Old Journals

We have this closet, and in the closet are boxes. The boxes are filled with crap we've been hoarding, from early in our marriage, from college. From high school.

Inside the boxes, there are wedding cards, mementos from our honeymoon. Lots of spewed forth words on paper with grades on them, Doug's spew has many a higher grade than my spew, and he retained a lot more of his academic work than I did.

But in the midst of C+ papers for literary criticism class and James Joyce senior seminar class, I found two old journals of mine. From 1985 and 1986. Before I met Doug. When I dated Steve. There are poems in there. Some of them are great. Some are absolute shite.

I plan on sifting. Finding the ones that are halfway sort of decent. I'll post some of them here and you can laugh at me.

When I met Doug in 1986, he was an English major. He changed majors and scoffed at us English types as "starry eyed poets sitting on our asses" or something along those lines.

I've not written a good poem in many years. So my starry-eyed poetess career may be considered as over and done with.

Another gem of surprise that I found were several editions of an underground little publication called "Ralph" which a friend of ours published. We had a literary magazine at my school, I was the editor one year. And Ted published Ralph, Bert, Yak, and other very interesting poetry collections on mimeographed paper printed off the VAX system at our school.

There are quite a few poems by Clayton in there.

Some of them are just priceless.

I never submitted anything to Ralph because I felt that I wasn't cool and pretentious English majory enough. I wish I had. I had some good stuff that could stand right up next to some of the drivel in there. I should contact Ted and see if he's transcribed these to the web yet.

Anyway -- I have to run. I'm supposed to sub at Geoff's school but don't have to be there until 9:30. I dropped him off, ran some errands, came back here to call Doug and let him know not to pick up Geoff. So I'm off. More later perhaps.

We'll see me then soon -- some glimpses. But until then, here's me now:

New Semester Begins, Jon Gruden is a Hottie

I think I jinxed myself when I commented the other day that I was ruling the earth visits-wise. I was up to about 70 plus hits a day for two days. Now I'm back down to my usual 30 something. Oh well. It also helps when you actually update the damn journal.

---

Where've I been? Right here, just unable to take the time to log an entry. I spent several hours over the last three days with professor MF. Her course starts today and the CuSeeMe people put out a new version of their service in Beta mode. She was having a complete and total aneurysm because now there is a monthly fee to use the service (three different levels) and she couldn't figure out what she was going to tell the students in regards to "Oh, in order to take this class it'll cost you $29.95 a month. Consider it a lab fee."

Not so good, Al.

Anyway -- she and I both tried to download the upgrade and it screwed up both of our systems. I gave up Sunday night at about 8, and she plugged on and on. She called me at 10 and told me she was in, it was working, and the tech support/project manager guy we worked with during the summer (but who blew us off during the academic year when we needed help) had found her online in one of the rooms and recognized her username. He told her who he was and she freaked... she had all kinds of questions, was ready to start screaming at him, but he talked her through everything, set it up so her students will have certain rights and privileges that come with a higher level of service but will only have to pay the lowest member fees ($5 a month) and then talked her through everything she needed to know to get things working.

She was on the phone with him and online in the chat room setting things up for about three total hours Sunday night and four more hours during the day Monday.

I'm glad he found her.

She was ready to give up and cancel the class session, and get in huge trouble with the college I'm sure.

She is thrilled with the look and feel, the changes, the way things work. She can set it up so students can go into "break out" rooms off of the main room to have one on one or three way discussions.

This new layout works so well... and I wish to hell that they'd had this in place last semester when she had 12 students. So far this semester... she has six. It will be easier for her to teach with fewer students, but the technology is finally catching up to where she needs it to be in order for it to kick ass.

So... today is the first class session. I'm supposed to go down there but just don't feel like it. I'm achy, headachy, tired. I may just call and leave her a voicemail and let her know I'm home if she needs me, but otherwise I'm not there.

It's negative eighty degrees out, and part of the problem with me today is that should I go down there I'd have to park in East Jebus and walk to campus because I don't have a faculty/staff sticker and gate pass (because I'm not faculty/staff anymore). Seeing as I do not wish a fate like that of The Little Match Girl, I'll stay here where it's warm but leaky.

Although Doug did leave me the Quimby Truck, and this would be my opportunity to show it off to Ben, Brian and Dan...

Nah.

---

We took the Christmas tree down on Sunday. Actually, Doug did the bulk of the work. I was in here working up a page for Professor CM and when I came out the ornaments and garland were off the tree and he was taking the lights off. He picked the tree up and gave it the bum's rush out the front door and yelled something along the lines of what a bouncer would say to a disorderly barfly as he chucked him into the gutter.

Poor tree. Served us so well and was so nice. It even smelled good in parting. A nice dry piney smell lingered in the house, and my vacuum cleaner enhanced the smell as I sucked up the remaining detritus. My house seems so big and open now without the tree. And I am going to undertake reorganization of the closet that was behind it. It's a new year. Let's clean house!

After some coffee.

---

Well, what I wished for Super Bowl-wise was the Raiders vs. The Bucs, and I got what I wished for. While under normal circumstances I'm an AFC kinda gal, I'm cheering for the Bucs because of that dishy coach. Mmmmmmm, Gruden. Dude, your coach is hot. Hotter than a tater tot...

This should be a good game. Not as good as last year, but much better than the year before. I have a feeling the Raiders are going to kill the Bucs, ripping their live, beating hearts out of their chests right through their pads. They'll kill them and eat their babies. It will be ugly. Scary. But. Gruden's cute.

For the last three or so years we've watched the Super Bowl with Wayne and Marcia. I don't think that's going to happen this year. Marcia's baby is due this weekend, and the doctor said that if she hasn't had it by pretty much tomorrow that they'll induce her labor on Thursday the 23rd, day after tomorrow.

That's also Doug's birthday.

It will be cool if they have the baby that day, as we'll be able to add yet another friend with a child born on Doug's B'day. Ian J. will be 11 on the 23rd, and I recall that day as vividly as if it were yesterday. My cousin Mike's birthday is that day as well. It's a party day. A good day to be born. It is 123 (1/23 actually). So pray for a safe and manageable delivery for Ms. Marcia.

---

Mr. Garfield came and visited with us on Saturday. In complete honesty, I think it's been about 9 years since last I saw him. He worked at the Coffeehouse with us back in the day and stopped coming for various and sundry reasons, and I missed him sorely. I've spoken oft of him here.

He and I have been emailing each other back and forth for some time saying "we should get together for lunch or something..." and in my life, I'm usually all talk and no action. So we finally committed after many moons of hemming and hawing.

He came by and was much worshiped by our dogs. (Jack pined for him after he left. It was rather sweet). And we went to pillage Building 19, where I danced in the aisles to a Counting Crows song just for him.

We didn't get much out of our pillaging... some minor things... nothing huge or memorable. The place was mobbed, as Saturdays usually find it. The funniest thing I saw was a group of three family members looking through the sporting goods at XFL clothing and actually trying stuff on.

Uh, okay. The XFL died, but hey -- cheap quality clothing no matter how ridiculous is a good thing. Right?

I had a good laugh about that.

We went out to lunch too at a local foodrinkery. I had a great salad. All told -- a super day. We intend to take Mr. Garfield on a geocache not too too far from his very own front door up Exeter NH way. Start training now!

---

I seem to be working backward here news wise. Aaron called us the other day, I think it was Friday. Well, it was Friday here but not Friday where he is.

Anyway -- He was really upset -- they were out in the field when they got a call that a helicopter had crashed in Lake Fryxell, and he and his team leader have EMT training so they responded. They were about 10 minutes away via copter, and he told me it was the worst thing he's ever witnessed in his life.

Inside the copter, I believe he told me there were two men, severely injured. It took the team about 8 hours to free them from the wreckage which was embedded in the ice. He called us from McMurdo, where they were grounded while the crash was investigated. He thinks an incorrectly loaded sling load was to blame, and the copter crash was a result of them not being able to fly with the imbalanced load.

Michelle called me the other day and said he (Aaron) is not doing very well -- he's very disturbed and sort of "post traumatic" stressed out about the whole thing. As of the last time they spoke, he hadn't slept the last two nights. He's back out in the field, but not feeling too good. Aaron gets obsessy about things sometimes, and I see this as the type of thing that could knock him back. I want you all to pray for him -- he did good work in extracting the survivors, it was a blessing for him to have been there with his knowledge and training, and as horrible as it was to witness and be a part of, he needs to heal and move on. So lift him up, send the boy some major mojo. It's not fun to be down there and feel so depressed and sad. You can't crawl into a nice warm bed and cuddle the dog or the wife. You just have to get through it and be the best you can be. So... do it. Pray for him right now where you sit.

I wish I could give him a big hug, or be an ear he can unload into right now. It's not easy because he's so out of reach geographically. I can't just pick up the phone and call and make him laugh.

I should email him the picture of himself that he sent me a while back when I was pining over Missy. It cheered me up. Hopefully he'd find it funny.

Poor kid.

Anyway -- that's about the long and the short of it. I'm off to tackle a closet or two. I've got food pantry stuff to put in the church basement (thank you Mr. Garfield!) and stuff for goodwill to drop off at the Catholic Church around the corner.

Wherein I confess to hating winter more than anything

Before I get started here, I need to comment on my last entry. I think I was really harsh on Little Miss NO the other day. I want people to know that I don't HATE this child, I wrote from passion and frustration. Yesterday I went to drop Geoff off and we walked past the room just so I could say hi to all "My Kids." I made sure to really say hi to her and give her love. She blew me kisses and didn't say no once. She even took my hand and wanted me to come into the room and read.

I feel guilty today about how I felt about her the other day. She is actually really sweet. She's very helpful. She wants to be the teacher and give out the projects and help the children get up on things. There is a supportive streak and a giving heart in that kid. I would like to say I'm going to actively support that in her as often as I can.

News of my dislike of this child has spread through the staff, and I'm heartily afraid her grandmother, who teaches in the three-year old room, hates me. I don't want her to. And I am afraid of this woman, so I don't dare say a damn thing. Meh.

On to the actual Journal Entry. First of all -- Have you been following Mary Ann's Antarctic Journals? Here's Aaron and Amber, one of the other field engineers, after they fashioned a McGuyver-esque drill head out of an aluminum can. All I gotta say is -- the boy looks happy. I still can't believe my buddy is on the bottom of the globe. Damn.

Secondly, the title of today's entry involves me and ice, continuing the theme from Aaron's involvement in ice. Only his may be a lot more fun than mine.

As you know, we currently have 8 billion feet of snow on the ground... and on our roof.

Our gutters are filled with snow and ice. The fascia boards on the side of the house in one location have decided to wick all the melting water in the universe into the building. Water is seeping in all over the place.

Two nights ago at about 1am, Doug woke up and sat in bed for a while... he heard the dropping. The dripping. The dripping...

He put the light on and got me up (because he can't see well) and we saw that the cedar walls of our closet and the acoustic ceiling inside the closet were wicking the water to a dumping point - the frame of the sliding door.

We opened the sliding door and moved a mess of stuff out of the way. The water was dripping from two locations, so we put a pot under the drip with an old T-shirt in it to absorb the noise, and resigned ourselves to go back to bed.

Yesterday, the water was dripping steadily. I moved more stuff out of the closet and it's wide open and airy, so hopefully the carpeting and everything in there which is getting damp will not be stinky. I was standing at the kitchen sink yesterday doing dishes when I suddenly felt drops on my arm. The window frame above the kitchen sink is soaked, and the venetian blinds were wicking the water down the vertical cords, resulting in two points of steady drip. I positioned plants under the drips, which was good for the plants, but I'm pissed that the leaking is spreading in that direction. God. I'm going to be so pissed, SO pissed, if the water wicks through the insulation out into the middle of the dining area where we've replaced the ceiling (even though we still haven't plastered/joint compounded and finished the damn thing).

Some ice melt, a pitch fork, an industrial space heater, and then some serious water proof paint and caulk for where the fascia board inserts into the blue trim would be my solution.

The blue trim is the wall that our closet is on, and right where that arrow is pointing on my doctored picture is the entry point. We've had this problem a few times before, and every winter I say "Damn, we have to take those gutters OFF and totally waterproof that entire damn area."

But. We have yet to do this.

When we first moved into the house, I was in the bedroom and water was dripping onto my bed. We had JUST had a roof installed by our friend Todd, and I was pissed, thinking ... there is NO way this roof is leaking, it's brand new! I climbed up there (yes, I was pregnant, about 7 months) and looked all over in the pouring rain and slush for an entry point. I brought a shovel. I shoveled the roof (it's a long and flat slightly angled surface so the water runs down it and off behind my bedroom). When Todd put up the roof, he put up new facia boards and then gutters on top of them, but we never painted them. He told us they were weather treated and were all set, we could paint the trim later if we wanted, painting around the gutters, but that any additional water proofing wouldn't be an issue.

I think he lied.

I called him and he came over, put a patch right over where my bed is under the roof. The water wouldn't stop, and between the two of us we finally figured out that the facia board he put up was absorbing the water, and the insulation inside the house was wicking the water like an oil lantern wick until it could travel no further. So he and I spent the afternoon cleaning out the gutters.

Doug removed the downspout attachment to the gutters (the little curvy part) because the bulk of the problem wasn't the gutters themselves but the downspout.

The downspout would freeze solid because the north face of our house never gets enough sun to keep them warm and the water flowing. Taking the downspout attachment off meant that the gutters could easily be drained with some ice melt and that little hole could then freely spew the liquid. We haven't had a problem in a long time, but this is a lot of ice and snow, and frankly, I'm kicking myself for our having not installed heaters on them or just taking them off the house all together.

Stupid Fucking Gutters.

So I'm on drip patrol. I'm in all the exterior facing rooms of the house looking for drips. Our bedroom and the bathroom currently don't have ceilings, we didn't make it to those rooms yet, so I'm going to reach up and in and make sure the insulation is not touching the facia on the inside of the wall, and hope that this makes a difference.

God. I hate winter.

So, how's by you?

substituting

For the past several days I've substituted at Geoff's school, mostly in the toddler room where one of the regular teachers is out with severe flu.

I'm enjoying myself, and it is the easiest 8 bucks an hour I've ever made. I hang out. I play with toys. I get hugs. I wipe boogers. I am much loved by a few of the kids, and many of them are much loved by me. One little girl though ... voof. I don't want to say that I hate her. But. I could seriously do without ever seeing her again. She's the kind of little girl who at age 2 you know she's going to be a bitch at age 12. She's bad news, and everyone knows it. Her mother attended the school back in the day, and her grandmother is one of the teachers, who has been there for close to 30 years. I guess she's pretty much raising the little girl, as the mother is 20 or 22 and ... not responsible for her own actions.

A lot of little kids are in this situation, many of them are darling. Others are hell on wheels. They may grow up to beat up a cabbie one night. They may grow up to do drugs. They may just grow up and be bored and lonely. I have to keep telling myself when I'm dealing with this little girl that the people around her will shape her. Eventually. And if enough love can penetrate the darkness of the exterior she currently seems to possess, perhaps there is hope that she won't end up knocked up at 20 like her mom. And on Jerry Springer yelling "You don't know me, I do what I want! Shu uhp!"

She's in a big "NO" phase. One of the kids asked me if I had a cat. I told him "I have two dogs and no cats." The little girl said, "No" with such a bitchy tone, I just looked at her and said "Pardon?" She looked at me because I'm sure in her life no one has ever asked "Pardon?" to her. I said to her "You've never been to my house so you can't say NO to something that is a fact of my own life. You can say NO if I ask you if you want to sit down of if you are doing something and don't want to stop. But you most certainly cannot say NO to the fact I have no cats and I have two dogs."

She just gaped at me, slackjawed.

I turned back to the other little boy and we chatted about his one dog and three fish. Towhit she said "No" to the boy.

The boy and I chose to ignore her. She eventually told me she has a cat. I was tempted to say "No."

She's the kind of little girl who has to have all the crayons and a toy in each hand when there is just enough to cover one toy per each child. She tried to ride one scooter today while towing the other behind her, because, you know, she's a toddler and everything is "MINE!" Bitch.

I've actually started using the phrase, "You've got to learn to share," on some of the kids when they fight over things. Saying "You have to share" isn't something that makes sense to a two year old. They don't know how to do it. So make it a teaching moment. Tell them to start learning. Suggest how it is done. Amazingly, I saw a response in most of the kids. "I'm done. You turn" says one boy to a little girl waiting for the Minnie Mouse Tricycle. "I let you ride. I use the wagon" offers one girl to another who patiently waits for for the Cabbage Patch Kids Choo Choo. I saw change and learning taking place in 3 days.

The teacher of this class is learning disabled, I think she has downs syndrome but I haven't pried too deeply into her life. She told me she just moved into her own apartment in December and she's very happy. She's got to be about 25 or 30. Her mother is the day care's director. At first, I scoffed at the nepotism. I thought -- how can that girl deal with teaching these kids. I was judging a book by a cover.

Boy, did she open my eyes. She's bright, funny, full of love for the kids and for God. She has kind of a strange voice, so I always thought when I walked past that she was being bitchy or mean, but it's just her voice... her disability makes her speech sound stunted and sharp.

The kids love her. They respond to her. She treats them like gold but she also lets them know SHE is the teacher. This one little challenge of a girl gives her a run for her money, but she doesn't take any shit from this girl.

At naptime, the teacher asked me to get the other kids (8 in the room) all down for their naps and she'd focus on little miss NO. I thought at first she was asking me to do quite a lot, but she really was the one with the hard job. I got all the other 8 kids horizontal. Some of them were passed out within five minutes. Others, I had to back rub and sing to. I ran out of ideas for songs to sing, so I sang "Close your eyes" by James Taylor, a song I sang to both my kids and one that always makes me smile.

Within a half hour, all my kids were out, and the teacher was still wrestling with Miss NO. When she finally fell asleep, I shook my head and told her that I thought she was the best teacher ever. She laughed... She knows she is. I have a deep and abiding admiration for this teacher, and I think that she's the best.

I also have a renewed love for anyone who ever has to work with my son. Geoff's a lot better than he was a year ago, two years ago. At age two in pre-school, I'm sure he was Little Mister No. He was hell on wheels. And I'm sorry that people had to deal with him. Some have dealt with him better than others, and now his teachers tell me he is the best and brightest. Good and thank you. Without them and their guiding hands and tired but helpful hearts, I'm sure Geoff wouldn't be turning out this well. So I've got humbled and deep love for his teachers. And I will pray daily for anyone crossing his path as an educator in the future, as well as praying for him.

One little boy in the class is adopted from Russia. He is about 19 months old, and he doesn't speak much English except for "Mah Dah" which is "My Dog," a stuffed Ty Beanie Buddy of a German Shepherd which he carries with him all the time.

This little boy is the sweetest, most adorable, lovely, bright and gorgeous child I've ever known, even with his boogers.

We had a storyteller come to the school today, and this little boy sat on my lap entranced for the whole hour. They told me it was my break time, and I should go take a break, but I looked down at him and realized that there was no way on earth I was making him get up. I stayed. He doesn't speak much, he's loving. And I am actually going to miss seeing him tomorrow when I won't be working there. Sniff.

Geoff's birthday week comes to a close...

What a week.

You only turn six once, so it was fitting that we had party after party. First at school, then dinner out at the RFC, then... the party of the decade yesterday at the bowl o rama not too far from home.

We invited a million kids. Some RSVP'ed willingly. Others required constant nagging from myself (in the form of notes) and the teacher (in the form of through the eyebrow scowlings and scoldings). All but one kid who RSVP'ed showed up. Several parents stuck around too and they helped out. 15 kids ranging from age 3 to 10, and pizza and bowling and... wow.

And, of course, mom had to make her own life more difficult than possibly imaginable by making T-shirts for all the kids for the occasion. Instead of gift bags, which always are filled with kind of sub-par toys (and my dog will eat the contents) and candy (which my kid doesn't need after gorging on cake and/or ice cream) I figured it'd be nice if everyone had a memorable item they could keep for a long time, so I chose T-shirts. I got a bucket load of shirts from a craft store at about $3 a piece, and using Pokemon Project Studio Blue Version, which is cool, I made iron-on patterns, personalized for each kid with their name and a different pokemon on each one.

Jessie was a big help, she cut out the excess stuff around the printable area while I ironed. It took us 90 minutes to do 15 shirts, and at the end, I kicked myself for not making ME a shirt. Dude, these are so cool. She also helped me set up the tables at the party in record time, and was a good sport when I told her she must wear a party hat. I so torture that girl.

The back of each shirt says "It's Geoffrey's Birthday!" except on his where it says "It's My Birthday." I also made a nice pattern on his sleeve of all the "badges" pokemon trainers get on the show for beating certain leaders. There are 8 total. And the shirts looked the balls. I was so psyched.

The shirts were also good because each child was easily identifiable in the large and very public bowling alley. I wanted to be able to keep good track of them, and this was an awesome way to do so. It was a very good time. Special thanks to Doug for being score keeper and pizza man, Gregg and Karry for coming all the way out from Rockport, Nancy, Frank, Naomi, Naomi's mom, Leigh, Mariah's dad and his girlfriend -- all for hanging out and taking part. Whew.

My lovely kids -- right before all the party guests came	The cake, prior to being molested.
Jessie and Ian, who get along like a house on fire and act like they saw each other just yesterday, even though it's been months and months...	Geoff was done bowling after the third frame, 10 minutes into the hour we had to bowl.
Geoff's best friend in class. I hope we can keep in touch with him after school is done	The whole gang. Waiting for Pizza!!!
Let's see... I wish for a super rocket car, a motor cycle, all the pokemon in the world in real life, and some pie!	Action shot. The best candle blowing out picture of the week. He's going so fast, you can hardly see him!
	Yummy cake! And it's good to be the king. Geoff was the big star. Got great presents. It was a great day for the residents of the Way Out Inn, and one to remember for quite some time.

---

We brought Gregg, Karry and the kids back to our house to unwind, let the kids play, and watch some football. Titans, Steelers. Yeah baby, yeah! Apologies to all y'all who don't give a shit here, but I'm here now to talk about football. You can skip this part and go down to the bottom of the page to the which draws the line at the end of this section. As for the game yesterday -- I can't believe the Steelers lost. I can't believe they make it to overtime, and the Titan's kicker, Joe "I stink but I'm lucky" Nedney, manages to pull the win out of his ass.

The overtime win was theirs thanks to a roughing the kicker call against Dewayne Washington (a call that was QUESTIONABLE at best because the ball had already been friggin KICKED and MISSED when Dewayne slid into Nedney. Big Jerk).

And Bill Cowher, esteemed Steelers coach and king, was pissed. Cowher's chin reached new lengths sticking out from his face yesterday. I was frightened it might fall off. To lose the game because of someone sliding into the kicker long after the ball was kicked and had missed is bullshit. Absolute certifiable Grade A USDA bullshit.

From the Steelers' website, here's what Cowher had to say in his press conference.

"I saw a kicker who kicked the ball, had taken a couple of steps, and Dewayne sliding on the ground fell into him. For a game to be decided on that call is ludicrous. And for me to have to explain to an official what's reviewable and what's not, that's wrong. Fine me if you want. That's the truth.

"I'm not going to blame anything on this game. We had opportunities to win this game, and we didn't win them, but we had some taken away from us too. For a game to be decided because a kicker takes two steps and we have a guy slide into him…after going four and a half quarters, guys laying it on the line and it come down to that. Please, let the players play the game on the field.

"I've never been more proud of a group of guys. They've done everything I asked them to do. I wouldn't trade them for anybody in the world. Unfortunately it wasn't enough today."

Bill Cowher -- class act.

But what can you do. It's done. I will TELL YA what you can do -- Come back next year and kick some ASSSSSSSS!

I'm already looking forward to the End of August 2003. The season's not over, and I'm already looking forward to next year. Because there is no one to route for in this upcoming post-season now. All my three favorite teams have been eliminated, the Patriots, Green Bay Packers and Steelers. So I'm going to become one of those people who doesn't give a shit who plays, it's just all about having or going to a party.

This is what I'm faced with:

I sure as hell am not routing for the Jets or the Titans, those big loser jerks.

I don't want to route for the Eagles or the Niners, because I have no interest in them.

I can't route for the Raiders... that's like routing for Satan. And since Gruden's gone I have no interest. He's still in it though. But I think Tampa Bay has played crummy (crumby?) this year, and I've lost a lot of respect for Warren Sapp this season, so I can't in good conscience... well. What am I gonna do. Route for Tampa just because Gruden is cute? Meh. I don't know if that's reason enough. In the long run, it's just going to be all about whose house, how big the TV is, and what hors d'ouevres I can bring/make in order to make it a certifiable good time.

And no home-made T-shirts for that party. That's for sure.

---

I picked up some germage which is resulting in a sore throat and swollen tongue. Not sure if I picked it up at the pre-school on Wednesday or if I picked the germies up yesterday. So I'm feeling kind of listless, slow. I have a 4pm phone meeting with professor MF to go over the website and get it ready for Spring 2003's session. And, her proposal to present at a conference this coming March was accepted, so we'll be doing that and have to have all the bugs ironed out, and a presentation outline ready. I'll be presenting my side of the experience, and she'll talk about her motivation, the student reaction, why we did this. It will actually be a funny presentation, and we'll have a good laugh and I'm sure people will enjoy it. I'm just not into working on it today. I may call her and reschedule.

More later -- I'm going to go into the black hole that is my son's room and clean it so he can play on his carpet with his cool new trucks and cars.

More Geoff is Six

I got email and Virginia had her baby girl on Geoff's birthday. Abigail! Wooo hooooooo! Much love to her, welcome to the baby, and much rejoicing.

Rainforest Cafe was very nice. We had a very filling dinner and Geoff had a great time. While we were there, a mom and her two little guys came and sat at the table beside us. We were seated beside the great big Atlas sculpture, with "Save the Rainforest" printed on his big globe. I didn't hear what the little boy said to his mom, I presume he said it first but I heard her echo "That's right. He's the Wrestler of the Rainforest!"

Um, yeah. Lady, explain to your kid, no matter how young he is, what he's seeing. Tell him it's Atlas and he holds the world on his shoulders. Education can begin very young. And if he still wants to pretend it's a wrestler, let him. But at least tell him.

Doug said I was presuming she knows who Atlas is.

He has a point. Perhaps she doesn't, so there's no way she could possibly tell him. I asked Jessica if she knew and she did.

So I'm relieved.

How this woman couldn't have known though is beyond me. She looked smart, well dressed, fairly wealthy. The kids were dressed all in Baby Gap. People confuse me.

Well. Anyway.

Next adventure is this Saturday for the birthday party. All but 2 kids have RSVP'ed. So we're good to go!

Yesterday I worked at Geoff's school and was a "floater" moving from class to class relieving teachers so they could go to the bathroom and grab some coffee for 10 minutes. In one class there were four little boys and one little girl who needed to get their snow suits on to go out and play. The school has girls who come in from the local voc tech and they usually sit there like lumps on a log (except for one girl, who is awesome). So the class teacher runs to take her break and tells me that the kids probably won't get their suits on but I can try.

I sat on the floor and sang songs to the kids about getting their snow suits on and how they can do it they can do it... and they all came over and put them on.

The girl from the voc tech dressed the one little girl in the class, and I got the four boys done.

"How'd you do that?" asked the teacher when she got back.

Geoff is Six

Today is Geoff's sixth birthday (you'd think that would take presidence over the Trachtenbergs, but I tell ya -- they're funny!) I went to his class today and helped out with cake and ice cream, and stayed for chapel. It was loads of fun. I took pictures. Here are a couple:

Anticipation... the teacher lights the cake and all the kids gather round....	I love this action shot! And I love how his friend Ramon is standing back there with the "blowing" face on too.
Geoff and his latest "wife" Lexie. She is insanely in love with him. This cracks me up. She is so adorable. He is so aloof.	Mmmmm, Chocolate Cake, Ice Cream and Skittles make for a wicked awesome sixth birthday party feast! Thumbs UP!!!

I can't believe he is six. It just boggles my mind.

He has chosen the Rainforest Cafe for dinner, and for his birthday we have a cool dinosaur book and we'll let him pick out a T-shirt and maybe a stuffed animal friend from the gift shop. I'm thankful the Rainforest Cafe has beer.

We are having a birthday party for him on Saturday. At a bowling alley. It was his idea. And you know it's all about the little prince when it comes right down to it.

Per his request, I invited every kid from his class. There are 9 other kids in his class, and I figured of the 9 perhaps three or four wouldn't be able to come.

So far, only 1 parent has done as I requested and RSVP'ed.

When someone puts "RSVP" in an invitation, you're supposed to call back as to whether OR not you'll be coming. NOT responding is bad, because I don't know how many kids are actually coming and how many are not, which weighs on how much the party will end up costing me, how many pizzas I need to get, what size cake, and it also has impact onthe bowling alley people because they need to know how many lanes to block off and what size table to set up for us.

RSVP by date was yesterday.

What is wrong with these people?

When I was at school today I asked the kids if they were coming or not. Some didn't even know they were invited. The invitations were not in their mail cubbies, so SOMEONE took them home. Absent minded dads often just grab the work out of the cubby and put it in the truck. Mom with new baby -- perhaps braindead and overwhelmed and didn't notice. One girl told me she and her family are going away this weekend, so she can't come. I looked over at Geoff's best friend's mail cubby, and the invitation is STILL in the box. I put them there on Thursday of last week. That gave the parent/guardian three opportunities to pick the damn thing up and bring it home.

Correct me if I'm wrong -- do you think people understand the term RSVP anymore?

I need to tell the bowling alley tomorrow and give them a head count. I have no idea what to tell them. I'm pissed.

---

Last night while watching "Office Space" on Comedy Central, Jessica came in the room and I asked her "What movie am I watching?"

To whit she replied "I, I, didn't get any cake last year, and it looks like good cake" in her best Milton Waddams voice.

Yes. Indeed. My 10 year old can quote "Office Space." And she proceeded to do so. When they're sitting at Flingers having lunch, and he mentions Kung Fu movies, the camera zooms in on Jennifer Anniston, and my daughter says "I love Kung Fu."

Teach a child the path of righteousness while she is young, and when she is grown she will not part from it. I feel like I've accomplished something as a parent.

Grandma, we hardly knew ye...

Dateline: NEMA (Northeastern Massachusetts)
Time: 2:30 p.m.

Goddamnit, Bart! Grandma Got Gobbled:

Family Distraught, Seeking Replacement Through Clonaid or eBay

Mauled Granny with a side of Red Power Ranger and "Vulpix" Pokemon Card

Massachusetts State Police and the Essex County Coroner's Office report that "Grandma," the plastic Happy Meal-based alter-ego of Shirley F., of NY, died in a horrible fluffy puppy munching incident at the home of her daughter Christine.

"It is a sad and unfortunate day for parody," family spokesman Chad Sexington reported from the mountain of snow in front of the family estate. Speaking on behalf of Christine, "I loved my mother's sassy, rude alter ego, and I will miss her horribly. And my sister is so going to kick my ass. Oh man, I'm so screwed."

Eschewing any adventure but constantly put into peril by her rather disrespectful and un-loving children, Grandma wished for a quiet life. A life where she could without fear of reprisal smoke, watch TV, take naps, download scads of MP3s from KaZaA, burn mix CDs, order Chinese Take Away and play Nintendo for hours.

She retired from her "crappy no respect piece of shit" job on New Years Eve, a mere 7 days earlier and was looking forward to a long and lazy retirement lifestyle, without travel stress or bitchy bosses.

Ironically, Grandma turned her nose up at an offer to take a trip to Antarctica this winter with longtime family friend and confidant Aaron stating it was "too goddamn cold" there and the flight would be long and annoying, and sleeping in a tent with no Nintendo Game Cube at her disposal would cause undue stress and hardship.

"She should have gone," muttered Christine as she snuck past a line of rabid reporters outside the Essex County Courthouse in Haverhill. "But I let her stay here instead of hauling her bitchy ass to the airport. Goddamnit."

Jack Puppy, according to Massachusetts State Bylaw OU812, is too young to be incarcerated for this crime, and instead will have all his teeth removed to avoid future maulings, action figure eatings and other destructive behaviors.

The ACLU plans to file papers in Superior Court to block the dental extraction and has hired Jack Hannah as their celebrity spokesperson for the motion.

"Goddamnit, indeed"

The coroner's report shows that Jack Puppy, known throughout the region for his unrestrained chewing is "undoubtedly responsible," according to town Dog Warden Amanda Huckingiss. She is counseling the family on their options.

Police investigators state Grandma was in seclusion inside Christine's purse on the couch while she ran to the bathroom. When she returned, she heard munching.

"And then I saw the most God awful scene since the previews to the new "Dragnet" TV series starring that Al Bundy guy. My dog was chewing Grandma, and her muffled cries of "Ouch, Goddamnit!!!" and "Bart! BAAAAAAARRRRRT!!!" were echoing around inside his mouth. The horror. The horror."

Christine removed Grandma hoping that the damage would not be too extensive but was dismayed at what her wondering eyes did behold.

Here, exclusive to (a)musings, are secret photos of Grandma stolen from the County Coroner's office:

Damage to Grandma's head, face, glasses and hair was extensive. No amount of glue could be found to repair her feet, which are too hideous to post in this news report.

"eBay or Aliens... our only hope"

"It's a damn shame," muttered her son-in-law Doug, who will miss Grandma's demanding voice and constant smoking. "I mean, sure she drove me nuts when we drove all over the South west with her and pretty much ruined my damn vacation with her incessant bitching and moaning. The old biddy. But she still had some charm. And she could play a good "Animal Crossing" game... I learned a lot from her." Doug and a team of collectibles experts will be undertaking an extensive online search for her replacement.

Rumors of a deal with Clonaid and the Raelians are also circulating in the NEMA area, as Rael himself has offered to assist the family in replacing their lost love one.

"See, this is EXACTLY what we've been waiting for," said head Alien Nutjob Rael himself. "We are hoping that people die in horrible chewing accidents and then we can extract some DNA and make new ones of them. You'll thank me later."

Rael suggested deep-freezing Grandma until her DNA produces a viable head, face, hair, glasses, legs and feet for implantation on the body.

Grandma's Vicious Final Breath

Seconds before her untimely demise, and through her plastic-mush of a mouth, Grandma motioned for Christine to come closer, closer... She then said with her last exhale:

"You get nothing in my will. Nooooottttttthhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnng. Gahdahhhhmmmmmih."

Interment will be in the trash, or perhaps out of the car window as the family truck speeds past a sulfur mine. In lieu of flowers, buy yourself a nice dinner and say a quick Novena for the little plastic friend who gave so many hours of joy but didn't need any batteries. Grandma, rest in pieces.

---

For those of you unfamiliar with the legend of Grandma , please visit the Grandma's Adventure pages. There is one eBay auction on right now for "Recess" Happy Meal Toys, which includes 7 figures. I may just get in on that and buy it. We'll see.

Linda, you can drive up here and beat the shit out of me if it makes you feel better. You always told me that nothing bad better happen to Grandma and look what happens. I feel like a toad. So irresponsible.

I still recall the moment the Grandma legend was born, with you holding her up at your college graduation in the kitchen as you mimicked our dear mother's foibles. I still laugh as I see Virginia and Steve both catching right on and taking the concept and running with it much to Shirley's dismay and horror. A star was born... Hours of funfilled family entertainment were had, with us making fun of the Grandma... and Shirley was a good sport about it.

I can hardly believe that the last time we did a big Grandma pictorial was November 2001. It can't be that long ago! But it was. But like Tupac Shakur, we have many other installments waiting in the wings, and will put together other editions of Grandma's Adventures (Grandma goes South of the Border, in North Carolina! Grandma goes to Chicagoland, Grandma's Vegas Vacation!) But she lived large and in charge, she saw more of the country than we ever thought she could, and the world even!

Pile has more than one meaning.

Onward... and hopefully this will make you laugh as much as it does me. Somewhere in this snowpile, see picture at left... the snowpile in front of my house, there is buried an avocado toilet. Don't strain your eyes, you can't see it. But it's in there and you heard me right.

Yes. An avocado toilet.

Here's the story: My neighbor was plowing his driveway, and we were waiting for our tenant to come back with his snow plow to move the 18+ inches of snow we got overnight Friday into Saturday. Steve (said neighbor) came over with his plow and his bobcat and plowed out the right side of the parking area in front of our house. Quite sweet of him considering he'd just worked a 12 hour plowing detail down in Beverly.

A little while later I went out to thank him. He and his wife Candy (the one who got me drunk on a Friday afternoon a month or so ago) and I were chatting when suddenly she stops, a perplexed look on her face.

"Steve," she yells to him, "Where's the fuckin' toilet?"

"What toilet?" he looks confused.

"The green toilet sitting at the end of our fucking driveway with the Christmas tree, the one the trash guys didn't take away this week. Where'd it go?"

"Well, I saw the Christmas tree and I moved it out into the back yard out in the woods but I didn't see a toilet. Are you sure it was there?"

Candy and I both answered that it was. I remembered seeing it on Friday and wondering if she knew there was no way the trash guys would take that, even if she left it out for a second week.

So Steve points to the snow, all piled up in front of my house and says "I guess it's up in there. I pushed all the snow from over here in front of the fence to over there." I start laughing. The snow ridge is a mountain. It's at least six feet high. I can't see the truck on the other side of it. It's a kid's wonderland and it'll provide months of fun for the family, and once it thaws there will be a commode inside. Sort of like the secret surprise in the middle of Monty Python's Crunchy Frog -- it's not what you'd expect it to be!

Steve offered to take the bobcat and whack the snow down and get it out of there but I told him not to bother. We'll wait until mother nature reveals the ancient shitter of green, and have archaeologists come study it. We'll get a write up in National Geographic. Perhaps a commercial deal, special half time appearance at the Super Bowl. We'll ride the 15 minutes of crapper-fame to its fullest.

Pictures? Forthcoming. Once the heap melts. I hope to find it upright. I'll go sit on it and make it look like... I'm goin'. That's a classy image, eh? Barf.

---

So, in other news the Green Bay Packers lost yesterday, so they're out of the running. Last week the Patriots won but the stupid Jets had to go and win too, which eliminated the Patriots outright. Sadly. I hate the Jets.

But the best news ever is that the Steelers won today by the skin of their collective teethies, and gave me skin failure and a stomach ache. I left to go to the market at halftime and they were losing 14-7 or something. I got back and they were losing 33-22 or ... something.

Then, miraculously, the win becomes theirs, with seconds to spare. I thought I'd puke. Good thing I didn't either, because Doug made a wicked good split pea and ham soup today with our left over ham bone (from the Christmas feast) and I would be off split pea and ham for life had I horked it.

So the football season stays meaningful for me. The one team I want to see win is the Steelers -- and don't nobody want to prevent that from happening. You hear?

the night we toilet papered kenny's house.

Yesterday I missed out on entering a journal entry for 1/2/3, January 2, 2003. now I have to wait until 2/3/4 to have a similar giggle. I spent a great deal of time New Year's day in a couch fog, slept until 11am and got laughed at by Doug. Linda and I stayed up until 2am laughing and talking. It was a pretty low key evening, we drank a few very powerful elixirs mixed by senior staff mixologist Doug, and the champagne toast is what put me over the top of not feeling super well. That's what did me in. Stupid champagne.

I'm glad we don't go out for New Year's Eve. It was fun to just hang out here, write in the journal while tanked and make Linda laugh.

No one has responded to my call for a husband for the girl. I think this journal may have scared the potential husband off. Seriously, would you want to marry into this family? Poor Doug. He didn't really grasp what he was getting into.

Hanging out just before midnight on the icy porch with my margarita glass, wearing flannel, wearing dorm pants, and loving the fact that I'm not in a noisy club.	Linda does a great "Patsy" imitation and here she shares it. She should have a big bolly of Stolly instead of a margarita glass, but this is close enough.
I interrupted Mr. Spaceman while he was playing video games. He stayed up until 10:30 and then put himself to bed.	Jessie looks thrilled to be spending new year's with us. She stayed up until 1am. I was surprised
	Linda, silly. Very very silly.

I interviewed for a job substitute teaching at Geoff's school and ended up having a great talk with the pastor of the church where the preschool/Kindergarten is hosted. He needs someone to pretty up this presentation he does on dinosaurs and the New Earth theory of creation (Doug said this pretty much boils down to a theory that dinosaurs never really existed and Satan put bones in the desert to confuse us, and the earth is really 6000 years old instead of billions of years, which is bull hockey but we'll leave the debate at that). I wanted to ask him "If I disagree with your position at it's core, can I still work on the project, get paid, and we both live happily ever after?"

I don't mind working on projects that don't match my world view. Some of the core content in professor MF's class really rubbed me the wrong way content wise, and I would never choose to teach the stuff she was teaching, but it was her class. I was the technical facilitator. Content wasn't my concern. And I feel the same about this pastor's stuff.

I'm a web whore. I'll make anything you want. No conscience involved. Just pay me. Oh, I've reduced myself to a very sad place, have I not?

Seriously though, I don't have a problem with his project's philosophy or with her ethereal meditative world peace "Ohm together and the earth will heal" stuff. I roll my eyes and cringe, but it's their content, not mine. If I want to teach a full class on something or develop a presentation about a theory, I could go ahead and do that myself. In the meantime, I let the different thinkers do their thing and I make them look good. Am I a sell out? No. Because I don't think in the long term their positions really impact the universe. The way I see it is I'm portfolio building and retaining skills while unemployed. That's the extent of it.

Linda left yesterday afternoon and Geoff and I played video games and whiled away the hours until everyone came home. I kept him home today too, why bother sending him to school for two days. He'll go back Monday. I was going to take him up to the local ski hill, and both of us could get a lesson, but it is bitter cold and snowing out, and I just feel like drinking coffee and reading journals. So we're listening to the radio, hanging out, and enjoying our morning together.

We are forecasted to get 4-8 inches of snow tonight, which should be interesting. We still have so much snow from the last storm. Will the madness never end???

I have been cruising for other blogs, and I think I found next week's aortal link of the week, but in the meantime, here's a blast from my past pulled out from one of his 100 things list. He writes:

88. Many years ago, my friend and I were out T.P.ing some girl's house who was in our class when her mom came outside in her nightgown. We started running and she yelled "come back!" For some unknown reason, I went back.

And suddenly I am toilet papering Kenny's house in 12th grade.

The story is this. A very good friend of mine, who will remain nameless here because I don't know what the statute of limitations is on this sort of case, was in love with this kid K. He was a year younger than we were, perhaps two, I can't recall.

He was lovely, indeed. I remember being in band camp with him, and we were marching all around the field doing formations and practicing. I played sax, my friend flute, and K was a trumpet player. He had on a pair of overalls, and took his shirt off. It was late August, ten million degrees, and he was tan and beautiful, with his overalls done up over his bronzed shoulders. When we'd march, his shoulder blades glowed like angel wings, and for an instant I could see why my friend was borderline psycho obsessed with this kid.

Months passed, and it was winter, and we were at a party. K had repeatedly spurned her advances, and we found ourselves pondering what could be done. I told her repeatedly that he didn't like her because of the smoking (which I'd heard was the reason, but he also knew she had a boyfriend and he didn't want to get mixed up in that sort of a mess). He was a good kid, a nice kid. Can't fault him for that. But she was hell bent, not for love, but to get him back for rejecting her.

17 year old girls can be so insane.

She talks me into going to his house to TP it. Which in itself is not insane. But wait.

TPing was all the rage, and I'd gone on several TP runs in my time. I should do a whole entry on the perils of TPing houses and the havoc that resulted, but for now we stick with Kenny. We went to the 7-11 and pooled our money to buy enough TP to leave a foot of snow in every tree. Patty also bought a bar of soap, which I thought was funny. She was going to soap his car windows. Excellent.

We went to the house, parked a block or so away. It was a quietly tony residential neighborhood and he lived on a corner lot. I took one corner, around the dark side of the house, and Patty took the driveway side, where the car was parked.

I put a roll of toilet paper on a stick, to increase the flinging velocity (a skill I learned from Rob K. on one of our other TP adventures) and began creating a winter wonderland. The house was pitch dark and silent. I smiled and chuckled to myself at my stealth and skill. Nary a dog did bark that night.

Suddenly I hear a voice behind me that was not Patty's. "What do you think you are doing?" Said Mrs. K's mom.

Uh,

uh,

"Toilet papering?"

"That's all fine and good, whatever. But come see this." She leads me to the side of the house where Patty was doing her thang, and I was horrified.

All over the garage door, all over the car, the driveway, everywhere -- she'd used the soap to write "Fucking Prick" on every surface that could be soaped.

I recall seeing something like that in a bad 80s movie (if you know the movie, let me know, I can't seem to recall where she got her inspiration from...) and I felt my heart sink. I felt guilty. I had no idea she was doing that.

And the bitch ditched me.

Mrs. K's mom lectured me for a while, and I stood there stunned. She asked me who did this, and I wouldn't tell. She told me to get the fuck off her lawn and to tell whomever was responsible that she'd find out. I took off, walking around the block and up the street to the intersection of the main road, where she had hidden in a school parking lot. She drove over quickly and picked me up. She was laughing maniacally and yelling about how she took off running like hell when the mom came out.

"Uh, yeah. I just had my ass chewed out. What were you thinking???"

"Isn't that awesome? I saw that in a movie. What a mess! He'll have to clean it up." She laughed and laughed and laughed.

I think our friendship changed markedly after that event. I felt badly and wanted to go back and tell on her and help him clean up. We drove around for a half hour and she wanted to go back and look again. I didn't. I told her to just let it go, and I remembered the look on that mom's face.

We went back, and K was outside with a bucket of water, and scrub brushes, cleaning up. The kitchen, porch and driveway lights all glowed like the sun in the relative darkness of the neighborhood. As we passed, she yelled "HA HA HA YOU FUCKING PRICK!!!" out of the window and then gunned it. He knew who it was. And I thought for sure we were fucked.

He never spoke to either of us again, and neither of us were charged with anything. We should have been. She should have been for sure. I was caught with a stick and a roll of TP, but she had malice, soap, and a heart of cold steel.

So. Hosemonster. Thanks for bringing me back to a weird event in my life that I still cringe over. I hope I never see K again. Ever.