I am so tired of having a cold--and here we go for round umpteengazillion. I need to talk to my doctor about this, also about the pain in my left hip and disc. Not too long ago, while talking to one of my classes, I described myself as an "old lady". This is not uncommon. I have been known to tell classes that when I was their age, dinosaurs roamed the earth, and that Charlemagne and I went to high school together back before he became Holy Roman Emperor. For the most part, they accept this.
But one of the kids came up to me after class on this particular day, and said "Ms. Bluejeans, you're not really old. You're just kind of middle-aged."
Awwwwwww. (I repeated this story to a colleague a couple of years younger than I, who was NOT amused.)
Anyway, I'm too young to be falling apart like this. I've joined the Jazzercise place down the street from me; maybe getting some exercise will help.
I mostly hate getting sick because I feel as though I'm just barely keeping things pinned together with chicken wire and safety pins as it is, and when I'm sick, things fall apart, I mean things REALLY fall apart. I didn't go in to work to do my grades this weekend, and oh, I'll pay for that.
And I'm trying to job hunt.
Have I mentioned how much I hate job hunting? And how much I hate job hunting while trying to put together a wedding, finish a school year, and get all the other bits of my life running smoothly? Aaaagh.
Oh, and Pesach is happening again, even though I told them last year that I didn't have the energy to deal with it again so soon.
Why do they do this to me?
Anyway, about the job hunting: on Monday I went into my principal's office to talk to her, having written her a letter about concerns I was having about my job, and we decided that I shouldn't come back. I think I might have been able to keep the job, but it would have been really hard to sell myself to all the people who didn't want me back, and also the principal is leaving, and the new principal is a woman I can't work with. So there we are.
I was incredibly mature about the whole thing. Now I sort of wish I had thrown something, or at least bad-mouthed the new principal. But probably better I didn't.
Oh well.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
This is just to let you all know
That I have not fallen off the face of the earth.
I do have some other problems, but none of them are that major.
The key problem keeping me away from the blog was that I couldn't change over to the new Blogger on my old Mac, and then our internet access went down for a while...anyway....
The other problems, in order:
1. I am hunting for a wedding officiant (yes, all of you who offered help, I know, and may be in touch), because I thought it would be nice to have the wedding at a certain location, and the certain location is not letting me give them a down payment until I come up with a wedding officiant who can vouch that I am having a Jewish wedding, and not, say, one at which Pastor Bob, or Pastor Bob and Rabbi Julie, or Rabbi Yeshua from the Messianic Shul will preside. (Never mind that the fella and I CANNOT have a Jewish wedding, by any sort of technical definition...) Working on it.
2. I'm looking for a new job. (Long story, and I'm still teaching until the summer, but will not be returning in the fall.)
3. One of my students has become a hunted man. Apparently he went to a party and was lo shomer negiah with a young woman and either did or said something to her which caused twenty-five of her closest friends and relations to show up at the school this afternoon to kick his butt/commit mayhem/kill him/something like that. We're concerned that they're coming back tomorrow. Life at St. Colmcille is nothin' but laughs.
4. My future mother-in-law would REALLY like a solid date for the wedding.
5. The fella is sick. He's not so much fun when he's sick, he just eats soup and coughs.
6. My favorite coworker is out with diverticulitis. How fun is that?
On the bright side:
1. I have a DISHWASHER! This is truly, truly, truly cool. It arrived on St. Patrick's Day, and is therefore Patricia, or sometimes Tricia the Disher.
2. I got a last little bit of money from the schoolteacher's retirement fund I closed out.
3. I'm recovering from my own cold.
4. Most importantly, I can blog again...
I do have some other problems, but none of them are that major.
The key problem keeping me away from the blog was that I couldn't change over to the new Blogger on my old Mac, and then our internet access went down for a while...anyway....
The other problems, in order:
1. I am hunting for a wedding officiant (yes, all of you who offered help, I know, and may be in touch), because I thought it would be nice to have the wedding at a certain location, and the certain location is not letting me give them a down payment until I come up with a wedding officiant who can vouch that I am having a Jewish wedding, and not, say, one at which Pastor Bob, or Pastor Bob and Rabbi Julie, or Rabbi Yeshua from the Messianic Shul will preside. (Never mind that the fella and I CANNOT have a Jewish wedding, by any sort of technical definition...) Working on it.
2. I'm looking for a new job. (Long story, and I'm still teaching until the summer, but will not be returning in the fall.)
3. One of my students has become a hunted man. Apparently he went to a party and was lo shomer negiah with a young woman and either did or said something to her which caused twenty-five of her closest friends and relations to show up at the school this afternoon to kick his butt/commit mayhem/kill him/something like that. We're concerned that they're coming back tomorrow. Life at St. Colmcille is nothin' but laughs.
4. My future mother-in-law would REALLY like a solid date for the wedding.
5. The fella is sick. He's not so much fun when he's sick, he just eats soup and coughs.
6. My favorite coworker is out with diverticulitis. How fun is that?
On the bright side:
1. I have a DISHWASHER! This is truly, truly, truly cool. It arrived on St. Patrick's Day, and is therefore Patricia, or sometimes Tricia the Disher.
2. I got a last little bit of money from the schoolteacher's retirement fund I closed out.
3. I'm recovering from my own cold.
4. Most importantly, I can blog again...
Saturday, February 03, 2007
What's Going On
We've been having an exciting week here in the San Francisco Bay Area. This was the week that a fifty-something second-grade teacher from right here in El Cerrito was removed from her classroom by the cops, in front of her weeping students, either because (the school claims) she was put on administrative leave for being an erratic loony or (as she, and a large number of the parents claim), she was punished for challenging the school about their indifference to violent bullying. Over in San Francisco, we're having a sex scandal involving the mayor. Oh, and also, a local columnist referred to said mayor as 'middle aged', which panicked the Balabusta, since the mayor is six years older than her. Fun, fun, fun.
The Superbowl is tomorrow. The Balabusta does not know who is playing, nor does she care, but she is going to make guacamole anyway, because she likes guacamole, and avocados are on sale. Groomra will be watching, as will his parents. (He doesn't eat guacamole, so I get it all to myself. Bonus!)
My career...well it's been an interesting week-or-so at my school as well. Last week, I was formally observed by my principal, who wrote a truly lovely evaluation complimenting my abilities and accurately identifying my challenges.
Three days later, two things happened. First the Balabusta had a bad encounter with a diocese consultant, who told the principal that the Balabusta was incapable of running a classroom effectively. Second, a parent dropped in, at two PM, on a Friday, on report card day, on the day when two students had been caught with liquor on campus and suspensions were flying, and left in a state of foaming fury because the study hall was loud, and the kids were gossiping with each other.
As they say in Catholic school, mea maxima culpa.
Now, unless my classroom management undergoes an AMAZING boost, it seems that my job may be in some peril.
This week was Catholic Schools Week, which is not much fun if you are a teacher. There are a lot of theme activities, and the kids get very angry if you think you're going to teach, rather than let them play around. Also, we had a student make a suicide gesture on campus, and a crazy guy wandered in off the street to complain about our priest and scare the hell out of the math teacher.
And to cap it all off, yesterday the schedule got messed up because of an emergency meeting one of the teacher-administrators had to go to, meaning that I got one of my English classes coming in to me with TWENTY MINUTES left in the period. At this EXACT moment, the consultant who thinks I can't manage a classroom enters to observe, with a laptop, followed by another diocese official who apparently just happened by and started dropping into classrooms to see what we were up to. Oh, and this class is sort of worked up, because two of their classmates left the school without warning in the last two days, so they're skitzed out, and worried, and sad.
Holy Mary, mother of God...pray for this poor sinner, now, and for however long it takes...
So, as you might imagine, I'm REAL glad it's Shabbos. Sometimes when it's been rough for a while, when we light for Shabbos, the Balabusta's mother will say, cheerfully, 'bye-bye week!'. Yeah. Like that.
But on the plus side, I don't know if it's the Paxil, or approaching maturity, or just that the last year burned out my ability to stress a lot about school jobs, but I feel fine. I've told my principal, honestly, that I will follow her guidelines, stay in touch with her, and do everything that I can to bring my performance up to her standard. I will go on working very very hard, as I have been, and she acknowledges I have been.
If I succeed, tov. I like St. Colmcille. If I don't, I will get another job, in teaching, or education, or answering phones at a law firm. But I'm not afraid. I'm not embarassed. I am not doing anything wrong, and I am working as hard and smart as I can.
I am not going to let the consultant make me feel bad. I care intensely that my principal know I work hard and try to do everything needed. I want my students to know that I care about them, and want them to learn. I want my students' parents to know that too. But the consultant--she's a road block. I think she's mostly ego, and while I will try to use her expertise to help me, I do not care what she thinks or says about me, good or bad.
And this isn't bravado, it's just how I feel. It's pretty cool. I hope it lasts.
A good Shabbos to those of you who are online today, and a good week to those who pick this up after this evening.
The Superbowl is tomorrow. The Balabusta does not know who is playing, nor does she care, but she is going to make guacamole anyway, because she likes guacamole, and avocados are on sale. Groomra will be watching, as will his parents. (He doesn't eat guacamole, so I get it all to myself. Bonus!)
My career...well it's been an interesting week-or-so at my school as well. Last week, I was formally observed by my principal, who wrote a truly lovely evaluation complimenting my abilities and accurately identifying my challenges.
Three days later, two things happened. First the Balabusta had a bad encounter with a diocese consultant, who told the principal that the Balabusta was incapable of running a classroom effectively. Second, a parent dropped in, at two PM, on a Friday, on report card day, on the day when two students had been caught with liquor on campus and suspensions were flying, and left in a state of foaming fury because the study hall was loud, and the kids were gossiping with each other.
As they say in Catholic school, mea maxima culpa.
Now, unless my classroom management undergoes an AMAZING boost, it seems that my job may be in some peril.
This week was Catholic Schools Week, which is not much fun if you are a teacher. There are a lot of theme activities, and the kids get very angry if you think you're going to teach, rather than let them play around. Also, we had a student make a suicide gesture on campus, and a crazy guy wandered in off the street to complain about our priest and scare the hell out of the math teacher.
And to cap it all off, yesterday the schedule got messed up because of an emergency meeting one of the teacher-administrators had to go to, meaning that I got one of my English classes coming in to me with TWENTY MINUTES left in the period. At this EXACT moment, the consultant who thinks I can't manage a classroom enters to observe, with a laptop, followed by another diocese official who apparently just happened by and started dropping into classrooms to see what we were up to. Oh, and this class is sort of worked up, because two of their classmates left the school without warning in the last two days, so they're skitzed out, and worried, and sad.
Holy Mary, mother of God...pray for this poor sinner, now, and for however long it takes...
So, as you might imagine, I'm REAL glad it's Shabbos. Sometimes when it's been rough for a while, when we light for Shabbos, the Balabusta's mother will say, cheerfully, 'bye-bye week!'. Yeah. Like that.
But on the plus side, I don't know if it's the Paxil, or approaching maturity, or just that the last year burned out my ability to stress a lot about school jobs, but I feel fine. I've told my principal, honestly, that I will follow her guidelines, stay in touch with her, and do everything that I can to bring my performance up to her standard. I will go on working very very hard, as I have been, and she acknowledges I have been.
If I succeed, tov. I like St. Colmcille. If I don't, I will get another job, in teaching, or education, or answering phones at a law firm. But I'm not afraid. I'm not embarassed. I am not doing anything wrong, and I am working as hard and smart as I can.
I am not going to let the consultant make me feel bad. I care intensely that my principal know I work hard and try to do everything needed. I want my students to know that I care about them, and want them to learn. I want my students' parents to know that too. But the consultant--she's a road block. I think she's mostly ego, and while I will try to use her expertise to help me, I do not care what she thinks or says about me, good or bad.
And this isn't bravado, it's just how I feel. It's pretty cool. I hope it lasts.
A good Shabbos to those of you who are online today, and a good week to those who pick this up after this evening.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Urban Outfitters--Again
Apparently Urban Outfitters is now selling khaffiyehs as 'woven anti-war scarves'.
These are, I guess, different from knitted anti-war scarves.
I am taking this opportunity to affirm my belief that the most valid use for a khaffiyeh is to prevent Arab gentlemen from getting sunstroke. It is not meant to be worn as a winter neck scarf, nor for college girls to cover their faces at rallies.
Oh, and I just saw "Yossi and Jagger", and if someone gave me a woven anti-war scarf right now, I would be using it to mop up my tragic-movie-ending tears.
These are, I guess, different from knitted anti-war scarves.
I am taking this opportunity to affirm my belief that the most valid use for a khaffiyeh is to prevent Arab gentlemen from getting sunstroke. It is not meant to be worn as a winter neck scarf, nor for college girls to cover their faces at rallies.
Oh, and I just saw "Yossi and Jagger", and if someone gave me a woven anti-war scarf right now, I would be using it to mop up my tragic-movie-ending tears.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Angelina as Mariane
Apparently they're making a movie out of Daniel Pearl's widow's book, and Angelina Jolie will play Mariane Pearl.
http://www.usatoday.com/life/movies/news/2006-10-09-mighty-heart-first-look_x.htm
She actually looks quite good in the role--they've gotten the hair and makeup very close, and there's something similar about their faces anyway--and apparently Brad Pitt is directing. And I haven't read the book.
I guess I'm just wondering how the anti-Semitism tied into Pearl's death is going to be dealt with, or if it's going to be dealt with at all. I may be stereotyping badly, but I can't imagine that's something Jolie and Pitt are interested in or prepared to deal with.
http://www.usatoday.com/life/movies/news/2006-10-09-mighty-heart-first-look_x.htm
She actually looks quite good in the role--they've gotten the hair and makeup very close, and there's something similar about their faces anyway--and apparently Brad Pitt is directing. And I haven't read the book.
I guess I'm just wondering how the anti-Semitism tied into Pearl's death is going to be dealt with, or if it's going to be dealt with at all. I may be stereotyping badly, but I can't imagine that's something Jolie and Pitt are interested in or prepared to deal with.
Wedding Dresses
I said I'd post pictures. Here, on the left, is what I'm NOT going to wear, although some friends from college may get the additional joke...
As I said, I was rather taken by the LDS temple wear, so I thought I'd post a couple of pictures of that. Over on the right, two examples of the look. It's cute. It's just not me.
I also thought about something traditionally Jewish. Maybe not my 
specific tradition, but still, Jewish. This is a keswa el kbira, the traditional wedding costume from the Moroccan Jewish community. Isn't that 
gorgeous? It's based on Spanish styles that the exiles brought with them at the end of the fifteenth century, and it evolved into this.
Anyway, the shape I seem to like the most is what they call a 'mermaid' skirt, fairly close over the hips, and then flared around the hem. Most of the ones I'd seen, I hadn't noticed the shape because they all came strapless, but then I found this on one of the Mormon sites---
I really like this dress. In part, I think I like it because it is undoubtedly a wedding dress, but the details--the v-neck, the three-quarters sleeves, the shape of the skirt, all look like things I wear fairly frequently. It looks like my clothes, if they were turned into a wedding dress. And the slightly cynical expression on the lady in the picture reminds me of me a bit. (She's a brunette, too.)
They want $400 for this, which is amazingly reasonable given some of the prices I've been seeing. I have no idea what the fabric is like. I may call for a swatch.
I may also call a friend who can sew, and ask if she could make something like this. She's very good--she makes Elizabethan court attire--so I don't think a simple dress like this would stump here. And then I could splash out for really good fabric.
What do you all think?
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
The Parakeet
Our parakeet died about an hour and a half ago.
We inherited him from the fella's mother when she moved back to Hawaii. He was green, and a 'roller', that is, he made this sort of distinct ch-ch-ch-ch noise that not all parakeets can make.
He liked his own reflection, and all kinds of food that were bad for him, also lettuce.
He'd been having trouble with one foot for a little over a week. We tried to take him to the vet, but the vet we went to didn't do birds--we tried to fix the problem by trimming his nails. We were going to call the vet today and ask for advice about the foot. This morning we found him on the floor of his cage, unable to get up. We took him to the vet, who prescribed antibiotics. We tried to feed him vitamin mush. He wasn't having any.
Seeing the fella so sad breaks my heart.
We're still trying to figure out where to bury him.
A good bird.
We inherited him from the fella's mother when she moved back to Hawaii. He was green, and a 'roller', that is, he made this sort of distinct ch-ch-ch-ch noise that not all parakeets can make.
He liked his own reflection, and all kinds of food that were bad for him, also lettuce.
He'd been having trouble with one foot for a little over a week. We tried to take him to the vet, but the vet we went to didn't do birds--we tried to fix the problem by trimming his nails. We were going to call the vet today and ask for advice about the foot. This morning we found him on the floor of his cage, unable to get up. We took him to the vet, who prescribed antibiotics. We tried to feed him vitamin mush. He wasn't having any.
Seeing the fella so sad breaks my heart.
We're still trying to figure out where to bury him.
A good bird.
My Bird is Sick. And I Don't Want To Take THE COURSE.
The parakeet is not well, and we are dosing him with antibiotics and vitamin pill mush. He is also moulting, and basically, looks and feels like hell.
In other news, I am looking for a rabbi to marry me to a gentile. (The fella, I mean, not just any gentile.) I was thinking about having the wedding at Temple Emanu-El--after all, my bat mitzvah was there--and their clergy offer interfaith weddings--and, well, then I found out about The Course.
It is simply called The Course. It used to be Judaism 101, but that, I guess, was not sufficiently scary. The Course is a three-trimester extravaganza of information about Judaism, with classes covering:
The Jewish Calendar and The Sabbath
Festivals and Holy Days
The Spiritual Journey of the High Holy Days
Birth
B'nei Mitzvah
Conversion and Mikvah
Marriage and Divorce
Death and Memory
Israel
Jewish History
Liturgical Movements
The Siddur
Reform Judaism
The Synagogue
The Jewish Home
Finding God
God, Covenant, and Mitzvot
Jewish Thought on God
Sacred Texts
The Interpretive Tradition
Who Were the Jews ?
American Jew or Jewish American?
The Origins and Purposes of Anti-Semitism
Choosing Judaism: From Abraham Until Today
I read this off to Groomra, who listened to the whole list, and informed me that although he loves me, he doesn't think he likes me that much.
Am I being unreasonable? I realize that this is momentous thing we're doing here, but:
1. I feel as though I am something of an unappreciated expert on how to live in an interfaith family.
2. I am a rabbinic school dropout. I think I could teach most of this course.
3. I have a job. I have a very busy life. I don't honestly want to dedicate two hours of it every Tuesday night for a year to this.
4. This is the kicker--evidently if I were marrying a Jew I wouldn't have to do this. Even if we were both entirely ignorant of and indifferent to all of Jewish practice and history, we wouldn't have to do this. I have issues. I believe that inmarriage is positive, but I don't think it should substitute for actual Jewish education or commitment to Jewish survival.
I grew up as the daughter of an interfaith marriage at a time when there was a LOT of smack being talked about families like mine. Any attempt to get me to prove my yiddishkeit by extraordinary measures tends to lead me to act out. (They, frankly, don't want us in the class. I am argumentative when riled, and the fella will fall asleep.)
Maybe we'll just rent a hall at Emanu-El. Or get married at the Cartoon Museum. Or somewhere.
In other news, I am looking for a rabbi to marry me to a gentile. (The fella, I mean, not just any gentile.) I was thinking about having the wedding at Temple Emanu-El--after all, my bat mitzvah was there--and their clergy offer interfaith weddings--and, well, then I found out about The Course.
It is simply called The Course. It used to be Judaism 101, but that, I guess, was not sufficiently scary. The Course is a three-trimester extravaganza of information about Judaism, with classes covering:
The Jewish Calendar and The Sabbath
Festivals and Holy Days
The Spiritual Journey of the High Holy Days
Birth
B'nei Mitzvah
Conversion and Mikvah
Marriage and Divorce
Death and Memory
Israel
Jewish History
Liturgical Movements
The Siddur
Reform Judaism
The Synagogue
The Jewish Home
Finding God
God, Covenant, and Mitzvot
Jewish Thought on God
Sacred Texts
The Interpretive Tradition
Who Were the Jews ?
American Jew or Jewish American?
The Origins and Purposes of Anti-Semitism
Choosing Judaism: From Abraham Until Today
I read this off to Groomra, who listened to the whole list, and informed me that although he loves me, he doesn't think he likes me that much.
Am I being unreasonable? I realize that this is momentous thing we're doing here, but:
1. I feel as though I am something of an unappreciated expert on how to live in an interfaith family.
2. I am a rabbinic school dropout. I think I could teach most of this course.
3. I have a job. I have a very busy life. I don't honestly want to dedicate two hours of it every Tuesday night for a year to this.
4. This is the kicker--evidently if I were marrying a Jew I wouldn't have to do this. Even if we were both entirely ignorant of and indifferent to all of Jewish practice and history, we wouldn't have to do this. I have issues. I believe that inmarriage is positive, but I don't think it should substitute for actual Jewish education or commitment to Jewish survival.
I grew up as the daughter of an interfaith marriage at a time when there was a LOT of smack being talked about families like mine. Any attempt to get me to prove my yiddishkeit by extraordinary measures tends to lead me to act out. (They, frankly, don't want us in the class. I am argumentative when riled, and the fella will fall asleep.)
Maybe we'll just rent a hall at Emanu-El. Or get married at the Cartoon Museum. Or somewhere.
Monday, January 01, 2007
How Hard Can It Be To Get Dressed For Your Wedding?
OK. The question sets itself up for an answer.
I'm actually looking at venues, right now, and thinking about synagogues, and the virtues of Reform rabbis, and lots of other things that bring up eeeee-motions for me, but I drifted off into looking for wedding dresses.
Some women appear to have known what they were going to wear to their weddings from an early age. I am not one of them. I used to fantasize about BEING married, but the wedding itself was not something I ever thought about. And in college, I claimed I was going to marry in blue jeans, wearing the most perfect white shirt in the world. Which, come to think of it, does not seem now like such a bad idea.
Anyway, here are my requirements for a wedding outifit:
1. It should probably have sleeves, although spaghetti straps would be OK.
2. It should allow me to dance, walk around, hug relatives, etc.
3. It should not have such a big skirt that it proceeds me by more than a couple of minutes. (See Requirement 2)
4. It should not be hideously unflattering to my figure--that is, I would like more emphasis on my nice bustline, and less on my nonexistent waist.
5. It should basically be white. (Ivory, or with colored trim is basically white.)
6. It should not be so formal that the groom, wearing a suit, looks insanely outmatched.
7. It should not cost a fortune. This will be a budget wedding, and if I am gonna splash out on something, the ring seems more important than the dress, in terms of how long I will be wearing it, please God.
8. It does not have to be specifically a bridal outfit, but it should LOOK bridal.
9. It should not have giant white applique things on it, or tons of beads, or drippings of embroidered stuff.
The wedding dress designers of America do not seem to be on the same page with me. The high fashion style seems to currently be a narrow, strapless one which would make me look like the cutest fireplug in the world, and would not exactly work for a brunch reception, which is what I'm thinking in terms of. Then there's the hideous things with the applique gunk. Practically nothing has sleeves, particularly the three-quarters ones I was thinking might be nice.
Desperately looking for something with sleeves, it occurred to me to search specifically for tznius wedding clothes. After a few false starts involving things with padded shoulders and 1980s powerdressing necklines, I discovered something excellent: Mormon wedding dresses.
Yes, the Church of Latter-Day Saints and I seem to share a wedding dress aesthetic--don't ask me why, or how, since that's not important right now. But I'm surfing a number of LDS bridal sites, and seeing more dresses that seem attractive to me than I've seen anywhere else. Go figure. I mean, not the Temple styles, which I guess are what you wear to get married in the Temple--that seems to require a below-floor-length, below-fingertip-sleeved princess style--cute, and the models look adorable, but not what I need...
I'll post some pictures when I get a chance.
I'm actually looking at venues, right now, and thinking about synagogues, and the virtues of Reform rabbis, and lots of other things that bring up eeeee-motions for me, but I drifted off into looking for wedding dresses.
Some women appear to have known what they were going to wear to their weddings from an early age. I am not one of them. I used to fantasize about BEING married, but the wedding itself was not something I ever thought about. And in college, I claimed I was going to marry in blue jeans, wearing the most perfect white shirt in the world. Which, come to think of it, does not seem now like such a bad idea.
Anyway, here are my requirements for a wedding outifit:
1. It should probably have sleeves, although spaghetti straps would be OK.
2. It should allow me to dance, walk around, hug relatives, etc.
3. It should not have such a big skirt that it proceeds me by more than a couple of minutes. (See Requirement 2)
4. It should not be hideously unflattering to my figure--that is, I would like more emphasis on my nice bustline, and less on my nonexistent waist.
5. It should basically be white. (Ivory, or with colored trim is basically white.)
6. It should not be so formal that the groom, wearing a suit, looks insanely outmatched.
7. It should not cost a fortune. This will be a budget wedding, and if I am gonna splash out on something, the ring seems more important than the dress, in terms of how long I will be wearing it, please God.
8. It does not have to be specifically a bridal outfit, but it should LOOK bridal.
9. It should not have giant white applique things on it, or tons of beads, or drippings of embroidered stuff.
The wedding dress designers of America do not seem to be on the same page with me. The high fashion style seems to currently be a narrow, strapless one which would make me look like the cutest fireplug in the world, and would not exactly work for a brunch reception, which is what I'm thinking in terms of. Then there's the hideous things with the applique gunk. Practically nothing has sleeves, particularly the three-quarters ones I was thinking might be nice.
Desperately looking for something with sleeves, it occurred to me to search specifically for tznius wedding clothes. After a few false starts involving things with padded shoulders and 1980s powerdressing necklines, I discovered something excellent: Mormon wedding dresses.
Yes, the Church of Latter-Day Saints and I seem to share a wedding dress aesthetic--don't ask me why, or how, since that's not important right now. But I'm surfing a number of LDS bridal sites, and seeing more dresses that seem attractive to me than I've seen anywhere else. Go figure. I mean, not the Temple styles, which I guess are what you wear to get married in the Temple--that seems to require a below-floor-length, below-fingertip-sleeved princess style--cute, and the models look adorable, but not what I need...
I'll post some pictures when I get a chance.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
I Went And Saw Borat
I won't even get into why, except that we were going out with friends to the newly reopened Cerrito theater, where you can sit on couches and eat pizza while watching the movie. Anyway.
I am still not sure what to make of Borat.
The impression I had of the 'point' of the movie from reviews was that by being outrageous, Borat gets Americans to reveal themselves as messed-up bigots. This, to my eye, did not occur. In fact, the majority of the Americans Borat encounters behave with an almost superhuman dignity and patience in the face of absolutely ridiculous provocation. He does find a couple of genuine bigots--one genial Muslimophobe homophobe at a rodeo, a couple of frat boys who get very drunk and moan about minorities having all the power. He finds a couple of guys who carry on straightfaced (although rather dour) with their sales routine, (car and gun), while Borat asks about how to kill Gypsies and Jews. But the reviews led me to believe that, for example, the people at the rodeo he attends screamed with approval while he talked about drinking the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq. Actually, they scream with approval when he talks about supporting the troops. As he gets weirder and offensive, they quiet down. The scans of the stands reminded me, in fact, of the scene in "The Producers" where the first big Nazi-musical number goes on. Faces sober up, and get baffled. One man tentatively claps, and then stops when his wife glares at him.
The guy whose Civil War memorabilia place gets trashed is quite calm, and simply asks that they pay for the damage. Alan Keyes and Bob Barr, plus the veteran feminists, behave with dignity in the face of aggressive weirdness. (One thing I did not expect was that Borat would make me feel admiration for Alan Keyes.) The teenagers hanging out in a black neighborhood in the dead of night are quite kind to the nut passing through, and teach him some hip phrases. The Southern etiquette expert he consults is kind too, and when showed obscene family photos, calmly tells him that Americans will not appreciate these. The people whose dinner party he attends are almost superhumanly nice, only kicking him out when the situation becomes intolerable. The Pentecostals are nice to him while speaking in tongues, and tell him that he should forgive the woman (Pamela Anderson) who has betrayed him.
And so on.
So, um, is there a point to this, except for the tasteless over-the-top physical humor? I'm really not sure. None of the 'explanations' of what we're laughing at, or not supposed to be laughing at in Borat really ring true to me.
It's a gross-out fest. It's funny. But it's not 'edgy', 'smart', or 'transgressive'. And it's not all that clever. If you want a really good wacky foreigner's-eye road-trip view of America, watch "The Leningrad Cowboys Go America", which is a much finer movie, even if there are no naked hairy men in it.
I am still not sure what to make of Borat.
The impression I had of the 'point' of the movie from reviews was that by being outrageous, Borat gets Americans to reveal themselves as messed-up bigots. This, to my eye, did not occur. In fact, the majority of the Americans Borat encounters behave with an almost superhuman dignity and patience in the face of absolutely ridiculous provocation. He does find a couple of genuine bigots--one genial Muslimophobe homophobe at a rodeo, a couple of frat boys who get very drunk and moan about minorities having all the power. He finds a couple of guys who carry on straightfaced (although rather dour) with their sales routine, (car and gun), while Borat asks about how to kill Gypsies and Jews. But the reviews led me to believe that, for example, the people at the rodeo he attends screamed with approval while he talked about drinking the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq. Actually, they scream with approval when he talks about supporting the troops. As he gets weirder and offensive, they quiet down. The scans of the stands reminded me, in fact, of the scene in "The Producers" where the first big Nazi-musical number goes on. Faces sober up, and get baffled. One man tentatively claps, and then stops when his wife glares at him.
The guy whose Civil War memorabilia place gets trashed is quite calm, and simply asks that they pay for the damage. Alan Keyes and Bob Barr, plus the veteran feminists, behave with dignity in the face of aggressive weirdness. (One thing I did not expect was that Borat would make me feel admiration for Alan Keyes.) The teenagers hanging out in a black neighborhood in the dead of night are quite kind to the nut passing through, and teach him some hip phrases. The Southern etiquette expert he consults is kind too, and when showed obscene family photos, calmly tells him that Americans will not appreciate these. The people whose dinner party he attends are almost superhumanly nice, only kicking him out when the situation becomes intolerable. The Pentecostals are nice to him while speaking in tongues, and tell him that he should forgive the woman (Pamela Anderson) who has betrayed him.
And so on.
So, um, is there a point to this, except for the tasteless over-the-top physical humor? I'm really not sure. None of the 'explanations' of what we're laughing at, or not supposed to be laughing at in Borat really ring true to me.
It's a gross-out fest. It's funny. But it's not 'edgy', 'smart', or 'transgressive'. And it's not all that clever. If you want a really good wacky foreigner's-eye road-trip view of America, watch "The Leningrad Cowboys Go America", which is a much finer movie, even if there are no naked hairy men in it.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Shul Search Continues--Beth El, Berkeley
A year and a half after moving to the East Bay, I still don't have an East Bay shul. I realize that this is my own damn fault. I am still waiting for--oh, I don't know what I'm waiting for. I'm waiting for an absolutely perfect shul to open up down the street from me, and send a delegation to tell me that I can be their first president or something.
Anyway, I got to thinking, how about returning to my roots in Reform? Or at least giving my roots in Reform a chance? So I checked out Beth El, in Berkeley.
There's Torah study at 9:30, Shabbat Shacharit at 10:30. I decide to give myself the benefit of the extra hour...unfortunately the buses are not running perfectly, but at almost exactly the right time I am schlepping up Oxford Street, keeping an eye out for the shul.
And then I see the shul.
It's big. Ummm...yes, it's big. It's modern. And it looks more like part of a college campus than a shul, but I'm pretty sure it's got to be Beth El, not least because there are huge signs up on the fence all around it explaining that Beth El is using green building techniques.
Then I discover that I can't find the service.
Clearly, Torah study was happening in the small chapel that is now full of people talking and laughing, but where the hell the davening is happening, I cannot ascertain. All the doors to what looks like the main sanctuary are locked, and there are signs telling me that due to heightened security, I should go in through the North Gallery doors, but these seem to be locked too.
I meander around for a while, and eventually figure out how to get into the building from the other side, and drift up, until I find the sanctuary. There I discover this:
1. Davening is happening.
2. Davening is happening with a VERY SMALL circle of people.
3. Davening is being led by an ex-employer of mine.
4. I knew she worked there of course, but had forgotten.
5. I don't have warm feelings toward this person.
6. She has noticed me, although I don't know if she recognizes me. She is making eyebrows at me.
7. Possibly because they don't have a minyan.
I tallised up. I joined them. Maybe next week I try the Torah study.
It was distinctly weird, though, davening in such a small group with Ex Employer. It has been nearly ten years. I can't say I was comfortable, but I wasn't that uncomfortable either. More uncomfortable that I didn't know anyone. Maybe it would work out. I found myself thinking that if we didn't have bad blood, I would be fine with what she was actually DOING and SAYING as a leader of the congregation.
Basically,
PROS
1. Not too hard to get to.
2. They appear to have a really good social action committee, with projects I can get behind.
3. The building is weird, but kind of pleasant.
4. The Torah study seems to draw a crowd, and enormous energy.
5. They have a great gift shop. I realize that this is not exactly the most important thing, but...
6. I like the way people dress.
7. It's near Saul's Deli. I had lox and scrambled eggs for brunch.
CONS
1. Someone who I really don't want to talk to or see is a spiritual leader there.
2. They got a minyan plus one for the Torah service on a Shabbos morning.
3. The affluence might kill me.
4. They don't have much of a welcoming committee in place. Granted, I could have asked for help.
Does anyone know if there's a way to get to Beth Hillel in Richmond on public transit? transit.511 can't find them.
Anyway, I got to thinking, how about returning to my roots in Reform? Or at least giving my roots in Reform a chance? So I checked out Beth El, in Berkeley.
There's Torah study at 9:30, Shabbat Shacharit at 10:30. I decide to give myself the benefit of the extra hour...unfortunately the buses are not running perfectly, but at almost exactly the right time I am schlepping up Oxford Street, keeping an eye out for the shul.
And then I see the shul.
It's big. Ummm...yes, it's big. It's modern. And it looks more like part of a college campus than a shul, but I'm pretty sure it's got to be Beth El, not least because there are huge signs up on the fence all around it explaining that Beth El is using green building techniques.
Then I discover that I can't find the service.
Clearly, Torah study was happening in the small chapel that is now full of people talking and laughing, but where the hell the davening is happening, I cannot ascertain. All the doors to what looks like the main sanctuary are locked, and there are signs telling me that due to heightened security, I should go in through the North Gallery doors, but these seem to be locked too.
I meander around for a while, and eventually figure out how to get into the building from the other side, and drift up, until I find the sanctuary. There I discover this:
1. Davening is happening.
2. Davening is happening with a VERY SMALL circle of people.
3. Davening is being led by an ex-employer of mine.
4. I knew she worked there of course, but had forgotten.
5. I don't have warm feelings toward this person.
6. She has noticed me, although I don't know if she recognizes me. She is making eyebrows at me.
7. Possibly because they don't have a minyan.
I tallised up. I joined them. Maybe next week I try the Torah study.
It was distinctly weird, though, davening in such a small group with Ex Employer. It has been nearly ten years. I can't say I was comfortable, but I wasn't that uncomfortable either. More uncomfortable that I didn't know anyone. Maybe it would work out. I found myself thinking that if we didn't have bad blood, I would be fine with what she was actually DOING and SAYING as a leader of the congregation.
Basically,
PROS
1. Not too hard to get to.
2. They appear to have a really good social action committee, with projects I can get behind.
3. The building is weird, but kind of pleasant.
4. The Torah study seems to draw a crowd, and enormous energy.
5. They have a great gift shop. I realize that this is not exactly the most important thing, but...
6. I like the way people dress.
7. It's near Saul's Deli. I had lox and scrambled eggs for brunch.
CONS
1. Someone who I really don't want to talk to or see is a spiritual leader there.
2. They got a minyan plus one for the Torah service on a Shabbos morning.
3. The affluence might kill me.
4. They don't have much of a welcoming committee in place. Granted, I could have asked for help.
Does anyone know if there's a way to get to Beth Hillel in Richmond on public transit? transit.511 can't find them.
Friday, December 29, 2006
My Big Fat Jewish-Irish-Scots Irish-Cherokee-Hawaiian-Southern Wedding
This is where we seem to be:
DATE:
The wedding will be, probably, August 12. I am planning to doublecheck this with a lot of people, but basically, August. We were planning on October, because we have always celebrated October 8 as our 'anniversary'. However, by October he'll be back to school, midterms will be approaching, I'll be working--it will be crazy. If we want a small honeymoon, it will be hard.
I proposed bringing the wedding forward to August, and was met with resistance. This is not because Groomra is sentimental--no, it is because Groomra has learned the October date, and cannot be expected to learn a new anniversary.
"All right," I said. "Why don't we just say that we will keep October 8 our anniversary, regardless of what day we actually get married on?" We've agreed to this, and have worked out that it has some additional nice advantages. To wit, if we forget one, we have a chance with the other, and also, this way we will get to celebrate our first anniversary two months after getting married.
THE WEDDING PARTY:
I have invited about six of my girlfriends to be bridesmaids, matrons of honor, attendents, mamans d'honneur, color guard--whatever they want to be called, it's all good. They will wear whatever they see fit--if they want to buy a new outfit, excellent, if not, whatever's in the closet is fine. All of my friends work hard for their money. Many have small children. They all have good taste in clothes. I am not going to make them spend money on a taffeta nightmare they will never wear again. (and there is NO color that will look good on all of them).
However, since Bridezilla secretly wants to put them all in taffeta nightmares WITH BUTT BOWS, I have given some thought to getting a half-dozen taffeta butt bows, with no dress attached, and pinning them to the bridesmaids for the photos.
The groom has invited a couple of friends to be attendents. I think the whole wedding party will gather at the chuppah, and we'll dispense with this business of matched attendents. Too Roman, anyway.
THE VENUE:
San Francisco City Hall is beautiful and neutral. May be too expensive, may be hard to get the date we want. Golden Gate Park? The Clement Street Bar and Grill? All I've ruled out for sure is the city offices of El Cerrito, CA. NO.
THE OFFICIANT:
As God is my witness, I haven't the slightest idea.
Here's the problem:
I am, as you may have noticed, Jewish. Groomra is not. Groomra is a cultural Protestant of some sort, but hasn't got the slightest interest in religious matters.
The rabbis I feel close to won't marry me to a Gentile. I don't feel like paying to be married by a Reform rabbi whose sole connection to my family and wedding is that he or she will do the ceremony.
We have friends with Universal Life Church ordinations, and the county of San Francisco will empower a civilian to do marriages for a day. But who? One parent rather than another? One of my friends but not his? We don't have a mentor in common.
Currently leaning to the idea of having a City Hall employee do the wedding, and then we can hand out ceremonial duties at the chuppah later.
THE OFFSPRING:
(Not imminent, but my mother-in-law-to-be called last night with a list of possible names. No pressure. No pressure!)
DATE:
The wedding will be, probably, August 12. I am planning to doublecheck this with a lot of people, but basically, August. We were planning on October, because we have always celebrated October 8 as our 'anniversary'. However, by October he'll be back to school, midterms will be approaching, I'll be working--it will be crazy. If we want a small honeymoon, it will be hard.
I proposed bringing the wedding forward to August, and was met with resistance. This is not because Groomra is sentimental--no, it is because Groomra has learned the October date, and cannot be expected to learn a new anniversary.
"All right," I said. "Why don't we just say that we will keep October 8 our anniversary, regardless of what day we actually get married on?" We've agreed to this, and have worked out that it has some additional nice advantages. To wit, if we forget one, we have a chance with the other, and also, this way we will get to celebrate our first anniversary two months after getting married.
THE WEDDING PARTY:
I have invited about six of my girlfriends to be bridesmaids, matrons of honor, attendents, mamans d'honneur, color guard--whatever they want to be called, it's all good. They will wear whatever they see fit--if they want to buy a new outfit, excellent, if not, whatever's in the closet is fine. All of my friends work hard for their money. Many have small children. They all have good taste in clothes. I am not going to make them spend money on a taffeta nightmare they will never wear again. (and there is NO color that will look good on all of them).
However, since Bridezilla secretly wants to put them all in taffeta nightmares WITH BUTT BOWS, I have given some thought to getting a half-dozen taffeta butt bows, with no dress attached, and pinning them to the bridesmaids for the photos.
The groom has invited a couple of friends to be attendents. I think the whole wedding party will gather at the chuppah, and we'll dispense with this business of matched attendents. Too Roman, anyway.
THE VENUE:
San Francisco City Hall is beautiful and neutral. May be too expensive, may be hard to get the date we want. Golden Gate Park? The Clement Street Bar and Grill? All I've ruled out for sure is the city offices of El Cerrito, CA. NO.
THE OFFICIANT:
As God is my witness, I haven't the slightest idea.
Here's the problem:
I am, as you may have noticed, Jewish. Groomra is not. Groomra is a cultural Protestant of some sort, but hasn't got the slightest interest in religious matters.
The rabbis I feel close to won't marry me to a Gentile. I don't feel like paying to be married by a Reform rabbi whose sole connection to my family and wedding is that he or she will do the ceremony.
We have friends with Universal Life Church ordinations, and the county of San Francisco will empower a civilian to do marriages for a day. But who? One parent rather than another? One of my friends but not his? We don't have a mentor in common.
Currently leaning to the idea of having a City Hall employee do the wedding, and then we can hand out ceremonial duties at the chuppah later.
THE OFFSPRING:
(Not imminent, but my mother-in-law-to-be called last night with a list of possible names. No pressure. No pressure!)
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Silver Balabusta
I found my second gray hair yesterday. Actually, it could be my first gray hair again, the as the first gray hair disappeared into the hair as a whole, and could not be found again. But second gray hair sighting at any rate.
The fella asked if I wanted him to yank it, but I declined. For the moment I am preserving it. It's an attractive color--my hopes of inheriting my grandmother's seriously silver hair seem to have some possibilities still. (However, the hair starts to go really salt-and-pepper in the forties and then takes about thirty years to reach its peak, so I have some time to go.)
On the one hand, there is the kind of excitement I remember from my period first beginning--and much less discomfort and embarassment. This is a new thing that my body can do, and it's kind of exciting. It's absolute proof of being a grown-up.
It opens a whole new set of questions. Will I dye it? Will I start yanking out the gray ones? How fast is it going to go? Will it get kind of salt-and-peppery before I get into my forties, or will it just stay at a scattering for a while? (My mother's, I recall, did scattering in her thirties, and only really became salt-and-pepperish in her early fifties. My grandmother's ditto. And my hair is really from that side of the family. However, I do have a whole set of other genes, and they're harder to track--my father's hair is such a light brown that we've hardly been able to see the beginnings of his silvering sideburns, and my father's mother has been dying her hair since before I was born. Don't know a thing about the English side's graying tendencies. Genes are a mysterious thing.)
And there's also a sense of regret, maybe even a little bit of panic. My hair is already turning gray (OK, two hairs are), and I haven't even won a Pulitzer yet, or published a novel, or had a baby, or gotten good at a profession. HURRY UP! the hair seems to be notifying me. We're supposed to be in the prime of life here. MOVE! I've hit some kind of Solstice-y balance point--the beginning of wisdom, maybe, and the beginning of the end of hair pigmentation.
But it really looks way cool. I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. Must ask the hairdresser if she can spot any more in there.
The fella asked if I wanted him to yank it, but I declined. For the moment I am preserving it. It's an attractive color--my hopes of inheriting my grandmother's seriously silver hair seem to have some possibilities still. (However, the hair starts to go really salt-and-pepper in the forties and then takes about thirty years to reach its peak, so I have some time to go.)
On the one hand, there is the kind of excitement I remember from my period first beginning--and much less discomfort and embarassment. This is a new thing that my body can do, and it's kind of exciting. It's absolute proof of being a grown-up.
It opens a whole new set of questions. Will I dye it? Will I start yanking out the gray ones? How fast is it going to go? Will it get kind of salt-and-peppery before I get into my forties, or will it just stay at a scattering for a while? (My mother's, I recall, did scattering in her thirties, and only really became salt-and-pepperish in her early fifties. My grandmother's ditto. And my hair is really from that side of the family. However, I do have a whole set of other genes, and they're harder to track--my father's hair is such a light brown that we've hardly been able to see the beginnings of his silvering sideburns, and my father's mother has been dying her hair since before I was born. Don't know a thing about the English side's graying tendencies. Genes are a mysterious thing.)
And there's also a sense of regret, maybe even a little bit of panic. My hair is already turning gray (OK, two hairs are), and I haven't even won a Pulitzer yet, or published a novel, or had a baby, or gotten good at a profession. HURRY UP! the hair seems to be notifying me. We're supposed to be in the prime of life here. MOVE! I've hit some kind of Solstice-y balance point--the beginning of wisdom, maybe, and the beginning of the end of hair pigmentation.
But it really looks way cool. I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. Must ask the hairdresser if she can spot any more in there.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Joseph of Nazareth and his rotten relatives
I have a question about the Christmas story.
Luke says: "In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn."
Joseph, of the house of David, goes to Bethlehem, to be counted in the census. Presumably, even if his immediate family live in Nazareth, he has extended family in Bethlehem. He shows up in town with a pregnant fiancee..not merely pregnant, but seriously pregnant. And they let her give birth in a barn outside a cheap motel? What is WRONG with these people?
Granted, the town may be jam-packed, but still--"OK, Uncle Yehuda has the couch, Eleazar is in the bathtub, Auntie Chloe is going to sleep in Batsheva's bed, and Batsheva will double up with Devorah. Shimon! Pack up your spare undies. Joe's found some room in the inn's stable, and you'll share that with him until everyone goes home. Whaddya mean, why? Miriam's practically in labor already, and you ask why? She needs your bed, genius! She should give birth in a stable? Your cousin Yosef's first son is going to be put in his swaddling clothes into a feedbox maybe? Aaah, use some common sense!"
It's been suggested to me that the family disapproves of Mary's pregnancy, but why to such an extent, if they assume it's Joseph's child? (I assume Joseph has had the common sense not to go around telling everyone about the virginity, and the dreams, and the angels and everything.) I have to assume there is some famiyl stuff going on here that Luke either doesn't know about, or doesn't care about.
In any event, makes for a much more gripping story than the traditional version, with just the two of them gliding through an angel-filled night--to my mind, at any rate.
Luke says: "In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn."
Joseph, of the house of David, goes to Bethlehem, to be counted in the census. Presumably, even if his immediate family live in Nazareth, he has extended family in Bethlehem. He shows up in town with a pregnant fiancee..not merely pregnant, but seriously pregnant. And they let her give birth in a barn outside a cheap motel? What is WRONG with these people?
Granted, the town may be jam-packed, but still--"OK, Uncle Yehuda has the couch, Eleazar is in the bathtub, Auntie Chloe is going to sleep in Batsheva's bed, and Batsheva will double up with Devorah. Shimon! Pack up your spare undies. Joe's found some room in the inn's stable, and you'll share that with him until everyone goes home. Whaddya mean, why? Miriam's practically in labor already, and you ask why? She needs your bed, genius! She should give birth in a stable? Your cousin Yosef's first son is going to be put in his swaddling clothes into a feedbox maybe? Aaah, use some common sense!"
It's been suggested to me that the family disapproves of Mary's pregnancy, but why to such an extent, if they assume it's Joseph's child? (I assume Joseph has had the common sense not to go around telling everyone about the virginity, and the dreams, and the angels and everything.) I have to assume there is some famiyl stuff going on here that Luke either doesn't know about, or doesn't care about.
In any event, makes for a much more gripping story than the traditional version, with just the two of them gliding through an angel-filled night--to my mind, at any rate.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Newsflash
The Balabusta and the fella are engaged.
To be married.
Shortly before the chagim.
In the coming year.
I have decided to embrace becoming Bridezilla. The fella has announced himself as "Groomra", the tuxedoed equivalent to Mothra. Mrs. Bluejeans says there is no such thing in Western culture. Currently we are fighting over the number of people to be invited to the wedding. Groomra feels that any number that goes into double digits is too many.
I want to invite the entire Western half of the United States, plus various East-Coast relatives to share in our happiness. Well, not really, but I think seventy-five is a nice number for a wedding.
Groomra reports that if I think I am having him lifted in a chair, I can forget about it. He will punch, kick, and if necessary, kill.
Perhaps separate dancing is the answer.
Anyway. Details to follow.
I'm happy.
To be married.
Shortly before the chagim.
In the coming year.
I have decided to embrace becoming Bridezilla. The fella has announced himself as "Groomra", the tuxedoed equivalent to Mothra. Mrs. Bluejeans says there is no such thing in Western culture. Currently we are fighting over the number of people to be invited to the wedding. Groomra feels that any number that goes into double digits is too many.
I want to invite the entire Western half of the United States, plus various East-Coast relatives to share in our happiness. Well, not really, but I think seventy-five is a nice number for a wedding.
Groomra reports that if I think I am having him lifted in a chair, I can forget about it. He will punch, kick, and if necessary, kill.
Perhaps separate dancing is the answer.
Anyway. Details to follow.
I'm happy.
December Highlights
December 6th: Feast of St. Nicholas. Vice Principal only remembers this fact at prayer service. Runs out of building to buy 200 candy canes. With the eighth grade, I put a shoe out in the hall. We are each given a candy cane by the saint.
December 8: Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Watch incredibly cute children do a presentation on the Immaculate Conception.
December 12: Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Kindergarten presents. "Juan Diego jumped up and ran all the way to the bishop," intones Ms. K. Juan Diego jumps up, slips, and flops to the floor. Then gets up and runs to the bishop. The bishop does not believe in his vision. "Juan Diego CAREFULLY ran all the way back to Tepeyac," Ms. K announces.
Later on December 12: Feast of the 7th and 8th Grade at St. Colmcille, martyred for doing a very bad job singing a very silly Christmas carol in preparation for the Christmas concert.
Ms. Balabusta helps out with that carol, and following ones, as best she can. During "Silent Night", the choir director leans over to her. "Great," she whispers. "The Jewish teacher knows all the words. And the Catholics..." She glares at the Catholics.
"Learned it in public school," I whisper back, truthfully. Choir director giggles insanely.
I even helped out with "Go Tell It On The Mountain", although I only know the words to that because of House reruns.
It was a bad day. But the occasional insane giggle helps.
December 8: Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Watch incredibly cute children do a presentation on the Immaculate Conception.
December 12: Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Kindergarten presents. "Juan Diego jumped up and ran all the way to the bishop," intones Ms. K. Juan Diego jumps up, slips, and flops to the floor. Then gets up and runs to the bishop. The bishop does not believe in his vision. "Juan Diego CAREFULLY ran all the way back to Tepeyac," Ms. K announces.
Later on December 12: Feast of the 7th and 8th Grade at St. Colmcille, martyred for doing a very bad job singing a very silly Christmas carol in preparation for the Christmas concert.
Ms. Balabusta helps out with that carol, and following ones, as best she can. During "Silent Night", the choir director leans over to her. "Great," she whispers. "The Jewish teacher knows all the words. And the Catholics..." She glares at the Catholics.
"Learned it in public school," I whisper back, truthfully. Choir director giggles insanely.
I even helped out with "Go Tell It On The Mountain", although I only know the words to that because of House reruns.
It was a bad day. But the occasional insane giggle helps.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
We Gather Together...
This year I am thankful. I am thankful that my father is recovering from the Series of Unfortunate Events that took place this past month. I am thankful that (oxygen and all), he is going home tomorrow we think/hope/pray. I am thankful that tomorrow I will be going to visit him and my mom, and perhaps eating a turkey sandwich.
I am thankful for other stuff too--new apartment, better job, love of a good man, great friends...but right now, that's sort of blending into the background.
On the Balabusta front--vay's mir. There's an old Allison Bechtel cartoon (she writes Dykes to Watch Out For) where a therapist demonstrates various ways to break up with a ball of Silly Putty and asks "Have you been breaking up with your girlfriend for so long that you're starting to feel thin and sticky?" I have officially been moving for so long that I feel thin and sticky. The fella's van is broken, so we have been relying on the kindness of one particular friend who owns a truck. This friend is also a large man who believes in helping one's friends, and he is capable of lifting a La-Z-Boy onto his head and walking up a flight of stairs with it, which the Balabusta sure as hell cannot do. So that has been fabulous. The problem is that we can ONLY move when he is available, and he has school, and a home life, and all of that good stuff...plus, the beholden-ness level is getting uncomfortably high. We hope to fix the van on Friday, but still...
We still need to clear out the garage, and clean the old place, and time is running out, since I am NOT gonna pay more rent for the old place. No way, no how. Also, the realtor who rented it to us the last time keeps calling to check on how we're doing. Praying for deposit return...
Anyway. It's Thanksgiving, and I am thankful. Hodu l'adonai ki tov. (You can take that in both the serious and the silly sense.) I'm off to peel some parboiled yams.
I am thankful for other stuff too--new apartment, better job, love of a good man, great friends...but right now, that's sort of blending into the background.
On the Balabusta front--vay's mir. There's an old Allison Bechtel cartoon (she writes Dykes to Watch Out For) where a therapist demonstrates various ways to break up with a ball of Silly Putty and asks "Have you been breaking up with your girlfriend for so long that you're starting to feel thin and sticky?" I have officially been moving for so long that I feel thin and sticky. The fella's van is broken, so we have been relying on the kindness of one particular friend who owns a truck. This friend is also a large man who believes in helping one's friends, and he is capable of lifting a La-Z-Boy onto his head and walking up a flight of stairs with it, which the Balabusta sure as hell cannot do. So that has been fabulous. The problem is that we can ONLY move when he is available, and he has school, and a home life, and all of that good stuff...plus, the beholden-ness level is getting uncomfortably high. We hope to fix the van on Friday, but still...
We still need to clear out the garage, and clean the old place, and time is running out, since I am NOT gonna pay more rent for the old place. No way, no how. Also, the realtor who rented it to us the last time keeps calling to check on how we're doing. Praying for deposit return...
Anyway. It's Thanksgiving, and I am thankful. Hodu l'adonai ki tov. (You can take that in both the serious and the silly sense.) I'm off to peel some parboiled yams.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Basically Still Here
My father is out of the ICU, and doing better. Thank you to everyone praying and thinking and etc. for him.
We've moved, sort of. Still need to get a whole lot of stuff out of the old place. And clean it. Attempting to cook with very weird assortment of kitchen utensils. Attempting to dress with very weird assortment of clothes.
Two days, and then we're off for Thanksgiving. Five days off = very good thing.
More info to follow.
We've moved, sort of. Still need to get a whole lot of stuff out of the old place. And clean it. Attempting to cook with very weird assortment of kitchen utensils. Attempting to dress with very weird assortment of clothes.
Two days, and then we're off for Thanksgiving. Five days off = very good thing.
More info to follow.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
I Hate Fresno (It's Hereditary)
Mr. Bluejeans Sr. is now in a different room at the hospital, one of the ones where they put you in a little isolation area with a room between you and the hall, and no one is allowed in without wearing a little surgical mask.
They don't know what is wrong with him, but the pneumonia's not clearing up.
The nurse who showed me in told me it might be TB, but they're doing cultures and checking.
My dad, when I got in to see him, told me they'd suggested valley fever to him.
Mr. Bluejeans Sr. was a child in rural Fresno. And he's been back from time to time since. So valley fever would not be out of the question. It would, however, make me very angry. My dad doesn't care for Fresno very much. If it made him sick, we're all going to be...irritated.
Have been reading up on valley fever. Making self nervous.
Mother still coughing a lot.
They don't know what is wrong with him, but the pneumonia's not clearing up.
The nurse who showed me in told me it might be TB, but they're doing cultures and checking.
My dad, when I got in to see him, told me they'd suggested valley fever to him.
Mr. Bluejeans Sr. was a child in rural Fresno. And he's been back from time to time since. So valley fever would not be out of the question. It would, however, make me very angry. My dad doesn't care for Fresno very much. If it made him sick, we're all going to be...irritated.
Have been reading up on valley fever. Making self nervous.
Mother still coughing a lot.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Mr. Bluejeans Sr. is not well
Actually, Mr. Bluejeans Sr. is in the hospital with pneumonia.
"How old is your father?" people keep asking me when I tell them this. "Fifty-nine," I tell them, and they look confused, having envisioned a frail old man. This is similar, I suppose, to my reaction to hearing that the bishop of Oakland had fallen down a flight of stairs in his home and broken both arms.
I assumed he was a frail old bishop, but actually he's also in his fifties, and is now recovering--with some help from my students, who wrote get-well cards, and are now praying for his recovery at school prayer every morning. They also pray for Ms. Balabusta's father.
Anyway, this is scary and alarming--it started with a chest cold, and then the diabetes acted up, and apparently three or four pneumonias took root, and now Mr. Bluejeans Sr. has been in the hospital for six days, and is being treated with weapons-grade antibiotics.
My mother also has the cold, and since she has asthma, she's being very slow to recover, and is stuck at home, since they didn't hospitalize her.
And two people I know well lost beloved cats in the last two weeks.
Altogether, this is not good. Not good at all.
"How old is your father?" people keep asking me when I tell them this. "Fifty-nine," I tell them, and they look confused, having envisioned a frail old man. This is similar, I suppose, to my reaction to hearing that the bishop of Oakland had fallen down a flight of stairs in his home and broken both arms.
I assumed he was a frail old bishop, but actually he's also in his fifties, and is now recovering--with some help from my students, who wrote get-well cards, and are now praying for his recovery at school prayer every morning. They also pray for Ms. Balabusta's father.
Anyway, this is scary and alarming--it started with a chest cold, and then the diabetes acted up, and apparently three or four pneumonias took root, and now Mr. Bluejeans Sr. has been in the hospital for six days, and is being treated with weapons-grade antibiotics.
My mother also has the cold, and since she has asthma, she's being very slow to recover, and is stuck at home, since they didn't hospitalize her.
And two people I know well lost beloved cats in the last two weeks.
Altogether, this is not good. Not good at all.
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