I am about to leave the house. I’m hoping that the Black Friday crowds have gone home. I just want to take a heap of magazines and exchange them for a terrible paperback. I know that seems terribly specific for someone who tends to gambol about from place to place and only occasionally remembering why they are out in the first place, but I do have quite of few current, gently read magazines that are taking up valuable real estate and my favorite podcast, My Favorite Murder, wants to add a book club component. The book they have chosen is V.C. Andrews’ My Sweet Audrina.
Of course I have read this book before. I have read most of Ms. Andrew’s books. You see, my friends, not all of us grew up in a time when there was quality Young Adult or advanced Tween books available. (I did, however, manage to get my hands on a copy of of Shelly, also known as Shirley, the autobiography of Shelly Winters. Did you know that Shelly taught Marilyn Monroe the open mouthed smile? I also read The Handmaid’s Tale. I read both of these when I was in the 7th grade. I also read the novelization of the TV Show Dallas, but that’s a good and terrible story for another time.)
All of us in the advanced reader group, armed with intellectual curiosity and a library card discovered, then devoured V.C. Andrew’s books. If you are wondering where you’ve heard of her before, she is the author of the Flowers in the Attic Series as well as a whole boatload of books, including several new series. Not a bad career considering that she’s been dead for thirty years, shortly after the release of My Sweet Audrina.
Even if you didn’t read any of her books, if you grew up in the late 70’s/early 80’s, you probably remember the book covers. They were black and had a window feature that gave you a glimpse of an eerie sketch of a main character. You had to open the cover to actually see the whole picture. (I suddenly want new headshots that are done in this style.)
All of these books were good and terrible. Even the ones I know were written by ghostwriters. (The bulk of her oeuvre. I like big words and I can not lie.) It has something to do with my love of terrible Made for TV movies. I just found out that there is a not only a terrible movie version of My Sweet Audrina, it was produced by Lifetime!
I have to race to the bookstore before finding out where I can stream this treasure.
I truly meant to commit to my 500 words a day no matter what, or what I told my AmandaFriend was the “craptacular series.” But that didn’t happen. My brain has been so a fuzzled that I can’t even tell if I punctuated the previous sentence correctly. I know there are only two people who would care about that, and I’m pretty sure one doesn’t read my blog.
Still and all I am grateful for my exhausting sometimes highly confusing job. I truly love my students and I know all of my colleagues really want to be there. Money is tight, but when was it ever not? (I’m not sure about the grammar on that one either.) It is Thanksgiving day and I know people all around me are having to make huge, life altering decisions. (I will fill the public in the specific one I am talking about soon). I am very happy that the only decisions I have to make today will be related to food and when should put gas in my car and what kind of pie I’m going to have. (Okay, my phone, which is sitting next to me, just called me on my computer and other device. That was weird. I wonder what I wanted.) It’s probably pie.
And now the list:
Things I am grateful for:
My job, where I’m pretty sure I get to use my miracle every day.
My family, they are all completely nuts, my mother is fantastic and a great maker of pies, my dad is awesome, I’m nigh on to 50 and he still calls me “Baby” My extended family tree is full of nuts and fruits and other tidbits of crazy.
BatBeard, my boyfriend who makes me feel like a princess even though he is a thousands of miles away buckling swash.
My Amanda Friend who after all these years still answers the phone when I call to vent.
And I’m sure will be adding to the list throughout the day.
Logan Paul. Jake Paul. Rebecca Black. Kardashian. Kanye and all of the other Jackasses and Catfishes
I wonder what song Living Color would write if they were to reboot their song.
I have been compiling some research about this culture of rudeness that I see springing up all around me. This is just a preface to the longer blog that I will be posting. I just wanted to get this down because I am furious. Twenty minutes ago, when I went to pick up my students from the gym, one of them, the hardest working and sweetest one of them was crying. Because at 10 minutes til eight, someone had already teased him to the point of crying.
I have no idea why. After this, all of my boys commenced to talking about the latest Logan or Jake Paul video.
It’s really making me angry..
In my previous blog, I said I didn’t have time to write; however, since 8:00 this morning, I have written sentences for a spelling test with words that have the long e sound (I don’t think we use the schwa as much as we should. Poor Schwa.) I have also rewritten my Science Year Long Plan or YELP as I call it, I also wrote the description for my class’s donation to the school auction (A very vivid and exciting portrait of an ecosystem in the Coral Reef, trust me, it’s lovely) And then there are the essay questions about the Gnostic Gospels, John’s Gospel, which BTW has an authorship that is in as much debate as the author of Shakespeare’s plays, when we all know the Lizard People wrote both. I have to duck now (quack) so I don’t get clipped by the lightning bolt coming my way.
Between that and the information I am compiling for our Felician Sister’s Founders day celebration, I’m writing a lot.
Anyone who thinks teachers don’t get to work on creative writing never had to write a note to a parent about their child’s behavior without mentioning “Bully”, “stop the infidel”, or “slap the fool out of him” doesn’t understand reality.
Years ago I was given two bits of writing advice, one from an actual person, one from a TV character.
Connie Whitt-Lambert (person) advised, “Don’t be precious with your words.”
Vincent Grey (character I didn’t much like but had a good writing career) “Write something every day, even if it’s crap.”
I haven’t been writing much because I don’t have a lot of time and brain power left by the end of the day to write anything that sings on and off the page. I don’t know why I want everything to sing, including me, in the morning, to the cats. They do not appreciate my tunes with custom lyrics. This morning’s song was “You’re the crap in my coffee.” It’s a take on “You’re the cream in my coffee”, a song I haven’t actually heard, Fonzie once sang a bit of it to Marion when she felt old and lonely because Howard’s friend had a fun new wife. In that episode, Marion borrowed a harem outfit from Jennie Picolo’s mother and had arranged a feast that she was going to hand feed to Howard who clearly thought she had lost her mind. I strongly suspect that this part of the episode was improvised since when she tried to feed him couscous, he said, “You’re the one whose couscous, Marion” when he brushed her away, she tossed her head and said, passionately, “That’s it! Be rough with me!”
I somehow don’t think that’s what they intended when they said, “Marion. Harem pants. Delightful.”
But, who knows? I certainly didn’t intend for this blog to turn into a stream of consciousness rolling over the rocky morning.
Call me Brook. I’m babbling.