big deal. That list ain't shit in my world.

But.

On the worst day of the year, the day when all the weird people are bugging me and all the mean people are cranky and when all the stuff I have to do is seemingly endless, I decided to walk to Del Taco. I decided to walk to Del Taco so I could have a moment of silence, a little bit of sun and, also, a chicken soft taco. On the way out the door, I decided that at that moment I would make the rest of the day a good one! I'd get some stuff done! I'd eat a taco and then find the phone!

I grabbed my keys, $6, and a chewable vitamin on the way out the door. Yay for sunshine and getting things done and making the most of the worst and vitamins! I got as far as the parking lot, happily ever after.

And then? That chewable vitamin ripped out a damn crown.

Happy Effing Tuesday.

My Man, Alexander

Last week, one of the counselors at work asked if I wanted to be in a Fantasy Football League. Knowing absolutely nothing about football, not even how it is played or scored, I said that no, I could not be in a Fantasy Football League because I don't know jack about anything football related, but thank you for asking.

Then I found out that everyone would be meeting at a bar at 11 o'clock in the morning to do this thingy called the draft, which is the thingy where everyone picks their players but, more importantly, there would be much beer drinking and much french fry eating going on.

Beer and fries at 11 in the morning! Revolutionary! So, I signed up.

But then things got sticky. Because I do not like to lose. Under any circumstances. I can't stand failure. I rarely earn anything less than an A. I don't half-ass things. I am Type A, all the way. I wasn't going to this beer drinking party to get screwed over by nine jersey-wearing women who were talking all about running backs and quarter backs and half backs and tight ends.

Oh, hell no. I'd be wearing a dress, I'd have a pink pen, but I'd be damned if I showed up to just hand over my money.

My husband, also Type A, created an excel chart for me and printed 20 pages of data-based rankings from which I would select players based on past performance. I learned the chart. I reviewed the rankings, paying close attention to the highlighted picks. I followed a detailed plan of attack. I hole punched the pages and tied them together with a cute little ribbon bow. Oh yes, I did.

I did not drink, with the exception of one small beer, to maintain my concentration during the draft. I ate one chicken strip and four french fries and then moved the food out of the way to make room for my paperwork. I crossed out, highlighted, and penciled in.

And I am going to win. Because I have Shaun Alexander. Last year he broke the record for rushing touchdowns, was the NFL MVP, and led the league in rushing yardage.

Which? Whatever that means.

All I know is that he is going to spank some Fantasy Football booty until it is SoPink. (Do I totally have the smack down or what, people? Worse case scenario: I will have the smackiest smack in the league. Send me your best one-liners so I can lay down the smackage all season long.)

Pinhole Photography

One of the best assignments of the year in my Photography One course is building a pinhole camera. The students build an actual working camera using only a shoe box, masking tape, and some photo paper.

Some of the results:

Pretty amazing, considering the "camera" was a cardboard box.

Snakes on Glue

Earlier this week, one of my students showed up at my desk with a shoebox and small screwdriver wondering if he could use the developing room. My classroom is actually four rooms--a classroom, a darkroom, a film developing room, and a storage room--and although the students are starting to use the darkroom, the developing room is not yet in use.

I questioned the student's reasons for wanting to use the developing room, since the students currently have no practical use for the room.

Me: Why do you need to use the developing room?

Student: I have a creature in this box.

Me: A creature?

Student: Yes, a creature got caught in a mousetrap.

Me: Like....a mouse?

Student: Um, not exactly.

Me: Like a rat?

Student: Um, more like a reptile.

Me: Like a lizard?

(I can now tell that the student doesn't want to tell me exactly what is going on, for fear that I might freak out.)

Student: Well, actually, a snake.

Me: So, you have a snake in a mousetrap in that shoebox?

Student: Yes. Do you want to see?

Me: Is it alive?

Student: Yes. But it is stuck in glue.

Me: So you have a live snake stuck in a glue mousetrap in that shoebox?

Student: Yes.

Me: Okay, let me see it.

Sure enough, a 14-inch garden snake is glued down to a trap, its beady little eye staring up at me. I send the student off into the developing room to extract the snake from the glue.

I do not hear anything from the developing room for thirty minutes, at which time the student emerges for some soap.

I give him a bottle of hand soap.

For thirty minutes more, I hear nothing from the developing room.

The lunch bell rings and the other 34 kids leave for lunch. I decide to see what's happening with the snake extraction.

I enter the developing room to find the student SOAPING UP THE SNAKE. This is how I describe the event to everyone I know for the following three days. The student was soaping up the snake. Which is literally what was happening but which? Does. Not. Sound. Good.

But is also hilarious.

Due to the nature of the glue, which could best be described as thick sap, the snake was only able to move while soaped up. Once the soap started to dry, the snake would instantly be frozen and stuck to whatever he was touching, usually the student's hand. I was discussing options for dissolving the glue (paint thinner? nail polish remover?) when the student dropped the now slippery, soapy snake and said these exact words:

OHMYGOD! SHUT THE DOOR! THE SNAKE HAS GONE WILD!

(I do not make this up. Seriously, people, I work with high school kids.)

I shut the door (with me outside the room), the student caught the wild snake, and I sent him down to a Biology teacher who would know what to do with a sticky, soapy snake. The biology teacher put the snake in corn oil and took it to the emergency vet.

The snake is now recovering and will be released back into "the wild" next week.

Also, Television

Ten Hobbies and Interests as reported by high school seniors on a Personal Inventory Form in my classroom:

1. Stereo systems
2. Non-lethal guns
3. Jet Skei
4. Making beats
5. Civil War reenacting
6. Conspirisy theories
7. Draw
8. Hello Kitty
9. Texting
10. I can't name any specific hobbies/interests

Pistachio and Peppermint

Kathryn and I went to The Grove this weekend and she emailed me these cutest ever photos.

Sweet.

Digital Age

My 16 year old sister, April, is in my advanced photo class, a class in which each student prepares a portfolio of photography for submission to the College Board. Tonight April was at my house and we were talking about the photo class.

April: So, mom brought home some camera from Grandma's house for me to use in class, but it is waaaay old.

Janet: What do you mean? How old is it?

April: Realllllly old. You have to, like, load film in it.

Beauty and (Not) Brains

I am posting from Kathryn's house because she is at Disneyland and we are feeding and watering her dog while she is gone. We are also eating the food out of her freezer and watching her television, a rare treat since we do not have television at home.

Kathryn's husband left instructions detailing the usage of the remote controls and once we figured out how to navigate the 300+ channels, we ended up at the end of the Miss Teen USA Pageant, the part of the contest where the final five contestants answer a question and then the winner of the pageant is crowned.

I think that the question and answer portion is not only pointless, but is also completely embarrassing for the contestants, their parents, and the entire United States of America. The Miss Teen USA Pageant committee should seriously consider dropping any part of the pageant in which the girls open their mouths to speak and simply add an additional swimsuit or evening gown parade.

One of the final five, a beautiful blonde girl, was asked to answer this question: What does integrity mean to you?

Her answer described how integrity meant knowing what you want in life and not stopping until you get it.

Okay. Um, not exactly. Pretty much not even close. And, yet, Miss Integrity was crowned Miss Teen USA 2006.

So, what is the point of the question and answer portion? Were the judges listening? Did they turn down their iPods long enough to hear that the girl they selected cannot define an 8th grade vocabulary word?

Or, scary thought, was she the smartest of the 50 girls running?

I guess the isn't Scripps National Spelling Bee, but would it be too much to ask for a little brains with our beauty?

Instrutions Included

High end hotel sign making job available. Spelling skillz not required.

Countdown to Winter Break

When I got home from work today, I sat down at the computer to check my email and maybe check some blogs, but what I found on the screen was the very blank "Compose a New Blog Post" window waiting patiently for an update. Last night I apparently signed in to Typepad with the intention of posting something for y'all to read and then I fell asleep sitting at the desk before I even typed a single word.

I've been back to work for two days, two days of teacher in service, two days with no students, two days during which I could sit in the back row of the theater and close my eyes or complete logic puzzles while the principals and secretaries talked all about some things that I can't remember because I was either sleeping or playing logic games. And yet I am very tired. Very tired because I have been waking up at 6:30 in the morning which sucks after five weeks of sleeping in.

I did hear one announcement today, that announcement being that the dress code will finally allow for flip-flops. People were very excited about this new development because if the students are allowed to wear flip-flops, then so are the teachers! We can finally wear flip-flops! Three cheers for the flip-flops!

To which I say, seriously? I have been wearing flip-flops at that school for two years. There was a rule against flip-flops? Interesting.

Most of the 100 or so teachers were present at the last two days of teacher in service and, department by department, every teacher introduced themselves, except this one flakey teacher who was in the bathroom when the art department was introducing themselves. Guess who? I'll give you a hint: she's always wearing those damn flip-flops.

(Except I was really in my husband's office eating some of that M&M trail mix stuff and not in the bathroom, but you should never say you missed that part of the in service because you were getting candy and also checking your email.)

I am actually kind of sorry that I missed my introduction because there was some weird camaraderie going on among people who were born in the same city or state. We were supposed to each give our name and then tell the place that we were born. Every time any person said a town in which another person in the room was also born, the 2nd person would hoot and holler for the 1st person. Anytime anybody said a place that was a bit uncommon, say another state or a foreign country, everyone in the theater would ooooh and aaaah. I couldn't help rolling my eyes at this because, oh please, is it really that amazing that somebody was born in Canada or that two people were born in the same hospital in Los Angeles, California, a mere one hour away? People were shocked that not one, but TWO of our staff members were born in Hawaii. Hawaii? People are, like, born in Hawaii? I thought that was only a vacation destination!

This is the Antelope Valley. People don't get out much, I guess.

Anyway, I was sorry that I missed my introduction because I had heard another teacher say that he was born in Panorama City, California, which AMAZINGLY SO WAS I, and I surely would have received a hoot and a holler for the fact that my parent's jobs happened to insure them at Kaiser in 1980.

Teachers are a very encouraging bunch, always cheering and applauding any effort or success or, really, anything that isn't a huge and total failure. Not only did they clap and applaud for every person with whom they shared a birth hospital, they clapped and applauded for everybody and everything that was said, announced, or presented over the course of the past two days. Here is an excerpt:

Vice Principal: And so if you want to send a kid to detention, fill out these six forms and call security.

Teachers: Applause.

Secretary: There is a sheet in your binder explaining how to call into the substitute finder system.

Teachers: Applause.

Principal: Now we are going to show you a video.

Teachers: Applause.

VIDEO

Teachers: Applause.

Vice Principal: We are starting school at the same time this year, 7:30 in the morning.

Teachers: Applause.

Secretary: You will receive a phone list via email.

Teachers: Applause.

Vice Principal: And now we will see a very long slide show about test results from the past 8 years in the form of many graphs.

Teachers: Applause.

POWERPOINT PRESENTATION WITH MANY GRAPHS

Teachers: Applause.

Principal: You can now wear flip-flops!

Teachers: Applause. Applause.

And now I need to go take a nap as the clapping has tired me out.

Faux Call

What is up with people who call your house, get the answering machine, and leave an illusive, mysterious message with no pertinent information?

For example: "Hi Janet. This is so-and-so. I have a favor to ask of you, so call me back when you get a chance."

So, um, what's the favor? GIVE ME SOME DETAILS ABOUT THIS MYSTERY "FAVOR" OF YOURS. One line would be sufficient: Can I borrow your red sweater? Can you give me the name of your hairdresser? Can I live with you for six weeks while my house in being fumigated? But you're giving me nothing to work with and, honestly, I'm a little scared to call back.

This type of message is usually left by someone who is going to ask you to help them move furniture or wants you to pick them up from the airport, which I would be totally okay with if they would just say so in the message. Otherwise, I feel like I am being tricked. I am pretty sure that the person wants to get me on the phone so I won't have time to make up a legitimate excuse for why I cannot, in fact, bail them out of jail.

I think this type of caller believes that the mystery in the message will intrigue me so much that I'll pick up the phone right away to find out about the favor! They think I'll be excited about the details of the favor! And then? I'll be trapped! I won't have time to make plans to be out of the country or at least washing my hair.

But the truth is, I am not intrigued. I am scared. So I do the opposite: I just don't call back.

I don't return faux calls.

On the Count of Three...

The photos from our third anniversary are here, minus photos from the kayak adventure because it is not a good idea to take a camera on a kayak out into the ocean even if you are going to see the cutest ever sea lions and lots of starfish and some very large pelicans (don't think I didn't try). Also minus pictures from the art museum because art museums are sometimes very snobby about cameras. Also minus photos from Fiesta because, well, because we forgot to take any.

Mostly everything else is accounted for. Everything appropriate, that is.

With Apologies

The top 5 reasons I cannot write a good post from the university computer lab:

1. I am using a PC and everything looks ugly.

2. I am supposed to be looking at websites related to the conference I am attending, which requires much minimizing as the professor walks by to see what I am "working on" and what I might "like to share" with the rest of the group.

3. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can leave for dinner.

4. Constant interruptions that require note taking in a gigantic binder.

5. I have to pee.

Phew!

Today is the third anniversary of the day I agreed to spend the rest of my life with one man and all of his dirty laundry.

I'm glad I chose well. All the laundry is certainly worth it, especially since he does half of it. At least.

Unscrupulous

I found an Apple computer station in the bookstore of this here place I am conferencing at, The University of San Diego, a Roman Catholic institution brimming with young students who are developing strong moral convictions.

I first checked my comments from the previous two posts, the comments which discuss alcohol and antibiotics and the effects of combining the two: YEAST INFECTION. Luckily, I am not taking any drugs that, with alcohol, will result in a yeast infection, thank goodness, and I am also done with the painkillers because oral surgery? Not so bad. Not worth swallowing a pill for.

So, next I visited a few blogs, although I did so with the fear of what might load on the page while a spiritually enlightened student of faith was looking over my shoulder. I was not let down. Amalah flipped us all off and Kathryn used the words Fuck and Asshole in her most recent post. Dooce was pretty inoffensive today, so I was able to enjoy the whole post without much minimizing.

Then I pretended to be shopping for an iPod Nano while the tech guy was restocking the shelf behind me.

And now I am typing this post as quickly as possible before I get kicked out for the vulgarity, the crude reference to vaginal infection, and the racy suggestion of alcohol, which whatever, Catholics drink wine.  Amen.

Just Another Day in Paradise

Um, this budget business is really cramping my style.