Monday I was sitting in my apartment doing homework, and I heard a small explosion outside, immediately after which the lights went out. I knew what had happened- there is a transformer close by, and squirrels have been climbing into it and causing it it to blow. It usually takes a few hours for the power company to come out and set everything right again.
I couldn't finish my school work in the dark, so I got dressed for work in the dark and decided to head in early. Going down the stairs to leave, I ran into two maintenance men with flashlights talking to my downstairs neighbor (This is the old woman who yells to her cat Rusty at all hours. 12:30 am: "RUUUUUUUSSSSSTTTTTYYY! RUSTY! RUSTY GET IN HERE.")
"Squirrel blew the transformer again?" I asked.
"Yeah, you got it," said the first maintenance guy.
"Yes, but it didn't kill him!" said the old woman.
The first maintenance man looked at his feet. The other shook his head and mouthed the word "Dead."
"That's wonderful," I said, and headed to work.
"That's wonderful," is something I say to kids a lot. "That's wonderful," and it's counterpart, "I'm sorry to hear that," are what you say when presented with a situation you don't know how to respond to. A kid holds up a picture of blue and black scribbling that she is obviously proud of? "That's wonderful!" A kid comes to tell you that Brian is going down the slide backwards, and you don't feel like going into an explanation of tattling and why it's a bad idea? "I'm sorry to hear that." A crazy old woman who loves animals a little bit too much mistakenly believes that a squirrel survived electrocution by a transformer? "That's wonderful!"
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Letter From My Mother
Recently my computer died. This was bad for a lot of reasons, but the one thing I was particularly scared of was losing some files that contained writing by now-deceased mother. The good people at the Apple Store saved them, and I was re-reading some of them just now. I felt like sharing.
April 15, 2000
10:34 pm
Dear Andrew,
Your father and I went to the symphony this past Saturday.
We started with dinner at Joe's Inn. We got a table right away, amazingly enough. We usually have to wait at least 20 minutes. The waitress was very slow arriving at our table, however. So slow that one of the managers came over and took our drink order. After we had had our drinks for what seemed a lengthy period of time, the waitress came over and thanked us for being patient with her. We placed our order - I substituted a baked potato for the rice.
We waited for another lengthy period of time. Someone other than the waitress eventually brought us our food - minus the baked potato. He said that it was not on the order, but he brought me one. We were eating when the waitress showed up to refill our drinks. She poured water into your father's iced tea. When he pointed out the
error, she apologized and went to get him another glass of tea. Awhile later, when we were close to finishing the meal, she returned to box up the rest of your father's food. She dropped his fork on the floor, picked it up and continued to use it to shovel his leftover food into the box. When he pointed out that she had just dropped the fork on the floor and shouldn't use it for that, she stopped - apologized and put the fork in the middle of the food on my plate which I had not finished eating.
We left the restaurant, and I’m pleased to say that we have not contracted any diseases as of yet.
I had not really wanted to go to the symphony, but thought that hearing Beethoven's 7th symphony performed live would be worth the effort. When we took our seats and opened our programs, we discovered that the we would not be hearing the 7th. Instead, the Egmont, the 3rd piano concerto and the 6th symphony would be played. The 7th was played earlier this month.
The lights dimmed. The concertmaster came out to warm everyone up. We clapped for him. The orchestra warmed up. The conductor came out and we clapped for him. Have you noticed how we clap for people when they haven't done anything yet?
Finally, we heard the Egmont. Familiar and not too bad. Short.
Then the piano concerto. We clapped for a new person who had not done anything. Concertgoers have great faith in the performers.
The first movement began. Not too bad but fairly long.
Fanny fatigue was starting to settle in. I noticed that the pianist played with only one hand fairly often. It seems that they did not dock his pay for this. I noticed that the other orchestra members consistently played with two hands.
The first movement went on for quite some time and finally ended fairly loudly. I hoped that it was the end of the entire
concerto. Not so. The orchestra took a little break so that the pianist could mop his face with his handkerchief while the conductor stared at him . At this point the audience did not clap. Apparently the protocol is to clap for people before they start playing and when they finish playing, but not during the breaks in the middle. This is different from your school concerts that we used to attend. There the 14 parents in audience used to applaud anytime the performers drew breath. They regarded it as their parental responsibility to provide applause at every opportunity.
The second movement was slow, dreary, boring and interminable. I do believe Beethoven was on sedatives when he wrote it.
Then there was the 3rd movement. I have noticed that Beethoven is fond of the fast, slow, fast pattern. The third movement might not have been so bad if I hadn't just had to sit through the second.
At last it was over. I could not have been more relieved. The audience seemed thrilled with Beethoven, the pianist and the orchestra. They clapped at length. Many people stood up. One woman leaned over the front row of the balcony waving her arms. After about four curtain calls, they brought the lights back up. It was intermission.
I picked up my coat and umbrella and told your father I really needed to leave. He was disappointed to not to hear the 6th. I was disappointed that they had not played the 6th first. I'm sure I would have enjoyed it more. On the other hand, Beethoven's notes about each movement of the 6th symphony in the program went like this -
The Awakening of cheerful Feelings at the Arrival in the country
Scene at the Brook
Merry Gathering of the Peasants
Storm
Shepherd's Song: Joyful Thankful Feelings after the Storm
It is a good thing Beethoven wrote music and not poetry. It would also help if he would stay away from the sedatives.
I think that all in all the orchestra is to be commended. At least no one threw up on stage. This happened during the concert at the last PTA program at my school. A girl in the front row threw up all over the floor. The chorus kept right on singing while a teacher hustled her off the stage and the custodian came up with the mop to clean it up.
Also, none of the performers threw instruments across the stage. Remember when you played the chimes at the PTA meeting in elementary school and hurled them across the floor.
Your father says that when we go to the next concert he is not leaving during intermission because Mahler is the second half. I told him I was sure you would want to go to that one with him.
Looking forward to seeing you at home for the Mahler.
love, Mom
April 15, 2000
10:34 pm
Dear Andrew,
Your father and I went to the symphony this past Saturday.
We started with dinner at Joe's Inn. We got a table right away, amazingly enough. We usually have to wait at least 20 minutes. The waitress was very slow arriving at our table, however. So slow that one of the managers came over and took our drink order. After we had had our drinks for what seemed a lengthy period of time, the waitress came over and thanked us for being patient with her. We placed our order - I substituted a baked potato for the rice.
We waited for another lengthy period of time. Someone other than the waitress eventually brought us our food - minus the baked potato. He said that it was not on the order, but he brought me one. We were eating when the waitress showed up to refill our drinks. She poured water into your father's iced tea. When he pointed out the
error, she apologized and went to get him another glass of tea. Awhile later, when we were close to finishing the meal, she returned to box up the rest of your father's food. She dropped his fork on the floor, picked it up and continued to use it to shovel his leftover food into the box. When he pointed out that she had just dropped the fork on the floor and shouldn't use it for that, she stopped - apologized and put the fork in the middle of the food on my plate which I had not finished eating.
We left the restaurant, and I’m pleased to say that we have not contracted any diseases as of yet.
I had not really wanted to go to the symphony, but thought that hearing Beethoven's 7th symphony performed live would be worth the effort. When we took our seats and opened our programs, we discovered that the we would not be hearing the 7th. Instead, the Egmont, the 3rd piano concerto and the 6th symphony would be played. The 7th was played earlier this month.
The lights dimmed. The concertmaster came out to warm everyone up. We clapped for him. The orchestra warmed up. The conductor came out and we clapped for him. Have you noticed how we clap for people when they haven't done anything yet?
Finally, we heard the Egmont. Familiar and not too bad. Short.
Then the piano concerto. We clapped for a new person who had not done anything. Concertgoers have great faith in the performers.
The first movement began. Not too bad but fairly long.
Fanny fatigue was starting to settle in. I noticed that the pianist played with only one hand fairly often. It seems that they did not dock his pay for this. I noticed that the other orchestra members consistently played with two hands.
The first movement went on for quite some time and finally ended fairly loudly. I hoped that it was the end of the entire
concerto. Not so. The orchestra took a little break so that the pianist could mop his face with his handkerchief while the conductor stared at him . At this point the audience did not clap. Apparently the protocol is to clap for people before they start playing and when they finish playing, but not during the breaks in the middle. This is different from your school concerts that we used to attend. There the 14 parents in audience used to applaud anytime the performers drew breath. They regarded it as their parental responsibility to provide applause at every opportunity.
The second movement was slow, dreary, boring and interminable. I do believe Beethoven was on sedatives when he wrote it.
Then there was the 3rd movement. I have noticed that Beethoven is fond of the fast, slow, fast pattern. The third movement might not have been so bad if I hadn't just had to sit through the second.
At last it was over. I could not have been more relieved. The audience seemed thrilled with Beethoven, the pianist and the orchestra. They clapped at length. Many people stood up. One woman leaned over the front row of the balcony waving her arms. After about four curtain calls, they brought the lights back up. It was intermission.
I picked up my coat and umbrella and told your father I really needed to leave. He was disappointed to not to hear the 6th. I was disappointed that they had not played the 6th first. I'm sure I would have enjoyed it more. On the other hand, Beethoven's notes about each movement of the 6th symphony in the program went like this -
The Awakening of cheerful Feelings at the Arrival in the country
Scene at the Brook
Merry Gathering of the Peasants
Storm
Shepherd's Song: Joyful Thankful Feelings after the Storm
It is a good thing Beethoven wrote music and not poetry. It would also help if he would stay away from the sedatives.
I think that all in all the orchestra is to be commended. At least no one threw up on stage. This happened during the concert at the last PTA program at my school. A girl in the front row threw up all over the floor. The chorus kept right on singing while a teacher hustled her off the stage and the custodian came up with the mop to clean it up.
Also, none of the performers threw instruments across the stage. Remember when you played the chimes at the PTA meeting in elementary school and hurled them across the floor.
Your father says that when we go to the next concert he is not leaving during intermission because Mahler is the second half. I told him I was sure you would want to go to that one with him.
Looking forward to seeing you at home for the Mahler.
love, Mom
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Swine Flu Doodoo
One Sunday night this past July I got home from a day in Fredericksburg learning about Ambrose Burnside and drinking delicious chocolate milk shakes with old college friends to find that I had a fever of approximately one million degrees. Celsius. I had sensed something was amiss on the drive home, and stopped off for Tylenol and Mucinex, but those two drugs failed to do their work. I woke at 4 am, shaking with chills and realized I’d had a dream wherein I was dying of the cold and loyal children from work had been desperately trying to warm me up by starting fires and loaning me sweaters.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Everton” they said to me, “We won’t let you die!”
I didn’t fall back asleep after this, choosing instead to watch Sean Astin get carried for the hundredth time from the Notre Dame football field. Tears would have been shed, but I was too dehydrated from the fever to manage it.
In the morning I drove to the VCU health clinic where they immediately asked me to where a mask over my nose and mouth, something which embarrassed me but which I did because Andrew Everton is a person who looks out for the well-being of his fellow man. And woman too; I don’t want anyone thinking Andrew Everton is sexist.
The doctor found me in the examination room wearing my mask and sulking. She came in not only with a mask of her own, but also wearing an enormous medical poncho and gloves.
“Looks like somebody got themselves sick with the flu!” she sang from several feet away. The entire examination was like this, an affected jokiness barely hiding tremendous fear.
“Well,” she said after listening to my symptoms, “you sound like a classic case of the swine flu. YOU CLASSIC. Hahaha.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked her.
“Pretty sure,” she said, “we’ve only got to confirm it with a lab test.” At this point she stuck a long q-tip up my nose.
“You know what the good news is?” she asked, as she held the q-tip at arm’s length, closing it up in a baggy and making a face like I had farted.
“I would love to know,” said I.
“This fall when everybody else is getting it you’ll be immune. Back in 1918 when a flu epidemic was killing thousands of people around the world, the people who’d had a milder form the summer before all survived.”
“That scares the crap out of me,” I said.
“Well I’m not trying to do that!” she smiled.
She left the room to take my q-tip to the lab, and I sat reading a pointless printout she had given me, which told me practically nothing except that I couldn’t be in public for seven days.
“Well it’s Type A Influenze alright!” she sang as she bopped back into the room several minutes later.
She gave me some advice about what to do and what to look out for, and then escorted me from the building, presumably to make sure I didn’t take my mask off. her voice was chipper, but her eyes were fearful. I took off my mask in the car and headed for home, not knowing what I would do with myself for the next week.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Everton” they said to me, “We won’t let you die!”
I didn’t fall back asleep after this, choosing instead to watch Sean Astin get carried for the hundredth time from the Notre Dame football field. Tears would have been shed, but I was too dehydrated from the fever to manage it.
In the morning I drove to the VCU health clinic where they immediately asked me to where a mask over my nose and mouth, something which embarrassed me but which I did because Andrew Everton is a person who looks out for the well-being of his fellow man. And woman too; I don’t want anyone thinking Andrew Everton is sexist.
The doctor found me in the examination room wearing my mask and sulking. She came in not only with a mask of her own, but also wearing an enormous medical poncho and gloves.
“Looks like somebody got themselves sick with the flu!” she sang from several feet away. The entire examination was like this, an affected jokiness barely hiding tremendous fear.
“Well,” she said after listening to my symptoms, “you sound like a classic case of the swine flu. YOU CLASSIC. Hahaha.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked her.
“Pretty sure,” she said, “we’ve only got to confirm it with a lab test.” At this point she stuck a long q-tip up my nose.
“You know what the good news is?” she asked, as she held the q-tip at arm’s length, closing it up in a baggy and making a face like I had farted.
“I would love to know,” said I.
“This fall when everybody else is getting it you’ll be immune. Back in 1918 when a flu epidemic was killing thousands of people around the world, the people who’d had a milder form the summer before all survived.”
“That scares the crap out of me,” I said.
“Well I’m not trying to do that!” she smiled.
She left the room to take my q-tip to the lab, and I sat reading a pointless printout she had given me, which told me practically nothing except that I couldn’t be in public for seven days.
“Well it’s Type A Influenze alright!” she sang as she bopped back into the room several minutes later.
She gave me some advice about what to do and what to look out for, and then escorted me from the building, presumably to make sure I didn’t take my mask off. her voice was chipper, but her eyes were fearful. I took off my mask in the car and headed for home, not knowing what I would do with myself for the next week.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Kids Say The Damnedest Things #437
A five year old girl with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes stands at the water fountain for a moment, drinking. She has just started kindergarten, and with it my after-school program. She stands back from the fountain, scrunches her face, and when asked what's the matter answers,
"That water tastes like vaginas."
"That water tastes like vaginas."
Awesome Crazy Radical Outlandish Super-Terrific Intelligently Created Poems!
The first day of the fall semester this year I walked into a classroom and saw it covered in acrostic poems, written I assume by education students at VCU. Education programs like to make prospective teachers engage in activities that they will later give to their students. I agree with this idea, but I do not agree with acrostic poems. I have no evidence to back me up, but I suspect that writing an acrostic poem makes you dumber.
Magical
Energetic
Good helper
Active
Nuts
Oh Megan, I feel as if I know you.
Brainy
Real
Intelligent
Attitude, good
Nice to hang out with
Let's not get full of ourselves, Brian
Magical
Energetic
Good helper
Active
Nuts
Oh Megan, I feel as if I know you.
Brainy
Real
Intelligent
Attitude, good
Nice to hang out with
Let's not get full of ourselves, Brian
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