It's the principle, dammit!

Okay, I'm trying to be responsible by taking Charlotte to the dentist every six months even though her baby teeth are just going to fall out anyway.  For the last couple of years, her check-ups have happened during summer and winter breaks, so scheduling has been no problem at all.  (My check-ups are a different story.  I cancelled one a couple of years ago because it interfered with Zumba, and I haven't been back since.  It's cool, though; I floss.)

So I got a postcard in the mail yesterday informing me that her appointment is scheduled for January 31 at 8:30.  I don't like this business of them telling me when her appointment is; it's presumptuous.  But still, it had never been a problem in the past, so I let it go.  This time it wasn't going to work for me, though, so I called to reschedule.  I'm also trying to be a responsible employee, so I tried to get an appointment after school.  I know those are like hen's teeth, so I was prepared to wait for an appointment.  What I wasn't prepared for was the dumbest policy ever.

Christmas baking (or Martha Stewart, I'm not)

It always happens this time of year: I get two weeks off and start fantasizing that I'm Miss Suzy Homemaker.  I'm not completely delusional, so I don't get any grand ideas that I'll be decorating or anything, but I always think that I'm going to make lovely, idyllic Christmas memories for Charlotte via crafts and baking.  I'm not at all crafty, so I don't know why I keep going back to that.  But I can bake--this part should be easy.  The problem is, I get far too ambitious.  My mouth is writing checks that my oven can't cash.

My Current Soundtrack: 21, by Adele

Back when we lived in Texas, Mark started doing the cutest thing: he would buy me a CD as a gift and leave it in my car's CD player. I would start the car and be surprised when, instead of the usual NPR, I heard some great new music. It doesn't happen as much lately (that doesn't work as well with iTunes), but I was pretty charmed on Wednesday when Adele (rather than Steve Inskeep--no offense, Steve) unexpectedly started off my morning drive.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous.

I got another National Board call-to-arms email, this time regarding total elimination of funding for NBPTS on the federal level.  So let me get this straight: on one hand, we have a major national conversation about education reform, and the loudest voices are saying that teachers suck and must be replaced by the bevy of superteachers that are apparently waiting in the wings.  On the other hand, we are attempting to solve our economic woes by taking money from good teachers who have gone above and beyond to prove their ability and commitment and defunding the organization that holds teachers to high standards.  To quote Seth and Amy, really?  Really?! 

Happy days are here again...

...the skies above are clear again.  Life is good today, and here's why:

• "Joy and Pain" is currently playing on my iPod.
• My beautiful red jacket arrived yesterday, and it is fabulous like nobody's business.  I wore it this morning and felt like a total glamazon.
• I got to sing last night, and I still feel good from that today.
• I spent at least ten minutes of my planning period dancing in my classroom ("Joy and Pain" will do that for you).
• My window is open--it might as well be spring!
• Even though Mark says he's temporarily over Mi Casita, there's a good chance I can talk him into it for dinner tonight. Mmm, tacos de pollo asado (light on the onions, plenty of cilantro).
• That was a slant rhyme.  I'm a lyrical gangsta.

Playing with my money is like playing with my emotions.

So I got an email the other day exhorting National Board Certified Teachers to take to the streets to protest a proposed end to the 12% pay increase we get for being so darned awesome.  I was ambivalent: If giving up my 12% saves teachers' jobs, how can I not be for that? But there are reasons beyond my own greed (and desire for a new Kenneth Cole trench coat) that make me feel defensive of the pay increase.  Teachers are increasingly under attack right now.  The lack of respect for my profession is pathetic, but sadly, in many cases, the disrespect is not misplaced.  There are plenty of teachers who, to put it mildly, are not a credit to the profession.  Why are these people in the classroom?  Frankly, because it is easy to become a teacher.  It is certainly not easy to teach or to be a good teacher, but--at least in a decent economy--getting into the classroom appears to be pretty simple.  I keep reading bleak statistics about the number of teachers who were in the bottom half of their college classes, and it makes me feel depressed and defensive.  It's ridiculous that teacher has become shorthand for "academic lowlife," especially when my colleagues do not fit that description at all.  AT ALL.  The vast majority of the people I teach with--and all of the teachers I'm friends with--are working with some truly intimidating brainpower.  These people are in teaching because they are passionate about their subject matter.  They certainly had the option to pursue an impressive career in some other field, but they wanted to teach.    If this were the case in the entire profession, US public schools would be the envy of the world.

My Egg Hell

Addiction can take many forms: alcohol, drugs, even gambling.  For me, addiction manifests itself in a pastel candy shell.  That's right: I'm strung out on Cadbury Mini Eggs.  And to my competing joy and vexation, Mini Egg season is upon us.  Yes, I tend to rush spring, but seriously, Cadbury?  Must you do this to me?  Easter is April 26.  I bought my first Mini Eggs of the year on January 28.  I would have bought them sooner, but the first time I saw them in a store, Charlotte was with me.  You can't buy your stash in front of your kid--that's just wrong.  (Plus, she would want some, and I can't share.) Why sell the seductive ovoid menace THREE MONTHS before the holiday it's associated with?  To mess with me, that's why.  So I will spend the next three months (and at least a week after that, when they'll be on clearance, DAMN YOU, RITE-AID!) sneaking around eating Mini Eggs, hoping my family won't see the true extent of my addiction.  I'm not proud.

Effing winter!

I must be a huge ageist, because I loathe Old Man Winter.  Actually, I'm terribly fickle when it comes to winter: between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I appreciate cold weather.  It's a little depressing to celebrate Christmas in short sleeves; hot cider and mulled wine are less appealing when you're sweating.  However, by New Year's Day, my tolerance for cold weather disappears.  If only I could bend the universe to my will, spring would start on January 2.  So lately, I've been longing for spring and warm weather.  I knew it was bad when I begin opening my bottle of Bobbi Brown Beach perfume (which smells like the Bain de Soleil my grandmother used to achieve her enviable tan: the smell of a childhood beach trip) and just inhaling.  So the question is, do I wallow in winter misery or try to rise above it?  Lately, I've been opting to wallow: there's been lots of cookie baking and, of course, eating whatever I've baked.  In that spirit, here's the music that fosters my winter blahs:

Seasonal Affective Disorder Jams

• "The Drugs Don't Work," The Verve
• "Rockferry," Duffy
• "So Cruel," U2
• "The Killing Moon," Echo and the Bunnymen
• "Lover, You Should've Come Over," Jeff Buckley
• "And I," Boyzone (shut up)
• "Viva Forever," Spice Girls (seriously, shut up)
• "To Love You More," Celine Dion (God!  Would you please shut up?)
• "Bedshaped," Keane
• "How Soon is Now," The Smiths
• "Never Tear Us Apart," INXS
• "The Promise," Tracy Chapman

Of course, if in the middle of all of this moping, "Imma Be" makes its way into the shuffle, it is perfectly acceptable to shrug off the winter blahs and shake it.  Even the best of bad moods can't be maintained forever.

Here we go....

So, I'm starting a new blog.  There's no particular focus this time: just observations, current pop culture obsessions, and--just for fun--the occasional excerpt from my old pen-and-paper journals (names changed, of course).  So here goes.

Pop Culture Check-In (in which I detail what's entertaining me--or not--at the moment)

Watching

• Being Human on SyFy: The supernatural isn't usually my cup of tea, and I've never watched anything on SyFy (except those awesome clips from their movies on The Soup).  I don't even like how they spell their name.  Still, this show is really entertaining.  I like the dorky werewolf, and though the vampire is a tad Cullen-ish, he is funny and doesn't sparkle.  The cliffhanger ending of the pilot episode really worked for me, and I'm psyched to watch next week. 
• Parks and Recreation:  It's back!  Yay! I fell in love with this show when I Netflixed season two over Christmas break, so I was spared the agonizing wait that longtime fans had to suffer.  I don't know who I'm more excited about: Andy and April or Ben and Leslie.  Nah, they all pale in comparison to Ron Effing Swanson.
• Gavin and Stacey:  Never make the mistake of watching season one of a show (again, via Netflix) when season two isn't yet available.  Dammit!  When will I learn what Nessa is going to do about her...situation?  (If you've seen season two, don't tell me.) Anyway, this show is a lot of fun, and I just appreciate it for introducing me to the word crackin', which is best appreciated in a Welsh accent.

Reading

• Outliers, by Malcolm Gladwell: Yes, I'm a little late to the party, but thanks to this book, I finally understand why the overlords at Alphabet Street got so mad at me for not wearing a Santa Claus hat at the Christmas program. 
• Mildred Pierce, by James M. Cain:  This book can be summed up thusly: woman has bitchy daughter.  I was disappointed.

Current Jams

• "Dirt Off Your Shoulder," Jay-Z
• "Big Girl (You are Beautiful)," Mika