My Life Lately; or, You Know You Care
OK, what do you want first, the good news or the bad news? Feel free to scroll.
The Bad: a.k.a. "Work"
I don't usually blog about my job because I have problems with guilt. Freud would be devastated to know that he missed me; I am the most superego-ridden atheist you'll ever encounter. I can feel guilty about anything. So bitching about work, especially because I adore my students, triggers my guilt generators. I feel disloyal and petty.
Thus, I don't usually immortalize my employment-related bitchery in writing. In this particular instance, however, I am disheartened and angry and feel a need to vent here.
I'm the only writing instructor in my school, meaning I'm responsible for, well, a lot, some of which I can't realistically do anything about. One thing I can do is encourage the students to enter high school essay scholarship contests that everyone and her dog offers these days. They don't tend to get many entries, and my kids are talented enough to win them, so I take a few hours each term to compile and distribute a list for them.
This year, the National Council of Teachers of English contest is sponsored by the Queer Foundation. I put it on the list. I always put the NCTE on the list. I'll wait while you gasp and clutch your pearls and collapse from the vapors and loll across your tasteful Victorian fainting couch and allow a servant to revive you with salts....
Better? Here's the link to the contest page: Queer Foundation Essay Contest.
Ghastly, isn't it? All that stuff about rim jobs and blow jobs and Caligula screenshots and hot girl on girl....what's that? You didn't see those bits? Huh. Come to think of it, NEITHER DID I. Because the SHIT'S NOT THERE. It's about writing, of all things, this essay contest.
Guess who got called in and reprimanded for her "lack of judgment"? Yeah, that would be me.
The Good (though I had to wade through some bad to get there)
My new mattress rulez. I bought it last weekend and got it delivered on Monday, which I thought was an impressive turn around. Unfortunately, when the cheery delivery dudes finished setting it up the only thing I could say was, "Um, it's very...high?" Because sleeping in that bed, under my ceiling fan, was a bit too Pit and the Pendulum for my tastes. That thing was up there. Turns out the friendly salesguy neglected to specify the "low profile" box springs for my giant mattress, and giant mattress + giant box springs = Vincent Price.
Then they were supposed to come and switch them out on Thursday, but they gave me a time of 12:45-2:45 and I had class until 1:50. Called the delivery department and offered to reschedule. Stoned guy on the phone assured me, "No problem, I'll just note on here that they should come at the end of that window." I was all, "Are you sure? Because I cannot get there before 2:00. It will not happen." "Don't worry, be happy!" OK.
Guess what time they came? 1:00. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK.
But all is well now. I called and railed at someone who most likely had nothing to do with any of it, poor thing, and finally got the right box springs yesterday. And I love the new bed. Happy ending.
I found this picture, which may be the most awesome picture in the world:
How great is that movie, seriously?
The Mildly Disconcerting
For years strangers have stared at my son and stammered excitedly, "Oh, he looks just like that kid! What's his name? From that movie?" They think he looks like Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense. Which, fine, it's not like it's an insult or anything, but isn't it odd how, when we know people well, they really don't look like anyone but themselves to us? You can notice resemblances to famous people in strangers but it's much harder to see them in familiar faces? (Is it just me?)
Here's H.J.O.. then and now:
Basketball season just ended for my son and when we got the team pictures back, I saw this:
And my first thought was, "Huh, he looks like that kid....shit."