No, *I* Can Has Cheezburger

LOLcats. Sorry, I just don't get it.

Maybe it's because I'm a dog person.

Practice, Schmactrice

This year, I've told myself I'm going to do the better self-care thing, so that means the Thursday afternoon yoga class is on the schedule. Not only can I twist and unkink, but I'll be able to have dinner at Moe's after with a bit less guilt.

Class today was v. small, probably because it's the first week of school, and most of the teachers are mental tapioca. No problem. I'm in seated meditation, listening to the nature sound remix of Pachelbel's Canon in D, thinking to myself "calm, calm."

That lasted about four minutes. Then I arrived at the depressing realization of three insurmountable facts:

1. I am way too short-waisted for some of these poses. There is just not enough room between my neck and waistline for certain kinds of bending and stretching. Ms. Teacher is wrapping herself into an origami crane, and I can't get my forehead within twelve inches of the mat. Not that I lack flexibility, mind you--I'm way flexible--I just don't have enough to bend over. Or get my elbow hooked over my opposite knee for the seated twist.
   
2. Of course, the extra pounds don't help with the bending of any joint, especially around the waist. Bone structure is far too small. Time to get serious about the caloric intake.
3. There is no such thing as a neutral spinal position for shavasana when you have a butt shaped like J-Lo's. Either I have a vicious curve right at the small of my back, or my knees are off the mat and my legs aren't relaxed. Wiggle, wiggle, adjust, adjust, huffy breath of frustration. Not the done thing when you're in final relaxation.

Despite all that, it was good to be here. My shoulders finally descended from eyebrow height. Can't complain about that. But it's clear that Rodney Yee and I have to become pre-breakfast partners again, if I really want to get my forehead acquainted with my mat.

Operation Kerosene Update #4

I have now successfully weeded off the dry sink in my kitchen and done something productive with all those school papers and reports cards and such. The paper flood has been dammed and tidied and filed, and now I can actually get to the cookbooks.

I nearly blew up our shredder tearing through pages and pages of old check stubs, credit cards statements from years ago (shamefully, some with a 19-- year prefix), receipts, automatic payment reminders, mutual fund buy notices, and else. Lots else. Two kitchen-sized bags full of shred. I could start my own packing company with all the junk.

The hand-me-down fairies arrived with bags of clothes for both DS and DD (or Frick and Frack, and they are more familiarly known). Frick has to week through his room again--what 10-year-old boy doesn't?--but Frack has actually caught on with the weedout kick. She gave a nice handful of books to the kids across the street that a few weeks ago she couldn't bear to part with. There's hope for the younger generation, assuming I don't screw them up further.

Now to the books. Stacks and stacks and stacks of them. When DH and I married and he moved into the house I owned at the time, he brought himself, his clothes, a table from his father, golf clubs, and about 15 cartons of books. The problem hasn't lessened since we've merged households and book-buying habits. But now we're in purge mode, so stacks of them are now patiently waiting to be taken to the Friends of the Library sale instead of lying in wait to attack us on nocturnal visits to the loo. This is progress, let me tell you. There may actually be room on our existing shelves for the depleted collection. Yikes.

Deb Dixon, Goddess!

Survived a virtual butt-kicking from the inimitable Deb Dixon, she of GMC fame. Great program today from CFRW. Got the streamlined GMC this morning, which amazingly I have never attended before, and a special workshop on the Big Black Moment this afternoon.

Considering that the writign has been, well, waysided for a bit, this was a good hook to yank me back into the fold. And I figured out why the book was bogging down so badly. No interaction! So now Hero Man will be up underneath her and the farm business while she blithely tries to fix other parts of her life. So much more drama will ensue at the black moment. Merci beaucoup, Deb!

The Bed List/The Dinner List

Bed and Dinner, summer blockbuster edition!

BED LIST: ALAN RICKMAN



This choice is based on the body of work, starting with the lovely Truly, Madly, Deeply. He does bad boys (Die Hard, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves), good guys (Col. Brandon in Sense and Sensibility), tarnished souls (Love, Actually), and downright goofy (Dr. Lazarus in Galaxy Quest). Plus, he's the one and only, perfect Severus Snape. Smart, and that marvelous accent to boot. How 'bout we Expelliarmus with the clothes?

DINNER LIST: BRAD BIRD



This is the brain and creativity behind The Iron Giant, The Incredibles, and Ratatouille. He's a great writer and visionary, but he gets bonus points for the throwaway moment in The Incredibles when Elastigirl catches a glimpse of her mom-sized thighs in her new supersuit. Classic! This man knows women.

Stop Saying That!!

Operation Kerosene Update #3

AmVets came today and took with them five boxes o'stuff. Linens from the aforementioned cleaned-out closet, a lamp and night light from DS's room that no longer go with the decor, outgrown clothing, and a few odds and ends. Liberating!

Unfortch, there's no break from the endless laundry and floor cleaning that must take place in a regular household, and somehow we've lost track of a couple of vital tools (rubber lint brush, where art thou?), but progress continues apace. DD is down to her last box, and then we have to make the hard decisions about the stuffed animals. We are a Gund zoology festival, apparently. More paperwork to keal with, still too much junk in the garage, but progress has been made.

One of these days, I will be able to host casual dinners for friends. Until then, more cleaning.

And bread baking. For some bizarre reason, it's relaxing even though it's one more thing to have to do.

Off to Read the Wizard

We just got back from a release party for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows--read the first two chapters aloud in the car already. Looks like this one will be cracker. Back later...

UPDATE
7:45 am, all done. In all, a balanced book. Laughter and tears, good and evil, and a fitting ending. Didn't all I wanted, nor all of my questions answered, but fitting. It'll be wonderful to introduce these books to my grandkids someday.

Now to put the book on DS's bedside table. He has dibs.

Floridiots

Off we go to cause traffic disruption in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina. Or, as the denizens of such mountains refer to us as we sea-level creatures navigate windy, two-lane roads, act like Floridiots. Kinda clever moniker, actually. Wish we could come up with something equally snappy to refer to the crazy NY/NJ/Ohio drivers who invade us every summer...

Don't expect much in the next week or so, as we'll be celebrating DD's birthday and enjoying a temperature and humidity break. Ah, vacation!

Playing Nice in the Political Sandbox

By now, the informed world is familiar with the Hardball smackdown/sandbagging (choose your term based upon which side of the political fence you graze) featuring conservative pundit Ann Coulter and Elizabeth Edwards, wife of presidential candidate John Edwards. Video clips abound in the blogosphere, in case you've been under a rock or, as we Florida teachers have been, waiting less and less patiently for Tallahassee to release those blasted school grades.

Lessons from the Coulter/Edwards encounter abound, and I wouldn't consider myself a very good teacher unless I pointed some of them out. First off, let's get one main definition out of the way:

de·bate [di-beyt] –noun

1.	a discussion, as of a public question in an assembly, involving opposing viewpoints: a debate in the Senate on farm price supports.

2.	a formal contest in which the affirmative and negative sides of a proposition are advocated by opposing speakers.

3.	deliberation; consideration.

4.	Archaic. strife; contention.

Note that the archaic definition of the word seems lately to be the functioning definition of the word in the public arena. "Debate"--or what poses for it--in mass media mostly consists of talking heads screaming soundbites at each other, or in the case of the blogosphere, hurling value judgment grenades at the other side. Winner has the most volume or greatest lack of civility. I can't say the Coulter/Edwards exchange represents the nadir of current public discourse, but it's a good example to dissect. Here we go:

• Ann Coulter has the First Amendment right to say whatever she feels about Mr. Edwards unless it is slanderous or libelous. Tasteless speech is well within Constitutional bounds.
  
• Elizabeth Edwards has the right to make a phone call to a public newsmagazine and voice her opinion as well. The fact that she isn't John Edwards does not diminish her position.
• As well-informed as you may be, you cannot change the opinions of those who disagree with you by acting like a petulant teenager. Huffing and eye-rolling don't work for my students, so why, if you are a college-educated adult with a national platform, would you assume they work for you?
  
• Talking over your opponent speaks volumes about you, but nothing legitimate about your position (this would apply to Mr. Begala, Mr. Carlson, Mr. Colmes, Ms. Coulter, Mr. Hannity, Mr. Limbaugh, Mr. Matthews, Mr. O'Reilly, and many others employed on the air).
• Bloggers, and the folks who leave comments at HuffPo, the NYT, WaPo, and the like, remember Godwin's Law: once you start tossing out "Nazi" and "Hitler" to describe your opponent, you lose the debate.
• Elizabeth Edwards is dead on: the personal attacks squelch meaningful discussion of the issues. I don't care whether you hate Bill/George/Hillary/Rudy/Mitt/John E./Barack/John McC. with an unmitigated fiery passion or not. The name calling isn't getting us anywhere but right back in the sandbox, throwing handfuls at the kid you think took your shovel.

Some real debate, if you would, peeps. What do you plan to do for the country? What ideas do you have to mend our torn social fabric? To improve access to quality education for all young people and develop a sane plan with which to do it? To create a health care system that truly improves the health of the nation? To reduce government waste by restricting senseless earmarks? To wrestle with knotty problems of race and class without resorting to tired rhetoric that says nothing new and gets nothing accomplished? To dignify the worth of all American voters during the next reapportionment by refusing to gerrymander district boundaries? To develop a sensible immigration policy that eliminates craziness (byzantine rules for legal immigrants that suck up tens of thousands of dollars in fees and months, if not years, in paperwork) and deals firmly and fairly with illegals (for one, no more wet foot/dry foot stupidity)? To honor our soldiers' sacrifices and bring them home safely, and soon?

Display some home training, please. Listen, think, and then speak. I'm anxious to hear your courteous, well-considered responses.

But I won't be holding my breath.