Friday, September 30, 2005

Friday's Feast

Even though I'm full from dinner, I'll be a team player and serve up a Tuna family-sized helping of Friday's Feast. Enjoy!

Appetizer: When was the last time you visited a hospital?
I don't think I've been inside a hospital since the birth of little NephewTuna, who is now SIX years old. Unbelievable. TinyTuna would have to say the same thing. GramTuna, however, does weekly hospital visits and chats with patients who are dealing with rehab and physical therapy. Although her purpose is to be a listening ear for the patients, she often comes away from her sessions touched and inspired. It's pretty amazing.

Soup: On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the highest, how ambitious are you?
Well, that's a qualified IT DEPENDS. To do my dishes, I figure I'm currently at a Negative 57. To do things I really, really WANT to do? I live my life at 11, baby.

Salad: Make a sentence using the letters of a body part
(example: "Mouth" = M
y Other Ukelele Tings Healthily)

FINGER =
Feasting Is Not Getting Easier..RATS!


Main Course: If you were to start a club, what would the subject matter be, and what would you name it?
If I were to start a club, it would be the BRING A SWEATER -- HELL HAS FROZEN OVER 'CAUSE GREENTUNA STARTED A CLUB club. Seriously, I don't know what it is about organized playtime that just rubs me the wrong way. It's too fussy. It's too organized. It's too be nice to others, which I have neither the time, patience nor skill-set to achieve. However, I'm never adverse to the "Hey, Church is over, let's go to the Grill Dogs for Brunch" club, or the "My TV is on, and you're welcome to join me in sleeping in front of it" club, or the "I'll feed you yummy, yummy food if you carry horribly heavy things out of my basement" club. At least with those clubs I get fed, I take naps, and I clean up...one way or another.

Dessert: What color is the carpet/flooring in your house?
Dust-bunny brown.

Friday's Feast

Even though I'm full from dinner, I'll be a team player and serve up a Tuna family-sized helping of Friday's Feast. Enjoy!

Appetizer: When was the last time you visited a hospital?
I don't think I've been inside a hospital since the birth of little NephewTuna, who is now SIX years old. Unbelievable. TinyTuna would have to say the same thing. GramTuna, however, does weekly hospital visits and chats with patients who are dealing with rehab and physical therapy. Although her purpose is to be a listening ear for the patients, she often comes away from her sessions touched and inspired. It's pretty amazing.

Soup: On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the highest, how ambitious are you?
Well, that's a qualified IT DEPENDS. To do my dishes, I figure I'm currently at a Negative 57. To do things I really, really WANT to do? I live my life at 11, baby.

Salad: Make a sentence using the letters of a body part
(example: "Mouth" = M
y Other Ukelele Tings Healthily)

FINGER =
Feasting Is Not Getting Easier..RATS!


Main Course: If you were to start a club, what would the subject matter be, and what would you name it?
If I were to start a club, it would be the BRING A SWEATER -- HELL HAS FROZEN OVER 'CAUSE GREENTUNA STARTED A CLUB club. Seriously, I don't know what it is about organized playtime that just rubs me the wrong way. It's too fussy. It's too organized. It's too be nice to others, which I have neither the time, patience nor skill-set to achieve. However, I'm never adverse to the "Hey, Church is over, let's go to the Grill Dogs for Brunch" club, or the "My TV is on, and you're welcome to join me in sleeping in front of it" club, or the "I'll feed you yummy, yummy food if you carry horribly heavy things out of my basement" club. At least with those clubs I get fed, I take naps, and I clean up...one way or another.

Dessert: What color is the carpet/flooring in your house?
Dust-bunny brown.

Bom! Bom! Bom!

Hot on the heels of mentioning Donna Summer's disco hit Bad Girls, today I heard a story on NPR's Morning Edition about the bewilderingly popular singing of Neil Diamond's hit song Sweet Caroline in the middle of the 8th inning at Boston's Fenway Park.

The point of the story was to dig down deep and do some investigative reporting that would connect the dots between baseball, Boston, Fenway Park, Neil Diamond and Sweet Caroline. But when all was said and done, there was no real connection at all. It was simply a fun song that people liked to sing, and is now a Fenway Park tradition. Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Sweet Caroline? I guess.

I was much more interested (and highly amused) at a mysterious musical phenomenon they never discussed: Why, when anybody sings the first line of the chorus

Sweet Caroline


they always following that by singing

BOM BOM BOM!

-- the next three notes from the brass section?

I don't know the answer, but I know that I do it too. Every single time. It's just like saying Bad Girls and then being compelled to immediately add TOOT TOOT! BEEP BEEP! I don't know why. It's just the way it's done.

And so in the story of Sweet Caroline every single person who sang that line, ALWAYS followed it up with the BOM BOM BOM! You can hear it at 2:27 into the story, and again at 4:25 into the story, this time multiplied by thousands of voices. Despite the fact that I was laughing hysterically at the overly-exuberant BOM BOM BOM, I felt a great deal of comfort knowing the Shui of Universe is in alignment, thanks in no small part to Neil Diamond and Sweet Caroline.

BOM BOM BOM!

Bom! Bom! Bom!

Hot on the heels of mentioning Donna Summer's disco hit Bad Girls, today I heard a story on NPR's Morning Edition about the bewilderingly popular singing of Neil Diamond's hit song Sweet Caroline in the middle of the 8th inning at Boston's Fenway Park.

The point of the story was to dig down deep and do some investigative reporting that would connect the dots between baseball, Boston, Fenway Park, Neil Diamond and Sweet Caroline. But when all was said and done, there was no real connection at all. It was simply a fun song that people liked to sing, and is now a Fenway Park tradition. Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Sweet Caroline? I guess.

I was much more interested (and highly amused) at a mysterious musical phenomenon they never discussed: Why, when anybody sings the first line of the chorus

Sweet Caroline


they always following that by singing

BOM BOM BOM!

-- the next three notes from the brass section?

I don't know the answer, but I know that I do it too. Every single time. It's just like saying Bad Girls and then being compelled to immediately add TOOT TOOT! BEEP BEEP! I don't know why. It's just the way it's done.

And so in the story of Sweet Caroline every single person who sang that line, ALWAYS followed it up with the BOM BOM BOM! You can hear it at 2:27 into the story, and again at 4:25 into the story, this time multiplied by thousands of voices. Despite the fact that I was laughing hysterically at the overly-exuberant BOM BOM BOM, I felt a great deal of comfort knowing the Shui of Universe is in alignment, thanks in no small part to Neil Diamond and Sweet Caroline.

BOM BOM BOM!

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Potent Potatoes for $200

In the Tuna household, nothing says fun like being a couch potato after dinner and yelling at the television. And no, I'm not dissing our presidential Shrubbery (this time -- NEE!), despite the abundance of yell-worthy material presented on the nightly news. I'm actually referring to the Holy Half-Hour of Jeopardy, where everyone can be a Ken Jennings in the privacy of their own home. Luckily I'm not a real contestant, because my answers are a lot closer to THIS

Announcer: Okay, the capital of North Dakota is named after what German ruler?
Homer: HITLER!!
Marge: Hitler, North Dakota?
Patty: Bismarck
Contestant: Bismarck! (ping noise)
Bart: Hitler?!
Homer: Hey, I'm still beating you, boy
or THIS

Announcer: Okay, the colors of the Italian flag are Red, White.....and what?
Bart: Blue!
Homer: Yellow!
Bart: Orange! Red!
Patty: Green!
Homer: Black! White! Green!
Contestant: ....Green (ping noise)
Homer: I WAS RIGHT!
than anything that resembles a correct answer. If I'm going to get it right, the question Who is Homer? had better refer to The Simpsons and not The Odyssey. I know my limits.



But that never stops me at home. I just keep yelling out anything I can think of, and if I still can't manage to come across the right guess, then I'll just yell, 'What she said!' when the points are finally awarded.

I'm also an armchair BET THE FARM!! quarterback when it comes to Double Jeopardy and Final Jeopardy. No guts, no glory, I always say when talking about other people's money.

But this week I got to move my ignorance to a public venue and cheer on a very good friend who was on Jeopardy. On Jeopardy as in ON THE TV AT WHICH I SCREAM. ON Jeopardy as in smart enough to be ON JEOPARDY knowing real answers -- not Hitler, North Dakota answers.

It was SO COOL.



The Tuna clan packed up our random Jeopardy knowledge and planted ourselves in the local pub to join friends and family for the big event. We ate and drank and watched and yelled and clapped and whooped and hollered. TinyTuna was beside herself with two equally miraculous events: somebody she knew was on Jeopardy, and there was FREE POPCORN!!! MOM, IT'S FREE!!! THE POPCORN IS FREE!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???

It meant life was good. Smartness was everywhere, and we had a great time cheering on our favorite contestant. Even better? On occasion, I knew an answer or two. For example: What Jeopardy contestant is getting a "Bad Girls" CD for Christmas?


Donna Summer says, "Bet the Farm!"

Toot Toot.
Beep Beep.

Potent Potatoes for $200

In the Tuna household, nothing says fun like being a couch potato after dinner and yelling at the television. And no, I'm not dissing our presidential Shrubbery (this time -- NEE!), despite the abundance of yell-worthy material presented on the nightly news. I'm actually referring to the Holy Half-Hour of Jeopardy, where everyone can be a Ken Jennings in the privacy of their own home. Luckily I'm not a real contestant, because my answers are a lot closer to THIS

Announcer: Okay, the capital of North Dakota is named after what German ruler?
Homer: HITLER!!
Marge: Hitler, North Dakota?
Patty: Bismarck
Contestant: Bismarck! (ping noise)
Bart: Hitler?!
Homer: Hey, I'm still beating you, boy
or THIS

Announcer: Okay, the colors of the Italian flag are Red, White.....and what?
Bart: Blue!
Homer: Yellow!
Bart: Orange! Red!
Patty: Green!
Homer: Black! White! Green!
Contestant: ....Green (ping noise)
Homer: I WAS RIGHT!
than anything that resembles a correct answer. If I'm going to get it right, the question Who is Homer? had better refer to The Simpsons and not The Odyssey. I know my limits.



But that never stops me at home. I just keep yelling out anything I can think of, and if I still can't manage to come across the right guess, then I'll just yell, 'What she said!' when the points are finally awarded.

I'm also an armchair BET THE FARM!! quarterback when it comes to Double Jeopardy and Final Jeopardy. No guts, no glory, I always say when talking about other people's money.

But this week I got to move my ignorance to a public venue and cheer on a very good friend who was on Jeopardy. On Jeopardy as in ON THE TV AT WHICH I SCREAM. ON Jeopardy as in smart enough to be ON JEOPARDY knowing real answers -- not Hitler, North Dakota answers.

It was SO COOL.



The Tuna clan packed up our random Jeopardy knowledge and planted ourselves in the local pub to join friends and family for the big event. We ate and drank and watched and yelled and clapped and whooped and hollered. TinyTuna was beside herself with two equally miraculous events: somebody she knew was on Jeopardy, and there was FREE POPCORN!!! MOM, IT'S FREE!!! THE POPCORN IS FREE!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???

It meant life was good. Smartness was everywhere, and we had a great time cheering on our favorite contestant. Even better? On occasion, I knew an answer or two. For example: What Jeopardy contestant is getting a "Bad Girls" CD for Christmas?


Donna Summer says, "Bet the Farm!"

Toot Toot.
Beep Beep.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Genetics

As TinyTuna continues her march through sixth grade, she has done so with a fairly incredible attitude. Keep in mind the child changed schools, changed school districts and dove head-first into the murky waters of (scary music dum dum DUM!!!) Middle School. Surprisingly, and more importantly, thankfully, she is actually happy despite her somewhat crazy schedule. She has made friends, she enjoys going from class to class, and she likes her teachers. She only has one complaint: Gym.

Being the maternal unit, it is my job to be chief cheerleader for all nouns that revolve in her life. Don't want to go to the Doctor? It's ok!! You want to be healthy!! Rah, Rah, Rah!!! Somebody being mean to you at school? It's ok!! Not everybody will be your best friend!! Remember all the other friends you have!! Rah, Rah, Rah!!! Don't like carrots? Tough luck! Eat them anyway!! Rah, Rah, Bwah Ha HA!!! Don't like gym? .......... errrrr......

I need a GPS device to locate my Rah Rah for this one, because Tuna-style gym hatred is entirely genetic. Oh how I hated gym. Hated. Hated. Hated. Unfortunately, my hatred for gym never got me out of class. Sad to say, my hatred and I were forced to show up every day and become "active" in the great out-of-doors in the requisite shorts and t-shirt. Within 45 seconds the entire class would be shivering because our gym-approved tennis shoes had already reached utter saturation because we were playing in a field that hadn't seen a lawnmower in three solid months. Mitten factoid: When it's 8:30 am and gym time in our fair state, you're either playing on a grassy slip-and-slide, or an ice rink. There is no in between.

I did what I could to compensate for my hated. When we had our soccer unit, I managed the amazing feat of being goalie for 3 weeks straight. "You all run around, and I'll stand here and protect the goal." I wasn't so dumb.

Tennis was different. With no goalie position, and having my suggestion of being the chair umpire shot down, my hatred and I had to be a little more resourceful. As a class we would learn a new concept, like forehand, or backhand, and then have to use that concept exclusively in gameplay. Have you ever played an entire game of tennis BACKHAND? It just doesn't work. Luckily my hatred and I teamed up with another sixth grader and her hatred, and we played mixed doubles. We had but one rule: The ball could never touch the ground. Volley after volley we sent the ball to the moon and back, and laughed hysterically the entire time. The teacher was NOT amused.

So, when TinyTuna says she hates gym, I want to tell her that I hated gym too, but instead I manage a weak, "Oh, it's not so bad..." and hope she changes the subject. Because for some of us, the gym-loving gym is recessive. I'll have to direct her to Great-Grandmother Tuna or one of her Church Auntie Tunas, who thought Gym was all that and a bag of chips.

But carrying on the Tuna genes isn't all that bad. TinyTuna can thank her father for having the audacity of hair that was naturally curly -- an UNHEARD of (and unfair, I might add) trait on the Tuna side. She can thank me for super blue eyes and extremely long legs. And then, of course, there is the singing.

This past Sunday the torch was officially passed to TinyTuna as she got up in front of everybody and chanted the Psalm. This might not seem like such a big deal, but since it is generally the function of some high school chorister, I'm basically "on call" every week, in case one of them decides not to show, or is sick, or just never got around to learning it. Now that TinyTuna is on board, I know for a fact I am off the Holy hook for the next seven years. Rah! Rah! Rah!!! TinyTuna was well-prepared for her debut, wasn't nervous, and didn't make a mistake.

Her proud mom knew she did a pretty damn good job for an 11-year old, and she got several nice comments from the congregation. The fact that a group of grownups took the time to tell her what a nice job she did is part of the genetic makeup of a core group of very caring and special people.

Perhaps the nicest thing I heard wasn't said to either of us directly, but was sent in an email to GramTuna. It read, "It's fun watching TinyTuna grow up. She probably doesn't know we fell in love with her when she was born."

Yeah, I teared up at work.
It was genetic.

Genetics

As TinyTuna continues her march through sixth grade, she has done so with a fairly incredible attitude. Keep in mind the child changed schools, changed school districts and dove head-first into the murky waters of (scary music dum dum DUM!!!) Middle School. Surprisingly, and more importantly, thankfully, she is actually happy despite her somewhat crazy schedule. She has made friends, she enjoys going from class to class, and she likes her teachers. She only has one complaint: Gym.

Being the maternal unit, it is my job to be chief cheerleader for all nouns that revolve in her life. Don't want to go to the Doctor? It's ok!! You want to be healthy!! Rah, Rah, Rah!!! Somebody being mean to you at school? It's ok!! Not everybody will be your best friend!! Remember all the other friends you have!! Rah, Rah, Rah!!! Don't like carrots? Tough luck! Eat them anyway!! Rah, Rah, Bwah Ha HA!!! Don't like gym? .......... errrrr......

I need a GPS device to locate my Rah Rah for this one, because Tuna-style gym hatred is entirely genetic. Oh how I hated gym. Hated. Hated. Hated. Unfortunately, my hatred for gym never got me out of class. Sad to say, my hatred and I were forced to show up every day and become "active" in the great out-of-doors in the requisite shorts and t-shirt. Within 45 seconds the entire class would be shivering because our gym-approved tennis shoes had already reached utter saturation because we were playing in a field that hadn't seen a lawnmower in three solid months. Mitten factoid: When it's 8:30 am and gym time in our fair state, you're either playing on a grassy slip-and-slide, or an ice rink. There is no in between.

I did what I could to compensate for my hated. When we had our soccer unit, I managed the amazing feat of being goalie for 3 weeks straight. "You all run around, and I'll stand here and protect the goal." I wasn't so dumb.

Tennis was different. With no goalie position, and having my suggestion of being the chair umpire shot down, my hatred and I had to be a little more resourceful. As a class we would learn a new concept, like forehand, or backhand, and then have to use that concept exclusively in gameplay. Have you ever played an entire game of tennis BACKHAND? It just doesn't work. Luckily my hatred and I teamed up with another sixth grader and her hatred, and we played mixed doubles. We had but one rule: The ball could never touch the ground. Volley after volley we sent the ball to the moon and back, and laughed hysterically the entire time. The teacher was NOT amused.

So, when TinyTuna says she hates gym, I want to tell her that I hated gym too, but instead I manage a weak, "Oh, it's not so bad..." and hope she changes the subject. Because for some of us, the gym-loving gym is recessive. I'll have to direct her to Great-Grandmother Tuna or one of her Church Auntie Tunas, who thought Gym was all that and a bag of chips.

But carrying on the Tuna genes isn't all that bad. TinyTuna can thank her father for having the audacity of hair that was naturally curly -- an UNHEARD of (and unfair, I might add) trait on the Tuna side. She can thank me for super blue eyes and extremely long legs. And then, of course, there is the singing.

This past Sunday the torch was officially passed to TinyTuna as she got up in front of everybody and chanted the Psalm. This might not seem like such a big deal, but since it is generally the function of some high school chorister, I'm basically "on call" every week, in case one of them decides not to show, or is sick, or just never got around to learning it. Now that TinyTuna is on board, I know for a fact I am off the Holy hook for the next seven years. Rah! Rah! Rah!!! TinyTuna was well-prepared for her debut, wasn't nervous, and didn't make a mistake.

Her proud mom knew she did a pretty damn good job for an 11-year old, and she got several nice comments from the congregation. The fact that a group of grownups took the time to tell her what a nice job she did is part of the genetic makeup of a core group of very caring and special people.

Perhaps the nicest thing I heard wasn't said to either of us directly, but was sent in an email to GramTuna. It read, "It's fun watching TinyTuna grow up. She probably doesn't know we fell in love with her when she was born."

Yeah, I teared up at work.
It was genetic.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Unconscious Mutterings

It's a Mutter deluxe today...

I say ... And You Think:

1. Crave :: Desire

2. Whole Package :: Total person

3. Roommates :: Friends

4. 5:30 :: Quittin time!

5. Lesbian :: Woman

6. Poignant :: Meaningful

7. Hurtful :: Mean

8. You and I :: Us

9. Grateful :: Thankful

10. Giggle :: Tee-Hee




I say ... And TinyTuna Thinks:

1. Crave :: Want


2. Whole Package :: Box

3. Roommates :: People


4. 5:30 :: Time


5. Lesbian :: Culture


6. Poignant :: What??


7. Hurtful :: Mean


8. You and I :: Us


9. Grateful :: Thankful


10. Giggle :: Laugh

Unconscious Mutterings

It's a Mutter deluxe today...

I say ... And You Think:

1. Crave :: Desire

2. Whole Package :: Total person

3. Roommates :: Friends

4. 5:30 :: Quittin time!

5. Lesbian :: Woman

6. Poignant :: Meaningful

7. Hurtful :: Mean

8. You and I :: Us

9. Grateful :: Thankful

10. Giggle :: Tee-Hee




I say ... And TinyTuna Thinks:

1. Crave :: Want


2. Whole Package :: Box

3. Roommates :: People


4. 5:30 :: Time


5. Lesbian :: Culture


6. Poignant :: What??


7. Hurtful :: Mean


8. You and I :: Us


9. Grateful :: Thankful


10. Giggle :: Laugh

Friday, September 23, 2005

Friday's Feast

It's Friday's Feast. On a Friday, even. I feel almost....current.

Appetizer: Name something someone has done lately that impressed you.
Yesterday my little singing guppies (you know, the ones that actually LOVE my class) had to sing on their own in front of their peers. They did NOT want to do it (Do we HAVE to sing today? Yes. Can we sing a duet with someone else? No. Can we be excused if we are sick? No. Do we HAVE to sing? Yes I'm too nervous to sing Too bad Do we really really have to sing? Yes I didn't know we had to sing today You should read your syllabus Can I throw up? Not in the classroom, please) but at the end of the hour, they all did a really great job. Not only was I very proud of them...I think they were proud of themselves.

Soup: Do you have any relaxing rituals? If so, what are they?
Somehow I don't think managing to collapse IN bed my bed before lapsing into a couch coma counts as a ritual. Rituals involve planning, planning requires time, and both of those things are in short supply in my world.

Salad: If you could spend the winter season somewhere other than your current location, where would you choose to stay?
Hard question. The last thing I would want to do is go somewhere where everybody else goes because then although I may have escaped the cold and the snow, I've done so with an entire population of people whose pants are hiked up to their armpits and who cannot see over their steering wheel. So Florida, Arizona and the likes are out. California is a no-go because I don't own a gun and would be unprepared for freeway driving. Maybe I'd just go back to Hatteras and experience Outer Banks life winter-style -- lots of ocean and no tourists.

Main Course: When was the last time you had dinner out, and what was the name of the restaurant?
Normally, this would not be a difficult question. However, for the last several weeks I've been on the poverty diet, so dining out has not been much of an option. Not that it's been terribly missed, because the House o' Tuna is (more often than not) yummier than any restaurant. I think, though, the last place I ate dinner was at an Applebees, because they are fast and close to the house. Exciting, eh?

Dessert: If you had a boat, what would you name it?
USS GREENTUNA or THE TUNAFITZGERALD

Friday's Feast

It's Friday's Feast. On a Friday, even. I feel almost....current.

Appetizer: Name something someone has done lately that impressed you.
Yesterday my little singing guppies (you know, the ones that actually LOVE my class) had to sing on their own in front of their peers. They did NOT want to do it (Do we HAVE to sing today? Yes. Can we sing a duet with someone else? No. Can we be excused if we are sick? No. Do we HAVE to sing? Yes I'm too nervous to sing Too bad Do we really really have to sing? Yes I didn't know we had to sing today You should read your syllabus Can I throw up? Not in the classroom, please) but at the end of the hour, they all did a really great job. Not only was I very proud of them...I think they were proud of themselves.

Soup: Do you have any relaxing rituals? If so, what are they?
Somehow I don't think managing to collapse IN bed my bed before lapsing into a couch coma counts as a ritual. Rituals involve planning, planning requires time, and both of those things are in short supply in my world.

Salad: If you could spend the winter season somewhere other than your current location, where would you choose to stay?
Hard question. The last thing I would want to do is go somewhere where everybody else goes because then although I may have escaped the cold and the snow, I've done so with an entire population of people whose pants are hiked up to their armpits and who cannot see over their steering wheel. So Florida, Arizona and the likes are out. California is a no-go because I don't own a gun and would be unprepared for freeway driving. Maybe I'd just go back to Hatteras and experience Outer Banks life winter-style -- lots of ocean and no tourists.

Main Course: When was the last time you had dinner out, and what was the name of the restaurant?
Normally, this would not be a difficult question. However, for the last several weeks I've been on the poverty diet, so dining out has not been much of an option. Not that it's been terribly missed, because the House o' Tuna is (more often than not) yummier than any restaurant. I think, though, the last place I ate dinner was at an Applebees, because they are fast and close to the house. Exciting, eh?

Dessert: If you had a boat, what would you name it?
USS GREENTUNA or THE TUNAFITZGERALD

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Tales from the Inbox

It's been exciting times in my Spam Folder, and I've been saving up a few gems to share with all of you, because sharing is caring, and Spam? It should be shared, and shared often.

Lazy Hazy Dazy Spam
In my continued receipt of emails begging and pleading for me to become an officer of the law

(Did you want to tell her that you were a cop?)
(Do you want to join the police force?)
(Cops get all the chicks)
(Become a detective today)


I was amused to discover the even the spammers were getting tired of typing. My first several emails were from "Be A Cop" which then got shortened to "BeACop" when then got shortened yet again to "B-A-Cop" which, if you think about it, isn't shorter at all because it requires more keystrokes. Still in all, I am praying my dogged refusal to join is slowly wearing them down.


The More Numbers ... The More Important
Last Thursday I got an IMPORTANT email. First, I know it was IMPORTANT because it had an attachment. And all attachments are IMPORTANT (in a very virusy kind of way. Kids -- just say NO!). Second of all, I know it was IMPORTANT because it had a very very very very very long number in the subject line:

Urgent Notification #70231887046526220

Wowee. That MUST be urgent. But, I had to wonder, how on earth did I miss the other 70 quadrillion, 231 trillion, 887 billion, 46 million, 526 thousand, 220 OTHER urgent notifications? Am I that far behind in my email?

(Small admission: I had to ask my boyfriend what came after "trillion")

But then, yesterday, I received this EVEN MORE IMPORTANT email:

Urgent Notification #0958043731282545505

958 quadrillion? Dang. I need a personal secretary.


Sold! To the Highest Bidder
You have to be pretty agressive to be a successful spammer. Witness poor Mario Holland, who wrote with great excitement to tell me "Nominated for MBA." Sweet! I didn't know there was a competition. I always thought you had to, you know...go to school. Just about when I was thinking of taking him up on his offer, he was one-upped by a Malcom Conrad, who told me, "You are nominated for a Ph.D." Awesome! Sorry Mario. Maybe you could nominate me for Queen?

Sticky Key Syndrome
From the Pppporky Ppppig school of typing, or, Keep the Coke away from the keyboard, nimrod:
ppain killers weiight loss no doccctor
jobs are for those of us with a dddiploma
(waves to Malcom!)
Mortagge ratee approvedd

A Noun is a Person, Place or Thing
Lately, I've been getting emails not only from everyONE, but everyTHING.
From: Wealth
From: Ring-Tones
From: Hair
From: More Hair
From: Hair Loss
From: Hair Help
From: I'm Rich

The winner this week?
From: CashCow Vending Machine

Daddy, I want a CashCow Vending Machine, and I want it NOW!


To Answer Your Question....
Tired of that piece of crap you're driving?
(Shhh! Ooo-day oht-nay alk-tay about the iece-pay of ap-cray, errr... ar-cay that ay-way)

Have you seen the new Ipod Nano?
Why no, I have not.

Are you in with the times?
Why no, I am not.

Are you seing a lot of hair in the shower?
Nope. Fabio lives in the basement. (ba-DUMP-bump)

RE: I tried calling you...
Sorry. Not.

hair loss pissing you off?
Um, no.

Need some love pills?
Nope.

Want a DVD Camcorder?
Yep.

balding got you down?
Nope.

Things I Just DON'T Want to Know
Buyer Beware! Penis Patches!

Wishful Thinking of the Floral Variety
Jumpstart the weekend with our new HAPPY HOUR Bouquets

Thank you spammers. You make my inbox interesting, if nothing else.

Tales from the Inbox

It's been exciting times in my Spam Folder, and I've been saving up a few gems to share with all of you, because sharing is caring, and Spam? It should be shared, and shared often.

Lazy Hazy Dazy Spam
In my continued receipt of emails begging and pleading for me to become an officer of the law

(Did you want to tell her that you were a cop?)
(Do you want to join the police force?)
(Cops get all the chicks)
(Become a detective today)


I was amused to discover the even the spammers were getting tired of typing. My first several emails were from "Be A Cop" which then got shortened to "BeACop" when then got shortened yet again to "B-A-Cop" which, if you think about it, isn't shorter at all because it requires more keystrokes. Still in all, I am praying my dogged refusal to join is slowly wearing them down.


The More Numbers ... The More Important
Last Thursday I got an IMPORTANT email. First, I know it was IMPORTANT because it had an attachment. And all attachments are IMPORTANT (in a very virusy kind of way. Kids -- just say NO!). Second of all, I know it was IMPORTANT because it had a very very very very very long number in the subject line:

Urgent Notification #70231887046526220

Wowee. That MUST be urgent. But, I had to wonder, how on earth did I miss the other 70 quadrillion, 231 trillion, 887 billion, 46 million, 526 thousand, 220 OTHER urgent notifications? Am I that far behind in my email?

(Small admission: I had to ask my boyfriend what came after "trillion")

But then, yesterday, I received this EVEN MORE IMPORTANT email:

Urgent Notification #0958043731282545505

958 quadrillion? Dang. I need a personal secretary.


Sold! To the Highest Bidder
You have to be pretty agressive to be a successful spammer. Witness poor Mario Holland, who wrote with great excitement to tell me "Nominated for MBA." Sweet! I didn't know there was a competition. I always thought you had to, you know...go to school. Just about when I was thinking of taking him up on his offer, he was one-upped by a Malcom Conrad, who told me, "You are nominated for a Ph.D." Awesome! Sorry Mario. Maybe you could nominate me for Queen?

Sticky Key Syndrome
From the Pppporky Ppppig school of typing, or, Keep the Coke away from the keyboard, nimrod:
ppain killers weiight loss no doccctor
jobs are for those of us with a dddiploma
(waves to Malcom!)
Mortagge ratee approvedd

A Noun is a Person, Place or Thing
Lately, I've been getting emails not only from everyONE, but everyTHING.
From: Wealth
From: Ring-Tones
From: Hair
From: More Hair
From: Hair Loss
From: Hair Help
From: I'm Rich

The winner this week?
From: CashCow Vending Machine

Daddy, I want a CashCow Vending Machine, and I want it NOW!


To Answer Your Question....
Tired of that piece of crap you're driving?
(Shhh! Ooo-day oht-nay alk-tay about the iece-pay of ap-cray, errr... ar-cay that ay-way)

Have you seen the new Ipod Nano?
Why no, I have not.

Are you in with the times?
Why no, I am not.

Are you seing a lot of hair in the shower?
Nope. Fabio lives in the basement. (ba-DUMP-bump)

RE: I tried calling you...
Sorry. Not.

hair loss pissing you off?
Um, no.

Need some love pills?
Nope.

Want a DVD Camcorder?
Yep.

balding got you down?
Nope.

Things I Just DON'T Want to Know
Buyer Beware! Penis Patches!

Wishful Thinking of the Floral Variety
Jumpstart the weekend with our new HAPPY HOUR Bouquets

Thank you spammers. You make my inbox interesting, if nothing else.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Finally. Peace and Quiet

And hey...bonus! I'm not dead.

I have mucho time before my last student arrives -- too much time, but I haven't had a chance to fix that little problem yet -- so I finally, finally, FINALLY have time to write.

TunaU has been insanity on skates since the guppies came to town. I run at work all day, and when I get home, I either get to clean up after Frick and Frack, the insane felines, or do something even more FUN like memorizing the ten core democratic values. Seriously, when people warn you about the all bad stuff that goes along with having kids, it's generally focused around rotten behavior, lack of sleep and gum boldly going where no gum has gone before. Nobody ever warns you of the real horror -- that you're going to be spending the next eighteen years in school AGAIN suffering through all the CRAP Core Democratic Values that you managed to avoid the first time around. One might think that 36 hours of labor and the subsequent child birth was enough. But if one did, one would delusional. Last year it was states and capitols...on a MAP! So far this year it has been diagramming sentences and core democratic values. Don't I get a break, somewhere? Can somebody give me an Amen? Or at the very least, a get out of social-studies free card?

I'm tired of sixth grade and it's only week three.

Speaking of delusional ("it would be better to get two, because then they wouldn't be lonely or bored...") , Bonnie and Clyde, the AlCATraz twins are ... challenging. TinyTuna and I have had to radically change our ways. Every other sentence out of my mouth is: "TinyTuna you cannot (_____________) because WE HAVE TODDLERS IN THE HOUSE.

The toddlers. Oh the toddlers. The first thing TweedleDum and TweedleDee found was my fleece (for spinning) that was neatly tucked away in bags. One night I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, it looked like a sheep exploded in my living room. Under couches...on chairs...hanging from everything like it was a shepherd's Christmas tree. When I espied TweedleeDee, she just stared at me -- fleecing at the mouth -- with an incredulous "WHAT?" look on her face. How dare I be upset! It was her toy. So away it went. All of it. Problem solved.

(Problem Solved: See: Delusional)

Toddlers.

Not to be deterred, Luke and Leia used the force to discover a treasure trove on yarn skeins in my bedroom. Granted, I didn't even know I had these, so in one (small) respect, it was mighty nice of them to bring it all out for my inspection.

Except...

You know the cartoon cliche where the cat gets a ball of string and has it all over the house: around table legs, in and out of rooms and through complicated paths that will surely result in the destruction of the house when the other end of the string is tied to the back of a car...

Sunday afternoon, THAT was my house. TinyTuna and I tried to untangle and rewind for about fifteen minutes. (See: Delusional) Then we came to our senses and pulled out the scissors.

Kittens: 1
Tunas: 0

Somehow I think I had better get used to it.

Finally. Peace and Quiet

And hey...bonus! I'm not dead.

I have mucho time before my last student arrives -- too much time, but I haven't had a chance to fix that little problem yet -- so I finally, finally, FINALLY have time to write.

TunaU has been insanity on skates since the guppies came to town. I run at work all day, and when I get home, I either get to clean up after Frick and Frack, the insane felines, or do something even more FUN like memorizing the ten core democratic values. Seriously, when people warn you about the all bad stuff that goes along with having kids, it's generally focused around rotten behavior, lack of sleep and gum boldly going where no gum has gone before. Nobody ever warns you of the real horror -- that you're going to be spending the next eighteen years in school AGAIN suffering through all the CRAP Core Democratic Values that you managed to avoid the first time around. One might think that 36 hours of labor and the subsequent child birth was enough. But if one did, one would delusional. Last year it was states and capitols...on a MAP! So far this year it has been diagramming sentences and core democratic values. Don't I get a break, somewhere? Can somebody give me an Amen? Or at the very least, a get out of social-studies free card?

I'm tired of sixth grade and it's only week three.

Speaking of delusional ("it would be better to get two, because then they wouldn't be lonely or bored...") , Bonnie and Clyde, the AlCATraz twins are ... challenging. TinyTuna and I have had to radically change our ways. Every other sentence out of my mouth is: "TinyTuna you cannot (_____________) because WE HAVE TODDLERS IN THE HOUSE.

The toddlers. Oh the toddlers. The first thing TweedleDum and TweedleDee found was my fleece (for spinning) that was neatly tucked away in bags. One night I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, it looked like a sheep exploded in my living room. Under couches...on chairs...hanging from everything like it was a shepherd's Christmas tree. When I espied TweedleeDee, she just stared at me -- fleecing at the mouth -- with an incredulous "WHAT?" look on her face. How dare I be upset! It was her toy. So away it went. All of it. Problem solved.

(Problem Solved: See: Delusional)

Toddlers.

Not to be deterred, Luke and Leia used the force to discover a treasure trove on yarn skeins in my bedroom. Granted, I didn't even know I had these, so in one (small) respect, it was mighty nice of them to bring it all out for my inspection.

Except...

You know the cartoon cliche where the cat gets a ball of string and has it all over the house: around table legs, in and out of rooms and through complicated paths that will surely result in the destruction of the house when the other end of the string is tied to the back of a car...

Sunday afternoon, THAT was my house. TinyTuna and I tried to untangle and rewind for about fifteen minutes. (See: Delusional) Then we came to our senses and pulled out the scissors.

Kittens: 1
Tunas: 0

Somehow I think I had better get used to it.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Unconscious Mutterings

Still Sunday. Still Time. Still Unconscious. Still Muttering....

I say ... And You Think:

1. Less filling :: Tastes Great

2. Glue :: Sticky

3. Surprise me :: Presents

4. Model :: Example

5. Fee :: Money

6. Microphone :: Amplification

7. Choices :: Options

8. To the bone :: Bad

9. Run! :: Joe, Run!!

10. Appeal :: Beg


Does anybody remember Run, Joe, Run! ?? It was a goofy series; sort of a Lassie on the Lam with fewer syllables. And now I shall go to bed tonight humming "Bad to the Bone."

Good times.
Good night.

Unconscious Mutterings

Still Sunday. Still Time. Still Unconscious. Still Muttering....

I say ... And You Think:

1. Less filling :: Tastes Great

2. Glue :: Sticky

3. Surprise me :: Presents

4. Model :: Example

5. Fee :: Money

6. Microphone :: Amplification

7. Choices :: Options

8. To the bone :: Bad

9. Run! :: Joe, Run!!

10. Appeal :: Beg


Does anybody remember Run, Joe, Run! ?? It was a goofy series; sort of a Lassie on the Lam with fewer syllables. And now I shall go to bed tonight humming "Bad to the Bone."

Good times.
Good night.

FriSunDay Feast

It's never too late for a Friday's Feast, and hey, I'm all about leftovers...

Appetizer: Do your closer friends tend to be male or female? Why do you think that is?
First thought: Female
Second thought: Male
Third thought: It's a draw. However, the nice thing is that although I discuss some things with some people and other things with other people...We all get together (far too seldom) and have a great party. Go Superbowl 2006!!

Soup: If you could wake up tomorrow with a new talent, what would it be?
First thought: The talent of cleanliness and organization.
Second thought: The talent to always know where my car keys are hiding.
Third thought: The talent of the unbelievably incredibly fast metabolism.
Fourth thought: The talent of patience when I so often clearly have none.
Fifth thought: The talent to do a cartwheel. How DO people do them, anyway?
Sixth thought: The talent to always wake up tomorrow with a new talent. How much fun would that be?

Salad: Name a household cleaning item you would recommend to others
First thought: HA HA!
Second thought: HO HO!
Third thought: TinyTuna. She makes a great household cleaning item, especially when she's in trouble.
Fourth thought: Don't forget that when it comes to The Scrubbing Bubbles Fresh Brush Flushable : DO NOT USE FOR PERSONAL HYGIENE!
Fifth thought: I am a loyal subject of the kingdom of Swiffer and also worship at the alter of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

Main Course: What do you strive for in life?
First thought: No way am I going to dive off the deep end and drown in endless justifications.
Second thought: A Miss America "World Peace" answer is good enough for me.
Third thought: To always have two Mike's Hard Lemonades in my fridge. One for me, and one to share.

Dessert: On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the highest, how funny do you consider yourself?
First thought: Funny enough to stay on the side of amusing without crossing over into the land of annoying.
Second thought: Numerically speaking, the only answer I could possibly have: Pi!!!!!!
Third thought: NOT mince.

FriSunDay Feast

It's never too late for a Friday's Feast, and hey, I'm all about leftovers...

Appetizer: Do your closer friends tend to be male or female? Why do you think that is?
First thought: Female
Second thought: Male
Third thought: It's a draw. However, the nice thing is that although I discuss some things with some people and other things with other people...We all get together (far too seldom) and have a great party. Go Superbowl 2006!!

Soup: If you could wake up tomorrow with a new talent, what would it be?
First thought: The talent of cleanliness and organization.
Second thought: The talent to always know where my car keys are hiding.
Third thought: The talent of the unbelievably incredibly fast metabolism.
Fourth thought: The talent of patience when I so often clearly have none.
Fifth thought: The talent to do a cartwheel. How DO people do them, anyway?
Sixth thought: The talent to always wake up tomorrow with a new talent. How much fun would that be?

Salad: Name a household cleaning item you would recommend to others
First thought: HA HA!
Second thought: HO HO!
Third thought: TinyTuna. She makes a great household cleaning item, especially when she's in trouble.
Fourth thought: Don't forget that when it comes to The Scrubbing Bubbles Fresh Brush Flushable : DO NOT USE FOR PERSONAL HYGIENE!
Fifth thought: I am a loyal subject of the kingdom of Swiffer and also worship at the alter of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

Main Course: What do you strive for in life?
First thought: No way am I going to dive off the deep end and drown in endless justifications.
Second thought: A Miss America "World Peace" answer is good enough for me.
Third thought: To always have two Mike's Hard Lemonades in my fridge. One for me, and one to share.

Dessert: On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the highest, how funny do you consider yourself?
First thought: Funny enough to stay on the side of amusing without crossing over into the land of annoying.
Second thought: Numerically speaking, the only answer I could possibly have: Pi!!!!!!
Third thought: NOT mince.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Unconscious Mutterings

Better late, if ever.

I say ... And You Think

1. Related :: Family

2. Soothing :: Peaceful

3. Flashback :: Again

4. Turmoil :: Angst

5. Immense :: Enormous

6. Guitar :: Strings

7. Nonsense :: Silly

8. Blame :: Game

9. Childlike :: Infantile

10. Duff :: MOM IT'S HILARY DUFF! IT'S HILARY DUFF!


I wonder about the word selection. Are they purposefully selected because they are words or concepts that have been floating around Outer Blogovia lately? I have a hard time believing they are totally random, because I could take all these words and write a New York Times Op-Ed piece about the ineptitude of the current administration.

And then go see a Hilary Duff movie, I guess.

Unconscious Mutterings

Better late, if ever.

I say ... And You Think

1. Related :: Family

2. Soothing :: Peaceful

3. Flashback :: Again

4. Turmoil :: Angst

5. Immense :: Enormous

6. Guitar :: Strings

7. Nonsense :: Silly

8. Blame :: Game

9. Childlike :: Infantile

10. Duff :: MOM IT'S HILARY DUFF! IT'S HILARY DUFF!


I wonder about the word selection. Are they purposefully selected because they are words or concepts that have been floating around Outer Blogovia lately? I have a hard time believing they are totally random, because I could take all these words and write a New York Times Op-Ed piece about the ineptitude of the current administration.

And then go see a Hilary Duff movie, I guess.

They Love Me. They REALLY Love Me!

....or so it seems...that is, until they have to take their first test and find out that dammit, this is a class with exams just like every other class with exams.

But until that time comes, my singing minnows are just so dangably cute. I had yet another student add my class today, which means I need to start killing more trees to keep these kids in handouts. And when I said, "OK, lets stand up and sing.." they actually said "YAY!" I mean, really, somebody yelled, "yay!" Who does THAT anymore?

All this enthusiasm and excitement is almost too much for a Soprano to bear. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, I'm afraid if somebody dumps much more happiness and good cheer on me, I'm going to melt. I need beatings. I need tears. I need collegial angst sung in d minor (the saddest of all keys) to feed and fill my darkened soul destroyed by singing notes only a dog can hear.

As sure as there are dead Grandmas during midterm exams, I know unhappiness will return. In the meantime I'll accept their praises and hope that word doesn't get out that I'm actually NICE and my classes are FUN. Afterall, I have a Diva's reputation to uphold.

They Love Me. They REALLY Love Me!

....or so it seems...that is, until they have to take their first test and find out that dammit, this is a class with exams just like every other class with exams.

But until that time comes, my singing minnows are just so dangably cute. I had yet another student add my class today, which means I need to start killing more trees to keep these kids in handouts. And when I said, "OK, lets stand up and sing.." they actually said "YAY!" I mean, really, somebody yelled, "yay!" Who does THAT anymore?

All this enthusiasm and excitement is almost too much for a Soprano to bear. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, I'm afraid if somebody dumps much more happiness and good cheer on me, I'm going to melt. I need beatings. I need tears. I need collegial angst sung in d minor (the saddest of all keys) to feed and fill my darkened soul destroyed by singing notes only a dog can hear.

As sure as there are dead Grandmas during midterm exams, I know unhappiness will return. In the meantime I'll accept their praises and hope that word doesn't get out that I'm actually NICE and my classes are FUN. Afterall, I have a Diva's reputation to uphold.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Friday's Feast

I haven't seen a Friday's Feast for awhile now. So after all this time, what's for supper?

Appetizer: Who is the easiest person for you to talk to?
Myself. And those other small strange voices that live in my head.

Soup: If you could live in any ancient city during the height of the quality of its society and culture, which one would you choose?
Hands-down my choice would be Renaissance-era Florence and Rome. It was an amazingly intensive period of creative expression and personal growth.

Salad: What was the most exciting event you've ever witnessed?
Uh boy. Exciting event. I missed the Berlin Wall coming down by about 3 weeks, so my choices are fairly limited. I think I'll go with the bullfight I saw in Madrid when I was 8-years old. The excitement came when the bull gored the Matador in the leg...and then the Matador kicked in him the face. It must have been exciting because I still remember it quite vividly after all these years.

Main Course: If you were a celebrity, what would you do for a publicity stunt?
I think what I would do for a publicity stunt is NOT doing anything. Then everybody would wonder what I was up to, and try to guess when and what I would do in the world of crazy. As for me, I'd be taking a nap. Keep 'em guessing, I always say. Bwahahahaha!

Dessert: What do you consider the ideal age to have your first child?
That age when you are emotionally and financially stable enough to do so. Amen.

Friday's Feast

I haven't seen a Friday's Feast for awhile now. So after all this time, what's for supper?

Appetizer: Who is the easiest person for you to talk to?
Myself. And those other small strange voices that live in my head.

Soup: If you could live in any ancient city during the height of the quality of its society and culture, which one would you choose?
Hands-down my choice would be Renaissance-era Florence and Rome. It was an amazingly intensive period of creative expression and personal growth.

Salad: What was the most exciting event you've ever witnessed?
Uh boy. Exciting event. I missed the Berlin Wall coming down by about 3 weeks, so my choices are fairly limited. I think I'll go with the bullfight I saw in Madrid when I was 8-years old. The excitement came when the bull gored the Matador in the leg...and then the Matador kicked in him the face. It must have been exciting because I still remember it quite vividly after all these years.

Main Course: If you were a celebrity, what would you do for a publicity stunt?
I think what I would do for a publicity stunt is NOT doing anything. Then everybody would wonder what I was up to, and try to guess when and what I would do in the world of crazy. As for me, I'd be taking a nap. Keep 'em guessing, I always say. Bwahahahaha!

Dessert: What do you consider the ideal age to have your first child?
That age when you are emotionally and financially stable enough to do so. Amen.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Oh When Will They Ever Learn?

As the kittens Cheech and Chong continue to search for the treasure of the Sierra Madre under my bed at a speed of Warp 95 billion, I would like to tell you about school.

Not middle school, because there are no particularly good stories yet, save for the fact that my child will need therapy following the nervous breakdown she has from having to memorize the combinations to 97 different locks.

Not TunaU, where everything except traffic and trains are moving at the speed of light. Tonight I had no less than 7 work related emails from professors. I'm a hard worker and all, but there isn't much work I can accomplish five miles away from my place of employment -- and in my pajamas.

This week marked my return to the Scottish college, and all things singing.

Every fall I teach a class voice course, where they learn the basics of singing through a variety of musical styles. It's always a fun class. Most of the students are freshman, so they are all fresh-faced, excited and energetic. PLUS they voluntarily participate in class discussions. I know it's a temporary condition, but still I say, Halleluia!

In the first unit we focus on folksongs because generally speaking, they are easier to sing, and the kids are familiar with more of them right off the bat. In addition to singing, I have them do a great deal of listening so they can tune their ears to vocal and instrumental styles.

Last year I made the grave error of playing the unofficial six-minute and fourteen-second Tuna Clan anthem, The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald. Much to my horror, practically nobody knew it, and then I was informed this music was played on OLDIES radio stations. Well, let me tell you, I wasn't about to make THAT mistake again. Today I walked into class with my CD of Peter, Paul & Mary (THE most well-known folksong artists in the history of ever), and I played "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" (One of the most well-known folksongs in the history of folksong-dom).

Out of a class of 12, NOBODY knew who Peter, Paul and Mary were.
Out of a class of 12, two had heard the song before.
Out of those two, one only knew it in German -- and she was from Bellaruss.

Mein Gott Im Himmel!

I've decided I'm going to campaign for a new college course, entitled, "Every Song You Really Just Ought to Know -- BECAUSE I SAID SO." At least then maybe I won't feel like such a fossil.

Maybe.

Oh When Will They Ever Learn?

As the kittens Cheech and Chong continue to search for the treasure of the Sierra Madre under my bed at a speed of Warp 95 billion, I would like to tell you about school.

Not middle school, because there are no particularly good stories yet, save for the fact that my child will need therapy following the nervous breakdown she has from having to memorize the combinations to 97 different locks.

Not TunaU, where everything except traffic and trains are moving at the speed of light. Tonight I had no less than 7 work related emails from professors. I'm a hard worker and all, but there isn't much work I can accomplish five miles away from my place of employment -- and in my pajamas.

This week marked my return to the Scottish college, and all things singing.

Every fall I teach a class voice course, where they learn the basics of singing through a variety of musical styles. It's always a fun class. Most of the students are freshman, so they are all fresh-faced, excited and energetic. PLUS they voluntarily participate in class discussions. I know it's a temporary condition, but still I say, Halleluia!

In the first unit we focus on folksongs because generally speaking, they are easier to sing, and the kids are familiar with more of them right off the bat. In addition to singing, I have them do a great deal of listening so they can tune their ears to vocal and instrumental styles.

Last year I made the grave error of playing the unofficial six-minute and fourteen-second Tuna Clan anthem, The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald. Much to my horror, practically nobody knew it, and then I was informed this music was played on OLDIES radio stations. Well, let me tell you, I wasn't about to make THAT mistake again. Today I walked into class with my CD of Peter, Paul & Mary (THE most well-known folksong artists in the history of ever), and I played "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" (One of the most well-known folksongs in the history of folksong-dom).

Out of a class of 12, NOBODY knew who Peter, Paul and Mary were.
Out of a class of 12, two had heard the song before.
Out of those two, one only knew it in German -- and she was from Bellaruss.

Mein Gott Im Himmel!

I've decided I'm going to campaign for a new college course, entitled, "Every Song You Really Just Ought to Know -- BECAUSE I SAID SO." At least then maybe I won't feel like such a fossil.

Maybe.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Farewell, Little Buddy

On Friday we lost another castaway.



In a way (a convoluted way, but still a way), Gilligan's Island was
the Martha Stuart of 60s television. When they weren't busy making
radios out of coconuts, they were making pies out of coconuts, or
bras out of coconuts. No matter the hardship, they always managed
to look absolutely fabulous while stranded on a deserted isle. PLUS, it
had culture. Really! To this day, every time I hear The Toreador aria
from Carmen, I always sing their musical version of Hamlet:
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Do not forget....stay out of debt!"

Happy Sails, Little Buddy. Say hi to The Skipper and The Howells.

Farewell, Little Buddy

On Friday we lost another castaway.



In a way (a convoluted way, but still a way), Gilligan's Island was
the Martha Stuart of 60s television. When they weren't busy making
radios out of coconuts, they were making pies out of coconuts, or
bras out of coconuts. No matter the hardship, they always managed
to look absolutely fabulous while stranded on a deserted isle. PLUS, it
had culture. Really! To this day, every time I hear The Toreador aria
from Carmen, I always sing their musical version of Hamlet:
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Do not forget....stay out of debt!"

Happy Sails, Little Buddy. Say hi to The Skipper and The Howells.

Monday, September 05, 2005

Dum Dum DUM!

And so....Tomorrow, it all starts again.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

TinyTuna joins the ranks of the 6th grade.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

New clothes and tennis shoes are purchased.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

And every school supply imaginable has been branded with the new Sharpie
(Dum Dum DUM!)

We'll have to leave a lot earlier from now on,
(Dum Dum DUM!)

and try several different driving routes before we figure out which is best.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

I just hope the year is good.
Productive.
Safe.
And yes, even fun.
Because 6th grade and middle school are hard enough all by themselves.
Ready....Set....Bedtime.

Dum Dum DUM!

And so....Tomorrow, it all starts again.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

TinyTuna joins the ranks of the 6th grade.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

New clothes and tennis shoes are purchased.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

And every school supply imaginable has been branded with the new Sharpie
(Dum Dum DUM!)

We'll have to leave a lot earlier from now on,
(Dum Dum DUM!)

and try several different driving routes before we figure out which is best.
(Dum Dum DUM!)

I just hope the year is good.
Productive.
Safe.
And yes, even fun.
Because 6th grade and middle school are hard enough all by themselves.
Ready....Set....Bedtime.

Sunday, September 04, 2005

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... and you think:

1. Julie :: Chen
2. Emotional :: Wreck
3. Head of Household :: Bleah
4. Diva :: Me!
5. Devastation :: New Orleans
6. Business or Pleasure :: Usually business
7. Crown :: Pageant
8. Eastern :: Seaboard
9. Buzzed :: Lit
10. Officer :: Of the Law

So, this is too funny. When I do my muttering, I purposely go directly to the site, and only look at one word at a time, so I don't alter my thinking based on other words or on what other people might say. I chuckled at the first one, snorted at the second one, and cracked up by the third one. I guess I shouldn't have watched Saturday night's taped episode of Big Brother right before I answered these, eh?

Mutter along HERE.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... and you think:

1. Julie :: Chen
2. Emotional :: Wreck
3. Head of Household :: Bleah
4. Diva :: Me!
5. Devastation :: New Orleans
6. Business or Pleasure :: Usually business
7. Crown :: Pageant
8. Eastern :: Seaboard
9. Buzzed :: Lit
10. Officer :: Of the Law

So, this is too funny. When I do my muttering, I purposely go directly to the site, and only look at one word at a time, so I don't alter my thinking based on other words or on what other people might say. I chuckled at the first one, snorted at the second one, and cracked up by the third one. I guess I shouldn't have watched Saturday night's taped episode of Big Brother right before I answered these, eh?

Mutter along HERE.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

I DON'T LIKE SPAM

Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. A man and his wife enter.

Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!
Man: Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
I got up this morning and took a quick romp through my email. Much to my delight I had BLOG comments! Being as comment-hungry as any attention seeking Blogger, I dashed off to see what they said
Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam
The first comment started innocently enough: I really liked your blog. I'll be sure to add you to my bookmarks. But that was followed by: I have a home equity loan site/blog. It pretty much covers home equity loan related stuff. Come and check it out if you get time :-)
Wife: Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it.
Wife: I don't want ANY spam!
You may have noticed I removed the $!((@#)$+!\@! web link, cause I'm not helping any rata-frata spammer. But boy, I sure am glad to hear that a home equity loan site pretty much covers home equity loan related stuff. As opposed to, I don't know, quantum physics.

What the freak?

Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!
So, from now on, you'll notice a slight difference in the comment section. At the bottom of the comment form, you'll be asked to type the squiggly letters, also known as captchas which is short for

Completely
Automated
P
ublic
Turing test to tell
Computers and
H
umans
A
part

Clear as mud, right?

Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?
Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)
Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!
Also known as a "Reverse Turing Test," these little annoyances (and yes, they are annoying. I hate them) require that you prove you are a human, rather than a computer. So, I apologize ahead of time for one more hoop you have to jump through. But I don't think anybody should have to read about fabulous real estate, lower mortgages or bigger body parts that I, for one, don't possess. But Please, PLEASE leave comments. Don't let the Vikings scare you away.
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam.
But, with apologies to the good people at Hormel, and constant love and affection for Monty Python
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
I just have to say, I DON'T LIKE SPAM!

Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam!
Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!

I DON'T LIKE SPAM

Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. A man and his wife enter.

Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!
Man: Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
I got up this morning and took a quick romp through my email. Much to my delight I had BLOG comments! Being as comment-hungry as any attention seeking Blogger, I dashed off to see what they said
Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam
The first comment started innocently enough: I really liked your blog. I'll be sure to add you to my bookmarks. But that was followed by: I have a home equity loan site/blog. It pretty much covers home equity loan related stuff. Come and check it out if you get time :-)
Wife: Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it.
Wife: I don't want ANY spam!
You may have noticed I removed the $!((@#)$+!\@! web link, cause I'm not helping any rata-frata spammer. But boy, I sure am glad to hear that a home equity loan site pretty much covers home equity loan related stuff. As opposed to, I don't know, quantum physics.

What the freak?

Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!
So, from now on, you'll notice a slight difference in the comment section. At the bottom of the comment form, you'll be asked to type the squiggly letters, also known as captchas which is short for

Completely
Automated
P
ublic
Turing test to tell
Computers and
H
umans
A
part

Clear as mud, right?

Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?
Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)
Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!
Also known as a "Reverse Turing Test," these little annoyances (and yes, they are annoying. I hate them) require that you prove you are a human, rather than a computer. So, I apologize ahead of time for one more hoop you have to jump through. But I don't think anybody should have to read about fabulous real estate, lower mortgages or bigger body parts that I, for one, don't possess. But Please, PLEASE leave comments. Don't let the Vikings scare you away.
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam.
But, with apologies to the good people at Hormel, and constant love and affection for Monty Python
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
I just have to say, I DON'T LIKE SPAM!

Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam!
Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam!