Think before you eye-roll my way, please

I got stuck in an impromptu queue leaving Whole Foods today. A woman searching in her purse had parked her cart diagonally in front of the small sliding doors. She remained oblivious as the stymied line of shoppers behind her grew. An older woman next to me was in a hurry, apparently. She fluttered her nylon grocery bags and clicked her tongue but never said a word to the woman rummaging through her purse. After a few beats, the line blocker realized she was in the way and moved her cart without a second glance to those she had impeded. Before leaving, the older woman looked at me and said, "Finally! You know, some people!" as she rolled her eyes.

Auto Draft

I Heart Libraries

My summers have always been irrevocably linked with Willy Shakes but while writing my previous post I realized that my childhood summers are tied to other nerdy things: like libraries.

Summer meant no bed time, or at least a greatly belated one. When we were finally ordered to our rooms I could stay up as long as I wanted, without my mother's threats. You see, my years in school never taught me how to spread out my reading. If I can not read a book in 2-3 sittings, it will never be read no matter how well-written or enthralling I find the novel (i.e. East of Eden). During the school year, my parent's would threaten me with the wrath of God to turn out my nightlight and put my Nancy Drew books away. Unless I wanted the ten plagues unleashed upon the Earth, I could only read on the weekends. But not in the summer.

The Play's the Thing

I can feel the rumble of anarchy bubbling in my students' breasts. They are ready to be out of school.

Oh Summer. For most school children, summer is synonymous with freedom, summer camps, and family vacations. My summer was synonymous with Shakespeare.

An Actual Conversation

Me: Now read your paragraph aloud for me, please.

Student: So as soon as Boo saw that Scout and Jem were in trouble, he went balls to wall  because he wanted to protect his kids...

Me: Stop reading. Did you just say "balls to the wall?"

Student: Yeah.

Me: This is considered a formal essay.

Student: So?


Me: That means we should refrain from using slang. (dumbfounded look) Like "balls to the wall."


Student: But it's not slang, it's a quote from a song.


Me: Take it out of your essay.


Student: (grumbling) Okay,fine. But it just won't sound as cool.

I LOVE teaching.

Hemingway and Hoarders

It's the 1oth of April and I am nowhere near the estimated number of pages I need to hit my ScriptFrenzy goal.  My original idea has splintered so often that the pages I have written are a disparate mess, two of which are devoted to a SNL sketch about Ariel's inevitable appearance on Hoarders. (You know it's true.)

"Done is art, Courtney. DONE is art."

That was the mantra my father repeated throughout my school years. The perpetual procrastinator, I left every project until the last possible nanosecond even when I should have known better. Dad would get home from a late rehearsal and see my work sprawled across the kitchen table and me, frantic and delirious, trying my best to produce a masterpiece. After sleeping fitfully for a few hours, he would return to the kitchen for an early morning snack of Triscuits or spicy V8 and I'd still be there, hunched over my work. He'd survey my mess, add a few encouraging words but always end with, "And you know Courtney, done is art."