Friday, December 31, 2004

Happy New Year

Me Laurie and Vivian
Originally uploaded by verretc.

Yeah, so I've been really bad about blogging lately. I'm blaming the busy-ness of the holidays, along with Marilyn's dial-up connection.

Plus, nothing interesting has really happened anyway.

So here's one of the pictures from our family reunion at Cypremort Park. For those of you out of the loop, the extended family got together at a little cabin on the gulf for pre-holiday festivities. In the picture is me, my cousin Laurie, and her new baby, Vivian.

It's sad...

...when your own mother calls you "high-maintenance"...

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

A Christmas Story

Happy Holidays everyone...just got back from the Verret/Zettler reunion and got a bunch of old memories dredged up. Marilyn and I are currently in New Orleans recovering from all the "family fun time", and Christmas in New Orleans always makes me think of my late grandmother.

So here is one of my favorite Christmas memories...enjoy...
Like most kids, Christmas was always my favorite time of the year. My enjoyment of the holiday, however, had very little to do with our Lord and Savior’s birthday.

Now don’t get me wrong. I was a Catholic school-girl after all, and had always looked forward to acting in the Christmas Eve nativity play. But after I had finally worked my way up to the role of Mary, there was really nowhere else to go. It doesn’t get much better than being the mother of God, especially at a church named Our Lady of Fatima, and I quickly lost interest.

So, while I was not a complete heathen, I will admit that the main reason I liked Christmas was for the presents. In particular, the presents I got from my grandma.

I don’t really know why I enjoyed her presents so much. I think it was perhaps because she never gave me “practical” things like clothes or school supplies. While today I really appreciate “grown-up” practical things, such as mops and brooms (because then I don’t have to buy them), back then I was more interested in toys and playthings.

Grandma’s presents seemed to revolve around whatever toy she could find at the drugstore a few days before Christmas, and they got more and more interesting each year, as her Alzheimer’s began to set in.

One year, around the age of seven, I received a “Mr. Professor” doll. Purchased from the local K&B, Mr. Professor was supposed to be a sort of learning toy for young children. You could tie his shoes, button his jacket, and the crowning glory—if you squeezed his hand, he would talk. Not about any philosophical or ideological topic, but simple “learning” sentences such as, “Two plus two equals four,” and self-affirming mantras such as, “Do you love me? I love you.”

Now even though I had been able to tie my shoes and dress myself for years, I was pretty excited about this doll. Mainly because of his talking abilities. You could say I was somewhat of a lonely child, and was looking forward to this new companion.

After ripping open the box and inserting the batteries, I grabbed Mr. Professor’s hand, gave it a not-so-gentle squeeze, and held my breath in anticipation.


I tried again, a little gentler this time. Still nothing.

Finally, my grandma, in her famously intimidating voice, told me to pass the doll to her. Having all the confidence in the world in her abilities to scare him into talking, I handed her Mr. Professor. Unfortunately, her skills fell short as well. It appeared Mr. Professor was not up for a chat.

If I was disappointed, my grandma was pissed. She stormed around the room with him hanging by one electronically deficient hand, and let loose a stream of words meant for K&B and the Mr. Professor manufacturing company. At this point my mother covered my ears and cried, “Aaaaaaaalfeeeeee!”

The next day, first thing in the morning, we drove up the street to the corner K&B. Those poor saps had no idea what was about to hit them. The wrath of grandmamma had been released.

She marched up to the counter, still clenching poor Mr. Professor in a death grip.

“May I help you?” asked the sales clerk pleasantly, not knowing what was about to hit her.

“Yes, you can help me,” grandma sarcastically spat out. “You can tell me why this doll doesn’t work.”

Thus began a 15-minute examination of the doll, which included replacing the batteries, twisting his arm (sadists), and finally deciding that Mr. Professor simply did not plan on divulging any information.

Finally, the sales clerk pulled another Professor down from the shelf and inserted the batteries in his back. She began to squeeze his hand and talk, asking him, “Do you love me?”

I thought I heard a faint robotic voice repeat her question, but seeing the menacing look on the grownups faces, I kept my mouth shut.

It wasn’t until Grandma released another rain of verbal fury on the K&B sales clerk that everyone learned the truth. Mr. Professor could in fact talk, but it seemed he preferred to respond to profanity. For suddenly, upon squeezing his hand, we heard a robotic, yet familiar voice spurt out, “This Goddamn thing ain’t worth a nickel.”

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

...Happy is she who has finished her exams...

Well, here's my post-hell-week update. Finished up the SLA project Thursday around 11 p.m., then began studying for Syntax. I made midnight my cutoff point for bedtime.

Woke up Friday ready to kick some grammatical ass.

Everything was going well until page 4, when I was blindsided by a page of subordinate clauses. Damn you grammar! So after spending an hour writing down ridiculous crap for answers (hey, it worked before) I turned in my test, then did the dance of glee all the way out the door.

Friday night we went to some cute little neighborhood that does those crazy suburban light displays. Very impressive. I'll post some photos perhaps.

Saturday I relished in the fact that I could take a nap, go to an art fair, hit the Container Store and Crate & Barrel, have a coffee, go to a party, sing Karaoke, and not have to worry about the fact that I had a ton of homework to do. Yeehaw!

Sunday I woke up feeling restless, and on the spur of the moment, decided to drive home to Monroe and surprise my mom. So here I am, already with a list of chores.

Home Sweet Home.

We decorated the tree tonight which always starts out fun, but then gets old really quickly and makes me tired. It's weird how things change from when you're a kid.

Anyway, still have to do my shopping. Our big family Christmas in the swamp is this weekend, and I've gotten nothing for the person whose name I drew. Never mind the fact that what she put on the list was totally random.

Pecandland Mall, here I come.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

The "what-the-f***" test

Here's a Syntax lesson for you all. According to my professor:

In order to determine the difference between a relative clause and an Indirect Interrogative Clause, simply substitute "what the f***".

Example 1:
"I don't know what you cooked" vs. "I don't know what the f*** you cooked"
In this sentence, the what the f*** substitution worked, and it is an Indirect Interrogative.

Example 2:
"I don't eat what you cooked" vs. "I don't eat what the f*** you cooked."
While it is still fun to try, the what the f*** substitution does not work here, and it is thus a relative clause.

*Lesson complete*

Time flies when you're...

...not having fun, but rather panicking because you have so much freaking crap to finish up and you've been working all GD day and you STILL have more to do.

The bitter irony of my life is that tomorrow it will all be over. And on the other hand--Tomorrow IT WILL ALL BE OVER AND I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO DO!!!!!!!!

And a P.S. to the a$$hole in the big truck who keeps taking my parking spot--first of all, that is MY spot, I don't care if this is a public street or not. It's in front of my house and I am there all the time, except when I'm not. Secondly, there is room there for two--and I might be willing to share it, but you seem to think it all belongs to you and insist on parking your whole big ass gd car there. Well you just keep that up, and you might wanna start inspecting your tailpipe for banannas.

Court don't play this week.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Thank ya Jesus...

...for articles with 5 pages of references!!!!!!

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

sooooo sleepy......NO! MUST STAY.AWAKE!!! ...but sooooo sleepy......

Finals week is hell, can I just tell you that?

After this gd waste of time portfolio took up my entire weekend, I now have merely 2 more full days to finish up 10 article summaries (on long ass complicated articles) and I haven't even STARTED studying for the dreaded Syntax final.

I actually managed to be somewhat productive today, but I still have so much more to's never enough.


I don't think Kurt Cobain intended the song "Rape Me" to be redone in a jazzy piano version.

Just my 2 cents.

Monday, December 06, 2004

Court's soapbox comment of the day...

Education courses and their accompanying portfolios are nothing but ridiculous, time-wasting shams that make you no more prepared to teach in the real world than when you walked in.

Now I'm going to bed.