To the Victors Went the Mich Golden Light

Today as I sat in one of those dreaded Monday meetings, I finally raised my point: this sucks so bad.  I am frustrated.  I have no answers for myself and no answers for my students to the question of who will do this job when I leave.

The response I got: Try sitting in my chair for the last two months.

The person who made my job disappear just one-upped me.

This weekend was great.  Even the rain was wonderful.  I logged many hours circling the lake, including a few miles tangled in the leash of a six pound puppy.  Saved some old books from certain death at the hands of my spring cleaning parents.  If any of you want to borrow my college Psychopharmacology book, please let me know.  Opioid antagonists are making the news!  Drugs are relevant. 

Speaking of which, Friday night Drew and Peter, my new Facebook friends (Gross.  I swore I wouldn't.  It's horrifying and addictive and stop it, no, I can't) brought out the the table saws and a plywood board for some friendly beer pong competition.  No record of the night survives, save my memories of incredible defeats Drew and I waged on our hapless victims.  

Music Linkabouts

Matt and I saw Chicago native/violin plucker/whistling virtuoso/musical loopmaker Andrew Bird at the State Theater on Saturday night.  My most pleasant concert experience to date.  

(Why were you dating concerts?)  

(Shut up.)

Every member of his band can play at least two instruments: bass and saxophone, drums and piano, kazoo and tin pan (I'm just saying I could be brought on tour and really add something to the mix.  If they need me.).  As for myself, I sat in the back feeling pretty accomplished about the deal I got on this shirt at Target: $7.98, suckas.  (Also, bring your own undershirt.  Target does not advocate nipple-bearing.)

To round out the First Annual Spring Concert Series of the Weekend and Monday of April 11-13, some of my funtimes girls and I saw Alexi Murdoch at the Varsity Theater last night.  He was so reserved.  Toward the end of the show he made actual sentences.  Behind him they projected a haunting series of home-movie-style clips to accompany the last few tunes.   I wanted to sneak up to the front and whisper to him, but I didn't.  Alexi, I can't hate on the music; you know I love your jams.  But please talk to us.  We are here to see you and soak up your UK lilt.  We can get everything else on the cd.  Also, can I run my fingers through your hair, since I'm standing right here and all?  

The Friendly Skies

Argentina was lovely, but the plane riding was not.  As expected.  

Forgot the first rule of international air travel for economy class: always ask for the pasta.  The chicken it is made of shredded clothespins in spiced gravy.  

Hell to pay.

A few more items before I tuck Argentina in and watch some 30 Rock on Hulu.

• Fact: The beef is cheap and tender.  Their empanadas are dusted with sugar.  Their coffee is worth drinking.  Argentina's food is more addictive than crack cocaine.   
  
• Fact everybody in the city will give you directions to somewhere: I have 100 maps in my purse.  Argentina does not like trees.
  
• Fact: Plane paranoia can be medicated, but if the plane goes down and you've just taken a Lorazepam and you're drooling, nobody is going to let you be the first one down the emergency exit slide. Argentina has no opinion on this matter.  You will already be out of their airspace.

Take a left on Honduras

Full day yesterday: saw an opera AND a homeless dude pooping in a trashcan. Photos of neither event can be found here.
We saw La Traviata from a side balcony, dodging the heads of the people with better views. I did, however, have a clear shot of the Spanish supertitles. Helpful. I successfully interpreted the color progression of her costumes (red to pink to white) and drew on my modern drama class to explain the "courtesan redeems herself in real love but still must die" paradigm.
Today we went to Recoleta Cemetary to find the family plot of Eva Duarte Peron. (It was a quietish day around the mausoleums (dead pun) because the entire city's worth of people was down in the Centro paying respect to former president Alfonsin. (Now the dead pun seems too soon, doesn't it?)) The buildings are impressive, but still creepy like that Ashley Judd movie, Double Jeopardy, where they're chasing each other through the New Orleans cemetary. Hello, cemetaries are scary enough without guns.
Respectfully, respectfully.

Sweating in South America

It's 8 pm in Buenos Aires and I'm putting off a shower, since it'll be two or three hours before we go out to our beefy wine-y dinner. Portenos know how to eat, but I'm not sure they can teach me how to stay awake long enough to digest.
Our hotel is lovely wonderful. In a bit, we will sit on the rooftop, drink a bottle of Malbec, and chat about the 50 stray cats in the park today.
If you come back as a cat, move to the Botanical Gardens. Those mini tigers are treated like kings.
Er.
Whatever.

Buzzing In

I'm having some trouble putting together cohesive thoughts lately (and finding the motivation to get out of bed for work. Something in my brain has trouble with Hi, we don't want you anymore, but since we have to pay you through June, just keep showing up.). Thank you for all of your support. I had a lot of beer and hugs and prayers this weekend. Perhaps those are part of the problem. Prayers kill brain cells!

• I have some strongly worded letters to write to some administrative higher-ups, so I'm going to let that simmer a bit while we are gone to Buenos Aires. Matt, Nicki and I are off on Friday. Any tips? Any legal souvenir requests?
• I've delayed grocery shopping, so my sustenance is either from a restaurant or the giant basket of aged tortilla chips on our kitchen shelf. I'm a little desperate. I almost stole some food from bookclub last night to eat as lunch. I'm almost ashamed to write that. Almost.
• At 4:30 pm this afternoon, I will be watching Minneapolis improvisor Fred Beukema on Jeopardy. They taped a while ago and he signed 400 confidentiality papers, but he has posted some about the experience. Neat!
• It's Carly's birthday today. Hi, Sister. I hope you get a serenade over your Ariel Barbie cake. Just maybe skip the candles, because otherwise you'll get a half-day at work and the other half of the day will be filing a deposition with the Brooklyn Center PD.

Free Like Cheesybread

My mother has taken to sending me e-Catholic Greetings. I'm hoping I'll get one today, since I just got laid off.

Is there a Patron Saint of the Unemployed?

What they actually said was that they would be "reallocating funds associated with [my] position." I was the one who had to clarify it meant that I wouldn't be here next year. I'm safe and paid through June, but the district is cutting $2 million and my little position is one portion they will not be funding anymore. I suppose they would probably let me do it anyway.

I was a champion, Friends.

I did not cry.

I stressed the importance of my work here and my connection with the students over these last 5 years, and how they should be sure to figure out where those responsibilities are going: hip hop, butt plugs, investigation of bus incidents, teaching them how to be hypocrites adults.  I will miss some of them more than others.

But it's time for a new adventure. I'll need your prayers and your beers and your hugs.  

Celery, Celery, So Crunchy

Matt and I are in London for the weekend to photograph a special birthday party at the Dorchester Hotel. Peep this, you guys. P.I.M.P.
I'm recovering from a rough flight/time changeroo by watching a kid's show with a Blue's Clues-y song about vegetables. It deserves a visual aid, so remind me to show you when we return. Airplane food tried to ruin this trip for us but I will be damned if I am going to miss an opportunity to eat Cadbury's at the source. Especially when our little American monies can buy more than it could before...
Love and replenished fluids.

National Anger Management Month

Ever since my birthday left, I've been irritable.  The day with all the beer and presents doesn't come around again for 12 months.  I was thinking, today, about all the rules I have in place for human interaction--the ones people don't even know they're violating. If I wrote a motivational book, it would be part really mean and part less mean, so you'd forget about the mean as you moved through it.

Possible Chapters:

1: If you’re going to do something and it’s something that you generally do because it’s your job, just frigging do it.  If you get all tweaked out about the details, and you're not an event planner, people won’t want to work with you anymore.

Me people.  I don't want to work with you anymore.

2: Idea!  Every normal task you do during the day, time it with a stopwatch.  It's more fun if it's a race against yourself.  It's like regular you, but faster.  Warning: Not for readers prone to heart attacks. 

3: If I have to bounce my leg this hard just to stay awake while meeting with you, you are dull and I'm leaving.  Goodbye.  

4: If you're the only one who says hi first, take a couple of days off.  People will think you're selfish taking all the initial hellos for yourself.

5. It smells like decay in here.  Maybe consider disposing of lunchtime garbage by leaving it somewhere else.

6. Draw pictures of bunnies.

Two Microphones, One Dream

I'm 27 today.

Since I don't have Facebook, I have to remind people the regular way that my birthday is coming up: mention it casually, hoping they'll throw me a party.

It worked.  If you're in town on Saturday night and of a legal age for FUN HAVING, join us at the 1029 and we will sing together.