Month: May 2005

Here’s how it went:

Carrie belted. Bo rocked. Vonzell blubbed. And Blonde Harry Potter was also there.

Then, in the untelevised portion of the show, I sang “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”

Moist, muffled sobs rose from the darkness of the house. Lighters sparked in unison. And Ol’ Simon, in an unprecedented move, jumped to his feet, ripping his tighty-tighty T shirt and exposing a chest white like the whitest, brightest spotlight.

Blinded, anxious, I waited for the comments.

Randy said: Yo-yo-yo, T. You worked it out, duuude. I was totally wi’choo. You in da dawg pound, now.

Paula said: Wowww …. you know …. it was amazing because I felt like I was on that boat …. with all the waves and the Gitche Gumee and everything …. and …. gadda baboo do da (sniff) …. Have you ever heard the word “marvenomenal”? Well, you’re marvenomenal. You truly are …. you are a gift ….(sniff)

Simon said: Fabulous performance. Horrible image.

Guess he didn’t like my sailor outfit. Hmph.

What is wrong with the local news? What is wrong with me? The lead story tonight is:

“THE TOUCHING REUNION OF A BOY AND HIS MISSING IGUANA!”

Worse, so much worse, I am watching it. In my defense, my mouth is hanging open, perhaps never to be shut again. Now, true, the iguana, named (seriously) “Fred Green,” had been missing for several days, causing, I guess, much hand-wringing in the hopeless weirdo community, but, c’mon, people! It’s a hideous, scaly, soulless reptile!

This is our Top Story. And yes, I guess I am touched, watching that boy take Fred into his arms, watching Fred return the embrace with those ghastly, clicky claws. I am feeling feelings.

Right now, they’re interviewing the boy’s mother, who is thanking everybody for their prayers. What? Did I miss the vigil? I’m sorry, lady. Forgive me. I did not pray for Fred Green. I do not pray for critters. Perhaps St. Francis interceded on ol’ Fred’s behalf. But I did not, because I’m a selfish, heartless, practical shrew.

Now the interviewer breathes this last question:

“What is going to happen to Fred Green now?!”

Hm. Perhaps he should be punished for running away. Teach that mini Godzilla some personal responsibility.

Iguana Parmigiana sounds good to me. I hear it tastes like chicken.

Oh, no! Miz Quizmo strikes again!

But this is Friday and I like to do my quizzes on Friday. Plus, this is a truly useful, instructive quiz. As a former English teacher, well, let’s just say I drooled a little when I found this one at NRO.

And because I’m feeling ornery today, I’ll say this: Score lower than 70 and we can’t hang wi’choo anymore. All right. I’m kidding. Sort of.

“My score was 100%” ….. is what I would say if I were hopelessly egotistical. (But unfailingly honest. He he he.)

Ready, class?

1) Define the terms “independent clause” and “dependent clause.”

2) Find the subject in the following sentence: “Many of my friends drive to school.”

3) What are the three principal parts of the verb “to bite”?

4) “Jane has been dating John for two years.” Is that sentence written in a present tense or a past tense?

5) “Jane has been dating John for two years.” Change that sentence to the corresponding past tense.

6) What three parts of speech can an adverb modify?

7) What is the main use of a semi-colon?

8) “Jane invited John and me.” “Jane invited John and I.” Which is correct?

9) “He should of told me that I wasn’t invited.” What’s the error in that sentence?

10) “Every person is entitled to their own opinion.” What’s the error in that sentence?

Okay, pencils down.

Each question is worth ten points. If you scored below 70, you failed. More to the point, your teachers failed. They’ve failed you, miserably, for twelve years. Those hundreds of hours spent in classrooms with posters of William Shakespeare and Alice Walker on the walls, those hundreds of hours spent as your teachers prattled on about the joys of creative writing — those hours are worthless, utterly worthless, and you can’t have them back. Those A’s you received for free-verse poems, those stories you wrote to explore your feelings, those papers returned to you without a single grammatical correction — they’re worthless too. You didn’t learn what you should have learned, what you needed to learn.

Answers: 1) A clause is a group of words, acting together, with its own subject and verb. Independent clauses can stand alone; dependent clauses cannot. 2) Many. 3) Bite. Bit. Bitten. 4) Present tense. 5) Jane had been dating John for two years. 6) Verb, adjective, adverb. 7) To separate closely related independent clauses. 8) John and me. 9) “Should have” or “should’ve.” 10) “Person” is singular, so use his own opinion or her own opinion.

All right. How did you do? Come on. Tell me. Don’t try to hide it. I can see you. 😉

Here’s something you don’t yet know about me: I have picked 4 of the last 7 Kentucky Derby winners. It’s true. It is a singular, extraordinary gift. Since Saturday is Derby Day, I thought I’d share that with y’all.

So, naturally, comes the question:

“Well, Miss Smarty, have you bet on any of these winners?”

Ah, that would be a no. (Because that would be wrong, right?)

So it seems I’m gifted — but Stupid and Good. It’s an idiot-savant thing.

For anyone curious about which winners I correctly picked, my record looks like this:

2004 — Smarty Jones (yep)
2003 — Funny Cide (yep)
2002 — War Emblem (nope)
2001 — Monarchos (nope)
2000 — Fusaichi Pegasus (nope, I can’t pick you if I can’t pronounce your name, horsey)
1999 — Charismatic (yep)
1998 — Real Quiet (yep)

And in case any of you are poo-pooing with “Oh, well, I bet she’s been doing this for a long time, so her real percentage is a lot less.”

To that I say:

“No, you poo-pooers! You neigh-sayers! 1998 was the year the Lord chose to raise me up as a horse prophet, thereby ushering in The Era of Equine Prophecy.” (And yeah, yeah, true prophets are 100% accurate and all. I didn’t say I was a “true” prophet; I said I was a horse prophet.)

So next comes the plea:

“Oh, Good Horse Prophet, we are but mere mortals. Impart to us your methods.”

To that I say:

“No, you whiny beggars!”

Besides, I can’t. There is no method; that’s the beauty and purity of the gift of Equine Prophecy. No method. I don’t know about any of the horses in the race, ever. I don’t know anything about horses. They are intimidating creatures with piano key teeth and manhole cover hooves and they scare me. That aside, they somehow manage to be majestic and beautiful and I admire them. From a distance. I simply tune in to the race, look the horses, and choose. Given that these credentials fall a bit short of blue ribbon quality, we must therefore surrender to the utter divine inspiration of the Equine Prophecy. There is no other explanation.

Annoying, ain’t it?

So finally comes the weary demand:

“Look, lady. You gonna tell us the winner or not?”

Okay, okay, already.

Prediction: The winner, ridden by a wee hobbit in white tights, will be unable to run fast enough to shake that startling, upsetting resemblance to Camilla Parker Bowles.

You can bet on that.

(Extra credit to the person who can tell me where the title of this post came from.)

Well, I may try to live blog “AI” tonight anyway. Why not make this blog all-craptacular, all the time? Scoffers can lump it. I know there’s some sort of fracas with Paula Abdul, but I’m not really up on it. But Greg over at What Attitude Problem is. Guess he’s come over to the dark side.

Tonight, two themes/two songs each. Yippee. “Any song from this week’s Billboard charts.” And “Any song by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller”?? (I don’t recognize the names, but maybe I’ll recognize their songs. If they’re not butchered, that is.)

Blonde Harry Potter: “Poison Ivy.” Don’t know it at all. But it is genuinely contagious, in that itchy, creeping, painful sort of way. Dreadful. Gag. It’s musical seppuku. Randy: For me that was very out of tune. Wasn’t amazing for me. Paula: Well, it showed versatility. (Hmm. Singing while dying is not “versatility,” Paula; it’s opera.) Simon: You’re very lucky you’re singing two songs. That was an insipid, amateurish performance. Sorry, Harry Potter. Better go backstage and work yerself a singin’ spell for the next song.

The Domestic Abuser: “On Broadway” Love this song. He’s singing this because Simon said to pack his bags last week, so he’s singing for spite, I guess. Ooh, he’s imploring us to “Get uuuppp!” (Better do it; don’t want to get him riled now.) He’s basically having a singing hissy fit, which doesn’t look good on anyone. I just can’t stands him. Randy: Some bad notes in there. But every week you seem to come up with just enough. Paula: Have you ever hear the word “moxie”? You have moxie. I loved it. (Yes, yes, Paula. The big boxie oxie has lots of moxie. He lumbers onstage and cries, “I roxie!” Just don’t make ‘im mad or he’ll clean your cloxie.) Simon: You’ve had more escapes than Houdini, but, that aside, that was probably your best performance. (Oh, Simon, how could you? I feel so … so … betrayed. Take your too-tight T shirts and go. Just go.)

Vonzell: “Treat Me Nice.” She starts off with a big “Wooo.” I’m not a big “wooo” fan, personally. “Wooo’s” usually make promises they just can’t keep. Song is kind of … I don’t know … sigh …. Big finish, etc. Lots o’ cheers. Randy: I’ve had a great record career , but I’ll say that was one of the best performances of that song. That’s how to win this. (Huh? That entire comment is mush to me. I don’t get it.) Paula: Any musical producer would snap you up to be on Broadway. (Too bad it’s not “Broadway Idol,” Paula. A compliment the girl may not really want to hear.) Simon: Um, Randy, we need to have a chat. Over all, I thought it was a bit of a mess. Childish and cutesy. (My sentiments? Woo.)

Bo: “Stand By Me.” Ahhh, love it. But started waaay off key, I think. Oh, dear, Bo. Find that key. Okay, he does. Can’t say much other than he’s good. Randy: You know what I love ’bout’choo? You know how to pick the right song. (And he referred to “bein’ in da dog pound,” again, as he did last week. So we learn that a place that sucks for dogs is great for “American Idol” wannabes.) Paula: (Well, I don’t know. She talked about colors or something. It was very Pebbles Flintstone. Gaba da bada ga.) Simon: You chose the best song by a mile.

Carrie: “Trouble.” Well, she showed some life for a few seconds and kicked that mic down. Wow. Who needs ol’ Connie? She sounds great, I think, but she just doesn’t inspire. She’s a kind of blank to me. Or an Etch-a-Sketch with a smiley face. Randy: That was a great song choice and you sahhnng it. Paula: You had a blast. (Gada babba ga …. woo.) Simon: Totally agree with Randy. You have to give your fans what they want and that’s what they wanted.

And then …. they all sang again. (Hey, I got tired. And, frankly, bored.)

Best sound bite? Ol’ Scotty saying he likes having a stylist to make him “more appealing to people.”

Hm. You should fire that stylist, duuuude.

(Note: I’m just ranting and railing against myself in this post. Not recommended reading, really, unless you’re feeling a need to rant and rail against me, too.)

I’m struggling with blogging, questioning more and more why I’m doing it. Everywhere I click, I see the blogs of the powerful, the influential, the profane, the apologists, the mommies in denim jumpers. I’m none of those things. I don’t seek power or influence with this blog. I hope I’m not profane. I’m not an apologist. And if I were a mommy, well, I’d never sport about in a denim jumper.

So in the beginning, I think, was the naive notion that I’d use this to work through some nagging spiritual issues. But then, paradoxically, I haven’t even allowed myself to write about them. I’ve been emotionally dishonest, cloaking my darker self beneath a blog ridiculously called “Worship Naked.” I want to be open, honest, but in truth, I’ve found that recent events in my life have made me hopelessly mistrustful of Christians. I’m petrified that if I shared anything that really weighs on my heart, I’d be judged and rejected. And I can’t take any more of that. I think, too, I’ve used this blog to try to feel like a human again. But that’s utterly stupid. This is cyberspace. Not a place to be truly “human.” That, I do already know.

Back in December I wrote:

Maybe I’ll take the chance and share here anyway. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe the thick facades were wrapped in keep us from growing and stretching as Christians. Or maybe … maybe they keep us cozy and protected in a cold, cruel world. And I do love being cozy. Maybe we don’t have to worship naked. Maybe we can just be partially nude.

That was several months ago and I haven’t budged. I’m raw. Words simply float about in my brain, half-formed and hazy. I’m just hiding behind the crap I’ve posted lately and, in so doing, I’m not living up to my stated purpose for this blog. Someone recently described this blog — to my face — as the blog “with all the quizzes.” That killed me. Maybe it’s true. I don’t know. But that’s not the sum total of all I am. (And if that was you, allow me to suggest, as nicely as I possibly can right now, that you start your own quiz-free blog.)

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a downer. I’m just frustrated with myself.

Arrrrgghhhh

(Well ….. I told you not to read it ….)

(UPDATE: Oh, drat. I meant to disable comments on this post, but dear ol’ M@ sneaked a lovely one in. I don’t want to seem that I’m seeking, uh, ego reinforcement here, ‘tho I do appreciate it! I’m having a tad bit of circumstantial depression, so I could use prayer most of all.)