Thus quoth one of my middle school students. Two days in a row. I suspect that being consumed in this way is probably not so bad: sharp teeth, but their tongues are so ticklish!
Meanwhile Mother-in-Law 2006 spent four nights at our apartment. And three days not in the apartment. One of the most specific new things that I learned about her is that she cannot pee if Bruce Springsteen is watching her: she placed the framed photo of The Boss facedown on purpose (I know because I tested it by uprighting him) for the entirety of her stay. Makes me wonder who would have been acceptable...though Yellow Dog is fairly certain that she did not realize who he was.
Or maybe having "Whoa-oh-oh, I'm on fire" running through her head was disruptive.
Averaged out over the period between April 2004 and October 2005, I have traveled to New York City once every four months. The following has been true every time I've gone:
Things particular to this trip included watching a very sweet children's play featuring songs with such lyrics as "mice are just so nice" and "in troubled times like these, people turn to cheese." (And it's true, isn't it?) This play was also satisfying because it featured puppets of people being devoured by a lion (played by an actual human). And when I say "devoured," I mean the lion ripped off the puppet head and ate it. And when I say "puppet head," I mean a puppet in 2-D human form but instead of features, it had words, as did the set for that portion of the play. Like, vehicles were big rectangles with the word CAR or TRUCK or BUS written on them. The people-on-the-street puppets featured such phrases as "Man...who is about to be eaten by a lion." Overall it was very entertaining and it had some sneakily inspiring effects on me regarding the feasibility of still-up-my-sleeve projects.
I also ran into a variety of people from Seattle on the street, only one of whom actually lives there. The other three were all there for reasons I can guess at, but it's still funny that I can be in such a different place and still run into the same people I might in Seattle.
Another unexpected occurrence was my making peace with SoHo. I mean, I still find it ridiculous overall, but I had some pleasant experiences in establishments that are more or less in that neighborhood. For example, Knit New York was a lovely little shop and Le Jardin Bistro made for a nice little bridal luncheon regardless of my lack of tea gloves.
This brings me to the real reason I went this time: to attend the wedding of a college friend. Until sitting at the airport for my flight out, I had forgotten that it was unlikely that I was going to know very many people at the wedding. Definitely the bride and groom and the bride's mother; possibly two other friends from college, but beyond that? I realized I was woefully prepared psychologically for the social strains of being charming to strangers.
But lo! Instead I became instant BFFs with four women and we declared ourselves the Self Cleaning Think Tank (later re-named Table 8). This was followed by much raucously demure behavior at the wedding itself, resulting in a variety of wedding photos that are a bizarre combination of Sesame Street's "I'm gonna paint an 8" and the gnome travels from Amelie. Some of this could possibly be blamed on the DJ (whose choices included the theme from The Greatest American Hero, Dueling Banjos, and the theme from Taxi), but mainly it was because this was a group embracing the transitive property of personality.
And that's really what I liked best of all. It's one thing to go to a series of events and have a great time, but to realize that the great time is linked directly to powerful connections first developed when seventeen-years-old is very satisfying. My two other college friends were there: I still think they are fantastic. One had recently begun grad-school studies to become an architect and the other had recently developed a generative theatre piece with gay and lesbian homeless youth. My newly-wedded friend is the managing editor of a website geared towards children's literature.
Back in 1989, we were all just hanging out (see also "going to college"). Three of us were referred to as the Benetton ad (one half Indian, one Black, and one mottled Scandahoovian) and all four of us were the MDC...which stood for Manic Depressives Club: I was merely an honorary member because I was too happy.
What I'm trying to get at here is that, upon spending a few days with these friends from my youth and those newly met, I was filled with pride at how much we'd all accomplished in the past 16 years. In talking and drinking and laughing with these friends old and new, it became clear that each of those years had been worth something, that the ways we had changed had made us better people and we still all got along. The three from long ago and the four from just that weekend: we like our lives and we liked each other. Amongst conversation of exploding pythons, mystery trains, coffee companies, and fake middle names--potentially the same conversations we might have had at seventeen--it was clear that we weren't seventeen anymore and the years to come are filled with possibility, possibility better than what we might have hoped for at seventeen, because now we know how to accomplish beyond dreaming. Not such a bad thing to realize at a wedding.
Which is not to say that we aren't without our flaws. We drank a lot and said catty things. We wore revealing clothing. I know I had several facial blemishes.
Cheers, Table 8. If I can figure out how to knock off a couple of family members, you can come to my wedding, too.
I'm taking a short break from curriculum writing to convey this update: the book I'm currently reading for a residency with middle schoolers referred to prion diseases on page 32. And, like, that's what the book is about.
Sort of. Mostly it's about a quiet, misunderstood boy who doesn't get along with his stepfather and then gets a dog. Also, over 20 dogs have already died in the book (as of page 49).
I think I have more to say about that, but for right now it just seemed worthy to make a note of it.