Tree of Life

It is a well-known fact that children have supremely awful taste. They're naturally attracted to the gaudiest, tackiest, most excessively beautiful things one can find in the world. I chalk this up to a sense of hyper-curiosity/hyper-interest in the world around them. They find all kinds of patterns, colours, and textures interesting-- and, to a child, the best thing a person could do is put all of these things together into a wondrous collage of clash.

For example, because of Evan, I will never again look at plaid the same. Evan has elevated this pattern from typical wardrobe staple to a very unique wardrobe experience. One of his recent combinations: blue plaid pants and a red and black plaid shirt. Very, very toddler chic. When Bacon asks: "Why do you let him dress like a retard?" My only reply is: "He's just expressing himself through clothes. We should all be so daring." Evan is very secure in his fashion identity, and sees himself as a trendsetter, not a casualty.

This afternoon, in a similar spirit of trendsetting, Evan and I shopped Wal-Mart in search of a Christmas tree. We had a disagreement right away about which tree to buy. Evan favored the 6-foot-tall silver tinsel one with fiberoptic effects. I vetoed that one on size alone, knowing any tree we bought couldn't be taller than 4-feet because it has to sit on top of our bar table. (Truth be told, I rather like tinsel trees because they don't take themselves as seriously as other fake trees-- they're just fake trees meant to look fake, not fake trees trying to look real.) Evan's second choice-- which he almost sold me on-- was a white "arctic" 4-footer, conservatively dressed with white lights. But, at $24.96, I decided it was a bigger commitment than I could handle. (White trees definitely take themselves more seriously than silver trees, and not in a good way. They fancy themselves better than silver trees because they appear more elegant and understated. That shitty attitude doesn't fool me. I won't set that example for my child.)

Mine and Evan's optimum choice would've been a 4-foot silver tree, with a budget option of multicolored lights. But, since this tree was nowhere to be found at Wal-Mart, we walked out with a green 3-footer dressed in white lights. It's conservative, I know, but it also has a two-year guarantee, and it only cost $15.96.

While we are not tree-trendsetters, as we aspired to be, I am glad to say that mine might be the only green 3-footer absolutely bedecked-- to the point of tipping over-- with ornaments. At the top: a macaroni-covered star, lovingly spray-painted in gold, with Evan's wee face at the center.

Po' Bastard's Three Bean Soup

Po' Bastard is pleased to announce the birth of another cooking success. Po' Bastard, over the weekend, had a hankering for the three-bean salad so commonly featured at white trash family reunions and at high school graduation parties. But, the weather being cold and rainy, Po' Bastard preferred the taste of the salad in a warm form-- and so, this three-bean soup was born.

Ingredients:
-5 cups chicken broth
-1/2 c. red wine vinegar
-1/2 cup water
-2 cloves garlic, minced
-2 tbsp. sugar
-1 tsp. dry mustard
-1 celery stalk, thinly sliced
-1 medium onion, thinly sliced
-1 can green beans, drained
-1 can kidney beans, drained and rinsed
-1 can garbanzo beans, drained and rinsed
-salt and pepper, to taste

Bring the first six ingredients to a boil and let simmer for 40 minutes on a low heat, so flavors can blend. Add vegetables and beans, simmer until beans are warmed through and vegetables are tender, about 20-25 minutes. Wait until it's finished cooking to add salt-- you might not need to because broth and canned beans can be really salty on their own. Serve with wine and good bread, of course.

The one thing Po' Bastard might do differently is add some small shell-shaped pasta next time around. It would give the soup a little more heft. It is Po' Bastard's belief that we could all use a bit more heft in our diets.

Cry Baby

Seriously, nothing ruins your street cred more than a vulgar display of emotion in the classroom. I'm not talking raw anger here-- I'm not the kind of person who flies off the handle in rage-- I'm talking my eyes filling with tears of self-frustration.

At present, students in my composition classes are working on an informative report based on a survey we took a few weeks ago. The survey wasn't the most scientific measure of data ever taken-- it was about the eating habits of college students-- but I thought it yielded sufficient enough data to complete the assignment... especially since the focus of the assignment wasn't to prove something is 110% true, but rather to state what the data seem to suggest, imply, what the trend might be, etc.

Scene: peer response workshop. A student has his paper up on the overhead, we are reading over the data commentary portion and are about to offer him suggestions on how to improve it. The conversation instead turns to the assignment as a whole-- and its multitude of flaws, which I can clearly see now-- but did not see when creating the assignment itself initially (so much of teaching composition is trial and error, anyway). The student, and others in the class, are asking perfectly reasonable questions I can't seem to answer. At one point, I say, "I have not done well teaching this to you. The assignment isn't good-- it isn't clear enough, etc." Tears start welling up in my eyes, at which point I say something like, "I'm sorry. Excuse me. No, I'm not crying-- hahaha, yes I am-- it's just that you need help, and I want to help you, but I'm not sure how I'm supposed to..." Then, I just say, "Sorry, but I can't do any more today."

Then, I'm pissed at myself. This student's paper merited a far better response than I could give. I can't tell if my students are touched at seeing very deeply into my emotions, or if they are shocked that I am so weak.

On Monday, I plan to bring them brownies. Then, I will vow to turn back into a cold hearted bitch for the rest of the remainder of the semester.

Proof

Two things happened to me today that further support my hypothesis that I am fast becoming the most popular instructor on all of campus.

1. One student actually sent his brother to my class to see if there was any way I could "bump" him into one of my classes next semester.

2. A class asked me to go tailgating with them on Friday. I said I would definitely do it next semester. The joke there, of course, is that people don't tailgate in winter time-- football season being over and all.

Having said that, I don't understand what's fun about tailgating. Eating hot dogs, while sitting in the trunk of a car doesn't sound appealing to me at all. I guess people play drinking games at events like these-- but, I also don't go in for those. I don't need a game to facilitate drinking, much less social interaction. I don't like games in general. Any game-- football, drinking, or otherwise.

Give me a quiet glass of wine-- no, a quiet single malt whisky-- with people I choose to be around.