Mumbling Madly

I ate cereal for dinner…specifically Quaker Oat Squares. And than I had some eggnog in a wine glass. The glass made it extra special.
Josh is absorbed in The Davinci Code downstairs. I finished it recently. I thought the book would be more life changing..sure it was a great book, and I dug a lot of the art research, but it wasn’t life shattering.
Josh and I taped the Top Model marathon on VH1 and devoured it over the weekend. We’ve been so behind. None of those wierdos are half as cool as Yoanna House, that girl who rocked Top Model so bad last year. Ok, so the legally blind girl is cool because she only complains about real stuff (like going blind), but Yaya is truly annoying and Eva is cute but is she cute enough? Or does she (as one scurtinizer observed) look like a little pig? We’ll see later this week.
How’s everyone’s holiday shopping going?I don’t know about you, but I”m really looking forward to the holiday break coming up.
Below is a pic of me in my new Gsus hoodie…yeah, it’s pretty orange, but I couldn’t resist.

It’s time…yes, it’s time for me to rant and rave about the new American trend: The Yellow Ribbon Bumpersticker.
First of all, I rarely approve of bumperstickers…perhaps it is the permanant nature of them, one moment I may feel like a “Princess” the other moment I might feel like “Bitch, You Betta Back Off Of My Bumper.” A sticker doesn’t allow me to communicate the wide range of emotions I feel when I am driving. It forever pigeon-holes me into whatever my bumper states. Besides, why would I need to give CO drivers another reason to tailgate me?
Second of all, the symbolism of a yellow ribbon, is that it is a ribbon…not a sticker that you plaster to the back of your car.
Side note: When I was in Kansas, one in five cars had ribbons stuck on the back of them. I’m not exaggerating. I saw a Tacoma with SEVEN different ribbon stickers of various patriotism sporting the bumper…Ribbon stickers are HUGE out there in the cornfields. In Colorado, I see them on about one in ten cars…not too bad. It would be curious to see what the ratio is in other areas of the country, (Well? Does anyone want to enlighten me about their state?)
Thirdly, my other pet peeve is when people put the sticker on sideways, (as I’ve demonstrated above). Why? C’mon people, these looped ribbons originally hung on trees and were attached to lapels. No one would wear a ribbon sideways like that, who cares if the writing is vertical…we don’t need the ribbon horizonal…we just don’t. It look dumb.
Fourthly, the sticker is just too damn big. It rarely fits on the average bumper without looking huge and akward. I might approve of the ribbon bumpersticker if it were just a little bit smaller. (Than again, I might not).
Last of all, it urks me because the whole war urks me…everytime I have to sit at a red light and stare at someone’s yellow clad bumper I feel depressed. While researching the yellow ribbon bumpersticker phenomenon, I found another sticker that I feel sums everything up perfectly:

I had what one would call “the worst day ever.” One time this three year old said she was having a “Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” and I said: “Yeah, whatever kid, I’ve read that book too.” Well despite that, I would say that title really fits a day like today. It all began last Monday when this kid said that after the holiday recital she wasn’t coming back to class because “her Mom doesn’t like me very much.” What? How the hell could her Mom not like me? We’ve never talked past the basic: “Hi, yeah, I understand your kid was sick, but don’t worry we have two extra rehearsals before the show.” THAT’S IT, I swear, that’s all I’ve ever said to this woman…and now she doesn’t LIKE ME? VERY MUCH? Whaaaaaa?
Top that off with the basic retail nightmare of Christmas…in fact I don’t even want to honor how awful today was because by writing about it; I’ll seal it forever in my memory and I’d kind of like to forget how bad D**CER DESIGNS SUCKS! (OKay, so I don’t want the mean wench on the phone to find this and sue me for slander) Yes, that’s a vendor we use, yes we carried their clothes, but WE ARE NEVER ORDERING FROM THEM AGAIN.
Oh, and than I was all excited because out City Lights order also came in today, and yay, my large pink long sleeve itty bitty tee should be in the box BUT IT WASN’T…oh no, they had plenty of pink fabric for the small and the medium but they cut it short when they reached the large size. So, instead of having a redeeming shopping experience, I went home empty handed. I did however grab the last D**cer Design tank with the slogan: “If Dance Were Any Easier, It Would Be Football.” Now that we are NEVER ordering from them again, I have to grab their gear while it lasts.
Sum this up with the general chaos of teaching two back to back 3-5 yr old classes…one at 4pm and one at 5pm, which is a terrible time to teach that age group. Half of them have not had naps, and it shows. The other half are hungry because it’s right before dinner time…I know this because there a few habitual chewers; They’re the kids with their skirts up over their heads or their sleeves stuck in their mouth. They all have runny noses…I watched this kid explode with the biggest, juiciest, sneeze all over her hand and than she LICKED the contents of the sneeze off her palm and ATE it. And don’t even get me started about the chronic farter I have in my 5 o’clock class.
The only good thing about today was I got a nice haircut.

This is just another scrap to add to my fond collection of wierd, witty, random signs. (Check out the motion lines, that teddy bear is getting thoroughly shook!)

I love Christmas. I do, I’m such a sucker.
Last night Angela and I went to the Art Walk/Ladies Night Out. Basically all the art gallaries and cool trendy shops in Old Town are open until 9pm (and have free cookies and cider). It was one of the best nights out I’ve had in a while. Because this is the last Art Walk before Christamas the galleries were bumping with new works, free truffles, and actual artists were mingling with the locals. My favorite kitchen store, The Cubboard, had free chocolate, coffee, and a scavanger hunt for clues around the store…the entries were put in a drawing for prizes. In no time at all, we were over stimulated from coffee, chocolate, and general Christmas cheer.
We went to a local gallary and spotted some bronze dance sculptures. Now, both Angela and I are dance snobs…we were both trained in ballet, I have a Dance Minor, Angela spent considerable time at The Hartford Ballet, we dabbled with it as professionals, and than settled on teaching…so we’re snobs. We know our shit, we know the five basic dance positions and what we like and dislike. Well, we hated these dance sculptures. The feet were all wrong, the arms were bent funny, they all looked as if they had collapsible spines. The male ballet statues had strange bulges, (or to quote Angela: “Looks like they’re wearing two padded dance belts”). One of the sculptures had a man in the most akward fourth position we’d ever seen. It was so strange, that Angela attempted to imitate the sculpture and almost threw her hip out. (Note that Angela is a true ballerina because she had to retire at age 19 due to arthritis in her hips). So we’re snickering away and than suddenly the door to the gallery slams shut…okay, so it was past 9pm and it was obvious they were closing. On the way out, Angela nudged me and said: “I think that’s the artist of the sculptures…” Sure enough…we felt bad for maybe a second, before we doubled over with the whole coincidance of it all. Of COURSE the artist stood by while we mocked the inaccuracy of his life’s work…that sort of thing always happens to me. You know when you’re about to talk about someone and you have to do the double check and make sure they’re not behind you? Well, it never fails, whenever I forget to do the double check the person I’m yakking about is inevitably right behind me.

Things that I have observed recently in the world of teaching:
1.) Personality truly forms at the earliest age possible. I’ve written this before, but I’ll say it again: At three-years-old I can see into these kids’ futures and predict a great wealth of knowledge that only my own 27 years can predict.
2.) The oldest child has a unique experience entirely different than the subsequent siblings. I say this as an oldest child myself, because I see it time and time again: Parents are FREAKED out over Kid #1. I’ve had parents sob on the first day of class because, “ohmigod, my little baby is growing up, she’s taking her first ballet class.” Can you say cameras going off? Digital recorders? It’s like every moment has to be captured, it can’t be organic or an experience, it HAS TO GO INTO THE SCRAPBOOK. I once had someone describe a girl’s first dance recital is akin to the prom…it’s that big of a deal.
3.) Remember all that shit we dealt with? Kids making fun of other kids, not getting your turn, unfairness…it still exists and about the most mundane stuff. Like who’s going to be first in line, or last in line, or who’s birthday is in June. I’m not kidding…*we* used to freak over the dumbest stuff. I watched this one girl totally rip another girl a new one because she couldn’t take last place at the barre. Are you serious? Unlike many of my teachers, when I see it I try to nip it in the bud. I’ll say, “Hey, what’s your problem, kid?” This usually shuts them down for a short time…
4). This ties into one type of teacher I am…I’d like to think I’m a “Takes No Shit, but Really Nice” type of teacher. But honestly, I have no idea how these kids perceive me. I did ask one time, while this ten-year-old girl and I were waiting for her Mom’s boyfriend to pick her up (he was 45 min. late due to a fender bender). And she said I was different because I “looked really young and was funny.” I was flattered…of course this is only one kid’s opinion. My other favorite feedback moment was years ago when I was choreograping an all-Black musical for the Intiman Theater in Seattle (that’s a whole different post for a different time), and this ten-year-old, tap-dancing, prodige named Daniel sat on the floor under a table and really talked with me…I learned all about how he burned his head on a hot plate of macaroni, how many siblings he had, the sacrafices his Mom was making for this tap dancing lessons. And than somehow we came to me, his teacher, and he said, very genuinely: “You’re like a Big Kid.”
5.) I’ve got a memory like an elephant. As a little one, I remember making notes in my head: When I’m a grown-up, I’ll never do that. And so I try not to talk to them as if they’re idiots, I always answer their questions as accurately as I can, and I sometimes feel like I’m five-years-old right with them.
6.) Kids are kids, but it really works when you talk to them the way you would talk to anyone else. Meaning: Don’t dumb it down. They get it. (This ties in directly to #5).
7.) Despite this, I refuse to be one of those painfully “hip” trying-too-hard teachers. (OH GOD, I hope that’s not me). You remember those teachers, they’re borderline getting too old and they dress too young for their age. These type of teachers use outdated words like “groovy” and “right-o.” They make the word “cool” sound funny. It’s kind of akward for a kid to relate or talk to these “Trying-to-hard” teachers, and usually they’re subject to intense ridicule.
8.) On the flip side, let me tell you how hard it is NOT to swear in a class filled with teenagers. All of us are on our good, don’t swear, behavior. (C’mon, admit it, you swore like sailor when you were thirteen). Several phrases that I’ve almost used but than redited: “Full of Crap,” “Crap-Faced.” “Hard-Balled.”
Several phases that I just went ahead and used, (note they’re totally out of context written here in this blog): “Hard Ass.” “On Crack.” “Shut-up, all of you, just shut-up.”