I had a dream. . .

High School Dream #1: See The Police in concert.

Really. This was the number one, seemingly impossible dream. My friends and I talked about it, included it in our yearbook messages to one another, and never believed it would ever happen.

You see, The Police broke up when we were way too young to have seen them.



Their last album Syncronicity came out when I was in the 3rd grade, and although I was aware of it (my sister owned the lp), I was too in love with Billy Joel and Kenny Rogers to be a fan. Also, their lyrics and videos confused and frightened me. It wasn't until years later, in high school that I realized the brilliance of their music and the absolute gorgeousness of Sting. By the time I'd begun my love affair, they'd been broken up for about six years.

And they didn't just break up, they hated each other. It got so bad at the end that Stewart Copeland set up his drum kit so that he couldn't see Sting while they performed, and once Sting performed an entire show with a broken collarbone from a brawl backstage.

So, even though we wanted it to happen more than anything, it was like dreaming about seeing the Beatles in concert. A nice wish, but nothing more.

Thanks to the members actually surviving into middle age without overdosing or losing their sanity, calmer tempers, the offer of obscene amounts of money, and nostalgia, The Police reunited at went on tour last year.

Helen and I decided to go see them here in Vegas a few months ago when she was in town with her baby and husband, and we've been looking forward to it ever since. The knowledge that I would be seeing The Police in concert got me through the last couple of VERY tough months, and I put it on my four page to-do list so that I had at least one happy item to check off.

Sadly, the Sunday before the concert Helen's little girl got sick and she had to cancel her trip. I called my friend Jill who was only too happy to buy Helen's ticket and drive to Vegas. You see she had Ohmygoodnessitismayandicannotworkthisfridayitis. A pretty bad case of it, actually. It's a known fact that a quick trip out of town is the only known cure, so she was relieved that I happened to have an extra ticket.

So, how was it, you may ask? Did the concert live up to my impossibly high expectations?



It actually did! It was AMAZING. Sting, Stewart, and Andy were brilliant, incredibly talented and looked like they were having a lot of fun on stage. Every song was wonderful, but "Wrapped Around Your Finger" was particularly fantastic, with Stewart Copeland kicking tail and taking names on two sets of percussion instruments. The encore consisted of "Roxanne" "Every Breath You Take" and a rendition of "So Lonely" that nearly blew the roof off the place. Have I mentioned that this whole experience was AMAZING!?!

In addition, Elvis Costello opened. Yes. Elvis Costello. Can you believe it? I couldn't either. He was really funny, sounded great, and when he sang "Alison" Sting came out and sang it with him. I just about died of happiness. I've been to a lot of concerts, and that song was one of my favorite live music moments ever.

Over the past couple of years I haven't listened to much of The Police or even Sting. I thought I might be over my love for them, thinking that maybe I'd been wrong about how good they were, how much this music moved me.

I was WRONG. The Police are legen (wait for it) dary for a reason. They outperform nearly everyone I've ever seen, and their music is still as complex and fun as ever. Then there's the Stingerhoffer himself. He is still INCREDIBLY sexy, fabulously talented, and when he performed his signature leap, so did my heart.



Boys, why can't I quit you?



Oh yeah. That's why.

*Disclaimer: the video's from the tour, but not my show.

Time for my Botox injection....

I've been replaced.

We've all heard the stories. The noble, hardworking, loving woman replaced for a younger, prettier, less demanding model. I just never thought it would happen to me.

You see, I was sick yesterday with Ohmygoshitismayandihavetonotworkthismondayitis.

It's serious.

Because of the time of year I considered coming in even in my weakened condition. I was worried that there might not be a sub to take the job. A sub did take the job, however, so I was able to put my fears aside and convalesce in peace.

I came back to school today looking forward to the first day back after a sub euphoria from my students. It ALWAYS happens. They tell me how stupid/dorky/mean/idiotic the sub was and I make sympathetic noises and play "My Heart Bleeds for You" on the tiniest violin in the world.

This did not happen. First of all, I got the nicest note I've ever recieved from a sub telling me how wonderful my lesson plans were, how much she enjoyed my students, etc. She even specifically mentioned how much she liked my AVID class. MY AVID CLASS??

Then my 2nd period class came in and told me, "We loved the sub. You should have her again." Which is nice and all, but what it means is that they want me to go away. I reasoned, "This is just 2nd period. They're buttheads. Of course they want me to go away. I make them do work."

But next was my sweet sweet 3rd period with Lucy who wants to be my best friend and the two boys that regularly tell me how smokin' hot I am. They said the SAME THING. That hurt. It really really hurt.

I found out that Lucy asked the sub to go shopping and to the movies with her and the dynamic duo hit on her. They said, "You should have her back again before the end of the year. She's like you, but younger and hotter".

Oooooooooooh the shame. "She's like you, but YOUNGER AND HOTTER "!

I wish they'd just called me fat.

I guess it's time for me to go back to college, get some plastic surgery, and buy a new convertible. . . at least that's what all of the other discarded women I know do.

(**** Update: I just found out that the sub was cool because she
1. Used profanities
2. Let my 8th period class out 5 minutes early.

I think this is what it feels like to have your ex's new 21 year-old wife watch the kids. )

I'm in love and I don't care Who knows it.

Back the in pre-VCR days of Joshua Tree Elementary, whenever the administration wanted to "reward" us for good behavior they'd set up the film projector in the multi purpose room and show us an episode of Star Trek called "The Trouble with Tribbles". If you don't know the premise behind this episode it's about these little fluffy creatures who multiply too quickly soon taking over the Enterprise. It's a commentary on count yourself lucky.


The first time I watched it I thought, "At least we got out of math for this." the 10th or so time I thought, "This is really stupid." and by the 100th or so time I wanted to rip my eyes out and scream, "WHY? WHY MUST YOU TORTURE ME WITH THIS?!?" To sum up, I hate Star Trek. In ALL it's incarnations.

In fact, I have pretty much hated the entire genre of science fiction with the exception of Star Wars, which let's face it, is required watching for anyone of my generation.

Then came Buffy.


First of all, It's not really science fiction, it's fantasy (don't EVEN get me started on fantasy). Secondly, was easily the smartest thing on TV. Because of my own prejudices, I never watched it while it was actually on. In fact, I mocked my sister for years for watching a "teeny bopper vampire show". Then she made me borrow seasons one and two. I found that it wasn't a silly vampire show at all; it was funny, clever, and deep. It made me think and laugh and nearly every episode made a commentary about our own society without being preachy or heavy handed. Oh how I loved it (still do).

And there's Spike


The sexiest comic relief of all time.

I spent an entire summer watching episode after episode, and now I own all seven seasons. Still, I thought that Buffy was just a blip on my otherwise Sci-Fi/Fantasy free life.

Then came him:


I called him The Doctor. So did every Science Fiction geek in Great Britian. "Doctor who?" You might ask. Yes. Doctor Who.

My brother came over to my apartment this week and stared in horror at the series three dvds I'd checked out from the library. Then he looked at me and said, "You're NOT watching Doctor Who are you?" Why this reaction? Because Doctor Who is the show for the geekiest Sci-Fi geeks in the English speaking world. And here I was, on series THREE!

I can understand his reaction. You see,the first Doctor Who that was on tv in Britain from 1963-1989 was famously low budget and campy.

Now

it's big budget and campy. I love it. What can I say? It's British.

What originally won me over was Christopher Eccelson, AKA Doctor #9. He is both dark and silly, brooding and childlike. He wears a black leather jacket and makes me swoon a little.

Then he died saving the life of Rose (a fabulous, kick butt, smart woman who only needed to be saved 'cause she was trying to save the world herself, thankyouverymuch.), but regenerated into:



This foxy gentleman.

At first I was disappointed. But I've grown to love David Tennant as Doctor #10 in his natty three piece suit and sneakers. I love his snappy comebacks and wicked, foxy little smile.

I love Doctor Who. I've become one of THOSE geeks.

Summer is HERE! Oh. Never Mind

It's the last two and a half weeks of school. I'm tired. I'm stressed. I have nothing left to give. Yet, I must fill the next 13 days with activities and learning. I must interact with teenagers that I love dearly, but want to kill. I must find a way to get out of bed every single morning when what I want to do is turn off the alarm and roll over.

I know that most people work all year. I know that the teacher's life of long summers is extravagant. I also know that if I didn't have it I would not be a good teacher. The truth is, as much as I love my students, I need to have a break. I love teaching kids to think critically, and discover a love of reading and writing. I like knowing that I get to do something I love and serve others in the process.

But....

I love my summer. Almost as much.

Does that make me a bad person?

Overwrought poetry anyone?

Tuesday night in my class we all wrote poetry--thought I'd share my stab at it, if no other reason than it keeps me humble.

This Moment

Right now, right this moment
I sit

A jumble of hope and anxiety
The voices of my sister, mother, grandmothers
Urging me to fulfill unrealized dreams
The past leaning like a ladder against this minute.

I am truth and fiction,
Pretending to know what I don't:
Unwilling to be the dunce in the corner.
Expectation threatening my fractured shoulders.

I've learned no man is an island,
I say "I can only do so much."
I don't believe myself,
But hope for things unuttered, unseen.

I sit
Right now, for this moment.

I'm a little bit country, I'm a little bit rock n roll

I was born in the mid 1970's and it wasn't until I was in the 5th grade that I found out that music other than country had been created between the years of 1974 and 1980.

My parents really love music and nearly every memory I have associated with childhood is accompanied by country music. Family vacations? Ray Stevens' "The Streak", or the Statler Brothers' "Flowers on the wall". Home? Anne Murray's greatest hits, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia", "Rhinestone Cowboy", and "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys". The first album I ever owned? Kenny Rogers' Greatest Hits (along with Billy Joel's Uptown Girl, but we won't talk about that.).

As I got older and entered elementary school I of course found out there were other kinds of music, but it took me a while to discover that not everyone grew up listening to Waylon and Willie, Dolly, Johnny Cash, and the Statler Brothers. There are people in the world who've never heard of Ray Stevens, let alone know all the words to "Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth 'Cause I'm Kissing You Goodbye!". I found out that other music was written, produced, and performed during the last six years of the 1970's. My father scoffed when I brought this up, telling me, "The only thing worth listening to from the 1970's is country music."

I disagreed. I found that I LOVE disco (sorry everyone, but I do.); Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" is one of my reasons for living. I discovered James Taylor and Carly Simon, Credence Clearwater Revival, and The Clash. I discovered Generation X and Queen, Bowie and the Eagles. I discovered that I loved early Elton John and everything from ABBA. It was a shock to the system, I realized that I could have opinions separate from my father's. As an act of rebellion I declared that I HATED country music.

For a few years I was a music snob. If it was top 40 I wouldn't listen to it (until Nirvana came along and made radio better for a while. I still miss you Kurt Cobain). I loved Depeche Mode with a complete and utter devotion, along with REM (when Michael Stipe had long curly hair and they were played on college radio exclusively), U2 and the like. I loved KROQ, a pretty famous alternative radio station in Southern California, and the moment when you could finally tune it in on our way to LA.

I made fun of Willie Nelson and told my father that everything about country sucked. He calmly replied, "It's ok, you'll come back." I assured him I would not. He also told me, "Some day, the music that you love now will be country." I was in the middle of my love affair with Sting and replied, "Sting will NEVER be country."

Flash forward a few years later and Sting's releasing some country songs. "It's fine! He's doing this IRONICALLY." I told myself. Flash forward a few more years and I'm just home from my mission. I turn on the radio to hear TOBY KEITH singing "I'm so Happy I Can't Stop Crying" and I know that, once again, my father is right. It would take me a few more years to admit this to him, however.

I then made some allowances for Country-like artists. I fell in love with a singer named Peter Breinholt (Peiter!) and bluegrass band called Ryan Shupe and the Rubberband while in college, but reasoned that they weren't REALLY country. I'd already fallen in love with Lyle Lovett and Chris Isaak, but could, once again, reasonably argue that they weren't, strictly speaking,country.

About 4 years ago I came back to the music of my childhood, Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson first, Dolly next. I found a compilation of many of the songs I'd loved as a child. Every song enveloped me in warmth and sparked memories eliciting such strong emotions that I wondered why I'd turned my back on them for so long. Again, my father was right.

But I had a problem. Most of what is played on country stations is just NOT for me. I love Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw (other than the abominations that are "Indian Outlaw" and "Don't Take the Girl"), Josh Turner, and a few others, but I want to ram people with my car when I hear Toby Keith or Kenny Chesney. I still hate the maudlin and emotionally manipulative country ballads ("If this is Austin, I still love you" and "Alyssa Lies" are two excellent examples), and I just can't get behind those uber patriotic, chest beating anthems that are currently so popular. So, what's a girl to do? Turn to Alt country, that's what. I've been exploring this genre quite a bit and I like a lot of it. My current favorite, hands down are the Old 97's. They speak to my soul and make me want to dance in my seat as I drive to work.

Rhett Miller



the lead singer and resident dream boat of the band is my new unattainable love interest. I mean, how can I resist a man who sings lyrics like, "I believe in love, but it don't believe in me"; or wrote the most truly romantic, yet uncheesy love song I've ever heard "Question"; or makes me laugh out loud because of lines like "Do you wanna mess around? I mean deep down in your bones"; or melt because he's singing about a girl like me with "Big Brown Eyes". Yeah. Old 97's. They're GOOOOOOOOOOD.



And, like me, a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll.

Here's the song they wrote about me, 'cause I'm pretty:

This is how I feel today:

(found via CNN.)