I'd rather not work with parents in school

'Just got a call from a classmate... a 40-50 something classmate with an 8-10 year old kid who has the flu. Parents have more damn germs to worry about. I know it's a valid excuse. I KNOW people my age can get sick too. She's awesome for coming back to school, actually. But my God, I've had to deal with more kid-related excuses in college than I'd care to name.

Of course, in the kinder part of my brain, I'm totally understanding. I sent her an email telling her not to worry about it, because she shouldn't. Her kids' health comes first, and she's smart for not coming to class and possibly spreading it around.

But damnit... we might not even get to present tomorrow, because SHE has a lot of the supplies we need.

The Mark of a Good Musical

A lot of the following can be applied to any sort of music. I just feel that musicals get little credit as a genre, and that isn't fair. Sure, a lot of them suck, but many of them are beautifully composed and have great story lines.

Everything's a musical now. They had a Carrie musical a few years back, for God's sake. I think one big problem is that people don't want to accept that some stories just don't work in this genre. There are some stories that work well without following the "show, don't tell" rule. Then there are some that just don't. Trying to force big musical numbers into moments that are better left silent...that's a bad move.

Then we can look at the songs themselves. One of my favorite musical songs is "If I Were a Bell" from Guys and Dolls, because even without the lyrics, the tone and purpose of the song are totally clear. The melody itself speaks of silly, half-drunk, new love. Then someone I know tries to sell me on Wicked and plays "Popular." I can't speak for the rest of the musical, but when I strip away the words and think of the melody, I don't think strongly about the message of the song. It's just writing plinky music that sounds vaguely appropriate and then tossing in some lyrics.

I've fallen away from musicals partially because so many are just so cheesy. And I guess I don't always want people's feelings spelled out for me in song. But I'm grateful that I've been able to define why some appeal to me and some don't. It's truly a relief.

Not 6 feet under, but 6 inches from the ground

I like to think that sagging is nature's way of reminding us of the place where we'll one day return. It doesn't have to be scary. It's just a friendly pinch on the ass. "Don't forget that you're dying! Go do something good and tell your loved ones how you feel!"

And that's one of the reasons why I'll never get cosmetic surgery.

I'm not judging.

I just can't help but note visual oddities when I'm walking around campus.

Oddity #1: A 20-something man with his girlfriend at the Storyville tshirt shop. Nothing unusual, except that he's wearing a shirt that says "Mom likes me best." Unless that phrase is on a onesie, it's really unsettling. Does not bode well for the relationship unless that girl is really into videotaping him at the park and cutting his dinner into safe, bite-sized pieces.

Oddity #2: School spirit is no surprise at my university, but this girl looked like the idea of school spirit had eked out of someone's mind and started a life of its own. There she strolled through the quad in a horribly bright yellow sundress, fuzzy Tiger slippers, and offensively large purple jewelry. They looked like jumbo bath beads. Plus I think there was a fuzzy purple headband in her pixie cut. I pricked my finger just to make sure my blood is still red. Despite 3 years here, it is.

What could have been a terrible day.

I wanted to throw a rock at the construction worker who stared at me while I cried beside my car this morning. My tire was shredded. The sounds and smells of morning traffic were oppressive, and for the first time in weeks I cared that no one was answering their phone. Car accidents are harder when you realize you don't have anyone in town to call for help. I missed my first meeting with my host teacher at Dutchtown Primary School because of a freak blowout. I'm always so careful about my tires.

On top of that, my thumb still hurt from the night before. I sliced it down to the bone when I tried to avoid the kitchen knife that I dropped. I figured I should probably visit the doctor, because it took me five minutes just to button up my shirt.

Long story short, everything is sorted out. I'm healing fast after my trip to the LSU clinic, and my car is fine. Bouncing back emotionally isn't easy for me. Going on with my life physically is not a problem. When things need to be done, I grudgingly do them. But today was different. The beautiful day, my kind brother, and the faces of my future colleagues kept me from staying in my bad mood.

The most memorable thing about this day was sitting next to Clyde while waiting for the bus. He's a maintenance man at LSU who I see from time to time. We were talking about his new phone that has music and TV shows on it. "So you're never bored," I laughed.

"Never bored! No excuse to be bored! If you're bored, you're just a boring person." I agreed, and he finished with: "There are crayons that got more life than some people in this world."

Although I prefer not to have access to television at all times (nor do I equate it to liveliness), the thought still brightened my afternoon.

She doesn't read this, just getting it out.

I can't believe you approached us.

He admits openly that he dislikes you. The way you left him was cowardly and immature, and you'll never admit that. He knows it. Everyone knows it. It's been a while now, and we've all moved on. But he'll never like you again or probably even try to. You can stop pretending to care about him or to feel sad about what you chose to end. Nobody likes a martyr.

I wanted to do lots of things to you tonight that would not have been right. I almost grabbed you by the arm. I almost yelled at you. I almost followed you into the bathroom, but none of those things would have been right. Nobody is perfect, but you're just pathetic. We could have gone all night not noticing each other, enjoying our Saturday nights apart. Instead you decided to harass my friend in front of us, prefacing your attack with, "I love you to death, but---" as if it makes you seem like less of a bitch. It doesn't. It never does.

I'm glad you left him, because you're a mess. Everyone's a mess, but you're the wrong mess for him. We'd all love to never see you again. If you ever see us again, and you make the decision to confront us instead of go on with your life like you keep saying you are, I'll be forced to take action.

I'm a judgmental person. I try not to be. I try to be diplomatic and understand where people are coming from and what they've gone through to become who they are. But I can't help it now, so I'm going to say everything I think about you.

You're pathetic and insecure. You invent suffering so your life will seem to have meaning, and then you post that cheap suffering on facebook so that someone will buy you a drink. You start as many situations as you can that will end in everyone staring at you--for better or for worse. You long for a sparkling ring more than you long for love. It depresses me that you work with children every day. I hope they turn out okay despite the experience.

I like your friends very much, because they had the sense to be embarrassed by your behavior. I appreciated their apology, although none of it was their fault. Leave my friend alone.

3 things of which I am sure:

1. Cheese sandwiches will always taste better right before bed when I'm not supposed to be eating.

2. I might never know enough about health care and foreign policy to have a definite opinion about it, but it doesn't stop me from trying.

3. Grammar is interesting.