Small Town Wren

So about that Mono…I’m starting to feel a lot better. I’m still having my sicker-than-anything moments, but I feel okay more often than I don’t. I finally have enough energy to do more than sit on my sofa in a sad, sick, stupor watching Law & Order reruns.

Which is nice, because it’s just in time for my first spring break! One of the perks of being in a teacher-education program and working in a public school is that I get two spring breaks. I’m out of classes this week, and at the end of March I’m out of work for a week, and most of my classes that week have been cancelled. It’s nice to have professors who work in the same sector.

This whole mono thing started several weeks ago when my sister threw her birthday party at Delilah’s that she didn’t attend due to having mono. We still had the party though, and I went, and had my last huzzah before I got mono. Well, since we’re both feeling up to being people again, we went into the city for a makeup party at Tavern. This was the first time out I’ve ever had to buy a drink for myself. I guess one out of four is still okay, but not what I’m used to. For record: at the first party, I paid exactly $0 and got 2 glasses of wine, 4 shots, and a gin & tonic. I don’t really drink a lot, but when I do, I drink whatever is bought.

Also for the record: the drinks at Tavern are awful and overpriced. Regardless, we had a good time. Lots of friends showed up, a game of impromptu charades was played, and there was lots of random fake-dancing. I also got to show off the arrows I’ve been drawing on my fingers of late at work to help redirect my buddy’s focus.  They were definitely used in the night to point out random things to a bunch of drunk 20-somethings. I’m just glad I didn’t get groped by the bros who weren’t in our group. Random gropings from bros is probably the biggest reason why I don’t go out very often.

I have been neglecting my blog for some time now. It turns out I’m pretty diseased. Considering I’m trying to take as few sick days as possible and still get to all of my classes (one of which is in finals right now), it has left me with very little energy to do much else.

You know it is bad when even your mother is concerned by just how much TV you’ve been watching and not much else beyond it. We’ll see when I make a return to regular posting, but as of now, I’m sick with that dreaded disease Mono.

I either got it from or gave it to my sister. She was even more of a mess than I was for awhile. She hibernated for a week while the whole family moved her out of her apartment. Me? I’ve just felt awful for two weeks now and don’t have the ADD energy level to which I usually have access.

I took my first ever paid sick day yesterday. I’ve never had a job before that offers such snazzy benefits, so I’m used to suffering like a dog through work for money I need, or being short on cash later on. I terribly needed the sleep, but it still felt a little naughty to be at home, getting paid, when I should have been at work. I was very sick–it’s still not clear if I have mono or the worst cold of my life–and the 12 solid hours of sleep made me feel a lot better. I would have died and been unable to do my job had I gone in, but it still felt like playing hooky.

This is where my work ethic is in hyper-drive. It’s really hard for me to take day off and not feel guilty about it. I’m really committed to my job. I feel obligated to be there for all the children I serve (well beyond just my super buddy), and I should. They depend on me for a lot of things and I’m in no position to let them down.

I’m supposed to be taking care myself though. I made that commitment, too. And boy, if I can’t put myself to bed when I’m terribly ill, I’m in real trouble on that front. Nobody said I had to like it. But there really is no reason for me to feel guilty for doing what was best for me, and ultimately my co-workers and students. I shouldn’t feel bad for taking the sick pay, because, in reality, I did my job a favor by not coming in sick, right? I need to hold on to that.

I’ve had to deal with an astonishing amount of unprofessionalism today. I can’t even wrap my brain around all of it. Nothing like someone breaching your confidence, but then not evening getting that breach right. Nothing like having your ass over the fire due to something you never even said.

Dear Douchebags Driving Nice Cars:

I get it: you have a lot of money. You also have really poor self-esteem married to a glaring sense of entitlement. These three things have led to the Lamborghini, Jaguar, Porche, or whatever that you are driving that is in mint condition and the new wax job. It also explains why your car is that horrible color burnt orange, pea green, or whatever.

I, on the other hand, am driving an 11-year-old White Honda that isn’t even mine. And has shitty brakes and awful traction. I am not the person to play Asshole Highway Chicken with.

I’m sorry 80 mph on the Eisenhower is not fast enough for you. But I will never get out of your way for throwing a temper tantrum with your brights over how terribly slow I am driving. And I will certainly not brake when you cross four lanes of traffic to get around all the cars and then get back in front of me and try to slow down to 30 mph.

Let me tell you a story of another one of your kind. I was walking through a construction zone in New York City that had a flagger directing traffic and pedestrians. I had the right of way, and Mr. Brand New Jaguar had the stop sign. It was real cute how he faked a slow down, swerved around the flagger, and then slammed on the brakes when he realized that, gee, there was a person there.  A person wearing steel-toed boots. A person who can kick hard enough to leave a boot dent in their shiny new car. A person who may have been me.  Those cars you drive might be expensive, but the siding is cheap.

I will not slow down for your entitled belief that you think the Eisenhower is the Autobahn. I will laugh when you flick me off as if I were the most horrid person on the planet. I will cackle as you realize I’m not slowing down to protect your precious little sports car. And I will reach for my phone and I will call the police, and I will tell them you are speeding 100 mph and driving recklessly and that you are the only burnt orange Lamborghini heading into the city on a Friday night when there are cops all over the highway.

I hope you like your ticket, asshole. It made my day seeing you pulled over.

But here’s a tip for the rest of you Douchebags Driving Nice Cards. When you are driving a really expensive sports car that is so obviously a stand-in for the shortcomings in your life: don’t piss off the people around you. We don’t have overpriced physical egos to protect and we can cost you a fortune for doing something that’s free.

Sincerely,
Wren

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I’m pretty late to the game on this one. But please forgive me; I didn’t have Logo until quite recently.

I’ve got to say it: this show is amaaaaaaazing! I spent my afternoon off watching the first two episodes of the current season. Oh the magic of DVRs. It really makes me miss Lucky Cheng’s in New York and more than one NYU anthropology professor. Though I have yet to see a drag queen who could best my friend Drue from high school. He looked better in a dress than most women. He just flat out looked better than most women.

I’m a sucker for camp.

Between my server going down and a ridiculous amount of work that had to get done yesterday, I didn’t get a chance to post. Much apologies for the interrupted service.

Let’s see, what have I missed? Well, there was the earthquake that happened yesterday morning. You know, the 3.8 magnitude earthquake with the epicenter about 12 miles from my domicile that woke pretty much everyone up at exactly 4:00am. I had the added pleasure of having a puppy launch herself onto my body in a fit of panic.

Another thing that happened yesterday was a touch embarrassing. I was taken out by a first grader. And I don’t mean on a date. I was pretty much bowled over by an autistic seven-year-old. Sweet kid and, to some extent, my fault. If I’d been watching my buddy a little closer I could have stopped him from waving and thus prompting a bit of a freak out on the other child’s account. Gosh darn my kid being so friendly! Luckily, it turned out okay and I managed to get my buddy out of the way so I was the one who got run into and not him.

As for today: today was a special day. Today was 100 Day! Our kids had their 100th day of school today (thought it’s only my 97th; shhh). So I got to wear my educational tshirt on a non-friday and was given an awesome sticker. And boy did we count to 100 a ridiculous amount of times. Out entire day was filled with math activities involving counting to 100 and kids brought in collections of 100 things and it was awesome and silly.

I didn’t watch the Super Bowl. Is anyone surprised? And while the internet is all abuzz about how misogynistic the Super Bowl Ads were this year…I’m not going to discuss that either. Yes, shocking! How could I possibly resist the intersection of media and gender?

Because Riese over at Autostraddle wrote the most amazing takedown of Taylor Swift and the Grammys. That’s how. And oh boy, it touches on virgin/whore complexes, and copycat songwriting, and the perpetually perceived purity of childhood. And she’s got awesome charts and awesome comparison pictures between Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga, and has quotes like this:

Let’s bring it back around to the lady that obvs should’ve won: Lady Fucking Gaga. Lady Gaga is viscous hungry sex in hellfire. She’s more theatrical than Broadway and every night she sings in romantic open fists. Lady Gaga opens her dress, extracts her gut, assembles it in shapes splashed in sinister glitter and then shatters her dangerous violent diamonds onto the piano and screams FIRE and it sounds like bad romance. She wants your ugly, she wants your disease, and she’s everything Taylor Swift will never be. Punks don’t win awards, they eat awards.

Yeah. I don’t need to talk about the Super Bowl. Or anything else. Just go read it.

1. I will write everyday.
2. I will make the world a better place.
3. I will not forget myself.

These are the three promises I have made to myself. They are part of my goal to be a functioning, independent human being. It’s not that I’m not these things already–I am–but I sometimes forget this. I often forget myself, and I often put myself last. This has made me an incredibly vulnerable person at times. I’m tired of being a person prone to falling apart, teetering on the edge of despair.

So I’m giving myself a head-space make over. And writing is a key component. The seven years and nearly half-million dollars invested in my education as a writer is important to me and has shaped me as a person. Writing is something I have always done, since the days when I first became verbal. I’ve come to learn that when I don’t write, I start to wilt, and that withering causes me to not write. It’s a vicious cycle that I refuse to feed any longer. So I will write. Every day, Wren. Every day.

Committing to make the world a better place might seem like a vague and tall order, but it really doesn’t have to be. It can be as simple as saying “thank you” and holding the door, or it can be far more. Either way, being mindful to stewardship and being kind is a moral and ethical obligation to me as a human being.

I’ve already touched a bit on not forgetting myself, but this is important. I really need to learn to put myself first. This has always been really difficult for me, for as long as I can remember. I’ve had altruism drilled so deep into my brain that it feels wrong to take care of myself. And it shouldn’t be that way.

And it won’t. I promise.

I had the pleasure of going to the opening of The Neo-Futurists most recent main stage production: I AM A CAMERA this evening. It was an interesting, often ethereal performance trying to understand the crossroads of identity and photographs. While there were moments that seemed a little long, this was, perhaps, intentional. However, there were moments of pure beauty to balance it out. At one point, the production took on the qualities of a dance piece while exploring sections of projected photos using pieces of paper. At other times, the actors–Jeremy Sher and Caitlin Stainken–are forced to ask and answer questions using only a small range of photographs.

I really enjoyed the evening. It was a thought-provoking night that posed more questions than answers, and I propose that it is better this way. How can actors tell us who we are? They can only tell us who they are, and, in fact, that is what they spent the evening doing. Greg Allen asks us who we are and that is his thesis. In reality, he is asking us who will we be.

I AM A CAMERA runs through March 13, 2010 on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Tickets can be bought through Brown Paper Tickets.