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May 28th, 2009
10:43 pm
Dear teachers of the world,
Please, please stop having sex with your students.
I'm not sure why this is such a difficult concept to grasp. It's not as if there's a gray area here; there is a very clear line. On one side of that line, you're just up, teaching your class, maybe coaching some after-school sport, thinking about getting grades done and turning in lesson plans. On the other side, you're BONING A MIDDLE SCHOOLER IN YOUR CLASSROOM. That's NOT EXACTLY THE EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITY I HAD IN MIND.
It upsets me, I think, because a school is supposed to be a safe place for children, and any adult that would do this is choosing to use his or her authority over a child in an extraordinarily exploitative way. It breaches the trust between teacher and student; we may assume that a child who's capable of one adult act is capable of all, but a fourteen-year-old is still a child. And let's not even start in on the ickiness level here, or the fact that I don't think ANY fourteen-year-olds should be having sex at ALL.
Besides, what teacher even has time for this anyway? All I ever wanted to do was sleep and eat the miniature candy bars I kept in my desk.
To keeping it in your pants,
Arianna
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May 17th, 2009
11:02 pm
The power went out last night around 9:45. I cursed a little, checked to make sure it was the whole neighborhood (and not just our circuit breakers), read a little by candlelight, and was asleep by 10:30. It was so nice and dark, and the twelve-year-old's birthday sleepover next door got really quiet all of a sudden.
And then, around 2:15, my mom walked into my room to announce that the power was out. Actually, it was posed more as a question:
"Did you know the power's out?"
This is a weird question to be asked while asleep. I think I sat up in bed and said yes, but clearly this wasn't answer enough for my mother, who made her way over to my window to survey the neighborhood.
"I see lights next door," she continued. "Or do you think those are candles?"
Confused, I groped for my bedside lamp, managing to illuminate my cell phone in the process. "Wait, there's power - no, that's my phone. I don't know, Mom. I had to use candles." Then I made a vital mistake. "The power's been out since before I went to bed. Just go back to sleep."
Even in the darkened room, I could see her turn towards me. "Did you call the electric company to report it?"
"What? No - I don't - I don't know how to do that."
She heaved a mom-sigh. "Fine. I'll go call. I'm sorry I woke you up."
"Me too," I muttered, flipping the pillow over to the cool side and flopping back down.
"What?!"
"Nothing."
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April 11th, 2009
02:11 am
So most of the time, I like tutoring. I set my own hours, the money is good, I like my kids, and I actually kinda enjoy the SAT.
But then there are days like Tuesday, where I vow I'm going to quit the whole racket and get a job that doesn't involve tiny dogs. Because here's what I've discovered about the very wealthy people I tutor - the vast majority of them own teeny, tiny, yappy dogs. And on Tuesday, I was greeted not by my student, but by two absurdly small Yorkshire terriers. I squeezed my way through the front gate, swinging it shut behind me to keep the dogs from escaping. I sat outside the house for fifteen minutes, ten total pounds of dog yipping and jumping at my shins. When it became clear my tutee had missed his appointment, I bade farewell to the dogs and headed for the gate.
Realizing I represented his last chance for freedom, one of the dogs made a break for it, dashing between my feet, down the driveway, and across the street to a neighbor's yard, where a fat and lazy squirrel was nibbling the grass. "Snickers!" I screamed, throwing down my bag and running - well, hobbling - in heels towards the dog, praying that was actually its name. "SNICKERS!" Tiny dog and massive squirrel stared at each other, then at me; the rodent made a slow break for it, and the canine made a move towards the open garden gate of another house. I could see the entire scene playing out in my head: the dog ending up in someone else's backyard, mauled by an angry cat or pigeon or anything, really, weighing more than about six pounds. As much as I wanted to - as frustrated as I was - I couldn't leave this stupid dog loose.
So I went left. Snickers went right. I went right, and the dog, apparently wowed by my lightning-quick reflexes, amazingly stood still. I scooped him up by his sparkly pink collar, and Snickers went into paroxysms of delight. Fresh air and a squirrel chase and a ride in someone's arms? This was clearly the most excitement this little animal had had in a very long time!
Which explains why he then peed on me.
I'm starting to think that maybe I don't charge enough for my services. There are certain jobs - OK, one - where getting peed on jacks up the rate pretty significantly, right? Let's add tutoring to that list.
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January 9th, 2009
01:35 pm
Things best left out of an online dating profile:
- the claim that you are "career-orientated"
- an in-depth discussion of your love for ghost hunting
- the "I believe in the small of a woman's back" speech from "Bull Durham"
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December 11th, 2008
01:18 pm
Spotted a couple days ago: a license plate reading PROTEIN. And in Burbank, right near the Warner Brothers studio, Dara saw IMDB ME. Fitting on something called a vanity plate.
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December 7th, 2008
11:27 pm - Pop culture
So I read Twilight, and I am not ashamed.
And then I went and saw the movie tonight, and...yeah, am slightly embarrassed.
Here's the thing about the book: the writing is terrible, but it's shockingly addictive. I read the whole thing in two and a half hours, and when I was done, I had two strong and conflicting reactions:- I hate my friends for insisting I read this.
- I love my friends for insisting I read this.
The book is not, as some have disparagingly called it, a Mormon Harry Potter, mostly because it's nowhere near good enough. It is, though, a perfect faux-romance novel for really good teenage girls who desperately want to be a little bit bad. There are lots of penetrating stares and lingering pauses and fluttering hearts and bouts of breathlessness. This all makes for a good and fast read, but it doesn't make for a good and fast movie. Deep emotional stares just turn into dead air, and breathlessness makes for dead eyes, and really, filmmakers need to trust their audiences to understand foreshadowing without beating us over the heads with clues and omens. I get it - that one character? She's going to be REALLY REALLY important again! And that story? About the wolves? THEY HOPE YOU WERE PAYING ATTENTION, BECAUSE THAT WAS A HINT.
But did the whole thing sort of make me want to be unconditionally and irrevocably in love with a vampire?
Do I even need to answer that?
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October 11th, 2008
01:57 am
Favorite headline of the day, thanks to the LA Times:
"Golden Gate Bridge to Get Suicide Net".
I'll save you the trouble of reading the article, which was very serious and filled with lots of facts and background and opinions, and simply tell you that it wasn't nearly as funny as what I imagined, which was a giant trampoline just above the water that would fling would-be self-murderers back up onto the bridge.
Hopefully not into oncoming traffic, though, as that would sort of defeat the purpose.
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October 9th, 2008
02:26 am
When you can't sleep - as a little kid - you can go upstairs and wake up your parents. Make them read to you. Make them sing a third (and maybe fourth!) lullaby. Make them fetch yet another glass of water. Past the age of around five, though, awakening a slumbering mom or dad is ill-advised. It isn't marginally endearing, as it might have once been; it's just annoying. This means that I have limited options available to me:
1. Watch TV. Blah. It's 2:27 in the morning - unless I'm really worried about regrowing my natural hair or buying the perfect pantsuit, late-night programming is out.
2. Read. Meh. I have a stack of eighteen thousand library books sitting on my desk, but that's soooo far awaaaay. Clearly not feasible.
3. Clean. Ha ha ha ha ha.
4. Go sit outside. We have a nice front garden, and maybe a coyote will wander by. Or maybe not.
Ugh, I'm clearly in a bratty state of mind. Maybe I will wake someone up to share in the joy.
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October 3rd, 2008
11:28 pm
In 1995, when the O.J. verdict was read, they thought we were going to riot. I don't really know who "they" and "we" were, but I remember how tense the school felt in the minutes leading up to the announcement. I'm sure that it was hot on October 3, and I'm sure that, along with the other 25 tiny ninth graders in Mr. Corcos's class, I was wearing a flannel, heat be damned. But what I actually remember about that morning was that all of the teachers in the building had opened their classroom doors and tuned their radios to the same ongoing coverage, and that when I opened the door of our classroom it was as if the news existed in surround sound. That trial was all around us, as it had been for almost a year and a half.
I've actually made a conscious attempt over the years to ignore O.J. Simpson and his lies, but I of course waited tonight to find out what the verdict would be, 13 years to the day of his acquittal, in his robbery case. I really wish that I could say that only part of me wants to gloat, but honestly, it's all of me. Kudos to the justice system for finally getting it right. Better late than never.
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October 2nd, 2008
09:34 pm - Tonight
I watched the debate and yelled a lot.
I watched the baseball game and yelled a lot.
And I drank a lot of wine.
Success!
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01:19 am
To the 26-year-old teacher who had a relationship with her 13-year-old student:
A 13-year-old is not an adult.
Wait, let me say that again. A 13-YEAR-OLD IS NOT AN ADULT. If he "looks like a man" to you, that simply means that there is something wrong with your perception. It does not mean that you have a transcendent, pure love. It does not mean that you can take him to Mexico. And it CERTAINLY does not mean that you can blame him for your relationship. You know who IS an adult, ostensibly, and who is responsible for making adult decisions?
Actually, you probably have no idea.
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September 15th, 2008
01:10 am
Oh lord, I cannot believe it, but I have made the finals of our fantasy baseball playoffs.
I can neither confirm nor deny reports that I did a victory dance around my kitchen and living room in celebration.
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September 3rd, 2008
10:05 am
Sloppy Joes gross me out.
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August 28th, 2008
12:09 am
I am completely boggled by the preview I just saw for Kate Hudson's latest generic romantic comedy. Beyond an inexpliable insistence on casting her in something every six months, here's what I can't figure out: does anyone find Dane Cook appealing? Anyone at all? Is he drawing an audience I just don't understand, like teenage boys who find his brand of "comedy" hi-larious, or old ladies who are reminded of their rude and obnoxious grandsons? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS TO ME?
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August 27th, 2008
07:34 pm
Oh CRAP, the shot of Joe Biden's little old mom just made me cry.
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07:34 pm
My goodness, Joe Biden's teeth are blazingly white.
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August 25th, 2008
01:22 am - Rural unincorporated Los Angeles County
At night, when I sleep with all my windows open, I can hear coyotes howling and yipping as they descend on something small and innocent . They sound for all the world like shrieking demons, and I hug my cat a little closer and remember that this is exactly why we don't let our animals go outside.
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August 22nd, 2008
10:00 am
I wish I could take credit for the best name at trivia on Tuesday: "When I Think About You I Touch Mike Phelps."
However, I can take partial credit for Seven-Foot Wingspan's second-place victory. Our all-girl team (possibly the only one there, now that I think about it) kicked some ass - we knew Queen Elizabeth, perfect numbers, Marie Curie, and most of the G-8. Next week, we're going to drink up our $20 prize and go for the gold.
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August 20th, 2008
11:51 pm
Dear Olympics,
Can you please, please, PLEASE stop making me cry? That'd be aces.
Thanks a ton.
Arianna
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August 17th, 2008
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