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Obama's Home Teleprompter Malfunctions During Family Dinner

blossoms of snow

Today the role of therapist was added to my duties:

Brian (age 12): Miss Stewart, why do I sometimes feel sad for no reason?
Me: Oh. Well, you know Brian, that's life. Sometimes you feel happy for no reason, and sometimes you feel sad for no reason. (seriously all I could come up with)
Brian: But why do I feel sad?
Me (laughing nervously): Umm. I don't know. Did something happen?
Brian: No.
Me: Oh...well it'll be okay. (one of the 20 other kids was calling me)

Nice, right? I go home and tell my roommates, and end up with this conversation:

Becky: That was not okay to say! It is not normal to feel sad for no reason.
Christine: Yeah. He's going to end up committing suicide and you're going to be the one they interview – "There were warning signs..."

Peachy.

And then of course there was the latest discovery of calling each other incredibly inappropriate names.

"Miss Stewart! Jason called me a (!)"
"Alright, there will be NO more anatomy insults in here!"
"What's anatomy?"
"Oh...never mind."

(at least I didn't say 'anatomical'...)

The third charming conversation I had today happened when I was sitting at a table brainstorming with Emma Cole.

Emma looked over at me: "When you were nine, is this what you thought you'd be doing when you were 22?"

I looked down at the list of gangsta words we had been compiling for a rap song. On my computer was a website with a list of international slang words for police officers. (Ranging from "bobbies" to "po-lice" (pronounced "po-lease").)

"Well...no." I looked at her quizzically.

"I'm just pointing out the difference between reality and perceived reality," she went all psych-major on me. "So when we're 40 –"

"We'll still be cool?"

"No. If we're not cool now, we never will be."

A waltz when she walks in the room

Moments with Andrew

Andrew: Mrs. Stewart!!!
Me: Yes Andrew?
Andrew: What would happen if you were allergic to cats and then you ate a cat?
Me: You'd probably explode.
Andrew: But really...would you have to skin it?
Me: I don't care.

_______


Andrew: Mrs. Stewart I have another question.
Me: You come up with the weirdest questions.
Andrew: Well I need to find a picture of a black girl fighting a white girl.
Me: What?
Andrew: For class. I need to find a picture of a black girl fighting a white girl. And every time I search for it, it comes up with...well you know.
Vivian: Why don't you search "Caucasian..." hmmm.
Me: Have you tried "interracial fighting"?

and on.

_______

If I were a girl

Too funny.

who put all these things in your head?

Dear Shutter Island,

Thank you, but no. Close battle, but I was more repulsed than compelled.

Dear Scorsese,

I understand that you feel enormously. You feel so much. But must you drag us along? Must you share? No other way to exorcise?

I need to go watch Singing in the Rain.

____

Carrie Fisher is Debbie Reynold's daughter. Weeeird. Carrie Fisher is also a manic depressive who has worked closely with James Blunt (very weird.) And she was married to Paul Simon.

Dear Llams,

Dragging Mr. Marx to Shutter Island was unkind of you. A more appropriate Valentine's movie would have been...oh, I don't know, "Valentine's Day" maybe?

Dear Mr. Marx,

Stop calling me "dawg." Your head should bow in deference when you utter my name.

____

You with your crooked smile and steady breaths
I with my flighty thoughts, chipped nailpolish
The silver's been shot, the toys removed
'Til all we can say: Well maybe it is that way
or SG instead – "can analysis be worthwhile,
is the theatre really dead?"



I feel bad for Obama. This probably means he isn't doing too well – should his subjects really pity him? (I realize we aren't 'subjects' per se, but my grandmother has always referred to him as "King Obama".) However, I still admire his optimism even though it fell flat. Guantanamo, Health Care, Foreign Policy, Afghanistan – all the radical changes, specific time lines – none of it has really worked as he promised. I honestly think he believed he could do it. And that's worth it to me. I know it's illogical and silly, but that's what I think. Or rather, how I feel.

Did he, as The Economist points out, underestimate the inefficient, agenda'd slog that is our government? Very possibly. Should he have been so dramatic with his promises? Probably not. Is it enough for him to "mean well"? No. Oh, but I haven't contradicted myself. And yes, I'm against abortion and his stances there. And yes, I've a proclivity for libertarian practicalities, socialist ideals, liberal passions, and conservative values. Sorry. Not.

Not afraid of anything

Today I got added by the username "Foreverneverland100" on Youtube. It was immediately clear to me who this was – my baby sister Alexis who is obsessed with Peter Pan. Well, perhaps we're both in a fantasy world as she's hardly a baby anymore, but she's the youngest of six and I don't think the label will ever disappear.

So here's Lex, doing one of her favorite pastimes.

i've got a feeling

A photographer at the Olympics caused a small delay yesterday – kind of an odd story.

Nothing nearly as dramatic has been happening at the tutoring center recently. I did, however, clear any mix-ups between my name and Stuart Little's. (No, Jason, my name is not the same as Stuart's. There are several ways to spell Stewart and mine is better.)

And of course Jake and Brian had their usual tussle.

Jake: Stupid!
Brian: Fatty!
Jake: Fathead!
Brian: Jake's got a fat face!
Other kid: His face is swollen from surgery.
Brian: (laughs) I know!

Oh Brian.

Word of the day: killik; anchor


When Earth's Last Picture is Painted
by Rudyard Kipling

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.

And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!

it couldn't happen here in oz

I'm participating in Lent this year for the first time, and I'm unbelievably excited. I'm officially giving up Facebook and online television, and unofficially attempting to cut out my internet news fix (I get the Economist every week) and bad movies (pointless, gratuitous, unintelligent).

My nicotine patches? The five books I'm in the middle of, the people I'm surrounded by, nature, cooking, art projects, writing, GRE studying, taking up guitar, job hunting,and studying Arabic and French.

No, nature writing wasn't up there – comma.

***

"Miss Stewart, how will you ever get all those freckles off your arms?" Katie, age 6. Thanks Katie. :)

And today's winning writing entry comes from Brian's notebook. Brian (yes, broken-armed Brian) likes to write really messily to distract from confusing sentences and spelling errors. He is one of the joys who prefer making up definitions to opening a dictionary. He also makes fun of his younger brother Jake in all his sentences.

Word: inexplicable
Meaning: hard to avoid
Sentence Example: Jake is inexplicable because he is fat.

Too bad the sentence almost made sense.

nothing you can do

Fabulous tree houses. I want.

take me to the place i love

The kids were little horrors today. I feel like I'm blogging about my first year of motherhood, and I've reached month five where the novelty has worn off, the baby isn't all that cute yet, and all he/she does is annoy me. Yeah, great maternal instincts going on here.

I drew the short straw and ended up alone with

15 students (6-14 year olds).

There were three main incidents that stuck out.

(I actually had another picture for the top

that showed up on a "demon children" Google search but it creeped me out too much.)

Incident 1) The crying game.
It was break time, and I was finally allowed to ignore the manic laughter, yelling and verbal sparring. I looked down, attempting to correct some of the homework thrown my way, when I heard a voice; "Jake's crying." I looked up, and sure enough, the rotund little 9-year-old was sobbing – his eyes were squinched up and massive tears were rolling down his cheeks. According to Jake, another boy named Josh had grabbed his head and shoved it into the back of a chair. Josh denied this, saying that he had been very light and friendly in his actions. There were no witnesses (surprise) and Jake's older brother, Brian, was laughing, while another student called him a baby.

Anyways, I couldn't figure out what exactly had happened, but Josh (the supposed head slammer) has never had any disciplinary problems before, and Jake can be melodramatic, so I made Josh apologize and left it at that.

Incident 2) The broken arm.
No, nobody broke their arm. Buuuut, I had a wonderful conversation with Brian (Jake's older brother), and imparted terrific medical/life advice. The conversation went something like this.

Brian: (looks over at me and groans) My arm hurts.
Me: (looking up briefly) I'm sorry.
Brian: How can you tell if your arm is broken?
Me: Your arm isn't broken.
Brian: How do you know? How can you tell?
Me: You would know.
Brian: I think my arm is broken.
Me: No, it's not.
Brian: Yes it is. Ow.
Me: How much does it hurt?
Brian: (with a fairly stolid face for someone with a broken arm) A lot. When I raise it like this it starts hurting when I go too high. (he points at his shoulder)
Me: Okay, well it's not broken.
Brian: Do you have to go to the hospital if your arm is broken?
Me: Your arm isn't broken.
Brian: But do you have to?
Me: Yes. If your arm was broken, you'd have to go to the hospital. But your arm isn't broken.
Brian: Can you break your arm from doing push ups?
Me: What? No.
Brian: That's how I hurt it, I was doing push ups at school.
Me: I'm pretty sure you can't break your arm doing push ups. (Several freak push up accidents pop into my mind)
Brian: But it hurts! (rubs shoulder again)
Me: (doing appropriate miming) Were you doing push ups or pull ups?
Brian: Push ups.
Me: Your arm isn't broken.

I'm sorry. That was long, and there was no need to stick it all up (and hopefully you weren't waiting for a satisfying conclusion), but I needed to give a sense of how asinine and fatuous the conversation was. (Yes, I just discovered fatuous. Ideal, eh?)

Incident 3) The banshees.
Evan and Dylan are two 6-year-old identical twins who are equally adorable and evil. They make me glad that I don't actually know a Calvin in real life. Jason, another 6-year-old, is their crazy sidekick with anger management issues (balls his fists, growls, kicks things, and yells when he's upset.)

Anyways one of them, possibly Evan, looked at me and asked me if it was possible to scream so high that nobody could hear you except dogs.

"That's what I heard," he continued, shifting in his seat.

"Oh. I'm not sure. Maybe," I stuttered out.

I usually make answers up, but that's because I know the answer and want to mess with them. I knew there were sounds that were higher than human range, but I wasn't sure how likely it was that a human could produce a noise that high pitched. (Which apparently, they can't, according to someone on Yahoo.)

Just in case you didn't guess where this was all heading...this is what happened: Jason got really excited and silently opened his mouth really wide, with a look of excited horror, pretending he was screaming. I laughed and told him to stop because he'd start attracting dogs. (Yes, this might look like I was encouraging him, but I always encourage silent activities.)

All the other kids at our table who, of course, were listening to our conversation, got excited at Jason's silent scream and decided to join in. That's when it got less silent. The silent screams quickly turned into mostly silent screams (with bits of high pitched squeaking slipping out) and then into plain old shrieking. My shouts for silence didn't help the cacophony, and the other table with older kids stared in annoyance.

I came home and debriefed over dinner with my housemate Becky who also works with kids. We did our usual story exchange and she made me feel a bit better (at least my kids aren't all learning to hear. literally)

Aside from these incidents, the kids spent their time chasing, hitting and shouting at each other. Which means I spend my time chasing and shouting at them. My only solace is that I'm allowed to frequently yell "No touching!" at them, pretending that I'm in Arrested Development. The joy is always short lived.

And now a shout out to my fabulous and dedicated international reader Natalie. Natalie follows my blog in Thaliand, she always gives me positive affirmation, and has been a wonderful wingman, EV lunch buddy, TCK sympathizer, social conscience enforcer, and shorts pusher (that came out weirdly.) While I'm listing traits, she has lovely dark hair, big green eyes, and enjoys walks on the beach. But not with you or you or you.

don't think too hard about it

I just googled "wisdom teeth horror stories," and have added it to my list of terms to never google again. (On the plus side, I did find this great picture. Priceless.)

My dreams were crushed today as I discovered that Illuminati: The Musical, a movie which Chris and I have put much labor into creating, already exists as a play. Since you ask, I'm very upset.

In other news, I've been getting very depressed by whiz kids and piano prodigies. Clearly this could have been me if my parents had only pushed me a little harder and given me more swag (personal piano and laptop for your toddler, anyone?) But it's not just the whiz kids – it's watching college sports and knowing I'm older. Watching Olympics gymnasts and only being consoled by my superior back health. (Oh yes, they will all have back problems.) Don't get me started about all the 15-year-olds who dominate tennis.

So yes, I've passed my prime and it's depressing, because by the time you're old enough to realize you've passed it, you already have.

Isn't it funny how people get all huffed up over inequality of races and classes, but don't penalize genetic advantages? The American dream is hard work=picket fence house in suburbia with sprinklers and howdy do neighbors. But what about all the people achieving "the dream" without doing hard work, because they get there naturally from being born smart, attractive, stubborn, etc. Not fair.

Stop reading. Go back and figure out which parts are sarcasm, which parts are instigation, and which parts are me sitting back and watching words appear.

***