:: p-dog ::

I had a wonderful time visiting Amy and Delia in Nashville this past weekend, but I am running out of times I can describe it. So I thought I should stick it up here before I exhaust my supply of retellings on my family (I'm now in Dallas for the duration of spring break).

Summary: A fantastic visit of an ideal length (read: no one ran out of things to say), wherein I caught up with two good friends, discussed many issues of importance and who was lately married, and saw a representative sampling of Nashville's wonders, all in mostly sunny weather. Delia and Amy passed me around like an amicably divorced couple with a cherished child. We ate and drank at many fine establishments, hiked up and then down a hill, saw the obligatory live music, and cooked a sumptuous Easter meal. While I can’t speak for everyone, a good time was had by me.

Narrative: Amy swooped me up after my series of plane rides from San Jose, and we promptly picnicked in the shade of the Parthenon, fearing the gorgeous spring weather would be short-lived. “The Parthenon?” you say? Yes. The city of Nashville has rebuilt this wonder of the Greek world in the middle of downtown, because why not? If you were a city, you might like an ancient landmark, too. Then we met Delia for a beer (or rather, two beers for the price of one—I had a Shiner, uncommon in Cali) and bounced around to a few places for food and drink.

On Saturday, Delia handed me off to Amy, and we loitered in an Austin-esque coffee shop, solving the problems of the world and then struggling through a diabolical crossword puzzle that omitted some, but not all, letter Us. Which made it difficult but not impossible for us (by which I mean Amy), to figure out that “a dog option” was “SAERKRAT.”

Next, we hiked for 5 or 6 miles through Percy Warner park. While it may have been more scenic with leaves on trees, it was still a lovely walk, and the bare branches allowed us better views of babbling brooks and birds (and once, notably, an owl). Unfortunately, I was the only hiker clad in actual shoes, and Delia managed to collect a fine set of flip-flop-related blisters and do some significant bleeding. I would have been bitching for hours, but she was stoic as a marathon-trainee should be about such things.

Perhaps the highlight of the day was the live music. After dinner with Delia, Michael, Jessica, and Michael’s friend (good food and interesting drinks I could not order, having left my ID elsewhere), we shed a couple of people, and Delia, Michael and I went to meet Amy (+boyfriend Carl) to see a local band they enjoy. But before the Privates went on, we were treated to the wonders of the opening band: the (aptly named) Horribly Wrong.

I became convinced they’d make it big when I heard their much-lauded single “I Admit, I’m Trying to Kill You.” As their smiling emo guitarist thrashed his instrument with all the earnest joy and endearing pudginess of an overgrown 5^th grade band member, and the skinny, toothy vocalist removed his shirt to reveal “BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD” printed neatly on his chest, I suspected I would hear of this band again, perhaps when their first album goes platinum.

Their next song was called “Sacrifice,” I assume, as it was the only word in the song. By screaming it over and over for the duration, the Horribly Wrong allowed the audience to make our own connections, to ponder the implications, and also, eventually, to figure out what word it was they were screaming. “Ah,” I thought, once I could make it out, “It’s and Easter song!”

The absolute climax, however, came with their masterwork, “Blood, Blood, Blood, All Over My Body.” Mere music could not contain it. To fully realize the emotional depth of the piece, they spat fake blood into each other’s mouths, spurring the six acid-tripping moshphiles in the audience to new heights of bouncing, running into each other, and attempted crowd surfing.

Hard to beat that. The Privates were good and all, in that the instruments were distinguishable, the lyrics intelligible, and the songs longer than 40 seconds. But they just couldn’t match that special feel of the Horribly Wrong, who played their atrocious music with the sincerity of a child proudly presenting his parents with a dead frog.

The next day, Jesus rose from the dead, and Amy, Delia, and I grocery shopped for an Easter feast. We reprised the roasted red bell pepper soup from my Valentine’s menu, with lemon, sage, and garlic chicken, asparagus, and Delia’s family’s “browned” (not brown) rice. For desert, strawberry shortcake. We had a great time cooking. The boyfriends arrived and turned on the basketball game, and we were confronted with a vision of holidays to come. Particularly when the boys adjourned to the couch after dinner, and the girls cleaned up. Apparently, they have not learned the rule that those who cook do not clean, college basketball be damned. The meal was lovely, though, and we lingered over it for over an hour before restuffing ourselves with dessert. Then I sat on the couch for the rest of the day. At some point I moved from Delia’s couch to Amy’s, but the situations were much the same.

This morning, Delia deposited me at the airport, and I was off to Dallas, where the adventure, such as it is, continues. Further updates as events warrant.

:: Leslie H - 1:31 PM - ::

The most horrible thing I've laughed at this week. Okay, this month.

On a recent test in reading, a question asked the students to decribe what a concentration camp was like in four sentences. Almost every student aced it and included good, accurate details. And then there was this one.

(typed verbatim)

"In the concentration camps there were Fake showers and a huge microwave. There are fake showers so that the Jews would get killed by the poison gas. There was a huge Microwave to burn all jews that were all ready dead. There the Jews look black when they came out of the Microwave."

DING!

I told you it was horrible.

:: Leslie H - 5:01 PM - ::

For those of you who saw my short-lived child molester post and were wondering what the deal was, here's the story.

At the end of the staff meeting on Tuesday, my principal walked in. She had just been informed by the police that a long-term volunteer at the school (I don't know what this man did for a living--he was always around, helping out with one thing or another) had been arrested for molesting a child. Our principal had gone through this before with someone when the accusations had been false and the man found not guilty, but of course his life had been destroyed anyway, so she urged us not to jump to conclusions. She also gave us some pointers or dealing with the press in case they showed up the next day (basically--keep them away from the students).

For the rest of the evening, I obsessively reviewed my every interaction with this man, wondering.

On Wednesday morning, I went to school prepared for anything. Unnecessarily, as it turns out. I read in the paper the details of the accusation, and it had nothing to do with our students. The man is also very involved in the local Little League, and it was a 14-year-old on the team who accused him of inappropriate touching when examining a baseball-related injury. The article mentioned our school, but didn't even spell it right.

So if it's possibly to feel relief in this situation (yes, it's possible), we feel it at my school. Our ballooning fears about widespread, long-term child molestation under our noses seem relatively unfounded. Um, yay?

:: Leslie H - 10:08 AM - ::

Woe unto me, last night my hard drive bit it. All gone. Poof.

I think I backed things up, more or less. But I think I will recognize this edge-of-panic feeling if one day--god forbid--my house should burn down, and I watch bewildered, wondering if I paid my insurance bill.

Fortunately, I live with free tech support, and Bryan with powers perilous is currently trying to reanimate the corpse of my drive long enough for it to disgorge its contents into the next generation. So maybe I didn't lose all of my work after all.

UPDATE: An email from Dr. Bryan... "your computer is sleeping peacefully after making a full recovery."

:: Leslie H - 10:12 AM - ::

I returned yesterday from my overnight staff retreat in the hills of Santa Cruz. Given the public nature of this blog, I can't tell you much about it. Except that it was awesome.

I may eventually try to find a picture I can post here.

Until then, enjoy these quotes from the Friday night party:

"You know you love me, bitch." -Ms. R to Ms. F, as she sits in her lap
"Come here with your little black ass." -Ms. F to Ms. R
"If you two make out tonight, it will be the best staff retreat ever." - Ms. H

:: Leslie H - 9:35 AM - ::

I got my acceptance letter from Berkeley yesterday, ending two years of paranoia that some random administrative glitch had voided my deferral. Speaking of underfunded public education, though (which everyone is in California these days), in-state tuition is now $12,000/year. I'll have to decide what lengths I will go to to avoid student loans.

It's a happy decision, though. The only unfortunate piece is having to leave my school--and tell my principal (which of course I haven't done). I estimate it will take me about half a year to start romanticizing teaching middle school.

Teaching is going pretty well this month. My students have started independent reading of level-appropriate books while practicing these "active reading strategies." Something in me thrills to see my whole class, over half of whom have never read a book, engrossed in reading for 25 minutes each day. I told them that if they all read perfectly for three days, on the fourth they could lay on the floor and take out the bean bags. (I never underestimate the power of a bribe.) They've been angels.

The last day of school (ever) is three months away.

:: Leslie H - 8:02 AM - ::

A spontaneous conversation between 7th graders in my class today, provoked by a story in which the mother is 27, the father 40.

"Dude, that's old. That'd be like me with someone who's...26."
"Or someone who's 10 and 23."
"Nah, dude--like me now with a baby... Ha ha. That's sick."
"Yeah. Wait. Sick like how?"
"Sick like bad."

I choose to think of it as: a) they are discussing literature, and b) they can add and subtract.
Two points for Ms. Hall!

:: Leslie H - 9:40 PM - ::