for the Holidays.
Best Part of Midnight Mass:
Great Aunt Bernie socking my dad in the gut during the Sign of Peace.
Say What?
While rummaging for batteries so we can play Taboo at my G-ma's house:
My mom: Ma, you got any double As?
G-ma: No, but I have hard-boiled eggs.
All of us: Dying laughing.
G-ma: What the hell's your problem? You can make deviled eggs out of them!
Things you only say to your 9 and 12 yr old boy cousins:
"Gross! I don't want your spitty marshmallows on me."
"First Name. Middle Name. Last Name. I don't ever want to hear you say that word again."
"If I get anymore bony knees driven into my back, I will kill you. And you."
"It's a good thing you have an Xbox and a Wii and a PlayStation. How are your reading skills?"
"Toothbrush? Deodorant? What do you think?"
"How many frickin' pops do you need a day? A million?"
"Hey, let's go steal the grownup table's salt."
Please, Will You Play With Me?
While playing Catchphrase with my cousins Tucker and Trevor and my aunt Betsy:
Me to Bets and Trev: Hey, you guys, when it's Tucker's turn, let's guess completely wrong answers.
Tucker: OK, guys, this is something you hit a baseball with! (pantomimes swinging)
Me: A tennis racket!
Betsy: Um, wearing slippers!
Tucker: No! C'mon! OK, I like to do this, and I hit a baseball with it!
Trevor: Ketchup!
Me: Cheez-its!
Betsy: Ramen noodles!
Tucker: (on the verge of an aneurysm) No!! You guys!!
beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeep!
Me: Oh, Tuck, time's up. You lose, man.
Tucker: You guys are so stupid!
Me: Well, Tuck, you gotta give better clues, man.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Snow Day
The homestead:
The monster driveway:
Evergreen:
Prentis Park:
Prints:
My street:
I am ready for some sledding now, I tell you what.
The monster driveway:
Evergreen:
Prentis Park:
Prints:
My street:
I am ready for some sledding now, I tell you what.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Diciembre
I am proud to be a part of a block that shovels as diligently as I do.
Last evening, I shoveled while B made delicious baked pork chops and brownies. Not as one, mind you, like some Simpsons' casserole, but one for dinner and one for dessert. It was about 6 pm, and the whole block was outside shoveling. I caught up with my neighbor, John; I moved strips of the lightest snow from one side of the drive to the other; our Christmas lights were on in full force; it all was a little Griswoldy.
I give my last final tomorrow, and will also collect 39 final portfolios. Marathon grading? Sure. But then I will be done and won't worry about teaching until January 19th. Yessir. I've gotten a major leg-up on next semester's stuff, and am looking forward to a hard-partyin'. sleepin' all day, lotsa-drinkin' January. We'll see.
I like when a student asks me a question during their final exam, and I pretty much give them an example of what I am looking for, and they still narrow their eyes and say something like, "well, I don't know anything about that." Really? You haven't been awake and out into the world for the past 4 months? Well, that's cool, I guess.
The campus I teach at has had some interesting things going on lately. I am not so much in the loop, as I commute, but get all sorts of nutty e-mails about flowers being sent to this person, braided pastries for sale from this person, a student making threats against a faculty member, this dean taking (or not taking) another job. I never get any context, just a lot of two-line e-mails about what may or may not be going on.
Today at lunch, a man in a camo jacket touched my back like he knew me.
We are supposed to get more snow, and lots of it, tomorrow night. I don't mind, as I got some good boots. The birds that winter here have been hanging out on the feeder in the front yard: juncos, nuthatches, and some giant doves that B accuses of mating with pigeons.
I recently came across a poem by Pat Mora titled, "Immigrants." I've tried to approach 201 as a cultural studies course, and so made my advanced comp students write on it. I'm blown away:
Immigrants
wrap their babies in the American flag,
feed them mashed hot dogs and apple pie,
name them Bill and Daisy,
buy them blonde dolls that blink blue
eyes or a football and tiny cleats
before the baby can even walk,
speak to them in thick English,
hallo, babee, hallo,
whisper in Spanish or Polish
when the babies sleep, whisper
in a dark parent bed, that dark
parent fear, Will they like
our boy, our girl, our fine American
boy, our fine American girl?
Last evening, I shoveled while B made delicious baked pork chops and brownies. Not as one, mind you, like some Simpsons' casserole, but one for dinner and one for dessert. It was about 6 pm, and the whole block was outside shoveling. I caught up with my neighbor, John; I moved strips of the lightest snow from one side of the drive to the other; our Christmas lights were on in full force; it all was a little Griswoldy.
I give my last final tomorrow, and will also collect 39 final portfolios. Marathon grading? Sure. But then I will be done and won't worry about teaching until January 19th. Yessir. I've gotten a major leg-up on next semester's stuff, and am looking forward to a hard-partyin'. sleepin' all day, lotsa-drinkin' January. We'll see.
I like when a student asks me a question during their final exam, and I pretty much give them an example of what I am looking for, and they still narrow their eyes and say something like, "well, I don't know anything about that." Really? You haven't been awake and out into the world for the past 4 months? Well, that's cool, I guess.
The campus I teach at has had some interesting things going on lately. I am not so much in the loop, as I commute, but get all sorts of nutty e-mails about flowers being sent to this person, braided pastries for sale from this person, a student making threats against a faculty member, this dean taking (or not taking) another job. I never get any context, just a lot of two-line e-mails about what may or may not be going on.
Today at lunch, a man in a camo jacket touched my back like he knew me.
We are supposed to get more snow, and lots of it, tomorrow night. I don't mind, as I got some good boots. The birds that winter here have been hanging out on the feeder in the front yard: juncos, nuthatches, and some giant doves that B accuses of mating with pigeons.
I recently came across a poem by Pat Mora titled, "Immigrants." I've tried to approach 201 as a cultural studies course, and so made my advanced comp students write on it. I'm blown away:
Immigrants
wrap their babies in the American flag,
feed them mashed hot dogs and apple pie,
name them Bill and Daisy,
buy them blonde dolls that blink blue
eyes or a football and tiny cleats
before the baby can even walk,
speak to them in thick English,
hallo, babee, hallo,
whisper in Spanish or Polish
when the babies sleep, whisper
in a dark parent bed, that dark
parent fear, Will they like
our boy, our girl, our fine American
boy, our fine American girl?
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
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