Mothers Know...

L

ast October, I went to school to administer an exemption exam for a student who studied abroad in Japan last year. The exam, which he passed, will give him credit for one year of advanced Japanese. I've had students who have actually had very good Japanese after coming back and still took the class, saying that there is still a lot to learn. And, indeed, being rather advanced allows them to focus on the finer points of the language that make them even better at reading Japanese. But if a student studied a year in Japan, they are entitled to test out. Don't want to punish anyone for working hard. All they have to do is prove to me that they can read Japanese texts and I'm fine with that.

Anyway, soon after I got to school, I got a message that KM called. KM is a friend from long ago and someone I met at our class reunion back in July--has it already been six months? Well, KM was in town and we decided to get to gether for a few drinks--yes, yes, I was supposed to be working on my paper which was terribly overdue, but old friends don't always visit, and I'm not the sort to put work before family and, in this case, friends. We had a few drinks in town at our local dive--the Red Lion, then we moved to Ballston in Arlington, VA, to have a few more at Rock Bottom, a place that brews its beer in-house. We had a very pleasant time.

Talking to him brought back many old memories. KM used to live down the block and we hung out together, but when we first met outside of school, he still lived in downtown LA on Main Street. Yes, back then there were still families living in hotel suites with long term leases, like an apartment, but it was rather unusual for a guy like me from the suburbs. On that one occasion when I went to his home, it was the day his father took us out to the LA Police Academy in Elysian Park. There, we mostly hung out at the shooting range collecting shells. I was about nine or ten years old and had never seen a gun or bullet before, so the thought that we could just pick up spent shells and take them excited me. Juding by the color I presuemd they were made of copper. I put a bunch into a clear plastic bag and took them home. My mother had a fit. She didn't want me having bullet shells in the house--as if they were going to go off. I tried to reason with her, but she would have none of it. She said to throw them away in the trash can out back.

Reluctantly, I stepped out of the kitchen door with the bag of shells and sat on the concrete steps of the back porch. I took out a dusty shell from the bag and held it between my middle finger and thumb, turning it around, admiring it, wondering who had shot it, what it might look like with an actual bullet in it. I threw it back in the bag with the other identical shells and shook them in my cupped hand. As I listened to the clinking sounds, an idea struck me. I'll bury them. Mom'll be none the wiser. So I got a small hand shovel and went to the corner of the backyard patio and, as if burying a pirate's booty, I began to measure my steps: three steps forward, turn right and walk towards the wall. I dug a hole about a foot deep next to a bush, rolled up the plastic bag with the shells in them, and buried it there.

When I went back inside, my mother asked if I had done what she had asked, and I said I did--I was such the liar back then.

"Why are your hands so dirty?" She asked.

"Well, mom, since I was in the back, I thought I'd clean up the yard too."

This undoubtedly aroused even greater suspicion, but she did not show it and did not pursue it any further, only telling me to wash my hands. Wow, that was easy, I thought to myself, relativley sure I had pulled one over my mother. .

About a week later, I thought I'd go back to see how my treasure was faring. But it wasn't where I had buried it. I went back to the corner of the patio and retraced my steps twice, but each time I returned to the empty hole I had just dug up. Did it wash away in the rain? Did our dog, Cleo, dig it up? I was perplexed then and continued to be perplexed for years... seriously. I would occasionally recall that bag of shells and retrace my steps once more, only to confirm what I had already known--They were gone.

I do not know this for a fact, but I'm pretty sure now that my mother knew what I had done and had disposed of the shells. You can never fool a mother...

Super Bowl Weekend

T

he holiday season will finally end this weekend. The Super Bowl this Sunday is the last opportunity to stuff my face and drink guilt-free beer. I have done most of the work I wanted to do this weekend so I can spend a relaxing Sunday watching guilt-free TV. And with the guilt-free chips and sausages I will be eating, I estimate I will gain about 4 pounds before I return to class on Monday. I had better do some walking Monday morning so at least I won't show up to class with a bloated face. How unappealing.

Speaking of which, I have been trying to walk as much as possible. I don't walk those 10,000 steps everyday, but I have done it four days this week. 10,000 steps is about four and three-quarter miles for me, so that means that I walked about nineteen miles in total. Last week I walked 10,000 on five different days. The net effect after only two weeks is that I have lost 3 pounds without sacrificing too much from my eating habits. *pats self on back* But as the Super Bowl brings to an end my excuses for binging on snacks and beer, I hope my body will respond even more positively as the spring progresses..

As for the Super Bowl, all the pundits are picking the Pittsburgh Steelers and it's hard to argue their momentum. They have basically steam rolled everyone in the AFC during the playoffs. Further, since it's the Seattle Seahawk's first time to the big game, they might manifest a "just happy to be here" attitude. Of course, this is a recipe for defeat. But you never know. I have nothing against Rothlisburger or Cower or Bettis. But, man! The Steeler fans are coming out of the woodwork and some of them are as obnoxious as hell. Go Seahawks!

Seahawks 20 - 13 Pittsburgh

Settling Into the Semester

T

he third week of the semester has just finished and I think that I'm finally settling in. As earlier reported--and all rumors to the contrary--I love to teach. But I am only human. After grading finals, I did nothing but relax and spend time with M during winter break.

Usually I get ready for the semester before the semester starts--writing a syllabus, creating a schedule--but not this year. I needed my time and I took it. I took off until the very last day, and I think this was better. This, of course, had its repercussions. Going to class with a syllabus with mistakes is not exactly good form, but things have a way of working themselves out. I apologized to the students, told them to look for changes on Blackboard--the online class management progam--and I went forward and lectured. I think this has worked out best for everyone. I feel more relaxed--not harried--and can enjoy teaching more. I think the students would appreciate a teacher who is more relaxed than one who looks busy all the time... I'm still busy, of course, but I feel more in control--well except for the first week or so when the syllabi really needed more work... Oh well...

Have a good weekend all!

Pandora's Music Box

I

was surfing around quite a bit during winter break, looking for good ways to get music. The older I get, the more excluded I feel. I hear a song that I think is pretty cool, and a student will tell me that that's pretty old. I guess I don't listen to enough radio or don't watch MTV enough. M would probably kill me if I wstarted watching MTV as well. I watch enough TV.

So anyway, I tried Rhapsody because they were having a two week fee trial. It was okay, but I really didn't find anything new that I liked. I did find some stuff that M wanted so I actually purchased a few tunes, but when the two week trial ended, I cancelled. But I found another site someone had mentioned on RBJ. It's a music place that will play music that it thinks you will like. It's called pandora.com.

Many of you may have already heard of this place--as I said, I'm kinda behind the curve. But this is what they do. They have listened to tons of music and have categorized them. After you join, you create a "radio station", input the name of groups or songs you like and ased on your tastes, it will select and play songs on that station. You can create as many stations as you like. As the songs play, you can give them a thumbs up or thumbs down and that should further narrow down the kind of music that will play. You can continue to add music as well. So far it has been a mixed bag. Maybe I put too many different kinds of bands on one station, so I'm getting a large selection. But the concept is interesting so I will continue to listen to it before I render final judgement. Just thought I'd mention it here...

Butt Ring

N

ow there are rings, and then there are rings. Ear rings. Nose rings. Belly button rings. Even nipple rings. Ouch! Well, I'm not sure how much I should reveal here on Xanga, given that many of my students actually read this--and I've recently learned there are some who read it thinking I don't know it. Well I know it NOW! Regardless, I will tell you that... I have a butt ring. Yes. Really. It doesn't hurt when I sit down, and I'm reasonably sure that it actually fades after awhile.

You see, I spend a good portion of my time on the toilet.

Well, that's not really true. I should say that I used to spend a good portion of my life on the porcelain throne. It is a great place to relax and contemplate the issues of the world. What will I wear today? What witty things can I say to my students in class? Can I contribute to world peace?

But I've cut back my time considerably since I married M. It is not fun to be the butt of her jokes--no pun intended. She will say something like, "Do you need 45 minutes to read the sports page?" Or, "Don't you get tired after an hour?" Or, "Maybe we should move the toilet in front of your desk." Hmmm, now there's an idea...

So I've cut back considerably. 20 minutes was never nearly enough before, but it seems to be enough for me now... or so I thought. I've come to think that maybe my time on the can was actually crucial to my well being. I was almost in a meditative state, focusing on my life and what I need to accomplish on any given day. They say meditation is good, right? But ever since I've abbreviated this portion of my life, things have not been going so well. So lately, in an attempt to fulfill my resolution for this year, I have been slowly extending my, um, meditation time in the morning.

Yesterday morning was no different. As I did my business, I sat, read a bit, and contemplated my day. After I finished, I was going to take a shower and so did not bother to put on my pants again--I would have had to have taken them off right away anyway. So I turn on the hot water and let it run a bit as I get ready. I step out--bottomless--to get a towel and M starts laughing out loud. I figure, Here comes another crack about how long I was sitting.

But she doesn't mention it. Instead she giggles, "A butt ring!" Huh? "It wraps right around your butt."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your butt. You must have been sitting a long time." Here it comes, I think. "Because the indentation circling your butt is really deep." Oh, now I get it. I guess the few extra pounds I've gained has made my butt more susceptible to creasing. And why the hell are you looking at my butt anyway?!?

"And it's perfectly centered! Do you sit right in the middle?!?" She was beside herself with laughter.

I was tempted to look in the mirror after that comment, but thought better of it. I just laughed with her, confident that this might actually be proof that I had meditated a sufficient length of time. And truth be told, I had a very nice and productive day at work.

So there!