Okay, so it wasn't pretty, but at least South Carolina will be Clemson orange for another year. And hey, the boys behaved themselves this time. So hooray! Go Tigers!
And did anyone else find the recording of the rooster crowing to be rather inane? I mean, ooooh, scary. It sounds like Grandpa walked into the coop with some corn and the chickens got excited. I'd never want to be alone in a room with a gamecock, but it's not the most intimidating mascot.
It is too bad I don't work every day anymore. One of my bosses is a die-hard Carolina fan, and it would have been fun to mock him Monday :)
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Saturday, November 12, 2005
La folie continue
While the French riots are calming somewhat, an article I read tonight said there were clashes with police today in Lyon in the Place Bellecour, right smack in the heart of the city, France's third-largest and where I studied for a summer. Wild.
Okay, and I couldn't pass this one up
| You Are French Food |
 Snobby yet ubiquitous. People act like they understand you more than they actually do. |
It's been too quiet in quiz world
| Your Hair Should Be Purple |
 Intense, thoughtful, and unconventional. You're always philosophizing and inspiring others with your insights. |
Friday, November 11, 2005
Autumn photos
Time for a few pictures of the munchkin.
This first one, to her arachnaphobic mother's delight, is Abigail and said mother as "scary spiders." They make the cutest stuff at her preschool. She was adorable running around with this on for a few minutes, then she decided it was much better to take it off and chase people with it, shaking it and saying, "Scary spider's got you!"
Here's Abigail climbing "my grandfather's mountain." It's actually a trail leading from an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway that offers a fabulous view of the actual Grandfather Mountain. Beacon Heights Trail is 1400 ft. long and ascends to 4,620 ft. I'm sure it only takes an able-bodied adult 15 minutes, but my 3-year-old only took 40! She really was a little mountain goat, jumping from rock to root to rock -- we didn't put her on this one, Grandma was just acting as a safety net.
And here are Brad and Abigail at the top. While beautiful, it was unfortunately an overcast afternoon. I'm sure it's stunning on a clear day. But nothing's sunnier than that little smile! Looks like mommy's got a hiking buddy!
This first one, to her arachnaphobic mother's delight, is Abigail and said mother as "scary spiders." They make the cutest stuff at her preschool. She was adorable running around with this on for a few minutes, then she decided it was much better to take it off and chase people with it, shaking it and saying, "Scary spider's got you!"
Here's Abigail climbing "my grandfather's mountain." It's actually a trail leading from an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway that offers a fabulous view of the actual Grandfather Mountain. Beacon Heights Trail is 1400 ft. long and ascends to 4,620 ft. I'm sure it only takes an able-bodied adult 15 minutes, but my 3-year-old only took 40! She really was a little mountain goat, jumping from rock to root to rock -- we didn't put her on this one, Grandma was just acting as a safety net.
And here are Brad and Abigail at the top. While beautiful, it was unfortunately an overcast afternoon. I'm sure it's stunning on a clear day. But nothing's sunnier than that little smile! Looks like mommy's got a hiking buddy!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
La France en flamme
I am simply astounded by what is happening in France right now. I simply cannot reconcile this violence with that country. Granted, I was never in the ZUPs (zone urbane publique or something like that -- the projects), though when I did pass them on the train they were depressing as heck, but still. This is France.
When I was there in 1999, not long after Columbine, my students were dumbfounded by the violence in America. You could write that off as the naievete of small-town kids, but the riots have reached Lens, not 15 minutes by train from my town, Bethune. And that's just according to a map of the 20 or so most serious riots -- there were riots in 300 towns yesterday. And while Bethune wasn't a hotbed of immigrant unrest -- or of many immigrants period -- it was certainly an economically depressed area in its own right. I tend to think of that region as the West Virginia of France, lots of closed coal mines. There certainly could have been small skirmishes there. Hooded thugs and fires in the Grand'Place -- I can't even picture it.
Of course, I had heard of the racism in France. I only had one first-generation French student, but I had known a man of Algerian descent in 1997 (Dex may remember him, the guy that was dating that rather ditsy girl Jenny in Lyon), and he had talked about the difficulties he faced. And I had met a fellow teaching assistant who had been placed in the Lille suburb of Roubaix. That place was known to be dangerous, you just didn't voluntarily go to Roubaix. Students regularly threatened that teacher, and he'd even had chairs thrown at him. I think he was teaching middle school -- and we were just the conversational English teachers, with no real grading power.
(Time for a sidenote with a completely different tone: In Bethune, the Grand'Place is dominated by a medieval bell tower, Le Beffroi. It was one of the few things to survive a 1918 bombardment [the rest of the square was rebuilt]. And apparently, it just became a UNESCO world history site! Go little Bethune!)
When I was there in 1999, not long after Columbine, my students were dumbfounded by the violence in America. You could write that off as the naievete of small-town kids, but the riots have reached Lens, not 15 minutes by train from my town, Bethune. And that's just according to a map of the 20 or so most serious riots -- there were riots in 300 towns yesterday. And while Bethune wasn't a hotbed of immigrant unrest -- or of many immigrants period -- it was certainly an economically depressed area in its own right. I tend to think of that region as the West Virginia of France, lots of closed coal mines. There certainly could have been small skirmishes there. Hooded thugs and fires in the Grand'Place -- I can't even picture it.
Of course, I had heard of the racism in France. I only had one first-generation French student, but I had known a man of Algerian descent in 1997 (Dex may remember him, the guy that was dating that rather ditsy girl Jenny in Lyon), and he had talked about the difficulties he faced. And I had met a fellow teaching assistant who had been placed in the Lille suburb of Roubaix. That place was known to be dangerous, you just didn't voluntarily go to Roubaix. Students regularly threatened that teacher, and he'd even had chairs thrown at him. I think he was teaching middle school -- and we were just the conversational English teachers, with no real grading power.
(Time for a sidenote with a completely different tone: In Bethune, the Grand'Place is dominated by a medieval bell tower, Le Beffroi. It was one of the few things to survive a 1918 bombardment [the rest of the square was rebuilt]. And apparently, it just became a UNESCO world history site! Go little Bethune!)
Monday, October 31, 2005
30 rears its ugly head
Tonight we took Abigail trick-or-treating, which was hugely exciting. We managed to convince her to ditch the ghost costume with its disconcerting lack of peripheral vision for her fairy princess outfit, and she looked great. (Pictures coming someday -- we really should get a digital camera) She excitedly shouted "Trick or treat!" at the homeowners and fellow candy-hunters alike and left each stoop with either a "Thank you!" or "Happy Halloween!" or "Let's get MORE candy!" We only hit about a dozen houses, after which she cheerfully returned to Nana and Pops' house to enjoy her blue sucker. But next year, man, it's going to be on. I have visions of her taking off down the street and dragging us for blocks ...
The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.
Yep, just two more years to 30.
The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.
Yep, just two more years to 30.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
"I'm not dead yet!"
Now to make sure John Cleese doesn't come out and thump them over the head with his club ...
Jump lives! Well, they're at least doing a few more shows this fall, including an accoustic show in Charlotte. This makes me very happy! I didn't want the era to end with a less-than-memorable show. And they're excellent accoustic.
One of the perks of going part time will be weeknight freedom. When I found that show, I cruised through the rest of the schedule at the Neighborhood Theatre and became very excited about many of the bands/performers -- and I realized that I could theoretically go to these concerts without completely rescheduling my life! Of course, The Avett Bros. are playing New Year's Eve, and I'm not sure I could realistically call our Christmas trip to Florida short just to come back in time for that. And the only thing on Thanksgiving weekend at this apparent bluegrass inspired hot-spot? Edwin McCain. Doubt that would excite my visiting sister or her Dunce very much.
Jump lives! Well, they're at least doing a few more shows this fall, including an accoustic show in Charlotte. This makes me very happy! I didn't want the era to end with a less-than-memorable show. And they're excellent accoustic.
One of the perks of going part time will be weeknight freedom. When I found that show, I cruised through the rest of the schedule at the Neighborhood Theatre and became very excited about many of the bands/performers -- and I realized that I could theoretically go to these concerts without completely rescheduling my life! Of course, The Avett Bros. are playing New Year's Eve, and I'm not sure I could realistically call our Christmas trip to Florida short just to come back in time for that. And the only thing on Thanksgiving weekend at this apparent bluegrass inspired hot-spot? Edwin McCain. Doubt that would excite my visiting sister or her Dunce very much.
Monday, October 24, 2005
the times, they are a-changin'
Life in the Williams household is an interesting thing. I get a promotion. We say, okay, we'll stay here and Brad will freelance for a few months. Brad starts to get freelance work. Then out of the blue he gets a job offer from a local engineering firm. The offer doubles our income and gives him much-needed direct experience. And I quit my job.
Craziness.
Well, I didn't really. I refuse to put Abigail in day care, so I am going part time. At least through the end of the year, I'll work the weekends and the occasional day during the week when people are on vacation. Then after the holidays, I think the plan is to keep me as city editor on Sundays (the promotion) and allow me to work on building a Hispanic beat from home, maybe writing a couple articles per month. It's very unexpected, but at least all I lose is design shifts, which I didn't want to keep anyway. I wanted to transition off the copy desk by the time Abigail hit kindergarten and try reporting, so it's an early reprieve from second shift.
And hooray, we'll have some spending money! We can buy our own clothes! We can visit my sister in London! I don't have to get an ulcer at the middle of each month, holding my breath until the next paycheck! We're even saying crazy things like a house!
And to the Elm Street family, this means we'll actually be able to attend gatherings!
Will wonders never cease?
Craziness.
Well, I didn't really. I refuse to put Abigail in day care, so I am going part time. At least through the end of the year, I'll work the weekends and the occasional day during the week when people are on vacation. Then after the holidays, I think the plan is to keep me as city editor on Sundays (the promotion) and allow me to work on building a Hispanic beat from home, maybe writing a couple articles per month. It's very unexpected, but at least all I lose is design shifts, which I didn't want to keep anyway. I wanted to transition off the copy desk by the time Abigail hit kindergarten and try reporting, so it's an early reprieve from second shift.
And hooray, we'll have some spending money! We can buy our own clothes! We can visit my sister in London! I don't have to get an ulcer at the middle of each month, holding my breath until the next paycheck! We're even saying crazy things like a house!
And to the Elm Street family, this means we'll actually be able to attend gatherings!
Will wonders never cease?
Sunday, October 23, 2005
No relation to my parenting abilities
Three-year-olds are interesting creatures. Abigail has recently taken to playing with dolls, especially making them dance. Most of her dolls are on the floppy side, so this makes for much fun as their limbs flap about. She's also picked up on the idea of dancing and then "freezing" when the music stops. So she'll hum away, making you act out a "friend" while she makes the "teacher" dance. Then she'll scream freeze, and all the dolls must immediately fall down. If they don't, the "teacher" proceeds to body slam each of them to the table, with total disregard to the state of her parents' knuckles. I did not teach her this, and it makes me wonder about exactly what goes on at the lovely little church preschool. You know, you can't trust those Epsicopalians, damn liberals ...
Friday, October 14, 2005
Watchtowers and waterfalls
There's just something about the sight of hazy blue peaks rolling into the distance that lifts my soul and carries it off to the horizon, where my cares fade into the mist.
The other half and I just returned from two days in southwestern North Carolina among foliage and old friends. I have only been to the mountains once since having Abigail and haven't been hiking since I was pregnant. I'm sure it sounds melodramatic, but I have felt empty without seeing the mountains. Some fundamental part of me responds to the mountains unlike anything else in nature, and I become giddy at the first glimpse. I feel God there more than anywhere else. Yesterday I gazed up at the yellow poplars reaching up to the sky, and it seemed their branches were raised in praise, thanking God for the incredible beauty scattered all around them.
Beaches are nice, beaches are relaxing, but beaches are boring after about three hours. In the mountains, I am constantly finding something new to marvel at, a new trail I want to follow. I saw a bright pink mushroom along one trail, and canary-hued maple leave resting on a wet, black log on another. Walking along one river, the rhododendron leaves and roots were so thick on the path that they swam in front of my eyes, a dancing collage of brown and orange and yellow. I feel inspired and cleansed and new.
I also feel reconnected to "family". We live such an isolated life, spending most of our time in our little nuclear family of three. Since I work second shift and weekends, we have very little oportunity to tap into other peoples' ideas and thoughts and laughter. And the past two days, I got to fully be myself with decade-old friends. Yes, we talked about college, but we also talked about our blood families, our Elm Street family, our individual concerns and hopes and opinions about the world. We drank fancy beer and ate falling apart pork roast and inhaled the quintessential October flavors of pumpkin spice coffee (well, Brad and I did). Perhaps most rewarding, I got to see that my friends are actually friends with my husband.
And I get to do it again next week with my mother. It's a good fall.
The other half and I just returned from two days in southwestern North Carolina among foliage and old friends. I have only been to the mountains once since having Abigail and haven't been hiking since I was pregnant. I'm sure it sounds melodramatic, but I have felt empty without seeing the mountains. Some fundamental part of me responds to the mountains unlike anything else in nature, and I become giddy at the first glimpse. I feel God there more than anywhere else. Yesterday I gazed up at the yellow poplars reaching up to the sky, and it seemed their branches were raised in praise, thanking God for the incredible beauty scattered all around them.
Beaches are nice, beaches are relaxing, but beaches are boring after about three hours. In the mountains, I am constantly finding something new to marvel at, a new trail I want to follow. I saw a bright pink mushroom along one trail, and canary-hued maple leave resting on a wet, black log on another. Walking along one river, the rhododendron leaves and roots were so thick on the path that they swam in front of my eyes, a dancing collage of brown and orange and yellow. I feel inspired and cleansed and new.
I also feel reconnected to "family". We live such an isolated life, spending most of our time in our little nuclear family of three. Since I work second shift and weekends, we have very little oportunity to tap into other peoples' ideas and thoughts and laughter. And the past two days, I got to fully be myself with decade-old friends. Yes, we talked about college, but we also talked about our blood families, our Elm Street family, our individual concerns and hopes and opinions about the world. We drank fancy beer and ate falling apart pork roast and inhaled the quintessential October flavors of pumpkin spice coffee (well, Brad and I did). Perhaps most rewarding, I got to see that my friends are actually friends with my husband.
And I get to do it again next week with my mother. It's a good fall.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Intrigued
Okay, so my favorite band is done. It's very depressing, there are no tour dates on their Web site anymore. Sniff.
BUT, the singer and the cellist are doing solo work, and aparently the drummer, all-around-instrumentalist and bassist are in Bill Carson and His Checkered Past. Now, I haven't been able to listen to the scant three clips on their site yet, but the site design has me very hopeful. And I want to remember them for future experimentation, hence this post.
Hence why I am also mentioning Cary Ann Hearst. Jump has long referenced her, and I believe I spot some of them in the photo on her entry site. Unfortunately, I guess her site doesn't like Macs because I can't get any farther than that. So something else to check up on at home. (What, I blog from work? NEVER!)
BUT, the singer and the cellist are doing solo work, and aparently the drummer, all-around-instrumentalist and bassist are in Bill Carson and His Checkered Past. Now, I haven't been able to listen to the scant three clips on their site yet, but the site design has me very hopeful. And I want to remember them for future experimentation, hence this post.
Hence why I am also mentioning Cary Ann Hearst. Jump has long referenced her, and I believe I spot some of them in the photo on her entry site. Unfortunately, I guess her site doesn't like Macs because I can't get any farther than that. So something else to check up on at home. (What, I blog from work? NEVER!)
Saturday, October 08, 2005
I have the best idea...
Okay, Halloween is approaching. Whenever I ask Abigail, what she wants to be, she just says a ghost. But I want something more creative. I want something fun for the whole family. And from a co-worker's passing comment tonight, I got a brainstorm! A eureka moment!
Blue's Clues.
Not just a costume for Abigail, but all of us. Brad could be Joe
and I could be Miss Marigold, the fabulously stylish preschool teacher.
Actually, Brad could be Joe's predecessor, Steve, who wore stripped rugby shirts -- of which Brad has the appropriate rainbow of colors! It's PERFECT! And Abbey already does a great Blue impression (though mine's better ...).
Blue's Clues.
Not just a costume for Abigail, but all of us. Brad could be Joe
and I could be Miss Marigold, the fabulously stylish preschool teacher.
Actually, Brad could be Joe's predecessor, Steve, who wore stripped rugby shirts -- of which Brad has the appropriate rainbow of colors! It's PERFECT! And Abbey already does a great Blue impression (though mine's better ...).
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Oh, the agony of stiffling laughter at work
Oh, dear God! I have found the most hysterical site Go fug yourself -- well, it's hysterical if you're like me and my co-worker who love to ridicule celebrities. I don't know what it is -- hatred of all things talentless-pop, revulsion at self-serving celebutaunts (isn't that a great word?), disbelief that people can live in such shallow little bubbles -- but, damn, it's fun to make fun of the Paris Hiltons in this world. Ripping apart clothing at awards shows is highly entertaining -- plus they allow you to ignore the awards show itself and mock everything it stands for. And these ladies have made mockery of these lovely specimens of socitey an artform. And this was pointed out to me in a Wall Stree Journal article, no less!
Monday, September 26, 2005
How quickly she grows
Abigail was gone all weekend to the beach with Nana and Pops. It was very nice not having a child to be responsible for, especially since I had a cold and could sleep as much as I wanted. I started to get anxious today when she was supposed to be getting home, but overall, I wasn't desperately sad that she wasn't there. It's exhausting working and trying to be somewhat of a stay-home mom, so sleep was very nice.
But when I went home for dinner tonight and saw that sweet little girl running to me, I realized how empty life is without her -- even well rested. I just wanted to hold her close for a long time, though of course she's three, and staying still isn't her strong suit. But she did give me a glorious, exuberant hug when I got home, saying joyfully, "I missed (and here, I expected "you, Mommy!") 'Dragon Tales'!" She then jumped down and ran back to the TV. Don't I feel loved! At least Brad's in the same boat. When she went running to him with a giant hug, all she said was, "Where's Mommy?" But she's a very happy kid, so we don't doubt she likes us.
When she is gone, even just for a few days, it seems like she grows exponentially. She just seems bigger, able to speak better. My little baby no longer. I even donated her stroller to a Hurricane Katrina evacuee family last week. Heck if she'll be inclined to sit still rather than walk anymore!
But when I went home for dinner tonight and saw that sweet little girl running to me, I realized how empty life is without her -- even well rested. I just wanted to hold her close for a long time, though of course she's three, and staying still isn't her strong suit. But she did give me a glorious, exuberant hug when I got home, saying joyfully, "I missed (and here, I expected "you, Mommy!") 'Dragon Tales'!" She then jumped down and ran back to the TV. Don't I feel loved! At least Brad's in the same boat. When she went running to him with a giant hug, all she said was, "Where's Mommy?" But she's a very happy kid, so we don't doubt she likes us.
When she is gone, even just for a few days, it seems like she grows exponentially. She just seems bigger, able to speak better. My little baby no longer. I even donated her stroller to a Hurricane Katrina evacuee family last week. Heck if she'll be inclined to sit still rather than walk anymore!
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Still Jumping in my memories
A large part of my youth took a bow and exited stage left last night.
I went to my likely last-ever Jump, Little Children concert last night. I had a great time, laughing with Brad and hearing some great music, but it was a bittersweet evening.
I first discovered JLC driving home for the first time freshman year of college, Thanksgiving 1995. I was somewhere on I-85 in north Georgia and had picked up an Athens station. It was a live, in-studio session with a band with an unlikely combination of instruments: upright bass, cello, harmonica, accordion ... They were playing this wonderful song that belted out "Whoever you are you've gone to far 'cause I need my precious peace and (in a whipser) quiet." I heard one more song, which I later learned was "Dancing Virginia," and found out they were JLC from Charleston. Then I lost the station. When I got back to school, I went straight out to Manifest and picked up Licorice Tea Demos and fell in love. "Quiet," "Dancing Virginia," "Opium," "Smiling Down" ... I don't think I disliked a single song. And it didn't hurt that a friend had also just discovered them from crew, or that my suitemate dug it, too.
My first JLC show was on the shore of Lake Hartwell, where I picked up a shirt and all of the band members signatures. Wish I still had that. I also tried to be cool and talk to the bassist, which probably failed completely, but that didn't stop me from trying at later shows. I went to eight in all, which I didn't realize until I tallied them all up yesterday: Lake Hartwell, The Handlebar in Greenville, CenterCity Fest in Charlotte, a place in Athens I don't remember the name of, Tiger Town Tavern in Clemson, a place in Greenville I don't remember the name of, a double-header at the Visualite in Charlotte, and Tremont in Charlotte. I think three of those were within one 12 month span my senior year. My favorite was probably Athens, where they played for more than two hours and showed a home-made slasher flick, though I also loved the Tiger Town show right before graduation, where I somewhat successfully chatted with the cellist about Europe.
Sadly, this show didn't rank really high. Maybe the club was too hot, maybe it's because Charlotte sucks and has no soul, but they were lacking in their trademark energy. The basisst didn't really jump, the cellist didn't do bizarre things with his tongue, the lead singer hardly spoke. They seemed really distant from the crowd, a huge departure from normal. They played great, and the crazy one that plays all the weird instruments read a story I'd put on the "yearbook" on their website, but it was still a let down. They didn't play anything from Licorice Tea or Buzz. Very, very disappointing. I have never been to a show where they didn't end with "Opium" or I didn't get to jump up and down and do the moon dance with "Smiling Down." And no "Cathedrals"! They seemed in a big rush to get it over with, not a good impression to leave with dedicated fans on a farewell tour. At the other shows, you could tell that performing was the biggest joy in their lives.
Jump was the soundtrack to my youth. Watching them take a final bow last night, I honestly felt an era in my life was ending.
I went to my likely last-ever Jump, Little Children concert last night. I had a great time, laughing with Brad and hearing some great music, but it was a bittersweet evening.
I first discovered JLC driving home for the first time freshman year of college, Thanksgiving 1995. I was somewhere on I-85 in north Georgia and had picked up an Athens station. It was a live, in-studio session with a band with an unlikely combination of instruments: upright bass, cello, harmonica, accordion ... They were playing this wonderful song that belted out "Whoever you are you've gone to far 'cause I need my precious peace and (in a whipser) quiet." I heard one more song, which I later learned was "Dancing Virginia," and found out they were JLC from Charleston. Then I lost the station. When I got back to school, I went straight out to Manifest and picked up Licorice Tea Demos and fell in love. "Quiet," "Dancing Virginia," "Opium," "Smiling Down" ... I don't think I disliked a single song. And it didn't hurt that a friend had also just discovered them from crew, or that my suitemate dug it, too.
My first JLC show was on the shore of Lake Hartwell, where I picked up a shirt and all of the band members signatures. Wish I still had that. I also tried to be cool and talk to the bassist, which probably failed completely, but that didn't stop me from trying at later shows. I went to eight in all, which I didn't realize until I tallied them all up yesterday: Lake Hartwell, The Handlebar in Greenville, CenterCity Fest in Charlotte, a place in Athens I don't remember the name of, Tiger Town Tavern in Clemson, a place in Greenville I don't remember the name of, a double-header at the Visualite in Charlotte, and Tremont in Charlotte. I think three of those were within one 12 month span my senior year. My favorite was probably Athens, where they played for more than two hours and showed a home-made slasher flick, though I also loved the Tiger Town show right before graduation, where I somewhat successfully chatted with the cellist about Europe.
Sadly, this show didn't rank really high. Maybe the club was too hot, maybe it's because Charlotte sucks and has no soul, but they were lacking in their trademark energy. The basisst didn't really jump, the cellist didn't do bizarre things with his tongue, the lead singer hardly spoke. They seemed really distant from the crowd, a huge departure from normal. They played great, and the crazy one that plays all the weird instruments read a story I'd put on the "yearbook" on their website, but it was still a let down. They didn't play anything from Licorice Tea or Buzz. Very, very disappointing. I have never been to a show where they didn't end with "Opium" or I didn't get to jump up and down and do the moon dance with "Smiling Down." And no "Cathedrals"! They seemed in a big rush to get it over with, not a good impression to leave with dedicated fans on a farewell tour. At the other shows, you could tell that performing was the biggest joy in their lives.
Jump was the soundtrack to my youth. Watching them take a final bow last night, I honestly felt an era in my life was ending.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Lovely Rita, meter maid
Just to keep the theme going, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Tom evacuated their Houston-area home at midnight Monday, along with their younger daughter Nikki, older dauther Amy and her family, and poor cousin Lea, who was sent to Houston after her college in Gulfport was wiped out. They're safely ensconsed in a Dallas-area hotel, though of course Houston doesn't seem likely to take the brunt of Rita. At least they left early and weren't stuck in the nightmarish traffic.
Now, what's next -- a tornado plowing through Aunt Kay and Uncle Dave in Illinois?
Now, what's next -- a tornado plowing through Aunt Kay and Uncle Dave in Illinois?
Monday, September 19, 2005
From Lowly beginnings
When you have a 3-year-old, you find yourself being tormented with the very thing you loved/tormented your parents with as a child. Currently, Abigail is fixated on The Berenstain Bears, which was probably my favorite picture book series. Not a huge consolation when having to read "Messy Room" for the millionth time, but still, nice to see the generations build upon each other.
The previous favorite implement of torture was Richard Scarry's "Best First Book Ever." I'm sure we all remember the precocious humor of Richard Scarry (visit this incredibly funny bio, it's great!) -- and the seemingly infinite words on the page labeling everything. Good ol' Lowly Worm and Huckle Cat. My personal favorite as a child was "Busy, Busy World," where Scarry explored countries from Ireland to Algeria to China. (Sadly, it appears this book is too politically incorrect and has been pulled from print. Guess I'll have to eBay it!) It's amazing now to realize how young my fascination with travel and culture began. Those drawings were probably what first put into my head that there was a great big world out there I needed to visit. I still want to see Morrocco -- where I firmly believe I'll meet a fez-wearing dog named Couscous.
The previous favorite implement of torture was Richard Scarry's "Best First Book Ever." I'm sure we all remember the precocious humor of Richard Scarry (visit this incredibly funny bio, it's great!) -- and the seemingly infinite words on the page labeling everything. Good ol' Lowly Worm and Huckle Cat. My personal favorite as a child was "Busy, Busy World," where Scarry explored countries from Ireland to Algeria to China. (Sadly, it appears this book is too politically incorrect and has been pulled from print. Guess I'll have to eBay it!) It's amazing now to realize how young my fascination with travel and culture began. Those drawings were probably what first put into my head that there was a great big world out there I needed to visit. I still want to see Morrocco -- where I firmly believe I'll meet a fez-wearing dog named Couscous.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
La nueva profesora
I have neglected to follow through with the last chapter in the Spanish class saga. I added back the class and now thoroughly enjoy it. The new professor is very engaging, very personable, and most of all, so very competent. She had a Spanish grandfather, lived a while in Spain as a kid, did her master's in Spain, and is mistaken for a Spaniard when she visits. That's a very good sign. And she's German, which of course means she's amazing at languages. I'll definitely learn a lot now -- and enjoy myself doing it.
Ah, those endearing milestones
I am so proud of my little girl. She's 3 years old now, and it's just a joy to watch her. Well, when she's not whining at me all the way through Wal-Mart. But it's fascinating to see her grow into a little girl from a toddler, and her latest achievements are very exciting. (Attention, new photos at end of post.)
The most recent was yesterday. Abigail, in all her sweetness, pushed over her milk at dinner. Mommy and Daddy had been in a rather involved conversation, and she'd had enough. Well, so have Mommy and Daddy of the milk being knocked over. This incident was met with much vociferous scolding and the revocation of ice cream for desert. This is a serious consequence, perhaps the most in her little life. Kid loves ice cream. So she started crying, screaming, giant crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. Mommy and Daddy just kept repeating, "No. You know not to knock over your milk. No ice cream," and clearing the table, ignoring the tantrum as we've read in countless advice articles. And you know what, damned if it didn't work! Abigail calmed herself down and then came sniffling over to me and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to knock over my milk (which she pronounces adorably as 'nilk')." Regaining of self-control AND a spontaneous apology. And she never again asked for ice cream, quite contentedly getting back in her booster seat and eating a clementine. I was amazed. I almost wanted to reward her with ice cream ...
The much more monumentous accomplishment is often met with groans from my coworkers, but it is by far the most exciting thing to happen to me in year. Drum roll, please ...
My child is potty trained.
YES!!!! IT'S THRILLING!!!! Pretty soon I will no longer have to talk about pee-pee and poo-poo in everyday conversation! We will no longer go through Resolve like water!
This has been quite the process, largely because Mommy and Daddy have been very lazy and haven't pushed her. So finally, about four weeks ago, we just got rid of diapers during waking hours. Cold turkey -- and much cold pee on the carpet. She knew what to do and that she wasn't doing it, but she just didn't care. She'd be dancing around the room, crossing her legs, obviously in discomfort, but you'd put her on the potty and read three books and she'd never go. Very frustrating. But then, during her third birthday party, I coaxed her into the bathroom, away from the bustle of family. We didn't even get halfway through a book when I heard a beautiful tinkling sound. ... She looked up at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, "Mommy, I went pee-pee." I gave her a huge hug and told her how proud I was, and then we ran out into the living room where she anounced gleefully, at the top of her lungs, "Everybody, I WENT PEE-PEE!" And a huge cheer goes up from the crowd ...
Since then, about a week and a half, we got her to go about once every three days. Then something aparently clicked three days ago, and she's now been consistently going before naptime and bedtime for me. And today, she even told me she needed to go. I'm so happy I could cry.
And now the photos:
Abigial chose the theme for her party by herself, Winnie the Pooh. She wore this hat for at least an hour and had a line under her chin for the rest of the night to prove it. Mommy came up with a lovely honey pot shaped layer cake, which Abbey proclaimed was a square cake and would hear nothing of this honey pot business.
This kid made out like a bandit. Grandma was an especially generous sucker.
Just thought this was a funny face -- not unlike ones I made myself at her age, the "Expression of the day."
What a way to end a party, get a new set of wheels. And Nana and Pops chose a particularly cool retro Radio Flyer trike.
The most recent was yesterday. Abigail, in all her sweetness, pushed over her milk at dinner. Mommy and Daddy had been in a rather involved conversation, and she'd had enough. Well, so have Mommy and Daddy of the milk being knocked over. This incident was met with much vociferous scolding and the revocation of ice cream for desert. This is a serious consequence, perhaps the most in her little life. Kid loves ice cream. So she started crying, screaming, giant crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. Mommy and Daddy just kept repeating, "No. You know not to knock over your milk. No ice cream," and clearing the table, ignoring the tantrum as we've read in countless advice articles. And you know what, damned if it didn't work! Abigail calmed herself down and then came sniffling over to me and said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to knock over my milk (which she pronounces adorably as 'nilk')." Regaining of self-control AND a spontaneous apology. And she never again asked for ice cream, quite contentedly getting back in her booster seat and eating a clementine. I was amazed. I almost wanted to reward her with ice cream ...
The much more monumentous accomplishment is often met with groans from my coworkers, but it is by far the most exciting thing to happen to me in year. Drum roll, please ...
My child is potty trained.
YES!!!! IT'S THRILLING!!!! Pretty soon I will no longer have to talk about pee-pee and poo-poo in everyday conversation! We will no longer go through Resolve like water!
This has been quite the process, largely because Mommy and Daddy have been very lazy and haven't pushed her. So finally, about four weeks ago, we just got rid of diapers during waking hours. Cold turkey -- and much cold pee on the carpet. She knew what to do and that she wasn't doing it, but she just didn't care. She'd be dancing around the room, crossing her legs, obviously in discomfort, but you'd put her on the potty and read three books and she'd never go. Very frustrating. But then, during her third birthday party, I coaxed her into the bathroom, away from the bustle of family. We didn't even get halfway through a book when I heard a beautiful tinkling sound. ... She looked up at me with wide-eyed wonder and said, "Mommy, I went pee-pee." I gave her a huge hug and told her how proud I was, and then we ran out into the living room where she anounced gleefully, at the top of her lungs, "Everybody, I WENT PEE-PEE!" And a huge cheer goes up from the crowd ...
Since then, about a week and a half, we got her to go about once every three days. Then something aparently clicked three days ago, and she's now been consistently going before naptime and bedtime for me. And today, she even told me she needed to go. I'm so happy I could cry.
And now the photos:
Abigial chose the theme for her party by herself, Winnie the Pooh. She wore this hat for at least an hour and had a line under her chin for the rest of the night to prove it. Mommy came up with a lovely honey pot shaped layer cake, which Abbey proclaimed was a square cake and would hear nothing of this honey pot business.
This kid made out like a bandit. Grandma was an especially generous sucker.
Just thought this was a funny face -- not unlike ones I made myself at her age, the "Expression of the day."
What a way to end a party, get a new set of wheels. And Nana and Pops chose a particularly cool retro Radio Flyer trike.
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Welcome to my odditorium, a collection of curiosities made up of snippets about my life and occasional machinations on deeper subjects.
