The One Where I Finally Yield To Meme Pressure
OK, so I’m not much of a memer. Memeophile? Memocrat? I dunno. I don’t usually do memes. About eighty three thousand people sent me this meme on Facebook, and I pretended like I never got it. So here I am, doing penance. Juliet is an old message board buddy, and has stuck with me through various flamewars–during most of which, incidentally, I was fighting on the wrong side–so I figure I owe her. And who can’t pass some link love–go forth and visit Juliet’s blog, I command you! She’s delightful and another piece of evidence that not all people from LA and/or who have lived in LA are asswipes.
OK, so here’s what I’m supposed to do:
- Link to the person who tagged you.–done.
- Post the rules on your blog.–doing.
- Write six random things about yourself.–Oy. Really? OK.
- Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.–Now to figure out who will be most
annoyed byamenable to this.
- Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.–to do.
- Let the tagger know when your entry is up.–to do.
- I kind of understand French fluently but cannot speak it very well. I took four years of French in high school and four quarters in college, but the main reason I understand it kind of fluently is because I spent a summer in Paris when I was sixteen. We had a French exchange student, and the next year I went to stay with her and her family. Her name was Marie-Pierre, and we were good friends. She would speak to me in French, and I would speak to her in English, because neither of us liked to speak in the other’s language. We were embarrassed about our accents. I did manage to get her to say “I can’t” instead of “I KANT” by the end of the summer. Her English professor informed her, the next year, that her accent was good, “mais un peu Américain.”
- One time my basketball coach in high school threw a ball at the back of my head. Before you get all indignant, know that this was in response to me correcting his English usage, repeatedly, in front of the rest of the team. I guess he had finally had enough. So he threw the ball at my head, and then I said, “I’ll see you in court.” Because I’m kind of a jerk. And a blowhard.
- I once appeared in a national men’s magazine. Before you get all indignant, know that I was fully clothed. I was part of the “Girls of the Pac 10” issue in college. I did it mainly because people at my school were all up in arms about objectifying women and I was very into being contrarian in those days. After the issue came out, I did some publicity with some other of the “girls” [snicker] in the issue, and then I got some kind of creepy fan mail and phone calls. One guy wrote me a letter on that kind of “stationery” you can buy at grocery stores, that is printed by Mead and has flowers on the corner? Yeah. The letter was written in grade-school cursive, alternating blue and red felt-tip pens for maximum gross-out effect. It said things like WOWWWW!!! The guy who wrote it informed me he was 46, and wanted to know if I would send him a picture of myself or a piece of paper that I had kissed. I wouldn’t.
- I went to elementary school in a program called Open Classroom, which was a kind of hippie-dippy experimental learning thing they did in public schools in the seventies. Maybe they still do it now, I don’t know. The idea was, there were learning stations where you would go and do math, say, and then when you were done, you would go to whatever station you wanted next–reading, or whatever. This would continue until you were done, or if something was very hard, then you would stay there all day, whatever. The idea was that you could “learn at your own pace.” This didn’t really make sense to me, because what I would do is race through all the stations, and then go read Judy Blume books the rest of the day. So it worked out for me, except that the other kids in “regular classes” always thought we were stupid kids or something because we were in Open Classroom. So when I went to a “regular class” in sixth grade, I thought I was going to be stupid. As it turned out, I wasn’t.
- I taught sixth grade in a Jewish Day School for a year, even though I am not Jewish (or any religion, really). This particular school was not a very good environment, and that year was extremely hard for me not only because I had to deal with sixth graders all day. The way the school was set up, the kids had core classes like math, reading, social studies with me, and then they went to different teachers for Hebrew and Judaica. It was interesting because I learned about a bunch of different holidays that I didn’t know about, ate hamentashen for the first time, learned what a sukkah is, etc. One time a kid in one of the classes said, “Jesus Christ,” within my earshot, and another teacher made him apologize to me. I had to choke back my laughter.
- I have a pillow that I sleep with every night, that Mr. Right-Click calls my “Linus pillow.” I bring it everywhere. I’ll definitely bring it to BlogHer, but don’t get any ideas about stealing it because I am very protective. It is one of two squishy down pillows I got when I went away to college, and I’ve kept them since then. Of course, I lost one of them on the way back from my honeymoon, which was tragic, but also functions as a kind of convenient metaphor, so I try not to get too upset over it.
OK, tagging time. I will tag these people and hope for the best:
- Eliz at Tink’s Mom Dot Com
- Kerry at Clue Wagon (this should be interesting, since hers is an HR blog–let’s see what she can do with it!)
- Ginger at Ramble Ramble
- Ryan at Pacing the Panic Room (no cute pictures of your pregnant wife, those don’t count!)
- Jenni at Oscarelli
- Amy at Gazelles On Crack