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August 31, 2007
And I Had Such Grand Plans
I was going to go back to my office this evening after our standard Friday night Mexican food. I was going to get all of my grading done and all of my lesson plans done and have the WHOLE weekend free to play and play and play.
And then it started to rain like hell and the power went out in the restaurant.
And we had to walk to Maaike's house (did I mention she was at dinner with us?) in the cold and the rain so she could drive us home.
And then we waited forever at a flashing stoplight that was red in our direction, yellow in the other to cross the main highway north.
And suddenly I don't feel like going back to the office any more.
Posted by sally at 07:26 PM
August 29, 2007
So What If the Man Is Gay?
Why does that mean he can't be a Senator anymore?
And if we're going to get all uppity about someone doing something illegal and being arrested for it, let's make sure EVERYBODY who does that can't serve. K?
Seems to me that the GOP protestations of unethical conduct are just a little thin, given the track records of some of its members. Executive Branch, I'm looking at you.
**Updated** to add that I am the world's worst teacher. Good teachers take advantage of "teachable moments". Did it even occur to me to talk about this situation in my Sex & Culture class? Um. No. Even though we'd been laughing like hell about it in the class I teach before that one.
(And by laughing like hell I mean we were trying to figure out the difference between the apparently international sign for "Let's get it on in the men's room" and "Excuse me, could you let me have some toilet paper?")
Posted by sally at 02:35 PM | Comments (2)
August 27, 2007
Dear God, It's Begun
Rehearsals for two shows, one as cast and one as text & vocal coach.
Five different classes (three of them team-taught, but it really doesn't seem to take less prep that way).
An office that still isn't organized.
An art sale at the beginning of November.
I may never sleep again.
Posted by sally at 10:27 PM | Comments (5)
August 26, 2007
Quiet Sunday
Quiet Moscow, busy Sally.
After all of the hustle and bustle of the first week, things are dead quiet here this morning. After breakfast (we did the chocolate fountain brunch thingy) Dave & I bought a printer for my office. And then dropped it off there.
For the first time in about two weeks, the mall was empty. Campus, more silent than it was all summer. Despite the huge number of cars lining the streets. Everybody is now sleeping off their first Saturday night back. Freshmen are discovering their first hangovers and hopefully deciding they don't want to do that again.
Here at Casa Sallyacious, there's lots to do. Papers to grade, a syllabus to rewrite (I've decided to do a major overhaul of the schedule for one of my classes, now that I've seen how the students are), cat litter to change and some shrubs, bulbs and plants to purchase and then plant. Also? Laundry.
Woooot! It's going to be a busy Sunday.
Posted by sally at 11:08 AM
August 25, 2007
Busy Morning
I've managed to accomplish quite a bit today, despite sleeping in (until 8am, snort). I've cleaned up an overloaded email account, archived a whole buncha image and old document files, started 2 loads of laundry and written in my journal. Not bad for only being up for about 3 1/2 hours. Mind you, much of it was multitasking, since the archiving and laundry processes are something I only need to start, not participate in the whole time.
Next on the agenda: walking downtown to run various errands. It becomes more and more clear to me that wherever David and I go once he finishes up here, we must live within walking distance of a downtown-y area of some sort as well as our jobs. I've lost two pounds in the last week just because I walked to school. (Well, and forgotten to eat lunch. But I don't make a habit of that.) Dave's lost 80 some-odd pounds in the last year because he walks almost everywhere now. We can't give that up when we leave here, it has to be part of the next home we go to.
I should add that within walking distance means 2-2.5 miles. We're not talking about a couple of blocks here. Dave and I have both become hard-core walkers. So much so that I almost left my car at school the other day.
I walk MWF, because I have time and because I don't want to drive if I don't have to. TTh, I drive to school only because my first class is at 9:30 and I am not leaving my house before 8:45am if I can help it. My office (and the classroom, which is actually nearby) are about 45 mintues away, which would leave me no prep and settle-in time. So I drive.
This last Thursday, I was all set to walk home. I had my backpack on and was headed out the door. The only reason I remembered I had a car on campus was a text from Dave. Not even about driving, just some random text message. Thank goodness it sparked a chain of thought that ended with the recollection that the car was parked next to the building that houses my office. Otherwise, I'd probably only have figured it out when I got home.
Given how tired I am at the end of the day, I can guarantee I would not have enjoyed the walk back to my office.
Posted by sally at 11:40 AM
August 23, 2007
Not Much Time, So Writing Fast
I don't have quite enough time to do my morning journaling, and yet, I still want to make my mark in the world somehow, so I thought I'd do a quick update here.
Classes are going well so far. Crazy busy, but the students are fun and seem to be interested and willing to talk. I assigned this really ranty--REALLY ranty--essay for one of my classes. It gives a background on some important issues, but is extremely, well, extreme. Which makes it easier to start to talk about how to look at a piece for things like bias. Because in this piece, the author's opinions are in your face. His tone gets very pointy. As in, if he were in the room, he would be waving his index finger about and jabbing at people with it.
However, I was afraid that my students would take the author's opinion for mine and that I would only have six students left when I walked into class yesterday. Fortunately, no such thing happened. They were ALL there. All 36 of them. And when we started talking about the essay (after the pop quiz I gave on the contents of the syllabus--Dave's idea), one of the first things I said was, "I don't always agree with the opinions of the pieces I assign you." There was an audible response from the class. Of relief.
And then we could get into the essay and start developing some critical analysis skills.
I'm hoping they stick with the class. I know one student has already had his Truth-with-a-capital-T rocked. When we get back into class tomorrow, I want to be sure to point out that we started the analysis by looking for and listing verifiable information because you never attack the strong points of an argument. Check the speaker/writer's facts first to make sure they're accurate, and then look at how they're applied. This kid was arguing with the facts (which in this case are accurate). But I think they'll begin to get that after a while, when we keep applying the same formula to analysis:
1) What's the author's background in relation to the topic?
2) What are the verifyable statements the author makes?
3) What are the opinions disguised as fact?
4) Does the author use generalizations or stereotypes?
Those are, of course, just the first questions we'll ask. We'll get deeper into it as the semester progresses.
Anyway, I'm off to teach the other freshman core class now. It's funny. Already I can tell that I'm much more nurtur-y with the budding creative impulses in Art, Artists & Madness. Very protective, very "Ooooooh. Let me take care of you and see that you come to no harm." With Sex & Culture, I'm still concerned for their well-being, but it's more Wild Animal Mother-y. More, "This is the world. Here's how you survive in it."
Interesting.
Posted by sally at 08:22 AM
August 21, 2007
There Are Not Words
for how tired I am.
And we've just finished Day Two of the semester.
Posted by sally at 10:08 PM | Comments (1)
August 19, 2007
Welcome to the World of 'Yes'
Silly me. Though I didn't do it here, I have been bewailing the fact that I wouldn't be acting this year. That, of course, was before I was asked/told to audition for this semester's shows. I've made a policy over the past couple of years of saying yes to every opportunity that comes along, both onstage and in other aspects of my life. Even though it's made me completely crazy at times, it's paid off in bucketsful. Take now for an example.
I will be playing Virginia in Clean House. It's a great role in a fantastic and amazing play that makes me laugh as my heart is breaking. I get to have at least one temper tantrum on stage and to play sister to a very talented woman I've been wanting to work with. And I have some kickass monologues. So it's all good.
For those of you wanting to see it (Mom, Dad), Clean House will run October 18-21 and 25-28. (Karma, Cyndi, you are in no way obligated to travel here from Shoshone and/or Australia to see this. Your visit last November was a much more than necessary display of friendship. I love and miss you both.)
Okay. I need to get to bed. I have to teach tomorrow.
Posted by sally at 10:11 PM
Just Make It Go Away
Once again, I come to you, the Internet, to help me in a seemingly impossible task.
Get the song Puff the Magic Dragon OUT OF MY HEAD.
Thank you.
Posted by sally at 11:04 AM
August 17, 2007
I Am Average
Don't ever expect me to use that descriptor again.
It does, however, apply to the topic at hand. Did you know that the average American woman is a size 14? The size clothing manufacturers describe as "Extra Large"? The size that often gets shoved out of the "standard" clothing section and into "Women's", where caftans, polyester and shame abound? Except that apparently, it's not abnormal and freakishly large. It's average.
I'm taller than average. I'm 5'8", whereas the "average" height for American women is 5'6". And yet I'm still a 14. And I've felt bad about that number forever. Because that's a fat person's number. And fat = hideousness. Fat people are lazy, greedy and useless.
And I am not suggesting, let me make that clear right now, that women who do struggle with obesity are any of the above things. That is my internal monologue re: what being fat says about me. Oddly, I don't actually apply the same criteria to anybody else. I assume other people are grappling with much greater issues than my own and cut them some slack. (Unless you're one of the lazy, greedy, useless dickheads whose actions make those aspects of your personality quite clear. But those come in all sizes. Often, I've noticed, they're mulleted.)
Let me be the first to admit that I could stand to lose about 20 lbs. There is a bit of a wobble to my chin, I'm kind of jowly, I do not like the thing around my middle. But I'm working on it. Not as hard as I should be, perhaps, but I'm slowly changing my lifestyle to make it possible. Less driving, more walking, regular gym visits, better diet.
And I haven't made it to this shape (or lack of) because of laziness. I've been so fucking busy for so long that I haven't had time to do the grocery shopping that would allow me to eat better. Or the time to actually prepare meals (or the desire, really, but that's a different thing altogether). There's also the blown-out knee and the ensuing messed-up back that took a long time and more lowered activity levels than I was really happy with (or helped by) to heal.
Also the ever-present asthma.
But. Even though I'm not in the best of shape, I was shocked to discover that I'm average, and that despite that being the case, the American apparel and fashion industries have teamed up to make being a normal-sized woman a hideously shameful thing. How many women know that? Know that they are a perfectly normal size? How many women instead think that normal means approaching skeletal? I mean, where the fuck do these people/companies get off? How have we let them get that far into our heads?
I know that the media and various corporate entities are responsible in large part for the rise of eating disorders and body dismorphia. I know that. I've known that for a long time. I know that designers want models who are built as much like clothes hangers as possible so that their stuff looks as good walking down the runway as it does hanging from a rod. But to turn normal into the equivalent of moral depravity? If that's not an example of hating women, I don't know what is.
Posted by sally at 09:59 AM | Comments (2)
August 16, 2007
My Syllabi Are DONE
By which I mean I am taking them to the various departmental administrative assistants for photocopying so I can pass them out in class on (gulp) Monday.
Which is a good thing. Because I apparently am auditioning on Saturday. Not only did one director look surprised when we met yesterday evening and I told him I hadn't planned to, he then practically begged me to audition so he can call me back for his show, and then another director who's not even directing this semester called me to tell me to audition and which parts he thought I should specifically prepare for.
So I'm, um, auditioning.
With a brand new monologue.
I'm going to do a piece from Interment, Dave's play, because I'll never, ever get to do it in real life. And before you go telling me to not be all defeatist, you should know that the reason I'll never, ever get to do the play in real life is because it's written for a small actress. That's a big part of the character. The woman who originated the role is about 5'1". I'm 5'8". It's not going to happen. But I can play with the video dating scene, specifically the accidental epipen injection, in an audition.
Thank goodnes I'm an aural learner. Because I've heard that monologue so much it's practically memorized already.
Posted by sally at 12:14 PM
August 14, 2007
So Much Time, So Little to Say
No. Really. I can't think of a thing to write about.
It's punishment, I think. I spent the last several days wanting to write (but resisting furiously) a review for Stardust, which my lovely, lovely Dave drove me all the way to SpokeVegas to see. I wanted to see it on opening weekend in a real movie theatre, so that's what we did on Saturday. And then we ate at the Olive Garden and then we went book shopping and it was all lovely.
I even saw a shooting star on the way back.
And now, because I am refusing to write the review that's in my head, my brain is refusing to let me write anything else. All because I don't want to say what I think about Robert De Niro's performance.
Okay. Fine. You asked for it. (At least one spoiler below, by the way, but I'll warn you when it's coming.)
I really enjoyed the movie. It had one or two missteps, but it was overall a great story well told.
Charlie Cox is brilliant. Brilliant. His performance is quiet, subtle and nuanced, so much so that you don't notice the confident, sensitive man replacing the geeky, bumbling boy until you see a moment repeated and discover how much he's grown. About the same time that the character figures it out, actually. It's gorgeous.
Claire Daines was lovely as the star. Lovely. Bitchy, and her monologue of unrequited love to the doormouse is perfect. It made me cry.
Mark Strong's Septimus was devilish, sexy, driven and frightening. An awesome bad guy. I loved him and hated him and fully reveled in every possible combination of those two emotions in re: him.
Michelle Pfeiffer? Hilarious. Intelligent. Subversive. Heartbreaking. Terrifying. Genius at times, like when her old, tired eyes look out of an old, old face and you know that that look was not the result of makeup or camera angles, but a gift straight from the actor's soul. She's wonderful. Worth the price of admission all by herself.
The gallery of dead princes was sort of a Dead Prince version of a Greek Chorus, and it was to die for.
Other wonderful cameos abound in this film. Truly, truly great performances, almost the entire cast adds a special glow to an already witty, fun and thrilling script.
And then we come to Robert De Niro.
I know that I am most likely in the minority of audience members when it comes to his performance. I am under the impression that people are loving it. Me? I was disappointed. It's really the one sour note in the entire film. (Aside from Sienna Miller, but her version of vapid works okay for Victoria's vapidity, so I'll let it pass.)
I don't have a problem with his playing a pirate. That part was great. It was the closeted gay part of his pirate that got to me. Why? Because it was a caricature. He wasn't playing an honest and true character. He was running as far away from that as he could, simpering limp-wristedly at every step, and as an audience member, I was insulted. (Both because I believe gay people are more than objects of derisive humor and because it was making the easy choice as an actor and I expect better of artists at his level.)
Why were you so afraid to be honest with this, Mr. De Niro? Why couldn't you give us a complete person instead of a cardboard cutout of everything that signals effeminate? Let your pirate be warm, feminine and mothering, completely vulnerable when nobody else is around. That would have been much more interesting. In fact, I think that could have been transcendent. And then ***SPOILER ALERT*** when you were taken by surprise and got pounded, I would have felt a great deal more sympathy for your exposure and subsequent struggle. As it was, I was merely annoyed by your presence, which I can guarantee was not what either you or the filmmakers wanted from me emotionally at that point.
I mean, come on. If Michelle Pfeiffer can relish playing a beautiful woman rapidly decaying, why can't you play a pirate who hides his warm, feminine, squishy side behind a brutish exterior? That would have been interesting. That would have deserved comments like, "they really take his character to another level", which I read in the blog of one enthusiastic audience member.
As I said above, I realize that I am going to be in the minority here. Part of my problem is my acting training coming out. It means I can't stand to have my time wasted by someone who is hiding behind a role rather than stepping forward and embracing it and it's one of the reasons I don't go see much theatre anymore. However, when we get to A-list actors, I think I'm fully justified in setting high expectations. De Niro didn't come anywhere close to meeting them. A pity, really, since there were so many good things about the film, and yet I clearly can't help but obsess about how disappointing his performance was.
Dave described it really well. It's the gay version of Mickey Rooney's character Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany's. It makes the whole movie harder to watch because I keep having to unclench from the embarrassment I feel in my participation as an audience member. A blot on an otherwise brilliant film.
There. I've said it. May I please be free to think/write about other things now?
Posted by sally at 09:53 PM | Comments (4)
August 13, 2007
Anxiety-Ridden
Just feeling a little nervous today about the upcoming semester and the possibility that all those things that seemed like a good idea at the time, well, won't be.
**Update** 2:46pm
A bit better now. My teaching partner for about 60% of the classes I have this semester has just sent me a very helpful and soothing email and now I'm slightly less twitchy and anxious.
Slightly.
Posted by sally at 12:11 PM
August 11, 2007
D'oh!
I had a HUGE “D’oh!” moment this morning.
Let me explain. No that will take too much. Let me sum up.
Yesterday, I felt a hankerin’ to do some art. I haven’t done any in a while, I’ve been working on other things (like syllabi and lesson plans) and not doing any creative stuff, not in the hands-on fine art kind of way. There’s just no time, especially since I have to clean up immediately after every art project because I don’t really have a studio space. For messy work, I use the kitchen counter, which must also be available for meal preparation. For the other stuff, I have an office, but I can’t just leave things lying about on the floor all of the time.
So instead of working, which I sort of think I should be, I took yesterday off and did art. Specifically, covers for my journals.
I bind my own journals. I’ve discovered that I can’t find any with the right kind of paper and the right kind of binding, so I just decided to do it myself. I’ve been binding books since April, and while I will not claim any kind of expertise in the field, I must say I kind of like the results. I’ve filled three big journals—96 pages—since I started making my own. I just finished the third one this morning, and if I want to keep up my daily writing, I need to bind some more. The signatures are ready, I just need to bind the books.
I’d decorated a couple of covers in the last week, but hadn’t bound anything yet. And I know for a fact that I will not have time to make any books during the semester. It just will not happen. So yesterday I decided to get down to it and make some covers. The great thing is how different they all are, all sorts of different boards for the background and all different kinds of embellishments, from paint to stickers to buttons to pressed leaves and flowers. I’m really pleased with the variety.
And because I’m a geek, I’ve given them titles. Roll over the pix to see what they are.
(The D’oh! Moment is coming. I promise. I haven’t forgotten about it.)
The cover in question is this one:
It’s a piece of copper matboard. I printed a copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnet XXX on parchment resume paper, and after almost setting myself on fire and practically burning down the house in an attempt to scorch the edges, I decided to try for the same effect using watercolor paints. I tore the edges really roughly, rather than neatly, and used yellow, tan, brown and black watercolors to simulate aging and damage. It worked out really well, I think. Once I glued it to the matt board, you couldn’t tell which was on top. It looked like the sonnet was underneath the copper and had somehow been revealed.
Then I added some pressed autumn leaves and a little pressed asparagus fern. After that, I put the whole thing under sparkly gold net because that keeps the ends of leaves and petals and branches from breaking off. I liberally covered the entire thing with glue, to be sure the net stuck and protected the whole piece.
In doing this, I solved a problem I’ve struggled with ever since I started doing collage work. The papers I use for backing invariably warp and curl as I’m working on them. The moisture content of the glue causes it, and as the glue dries, the paper stays warped. This is troublesome because I can’t press the pieces while they’re drying. 1) I’ll end up with the pressing object glued to the top of the thing I’m trying to flatten and 2) it will take forever and a day to dry with no access to air. So I’ve been living with the warping.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, it was as though the clouds parted and the sun shone down and lit the lightbulb above my head with a “ting” that set off a full angel chorus. I weighted the edges of the gauze with bricks. They were exactly the right size to fit around the cover and when I removed them this morning, that sucker was completely flat.
I was so proud of myself. Both for having an inspired moment and for making something as beautiful as that cover. And in celebration, I tried to see if I could still read the sonnet. What with the paint splashes and glue smears (moisture makes the ink run) and the netting and all, that sometimes proves a challenge.
Which is when I discovered that the sonnet was missing a line. (D’oh!)
I figured it out when the rhyme scheme got wonky. Somewhere in the process of transferring from pixels to page (of course I didn’t type it in myself) I lost a line. And Never Even Noticed. I never noticed that it didn’t rhyme. Never noticed that it was only 13 lines instead of 14. Never noticed any of that stuff.
Then again, I didn’t feel that I needed to proof the Bard’s work. If there’s anybody who doesn’t need proofreading, I figure it’s William Shakespeare. For one thing, all of the typos have been caught and addressed already in the last 400 years, I’m thinking. So proofing his work? Not on my list of necessary activities.
Proofing my work on the other hand, that should be mandatory.
Anyway, It’s too late to do anything about it now. The cover is done and it’s too pretty to toss. Plus, I could never replicate it. I don’t have the leaves or the fern, and even with super-careful work and the best intentions in the world, I couldn’t duplicate the paint splatters. And in the end, it’s not that big a deal. I mean, I’m not trying to sell it. It’s just for me. And I’m taking the long view.
I will have to change the title, though. I was going to name this notebook Sonnet Thirty. Now I’m going to have to call it Sonnet XXX, Abridged.
Posted by sally at 10:31 AM
August 10, 2007
The Most Eloquent Defense of My Profession That I Have Ever Heard
Taylor Mali: What Do Teachers Really Make?
Well, the teacher and slam poet in the above video made me cry...
Posted by sally at 12:46 PM | Comments (2)
August 08, 2007
Oh and By the Way...
Happy Anniversary to me.
Duuuuuuuude. This blunk drogging is harder than it looks...
Posted by sally at 07:22 PM
This Is Insane
This week I began trying to get into the schedule I'll be following for the school year. Or at least the fall semester. I want to get into the routine before things get urgent and I have to try to do everything at once. My ideal new schedule goes something like this:
7am -- Get up.
9am -- Leave house. Walk to school.
10am -- Arrive at office. (Yes, it's a long walk.)
Work/teach all day, leave around 5 to walk home.
Technically, that's only for half the days each week. The others will be days I have to drive in because I teach a class at 9:30am and I am NOT leaving my house at 8am to walk to school. (That gives me 1/2 hour prep time.)
This is what has actually transpired over the past two days:
Monday
7:20am -- Get up. (Close enough.)
Spend post-get up time doing all the things I need to do before I leave. AND dusting the cupboard to put the new dishes in that we got on Sunday because the old ones were in terrible shape. That took a while because it's got one of those open shelves with the vertical dowels to display your pretty plates. Those things are a bitch to dust.
Check and answer emails, print stuff I need to take with me, gather my things together.
11:00am -- Finally get my ass out the door. (Only two hours late.)
11:30am -- Stop at the Post Office to mail Maaike's envelope of random crap.
11:55am -- Continue walking to school.
12:05pm -- Run into Dave who's headed to Patty's (awesome Mexican restaurant/taco stand) for lunch. Make him buy me a taco. Meet everybody there because he's such a regular that they all love him.
12:30pm -- Arrive at my office. Settle in to get some serious work done.
2:00pm -- Run errands around campus for an hour.
3:00pm -- Settle in to do some more serious work.
5:10pm -- Leave for home.
Tuesday
7:15am -- Get up.
Morning ablutions
Answer emails, conduct online research, print out everything I need to take with me. (I have neither a printer nor an internet connection in my office. I like it that way. I get more done.)
Work on cover for my newest notebook. This involves splattering ink and watered-down gold acrylic paint on a piece of photo matting covered in brown silk shantung. Not particularly time consuming.
Talk to the student who is working on our yard about what needs to be done next. It's looking really lovely, by the way, he's working very hard.
Eat lunch because it's lunchtime (how did it get to be lunchtime!?!???)
12:45pm -- Leave for school.
1:15pm -- Stop at local bookstore for an impulse buyfrom their outside "really cheap books and stuff" table.
1:25pm -- Continue on to school.
1:45pm -- Arrive at my office. Settle in and get some serious work done.
5:05pm -- Leave for home.
Today
7:15am -- Get up.
Go to the grocery store while the coffee's brewing because I'm out of fruit for my breakfast shake.
Clean up the clutter so the house is ready for the cleaning lady.
Start a load of laundry.
Shower.
Write a blog entry.
It's now a quarter past 9.
Anyone else see the problem here? The "I'm supposed to get to school by 10am and so far I haven't managed to leave the house before then" problem?
I have no idea how I'm going to manage to get to my classes if this keeps up.
Posted by sally at 09:17 AM | Comments (1)
August 06, 2007
Sore Feet
The gym is closed this week for the yearly "fix everything before the students come back en masse" refurbishment. But I have to keep working out somehow, so I decided to walk everywhere. Unless I had heavy stuff to carry. Heavy stuff that apparently doesn't include a backpack stuffed with books, a laptop (a very light laptop, but still) and water bottles. With water in them, because the pipes near my office are really old and the water in this town sucks, so all of the departments have their own water dispensers. Only my office isn't anywhere near any of the three departments I'm currently working for.
So I'm walking.
A lot.
Yesterday I walked for roughly 2.25 miles to meet Dave for brunch. It took 90-ish minutes (45 each way). Not a big deal, really. I mean, that's easily what I would spend at the gym, were it open. But my time is limited, since I'm trying to get all of my classes planned and syllabi written before classes actually start in less than two weeks. Eeeeeeeeee!!!
Despite the time crunch, I've been wanting to do some reading for pleasure. Specifically, I've been wanting to read some more Shakespeare. I'm feeling the lack of it in my life right now. Just as a side note, for those of you who find Shakespeare threatening, a helpful hint: read it aloud. It makes SO MUCH MORE SENSE when you can hear it. It's meant to be spoken and heard, so read it out loud. It's what I do. (I also highly recommend reading papers and essays aloud as part of the proofing process. You can easily spot the awkward bits that way.)
But back to wanting to do some more reading.
I spent part of Saturday working with a student on a monologue from Antony and Cleopatra, and before I worked with her again, I wanted to be sure I was up on the story. (It's been a while since I read it and I didn't want to make suggestions to her that weren't going to work in context.) As I mentioned above, however, my time is pretty booked at this point. Especially with the walking I'm doing to get from place to place. "Hmmm," I thought to myself. "I need to do something while I walk. I wonder..."
Which is why, if you were driving down A Street in Moscow yesterday between 10:45 & 11:30am or 12:30 & 1:15pm, you probably saw me walking down the sidewalk reading a book. Out loud. One of the geekiest things I've ever done. I have no idea how I managed to not trip and fall even once.
But it sure made the trip go faster. And I got to Act 3, Scene 9 before I was home again.
Posted by sally at 08:14 PM | Comments (1)
August 04, 2007
ENOUGH WITH THE DRAMA, ALREADY
Good Lord. Is it a full moon? Is it some weird, funky mojo? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
I was sitting here in my office late this afternoon, minding my own business, when I heard a siren whoop. Just once, that sound that says, "Pull over. I'm right behind you. You should be paying attention." And I assumed it was exactly that, an officer pulling over a speeder or something. I was reading, so I wasn't really tuned to what might be happening outside.
Not so much with the speeder.
Dave came upstairs a few minutes later and said, "Why are firemen at our house?"
"Really?"
"No. Across the street."
I got up to go see. There were the paramedics and the police cars and a whole group of people crouched around a body on the sidewalk across the street. Both of us worried at first that it was the mom in the house directly across. She's not much older than I am, I think, but she had a stroke a couple of years ago. So we worry. But one of the daughters was there and she didn't seem to be freaked out, which would most likely have been the case were her mom the victim.
Eventually--because it's free and non-shaming to gawk at a disaster from your living room, unlike when driving past in your car--I was able to tell Dave that it was an older (70's?) male and not the mom. He was wearing a neck brace and they put him on a body board, so we suspected he'd been hit by a car. But after he was loaded in the ambulance and driven away, one of our other neighbors marked some spots on the sidewalk near where the man had been lying. As if to indicate rough or upraised patches in the pavement. (Though as I said to Dave, the fallen person would have to be fairly old to sustain that kind of damage just by tripping on the sidewalk. You'd have to be pretty frail.)
Christ. Cops in my backyard, a twice-dead uncle, now a mortally wounded man who was brought low by a crack in the sidewalk. What is it with odd and dramatic happenings around me lately? Could we please just stop with that before school starts and I infect a couple hundred students with my chaos/tragedy field? Please?
Posted by sally at 10:40 PM
August 02, 2007
Or Not
After a vigorous game of international telephone tag, my dad reached me around midnight last night. My uncle died at about 10:30am yesterday. I feel a bit of an ass, right at the moment.
My heart aches for his family, my cousins, his wife and friends. For my dad and their sister. Uncle Butch was a nice man. A bit lost, I think, but very kind, and he tried, you know? He made an effort to be a good person.
His youngest daughter had a baby on Friday, the same day he died the first time. I hope they had a chance to meet each other, that he at least got to hold his newest grandchild before he went for good.
Posted by sally at 08:30 AM | Comments (2)
August 01, 2007
The Case of the Undead Uncle
File this under odd things I never thought would happen in my family.
Last week, before ravening hordes of family and friends descended on us as a prelude to seeing Interment, I had a conversation with my dad on the phone. He called to find out where he and Mom were staying (we'd booked a hotel room), but also to tell me that my uncle, his only remaining brother, was in the hospital.
I don't recall all of the details surrounding Uncle Butch's situation (no, that's not his real name, though it's the name I've known him by since I was old enough to talk), it has to do with a horrible lung-based reaction to improperly prescribed meds. I do recall that he was in a coma, and that his whole family lives in the area (I mean his kids & their families), so they were spending time with him.
On Friday evening, during intermission, Dad checked his voicemail. There was a message from his sister, telling him that Uncle Butch had just died. Dad told me right after they got back to our house after the show. Shortly after that, he checked his phone and discovered he had another voicemail. Also from my aunt.
Five minutes later, a bemused and rather shaken Dad wandered into the living room and said, "He's not dead."
Apparently, my uncle had a serious relapse (he'd been doing better) and was pronounced dead. By a doctor. As in no vital signs and unable to revive him. Dead.
Everyone left the room, doctors, nurses, family, everyone, and then the doctor sent a nurse in to "clean him up" before the family went back in to spend some time with him. She found my conscious uncle frantically waving his arms to get her attention. (They'd turned his ventilator off, because a dead person doesn't need one.) As of Saturday morning, he was answering questions with accuracy; he knew who everybody was. In other words, he had good cognitive responses and was astonishingly healthy for someone who was dead, officially dead, 12 hours earlier.
My brother and I horrified almost everyone by almost immediately commenting on our undead uncle. Though actually, the first thing I said after Dad said, "He's not dead," (once I'd recovered the ability to speak) was, "Good!" Which pretty much covers all the bases, I think.
The next morning, my parents talked things over with each other and with my cousin, his oldest daughter. All agreed that Mom & Dad should go ahead and take their vacation in Canada like they'd been planning to (the visit here was just the first stop on their trip) and that someone would call them if things changed. I haven't heard from them since, so I have to assume my uncle is still alive and kicking. I'm not surprised at that. Since he managed to come back at all, Uncle Butch isn't about to die again without a fight, I expect.
I'd love to have a chance to chat with him. Find out whether he remembers what happened/where he went in-between...
Posted by sally at 09:55 PM
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