Waiting....

Most people know I'm crap at waiting for, well, anything at all.

At the mo', I'm waiting on two very big things:
1. For Munka to deliver Beatrix (anytime, dude, but preferably when I'm in Detroit this next week for Spring Break)... AND...
2. For Andrew to hear SOMETHING, ANYHTING, either way about his interview at MCLA (I'm holding off on applying for a full-time temp position at CMU until we know for sure...)

On the upside, though, I bought some white wool tuxedo-looking trousers. HOT! I'm going to wear them to a wedding reception I'm crashing this upcoming weekend.

(What a retarded post this is. Who cares?)

Not-so-Quiet Riot

There was a riot in Dublin yesterday. Anyone can go read about how/why/where it all went down, but I just wanted to express my personal view on the subject:

1. I'm not surprised.
2. It's a little scary... and strange... so weird to hear about bad stuff happening in my old familiar digs (feels kind of like when this girl I knew all through school was murdered by her husband-- we'd been good acquaintances, off and on, for years-- I even went to her Confirmation party-- I didn't cry, because at that point I didn't know her so well, but I was affected because she was young, gainfully employed in her field of interest, and had an infant daughter. It made me feel a little cold, a little sick, and a LOT reminded of how vulnerable we all are... all the time).

Bitching and Moaning

Hi...

It's the time of semester that my students begin to slack off. While I remind them that Study Skills is the kind of course they should (and can!) all get an A in, they remain staunchly unmotivated by this fact. They're like a pack of fat lazy hungry dogs, who can't be arsed to walk across the room even when you're dangling a big treat five feet away.

Examples, all direct quotations, and my responses to them:
1. Just before class starts. Hand raised in the corner. "Yes?" I ask. "I didn't do my homework." "OK. And?" I reply, shrugging my shoulders. Then I move on to another topic.

2. Same class, different student. "I don't read because I hate reading."
"Well, could knowing how to use the SQ3R Reading Strategy help motivate you to read? If you apply it, you'll be reading the material AND retaining the information...."
"I don't like reading. I don't do it for any of my classes."
"Unlucky for you, then, that college is mostly reading."

3. To a group of students whispering in the back of the room: "Gentlemen, this is the last time I'm going to ask. Please stop talking when other people are talking. It is distracting. I shouldn't have to ask you to do that. You're in college."

4. A few weeks ago, writing a chapter summary on the board. A voice from the front row: "Andrea, I couldn't help but notice that you are left handed. I am lefthanded also, and did you know that lefthanded people die nine years younger, on average, than right handed people?"
"I'm pretty damn close right now," I say, shaking my head. Those who got the joke laugh.

As a college student, I was neither extremely driven or extremely slacking. I was somewhere in between, which would explain the GPA that hovered around 3.0 or slightly above every semester. I never dropped a class, failed a class, or repeated a class-- I stuck out every single one I had, even ones I thought were unimportant or boring. I skipped class a TOTAL of five times in four years of college. When I failed a quiz or a test, I knew it was my fault-- I didn't blame anyone else for my shortcomings.

The only difference between successful students and unsuccessful ones is that the former group has a sense of self-awareness. Because the latter group lacks this basic insight, they suffer academically, socially, and individually. This is why it's BRAND NEW NEWS to lots of my students that they should do things like take notes, keep quiet when others are talking, etc. Lots of them wouldn't remember to put their pants on if they didn't have roommates to remind them it's not favorable to walk around naked in the cold.

SuperEvan's Adventures in Speech Therapy

It's not new news to anyone that Evan's talking is behind most other kids his age. While he did say words for awhile when we lived in Dublin (primarily "this" and "that"), he basically stopped talking out loud shortly after we moved home. Instead, he began "talking" with his mouth closed. Try it yourself-- it's like humming, but with a conversational tone.

Why Evan stopped talking out loud and started talking with his mouth closed is a mystery to everyone. However, there are a few possible explanations: 1) upon returning home, and witnessing firsthand the callous backwardness of American culture, he was shocked into silence; 2) Evan is a super-intelligent, super-evolved baby, who has reached a state of nirvana where the only conversations required are those with beings we lowly humans can't hear or see; 3) Evan is stubborn, resists change, and relies on baby theatrical/classical methods of communication, such as grunting and smiling, because that's what's comfortable and easy for him.

I know my kid. He's a scary mix of my nature and Andrew's: driven, yet lazy; goal-oriented, sometimes maybe if he feels like it; an adventurer-- in his own surroundings, like in the kitchen or bathroom, for example.

Anywho, it was determined after a small arsenal of hearing tests that Evan could hear (I already knew this), so the conclusion was that his speech issues stemmed from other issues. After another small arsenal of tests, he was finally enrolled in speech therapy, which he attends twice per week for thirty minutes each time.

Evan's therapist is young, lovely, and patient. There is a light openness in her face which made it easy for him to get comfortable with her. For several visits in a row, they played the same games--blowing bubbles, reading books about farm animals, etc.-- and, Evan began to imitate the sounds his therapist made. More importantly, he sort of began to understand that certain sounds MEAN certain things. For example, he will now ask for things by first consonants, like "Cracker, please," is "kuh-puh." When he wants to watch television, he says "shhh" for "show." He does say a few words-- "hot," "mama" (usually when he's angry with me), and "up."

At home, Evan will talk for long periods of time, in a secret language only he can understand. The other day, he was reading "How to Abuse, Insult, and Insinuate in Classical Latin." His jibber-jabber was punctuated with occasional chuckles. Hmmm-- maybe that's what classical Latin sounds like? But, he has yet to talk out loud during therapy.

He's branching out. Yesterday at speech, he rifled through the cupboards and pulled out a new toy to play with. While he and the therapist were making Play-Doh ice cream cones, he opened his mouth to say something in classical Latin, but then he caught himself, and said only a first consonant sound. It was sort of like he thought it through: "This lady only expects me to use partial sounds, so that's all I'm going to do."

Mama is so proud of her little underachieving, manipulative, creative problem-solver. He'll run a big business someday, for sure.

I Demand....

1. That you identify yourself.
2. That you tell me where you are.
3. That you tell me how you are.
4. That you tell me who you are.
5. That I be America's Next Top Model
6. That petite-length trousers actually be made for petite people: most petite women are under 5'4" tall
7. That in the next two years, I become both a pimp, a gansta, and a ho
8. That in the next two weeks, I ride the mechanical bull at the Wayside, wearing hip-hugger jeans with my mommy-muffin top hanging over my belt
9. That sometime sooner than two weeks one of my former students will buy me a well whisky at the Bird downtown, preferably a former student who is also a frat boy; and that I will run into another former student who isn't a frat boy but who is funny and drunk enough to tell me that I'm hot and cool
10. That in the next five years, I visit Lowell, MA to see Kerouac's shabby digs
11. That this April people will respect and admire me
12. That I be discovered: by archaeologists, Steven Tyler, Pam Anderson, Franz Ferdinand, Hedvika, Lucy, and Dora, and many many Secret Agents
13. That someone purchases a Kitchen Aid fatty-deluxxxxe mixer for me-- and NOT the pink one
14. That Po' Bastard publishes a well-received culinary arts cookbook
15. That I do more fun stuff than boring stuff
16. That this sucky freezing rain STOP NOW!
17. That Adam Miller be voted Mayor Eternal
18. That Munka gives birth
19. That Angela's in-laws love her like I do
20. That this list stop while it still feels novel

Finally... a Poet's Corner entry with POETRY!

Because there's no promotion like self-promotion; and sometimes, when it's there, you just gotta reach down and stroke it...

You can find Central Michigan University's literary journal, Temenos, online here.

Read; contemplate; admire me.

A Rolling Stone gathers no....

I was sad to hear that some network censors thought that some of the lyrics of "Start Me Up" were too risque for the Superbowl halftime show. This was the one part of the Superbowl I actually WATCHED... not intentionally, of course, but Andrew had it on, so how could I ignore Mick Jagger's little cigarette-shaped legs prancing all over the stage like an evil British monkey on speed?

I have this to say: if I were the kind of girl who could "make a dead man come," I'd be a pretty pleased little filly.

My only Claim to Superbowl Fame

Everyone who know me knows I could give a shit about sports. While I think it's important to lead an active lifestyle, if only to avoid secretary spread and to sweat away alcohol, I think sports-- with all their rules, uniforms, and strategic plans-- are simply a means of getting people to conform through groupthink, an invitation to step into the box.

Anywho, Detroit is hosting the Superbowl this year. This is big news for the Motor City, mostly because it's a miracle they can host any kind of event, considering many neighborhoods there can't manage to create a viable economy or a safe community for its residents. My dearest friend Carolyn works downtown, and she predicts all the businesses that opened in preparation for the Superbowl will close immediately after the Steelers leave town. I can't vouch for this, as I no longer live in the metro-Detroit area, but I'd say hers is a pretty educated guess.

One thing I do want to say about the Superbowl (well, mostly about the Steelers-- or a Steeler, I should say), is that I used to work with Jerome Bettis' cousin, Lewanda. She told me a lot of great stories about his charity foundation work, and his love for and generousity toward his friends and family. In short, I always came away with the vision of a deeply devoted and heroic altruist. If I believed in sports, or if I played them myself, I'd want to play on a team with someone like Jerome Bettis. I Bettis the best thing we could do, is learn to be Bettis-er versions of ourselves.

So, tonight, if you are sitting in front of your telly, watching the Superbowl and eating a hoagie and potato skins and drinking beer, remember to share your provisions. And keep a close eye on Jerome Bettis, who will be doing good things for his team, and then for himself.

Angela and Kevin, sittin' in a tree...

Oh, forgot to add:

Last night, my sister Angela was proposed to by her boyfriend Kevin. The entire scene happened in the foyer of my mom and dad's house, as Kevin and Angela were about to leave for her 25th birthday dinner.

It's rumored that Kevin even got down on one knee; and that the ring came not from a jeweler, but from a secret Canadian supplier of poutine, bacon, and all things maple-flavoured.

Swimming Lesson

Evan's aunt Amy bought him swimming lessons at the CMU pool for his birthday. I was very excited about this new chance for him to meet some other kids, and also to spend some time doing something different--other than playing Legos and puppets-- with him. I'll do anything for my kid, even wear a bathing suit!

Evan (and Mama) adjusted pretty well to the freezing temp of the pool, and he seemed to enjoy trying to carry as many pool toys as he could in his arms, which hindered him from paddling in the water when asked to. It was also cute to see all the other little people attempting to kick and splash. Some were fine with being in the water, and others clung to their moms or dads like they were being lowered into a firey (sp?) pit of hell: a pair of identical twin girls screamed the entire time they were there.

The only problem with this entire adorable scene was the instructor. She was about sixteen years old, shy as could be, and her voice carried only far enough to reach the two parents standing closest to her. It was evident that she felt she was running out of things to do: we sang a few songs, most of which she didn't know the lyrics to-- come on! Who can't improvise "The Wheels on the Bus"!?--played Simon Says, where her last command was "Simon Says you can have free time!" after which she left the pool. Hopefully she will get better and more confident as the class goes on.

If things stay the same, I'm going to hold a dirty revolt whereby all the parents "forget" to put swim diapers on their kids.

Andrea Goes to North Adams

Late this afternoon, Andrew and I arrived home after spending a few days in North Adams, MA, where he was interviewing for an assistant professor of History position at MLCA (Massachuetts College of Liberal Arts). While Andrew attended meetings and such, I had the pleasure of spending the day with Sally, one of the professor's wives, who gave me the lowdown on all things East Coastal, Massachusetts-ian, and North Adams-esque.

North Adams is a very small town of about 15,000 located in the scenic Berkshires. It is a curious blend of the very old and very new, the very old-fashioned and the very progressive. For example, you would be hard pressed to find a house built after 1950 and many appear to be crumbling into the hills, yet one of the formerly derelict textile mill buildings has been turned into the nation's largest center for contemporary art, MASS MoCA; and the complex also houses a world-class hotel, a concert venue, a cafe, a movie screening room, and a restaurant/bar. Nearby MASS MoCA, there are a bevy of Catholic churches, each specifically designed for the ethnic groups who would've settled in North Adams to work in the mills: there's the Irish church, the Italian church, and the Polish church. There are two very nice coffeehouses, a secondhand bookshop, and a writer's resource center; a Euro-style bistro that serves a very tasty antipasto plate; and a fairly large natural foods grocery. The public library is an old family mansion, which has been completely refurbished with a spacious and welcoming children's area, but it's defining features, like the heavy wood staircase, have been left intact.

In North Adams, I saw an indoor aviary. I shopped at a thrift store called Sanford and Kid, and came across a fur coat, circa 1940 something, with a tag from a shop which no longer exists in North Adams. I ate a lemon tuna sandwich with Sally, who told me about the good work she did volunteering in the prison system, and the good work she does doing taxes, and she pointed out the upside down maple trees strung up on cables outside MASS MoCA-- I agreed it wasn't a good way to treat trees, but we agreed that the "Upside Down Maple Syrup" available for purchase was brilliant marketing. In North Adams, you can also shop at Wal-Mart.

And, in a town called Williamstown, which is far more snooty than North Adams but only about 6 miles away, Sally and I went to a shop called "Where Did you Get that?" and I bought a Foucault finger puppet for Andrew to beat up when he gets angry.

Massachusetts: gay marriage is legal. Masschusetts: underfunds state colleges. North Adams: post-industrial East coast American town, a little beat-up but still a very shiny girl, wearing secondhand high heels and swinging her hemp purse on a golden chain.