Popscholar

My grad school application is officially off.  Not surprisingly, I have had a plethora of OCD moments in the last 36 hours that have gone something like this: "What if I forgot to sign Form X?"  "What if there is a typo on page two that I didn't catch?"  "What if the envelope seal comes open and everything falls out en route?"  Ah, the life of the obsessive mind.  I never catch a break.

Tonight I was supposed to be in Lewisburg, PA with G at his mom's annual Brazilian fiesta, but my youngest cat is sick and the vet told me not to leave him.  Ollie is having some sort of bladder infection and has been peeing all over my house for the last 24 hours.  So this morning we made an emergency vet appointment since my vet-to-be sis said that if he becomes blocked and can't go that it's life-threatening.  He's now on meds and has confined his pee to the litter box post-vet visit, so we're on the up-and-up.  Let me just say this: Nature's Miracle is no hyperbole.  Nothing's tougher on cat piss.

So while we're on the topic of shitty happenings, my lemon of a car was in the shop AGAIN this week.  Effing VW.  Oh, and a fuse blew in my house this evening, so I currently have no electricity in selected areas of my abode.   

But life is good, people.  Really.  I made my therapist cry this week.  (They were good tears, I assure you.)

Last night I saw the funniest fucking comedy show ever.  A friend of mine emailed early in the week saying, "Come on out with me on Friday to see Ted Alexandro.  He's a funny former teacher."  If this man ever comes within 50 miles of your city, GO.  I was guffawing the entire night.  I brought my friend SF along with AH, CC and me; S and I were falling all over each other for the better part of two hours.  (We not only share a soul connection but a stellar sense of humor.)

I'm going to impart to you one of the funniest jokes of the night, but not without first issuing a disclaimer: If you're offended by Jesus jokes that involve blowjobs, navigate away from this URL ASAP.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way...  Ted told us that he once got a blowjob from a girl wearing a WWJD bracelet.  "Luckily it was pretty good," he said.  "Because that could get pretty awkward.  I mean, what would Jesus do?  'Jesus would use less teeth.'  'Jesus would work the balls.'"

Would it soften the blow (no pun intended) if I assured you that Ted rode Buddha a bit too?  Because he did.  For what it's worth.  

Other fun stuff: I booked my 30th b-day bash at a local bar; the date's Saturday, March 3rd, so mark it down and join us in Philly!  The concert calendar's got two folky boys on deck this week: Josh Ritter with G at World Cafe Live on Tuesday and Brett Dennen with SF at the Tin Angel on Thursday.

That's all she wrote for tonight, Kids.  It's time for one last round of Pee Patrol before I crash...  Cross those fingers.  And those legs.

I will post more. 

But, wait, weren't resolutions meant to be broken?

Okay, Okay.  At kj's request, I am finally returning to blogland, at least momentarily.  Since I always end up betraying my word when I vow to be more consistent here, I am not going to make any promises.  I know you understand.  At least I hope you do.

So lots is going on in my world; the holiday rush came and went in all of its chaotic fervor, I'm back to work (teaching and grading Great Gatsby essays), returning to my novel (writing retreat this coming weekend), finalizing my application to graduate school, and trying to attend to the day-to-day business of my existence.  Life is good, albeit busy.

A couple of recent highlights...

1. I got a 4.0 my first semester.  Woo Hoo!
2. In the last few months I've developed an amazing friendship with this girl from school (school-school, not work-school). 
3. Krizmic and NB came and stayed with G and me this past weekend; Greta Jane was also in town (visiting us and another friend).  We had a fabulous time.
4. G and I hosted a terrific New Year's party and had a house full of wonderful friends.  The BYers were an outstanding addition to the crowd.
5. I'm currently on a high from last weekend, hoping that it will sustain me until Friday when I'll be heading up to Noho to write and fraternize with a bunch of friends and creative types.

I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday.  In true procrastinating fashion, I did not get cards out in time this year, so my virtual well wishes will have to suffice.

Happy 2007, All!

 If you eat fast food and plan to continue, you might want to refrain from reading this post.

I saw Fast Food Nation last week and I've got news for you, people: there is POOP in your burgers.  That's right -- SHIT.  In short, the folks taking out cow intestines on the floors of the meat-packing plants don't know what the hell they're doing; consequently, those guts are leaking fecal matter into your meat.  Yum.

Today, during fourth period, one of my bolder kids asked me if I would go on a "date" with him.  He offered to take me to McDonald's.  I proceeded to launch into my diatribe about FFN, and then closed the conversation by declaring, "J, the way to tempt me is definitely NOT with the offer of a shit sandwich, thanks."

Incidentally, I am not quite sure how to break this devasting news to my former therapist.

Shawn Colvin was in rare form Sunday night at the Keswick; I'm still reeling from the euphoria-induced spell she cast.  On the road with Brandi Carlile in support of her latest record These Four Walls, she was back at one of her favorite Philly-area haunts.  Wowed by her Falcon Ridge performance last summer (which was the first time since I’d seen her since I was in high school), I vowed to get back on the bandwagon.  And, after Sunday’s performance, I have officially climbed back on.

Brandi Carlile opened the show; she took the stage in jeans, converse sneakers and a red button-down.  Her casual style echoed her low-key, unpretentious demeanor.  She playfully chatted with us about everything from calling Shawn on her cell and asking to get on the tour to “ripping off” the “Ghost” riff from Emily Saliers of the Indigo Girls.  But, for all of the lightness of her banter, her performance was nothing less than wholly intense.  She played mostly songs from her debut album, along with a couple of new tunes and two covers -- Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” and Leonard Cohen’s “Halleluiah.”  The standing ovation she received was entirely deserved.

Shawn took the stage just as the intermission music (Patty Griffin) faded out.

“I don’t want to follow Patty Griffin,” she joked.  “It makes me feel like a bad singer!”

Granted Patty is a tough act to follow, but Shawn more than held her own.  Dressed uniquely (as she always is) in some sort of black getup that defies description, she came out solo and treated us to a couple of acoustic tunes.  Shortly thereafter she introduced her “band,” which consisted of the legendary Buddy Miller and another player who looked like Michaela Majoun (for non-Philly natives, picture a woman whose black, bushy hair is her most overwhelming feature).

Musically Shawn and her crew sounded stellar.  They played a lot off of the new record and a smattering of songs from each of the older albums.  They also did a version of Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy,” a cover with a definite “hip factor.”  Highlights included classics like “Round of Blues,” a duet with Brandi Carlile (after which Shawn touchingly hugged Brandi), and the beautiful closer, “Diamond in the Rough.”

Shawn herself was glowing; it was a thrill to see her so genuinely happy after what, I know, has been a longtime struggle with depression.  Her stage banter was witty and hilarious; at the beginning of the show she told us that, because she’s been in therapy forever, that it was a force of habit to talk heavily for the first fifty minutes of the set.

“After the therapeutic hour is over I tend to quiet right down,” she joked.

Later on, when she kept right on talking, she confessed to having a “doorknob issue,” which, she told us, is when the client starts chatting away at the very end of the therapy hour.  

The funniest moment of the night was when Shawn announced that she’d just seen Borat (which, coincidentally, G and I saw Saturday night) and that she now had an idea for an outfit for Buddy for the final gig of the tour.

“You know that fluorescent green banana sling that Borat wears?” she asked.  

I was sitting in the 4th row, dead center, and, as possibly the youngest person in the room, I began laughing hysterically because I knew exactly where she was going (I’m not sure that a lot of the 50+ crowd was privy to the Borat phenomenon.  Incidentally, you’ve got to love the fact that Shawn has a sense of humor that allows for such raunchiness.).

“I think we should get one of those for Bud,” she continued.

Poor Buddy Miller had not a clue.

“I’m in the process of educating Bud -- we’re watching a lot of Ali G on the bus,” she told us.

As if the music alone weren’t enough to win me over, you’ve gotta love a girl who actually owns Da Ali G Show on DVD.

A couple of years ago I read an article with the above title in The Onion.  It starts out:

I'm a pretty sophisticated, well-educated person.  I went to Wesleyan, where I got my B.A. in comparative literature.  I listen to This American Life on NPR.  I've traveled abroad fairly extensively and even spent a year living in London.  Given all this, you'd think I might be a little staid and stodgy, that I'd shun certain activities because I'm too good for that sort of thing.  That is completely untrue.  The reality is, I'll try anything with a detached air of superiority. 

And so it was in this tongue-in-cheek spirit that I agreed to participate, as a cheerleader, in the upcoming pep rally to gear up for the Homecoming game.

A week ago one of my students, a cheerleader, approached me.

"Ms. K, we're recruiting teachers to participate in our pep rally routine.  Will you cheer?"

I gave her a perplexed look.

"Maybe you should ask [ra ra teacher].  I'm not really the cheerleading type."

"We know!  That's why we're asking you!  It's ironic!"

Maybe I buckled because she got the meaning of the term "ironic" finally.  Or maybe I had a moment of temporary insanity.

The bottom line, regardless, is that yours truly will be body-rolling and boob-thrusting my way through an inane dance routine on November 17th.  And, like that of the Onion writer who participated in townie culture while simultaneously sneering at it, my mantra will be "I am above this.  I am better than this.  This is beneath me, but I will still do it because I'm open-minded enough to try anything and look down my nose at it at least once."