And Still More Nonsense

For some reason, I've just been exhausted this week. Second session of summer school ended today...one more session to go. I'm feeling relieved, as second session is notoriously the worst, and I survived it with no tears and no major blowouts.

I don't know if that's because I've improved the way I deal with the older kids (I teach high school during the summer) or if it's that I've simply stopped caring what they think of me. Or both. Probably both.

My library thing early reviewer books have not yet arrived, which has me feeling vaguely worried, however it's left me plenty of time to dwell continuously in Potter-land. While the fever is not yet over, it is subsiding. Though I do sort of want a Potter tattoo now, which is hilarious, as I've been against body modifications my entire life. Until now, I couldn't think of a damn thing I'd want to put on my body forever.

I've been thinking a lot about the role of books in shaping who I've become in my life. (I don't know if the constant quest for self-definition is a hang-up of mine or something that everyone thinks about). But I'm thinking of composing a post about it sometime soon when I feel more up to it. Lately, I can't think of anything except taking a nap.

For now I will leave you with some of my favorite words from the Potter canon:

Parselmouth
Legilimency
Fidelius Charm
Patronus
Wizengamot
Occlumency
Metamorphmagus

Mania Continues

Still totally unable to think/write about anything not Potter-related. Sorry.

If you're interested in my incoherent ramblings on the subject, visit Ashley's Post-Potter Blog. Which is full of SPOILERS. SPOILERS, SPOILERS. So don't go there unless you're ready.

I'm remembering that it took me about 2 weeks to recover from The Half-Blood Prince, so I'm figuring on at least that long this time.

Hopefully will be returning to the land of Muggles soon.

Finished and Hence Spoiler Safe

Finished at 1:30 pm.

Flutterhearted, reeling. Ready to dive back in. Ready to start from the beginning. Ready never, ever to leave a world I wish were real.

Ready to discuss. Ashley has checked in; she's finished. Who wants to start the blog where we can talk?

Spoiler Free

I couldn't wait for the postman. I bought a second copy this morning at 9 am.

Currently on pg. 479.

I'll check in when I'm done to let everyone know that I'm spoiler safe. Any ideas on where we can talk about it when we're through so as not to spoil for any people strange enough to wait to read it? (I accidentally spoiled the Half-Blood Prince 2 WEEKS AGO for a self proclaimed Potter fan, so I'm being a lot more careful).

My Dance Card is Full

It's a reading extravaganza!!

First off, like many others, I am absolutely beside myself about the upcoming release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Somewhat foolishly, I ordered it to be delivered on Saturday, the release date...but this means that I won't have it until Saturday afternoon...when I could be waiting at midnight tomorrow. Damn me! The other teachers at work will have already finished by Monday and I can only hope that the weekend affords me enough time to rip through it. I agreed to go to a party on Saturday night, and now I'm all, what was I thinking? How can I party when there is Harry to read? I will most assuredly be closed for business on Sunday as I ingest the book as quickly as my eyes and mind will let me.

Also, I just found out that I've scored two more books in the Library Thing Early Reviewer's program. Last time, I got Lisa See's Peony in Love, which I liked but was not having a heart attack about. This time, I'm reading Gifted by Nikita Lalwani and a sampler of (Not that You Asked) by Steven Almond. Free books rule! The other great thing about the program is that I often like to complain that "no one asked me." As in, "The ending of that movie sucked, but I guess no one asked me." Or, "That was a stupid way to begin this. Why does no one ask me?" So, now I can't complain. Somebody asked me. Not that anything can be changed based on my opinion, but I do like being asked.

And so, I have 3 books arriving by mail that I must read directly upon their arrival. Poor Wicked will be shoved aside again. I don't know if I'll ever finish that book. I like it fine, but I keep having to make way for things that I just can't wait for. Such as Another Bullshit Night in Suck City by Nick Flynn, which I bought myself for my birthday and just finished.

Sick

It's about 1:15 in the morning, and I think my fever is breaking. I've spent the last two days in the fog of the sick person: unable to think beyond the next few steps, where are my tissues, why is it so hot in here, oh god it hurts.
Right now I'm thinking: Crap, I'm behind in my work. Which, I think, is a good sign. That and I'm sweating profusely, breathing through my nose and suddenly wide awake in the middle of the night.
It's weird, isn't it, how we can shut down the world until we're nothing but the basic functions: eat, pee, sleep.

Because of where I work, there can be no sick days; I teach in whatever condition I'm in, all year round. So I'm going to eat this sleeve of Ritz crackers, drink my 7 up and try to go back to sleep. But I think I'm on the mend.

Cram Carnage

Years ago, when I lived in Greensboro, there was a Chinese food restaurant that had a huge banner out front advertising "All You Can Eat Cram Legs!" What was hilarious to me about the sign was not just that it was misspelled, but that a banner-printing company had not pointed out to their customers that the word is crab, not cram, and that the restaurant just hung it on up anyway.
And so, henceforth, I have referred to crab as "cram." So much so, that when I typed that sentence, it read "I have referred to cram as "cram." Heh.

This weekend, Jennifer, Thomas and I ventured out to the Tiki Bar in Carolina Beach in search of sun, sand, Coronas with lime, cram legs and Da Howlies, my neighbor Paul's band.

Well, it poured. But we ate cram legs anyway. Here is some carnage, courtesy of Jennifer's phone:



And here is a moist towelette (shudder):



Discussion at dinner included: how the phrase "moist towelette" is JUST SO WRONG, and how I think that the phrase "save it for later" is hilarious (causing people to stow their moist towelettes in interesting places, so as to save them for later).

When it started to pour, we collected the awesome Michelle G. and headed for our front porch, where Paul busted out his drums and we were all percussionally inclined for several glorious hours. Thomas broke out his washboard and jug and Jennifer even played a wooden frog (she kept calling it a fog) from Thailand. It was one of those blessed evenings you can't plan for, with people calling out their favorite words:

"Guantanamo Bay!"
"Rapture!"
"Quantico!"
"Mellifluous!"
"Onomatopoeic!"

Naming our dreadful band ("Sunnyland") and imagining our terrible show. "Hey," we'd say. "We're Sunnyland. And we kind of suck. But listen anyway!"

I was reminded once again of the glory of summer and good friends, the kind of friends you can just be crazy with. Thanks, guys.

Heat Stroke

Tonight is one of those nights where the air is so thick that just breathing feels like a chore. The air is hazy with it, and my glasses fog up just leaving the house. The flowers, no matter how much I water them, look as if they want to pick up their beautiful petticoats and say, "Well! If I'd realized it was going to be this kind of party, I never would have come at all." This weather might be appropriate if I were on a tropical vacation, or sunning myself on the beach. For everyday life, it seems a bit excessive.

I turn an alarming shade of pink in this weather. I don't have to exert myself; it just happens. I develop a white ring around my eyes and mouth and everything else progresses from pink to an angry purple the longer I stay out. My neighbor came over this afternoon and very kindly sawed down some branches that were beginning to shade out my garden, and it wasn't until after he left that I realized I must have looked as if I were about to explode.

I've spent the better part of this evening putting songs into my iPod. I have 1990 songs now, which seems an auspicious number. The iPod agrees with my need to collect, categorize and revel in everything I own, as if someone could go through it and say, Ah. Now that is Meg. I'd know her anywhere.

Do You Know What Axl Rose is an Anagram For?

I saw this post over at Blogapotamus about anagrams.

Here are some anagrams for "Meaghan Gilbert" (all of which might serve as appropriate first book titles, names for this blog, or nicknames for me, depending on your mood)

Blathering Mega
Bagel Nightmare
Ambient Haggler
A Blathering Gem
Gambling Reheat
A Gleam Brighten
A Gingham Treble
A Garbling Theme
Blame Gathering
Garbage Lent Him
Garbage Men Hilt
Algebra Me Thing
Bargeman Leg Hit
Ragbag Theme Nil
Ragbag Then Lime

And these are just SOME of the hundreds it suggested.
Get your own!

Rocking Out

Many, many thanks to the awesome Velocibadgergirl for the Rocking Girl Blogger nomination. She is surely the rockingest girl blogger I know, with her perfect blend of smart/situational blogging, wonderful sidebar poem, hysterical links and general awesomeness. I swear, if we lived closer, she'd be my best friend in the world.



So, now it is my job to nominate 5 other rocking girl bloggers.

Andrea, for her introspection and hyperbolic hilarity

Gina, for her polls, pithiness, and incredible devotion to being an awesome blogger who always gives back

Kim, without whom the world would be decidedly less awesome and funny. Kim makes everything extraordinary. Try some today!

Ashley, because although you can't tell it lately because I am such a slack-ass, she always writes about things that interest me so much that I want to write.

Pen and M, for being so different, and yet gelling into one coherent, far-reaching blog.

Much love to all you ladies. I will try to get back in the swing of things now and earn my rocking girl blogger status.

Happy 33rd Birthday, Thomas!

The reason I look like there's a heavy object squashing me down in this picture is that the man who was taking it said that he couldn't see Jon behind me, and so I wanted to duck down without looking fat. As you can see, the results were excellent. Heh.
There, that's better.

I know every June/July my blog turns into Gilbert birthday picture extravaganza, but bear with me just a little longer so that I can wish my lovely husband a happy birthday. I love you, hon.

It's Togalicious

Please check out my new photo set to see my rocking 30th birthday party toga action.

A huge thank you to my awesome husband, Thomas, for the excellent party and cake. More thanks than I can express to Michelle, Jennifer, Kathy, Ali, Michelle, Mary, Alice, Steve, Will, Jackie, Jim, Bernie, Susan, Brian, Jon and Dragan for the best birthday any girl could ask for. You all spoiled me beyond reason. I love you.

Word to Your Mother

I've never been one of those people who equates song lyrics with poetry. I don't mean that as a value judgement; it's not as if I consider songs to be intrinsically less important than poems, it's just that I think their aims and concerns are different.

I think a song works alongside music and those mysterious notes that are proven to evoke certain emotions in the listener. A song is meant to be heard aloud (yes, I hear you poetry students: a poem is meant to be heard aloud as well. But how often does that really happen? There are no radio stations for poetry) whereas a poem is most often heard in the mind's ear. And because it is heard aloud, it can rely on the vocalist's tone and inflection in a different way than a poem can.

Though, still, I guess it's all a means of communication, the constant struggle to deliver meaning with imperfect words. And then, too, in poetry, one of the things I love best is to hear the language played with, manipulated: people taking pleasure in the sounds of words.

This is why I love rap. That always strikes me a slightly hilarious, that I find rap so much closer to poetry than anything else. But there is something about a really wonderfully crafted series of words (particularly when it's off color, but that may be just something about my taste) that can force a delighted giggle out of me.

I've been reading Billy Collins while I do my algebra. I often tell my students, as I bumble through my explanations of x and y, that specialization is fine and normal and that I specialized in words, but that they may specialize in math and that neither is more important than the other (although I secretly think that they are both pretty worthless as far as daily life is concerned for the majority of the population. It's not like anyone ever comes up to you on the street and demands to know the slope of the line or what the direct object is).

But I do vastly prefer my words. And Billy Collins is the God of Words, soothing my burning, math-laden brain.

Thesaurus by Billy Collins

It could be the name of a prehistoric beast
that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up
on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary,
or some lover in a myth who is metamorphosed into a book.

It means treasury, but it is just a place
where words congregate with their relatives,
a big park where hundreds of family reunions
are always being held,
house, home, abode, dwelling, lodgings and digs
all sharing the same picnic basket and thermos;
hairy, hirisute, woolly, furry, fleecy and shaggy
all running a sack race or throwing horseshoes;
inert, static, motionless, fixed and immobile
standing and kneeling in rows for a group photograph.

Here father is next to sire and brother close
to sibling, separated only by fine shades of meaning.
And every group has its odd cousin, the one
who traveled the farthest to be here:
astereognosis, polydipsia, or some eleven
syllable, unpronouncable substitute for the word tool.
Even their own relatives have to squint at their nametags.

I can see my own copy up on a high shelf.
I rarely open it, because I know there is no
such thing as a synonym and because I get nervous
around people who always assemble with their own kind,
forming clubs and nailing signs to closed front doors
while others huddle alone in the dark streets.

I would rather see words out on their own, away
from their families and the warehouse of Roget,
wandering the world where they sometimes fall
in love with a completely different word.
Surely, you have seen pairs of them standing forever
next to each other on the same line inside a poem,
a small chapel where weddings like these,
between perfect strangers, can take place.

The Best Birthday Present EVER

This was just presented to me by my two next door neighbors, Jack and Owen. They are 7 and 4.


Jack reports to me that I should not drink this because it has sleeping medicine in it. It also contains rosemary, flour, and sesame seeds, but not peanut butter.

As he left, he yelled, "Take it or leave it!" and then kindly reminded me to wash out and return the glass.

I love those two so much.

30 Years of Humiliation

And now for the moment we've all been waiting for...






I would just like to say that my husband, family and friends are more than any girl could ask for. I am filled with chocolate cake and my new iPod (thank you, Thomas!) is filled with songs. Hooray for 30! If I'd known it was going to be this good, I'd have done it a long time ago.

Looking at the Bright Side

So, I thought of some more good things.

1. I got a really good haircut. This seems like it should not be a very big deal, since all I had was a trim, but since the last time I had my haircut the woman cutting it actually said, "Uh Oh" and went to get the manager, it feels awesome. The guy was lovely and took almost 35 minutes to trim an inch and a half off my hair, fixed some spots that were bothering me with their refusal to cooperate, and complemented my hair's color and texture. Rule. Now it takes less time to do and, dare I say it? I think I could actually skip blowdrying on the weekend without looking like I am wearing a helmet made of sticks.

2. I now understand why 4+(-3 times -2)/2 = 5. Thank you to my algebra tutor who tried not to giggle when I brought this problem to her, unable to get the answer 5, even though the book was telling me I should. Oops.

3. Everything I own is in bloom. I've made 2 bouquets for people without totally decimating my flower crop.

4. Summer school: 2 days down, 43 to go.

5. Chris Cubeta and the Liars Club is coming back to Wilmington on August 4th.

6. I ate a nice fat steak for dinner.

That is all.

Meg and Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Life

Dude, do you know what I've spent the last two days doing?

Relearning algebra.

Which is about par for the course these days.

This year in summer school we have an abundance of math kids. I don't teach math because I haven't taken it since I was in the 11th grade. But the other teacher desperately needs some help, so I've been solving for y and plotting my domains and ranges and I seriously think my brain is on fire.

Things still haven't settled down in Meg-land and my list of complaints could fill up this entire blog, but I will sum up today as the first day of summer school complete with cramps so bad that I think parts of my body are trying to secede from the union.

I'm so tired. Just emotionally, physically, mentally tired.

I'm sorry. I know it's my first post back and it's such a downer. I'm going to try to think of something good to say.

.

..

...

My nasturtiums are blooming.
My birthday is in 6 days.
Gonzo seems to be feeling better.

It Is Happening Again

Sorry, guys. I'm ok and I'm sorry that I'm not blogging right now. I'll be back as soon as I can.

In good news, I joined the LibraryThing early reviewers program and got my first book to review from Random House today! Whoot!

In bad news, real life continues to take precedence.

Secret Blog

Have you ever noticed how hard it is to blog when there is actually stuff going on in your life?

I mean, I find it easier to come home from work on a standard Tuesday, in which nothing out of the ordinary happened, and blog about how I'm not totally sure that I LOVE my new flip flops and isn't Thai food just the best? than I do when I have real things to talk about. Then, I'm either too busy, or constrained by the idea that 10,000 people are reading this.

I was reading a friend of mine's blog the other day and while I don't know if "introspective" is the word I would use to describe it, it is certainly more raw than what I have going on here. Which is fine. Because every blog has its own M.O. and that's as it should be. But do you ever wish you had a secret blog in which you could write all your horrible true thoughts? Or is that just what post secret is for?

I've never been sorry that my authorship is transparent. Although I admire the blogs that feature a list of pseudonyms for reoccurring characters, I could never keep track of one myself. And I feel I've been fair, for the most part, to my family and friends in being careful to never tell anyone's stories but my own, even if I do use their real names.

But just once, it would be nice to write coherently about what is actually going on with me. I find it odd to go back through a years worth of posting and think, well, that was about the time that ___________ happened, and find no evidence of it here.

Lately, I've been wondering if this is the resurgence of my actually wanting to write again, but then I have dreams in which someone is dying because of something I wrote--literally, I dreamed that a man was plucked off the street and crushed by a backhoe-type machine and it was all because of something I was writing a la Stranger than Fiction, or something. Or maybe I just have an overinflated sense of importance.

Milestone

Just stopping in to say that I broke 10,000 hits today. Hooray, me!