I'm getting too old for this...

Friday night was the local catholic schools' sweat-and-stink sleazefest (also known as back-to-school dance). First, let's address the facts that you are all wondering about.

Yes, it is coed, as it involves several of the local schools.
No, they were not wearing their uniforms, you sick monkeys.
I was there as a chaparonne, required as part of the job.

The job itself was relatively straightforward.

1. Stand around looking important.


2. Prevent teenage boys from hitting each other.


3. Keep the 1200 some odd dancing pheromone factories from knocking over the DJ stage.


4. Walk into the middle of the sweaty, grinding, hormonal, mass of teenage bodies and tell the girls not to grind their booties onto the crotches of the boys.


5. Stop the crowd surfing.

Let's just say that any successes achieved in any of this were only when students realized I was in their immediate vicinity. At several points, stopping in the throng even became dangerous. I realized this when suddenly a mini-skirt clad teen butt started bouncing against my thigh. Nope, she didn't bother to look first to see if I was a chaparonne. She just found a pelvis and tried to dry hump it. When I tapped her shoulder to get her attention, all I got was an embarassed grin and an immediate vanish into the dance.

Now most of you are thinking to yourselves, that doesn't sound so bad. But let's explore my options.

1. Smile and enjoy it: that makes me a dirty old man and gets me fired.


2. Stop the rump rub: that prevents me going to jail and embarasses a girl into behaving.


3. Freak out, scream, and curl into a ball: I considered this, actually, but I was worried that being horizontal would only make things more dangerous.

Sure, there's a little part of me that feels hypocritical for stopping the simulated soft-core that was going on that night. But then I remember that in 12 short years, I will get to club the pancreas out of a teenage boy for trying to dance that way with my daughter. And a quiet peace comes over me.

It's made of people!

Aspect 3: Big Red Soda. In my never-ending quest for the Essence of Texan, I have come across something called "Red Soda" or "Big Red Soda". They appear to be much the same, but that is all I know of them. At first, I thought they might be bottled by the folks at Nihi, a division of RC that still produces Peach Nihi soda in some parts of the country, as well as grape and blue cream soda. But I was wrong.
So what is this stuff? Damned if I know. All anyone can tell me about it is that it's "good with barbecue." This makes it competition with beer in my world, and that's a competition nothing can win. When asked what flavor it is, folks around here reply, "Why, it's red, silly."
Red is a color. Not a flavor. I even marginally disapprove of strawberry, cherry, or cinnamon, the internationally accepted flavors designated as red, being called red.
So will I try it? Dare I sample something whose only claim to the world is "I'm red"? I shall. The next time I approach a fountain, I will swerve away from the Cherry Coke, or Dr. Pepper, or even my more usual water. My cup will runneth over with Red Soda, and I will drink with gusto. And maybe a straw. Hell, I drank Lone Star beer. I can handle anything.

Chaos and rain

Since most of you waited until after the weekend to respond to my blog, you can only blame yourselves for my current employment. That's right. I now teach catholic school girls.

It really wasn't what I wanted to do, but it seems to be sitting alright in my craw. It is time for Miss Neverpoop (yup, she's at it again) to start pre-school, I couldn't afford out of state tuition for graduate school, and our house in Kansas hasn't sold. This left us financially pinched. And, let's face it, I'm not a homebody. I had expected to be able to work on painting, repairing, sorting, organizing, and unpacking. Instead, I found myself pacing the boxes in our garage, fuming at life. Not a good scenario. The depression was creeping in.

It was actually that silly meme blog I posted that really pointed it out. If I was a color, I'd be gray. Dr. Wife was surprised by this.

Dr. Wife: I thought your color would be blue.
me: No, I've always been gray.
Dr. Wife: No. In college, and for quite some time after, you were blue. Not bright blue, but true blue.
me: I suppose. But I'm certainly gray now.
Dr. Wife: I know, but you can change that.

So I got to thinking; what was it that made me gray? The truth is, it was not having a dream and the opportunity to pursue it. College was a time for dreams, and I lived them fully. I thought that the future held something for me, and that I was gaining by pursuing. I was alive in a very blue way.

I haven't felt that way in a long time. I haven't really had a dream or a goal. Being around my friends in Mexico reminded me that people admired and respected me, but I don't really understand why. So I have gone back to something that used to inspire me; teaching.

As for the burnout, I was certainly there. But it seems that time off treats me just as badly. I am hoping that working with such a very different bunch of kids, in a very, very different setting will help me feel connected again. I am also teaching a course that I am not even remotely familiar with. It will be nice to be a student again. Speaking of which, one of the perks to this new job is that they will pay for me to take a course every semester, even working on a Master's degree. I can have my cake and eat it, too.

So it remains to be seen... will this be good, or bad. My only concern is that the large jug of holy water just down the stairs from my room boils every time I pass...

In trouble...

I have been offered a job teaching physics and environmental science at an all-girls catholic high school. I have to decide whether or not to take it by Sunday. Discuss.

Meme yes, nap no

I am listening to the girl talk and sing to herself in the next room. She is in bed (read, bouncing around the room) and doing her best not to fall asleep. Naps are her enemy, and she occassionally wins. The cold she and I are fighting makes her grumpy and needy, but she isn't getting the exercise she needs to conk out. So she is getting some enforced room time that is about to expire. It's a shame. I could use a nap myself, but I can't sleep with her singing.

So, here's a meme I stole from hideehogal. For those of you who don't know how a meme works, if you read it, you do it for yourself and post the results. The basics of this one involve just completing the sentence. I added some reasons in there for fun.

I am meme:

If I were a stone, I would be... limestone. Not the best looking, but dependable to build with.
If I were a tree, I would be a... silver maple. Again, my best isn't obvious at first glance.
If I were a bird, I would be a... raven. Kinda sneaky.
If I were an insect, I would be a... caterpillar. Fuzzy.
If I were a machine, I would be a... all naughty jokes aside; an old truck.
If I were a tool, I would be a... Phillips screwdriver. Nothing fancy but essential.
If I were a fruit, I would be a... peach. Fuzzy and sweet!
If I were a flower, I would be ... columbine.
If I were a kind of weather, I would be... a crisp breeze.
If I were a mythical creature, I would be a... ancient wizard.
If I were a musical instrument, I would be a... cello. Oddly enough, it's one I don't play.
If I were a kind of profession, I would be... a life coach. I do that quite a bit, I think.
If I were an animal, I would be a... bear.
If I were anything in the world, I would be... a mountain.
If I were a color, I would be... grey.
If I were a fragrance, I would be...cookies. Everyone likes the smell of cookies, right?
If I were an emotion, I would be... comforted. I am the best when I can bring this to my girl.
If I were a state or feeling, I would be... peaceful.
If I were a sound, I would be....a contented sigh.
If I were an Element, I would be... oxygen. Not always on the front of your mind, but just try to get by without me!

Cheap therapy...

I was having a frustrating day. I discovered that my new hopes of starting in on a Master's degree have to wait a year until I establish Texas residency. And I can't apply for teaching jobs here because my certification is lost somewhere in the pile of crap that remains in the garage since the move. I had started getting hopeful, which was a definite mistake.

So, I decided to tackle a job that I could complete. First, I found a stud in the ceiling by my favorite method: hammer and nail. Then, I drilled a hole using my power drill. POWERTOOLS RULE!!!! I then took a big utility hook and screwed it into the stud. Sure, it's against my lease. But right now my care level for such things is dialed in at about a -3.

The final result; a perfect place to hang the Snotter Daughter's souvenir from Mexico. Now, I need a little rope to adjust the height a wee bit...

Jam can scram

The last couple of trips to the jam session have left a bitter taste in my mouth. Last night, it was crowded enough that I managed to play two songs. As the new guy, I get stuck with the other new guys. I get up there and am told we're playing The Thrill is Gone in A minor. No problem. I've done that a million times. Until I catch some dirty looks and cold shoulders from the horn section. What? Have I screwed up? Yes, it sounded off, but I played the part... It turns out, around here, they play it a little odd, with a turn at the end that I (having not played with these guys before) wasn't aware of. I caught on, but it wasn't until I had certainly shot myself in the foot with the cool kids. Damn.

I'm a little pissed. All I got was a look that said "F-you" when I needed someone to tell me F-E (the missing two notes). Sure, I missed the notes. But really, throw the new guy a bone. At the end of the tune, the horn players walked off stage. The next turned out even worse, as the guitar player named a tune that the drummer and I hadn't heard, and started a lead solo without cluing any of us in to the key. More of me on stage sounding like crap.

I know this is a lot of whining. I probably have beach sand left in my butt or something. But I think I am done with this jam session for a while. I am tired of looking like an ass because of poor communication. I know I will screw up from time to time, but I'd sure like it to be my own fault. And holding a jam in a performance setting isn't what I am into.

I was spoiled by the jam sessions at the Americana Music Academy. These guys got together in an old house. Varying levels of ability. We would sit in a circle, and one of the players would name a tune, play a little rhythm, and we would pick up and join in. It was a true learning experience. I think the jam session here is a chance to prove yourself and show off for other good musicians. It really isn't about learning. I wish I had a place to host one of the kansas-style jams I am used to. I need a learning opportunity, where failure is part of the process.

Jiggity jig

Geek paradise.

Mexico. It was a fantastic, relaxing, refreshing, warming time with some people that I have learned to love more than my own limbs. I did enough that I feel that I experienced the Yucatan, saw enough to appreciate my own comfortable life, and relaxed enough to feel rejuvenated.
I will share more as time allows. The in-laws are visiting on the return trip with the newly-spoiled toddler, and I am going to be busy for a bit more. I'll even throw in a few pics that we took that will hopefully give you a glimpse.

This was taken at the coral reefs we could see from our balcony. Snorkeling rules.