HSM 3 Leads to Suicidal Thoughts

OK, I'm not really serious. At least, I don't think. It depends.

Kirby and I had a special girls' night out tonight, and we went to see High School Musical 3. For those of you who are blissfully unaware, HSM3 is Disney's attempt to corner the pre-teen movie market, and is, I might add here, doing a good job of it. Good enough that they've been able to make mountains out of molehills in the merchandise market (how's that for alliteration).

But really, Walt the Third, enough is enough.

About twenty minutes in, I wanted to beat my brains out on the row of seats in front of me. I wanted to drown myself in the eight inches of diet soda in the paper cup I was holding. I wanted strangle myself by my purse strap. I'm usually not given over to such fits of passion, but tonight, I was feeling it.

It's too bad, really, because I honestly enjoyed the first HSM. It was a cute plot with a few fun songs thrown in. HSM 2 was OK. The plot was still clever, the songs were OK, but the scene where Troy and Gabriella were breaking up and singing their goodbyes to each other gagged me like a plate of overcooked liver. HSM 3, however, was above and beyond. My gag reflex worked overtime. The plot was lame and trite (seniors contemplate final year's big decisions - whoa). Despite that, the plot *might have* worked had the director let the actors ACT instead of breaking out into song every ten minutes.

The songs! Oh, the songs. I think a drunken college student in a stupor slapped together some lyrics and pounded them out on his eight-year-old sister's Casio keyboard's demo track.

Zac Efron managed to look pissed throughout most of his singing numbers.

And while I'm thinking about it, here are a few other minor things that bugged me about this movie:

1. What's up with the big graduation scene (the play within the movie) where Troy announces he's going to Berkeley. His best friend, Chad, totally leaves the stage (in the middle of a show!), all pissed at Troy for not going to University of Albuquerque. Troy chases him to the basketball court, makes a few limp "friend-type" comments, then they run back to the play, friendship fixed. WTH? Chad has been living under the assumption the both of them are going to college together, and now Troy's just dropped the biggest, stinkiest turd of a bombshell on Chad's head...and Chad is angry enough to storm out in the middle of a theatrical production. Chad is a idiot. Troy is an idiot. So is Ms. Darbus. So is Troy's dad.

2. In one scene where Troy is torn because he's doesn't know what to do with his life, he drives to the high school, somehow entering the building, where he proceeds to run and dance around the entire school grounds trying to "find his way." WTH? In any other American high school, the cops would have arrested him, no holds barred.

3. Every scene Gabriella is in, she's wearing some gauzy spring dress number. And high heels. WTH? I know it's the Southwest US, but where are the more realistic sweatpants and flip-flops for god's sake? Everyone at my high school would want to kick her little fashionista ass.

4. We were duped by Sharpay. Again. WTH? In the end of every HSM, it seemed the bitch was going to change for the better and maybe act human. But, nooooooo. She went off her meds or something and suddenly became the East High Bitch Troll Queen once more. I just don't get why she's so popular.

5. Huh. As it turns out, all 1200 seniors at East High can dance, and hey, they all know the same dance routine. They also somehow know to break out into said routine at the end of Troy's graduation speech. Quelle surprise. Who knew? Maybe if my graduation had been intricately choreographed like that, my class reunion attendee turnout would be higher.

God, I'm exhausted. I haven't ranted like THAT for a long time. Of course, I don't think I've had ammo like that for a long time. God bless Disney...but seriously, please stop the HSM train now. Quit riding trying to ride on its coattails and let it go to college to become productive young adults. Please. Do it for all of us who parent an impressionable young girl.

If my daughter gets older and wants to relocate to New Mexico and become a "Wildcat", I will mercilessly persue you, Walt Jr., to the ends of the earth. For your blood.

Another Nerd Weekend

Yours truly spent another satisfying weekend immersed in the nerd lifestyle. First, on Friday night, I spent discussing the second half of the book "Just Do It: How one couple turned off the TV and turned on their sex lives for 101 days (No Excuses)." For those of you dear readers who don't know, I am one-third of a powerful literary organization known as...Universal Khaki. Roughly every two weeks, we meet (in secret) to discuss mind-provoking literature like Eragon, Stardust, et al. Secrets that were unlocked and mysteries that were unveiled are far too powerful to speak of here. So, then, Saturday. The crew assembled at noon for a rousing Dungeons and Dragons adventure. Oh yes, I have now confessed. Complete nerd. Due to the noctural habits of our junior players (one of them being our DM), we actually did not start the adventure until one-thirtyish. We fought several enemies, and I leapt upon an Amulet of Fireball, taking negative points of damage (rendering myself unconscious). Don't be fooled, I didn't do it for the heroics. Everyone else but me failed their Reflex save and so I "took one for the team." Being a monk, though, I can kill enemies pretty much with my bare fists, so I did a lot of that. Brent's character is a bard, so he did a lot of singing. Kerri was a sorceress, so she cast a lot of spells. Kimba's a ranger, so she did a lot of...rangering. I guess. The other guys are fighters and barbarians and did a great amount of hack-and-slash. It was all good, and culminated in an utter defeat of 100 foot soldiers by us. We had pits and fire rings and piano wire and spiky things that hurt their feet. Yes, complete annihilation. Our game plan for destroying the soldiers was so brilliant that I actually documented it. Here we all our posing around the visual of our magnificent strategem, pointing to our character. And here are two little mini-nerds in the making.

No, I'm not talking about the political debates. I'm talking about one on a much more personal level.

The internal debate of whether or not to quit my job.

Ah yes.

Those of you who've ever been where I am now know what behemoth I am facing. This decision cannot be made frivolously; I am not in my early 20s anymore. I have three children, a house mortgage, and good community standing. A solid career flung to the whipping winds of discontent could end in so many bad ways.

On the other hand, I'm not about to spend my life feeling like I'm just surviving and trying to get through to the weekend. I want to do something that will make me happy and full of purpose.

But, I've got to have a plan. And I must lay the groundwork for that plan. So here goes...the first in an installment of two. My reasons for staying home.

Reasons To Stay Home

1. I am fed up with education and its limitations, and I don’t think it will be changing anytime soon.
2. I would be a bigger part of my children’s before and after-school routines.
3. I would have more freedom in dictating how I spend my day.
4. Working part-time would allow me to be more involved in house management duties.
5. I would be in a better mood at the end of the day because all my “good stuff” wouldn’t have been sucked out by teenagers.
6. Weekends would be more productive and content because I wouldn’t be holed up for six hours a day grading papers.
7. I’m pursuing my dream of trying to be a successful writer, and I know I would regret not trying it.
8. I can’t happily imagine myself teaching in a public high school next year.
9. I’d have more energy to focus on important issues, my health, well-being, spiritual development.
10. We’d learn to become more frugal, due to a smaller income. Restaurant time would decrease because I’d have the energy and desire to prepare supper.
11. I'd enjoy a daily leisurely lunch, reading a book over a bowl of soup, instead of cramming prepackaged Jello and applesauce cups into 25 minutes of hurried chattering with colleagues.
12. I'm a good role model for my children - that when you truly want something, don't let fear hold you back. Taking risks can be OK.

I'm sure there will be more. I may come back to update if/when I experience an epiphany.

The Experiment

Saturday morning: I rose early and ran in a 5K race. It only took me about 32 minutes. That's better than the one I ran in May. So, yay me. Physical enlightenment achieved.

OK, remember last week's grocery trip in which I trumpeted my victories at the supermarket, especially in the yogurt and diet soda aisles? Well, I had an epiphany that day, and I was finally able to put it into action today. And it was good.

Last week, as I was checking out, my mom and I noticed a couple putting their groceries not into the environment-hating plastic Walmart sacks, but into those cloth bags that are the rage now (maybe they're not the rage now, maybe I just noticed them, whatever!). I said to my mom, "You know what would be interesting? Seeing if I could feed my family for a week, just on whatever I could put into five of those cloth bags." She agreed that yes, it would be interesting. And we went on about our business, but, heh, those wheels were already spinning for me. I was going to do it.

Fast-forward to this morning. I explained the plan to my husband, and he agreed to go along, although I could definitely sense the apprehension on his part. A big part of his brain was wondering what kooky shenanigans I was up to now, and was it going to deprive him of his Diet Coke (cf. October 4, 2008).

To begin with, I shelled out $5.35 in the area of "Capital Outlay." We bought the five black Walmart cloth bags and went off in search of commodity enlightenment. Our first challenge came in the form of the $1 shopping cart, where a plethora of colorfully striped three-ring binder and Hannah Montana pencil pouches were on sale for the deliriously low price of one hundred pennies. Since my husband is addicted to anything that promotes paper organization, he snapped up five of the binders. For me, the pouches were just too cute, and would be useful in storing orphaned crayons and pencils.

One black shopping bag - gone. Four more to go.

I am happy to report that the rest of the expedition went smoothly. We stuck to items on the list, and soon things like yogurt, mouthwash, pepperoni, bananas, ground turkey, etc. filled the other four shopping
bags. Fortunately, there was not a whole lot of meat purchase, due to the fact there was still a couple of days' worth in the freezer.

As we strolled off towards the self-check station, I anticipated a lower cost in the total dollar amount, because we only bought what we really needed (three-ring binder and pencil pouches notwithstanding). The point of this exercise was to truly discern the difference between "vital" and "non-vital" grocery items. There was a couple of exceptions to the "whatever fits in the bag" rule: gallons of milk and 12-packs of soda did not fall under the bag rule. Also, ginormously packaged items like toilet paper and paper towels were exempt. However, we also attempted to practice of sense of moderation here as well; just because it was too big for the bag didn't mean it was OK to go overboard on bulk-sized purchases. Another key indicator of the experiment's success would be on whether or not we would have to visit the grocery store later on in the week. My goal was buy everything we needed today to eliminate a mid-week trip.

In the end, total bill: just a shade over $88. Bags filled: Four out of five (clever rearranging made for one empty bag). Feeling of Economical Righteousness: priceless.

Even Brent was excitedly chatting up "the experiment" on the way home, acknowledging the coolness we had just exuded. It occurred to me that the benefits here were two-fold; first of all, in these hard economic times, we had willingly monitored our spending and actively reduced it. Props to us for our Warren Buffett-esque behavior. Secondly, the experiment provoked interesting conversation between Brent and I in regards to what is a necessity and what is a luxury. When he could see the visual of the bags being filled (and what little it took), that is when he began to consider ways to cut back. The guy BEGAN TO SPEAK OF decreasing our soda consumption.

***Picture me agog****

If one trip to the grocery store could set THAT kind of chain of events in motion, what phenomenal things could happen if we did it every weekend?

We've already decided to try it again on the next supermarket excursion. Brent explained to me that he did not consider this week a "real" week, because he and the kids are leaving for Wisconsin Dells on Friday morning, so he claims the real test will be next weekend when we'll be shopping for a full week of meal-making and house-managing.

The floodgate is open, everyone, let the ideas for personal betterment commence!

Lessons Learned From a 15-Year Class Reunion

Guess what I was doing this weekend? Visiting the wonderful world of Nostalgia.

1.People do not change much, relatively speaking. A pair of corollaries demonstrate this:

a.The girl who would have been voted Biggest Flirt (had your school done such shenanigans) would still be elected Biggest Flirt. However, it’s a much more dangerous title now because everyone present is of legal drinking age, and who knows what can happen.

b.The bar/grill/banquet room/picnic shelter/dance floor where the reunion is held resembles your high school cafeteria circa fifteen years ago. The athletes had their reserved tables, and the mortals sat somewhere else. The same is true at the reunion, except the mortals no longer give a rat’s ass about the athletes because the athletes have protruding bellies and receding hairlines. The male ones, too.

2.Inevitably, a drunken guy will shuffle over to the jukebox where you are picking some sweet tunes, and punch in a random number, completely usurping one of your plays.

3.The guy who was the dark horse Prom King candidate turns out to be a lawyer.

4.You will meet people that inspire you, like the person who freelances for a living or the person who is moving to Zambia in, like, two weeks.

5.The B-52’s “Love Shack” will be played at least once on the jukebox. Which is fine. The 25-minute B-side by The Doors is not.

6.Being sober at a function like this is way more fun than the alternative.

7.You realize the popular kid you elected your Class President is not a very good organizer, and thus you should have nominated somebody who had a vision for the future.

8.The guy you had a crush on is no longer as appealing as he was back in 1993.

9.Those of you who attend the reunion realize you should elect a Reunion King and Queen, and preferably, these people should not have gone to your high school.

10.People you haven’t spoken to you for fifteen years will all of a sudden want to sloppily hug you as you leave for the night.

The Great Contemplation

So, here I am. White, middle class female. Three kids, stable marriage, nice house, solid income, able to enjoy most comforts of life.

I work as a teacher at the local high school. I would say my job is fairly secure. It has its ups and downs, but for the most part I would categorize my work life as OK. I don't hate it, but I don't love it.

And that is why I am thinking about getting out.

This year, for the first time in my life, I was not energized by the first day of school. I was not looking forward to school starting. The kids have not changed drastically, but I don't enjoy being with them as much anymore. Colleagues that I normally enjoy socializing with have recently begun to get on my nerves. I feel that I have become less of a teacher and more of a facilitator...or some other word that really is not that cool. It's all about the test scores, or getting off THE LIST, or another initiative designed to help kids, but is actually too complicated and cumbersome to really implement.

There are a lot of other things coming into play here, but my dissatisfaction with my job is top of the list. And I don't see it changing soon. I feel like in someways I'm seeing the writing on the wall and getting out before it's too late and I become bitter.

However, not being a fancy-free twenty-something anymore, there has to be a plan. Brent says there was to be a plan. I can't just quit, and wander aimlessly in the wilderness. There are bills to be paid and kids to be provided for.

So - the question is now: What do I want to do for a living that will allow me to be a good mom and wife, and yet will contribute to the GNP in some way?

Well, I know what I'd like to do for a living. This. Write. Obviously, I probably wouldn't get paid for blogging, but freelance writing might take care of some of the bills, yes? I love to write, and I even fancy that I'm moderately good at it. But could I do it professionally? There's the deep jump into the unknown.

I don't have all the answers yet. But times, they are a-changing.

Here's A Depressing, Disrespectful Post For You

OK, I'm sure it isn't, but I know I'll sure feel bad after I write this. Like I'm not capable of keeping my big, fat mouth shut and remember that "there are things you say, and there are things you think...and a smart person knows the difference." Brarrrrr! We got home about a half-hour ago from visiting my husband's grandma in a Care Center. She's been there about three weeks since breaking her ankle...but she's slowly declining anyway with Alzheimer's. She tells us she'd had no visitors today and did not go outside at all, even though we know Brent's parents came and took her to church. It's just sad, you know, because in her mind, everyone has left her and she has no idea where she is...and so I get to wondering: Is there anything good about getting old? Because I sure as hell am at a loss. 1. What happens when you reach that stage when you just can't quite manage living totally on your own? You get put into a Care Center, nursing home, rehabilitation facility, or whatever. The name of the place doesn't matter...because everyone knows what it is and why you're there. 2. Pretty much everyone is living their own lives and don't have much time to come hang out with their relative who sits all day in a nursing home. Hence, the relative gets a.) lonely or b.) bitter. Either way, it sucks. 3. I just cannot stand to think of the day when my faculties (mental and physical) start to go. When I am able to do nothing but sit in front of the TV all day long, I hope someone will have the decency to shoot me. 4. I know, as a pagan, one of the key tenets my faith is the idea of the Triple Goddess. The maiden, mother, crone. That this is all part of the circle of life and that life is cyclical. I KNOW! But I'm having a hard time figuring out, exactly, what I will have to offer this world when I am a crone besides a nasty stereotype. Yeah, so that's it.