Sunday, December 04, 2005

Sunday morning musings

Sunny Sunday cold and white.

Know what I hate about long hair? Getting salsa in it when its down. Know what else? Putting conditioner in it and coming out with a clump of hair that could choke a horse. Guess I should be thankful at 33 to have such thick hair and lovable locks. I'd have cut it long ago, but for all the compliments. Come April I'll shave my beard and cut my hair. When I finally cut it, I'll donate it to Locks of Love. This is the longest my hair's ever been. My last haircut was early August 2003.

Usually, I grow my hair long and keep a beard through the winter, but in the next couple weeks I'm looking for full-time work and must put my best foot forward and all that. And while I look professional with the long hair, it would improve my prospects to mold myself into the cookie cutter corporate flunky image. I'm very good at that. It's been a while since my hair parted on the side. Hmmm... Also, I tend to mark important passages/changes in my life by shaving/clipping my nails/ getting a haircut. But... but... I love my hair too!

Yes. This past week I turned 33. Mom called. My siblings e-mailed. I got a cake. But I spent the entire day in a computer lab preparing a 20-minute speech and powerpoint presentation for my Teaching English as a Second Language practicum. The report, along with attached lessons, clocked in at over 9 pages, single-spaced, 12 point Tahoma font type. Yeowtch! Better get an A, dagnabbit. The presentation went well. I even found an ethnographic map of the language groups for Wendy's home, the Fujian Province in China. I discovered from that map that she comes from the most linguistically diverse area of the Chinese mainland. You've got Hong Kong to the south and Taiwan across the water.

After class was over I walked home in the cold and crashed hard. My salad days are indeed over. I suffered from a cold and fever all week and was in no mood or shape to partay.

33 is my favorite number. Mom was 33 when she had me. I'll become a father at 33. Wasn't Christ 33 during his Sermon on the Mount, Billboard Top 40 heyday? But that's not the reason it's my favorite number. When I was a little kid my Dad got me a huge poster of Dallas Cowboys running back Tony Dorsett, number 33. He was my favorite player and the Cowboys my favorite team until age 9 when I read about Vince Lombardi and the Packers supplanted Dorsett and "America's Team." But the favorite number remained. So, here's to the year of my favorite number.

Can't wait for finals to end and I can, for a month at least, go back to reading what I want to read. I've got a few young adult books, like "Speak," "Habibi" and "Monster" to tear through and contemplate for future inclusion in a teaching curriculum. I'd also like to tackle a long classic novel, maybe something by Dostoevsky, either "Brothers Karamazov" or "Anna Karenina," or George Eliot's "Silas Marner" since I liked "Middlemarch" so much. Hmmm.. maybe not Eliot. I've had my share of Victorianism for a while. Not that restraint and repression are necessarily bad. I just need a big, bad ass long book to get lost in a for a few days. Right now I'm on my way to finishing T.C. Boyle's "A Friend of the Earth," a futuristic eco-dystopia novel. Hey, I saw a mention of the Appalachian Trail, and much of the action takes place in California's High Sierras. If I can't see the mountains, at least I can read about them.

I haven't been running lately as school/work/illness pervade, but want to get back into that routine. New Year's resolution: Never let more than a day go between runs.

Well, hey now. Packers-Bears coming up. Pack's season is over. This one's for bragging rights, baby.

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