Putting the Fun in Fundamentalism: Dodging Dubious DC

Washington DC.  The capital city of this great nation we call the US of A.  It’s grand.  It’s glorious.  It’s everything you could possibly want in a shrine to the ideals upon which our forefathers founded this country.  It’s filled with reminders of the past and hope for the future.  It’s a center for not just government, but education, touting some of the best museums in the country--museums that are (free and) filled with fantastic exhibits of art, science, and culture from all over America and the world.  People flock from the four corners of the globe to experience what this city has to offer. 

And as it turns out, despite all of this wonder and beauty, DC is a dirty, dirty place.  No, I’m not referring to the ghetto or the urban poverty that crowds the outer corners of the city.  I’m talking about the blatant disregard for religious conservativism that our forefathers and the city architects exercised in the planning of this city’s sights and contents.  Let’s face it, the gays aren’t the only ones chipping away at America’s core puritanical values what with their insistence on equal rights under the law.  No way!  This epidemic of indecency goes way back to Thomas Jefferson and his insistence on the separation of Church and State.  It’s true.  Do you have any idea how many naked statues are out on the streets of our nation’s capital?  Do you?  If it weren’t for John Ashcroft demanding that federal money be used to cover up the vulgar breast of lady Justice ten years ago, we would all be living like devilish savages right now.  And don’t even get me started on the cockamamie propaganda those “science” museums are touting as theories.  And…and!!!  Can you believe that museums would strive for historical accuracy when building dioramas of Native American scenes?  Or that they would be so bold as to display world-famous and internationally-treasured paintings portraying naked people in the National Gallery of Art?  This is our nation’s capital, people.  This is the center of our government and culture, and I don’t know about you, but last time I checked I was living in the USA--a land of freedom, a land of God-fearing, hard-working, body-shaming puritans.  Take one step into Washington DC with the eyes of a far-right fundamentalist, and you may as well be walking into the final throw-down of good and evil.

And that’s exactly what I had to do over the last three days.

We left New York City, well, technically New Jersey as that’s where our hotel was located, and started the long drive down to DC.  Sifting through my DVD collection which is, I can only hope, appropriate for middle-schoolers, I decided that National Treasure was the right choice for a bus movie.  Much like the minutes before and during Mary Poppins, I scanned my memory for any elements of the movie that might be offensive to the lead teacher.  Thankfully, I couldn’t think of any, and there weren’t any (to which I was alerted at least).

The drive was fine.  The students mostly slept.  As we neared our destination, I started talking about DC and the Smithsonian, and I was admittedly very encouraging of the Natural History Museum (one of my personal favorites).  Who doesn’t love dinosaurs?  Right?  No one.  Everyone likes dinosaurs ‘cuz they’re awesome.

We rolled into town around noon, and I delivered us all to our lunch stop.  As I was eating my mediocre salad, I suddenly realized that there might be something offensive about the Natural History Museum and instantly regretted my pro-dinosaur stance.  What could possibly be offensive, you ask?  Evo-freakin’-lution.  Yeah, not only does the museum regularly have exhibits on evolution (because, well, it’s a science museum about the origins of life on our planet), but it has a NEW exhibit specifically focused on…HUMAN evolution.

I immediately lost my appetite, knowing that I would have to break the news to the group leader.  Granted, this time I was cutting them off at the pass, but the realization of how much damage control I needed to do before and after anything and everything potentially offensive was overwhelming.  I finished up my salad then wandered the food court looking for the group leader and her chaperone cronies.  Luckily they were pretty easy to spot.

“Hi there!  How’s everything going?”

“Great.  I think we want to go to the Air and Space Museum and the Natural History Museum.  The students are excited about seeing the dinosaurs.”

Smiling, I replied, “Oh good.  There is one thing I thought of that you should know before going to the Natural History Museum.  There is an exhibit on evolution.”

She gave me a silenced stare then turned her head saying, “Oh.  No.  That won’t do.  We can’t have that.”

One of the chaperones, who happened to be the uncle to one of the students and was my age, asked, “What?”

The teacher responded.  “Evolution.”

Then the whole table of parents was up in arms.  “No, we can’t have that.”

The group leader turned to me.  “That’s such a shame.  The students were so excited.  Why do they have to ruin things like that?”

“Well,” I tried to come up with a solution.  “The exhibit is only in one section of the museum.  You could go in, get the map and direct everyone over to the dinosaur exhibit.  That way you could avoid it altogether.”  As I said this I realized that there is an enormous banner outside the museum advertising the human evolution exhibit and was pretty sure that would be an issue.

“That might work.” She stopped talking for a few seconds.  “No.  That won’t.  They’ll see those bones, and then they’ll start to think.  And that’s going to start the discussion.  I just can’t have that.”

And with that, I was silenced.  Really?  You can’t have the students thinking?  You can’t even let these young adults know that there is a theory about how the life on Earth came to be that may be in contradiction to the Bible?  Do you think they’re never going to see it?  And you can’t risk them seeing dinosaur bones at all?

“Well, what can we do?” she asked.

“There are plenty of other museums.”  I quickly tried to come up with a good one.  Art Museum—out (too much risk of seeing nudity).  American History—maybe (but what if there IS something in there that’s offensive…Dorothy’s slippers? Archie Bunker’s chair?  Trains?)  “What about the Native American Museum?”

“Oh!  That might be good.  They’ve learned about Native Americans.  Yes.  Let’s do that.”  She seemed relieved.

Having resolved that situation, I walked outside to call my boss and give her the scoop on all that was happening.  As I was discussing the decision to go to the Native American Museum, she said, “Uhh….you know the mannequins are going to be dressed in traditional clothing.  You know…loin cloths.”

“Crap!!”

About this time, the group was emerging from the food court.  I quickly approached the group leader and mentioned the bit about loin cloths.

“Oh,” Her face expressed disgust and frustration.  “Well, that won’t do.  They HAVE learned about them, and that IS appropriate for the time being depicted…  But I just don’t think we should risk it.  I don’t think it’s anything they should see.”

Got that people?  Half-nude mannequins are also offensive.  I can only imagine if they had seen the diorama of the Neanderthal family burial in the Natural History Museum.

The teacher gave an exasperated sigh.  “What can we do?”

“I think you will have a great experience if you go to the National Archives to see the Constitution and Bill of Rights.  They also have the Declaration of Independence and the Magna Carta.  After that, you can head over to the Air and Space Museum.”

“Yes,” she replied.  “That does sound much better.  Surely the documents won’t contain immoral elements”

And with that, I was relieved.  The only thing I could possibly think of that would be offensive in the Archives is the fact that the Constitution calls for the separation of Church and State.  I’m guessing they’ve been circumventing that little bit of policy for so long that surely a visit to the actual document wouldn’t be too damaging to the children’s fragile sensibilities.

We drove them over to the Archives, where I gave them thorough instructions on exactly how to get from there to the Air and Space Museum, complete with pointing to the building (which was two blocks away).  Once they were on their way, we dropped off the other group at the Holocaust Museum and I apprised my driver of the drama within.  Upon finishing my tale, he mentioned that I couldn’t take them in front of the Library of Congress.  It took me a minute to realize why he said that, then…DAMMIT!  There’s a HUGE statue of Neptune…and he’s NAKED, along with other naked statues.  Is nothing sacred here?

After that conversation, I decided to take my free time to wander the Mall and ponder what other sites I would have to avoid with my group.  What I found was alarming.  Did you know the Department of Justice is basically a Roman bathhouse?  It’s true!  Naked statues flock around every entrance.  And Union Station?  Yeah, those centurions…they’re naked behind their shields.  The Washington Monument may as well be an enormous phallus, and don’t even get me started on the dirty words that are emblazoned on the Jefferson Memorial defending his stance on the separation of Church and State, “I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man."

As I wandered and thought about all the things I’d have to avoid, I became sad.  I was sad that these kids are being sheltered to the point that they are discouraged from thinking for themselves.  They are not getting the full story on the foundation of America.  They are being given a very narrow point of view, and they probably aren’t the only ones.  They are being taught that all nudity is evil, yet they’re clearly engaged in sexual relationships.  One couple, in particular, was, most likely, doing it on the trip…and I wouldn’t be surprised if the girl was pregnant considering her morning nausea.  Protecting them to the point of smothering doesn’t help them grow.  Hiding the world around them doesn’t help them own their faith.  It doesn’t help them make well-informed decisions.  It doesn’t help them become productive members of society.  It just holds them back.

Call me a bleeding-heart liberal if you want, but I think it’s wrong to shield students (especially young adults) from the truth.  You can’t pretend that the Europeans did not mistreat the Indians and take their land.  You can’t pretend that slavery didn’t happen.  And you definitely shouldn’t live under some belief that the Holocaust was created in the imagination of disgruntled Jews.  All of these things happened.  All of these things should be taught.  Why?  So it doesn’t happen again.  I just came back from Cambodia where I saw the after-effects of a recent genocide (where they government controlled the population by outlawing education and killing anyone who had one).  This shit shouldn’t happen.  And the only way to prevent it is through education for it is the only way to empower the population.  Knowledge is power, end of story.

But enough of that rant…

While I was on the Mall, I received a frantic phone call from the group leader.  Guess what?!  They were lost.  All they had to do was walk down 7^th street toward the grass.  Did they?  No.  They walked down Constitution Ave.  I asked if they could see the grass.  Their answer?  No.  I asked if they were next to the National Gallery of Art.  Their answer?  No.  The true answer?  Yes.  I asked them to read the street signs (which apparently don’t exist in San Antonio because this group NEVER seemed to read street signs in their attempt to get found).  Finally, I was able to locate them based on the limited information they were giving and sent them to the Air and Space Museum.  Later, as I was walking over to the bus to meet them, I found half of the group walking toward me.  They said hello and passed me.  When I inquired as to where they were headed, they told me, “The bus.”  I then pointed them in the direction I was heading (which was in the direction of the bus and asked who told them to walk away from the bus.  The answer?  The group leader.  She had already been to the bus and STILL didn’t know where it was.

Once we were back on the bus, the group looked nothing short of angry.  Apparently the trip to the National Archives and Air and Space were not as exciting as the dinosaurs they originally set out to see.  That night I gave them a tour of the monuments and we headed to the hotel. 

The next day we had an exciting day of touring Arlington National Cemetery where the group leader inquired about why Jewish graves have stones on top of them.  When I offered to call up one of my Jewish friends to learn the answer, she asked in a rather surprised tone, “You know Jewish people?  Do you just have them around as a resource?”

And how exactly does one answer that question?  The thing that kills me about it is that she was a smart person.  She was educated, and she had lived in places other than Texas--foreign places.  Yes, she lived in Germany for twelve years.  How is it possible that an educated person is so naïve?  My answer was simply that I have all kinds of friends.  I chose not to mention that I know gay people too.  That usually goes without saying once people learn that I live in San Francisco (and see my striking resemblance to Barbra Streisand...under the gorilla suite of course).  Oh Lord!  Can you imagine if they went to San Francisco?  DC has nothing on this haven of sin.

Our day was to be capped off with the ghost tour of Alexandria.  Now, the teacher had been given an itinerary of the tour months ago.  She knew we were going on a ghost tour.  She also was a present and contributing member to a conversation about the ghost tour way back on the first day (which at this point felt like three weeks ago).  And yet, she still seemed shocked and dismayed when I approached the subject with her.  Being that I was a little nervous about it, I didn’t even mention the fact that we had a tour that night.  Then, as we were leaving Mt. Vernon, the teacher from the other group (which, I should mention, consisted of 6^th-8^th graders from Colorado who were much better behaved and less problematic than the seniors from Texas) made a mention of the ghost tour.  And that’s when I had to start the conversation.

Once we were back on the bus, I turned to the group leader.  “I guess we should talk about this evening’s activity.  Is the ghost tour going to be a problem?”

Exasperated she replied, “Well of course it is.”  She threw her hands up in the air.  “But the damage is already done.  What can I do now?”

“Well, I could find another activity for you all to do while the other group goes on the tour.”

“No.  It’s fine.  I’ll just have to deal with it.  We’ll have to make sure that they know these stories are pure fiction.  I’ve already had students approaching me, fearfully asking me if the stories are real.  I can’t have them thinking ghosts exist.”

As she was saying this, I caught the eye of the other group leader who was totally and completely disgusted at this point.  “Okay.  I’m sorry this is a problem.”

“I know.  It’s not your fault.  I should have done more research.”

And with that, we were off, and I was over it.   It’s appalling that this woman couldn’t trust these young adults to be able to decipher fact from fiction for themselves.  How does she (and the school and church it's associated with) expect them to survive on their own?  How are they supposed to be able to do ANYTHING without being told exactly what to do?  Appalling.

So what did I do when they were hearing ghost stories?  I went to a bar.  I had ceased to care.

The next morning was our final day in DC.  We went to the Capitol where I just pretended there wasn’t a half-naked George Washington painting in the Rotunda.  We went to the Library of Congress where, through a little bit of luck, I managed to NOT walk by Neptune.  And we concluded our Capitol Hill jaunt at the Supreme Court where the anti-abortion protestors stood silently with tape over their mouths, like they do every day.  Being that abortion is always a hot button issue, I did my best to avoid the conversation and simply answered the student’s questions by explaining what they were protesting and informing them that one of the great liberties we have in America is our right to free speech and to voice our opinions.  I simply pretended to be deaf when the 34-year-old male chaperone attempted to incite a fight by making claims that conservative America is always ignored.  I realize the irony in that response, but my job is to show them the sights, not to take a political stance.

The end was near, and I could feel the glee welling up inside of me.  We loaded the bus, and drove them out of the modern-day Sodom and Gomorra.  I said my goodbyes at the airport and left with a feeling of relief and exhaustion. 

I’ve come away from that week with new insight into what it must be like to search for immorality at every turn.  Living for the Lord is never easy, but forcing irrational ideals upon unwitting youth must be exhausting.  How does one travel through the world, finding offense in everything they pass?  Where is the line? 

I think my line is dotted, and I like it that way.

Putting the Fun in Fundamentalism: Naked in New York

When I noticed I was leading a tour with a group from a small Christian school in Texas, I thought, “Okay, I’ll have to be careful about what I say.”  I didn’t think, “Hmm…what potentially offensive things await us in New York City and Washington, DC.”  Apparently, I shouldn’t have been so happy-go-lucky because things got ugly—fast.

Now before I go any further, I cannot stress enough how NICE these people were.  We’re talking sweet, salt-of-the-earth types.  Really, really nice.  So nice that it makes me feel bad even writing about them, except that it simply needs to be done.

At first, I wasn’t so sure how nice the lead teacher was, considering her voice mail message was so abrupt. (To be read in a harsh, annoyed tone as if you really had just interrupted her in the middle of doing something important.) “I am busy. Leave a message.  I will call you back when I have time.  God bless.”

Well, upon finally speaking to her, I discovered that she was perfectly lovely.  Then, upon meeting her, I thought we’d get along swimmingly.  And we did….even through all of the trouble that followed.  Now one thing I will say is that the woman (and apparently everyone with whom she was traveling) had the worst sense of direction that I have EVER witnessed.  For instance, once I picked them up from the airport, we drove them into Manhattan and dropped them off at Lexington and 49^th Street.  Being uber-prepared, I had printed off a map and highlighted the route they needed to take to get to Rockefeller Center and Times Square, which, from where we were, was STRAIGHT DOWN 49^th Street.  I really thought I had covered all of my bases before getting back on the bus to pick up the other group.  I even went to the trouble to walk them to the corner of Lexington and 49^th and physically point down 49^th Street to the 30 Rockefeller Plaza building saying, “Walk down this street to that building with the ‘GE’ symbol on top”. 

Apparently that wasn’t enough.

When I returned a couple hours later to Rockefeller Center, I ran into a couple of the kids and asked if they had fun.  I was met with a frown.  Thinking that odd, I approached the lead teacher’s husband who told me they never found Times Square.  In fact, they had JUST found Rockefeller Center.  Wondering how it took them two and a half hours to walk five blocks, I asked how they got lost.

“We walked down Lexington for seven blocks before we realized we were going the wrong way.”

“Oh,” I said.  “Was the map not helpful?”

“Not really.  We finally had a nice New Yorker point us in the right direction.  This map marks the wrong church as St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

Still baffled, I answered  “No, that’s St. Patrick’s.  I can see the spires from here.”

“Well, we found a church down Lexington, and that wasn’t St. Patrick’s.”  He challenged me.

“Okay, that’s because St. Patrick’s is on 5^th Ave. and 51^st.  It’s nowhere near Lexington and , where were you? 42^nd?”

“Right, that’s what the guy told us.”

With slight sarcasm, I asked, “So, the map wasn’t helpful at all then, huh?”

He shook his head.  “Not when you’re on the wrong street.”

“I see. Were there no street signs?”

“There were, but none of them said 49^th.”

And with that I decided to drop the conversation because, and I know I don’t even need to say this, who thinks they’re on 49^th Street when all of the street signs say differently?  Seriously.  Have you NEVER walked down a street before?  Have you never DRIVEN down a street before?  Have you never left your house?

Once the disappointment of walking around Manhattan for two and a half hours without ever once managing to find ANY of the major sights (which are kinda hard to miss), the group seemed to have a good time.  We had dinner in Chinatown.  We went up the Empire State Building, then I succumbed to the other group leader’s wishes to take them to Ellen’s Stardust Diner (which was a HUGE mistake since the Texas group didn’t want to be there and only went along for the ride…and because the other teacher was a bit of a bully, thus leading me to walk the Texas group down to Times Square where we got caught in a torrential downpour without umbrellas…and I ran into a trash can while turning my head to say something, which turned into a trip highlight for all who were with me at the time).  Then, we made it to the hotel in Jersey for a good night’s sleep.

The next day we went to the Statue of Liberty, checked out the WTC site, and then I took them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  A place that the Texas lead teacher’s husband could not stop talking about.  I thought I had it made.  Then, after I got their tickets and sent everyone on their way, I got an angry phone call from the Texas teacher.

“We have a problem.  I don’t mean to be offensive to you, but this place isn’t for children.  I am just so shocked and upset right now, I don’t know what to do.  We have to leave immediately.  I have called all of the chaperones, and the children are being brought down right now.  We have to go.  I just didn’t know that these sort of obscene things would be in here.  This is just completely inappropriate.  Had I known that we were going to a place that had this sort of thing, then I never would have allowed us to even walk through the door.  This is just unacceptable.”

Confused as to what the problem was at what is the greatest museum in the United States and probably one of the top three museums in the entire world with the largest collection of genuine ancient antiquities around (on par with and, in some cases, better than the British Museum and the Louvre), I simply started apologizing.  “I’m so sorry to hear that.  I had no idea.  I’ll come meet you immediately.”

“Well, it’s not your fault.  How would you have known?  But this is just disgusting.  I can’t have the children here.  It is against our faith.”

“I understand that, and I am very sorry.  Let me get to where you are, and we’ll figure out a second plan.”

“Don’t get me wrong.  If it were just my husband and I, this wouldn’t be a problem.  But with the children…” She trailed off a bit.  “This is just wrong.  I can’t expose them to this.  My principal was opposed to this trip because he felt they’d get exposed to things that were immoral and wrong, and this is exactly the kind of thing he was worried about.”

“Well, I just can’t apologize enough.”

She continued.  “I don’t blame you or the company.  This is my fault.  I should have done more research on this place.  I just thought it was going to be paintings.  And I know I could steer the children away from what I saw, but who knows what else is in here.  Who knows what other disgusting, obscene things they might run into.”

With that, I told her I was on my way.  I took the elevator up to the group entrance and popped out in…a room full of Greek statues.  Ancient, Greek statues.  Naked, Ancient Greek statues.  And that’s when it all became clear.  And that’s when I knew I was in trouble, because, really?  You went to the website of the Met, and, at no point, did you consider that there might be nudity in the art?  Have you never seen art?  Have you never seen religious art?  Do you not realize that the people that sculpted these statues or painted these pictures were probably even MORE religious than most Christians today?  Uhhh…Michelangelo anyone?  Was he not essentially an indentured servant to the Church when he painted the Sistene Chapel?  Is Rome (and the Vatican City) not covered with nude statues?  And it’s not as if the Met is covered in paintings or sculptures depicting one of Caligula’s orgies.  They’re just naked people, standing there, doing nothing.  And they’re not even people.  They’re marble statues.

But, despite my personal feelings that naked art does not always equal porn, I found the teacher, and I apologized up and down.  As all of the students made their way to the entrance with their chaperones, they all seemed disappointed.  None of them were fazed by the statues, but the lead teacher was beyond offended.

As we waited for everyone, I was standing next to a couple of the students out of earshot of the lead teacher, shook my fist and said, “Those Greeks!”

“Yeah,” said one girl.  “Why’d they have to ruin the museum for everyone.  If only they weren’t so weirdly obsessed with God’s masterpiece of the human form.”

And as much as I would have liked to point out the irony in her statement and the current situation, I just smiled. 

We gathered everyone together and walked to the bus…and they were all peeved (And I really felt like I was getting dirty looks from the lead teacher’s husband as if I somehow were a disgusting pervert with no moral foundation).  I walked the few that wanted to do something OTHER than sit on the bus through Central Park, and then the other group emerged from the museum, and we went to dinner.

After dinner, we went to see the family musical, Mary Poppins.  And, really, what could be MORE family-friendly than a spoon full of sugar?  As I would learn…plenty.  And here I thought I was in the clear.  It’s Mary f-ing Poppins, for crying out loud!

Now I’ve seen the musical before, and I couldn’t think of anything all that offensive, especially considering it’s a Disney production.  The only thing that I thought MIGHT be a red flag is the scene where all of the toys come to life and talk about how they want revenge on the children that mistreat them (because it’s more than a little disturbing).  Unfortunately, I failed to remember the scene where they jump into the painting.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.  What could POSSIBLY have happened in the painting scene that was so offensive.  I discovered that “thing” when I awoke from my brief snooze about twenty minutes into the production and saw the statue come to life.  The Greek statue.  The Greek statue with a fig leaf over his junk.  My eyelids flew open, and I leaned over, hissing, “Shit.”  Then, I scanned the seats for the lead teacher, who was sitting with her hand to her forehead, shaking her head in disgust.

I have never felt more uncomfortable in a theater, even when I went to the ping pong show in Bangkok (mostly because that was more creepy and sad than anything).  I split my viewing time between the scene and the teacher.  More statues danced into the scene, and the look on her face became more concerning to me.  Finally, after what felt like three hours, the scene ended, and I scanned my brain trying to remember if the statue made another appearance, hoping he wouldn’t.

The show continued.  Intermission came around.  Nothing was said.  The second act started, and about twenty minutes before it was over, the statue made his encore, and the entire row of students from Texas made their exit.  I jumped up immediately and ran to find the teacher.  She just shook her head at me with a grave look in her eye.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.  It’s not your fault.  This is just disgusting.  It’s appalling.  We have to go.  I can’t condone this.  It’s just pornographic, and they’ve tarnished what WAS a children’s show.  They made it into something disgusting and obscene.  It’s just not appropriate for children.  I’m shocked that so many children were in the audience.  You shouldn’t expose them to this.  We just can’t be here anymore.  I shouldn’t have stayed after the first scene, but I knew I had to do something when it happened again, otherwise the students wouldn’t respect me and they wouldn’t be able to know what is appropriate and what is wrong.”

With that, I sent her off to the bus.

The other teacher from the other group that was traveling with me was utterly appalled, and that became even worse when we got to the bus and the Texas teacher and all of the chaperones were off shopping in Times Square.

I didn’t bother asking anyone how anyone liked the play for fear that I would get in trouble.  Instead, I listened to 45 minutes of complaints over the perversion of Broadway and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I was just glad we were heading to DC the next day because New York was obviously the bastion of all things evil in the world, and is DEFINITELY not the sort of place that you should bring a group of high school seniors that range in age from 17-20.  That may be the most impressionable age of all.

For All You Texans...

Yesterday I led a wine tour, and I was on fire (especially after being a such a dud on my Tuesday wine tour--my first wine tour in a year).  The people on my tour were very nice, and there were several Texans.  I don't know what's going on around here, but the Texans are definitely invading.  No joke, 50% of my guests were from Texas--both days.  And, being that I come from a long line of proud Texans, despite my Oklahoma upbringing, I found this little story amusing.

One of the Texan couples on my tour were newlyweds from Austin.  Well, I should say that he was from Austin, and she grew up in Vegas.  So, she was new to Texas (and marvels at the state pride instilled in all Texans).  They recently married and decided to move to Austin where she is a math teacher.  Occasionally she likes to share a little bit about her home state, so she told them about Nevada Day.  Apparently, Nevada has a state-specific holiday on October 31, where school is out in honor of...wait for it...Nevada Day.

Last fall, she told her students that this was the first time she had ever been in school on October 31 because where she was from they celebrated Nevada Day, to which she got this response:

Kid #1: That's not fair!  We don't get Texas Day!
Kid #2: (Without skipping a beat.)  That's because EVERY day is Texas Day.
(Roll to a classroom of cheering kids.)

So, happy Texas Day, my dear Texas family.  Stay proud.

Pardon Me While I Introduce Myself

After months of complaining, the day finally arrived.  I got my new phone and am now part of the new century.  Wait!  We can go further.  I am on the cutting-edge of technology, and I'm NEVER that chic.

It's true.  The blackberry brick is a thing of the past (as soon as I ensure that I've taken all of the information I need from it and erase it completely).  That's right.  The phone that erased itself on an hourly basis for eight months is now retired.  Sure everyone said I should have just thrown in the towel and bought a new phone a long time ago, but I'm just not the kind of person who is willing to pay over $500 just to get out of a contract and into a new phone.  No.  I'm the kind of person who pays $475 for that sort of thing (just kidding...I didn't do that).

I waited patiently.  I plotted and planned.  I did a little research, and I fretted over whether to go with the herd and get an iPhone or go with the Droid.  As a luddite (at least when it comes to phones), I was afraid of making the wrong choice.  I've never had a phone with a camera.  I've never had a phone that had a properly functioning web interface (and the 3rd generation blackberry that was out-of-date when I got it may have had internet capabilities, but it couldn't open most websites, so I was essentially living in the Smart Phone Dark Ages).  I went on my trip knowing that February 19 was my day--the day of reckoning for my phone.

When I returned on February 18, I smiled at the thought of the quickly approaching "New Phone Day"...then I got lazy and took my sweet time until I woke up in cold sweats a few days ago.  Why?  Because I had a dream that my blackberry caught on fire.  And quite honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if that DID happen.  So I decided that I'd put off "New Phone Day" long enough, and I needed to take action.

After an informal and highly unscientific poll, and yet another web search, I bit the bullet.  I made my choice, and the winner came in the mail today.

You are reading the words of the owner of.................................

A brand new Nexus One!!!!!!

And I love it.

It's really pretty.

And it does all sorts of things.  I think it might even do the windows.

Time to Come Home

Dear Self Control,

I hope you are enjoying your vacation.  I don't remember discussing your decision stay in SE Asia after I returned home, but I hope it's been fun.  However, you are needed back at the ranch.  Pronto.

Without you, I am becoming a shadow of my former self.  You are what helps me plan a day and follow through on it.  You're the one that forces me to get out of bed even though I'd prefer to stay in it until late in the afternoon.  It is you that would encourage me to unpack my bags and put everything away (as well as do the dishes and pick up the plastic ware that dumped all over the floor earlier this week, and put the art supplies back in the closet instead of leaving them scattered on the kitchen table).  Things just aren't the same without you.  I've gone to the crappy taqueria three times this week.  Three times!  If that's not a cry for help, I don't know what is.

There is a little good news.  I found my robe.  To celebrate, I wore it instead of my pajamas today.  I also got a new phone, which gave me the excuse to not leave the house again (making it a full 48 hours of never setting foot outside of my apartment...even to check the mail).  Oh, and I DID lose 12 pounds while we were together on our trip, but since you're not around, it's creeping back on...at the speed of light.  I already made one batch of brownies this week, and I'm seriously considering a second.  So, you really need to come back, if for no other reason than to make me go the gym.

Now, I realize that this plea may seem a little harsh, and I know that the responsibility isn't yours alone.  I'm not working, and nobody seems to want to hire me which is certainly taking its toll.  But I feel like if you come back, I might be a little more productive (especially since I can't in good conscience claim that catching the entire NBC daytime line-up on a daily basis as being a productive activity).

So that's that.  I'm glad you're off on your own, but I need you back.  Don't make me start singing sappy love songs.  This is serious.

Yours in Temporary Slobitude,

Little Miss Messy

You Know What I Should Do More Of?

Huh? Do Ya?

Sleep.  At night.  It's not that I'm not sleeping.  It's that I apparently prefer sleeping during the day.  At first it was jet lag, but now it's become sheer laziness.  And it's starting to become a problem.  Why?  Because people are starting to think that the weird text messages I send them at night demanding that they give me my gorilla suit are drunken text messages.  And I wasn't drunk.  But I really want my gorilla suit.

Oh, what?  You want to know why I want the gorilla suit?  That's top secret gorilla business that I dreamed up in my head while I was busy not sleeping last night.  I can't tell you about it yet.  Nor can I tell you why someone else has my gorilla suit.  That's other top secret gorilla business.

So yeah.  I really should make an effort to..uhh....sleep at normal sleeping hours for the pacific standard time zone.  I probably should also unpack my bags.  It's been over two weeks after all.

And maybe, just maybe...

No.

Sleeping at appropriate times is enough to tackle.

Good night.