tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10584883634790925052024-03-13T11:32:54.729-04:00The Well-Read GiraffeI'm tall. And I like to read. A lot. There you go.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-55364750898914285142017-11-02T11:48:00.000-04:002017-11-02T11:58:25.751-04:00Soccer Mom?Well, it's been a little over a year since things in our lives started to become more crazy than ever and I've only recently started to see a light at the end of the tunnel, to feel a little bit of hope for things to come.<br />
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Let me set the scene: We were in the frantic part of the beginning of the school year, where things are typically rushed as we're getting used to our new students, having to catch up on all of the grading, and acclimating to being tired all the time...again. Except that everyone was especially exhausted because we had just gotten through weeks of helping students and friends gut their houses from the flood that had inundated Baton Rouge. As part of that, our school schedule was rushed and hectic because we had to fit all the days we missed from the flood into a shorter period of time so we had seven classes when we would normally have six in a day and all breaks were eliminated. Add to this that my father had started taking a downturn in his prostate cancer treatment and had to be hospitalized after a bad reaction to his chemotherapy. Did I mention that he and my mom live with us?<br />
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It was a time of stress upon stress upon stress. But we hadn't flooded. And, while our son, Noah, was a little nutty and never stopped running around and always wore us ragged, he was safe and he was healthy and he loved us and it was all going to be okay, right?<br />
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Right?<br />
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Apparently not.<br />
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Because, while we knew that Noah was a little "extra" in general and at school, and we had been receiving notes home nearly daily about how he had fought against this rule or accidentally injured another child or ran away from that teacher, we didn't expect THE email. The one suggesting that he had <a href="https://childmind.org/guide/oppositional-defiant-disorder/what-is-it/" target="_blank">ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder) </a>and that we should look into getting him to a behavioral therapist. This one hurt. Why couldn't he have a more commonly understood issue rather than the one that is basically a clinical diagnosis of, quite frankly, being an asshole? My sweet little guy? The one who, when he saw me tearing up, came over to me, patted my face, and said, "Mommy, don't cry." The kid who tried to kiss other people's "boo-boos" to make them better? That kid?<br />
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Apparently so.<br />
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The more we investigated, though, and over the course of a very eventful year, the more we learned that Noah has, as we call it, "All the D's." In addition to ODD, he also has <a href="https://www.spdstar.org/basic/understanding-sensory-processing-disorder" target="_blank">SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder)</a> and is mostly a "<a href="https://www.understood.org/en/learning-attention-issues/child-learning-disabilities/sensory-processing-issues/sensory-seeking-and-sensory-avoiding-what-you-need-to-know" target="_blank">seeker</a>," ADHD (I'm pretty sure you've heard of this one), and I've even seen some preliminary signs of a little OCD. He is also speech delayed. It's been a year of discoveries and dealing with stress and tragedy and it was really bad when my father died and Noah didn't understand why Grandpa wasn't coming home or why we were all sad all the time. There was the trial and error while we took him to hearing appointments and surgery to get tubes and speech appointments and occupational therapy appointments and had to find coverage for our classes on the fly so we could get him there and ordered him a sensory vest and tried out medications until finally finding one that helped him to focus enough to be able to start catching up developmentally and while we (still!) wait for his new <a href="http://www.nhsonline.org/services-education-autism.html#la" target="_blank">school program</a> that will help provide him the services and training he needs to open and when I always have to explain what's going on with him and how he doesn't have Autism, but that he has a disorder that is frequently linked to Autism and reading all the literature to try to help him and us and I'm writing this as a run-on sentence even as an English teacher to help you understand how tiring all of this is even though my son's issues aren't as bad as they could be.<br />
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Whew.<br />
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Because I don't want to talk about that stuff anymore. I want to talk about our win. Our success. And the fact that I'm hopeful again that life can be something resembling what is traditionally considered normal. I want to talk about getting a glimpse of what life as a stereotypical soccer mom could be like.<br />
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It was glorious.<br />
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We signed Noah up for a YMCA soccer league for 3-4 year-olds that our friend and co-worker was coaching. He was one of the youngest on the team and had been asked to leave his previous soccer and dance enrichment classes at daycare because he couldn't pay attention and was distracting the other students. Even with all his therapy and with his ADHD medicine, we knew this had the potential to be disastrous, but we wanted to try to give him a chance to be on a team and to have an activity he might enjoy. Since he rarely sits still, it would also possibly help him channel that boundless energy.<br />
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Week 1, he spent the practice flopping on the ground, running away and the game hiding underneath my chair. He did, however, like the "Go Lions" chant at the end of the practice and game.<br />
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Things slowly improved, especially when Billy banned me from going to practices so that Noah couldn't run to me and hide, but he was still pretty reluctant. Last week, though, the final one of the season, we made a breakthrough.</div>
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The coach had to hold practice an hour later than usual that day because he needed to finish coaching our school's basketball team. So, to avoid taking Noah home and having him grump about having to go back out to soccer practice, we went out to eat. This was the first success because his inability to sit still and to listen to us has made us avoid dining out with him at all costs. It was a risk, I'll admit it. But I put my trust in his medication and his therapy and our training and took a deep breath and dove in. We had a lovely meal at a small diner-style fast food chain. Noah listened to and chatted with us. He ate most of his meal. He was wiggly, but sat relatively calmly with us. I nearly cried.</div>
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The real challenge, though, was going to be soccer practice. When we arrived, there were only two other players present and we were waiting on the coach. Without any coaxing from the parents, the three kids started playing chase with each other. They were giggling and running and pretending to growl at each other and it was like they had been friends for ages. The parents joined in as much as we could without having the boundless energy of three and four-year-olds. It was amazing to see Noah so carefree and happy and interacting with other kids and, dare I say it, "normal." It's one of the first times I really felt like I was experiencing what the majority of parents must experience on a daily basis. He still had some difficulty listening and following the directions during practice, but he PARTICIPATED. With one Noah-style caveat: every time he made a goal, he ran over to us, pulled up his shirt, and asked for a raspberry on his belly. He would giggle uncontrollably for a second or two after this and then run back to play. We happily complied at this motivation because at least he was joining in. A raspberry on his belly is a small price to pay.</div>
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The next day, though, that was the best part. It was pretty chilly for Baton Rouge - in the 40s - and everyone was dressed up in sweatshirts and hats. We couldn't find Noah's jersey, so we put him in a dark colored sweatshirt with Batman on the front and a hood that's really too small for the shirt and definitely too small for Noah's rather large head. When he toddled around, he looked like a caricature of himself, but in reverse, since his head looked really tiny compared to his body. We were missing our star player and, when the game started, we only had four players available and Noah was one of them. I asked him, "Are you ready to play?"</div>
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And here's the best part, he said, "Yeah." Enthusiastically. And ran on the field!</div>
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Whaaaaaaaat?</div>
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The kid played for about half of the game total. And, while he didn't contribute much to the score and tended to hover at a distance from the pack, he was listening to his coach and he was trying to join in. He even, unintentionally, stopped the ball on defense a couple of times. I can work with that. </div>
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I'm not one for trophy culture, but, when the coach gave each team member a soccer ball medal with the dates of the season on it, Noah beamed from ear to ear and I felt like he had really earned that thing. I felt like WE had earned that medal. And that made it all worth it.</div>
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Later, he did an excellent job of playing and interacting with his teammates at the coach's daughter's birthday party at a nearby park. It was a red-letter day and I was so proud of him. He's even been talking about soccer and we might let him play again in the spring. </div>
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So why the title of this particular post? Because I had never wanted to be a soccer mom. I never wanted to fall into the traditional stereotype of the mother who drove her kids from activity to activity in a minivan and pushed them to do things that they didn't want to do and hauled folding chairs and snacks and tied cleats and washed jerseys. But, now that I've had a taste of it? A glimpse of "normal" and even "stereotypical" after all of the fighting and struggling for something resembling normal? I'll take it. I'll wear that soccer mom mantle. I'll cheer on the sidelines. Hell, I'll buy a pair of mom jeans if it means that my little guy is having fun and getting a chance to feel "normal" for a change. So....Go Lions!</div>
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<br />Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-60310272841825385192017-10-19T12:43:00.000-04:002017-10-20T11:48:33.204-04:00#metooRecently, I've been attempting to get back to my writing roots. I have been journaling more and brainstorming ideas for short stories, plays, children's books, and an ergodic/multimedia/interactive novel that's been sitting in the back of my brain for ages. I've been having trouble getting any of those projects off the ground. However, a couple times in the last few weeks, I've mentioned an experience or a perspective and someone will say, "You should blog about that." In fact, three separate people in different realms of my life have said something similar. I thought I'd return to blogging by recounting a silly little poem I dashed off the other day as a sort of marker of my jumping down the rabbit hole of writing again. Yet, I never got the motivation to type it up and post it.<br />
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The #metoo hashtag is different. That lit a fire under me to actually get on here to say something. And, be forewarned, I have a lot to say.</div>
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At first, I toyed with the idea of just letting the #metoo thing go by. I thought I could scroll through my Facebook stream liking or loving and supporting other people's posts and stay on the periphery. </div>
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Until I saw how many of my female friends and family members posted it.</div>
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Until I saw how many of my former students posted it.</div>
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Until I saw other people, like me, who also felt like their experiences "weren't that bad" or "weren't that important" thinking they shouldn't bother to post and did anyway.</div>
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Until I saw other people talk about how this needs to stop, no matter how "minor" the sexual harassment they experienced was.</div>
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Because it needs to stop.</div>
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I don't want this to be a part of my culture anymore. I don't want my students to experience it anymore, no matter how "minor." I don't want my son to grow up in a world where he has to stand up for his female friends and classmates and coworkers in the face of sexual harassment. I don't want to contribute to perpetuating that a sexist culture is the norm simply by not speaking up.</div>
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So....#metoo.</div>
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Assault has never really been on the list, but harassment definitely has. Cat-calling, obviously, because you can't escape that as a woman. Being a 6'1" target doesn't help things, which is ironic considering how frequently the phrase "shawty" has been used in the catcalls themselves. (Although, apparently, it does prevent me from being a target for rape and assault because it would "make too much of a scene." That's according to my high school self-defense instructor.)</div>
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There was the time when I was celebrating my birthday at an amusement park with friends - I think I was 13 - and the much older teenager in line behind me decided to grab my butt.</div>
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There was the time when my eleven-year-old friend and I were hanging out with some boys of roughly the same age at a water park and they thought pressing their crotches to our back ends would be a good idea. For them, maybe.</div>
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There was the time I was sitting with my husband before we were married at a restaurant and the man a few tables over - also on a date - chose to make lewd gestures in my direction when his date and mine weren't looking. Luckily, we were done eating and I asked to leave so as not to make a scene. I told my husband (fiancee at the time), much later, which was good, because he probably would have started an argument. </div>
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There was the time, when I was nineteen, that I was working as a hostess at a chain restaurant and was propositioned nearly every day by men all north of 40. My favorite was the guy in his fifties who gave me his card and offered a free helicopter-flying lesson. Thanks, but no thanks.</div>
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There was the time in college that my friends and I went to Mardi Gras and, as per the tourist culture there, I was repeatedly asked to flash men for beads. Fed up, I yelled, "Hell, no" at one of them and got some beads from the woman on the balcony above him as a reward.<br />
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There was the time, a few weeks ago, when Billy and I ran into male seniors we've both taught near a local movie theater that they all went out of their way to say hello to "Dr. P." but neglected to acknowledge my presence. Billy, not willing to let them leave our school without learning the importance of respecting the women in their lives, or women in general, schooled them on how inappropriate their reactions were.</div>
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None of these overt moments of harassment, though, compares to two situations I've experienced that involve the cultural tendency, in general, of treating women as being inferior to men. Because it is the two moments that I'm about to describe to you that made me feel like a lesser person. You see, in the previous examples I provided, I never felt powerless. I never questioned my worth. I moved on and didn't really give them a second thought. These two shook me to my core.</div>
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One all comes down to a simple off-handed comment. I was in grad school at the time, but working as an admin for a local publisher, who my husband has nicknamed "Professor Tiddly Winks," who owned a series of storefronts. I worked most directly with the woman who ran the storefronts - a cafe, gallery, art lesson studio, and bookshop - but he would come in from time to time. I figured I might be able to get a job learning editing from him on the side, but that never transpired. My husband, however, did manage to grab a free-lancing job editing a book for the company. I was turning in his edits one day and Tiddly Winks started up a conversation about my goals after grad school. At the time, I thought I had wanted to continue on to the Ph.D. and we talked about what types of schools I would prefer to work at. </div>
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"But, of course, if it's a spousal hire, you'll end up having to move where your husband decides to go, so it doesn't really matter."</div>
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Yep. He said it. To my face. Like it was nothing. I should note that, at this point, Billy had only finished his master's degree and had not yet started applying for Ph.D. programs. But, according to this guy, we would have to go wherever Billy got us a job. And I wouldn't matter. And he was right. Much of academia is structured that way. It doesn't mean the rest of us have to continue to buy into that mindset anymore, though.</div>
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Oh, and, for the record, both Billy and I earned our current jobs on our own, but we came onto the school's radar because of my teaching experience, not Billy's Ph.D. (which he didn't have yet). Take that, Professor Tiddly Winks.</div>
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I'm still getting over the other one that also occurred during grad school. You see, my high school English teacher had an affair with a student several years after I had graduated. This was a man who I not only idolized but who also had encouraged me to pursue my English degree because of all the support and effusive compliments - and challenges - he had provided to make me a better writer. I was shocked, hurt, and appalled. And I no longer trusted my instincts about people. I had modeled much of my now successful teaching style on his! Though I wrote a letter to the editor in support of the school during this awful time, I didn't know what I thought about the whole thing. Was it all a lie? Did he just compliment me because that's what he did with all his students? The weird thing is that I even found out he had a "type." I didn't fit the mold, so maybe his reassurances were genuine and not based on some perverted sexual attraction to me? I kept trying to justify all of it somehow. </div>
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I eventually ended up having his same job at my alma mater. </div>
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That's when the dreams started. For some reason, in them, he was still allowed to be at the school and his sole purpose there was to taunt me at how I would never be as good at his job as he was. This statement was usually followed by his hearty laughter, at which point I would wake up. Every time I was stressed or questioning my methods or abilities, he would pop into my nightmares again. Slowly, with a few more years of experience and a few more successful graduates under my belt, he receded into the background until, during one stressful portion of the semester, he showed up again to haunt my dreams.</div>
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"You'll never be as good of a teacher as I was."</div>
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And I punched him right in the jaw. I haven't had the dream since. Something else helped. As part of taking his former job, I had access to his files. I read my college letter of recommendation from him. It's good. It's damn good. And so am I. And even with the fog of his relationship with a student, and possibly others, tainting everything, it doesn't change my abilities. I keep that letter as a talisman to remind myself to be the person I always thought I had the capability of being. </div>
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And that means I need to be a role-model for my students. I need to make sure that this type of thing doesn't happen to them. I need to talk about it and write about it and speak up about it so that we no longer normalize this sexist treatment, harassment, and, yes, assault on the women and men in our society who are having their power taken away from them by people who don't deserve to be in power.</div>
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So, yes, #metoo.</div>
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Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-31682054870909442592016-07-07T15:06:00.001-04:002020-05-29T20:54:33.143-04:00Making Noise<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">I haven't said much about the recent shootings of two black men by police other than commenting on other people's posts or reacting to them with the convenient yet certainly not adequate emoji options Facebook provides. Mostly, this has been because there's already a flood of people who are more informed about these stories and the grimly numerous previous ones and who are more willing to post their opinions online. I didn't feel like anything I had to say would add to the conversation, despite having the urge to say something, anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">I didn’t want to create noise in a space that needed music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">And then, today, when I was driving to run an errand, I suddenly became acutely aware of my surroundings. There was a woman driving her black SUV in front of me with an LSU Alumni sticker common of many cars in Baton Rouge who I nearly ran into because her left taillight had burned out.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Think about that for a minute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">She is able to blithely go about her day without worrying about her taillight being burned out. She might be at risk of being pulled over (though I doubt it) without fearing that she’ll be shot and killed during a routine stop for a traffic violation while her significant other records it and a four-year-old in the back witnesses the entire thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Even though she is, technically, in violation of the law. Even though she didn’t use her blinker when switching lanes. Even though she was in the middle of her turn when the light had already become red. Even though she seemed to be reading her phone screen at one point while I was driving behind her. Even though, because Louisiana is a concealed-carry state, she could feasibly have a gun somewhere in the car legally that might make any cop pulling her over a little nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Why doesn’t she have to worry about this? Why is she most likely oblivious to any of these violations that are the last thing to come into her mind as being an issue today?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because she’s white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">And then I knew I had to say something, even if it doesn’t further the conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because it keeps the conversation present. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because, even if what I’m saying is noise, it’ll help make the noise louder until it crescendos and people in power actually do something to prevent these deaths from happening anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because my son goes to a daycare down the street from where Alton Sterling died and I don’t want him to grow up in a world where his black friends and teachers are afraid of going to school or work simply because of the color of their skin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because I don’t want to find out one day that one of my black students has been killed during a routine stop for a traffic violation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because I fear for my black friends’ lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because I don’t have a lot of power in this world other than my vote and my ability to use words effectively and to teach others to do the same. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Because, maybe, if more white people start saying something, if more white people become noisy about this, maybe, just maybe, black lives won’t have to fight to just matter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">Maybe black lives will just be able to live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-7216719101426962762015-08-07T11:12:00.000-04:002015-08-07T11:12:18.160-04:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">#OnceASEMGirlAlwaysASEMGirl<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hello Ladies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">First, Congratulations. And to my
residential girls, “Gong shi, gong shi.”
I’m very proud of all that you have accomplished and I want to thank you
for giving me the honor of representing the faculty in bidding you farewell and
good luck as you move into your lives beyond SEM.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You all know I value honesty and
straightforwardness so I’ll be honest here.
Secretly, since returning to SEM as a teacher eight years ago, I have wanted
to be the faculty speaker at graduation.
I have always felt a small pang of jealousy mixed with admiration for
the people who have had the opportunity to do so. I think, on some level, being selected
represented some kind of validation that I had managed to make a positive
difference, no matter how small, in your lives.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The problem is I’ve had trouble writing
this speech. I’ve written and rewritten
it about a hundred times in my head. I
thought about previous speeches full of Dr. Priest’s inspiration, Ms. Miller’s
kindness, and Mrs. Greene’s encouragement and wondered what I had to offer you.
I didn’t really understand what was making this so difficult until yesterday at
Class Day when I didn’t notice I started crying and then, I couldn’t stop. It became clear to me that the reason I’ve
been having so much difficulty figuring out what to say is that you’re not the
only ones saying goodbye – this year, I am, too. And, like you, I’m excited and ready for
something new, but I’m also a little bit terrified (I mean, teaching boys? That’s kind of terrifying). But, luckily, I know that my time as a SEM
girl has prepared me to venture into my new life with the skills to survive and
to thrive. And then I understood that I
could send you off with a reminder: that you have an incredible community
cheering you on and supporting you because, once you’re a SEM girl, you’re
always a SEM girl. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have essentially been a member of the SEM
community since I was in 7<sup>th</sup> grade.
Back then, there was an all-day workshop that SEM held to try to get
middle school girls to see where the proverbial magic happens. That year, the subject was English (the title
was Semantics – I loved a great pun even then) so two of my Catholic school
classmates and I decided to check it out.
I walked through those iconic wooden doors and knew there was something
different about this place. It didn’t
hurt that we got to dress up as characters from a book and that the day began
with a costume contest. Multiple
literature-based activities later and a chance to see the nooks and crannies of
the building, I was hooked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In traditional Admissions Office
fashion, that landed me on the SEM mailing list and the rest is history. After two years performing with the school’s
former summer program Broadway at SEM, I, of course, had to shadow. I was admitted and attended. Which led to staying with my best friend and
her family from sophomore to senior year when my father had to move for his job
and I didn’t want to leave. You see, SEM
was my family when mine was far away. And
that connection has only become stronger.
I knew that graduation didn’t mean the end of my bond with Buffalo
Seminary, particularly because of the lifelong friends I had made here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Imagine my surprise, years later,
when I heard about a job opening for English teacher only a couple of years
after ending up back in Buffalo after multiple other adventures. Three weeks before the school year
started. A job I swore up and down I
would never do. Oh, and, did I mention
that I hadn’t really taught before in the full sense of the word? Right.
That didn’t stop the inner SEM girl in me, though. I promptly contacted my former teacher Robin
Magavern and found out what I could do to rejoin the SEM community as a faculty
member. Apparently the hiring committee
deemed me worthy – or else they were a little crazy, the jury’s still out on
that – because here I am. Thanks, guys.
It’s had its ups and downs, but it truly has been a gift.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Why? It sounds a bit<i> Dead Poets’
Society</i>, but SEM really is a community that stretches across time and space. You will have lifelong friendships not only
with classmates, but also with teachers, and with the others you encounter
through the school. I never expected
when I first walked in those doors in 7<sup>th</sup> grade that one of my best
friends from the class of ’99 – Caitlyn Lawton – would be present in the delivery room to support me
when my son, Noah, was born last year and then, for all intents and purposes,
become his aunt. Or that one of my first
seniors– the Class of 2008’s very own Catherine Knauss – would come back to
work at SEM and end up becoming one of my closest friends. Or that the girl who I shadowed during eighth
grade – you know her as Molly Greene – would join the faculty at SEM the same
year I did and that we would both be teaching Freshmen at the time. Or that my favorite history teacher from high
school – SEM legend, Harry Schooley – would become a cherished colleague and
then a dear friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, since I have all of these amazing
connections at hand, I thought I would do a little crowdsourcing to help me
with this speech. Because, let’s face
it, those who do things at SEM, never have to do them alone. For those of you who don’t know, the
inaugural Media and Communications class did a little experiment this
year. We created and sent out a hash tag
- #OnceASEMGirlAlwaysASEMGirl - to see how far and wide and under what circumstances
it would travel. With responses ranging from
the local environs all the way to France and Norway, as well as from recent
alums to graduates in their fifities and retired former faculty members, we
discovered that SEM is still very much present in the everyday lives of those
on whom it has had an impact. I
re-tweeted that hashtag recently and asked friends of SEM to tell me what they
learned here that still helps them in their lives today. Here’s what several of them said:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I learned to be honest and [to]
take responsibility for my actions. And
to lead!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“That 21 years after Freshman
Orientation, you will still be best friends with someone you met that day.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“How to be independent enough to
get the job done, but I am also not afraid to ask for help when it is needed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Confidence, integrity, critical
thinking.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“I learned that being a strong,
intelligent, independent woman is something to be proud of. Also I learned how to perfectly flip a
grilled cheese sandwich without a spatula.”
(We used to be able to go into the kitchen and make food. I’m pretty sure the health department didn’t
know that. It’s a long story…)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Never fear your own thoughts,
ideas, and aspirations. Being quiet will
get you nowhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Do not be afraid of making
mistakes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Exuberance and laughter are
essential.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Embrace your own inner weirdness
and the importance of caring.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Growth and change are not one and
the same.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Just because you don’t agree with
someone, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Pretty good advice, right? I agree.
But as I was writing this, I couldn’t shake the sense that something was
missing. I mean, I have my awesome
experiences to share with you and I’ve compiled other sound advice to
contribute to helping you embark on a new adventure with a support network, but
it still felt, somehow…hollow. And then
I realized. The best part about the last
eight years has not only been having the opportunity to return to SEM and working
with my unparalleled colleagues and being able to put myself out there, make
mistakes, and try new things in the classroom, but it has also been you – my
amazing, funny, thoughtful, energetic, intellectually curious, brave
students. The most important thing that
I have learned at SEM is what you have taught me. And those are lessons I’ll never be able to
forget.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">First, you taught me patience. Patience with you, with myself, with
technology… Your class, especially. You are big and bold and loud – let’s face
it, this class has a lot of personality.
I keep trying to forget that one class your Freshman year that was so
rowdy that I gave about 80% of you red slips, but you keep bringing it up. But I wouldn’t change that. You helped me to realize that patience is,
indeed, a virtue. And it has paid
off. Look at you: you are strong,
independent, opinionated – still loud – young women who have already been doing
incredible things and now you’re about to go out into the world and do even
more. We just had to be patient with
you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">You taught
me the importance of making people accountable.
I still don’t think your class entirely understands the concept of a
deadline. Just in case, for college,
here’s the definition: </span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 200%;">the latest time or date by which something should be
completed. Synonyms include “time
limit,” “finishing date,” target date,” and “cutoff point.” From the historical: a line drawn around a
prison beyond which prisoners were liable to be shot. Hence, dead line. Anyway, I realized when I had to be strict
with you because you had to commit to something and I realized when I needed to
back off so that you could learn the consequences of not following through. To do that, I had to hold myself accountable
to you, which isn’t always easy to do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 200%;">I learned that it’s
</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">okay to take risks (although that touching the Miss Angell Portrait thing
was probably a bad idea since, apparently, the lore is true and it’s now
raining on your graduation day…) You
have taken a lot of risks during your years at SEM. Some of them have paid off – like confronting
little injustices that you see happening in your everyday lives. Some haven’t entirely – going to visit
Washington, D.C. during the government shutdown comes to mind, although,
judging by your slide show yesterday, you still had a lot of fun. But you didn’t let the risk of failure scare
you. I’m taking a big risk by moving on
from SEM, but, at the moment, it is a move I have to make for my family. It would be a bigger risk for me if I didn’t
try, though. And you taught me that just
because you’re afraid to do something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. In fact, you always seem to do things in
spite of the fear, so maybe I should take that lesson to heart as well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I
discovered that it’s okay to have fun and to make fun of yourself. Whether you’re lamenting how your class
always seems to get the short end of the stick, particularly on class trips or
you’re turning the study hall into a night club complete with glow sticks and
bouncers, or if you’re like me, and you try to convince your co-workers to lip
sync the final song in Pitch Perfect in the name school spirit, complete with,
perhaps unwisely chosen split, fun is key.
You guys are always enjoying yourselves, even if part of that is
reveling in a bit of complaining – I won’t miss your loud, whiny sessions in
the gallery, to be honest – you manage to do it with a smile and a laugh and
you always end up finding the humor in the situation, even if it’s at your own
expense. You will help me remember to
keep things fun, somehow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">I could go
on and on, but, because I’ve been speaking too long already, I’ll get to the
last lesson you taught me. I learned
from you to always be genuine. You, as a
class, do not value beating around the bush.
You call people out on their insincerity. You like straight talk and
straightforwardness. In the beginning,
this meant a lot of missteps and, let’s face it, inappropriateness in your
interactions. Over time, though, you
have refined your approach and are generally able to walk the fine line between
bold and brazen. You kept us on our
toes. But you also recognized when we
were being reasonable and candid with you and when you were being
unreasonable. No matter what, you always
stayed true to yourselves, without compromise.
When I was having trouble writing this, my husband kept reminding me to
“be genuine” and true to who I am. I
knew that you would be able to tell if I was trying to be something I’m not and
I will remember the importance of that thanks to the example you have set for
us.</span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, whenever things start to get
difficult, remember the lessons that you have learned at SEM and the ones that
you have taught each other. I know I
will rely on these experiences when life starts to seem a little too
overwhelming. In a way, we’re both graduating
- I’m just on the 12-year plan and doing it for a second time. On top of all of the academic and
communication skills, we have taught each other patience and honesty and
bravery and we will be able to use these lessons as foundations for our ever-changing
lives. And even though this is goodbye,
it isn’t really. We may be leaving, but
we’ll always be connected because once you’re a SEM girl, you’re always a SEM
girl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-29651873043983867742012-09-05T19:12:00.000-04:002012-09-05T19:12:00.020-04:00Running UpdateWell, I can't ignore it anymore. If I want to succeed at this goal, I have to start working on it. And, since I now have an actual 5K scheduled, I really have to buckle down. The School Government Association is holding a 5K run/walk on September 29th so that's as good a goal as any. Which means that, in order to be prepared with my interval training program, I need to run every single day until the race. Yay. I did get started <a href="http://www.rundouble.com/?page=map/1582765/KCWqTraske" target="_blank">today</a>, so that's something. Though I'm not encouraged at the moment...<br />
<br />
<br />Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-2575503535914486422012-07-18T13:37:00.003-04:002012-07-18T13:37:38.263-04:00Running Goal: Week...Sooo....you may have noticed that I haven't made any posts lately. (Or, not, if you don't really care about any of this, but, for the sake of my ego, let's assume you do care.) There are a few reasons for that. The first, and most obvious, is that I haven't been running. <br />
<br />
I've still been going on bike rides or walking or doing my physical therapy exercises at home, but I haven't been able to run much lately because of the heat and humidity we've had here lately. For example, yesterday, when I went on a bike ride with my friend Beth, I was huffing and puffing and felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest, making it that much harder to do simple tasks. Even the inhaler hasn't been helping recently.<br />
<br />
The other reason... well, here's a look at it:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s_7z9uHA3u-NRp53H-9yvZtapd3g7RUQINm33TY4jqGIpJFoQAJ4yWDmRWO1_mH-Tf2VGecYDtxdieJfzpmBLNQM4ccvCI2JYM1fjy-FCPHod_REaQ8iqEIWHHuj74GsAcGFEm9RGbAK/s1600/IMAG0389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s_7z9uHA3u-NRp53H-9yvZtapd3g7RUQINm33TY4jqGIpJFoQAJ4yWDmRWO1_mH-Tf2VGecYDtxdieJfzpmBLNQM4ccvCI2JYM1fjy-FCPHod_REaQ8iqEIWHHuj74GsAcGFEm9RGbAK/s320/IMAG0389.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nah, I didn't need that toe...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;">Last night, I made the mistake of walking into the living room in the dark too quickly and had an unfortunate encounter with the ottoman. Basically, the second to last toe stopped moving and my foot kept going. Just be glad I didn't show you a picture of it before I wrapped it up - it looks like a rainbow trout. So, with the broken toe, I'm going to refrain from running for a little while since, with the new style I've been trying out where you run on the ball of your foot, you are supposed to allow your toes to do a lot of the work. Sigh.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-69680780650603401632012-07-09T12:31:00.001-04:002012-07-09T12:31:06.097-04:00Writing Goal Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRxhOELdx-G7TNWrCG2sQq-zjqyPm55CiK5vuA5A-hbINPJ2qxk" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRxhOELdx-G7TNWrCG2sQq-zjqyPm55CiK5vuA5A-hbINPJ2qxk" width="320" /></a></div>
So, as I mentioned in my post about the<a href="http://wellreadgiraffe.blogspot.com/2012/06/summer-goals-background.html" target="_blank"> background of my summer goals</a>, I was hoping to write a play this summer. I had an idea I had been thinking and brainstorming about, I bought a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Playwrights-Guidebook-Insightful-Dramatic-Writing/dp/0571199917/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341848190&sr=1-4&keywords=playwriting" target="_blank">book </a>with some helpful information in it and some writing exercises that I was going to work on, and I had a vision in my head of what I wanted to do.<br />
<br />
And that's when it kind of fell apart.<br />
<br />
Let me back up a bit. I used to write all the time. Like, constantly. Unbidden. I've been making up stories since I was three years old. My dad would pick up a yellow legal pad at family gatherings and ask for a list of 20 words. Then he and I would have to make up a story around the words, kinda like it was reverse madlibs. I caught the storytelling bug and it's been with me ever since. Poetry, short stories, even school papers - any time I could write I would. <br />
<br />
Until college was almost over. When I was rejected to every creative writing program I applied to, I sort of hung up my journal and pen and wandered into the real world, lost. I even actively pushed <span style="background-color: white;">away </span><span style="background-color: white;">the idea of writing. But it hasn't disappeared. (Take this blog as an example.) For a while, though, I've been grieving my storytelling career, until I realized that it hasn't been dead - it's just been in hibernation for a while. It shows up in the comments I write for my students or in the ways I explain a difficult concept in the classroom. I practice my word choice in my Facebook status updates or my comedic timing when relating a funny experience I had. When I give my Autobiography students an in-class writing assignment, I write about the same topic.</span><br />
<br />
But I hadn't been actively writing until last summer. I was afraid it would be too hard. I was blocked. So, at the recommendation of a friend, I went through the book <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Artists-Way-Spiritual-Creativity/dp/0874776945" target="_blank">The Artist's Way</a></i>. For 12 weeks, I wrote morning pages every day, I did the workshop tasks, I kept artist dates with myself, and I started to feel creative again - not only in writing, but in teaching, and in everyday life. I could almost define myself as a writer again rather than someone who dabbles in it from time to time.<br />
<br />
And then life got in the way. I stopped writing every morning. I stopped making time to be creative. I stopped, well, playing and having fun with creativity. So that's when I decided I was fed up and that, this summer, I was really going to write something. That's when I had the idea for the play.<br />
<br />
Which brings us to the last few weeks. Where I've been stuck. Stymied. Blocked again. So I decided to write morning pages again. If I'm going to write something as a project, then I need to at least start writing, period. After I did that for a few days, I decided I needed some more encouragement. So I picked up the book that comes after <i>The Artist's Way</i> - <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vein-Gold-Journey-Creative-Heart/dp/0874778794" target="_blank">The Vein of Gold.</a> </i>While the first book is about finding your inner artist child and digging her out of the hole she climbed into, this one is about recovery - now that the urge to write is back, what direction do I take it in<i>, </i>kind of thing. I felt I needed to work on this for a little bit before I could dive right into a project. Just like my running goal, where I have to build up my stamina with intervals, I have to flex my writing muscles before I can throw them into a 5K-type project. They need a warm-up.<br />
<br />
Part of that warm-up is my next project. In the first part of the book, you're supposed to reflect on what has brought you to this point, year by year. It's called the life narrative. You look back on each year of your life and write about one or a couple of images that really stand out in your mind. It's sort of like going to counseling with yourself because you end up realizing what is integral to who you have become as a person and how events have shaped your perception. By examining the past, you can move forward in the present. So, I'll be updating you on the progress of this life narrative as well as the play itself. Since the main goal is to get writing again, at least I'm getting back on track as far as that goes.<br />
<br />
<u>Tally as of today:</u><br />
<i>Life Narrative: </i>Year 1 (29 to go)<br />
<i>Morning Pages:</i> 5/last 7 days<br />
<br />Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-32073554616529821012012-07-09T10:42:00.001-04:002012-07-09T10:42:47.395-04:00Running Goal: Week 1, Day 3As you may have noticed, I'm titling these posts based on the week of the program, not by the actual time that I'm completing them by (since there's almost a week between the last two posts.) It's taking me longer than I thought since the weather's been so warm and humid, making it hard for my lungs to soldier on and get out there. The link to my most recent run is here: <a href="http://www.rundouble.com/#map/1322836/pRhURByCO3" target="_blank">info</a>. I must be getting the hang of it because my fastest running pace was 7:27/mile and the slowest was 10:06. Hopefully, I can continue at that pace when I start adding longer intervals of running.<br />
<br />
I've also been going for a 30 minute bike ride at least three times a week during the middle of the day with my friend Beth. I'm hoping that will contribute to increasing my stamina (and muscles!) in conjunction with my physical therapy workouts. We'll see.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-32963216547119165382012-07-01T20:15:00.004-04:002012-07-01T20:16:00.440-04:00Running Goal: Week 1, Day 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://terborg.typepad.com/.a/6a014e5f86c94a970c01539225f77e970b-580wi" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://terborg.typepad.com/.a/6a014e5f86c94a970c01539225f77e970b-580wi" width="246" /></a></div>
The above photo pretty much says it all. Not too bad today, but not great. I had to stop for a few minutes after the 6th running interval because I felt like an elephant was sitting on my lungs, but, after walking around for a minute, I finished out. The worst part about all of this is that I hate feeling weak. Oh well. Stats are posted here, if you're interested: <a href="http://www.rundouble.com/#map/1334203/IIrVC5vxdU" target="_blank">Run 2</a>.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-66407895568019085082012-06-27T16:46:00.001-04:002012-06-27T16:46:05.805-04:00Running Goal: Week 1, Day 1I had racked up about five or six weeks on my Couch to 5K program before the end of the school year and then, somehow, all my effort seemed for naught. I tried to run the week four interval set the other day, thinking that it would be a nice way to warm back up to the program, and, let's just say, I was struggling. It's amazing how quickly my stamina regresses.<br />
<br />
I've been using the Android <a href="https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.rundouble.companion&feature=search_result#?t=W251bGwsMSwxLDEsImNvbS5ydW5kb3VibGUuY29tcGFuaW9uIl0." target="_blank">RunDouble </a>App for several months now because it follows the interval program, allows you to use your own music playlist, keeps statistics for you including a map of your run, and prompts you between intervals. It's been a great help, but there is no app that makes me want to walk out the door and get started. (If they invent that, let me know.)<br />
<br />
So, today, I started over again with Week 1, Day 1. This consists of a warm-up, eight 60 second intervals interspersed with eight 90 second intervals, and a cool-down. I decided not to have any expectations and to just go out and...well...go. I did pay attention to one thing, though: my gait. A couple years ago, my friend, Kacy, wrote about <a href="http://kacytillman.blogspot.com/2009/08/barefoot-running.html" target="_blank">her experience and research on barefoot running</a>. This intrigued me. The concept is that, basically, because humans have become used to padded shoes, we don't use our feet like we should. Instead of walking or running on the balls of our feet or our midsoles, we tend to rock from the back to the front. This can cause heel injuries, put us out of alignment, and, generally, doesn't allow the nerves in our feet or the feet themselves to work properly.<br />
<br />
Now, though this idea intrigued me, I never thought I would be able to wear the minimalist shoes that are so popular since I have back issues. I was sure I needed the cushioning. However, a couple weeks ago, I needed new sneakers. I went to DSW to get my go-to Saucony sneakers because I have to wear men's sneakers a lot of the time; Saucony sneakers run narrow so they fit my feet better. ( I should mention that I've been too cheap to ever get fitted for sneakers, though I do plan to do it the next time I need a pair.) Billy, bored with the mall crowd, wandered off to find a pair of sneakers and attempt to make the pain of the shopping experience end quickly. He found a pair of minimalist sneakers on sale so I tried them on and walked around. They were quite comfortable, extremely light, and fit much better than the other ones I had been trying on. So I decided to buy them. I found that, when running, I was able to push off the front of my foot instead of landing on my heel and having to gain the momentum to move forward. This made it much easier to run and much easier to believe my eyes when I see people running down the street, making this form of exercise seem effortless (though I'm clearly not there yet.)<br />
<br />
Starting over with the program today, I made sure to land towards the front of my foot rather than the back. I felt like I was flying. The closest thing I can compare it to is when I took ballet classes as a kid and you had to stay on the ball of your foot. It even helped to align the rest of me a bit more so, though breathing was still difficult, it was much easier than I was used to. And, apparently, it made a difference since, with walking, I brought my pace down from an 11 minute mile to a 10 minute mile. My average running intervals were also in between 8 and 9 minutes rather than 10 and 11. I know it's going to be difficult to keep moving, but it's encouraging to know that, with a few tweaks, I might be able to be more successful this time around than I have been in the past.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Stats, Week 1, Day 1:</u></b><br />
Overall Pace: 10:59<br />
Overall Distance: 1.68 miles<br />
Time: 18:30<br />
Fastest Interval: 8:07<br />
Longest Interval: 0.12 miles<br />
<br />
(Including Warm Up/Cool Down):<br />
Overall Pace: 12:07<br />
Overall Distance: 2.35 miles<br />
Time: 28:30<br />
<br />
To see the map of my run, click <a href="http://www.rundouble.com/#map/1322339/RCzV0oXaXa" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-19819321756259347922012-06-27T16:18:00.001-04:002012-06-27T16:18:31.305-04:00Summer Goals: BackgroundThis summer, our school has decided to add to our summer reading assignment. We have chosen the theme of goal setting and each student (and participating faculty) must choose one of the six books listed that focus on goals to read and discuss on the first day of school. In addition to this, everyone must set at least one goal to attempt to accomplish over the summer and keep track of the progress made towards that goal. (If you want to see a more detailed explanation of this project, go <a href="https://sites.google.com/a/buffaloseminary.org/summer-reading-instructions/home/goal-setting-theme" target="_blank">here</a>.)<br />
<br />
As part of this, I have chosen to pursue two goals over the course of the summer and, in order to make myself accountable for following through on these, I've decided to blog about them here. If I've published it, I have to go through with it, right? I'm going to be posting updates periodically, divided by the goal that I'm talking about. I would appreciate if those of you who are actually interested in my progress can occasionally check up on me to help motivate me a bit.<br />
<br />
So, what are my goals, you are probably asking by this point? One is physical while the other is more creative/emotional. Let's go with the physical one first: I've been wanting to be able to run a 5K, without having to stop to walk, for at least the last three years. I've continually attempted to do the <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml" target="_blank">Couch to 5K program</a>, which is nine weeks long, but I've never been able to get past week 6 and, usually, I have to do some of the program for a couple weeks in a row. Part of this is due to the fact that I'm not in as good of shape as I'd like to be while part of it is simply my exercise-induced asthma. The closest I've come to completing this was during the <a href="http://www.jpmorganchasecc.com/events.php?city_id=7" target="_blank">Buffalo Corporate Challenge</a> when I ran about 2/3 of the 3.5 miles in 42 minutes. Not great and my back started hurting partway through, but, still, a place to start.<br />
<br />
I don't have a particular race in mind yet. I've looked for local ones that are a little more than nine weeks out to allot for doubling up on a couple of the weeks, but I have to be careful not to schedule anything at the end of August or the beginning of September because of the girls moving back in, orientation, and the beginning of school. I think I'm leaning more towards the end of September or the beginning of October so if anyone has any recommendations, please let me know. Anything I write about this particular goal will be tagged "running goal" if you want to search the blog that way.<br />
<br />
Now, on to the second goal. The creative one. I would like to write a play. I came up with an idea I fell in love with a few months ago and I would like to see it come to fruition. At this point, I'm not sure how much of the play I can feasibly write before the school year begins again, so part of my goal setting process is determining what a reasonable amount to have accomplished by the end of the summer would be. Anything I write about this goal will be tagged "writing goal" if you want to keep track of that one.<br />
<br />
If you do read this, feel free to cheer me on or make suggestions. Even if you don't, thanks for providing the possibility of an audience to help me stay on track.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-55796021879485050472010-08-29T15:40:00.000-04:002010-08-29T15:40:41.094-04:00365 (kinda): 1, 2, 3I have a couple friends who started doing the <a href="http://content.photojojo.com/tutorials/project-365-take-a-photo-a-day/">365 project</a> at the beginning of the year, posting photographs and mini-stories about their lives on Facebook for the last several months, missing some days but keeping up with it for the most part. I have found these glimpses into their everyday lives interesting and insightful and have watched as photos vary from the mundane to the artistic to the reflective. Knowing that I often wonder where my year disappears to, I decided to participate in this same photographic reflection process but, instead of beginning on January 1st, I'm going to measure my year beginning with my birthday.<br />
<br />
Well...I <i>was</i>.<br />
<br />
Having spent the last week trying to cram a 3 bedroom apartment plus storage into 350 square feet, I haven't really had the time since my birthday on Friday to write anything up. I have taken pictures, though. This will be a posting for the last few days all in one.<br />
<br />
<b>August 27, 2010 - Day 1</b><br />
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<b> </b>This is a photograph of the stained glass window in the living room of our new apartment in the dorm. It's a fleur de lys so it's perfect for us Francophile Saints Fans and the light that comes through it in the afternoon is gorgeous. I took this at 6 in the morning when I couldn't sleep because I was so panicked about finishing moving (we haven't yet.) <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEIsE_0ufQ5QJfRWaGt1xVadYq3JobY0Bp55LSpDuC6ZUUIwOQxYAp6dFWTcClobb5Vr9MnQimcnJIKbWyIH_2naGFZoeIIhcfunZlXsUuTEzMDpwEwW3nqIUgEcmEH7xRsclEi9SfSSAs/s1600/1.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEIsE_0ufQ5QJfRWaGt1xVadYq3JobY0Bp55LSpDuC6ZUUIwOQxYAp6dFWTcClobb5Vr9MnQimcnJIKbWyIH_2naGFZoeIIhcfunZlXsUuTEzMDpwEwW3nqIUgEcmEH7xRsclEi9SfSSAs/s320/1.1.jpg" /></a></div>This is the initial clutter in the room from the first night we stayed at the dorm - you get a better idea of how the stained glass looks in this photo. It has since gotten worse (see below.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz7hYORumHrxm1nBzVQSVs5wxwWl8lojnqZ7phD3PFraMKC7jjZK5Qpcj4PmRUEpuNydfvq5-NYM40eD1ftN1e9mRE_EG8IKM12BusQYwgkkyLg5mHimVo7eAF3G2fip0ZNQnVMxfzU3A3/s1600/1.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz7hYORumHrxm1nBzVQSVs5wxwWl8lojnqZ7phD3PFraMKC7jjZK5Qpcj4PmRUEpuNydfvq5-NYM40eD1ftN1e9mRE_EG8IKM12BusQYwgkkyLg5mHimVo7eAF3G2fip0ZNQnVMxfzU3A3/s320/1.2.jpg" /></a></div>These are the <a href="http://www.zillycakes.com/">Zillycakes</a> that Billy bought me as a birthday cake to make up for the fact that, with the move, we could no longer go on the weekend trip we had been planning. I had purchased two tickets to see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001626/">Captain Von Trapp</a> himself in <i>The Tempest</i> in Stratford, Ontario but they were for the 8pm showing so we would have had to drive the three hours to get there, see the play, stay in a hotel, and come back the next morning. This wasn't feasible considering we hadn't entirely moved out of our apartment and the girls were supposed to move in on the 29th.<br />
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Zillycakes has an awesome cupcake bar so Billy got me a veritable buffet here. The top left one is Sangria, the bottom left is peach amaretto, the top right is red velvet cake, and the bottom right is Rocky Road. They are awesome!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2HW6eEVZzt-YyojtahdEZfzHME60UZWb1gmAcIYRORtT8a_1uM7G30-zsU0TgP-KJ2sVmzJb3MITE44Y_jOjKlV0BB66QsUEiYA_OoJ_4hraLL_WWmUu-7hInFOxNAQPfFTGprIpJnYFi/s1600/1.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2HW6eEVZzt-YyojtahdEZfzHME60UZWb1gmAcIYRORtT8a_1uM7G30-zsU0TgP-KJ2sVmzJb3MITE44Y_jOjKlV0BB66QsUEiYA_OoJ_4hraLL_WWmUu-7hInFOxNAQPfFTGprIpJnYFi/s320/1.5.jpg" /></a></div>After having to forgo our trip to Stratford, we went out to dinner with our friends Kristin and Mike to Dave & Buster's (classy!) I am a fan of skee-ball and this is Kristin playing her favorite game - Deal or No Deal. She especially likes yelling, "No Deal!" It tickles me.<br />
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<b>August 28, 2010 - Day 2</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHz9Rdr7MwCMbRkXLuHxWP8Tj8-CXhSTmkTrEbBbUwM_z68wzvtSE18CUaZpf-H8-YK414ksbXWV8xZRv9E3fVmXZdxAGwT9ShppQL2w0OnAclmv_ohiaahNrEo1-myMFecIJpdBSC1yN/s1600/2.0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHz9Rdr7MwCMbRkXLuHxWP8Tj8-CXhSTmkTrEbBbUwM_z68wzvtSE18CUaZpf-H8-YK414ksbXWV8xZRv9E3fVmXZdxAGwT9ShppQL2w0OnAclmv_ohiaahNrEo1-myMFecIJpdBSC1yN/s320/2.0.jpg" /></a></div><b> </b>The clutter. You try condensing a three bedroom apartment to a living room and a bedroom and we'll talk. I don't know when this is going to get unpacked. Sigh.<br />
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<b>August 29, 2010 - Day 3</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcUOkyBzfnUvscEY6WyOvJa8GZZCO6sgHcr6GnAfVo2GMagKOvM4SDs8XULyMwg-9R82WO7-rCljTYbY1wYZqieZTPuFbgCEsUbpH5jWWDKWwdNpSyQhyphenhyphenuv7KE5_y5Rt39-yNDNRNjsEe/s1600/3.0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcUOkyBzfnUvscEY6WyOvJa8GZZCO6sgHcr6GnAfVo2GMagKOvM4SDs8XULyMwg-9R82WO7-rCljTYbY1wYZqieZTPuFbgCEsUbpH5jWWDKWwdNpSyQhyphenhyphenuv7KE5_y5Rt39-yNDNRNjsEe/s320/3.0.jpg" /></a></div><b> </b>This is the chair in the common room that I've been sitting in all day in between helping students move in and giving mini-tours to current Sem people, students, etc. I got a little lesson planning done so that's something, I suppose...<br />
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This is going to be a rough year, isn't it?Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-17049693472135050322010-07-17T21:25:00.001-04:002010-07-21T22:07:19.351-04:00What's Wrong with People?!: Bodily Function CommercialsSo I've decided that I'm going to start a new series of posts entitled, "What's Wrong with People?!" for those moments when you really do wonder what people are thinking. Think of this as a more elaborate version of the <a href="http://failblog.org/">FAIL blog.</a> <br />
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Now, granted, I've done and said some things that might cause someone to ask this question about me but, you have to admit, there are some instances where this question is warranted, whether it be for the sheer stupidity involved or simply what I like to call the "did that really just happen?" factor. So, with a disclaimer about the fact that I may not have the authority to put myself in this position of judgment, let's forge ahead, shall we?<br />
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The other day, I was watching television - I believe it was something on the Travel Channel, probably Anthony Bourdain - and this ad for Charmin comes on. You may be familiar with the series of ads featuring those supposedly adorable bears in funny situations involving going to the bathroom. Okay fine. They're cute, we're familiar with them, they recognize how important toilet paper is to everyday life, I can handle that. The commercial in question involved a bear cub going through "inspection" with his mother. Paws? Check. Teeth? Check. Bottom? "Needs work!"<br />
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Really? We have to be told that Charmin Ultra Strong toilet paper doesn't leave uncomfortable wads of tissue stuck to your behind after you wipe? And I could even handle the concept if they didn't show us a visual of them stuck to the bear's rear end while he jauntily wags his stubby tail back and forth. Quite frankly, I've see more disgusting cartoons (bodily function scenes in South Park come to mind) and, until the end of the ad, none of this had really bothered me. I've seen these before. No big deal.<br />
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No - it was the tag line that got me. "Charmin: Enjoy the Go."<br />
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Pause. Let that sink in for a minute. Enjoy the go? When did it become good marketing strategy to tell people that your toilet paper is the one to buy because they will enjoy wiping their butts so thoroughly using your product that they can't wait to go again? Next they'll make the little bears happily come down with diarrhea just so they have an excuse to use more toilet paper.<br />
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And that's not the worst of it. Other commercials involving bodily functions are upping the ante and growing more bold and less afraid of societal taboos every day. Take Huggies, for example. Watch this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQ0M9CBEkw0&feature=player_embedded">video</a>:<br />
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Did you see the slogan at the end? Yep. That's right. "Huggies: The coolest you'll ever look pooping your pants." How is this okay? I'm all for getting rid of embarrassment and perceived restrictions on discussing something as personal as going to the bathroom, but this is pushing it, even for a baby who doesn't yet understand the concept of privacy. It's more, how can I say this....gross. Maybe it's wrong for me to eat my dinner on the couch with my husband while watching television. Maybe this is my punishment for not sitting at the table, but, honestly, I nearly spit out the food I was eating. You can sell diapers without talking about poop. That's all I have to say about that.<br />
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Let's move on to other bodily functions. Again, I'm glad that it's becoming okay to talk about things like overactive bladder or heartburn or erectile dysfunction. (Not poop, though. Still not okay with that.) Many people suffered through these problems in the past because they were too uncomfortable to discuss these things with their doctors, let alone anyone else. But these advertising companies have got to approach these things differently. Take Cialis - similar to Viagra if you didn't know - as an example.<br />
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First of all, let me say that, in the realm of erectile dysfunction drug commercials, Cialis takes the high road compared to Viagra. That whole blue horns thing that they pulled a few years back was uncouth and uncalled for. However, Cialis isn't much better. You can add romance to your story and make the characters in your commercial frolic in California Wine Country before settling down for an evening of passionate love-making courtesy of this supposed wonder drug in an attempt to make your consumers think your drug is upscale and classy. I'm fine with that. I get that you're trying to talk about sex without really talking about sex because, let's face it, the less we can talk about erectile dysfunction, the better. No, my problem is the logistics of it all. Take a look at the theme of the Cialis commercials that is also the symbol for their product:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVb8B3m4DhPkSeK6qk6ol2QA1OFDqKgUxQ_8SDwg6SCpDUFiYFJdH2zAIsbZdLK8r3LOfo6XyvHFZpqdb1ZddJaHaiHHiBqdxr6k0y4jNz5fbGhyphenhyphenZJMzxJMbKEE6KPmtoZ_fikv5eoL6w/s1600/Cialis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVb8B3m4DhPkSeK6qk6ol2QA1OFDqKgUxQ_8SDwg6SCpDUFiYFJdH2zAIsbZdLK8r3LOfo6XyvHFZpqdb1ZddJaHaiHHiBqdxr6k0y4jNz5fbGhyphenhyphenZJMzxJMbKEE6KPmtoZ_fikv5eoL6w/s320/Cialis.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Awww, isn't that cute? They're in matching bathtubs. And they're free-standing, clawfooted bathtubs so they're classy. And, frequently, the aforementioned characters are featured in the aforementioned classy bathtubs in an empty field somewhere or up on a hill overlooking the skyline of some exotic city at sunset. Romantic, right? But, wait a minute, this is a commercial about sex. Don't you need to be in the same bathtub for that? This is my problem - they've tried to steer so far away from the topic that they've physically separated the two people preparing to participate in the very act that the drug is supposed to assist with. Maybe this is supposed to represent the idea that, with 36-hour Cialis, you don't have to be forced into the same bathtub any sooner than you want to. You can stare at a skyline instead.<br />
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In my opinion, Canada got it right. A few years ago, we were in Toronto and I was watching television in the hotel room before going to sleep. A Cialis commercial came on, but I had no idea that was the focus because this particular ad did not resemble the ones we're used to in the slightest. I'll try to describe it since I can't find a copy of the video online. As with many things in Canada (and, yes, I'm being stereotypical here) it began with hockey. There was a group of men in their fifties playing weekend hockey. Several of their wives were looking on from the bleachers. One of the men loses his footing on the ice and slips, twisting his ankle in his skate. His wife makes an, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, honey" face. She wraps her arm around his shoulder as they leave the arena, waving goodbye to everyone else who is wishing him a quick recovery. As they shuffle toward the car, halfway through the parking lot they pause. They both look around to make sure no one is watching. He stands up straight, brushes off his pants, stops limping, and the two quickly pile into their SUV to drive off and, presumably, make use of his new Cialis prescription.<br />
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The reason I like this one is because, not only is the ad making fun of its own product to some extent, but it also assumes that the audience will get the joke. In the US, a lot of advertisers have to lay everything out for consumers, betting that we're too stupid to know what they're talking about. This commercial gave consumers a wink saying, "We know what you're using it for. Here's one way to enjoy it." Less pandering, more creativity is the way to go.<br />
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For example - Kotex gets it. I never thought I'd be praising a tampon company, but they understand that women aren't stupid and they don't need to be tricked into buying a specific type of tampon. Check these out: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpypeLL1dAs">Ad 1</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOM4AMV050A">Ad 2</a><br />
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I think both of these put into words what I can't. They respect women's intelligence and actually call out other companies that don't. (For example, have you seen those Tampax ads with Annie Potts as Mother Nature? Please.) Charmin, Huggies, and Cialis should take notes.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-27740761926688262322010-07-01T13:50:00.002-04:002010-07-13T21:31:40.639-04:00Context and How it is Changing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEkMC51c7avIw-E6JrIqL-qBpCyhDJ_J4FnaiuBhyWNVWCTC8LE9s2y_cOooP0xF5VzncFPv9xkgeVRokzlJyxL89AQ9EuLHqkT0MdlEx15PnN29NaYq1hPo1P8_sVWJ8k3SGkzmKznmT/s1600/home_book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEkMC51c7avIw-E6JrIqL-qBpCyhDJ_J4FnaiuBhyWNVWCTC8LE9s2y_cOooP0xF5VzncFPv9xkgeVRokzlJyxL89AQ9EuLHqkT0MdlEx15PnN29NaYq1hPo1P8_sVWJ8k3SGkzmKznmT/s320/home_book.gif" /></a></div>I went to a book signing by <a href="http://www.laurenbelfer.com/">Lauren Belfer</a> for her new book <i>A Fierce Radiance</i> at Borders on Thursday and she mentioned something that I thought was quite interesting. If anyone takes the time to read this, I'd love to know your thoughts on the topic.<br />
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The book is historical fiction and is about the process of discovering and developing penicillin. It took Belfer eight years to research and write the story and much of her research process involved looking at old <i>Life</i> magazines and issues of <i>The New York Times</i>. She pointed out that, now, it's possible to simply search the <i>Times</i> website for the information you're looking for but that, even though it's more cumbersome, she prefers to use microfilm to view the original documents because it provides context. She gave the example of reading an article during the time period in which she's writing and turning the page to find that there was a sale at Nordstrom that week on shoes; she might then include a side note in the story about the character having to run to the store to buy new shoes while they're on sale.<br />
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Granted, this is a sort of trivial example but it makes sense. What if she had been researching an article, turned the page, and came across another, small article mentioning the rise of burglaries in a neighborhood at that time that concerned the people living in that area. Let's say that her character lived there - it would flesh out that character to have her mention that she is also concerned about the recent thefts.<br />
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I guess that what I'm trying to get at is, are we losing context with the developments we've had in technology over the last few decades or is our context simply different? If I'm reading the newspaper online, my experience will be very individualized. If there's a pop-up ad or an ad on the website itself, it will be tailored to the date, time, and, in most cases, my preferences. <br />
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Cookies know that I've been searching for an airline flight from Phoenix to Buffalo for my friend Kim so that, when I'm on certain websites, a Travelocity ad will show up talking about discounts on that particular flight. If I refresh the page, the ad might change to one about the Nook being on sale at Barnes and Noble. If someone twenty years in the future wants to search for and read that same article that I was reading, the ads will be different or not included. Does that eliminate the historical context? How would we change the way we examine this information?<br />
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(Oh, and, as a side note on the topic of context...why is it that sponge cake loses all flavor when placed in the context of a Chinese buffet restaurant? Even more importantly, why does it look so appetizing? Why are people, knowing it has no flavor and that the experience will ultimately be disappointing, still drawn to eat it?)Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-88810939894694599762009-07-14T21:26:00.006-04:002009-07-16T19:09:14.223-04:00I love the South...I hate the South...I love the South...I hate the South...I don't know why I think this won't happen every time I return to the South but it does.<br /><br />Let me clarify - ever since moving back up to Buffalo or "above the Mason-Dixon line" as many people have called it, I've been waiting for an excuse to move back or at least visit the South. There are many friends and family members that offer us that opportunity, especially since my parents have decided to retire in Tennessee. Even though we can't afford to travel to visit people as often as we would like, we try to do so on a regular basis. <br /><br />Knowing that we would be spending a month traversing much of Louisiana and some of Tennessee (along with all the routes between those locations) I have been looking forward to this trip for quite some time. When it was still snowing in April I wanted to leave right then and there. When it was 64 degrees one day <span style="font-style:italic;">the first week of July</span> (somewhat of an anomaly but annoying nonetheless) I was ready to tear my hair out, leave my job, and move down south to work at Wal-Mart with the hope that at least thawing out would make my life less soul-crushing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Items on my list I had been looking forward to: </span> Community coffee, a slower pace of life, faster speed limits on the interstate, beignets, southern-style cooking, our friends - Hunter and Cami's - wedding, seeing friends and family, Popeye's, Sonic, warmth, sweet tea, Albert's hot sauce, New Orleans (for a myriad of reasons too numerous and ephemeral to mention here), Super Wal-marts, a list of other favorite foods that I can't even remember but can't wait to sink my teeth into (despite the inevitable weight gain), people who are actually polite (god forbid), everything fried, and a host of other things that I'm forgetting.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Items I had forgotten that I hate about the south:</span> more obvious racism than up North, Bible-thumpers and "Jesus Krispies," the pandemic of passive aggressiveness that infuses most conversations (everyone's polite but they may stab you in the back and you'll never know it), massive traffic, the heat (I can't breathe when I walk outside due to asthma), blind-knee-jerk conservatives (I don't care if you're conservative as long as you've done your research and have well-thought-out reasoning - I hold all liberals to the same standard), Super Wal-marts, vegetables that taste like meat (though Billy says that's the only way he really likes them), everything fried, and a bunch of other things that I'm probably forgetting.<br /><br />The bottom line is that I don't feel like I fit in anywhere anymore. <br /><br /> When I'm in Buffalo, I feel like I'm just waiting - like I'm not living there, just visiting. I don't move fast enough for life up there and I don't play the society/political games that a lot of people participate in. Though I appreciate the hippy-dippyism, I would prefer that people in Buffalo focus less on whether or not their food has been purchased from an organic, local grower and more on the fact that their city is an economic black hole. (I'm sorry but Bass Pro Shops is not a panacea. Get over it people.)<br /><br />When I'm down here, specifically in Louisiana since I consider myself to be partially from Louisiana since I lived here for about 7 years, I feel like I haven't reset to the pace yet. Have you ever had one of those days when you feel like you're running a few seconds faster or slower than everyone else? It's like that but all the time here. I also tend to be a bit more direct and eschew the passive-aggressive way of conversing down here which tends to get me weird looks and causes me to walk away from most conversations feeling awkward and wondering what I could have said differently. I also have to bite my tongue. A LOT.<br /><br />All in all, this has been a good vacation/trip so far but it reminds me that I still feel like a visitor wherever I go. Since we're not "settling down" anywhere until Billy finishes the PhD I suppose I'll have to get used to that. Oh well. In the meantime, I'll enjoy eating my way through Louisiana.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6q2Qdn2y3oKRBFofr_YaD5oh0X08VAGvkjDHpGBllRrfB3Jl-07BxJcIqmpP8uD5XhzyBc1GopcW4NGmhIfHXkAW6SUi40A78hDjucEIQ9ilcOCSnHukkj9Q-25ggcTGjyilMj-Iq1gdO/s1600-h/PICT1777.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6q2Qdn2y3oKRBFofr_YaD5oh0X08VAGvkjDHpGBllRrfB3Jl-07BxJcIqmpP8uD5XhzyBc1GopcW4NGmhIfHXkAW6SUi40A78hDjucEIQ9ilcOCSnHukkj9Q-25ggcTGjyilMj-Iq1gdO/s320/PICT1777.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359196898817958434" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">Billy's Breakfast This Morning: Bananas Foster French Toast</span></center><br /><br />PS - The title of this post is courtesy of one of Billy's former professors at Ole Miss. It was his summary of every Faulkner novel ever written. I thought it was fitting.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-84838136124845377362009-02-14T21:20:00.001-05:002009-02-14T21:21:48.847-05:00Succumbing to Peer PressureI decided to break down and fill out the famous "25 Random Things About Me" note from Facebook. It actually turned out pretty well so I've posted it below:<br /><br />25 Random things about me that I avoided posting until now, but since everyone else has taken the time to do it, I feel compelled to join the lemmings:<br /><br />1.) One of my guilty pleasures is dance movies, especially ballet ones. Even better are when the ballet dancers make forays into hip hop and/or ice skating. Another guilty pleasure is to sop up Olive Garden dressing with a breadstick. Yet a third is emptying the lint trap.<br /><br />2.) I dream of writing and publishing a novel.<br /><br />3.) I am terribly insecure and have very low self-esteem. As a result I am constantly and probably unnecessarily worried about what other people think of me.<br /><br />4.) Playing the piano is the only thing I can screw up at that doesn’t bother me. I took lessons for two years in high school and I’m pretty bad but it helps me to de-stress. (Unfortunately, all I have is a crappy, old-school keyboard that is in the attic right now.)<br /><br />5.) I have an uncanny and completely useless ability to construct small costumes for my stuffed turkey. I also excel at creating animals out of garbage bags (ask me about the activities board in college.)<br /><br />6.) I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be shorter.<br /><br />7.) For some reason, I still enjoy being tall, even though I complain about it a lot. And even though it’s difficult to find pants that are long enough and size 12 shoes.<br /><br />8.) Somehow, I knew I would end up marrying my husband before we even started dating.<br /><br />9.) I am extremely clumsy but, if you choreograph something for me, I can manage to be graceful.<br /><br />10.) I bake when I’m stressed. For some reason, measuring things out and following a recipe helps to calm me down. Unfortunately, that’s also why I’m overweight.<br /><br />11.) I would probably be a vegetarian if it weren’t for chicken fingers. And bacon. Damn you tasty animals.<br /><br />12.) When I was a kid I wanted to be a librarian just to have an excuse to be around books all day.<br /><br />13.) Instead of an imaginary friend I had an imaginary older sister because I was kind of lonely being an only child.<br /><br />14.) I think I’m a southerner at heart and can’t wait to move back there.<br /><br />15.) My husband is my best friend and the highlight of my day is coming home and talking to him about my day and asking him about his.<br /><br />16.) I am very, very observant. I frequently try to hide this for fear that I will say too much or say the wrong thing. I have a hard time believing when people say they didn’t notice something and often wonder if they’re just playing dumb. As a result of this ability, I often have to pretend to be surprised about something when I’m really not.<br /><br />17.) My husband proposed in Paris and it was the second most romantic thing he did for me (although it was pretty impressive.) The first most romantic thing he’s done for me is to show up on my doorstep when I was sick with a can of soup, a carton of orange juice, a pint of Godiva ice cream, and a rose he picked/stole from a garden on our college campus.<br /><br />18.) I have a bad habit of chewing the skin around my nails. For some reason I leave the nails alone, but I can’t stand when my cuticles peel.<br /><br />19.) I really want to have children one day but, right now, I often cringe when I see a child in public. Working at an all-girls high school and hearing screeching voices throughout the day is quite possibly the best birth control ever invented.<br /><br />20.) I am a major Francophile. I want to live in France again one day though preferably not in Lille which is grayer and windier than Buffalo. As much as I bitched and moaned every day that I lived there, I think about it with nostalgia almost every day since I’ve been back. And that was nearly 5 years ago.<br /><br />21.) I know way more than I should about football. I started watching it when I was tutoring student-athletes at Ole Miss because it made it easier to relate to them. Now it’s become a bit of an obsession. For example, I should not know that the spread offense is impressive in college but does not always allow a quarterback to easily transition into the NFL.<br /><br />22.) I have a list of several jobs that I would like to do at least once if I had the chance. They are: stand-up comedian; actress; screenplay writer; jazz/blues singer (particularly if I get to lounge on a piano); professional badminton player; crime scene investigator; FBI agent.<br /><br />23.) I grew up Catholic and went to Catholic school which results in a lot of guilt and a great desire for structure and organization. I secretly yearn for that environment again even though I disagree so strongly with pretty much everything the church believes in.<br /><br />24.) I have seen every episode of the following shows: Golden Girls, Charmed, The Cosby Show, Medium, CSI (reruns – I have to catch up on this season), That 70s Show, and The X-Files. In fact, I can give you the name of an X-Files episode and the season in which it takes place based solely on Scully’s hairstyle.<br /><br />25.) I can’t grow my hair longer than an inch or two below my shoulders. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.<br /><br />26.) I don’t always follow the rules, as much as it may seem like I try to. I just couldn’t resist. :)Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-79609998332916412992008-11-06T20:51:00.003-05:002008-11-06T21:17:07.384-05:00...and againThose of you who check my blog when I bother to update it know that I must be up in arms right now since - god forbid - I'm making two posts in two nights. However, I'm frustrated and sad and angry and have no idea how to deal with it other than to toss it all out onto the page in a jumbled mess and hope that it at least weighs on my mind less heavily.<br /><br />Today Billy and I decided to run some errands at the local mall. No big deal, right? I needed a few more shirts for work and those of you who know me well are aware of what a pain it is for me, a 6'1" female, to find clothing that fits properly so this was actually a somewhat annoying trip to begin with. Unable to find what I was looking for, we decided to head home. Weaving our way through the mall, we came to a sort of roadblock. There was a woman pushing a stroller and, simultaneously, attempting to drag her toddler along with her. He was much more interested in the sticker he had just found and was trying to apply it to his shirt. At the same time, a few paces ahead, a group of about six teenage boys were fooling around, joking with each other, and one of them had been shoving his friend which blocked the pathway for both Billy and me and the woman and her child. <br /><br />Hoping to get out of the way of the whole group, I muttered an, "Excuse me," and tried to scoot by two of the boys and outpace the woman with the stroller when one of the boys was nearly shoved into me. At that point, another one of the group said, "Careful, these McCain voters would like to get through."<br /><br />(Did I mention these young men were black? I was concerned about even bringing it up since, by even recounting this incident, I run the risk of sounding racist. However, in this case, I suppose I have to mention it to provide context for the story. As an aside, the woman and her son were very white and she looked like she was afraid of the group of boys which didn't help <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span> situation any.)<br /><br />I whirled around, shocked, turned in the direction of the voice and firmly stated, "Excuse me, but I voted for Obama." I then proceeded to storm off, not really paying attention to whether or not Billy was behind me. When he caught up with me he said that one of the boys had pointed to the aforementioned speaker and said, "It was him, man." To which Billy replied, "I voted for Obama too," before coming after me. I was fuming and trying not to cry at the same time.<br /><br />On the way home, Billy told me that the one kid looked kind of suprised that I talked back to him and his friends kind of stared at him like he was dumb for even saying anything so I suppose I feel a little better about that. I keep thinking about all the things I wanted to say instead. Like, "Apparently you're unaware that a comment like that will likely result in resistance since Bush currently has a mere 26% approval rating." Or, "How old are you? Can you even vote yet? No? Then don't tell me who <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> voted for." Or even, "Yeah, right. Did you even know who Barack Obama was three years ago? Well, I did. And I supported him then. Have you read his book? No? Well I have. Perhaps your time would be better spent doing that than harrassing people you don't know in a crappy suburban mall. And, quite honestly, just because you're black and I'm not doesn't mean you have any more of a claim to President-elect Obama than I do, especially since, as a uniter, he would frown upon your actions right now. So go get your shit together and then come talk to me."<br /><br />I don't have a hell of a lot more to say except that I hope my tiny, pathetic, little retort made him think for a millisecond. And maybe that millisecond will turn into a whole minute and then an hour and then, just maybe, he'll do something productive with his time.<br /><br />Well, I don't feel much better but at least I've gotten this off my chest.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-8004718246741656802008-11-05T19:47:00.002-05:002008-11-05T21:10:29.976-05:00SighI didn't quite know what to name this post so that pretty much covers it. I also am unsure as to whether I'll actually post it or not but, assuming I do, I'm exhausted tonight so I apologize if my writing is a bit lackluster.<br /><br />Today was supposed to be a good day. The presidential candidate I had voted for and supported was elected and, last night, I think I slept better than I have for the past four years. Not only did I feel relieved about our country's choice for our next president, but I also felt hope about the direction we're going in for the first time in what feels like forever. Hell, even John McCain gave a classy concession speech which was reminiscent of John McCain before the Bush administration took over in 2000 - the John McCain I would have considered voting for.<br /><br />The morning went fairly well. I was tired from staying up late to watch the election (and, in addition, we were at my cousin's party for his election as Niagara County Sheriff until 11:30 and then had to drive for half an hour to get home) but I was happy. I even gave out leftover Halloween candy to my Autobiography students as incentives to read their journals aloud since I was feeling generous.<br /><br />And then came lunch.<br /><br />Well, actually, I almost didn't make it to lunch because of all the drama that lay in my path to the cafeteria. Eight of my seniors stormed into the classroom fuming and demanding that something be done about "this." "This" turned out to be a status update that one of the freshmen had made to her Facebook page. The update said, "The white house is called the white house for a reason!!!!!" (I've quoted it exactly, right down to the five exclamation points.) In addition to this, there was a flood of follow-up comments, some along the lines of what the original writer had to say, and others condemning her opinion. For those of you who are familiar with Facebook, you may understand what a heated issue this is based on the fact that there were <span style="font-style: italic;">four </span>pages worth of follow-up comments to a <span style="font-style: italic;">status update</span>.<br /><br />Granted, I am aware of the fact that, teaching at an all-girls private school, I might occasionally run into some rather, let's say, sheltered individuals. Okay, frankly, some of them have too much time on their hands, too much money in their bank accounts, and too little interest in exploring whether or not agreeing with their parents, without question, is a good idea. This frustrates me.<br /><br />Today, instead, I was appalled.<br /><br />I don't even have the words or the stamina to describe how this made me feel and, on top of that, looking at the anger and sadness on the girls' faces over these comments made me want to rip this girl's head off for being ignorant and uninformed and having the gall to mouth off about it in a public forum. The thing that frustrated one of my students the most was that, when questioned, the "commenter's" only explanation for her statement was that "there are only white ppl. there for over 200 yrs." Logical, no? Insert eye-roll here.<br /><br />Since this entire conversation was in violation of the social honor code (oh, and did I mention that this student also belongs to an online group that bashes and gossips about another girl in her class?) I spoke to the Dean of Students about what the girls had brought to my attention. The school called an impromptu assembly between 6th and 7th period to bring the matter to the school's attention - even though, by that point, it was no secret - and point out that behavior such as this would not be tolerated. They didn't do much, although the "commenter" will be going before the Judicial Review Committee, but the threat was in the air. I disagree with the idea that they may have to block certain elements of internet access since we aim to treat the students as adults and cutting off this type of thing in school just means they'll do it when they're not in school but we may have to resort to that. At least we didn't sweep it under the rug like we have a tendency to want to do, especially since it involves more than one individual.<br /><br />I guess what I'm saying is that, I knew this type of thing would happen. I knew that not everyone would be as optimistic and forward-looking as I wanted them to be. I knew there would be challenges. But the very next day after the election? Don't we Obama supporters get some chance at a honeymoon period? Can't we enjoy the victory for one freaking day? I guess our country isn't as progressive as we'd like to think we are if this kind of prejudice still exists the day after we elect our first African-American president ever. Ah, irony....<br /><br />And on top of this, I have to teach this girl in class tomorrow and act like nothing ever happened. When I came home and was yelling about this, my parents, who were visiting to support my cousin, made a good point. They said, "What would Obama do in a situation like this?" I guess I have to remove my emotions from the situation and put the school, the students, and, though difficult, this particular student above my personal opinions because it's what's best for everyone. I will aim to treat her as I have before this information came to a head and press on with teaching grammar, vocabulary, and literature. The main goal of the English Department at Sem is to teach these girls to be eloquent writers and communicators by the time they graduate. Well, if I can't convince this girl to change her point of view, at least I can teach her to argue it with supporting facts, information, and conviction. "Yes we can."Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-83729473051464915722008-09-10T08:23:00.004-04:002008-09-10T08:43:19.329-04:00Following your gut instinct when it comes to losing your gutIt looks like I made the right impulse decision for once in my life yesterday. After work, I decided I needed to stop in the gym at the school to do some physical therapy exercises to prevent my useless back from continuing to wake me up in the middle of the night.<br /><br />(This was in lieu of going to a meeting that was scheduled to re-inform us about the benefits that we should be receiving from the school. Considering that I'm on Billy's stellar "we're sorry you're only a grad student but we're going to make it up to you by giving you better medical insurance than you'll ever have again in your life" plan, I don't need to be "re-informed." That and I'm not eligible to get matching for what I put away for retirement until next year so the only "benefit" I was interested in getting yesterday was a better night of sleep.)<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />Anyway, when I got there I was talking to our awesome Assistant Athletic Director - slash - Assistant Golf Coach - slash - ridiculously cool Yoga instructor and she invited me to do yoga with the golf team. Now, last year, I would have stayed away from the thought for fear that my students would find me in a compromising position and then proceed to make fun of me and lack respect for me for the rest of the year. This time, though, I went for it.<br /><br />I'm really glad I did. Not only did I feel better, have fun, and somewhat gain respect in the eyes of my students (it helped that I was more coordinated than most of them), but I also learned how to do a headstand which is a neat thing to be able to pick up in a matter of an hour.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZzA6dj_oaROjZP9Nlx4DPIK2FetdbI7rVEEtfQFXd0_H2Pcmhsmg3FKKxDoU7A_TWaDBRc3i7aRuNVojQxAO9Q2bdE8BLCQ0STq15x-vyyRDdlHHKIgJqAkbxHLJ1H_gVLBOvPYG1nob/s1600-h/clown_image_400_w.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 129px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZzA6dj_oaROjZP9Nlx4DPIK2FetdbI7rVEEtfQFXd0_H2Pcmhsmg3FKKxDoU7A_TWaDBRc3i7aRuNVojQxAO9Q2bdE8BLCQ0STq15x-vyyRDdlHHKIgJqAkbxHLJ1H_gVLBOvPYG1nob/s200/clown_image_400_w.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244372210769389362" border="0" /></a><br />It turns out that I also benefited in other ways. When I came back up to my classroom to pick up my stuff I ran into everybody who had taken the time to go to the benefits meeting. Everyone was aggravated, frustrated, and said that it had been a waste of their time. It looks like my rare decision to go for instant gratification instead of practicality won out for once in my life.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-83332617369880394902008-08-27T21:37:00.004-04:002008-08-27T22:45:24.326-04:00New Year's ResolutionSo, today is my birthday. I'm 27. At first, I thought I would be depressed about that because it means that I'm one year closer to the dreaded thirty. It turns out that it's not that bad.<br /><br />When I woke up today I came to the decision that I'm no longer going to treat January 1st as my new year. My new year is now going to begin on August 27th. It makes sense if you think about where I'm at in my life right now. The academic year begins not long after my birthday (next week) every year and I've always thought of starting school, or work in this case, as a marker for each year. It feels like I have the opportunity for renewal and self-improvement so I'm going to take advantage of it. I have difficulty following through with my New Year's resolutions every year so, maybe, if I shift my new year to my own, personal new year, I'll be more invested in the effort.<br /><br />I spent much of the day with the intent of starting over. My resolution for this year is to live more in the present. I'm trying to let go of everything that I allow to weigh me down every day - anger, frustration, stress, worry, guilt - and a laundry list of other items that I tell myself are important but really just hold me back. I intend to have reasonable expectations for my own abilities in order to allow myself to achieve something each and every day rather than feeling guilty for not getting enough done. I plan on approaching problems as challenges rather than impossibilities. And, most importantly, I will appreciate myself for who I am and not focus on everything that I am not.<br /><br />I decided to try and make all of this official with a little visualization this morning. Some of you may find this to be a little too much personal information for you so I recommend averting your eyes now. When I was getting ready in the shower this morning before heading out for a day of pampering courtesy of my friend Kristin (Kristy and Mike - you rock!) I attempted to imagine all of those things that stress me out and weigh me down being rinsed down the drain. Any guilt I felt for not finishing my thesis yet, any stress I had about beginning the new school year, worry about getting stuff ready in time for my students, anger that I hadn't been able to accomplish as much as I thought I <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> have, fear about financial worries or our future or the future of our country, everything, and more, I pictured running off of me and swirling down the drain. And I felt lighter. I <span style="font-style: italic;">feel </span>lighter.<br /><br />If it tells you anything about how much of that stuff I've been carrying around with me, the shower got clogged and I ended up standing in about three inches of water by the time I got out.<br /><br />Coincidence? Maybe. But it worked fine yesterday. And the funny thing is that, when Billy took a shower later today, he didn't have a problem.<br /><br />Then again, maybe I just desperately need a haircut. :)Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-31277919141696596462008-08-18T21:54:00.008-04:002008-08-18T22:19:50.253-04:00Bad Poetry Day<span style="font-size:100%;">Today is "Bad Poetry Day" so I've decided to write a bad poem. Billy's going to help me. Here we go...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ode to the Great White Western New York Male</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">O middle-aged blubbery belly.<br /><br />I see you glistening horrifically in the partly cloudy light of the Western New York Summer.<br /><br />It is not that warm, yet you reveal yourself as soon as the weather becomes tolerable, much like the graceful, yet chubby, groundhog sneaks out of his den in fruitless search of his shadow.<br /><br />I honk. Honk my horn in protest.<br /><br />For the love of god and all of humanity, put your damn shirt back on you pale-ass freak. Isn't it dangerous to mow the lawn shirtless, anyway?<br /><br />You white-flight albatross. You haunt me everywhere. My eyes have been sodomized.<br /><br />Take your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">buddha</span> belly inside. Please. I'm begging you.<br /><br />I never thought I would look forward to winter. Thank you for that.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDoJn4bSpDbPDrHkewPBPrXvyypAc9fW0nYngV1WCuiCL5IQBgy3cNaHutIpeh8iAB9S8BK0jCoo4k8JOSQJuaFfv_j62M-m4VUBBpSj9BeT-4ImzqF_5ETEL7i4GJ4fRsEFl9WtF-TorR/s1600-h/netflix-thief-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDoJn4bSpDbPDrHkewPBPrXvyypAc9fW0nYngV1WCuiCL5IQBgy3cNaHutIpeh8iAB9S8BK0jCoo4k8JOSQJuaFfv_j62M-m4VUBBpSj9BeT-4ImzqF_5ETEL7i4GJ4fRsEFl9WtF-TorR/s320/netflix-thief-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236046403727140018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Western New York Great White Whale<br />takes a break from doing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">yardwork</span> to check his mail.<br />Perhaps his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">netflix</span> order arrived.</span></span><br /></div>Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-37017866324663090552007-12-20T10:09:00.000-05:002007-12-20T10:10:20.747-05:00I just elfed my family<a href="http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1607577978">Check</a> it out!Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-41460646311360252002007-11-30T11:01:00.001-05:002007-11-30T11:01:53.518-05:00Travel Writing BlogWait! I found <a href="http://www.besttravelwriting.com/btw-blog/">one</a>.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-30078708714326958702007-11-30T10:41:00.000-05:002007-11-30T10:56:45.925-05:00Tech Session Blog LinkI was looking for blogs on travel literature because that's what I'm working on for my thesis and found that there are a lot of blogs where people list their interests as both "travel" and "literature" but very little information on actual travel literature.<br /><br />So...<br /><br />Instead, I have decided to link to a blog that I check on a regular basis that is maintained by a former advisor of mine. It's called <a accesskey="1" href="http://infocult.typepad.com/infocult/">Infocult: Information, Culture, Policy, Education</a> and focuses on information and its culture, history, and role in teaching. He also has a lot of articles on the gothic and cyberculture, especially in literature.<br /><br />There is a particularly interesting <a href="http://infocult.typepad.com/infocult/2007/11/best-political.html">article </a>on the rather humorous reason that a politician decided to resign from his post.<br /><br />Well...I laughed.Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1058488363479092505.post-46146936095140779082007-10-31T11:33:00.000-04:002007-10-31T11:36:06.473-04:00Blogs, Wikis, and Podcasts Discussion<span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">After our discussions in our tech session, I'm getting excited about possibly introducing a blog to my classes. Yay.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">Oh, by the way - the title of my blog is because I like books and I like giraffes. They're tall. So am I. Ergo, you get the picture.</span>Lisa Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11433361520151108413noreply@blogger.com2