1.  Does it make me not smell like hideous B.O.?

2.  Does it make me not smell like a woman?

That’s it.  As far as I can tell (and I do consider myself an expert on the subject of smelling like a man), dudes aren’t too picky when grabbing a stick off the shelf.  Maybe someone can back me up here?  Men do not differentiate between Morning Breeze and Morning Mist fragrances.  Men do not have to take off the lid of 424 deodorant sticks before making their painstaking decision.  It’s a fairly cut and dry (no pun intended) process.

You can only imagine my great chagrin, then, when I stumbled upon this rare gem in product promotion at my local Uvalde Wal-Mart:

Words fail me.

Let’s ignore for a second the garish sticker affixed to the stick of deodorant, and focus on the contents of the product.  My initial thought is that this is clearly an appeal to the desire of men everywhere to reek of freedom, but  ice?  Wind?  What does that even smell like?

Coincidentally, Old Spice also has two other phenomenal variations of this product.   The first one is appropriately dubbed Denali, which “[S]mells like WILDERNESS, OPEN AIR, & FREEDOM.”  Rounding out the trifecta of antiperspirant brilliance is Fiji which is advertised as smelling like “PALM TREES, SUNSHINE, & FREEDOM.”  Are you noticing a commonality here?  Men can’t resist…smelling… like freedom?

It’s deodorant, people!  Please revisit the aforementioned criteria for male deodorant selection and you’ll understand my infinite frustration at this terrible, terrible downward spiral in antiperspirant marketing.  What’s happening to all of the Sures and Speed Sticks, or even the original Old Spice?  It is a sad, sad day, my friends.

Here, dear reader, is my minor confession:  I bought it.  Yes, in my moment of infinite weakness, I succumbed to my insatiable desire to reek of ice, wind, and freedom.  Mostly because I didn’t want to smell like sunshine or wilderness.  Given the alternatives, I think that I made a wise decision.

To some Degree,  I want to put a Ban on this inappropriate scent labeling of deodorants across the world.  Can I do it?  I’m Sure that I can.

But it’s no Secret – I smell good.

For those keeping score at home, you know that this is my second year to teach.  Last year, we taught John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men to our juniors via movie.  The movie is, for the most part, pretty true to form and a good adaptation (John Malkovich plays an excellent Lennie, in my opinion).  This year, however, we decided to actually teach the novella to the juniors.  For the win.  They LOVE it.  They get into the story, the get the symbolism behind the characters, the themes, the whole nine yards.  OM&M is the only Steinbeck novel I’ve ever read (I once owned Grapes of Wrath, but foolishly parted with that one in a gift exchange, which I still kick myself for), but it makes me want to tackle a Steinbeck summer marathon of reading.  The man is brilliant.  Anyways, I digress.

Without giving too much away to those who haven’t read this classic, the basic premise of the novel is as follows:  two migrant workers (George Milton & Lennie Small) in the Great Depression era, recently fired from their previous job as ranch hands, find work on a new ranch in Soledad, California.  The two men have a dream of some day being self-sufficient landowners themselves and not having to migrate from job to job.  Therefore, one of the main themes the novel espouses is that of the loneliness and isolation, since many of the men traveling from job to job during this time period are alone.

In class today, we read the fourth chapter of the novel, which centers around the life of the stable hand, Crooks, who is the sole black worker on this ranch.  Understandably, he is isolated from others and rightfully embittered as a result.  In his dialogue with Lennie, Crooks utters, for me, one of the most poignant lines in the novel, which does a brilliant job of encapsulating the novel’s central theme:

“A guy needs somebody – to be near him…A guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody.  Don’t make no difference who the guy is, long’s he’s with you…I tell ya a guy gets too lonely an’ he gets sick.” (73)

I was surprised at myself for fighting back tears at this point.  I’ve read this multiple times before, but for some reason, this time it was more real.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m not lonely.  At all.  I have amazing friends, both coworkers and those finishing up at A&M.  However, at the end of the day, it’s just me.  Living alone for the first time has been a great experience for me.  I come and go as I please, I assume sole responsibility of me (getting rent in on time, cleaning up after myself, cooking, etc.), etc.  It’s great…for now.

Essentially, I think this is a fear that many struggle with – loneliness, that is.  While I am surrounded with amazing people, I also fear that many of these people are temporary.  My best friend is moving to Dallas next year, friends from high school are getting married, and married coworkers have lives that revolve around their spouses and families.  I am not so immature that I can’t come to the realization that just because people are married, doesn’t mean they are abandoning someone.  They just have…how can I put this…insurance.  That person/those people will always be there for them.

It’s odd, but I just have this unfounded, irrational fear.  It is not a debilitating fear, just one that is hovering.

Such are the ramblings of the single man…

God, I sound like Eeyore.

Not 10 minutes after I arrived at the Brazos County Expo Center which, by the way, was also host to a monster truck show last night, there was a mass exodus from the dance floor. Certainly, it was not due to the lack of bass-ridden hip-hop music.  I assure you that was in abundance.  More on that later.  As students evacuated the dance floor, I saw a congregation forming in the corner of the room, conveniently located right where the extremely expensive camera equipment was for those wanting to commemorate their Sadie experience.  My curiosity was piqued as I followed the mob to find myself in the midst of a girl fight and one of the AP’s pulling the girls apart.  My first thought – how did I get here RIGHT after the administrators?  My second thought – so much for open-campus lunch.  Surprisingly, none of the expensive camera equipment was damaged, but I think the photographer almost flatlined.

As the night continued, my duties rotated between circling the dance floor, patrolling the scene for any excessive grinding, telling students to “leave room for Jesus,” and stocking up on cookies and DP.  As I was completing my 73rd circuit around the dance floor, a song which I believe is titled “Drop it Low” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RxFO8DV-9A) came on.  Not that I am in any way justifying the chaos that ensued but, I’m sorry, you can’t expect this song to come on and for students to not, well, drop it low.  I imagine that this is comparable to placing a cold beer in front of a recovering alcoholic and saying, “Here, don’t drink this.”  Predictably, the music stopped about halfway through with our principal threatening to cut the evening’s festivities short if the “dropping it low” continued.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful.  Luckily, I had the company of the Big Red Poet himself, B-Rob, Randi (who reminded me that I was only 2 years old when “Living on a Prayer” was released), and April.

So, what did I learn from this?  If you don’t want to get busted for inappropriate dancing, make your way to the middle of the dance floor, because no teacher will dare venture into the depths of sweat-soaked adolescents who pride themselves on their ability to bump and grind.

Well done, wallflowers; you’ve made the right choice.

People say that Mom knows and she was there and all that, but I think Mom is too busy in heaven to be worried about us down here.

My friend and I share the bittersweet bond of having both lost our mother.  While her’s is more recent, it is oddly comforting that we can share this hardship with each other.  I think it makes our friendship stronger.  There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that my mother is having a BLAST in heaven.  Sure she’s busy, but I’d like to think that she’s keeping tabs on us down here.  And while it may seem somewhat corny or idealistic, it is my sincere belief that my mother has been present for every milestone in both my siblings lives and mine.

Mom was there when I walked across the stage to receive my college degree.

Mom was there when I got the call from Margie Martinez, telling me that I had a contract waiting for me at Consol.

She calmed my nerves when students started pouring into my classroom on the first day of school.

Mom was there at the birth of her granddaughter, Elizabeth Jane, and she’ll be there at the birth of her next granddaughter in about a month.

She’s been with Nate on every deployment overseas, making sure he makes it home alright.

Mom was there when Cara decided to follow in her footsteps and recieved the acceptance letter to Occupational Therapy school at UTMB.

Mom was there at Aaron’s wedding and was by his side as he traveled the long distance to accept his new job in Idaho Falls.

I remember journaling about this once upon a time, but I love that I can find Mom in the small things.  Whether it is a beautiful sunset or a corny joke, it’s pretty neat that I know she’s smiling somewhere.  There are other weird things too.  For example, I can’t watch the movies Stepmom or Hope Floats without sobbing like a baby.  I have this odd fear, however, that I’m going to forget the sound of my mom’s voice and, along with that, the sound of her laughter. Thankfully, I have my sister, who is a constant reminder of my mother.  Not only is she the spitting image, but she is my best friend and sounding board – the same role my mother played.

So to my friend whose blog post I referenced, please don’t hate me.  I know that you know that your mother was there, even if she IS having a good time in heaven (maybe she’s met my mom…I bet they’d get along famously!) I’d like to think that she has her telescope set on the big (and small) events in the lives of her babies.

Let’s focus on the “pays rent to use” aspect of this.  The great thing about living in an apartment is that when something breaks and it’s not your fault, you get to have someone come in and fix it for you, right?

Wrong.

When I’m paying you $585 a month for a mediocre apartment, I expect some damn service.  Let me tell you a little story.  About 3 weeks ago, I got back from Evan’s lakehouse and noticed that my bathroom floor was soaked.  It was at this point that I noticed that the water line to my toilet had a small leak.  Nothing major, just a little drip every few seconds.  “I’ll just turn off the water line.  Problem solved.”  And it worked!  I fixed something!  Every time I used the bathroom, I would remember to turn off the water after I was finished.  Life was great.  I reveled in my self-sufficiency for about a week.

…before my world came crashing down on me.

I soon realized that the drip was steadily becoming a trickle of water.  Then a stream.  Then a river.  Only now, for some mysterious reason, the water line that formerly shut off refused to do so.  It was at this point that I called the front office again to remind them that my problem still hadn’t been fixed.  “Sorry, we’re really backed up with air conditioners right now.”  Air conditioners?!?  I can’t go to the bathroom without worrying about 40 days and 40 nights worth of flooding and you’re worried about AIR CONDITIONERS?  Those people can experience mild discomfort.  My toilet is falling apart.

So, here we are, 3 weeks after the slow drip began and as I write this, my bathroom is steadily becoming a swimming pool.  Excuse me while I go for a swim/drain the water.

No pun intended, but take care of your crap, Scandia.

There may not be an easy way to teach grammar, but there are most certainly fun ways to teach it.  On their third day of high school, my emotionally fragile and petrified freshmen were in for the surprise of their lives.  The lesson for the day – how to stop a run-on from running on.  Now, if you do the math, by this point they had spent a grand total of 100 minutes with me, so imagine their looks of shock and horror when they show up to class on Wednesday and a man they barely know is wearing a t-shirt, athletic shorts, bright yellow sweatband, and purple-striped tube socks.  Not only this, but he commits to running in place throughout the entire period until someone stops him.  How, you ask?

Well, Randy Run-On can’t stop running so he needs some water, of course!  I cleverly labeled three bottles of water corresponding with the three ways to stop a run-on (semicolon, comma & coordinating conjunction, semicolon + conjunctive adverb + comma) and when the time came to discuss them, would sprint to a student that I had randomly given a bottle to on their way in the door and shout something cheesy like, “Oh great!  It’s a semicolon!” before downing about half the bottle in dramatic fashion.  I’m pretty sure that at one point I heard “Oh no” from one of the students that I had given a bottle to when I started running towards them.  It was a great lesson and I plan on using it again next year to break the new fishies in.

I had to pee a lot that day.

- caleb sucks

- cahoots and quips

and my personal favorite:

- Phillips Fill-Ups, where you can fill-up on all of your favorite Phillips news!!! (thanks EWo)

So why, after the clearly impeccable suggestions I was given, would I go with what you see at the top of this page? Well, I’ll tell you. For those who do not know me so well, my current profession is that of a high school English teacher. I teach Honors Freshmen and On-level Juniors; talk about opposite ends of the spectrum. I am inundated with “crazy” every day.

I also work with crazy people, but “good” crazy. Crazy like me. Crazy about their jobs (most of the time), crazy about English, and crazy about their kids.  Crazy people who form city league adult kickball teams to pass the time during the summer.  Who knew that one could have best friends for colleagues? Not this guy.

Then there’s my amazing family. Let me give you a brief synopsis. I come from a family with three (yes, three) sets of twins. My dad has a twin brother, I have two older twin brothers (one in the Air Force & the other with Del Monte), and I’m a twin (my twin sister is in Occupational Therapy school in Galveston). Craziness personified. We’ve been through some crazy (both good and bad) things throughout our lives. The separation of our parents, the death of our mother, my sister and I putting a garage sale, whitewater rafting, etc.

So, you see, this infamous Nicholson quote could not be more applicable. Is this as good as it gets? I hope so.