Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Well, it's here, and surprisingly, it does not suck. I know that may seem like damning with faint praise, but seriously. Being back at school does not suck. I have good classed, a good schedule, only one subject to teach now. I'm looking at my friend phil whos is teaching english AND history AND leadership AND drama AND nuclear physics AND sex ed AND beach volleyball AND the bible as history AND working as the campus computer tech and i feel very lucky. As i should, he will probably tell me.
His Dudeness and the Red Tornado have started school as well, and HD has not even done me the favor of crying, just a little bit, when i drop him off in the morning. It's like, seeya ... why are you still here? and I go off morosely to the car while he attacks a dog pile of four year olds with wood blocks and dinosaurs.
So far, i'm ok, even if I was suffering with post-migraine syndrome today and was stumbling around like a drunk person. My students, of course, have already come to view me with that mix of bemusement and fear that it usually takes them months to develop. The job that eats your life has started up again, and i guess I'm glad. But I'll be even more glad at the end of the month, when the cash drops into the bank account.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
At left: While standing on this beach, I thought of the impending school year. Somehow, I managed not to throw myself in.
Well, it's over. The last official day of Summer Vacation has come and gone. I don't count the weekend, so ... that's it? When this Summer began a week ago, it seems like, I had some defenite goals for it. I was going to do a lot of writing. I was going to spend time with my family. I was going to get some books read. I was going to keep up on the house, and the home-repair stuff. I was going to blog more. So, how did I do? Well ... a little bit of good, a little bit of bad.
I did write. I wrote a lot, in fact. I wrote more in a two-month period than I ever did before. I wrote something like 30,000 words. This is not as much as I'd hoped to, but i'm giving myself the win here. I got a lot done, and I'm now within spitting distance of getting the book done by Christmas. (Or at least Dec. 31st. See, I'm already fudging, which is what I do.)
I did spend time with the family. We went on a couple of trips and for a weeka nd a half we had some other houseguests and there was a lot of togetherness, a veritable shitload of togetherness, so ... you know. But it was nice. We actually made it to the ocean, which is a goal of every summer, and brought back photographic proof. I wanted to take my daughter to climb Mt. Lassen, however, and this didn't happen. I actually had the day scheduled for it, but then realized that neither of us had the proper shoes, so I decided to put it off until we could get quality footwear. Yes, you read that correctly, I CANCELLED A MOUNTAIN CLIMB BECAUSE I DID NOT HAVE THE RIGHT SHOES! Yes, I feel properly ashamed. But I did not want a broken ankle.
Both my wife and I re-discovered out love of reading. She's zoomed through all the Patricia Cornwell books and I read a bunch of stuff I wanted to. Here is the list of what I read:
Perdido Street Station and The Scar by China Mieville
A Storm of Swords by George R.R. Martin
44 Scotland Street and Espresso Tales by Alexander McCall Smith
Scattered Suns by Kevin J. Anderson. (ok, this one is still in progress, but I'm still claiming it.)
OK, the house stuff. HA! and ha-ha! ha-ha! ha-HA! The less said about this the better. It is still standing, is all I'm saying.
I did not blog enough. I blogged more than usual, but did not meet my goal of two entires a week, so ... I'm not sure I had much more to say, though, so maybe that's a good thing. And I never made it to see Superman Returns, so I have been told by the Geek Union that I must turn in my membership card! Never! I am obsessed with Who Wants to be a Superhero so I'm hoping they'll take that as transfer credit.
So, there it was, it was what it was, and was no more. And now is no more ... sniff ... Back to work ... what is this work you speak of?
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
At left: The Patron Saint. I managed to find one with his clothes on. You're welcome.
Yes, I did the research on this powerful cultural phenomenon, and have come back with valuable lessons. Now, who's going to pay my therapy bills?
Every detour comes with its own pros and cons /No matter what load of scraps, trash, and random lawn clippings life has left you with, there's always a way to "Make it work!" /Never go up against a Bostonian when death or, worse, elimination, are on the line/ Dave's not your bitch, bitch. And neither am I/ Make friends. It's important to have alllies. It is even more important to have allies you can blackmail./Charm will get you by for about fifteen minutes, after that you'd better know something. If you don't know anything, you're going to have to rely on crazy/When in doubt, date the host. Yes, even if it's Jeff Probst/ Watch out for Bad Model Karma/If you're headed someplace high, be prepared to bungee jump/Run your own damn race!/It is easier to make up for a total lack of talent with a pretty smile and chiseled abs than it is to make up for crooked teeth and a paunch with amazing natural talent. If you have neither talent, nor abs, sorry, you're screwed/Just because you can't read, it doesn't mean you shouldn't be allowed to sign multi-million dolllar contracts that make everyone a gazillionaire but you/Make sure you're in the finals with people who pulled the same crap on everyone that you did/ It's always a good idea to have a swimsuit that can hold in your goodies while your crawling under a log through sand. Just saying/It can sometimes be difficult to know when it is most advantageous to go for it/There is no word in the English Language with a meaning so malleable as that of Integrity/Just do what Tim Gunn says, ok?/No matter what you do, someone is always watching/If you need to know something, ask a sommelier. They know everything/The government does not care how charming you are, how many fish you caught, or how much time you spent naked. They'd love to throw your fat naked ass in jail anyway, so pay your taxes/When the cameras are off, the lights have dimmed, and no one cares anymore that you once gave a slightly off-camera blow job to a construction worker because you thought he was a quadri-gazillionaire, the only thing to do is find yourself among those of equally fleeting celebrity, look around, hold hands, and hang your heads in shame together.