Daft Musings

Yes, it has been 6 weeks since I last updated my blog–odd for someone who used to post multiple blog entries a day. Despite my best intentions, my job became became less optional–we depend on it now. That said, the job and I have grown to suit one another, I find the field I’m working in fascinating, Kelly’s school is great (and will take care of her after school on occasions I have a meeting), and Neil’s still rocketing along in our home school. By the way, his blog has become more regular and interesting than mine, particularly if you’re a math geek.

Yesterday, he had a language arts lesson in which he had to do a compare and contrast essay on the music he likes, and that which is parents like. He found it difficult, since we all pretty much like the same thing. However, for the next day’s lesson, he has to review and deconstruct someone else’s essay on the same subject, so I had to write one too. In the end, I realized I’m turning into my parents. Well, ok, my father (he was the one who loved classical music; I didn’t want to get into Heino). And I never thought I’d be digging classical music, and that when I would, I would discover both my father and I were into emo classical. Here’s the essay:

I like listening to indie rock bands like Everclear, Oasis, and Brand New. My parents liked to listen to classical music, especially the Romantic composers like Schumann and Strauss.

At first, I thought our musical tastes had nothing in common. Rock music is faster and more energetic. It also has lyrics I can relate to: it’s like musical poetry.  It takes a long time to listen to a symphony, while you can listen through a rock song in about 3 minutes. If you really like the song, you just listen to it again, while you can’t really repeat a one-hour symphony.

But now that I’m older, I see the similarities. Indie rock bands express emotion; so do the Romantic composers. They just do it in a different way. For instance, Gustav Mahler, a romantic composer, put syncopation into his 9^th Symphony to make it sound like a broken heart. Some people call this a “symphonic poem” and it’s like an all-music version of the poetic lyrics I like in rock music. Also, romantic classical music almost always has a motif running through the symphony, so you essentially have a song that repeats itself within the a bigger musical story.

So it turns out my musical preferences really may not be that different from my parents’ after all.

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Thanks to Apostles Lutheran (and my job which lets me afford it), I can put PE for Neil back into the Charybdis and Scylla curriculum. Last Fall, he learned to bike going around the off-road path that winds by Almaden Lake. He’s a much better biker now, but it’s still nice exercise.

A variety of factors (such as flat bike tires) delayed our lesson, but it was fun to be able to do it again (even though we couldn’t make it all the way to the end.) It was also interesting to see how things had changed since last year.

There were fewer casual walkers, but far more groups of people who were enjoying the big park for its recreational features. In particular, I was intrigued by some Chinese people who seemed to be doing tai chi with swords:

Last year, the geese were nearly obese and waddled in front of our bikes, probably expecting us to throw them food. This year, the geese were noticeably thinner, and not quite as eager to get in our way. Nonetheless, Neil got off his bike and shooed them back to the lake, just like he used to do last year.

While Neil was navigating his way through a phalanx of strollers who didn’t understand English, I spoke to one a fisherman by the lake. There were also noticeably more people fishing that last year, though they still don’t keep and eat the fish they eat. They can only fish for sport, and toss the fish back after they’ve caught them, because they’re tainted with mercury.

In any case, I was happy to have PE back because we’ve both missed it. The week after next, we’ll be checking out the homeschoolers’ trampoline hour at Sky High Sports in Santa Clara, a PE activity Neil particularly loves.

Last night, Peter and I had a chance to watch a movie together, something we haven’t been able to do for quite a while. We chose one of our Netflix options, a movie called The History Boys. It seemed like it ought to be good: it was about British prep school boys (and who doesn’t like movies with English prep school boys?), set in the 1980s. But it was pretty pointless.

Here’s the spoiler, so you don’t waste time on the movie. Inexplicably, every single one of the candidates gets into Oxford’s History department, whether they wanted to or not, thanks to the help of one eccentric gay teacher who trains them to spontaneously act out vignettes in French, and a new school teacher who teaches them to just make stuff up on essays, cuz that’s the sort of stuff that’ll impress the admissions board at Oxford.

Once they’ve matriculated to Oxford, everyone abruptly comes out with his homesexuality. The ignorant stuffy headmaster comes to his senses and reinstates the eccentric gay teacher, whom he’d sacked for fondling the boys, even though none of them really minded. The new teacher (who is, of course, now openly gay) takes a joy ride with the eccentric gay teacher, whereupon they have an accident and one of them dies. The only character who may not have been gay dies when he grows up and gets shot in an Army regiment which hasn’t existed since 1968.

The end. It just reminded me that all English men are gay, even if they’re straight, just as all Italian men are straight, even if they’re gay. Is that really so? Anyway, you might like the early 80s songs, if you’re into that sort of thing.

I found out yesterday that I could feed my latest blog postings to my Twitter feed. I could also feed every quiz, poll, and repost I put on Facebook to my Twitter feed too.

It must be annoying my Twitter followers like anything, since they all have better Twitter etiquette than this. On the other hand, I got 3 new followers once I started doing this.

So what else could I feed onto Twitter? Or should I stop, stop now, before I destroy all that is Twitter already?

I love homeschooling, but I originally only planned on homeschooling my academically precocious son. In November, Kelly joined Charybdis and Scylla when I saw her class and couldn’t leave her in there. But it was tough. No matter how we framed it, for Kelly, being pulled out of a class with her peers seemed like a huge punishment.

I did all I could to mitigate it. We joined our fellow homeschoolers on nature hikes. We went to the early elementary age park day every week; we joined academic group activities, like Math Out & About; we had two storytimes every week; and we had lots of field trips, both as a family and with other homeschoolers. Kelly made friends and went to their birthday parties; set up a homeschooler Easter party; and joined clubs, in particular the local Junior Grange, which functions as a loose educational co-op.

In the meantime, my focus on Neil’s school work lagged. All the activities slid our lesson days from 4 times a week to 3, and our extra PE/field trip day was replaced with a storytime. I only had to spend an hour on Kelly’s actual lessons, but she hates working alone, so when I turned to having lessons with Neil, we’d be interrupted multiple times by Kelly wanting to show her half-done math pages, or a story she’d just come up with while finishing a science worksheet. All too often, Neil’s lessons degraded into “you’ll have to complete this on your own now…” as the day dragged on, or his friends appeared to play.

It all came to a stressful climax when I got a job. Yes, a job, a good one which I didn’t expect, not only appeared, but fell right on top of me, and oozed down in front of my eyes. Nonetheless, I was torn between a really cool job and my commitment to my family. I insisted  I could only work part time, on evenings and weekends. I was near to quitting after going full throttle on my antidotes to the Ghastly Powerpoint. However, when I returned from Albuquerque, my boss as much as implored me to go full time. I was ready to flee screaming, but Peter offered to come home earlier to take over child care,and helped me come up with a schedule that might save my sanity. And it really is a neat job: I get to learn new exciting things, I get to write in my own voice, and my manager’s even nice and intelligent. But it was pretty obvious the one thing that would have to give is Kelly’s social activities, even though she would take my calendar and fill it with her plans for sleepovers, parties, and playdates.

It was a sad situation. I have to confess that one day I dressed Kelly in the San Jose Unified uniform and when the lunch recess began, I sent Kelly to play on the playground of the local school with the other students. I had some quiet lesson time with Neil, and when I went to fetch Kelly, she told me how she’d seen her friend Lauren from last year, and was heartbroken she couldn’t go into a classroom, no matter how dysfunctional.  While I was tearily working away, Peter popped by the local Catholic school, which wasn’t that impressive. We could take it or leave it for $9000 a year with Kelly in a class of 35.

It was pretty dire. Just before I got started on my first full day of work, I thought I may as well call Apostles Lutheran, where Kelly had gone for Vacation Bible School, another school substitute that let Kelly have some time with peers while I had some time for lessons with Neil or work. I was pretty sure they’d be either full up or too expensive.

To my surprise, their 5-6 year olds kindergarten class (where Kelly fit and wanted to be) had openings where she’d be in a class of 12; there was a part-time option which would still leave her free for storytime with Andrew; and I could afford it, thanks to my new job. On the Friday afternoon before classes began the following Monday, the principal was interviewing us in our home, and making sure we’d be ok with all the Lutheran stuff that we and Kelly would be exposed to, like singing songs in church, and having some snacks with nice people afterwards. Are you kidding? That’s like Kelly’s dream life. Peter and I would have to take a Bible class; I have to admit the Christian philosophy lessons at Charybdis and Scylla have been sorely lacking, so I’m actually looking forward to it. Personally, the principal had me hooked when he regretted the lack of sauerkraut at school potlucks.

And so, as on Monday, Kelly is going to private school. Sometimes I still feel like a posh snob, but I have to say private school is wonderful. The class is open before lessons begin so the children can play together; the teacher lets us know the lesson plan for each day; they have milk service.

Best of all, she’s happy. Every day she comes home and writes in her kindergarten journal. Neil gets my undivided attentions for his lessons again, and I can make them as challenging and focused as they ought to be. In fact, last week, Neil modeled and recreated the fall of Constantinople, which even impressed my Greek neighbor, Demeter. I feel less guilty about working, and I have a purpose for earning money.

Last year I pondered why do homeschoolers take the summer off, like everyone else. The intelligent thing to do, it seemed to me, would be to have school during the summer when everyone else is packing the vacation spots and prices are high.

This year, I discovered why: it’s nearly impossible to get any schoolwork done, with the beach calling, non-homeschool friends eagerly dropping by to play, valuable enrichment summer camps available, camping trips, and the drama of the Comic-Con.

I knew it would be busy, so I deliberately made a light schedule, sometimes with lessons only planned for twice a week, and even that went awry. I think we managed to get in all of three weeks in lessons concurrent with the local school district’s break, and even those days had to be cut short more often than not.

Just as the summer started, we had Neil attending a Maya camp at Stanford. It’s 45 minutes to Stanford from here each way, so instead of giving Kelly lessons, we made it a day out more often than not, with a trip to Oakland Fairyland one day, and a hike at a nearby preserve another day.

July was even crazier. Kelly had a sleepover with her friend Haley, who introduced her to Vacation Bible Camp, which turned out to be quite an acceptable-to-me introduction to Christian concepts. We spent a day in Santa Cruz; we joined our homeschool group at a play; and Neil packed for scout camp. Then, Neil went away for an entire week, and shortly after he returned, he and Peter went off the mayhem of the San Diego Comic-Con. In between, we all became horribly sick. Oh, and I got hired on for a fabulous, well-paying job I can do at home…except that it’s nearly full-time, and I already don’t have time to spare!

When Neil and Peter returned, I had Kelly signed on for a week of Vacation Bible School at one church, and due a friend’s tip, had her at another Vacation Bible School the next week. This was a good thing, since I’d suddenly plunged into PowerPoint hell, which consumed my life completely. And as soon as that was done, we were packing up and driving to Albuquerque, where our Comic-Con booth was on a stage, as part of a movie set, with us in it.

And that’s not to mention that Neil’s neighborhood friends often came by (and were welcome) to play in the pool. I abandoned our last motley plans for summer lessons when Neil and his friend Brandon decided to spend the entire day trying to play each and every song in Rock Band. They almost succeeded, but Neil was in physical pain from the effort for 2 days afterwards. I’m usually a beach bum during the summer, but this year, we only managed to get to it once, and I think our museum count for the summer consists of a single trip to the Childrens’ Discovery Museum.

The local school has started, but our summer’s not over (and the homeschool group activities don’t restart until after Labor Day). We’ve got the State Fair and a trip to Legoland planned for this month, and at some point, I have to figure out how I can work 40 hours a week and homeschool my children.

When we stayed with my friend Chris in North Las Vegas last year, we were delighted to find a Dunkin Donuts near her house. Peter thought we’d left the franchise behind east of Chicago, but here it was, appropriately enough, in Sin City.

So for breakfast on this trip, we wanted to go to a Dunkin Donuts in Las Vegas. I asked the parking valet, who sadly admitted he only knew where the nearby Krispy Kremes were, but one of his colleagues remembered seeing a Dunkin Donuts on Sahara near Valley View.

I joked to Peter, “Dis here’s a Krispy Kreme town. But Dunkin Donuts is moving in.”

Peter riffed: “Nice donut shop you got here. Would be a real shame if people couldn’t get to it. Say, if there was to be construction, and road blocks…”

Laughing, we headed to Dunkin Donuts on Sahara. Color us surprised when we got there and the only driveway to it was inexplicably blocked by a series of cement pillars, the kind you see protecting federal buildings from drive-in car bombs.

Peter was not deterred. He drove up a side alley and found back way in. But when we parked in front of the Dunkin Donuts, it was closed. “Come see us in two weeks!” a sign cheerily announced. No indication for how many weeks that sign had been there.

So Peter enlisted technology to our aid. He and I tried to pull up a listing of the Dunkin Donuts in Las Vegas on our iPhones. But even with 5 bars up on the AT&T network, the page would not load. Luckily, having recently become mobile internet geeks, we also had a Palm Pre among us, and that had not been compromised.

Neil found only 2 other Dunkin Donut stores in Las Vegas. One number rang through to a “please hold” recording at the Fremont Casino. The other was answered by a man with a heavy Spanish accent who said the store was not open.

I waited through the hold line at the Fremont Casino,which confirmed that yes, there was a Dunkin Donuts in the casino. And they had their own number, which was answered by a real person surprised to find out other Dunkin Donuts were not open, or non-existent.

As it turns out, there was indeed construction in our way the Last Dunkin Donuts in Vegas. Lots and lots of construction. Every time we tried to follow the GPS directions, we hit a roadblock. The construction workers drank their coffee and looked at us suspiciously. (And it wasn’t Dunkin Donuts coffee they were drinking.)

We had to wing it and just head in the general directions along another street. As we got close, a suspiciously well-dressed man hurled himself in front of our car, but we successfully veered around him.

Finally, we saw the Dunkin Donuts sign, but..there was no place to park. This is highly unusual in Las Vegas, where every casino, strip joint, and barbecue pit not only has copious parking, but also valets to park your car for you, so you can get on with the important task of doing as many bad things as you possibly can before you have to go home.

Here, there was no street parking. The few parking garages nearby were full–at 8 am on a Monday morning.

I had Neil call the Dunkin Donuts in North Las Vegas. He got a recording telling him “This number has been disconnected.” Gulp.

We finally found a spot in a pay garage three blocks away. It was plastered with lots and lots of Krispy Kreme ads. And we had to walk past a Krispy Kreme store on the way to the Fremont Casino.

But there it was. Surrounded by a casino, this Dunkin Donuts had protection from the Krispy Kreme mob.

We bought 2 dozen donuts, and carefully walked back to the car. And then we fled, our precious loot in hand, keeping our eyes open for renegade Krispy Kreme vans until we’d left Las Vegas behind.

I heroically fought the battle against the Ghastly PowerPoint and can declare victory, but I was still dealing the the trauma of it as we headed off on Saturday to Albuquerque. I checked the emails I’d been ignoring, and found out the filming of the Comic-Con scenes had changed to the 11th and 12th, and that the rooms at the cast hotel were all booked out.

This would really not be a big deal ordinarily, but suffering from Post PowerPoint Distress Syndrome, I couldn’t deal. Aiiiee! We’d been told Atomic Avenue shirts out even though the studio had our permission to use the logo? And what if New Mexico is all booked out?!  And now we’ll be gone for a week! What if I come back and PHBs have muddled together the most odious possible way for me to do the Odious Task? Does my contact let me leave screaming, or am I locked in for all eternity? Will I be crying at the end of a breadline, regretting my principles and pride? What if? What if? What if?  I was still tossing and turning all night.

Peter called quits to it when we got to our hotel room in Las Vegas and tried to shampoo my hair with body lotion. “It’s Vegas, baby, and you need to be sedated.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. We went down to have lunch in one of the Gold Coast casino’s restaurants, where the waitress was familiar with Post PowerPoint Distress Syndrome.

“The only thing that will cure that is a yard-long margarita,” she advised. I’ve never had a yard-long margarita before (or if I have I, not surprisingly, don’t remember). I can vouch that, yes, a yard long margarita does cure PPPDS.

Just as an aside, I noticed the Gold Coast casino had keypads (for say, entering your PIN number) with really HUGE buttons. I guess that way, even after you’ve had a yard-long margarita, you can still pay for your drink.

And we are now in Albuquerque, where the studio got us into another nearby hotel. And Atomic Avenue shirts are just fine. And the rest of it, will just work out, Ghastly PowerPoint or not.