Nevertheless, this post is mostly just to inform you that there will be a sudden and drastic lack of posting for the next few weeks. I am leaving to Washington to hang out with my sister and her family....and purposefully am leaving the laptop home. I figure if I am going to spend money to go visit, then I'm going to visit...with real people, not blog people.
...you awesome piece of utilitarian furniture. I hear angels singing the praise of such an inspiring and totally cool piece of furniture. I don't just want you. I need you. I just can't quit you and your multipurpose manufacturing.
If you love me, you will buy it for me. If you love me a LOT, you will buy me my own house to put it in. You decide.
My high school experience can pretty much be described as, A Tale of Two Personalities. I was the funny fat kid who made friends easily, was quick with a self deprecating joke and masterful at diffusing tension with clever banter and wit. On the flip side, I was completely content to blend into the background. Eager to please, but happy to not be noticed. I have always been more of a spectator than a participant. A vocal, clever spectator, but a spectator nonetheless. My sister was the cheerleader, I was the stat girl. That might explain why, to this day, I could put name to face of about 90% of the students that I graduated with. I'm a freaking Rainman with names and faces.I don't know what the percentage would be in reverse. But considering how many times I have had to explain who I am to people that I have known for years, I doubt that it would be very high.
All of that nonsense is mostly just a tangent...on with the story!
Every year during Christmas, my high school Spanish teacher would drag us around to various classrooms and offices while caroling en español. This drummed up some very conflicting emotions in my angst ridden high school heart. On the one hand, I would rather die than make a fool of myself shakin' it like a white girl, singing stupid songs in a language that I didn't understand and certainly didn't speak very well. On the other hand, I was all about participating enough to ensure that I held onto my spot as Ms Rocca's favorite student. (Did I mention that I was a huge nerd?)
Like the true geek that I am, I scoured our 'set list' and devised a plan to participate my little corazón out, and still manage to save some face with my peers. It was obvious that the most requested and best preformed song in our repertoire would be, José Feliciano's "Feliz Navidad." All I had to do was convince Ms Rocca to let me shake the maracas and belt out the standard mariachi band "AAAhhhhhaaaa." If I could lock down the parts that are meant to be funny, I was off the hook for any naturally occurring teenage humiliation. I don't want to pat myself on the back or anything, but this plan was nothing short of a stroke of genius. And since I really was her favorite student (of all time) it wasn't that hard to convince her that I was BORN for those two parts.
We practiced our canciones all month long and totally rocked it. I shook the hell out of my maracas, literally, and timed my "AAAhhhaaaaa" just perfectly.
(1:17 that was ALL ME!)
It's been seventeen a few years since freshman Spanish, but every Christmas when I hear that familiar refrain, I get a little excited. I shake my imaginary maracas and shout out my "AAAhhhhaaaa" like I am the long lost blue eyed member of Los Lobos.
But this year....something bad happened. I was driving home from work listening to the radio, and after just two or three notes, I knew what was coming. I bopped and hummed along, waiting for my big part. AND. IT. NEVER. CAME. Sure the maracas were there, but what good are maracas without a little "AAAhhhhhhaaa!"
I don't know what Spanish speaking Scrooge thought that it was okay to rip out the hear and soul of a classic Christmas cancion.....but I am certain that my heart has shrunk at least two sizes. And I bet Ms Rocca will be pissed when she hears about this!
So Natalie Portman has gone from Padame, to Anne Boleyn, and now to Elizabeth Bennet? I am not sure how I feel about this. I do love Ms Portman, and heaven knows I do love Pride and Prejudice. But for some reason, I have not been able to get my mind around this zombie, seamonster, business. I am all for any excuse to get kids to read....but is this the way? Why mess with the classics? Have all the good stories already been told? Are we doomed to a life of watered down distortions and half-rate retellings?
We make DANG cute babies in my family. And by 'we' I mean, of course, my siblings. There is more than just physical evidence of this. The fact that each one of them is down right hilarious, clever, and unfailingly sweet, can be proven a thousand times over, but that is a whole other Oprah.
Just so you know I'm not making unfounded claims of hilarity. Once my dad asked one of the girls if she would take care of him when he was really old and needed to live with someone. With the complete sincerity of a child she said, "I dunno grandpa, you should ask my sister. I might be busy" ha HA. So clever. So funny. And still, so sweet. Take that Grandpa and your emotional, guilt ridden warfare. Looks like immunity to the guilt trip must skip a generation. Lucky grandkids.
Two and three could be a coincidence.
*But four is a definitely enough for a pattern. 
