I think I'll make a snappy new day. *snap-snap*

I woke up with the sound of Mr. Rogers singing to me. Not from the TV, mind you. In my head.

I don't mean that I woke up with a song in my head. I mean that I woke up with the distinct feeling that Mr. Rogers was singing to ME. Like, helping me get up. Encouraging me.


It's such a good feeling
To know you're alive
It's such a happy feeling
You're growing inside
And when you wake up, ready to say:
"I think I'll make a snappy new day!"
(Snap-Snap)


I can't tell you what that means in the grand scheme of things, that a long-dead man was serenading me this morning, but I can tell you how great it felt. I adore Mr. Rogers. He was my neighbor, you know.

And if he says today's gonna be a good day, if he's comfortable enough with me to dress down a bit, put on his zippy cardigan sweater and navy blue sneakers, if he's confident that I'm special, and if he's kind enough to reach out, beyond the grave, and sing to me to tell me so... well then I have no choice but to believe it, do I?

--RANT ALERT--

And to those of you who think Mr. Rogers did my generation a great "disservice" and turned us into entitlement junkies by telling us we were special: I'm 31, married, own a home, have a job with mucho responsibilities, juggle those with my passion for my art, have friendships and family that mean the world to me, enjoy a marriage that stuns me everyday with its hidden strengths and humor, AND manage a half-assed blog. Oh - AND, I wake up with dead men singing to me. So, there. How's that for special?

But seriously, academic slackers who get a shit grade and then try to negotiate for better are slackers because 1) we've insitutionalized -- in fact, standardized -- underachievement in our public schools. Students have learned how to suss out the least possible amount of work they have to do to get "passing" results, and 2) they've grown up exposed to the business world via the internet and credit cards and have learned early the art of of negotiation! Nothing's ever taken at face value. Bid for items on ebay. Shop for discounted books, shoes, electronics, services. Work with credit card companies to get a better APR, or take off a late fee, or raise your credit limit.

It's not Mr. Rogers' assertion that "You're special. Just by your being you," that's the problem. There's nothing wrong with identifying oneself as a uniquely special person. He never told me I was MORE special than someone else. In fact, he was rather interested in what was going on with everyone in his little world. If anything, he taught me that special people go around seeking out what's special in everyone else around them.

It's always easy to advise someone about a job I don't have, but teachers today have to realize that today's youth are just plain different. And if you want to reach them or teach them, you'd better ask yourself if you even understand what motivates them. They see grades almost as negotiable currency. That doesn't mean you have to lower your standards, it just means you have to make it clear to them that you're not the Capital One of grade-giving. You're American Express. And with you, the balance is due, in full, every month.

Period.

eggs in a basket

two pieces of bread,
two eggs,
a frying pan,
a knife,
and butter.

crispy fried
toasty love
broken yolks
spill yellow
spread joy.

conversation over coffee
with eggs in a basket.

Declined.

Don't you hate it when your debit card gets declined in front of people (or even not in front of people) and it's only because you made a transfer to another account that you should have been using instead?

Feh.

I need an accountant.

i'm not the only one

This girl has noticed the kissy face phenomenon as well. She calls them "K.F. makers." She seems to have strong feelings about it. But she's very clear that she's not hating on the actual girls in the pictures, just their durned KFs.

Maybe we'll reflect back on this time and the place that kissy face holds in society will be like the stoic face that people were forced to hold when they were getting their daguerreotype taken. Even as photograpic technology advanced and the exposure time decreased, people still made the "Being alive is very serious business," face, almost like it was the proper thing to do when you were getting your picture taken. Seriously, go here and click on the "Comedians" link and see all the serious faces on these guys and gals. Comedians. And, although you'll find some are standing there in RIDICULOUS costumes, they've got a look on their face like they're about to address the Senate. Which, is actually, quite funny. So... bully for them.

Anyhoo. Point is, it took a little while for people to catch on to the thought that, "Hey! I can show people that I'm actually having a good time in this photo!"

Which, in the end, is exactly what all the Facebook and MySpace photos are showing. Evidence of a good time. The KF is, for this generation, the proper thing to do when you know your face could end up on someone else's internet portal. It means, "I was having a great time. And no one can come back later and fault me or make fun of me for a face EVERYONE was making at the time." They're even doing it in Ireland.

correction: not speech. theatre arts.

Okay, so I could've sworn that when Angela switched from teaching high school to junior high, she had to switch from teaching theatre to speech.

I was wrong.

I was SO wrong, in fact, that I got an earful about it.

Believe me, Angela. I know that even IF you were a speech teacher, you would still be a theatre arts teacher deep down. But, as it turns out, you are a theatre arts teacher, both inside and out. (And a damn good one, at that.) Sorry for any confusion.

I stand corrected. My previous post is WRONG.

(But, tragically, I can't do anything about the lips.)

kissy face

So, as usual, we're wrapping up a trip and I'm looking at our photos and thinking, seriously? That's all I've taken? Quel disappointment.

But that's okay. I lived it.

On the night before our friends' wedding, we all went to this great Tiki bar in Portland called the Alibi. There's no website for it (!), but you can google it and get plenty of references to it. Here's a tiki connoisseur's take on the place, complete with a great picture of the sign outside (AWESOME.) It was karaoke night and it was warm and humid inside and we were getting saucy. Our friends Kathleen and Ryan on the eve of their nuptuals, sang, of all pukey-cute things, "Sweet Caroline."

They were adorable. Illegal cute. Having been friends with Kathleen since we were 16, I can honestly say that I've never seen her happier. I think this photo bodes well for their marriage

Anyhoo. While the entire bar is having a blast indulging in such guilty pleasures as "Copa Cabana," and "What a Fool Believes" (thanks, Jefe!), Angela and I could NOT stop obsessing about something I like to call "kissy face."

Now, I don't know if you have a 14-to-22-year-old girl in your family or social circle, but "kissy face" happens when this digital savvy lot take pictures of themselves -- either solo or with a friend wherever they go, on any occasion, day or night, for their MySpace and Facebook pages. They purse their lips. It's sort of like an 80's Cosmo covergirl meets Britney Spears. I don't know why it is the way it is, but this face is EVERYWHERE. My sister (22) does it. All her friends do it. And when she was visiting me in August, she was doing it in pictures with me, but I could not imitate it to save my life.

I mentioned this phenomenon to Angela and she said, "Yes! I've totally noticed my kids do that in their pictures, too!" (She's a junior high school speech teacher.) So, Ang and I decided to try it ourselves.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

(And yes, that's a lei on top of my head.)

We COULD NOT do it.

Is it our age?? We became desperate. We tried psyching ourselves out, giving each other motivation like, "Okay. Don't think about making a kissy face. Just think, 'Oh yeah. I'm 21 and I'm totally sexy.'" We broke out on our own, thinking maybe we could muster the face if we weren't always about to laugh trying to do it next to each other:

Nope...

...aaaaaand... nope:

I mean, you can laugh at how hopelessly Angela's lips seem to be pressing together like they've been melted in a hot sandwich press as seen on TV. But it wasn't just her inability to perform, it was clearly mine, too. In the end, this is the closest I got and it's still just not it:

This is NOT kissy face. This is sweaty 31-year-old face.

Basically, it all boils down to this: We are 30-somethings and we have no business making faces that don't come naturally to us. You can't imitate kissy face. You must be kissy face. And to do that, you need to have been born after 1983. It's that simple.

This is who we are:

Yay. The Northwest.

Here I am. Up in my father-in-law's tiny "office," in a little farmhouse in Sedro-Woolley, WA. The birds are tweeting outside, the cows, newly separated from their calves are bellowing, "Hey, asshole! You left my baby on the wrong side of the fence," and my husband is huffing up the staircase with our luggage...

Ahhh....

We're home.

There's just something about being here. It makes me want to write. It makes me want to have children. It makes me want to grow things. I truly believe there are right places for people at different times in their lives. I wouldn't have wanted to grow up any place other than Fort Worth. And I'm so very glad I landed in Colorado for my twenties. And now, the Northwest calls to me.

This does not come without some hesitation on my part. I really, and I mean totally, do not like the idea that I would no longer be within reasonable driving distance from my Texas family. And I definitely don't like the idea that I would leave a fully-formed network of friends and colleagues in Denver. But something is right about raising kids in this place. (Not that we have any to raise yet.) Where water and mountains surround us. And the rain falls, but, yes, the sun does shine, despite the gloomy reports you always hear.

We're not doing this tomorrow, mind you. But since I first set foot in this part of the country in December of 2003 -- and on every visit since -- I have known that this is my next home.

Someday.