Post-Thanksgiving

My nephew turned 1 today and I can't imagine being able to love the boy with any more capacity. But, I will.

And mostly, I am thankful for you and the love, Scrabble, dancing, karaoke, piano, coffee, red beers, sarcasm, poetry, ukulele, walks, dogs, cats, peacocks, couches, cookies, patience, wine, music, security, commiserating, Sundays, Saturdays, Thursdays, happy hours, porches, green olives, Catchphrase, jokes, tantrums, books, gossip, pizza, laughter, and more lovelovelovelovelove you've surrounded me with.

Thankful, indeed.

The Morning Drive (In Pictures)

Whenever I pass a foursome of elderly people in a 4-door Honda travelling north on 1-29, I am convinced they are going up to the Dakota Magic Casino for a day of second-hand smoke, senior buffets, and big money.

Because when I am a retiree, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be road-tripping to casinos. I'll be drinking whiskey and diet cokes and playing the quarter machines. I'll also be cranky, I am sure.

So, I guess the only way I will different when I am 65 then from right now, at 27, is that I will be 38 years older. Sounds good to me.

*************

After a fab day in Gayville with Jacy and Weez yesterday, my law partner Breem and I met an "English department person" (that's how we are referred to around town, I hear) for tea and wine downtown. While the conversation was, as always, sparkling, I have to admit I was most entranced by the group of Red Hat Society Ladies that filed in for dinner. They were lovely--visions in red, purple, and polyester. It was like looking into a mirror.

A totally awesome mirror.

*************

I am loving Beyonce THIS MUCH right now.

Def Poetry

I showed them this, among others, because I introduced social commentary poems to them today:



Then I showed them this, because, well, you know?

Creative Writing Prompt: Abecedarian

Ah, there I go,
but for the Grace of God, a sticky
child kicking me in the shins,
digging through my purse for a quarter. Or, breaking down
elegy for a bunch of bored Christian farmkids, wanting only a
Ford, a backseat, a box of PBR, and a Friday night. Praise
God, instead, I am
here, raking the leaves for the thousandth time,
ignoring the new priest's insistence on pre-Vatican II,
joking with you during Happy Hour, dodging a
kiss from the drunk girl we gave a ride to after karaoke.
Laughing at your lips and your
moves,
never once mean, but always laughing.
Oh, you know, I'm just being myself. And as much as you
purse your lips, you know you love it.
Quietly, we've gone about building this, quiet like the
rust-colored burning coal veins.
Somewhere, we are envied. I have to believe this is
true. I am ready for a dirtier
urban landscape, one with a
view of laundry and tall buildings and floor-to-sky
windows reflecting the mass of people and cars and traffic lights.
Extracting the nostalgic prairie and looking, or maybe
yearning, for something a little bit North of
Zenith.

The Annual Pumpkin Party!

(See, K? You say, "jump" and I say "how high?")

Photos from the ____ Annual Pumkpin Party. Pumpkin power, people.

My Morning Play List

while cleaning the kitchen.

We're at the Hs on my iPod:

"H to da Izzo" by Jay Z
"Happy Me" by Don Ho
"Hard Headed Woman" by Elvis
"Heart of Gold" by Neil Young
"Hello Mary Lou" by Ricky Nelson
"Heroes" by Jill Sobule
"Hey Mama" by the Black-Eyed Peas
"Holidae Inn" by Snoop
"Honeysuckle Lullaby" by Michelle Malone
"Honky Tonk Woman" by the Rolling Stones
"How to Save a Life" by The Fray
"Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran

You're sick of me, it's the November slump,

I get it.

Right, but please don't sit in the back and nod vigorously when I ask, for the billionth time, "is everyone clear on my expectations for this essay?" and then come to class the next week with a paper about a whacky topic that's about a million miles away from the essay overview, helpful hints handout, structure handout, and another helpful hints handout I gave you and read aloud to you last week.

And, please, don't make me ask you to get off of Facebook more than once a semester, much less more than once a class period. I came dangerously close to hurling swear words, and I really don't want to do that.

And last time, your papers weren't so good, and this time, when I left half the class time open for in-class research and one-on-one feedback from me, you decided to leave. Really? You really care that little about your education?

And this isn't an introductory class, right? So, I shouldn't have to ask "where's your thesis?", and I shouldn't have to ask you to proofread a paper before you turn it into me, and I shouldn't have to remind you that a Works Cited page is essential if you are using outside research. Which you are.

And please recognize the importance of a peer review workshop. You "work better alone"? No, you don't. You "don't get" peer review? Fair enough. I "don't get" your choice of shirts.

And please take advantage of my office hours. I will help you.

And don't tell me you want to write about an "easy" topic" because you hate writing and you're just "too busy living, man." Because I have a hard time controlling my sarcasm. And I can be biting.

And don't wordlessly hand me your laptop to show me how broken it is and how the cord is ripped and how your dog chewed it and how a new battery is on it's way and how you don't know what happened and how you have no idea what a jump drive is.

And don't don't don't tell me you're not voting because you don't care. You are the future? I am so so so worried.

Please give me reasons not to be worried.