The Dromomaniac

Frightening Indeed

My Halloween dreams of yesteryear are finally being fulfilled: we're getting all dolled up and going out tonight.

Paul and I determined early on that we had to do a Lebowski theme. And, obviously, I'd be Maude and he'd be The Dude from the bowling ball dream sequence thing. But far be it from me to plan ahead, so this week consisted of scrambling to find a viking helmet, a gladiator skirt and sandals, and, of course, golden bowling balls for a bra. Since adhering two golden bowling balls to my breasts is impractical, expensive, and painful, I dreamt up Plan B: a 6" styrofoam ball to be halved, painted, and secured.

Which is how I found myself at Julia's last night, cutting and goring the styrofoam with a spoon, which logically enough lead to us noting all the amazing things one can do with spoons: eat soup, cook heroin, peel ginger, carve styrofoam... oh the list is long, I can assure you. Julia, sipping her Dolcetto (with an 'o', not an 'a') grew tired of drinking alone so she filled my glass and burned two CDs of EuroPop for me.

Sadly, my golden globes didn't dry quickly, so I'm heading over 8ish to complete the transformation. NB: Two pairs of nude pantyhose (yes, I said pantyhose) will be worn in a pointless attempt to not freeze. I hear bourbon helps warm from within, so I will check into that.

Time's Ticking

In the words of Madonna and Justin Timberlake, and I quote, We've only got four minutes to save the world.

Just sayin'.

The Big Hump

Today feels like a Thursday, not a Wednesday. Rather, it feels like an incredibly long and drawn out Wednesday during which I am addicted to clock-watching.

One of the many good things about my job is knowing that days off are coming. I have a jumbled-up half-day of sorts on Election Day because the elementary school is closed. And I have Veteran's Day off. And a mini-break at Thanksgiving. Christmas break is like a dream to me - TWO whole weeks!!

Thank you, taxpayers. I do so appreciate your generosity.

Bibs and Bobs, Again

So, today was an interesting day: I arrived to a bomb threat at Niagara-Wheatfield high school.

Now, this was just plain comical to me. Who the frig would want to bomb Niagara-Wheatfield? Seriously! But the school had to take it seriously, of course, after Columbine et al, but I still laughed out loud when I was told what the to-do was about. The best part was that all of the kids - middle school and high school - were rushed out and onto buses until bomb dogs sniffed their way through the buildings. And what happens when a bunch of teenagers are crammed onto random buses? Chaos! The buses started rocking heartily until an outraged adult rushed towards them and started hollering. Good times.

Needless to say, there was no bomb. But the whole thing caused big delays throughout the district.

In other news, our book club picked "No One Belongs Here More Than You" by Miranda July on Sunday. I bought it yesterday and am already four stories in. I freakin' love it. She looks too much like a Miranda July, though, and that's kind of really annoying.

I'm also reading "Under The Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer, which is making me hate religion even more. It's deftly written, but then, I seem to love his style. But as I read through the beginnings of the Mormon church, I occassionally shout out "Oh, come ON!" It's no wackier than talking snakes, of course, but then, it all seems absurd to me.

Except when I ask God to help out Obama. Then? True Believer, yo.

One Week Left!

Dear God, I know I still don't believe in you and all, but PLEASE let Barack Obama win the election next week. If McCain wins, I'll be really mad at you and I won't believe in you even more. So watch it, buster.

Toil

I know work is called 'work' because it is not 'play', but today it feels particularly dutisome and toilish because it's cold and rainy outside and bed is warm. I'd so much rather crawl back in and sleep for a few more hours.

Bah.

 

This weekend was, though, very very fun. We went to Gusto at the Gallery on Friday night to hear Babik and to attempt to win the masquerade contest. We did not, but our costumes rocked out: I threw on my Mother Nature garb and Paul found an old Grim Reaper costume he had, so we went as Life and Death. Saturday brought the highly-anticipated "Here Be Dragons" event at Hawk Creek. We were so stoked about it that we'd gone a week early, much to Hawk Creek employee confusion. (Conversation: "Can I help you with something?" "Uhm, yeah, we're here for the event..." "That's next week." "Oh... see you then, then.") We got to see an ocelot, an Andean condor (one of the most ginormous and uuuugly birds in the world), lynx, and we went into the eagle cages. Hawk Creek is a wildlife rescue/recoop center that helps animals who have been injured or imprinted by humans and who would not be able to survive in the wild. After Hawk Creek, we hiked around Knox Farm (again! 3 weeks in a row for me!) and then went out to say good-bye to Steve, our friend who has been renting the upstairs. He's heading back to New Orleans today and I'm going to miss him. We went to Sterling with Steve, Julia, Darren, Nikki, and Steve's friend John (I think). I'm proud to note that we are now getting kitchen privileges at Sterling! I split early and they all headed to Del Denby's, where Paul managed to get a standing ovation for a country music quip. I'm both very sad and very happy I missed it. Sunday was my book club, so I spent the day cooking and cleaning up: I made a kick-ass mushroom soup, a quiche, and carrot cake. There were 8 of us this time and there was SO much food that we've got gobs of leftovers. We read "The Painted Veil" and I'm so glad we're doing this because there really were wildly different takes on the book. Next up we have a collection of short stories by Miranda July. 

Anyway, 'twas all quite fun. I think I'm only writing this, though, to procrastinate. I so don't want to shower because I'll be wet and cold when I get out. Sad me.

Open Letter to Misery

Miserable relationships have been thematic this week. A few people have brought up trying, trying, and trying again in relationships that are, essentially, dead. Both promise to make changes and after a week, two weeks, a month, both are up to the same old tricks. What is the breaking point?

I know I've been questioned at least and harshly criticized at best for my serial-dating of yore, but I stand by my opinion: living in misery is not worth it. Life is FAR too short. What will you do with it? Will you continue to spin your wheels in muck? Or will you attempt to pick yourself up and try to find the happiness you deserve?

This is, of course, not related to relationships; I feel the same way about jobs. You've got to know when it makes more sense to leave than it does to stay. Your life is worth more than chronic discontent.

I do understand that after spending so much time and energy in a situation, people naturally do not want to admit defeat. But to me, it's a bigger defeat to live unhappily than it is to take a chance on change.

And, when you do find that someone lovely, hang on with all your might.

Opinion

I've often voiced my dislike of The New York Times for its elitist subject matter. I'd even written a scathing letter to the editor questioning their targeted demographics. I was fed up with reading "budget" travel tips that included hotel rooms for no less than $250 per night and real estate features on poor little rich couples who simply couldn't find the perfect Park Slope townhouse. I was even pretty happy when their reporter got busted making up stories completely because, to me, it epitomized their lofty self-image by not overseeing or fact-checking the work of young reporters.

I am, however, about to let bygones be bygones.

You must read this.

Oh, and? It's FRIDAY!

Light a Green Candle

No, really. Please.

The Mouths of Babes

One of my students is an adorable first grader from Russia. His English is pretty limited, but he seems to have mastered the names of every animal you can imagine. His obsession with seals spills over into every assignment he gets.

For some reason, I get this. Maybe it's the influence of The Goatman, but I can respect wanting to turn every conversation over to seals and dolphins. And for that reason, he seems to love when I pick him up.

The other day, he told me he waits for me 'all day' and asked if I could pick him up again in the afternoons. When I had a workshop all day last week, he was quite annoyed with me when I got him the following day. "Why you no get me?" he asked, scowling.

At first, Paul told me he was playing me out like a violin, and I was prone to agree. But if he is, he's a master. Each day, I go to his class, and he'll be in the middle of something when his teacher gently calls his name and points to me. His face completely lights up and he races over towards me and out of the room. Not having kids of my own, it damn near kills me to see how happy it makes him.

Paul's got serious competition.