killed

i can honestly say, sometimes during the slow month of may around the athletic department it is difficult to see any sort of measureable outcomes. i am a woman of measureable outcomes. i like to see the grade on my paper in red pen (even though my friend a sociology grad student said that it's bad for the psyche to see red on your work), i like to see my calves starting to appear after a few weeks of working out, i like to see a spreadsheet done. and, i like getting a paycheck in the mail.
but as far as teaching goes, sometimes it takes a long time to see if a student understood a concept, or if in fact all of your work has been in vain. sometimes, when no one's around, i wonder if i am doing anything worthwhile around here (which i feel is a question that everyone asks themselves at one point or another in their life). and sometimes, the day seems wasted because i get all of the administrative stuff done in about twenty minutes. that stuff is not difficult.
for the past three days, though, work has been fulfilling. my history of jazz student just left to take his final, and although he still doesn't like jazz at all he's actually remembering who john coltrane is and what instrument he played- a measureable outcome. also, my russian tennis player is able to write relatively complete sentences about the flu epidemic of 1918. outcome two. and, i was able to draw a really sweet diagram of a house that represented the function of ideology and the colonization process for my african american history student. i haven't erased it from the board. he understood. outcome three.
more than anything though, i managed to kill a purple dry-erase marker in the span of two days. that might be the most tangible result of my work in a long time.

i told you.

sitting in my desk sending an email to someone (as usual) a poor golfer comes into the office and says, "there's a bird in there and it just landed on my head."
anna goes, "was it a black and white bird? because in the weight room all day they've been trying to get a bird out of there- the cops came and some weird bird specialist. either way, it's pretty crazy down there."
to which i reply, "special ops for birds."
the poor golfer, who is also failing accounting 231 (no surprise) has to deal with a freakin bird attacking his head while he's trying to study. as i was walking out of the office we had trapped it in the computer lab, and all i saw was my co-worker danny's limbs failing.
wanna know what kind of bird it was?
A F-ING (for brelin) MAGPIE.
i rest my case.

tolerate

In no particular order, 5 things that i merely tolerate and in no way find joy:
-magpies. they are obnoxious birds on the whole. for nostalgia purposes i feel like i should like them because it was one of the many nicknames of my childhood best friend maggi crow. but no. they like to hang out in the trees outside my apartment and they attacked/frightened my roommate. i must stand by her in her anger at the animal.
-fake grape flavored things of all varieties. yes, if someone gives me a laffy taffy that is grape, i will eat it. mostly because i love taffy. and the rap song, "laffy taffy" also has nostalgic purposes. fake grape things conjure up a childhood spent taking grape dimetapp whenever i was sick, and even though i know candy doesn't taste like it at all i will avoid it. grape juice only consumed at communion when no other options are given.
-smoking in bars. tolerate only due to the fact that it is generally cheaper to drink in moscow and there are usually sweet bands playing. also, sometimes people want to smoke and i will let them.
-punk rock. i would never choose to listen to it, but it is far better than my massive hatred of country music. that though, is another blog. many of my friends really like punk music, and andy went through a loud/smelly/angry/terrible musician phase that involved being "punk." it never went to the point (because my parents wouldn't allow it) of dyed mohawks. it merely stopped at failing to wash his clothes for weeks at a time and having a "spit-corner" in his room while the "band" (i use that term loosely) would "rehearse." pitiful.
-cats. some people are cat people. i am not. there is nothing pleasurable about getting fur all over your clothes for the once-in-a-blue-moon comfort of a cat. they scratch, they bite, they seem to be quite mean, and serve no purpose: they can't fetch. my toleration of cats is illustrated most lovingly in my friends kasey and cori's cat, hudson. it is the mangiest cat i've ever seen and i took a page from dwight schrute and renamed him "garbage." that is the most fitting name for all cats, i believe. or possiblly klepto, short for kleptomaniacal kitten. it is fabulous alliteration.

whore

one of the students at work needed a tutor for music 362, which i knew was the history of rock and roll. a relatively simple class, and i knew just the person to tutor it. a couple of emails later and appointment was scheduled- that's how easy my job is sometimes. yesterday was their first meeting in my office, with me behind my womb-like cubicle so i could spy on them while they were working. the session began with the tutor, "so, how far have you gotten to in the book?"
student: "the last thing we talked about today was billie holiday."
tutor: "have you started talking about the British Invasion yet?"
"uhh, no....wait, are you tutoring the History of Jazz?"
"no...the History of Rock and Roll."
my brain: DAMMIT. History of Rock and Roll is Music 262, not 362. i am a tool.
i pop out from my cubicle and go, "crap, i'm sorry guys. totally my bad...i guess i'll have to pinch hit."
so, the tutor leaves and i'm left to fumble through the study guide for the midterm with this super high-risk student as i speed read the book to try and help. the hour ends and he promises come in before friday so we can work on the study guide when i know what i'm talking about.
i leave work feeling like an idiot and bent on success in teaching this course to him. so, i sit myself down at the coffee shop and learn the first five chapters (half the course) of the History of Jazz in two hours. i write illegibly, i learn so many new things that eventually i get to the point where every five minutes i go up to andy and say, "i have something new! did you know that billie holiday only had a one and a half octave range?!" i am tired but thrilled that i can learn this much in so little a time...i want to keep going but am getting fatigued and i finally quit when i stop being able to write things down legibly for me.
eventually after the fifth or sixth "did you know?" outburst andy goes, "you know what you are right now?... A KNOWLEDGE WHORE."
he is correct i think, and there is nothing wrong with that. now back to jazz.

creepin

i am 21, so i've now decided i don't really like bars. they're pretty skeezy, mostly smell bad (especially in idaho where you can still smoke in them), and expensive.
also, there are creeps in bars. it's like, "let's put all of the socially awkward people in a room with loud music and alcohol." contextually it's a disaster from the start. and then, people buy me drinks and i make mistakes. it's a sad commentary that i can't go into a bar by myself for fear that i'll be creeped out, so i'd much rather go to a restaurant and order a glass of wine.
which is exactly what andy and i did yesterday in order to placate the alcohol withdrawal i am still currently experiencing. the worst part about the restaurant we went to, though, was that the waiter creeped me out.
damn.

hitting rocks

i am done with school, and i don't know quite what to do with myself. work is easy and rather boring because there aren't a whole lot of people who need my help on only the first day of the semester. all the idaho peeps are working on finals.
i'm antsy, agitated, and irritable.
there are other nagging issues involving men, but that's just a waste of time and adding to my agitation.
i just want to hit rocks with sticks.
yesterday, because it was freakin gorgeous outside a few friends and i drove to the snake river where they usually practice rowing and we laid on the dock for a good hour and a half i'd say. well, they laid the whole time. i had to hit rocks.
one of the girls' boyfriends obviously did not do well with just laying around and needed an activity. the two went off for a while and walked around and when they returned they reported the guy tried to hit rocks in the river with a stick but wasn't very good. instinctively then, i shot up from my sunbathing position and yelled, "i love that shit!!" (eloquent, i know). it was great. i procured a sweet stick-bat after some searching and climbing trepidously on the sharp rocks and i'd say that my friends boyfriend and i hit rocks in the river for a good 45 minutes. it was the best thing ever. the healthiest way to deal with stress as you are focused on something else besides yourself, and it also reminds me of some great memories of this summer at Shoshone. either way, i need to hit rocks sometimes- i just forget about it.
my back muscles are sore from it today, and i have a blister on my hands from the stick. but it's worth it.
and, to make it all better, i was way better at it than the stupid boy.