for valentine's day i bought new batteries

the woman's head almost exploded. she didn't expect the v-word. she was just acting out her role as a friendly starbucks drive-thru worker, asking me about my valentine's day. that's right. the vagina monologues, suburb style.

i hate valentine's day. not in an angry feminist sort of way. i hate it because of what it implies about love. that it must come on this single day. that it should be a large gesture, preferrably in front of co-workers, that will show your thoughtful dedication. that you will be judged. your remberance of this solitary, ridiculous day will vindicate us all of any expectation concerning loving gestures.

but i love the vagina monologues. LOVE. i love the topics; the discourse made possible through the project. i love the message of female beauty and wonder in our bodies-- those we so often detest. i love the goal of the performances-- to eradicate violence against women and children. and i wanted robyn to love it, too. and, to my pleasant surprise, it would be opening on valentine's day in prior lake, minnesota, population 10,000. the venue? a lutheran church. this seemed shocking. exciting. and it was.

i loved being surrounded by the 100 or so people and sharing their experience with the show. reveling in laughter and the heavy pauses of some of the monologues. chanting "cunt" as the red glitter letters spelling the word crossed the stage. sitting next to my mom during "i was there in the room," the monologue about birth. after the show robyn and i took our vaginas out for dinner. well, for blizzards from dairy queen. and when i got home, i gave myself a valentine's present. new batteries.

14 and clear in decorah

i am always surprised at the information that comes for free on the internet. you don't ask for it. it's just right there for your perusal.

when i got to work i figured i would be punished for past misdeeds. i am subbing for my high school choir director and am sharing an office with my junior high music teacher. for some reason i took out all angst regarding my teenage years on these two individuals. obviously i was still a degree of good kid. but, since i never atoned, i feel constantly guilty around them. for being the student that made them repeat a mantra. i am a teacher for a greater purpose. or they know not what they do. i have certainly told myself that this week, harkening back to memories of frazzled, shrill substitutes screaming and completely going bonkers. there's just so much prologue to each class period. the way their usual teacher behaves. where the kids wake up each morning and every single interaction they have before they arrive in class. i know ownership eventually is ours and we must choose our own behavior. but. after the stuff that i know goes on at home and in the hallways, i don't really expect them to completely internalize that.

the other day when i was at the middle school i wrote to cole, middle school choir guru, with the only proposition that got me through the final periods of the day. to run away with capes on with only a wagon full of treats. when i opened this picture the next morning, before my middle school science class, i couldn't stop smiling out loud. i remember walking out of the teacher's lounge at woodstock the first day that i was a full-time-- not student-- teacher. maria and i had gone shopping in the fashionable mussoorie bazaar. and i bought my teacher cape. i don't even know where it is now. but i needed it that day. and, still. sometimes you just need a cape.

barack my world

i've grown cynical with age. it's true. it started gradually. the explosion occurred when my thai host father woke me up to watch fox news, depicting the dawn of bush's second term. the rallies. everything. gone to waste. and 2 trillion dollars later, the united states is still present in iraq. my cynicism protected my core from becoming passionate about things. protected me from the horror of protesting the war, watching the bombing begin and attending the funeral of a friend who died in bagdad. my disenfranchisement with the united states was about self-preservation.

watching protests in turkey, discussing politics in tibet, and remembering the things that are unique about the united states excited me about coming back in time for the election. however, as soon as i got back, i've been underwhelmed. not unpleased, just not willing to proselytize for any candidates. the cynicism, still palpable, took a blow yesterday. after waiting in line for 2 hours with the most diverse crowd i've seen thus far in minnesota, jenell and i took our seats in the last row of the target center. small kids, adults, old ladies, all colors, all shades. i wonder if any other campaign has the ability to draw that kind of crowd. where gay and straight and black and white are discussed along side with the importance of education and healthcare. "OUR children, not THOSE children." it became goosebumpy. sharing the story of the his first day in washington, opening his desk, reading the names carved into the wood in the top drawer and writing his own beneath paul wellstone's. though no candidate is perfect, being a part of a 15,000+ audience for "change" was awe-inspiring. the walk back to the parking garage was a dream-like combination of minnesota nice and liberal elation. i think the little green bus is driving by. and i am going to get on.

p.s. i recognize this picture to be ridiculous. and i LOVE it.

today i am the cat lady

there are hundreds of cats staring at me. hundreds. what is it about cat people? not only are framed photos of their own cats sufficient, they need a wall of cat clippings. if i think too much about the cats, i get a little paranoid.

i am sitting at the desk of a cat lady. and, wandering around, looking for a paper to read while "my" students busily work away, i realized something. i am totally disposable. that's the idea of a substitute teacher. relationships can scarcely be more temporal than that of a student and a substitute teacher. the growth over a year is invisible. even though kids from past classes are excited to see my in the building, personalities boil down to single 50-minute periods.

transition.

"you're living in transition, don't worry about it." that addage only works for so long. really, what isn't transitional? for some reason, with 15 minutes left of the school day, i've allowed my mind to slip into the seemingly weekly existential crisis. where is the purpose? i like the fact that there's decreased responsibility in this floating ms. humm business. but, like so much else in my life, i am waiting for it to stick. joanna summed this up perfectly on her blog. "it is sort of depressing to be surrounded by photos of people you may never see everyday ever again."

so. for now, i am the cat lady. tomorrow. good question.