This is Who We Are. This is What We Do.

So I went to school here.

I chose MSU because of its excellent education program (2nd in the nation; suck on that California elitism), its true "college" atmosphere, and its flute professor, who is a true artist and the teacher most compatible with my style. It was a wonderful time in my life, full of new friends, midnight study sessions, and of course, the marching band.


When I was a sophomore I decided to audition for MSU's drumline. The Drumline at State is also world class, and I worried that I would be laughed out of the building. But I went, and I'm glad I did. Two years as a cymbal player flew by, and I can honestly say some of the best moments of my life occurred as a member of that group.


However, being a part of the group that roots for MSU football has its downside.


Our team is wildly unpredictable. We can upset the top team in the nation and make them cry. We can have a 20 point lead going into the 4th quarter and lose. We can kill a school one week, then turn around and get our butts kicked in the next. It is truly a labor of love to root for this football team. Week after week, I watch friends update their facebooks to say "Go Green!!!" only to be replaced a few hours later with "I'd rather lose as a spartan than be anything else". And so it is on the weekend we play our biggest rival that I once again pull on my school spirit like a protective shield, and utter the following battle cries:

Go State! Beat Michigan!

Ann Arbor is a whore.

We'll get 'em in basketball season.

Last year, this year

Last year: Moved to a new state and began teaching at a completely different school.

This year: For the first time in my whole teaching career (including pre-public school service) I have a schedule that I am familiar with in a school I am familiar with. No one changed anything (traditional to block or block to teaming or what have you) and as a result I actually knew what was going on from day one.




Last year: Our school was brand new and nobody wanted to be there, especially the oldest students who felt ripped out of their old school, where they were supposed to be the BMOC's (Big Men On Campus).

This year: Everyone gets that we're here, we do great things, so deal with it, it's all good.








Last year: had to figure out how to deal with R's two kids every other weekend when I'm used to having my grown-up time. Many tough moments and times when I simply had to leave for a few minutes.

This year: I am now annoyed that we are skipping a weekend with the kids and would like to talk to their mother about it personally. I especially want them for Halloween!








Last year: Only about 35% of students turned in the first homework assignment.

This year: 90% of my students turned in their first homework assignment.

Last year: had to pass the CTEL in all its mythified glory.

This year: Passed! and now working on BTSA :( but I have a feeling I can square that away pretty easily.



Last year: had a car that needed to go to the shop every 2 months like clockwork.

This year: I have a new baby, and I'm thinking it's going to be very reliable.







As you can see, most of the major stressors have been taken care of. I expect next year will be even better, and the next, etc. I think my life is approaching something close to what you'd call "settled". I'm very okay with that.

School Starts Tomorrow

If all the students on my roster show up, I will have 241 of them.



That's a lot of names to learn.

Apparently I get to meet my favorites twice...

This was true of John Krasinski; I met him at the Away We Go premiere (and I am biting back the urge to post the photo yet again) and then saw him a mere 6 days later as I was driving to school.

I also met Dave Eggers that night. For those who do not know, he is my favorite author. He writes the way I think, and the way I suspect he thinks, with long rants and strange comparisons, and when he talks, he blinks and shifts and grabs at his hair the same way I do on the podium trying to get a very important concept across to my students. These are not the only reasons why I like him, but they are some endearing and relatable qualities. Also, he founded the 826 stores which is just plain cool.

Mr. Eggers has a new book out.


Skylight Books was awesome and hosted a reading and a signing.

As I live within spitting distance, the question was not "do I go?" but "how early do I show up?" I showed up, bought my copy, and grabbed a signing number. Before the reading I even won an advance copy of "109 Forgotten American Heroes" put out by McSweeney's.

It was lovely to be in that independent bookstore with other 20-something hipster kids, listening to Mr. Eggers read from his work, us not caring that we were packed in like sardines and there was no air conditioning. For most of the reading I stood/sat behind a bookshelf, getting only occasional glimpses of the author. That was ok though, because I had already met him in May and was just glad to be there and listen.

After the reading, I wondered if I had time to go get a bottle of water. Turns out I could have gone home, used the bathroom, chatted with R, maybe could have even squeezed in a cup of tea, and then gone back. Most people I waited with in that long line were very nice. But there's always one. I waited in line near someone with 4 books who was chatting with his friends: "hey, wouldn't it be funny if I went up and was like 'yeah, you're not my favorite author, you're really no big deal'". No, you would not be funny. You would be an idiot, and a liar, because only a fan stands in line for over an hour to get no fewer than FOUR books signed. Nobody but a perfect jerk waits all that time to put someone important down in an attempt to make themselves feel better, stop talking you idiot. I guess even in Los Angeles there are still people who are stupid about meeting someone important or famous.


After hearing this stupidity, my visit was simple. The book was signed, the picture snapped. "Hey, I'm a big fan", "thank you, thanks for waiting so long", "It's ok I live like 2 blocks from here", "haha, you could have gone home and come back", "haha I thought about it", "it was nice to see you," "you too", handshake, smile, goodnight.



Just one more "glad I moved to LA" moment.

I just bought a car...

Holy cow.

Blogging will resume when I feel slightly normal again...it may be a couple days.

The Sign

7:55 am, and my mom, dad and I are applying sunblock. A slight breeze floats through, and the mountain looms high. My mom tests her newly bought walking sticks, decides they are useful enough, and nods. We begin.

The Hollyridge Trail begins at about 800 feet above sea level, but we have to gain about 900 feet ourselves before we will be level with the sign. The actual walk is 1.8 miles each way, on a dusty trail with scrub on each side, concealing spiders, rattlesnakes, and cute little lizards that dart in and out of the shallow patches of shade created by the bushes.

I cannot believe my mother wants to climb this thing.


A word about my mom: she is easily the most stubborn person I have ever met (and when she reads that, she'll take it as a compliment). However, her knees have been annoying to her for quite some time; a side effect of having naturally bad knees (which I think I've inherited), having arthritis (which I know I've inherited) and playing catcher for a softball team in her youth. When my mom said "I really want to do that hike", my first thought was "Seriously??" Then I remembered that I've never seen her back down from anything, and her reaction didn't shock me at all.

I hiked up to the Hollywood Sign for the first time in March, with R and the kids. We thought it was a pretty decent hike (enough to wear out R's 7 year old son, which is always a tough task) and when I got to the top I looked around and thought "My mom would love this." So I told her about it. Little did I know, the very next day she began upping the incline on her treadmill, in preparation for what she later called my challenge to her.





Now, 4 months later, mom uses her walking sticks like a pro, and her face is set in determination. Every so often my dad or I will crack a joke, and my mom lets out a laugh that rings through the hills as she sets her feet toward the top. The sun climbs with us, and the heat of a sunny SoCal day begins to build.

The climb is split into 3 parts in my mind, and I try to guage the distance for my mom, let her know how much further we have to climb. The easiest landmark is the one we're aiming for, but when it's out of sight I try to let her know what's left. We move up the steep first part, and into the mostly flat middle part of the hike. We stop at every patch of shade to breathe for a bit, and enjoy the view.

Near the top of the mountain, the trail winds around back and offers a spectacular view of the valley. I point out to my parents the freeway, the cemetary, Burbank, and we manage to pick out the school where I teach.





"Not much further!" I tell my parents.

"You keep saying that!" my mom laughs, and takes a mock swipe at me with one of her sticks.

"No, really, we're almost there" I say, and my mom turns and books it up the trail.

At the top of the mountain, the sign is about 20 feet below where you stand, and a chain link fence keeps people from defacing the sign or killing themselves. I turn and gesture spectacularly to my parents. My mom frowns.

"Your pictures didn't have a fence in them" she accuses. I point to the very peak of the mountain, and the small scramble it takes to get up there.

My mother-- the woman with the bad knees who just killed a whole mountain in one hour-- looks, hands me her purse, and hikes up to the tippy top.





We stayed up there for about 45 minutes, taking in the view, texting and calling people (mom wanted to call her mom and casually remark "yeah, I'm just sitting up on top of the Hollywood Sign, how are you?"). I pointed out what I could of the geography.

Mom sat back, drank water, and smiled; she was queen of Los Angeles for a day.

Life has been handing me lemons...

My car went into the shop for the 5th time this year. I hope it enjoyed its stay, because I'm trading it in after this.

My cat has been into the vet once this week already, and has a follow-up on Saturday. He is currently sleeping under the bed, which worries me.

Faced with all this, and the laundry list of things that need to get done before year #4 of teaching starts, I left the apartment around 3 today. Objective: leave the house. Out of habit, I turned down Vermont, feeling the strong California sun as I went. The hum of the city usually cheers me up, and this time was no exception.

I stopped in to Cherry Pick vintage clothing off Franklin and Vermont, and was way disappointed. Almost no selection, and overpriced in my opinion. A very tattered yellow belt would have set me back $25. Nope.

Out into the sunshine again, and once there I decided it was too hot to just amble through the sunlight and traffic with no plan. I stopped at 7-11 for an iced tea, and ambled through the shade instead. Much better.

After a bit of meandering, I decided to make my way home, and turned up Dracena. On the other side of the street was a sight I couldn't resist: a child and her father armed with a table, a sign, lemons and a blender. Now really, who can resist that? I walked a bit up the street, tucked my newly purchased iced tea into my purse, and crossed back over.





While my lovely lemon drink was being prepared, I found out the reason for the lemonade stand: raising money to go see the grandparents in Scotland. With an 11 hour flight to look forward to, they had picked the lemons off their backyard tree and decided to try the concept. It reminded me of the time my brother's friends and I had tried a lemonade stand; we had a folding table set up at the end of a cul-de-sac, and so only had about 6 customers in 3 days. We had big plans to sell lemonade, pop, and various homemade desserts. Since the average age of the group was 9, the idea was abandoned after a few days and a few botched recipes. We spent more time hurriedly cleaning up the kitchen before mom got home than actually vending our creations, which I'm pretty sure no one would have actually eaten.

The girl standing in front of me now had much more mastery over the stand than we did. She squeezed lemons, poured juice, ran the blender, and even gave me my choice of staw color (I decided on purple). It was the perfect way to punctuate my bad day.





If you are in the area, I think you should head over to Dracena and see what I mean.