YOUHAVEMEINSIDETHETRAPYOUDON'TKNOWYOUSET

my car was broken into last month.



did i tell you?

no, of course not. i haven't written shit in weeks.

what a fucking slacker i am.

sorry.

well, anyhow, it was.

some tools broke in, stole my damn $400 coach purse--a birthday present from my brother joe--and made a mess of my car. let's see, i am now also sans laptop, driver's license (had to get a new one, which was fine since i looked like vomit in the other one), credit cards (which they took the liberty of running up . . . nice, because frankly, i just had waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much money and i'm relieved they lightened that heavy burden), and a front passenger window (no, that's not true, i replaced it the day it happened to the tune of almost $300).

(and yes, incidentally, I KNOW NOW NOT TO LEAVE THINGS IN MY CAR. one to grow on.)

fuckin' ay. i mean, it's just two years old and already it's been crashed (a moving truck slammed into me on the driver's side after only two months) and broken into . . . jeeezuz!

who'd want to break into my car anyway? fine, it's a relatively new car, but it's a honda accord sedan . . . a family car, if you will . . . 4-doors . . . not in any way flashy . . .

on the sunny side (is there one?), i usually leave to go to school at some ungodly hour and it just so happened i slept in that morning or else i might have caught those assholes in the act and would have had to go all fucking ninja on their asses and probably been shanked by one of them.

bastards.

BUT IT GETS BETTER.

two days later, i get pulled over by the lapd, who want to know why my car registration is lapsed. i tell them that my car was broken into and that the pieces of shit who did it rather took a liking to my registration tag (in addition to everything else) and kindly removed it from my license plate.

then they ask me for my driver's license. i don't have it, OBVIOUSLY (to me, but not to them) . . . so i give them my number.

they go back to their little cop car, run my plate and dl number and then come back to me . . .

"miss, your registration checks out ok, but your license is expired," they say.

"oh (fuck)," i reply.

"we have two options here. we can either let you go and send you straight to the nearest dmv to renew your license or we can issue you a $500 ticket for driving on an expired license, impound your car, and take you to county jail. what do you think?" they say.

hmm, let me think this over for a minute, officers.

would i like cake?

or would i like death?

let's see, tough choice: cake or DEATH?

well, shit, I'LL TAKE CAKE!!!

fucking twats.


(i love eddie izzard. i especially love him in drag . . .)

the cops let me go, but not without telling me how gracious they were being by doing so.

gracious, eh?

yeah . . . they were gracious to me.

they were ALSO very gracious to the scuzzbuckets who stole my stuff.

let me explain: you see, when the other cops came to my apartment building the morning i found my car broken into, i had already spoken to my bank who told me when and where the thieves had spent my money. so, when the cops arrived, i said, hey i know where these guys went and at what time and why don't y'all go check out the closed circuit video and see if maybe you can actually catch them.

after a long pause and a hearty chuckle from the cops, i got, "miss, we have more pressing matters to attend to."

oh yeah, sorry, i know that krispy kremes don't taste as good cold as they do hot . . . (zing! yeah, i'm a bitch. sue me.)

or i suppose you could just throw people like me into jail because we're easy to catch and come willingly.

I'MMORETHANABIRD.I'MMORETHANAPLANE.I'MMORETHANSOMEPRETTYFACEBESIDEATRAIN.

"you have 10 minutes to write about a time when you overcame a significant obstacle," the instructor says.

"what do you want to write about?" i whisper into his ear.

the answer seems obvious to me . . .

"i don't know," the student replies. his voice carries loudly across the quiet room; he has a tough time modulating.

from his motorized wheelchair, his body spasms and contorts of its own accord, hands flailing, feet twitching, as he stares out of the window.

i give him a few more seconds. "think of anything yet?" i ask.

"no, i can't think of anything," he says.

. . .

the following day we go back to class.

another prompt.

"today, i want you to take the first 10 minutes of class and tell me about the kind of super hero you would be. if you could change anything about yourself, be anything, do anything . . . fly, have superhuman strength, anything . . . what would it be? tell me. write it down."

i turn to my student. his eyes are wide and bright as the sun.

"what do you think?" i say.

he laughs and smiles and says, "i'd have a wheelchair with rocket boosters!"

"that's freaking awesome!" i enthuse . . .

HE'S freaking awesome.

. . .

my student has cerebral palsy.

. . .

this is my life. i am a teacher. but . . . it's my students who teach ME how to live.

WELCOMETOTHEJUNGLE

"turn right on van ness. i'll meet you out there," he said.

"sure," she replied.

he did not see the nervous look that suddenly swept over her face.

as she rounded the corner, she saw him walking up the street.

he was just as he'd said, but better.

(writer's note: i'm at journalism camp right now, trying to steal a few moments away from 10 screeching, needy, rambunctious monkeys . . . trying a new style of story telling. who knows if it'll work . . . i'm writing again, at any rate. feeling inspired. not that THAT is any promise that what will come out will be any good . . . but at least i'm posting again.

and hey, to the two people who actually check out this blog, thanks for the encouraging words and for coming back. i'll be back myself here as soon as possible . . .)

SKINMEAPEACH,SAVETHEFUZZFORMYPILLOW

alright, FINE, i'm pulling my thumb out of my ass and writing a new post because it looks like cassy might replace my thumb with her foot if i don't!

plus, truth be told, i am tired of looking at those giant tits from my last post.

now, i am not saying this will be a great post, or even a good post. in fact, it is quite shaping up to be the most mediocre post that ever was . . .

see, here's the problem: like my dear, dear mr. c, i too have run out of things to say.

yes, that's right, I AM OUT OF FUCKING THINGS TO SAY!!!

I AM VERKLEMPT!

and i'm tired. it's true, i confess. i've run out of steam.

i should have taken this summer off, but instead i'm piloting a reading program (Read 180) with my colleague blu AND will be chaperoning journalism camp with her the first week of august. THEN, there was all that shit i had to do at loyola . . .

stick a fork in me, already!

(wow, what a damn whinger i am!)

seriously, though, to compound the problem, i'm sort of having writer's block too (and maybe a quarter-life crisis, but that's another post altogether!). and then i go on to cassy's blog, seeking inspiration, and she's this tour de force, this force of nature, and i'm left speechless and in awe and (if you haven't read her blog yet, GO NOW! yes, NOW!!! go on! you'll love it. trust me. she's positively brilliant) . . .

same goes for all of the other blogs on my blog list.

(sigh . . .)

my synapses are dead.

or on vacation.

mmm . . . vacation . . .

ANYHOW, i feel a bit like a character on mike meyers' skit "coffee talk with linda richman" on saturday night live. i feel like i need someone to give me a topic (or a transfusion? an infusion? oh, please stop the confusion!).

and if you never saw the show, here's an explanation from wiki:

Whenever Linda would get upset, she would put her hand on her chest and say "I'm all verklempt" or "I'm a little verklempt". Then she would say, "Talk amongst yourselves," sometimes waving her hand in a dismissive gesture toward the audience. She would often follow this with an example, by saying, "I'll give you a topic." The topic would usually follow the format: "[Two- or three-part phrase] is neither [first part] nor [second part] (nor [occasional third part]). Discuss."

Examples:

"The radical reconstruction of the South after the Civil War was neither radical nor a reconstruction. Discuss."

"The Holy Roman Empire was neither holy nor Roman nor an empire. Discuss." (This quote is based on a famous comment by Voltaire.)

"The peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Discuss."

"Ralph Fiennes is spelled neither rafe nor fines. Discuss."

"Duran Duran is neither a Duran nor a Duran. Discuss."

"Rhode Island is neither a road nor is it an island. Discuss."

"The Thighmaster is neither a thigh nor a master. Discuss."

"The Progressive Era was neither progressive nor an era. Discuss."

"Did Truman drop the bomb on the Japanese to end the war or to scare the hell out of the Russians? Discuss."

"The Mormon Tabernacle Choir is neither Mormon nor a tabernacle nor a choir. Discuss."

She would then recover after a beat.

HELP ME RECOVER . . .

IAIN'TTALKIN''BOUTPLAYBOY,'CAUSESILICONEPARTSAREMADEFORTOYS

after i teach "romeo and juliet", i show my students the zeffirelli version of the play . . .

here's a snippet from my classroom this past semester:

"hey, ms. b, are we gonna see them get down again?

"no, the consummation scene is over, i'm afraid."

"what? we ain't gonna see no titties again?!?!"

"they're called breasts, thank you. and no, no more breasts. sorry."

"nuh uh. my momma's got breasts. them was some tittaaaaays . . . all bouncy and shit."

i love my job.

word.

(you asked for it, mr. c . . .)

IFYOU'RELOST,YOUCANLOOKANDYOUWILLFINDME. . .

besides my family, i share most of the rest of my life with my students. i tell them at the beginning of the year, "we are a family." and it's true, i look out for them and they for me, and we share, and we grow together. i know a lot of teachers say this, but i mean it: i love my kids.

so, today was a difficult day as i said goodbye to my seniors on news staff. i bought each of them copies of dr. seuss's "oh, the places you'll go" wherein i inscribed a little something for each, as well as quill pins for their graduation sashes . . . then, i told them that i loved them and that it was a pleasure being their teacher . . . and that i loved learning with them and through them . . . i gave them my spiel about following one's dreams, that people will pressure them to conform and pursue traditional paths of success . . . and that while that may bring happiness to some of them . . . they should never be afraid to define "success" for themselves.

and i cried. and they cried. and they said they'd visit . . . and i know they won't and it's ok because that is life . . . in all it's sweetness and bitterness.

i was so sad to see them go, but at the same time elated to see them start a new phase of their lives. and i remembered how scared and overjoyed i was when i was their age to be graduating from high school and going on to college, so i am mostly happy . . .

you know, i don't know that i'll ever have children. not sure i want to be a mother, not sure i'd be any good. but i can say that even if i never have any kids of my own, i feel blessed to be a teacher and to be a part of so many people's lives, if only for a little while.

and though none of them will see this . . . to my cartoonist, editors-in-chief, opinions editor, sports editor, and two staff writers (titles and not names, for obvious reasons): love, health, peace, laughter, happiness, luck, success, and prosperity always . . .

i love you.

MYACHINGHEARTWOULDBLEEDFORYOUTOSEE

desire.

despair.

desire.

so many monsters.

no more i love yous.

language is leaving me in silence.

changes are shifting outside the words.

--annie lennox

WELL,HALF-WAYTHROUGHMYLIFEIFLIPPEDONINTERNALBITCH

my best friend, vic, is turning 26 on the 23rd of this month . . . i have no clue as to what to get her. here's our conversation from today (more or less):

me: yo, your b-day is coming up. whatchu want, girl?

vic: surprise me. i am in denial about turning 26.

i only want things i can't have, such is life.

how are you?

me: JESUS CHRIST, are you going to be 26? fucking ay, i thought you were turning like 22 or something.

i'm a'ight. you know, insane as ever. things will be calming down soon.

but seriously . . . dinner and whatnot are a given, but i want to give you something special and seeing that my virginity is gone . . .

IFMYSOULHASASHAPE,WELLTHENITISANELLIPSE

i miss prj.

i feel pathetic for saying so, but i do.

it's amazing the connection we had. we could speak for hours on end with never a pause or awkward silence. and talk about everything and anything: politics, love, sex, family, work, travel, music, science . . . you name it.

kindred. we were kindred.

this past wednesday, my students and i won first place at the district journalism competition. we won 1st in team sweeps and as the honor suggests, took the top spots in nearly every category of writing and design.

none of it would have been possible without prj. it was his vision that got us there and wednesday night's win was tempered, for me, by his absence.

i know that what i miss no longer exists, but it doesn't make it any easier to stop missing. finding that level of connection, i've been recently reminded, is hard . . . very, very hard. and it's not that one person lacks something or whatever, just that real chemistry is like finding a unicorn in a garden . . . rare, if not impossible.

rwy'n dy garu di.

HELLO,ILOVEYOU,WON'TYOUTELLMEYOURNAME?

this, not written by me . . . but which nevertheless resonates . . .

The Craft of Intimacy: Human Project

For a moment, when we are born, we are open, brilliant, faithful, living our most essential nature. Over time, through the common suffering of life, from having all too human parents with all too human limitations, from the simple friction between the natural and social, we begin to withdraw. We hide the essential parts of ourselves and present those which get us love and approval, or at least which limit the pain we face. The issues and details vary, the intensity of the fall may be different. Each of us fills our emptiness with a different dream. However, no one remains the pure open-hearted child, unafraid of life, curious about experience.

We become separated from ourselves, we hide from each other and we guard ourselves from the world. The innocent intimacy of a child with its mother, the wonder brought by the first taste of strawberries is finally replaced by the sophistication and cynical cool (or passionate fear) of anything we can not control. All inner work, whether in the context of psychotherapy or in the countless spiritual traditions, seek in one way or another to address the state of separation, the tear in the essential fabric, the loss of faith in the natural support of the world and the compassion and generosity of those we spend our lives with.

The process of self discovery, of self realization is as old as humanity. In each age, what we may call "the Work" or "the Path" takes on the face and language of the time, place and people it is designed for. It is formed and bound by the capacities of the individuals and cultures in which it arises and it is from those bounds that it frees itself and those who seek the truth.

There are those who say that there is a gnostic unity at the heart of all religions, esoteric mystical communities, and spiritual undertakings. That this unity is due to an ancient secret school, or a common divine or mystical source which stands at the core of all teachings, passing down through time and protecting the mysteries of the ages--a science of man which exists free--standing and perfect. Whether that is literally true or a metaphor is a matter of intense speculation amongst seekers. It is also almost certainly irrelevant to anyone other than historians, curiosity seekers and perhaps the few others who have some practical use for the information.

What we do know is that there unquestionably exist formal lineages within the various traditions, which attempt to preserve the integrity of the tradition, both with regard to the form and the accuracy of the information and more importantly, with regard to the heart of the teaching, the essential truths. However, without the direct transmission from master to student, those traditions die and become merely hollow shells whose animating wisdom has long since abandoned ship and rowed for shore, thirsty and tired.

The cultural landscape is littered with once great traditions, which have become fossilized leaving behind devout followers, marvelous buildings and legions of clerks and hierophants, going through the motions of what, at one time, was a useful and workable path to realization. This is one reason that Work schools are often designed by intent to survive for a limited period of time and then disband, their specific task completed.

This is not to say that by grace, accident or mystery, individuals are not from time to time graced with enlightenment arising out of their entirely independent efforts (this is perhaps the historical origin of certain of the existing traditions). However, barring such a cosmic accident, without the direct contact with the teacher, without the activation of certain "essential" aspects within the student, any spiritual or meditative practice will lie fallow. Bread-making without yeast, conception lacking sperm or ovum. Hence, the direct transmission from teacher to student is central to the Work. The student experiences the taste, the scent of reality through the direct transmission of the state of the teacher. This is the reality of initiation.

In this epoch's installment of the Work, it is may be possible and useful to incorporate the profound contributions of psychology, as new elements of the process of illumination. One difficulty with this integration is that psychology--with a very few exceptions--limits it's domain to the "self" of self-representation, to the self of psychological construction. In the mainstream of psychoanalytic and other traditional psychological theories at least, it does not acknowledge that there is a non-psychological, non-representational self which exists in its own right and as such unreasonably limits itself and its usefulness.

In contrast, the Work proceeds from a perspective which does not divide human experience into psychological on the one hand and spiritual on the other. The unfoldment of an individual is a unitary process and must be explored simultaneously from the perspective often associated with psychological awareness and insight and from the view most common in meditative traditions that we are more--and in a certain sense entirely other--than the sum of our personal histories, beliefs, self-images, neurotic conditioning and the like. Our true nature is both formed and formless, bounded and boundless.

Whether the Absolute, God, the universe, the Tao--or whatever we wish to name the un-nameable--has a "divine" purpose or order is not within the ken of human experience. We can speculate until the cows come home and know nothing more at the end than we do at the beginning of the inquiry. The simple uncontrovertible point of inner work is to discover what affirms life, what creates greater awareness and, by contrast, what puts us more soundly to sleep.

In a society that holds up an increasingly punitive work ethic above any ethic of love or compassion, it is risky indeed to assert pleasure (in our way of speaking, essence) as a legitimate social goal . . . If the "real issues" are economic deprivation, the threat of nuclear holocaust, the destruction of the environment, and so forth down the grimly familiar list, then we should perhaps acknowledge that the issue of human pleasure is not, after all, so marginal or secondary. For the "real issues" only reflect our vast, collective separation from the body, from the earth and other life on it, and from the possibility of delight in ourselves and each other. We may have come to the point where we no longer have the luxury--and puritanism can be a perverse kind of luxury--of dividing what is "real" from what is only personal; what is public, from what is most deeply felt. We may finally be obliged, by the very threats we have created for ourselves, to rethink pleasure as a human goal and reclaim it as a human project.

We are, each of us, unique. In our fundamental humanness, men and women are no different. We must be discovered, explored, cherished for who we are. We blossom when treated with respect, curiosity and compassion. For those willing and able to sacrifice their fixed ideas and preconception, their egotism--be that egotism in the form of grandiosity or in self denial--freedom and peace are a natural birthright. Over time, we come to see that who we are is a beginning point for who we become. We do not become different. We become ourselves.

If you really want your heart's desire, you have only to fix this desire firmly in your mind, not thinking of the fruit. You then have to take up some of the dried fruits, not the fresh, delicious ones, lying at the foot of all of these trees, and eat them. Then follow your destiny.

INACHAIRYOUWILLBEWITHME,WE'LLDANCE

sorry i've been MIA (not that anyone's been holding their breath, i know!).

will be MIA for another two weeks at least while i am wrapping up LMU's summer school.

just wanted to pop in and say, "I'M ALIVE!!!"

and actually, alive and deliriously happy . . .

i won't tell all of you what is the source of my ridiculous joy, so as not to jinx it. but suffice it to say that it's not drugs . . . and no, i haven't devised a way to have krispy kremes delivered to my system intravenously . . .

simply feeling totally woo-fucking-hoo!

hope all of you are wonderful too.

DON'TLEAVEASINGLEPIECEOFYOUWHENYOUGO

my 100th post.

somehow, i thought it would feel more special . . .

HAVEIGOTNEWSFORYOU,I'MSOMETHING,IHOPEYOUTHINKTHATYOU'RESOMETHINGTOO

1. One movie that made you laugh:
Biloxi Blues (omg, i laughed so hard i cried.)

2. One movie that made you cry:
The Power of One (#1 should qualify, but i don't think that's what they meant . . .)

3. One movie you loved when you were a child:
Labyrinth (i STILL love it. what can i say? it has puppets AND david bowie.)

4. One movie you’ve seen more than once:
The Color Purple (it's watered-down shit compared to the book, but i'm still crazy about it.)

5. One movie you loved, but were embarrassed to admit:
Porco Rosso (an anime film about an italian pig who's a wwI fighter ace, now living as a freelance bounty hunter chasing "air pirates" in the adriatic . . . now you see why i was embarrassed to admit it?)

6. One movie you hated:
The English Patient (almost sent ME to the hospital.)

7. One movie that scared you:
The Shining (which i still have to watch with the lights on AND with someone by my side, who is willing to sleep over in my apartment, preferably in my bed with me . . . head-to-toe sleeping arrangement, even, if need be, so long as they don't mind me clutching tightly to their leg in the middle of the night.)

8. One movie that bored you:
The English Patient (slept through most of it and what i did see made me wish i were asleep again.)

9. One movie that made you happy:
October Sky (made me think about my brothers and school and family and just all things good . . .)

10. One movie that made you miserable:
The English Patient (see #6 and #8, above.)

11. One movie you weren’t brave enough to see:
The Exorcist (i didn't see it when i was a kid and then when i was actually old enough to see it, i still put it off because i was too chicken, and then when i finally did see it, the special effects were so laughable that i mostly, well, laughed . . . though, i will say that The Exorcism of Emily Rose did genuinely scare my pants off . . . and if you're in the UK and reading this, i mean my trousers, not my unmentionables.)

12. One movie character you’ve fallen in love with:
Gregory Peck, as Atticus Finch, in To Kill a Mockingbird, though, more recently, it was Russell Crow, as Maximus Decimus Meridius, in Gladiator (mmm, brains AND brawn!)

*thanks, jz (not the rapper) . . .

13. The last movie you saw:
Iron Man

14. The next movie you hope to see:
Encounters at the End of the World

15. Now tag five people:
in hopes of continuing this meme, i’ll tag anyone who happens to read this!

this cool meme is courtesy of . . .

LOOKINGFORTHELIGHTOFANEWLOVETOBRIGHTENUPTHENIGHT

sorry, back with mr. c, one more time, who was having some qualms about kissing an older . . . a much, MUCH older . . . woman in a new play in which he's acting . . .

and i got to thinking: fuck, y'all, i gotta say, i LOVE older men.

harrison ford is over 60 and i would make out with him in a nanosecond.

i would also make out with--ZEEEEEEERO qualms, ZEEEEEEERO hesitation--alec baldwin, 50 . . . sean connery, whose official age can only be measured with carbon-14 dating . . . tom selleck, 63 . . . daniel day lewis, 51 . . . sam elliott, george clooney, pierce brosnan, anthony hopkins, robert duvall, tommy lee jones, and denzel washington, to name a few.

it's just funny, i think, that for men, it's really all about aesthetics . . . in the beginning, at least.

i mean, ok, fine, the men i've listed above are a fairly good-looking bunch, but i've dated (and been willing to date were they not already taken at the time) some men who, by conventional standards, most women would find unattractive, or, even, downright repulsive.

no actors come to mind, except, perhaps, alan rickman . . . but, i always fall first and foremost in love with a man's brain.

vic will attest to this since she went to ucla with me and saw me fall in love (lust?) with several honestly heinous-looking professors. one professor i fell in love with at ucla--i took every class he ever offered--was described by many as a "troll, only more unfortunate-looking" . . .

i can't help it. nothing is sexier, more intriguing, more alluring, more fascinating to me than an intelligent, erudite, witty, kooky, clever man. (a "dominant" personality/demeanor is also important . . . or rather "desirable" to me, too, but that's a whole other ball of wax.)

(and no need to warn me . . . i know all about the pitfalls that come with such a man all too well . . .)

i would take a well-read, well-spoken, well-written "unattractive" man ANY day, over a "hottie" (young or old).

for me, almost exclusively, it's about the brain; everything else matters not.

maybe it's because i'm not very smart (and average-looking) that i long to be with a very intelligent/intellectual man over a man who's just handsome, but that's simply how i feel . . .

YOU'RENOBODY'TILSOMEBODYLOVESYOU

so, you know how if you're a blogger on Blogger you have to verify your identity with those funny "word verification" thingies?

well, does anyone else out there obsess over whether certain ones of those fake words is actually a word?

tonight i was posting on mr. c's born-again-blog and my word was "chauab". like, "ciao, a.b." . . . you know, which is funny to me (not in a "ha! ha!" way, but rather in a "oh, that's interesting" way) because it was like saying goodbye to one of my best girls, whose initials are a and b . . .

anyhow, it's ok to say it people: lana, you're nuts.

i know, I KNOW . . . it's a distinct possibility y'all.

THEREARECHILDRENSTANDINGHERE,ARMSOUTSTRETCHEDINTOTHESKY

ok, so on friday i received some shocking news and i wasn't going to say anything about it because i'm a little embarrassed and feel not a little . . . undeserving . . .

(obviously, as a self-proclaimed "ham" my embarrassment and guilt do not go far enough that i would completely abstain from mentioning what i'm about to mention . . .)

here's the scoop: i was nominated by the staff and administration at my school a district "rising star"! which, according to the powers that be, a rising star is someone who is an "exceptional teacher with five years or less service".

apparently, i get a cool award and get to have dinner with the superintendent and other winners from the rest of the district later this month . . . oh, yeah, and cash ($1,200?).

frankly, i think my award should have gone to my colleague, blu, who i feel is a MUCH BETTER teacher than me.

i'm a workaholic, but she's like 100 times the workaholic i am. plus, you know . . . she doesn't just work a lot . . . she's good . . . she's amazing.

still, i'm very flattered and extremely grateful and honored . . . and as soon as this horrific, no-joke-stuff-of-legends ear infection goes away and i get my hearing back, i will work extra hard to live up to everyone's hopes.

COME,MISTERTALLYMAN,TALLYMEBANANA

i got a call from my mom this morning. she says, "hola mija! queriamos llamarte para decirte happy mother's day, por que tu eres la madre!"

yeah, my mom's a riot . . .

unless you speak spanish, this won't be funny to you, but here's a translation anyway . . . my mom called to say happy mother's day to me--even though I HAVE NO KIDS--because, according to her, i am the most exasperating human being ever to be born or, in spanish, "la madre".

yeah, well, before you think badly of her, she did live with me for 18 years . . .

no, but seriously, my mom is amazing and she loves me . . . i think.

today, actually, is not mother's day in costa rica, but it is my tia (aunt) maria-elena's birthday. she's 72! my tia is a superb lady, if a bit too conservative. she lives with my mom on a beautiful house on the beach, in punta leona. they get along very well, which is wonderful (after my dad's death 20 years ago, i like that my aunt has kept my mom company) . . . it's pretty funny, now that i think of it, because my mom isn't very conservative at all and she's always trying to "loosen" my aunt. she's had some success, but there's still room for improvement . . .

my cousin, the giant man in all the photos, whose name is, oddly enough, junior (not his real name. we had to change it because his real name was one of those yucky, fuddy-duddy names that fit him not at all), took the ladies out for breakfast to celebrate.

he and his wife, roxy, are sooooooooooooo fantastic!!! every time i go home to costa rica, they are the most fabulous hosts. they take me to all the great places, drive me everywhere, never let me pay for anything, are always happy and in a great mood, and up for absolutely everything and anything.

. . . i'm really lucky.

anyhow: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIA CUCA!!! (oh, umm, we call her "cuca" because, well, she can drive you nuts. a loving bunch, aren't we?)

and HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY . . . FELIZ DIA DE LA MADRE to all of you awesome moms!

(oh, y muchas gracias to junior for emailing me these photos from his phone asap. you're the best!)


(2008: puntarenas, jaco, costa rica. my mom (mami to me. claudia to you. "cabita" if she likes you . . . and basically, she likes everyone) and my cousin roxy having brunch at a restaurant on the beach. what a life, eh?)


(2008: puntarenas, jaco, costa rica: mom, my cousin junior, and roxy.)


(2008: puntarenas, jaco, costa rica: roxy having some, no doubt, deliciously fruity beverage. and from the looks of it, a deliciously ALCOHOLIC fruity beverage. a little early for shenanigans, no?)


(2008: puntarenas, jaco, costa rica: junior, mom, and tia cuca with a GIANT piece of yummy cake . . . mmm, me likey cake. ah, NEVER TOO EARLY for cake, on the other hand . . .)


(2008: puntarenas, jaco, costa rica: mom, roxy, tia cuca and a gorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgeous costa rican morning.)

ROADSOROUGH,THISIKNOW:I'LLBETHEREWHENTHELIGHTCOMESIN,JUSTTELL'EMWE'RESURVIVORS

umm, excuse me, y'all, but have any of you seen mr. c anywhere?

i seem to have misplaced him . . .

don't know what happened. just know that i went to a late dinner and movie and poof! no more mr. c.

hmm . . .

was it my breath, maybe? (lana pops some spearmint gum.)

how bizarre.

ANDIFYOUEVERNEEDMYHANDSTOCARRYYOUTHROUGHTHEHEAVYTIMES. . .

last friday, the therapist mumbled about how switzerland was able to--very nearly--mimic a human brain.

he, sarcastically, it seemed to me, ended his post by saying, "i hope it has good parents."

but perhaps he wasn't being sarcastic. isn't it true, though, that a good upbringing makes a world of difference?

it makes all the difference in individual people, and therefore in one-on-one relationships, partnerships, communities . . . countries . . .

i, for one, do worry about major technological advances. and no, i'm not some backward-thinking christian conservative who eschews all science. i embrace responsible, ethical science. i do think, for example, that stem cell research is important and worthwhile. but i still wonder . . .

recently, i was at a district meeting with representatives from the other five high schools in my area discussing new textbooks and supplemental materials. we decided to adopt mcdougal littell's package for ninth and tenth graders.

and what a package it is . . . the new books combined with the new software were so amazing that i leaned over to my department chair and said, "where are the robots that are replacing us? these new materials teach themselves!"

well, almost. (thank god.)

there is an example of great technology that is going to make learning accessible, comprehensible, and fun. i'm all for it.

but what about a synthetic brain?

i am sure that some will ask, "why not?"

umm, i don't know, but if you've ever read "1984", then you might have some doubts. i mean, it looks like the next logical step, no? total mind control . . .

or not.

let's go back to "good parenting" because i think that's the key. i don't fear technology and science when it's in the hands of ethical, moral people. and i know that appears to be contradiction . . . like, "what's morality and ethics got to do with science?" i know it seems like a slippery slope, indeed, but i do believe there is a place for ethics and morality in the scientific world. i believe that scientists should be guided, if not by "morals" and "ethics", then by a sense to do "right" for mankind.

the thing is, though, of course . . . defining "right" . . .

i'm just saying that we should not forget our history here.

i am reminded of dr. j. robert oppenheimer. remember him? he's the scientist who directed the manhattan project and was responsible for creating the atom bomb . . . and who, upon seeing the awesome power of his creation said, "we knew the world would not be the same. i remembered the line from the hindu scripture, the bhagavad-gita, 'now i am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'"

oppenheimer, together with einstein and others, spent the rest of his life trying to educate the public about responsible scientific inquiry and exploration . . .

how, though, you ask, will we know if something is bad for us UNTIL it is discovered? well, friends, i didn't say i had all the answers . . . i'll just reiterate: proper parenting . . .

i see it like this . . . barring ecological concerns . . . in my last post, i was going to say that it was irresponsible for the duggars to have so many kids. i felt that, hey, you know, there are already a lot of people on the planet. we're not trying to populate a new country here, ok?

then, however, i thought . . . you know, they seem like good people. and doesn't my real concern have more to do with "unsavory" people procreating, rather than good people procreating?

i'd rather the duggars have 18 kids, than, say, charles manson have even one. why? parenting, that's why.

if i knew, for a fact, that all of the world's scientists came from "good homes", then i'd sleep better at night.

how 'bout you?

IGUESSPROMISESAREBETTERLEFTUNSAID

michelle duggar is my new hero(ine)!

(well, sort of.)

she's pregnant with her E I G H T E E N T H child!

that's right, people, no need to rub your eyes. you read it correctly. there is an american woman, right now, pregnant with her 18th kid.

AND SHE'S 41!

ha!

"fertility decline at age 35", take THAT!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEW YORK: The Duggar kids planned a big Mother's Day surprise for their mom this year. But the surprise was on them when Michelle Duggar announced on the TODAY Show that they were soon to welcome an 18th sibling.

“We’re expecting!” the happy mother told TODAY co-host Meredith Vieira and the entire Arkansas clan. “Number 18!

To date, the Duggars’ 17 natural children range in age from 20 years to 9 months. Included in the mix are 10 boys and seven girls — Joshua, twins Jana and John-David, Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna, twins Jedidiah and Jeremiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah and baby Jennifer, who arrived last Aug. 2.

With two sets of twins, Michelle, 41, has gone through 15 pregnancies that ended in 13 natural deliveries and two Caesarean sections.

Both Michelle and Jim Bob — a former state legislator who served in the Arkansas House of Representatives — are real estate agents. They claim their family is debt-free, with the entire bunch helping to build their 7,000-square-foot home in Tontitown. And they are enriched by a devout faith in their religion.

The Duggars are followers of the evangelical Christian movement called Quiverful, which teaches that children are God’s blessing and that husbands and wives should happily welcome every child they are given. In fact, the Duggars' Web site, duggarfamily.com, quotes “Children are a heritage of the Lord” from verse 3 of the 123rd Psalm.

“We just let the Lord decide,” Jim Bob, 42, told Vieira.

“They are such a gift and we’re enjoying them so much,” Michelle added. “We would love more, and the power of the Lord took our faith to give us another one.”

The Duggars married in 1984, when Michelle was 17 and Jim Bob was 19. They held off on having kids for four years before Michelle ceased taking birth control pills to have their first child. After Joshua was born in 1988, Michelle returned to birth control but wound up getting pregnant anyway. Unfortunately, she suffered a miscarriage, which the couple attributed to use of the pill.

Michelle and Jim Bob decided to pray for as many children as God would give them. Within a year, Michelle was pregnant with the first of their two sets of twins.

Their large number of offspring has meant other large numbers for the Duggars. Michelle has been pregnant for 135 months of her life, with an average of 18 months between births. The family estimates it has used 90,000 diapers and launders 200 loads of clothes each month in a row of industrial-size washers and dryers.

Even though they go through three loaves of bread per day, they claim to feed their family for less than $2,000 a month. Transportation is facilitated by nine vehicles, led by a 21-passenger bus. They estimate that all members of the family have combined to work approximately 39,000 hours on their home.

Each child learns to play both violin and piano. And for what it’s worth, when child No. 18 arrives, they’ll have enough kids to field two baseball teams."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i mean, i'd rather gnaw my leg off than give birth to 18 children, but good for her. (i think . . .)

TAKEMETOTHEDREAM,TOTHEHIGHSANDDEPTHSOFMYSOUL

"a woman hits her fertility peak at age 22, after which point her eggs begin a slow but steady genetic decline. at age 35, the decline accelerates until she arrives at menopause, when she can no longer procreate."

don't you just love npr (national public radio) in the morning? gosh, nothing puts more pep in my step than listening to how my eggs are going to be--more or less--kaput in approximately five years! or, sorry, just "not as good as they were when you were 20". (well, shoot, a lot of things about me aren't as good as they were a decade ago . . . but then again, lots of things about me are much, much, much better . . . rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.)

i guess that i should be more worried, right? i mean, at 30, i'm just a little over four and half years away from "ovulatory(?) recession" (yeah, i coined that term).

but i'm not worried.

though, i can see how american women's trend towards waiting longer and longer before getting pregnant might be a little scary for the government . . .

can you blame us for wanting to wait? for wanting to take more control over our lives, our futures?

men have "had it all" for eons: the family, the career, the house! you name it and men have achieved it.

what about women?

a typical scenario involves the man building a successful (they hope!) career while the woman (willingly? happily? dutifully?) sacrifices a potential career in the world to stay home and build a family and home.

and yeah, i know, i'm leaving a lot of fine and important details out, but that is the overall gist.

and for many women, that scenario is ideal.

not me.

don't get me wrong, though. i want the husband, the children (albeit, i would rather adopt than have my own), and the home. but i also want the career (i love what i do!) . . . i want an equal and equitable partnership with my husband where we both get to have the great careers, buy the house together, raise the children together, do chores together . . .

will it be difficult? you bet. i'm not wearing rose-colored glasses here, after all.

m. scott peck, said in his book "the road less travelled", that love is hard, hard work. i agree. what is love but a desire and willingness to work on behalf of your beloved's physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual happiness and well-being?

would it be easier to have a family when you're still super young (as opposed to "just" young at 30+)? maybe; in some respects, perhaps. but does being younger make people better parents? not necessarily.

does waiting mean i might not be able to have my own biological children? yes, it might. but so what? there is always adoption, which for many people isn't the same . . . i get it . . . but for me, it doesn't make a bit of difference whether i give my love to my own genetic children or adopted children. kids are kids, and they all deserve love.

would it be indescribably awesome to have biological children? yes, of course! is it essential for building a wonderful family? no. would it be indescribably awesome to have adopted kids. yes, too, of course!

anyhow, glad i'm home now . . . home to my sweet, caring, adorable, loving . . . bottle of vicodin. it won't preserve my eggs, but it might preserve my sanity . . . this earache is driving me nuts!

what, oh, what shall i do when thou dost runneth out on me?

I'MGONNASETTLEDOWNANDNEVERMOREROAMANDMAKETHESANFERNANDOVALLEYMYHOME

it's bleeding now . . . my ear, that is.

yeah, fun.

actually, not to sound like a broken record or anything, but this vicodin stuff . . . yowza! nice. very nice. i don't feel a darn thing.

(and no, i'm not going to turn into an addict. sheesh!)

anyhow, i thought i'd post a little something before i pass out.

i want to talk to you about ice cream.

and how sad i am that today the inventor of rocky road, THE GREATEST ICE CREAM FLAVOR THAT EVER WAS, died.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"LOS ANGELES: The man who helped build the 31-flavor craze at ice cream store Baskin-Robbins has died at age 90.

Irvine Robbins died Monday at his home in Rancho Mirage, Calif. home. Daughter Marsha Veit says he had been in ill for some time.

Generations of kids trooped to Baskin-Robbins stores to buy ice cream flavors like Pralines ’n Cream, Daiquiri Ice and Pink Bubblegum.

Robbins opened his first ice cream store in Glendale, Calif., in December 1945, following his discharge from the Army.

Robbins offered 21 flavors at that store. His brother-in-law, the late Burton Baskin, opened his own ice cream store in neighboring Pasadena a year later. The two eventually joined forces."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i grew up in the san fernando valley. bing crosby sang about it . . . it's my home . . . burbank, hollywood, the movie studios, the walk of fame . . . and baskin-robbins. i even used to go to the original glendale shop (or at least i think it was the orginal shop . . .) and have rocky road with my dad every saturday (he would have two scoops of something different every time; my dad was a wild man).

i never met mr. baskin or mr. robbins, but i sure loved their rocky road ice cream.

rocky road ice cream is THE best ice cream ever invented. period. it's the dog's bollocks and don't even try to dissuade me 'cause it ain't gonna work.

mmm, those plump pillowy puffs of heavenly marshmallowy goodness, together with the nutty crunchiness of titillating toasted almonds, surrounded by the cool creamy meltiness of the chocolatey chocolate . . . sweet baby jesus, that is good!

and i don't even like sweets. i am more of a savory girl myself, but i can never say no to rocky road. so, if you ever want me to say yes to something, just hide it, couch it, or somehow accompany it, whatever "it" may be, in or with a vat of rocky road ice cream. word.

but seriously, thank you mr. robbins . . . thank you.

COMEANDKNOCKONMYDOOR,I'VEBEENWAITINGONYOU

monster earache today. went to school, but they sent me back once they saw me in the front office.

i feel like someone is slowly turning an ice pick in my ear, or i did . . . but now i feel nothing because i'm on vicodin. a lot of vicodin. vicodin is niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice. it's my friend.

seriously, though, i'm buying an industrial-sized alcohol gel dispenser for my desk. word. no, really, this must be like my fourth sinus infection this year. i NEVER used to have them before i began teaching.

anyhow, the only good thing about today is that . . . well, besides the delicious head-to-toe fuzzy feeling . . . i'm indulging in a thoroughly schmoopy "chick-flick", circa 1980, with john ritter.

do you remember john ritter? the star of tv's "three's company" (my favorite show when i was a kid)?

no? well, he wasn't anything amazing. no gregory peck. but he was cute . . . adorable, even . . . and he made me laugh. and i love men who make me laugh. i also love women who make me laugh, just not as much as men, if you know what i mean. (and i think that you do . . .)

he died five years ago at providence st. joseph hospital, you know, near my childhood home in burbank. (don't know why i thought of that . . .)

the movie--not that you'll ever watch it--is called "in love with an older woman".

ANDTHAT'SASGOODASITCANGETFORUSANDTHEREAIN'TNOREASONTOSTOPTRYIN'

i spoke with tia elenita. she tried being very brave at the beginning of our conversation, but then she couldn't hold it back. for my part, i was a blithering mess from the outset, sorry to say.

they'd gone out to brunch to celebrate their 47th(!!!) wedding anniversary and then stopped to pick up her car from ana catalina's house (my cousin, their daughter). tio arnoldo was only a few minutes ahead; tia elenita was close behind.

he made it all the way home, drove up into the house, opened the gate, parked the car, closed the gate, and then collapsed and died.

he was 74.

i told my cousin that we ought to thank god for two things in particular. first, he got home and then had the heart attack. can you imagine it having happened while he was still driving? he might have taken someone else with him! and secondly, at least they had him for a long time; i had my dad for less than 10 years.

while tragic, at least tio arnoldo got to see my cousins grow up, get married, and have kids. blessed be god.

everything my brothers and i do, have done . . . every great moment or triumph in our lives has been tempered by our father's absence. there's never been a major milestone in my life during which i haven't thought, "where's papi? i wish he were here to see this."

for all our bravado, we're so fucking fragile. all of us. so mortal.

anyhow, i told my aunt that i would pray for her. "voy a pedirle a dios que me los cuide." will i? i don't know.

i mean, i do. i do pray. i just don't know if i'm being heard.

i also thanked her. i thanked her for taking care of my uncle and giving him a beautiful life.

and i thought, that's beautiful, isn't it . . . spending your life making other people's lives richer, happier, fuller? that must be of some comfort, some consolation, right?

after we hung up, i called back my mom and told her she was the greatest person i'd ever known. she is. then i called my brothers and told them that even though they were (acute) pains in the ass, that i'd never want to do without them. you know, just in case i'm next.

it's weird, but here i am reminded of winnie the pooh, when he says to piglet, "if you live to be a hundred, i want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so i never have to live without you."

but maybe mr. c said it best . . . i'll paraphrase: it's the rain that makes the sunshine feel good.

SO,THANKSFORTHEMEMORY. . .

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."

And he said:

You would know the secret of death.

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honor.

Is the sheered not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink form the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

--The Prophet by Khalil Gibran

my tio arnoldo died today. it was his and my tia elenita's 47th wedding anniversary. he passed shortly after they went out to brunch.

because they're in costa rica, he must be buried tomorrow, so i won't be going home for the funeral.

i am devastated. we're all devastated.

a brilliant engineer, delightful trickster and storyteller, a fabulous, devoted father and husband and all-around family man, as well as a generous, kind, honest, and humble soul . . . he will be missed.

I'MFREETODOWHATIWANTANYOLDTIME

if hot air rises and cold air sinks, then why is there snow at higher elevations?

what? don't look at me like that. i'm just asking . . .

I'DTAKEANOTHERCHANCE,TAKEASHOT,TAKEAFALLFORYOU

i'm not used to not being amazing at everything i do, so the fact that my news staff class has sucked two years in a row is REALLY FUCKING KILLING ME.

ok, ok, the first year it sucked, it sucked because i was new and didn't know what the hell i was doing. i mean, we took second place at district, but second place, as we all know, is just first losers.

but this year? there's no excuse. it's all my fault. i totally shit the bed. i didn't plan, thinking i was brilliant enough to wing it.

whoops. newsflash: i'm an idiot.

fuck.

ok, i'm giving it one more year and if my kids and i aren't kicking ass and taking names by the end of next year, then i'm passing the torch. which is to say, i'm never going to pass the torch . . .

ps: home today because i feel like shit . . . and i was at work all day sunday . . . and i didn't go to bed until 4am working on a project for the vice principal . . .

why, oh, why can i never say no to anyone?

IBELIEVEYOUCANLOOSETHESECHAINS.IBELIEVEYOUCANDANCEWITHME.DANCEWITHME!

I EARNED FOURS (on a scale of 1-4) ON MY FIRST TWO TPAs (teaching proficiency assessments. each 35 pages long)!

woo hoo!!!

what does this mean? this means i am half of the way to obtaining permanent california teaching credentials (the ones i have now are provisional)!

next stop, finish the phd and get an art credential for news staff so that the kids can get fine art credits for college instead of the elective credits they're getting now.

oh, and get national board certification--just for shits and giggles.

so, now i have my ba in english, ma in bilingual education, a california english teaching credential (and also one in spanish as a foreign language), as well as a bilingual crosscultural language and academic development (bclad) credential . . .

all i need now is to solve world hunger and bring about world peace!

seriously, though, i am really enjoying teaching. in fact, i'm loving it. i am soooooo excited! i've got the best kids in the world. you know, rough and tough, but amazing . . . i love them. they're the best part of my job, which is saying a lot because i am crazy about literature . . .

BETTERISONEDAYINYOURHOUSE

"The burning blessing when the answer’s no;
the stinging balm of silence when I pray.
I see that it’s to journey that we go.
I see it’s only faith if you don’t know."
--grahame davies

ANDTELLMEWHATIT'SLIKETOBETHEONEANDONLYALLAMERICANGIRL

(2008: whittier, ca. ok, so this is the new do; it's all my handiwork. why did i crop the top of my head? well, just imagine velma's bangs above, except totally mangled. the horror! oh, the horror!)
true story:

week before last, i went on a little sojourn up the coast. i didn't have any particular destination in mind; just packed a suit case, rented a convertible, and took off . . .

sunglasses on, i put the top down and made my way out of the wretched OC and up the golden state's gorgeous pacific coast highway (PCH). (for the record, i hate orange county. it's so sterile and cookie-cutter. i'm originally from "the valley"--the REAL valley, san fernando--where gritty meets kooky meets crazy. frank zappa sang about it and i . . . i miss it.)

about twenty minutes into my trip, my long dark brown tresses whipping in the wind, i thought to myself, "gee, lana, really ought to put your hair up into a pony tail."

i didn't. doing so would've required that i get out of the impossibly interminable line of cars i was in, thereby losing my place and time and sanity by afterwards having to beat my way back in into an EVEN LONGER line of cars.

three words: fuck that shit.

so, i kept going.

when i got to santa barbara and stopped to refuel, rude stares from passersby prompted me to check my do . . . and yeah, ok, i was channeling amy winehouse's rat's nest beehive a bit, but my hair was still passable. after all, this is CALI-FUCKING-FOR-NAI-AY, people, and some of us are not always perfectly coiffed outside of hollywood circles and prefer to remain true to the state's more bohemian roots, a'ight?

a full tank of gas, some water, and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky later i was back on the road, hair still NOT in a pony tail. yeah, unbelievably, i forgot to put my hair up, AGAIN.

oh well, it was messy already. a pony wasn't going to fix it, i reasoned.

some five hours later, i arrived in napa valley. i was tempted to drive further to eureka, but i was too exhausted.

familiar with the area, i pulled into a small and charming hotel i'd stayed at before. i hadn't thought about my hair since i'd left santa barbara . . . that is, not until the valet and the bell hop and the people in the lobby and the woman running the front desk all gave me the same sorts of indelicate glances i'd received earlier in the day.

couldn't be that bad. could it?

where is a fucking mirror or shiny surface when you really need one, huh?!?!

when i got into my room i finally saw the problem.

fuck amy winehouse's beehive; i was bride of frankenstein.

HOLY FUCKING FUZZY FRIZZBALL, BATMAN!

hair that at the beginning of my little trek shone softly and silkily half-way down my back was now gnarled up into a tightly matted afro. i ran to my suitcase and dug out my comb, but upon seeing the massive clump on my head, it just laughed.

ok, fine, i'll just hop into the shower and wet it down and drop a bottle of conditioner on it and everything will be back to normal.

as i unfurled my towel, i realized the horror . . . the conditioner hadn't worked.

FUUUUUUUUUUCK.

equanimity, equanimity, equanimity . . .

i got my brush and slowly tried to unravel the wad, but all to no avail. i had become the proud owner of dread locks.

there was nothing to do, except to cut it all off.

i put my hair back into a turban and called housekeeping, who brought me a pair of shears that looked incapable of cutting a fart, much less my thick mane.

but, i had no choice.

snip, snip, snip . . . away it all went.

the tangles were so bad that i couldn't even salvage any of it to donate to locks of love.

when i took a good look at my work, finally, i wanted to cry. my already round face was made even more rotund by the new page-boy haircut.

then, i thought, i know: BANGS! if i add some bangs it won't look so bad . . .

except that i pulled my WET, CURLY hair tightly over my forehead and cut where i thought i wanted the bangs without thinking about the fact that the bangs would SHRINK when they would dry.

so, now, not only did i have the world's shittiest haircut, but was also stuck with bangs that looked more like a mass of pubes.

pangs. that's what i have. pangs. pube-bangs.

i was doing ok with them last week, but i just got out of the shower and . . .

fuck it. it's done with.

no more whinging.

it'll all grow out, right?

riiiiiiiiiiiiight?

PLEASEKEEPTHENOISEDOWNLOWBECAUSEYOU'REWAKINGTHELAZYSUNBATHERS

MR. T IS STILL ALIVE!!!

wait. what? mr. t is still alive?

i thought that man died right along with "the a-team"?

anyhow, that's cool.

mr. t is still alive! here he is at some hollywood shindig.

i feel better now, knowing that somewhere out there mr. t is pitying me.

MANYRIVERSTOCROSSANDIT'SONLYMYWILLTHATKEEPSMEALIVE

just got out of the bath. mmm . . .

for whatever reason, the words "bundlie wundlie" come to mind.

i feel cozy and soft and warm. and i smell pretty nice too thanks to a sweet lemony bath bomb from lush (they make THE best bath goods. i am a total lush whore, just ask vic who's always with me when i'm at the third street promenade blowing my paycheck in their store).

at any rate, while i was in the tub i was listening to the soweto gospel choir and thinking that i really want to go to africa.

i've always wanted to see victoria falls and bungee jump off of the bridge that straddles the zambezi between zimbabwe and zambia . . . but alas, at least for the foreseeable future, such a trip must remain a dream.

i was talking about this with some people and you know, it's not even the money that's a problem. sure, airfare is steep, but once you arrive it's not all that expensive . . .

the real problem is putting our money into certain places and in effect sanctioning governments and actions that have no place in this world. how could we, in good conscience, support the government of zimbabwe at this time?

no way.

it's the same with the olympics, right? i mean, look at them . . . in theory, politics has nothing to do with the games, but who really believes that today? everything we do--every dollar, or euro, or pound, or what-have-you that we spend--makes a statement about our political and social ideologies.

everything.

so, i guess that for now, friends, victoria falls is off our list . . .

but if you're ever 'round the way, here in el lay, the bridge to nowhere, just 30 minutes away from my apartment, offers an amazing hike and bungee ride . . .

who's with me?!?!

IKNOWMYLASTWISH:TONOTBEWISHING,TONOTHAVEBROKETHIS

HEARTBREAK. i knew i spoke too soon about being happy and shit (see post below)!

we lost to memphis by 15 . . .

sniff, sniff, sniff.

from the ucla sports message boards because i couldn't say it better myself: "Some days you're the windshield. Some days you're the bug! We just didn't have the players to match up well with theirs [Memphis]. They ran and we ran after them. I guess defense can get you to the Final Four, but it's offense that gets another banner. Ben Howland is a great coach who got the most out of what he had. Our shooters, with the exception of Russell Westbrook, took the game off. Simply stated, we're good but Memphis is better. It's too bad that Darren Collison had to finish his college career by fouling out. I think he was frustrated by continually getting beaten by a much better (and bigger/taller) player.

When does football season start????"

but at least we got to the final four, which is more than i can say for u$c. and any day that we can beat $c in sports somehow, is a great day.

let's give up the eight clap for a valiant effort:

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u

c

lllllllllllllllllllllllll

aaaaaaay

u

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l

a

fight, fight, fight!

BUTALLTHINGSMOVEFORWARDTOWARDTHEIREND

this morning i was up at 4am--i am usually up at 4am, though NOT on the weekends--for a car wash fundraiser for our school's publications department (news staff and yearbook).

blu met me at panera. i was late (i'm NEVER late, but i lost my phone. couldn't find it after all). she'd had breakfast before i got there; she was starving apparently. i had an egg and artichoke souffle. mmm . . . and fresh-squeezed oj.

we had about 30 kids there trying to raise some last minute dough for the JEA convention in anaheim later this month. all in all, we brought in about $500; enough to pay for 5 kids (we're taking 12).

it was, as you can imagine, a lot of fucking work. fun work, just A LOT of it. i have grime all up in my nails and between my toes (i wore flip-flops). don't worry, though, gonna take a hot bath . . .

anyhow, there was a guy there, in a brand new mercedes SLK 500. predictably, my kids went ga-ga. they asked the man what one had to do to get a sweet ride like his and he said, "go to school for 20 years."

squatting on the pavement scraping tar off of his rims, i commented, "i've gone to school for 20 years and i drive a honda accord. so, maybe you should say, 'go to school for 20 years and major in medicine, law, computer science, or business.'" he laughed and added, "yeah. i'm a doctor."

but then, one of my students said, "but you love what you do, ms. b, you're not just in it for the money."

i looked up and smiled at my kid.

now, i don't know . . . i don't think that doctor is in his profession just for the money, but i'll tell you what, i'm definitely not in mine for THAT reason. trust me.

still, teaching was not my first choice. in fact, it wasn't even a blip on my radar (that is, until a friend mentioned to me that i might make a good teacher). i wanted to be a lawyer and i pursued that avenue until i found out it wasn't who i wanted to be. suffice it to say that i had enough bad (very bad) experiences interning to know that i could never make a "good" lawyer because in order to do so i'd have to be, at least in part, a bad person.

at any rate, what i mean to say with all of this is this: i didn't really seek this life that i'm living, but i'm delighted that it found me . . .

NOTIMEFORLOSERS'CAUSEWEARETHECHAMPIONS

so, on wednesday of this past week my students and i WON our school's 2nd annual link crew lip sync competition!!!

we'd won the semi-finals before going on spring break and then came back and took the whole thing!

last year, my link crew ALSO won . . . so you know what this means: i'm going to be a total PILL come next year! oh yeah, no-one, NO-ONE will be able to stomach me.

i'm thinking t-shirts that say "you ain't got a chance!" or maybe "3-peat, baby!" . . . hoo-lawdy . . .

YOURSENTENCESNEVERDEFINEDYOU

after my last post, someone asked me why i hate bush.

the fact is that i don't hate bush, i LOATHE him (i find that, actually, "hate" is too weak a word. i hate oprah. i hate brussel sprouts. but at least they don't ruin people's lives (much). . .).

here are a few reasons (this list is by no means exhaustive):

reasons 1-937 (+/- 10): he's a liar. yes, all politicians are. hell, so am i sometimes! but he's a REALLY BIG liar.

one lie, ok. two lies, ok. a hundred lies, even, ok. BUT NINE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN LIES?!?! and those were exclusively for the war in iraq; that's not even counting all of the lies required for other international and domestic affairs . . .

reason 938: he's a moron. i could be more eloquent, but why waste all that energy firing off my synapses when it it easily boils down to this: we've got an ass who maxed out at "Cs" in college at the helm of the world's largest super power . . . and i resent it. a lot.

reason 939: iraq. some have called it a "necessary" war. i wouldn't necessarily say so . . . but now that we're in it i agree that we have to fight smart and do whatever we can to make sure iraq doesn't succumb to sectarian violence, which would leave it wide open to terrorist organizations (more so than it already is).

if we pull out now, as certain people suggest, iraq will become one giant training ground for al qaeda, hamas, you name it . . .

people thought 9/11 was bad, ha! pull out of iraq now and let's talk in 6 months to see what those people have to say THEN!

and even more basic than that, it's just plain wrong to take the seagull approach now. we owe the iraqi people more than that . . .

reason 940: the economy. i have to move to zimbabwe now if i want to be able to live in the style to which i have become accustomed (see post from march 26th). you know, with the way bush has shit all over the us dollar, zimbabwe is probably the only place left in the world where i can afford such little luxuries as . . . i dunno . . . FOOD!

reason 941: he's made the whole world loathe US! as if people didn't have enough fucking reasons to want to kill us before WITHOUT this idiot galavanting around the globe running roughshod over other people's cultures, beliefs, and values!

reason 942: he said that god spoke to him. listen, if god does exist, you think he's gonna call YOU?!?! fuck no!

wait. shit. this reason is the same as #938. fuck . . .

EVENIFYOURHANDSARESHAKINGANDYOURFAITHISBROKEN. . .DOITWITHAHEARTWIDEOPEN. . .SAYWHATYOUNEEDTOSAY

truly, i detest bush as much as the next guy (gal). no, really. when bush was re-elected, i cried . . . for a week. i'm serious. you can ask any of my friends. and when he finally leaves office, i'm going to throw a party. a very, very BIG party . . .

but when i read today that a children's puppet show on palestinian, hamas-owned television ran a sketch in which a child puppet stabbed a bush puppet to death, i was more than a little disturbed.

and you know, yeah, a lot of things in this world disturb me . . . most more, much more than this last.

it's not like i'm unfamiliar with the whole effigy concept, either. i get it. i do. old news. i understand. it's just that, for the most part, adults are capable of processing such visuals and information, whereas children are not.

kids are going to see that violence and think that THAT is what they are supposed to do when they disagree, vehemently even, with something or someone. they're not going to understand that it's an outlet, a form of protest, albeit a bad form of protest, rather than a call to violent action.

i know that violence is precisely hamas' aim; getting kids to wage war as soon as they're able to hold a gun . . . hell, sooner, perhaps . . . is their goal . . .

god, i don't know. i was gonna make a point here somewhere, but every time i talk about the middle east, i get overwhelmed and tongue-tied . . .

as a teacher, working with kids everyday . . . young, impressionable minds who would be guided by our example, our kindness, our tolerance, our generosity, our equanimity, our patience, our mercy . . . i cringe at stuff like this. as a moral human being, frankly, i cringe . . .

when will people ever learn that violence ONLY begets more violence?