. . . I say I’m going to do my Christmas shopping online, and every year I procrastinate and become paranoid that if I order now, the gifts won’t arrive on time. Well, next year, I’m going to put a star on my calendar to either go to the mall WELL BEFORE THANKSGIVING or do my online shopping by December 1st. I went to the mall this weekend and was reminded of why I need to avoid that place at all costs during the holidays. The mall wasn’t even that crowded and I was ready to have a panic attack. My throat was closing and my chest felt like an elephant was standing on it. It’s the same feeling I get in elevators or when my students are swarming me with panicked questions the day before an essay is due (which happened today, in fact.). I can’t stand the people standing in the way; the germy, whiny kids wiping their noses with their sleeves waiting for Santa; the long lines; the stores’ clothes/items in disarray so I can’t find the size or object I’m seeking; and the stuffy air that smells like all of the above combined. Christmas shopping does not put me in the holiday spirit at all, which sort of defeats the purpose, I suppose. So, if you’re getting a gift from me this year, I love you enough to have braved the mall for you. I think that conveys even more love than the gift itself. But, when you open your gift, could you please act like it’s the best present you’ve ever received, even if you don’t like it?
Please excuse the blog hiatus, by the way. I had to deal with some fiascos and blogging just didn’t take priority. Also, I don’t get the same panicky feeling when I go to concerts, like The Cranberries concert I went to a couple of weeks ago or The Bridge School Benefit I went to a couple of months ago. My lack of anxiety surprised me at The Cranberries concert especially, because it was just a HUGE crowd of people smashed up against each other on the Regency Ballroom floor. An out-of-control drunk girl tried to invade my space, but instead of panicking, I just elbowed her ass out of the way. She tried to start a fight with me, put her boyfriend pulled her away. Luck was on her side, because no one gets between me and my Cranberries.
Saturday night, Shelly and I went to see The Cranberries at The Regency Ballroom in San Francisco. Seeing The Cranberries is “our thing,” Shelly and I. We’ve seen them a few times, starting in high school when the band hit its peak of popularity. Even when they kind of dropped off the map, they have always remained one of my favorite bands. I always love the venues they choose–I have seen them at The Fillmore, The Warfield, and now at The Regency Ballroom. Despite some faulty directions from Google Maps, Shelly and I made it it to our destination with enough time for a speed version of the dinner plans we had, and we were in line by 7:45 for the 8:00 show.
The Cranberries’ opening act, Griffin House, was spectuacular. I enjoyed him so much that I bought his CD after the show. He reminds me of U2’s Bono and Tom Petty all rolled into one. He’s only 27, but his lyrics were profound and showed confidence and maturity I don’t necessarily see that often in men in my age bracket, as he is. I highly recommend his music; he has a few things available on iTunes.
The Cranberries themselves, as I knew they would be, were FANTASTIC. They have always put on a good show, and they haven’t lost any of their charisma or synergy in their six- or seven-year hiatus. Doloros O’Riordan is just a firecracker on the stage in her TIGHT leather pants and trendy top; she sounds just as good live as she does on her tracks. She gave a little background on some of the deeply personal songs she sang (though I suspect all of them are deeply personal considering the lyrics about her husband, children, political situation in Ireland, past loves, etc.) that I hadn’t known before, so I definitely learned something new. I hadn’t seen them in concert for 10 years or so, and it was a different experience this time and the music spoke to me in a different way. I can’t explain it, other than I’m in a different place in my life and I know O’Riordan has gone through some similar issues.
At the end of the night, when we went to get our gar from a nearby garage, I asked the parking attendant if we paid at his station and he said, “No.” So, I asked if we paid on the way out. He said, “No.” Both Shelly and I looked at him in confusion. He then said, “It free cuz you pretty.” We don’t know to whom he was speaking or to both, but we didn’t really care because that was $20 that we saved. It was awesome! Shelly said I should have asked him out, but I don’t go for big guys with missing teeth.
Superstition governs that one should say “Rabbit rabbit, white rabbit,” or simply “Rabbit rabbit” upon waking on the first day of the month, and good luck will ensue all month long for the utterer. The rabbit, in our culture and many others, represents luck (hence the rabbit’s foot some people carry, though I see fewer of them these days, LUCKILY, since it’s not exactly a humane practice). I’m not superstitious, but I said it this morning for some reason. I haven’t been particularly inspired in my writing, blogging or otherwise, so I’m hoping the rabbit will make the words prolific. Stay tuned to see how it goes.
In other news, one of my friends got me to start playing Farmville on Facebook. I was resistant for a long time, but I finally broke down because my friend promised that she only needed another “neighbor” to expand her farm and I wouldn’t have to do anything. Well, I started playing out of curiosity and now I’m, embarrassingly, hooked. I’m planting squash, cranberries, daffodils, pumpkins, cotton, and a myriad of other crops. I have four reindeer, five chickens, two sheep, a duck, and a pig. And I’m making a huge profit from it all. If only it were this easy in real life.
Hey, Turkeys. Sorry I’ve been MIA for the past few days. I was up in my folks’ neck of the woods and didn’t get a chance to blog. I am thankful for the fact that I got to spend some quality time with my niece the day before Thanksgiving; we baked cookies, played kickball, jumped rope, and expanded our Farmville Farms on Facebook (I am, embarrassingly, hooked on that game). We then went out for burritos and frozen yogurt, and I took her home to my brother’s house where we all played Wii and watched goofy SNL skits.
I am thankful that I have such a great family with whom to spend Thanksgiving. My mom cooked a bomb-ass meal and both parents made the house look fantastic. I got to see my grandparents, more of my brother and niece, and my awesome sister-in-law (whom I simply call my sister; how lucky am I that she and my brother found each other???). After dinner, my niece put on her dance show, which has become tradition after each major holiday. This year’s dance was the “Cha-Cha Slide,” and in true Savannah fashion, she held her audience rapt.
Mom and I even decided to venture out on Black Friday to the outlet mall. The crowds were not that bad; last year it was like a ghost town, so we were surprised to see the crowd, but, nevertheless, it was tolerable. I already have most of my shopping done, so I just got a few things for myself: sexy heels, yoga wear, and running shorts. I plan on wearing them all together, of course. No fashion faux pas there.
After a little post-shopping drama (but I won’t get into that), I headed home early this morning where I’m working on creating my final projects and exams. Fun stuff! Only three more weeks until winter break. Whoo hoo!
This is a video of Gus asleep on my lap. Hit play, turn up the volume, and wait a few seconds to hear the euphonic sounds to which I fall asleep every night. If only your lullaby could be so . . . soothing.
My cat loves me. He really does. He likes to curl up on my lap and purr when it’s cold outside, greet me when I come home from work, and, coolest of all, go on walks with me and the dogs. All of my neighbors love the fact that Kitty (yes, I know I should have chosen a better, more masculine name, but I couldn’t come up with one) trails behind me, Gus, and Lydia as we head toward the beach. He’s famous all around the neighborhood for this unusual habit and for being the Alpha Male. He puts all of the other cats in their places, and even has dominance over the dogs: instead of barking or snapping at him, the dogs run away when Kitty chases, scratches, or pounces on them. He definitely has personality, and this is why I love him.
The way Kitty reciprocates this love is by bringing me “gifts.” Those of you who have indoor/outdoor cats probably know what I mean. The first gift Kitty brought me was a dead rat, which I almost stepped on stumbling into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker at 5:00 am. What a glorious way to wake up. At the time, Kitty was not yet full grown, and the rat was almost the same size as he. As kitty got older, his offerings became more and more grotesque and would, at times, make my living room or kitchen look like a crime scene with entrails, tails, and feathers strewn about. Today, I came home to a bird head, wing, and sundry feathers on the carpet. I keep telling him that I’d rather have some jewelry or a cute dress, but carnage is his thing.
My next tribute during NanoWriMo goes to F. Scott Fitzgerald. Most of his novels, in my opinion, are mediocre, with the exception of The Great Gatsby. The Great Gatsby is, indeed, great. In fact, it’s fanfuckingtastic (that’s a highly intellectual literary term). I read it for the first time as a sophomore in high school and now have had the pleasure of teaching it to my students numerous times over the course of my career.
Each of the writers to whom I’ve written a tribute has changed my life, and Fitzgerald is no exception. Fitzgerald’s language in The Great Gatsby belongs somewhere on a higher plane in the heavens. His imagery is gorgeous and his ability to convey emotions is like nothing I have ever read. The title character is both in love and in love with the idea of being in love, and he also has an “incorruptible dream” to which he remains faithful until the end. Fitzgerald fully conveys the intensity of these abstract emotions, both elusive and difficult to capture, with language that literally takes my breath away. In describing Gatsby’s pursuit of his dream, Nick, the narrator of The Great Gatsby, says that “Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees–he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder.” The purity–and even naivetè–of Gatsby’s dream waves like a white flag–though he refuses to ever wave the white flag–amongst the dank wasteland of 1920’s materialism that surrounds him. Fitzgerald conveys this beautifully with the white, silver, and gold imagery that engulfs Gatsby. Nick, too, describes a summer night when “[t]he wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life,” capturing exactly the peace and magic in the air that floats Gatsby’s dream.
What I also find remarkable about The Great Gatsby is its timelessness; although it takes place in the 1920’s, the corruption and materialism are just as rampant today. However, it is the theme of hope that runs through this novel that anyone can identify with, even if one cannot connect with the characters. In the end, Nick desribes how “Gatsby believed in . . . the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter–tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther . . . So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” The idea that there is always tomorrow is something we can all hold onto, and it is this final message that makes me love The Great Gatsby even more.
Cheers, F. Scott Fitzgerald. You sure did like your alcohol.
An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.
Since New Moon was playing at my neighborhood theatre, which meant I didn’t have to deal with crazy parking in downtown Santa Cruz because I can walk to the local theatre, I decided to venture over and see whether it was sold out. Turns out it wasn’t, and the audience was not filled with hundreds of screaming teenaged girls. There were a few of them, but the theatre was relatively bereft of people and the teeny-boppers were pretty quiet. I was a nerd and graded papers until the movie started; I had gotten there pretty early to up my chances of getting a ticket . . . even though it turned out that was not necessary. Anyway, it turns out there was a fellow teacher with her daughter in the row in front of me, so we ended up chatting for a few minutes. She teaches middle school, and I don’t know how she does it. I don’t know if I could stand it, though I suppose teaching freshman straight out of middle school isn’t that different from teaching 8th grade. She doesn’t know how I can stand to teach high school, and when I told her I actually prefer 11th and 12th grade (I made a HUGE mistake requesting 9th grade this year), she was even more amazed.
Anyway, the movie was . . . alright. It was good for what it was, but beyond that, it didn’t blow my mind. Not that I was expecting that at all, but the first movie was definitely better. I was a little disappointed that Robert Pattinson gets significantly less screen time in New Moon than he did in Twilight, because I’m definitely “Team Edward,” as the kids say. Even with that terrible make-up job, I still like to look at him. Oh, well. I guess I’ll have to wait for the third installment to see more of him.
I know, I’m a loser sitting at home on a Friday night. I DID have dinner with my Aunt Phyllis (we’re twins despite the 40-year + age gap), my cousin Bart, who is visiting from Southern CA and is always a pleasure to see (he and his wife Mo are among the finest people I know, family or not), and my cousin Nancy and her family. I ate a fantastic meal and was home and in my sweats by 7:00. Hey–it’s been a difficult week.
What cracked me up today is the fact that all of my female students (and a few male ones as well) were all atwitter about today’s release of New Moon, the second movie in the Twilight Series. They came into class with that pitch that only boy-crazy teenaged girls can achieve, tweeting and cooing about how great this movie is going to be. Since my students are so sweet and always try to involve me in their (appropriate) conversations, they asked me if I am going to see New Moon this weekend as well. Keep in mind that tickets for New Moon have been on sale for weeks, so this thing has got to be sold out for the next month. But, my students plan ahead on these things (then why do they procrastinate on their homework???) and most have tickets for Friday. There were a few devastated ones who couldn’t get tickets until Saturday or Sunday, but I think they’ll live.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I am planning to see New Moon. I saw the first film in the series, and I really didn’t want to like it, but I did. It wasn’t intellectual, it didn’t challenge me, and it didn’t make me think, but it held my attention and definitely entertained me.
Even more embarrassing is the fact that I find Robert Pattinson, who plays the main vampire Edward, intriguing. He’s got that certain je ne sais quoi that I just like. I feel sort of like a cradle-robber saying that, but he IS legal. So, if the movie turns out to be a bust, at least I won’t have totally wasted my time in being able to check out Rob for a couple of hours. So, I’ll probably see it a month from now, and I’ll let you know how it is.
