Kielbasa is pronounced "ka-bossy"

Ever since I turned 22 years old, I'm often at a loss when asked my age.  I spit out, "Twenty-blaaaaah?"  It's rather embarrassing to forget how old you are but, on another level, it's kind of rad that I don't care enough to know.  Just yesterday, I celebrated my first time turning 29.  I think I just might remember my age this year.  I mean. . .it's the countdown to the rest of my life.

Thirty seems to be the age when everything starts to matter.  Sure, I got married at 21.  Yep, I graduated college at 27 with a degree that should actually get me the job it was intended for, pending availability.  And I pay mad bills with an awesome credit score.  But, there's something about the portentous 30 that severely drives home the abstract notion of being an adult.

It doesn't actually imply that there will be no more fun and games but it does mean that those fun and games may come at a higher price.  Or that one might possibly throw one's back out or get shin splints.  I realize that there is probably no one defining moment where you come to the realization, "I.  Am officially.  An adult."  And I would imagine, just from having been a legal adult for 11 years now, that one never forgets how to feel small, insignificant, or childish.  We spend our lives growing up.  Some of us are just better at it.

I've never been one of those people who gets caught up in age.  If someone asks me, I don't consider it rude.  And I'm happy to answer (if I am able.)  I've often wondered why women lie about their age.  Wait a minute, lady. . .wouldn't you lie. . .higher?  So that you look younger than you are?  I don't get it.  But I'm also not one of those hippie freaks on the other end of the spectrum who believes you're only as old as you feel.  That's ridiculous.  If you're 80 and hang-gliding, you're still physically 80 years old.  You're just also incredibly lucky.

I do find myself somewhat at odds nowadays, however.  I'm not sure how I feel.  I mean. . .obviously, I don't feel any different than I did 2 days ago when I was 28.  But I do know one thing, that if someone asked me how old I was, I know for sure I wouldn't be answering, "Twenty-two."

Here's some birthday fun:

Grilled kielbasa kebobs with mushrooms and red, yellow and orange peppers in olive oil, garlic salt & black pepper.

Can't have a birthday without sliced strawberries.  Mushrooms stuffed with Stouffer's Spinach Souffle with cheddar cheese and diced mushroom stalks.  Delicious baguettes from Costco.

Milk.  Does a body good.

Adam's gotta have his kosher Hebrew Nationals.  Not for any reason but that they are so much better for you than regular beef dogs.

I went back and forth on whether I wanted to go out somewhere for dessert or just pick something up and bring it home.  Since I got a lovely little chest cold for the festivities, I opted to go to the ice cream aisle of Albertson's and wait to be inspired.  I can't believe I was able to tame that inspiration down to these two choices.

Yummy in my tummy.

Peanut Butter and Pencil Shavings

The substitute's world is an interesting one.  And by interesting, I mean in the way one politely conveys uncomfortably strange and unwelcome rather than inciting real interest or excitement.  In short, subbing kind of sucks.

That is not to say that some days aren't legitimately incitant and exciting.  Or, at the very least, amusing.

Cases in point:

I get a half-day/afternoon 2nd grade job in an undisclosed location.  The kids return from lunch and gather on the carpet before the white board as this is their customary after-lunch activity.  They know what to do.  They know what is allowed.  They know the drill.  So do I.  One student is in charge of conducting the afternoon meeting in which they depict the number of school days it has been thus far in several ways - using fake money, creating equations, counting with bundles of sticks, etc.  The meeting is going as smoothly as a meeting with a substitute in the room could be.  I'm practically babysitting while another student teaches.  Wonder upon wonders, this is fantastic!  For, now I've the time to learn the lesson I'm supposed to teach later.
Half-way through deciding what fun and crazy implementations I'll be utilizing for this upcoming math lesson, I hear a whine:

"Miiiiiisseeess AAANDEERSOOOOOOOooOOOON?

I look up from my work.

"Yes?"

"Corey's EEEATING!"

I rise from the desk and make my way militantly to the front of the room, keeping my eye out for this Corey.  I know I'll be able to pick him out.  He'll be the one with the wide eyes and the hands behind his back, probably hiding a bag of gummies or the last remnants of his chocolate milk.

To my surprise, there is no child with either.

There is, however, a small boy sitting cross-legged (criss-cross-applesauce) and mawing down on an entire cob of corn, butter dripping down his arms.

All that was missing were a pair of overalls and bare feet.

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I had the opportunity for a 5-day long sub job in a 5th grade class in a mysterious school-like building.  Brilliant!  Not only is this a secure job for an entire week but it gives me a chance to actually get to know the students.  One of the worst components of subbing is not being able to call out a misbehaving child from across the room because you don't know their name.  There's no way I'm asking them personally.  I am not naive enough to think a 5th grader will give a sub their real name when they know they haven't been meeting expectations.  And if you've ever been there, crossing a room in the middle of whatever you're doing just to get a child's attention is awful.  Knowing a student's name is to own them.

My third day into the job, I'm asked to conduct a school-wide survey with the class.  One of the questions asked is who is conducting the survey.  At this point, my name is no longer on the board.  If I can learn and remember 25 names in 3 days, they can learn one.  As the students are filling out their sheets, one student pipes up:

"Are you Mrs. or Miss?"

Before I can even reply, another student blurts out:

"Duh, it's MRS!  That's why her last name is Anderson!"

Apparently, and I did not know this, women do not get last names until they are married.  I love being a life-long learner.

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When I went in for a 4th grade job in a rather curious academic center last year, I had long ago decided that bringing a full-on lunch was both inconvenient and pointless.  I never had time to eat and I was lucky if anyone told me where the staff lounge even was.  Thank you to those office workers who gave me quick tours before sending me to my classroom!!  It's so much easier to start your day with confidence if you know something other than your $20,000 education.

It came down to the lunch hour (almost 40 minutes if you want to get technical) and at many of the schools I've worked at, the children have a 15 minute recess beforehand.  So, I send them out on their merry way, glad for a bit of respite so that I can focus on what sort of craziness is in store for me for the afternoon.

While I'm setting up for some literature circles, one of the students comes sauntering back in (these kids have swagger these days, who put a spring in their step?  I immediately decide, with my jaded substitute attitude, that I will be the one to take it back out!) and sees me grab a quick handful of animal crackers from a small baggie in my briefcase.

"Is that all you brought for lunch, Mrs. Anderson?"

"Yep.  I've got lots of work to do so I just need something quick."

". . . . . . . .Well. . . .we just learned yesterday from Mrs. [insert health lady's name here] that lunch is really important and I don't want you to be tired for the rest of the day.  I think it would affect your teaching us."

Flabbergasted.

"Maybe if I help you with your work, you can stop and have my other sandwich because my mom made me two and I'm pretty full."

Sweetest.  Thing.  Ever.  Although, I'm not sure if his concern was actually for me or for himself and the deficiency in learning he'd have to be subjected to if I wasn't energized enough to keep up.

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Sometimes I come home and I have these fantastic stories to share.  Even the ones that proved to be somewhat difficult turn into a great personal lesson for me and become these great anecdotes to have in my arsenal of experiences.  Sometimes I come home and I never want to go back.  Those are days I am both thankful for and entirely exhausted and fed up with subbing.  Thankful because it's not my class and I don't have to return if I don't want to.  Entirely exhausted and fed up because I begin to wonder if I'm cut out for this.

There is a simple yet accurate wheel chart describing the teacher's lifelong career in stages.  First comes induction and survival stage, followed by competency and enthusiasm.  Then you hit a frustrating wall; the burnout stage.  If you can make it past the burnout, you reach stability and the, hopefully comfortable, career wind-down.

I go through this wheel every day.

I can't say that, having been a substitute now for 3 years, I have a newfound respect for those individuals who come in as replacement teachers.  The substitutes I remember, at least from my high school days, sound more like cartoon characters than professional, effective teachers when described.  The following names are real and only used because, for some of them, the name's the thing.  Also, I'm not being paid to write this and they are adults so. . .I can get away with it.

Take Mr. Antoinette, for example.  Super Italian.  Shock of black curly hair with a hint of grey.  Sophisticated.  Dressed rather snappily, actually.  Tall, slim.  Hands in the pockets say, 'I'm professional but laidback enough to ensure mutual respect and awe.'

False.  If this man had never opened his mouth, his demeanor might have worked wonders for him.  However, upon opening said mouth, he would spew forth the most ridiculous of stories, the most prevalent being that he was best friends with Ed O'Neill, the actor who portrayed Al Bundy on Married With Children.  I'm not sure if he believed his own stories or if they were merely a stab at entertaining us and keeping the focus off misbehaving.  If the latter is true, then props to him.  Clever ruse.  If the former. . . *shakes head*  It's quite difficult to take a man seriously when he sounds like Joe Pesci and your favorite movie is Home Alone.

Dr. Lacher (pronounced 'locker') was not even a doctor.  Older man, bald.  Wore a lot of short-sleeve checkered shirts that always came un-tucked in the back.  This man was a great lover of bonus points.  You could do anything.  Anything at all.  Didn't even have to be academic.  With the infamous and fraudulent Dr. Lacher, you could rack up enough bonus points to get you through your sophomore year in college.  Unfortunately, these were all imaginary marks when your actual teacher showed up the following morning and sighed in irritation at his grade book.  Many teachers, I'm sure, learned to either lock up or take their grade book home with them when Dr. Lacher was in the building.

Mr. Bahl.  Already, this doesn't bode well.  You're talking teenagers here.  Plus, your pants are pulled up to your armpits, your Coke-bottle glasses are enormous and constantly sliding down your sweaty, nervous nose and you run funny.  Just because you're an adult does not excuse you from both harassment and intense humiliation.  Lucky for me, my glasses were pretty slim and stayed put and I was a darn fast runner.  Mr. Bahl should have considered another profession.  That name takes the right man to make it work in a high school setting.  He was not the right man.

I do have a profound appreciation for people like me who are stuck between a rock and another rock and, some days, a whole truckload of rocks because we feel our expensive education is not being put to its best use.  Most days, I have to put my love of learning the tangible and manifest things to the side in favor of classroom management and behavior control.  I have many letters signed by naughty children who have had need of apologizing in the written form.

I do not sub because I love it.  I sub because I love teaching, I love learning.  I love the resilience of children and try my best to walk out of every school's doors having had some of that resilience rub off on me.  The substitute's world is an interesting one.

*comics courtesy of toothpastefordinner

The hope in the Hunger

I'm becoming rather excited at the prospect of this Hunger Games movie.  I'm also quite nervous.  It is a young adult novel.  Which means the film could quickly go the shrug-it-off-as-nothing-serious-we-only-need-to-entertain-stupid-kids route much like many before it.  When I saw the first trailer for Beastly, I almost laughed myself silly.  You call that ugly?  Since when do tattoos and a few scars indicate abominable?  Don't get me started on the horrific '07 adaptation of Nancy Drew.  Wasn't I just saying something about abominable?  And of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention Twilight which, had it actually been done tongue-in-cheek, could have been funny on purpose.

The Hunger Games trilogy has a love story in it but it is not a love story.  I hope that the screenplay writers are quite clear on this point.  The themes of political intrigue, government control, self-preservation, and loyalty are first of all, far more interesting and secondly, kind of the whole reason for the story at all.  Author, Suzanne Collins, says she got the idea for the plot while channel surfing.  She saw footage of a reality game show on one channel and coverage of Iraq on another.  They began to combine in an unsettling manner.  Thus, The Hunger Games were born.

The unfortunate thing about this series is that it does have one similarity to Twilight and it galls me to even admit it.  There is a love triangle.  Only this time, the protagonist (Katniss) at one of the vertices is likable and relatable merely because she was written as a specific character with specific characteristics.  Not as an "everyman" any such girl could paste her face on to feel important.  The other two vertices are Peeta and Gale.  Gale, especially early on, is somewhat transparent and vaguely expressed.  But I always got the impression that he got the short end of the stick, both in the novel and because of his absence of character elaboration.  Peeta is selfless and, although ostensibly naive, quite intelligent and almost makes you despise Katniss' indifference.  You want to scream, "LOVE HIM!  LOVE HIM, YOU DOLT!"

I should hope that when this film is released, I will be pleasantly surprised.  I don't expect every moment in the book to be played out on screen.  I don't expect everything to look as I imagined it while reading.  I also do not expect changes will not be made.  It is, after all, an adaptation; not a copy or a read-aloud, a fact that I'm perfectly at peace with.  What I do expect is for Collins' story to remain intact.  I would hate to discourage movie-goers from actually reading the books because they were unfairly and incorrectly represented.

I would dance in the streets if this turned out to be something in the same vein as V for Vendetta.  As I was reading the series, I imagined that if these books were to be brought to life, that's how they would look; how they would feel.  There's quite a bit of violence and brutality in the series and there is much talk on the message boards about possible ratings.  Yet this is a complete waste of time.  These movies will not ever be rated R.  They are based on young adult novels. And I'm not sure if any of these R-rating viers have been watching cable television lately but if they have been, they would see the kinds of allowances on shows like Bones, CSI, and Law & Order that cause me to second-guess how far PG-13 can go.  Believe me.  A PG-13 is more than enough to permit full-throttle Hunger Games madness.

My hope is that this series will be taken seriously.  By all involved so that the audience can then do the same.  These are the closest young adult novels I've thus found (in which children must act like adults and they actually do) that begin to compare with Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game.  I've become increasingly both angered and disgusted by media such as books, movies and especially television these days that indicate children having adult problems, adult conversations, and seemingly without any real and responsible adults around.  Stop it.

In The Hunger Games, I get a glimpse into a world. . .immersed, in fact, in a world where I find myself forgetting we're talking 12-16 year old children here.  Not because they're killing one another or kissing one another but because of the way in which they must conduct themselves in order to deal with it all!  Get a clue, producers of teenage crap!  It's not merely violence and sex that make you a grownup.  It's how you manage and control yourself in the face of such conceptions.

This film should not shy away from awkward or uncomfortable scenes.  I'm not much for nudity in films.  I don't really care to see anyone naked, no matter how good they look.  I always feel like an intruder.  However, I am not completely uninformed in the ways of cameramen.  I know there are numerous approaches to filming nudity in such a way that it is implied and not explicit.  Having re-read the first book just the other day, I had noticed much more foreshadowing and symbolism, now knowing how it all ends.  Whether these were done purposefully or stand as happy accidents, they are very cool.  When Katniss is stripped down by her stylists in order to ready her for her first public appearance as a tribute, it is extremely indicative of what she is to experience further on.  It's a very literal depiction of the route her life is about to take.

I hope they show Katniss as her rawest and least refined self; hairy, dirty, warts and all.  Her emergence as a tribute in the Capitol world will be so much more startling; her separation from her roots and the life she has become comfortable with and dependent upon that much more agonizing.

I hope they place emphasis on how normal the Games are.  This is the 74th Game.  Some of the citizens of Panem will be sending their children off to die but. . .it's to be expected.  Maybe even desired.

I hope that this movie is not a romantic one.  And that even the small amount of romance is unbearable.  Not because it is poorly written or unbelievable but because it is the very worst kind of love; the unrequited kind.  The kind that makes your heart tear in two; that puts that insufferable lump in your throat that only sobbing can remove.

I hope this is not an action movie.  I hope for the disquiet of moments in which I can see, hear, smell, taste and feel the fear inside that arena and within the tiny bodies of these children conditioned to destroy in the name of peace.

I hope Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson rock my socks off.  They need to carry this movie with grace and innocence and heart.  I am not expecting everything but I am expecting that.

So Perfectly Silly

I'd promised myself, when I started this blog, that I would refrain from turning it into a "What Annoyed Beth Today?" montage.  So far, I think I'm doing quite well.  Considering a lot of things annoy me.

I've recently been able to (after plenty of cursing and a lot of frustratingly difficult clicking of 'Read More') copy, paste and save all of my old myspace blog entries.  Looking through them and reminiscing over the hours it took for me to establish the safety of each and every one, I began to realize that most of them were somewhat unworthy of the time, both of saving and of re-reading.  I won't say they were unworthy of my time back when I originally composed them.  They were obviously of an enormous help to me in releasing the pent-up steam that was probably a result of hanging out of a drive-thru window more than I was not.

I love to complain.  But it's a delicate effect to be angry and yet self-deprecating enough to compose a true piece of, not self-righteous whining, but relatable grievances.  Some of my older myspace entries could do with a little cheese with their whine. With the advent of this blog, I've tried to stick to simple reviews of my experience with various books, tv, movies, life.  What I would have done a few years ago might consist of negative ridiculing that would serve only to bring people together in the name of pessimism.  While that's all well and good for a 17 year old, or a 24 year old who works with 17 year olds, I've felt an increasing nudge to grow up; to refrain from taking out my aggressive reactions to unfortunate circumstances on my keyboard.

Hence, my last blog about the problem with message boards.  I've made a conscientious effort to keep away from emotionally debilitating triggers but with a sudden discovery about The Hunger Games movie, I felt it was super important to get myself over to imdb.  How hard should it be to keep my eyes above the danger line; that is, to stay far above the FAQs and the recommendations?  It's like I can't help myself.  I have to know what people are talking about.  I will admit that I do fall into that category of people who thrive on setting others aright.  It's not that I particularly love to find discrepancies with others' comments (I do) but I enjoy setting the record straight. However, I despise any follow-up sentence that starts with the long-drawn-out-in-a-tone-as-if-to-say-I'm-sorry-to-tell-you-this-even-though-I'm-relishing-every-moment, "Aaaactuallyyyyy. . ." so I'm definitely not "one of those."  Nobody likes a know-it-all.  Nobody likes a know-it-all who knows they are a know-it-all and doesn't apologize for it.  And there is no know-it-all who doesn't know they know-it-all.  That would be ludicrous.

I'm a trivia-hound.  I know so many things that don't matter.  It's embarrassing.  That doesn't mean that's all I am and all I have to share.  If it was, it'd be even more embarrassing.  Oh.  Was that a cruel and negative judgment?





In positive news, The Hunger Games is slowly being cast.  I've been keeping my eye on it.  Jennifer Lawrence from Winter's Bone has been cast as Katniss.  I didn't see Winter's Bone, unless you count the thousands of clips leading up to and played during the Academy Awards.  She's pretty good at mumbling through a face full of blood so. . .I'm sold.

Josh Hutcherson of Bridge to Terabithia, The Kids Are Alright, Zathura fame will be playing Peeta.  I can see it.  Of course, I couldn't keep away from the message boards.  There are some rousing threads both For and Against this poor young man.  Either For because some creep girls wanna jump his bones or Against because they've been dreaming, just DREAMING, of who would be the most perfect, greatest, nobody-else-can-do-it-or-I'll-just-DIE idea for how Peeta should appear on the big screen.  It's so perfectly silly.

Liam Hemsworth, who is basically an unknown other than his role in The Last Song with Miley Cyrus, will be Gale.  I have no opinion to offer here as I've only seen pictures of the dude.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  But I'm not tearing my hair out and threatening to boycott the movie.  I will see it.  I will pick it apart.  But I'm absolutely certain that I will enjoy it for what it will be, the translation of a written novel turned live moving picture.  It will be different.  And I will pay $9 to find out.  So will everyone else.  But I guess it's fun for awhile to rent a soap box and pretend to care about something that, in actuality, does not matter.  Like. . .at all.

The thing about message boards. . .

Every once in a moon of the blue persuasion, I will become a frequenter of the all-consuming message board. I have noticed that there are a few qualities of the message board that irk me quite vehemently.  I will attempt to discuss these issues with less complaining and more. . .informative dissatisfaction.  I am, however, not promising anything.

A.  Trolls.

The wondrous thing about this problem is that there are varying degrees of "the troll."  The troll is an individual or group of individuals who disguise themselves with a screen name and patronize message boards with their incessant need for attention.  Most, and I stress 'most', of us are able to recognize when an elementary troll infiltrates a board.  You will either see. . .

1.  . . .10 or more new posts by one screen name in a 5 minute period.

No normal person looking for good conversation and/or debate is this persistent or manic.  This troll is the easiest to ignore.  Literally.  If the option is available, you just click 'ignore' and you will be thankfully reprieved from feasting your eyes upon 30 messages that usually include a mess of repeated offensive titles or links to off-limits websites.  This troll is a clear spammer and is, more likely than not, easy to recognize and avoid.

2.  . . .a sudden message within a thread instigating trouble by bringing up a topic that will obviously push buttons.

I understand that this troll can be harder to ignore.  Some people, though they claim to despise trolling, will rise to the task of arguing with these people (loosely defined) until they are blue in the face.  It's okay if someone makes the mistake of responding because, after all, sometimes people are just oblivious to their reckless introduction of goading words.  Add in the problem with reading sarcasm and irony through the written word.  It does not take very long before it is obvious whether someone is interested in discussion or whether they are getting off on the fact that they've turned you into a frazzled and demented pile of adrenaline.

How to deal with these trolls?  Walk away.  The equivalent to 'walking away' in online cases?  Deal with the fact that you don't need to have the last word.  I know, I get it.  It's really hard to be the bigger person online.  Because it can appear that you have been bested; that you're out of comebacks.  Who cares?  Let these freaks have their tiny false victories.  In the grand scheme of things, they are in a gross old basement or will be called down to dinner by their moms pretty soon.

3.  . . .someone who plays the fool and refuses to understand your point of view.

If you've got the stamina, you will spend days and days and days back-and-forthing with this troll who pretends not to get it.  No matter how many veins you force to extrude from your neck as you explain your point of view from angles that don't even exist in the physical world, this person will come back with the same argumentative response.  Every.  Single.  Time.  Why do you bother with this person?  Why is it so important that this stranger see through your eyes?  Because.  You believe in your perspective so strongly; you know it's right, you know it makes sense, that you're willing to give up an entire Saturday afternoon pounding that truth into an unwilling and simple brain.  You know it would change this other person's world entirely if they could just see your side.

No.  You are totally being scammed.  This person is not an idiot.  Well.  That's debatable.  But they know exactly what you're talking about.  They're just in it for the challenge.  How many times can I get this sucker to reply to me.  How long will they go?  This guy either doesn't have a job or works from home through ads to his lame website or he fancies himself some kind of perpetual college student majoring in psych or English.  He gets his jollies from feeling superior.  And the only place he can do that is online.  Where he's miraculously taller, smarter, and more handsome than everyone else.

What can be done?  You're not responsible for some fraud of a decent human being.  It is not your job to offer these oddballs an education through distance learning.  State your case once.  Clarify once.  Agree to disagree.  Once.  There's nothing a troll hates worse than an "oh well" reply with a smiley face.  I bet it just makes their skin crawl.  You may have made an enemy.  But he's an impotent rage-monster who's probably wearing a shirt that says, "FBI: Female Body Inspector."  So, you need not worry.

B.  Anonymity.

This is a problem for the internet as a whole.  For some reason, people have this idea that if no one can see their face, their real name, or their address, they can do and say whatever they want, free of consequence.  While they may see themselves as a form of internet rebel who won't let 'the man' get them down, I prefer to see them through the spectacles of reality.  Cowards.  Absolute cowards.  With Myspace, Facebook, Twitter and so many other social networking inventions, it's a lot harder to hide your identity.  Especially considering that these networking sites inspire many a goober to relate every banal detail about their past, present and future lives.  However, instead of making people more accountable for their actions and words, it seems that what these social sites have done is allow persons to unfavorably become unashamed of themselves.  I should do an entire blog post on the First Amendment, making careful note of the gross misuse of this great addition to our Constitution.

For those who still rely on anonymity as an excuse to be a disgusting pile of immorality, I just. . .I just feel sad.  I remember being a youngin'.  I remember feeling invincible and completely uninhibited.  I remember thinking I had amazing ideas and world-changing philosophies.  I remember saying things I shouldn't have in the company of people who deserved better respect.  I remember desiring to be the center of attention, even if that focus came because I was being a total and complete ass.  I remember. And yet. . .I still don't get it.  It's the plight of the adult.  Adolescents think they have it bad?  Try being one for 7 years and then growing up and losing all comprehension of why, what, where, when, who. . .it's very disconcerting.

What digs into my spine is the fact that these supposed anonymous jerks are not always under the age of 19.  They are old enough to know better.   It's despicable.  Despicable and cowardly.  How do we avoid it?  'Ignore' if you can.  Do not respond in kind.  Don't respond at all.  You can not talk sense into someone hell-bent on ruining civil peace.  You can not help them to see the light; to realize the error of their ways.  The only thing that bugs me more than these little balls of sunshine are the polite and well-meaning individuals who attempt to get to the bottom of what the real problem is.  As if acting the friend by lending a hand of support; a word of kindness, an offer to help a grumpy demeanor will ever work.  The "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" tactic will fall on deaf ears.  These people never have anything nice to say.  That is their M.O.

They are deliberately preying on the kind and loving hearts of the world because those are the compassionate kinds of people who will try to reach out and, therefore, become trapped in their web.  These are the very people the trolls want to catch losing their heads.  So that they can feel better about themselves because, if they can get a nice person to swear or get angry or lose it, then nobody is really as kind and sweet as they claim to be. These trolls are passive-aggressive and using the internet to spread contention so that they can feel like some kind of deity and watch their stage erupt in flames as all their players run amok, wondering how it all came to this.  These trolls have no power in their real lives, so they find it where they can.  Do not let them be a catalyst for your animosity.

3.  Repeat posts.

Riddle me this.  Someone has a question.  They post that question on a message board and patiently or impatiently, if you're me, await response.  One person replies.  A second replies.  A third, fourth, fifth, sixth.  I'll give you the benefit of the doubt if you're one of those first 5 or 6.  Especially if you have additional comments to make on those who have replied before you.  Or you have replied at around the same time as the others came in.  But then we get down to 2 or 3 days after the original posting has been made.  It's 58 hours after the initial question and there are dozens of replies that have ALREADY ANSWERED THE QUESTION and you feel the need to add your two cents?  Not even your two cents.  Word-for-word, you post the pat answer that, if you'd bothered to check at all, has already been indicated.  What is this about?  I feel like I'm the only one that even notices this!  No one else has a problem with sifting through 8 pages of repetitive nonsense?  Why don't the moderators get on and say enough is enough?  Why don't they lock the thread?  The question has been answered.  End of line.

It is not that hard to read farther than the first post to see if the question has been answered.  It's your duty to do so.  It's part of the unspoken, and sometimes spoken (or at least written), rules of the message board.  Don't be lazy.  Do not assume that, after 2 days, you are the savior of this original poster; you're the only one with the real and true answer.  No one else could possibly have the insight you have to offer.  If you know the answer to a question that has already been answered. . .I'm sorry.  You do not pass Go.  You do not collect $200.  You do not get credit.  Take solace in the fact that, if needed, you had the answer.  It was there, ready in your repertoire, to be doled out at a moment's notice.  But!  If someone got there before you (if many someones got there before you). . .let it go.  Just let it go.

My dearest message board - you are the salt of the earth when I need to get together with people who are as crazy fanatic about something as I am.  But I am so glad, so very glad that you have that little x in the top right hand corner.  Little x?  You are the best.  And you keep me from losing my mind.

*Comics supplied by Toothpaste for Dinner.

I do declare. . .

I finished The Host.  Now, I'm a sucker for a happy ending but I also appreciate a well-executed tragedy.  In books and other forms of entertainment, may I emphasize, not in real life.  If you have not read this book and would like to, turn back while you still can, for here there be spoilers.

Though, in this adult book, more well-known characters suffer death than in her young adult Twilight series, her main characters are warranted a safe and sunny close.  As safe and sunny as one can be in a post-plundered world where you're forced to live out your days in a cave.

I thought, for just one moment (okay, quite a few moments) that Wanderer would die.  I'm ecstatic that the humans whom she entrusted her life to would ignore her suicidal wishes.  I'm thrilled that both of our leading men got their respective girls and vice-a-versa.  But I figured that Meyer was doing something very clever with a little something called foreshadowing.  Maybe, maybe not.

There are at least two instances in which a captured soul has imploded its human host's brain, and in effect itself, rather than endure the fate of being extracted and killed.  Throughout the story, we learn about the self-preservation of our narrator, Wanderer, who comes from a place of uncontested honesty, selflessness, and supposed altruism.  As she is thrown into circumstances of forced union with those creatures she has always believed to be 100% cruel, untrustworthy and undeserving of consciousness, she begins to inspect and identify the character of human beings, both individually and as a whole.

She is confused that humans have been misrepresented.  That the rebels who hole up in caches together and leave only to steal what they need to survive are not criminals; rather they are survivors.  Especially considering that their knowledge of the alien offensive prevents them from becoming fully invaded by what they call the centipedes.  That knowledge allows their minds the capability to resist if they are captured.  Which is exactly the situation Wanderer finds herself in with her host body, Melanie.

When those souls destroyed their human hosts from the inside out to avoid withdrawal, I believed that it could have been foreshadowing for the ultimate decision of our protagonist, Wanderer.  That, when she chose to sacrifice herself for Melanie rather than for herself and her species, she would die.  Just as the centipedes who also chose self-destruction did, only in her case it would be because of an informed altruistic decision, not self-preservation or an incorrect assumption of magnanimity.  Not because she was told that what she was doing was benevolent and helpful but because she experienced for herself what the right thing to do would be.

No such luck.  Wanderer survives.  Which is fine.  Because, for all intents and purposes, she did follow through with her promise to forfeit her life for Melanie, for Jared, for Jamie.  Maybe I'm just one of those readers who's content with the idea that, sometimes, the main characters don't or can't survive but, even though it was all nice and bubbly that Wanderer was saved, I still think it would have been such a beautiful ending if she had been allowed her true sacrifice.  I understand why she wasn't.  Because we had to see a real change in her character in that she would be willing to give up the ghost for a human AND see a real change in the character of the humans in being willing to save a soul.

So I'm content and, to be honest, quite pleased with this story.  I enjoyed it.  And though, like Twilight in that it also dealt with a love triangle, I feel like the emphasized relationship was between Wanderer and Melanie.  Which is as it should have been.  It bugged me when Melanie and Jared embraced and kissed as soon as they met.  Even if you think another human of the opposite sex is the last of its kind, I should hope that a romance still takes more time to blossom.  This was the same formula she used in Twilight.  Bella and Edward supposedly fell into an unbreakable and eternal love based on. . .um. . .based on. . .oh, I know this.  Get back to me.  Then in comes Jacob, whose story of unrequited love for Bella seems real and, if not based on the charm and loveliness of Bella, at least based on the fact that we get a glimpse into how they spent their days together, getting to know one another.  As people who eventually fall in love do!  In The Host, Jared is Edward and Ian is Jacob.  We rooted for Jacob (if you rooted for Edward, you've got a real twisted idea of a proper relationship) and we rooted for Ian (if you rooted for Jared, you didn't learn your lesson.)

I wish Meyer would write her females as more than swooning damsels.  And that the romance between two individuals (or three or even four if you're Stephenie Meyer) would be better disclosed.  Maybe, if she spent less time talking about molten lava and the heat of Jared's lips and more about why Jared is such a freakin' great guy, I'd be more apt to believe Melanie's, and subsequently Wanderer's, desire for him.

Other than that and the 9 chagrins I counted, I'd read this again.  Especially considering a little bird told me that Meyer's in cahoots to bring it to the screen.  Commence the message board arguments about who should play whom!!  There's a fun topic for a blog.  Message boards.  And the idiots who patrol them.  Next time.

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You for Always

As long as I can remember, my Pop has called me various terms of endearment.  My very favorites were Sarah Beth Elizabeth and, of course, Shortcake.  Nostalgia has a weird habit of cropping up at the strangest times.  I was watching tv the other day - well, rather, I was working about the kitchen while the tv was on since I can not stand it when it's stark quiet.

Suddenly, I felt like I'd literally been whisked back to a memory of me sitting on that old oval braided rug in front of the tv, watching Batman or Alice in Wonderland or The Gods Must be Crazy II, eating pepperoni slices or pancakes or fish nuggets or oyster crackers slathered in butter.  Something about a commercial that was playing, maybe the sound quality, maybe something someone said, I don't know, something that sounded like it was an older commercial from the late 80's/early 90's. . .whatever it was, it struck my heart and I felt like a little girl again, waiting for my Pop to call from the kitchen to me inquiring about what shape I would like my next pancake to be.

The following is a poem by my Pop, displayed exactly as it was written, before he passed.  It is entitled "Shortcake Forever.  I miss you Pop.
In some way, every day.

"The little girl who once sat on my knee
         No words did she know but that didn't matter

  We would giggle and chatter and laugh with glee 
Of things of nonsense that were not there
         Or maybe a pooh bear sitting in the chair
The little girl who once sat on my knee

The little girl who once sat on my knee
        Has learned to talk and would
                    confide in me
The things of importance to a girl of three
         Diapers are gone now
                      "I go by myself"
         Isn't that nice and isn't that great
Then you get up one morning and the little girl's eight         
The little girl who once sat on my knee
         Likes to tell me of the now important matters
Of liking kittys and puppys  and going to the zoo
      And oh of so many thing to do
The little girl who once sat on my knee
                        Gee
                A teenager now
         But she still confides in me
      Of things at home or at school
           The kids that are nice
           the ones that are cruel
           What makes her happy
              and makes her mad
      Some would pull at my heart strings
                and make me sad
      But she stayed on top and always
              took pride of the person
                   she was inside
The little girl who once sat on my knee

      The little girl who once sat on my knee

            The quiet times we shared

                     on that knee

                        I hope              

             Has helped to set her free    

               Of any fears or doubts

     the things of life and world are about

The little girl who once sat on my knee

           

              now says that she wants

                         to leave me

             And that is as it should be

XOXOXOXOXPOPOPOPOPXOXOXOXO"