What does it mean to be a young, independent adult?

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

2007: Year in Review

The end of the year tends to make most people somewhat nostalgiac and retrospective, myself included. Here, for your enjoyment, are a list of things I could not have predicted would happen to me this year:


  • Driving to Cedar Falls, Iowa by myself to stay with a guy I met once in Kansas just to hang out with my friends from France on St. Patty's Day. It was so worth it.
  • Finding two amazing women to live with and the equally amazing "Three Queens House" for us. And that we would become known for our themed parties. (Next up- NYE pajama party!)
  • Fitting into high school-sized jeans again.
  • Developing a phobia of MSG and starting to buy organic food at the farm market and co-op, also affectionately known as "the hippie store."
  • Finding my religion.
  • Becoming a soccer fan. Especially to the point of buying an authentic jersey (FFF, in case you're wondering), and sitting out in 20 degree Fahrenheit weather to watch it. Bizarre.
  • Not missing marching band.
  • Chopping off all of my hair for charity and, more recently, highlighting it with some very European red streaks.
  • Learning how to be an ex-girlfriend. (Sadly, I didn't ever truly believe someone would break up with me. Conceited, but true.)
  • Finally seeing my best friend in Germany and getting to eat a hotdog in IKEA with her as we've planned for years :)
  • Watching giant high school boys (future NBA stars to be sure) from around the world dunk basketballs on a puny Canadian team. In tiny, tiny Fowler, Michigan. During an ice storm.
  • Ballroom dancing with a German man to rap music at a club in South Bend. (Okay, maybe that wouldn't surprise some of you, but the other people at the club were staring. Our salsa to "Soulja Boy" must have been magical.)
  • Being offered a job teaching a college writing class in the spring. You may now address me as Adjunct Professor Indygirl, thank you.
  • And, above all, making friends from all over the globe in this crazy little town and actually telling them that I have no reason in the world to want to leave here- and meaning it!

Those are the highlights, but judging by the first fifty, it seems anything could happen in these last two weeks of 2007!

Monday, December 3, 2007

It only took 18 months...

but I finally have my Indiana teaching license!! Which means I successfully leaped through the hoops set before me in round one of Indygirl v. State of Indiana.

Round two: Completing the year two portfolio project so that I can keep it. Sigh. It never ends.

Monday, October 29, 2007

I'm the one with the rose

"Hypothetical" scenario for you...

So "my friend" was seeing this guy off and on for a couple of months that she really seemed to like. During the off periods, she would sometimes visit or be visited by another gentleman friend she's had for several years. In September, they both told her they were completely through with her. Since, they have both seemed to find new girlfriends that make them utterly blissful (gag, gag, choke). Because she has moved to a small community (i.e. relatively few datable candidates) and made all of her friends through off-and-on guy (thus having to witness first-hand the blossoming relationship or have no social life), she's been feeling rather desperate and depressed.

What's a girl to do?

Well, during one Saturday night home alone, she may have turned to our generation's equivalent to the want-ad or mail-order mate: online dating. Opting to try a service that seemed more respectable by matching prospectives by personality profiles I- I mean, she- was somewhat pleasantly surprised by the apparent normalcy of those represented by the opposite sex. They seem normal enough- young professionals who have obviously been somewhat unlucky in love also, probably also a mix of shy and busy with few opportunities to meet someone now that we're out of the college scene.

So far, only a few emails have been exchanged, but I'll let you know how it goes. I mean, she will... oh, who am I kidding? Wish me luck!

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Soirée in Review


For those of you interested, my "Eurotrash Soirée" (birthday party) went very well. We had an estimated attendance of 40 people, all exhibiting the height of European bad taste.


The menu included mini-quiches, a full cheese plate (Camembert, brie, chèvre), baguettes, baked brie with raspberry jam, croissants, Nutella, fruit salad, tomato/mozzerella salad, and a homemade flan (courtesy of my friend Dan- merci!). A wide array of wines (merlot, chardonnay, rosé, sparkling, etc.), white Russians, Heineken, and other European beers were consumed.


Activities included dancing, Guitar Hero, smoking, making small talk, eating, drinking, and blowing air kisses. I also received some lovely gifts. Thanks for everyone who was able to come!

Here's photo of me with a few of my friends (note the new hair...)

Going green

I've always been a supporter of the adage "reduce, recycle, and reuse," but I've noticed that I've become increasingly more "green" in the past year or so, which I think is common for my generation. We seem to be concerned about the quality of our environment and finding ways to incorporate green living into our daily lives without much real sacrifice. I recycle, watch my electricity and water consumption, walk more, and recently became a member of the local food co-op, which stocks natural and local foods. As a member, I now receive a newsletter that addresses such issues and thought I'd share some information in an article I found particularly interesting regarding "Ethical Fuel."

Basically, the article contained a card grouping gas companies based on their environmental and human rights practices from research conducted by the Sierra Club. For more in-depth information, see the original articles.

Top of the barrel:
Sunoco: Sunoco, Ultra Service Centers, APlus Mini-Marts
Citgo: Citgo, Petro Express

Middle of the barrel:
Marathon Oil: Marathon, Speedway, Pilot, SuperAmerica
BP: Arco, Amoco, AM/PM Convenience Stores

Bottom of the barrel (avoid at all costs):
Shell: Shell Oil
Valero Energy Co: Corner Store, Diamond Shamrock, Ultramar, Valero, Clark, Stop-n-Go, Beacon, 7-Eleven (some)
ConocoPhillips: 76, Conoco, Phillips 66, Circle K (some), Flying J
Chevron: Chevron, Texaco Star
Exxon Mobil: Exxon, Mobil, On the Run, 7-Eleven (some)

Previously, I basically chose my station on price and convenience. I think I will now be thinking a little differently about which companies I would rather give my extra $0.01-$0.03 per gallon.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

So I went and got my hair did today. I usually only get an inch or so taken off, and this spring I branched out and got some red highlights (causing a certain male friend to remark, "Why'd you put that red shit in your hair?" but I digress...)

Today I decided to go a little further. Feeling brave and downright philanthropic, I thought, why not donate my tresses to Locks of Love? I can do something new with the 'do and help mankind at the same time. It seems a small sacrifice, I mean, it's almost a foot of hair, but it does grow back. It's not like I had to sever my pinky finger or anything.

It's been a while since I've done something so drastic to my appearance. I forgot how much I despise huge changes to my hair and so have been sitting in my house with my shades drawn, bawling and dry-heaving. Sadly, I'm not overexaggerating for effect.

How is it I can keep calm over and recover gracefully from nearly any situation, but as soon as my shoulderblades are visible I have a psychological meltdown?

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

A change will do you good...

I have always believed that people can change- usually by life events, or sometimes if sufficiently motivated. I have changed a lot through the years, I think, but this past year has brought some unexpected, but good, change in my lifestyle. I have become an "active" if not "athletic" adult. I've always been an active person- always something going on, some project or organization (a good friend just yesterday told me I'm high-strung), but they were generally social, creative, or academic in nature. I've never used the word athlete as an adjective for myself. Until recently, anyway.

Something about my new hometown and new friends has gotten me off the couch- I guess that's what happens when you hang out with coaches of various sports all day. It started off small for me, just going to play some beach volleyball and taking some bike rides, which are activities I've always enjoyed, but had less opportunity for until I came here. Then, I started going to a spinning class with my roommate.

You must understand, I actually already paid for the membership at the rec center at the local college through the school where I work, I had just never actually gone there before. I thought it was a good idea in theory, but I have a certain phobia of places where skinny girls look cute in skin-tight pastels while bouncing effortlessly next to muscle-flexing college boy hotties. So, I never went and was resigned to simply paying my "fat tax" as comedian Christian Finnegan calls an unused gym membership. It turns out I like spinning class, though. The only thing I knew about it before I went was from that scene in Bridget Jones's Diary, so even though I was reluctant, I can more than hold my own in there, especially when the right music is playing.

The next impossible step I took was to begin running. If I have a phobia of gyms, I have an absolute disgust for "running for fun." I've attempted it before on a few (very few) occasions, but it was never fun, and I'm sure wasn't really all that close to resembling running either, to be honest. But, everyone around me here does this torture ritual pretty regularly, so I figured what the hell. About a month ago I plotted a big section around my neighborhood that is a mile loop, and started to run/walk it semi-regularly.

The first day I made it about 1/4 of a mile before I had to walk. Last week I finally made it just past 1/2 mile before taking a break for a 1/4, then running another 1/4 mile. I knew I was making progress, but something just wasn't adding up for me. I could spin my little heart out for almost forty-five minutes with a decent amount of resistance, but I couldn't even run a mile? What is wrong with me?

I mentioned this to my brother, also a former non-runner, who has just worked up to running 2 miles. He said I was probably trying to run too fast. This concept had never, ever occurred to me as a possibility. I assumed that I, the not-athlete, was just slow and obviously nonathletic. But I have an open mind, so yesterday I decided to test this crazy theory and slow down my pace, just for kicks. Then, the damnedest thing happened: for the first time in my entire life, I ran a whole mile. And I did it in under ten minutes.

Just to be sure it wasn't a fluke, I did it again today. Apparently I can run a mile, I just can't sprint a mile- yet.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Inspire Me




Inspiration is a fickle lady for me. I can go weeks or months without feeling a single twinge of creative impulse, and then -BAM- she strikes me from out of oblivion. The past twenty-four hours I have been visited by my friend Inspiration, and she has set me on fire in a myriad of genres- essay, pictures, and even song (although I doubt that anyone but me will ever hear the lyrics that hit my notebook at 2am this morning.)




The thing about creative inspiration is, I have to recognize it when it strikes and act on it rather quickly. My head is constantly filled with words, but occasionally the same phrases or ideas revolve around in my head until they must be set down on paper. Sometimes I am too preoccupied, or lazy, to properly empty my head, and then the genius that could have been those words is lost. Or at least temporarily put on hold.




When I was smaller I loved to create, either singing, or writing stories, or drawing. I would bring my watercolors with me to paint while my family was fishing and fill notebooks describing the ordinary lives of imaginary characters. But the older I get, the less time and energy I have for such things. And so the images have become more rare for me, although they do occur. When those visual instances of emotion appear, I try to capture them immediately, because they are fragile, flimsy bits of inspiration that will float away into nothing much more quickly than the words.




So here are the pictures that floated into my head yesterday... Since I have almost no artistic training, I have no concept of what “good” art is, but I was happy with how they turned out. I would love to hear what you think...




Monday, July 30, 2007

Necessary Tunage

A few weeks ago, I unfortunately forgot to lock my car doors in my own driveway the very night a couple of punks decided to roam my lovely neighborhood looking for just such an opportunity. Needless to say, I lost a lot of my stuff: most notably, my digital camera, cell phone charger, and a book full of CDs. Being an old-fashioned gal, I don't yet have an iPod (gasp!), so my most favorite discs of all time were in there, since I listen to them in my frequent travels about the Midwest. Luckily, I have renter's insurance to cover catastrophes such as this, so today I went out to replace a portion of my music collection (although nothing will ever bring back those discs that I inherited from my old boyfriend and carried through Europe).

My choices today as absolutely necessary music to own:

Back to Black by Amy Winehouse

I did not previously own this album, but I will never forget the first time I heard "Rehab," riding with my brother home from up north during spring break, listening to the MSU station that plays more obscure music. I'm not a music snob- I'll listen to anything, but I appreciate good music when I hear it, and this is it. Her retro style went straight to my heart as a Motown fan, and while "Rehab" can now be heard regularly on pop stations, it was not until a couple of months after my first encounter. I cannot wait to sample the rest of the first of I'm sure will be many successful albums.

Back to Basics by Christina Aguilera

In the same vein as Amy Winehouse, I completely dig Christina's newest double-disc collection which samples a wide range of American music eras. This is my first Christina Aguilera purchase, however my cell phone ring and Myspace page both sport "Candyman." I simply cannot resist the marriage of Glenn Miller's standard "In the Mood" (one of my favorite songs of all-time) with Christina's and Linda Perry's catchy lyrics. Plus, the girl can sing.

And speaking of voices...

Call Me Irresponsible by Michael Bublé

One of my favorite artists since Frank himself. This is actually the third album of his I own, but I cannot get enough of his velvet voice on the classics. (Are you starting to see a pattern here? Some music is just timeless.) I am greatly looking forward to belting out Michael's newest spin on these standards, especially the bonus track "LOVE."

The Best of What's Around by Dave Matthews Band

This two-disc greatest hits set is replacing my lost Under the Table and Dreaming and Crash albums. While it's obviously not the same as the original two, I am excited about some of the newer music it includes like "American Baby" and live versions of "Ants Marching" and "Two Step." I can't live without a little Dave, but I knew every note and word on those other ones, anyway, so I went for this one as a happy replacement.

Greatest Hits by Queen

Some items just cannot duplicated, and this is one. My first copy was actually the first CD of the three-disc Platinum collection, which is not even sold in stores anymore and considered a collector's item. Since the second two CDs are still safely with my other less-listened to discs, I only replaced the first with the regular single-disc edition. So many great songs on one little piece of plastic- it amazes me still. No respectable music collection can be without it, in my opinion.

Those were my choices for today, but I don't think I'm finished yet. Other missing discs I don't think I can live without for much longer: Back in Black by AC/DC, S&M by Metallica, and Briefcase Full of Blues by the Blues Brothers. What albums would you have to replace? Maybe I'll add them to my list...

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Let's all go to the Elkhart County Fair!

Ok, sometimes I like to pretend that I’m not a child anymore and that I really am too cosmopolitan and mature to enjoy something as tacky and backwoods as a county fair. But it’s a lie. I love them still.

There’s just something so innocent and straight-out summer about wandering around a hot, dusty fairground, sipping an expensive lemonade, petting baby goats, feeling bad for the little monkey on a leash (but still giving it a quarter), and risking the loss of a still-digesting corndog on one of those spinning death machines. I love the flashing lights at night, the smell of horses and every imaginable fried food, people-watching, playing impossible carnival games, and feeling my stomach drop at the top of the ferris wheel. I can’t resist an elephant ear and a caramel apple, a game of skee-ball, rides with too-loud and bad quality heavy metal, or meandering through animal barns.

So I was secretly very excited to go to my new hometown’s 4-H fair, which is evidently the highlight of the year around here. I was also lucky to have the hook-up (our hot new neighbor friend is an agricultural educator, and his office is on the fairgrounds), so a group of my friends and I got to enter for free. And I was not disappointed. In addition to the normal attractions- dog show, caged bear, buffalo burgers, ice cream, rides, games- we also got to see a free Chicago concert. Since I actually like classic rock, and could name some Chicago songs off-hand, I think I was the only person genuinely interested, but since it was free we all went, and my friends tolerated the old, not-rap or pop music for quite a while.

I can honestly say the highlight of my summer might now be those moments right after I walked out of the grandstands, surrounded by my new friends and those colored lights, eating ice cream and listening to the strains of a live “25 or 6 to 4.” What I would have loved at age five and fifteen was just as sweet at twenty-five. I can imagine it will therefore be the same at fifty-five and seventy-five, as the fair, in all of its tacky, folksy, completely un-cosmopolitan glory, is timeless- an American classic.

And I spoke too soon...

So yesterday I was all ready to run out and buy my money order for the state of Indiana, my application for my teacher’s license in hand, when I received this e-mail:

"Dear Reciprocal license/permit holder,

According to our records you were evaluated for Indiana licensure between 2004 and 2007. This evaluation determined that you were eligible for one of the following: a Reciprocal license under Rules 46/47 or Reciprocal permit under Rules 2002. If you have completed your deficiencies and are ready to apply for your next level of licensure (either a Standard license under Rules 46/47 or one of the Practitioner licenses under Rules 2002), please be aware of a new CPR/Heimlich Maneuver requirement passed by the last session of the General Assembly and signed by Governor Daniels. Effective July 1, 2007, per IC 20-28-5-3(c), applicants who receive an “initial” teacher’s license must have successfully completed training in:

cardiopulmonary resuscitation that includes a test demonstration on a mannequin,
removing a foreign body causing an obstruction in an airway, and the Heimlich Maneuver; and,
hold a valid certification in each of these procedures from either the American Red Cross or the American Heart Association.

When applying for your Standard or Practitioner license, please include a photocopy (front and back) of your CPR certification."


As my CPR certification (that I had to have for my Michigan license) is now expired, you can imagine the wide range of expletives that echoed throughout my house when I received this little nugget of information AFTER the July 1st change of policy.

I was finished, finally having completed all of the necessary requirements, just to have this added in at the final hour. I’ll admit it, I cried a little. It’s not that CPR training is difficult or anything- I’ve done it twice before- or that I don’t think it’s a good idea- I do- but I’ve been through this all now TWICE. It’s like completing one marathon, then being told that your first one didn’t count and you have to run it all over. Except, when you’re two steps from the finish line, they add another mile.

Luckily, I have found a slight shortcut. One of my friends happens to be a CPR instructor and is giving a class for the coaches where I work in two weeks that I can take for free. So, while the story seems to be ending happily, I will not be celebrating until I can actually hold that piece of paper guaranteeing licensure in my hands. Then I’ll start on the requirements for keeping it: portfolio work, masters classes, etc. The red tape never ends.

Just call me Indy: generally fabulous girl, phenomenal teacher, and hoop-jumper extraordinaire.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Take That, ETS...

I realize I am woefully overdue for a blog entry. Funny thing is, I write one in my head nearly every day, but they somehow rarely get translated from my brain to my laptop. I'll work on that, and hopefully you'll more frequently enjoy the ramblings I hear all of the time. Until that happens though, here's a quick update on those standardized tests I ranted about...

In a word: kickass.

I passed both subject area tests, and actually smashed the English one into bloody bits. So fortunately I will be holding onto both my license and job, at least for now.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Pack it up, pack it in, let me begin...

Contrary to popular belief, I actually do not like to move. However, since beginning college, multiple circumstances have caused me to pack up, find a truck, and move my stuff into new digs. My most recent change in housing last week is my ninth full move in eight years- not counting the semester abroad or the semester I stayed with my uncle. Which, if you do the math, or trust the math I’ve done here (although my math is always questionable at best), means I move an average of once every ten or eleven months.

Twenty-somethings, like me, seem to be a particularly transient population, from choosing a college to landing that first job to ditching that first job for an upgrade. Of course, the easiest way to move is to hire someone else to do it for you, but unfortunately most of us do not have that luxury. Whether you have a boxful or a truckload, here are some of my tricks to moving efficiently and cheaply.

1. Cull thy stuff. First of all, moving is a perfect opportunity to sort through possessions to see what is necessary and what is not. If it’s broken, hasn’t been used lately, or won’t be used in the new place, pitch it or give it away. This step is hardest for me, since I’m a natural packrat, but I’ve realized that there is no point in going through the hassle of moving things I don’t truly want. In with the new.

2. Sort thy stuff. Take a few minutes to think about your packing plan of action. What things will you not need right away (decorative, seasonal items, rarely used kitchenware, etc.)? What things will you need until the second you leave (toothbrush, laptop, medication, etc.)? Packing in order of necessity will help preserve that remaining little bit of sanity while in transition. Also, and this sounds obvious, keep like things together. Keep kitchen with kitchen, bedroom with bedroom, ad infinitum.

3. Gather thy packing resources. When it comes to the actual packing of the precious items, there are a few necessities: boxes, packing tape, permanent markers, garbage bags, packing material.

Boxes. Yes, one can go to a store and buy good quality boxes, but they are expensive. In all of my moves, I have never paid for boxes, so obviously there are other resources. (Although after moving so often, I have developed a great appreciation for good boxes and generally keep a few around for the next round. I understand this is normal behavior.) One great box resource is the local recycling center, because if there are separate bins for materials such as aluminum, glass, cardboard, etc., there are a ton of clean boxes available. If Dumpster diving in this fashion is too unsavory, or no cardboard-only bins can be found, the next step is the grocery store. Many stores are happy to give away empty boxes from their loading docks, which are often very sturdy and available in various sizes. (I do adore a good banana box.) This round I was lucky enough to have some friends give me a ton of their used boxes from their move, which they purchased. Score!

Packing tape and a permanent marker. Buy packing tape. There’s no way around this, but the fancy dispenser isn’t necessary if you have scissors (although it is kind of fun to use). There’s no need to go crazy with it, but make sure the boxes are secure. A marker is also necessary: generally one dark color for boxes, and one of the new silver-colored ones for marking black garbage bags (more on this later). Label everything. Unless you only have one box, you will forget which ones have which items, so save yourself the trouble and write the room where it belongs and a short description to remind yourself what’s in it later. For example, “kitchen-glasses” works just fine (and reminds anyone carrying it to be careful).

Garbage bags. Sophisticated luggage? No. Cheap and efficient? Yes. Big, cheap garbage bags are great for packing textiles (blankets, rugs, towels, stuffed animals, clothes) or larger items that aren’t particularly fragile (like plastic bowls and pitchers). They also work well for protecting larger items, like pictures, or as temporary garment bags for clothes on hangers (secure the hangers together with a rubber band and slip through a hole in the bag, then tie the bag at the bottom.)

Packing material. What to wrap those fragile items in once you have secured the necessary boxes? A popular choice is newspaper, which most people have lying around (or I easily gather by grabbing up a few of the free college editions.) However, newspapers leave their ink on items, which therefore will probably have to be washed when they’re unpacked. One alternative is plastic shopping bags. I always have way too many of these (due to the packrat tendencies), and they are great for wrapping around glassware or squishing into spaces in boxes without getting newsprint on Grandma’s china. For dishes, I also use kitchen and bath towels, folding them between the layers – one less box or bag of towels, and my dishes are cleanly protected.

4. Pack thy goods. Once you have a plan and the necessary materials are assembled, it’s time to let the fun begin. Basically, the farther the stuff has to travel, the more securely it will need to be packed. Another word of advice: the heavier the item, the smaller the box. During my second move I realized I could, in fact, fit all of my books into one box. Unfortunately, I couldn’t actually lift this box, which made it useless. Now I pack my books, or some of them anyway, into my suitcases which I can then roll to the new destination.

5. Move thyself. Once the items have been transferred to the new abode, don’t forget to transfer your identity! Make arrangements to transfer your mail, set up the new utilities, shut off the old, and change the address on all accounts (banks, student loans, insurance, credit cards, etc.) Most of these changes can easily be made online, including mail forwarding!

6. Throw thyself a housewarming party. Once successfully moved, celebrate the new place with friends and family.

After a whole week of moving, I’m covered in bruises and scrapes, but finished. It is hard work, but with some foresight and a few tricks, a completely manageable task. Now that I’ve unpacked, I look forward to rejoicing another victorious move at my housewarming luau this Saturday. Let the decorating begin…

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

The Feud Continues...



This past weekend I went to Cleveland for a baseball game. In case any of you aren't aware of the wide world of sports, Cleveland was THE place to be if you are either a Cleveland fan or a Detroit fan, because as luck would have it, not only were the Tigers playing the Indians there, but the Cavaliers were also hosting the Pistons in game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals (that's basketball, by the way.) I'm not sure how often something like this occurs, but it can't be too often. Approximately 70,000 people were expected to be in downtown Cleveland Saturday night, and since Detroit is roughly a four hour drive away, I'd estimate half of those people were in Tigers/Pistons gear. It was a pretty divided crowd.








The dynamic was interesting to say the least. I've never really attended too many away sporting events, so I didn't know what to expect, but I've attended my fair share of games, and for the most part, I'd say I ignored the opposing team's fans. My first clue that this would not be this case was on my drive in, where little unexpecting me in my Old English D hat was accosted by incredibly lewd gestures by a car full of men in Indians gear on the turnpike. I thought about saluting them appropriately in return, but decided to handle myself with some class and just gave them an evil glare and continued on my merry way.




I would like to say that our reception in Cleveland was warm, but things turned decidedly worse. From the time we got on the bus to get to the stadium until we hailed a cab to leave, people were yelling every form of "Detroit sucks" that one could possibly conceive. Some Detroit fans got angry and yelled back (probably drunk), some completely provoked the behavior (almost definitely drunk), and some, like moi, smiled or ignored it. I think at one particularly cuss-filled onslaught directed at me I replied with a wide grin and "don't be hatin'!" That one doesn't leave a lot of room for rebuttal.




For the most part, I was amused- especially by all of the anti-Detroit t-shirts people bothered to make. I am all for supporting your team with apparel, but what a waste of time and money that was. I mean, how useful are those now in San Antonio? Dumb.




I can take the yelling, and even the stupid shirts, but there were some instances that crossed the line for me from semi-friendly bantering to borderline rioting. The most disgusting example: my friend's coworker was actually spit on by a Cleveland fan. Luckily she was trailing a bit behind her group, or an all-out brawl might have broken out over that one. What ever happened to good sportsmanship? And yeah, we won the baseball game, but hello, you guys won the basketball game! That was the important one you were worried about, anyway, wasn't it? Why kick us while we're down?




So, overall, I was not impressed with Cleveland, as it reaffirms my distaste with Ohio in general. There are probably some cool bars, and the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame is definitely worth a visit, but I'm not sure I'd return after seeing the kind of host city it is. Apparently they're still upset over the bum deal they got trading for the Upper Peninsula and continue to express their jealously through sports rivalries.

Friday, May 25, 2007

My Great Futbol Debut!

Where I am from, sports rule the high school world as I suspect is the case in most of America. However, being a pretty small, white, middle-class school, the high church of sports is limited to the basics: football, basketball, baseball, track. Volleyball for the girls (and I suppose cheerleading, also, although it depends on who you talk to.) Soccer has become a little more popular as a club sport for elementary students, but I only actually played it once on "Field Day" in eighth grade.

Here, in a larger community with a large Hispanic population, soccer is an everyday part of life. It is what my students talk about, what everyone plays all year round, and what several of my friends coach. I decided I would be remiss as a teacher, friend, and townsperson in general if I didn't at least attempt to understand the sport.

I started slowly this winter, watching Local Boy play a few games in an indoor intermural league with various students and staff. It looked pretty straightforward. I mean, I get the basic idea, of course, but I learned a few more of the rules through observation. As one of my friends playing pointed out, "you just kick the ball."

So, two weeks ago, with the sun shining outside and the green grass beckoning, I bought my first soccer ball. It's baby pink and white. I spent a few days gingerly pushing it around my apartment livingroom, not wanting to actually get any mud or grass stains on its smooth pastel surface. But, this week it was destined to get broken in as I promised my French students I would take them outside to "joue au foot."

At first some of my eigth graders were upset, thinking it was unfair that I was actually going to play with them, until they realized having me on the team wasn't exactly an advantage. They were very sweet, though, and every time I made contact with the ball would yell, "Good job, Mademoiselle! Très bien!" By Wednesday morning I was able to pass a little and even made my first goal! My confidence sufficiently boosted, I promised to take my high school class out on the field to play during their last regular class of the year on Wednesday afternoon.

Before going out, some of my boys (stars of the undefeated JV team this year), showed me some tricks and some basic strategies. We then headed out to the field, with half the class watching on the sidelines, as I attempted to play real soccer with my Mexican students for an entire hour. I learned a lot in that hour. First of all, freshmen boys (and girls) run much faster than eighth grade girls. They will push a teacher, but not very hard. They will yell at each other in Spanish (and I have learned the swear words by now.) They will also occasionally let me have the ball and pass it to a teammate without knocking me down, which is nice of them. I even almost scored a goal.

Even though "je suis nul" (I suck), it was nice to bond with my students on their own turf. But I paid for it. Wednesday night I could barely walk and stairs were out of the question. Even my arms hurt, which I realized later was from pumping them so hard while running to try to keep my unathletic self anywhere near those tireless sixteen-year-old legs. I didn't even know that was possible. Even now, on Friday morning, I can feel every fiber of muscle between my hips and knees. But it's only Memorial Day weekend, which means I have all summer to practice before taking on my new students in the fall...

Monday, May 21, 2007

Aw shucks...

There's nothing like an unexpected compliment. Example:

Friday afternoon, in my ten minute break between teaching classes for over three hours and two hours of meetings (without a lunch I might add), I was standing in my office in front of a little mirror trying to make myself look somewhat presentable. Not having the time or energy to do anything special- just brushing the chalk off of me, trying to wipe the smudged mascara off the bags under my eyes, and desperately hoping my greasy, flat ponytail would be more flirty than pathetic- I heard a voice from across the hall. "Don't worry, Indy, you look great!" called one of the young, male ENL paras. (For the layperson, that's an English as a New Language paraprofessional. Basically, he helps the native Spanish speakers in their regular classes.)

I, of course, laughed heartily. I think I chortled a surprised, "Thanks, whatever." It didn't really occur to me the man could be serious. Until later, during a short break in the meeting, when he said, "No, really, I wasn't kidding." I don't really remember what I said then, but it made me smile all weekend.

(In addition, thanks for the nudge, Rick. As an inveterate procrastinator, the days slip by quite easily between my posts and it's good to know at least a couple of masochists are amused enough by my musings to want more.)

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Oh Bureaucracy , how I loathe thee...

Let me count the ways, by the hundreds. As in, the hundreds of dollars I have to spend to take standardized tests that are basically identical to the ones I took five years ago to get my Michigan license. But, of course, those tests were designed by Michigan standardized test writing sadists, while the Indiana Department of Education clearly mandates the PRAXIS (by the same company who offers such joy as the SAT.) No substitutions.

So, I basically get to take tests I've already essentially taken to keep a license I already have to keep a job I already have. C'est logique.

I've already traveled to Notre Dame once to take the Basic Skills portion, and next up are the always enjoyable content area tests (both English and French!). I know I'm a competent teacher, but I am terrified I will fail these tests. Not only will I be humiliated and risk losing my license and possibly my job, but I'll have to take the damn things again.

As MasterCard would say:

6 1/2 years of college: $40,000

fees to be licensed in two states with testing: $1,000 (conservatively)

keeping a job you love (which pays at near-poverty levels): priceless

Monday, April 30, 2007

Relatively Drug-Free

Pardon my lack of posts, but I've been sick for over a week now. I like to exaggerate and say I have SARS or TB or bird flu, but in reality it's probably just a cold. I have a pretty healthy immune system though (I credit my various lengthy childhood illnesses to building up my antibodies early in life), so unless I cannot breathe, see, or stand, I generally avoid taking any medication, even over-the-counter. I prefer to just ride out the storm without side effects.

In addition, I basically ignore my illnesses except to whine a little and go on with life. Therefore, it was my pleasure to attend a bachelorette party this weekend for one of my oldest friends. It was a pretty laid-back affair: dinner out, then games, gifts, and drinks at a hotel, with ensuing slumber party. I took this opportunity to consume vast quantities of Absolut- without really noticing just how much until I realized I was the only one responsible for emptying half a bottle. One would think this would have made me feel worse, given my raspy, hacking condition, but I actually woke up feeling far better than I had the morning before. I've come to the conclusion that I actually managed to disinfect my blood. (There is, of course, no scientific support for this statement.)

Ironically, my friend (who was also sick) pointed out to me last week that the reason I was sick in the first place was because we had gone out too much the previous weekend and got little to no sleep (mostly due to another round of drinks involving vanilla Stoli), which compromised our immune systems. Apparently the vodka giveth and the vodka taketh away...

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Did you see...


How many times a day do you hear these words? It seems like at work, at home, and even with random strangers, the conversation revolves around the ole boob tube. But chances are, if you ask me if I've seen the new House, or that Sanjaya finally got kicked to the curb, or that really funny commercial, my answer will be no. I've pretty much given up watching TV.

That's right, it's true. I'm a twenty-five-year-old modern American that doesn't watch TV anymore. Okay, let me clarify I bit. I will sometimes throw on the Food Network or HGTV for a couple of hours, but usually it's during my after-school nap or while I'm cleaning house on the weekend. And I will watch my one guilty pleasure, I Love New York (and now Charm School), at my friend's house when she tivo's it. But that puts my TV viewing hours at roughly five or six a week, and I think I heard a statistic that in the average home, the TV is on for at least five to six hours a day. For example, at my parents' house, it's pretty much always on if someone is home, even if it's only serving as background noise, and I wonder if this is true for most other American homes.

So why have I done this? Is it political? Religious? Intellectual? Maybe. But basically, I just stopped watching sometime in January and realized that I don't miss it. There isn't much on that's so compelling that I'd rather be doing that than something else. I've never been one to plan my schedule around TVGuide, but even my die-hard favorites have lost some of their appeal. I simply just don't need it anymore.

When I tell friends about my new, TV-free lifestyle, they often react as if I'd had my electricity shut off- a small gasp, followed by "but what do you do?" Well, I may live in Elkhart county, but I'm not Amish. I still watch a lot of movies (which is a lot of what I watched on TV even before), but with Netflix, I get to choose which ones instead of the almighty network producers. I also have a pretty healthy internet addiction, which is where I get a majority of my news, weather, and said Netflix. I read books and magazines, write, listen to the radio, putter around my apartment, go for a walk, or spend time with friends. Sometimes I'll even drag out the old X-Box for a couple of rounds of Mortal Kombat (not exactly the most enlightening pasttime).


Maybe it's the control-freak in me, but I've just found that I would rather do something more interactive than being bombarded with advertisements for stuff I don't need, reality shows that have nothing to do with reality, celebrity antics that make me embarrassed for my generation (or similarly, paparazzi-produced segments that contort the First Amendment to basically eliminate all lines of privacy or human dignity), and dramatic or comedic elements that I can just as easily get from a good movie.

And, I figure, if it's really worth watching or I can't take it any longer, I can always rent the complete seasons and have myself a good old-fashioned TV marathon. But it hasn't happened yet.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Virginia Tech Massacre: an educator's view

I have avoided writing since I got news of the Virginia Tech tragedy because I simply don't know how to react. I have probably seemed somewhat callous to others, but I think the reality of it is just too horrible and frightening for me to properly acknowledge. My sense of loss for that community, although I did not know them personally, is great and I cannot- or choose not to- imagine the pain that will permeate that campus for a long time to come.

However, and this does not at all diminish my sorrow for the victims, I cannot help but also be acutely stricken by the pain of the shooter. I suspected from the moment I heard of the news that the man would eventually reveal his motivation as those same feelings of isolation and rejection that are most often associated with the Columbine tragedy, but are doubtless shared with others who have struck out violently against society. While I obviously do not condone any such action in any way, I grieve also for a person whose pain was so severe that he felt the need to inflict the same on others in such an extreme way. How can one person feel so enraged? So alone that this reaction is the only option, and in his mind, the correct solution?

As a teacher, especially in a more urban setting, I am often asked if I am afraid of violence in schools. I can honestly say that I am not really afraid of fights, or guns, or knives, or bombs. This is what I fear most: that as an educator, I have not done enough. That I have not shown every single one of my students that I care about them as a whole person, not letter grades or percentages. That I have not made it clear that they matter to me because there is something inside of them that is worth caring about. That I have not taught them that there is a place for everyone.

That they know they are not alone.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

I love Indiana in the Springtime... okay, maybe not

All right, go ahead and blame me for this craptacular spring weather. I'm aware that I jinxed us all with that March 27th post. I guess that just because where I come from this is the South (hey, everything's relative), doesn't actually make it so. I left for spring break wearing flip-flops, capris, and a tank top and returned in a winter coat. Not cool.

Actually, besides making me lazy and grumpy from seasonal affective disorder, I wouldn't have minded so much except that in my enthousiasm for summer I left my potted plants outside. Big mistake. My gerber daisies that had just bloomed for the third time are now completely done for, and the hydrangea bush (which I babied back to health all winter after leaving it out too long last fall) resembles microwaved lettuce strung on a branch. I nearly cried, half-hoping that some miracle had saved it from the frost, sleet, and snow while I was away. Ironically, only my pansies have toughed out the weather (get it, they're pansies... I know, bad pun). Good thing I didn't get the flowers I'd wanted back in that week of 80 degree weather, after all.

Hopefully Memorial Day weekend will be more pleasant outside than Easter.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Back from Break

As a teacher, I get the perk of a spring break every year. Unfortunately, this year wasn't quite the break I'd hoped for, as I spent most of it in northern Michigan at my grandmother's house waiting for my uncle's funeral, who died last Friday after prolonged complications from Agent Orange exposure.

I don't know how all families deal with such times, but my family's mourning process never changes: we gather to cook and eat, laugh and cry, hug and talk away the awful hours and days between death and final farewell. Last week was no different as my father cooked ham, turkey, and chickens, my mother made a different cake every day, and my aunt and cousins made various salads and side dishes in my grandmother's kitchen. While different concoctions are constantly boiling and baking, and between the nearly as constant feedings, we drag out the
photo albums from beneath beds, above closets, and buried deep within forgotten trunks.

For three days we sorted out the photos we thought best depicted my uncle: with his children, his brother and sister, his parents, his hunting buddies, the various nieces and nephews, grandchild, and great-nephews and great-great-nephew. We copied them, cropped them, arranged them artfully on boards, my grandmother, my aunt, and I. We conferred with the family- which ones were the most handsome, the most memorable, and often, the most silly.

And, of course, we told stories. The ones we all know, but will never get tired of. Like the time right after he came home from the war and was living with my aunt and her husband and came home drunk in the middle of the night. He was sick in the bathroom and started making a huge ruckus, screaming and hollering. When they rushed in to make sure he was all right, thinking he was injured, they realized the toilet lid had fallen on his head and he was screaming, "the alligator's got me, the alligator's got me!"

Or the time back in '88 when the whole family went up to the UP fishing, but his second wife wouldn't let him go, so he took off the next day while she was in the shower. When he came home, all of his clothes were on the lawn, but he always said it was worth it to spend that long weekend with his family.

Or how he was the best shot anyone ever knew, which is possibly the greatest possible compliment from a bunch of guys who grew up in northern Michigan of all places, and are always in one season or another. I heard a lot of stories of his fishing and hunting exploits last week, usually ending up with the biggest fish, or the hardest shot ending with the biggest buck.

But it wasn't all happy times, and we remembered all of my uncle. For example, how liquor made him fight anyone, often dragging his little brother (my dad) into a losing battle or getting them thrown out of a place. Or his being incredibly accident-prone, so much so we put some band-aids in his pocket for the next life. We knew him and loved him- all of him.

So, as I've said, I don't know how all families mourn, but I know how mine does, and I don't think there's a better way than to laugh through the tears. It's somehow comforting to know that when it's my time, they will do the same for me, and I will always be loved and remembered for exactly who I am.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

I love Indiana in the springtime...

It is the end of March and temperatures have been in the high 70s here for several days now. Yesterday I think we may have even hit the 80 degree mark. I cannot stress enough how uplifting some warm weather can be after one of the coldest winters I can remember, and I'm starting to get a taste of what summer will be like here, now that I've begun to settle in.

The problem is, no one's quite prepared for this early heat. A few examples:

Sadly, the local ice cream stand is not yet open. I checked yesterday, just to be sure.

That plan being a bust, I decided that maybe I'd get my hands dirty today and plant some flowers. Again, a little too early for that, so the pickings are mighty slim at most stores.

Sunday we had to settle for having a bbq overlooking a pool cover, since only two weeks ago there was a sheet of ice over the ground and therefore the pool's not open.

But I'm not complaining; there will be plenty of time for those things in a month or two. Just let the sun shine in.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Wine rack on the cheap




Since my mother does interiors for a living, I have always been conscious of my interior spaces: trying different arrangements, painting when possible, making curtains and throw pillows, etc. I've finally reached a point where I've started actually having a plan to my attack where I go and buy things to fit what I want my place to look like, but unfortunately my plans and my budget do not necessarily coincide. So, I generally use my ingenuity to engineer something closely resembling some fab idea I saw in a magazine. Such was the case with my new wine rack.




Several months ago I spied a wall rack in a popular furnishing catalog that would fit perfectly with my wall of glasses and solve the problem of my wine bottles collecting dust on the floor. It was somewhat unique, the right size and style, and also $80. My heart said I wanted it, but my brain said I could make it.




So, I took myself to a local home store and looked at every hook possible. The problem is that I wanted to be sure to have hooks that were deep enough to accommodate any bottle (which rules out every cabinet, jacket, and towel hook) but still incorporated some sense of style (negating most garage-type utility hooks). I had basically given up when I wandered into the garden department to buy some flowers. Eureeka! Hanging basket hooks were the perfect solution. Relatively cheap ($20 for all six), beautifully designed, sturdy, and more than deep enough, I was on my way to the perfect wine rack.




I chose two different hooks for each bottle, a 7" for the body and a similar 5" version for the neck, but mostly only because there weren't enough of the 7" hooks to have them all be the same. I arranged them in an alternating, vertically linear pattern, but the genius of having several free hooks as opposed to the mounted ones of the store-bought rack is that they can be arranged in any configuration that would work for the space. It was a pretty simple project, however, I would probably put the hooks a bit closer together next time (they are currently 10" apart, but I would recommend 8"). I do think I'll be going back to get one more set to add to the bottom, to make the arrangement more symmetric (and have room for more vino!)






Dear Urban Planners of Elkhart, I hate you

I almost never get lost. Truly, I was blessed with an above-average sense of direction and actually shred the stereotype of the girl who doesn't know where north is and can't read a map. However, last night's attempt at a nice, romantic date to a wonderful Italian restaurant was a complete fiasco due to the completely asinine naming of roads in my neck of the woods.

First, imagine me all foxified in this glorious new dress: curve hugging, slimming, red and black satin. Heels are on, hair done. Local Boy is sacrificing his sleep and health to take me out after an 8-hour masters class and a week of the flu. I should have suspected things would not go well when LB mentioned that he never drives to Elkhart because it's just too confusing, even though he's lived here most of his life. I write him off, knowing he has no sense of direction and having faith in my navigational abilities. After all, I'd been to this restaurant twice before, albeit months ago, and had double-checked the map before heading out to confirm the location.

My directions were clear: we basically just had to take 20. What I did not foresee was that there are FOUR roads all named 20 that run east-west within two miles of one another: county road 20, the bypass 20, business route 20, and 120. We drove for an hour and a half and never found the 20 we wanted (I think BR20). By this time, it was already 9:30 and even if we had found the mythical route to the restaurant, it would likely be near closing time. So, we headed back to our own town and went to one of the generic chain restaurants. The food was fine, and the service is superior when you're one of the last customers in the place, but it wasn't what I had envisioned when I donned the red dress.

What I did learn, however, was perhaps worth the effort. Even though we were starving, sick, tired, and lost, we had a good time in that hour and a half. There were none of the irritated, bitter silences or accusations (well, maybe a few good-humored ones) that usually accompany such situations. It ended up not mattering at all where we were, since we were in good company.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Welcome to Sunny Indiana

I'm being sucked in. I didn't really think it would happen, but the past few weeks I've noticed I've been experiencing this strange new sensation that I've felt at moments before, but has started to permeate into everything I do. I think it's called happiness. Bizarre, I know.

Last August I moved from a Detroit suburb to northern Indiana ("Michiana" to the locals) to start my first "real" job. I was excited about the job, but not wholly enthralled by the locale. Nothing personal to you Hoosiers, but us Michiganders in general truly believe that we are, well, superior beings. (I'm not sure where this attitude stems from- maybe a form of state sibling rivalry. I was shocked to learn that my Indiana colleagues feel the same way about my native state, but I think it's just peninsula envy.) Sure that there was nothing to compare to the excitement of living a few miles from Hockeytown, I resigned myself to life among the Amish.

I wasn't wrong my first semester. I threw myself into a whirlwind schedule, working 60+ hours a week (pretty normal for a first-year teacher, I think), but somehow didn't make friends as quickly as I have other places. I blamed the small-town biblebelt elitist attitude of the people around me. Weekends were taken up by the marching band I was working with and desperate trips back to spend time with my friends and family in my beautiful Michigan. In November, I tracked the gubernatorial election fanatically, then trudged over to my local Indiana polls to cast sullen votes in a state I didn't plan to stay trapped in for long. From Thanksgiving until Christmas break I went home every weekend for various reasons. Except one.

A colleague invited me out to the bar to hear a local cover band. I met some people, heard some great music, and actually had fun. Real fun, with real Hoosiers, in Indiana. Who knew?

I haven't been back to Michigan since early January. I'm starting to make friends here now, both young and old. Hardly the cultural wasteland I once thought, I now have to decide what I want to do tonight with my new local boy: fabulous authentic Italian restaurant or great sushi? Chekhov play, big band concert, Broadway production of Chicago, or bluegrass festival? Either way, I know we'll have a great time.

So I guess I really am settling in here, despite myself. It'll never be Michigan, but I think it might work for me. At least it's not Ohio.