Okay. So for some reason, every school I’ve worked at here in PEI has had some kind of end-of-year golf tournament for teachers. There are no kids in this week (well, there might be a few in on Monday and Tuesday, but judging by the numbers I’ve had lately– 4 students in each class I taught on Friday– I’m thinking there won’t be any), and this year’s tournament is scheduled for after school on Wednesday. I’ve never even touched golf clubs– I’m hoping I can maybe just hang around in the club house and read a book or watch TV, if I absolutely have to go. I’d rather not.

Sixth-grade me would be quite unimpressed.
How did this*:

become this:

(*and yes, I’m well aware that the Tiffany version was a cover, too, but at least there were no flashing leathery whores in her video, just an inflatable Gumby doll. Gumby dolls make every video better. Flashing leathery whores only work in 12% of videos).

As you may remember, I’ve been trying to find someone to do a drawing or painting of my nephews, to give to my brother on his birthday (Tuesday, the day after mine) (in case you didn’t get it, my birthday is on Monday) (no, there will be no huge celebration, because I have to be at school on Monday until 9 pm because of stupid graduation) (I don’t think junior high needs graduation anyway but that’s just my opinion) (however feel free to send gifts and well-wishes, as you only turn 30 for the 2nd time once). Or, more recently, I’ve been thinking (because his birthday’s so close, there’s no way it’d get done between now and then) that I could give it to he and his wife for their wedding anniversary in July. That is, if I ever found anyone to do it.

As luck would have it, I just received an offer for a free photo enlargement on canvas. I send them my photograph (I’m thinking this one), and they have it made into a 16″X20″ canvas enlargement. I know it’s not exactly a painting, but it’s worth a try, and I’ve got nothing to lose, really.

I will definitely keep you all posted on how this turns out…

I can never remember anything, ever. Sort of. I mean, I know all the birthdays of every member of New Kids on the Block, I can tell you anything you want to know about Henry VIII, I’m like Rain Man for information and such. But when it comes time to remember to, say, bring something from work to home? Or where I left something? No no no. No memory. I think I need to get a computer implanted in my brain. With my fantastic Dell Memory I will never again lose my keys or wear the wrong shoes outside because I forgot it was supposed to rain later.

Then again I’d probably end up being someone whose computer brain totally broke, and I’d be wearing my bra outside my shirt every day.

My legs are so hairy! I just noticed.
I shaved them three or so days ago and I’m wearing capris to work today and, basically if anyone needed any cheese grated, they could do so on my knees.

Bon app?tit!

Rob worked on Saturday, but when he was done, we went to the movies with another couple. I will never lie to you and say that Fantastic Four/Silver Surfer is the best movie ever. I will say that if you HAVE to go to a movie that someone else picked and you wouldn’t normally choose to see it on your own, this one’s not too shabby. Laurence Fishburne has a sexy voice, Michael Chiklis is a total cutie, and Jessica Alba was wearing the type of wig I covet, so I kept staring at her hairline. Plenty to do! There was also the fun of BOTH members of the other couple spilling their pop all over, and I snuck food in. “Sneak” is a bit of a stretch — I carried in a grocery bag containing a sandwich, Twizzlers, a chocolate bar, and fuzzy peaches (these weren’t all for me!), and the ticket people didn’t seem to care. Which is good, because I don’t wanna pay $98 for a small popcorn. Afterwards we went out and stuffed ourselves with foods at Gentleman Jim. I don’t care how much of an “old people restaurant” it might seem to be, the food there is amazingly good (and it’s not just all steak).

Yesterday, being Father’s Day, was spent lauding our fathers. Kind of. Rob phoned his, and I went and saw mine. I love my father. He is super awesome. My mom’s not too shabby, either.
Anyway.

When we got home Rob helped me to dig up the front yard and plant more flowers (I suppose I should take a photo sometime of my varying successes with the whole gardening thing). I love being able to do that kind of thing. I just love being able to garden, having our own place, being allowed to redecorate if we want or paint the walls or whatever. Not that we’ve done any interior decorating type things yet, but I dream about it. We’re going to start with the bathroom, because it’s the smallest room, and work from there. Not looking at bathroom vanities or anything (it’s way too small for that! Although I would love to find a way to cover the under-sink pipes), just painting and putting up some new artwork… but it’s a start.

HAH! How long have I been talking about this? Two years? Yeah, it’ll get done someday. I swear! It will! Maybe!

No, I don’t mean cocaine. Or my ass. Well, maybe partially my ass. Generally whenever I’m talking, some part of the conversation has to do with my ass so don’t be surprised if it pops up here at some point. Not that you’d see it. My ass, it is a stealthy stealthy beast.

Our couch broke. It’s not a huge surprise; the thing is like, 20 years old and has endured three generations of my family flopping on it at one time or another. And it’s not THAT broken, I mean, a screw came loose, it’s back together, but still. It broke. It’s fixed now, but maybe it won’t stay fixed, I don’t know. We’re not getting new furniture anytime in the near future, and I’m not sure what kind of new furniture we’d get, anyway (remember me? the one with no sense of style? we’d probably end up like Joey and Chandler on Friends, with the two lazyboy recliners– or maybe, to be deluxe, we’d get us some fancy schmancy home theater seating)… actually at the moment I’m just trying to figure out slipcovers for our existing furniture.

Our livingroom set has pictures of covered bridges on it.

Okay that one confession has made me feel so much shame that I must now stop blogging for the evening.

(covered bridges!)

Much like a child of three, I am avoiding going to bed. Not because I fear that all the grownups start leading completely exciting lives involving ponies and ice cream as soon as I fall asleep, but because it is so. darn. hot. in our bedroom. Yes, just a few days more than a month ago it was snowing here, and today it is so warm that I’m willing to forego one of my favourite activities, sleeping, in order to avoid the sultriness of our bedroom. I would drag our mattress out into the backyard, were it not for the fact that mosquitos seem to enjoy feasting on my luscious, luscious flesh. Plus, I’m too lazy.

Everything seems to be slowing down here now that the seasons have finally decided that it is, truly, summertime; the last few weeks of school are upon us and the kids are coming less and less frequently (on Friday I had less than 1/3 of my class), preferring instead to stay home, go swimming, anything but stay cooped up inside a dusty, airless classroom having to keep still and try to absorb information when there is so! much! to! do! out there! Frankly if I could join them I would… not that I don’t love my job but there is something just tempting me to play hooky and go to the beach. There’s nothing like the year’s first dive into that cold, cold Atlantic water. But no, I will continue being a good little worker bee at least until the end of June; in July I am going to try to remain as far away from dusty classrooms as I possibly can.

Oh! Speaking of cold Atlantic water and dusty airless classrooms, here are some YouTube videos for you. Because as I write this it is, officially, Sunday.

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Generally speaking, Rob and I are pretty much on the same schedule. Sure, I might get up and leave for work an hour before he wakes up, but then, most of the time he’s at work for an hour after I get home. It works out. The important part is that we get to spend most evenings together, talking, not talking, reading things, worrying about what Conky‘s going to be up to next… you know. The usual.

Sometimes, though, there are anomalies in his schedule, and he ends up working all evening, until his workplace closes. Such is the case this week– he works from 5 pm – 1 am. Which means, I barely get home from work, give him a kiss, then drive him to work. Not only does it make me awfully lonely to be home alone all night, but there’s also the part where I wake up at 12:45, go pick him up, and come home to go back to bed. Driving when I’m tired isn’t fun. Sometimes I wish I had stock in radar detectors or something, because the police stop me when I drive sleepy. It’s true! A couple of months ago (in April? I think probably in April) I was driving him home, and they pulled me over because they thought I was drunk and that’s why I was driving so slowly. Nope, just tired. They let us continue on our way, but followed us home all threateningly-like. Yep, like I’d be out drinking on a Tuesday night, dudes. There isn’t even a bar open in our town on Tuesday nights, I don’t think. Anyway.

I’m used to it, though, and so my routine on these horrible nights usually goes thus: Drive Rob in, come home, do work stuff and fun stuff that’s not as much fun when the only guy I have to share it with is Judd Nelson who frankly is more interested in looking for strawberries than listening to my ramblings, watch TV and eat supper. Go to sleep on the couch around 8:30 or 9:00. Rob calls fifteen minutes before I have to be there to pick him up. Sit staring around for a few minutes. Drive in and pick him up. Come home. Go back to bed.

Last night, though… Last night was different. I was just drifting off to sleep, when WHAM (sans George Michael)! I heard– and felt– a huge bang. It seemed like it was coming from the side of the house. I totally panicked, thinking that monsters, zombies, murderers, rapists, and political campaigners were trying to get in. I heard a couple more banging sounds, which literally caused vibrations. Now, our livingroom faces a big field. And for some reason I have forgotten (actually it’s my laziness– I washed them and didn’t put them back up yet), we don’t have curtains up in there at the moment so of course I had to turn all the lights out in the livingroom in case the zombie murder rapist campaigners were peering in at me. Then I went into the office and shut the door and turned the lights on and closed the blinds and basically panicked quietly for the next 2 and a half hours. Didn’t get to sleep. Still don’t know what the sound was.

Needless to say, after having only gotten to sleep at 1:30 last night, I was smacking the snooze button a few times this morning. In fact, I only left for work at 7:30, which I usually leave at 7, so I’ve been a bit ‘off’ all day. Right now I’m about ready to nap, and I have 5 hours left to go.

Oh well, though. Tonight I don’t care who tries to get in, I’m getting my sleep. If I don’t, whoever breaks in will have to deal with a very grumpy lady, and believe me. If I haven’t gotten my sleep, I’m not pleasant to deal with. Not pleasant at all.

John Smith Hurt was born in March, 1892, in Avalon, Mississippi. He was the son of poor sharecroppers. He learned to play the guitar at about the age of 9, and used his talent to play for friends and family, at parties and dances. He earned a living as a farmhand into the 1920s, supplementing his income with whatever he could make from his music.

In 1928, a friend recommended him to OKeh Records’ Tommy Rockwell. Rockwell had John in for two recording sessions, one in Memphis, and one in New York City. The powers that be at OKeh Records added “Mississippi” to his name; some sort of marketing gimmick. Unfortunately, soon after these recording sessions, OKeh shut down, one of countless victims of the Great Depression. Hurt went back to farming, back into obscurity, and didn’t record again.

More than thirty years later, in 1962, these early recordings were heard by a folk musicologist named Tom Hoskins. He was very excited about the recordings, but he just couldn’t find the musician. He asked everyone he knew in the music business, and people inevitably had no idea not only where “Mississippi” John Hurt was, but who he was. It seemed like a lost cause, until Hoskins began listening more closely to some of Hurt’s songs and lyrics. One song, called “Avalon”, finally helped him to reach his goal. In this recording, Hurt sang of “Avalon, my home town”.

Hoskins immediately went looking for Avalon, Mississippi. It wasn’t on any maps. He got an older map. Not there, either. He kept going to older and older maps, and finally, after searching an 1878 atlas, found the town between Greenwood and Grenada, Miss. In the years since, the town of Avalon had been swallowed up and incorporated into other towns.

Now it was easy going; Hoskins was able to find John Hurt, and convince him to move to Washington, DC. He began playing for wider audiences, and was very popular in coffee houses, on the folk revival circuit, in concert halls, and at colleges. He appeared on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Fortunately for us, before his death in 1968, he also recorded three more albums.

So today’s edition of YouTube Sunday is dedicated to ‘Mississippi’ John Hurt; a softspoken, talented man, whose nature was reflected in his wonderful body of work.

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