So yesterday I was hanging out with these two guys. They are the other two members of my English Language Arts group and I really like being around them: they're funny, they're smart, and I get that added cache of ensnaring the only two males in the class.
We were talking about the Simpsons, as we often do in my generation. And here's the thing - they had a great memory for scenes and moments and gestalts, but a really lousy memory for dialogue. I was correcting them almost unconsciously and certainly before I knew what I was doing. As I slowly woke up to this fact, I realized that I must've seemed like a colossal bitch. I mean, who corrects the Simpsons except the truly obsessed?
It's not my fault though. I have an ear for dialogue. Spoken, sung, written - I can quote passages from Gordon Kormon books I haven't read in half a decade. I can do entire swatches of Emo Phillips routines thanks to a family car trip with too few cassette tapes. I can sing some really bad 80's bubblegum songs, and I mean the songs that are so bad that they haven't even been resuscitated as kitsch.
And of course, I expect everyone to have that ear. I expect every person I meet to be able to reel off flawless Sideshow Bob exchanges ("Temper, temper. You know that Cousin Merle ain't been quite right lately,") or songs from the Rocky Horror Picture Show ("God Bless Lily St. Cyr!") or paragraphs from "The Snarkout Boys and the Bacongburg Horror" by Daniel Pinkwater ("She walks in beauty like the bat..."). When they misquote something, I am very very prissy about it.
Which of course makes for awkward silences when (mis)quoting the Simpsons.
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Today Little Orphan Annie got to the gym parking lot and proceeded to throw up beside the family car. She of course immediately got back into the back seat and went home. Fifteen minutes later, so did I.
Just to recap: on the first week she didn't come because the roads were too dangerous. On the second week I didn't come because I was in PEI. On the third week she didn't come because her dad had car trouble. On the fourth week nothing went wrong except that she got bored halfway through swimming and asked to get out. Next week is the last week. I don't need to tell you that achieving my term goals is a joke.
The Boy was also childless this week, but he managed to get a leaderless child to play with him. When I came back from grabbing my coat to leave, he had dashed off to the gym, too busy to say goodbye. I love the kind of person he is on these Saturday mornings: eager, kind, joyful, loving, accepting, smart. This talent for teaching and playing with special needs kids is getting more developed every week; it's a privilege to watch him bloom in such unexpected ways. He's going to be such a good teacher.
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Embarrassing Moment #1671
boy 1: "Let's sit down here. Oh, we're excluding [girl 2]!"
me: "I don't know [girl 2]."
boy 1: "Amoret, this is [girl 2]. [Girl 2], this is Amoret. She's the smartest person in my classes."
me: [striving to be humble] "They must not be very bright classes."
boy 1: [starts laughing] "I meant [girl 2] was the smartest girl in my classes!"
me: "Oh."
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1 year ago today: coffeehaus debut
