I'm gonna be girly...

On the radio the other day, two disc jockeys were postulating that Valentine's Day was all about bragging rights. One woman cannot stand to keep quiet when her man does something wonderful for the Hallmark holiday. I agree.

Personally, I think Valentine's Day is a bit cheesy and overblown. But I am still going to simper and brag. 100 red and white roses, beautifully arranged, arrived in my classroom this morning. A chorus of ooh's and aah's followed. I welled up, just like a typical chick.

It is such a drag to find out I'm so common.

Quoth the husband...

Tomorrow is my husband's birthday. He is oh-so-woeful because he is turning 23. Getting old is hard (ha!). I wish I was 23.

To take his mind off his age troubles, I suggest he help me clean up a bit as we are having some people over tomorrow afternoon. He hangs some pictures and attacks the library area with gusto. Within a few minutes, I realize the house is silent so I go to investigate.

I stand in arched doorway watching him fidget with a blue and black raven ornament that I bought from an artist a few Christmases ago. He had torn the ribbon from the top of the small bird and was trying to balance the thin wooden legs on one of the bookshelves. He gets frustrated every time the bird falls over.

He senses my presence and looks up. Deadpan he states, "If only we had the bust of Lenore."

I love this man and his wacky sense of humor. Happy birthday, Honey!

Perhaps a Cinquain...

Recently, we did Cinquians as summaries for some stories we read. Cinquains are structured as follows:

The first line is the subject line
Second line - a two word description of topic
The third contains an action related to the topic
The fourth line is four words containing emotion and providing insight
The fifth line is synonym for the first line

Here was my example:

Teenagers
Lost Sheep
Exploding with Anger
Infuriating, reaching for acceptance
Chaos

My kids actually thought it described them very well. Of course my seniors said it described them years ago... I let them have their pride.

Teaching Reflections

I am not a great teacher. I usually pass mediocre. Sometimes, I stumble upon good. In no way am I teacher of the year.

Lately, I've been disillusioned with my current profession. Endless questions---was I chosen to do this? Should I be teaching? Why am I here?

Upon reflection last weekend, I realized I wanted to remember what it was like to be a newby. My colleagues in my Masters program are beginning their student teaching and I am jealous. I want to have that excitement again.

I came into my classroom Monday and looked around at my quasi-depressing room. Yes, there are pictures on the walls but there are also carvings in the tables. I could have chosen to focus on the bad, but I knew I needed to change my attitude.

I decided to smile more and scowl less. I changed all my lesson plans around. I altered policies and procedures in my second hour class. I listened to their stories with virgin ears. I shared some of my own stories as well. I opened my heart. I reached some of them and reaffirmed my belief that I can't help the ones who don't want the help.

Teaching is not my last profession. For now, it is my current calling. And no matter what, this journey into the classroom is worth it every day as long as I help one child.

Bring back the classic freak, please

I am positively afraid. Occasionally, since I have nothing else to do with my boring life, I search for bizarre and twisted things in the news. Weird people doing unthinkable things are always amusing and usually make for great commentary. I am beginning to notice, however, that "the news of the weird" is the same as "the news of the normal". The people in charge are the ones that do the scariest things.

In December, MSNBC reported about police officers in France who placed plastic explosives in the side pocket of a random, unmarked passenger bag at Charles De Gaulle for a police dog training exercise. The problem? They lost the bag before they completed the exercise.

According to the report, the bag left the airport sometime in the two-hour window in which they were playing around. It left? Did it have legs? The police have assured everyone that it was ok that they let the bad bag escape as there was no detonator for the explosives. Oh, all right then. No biggie. What did that unsuspecting passenger think when he got home that night?

And, even scarier, how about the fact that school officials in Phoenix are using a fingerprinting tracking device to log when children get on and off their school busses? The fingerprint button tracks when a child boards and departs a bus and wirelessly sends that information to a local police department. Supposedly, this system helps reduce the rate of kidnappings.

My questions is this: How in the hell is this going to help? Children generally don't get snatched when they are on the school bus. Ok, sure, we'll be able to tell if a child made it to her school bus and where she got off the bus, but will that really help when trying to catch a kidnapper? You don't have to be a genius to know that the cost benefit analysis says to dump this program in a heartbeat. It is not doing what it is intended to do...unless the intention is really to get children so used to being tracked that they don't feel threatened when even more of our privacy rights are compromised.

This type of weird news is too scary for me. I'd love to read a story about small cults of leather clad freaks who want to fight for their right to hang themselves by using metal clips in their skin. Those people look like normal compared to the truly terrifying Big Brother.

I'm Done

Stick a resume on me.

I'm through with feeling ill from the pot smell emanating from my classroom. I'm finished with the "but Ms. M" excuses. I don't want to watch another student sweat and convulse because she is having a bad reaction to G (code name for Glass, which is Crystal Meth). I don't want to be called racist for asking a student to refrain from calling everyone "nigga" in my classroom. I probably wouldn't mind as much if it wasn't preceded by "mother-fuckin."

I'm finishing my Masters in April. I think I'll apply for teaching jobs at local school districts. I have already started to apply for jobs back in the corporate world.

Some possibilities I'm entertaining: financial planner, ballroom dancer, wedding planner, professional sky-diver, PhD student, college instructor, or underpaid writer. Perhaps I should join the circus? Any suggestions on what my next career should be? Send your ideas to me - michmerc@aol.com or comment on my post. All possibilities will be entertained...

T minus 26

In May, it will be 26 years since this girl and her family moved in next door to my family on 44th Avenue. I remember the day they moved in. My mom told me that the new neighbors had a little girl who looked to be my age.

My mom was mostly correct. Ericka (aka Ree and road-trip name of Remi) is 4 1/2 months older than I.

This means that today, my dear road-tripping, hell-raising, beer-guzzling, karaoke-"These-Boots-Are-Made-For-Walking" singing, constantly-laughing, fellow muppet-loving best friend is 30. And I am not there yet. I'd feel like I could give her a hard time about it but I'm not far behind.

Happy Birthday Remi! The best is yet to come.

Roxy

I Resolve

Are resolutions ever resolute?

Last year, I resolved to date single people regularly, to live a healthier lifestyle and to travel more often.

That whole marriage thing killed my dating life. I joined a bad gym for a few months and then lost my drive. The only one that really worked out was the travel thing. I have some killer stories from those giggly, girly weekends...

I feel like I should make responsible resolutions this year. It may be because I'm turning 30 in May, but I think it is really because I secretly fear that Mother Nature is going to slap me up-side the head and properly domesticate me. Should I resolve to be a good housewife? Yeah, right. I'd resolve to stop shaving my legs and resolve to yell at my husband to pick up his underwear, but I already do those things so it wouldn't be much of a stretch.

Perhaps I should build my resolutions off of my experiences from last year. 2004 was a whirlwind and it tested and tried my patience with the world. I lost a lot of individuality but gained a new perspective on the true meaning of love. I saw old friends, gained new ones and lost someone very important to me.

So, for 2005 I resolve to me more appreciative of the people in my life. I will be nice to my husband. I will make time for my girlfriends. I'll write to my family. I won't kill my in-laws. I won't neglect my promises to myself. I'll graduate with my Masters. I will write more. And most importantly, I will not lose myself even though I am now half of a two.

And I thought I had problems

Eccentric British rock musician Genesis P-Orridge and his wife and partner, Lady Jaye Breyer, are gradually transforming themselves surgically into gender-neutral human beings ("pandrogynous") resembling each other, so that eventually they will be indistinguishable, to demonstrate how overrated gender is as a point of reference. (For example, he wore a lace dress at their wedding, and she dressed as a biker guy, with moustache, and for Valentine's Day 2003, each got breast implants.) P-Orridge told SF Weekly in October that their goal is to jointly become a third person, distinct from either of them.

All you need is love

The BIG DAY is over. The months of planning were realized, the weather was perfect - the I Do's emotional and tear-jerking. The guests were charming (even those who went skivvy-dipping in the middle of the night). The resort was impeccable. The mini-honeymoon was too short. The pictures are being developed. Everything is so very perfect!

Now- reality. The marriage part is great - the aftermess atrocious.

Our apartment looks as if it has been hit by a wedding tornado. Scraps of paper, bits of sheer ribbon, gifts, thank-you's, cards, bags and throw-away cameras christen every corner and spare bit of floor space. The delicate ivory silk is crammed in a white plastic garmet bag on the floor of my guest room. That beautiful bouquet chosen oh-so-carefully by my sweet and wonderful husband is currently rotting on the counter of the guest bathroom. I have no idea where the guest book ended up and we haven't even started to send our love and gratitude to those who made the day so special.

No, I have no idea how we are going to get through all we have to do and move into our house at the end of the month. But, as the song goes, all you need is love. I can safely say we have plenty of that...