Count yourself lucky, because today, you were going to be subjected to either a commentary on last night’s “So You Think You Can Dance, ” or a scathing review of that book I’ve been trudging through. But I decided to do a bit of work under the hood, so to speak. I’ll subject you to the tortures mentioned tomorrow or the next day when you’re supposed to be out and enjoying the weekend.

Yes, it’s that time again. Time to pardon my dust. I’m working on a WordPress upgrade today, and most likely, a blog skin change. You might remember that not too long ago, I asked people about whether the Tree was doing it for me. I had lots of great responses that ranged from, liking the minimalist aspect of the blue against the white, to considering it presents a sort of Forrest Gump meets Andy Warhol. One person invisioned me sitting on the bench while thinking “all this stuff up,” and other questioned the relationship of the blue tree to my “science of grasping life by the short hairs” to my Warholled self. Schizophrenic sort of covers it. But the two column design is really not what I’ve wanted from the beginning, and the grey, very small font — although tasteful — is difficult to see for some. And I agree. There has to be a good mix of aesthetics and functionality. I’m more wrapped up in writing than playing around with the design because it’s a great excuse to effectively avoid learning how to do the CSS properly, or design my own. I have absolutely nothing but time, right? So what the hell.

Anyway, everything’s changing. Yes, again. Because I can. I don’t have many options for changing the furniture around in my house, or the clothes on my body, or my hair, or…..well, you get it. So why not take out my frustrations on my blob — which it could end up being a blob again if I’m not careful.

So I’m embroiled in reading WordPress support for the down load and reviewing installation guidelines on my hosting service, digging out my FTP client and wondering about the connectivity of all this and potential baldness.

But just in case you’re wondering what this may end up looking like, I’m thinking of: (and click on Test Run) under the image that comes up on the links if you want to check it out…)

• this, because of the changeable header, the three columns, general organizational quality, and clean-white look.
• this, because of the header again, the columns again, and the interesting addition of the two sections at the top that I could have some fun with; or
• this because it’s very different, the organization is cool, the font is very readable on the dark background, and I like how it’s set up for del.icio.us plus more in the post.

Who knows. I downloaded a bunch of others just to mess around with.

So cross your fingers.

I was tagged a week or so ago, and haven’t reciprocated. Well, I have, actually, but I guess you’d have to pick it up by inference. If I remember correctly, the meme had to do with letting people know more about myself through an interview of sorts. I had already done the meme, as I was tagged by someone else first. So, I’ve been constructing a few posts that essentially do the same thing, but not in meme form. So Jo! I’m reciprocating — it’s just may not look like I am.

Well, I couldn’t ask for a better transition…

Last night while we were watching House, one of the characters said, “He’s not afraid to be you, he’s afraid of who you think you are.” I don’t want to get involved in which character said this, or reference about whom. That isn’t the point. Do you like how I’m circumventing that one? Because I probably don’t know their names. I know I should, because I often watch House, but they’re really only fictitional characters, right? So what difference does it make? Like I was saying, that isn’t the point.

The point is…that I immediately thought of my oldest son. The one who seems to be trudging through life — or flitting, depending on the observer’s perspective. My bets are on trudging, but I’ll get to that later. So what would make me instantly connect to him after hearing the line spoken? Because as a parent who has already raised two children to adulthood, I often wonder whether I did a good job. You know, whether the whole effort of creating two more humans has been a good thing for society. Of course I’m going to say yes immediately, but that’s the easy answer.

When my oldest son was about the age of 15 or so, I remember him saying that we — the MoH and I — made working look very difficult. That it was all we did, and that it seemed we weren’t very happy about it. My reaction was a combination of, “Wow, he noticed,” and “Crap, what the hell is that all about and what kind of an example is that to set for your kids?” My oldest son — MoS — is an amazing artist. He draws. He doesn’t sketch, or paint, or sculpt. He draws. He picked up a pencil very early, and just began to draw things he saw. He went through odd phases, where all his drawings were of empty intersections with complicated arrangements of stop lights and light posts. He also developed a very early fascination with how things work — in particular machinery, and buildings. So I probably don’t have to tell you about the number of Leggos we own, right?

He began building very complicated buildings with his Leggos by the age of 5. And then he began to invent strange things like those automatic door closers that are mounted up on the frame. So we had those made of Leggos taped to all our doors. We had Leggos everywhere. You do know what it feels like to step on one, right? It’s a very special kind of pain. And sucking them up into the vacuum? You also know that you have to get them out of the vacuum because each freaking piece costs about 25 cents. Plus if that particular piece can’t be found, hours will be spent digging through the box of Leggos. You can hear the sound, right? That “digging in the Leggos” clacking sound. And when the piece isn’t found, the “dumping the entire contents of the Leggo box on the bedroom floor” sound. You know, right? Leggos. Thousands and thousands of them.

I knew very early that MoS was an artist. So I made sure he had things to be creative with. But something happened along the way. This business of making work look hard caused a problem. Although everyone assumes when someone of MoS’ talent is plopped onto this Earth, that he will most certainly make a life and a living with that gift, sometimes they don’t. In fact, I know that lots of times very talented people are just square pegs in the very round hole that is our society. Especially in this country. MoS’ square pegginess is huge.

At the age of 15, he took a look at his resident role models and decided that he didn’t want to turn his drawing into study at school and then a career, because he loved to draw. That if it became his living instead of his love, that he wouldn’t enjoy it any longer. It would become work. It would be “hard.” About this time, he became extremely interested in cars as well. Yes, he drew them. Drew the outside, the inside, drew different views, and yes, drew very intricate pictures of their engines as well. Just any car? Nope. Corvairs. Go figure. And he didn’t just draw them. He could take an engine out of one and install another in the same car in less than three hours, and drive off to enjoy an afternoon. Really. He’s truly amazing.

So if he isn’t drawing, then is he working on cars? Nope. He still does both these things in his “spare” time. He has very little spare time because he is in school — finally — I think. We’re never sure. And he’s paying for it himself. We think. But we’re not sure about that, either. Because he works between 40 and 50 hours a week managing a pizza restaurant franchise for someone who is no longer interested in running the business. I know how hard it is to go to school and work, and I wonder if he’s making it. Remember what I said about trudging? Are you convinced? He spends ridiculous amounts of time hiring and firing extremely undependable high-school and college-aged kids, filling in for them when they don’t show up for their shifts, and loaning them his car for deliveries, because they wrecked theirs, or don’t have one, or?

What’s he studying in school? Architecture. What he was put on this earth to do. Draw. But we aren’t ever sure he’ll actually finish. He’s so busy making sure the damn pizza place doesn’t burn down, he barely has time for anything else. Maybe the problem is if he quits the pizza place, he’ll have to dedicate himself more seriously to school and therein lies the rub. He’s not afraid to be me, he’s afraid of who I think I am.

What did Emily Dickinson say?

I’m nobody! Who are you?

Are you nobody, too?

Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!

They’d advertise — you know!

How dreary to be somebody!

How public like a frog

To tell one’s name the livelong day

To an admiring bog!

He’s not afraid to be me — a hard-working, serious nose to the ever-lovin’ grindstone kinda human. Never say die — just occasionally gasp for air — He’s afraid of who I think I am — nobody. Well, somebody, of course, but always trying to just be beige. At least that’s what I think I am. No?

Wow. That’s sobering.

Nice guy that he is, the MoH gently reminded me that I had carpool responsibilities this morning. It’s Tuesday already, and not Monday, so perhaps I was in a Monday frame of mind. The RT and I slunk to the car, I put ‘er in reverse and sat outside The Princess’ house for a few minutes until she graced us with her flowery scented presence. “Good morning,” I began, as usual, attempting to present an image of one who, although wearing pajamas and a rank sweatshirt, was chipper and ready to take the week by the horns. “How was your weekend?”

“Ohmygodyesterdaywasthemostbeautifulday,” she trilled, her eyes wide as I sneaked a look in the rear view mirror. “We went to the beach and everything was just perfect and you know how there are little sand places between the rocks? Well the four of us fit right in there, and well, it’s kind of a coveted location, so when we were ready to leave people were right there ready to take our spot,” she continued, rapt in her recollection of what I remembered was a pleasant day, but not that special. Oh, that’s right. I went outside late in the afternoon to pretend like I was going to finish my book, and ended up lazing in the sun, nodding off occasionally to make up for two late nights in a row. “Only 15 days of school left,” she finished, the non sequitur ending her atypical morning liveliness.

Only fifteen days left. That’s always significant if you are in any way connected to school: you’re a student; your kids are in school; or, if like me, an erstwhile educator who recognized that the countdown to summer posted on the board would get you some points from your students, whether my principal liked it or not — thinking it “negative.” Uhhhh…what rock did she crawl out from under? Doesn’t everyone look forward to summer? Why act like that isn’t the case? Ahhh….summer. The Beach Boys and “No more homework, no more books.

No more teachers’ ‘dirty looks’” or whatever the words of that schoolyard chant are. Vacation. Ten. Whole. Weeks. Of sleeping in. Of lazing around the house. Of re-runs on television and sweet oblivion.
It’s a bit strange now since I am only marginally connected to this annual ritual that has been a part of my life in some way for about 40 years. Yes — I know. Longer than some of you have been alive. Through my childhood and college years, my two older boys’ school years, my re-entry to college, and then finally my career in education. Nearly my entire life has been filled with the peculiar ebb and flow of time related to school years. The RT is of course still connected, and will be for many years even after we pack him up kicking and screaming, and throw him on a train and off to college.

It was 20 years ago that I was beginning my career as a teacher. It’s pretty frightening how quickly 20 years can fly by. In 1987, I was ready to take on my first class of Third Graders, and finally do what I had always longed to do: teach. It was exhilarating after waiting so long. From the time I was in junior high, school counselors had gently tried to talk me out of the profession. Really. I’ve tried to remember the details of those conversations, but it was so long ago, it’s difficult. Besides, do adolescents really listen the way we want and need them to when we are gifting them with our experienced advice? Do pigs fly? Does a chicken have lips? Like I said — difficult. And now I don’t need the details, because I recognize their quiet words as something designed to open different worlds to a young person — one more exotic, more glamorous, and most likely, less practical. Perhaps they were at a point where they imagined something different for themselves, so that yearning influenced their words to me.

Regardless, I heeded their advice, and went off to college declaring my major to be Family Studies and Consumer Sciences in order to become a Therapeutic Dietitian. Why this? I had to choose a different, but still practical something to replace my dream of wanting to become a teacher, and I had read something in Time magazine about careers in the health industry, so that made sense. Why not? Are hospitals and schools all that different? Um…never mind. You don’t even want to know what I think about that one.

I never became a dietitian. In fact, I changed my major to Library Science because I really did want to be involved in education on some level. And there were very few jobs available for teachers then, so why not be a Librarian? I loved books, after all, and if I couldn’t be a teacher, I could hover in their vicinity. But I ended up leaving school.

The part time job I had was paying more than what first year teachers made, so it was easy to leave the books and the routines to get married and have two boys. Easy until I felt my brain begin to rot with inactivity. So I finally found myself back in college to pick up where I left off with two young children in tow, the same part time job, and an ex-husband left somewhere in the dust — an unfortunate casualty of someone who should have stayed the school course to begin with. But my two boys were the silver lining of that detour, and they are worth it.

Completing a degree and a credentialing program with kids in tow was crazy on several levels, but lots of people do it today. What was gruelling was subjecting my kids to the insane rigors of a new teaching assignment in an inner city school, and master’s degree work all at the same time. That’s why I have such a high regard for the MoH. He helped all three of us survive those years.

Twenty years. Don’t blink. You may miss them. Now, I’ll have to live vicariously through the RT’s last few days of school wondering if he’s as ecstatic as I would be if I was still counting down to summer.

I know. I’ll post it on the fridge.

What a weekend. I don’t know what’s more significant — that there were what seemed to be a zillion cops manning speed traps on the way to dog beach this morning, or that the sun is finally out. Finally. And what a perfect way to end a very busy weekend. Absolutely no couch potatoing from me. But a good way to kick off summer all the same. Good thing to know there will be more money in the city coffers from all those tickets the police were giving out.

In case you haven’t figured out that this post is about the weekend — here, let me say it one more time, this weekend, I went shopping with the MoH who has a tendency to wait an entire year before he replenishes his supply of work clothes. He doesn’t like to shop and doesn’t like to spend money. I would agree with the first thing, but the second? Sheesh. You gotta be kidding. I’m thinking it should be an olympic sport. And the big question that needs to be answered about this shopping excursion is — How long does it take to pick out a tee shirt? News at eleven. Me? I didn’t buy one single thing. In fact, I’m seriously thinking about going green on my wardrobe. You know, wearing recycled clothes. Okay, well, how about consignment shop clothes? You get the idea, right? Save money and the planet all at once.

Saturday night, rocking to ’80s tunes at a local, but smoke-filled *cough-gasp* casino while listening to the MoH’s brother’s band, The Reaganomics, was very fun. Very. Almost as fun as it was watching the 60+ crowd get up to shake their boo-tayz to Cyndi Lauper and Madonna. Girls just wanna have fuh-hun.. The groupie with the black and white striped tards was a hoot, too, givin’ the MoH’s bro a serious hug during a break between sets. Have you ever hugged someone who’s been rockin’ for an hour like there’s no tomorrow? S-W-E-A-T-Y.

And we had to get together with friends to eat of course. So we rubbed our sleep-lacking and scratchy eyes, dragged our butts out of bed and stopped by the farmer’s market to cruise through the rows looking at veggies, flowers, bread, and drooliscious things like roasted artichoke hearts and garlic was perfect. I was able to get a pretty good start on part of the menu for dinner. Although courgettes weren’t exactly on that menu, I couldn’t resist buying some and finding a recipe to try. Thank goodness for friends to tolerate food experiments. Surprisingly, the recipe wasn’t bad (stuffed with ricotta and parmesan, then batter fried) — at least better than the Pappa al pomodoro I’ve been wanting to make for many years that could give “mush” new meaning. Go figure. All that tells me is what I already know. Sometimes, planning isn’t worth beans. Although beans would definitely have been more tasty than the soup.

Today? Lots of food blogging to post this and this. One of them will make you fat just looking at it, and the other is so you can lose the weight you gained by looking at the food porn. It’s a Salad ‘Stravaganza I’m co-hosting with a fellow food blogger, Lis from La Mia Cucina. Check it out and get involved. The more, the merrier.
Now, I’m out to enjoy the sun before it goes away. I gotta finish that stoopid book I’ve been trudging through that is so totally not worth it, and seriously reinforcing the idea that if a book doesn’t get my attention by page 40, then screw it. But I said I was going to read all those books, remember?

Ninth grade is one of those really big milestones for me. No, I’m not talking about my completion of ninth grade, but as I think about this, perhaps so. Tenth grade signaled the end of an awkwardness that took up residence around the age of 11 and sowed many seeds of doubt about who I was to become in this life. But it’s the RT I’m talking about at this point, and not me. With just 18 or so days left of school this year, I find myself taking stock of this very soon to be young man — the youngest of my three, and the only one I’ve had the pleasure of “mothering” for the past six months without the distraction of my own career.

So what has brought this on? It’s one of those things that has been on the back burner, simmering, festering, wanting to be put down in written words. Spoken words have all been used throughout the year — and some not so kind. And now it’s just a story. Another story that will sit alongside so many others in the volume we’ve created as parents of the RT. And it’s unique, because neither of my other two boys ever had an experience with a teacher quite like that of the RT and The Geometry Teacher. Yes. Her.

When the RT got in the car after school a couple of days ago, it took little time after he had slung his 80 lb. back pack into the trunk before settling into the passenger seat and exclaiming, “Today was the most efficient day I’ve ever had in school.” Well. If that didn’t stop me in my tracks, then nothing ever would. It was one of those moments that had to be written down, as monumental as it seemed, or become lost in all the others that accumulate over time. One, because they — adolescents — just don’t say things like this often; and two, they aren’t often recognized for routinely sharing their revelations — especially with one of their parents. Whether the relationship with the parents is a comfy one, is a completely different issue.

Don’t get me wrong. The RT is an exceptional human — if you can get over his slovenliness — but that’s really not anything we pull our hair out over. It just makes him more warm and fuzzy to us. I know. Gross. But it’s true. He’s a nice kid. Very. And his outlook on humanity is a model for others to consider. If you ask him about what he thinks the biggest problem the world has to deal with, he will tell you that it’s global warming. He can also tell you why he thinks that, throwing in the scientific theory behind the concern. He will also say that he believes obesity is our country’s biggest concern because it’s creating significant health problems for people who aren’t getting proper care. He genuinely likes people and sees good in everyone. He has absolutely no expectation that many people can be very cruel, and like spiders, ready themselves to dart across carefully crafted misery webs to trap unsuspecting humans and wrap them in darkness. Oh…*ahem*…got a bit carried away there. Still… The Geometry Teacher. The award goes to her for being the first person — not just teacher, but person — to have alerted the RT to another kind of human in this world.

I knew things would be less than great when the MoH called me at school one night very early in the school year while I was still at work. He had attended another Open House without me and when my cell rang, I glanced at the clock and thought it odd, because he had only been at the school for a short while. What could be going on? “The Geometry Teacher’s a freak,” he began, in a very terse voice. I could tell he was walking as he spoke because he had that shaking kind of sound going on with this voice. Either that or he was ready to blow.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just walked out in the middle of her presentation. She’s a complete freak,” he continued, clearly pissed off. And that’s odd, too, because the MoH never gets that worked up over school stuff. Well, except for that first grade teacher. And maybe that one math teacher in middle school. Okay. So I lied. Anyway…it quickly became evident that we’d have quite the discussion when we both got home that evening.

How can I explain the feeling of being between a rock and a hard place with a teacher who:

• Puts a zero on homework because the notebook paper we purchased for the RT was not exactly 8.5” x 11?” That’s right. The paper was 10.5” x 8.” Three different stores sold paper this size, so you just don’t think about it because, hell, maybe it’s about conservation — you know? So the RT received many zeros before we realized that we were at fault here and that his paper was a half-inch too small on two sides. Wait. I could give you the difference in area…..
• Won’t respond to emails because of some phobia about having her writing in print like evidence that could be used against her in a court of law;
• Makes her students copy the problem. No, I’m not just saying that she asks them to copy the algorithm — I mean like, “The given vector represents the velocity of…” You get the idea. Some of these scenarios are almost a paragraph long and when there are 20 or more problems to complete, what is the kid spending most of his time doing? Copying the problem or doing the geometry? Right.
• Takes points off if she can’t read the part that was copied, so when the grade comes, it isn’t clear whether the kid is being evaluated on his knowledge of geometry, or copying. And since the RT has dysgraphia, I can guarantee you her routine red-ink evaluations have been on his ability to copy — not do geometry. Oh! But you can photocopy the “problems” and paste them onto the homework paper if you’d like. Uh….I’m supposed to go out and buy a photocopier and do this nightly? Didn’t cutting and pasting happen in Kindergarten? Oh, I forgot. All I ever really needed to know I  learned in Kindergarten.
• Allows students to make 3” x 5” cheat cards for quizzes and exams, but collects them at the door when students are done with their exams. That means that instead of being able to reuse the cards for future tests — because knowlege is built on what precedes it, right? — they have to create new ones. I created the RT’s cards on the computer just once and it took a very long time. His handwriting is so illegible, kind of like this
  
  Leo Janacek’s score of Jenufa
   — he can’t even read it at times, so my eyeballs were popping out of my head, and my drug store glasses not getting the job done with their .5 magnification lenses.
• Won’t attend meetings that the parents request and the school holds to discuss student need. Like, we get it that our kid has a problem, so what can we do together to help him? But the instigator, the one making it worse, can’t even come to the table to work out a solution? This is extremely challenging when I’ve done what she has done — been in her situation — had teachers on my staff in her situation -and never — EVER — have I seen this kind of unprofessional behavior. Ever. In the real world, she would have been fired so long ago.
• Review test answers with students the day after the test by working out problems on the board, but does not allow them to take notes so they can actually LEARN from the experience. And they’re not allowed to have a pencil out when this whole thing is going on. Huh? So this would be an exercise in long term auditory memory — well visual if you count being able to memorize what she had written on the board — and not geometry.

So the RT’s very excellent and efficient day? Well in spite of The Geometry Teacher — or because of The Geometry Teacher, part of the thing we’ve been working on since I’ve been at home is to encourage, support, cajole, reprimand, and force him to be aware of and responsible for his learning. That is huge. It isn’t that we weren’t working on those things before, because those are things that have to be worked on. But it doesn’t mean sitting down with him as he does his school work — although we’ve done that. It doesn’t mean digging through his back pack to find missing assignments he has completed but hasn’t turned in — but we’ve done that, too, finding 4 fermented apples and all. It doesn’t mean that I ever do his work for him, which would mean that I’d have to relearn it myself — although I, too, have at least done the “copying” of the completely stoopid geometry problems so Her Highness could read his papers. And it absolutely doesn’t mean that I paid a tutor $75 an hour to tutor him. But that was the next thing on my agenda. Of course, I’d have to get a job to afford it, but sheesh. I could tutor middle school students in English for $75 an hour and then use the money to pay for the RT’s tutoring. Or barter — you tute my kid and I’ll tute yours, right?

It means he finally took himself to the library to work with junior volunteers after school — kids who actually like math, and understand math differently than the RT may, and who have survived THE GEOMETRY TEACHER. They survived her — not just her class.

And you know what? The RT got a B+ on his last test — only 2% from an A-. Woo-Hooooooooooo! Now are we sure that means he understands the concepts? Sheesh — who the freak knows? But what it does mean to me — his mom, and erstwhile English Teacher? It means that I suppose you can force your kids to do what you want — what you believe is good for them — like these folks — but ultimately, I think it’s about persistent talk, nudging, suggesting, telling, expecting, relentless questioning….you know. So they’ll get there themselves. So they feel it was their accomplishment. Because it should be theirs. They deserve that very important feeling as they mature into adults.

So The Geometry Teacher will always represent this important time in our lives when my youngest, and very accepting son, not only realizes that life is often like a game, and that sometimes, there are people who make it more challenging for us to succeed, unlike others who thive on supporting success. Ironically, the nonsupportive people we happen across exist to help us learn more about ourselves. It’s not especially pleasant to realize, but sometimes, the ones who are supposed to help the most, don’t.

Sobering lesson for an almost 15-year-old to learn, but he’s feeling “efficient,” so heartfelt congrats to the boy who was just a baby not so very long ago.

There was a piece in the UT today about what the San Diego Zoo is doing to train the endangered Gymnogyps californianus how to avoid feeding “trash” to its young. It seems that the endangered birds collect items such as glass, possibly thinking it to be pieces of bone — which is nutritionally valuable — and leave the trash for their young to eat. Clearly, glass isn’t nutritional. And if the “therapy” doesn’t work, well, at least the birds will be happy while they remain on the endagered species list.

I’m thinking one of the real reasons their young are having difficulty surviving is the adult bird’s appearance. Would you eat anything if your mother looked like this? They eat road kill for gawdsake. And then they want to share it. I am thinking, however, that the zoo people may be on to something that could be helpful for people like me who are working toward a new, and sleeker self. No, not with the road kill. The training. Although a peek at that menu would make you want to stay away from animal protein for the rest of your life. Salad, anyone?

The training involves a sort of electroshock therapy. Yes. You read it correctly. And you’re already thinking about where I’m going with this, right? It’s a sort of behavior mod technique that goes something like this:

• hook up small pieces of garbage or trash to a “panel that emits a mild electric shock” if the item is touched;
• the bird picks the trash up, and receives the shock;
• the bird learns that the item is not safe to eat; and
• all is great in condorland.

I believe there would be a break through in weight-loss management technology if this technique was applied to, say, me. I could offer myself as guinea pig for the experiment, but it would be a bit more challenging, because I don’t have a problem staying away from glass. It’s what’s in the glass that is the problem and the calories it contains. The things that are eaten along with what is drunk in the glass would only add to the problem. You’d have to wire the wine bottles, the sugar bowl, the pasta and rice bags, and the Pop Tarts. Hell, just wire the whole freaking kitchen.

In fact, install one of those invisible beams at the door of the grocery store so I’ll get zapped if I try to cross it. Or maybe I could have a hat with some sort of camera installed that has visual memory files uploaded, and would give me a buzz if I got desperate to eat trash. Zzzzzzzztttttt. I wonder if there’s a calorie loss connected with that little procedure?

Okay, maybe not. But my scale is stuck at that mark I’ve been at for the past two weeks. You know. That mark. The hovering “right there” mark. I still think that’s good, because I’m stable — not mentally — but clearly, I have to do more than type each day to be serious about any kind of a significant weight loss. I know. I said this last week.
So I am scraping my rear off this chair and walking tonight. I said this last week, too. But the MoH has been hitting the streets for the last few days since he now gets home before dark, and I guess I’m going to have to keep him company.

I can’t quite figure out how to get him to do sit ups with me, though.

Zzzzzzzztttttt…… Bang! Make it burn…and work it…just work it!

If you’re not in the mood for a dark, hairy arthropod creeping into your day, skip the first part of this — down to Howdy Doody. Or you can read on and marvel at my pseudo ability to shift emotional gears with an audience in tow — or not. Your call.

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In a weak-assed attempt to try and completely avoid creating an anguished and terrifying image here of what it feels like to be sucked screaming, yelling, and clawing into the vortex of another person’s pervasive depression, I’ll hop, skip, and jump merrily — no, run frantically, looking for a place to hide. It will be much more pleasant for all concerned if I respond to a couple of requests by fellow bloggers whom I enjoy. I’ll get to that, but right now, allow me to wallow in my pretense of avoiding the vortex.
Granted, I’ll be thinking about the black and spinning vortex the whole time I’m writing about those other things. Things I’d rather think and write about. Things that don’t suck the life out of me when I write about them. I’ll be thinking about it and feeling its pull even after I’m done writing about more cheerful things, and then, with my tail between my legs, slink off to do meaningless but constructive tasks in an attempt to trick it; to make it think I’m really not feeling its presence swirling around, growing larger. To try and fend it off for a while or conspire silently to obliterate its smothering existence.

Unfortunately, garlic, mirrors, or a silver stake won’t help this beast.

And for those of you who remember your college Psychology 101 lectures, this is an effective demonstration of several defense mechanisms: displacement; repression; and a possible dose of reaction formation. Please don’t hesitate to send me my report card.

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One of the things I truly enjoy about blogland is the people I meet. People from all over the world in all their individual glory. People who have talents, skills, issues, traumas, and amazing strength and grace who share themselves through their writing. Two of these individuals are Ev and Lis.

Ev has a lot going on right now, so if you’re feeling like me right now, stop by her site, and I guarantee you’ll kick yourself in the glutes for complaining about your own issues. Really. I visit her to see if she’s doing okay, but it’s not necessary because she’ll tell you she’s one tough person who can give the system a well-deserved whack upside the head. I’ve owed her this for a while now (this post and definitely not the whack!), so apologies for just now getting to the task — I’ll tack it onto the end of this post. OMG it takes FREAKING FOREVER. Sheesh. How did you actually get this done, Ev? So you’re special, o-k-a-y? Very. Yes, I Faved every single person on that list, scanned their sites, and created tags. Hours. It took hours. No pain, no gain, right? What gain? Oh, yah. The technorati ranking.

Lis is quite the huggable human — someone I happened onto when I started blogging two very long months ago. She has quite the awesome food blog called La Mia Cucina and is (as I now am) hooked up with some amazing food bloggers who make me want to hide my own food in the cat box at times — like last night. News about that later in the week. Don’t hold your breath. I volunteered to respond to questions Lis has posed and I promised to do my best. So here goes, Lis….

Lis: Okay, time’s up! You have to decide on a new career right this minute. Your options are never ending as you can do anything you want…What will it be? *evil grin*

Kelly: This one is easy. I’ve always, always, always wanted to be a designer. You know. Someone who chooses art, furnishings, fabrics, and textiles for spaces — specifically homes. Really big, lovely homes. I would absolutely love to do that. Mixing and matching types of fabric, deciding on how some designs suit a person’s lifestyle and personality, and oogling over all those paint chips…..*Sigh* I’m thinking I would be ecstatic if heaven was a massive design center. It would be like playing house all day. And it wouldn’t stop there. Oh, no. The whole house design, outdoor living, and landscape design would need to be a part of the service as well. So why didn’t I do this? When I was growing up, only the wives of wealthy professional men did this. It was almost cliche. Plus, I’ve been programmed to be very practical about things even though I resisted it with every opportunity. At this point in my life, a cute little shop that has lovely things in it would be a close second. *sigh*

Lis: Everyone is getting this question, just because I wanna know! If you were told that you could only have five foods and one beverage for the rest of your life — what would they be?

Kelly: Does salad count as one food? I completely love salad. I just don’t always love the making part. Mmmm…salads with arugula one time, and maiche the next. And baby romaine. OMG I love its tenderness and deep purplish color. I keep looking for different greens to mix and match with other flavors like citrus and avocado, or strawberries and red onions. Pancetta, feta, roasted artichoke hearts, kalamatas….a glossy, dark balsamic reduction….Clearly you can see I have a problem. So I as again whether salad counts as one?

Assuming that’s the case, shrimp would be another. I’ll spare you the mouth watering rendition of why I count that as essential, because you’ll just picture butter and garlic and lemon, right? Yah. So shrimp is two.

Bread is three. Crusty, artisian whole grain hunks of bread. Goat cheese is four. The Fleur Vert variety is something I could die over — its taste lingering on my tongue and palate, my taste buds firing in sweet ecstacy. Unbelievably delicious.

Tomatoes are number five. They’re in a class all by themselves. Just think about all that can be done with them, including throwing them at people who are just in need of a reality check. I love them raw, cooked, roasted, dried, in sauce, eaten like an apple with salt. Mmmm….tomatoes. Yes, I know you’re thinking there isn’t a sweet thing on this list. Not an accident. I like sweet things, but can definitely do without. Yes, even chocolate.

My one beverage has to be wine. I know I’m supposed to say water, right? Whatever. And coffee? Yes I love it, but wine? How many different varieties and labels do I get to select? Okay, so I cheated on this whole interview, but man it sounds delicious, right?

Lis: Being completely honest with us and yourself, do you think it was fair that Sanjaya was voted off so early? How did you really feel about the faux-hawk?

Kelly: You’re kidding, right? There were at least three contestants who deserved to remain on the show longer than the San-jan-man-isto. Seriously. I just don’t get the whole vote for the worst thing by all the losers out there who are always wanting to crap on everyone else’s birthday cake. Freaks. Gina deserved more time than she got — especially when you watch how much some of the contestants grow in their ability with every passing week. And the Faux-Hawk? I gotta give the kid credit for being smart. It was funny, but is that the whole purpose of the show? I know some people like AI because of all the ridiculously bad people who audition early on. I can’t say I enjoy that part very much. It’s tiresome. I genuinely like listening to the contestants sing, and have duped myself into believing it’s only about that. Yes, you have permission to “out” me as Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.

Lis: We all have a favorite recipe made up of strange ingredients (for me it’s Kraft mac & cheese with tuna — Don’t judge me!), maybe we discovered the recipe by making a mistake from another recipe. Maybe we discovered it when our parents left us alone for the first time so we decided to experiment in the kitchen. Maybe someone else turned us on to it…what is it?

Kelly: I totally looooooooove homemade pinto beans mixed up with white rice and coleslaw. The beans are seasoned and cooked with ham hocks for hours, the cole slaw isn’t that sickening sweet stuff — it’s made with good mayo and some garlic dill pickle juice, salt and pepper. Add a plop of sticky plain white rice. Put it on your plate, stir it up, and enjoy. Oh, and don’t forget to wipe your plate with homemade biscuits. Absolutely, totally excellent rib-sticking carb-loving delightfulness.

Lis: Who is your favorite author and why? Which is your favorite book and why?

Kelly: This one is challenging because I have favorite authors of different genres.

• Older fiction — Ernest Hemingway. I think I’ve read everything he’s written — but it’s been a while. I love his characters, the diverse settings of his works, and the pieces of himself in his books you find along the way. And I love his sparse prose. And sentence structure that breaks so many of the “rules” we learned in school about how not to write. Like writing in fragments and beginning sentences with “and.” Woo Hoo! Let ‘em rip! I just don’t love the way he ended.
• Newer than Hemingway fiction — Colleen McCullough would be my favorite, although I’ve lost touch with her. I rarely read through authors now. Too many good choices out there.
• “Romance” fiction — Nora Roberts. Shhh….don’t tell anyone. Not a ripped bodice in sight here. Really. Although those are soooooo much more fun to read than what I’m choking down right now.
• Children’s Fiction — Cynthia Rylant. (Erstwhile educator, remember?) Wow. What an amazingly gifted writer. Her repertoire extends from picture books for very young children up through pieces for young adults. Try I Had Seen Castles yourself if you want to be set back on your haunches. A woman writing as an elderly man looking back on his life. *gasp*
• Favorite book: Bel Canto by Ann Patchett. I don’t know that there’s a more beautifully written book out there. Some of the passages washed over me like poetry and I found myself going back to whisper them aloud. But The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger is a close second if you want your heart broken into a million irretrievable pieces.

Now comes the part where I tell you how you can carry on this interview thing, if you’d like. And it was fun.

Directions:
1. Leave a comment to this post saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. Beware, I’m not shy of asking personal questions! Please make sure I have your email address. (It won’t be public.)
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Got it? And the best part of going through this exercise is that I’ve effectively snapped the vortex into its place. Come on….everybody loves talking about themselves…I promise I’ll go easy on you! Let me know and I’ll hook you up.

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Okay, so Ev from My Life is Murphy’s Law sent me this “responsibility” and it’s a doozie. I’m still amazed that she could actually do something like this with all she has going on. All I can say is I hope I didn’t screw it up. It’s designed to increase traffic and ranking for your site. Most people would enjoy that, right? And is it any different than Bloglog or BlogCatalog? I checked out most of the blogs on the list, and although they’re very different from one another, I found some places that I’ll be checking back with. I’m not sure where I’m going to find the actual time to visit since the list is growing as we speak, but it’s all for good. Right? And the new people I’ve Fave’d? I’m not expecting them to do this, but I wanted to give them the exposure just the same. If you read this (and I’m amazed if you have because this is a really, really long post) then add yourself to the going’s on. Good luck following the directions!

(Start copying here)

Here are the rules:

1. Write a short introduction paragraph about what how you found the list and include a link to the blog that referred you to the list.

2. COPY the Rules and ENTIRE List below, and post it on your blog. To avoid duplicate content and increase the amount of keywords, go ahead and change the titles of the blog. Just don’t change the links of the blog.

3. Take “My New Faves” and move them into the “The Original Faves” list.

4. Add at least 3 Blogs that you’ve just added to your Technorati Favorites to the “My New Faves” section.

Remember to also add the “Fave Me” link next to your new blogs (add this — -http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://www.yourdomain.com)

5. Add Everyone on this list to your Technorati Favorites List by clicking on “Fave the Site.” (Please FAVE EVERYONE on the List prior to posting the list). Those who want good karma will fave you back. If not, you will for sure get the benefits of faves from the bloggers who continue this list after you.

My New Faves:

Suburban Oblivion

& Pie">Bub and Pie

Wonderland or Not

The Pop Eye

The Original Faves:

Resource Economics - Fave the Site

LifewithHeathens - Fave the Site

Kellementology - Fave the Site

EastcoastLife - Fave the Site

Liudmila - Fave the Site

BP Wrap - Fave the Site
My Life is Murphys Law - Fave the Site
It’s A Woman’s World - Fave the Site
Its A Schmitty Life - Fave the Site
Busy Mom Net - Fave the Site
Den of Wolves - Fave the Site
Marilyn’s Non-Violent World - Fave the Site

Gary Lee - Fave the Site *
Dosh Dosh - Fave the Site
Nate Whitehill - Fave the Site
Ms. Danielle - Fave the Site
Jeff Kee - Fave the Site
Scribble on the Wall - Fave the Site
Jimi Morrisons Head - Fave the Site
Jon Lee - Fave the Site
Samanathon - Fave the Site
Eat Drink & Be Merry - Fave the Site
The Man of Silver - Fave the Site
Hannes Johnson - Fave the Site
My Dandelion Patch - Fave the Site
Nathan Drach - Fave the Site
SiteLogic - Fave the Site
Julies Journal - Fave the Site
Tea & Slippers - Fave the Site
Pencil Thin - Fave the Site
Garry Conn - Fave the Site
Stephen Fung - Fave the Site
Ed Lau - Fave the Site
QMusings - Fave the Site
The Thinking Blog - Fave the Site
Google Tutor - Fave the Site
TV Cells - Fave the Site
eWritings - Fave the Site
IJHedges - Fave the Site
GR8 Egypt - Fave the Site
Divya Uttam - Fave the Site
Sean Dinner - Fave the Site
O Salepito - Fave the Site
Kyle Beabo - Fave the Site
Mommy’s Getaway - Fave the Site**
My Two Boys - Fave the Site
Internet Safety Advisor - Fave the Site
Made To Be Great - Fave the Site
Southern Mama Musings - Fave the Site
Recipe Rush - Fave the Site

***End Copying Here***