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september 16, 2002.
Ever since the Boy discovered the Jump the Shark site, we've had a joke about this journal, and how it would appear on that site. Now, it's true that my numbers have gone up and down throughout the years and I've had very little idea of why. So we've compiled a short list.
When did Tisiphone/Amoret's journal Jump the Shark?
Thoughts?
We had an early dismissal today, so not only did I get to teach three long classes in a row, but then I got to sit through a 2 3/4 hour meeting. At least lunch was hot & free. I can be persuaded to go along with most things if corn on the cob is involved in some way.
As for the meeting, sometimes I really hate teachers. For some reason, I always end up sitting next to the burn-outs who do nothing but mock & deride the program under their breath. If they had been my students, I would've given them all detentions for wasting my time.
Also notable about today: I ended up killing time with all three classes by reading from Daniel Pinkwater's book Fishwhistle. It's such a good thing to have in a classroom: the kids love being read to and usually I can ask them a few questions to make it relevant to the subject at hand. Once again, Pinkwater is saving my ass.
My second full day on goofballs went as well as can be expected. I'm a little sleepier than I'd like in class and I kept falling asleep at the staff meeting, but other than that it was fine. Every once in awhile I would start to smile, and wonder if it were the xanax beaming, or just me. I suppose I'll be second-guessing myself a lot in the future...but then again, I do the same thing about PMS, so not all that much has changed in my self-reflexive critique.
At least I'm feeling a tad more creative with my lesson planning - before the 'scrip I just did what I was told and tried to get through the day without dying. Now that I'm mood medicated, I actually have the mental resources to think about new assignments and lessons. Good for me.
Chicago (2)
Obviously, our first taste of Chicago was a trifle overwhelming. On Friday night we were cold-cocked by food, people, smells, emotional reunion and the overall strangeness of everything. As we walked to Leona's, Pixie pointed out the corner where two strange cars had slowed down, then pulled over to wait for her - both times she'd escaped onto a fortuitous bus. There's not really a lot you can say to that, especially when the girl in question thinks it's more funny than frightening.
pixie is okay with the near-death experiences
And then there was the utter confusion of Pixie & Q's new relationship. Pixie had written to me that they remained "excellent friends," but I had chalked this up to exaggeration. It was true: they still hug, have pet names, & are excited to see one another. The only concrete difference that I can see is that Pixie goes home to her own place at the end of the night. I have to say that I was confused about their split before we went to visit; now I'm even more confused. But, my mother to the contrary, nobody owes me explanations or peace of mind, especially not family in the midst of difficult decisions.
Besides, confusion is my default emotion around Pixie & Q. I had just forgotten that in the last 18 months.
q looking pensive
Anyway. On with the tale. Saturday! Saturday was our first full day in Chicago, and it was the day we were scheduled to hang out with Amy of When in Doubt, Use Parsley fame. Amy has been my long-distance cheerleader for years now. (Which is why I get a little sad about the fact that she never actually made her high school cheerleading squad. They had no idea what they were missing.) Amy has been unwaveringly cheerful in the face of my sudden bouts of depression, whether they be due to loneliness, frustration or professional angst (Amy was a teacher of English as well). And during the low-level anxiety that characterized this summer and my doubts about the wisdom of attempting any travel this summer, I hung onto the thought that I would finally be able to meet Amy & Andy & Quinn. (As much as I love & miss Pixie & Q, I have met them before.)
We got up early to prepare, as Amy had to be back in the suburbs by mid-afternoon. I dressed in black, as has become my custom when meeting online friends for the first time (they get awfully confused when I wear colours. I'm such a dark person, you see.) Pixie failed to arrive, so we called her & sat around while the Boy played with Q's stereo. I wrote a note for the buzzer, suddenly realizing that Amy had no idea of Q & PS's last names. And then she was coming up the stairs, the fabulous pink-clad Quinn in her arms and my note on her back. We hugged nervously, and Amy said one more thing that will endear me to her forever: "You're not at all as fat as you write." Sigh. It was probably the black.
I got to carry Quinn to the diner, which was enormous fun. Quinn really is the superbaby she appears on stage and screen. She has this utterly charming smile, like you're an old friend who just appeared especially for her. Later, when we were all sitting in the apartment & playing with her, she showed the delightful tendency to break into a big smile whenever one of us wandered across her field of vision. Hey, I remember you! The staff of the café were all completely charmed.
Amy is also the stand-up babe she appears to be. She was just as funny, sweet, nice & smart as I've come to expect. The fact that she was excited about meeting me completely floored me. But I have to say this: she was surprisingly tall. I'm not sure where the surprise comes from...I think it's because when I meet people, I always forget how short I am. I've felt the same way around Preacher, Poet & Palaver - when they get into a pack, I'm always amazed at how small I seem in comparison. It's not like she's a giantess - she's normal tall, not freakish tall - and it's not like she "writes short." It may have been the fact that I unconsciously expect people to be like me, in this case short and speaking with the Canadian accent I suddenly developed. The fact that she had, of all things, a Chicago accent completely surprised me. (See before, re: I'm a big hick).
Conversation was quiet at first. I remember feeling the same sort of mental rupture I felt when meeting Stacy for the first time: here is someone I know so much about, yet I've never met. How, then, does the conversation proceed? But as soon as we had waffles in front of us (and for me, syrup "from the motherland"), everything smoothed out considerably. We talked about journal politics for awhile, as well as the online/offline thing (she seemed to find it interesting/funny that I had once met Bryon Buck through Javina, while I found it intriguing that she had met Kymm & Xeney & Pamie, one of the triple goddess pantheons of the journalling world.) We also talked about teaching, about books, about people, about everything. Meanwhile Quinn tried several times to grab my knife for some nefarious purpose of her own. I got to feed her some mush instead. I think we were both content at this trade-off.
When we got back to the apartment, Pixie (who had arrived at the restaurant) and the Boy went into entertainment overdrive. They sang to, bounced & otherwise distracted Quinn with the energy of insane muppets (which they more or less resemble). It was a hell of a show, and Amy & I had to stop talking several times just to laugh at whatever madness was taking place that moment. Meanwhile, Q fell asleep on the table & the journal gossiping continued.
pixie making a face as quinn makes like the prow of a ship
When it was time for the two girls to leave, I felt like I was saying goodbye to Preacher or Nic - people I loved, but wouldn't see again for a long time. Ah, the confusing nature of online relationships. I was glad that Amy took the time to come out. It was really special.
Despite the fact that we had warned Pixie & Q of our poverty, they insisted that no trip to Chicago would be complete without a little window-shopping. So we went to the Alley, the biggest headshop I've ever been in. It was, like most of my experiences in Chicago, both attractive and frightening. The juxtaposition of skinhead shirts with Le Tigre on the sound system was more than a little odd, not to mention the proliferation of Emily Strange gear and stripey things of all descriptions. I ended up buying a red & black pirate t-shirt, cheap sunglasses, & yellow & black striped tights (yay! my bee fantasies are finally coming to fruition!). Pixie bought a red & black striped thong to match her knee socks. Q considered a cloak and the Boy contemplated a shirt with the logo "fuck you, you fucking fuck" but both decided to keep their money. I ended up skipping two levels as I'd just had enough looking & coveting.
We also visited an utterly amazing comic store, so described because it literally had people of all ages and genders crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in every section. I hadn't realized how much the comic stores I adored were 'adult' & 'hipper than thou.' I made note of several items, including a squeezy Spooky doll and Holy Grail figures. Pixie bought me a little zine/book called "Where's a cookie?" which is one of the cutest stories I've ever seen in my life, and the two of us made fun of Gothic Fashion magazines while the boys looked at compilations and toys. It was a dizzying, yet oddly satisfying visit.
Pixie also steered us to a few goth stores, including Ninety Ninth Floor. This was the place I discovered that Montreal is nothing special in the goth merchandise department - it is, in fact, Toronto that is behind the wave. I ended up in a very strange conversation with the clerk at 99th, who proceeded to make fun of my Canadian accent by reason of his own Wisconsin background. To this day I don't think that I have a Canadian accent, and I certainly don't have a strange, Fargo-type way of speaking. To be mocked in this way by a goth clerk was disconcerting to say the least, yet I was oddly charmed.
We had lunch in a little café that served the best milkshakes ever (and the "sammitches" weren't half bad either). Then we were off to a street festival on Clark Street, there to wander among the shirtless locals who were drunk on light beer in the middle of a blazing hot afternoon. We watched the band for awhile, and I tried to catch my breath. There was just so much going on, with no end in sight. Where had my natural Canadian arrogance gone? Where was my bred-in-the-bone conviction that I could survive n' thrive in any city? At least drunken, sunburnt locals were a little easier to take. I was more than happy to accept Q's suggestion that we eat our leftovers from Friday night and hang out at home for the rest of the evening.
That night we watched "Moonstruck," the only movie we could agree on. It sounds like hyperbole to say that it was one of the most perfect movie-watching experiences of my life, but there it is. The four of us were utterly enthralled by this little movie, this older film that we'd all seen before. We laughed & discussed the characters & talked back to the screen. It was wonderful.
Then Pixie went home and the Boy & I fell asleep to the soothing soundtrack of "Princess Mononoke." Overwhelming, beautiful, strange day - and only the first.
the boy is happy to be there
5 years ago today: don't ever tell yourself that you're just going out for "one pint." | 
