Look At Me Still Talking When There’s Science To Do
In Grand Rapids… thinking about Barrow (among other things)Archive for tales
Something tradical happened one afternoon.
I assume that I drove to campus (when I didn’t really need to, [instead of going home after school] where I subsequently made some decisions that resulted in my keys being locked inside my car with my laptop and phone) on a very important whim that hit me for a very important reason, such as avoiding a terrible automobile accident that I would otherwise have encountered, or saving a drowning baby that was somewhere with the solution to my new key, phone, and laptop problem.
The very important reason didn’t turn out to be that someone had planted a bomb in my car, because it was still in one piece when I returned an hour and a half later. It wasn’t that I was supposed to run into some friends I haven’t seen in awhile and invite them to hang out with us tonight, because though I did run into them, I just waved. It was nothing about a baby, drowning or otherwise, and I didn’t find a lottery ticket or a dinosaur or participate in any thrilling coincidences.
I guess it could have been just that I needed the exercise of walking across the campus and back home from the bus stop and back to the bus after Mary let me in to get my spare keys. It could have been that I needed the information that I overheard while riding said bus about the effect of pornography on relationships, the male to female ratio at Grand Valley, and the fact that that kid’s name was not- though his ‘friend’ “was close!”- Zach, but Kyle. It could have been that the mere sight of me walking down the street with my green jacket and my $1 reusable eco-friendly Meijer bag brightened someone’s miserable day.
My CT would likely say that it was because by the time I got my car back and made it to my semi-final destination of the library to pick up some holds, the smartie pants boy from second hour was there with his mother and sister so they could collect reading material for their spring break trip to North Carolina while I was on hand to inform his mom with a smile that if he read a mystery book and filled out a form he could earn extra credit and achieve over 100% in our way too easy class. He was so pleased to have me let her know, and he said “Gee, Miss Liebig, you are mighty helpful- and so into run-on sentences today!”
Nbaco
I enjoy using RSS aggregator Google Reader to manage my hectic blog day. This way I can monitor the internet with ease, including blogs that belong to professors that made me get a Google Reader and a WordPress account in order to hone my skills as a blogger, an educator, and a connoisseur of the English language. He probably doensn’t know that I still read the blog, but I bet the link will give it away, as he’s both clever and interested in technology.
Evidently I subscribe to too many crummy blogs, since I am starting to get the same HILARIOUS INTERNET JOKE AND SLASH OR PICTURE AND SLASH OR NEWS STORY from several of my sources, and I should probably cut back.
I think that the deodorant coincidence was just a simple coincidence though. (I love coincidences more than occurrences but not as much as deja vus.) The first half of the coincidence was- well, it wasn’t a coincidence yet. But it was a report on the usefulness of baking soda as deodorant from a woman who is eliminating plastic use from her life. I find it very interesting, since I dislike plastic’s aesthetic qualities. I’m not as concerned with the health issue as much as many activists are… or even at all, really, but my sister DID call me an eco-snob after I told her not to drink bottled water, so you tell me. No no no no don’t tell me, actually. I was just kidding.
The second half was Jorge Garcia!
I will have to be careful in my feed-pruning not to eliminate a blog that my friend Renato and I have been enjoying lately because I was quite pleased with the post from today. The title might as well be “Frequently Contains Bacon.”
Even I contain bacon, today!
Boop, dead.
Guest post from the writing log of the girl (not named Casey) from the front right corner of third hour. My only contribution is to change the misspelling of a single word, which pretty much makes this kid the best speller in the whole of the seventh grade. Oh, and for the information of the reader, ELA stands for English Language Arts.
Entry #12: Tall Tales
A long time ago there was a college student named Miss L. She was a student teacher in ELA . She ended up hating ELA so she made everyone do first grade English instead of seventh grade. She hated it so much that she stormed out when someone said “Hi.”
You have to know that Miss L. loved only one student, Casey. She was so smart she was supposed to be in college when she was only three hours old. Casey answered every question and she could speed read every book. She was so fast at reading that she read every book in the world. So every day Miss L asked her how many books she read and one day it was up to 4900 trillion. It went up each day by 10.
Miss L was so proud of her she stormed out and let her teach; that is how much she hated ELA. That night Miss L died because she was looking at ELA for too long.
Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera.
I should have known better than to take the bus at 5:30 on a Thursday. The night class kids were all going downtown for their 6-9s and therefore the buses tend to be more snugly packed than usual. Never mind, I got a seat anyway.
I was privately and unobtrusively trying to read a dumb Cynthia Voigt novel that I’d picked up off the shelf in my CT’s classroom and listening to some charmingly depressing music out of the good half of my headphones, but the three kids to my immediate left were in the midst of a pleasant mini-reunion. Their exclamations frequently distracted me from the first page of the book, especially when I heard:
“…but have you ever seen a person with different colored eyes? It’s beautiful. And disturbing. And I hear that it makes you more susceptible to genetic diseases.”
Naturally, they were mocking me. They saw me and they decided to mock me. Right?
Well no, after considering, I supposed that they barely even knew that anyone was sitting on an adjacent seat with a Cynthia Voigt novel or eyes of any color. They had been led to this topic through the topic of Pets.
“…plus, all calico cats are girls. Isn’t that neat?”
I knew I could make an amusing addition to their conversation, but I decided I would prefer that they be amused by recognizing my presence and feeling too awkward to know what to do. Perhaps:
“omg and then Libby saw this girl and she had different colored eyes right after we were talking about it! And it was so awkward! We were like, um, sorry, but we didn’t say anything you know, because I mean we just were talking about how people like that die!“
If I played it right, this could be their quirky-slash-boring slice of life story to tell at parties for at least the next ten days! I decided to make them a present of it. But of course it wouldn’t do for them to notice without me noticing them notice; I had to see the eyes of the noticer to ensure the sucess of my plan. Also, it would be awkwarder that way.
Trying to accomplish this involved dramatic page turning, excessive looking-out-of-the-window, and conspicuous checking of the bus clock- all for nothing! It didn’t work. I don’t think.
Anyway it turned out that it would hardly have been a notable story for this crowd, because during the rest of my bus ride I heard details about the first time they went streaking, excitement over an upcoming messenger bag photo shoot on bikes, and the story of how one chick had “Logan rules!” tattooed on her caboose because she and Logan were, you know, bored.
I was glad to get off the bus at my stop in Walker. There was at least a ten minute ride left and due to the heavy traffic it was already 6:00, so the anxiety in the air was palpable. Sucks to be you, people-with-a-six-to-nine-class!
Hey, that rhymes.
Never in my life have I hated anything as much as I hate student teaching, and I have hated a lot of things.
Like being in the stupid college of art.
Or standing up all day in the hot hot sun at the zoo.
Or having to put up with Bully for the duration of sixth grade.
Speaking of which, tomorrow is the eleventh annual No Rose Day. This, contrary to popular belief, is not a holiday about hate, it’s a holiday about peace.
The first No Rose Day was celebrated in 1998 when I was in the sixth grade with one of my oldest and dearest friends. We were plagued by an Evil Bully (code-named Rose by an older and wiser? seventh grader) who was jealous of our easy friendship, and on that first magical January 28th, Bully was absent from school. That day was a day of relaxation and wonder, as we were allowed to go to our lockers without someone hitting us from behind, we were allowed to eat our lunches without being asked “who are you talking to? I don’t see anyone there? Huh?” we were allowed to draw all manner of queer sixth grade pictures without them being stolen (because Bully can’t draw), we were allowed to attend class without Bully whispering “pssst… all the boys like me best,” and we were allowed to use the girls restroom without a bigger and stronger girl locking us in the stall by force and making us late for class.
But seriously, I hate student teaching more than all of that.
Many happy returns of the day!
I downloaded a little dance!
“JENNY JENNY JENNY IF YOU MAKE FARTY NOISES AND LOOK AT THE COMPUTER, THE SCREEN DANCES AROUND!”
“Oh for real?”
“Yes.”
“Pthhhhhbbbpbbpbpbpbpbbpbppppthbpbpbpbpppphahhahahahahahahaha.”
“BBBpbbpppppppppppppppppppffffffffffffhtthtpfpfppppppppppppppffHAHA!”
“I’m trying to play Text Twist!”
Brother, me, brother, me, sister.
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
What some friends and family members (lovingly?) term my “disease” always kicks in hard at the new year, what with the change of the calendar and all. 2008 and was a green year. Green is my favorite color. 2009 is pink. Pink is the color of Pepto-Bismol.
Putting it like that makes it seem as if the “disease” comes and goes, which obviously isn’t true at all. In fact, that whole opening sentence is mostly poppycock, except that of course it IS erroneously referred to as a disease. I am healthy as a horse*, and everything is colored all the time. December was green as well. It is traditionally one of my favorite months, for various reasons. January will be red, (yuck) but I still like it well enough. I like most things well enough, contrary to popular opinion.
When I get nervous or anxious I start making lists very quickly in my head of things I like or things I dislike. It is disconcerting, even to me.
I don’t like inspirational things, motivational things, thought-provoking things, or most things cross-stitched on pillows, but I signed onto the ol’ internet to welcome 2009 all the same.
*a healthy horse, not a dead horse
Oh, cheese is a person in your neighborhood
The woman in the silver Buick was very nervous. Though the rest of the drivers traveling down I-96 that Saturday afternoon were obliged to maintain a constant speed as they zoomed toward whatever mundane adventure lay at the end of their trips, she was indecisive. First impatiently zipping through traffic and next growing sluggish, holding up the cars she’d only just passed, she could hardly decide which lane to take, much less how quickly to travel.
During the periods when she fell behind the pack she was thinking hardest about the single straight-backed wooden chair in her backseat. She doubted her own courage as well as the sincerity of her host. She doubted the very nature of the invitation; whoever has heard of a “bring your own chair” party, regardless of how charmingly it was scrawled at the bottom of the embossed notecard?
Naturally, she’d chosen her most uncomfortable chair, and this not without a great deal of thought. Remembering the days she’d spent in preparation of this afternoon, the woman in the silver Buick gained confidence and deftly passed the silver Neon one final time. She didn’t look back as she chose the exit for Okemos; no, her fate had already been decided, and it was with her head held high that she went to meet her destiny.
(Today I have nothing better to do than make things up. Based on a true car-with-a-woman-and-a-single-wooden-chair sighting. Not to worry, I’m still plugging away at that data entry.)
