…if this is a size 10 (as she claims).
If that’s a size 10…
I mean, I think it’s fantastic that she’s dropped so much weight since being on DWTS, but let’s call a spade a spade…and a 14 a 14. And who cares what size she is, really? It’s no one’s business, but if you’re going to make a claim, be honest. Vanity sizing, anyone?
Last night, the Thriller and I were supposed to double-check the itinerary for our upcoming National Parks Odyssey, but we got sidetracked by other things. No problem; I have the next 19 school days to think about it.
Nineteen. But I’m not counting, regardless of the post title. We’re on the home stretch, that’s all that matters.
You know, I never used to be a day counter. I once had a colleague who would come in on the very first day of school and announce to anyone within earshot, “Welp! Only 179 days left!” It made my skin crawl. I thought violent thoughts.
But here I find myself counting the days. Could it be because I’m getting o*d? Or just fagged out? Maybe I just need to bake Chocodoodles and be Grammie.
And travel. Don’t forget the travel part. Can’t wait!
Man, I need to jack up my material. It’s been a ghost town here lately. Just me & PK, shootin’ the bull. Perhaps it’s time for another round robin story.
Time to scratch it. Or to get out the Grammar Hammer®. This has bugged me for a long time, and after having seen it on the umpteenth blog/Facebook post:
Yea – pronounced “yay.” As in, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” An affirmative vote (“yea” vs. “nay”).
Yeah – pronounced “y.” As in, “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Slang for “yes,” and a variant of the above “yea.”
Yay – prounounced “yay.” Slang. As in, “Huzzah! The Indians are 14-8! Yay!”
(If you’re interested, here’s Nostalgia I, complete with awesome comments from RtB fiends.)
Do you find yourself getting melancholy about things that have passed into obscurity? Yesterday — and I don’t know why — I had a major attack of it.
Maybe it had something to do with fifth grade. In choir yesterday, I pulled out a song for the fun of it. “Pinball Wizard,” by The Who. Out of 40-some 10- and 11-year-olds, only a handful knew what a pinball machine was, so I got to describe it for them, which was surprisingly challenging. HA
As is my custom, if there are weird lyrics in a tune, we read through the text and define anything that needs clarification. Had my hands full with Pinball Wizard:
- Soho, Brighton
- Always gets a replay
- Bally table king
- Crazy flippin’ fingers
The cool thing about 5th graders is that they’re still somewhat impressionable. That is to say, they don’t know it all yet. We had a nice discussion. It was fun watching them wrap their brains around it.
It got me thinking about lots of other bygone issues, especially after I read this in the Columbus Dispatch. As if book knowledge on a subject is the prime indicator of teaching ability…good lord, people. Anyway, I thought about (*wince*) when I was in school — when things were different, to wit:
- Teachers and administrators didn’t field daily calls from parents, blaming their child’s bad grade/bad behavior on the school.
- It wasn’t unusual for a smart-mouthed kid to be slammed up against a locker by a teacher once in awhile. It served as a fantastic deterrent.
- Kids. Just. Didn’t. Talk back to teachers. Regardless of how we felt about Mr. Smalley, we never sassed him. Nobody did. We respected him as an adult.
- If I had sassed Mr. Smalley, I could only imagine the horrifying fate that awaited me at home, after my parents found out.
- Writing classes were compulsory at the high school level.
- “Latch key kids” were the exception.
I know, I know. Times change, so get on the train or it’ll leave without you. But I will put in writing for the first time here: I worry about the future my grandchildren will face as adults. Makes me all nostalgy for the olden days…
I got to see some family yesterday, the Js came over for an unexpected (and wonderful) slumber party, the Thriller and I decided to still take our vacation this summer (to the extent that gas prices will allow), and all is well on Easter morning.
So why the oncoming sinus infection? Sheeps, people.
On the schedule for this cold, rainy Sunday: finishing bass parts, running the treadmill, and watching the final installment of my Sidney Lumet Top Five Festival this weekend. Not necessarily in that order.
Happy Easter Day, fiends — hope you’re enjoying it with family! Twenty-four more days of school, but who’s counting?