Last night's karaoke performance included a little freelance clogging.
That is all.
Showing posts with label dork 101. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dork 101. Show all posts
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Monday, January 30, 2006
Spastic Museum-Goers
This story takes me back in time a bit.
In 11th grade, I took the National French Exam and came in 3rd in my state. In 12th grade, I came in 2nd (only because another bigger nerd than me from my same French class who had no friends and studied all the time beat me by one question). So, when our school coordinated a trip to Paris for some of the French students, I was first in line to go! It was a blast, and I spent most of my time translating off the walls of cathedrals, trying to avoid smelly tour guides, and making sure my vegetarian friends ordered the right kind of pizza at Pizza Hut outside of the Pompidou center. I got to go to Pere Lachaise cemetary, and witnessed a super-bizarre marijuana-smoking and wine-drinking ceremony at Jim Morrison's grave (the highlight of the trip, from my teenage perspective). I saw the Louvre, the Museum d'Orsay, and the palace at Versailles, spent all my shopping money on pastries, and got to hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Zenith.
At the Louvre, I was busy talking to friends (like 17 year old girls do) and not paying attention to where I was going. I tripped over something, and then regained my balance and continued talking to my friends while walking along. I heard my friends shouting, "You eeeeeeeeeee-diot! Look where you're standing!!" That was about the same time I saw the grimacing security guard charging toward me. It was only then that I looked down and realized I had tripped over a small barrier edging, and was standing in the middle of an ancient Greek mosaic artwork that had been painstakingly relocated to the floor of the museum, one tile at a time.
Smooth move, right?
At least I didn't break anything.
My little girl did well in 1st grade today. The teacher said she finished her work before everyone else, picked up quickly on some of the new material, handled the 1st grade math with ease, and had to be moved up to the 2nd grade reading book because 1st grade was too easy for her. God bless private schools, because I wonder how amenable to meeting her individual educational needs the public schools would be. The school my kids are at is far from perfect, but it is perfect for us, for now. :-)
In 11th grade, I took the National French Exam and came in 3rd in my state. In 12th grade, I came in 2nd (only because another bigger nerd than me from my same French class who had no friends and studied all the time beat me by one question). So, when our school coordinated a trip to Paris for some of the French students, I was first in line to go! It was a blast, and I spent most of my time translating off the walls of cathedrals, trying to avoid smelly tour guides, and making sure my vegetarian friends ordered the right kind of pizza at Pizza Hut outside of the Pompidou center. I got to go to Pere Lachaise cemetary, and witnessed a super-bizarre marijuana-smoking and wine-drinking ceremony at Jim Morrison's grave (the highlight of the trip, from my teenage perspective). I saw the Louvre, the Museum d'Orsay, and the palace at Versailles, spent all my shopping money on pastries, and got to hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Zenith.
At the Louvre, I was busy talking to friends (like 17 year old girls do) and not paying attention to where I was going. I tripped over something, and then regained my balance and continued talking to my friends while walking along. I heard my friends shouting, "You eeeeeeeeeee-diot! Look where you're standing!!" That was about the same time I saw the grimacing security guard charging toward me. It was only then that I looked down and realized I had tripped over a small barrier edging, and was standing in the middle of an ancient Greek mosaic artwork that had been painstakingly relocated to the floor of the museum, one tile at a time.
Smooth move, right?
At least I didn't break anything.
My little girl did well in 1st grade today. The teacher said she finished her work before everyone else, picked up quickly on some of the new material, handled the 1st grade math with ease, and had to be moved up to the 2nd grade reading book because 1st grade was too easy for her. God bless private schools, because I wonder how amenable to meeting her individual educational needs the public schools would be. The school my kids are at is far from perfect, but it is perfect for us, for now. :-)
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Attempts at real blogging
Let's talk about something more sensible. Like body hair.
Gentlemen: If you're that obsessed over whether or not your woman shaves daily, weekly, or never, you need to rethink a couple of things. For starters, time. If a lady is running late and doesn't take the time to shave in the shower, too frickin' bad. At least she showered. Get over it. And if it's winter-- puhleeze. If she wants to run around looking like she's wearing some hairy legwarmers, she can. If she doesn't complain about your body hair, man stench, and beer belly, she can be hairy. And yes, (name omitted to protect the not-so-innocent but someone I like a lot anyway), I am talking to you. ;-)
Wait... That's not a whole lot better than talking about strippers and porn, now that I think about it.
It might even make me sound weirder. Maybe I'll go put some strikethrough on it and try again.
Ugh.
My 5 year old daughter has been dragging for the past few weeks, when it comes to getting up and getting ready for school in the mornings. She finally broke down this morning, started crying, and told me that she hates school. I'm sure part of it has to do with the fact that it's been pretty cold and rainy lately, and they aren't getting as much outside time at school as kindergarteners should. But part of it is that she's bored. She started sounding out words when she was 3, and finished reading all two hundred eighty-something pages of her children's Bible before her 5th birthday-- all by herself. She can do double digit addition and subtraction in her head (don't really know how she picked that up; she's been doing it for months), and loves to write letters to people (wonder where she gets that?). "Mommy, they make me do math and Ms. Debbie makes everyone count sticks, and I can do it without counting sticks. And they make us spell things one letter at a time, and I can write the whole sentence all by myself!" And the complaints went on and on.
I remember my school years vividly. Like a big nightmare.
I was a lot like my daughter, and learned to read and do math early. When I went into kindergarten, my teacher gave me a hard time. Why did your mom have to teach you to read early, anyway? Mom never really taught me to read-- she just read to me and answered my questions. In 1st grade, they realized I was drowning in my own boredom. So, worried that letting me skip to 2nd grade might cause emotional adjustment issues, they came up with a much more bizarre plan. Beginning in first grade and lasting all the way through 7th, I was in two grades at once. I would go to school with the kids my age for social studies and math (and they all thought I was the weird smart kid), and then I would go to school with kids a year older for language arts (and they all thought I was the little nerd).
In 4th grade, I moved to a school that had a good gifted program called PELICAN. It meant that several other gifted kids my age and I got pulled out for a full day one day each week to do hands-on projects, experiments, and study units, and it was SOOOOOOOOOO COOL! But my time in the regular classroom was still painfully boring, so they started pulling me out a second day each week to go to PELICAN with the older kids, too. So, I was in 4th grade for a half day and 5th for a half day three days each week, pulled out for 4th grade gifted program one day each week, and pulled out for 5th grade gifted the other day each week. That was when I was 9.
Sixth grade brought another cranky teacher who was annoyed that I needed to do a different reading level. I don't know why you can't just do the same book everyone else does! Um, because I did it last year?
Eighth grade brought band (woo-hoo!), and tracking, which meant that I got fed into all the honors classes and could finally be in one grade, with kids my age. It also meant that things got pretty easy, and I could skate by without doing my homework. That lasted through high school, and I never really developed anything that could be considered a study habit, much less study habits, plural. I rarely ever did homework, but could ace the tests if I listened even a little bit in class, and graduated high school with a good bit of AP credits and dual-enrollments and was accepted into the honors college at USC-- which I immediately bombed out of, having no study habits, no self-discipline, and having had any true enjoyment of education beaten out of me by a history of whacked out attempts at engaging me academically.
Enter the homeschooling idea. I homeschooled my children up until this school year, so this whole school thing is pretty new to me. I had enjoyed homeschooling because of the freedom to challenge my children, teaching them at an individual rate that wasn't to pushy but that did encourage self-discipline and taught my children the joy of a good challenge.
I don't want to look like a freaky parent who is controlling or delusional about my child's capabilities, but I sure as anything don't want them being bored. I have seen firsthand how boredom with the educational process can create bad study habits, instill a lack of self-discipline, and generate a general disregard and disrespect for the educational process in general, and educators in particular. I don't want my kids growing up with that. I want them to always challenge themselves, to always know that education is SUCH a gift and a blessing, and to enjoy the process of learning new things as much as they did back when we were homeschooling.
Hmmmmmm.... Not sure what to do.
See, this is the kind of wacko post you get from me when I'm sleep deprived from staying up too late to edit the podcast. I didn't quite finish, but it should be up by tomorrow, and this is going to be a good one. AND a reporter from the local newspaper sat in with me so that she can write a feature article in Saturday's paper about podcasting and local podcasters. Oh wait, I'm the only podcaster in my town (that I know of). ;-)
And I promise to those of you who listen to the 'cast that after this, I have several in-person interviews planned, so you will be spared the skype audio quality, at least for a little while.
Ho-hum. Better start my day.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Christmas Eve Shenanigans Part Two
Prayer, presents, kryptonite bellydancing, midnight hobo runs to Walgreens, and cursing some complete stranger in Hong Kong. What could make Christmas Eve more fun than that?
As a family, we prayed, read scriptures, opened a few of our presents, and then sent the kids to bed. That was when I realized that I had left a few of the kids presents at my office. So, at about 8:30 pm, I dashed over to the warehouse. While I was there, I figured I'd go ahead and put some content on that snazzy little iPod I got. So, I opened up iTunes, and figured I might as well download a music video (something I've never done), just to see how it looks on the iPod. But, I knew that my husband the cheapskate was bound to make fun of me for buying a video to watch on a 2 X 1.5 inch screen, so I knew I had to choose my video wisely. I knew it had to be one with which he could not argue. I bought my video, updated my podcasts, and transferred it all over to the iPod. I called my husband to talk me through my exit (the warehouse is near a bit of a creepy, drug-problem and murder kind of neighborhood, so I always keep him on the phone with me while I leave, close the gate, and get back into the car), and headed home.
Once home, I broke out the iPod to show Daddy-O how cool it was. "I bought a music video," I said. He rolled his eyes and looked at me disapprovingly, but kept his silence. "What, you don't think I should have?" I asked. Silence. Glare. I started the video playing and smiled and danced. Still silence. Still glare. Now head-shaking. "You aren't right," he said. And then I flipped the iPod around to where he could see it and held it out as if threatening someone with a weapon. His eyes left my face, and landed upon Shakira in her full glory, bellydancing out of the ocean, strutting through a stampede, and crawling through mud. It was like kryptonite. "Oh, you bought a video-- cool!" The man was putty in my hands, and when I added in a few bellydance moves of my own, the argument was officially over.
I then set myself to the task of putting cool new Star Wars skins onto the 2 gameboys I had bought for my little guys. Piece of cake. Then I broke out the pearlized pink gameboy hard-shell case I had bought for my daughter, which required the complete disassembly and reassembly of her gameboy. It was quickly clear to me that I did not have a screwdriver small enough for the job, so I jumped up, pulled on my husband's sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt over my nightgown, and shoved my sockless feet into some fuzzy Emus. "You look like a hobo," my husband said. "I don't care-- it's not like I'm going to see anybody I know at Walgreens at midnight."
Walgreens was packed with people. I got my screwdrivers and went to check out. "What are you doing here, and not at home with your kids?" I hear from across the store. Nice. Someone I know. It's the 18 year old boy who started karate around the same time I did last year, and who was my sparring partner when we were both orange belts. I babbled something about the stupidity of buying things off of eBay from Hong Kong and the world's smallest screwdriver, did my best hobo jig, and darted out the door. Very Ashlee Simpson.
I was up until 1:30 AM assembling that stupid Gameboy and getting the last few things ready for the kids, and then played tetris for 1/2 and hour before bedtime. I'm getting better at tetris, by the way, and can now make it to level 15 with ease.
Part Two: Christmas Eve at Home
As a family, we prayed, read scriptures, opened a few of our presents, and then sent the kids to bed. That was when I realized that I had left a few of the kids presents at my office. So, at about 8:30 pm, I dashed over to the warehouse. While I was there, I figured I'd go ahead and put some content on that snazzy little iPod I got. So, I opened up iTunes, and figured I might as well download a music video (something I've never done), just to see how it looks on the iPod. But, I knew that my husband the cheapskate was bound to make fun of me for buying a video to watch on a 2 X 1.5 inch screen, so I knew I had to choose my video wisely. I knew it had to be one with which he could not argue. I bought my video, updated my podcasts, and transferred it all over to the iPod. I called my husband to talk me through my exit (the warehouse is near a bit of a creepy, drug-problem and murder kind of neighborhood, so I always keep him on the phone with me while I leave, close the gate, and get back into the car), and headed home.
Once home, I broke out the iPod to show Daddy-O how cool it was. "I bought a music video," I said. He rolled his eyes and looked at me disapprovingly, but kept his silence. "What, you don't think I should have?" I asked. Silence. Glare. I started the video playing and smiled and danced. Still silence. Still glare. Now head-shaking. "You aren't right," he said. And then I flipped the iPod around to where he could see it and held it out as if threatening someone with a weapon. His eyes left my face, and landed upon Shakira in her full glory, bellydancing out of the ocean, strutting through a stampede, and crawling through mud. It was like kryptonite. "Oh, you bought a video-- cool!" The man was putty in my hands, and when I added in a few bellydance moves of my own, the argument was officially over.
I then set myself to the task of putting cool new Star Wars skins onto the 2 gameboys I had bought for my little guys. Piece of cake. Then I broke out the pearlized pink gameboy hard-shell case I had bought for my daughter, which required the complete disassembly and reassembly of her gameboy. It was quickly clear to me that I did not have a screwdriver small enough for the job, so I jumped up, pulled on my husband's sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt over my nightgown, and shoved my sockless feet into some fuzzy Emus. "You look like a hobo," my husband said. "I don't care-- it's not like I'm going to see anybody I know at Walgreens at midnight."
Walgreens was packed with people. I got my screwdrivers and went to check out. "What are you doing here, and not at home with your kids?" I hear from across the store. Nice. Someone I know. It's the 18 year old boy who started karate around the same time I did last year, and who was my sparring partner when we were both orange belts. I babbled something about the stupidity of buying things off of eBay from Hong Kong and the world's smallest screwdriver, did my best hobo jig, and darted out the door. Very Ashlee Simpson.
I was up until 1:30 AM assembling that stupid Gameboy and getting the last few things ready for the kids, and then played tetris for 1/2 and hour before bedtime. I'm getting better at tetris, by the way, and can now make it to level 15 with ease.
Monday, November 28, 2005
family time, bad dancing, and hair color
So, I been away from the blog a few days. Truthfully, I'm still working through this sickness, and between the sinus pressure and the cold meds, my head is barely clear enough to put together a coherent sentence. In fact, the previous sentence, which I can only assume is grammatically correct, took an extremely long time to write and made my head hurt a little in the process. *FOG*
Anyway, since fluency has been a bit of a challenge lately, I've been focusing my energies on activities that don't require as much clear thinking, speaking, or writing. So, last night, the kids seemed to be desperately seeking some attention, and I've been a bit distant the past few days. Trying to come up with an activity I could mentally hang with, I popped in a dance mix CD I made for a road trip last year-- Moby, Dirrty Vegas, Shakira, Wink, and the like-- and we had a little dance party in my 5 year old daughter's bedroom. Imagine, if you will, 3 beautiful little children (ages 4, 5, and 9 for those of you who don't keep up) crowded around Mommy, ready for her to impart her years of wisdom gleaned from teaching dance, performing in live shows, and generally ruling the dance floor. Anxiously awaiting the first move, they all stared at me intently while Bodyrock blared in the background. The intensity built, the pressure grew, and I knew I better come up with something good. So, I started with the robot. What kid doesn't need to know how to do the robot?
I must mention at this point, just to help you get the complete mental picture in your head, that Daddy-O (who does not dance) was sitting on the daybed, watching the spectacle and trying not to laugh too hard. So, where was I... Oh yeah, the robot. So, we were roboting all over the room, and then I showed them popping (remember that from that slew of really crappy breakdance movies from the 80s?). My kids really liked popping. Then we moved on through the whole slew of cheesy dance moves that I can do oh-so-well: The Running Man, The Roger Rabbit, The MC Hammer, and the "MC Lyte." I don't think it's really called the MC Lyte, but I saw her do this step once where you hold your right foot in your right hand and put your left hand behind your head and then spaz out rythmically, and ever since I have called it the MC Lyte. Sadly, I bet that many of you between the ages of 20 and 40 know exactly which dance move I'm talking about. Anyway... Cold meds... *fog*... Where was I? Oh yes, the MC Lyte. Then, as "Days Go By" blasted from the stereo, I decided to teach my children how to do the worm. Have I ever done the worm? No. But hey, I figured, how hard can it be? Answer: Very. Especially for particularly busty women like myself who have never before done the worm. Ow.
So, then, "Whenever, Wherever" came on, and I decided that some basic bellydance instruction might be in order. So, drawing on what I remember from these belly dance videos I used to have, and many entertaining meals at the Morocco pavilion at Epcot, I began to shimmy and shake and twirl. My 5 year old daughter thought it was DELIGHTFUL and joined right in. My 9 year old son stood in the corner, grimacing at my every move. My 4 year old son, it might be noted, continued to do the same kick-yell-fall down combo that he had been doing for most of our dance party. (He's at the age where kicking followed by yelling followed by falling down is extremely cool and edgy. If I were 4, I might have to agree.)
So, we bellydanced until bathtime. After baths, we turned on the TV to discover that the Celtic Woman concert was on PBS. I might note, at this point, that in spite of my penchant for dance music, rap, and rock, I am a BIG SUCKER for celtic music. So, Daddy-O and I curled up on the couch with three beautiful children smelling of freshly shampooed hair all around us, and enjoyed some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard. It was a perfect end to a perfect evening. Ahhhhhhhh....... I would LOVE to go to that concert, or at least own the CD and DVD. What beautiful voices...
All in all, we had a surprisingly wonderful evening, considering how sick we've been, and I am once again reminded of how precious my family is to me.
Was I going to talk about haircolor? *FOG* Stupid cold meds...
Anyway, since fluency has been a bit of a challenge lately, I've been focusing my energies on activities that don't require as much clear thinking, speaking, or writing. So, last night, the kids seemed to be desperately seeking some attention, and I've been a bit distant the past few days. Trying to come up with an activity I could mentally hang with, I popped in a dance mix CD I made for a road trip last year-- Moby, Dirrty Vegas, Shakira, Wink, and the like-- and we had a little dance party in my 5 year old daughter's bedroom. Imagine, if you will, 3 beautiful little children (ages 4, 5, and 9 for those of you who don't keep up) crowded around Mommy, ready for her to impart her years of wisdom gleaned from teaching dance, performing in live shows, and generally ruling the dance floor. Anxiously awaiting the first move, they all stared at me intently while Bodyrock blared in the background. The intensity built, the pressure grew, and I knew I better come up with something good. So, I started with the robot. What kid doesn't need to know how to do the robot?
I must mention at this point, just to help you get the complete mental picture in your head, that Daddy-O (who does not dance) was sitting on the daybed, watching the spectacle and trying not to laugh too hard. So, where was I... Oh yeah, the robot. So, we were roboting all over the room, and then I showed them popping (remember that from that slew of really crappy breakdance movies from the 80s?). My kids really liked popping. Then we moved on through the whole slew of cheesy dance moves that I can do oh-so-well: The Running Man, The Roger Rabbit, The MC Hammer, and the "MC Lyte." I don't think it's really called the MC Lyte, but I saw her do this step once where you hold your right foot in your right hand and put your left hand behind your head and then spaz out rythmically, and ever since I have called it the MC Lyte. Sadly, I bet that many of you between the ages of 20 and 40 know exactly which dance move I'm talking about. Anyway... Cold meds... *fog*... Where was I? Oh yes, the MC Lyte. Then, as "Days Go By" blasted from the stereo, I decided to teach my children how to do the worm. Have I ever done the worm? No. But hey, I figured, how hard can it be? Answer: Very. Especially for particularly busty women like myself who have never before done the worm. Ow.
So, then, "Whenever, Wherever" came on, and I decided that some basic bellydance instruction might be in order. So, drawing on what I remember from these belly dance videos I used to have, and many entertaining meals at the Morocco pavilion at Epcot, I began to shimmy and shake and twirl. My 5 year old daughter thought it was DELIGHTFUL and joined right in. My 9 year old son stood in the corner, grimacing at my every move. My 4 year old son, it might be noted, continued to do the same kick-yell-fall down combo that he had been doing for most of our dance party. (He's at the age where kicking followed by yelling followed by falling down is extremely cool and edgy. If I were 4, I might have to agree.)
So, we bellydanced until bathtime. After baths, we turned on the TV to discover that the Celtic Woman concert was on PBS. I might note, at this point, that in spite of my penchant for dance music, rap, and rock, I am a BIG SUCKER for celtic music. So, Daddy-O and I curled up on the couch with three beautiful children smelling of freshly shampooed hair all around us, and enjoyed some of the most beautiful music I've ever heard. It was a perfect end to a perfect evening. Ahhhhhhhh....... I would LOVE to go to that concert, or at least own the CD and DVD. What beautiful voices...
All in all, we had a surprisingly wonderful evening, considering how sick we've been, and I am once again reminded of how precious my family is to me.
Was I going to talk about haircolor? *FOG* Stupid cold meds...
Sunday, November 13, 2005
My Technical Ineptitude
Those of you who have read this blog for more than a few weeks are probably aware by now of my severe ineptitude with technical things, particularly web stuff. Don't get me wrong-- I'm a bit more savvy with a computer than, say, my 82 year old grandmother. But my problem is that I try to do things beyond my capabilities. I see a big ol' string of code in my blogger template, and I think, "Ooooooh. I can add a link there." And then crazy things happen.
Sadly, I must inform you that I am working on another top-secret web project that will not be up for a few more weeks. Yet again, I feel the need to subject innocent internet-goers to my skill-lessness.
Luckily for me (but unluckily for him), one of my best friends from when I first went to college 12 years ago is now a computer geek who has done tech support in the past and now does MS network trainings and stuff. (I don't even know what the heck he does, I just know he's the one I call when faced with a computer challenge, even a challenge I have clearly and willingly brought upon myself.)
So, on the phone the other day:
Me: You busy?
M: Not really.
Me: Question. I've just installed postnuke on my new site, and I'm getting administrator error messages.
M: What do they say?
Me: (Reads the messages)
M: Hmmmm... So, how did you install postnuke?
Me: With the instructions?!?!?
M: Oh, great. I've got Seinfeld on the phone.
Me: I'm not being funny, Beavis, I just don't know what you mean.
M: I'm trying to figure out if it's Linux or Windows you put it on.
Me: How would I be able to tell?...
This goes on for about 30 minutes. Then...
Me: Are you starting to get the feeling you're talking to someone who has no business trying to create a website.
M: Something like that.
Anyway, I was using one of the other computers at work last week, and had to use Internet Explorer to check in at my blog. (I use Firefox on my computer, and the blog looks just fine with Firefox.) Lo and behold, the sidebar, which from the lily-white beauty of Firefox had seemed to be fixed, is not. I have failed. So, I will start over, with a new template, and streamline. Fewer links, no google ads, nothing that I'm not absolutely confident I can manage. In the meantime, if the blog looks whacked out, understand that I'm going through a personal, spiritual, and internetual process of change. It will be back, and better, and if it doesn't work, I know who to call.
Sadly, I must inform you that I am working on another top-secret web project that will not be up for a few more weeks. Yet again, I feel the need to subject innocent internet-goers to my skill-lessness.
Luckily for me (but unluckily for him), one of my best friends from when I first went to college 12 years ago is now a computer geek who has done tech support in the past and now does MS network trainings and stuff. (I don't even know what the heck he does, I just know he's the one I call when faced with a computer challenge, even a challenge I have clearly and willingly brought upon myself.)
So, on the phone the other day:
Me: You busy?
M: Not really.
Me: Question. I've just installed postnuke on my new site, and I'm getting administrator error messages.
M: What do they say?
Me: (Reads the messages)
M: Hmmmm... So, how did you install postnuke?
Me: With the instructions?!?!?
M: Oh, great. I've got Seinfeld on the phone.
Me: I'm not being funny, Beavis, I just don't know what you mean.
M: I'm trying to figure out if it's Linux or Windows you put it on.
Me: How would I be able to tell?...
This goes on for about 30 minutes. Then...
Me: Are you starting to get the feeling you're talking to someone who has no business trying to create a website.
M: Something like that.
Anyway, I was using one of the other computers at work last week, and had to use Internet Explorer to check in at my blog. (I use Firefox on my computer, and the blog looks just fine with Firefox.) Lo and behold, the sidebar, which from the lily-white beauty of Firefox had seemed to be fixed, is not. I have failed. So, I will start over, with a new template, and streamline. Fewer links, no google ads, nothing that I'm not absolutely confident I can manage. In the meantime, if the blog looks whacked out, understand that I'm going through a personal, spiritual, and internetual process of change. It will be back, and better, and if it doesn't work, I know who to call.
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