Warning: This post has misplaced its thesis statement.

Jonathan and I really want to buy some real estate. Like a house. But, oh hell, I'll settle for a condo. I mean really want to. For years now, I've been obsessed with the idea of owning a home. In tandem, I have been equally obsessed with the fact that a home in Santa Clara County (why oh why did I choose to live here?!) simply cannot be bought without first entering into an explicit agreement to sacrifice all that is good in the world to the almighty Plutus himself.

Gimme your money, suckers!

I think I hate being a working class American. I honestly believe that the only truly happy Americans in existence are those elite residents of Affluenceland who pay out to the feds at a rate of 35% per year. How can anyone else be happy, really? I mean, so much of happiness is realized through the "haves" and "have-nots" of the world and such an overwhelmingly massive majority of "haves" are only available in exchange for money. 


Do you follow?


(And to digress, it actually confuses me - the whole money/materialism thing. I mean, take the word covet, for example. To covet is to "yearn to possess." And it's bad, according to God (according to the Bible). Right? But what exactly is the difference between yearning for something and needing it? If I go without the things I need (say, food or drink), I begin to yearn for them. And okay, so let's say that the things you need, in order to survive, are the things that are exempt from covetousness. Then how can I be coveting that badass Hobo bag when I NEED IT TO SURVIVE? What am I supposed to carry all of my stuff in? A plastic bag?)

Oh baby you, you got what I neeeeed.

So anyway, disparity. And not to get all conspiracy theory on ya, but Fascism, too. I want to buy a home, dammit, and I can't because of Meg f'ing Whitman (metaphorically, of course). And maybe I could move to Vermont, or Montana, but I hate the cold aaaaand that would solve nothing. The Great Divergence would still exist, and it would only be a matter of time before it crept into whatever little crevice I had found to hide myself from it. The Rockefellers, the Vanderbilts, the Carnegies...that's old news. Today, the richest 1% account for a whopping 24% of our nation's wealth. And I'll bet they're all pretty stinkin' happy. 

Where I'm From

I am a high school English teacher and Resource Specialist; currently, I teach literature classes to students with Specific Learning Disabilities.

At the moment, my freshman literature classes are learning all about sensory details. We're practicing (diligently) the art of extracting meaning (inference) from the pictures an author paints with their words (observation).  In  typical Humboldt County (dreadlock-loving-incense-burning-censorship-protesting) fashion, I asked my students to explore the art of sensory detail from the author's perspective by writing a poem about themselves (poem?! damn those hippies). The assignment called for the use of sensory detail (adjectives, lovelies, adjectives!) as the catalyst for their written presentation of themselves. They were to describe "themselves" by painting a picture of where (in the most general sense) they are from. This is a potentially daunting task for kiddos who have a really hard time "getting" anything that isn't explicitly taught to them.

But we embarked on the good old daunt, because we're awesome.

I wrote a poem as an example. Here's the "teacher model":
 

I am from cool suburbia with low flying planes,

From high, arched ceilings and jam-packed lanes.

From sprinklers at dawn for a thirsty lawn.

I am from tight, narrow circles,

dancing around an empty living room

to long lost diva tracks (all of love and gloom).

I am from burning, itching, sun block filled eyes

and summer songs as we say our goodbyes.

I’m from “ah, it’s a girl!”

and “let’s give it a whirl.”

From climbing grove-grown orange trees,

 and riding bikes with our busted up knees.

             

I’m from mushroom pizza, salty fries,

and huge slices of summer-sweet fruits.

I'm from commuter cars and thrift shop buys,

beach barbeques and vintage cowboy boots.

           

From the flyaway nights of forgotten dreams,

Confined out of one window and into another.

To the sweet, mellow morning time bliss

of the doting, hopeful, hovering mother.

Under my bed was the monster that never spoke,

boxes of photos, and an empty bottle of diet coke.

I am from those moments—

From songs in my head about a glorious leap.

To singing softly to my sweet child as she drifts off to sleep
 
My students were all given prompts (e.g.: "describe the house you lived in while you were growing up") to assist them along their way, but it was their job to be as descriptive as possible.

Difficulty level: moderate. Output: excellent.

Here are some of the incredible bits of genius that emerged:

" I am from a time when my mom was still alive and the trees would change colors while we watched."  (sob)
 

"Under my bed was  a big monster that ate my shoes."

 (hee hee)

"I am from nice clean bathrooms, and delicious Mexican food."

(niiiiiice)

Overall, a huge success and lots of fun.

(I <3 hippies)

Fun with Photo Booth

Oh, so that's what this button does.

Hey, so...can I be on your album cover then?

Channeling Kristen Stewart.

Glow-baby.

A crowd favorite.

Ah sepia, my darkroom lover.

Now I'll never get any work done.

Delays in cognition...

Every once in awhile it occurs to me that I have just stumbled upon some awesomeness that I could have stumbled upon weeks (months/years/...decades?) in advance had I only cracked my little lids a mere fraction of a centimeter more than closed.

(Oh shit...is this a sign of impending dementia?)

Happy Halloween - Mooooo Baby!

This past weekend flew by. Little baby V was dressed up and down in her finest-of-fine cow costume. Mommy nixed the fancy vampire costume at the last possible minute and decided instead to go trick-or-treating as "mom who fails to dress up for Halloween." It wasn't about me, though, so it was all good.

"Yes, thank you, I'll take that."

We went to downtown Campbell and took advantage of the lovely weather, the generous shopkeepers, and V's sweet new (hot pink) ride. And just kidding, we didn't really "take advantage of" the shopkeepers. They gave it up willingly. :-)

Ditched the ride, hoofin' it instead.

 V loves to hold things in her hot little hands, so she had no problem gathering piece after piece of sweet, Halloweeny deliciousness for mommy (thanks V!). She's a few years off from actually eating any of it herself, but mommy isn't!

Life is sweet. <3

Daddy did some world-class chaperoning while mommy snapped an "overexcited mother"-load of photos. (Yes, she's just that incrediblyadorablyamazinglyperfect).

Hi-five, activated!

We finished off the night with some mouth-watering fish tacos a la Orale (mmmmm). (Side note: I could go for some fish tacos RIGHT NOW.)

Win!

And that was that. See ya next year, Halloween!