Song of Myself (written 11/14/07)

I definitely think Whitman was on to something. Music and identity seem inextricably connected, something that I have found to be increasingly true over the past year or so. Just the right song at just the right moment and BAMB! Collision. Song and self swirl together and if you close your eyes just right, you can hear your soul swelling with musical movement as your very skin sings out in perfect harmony with the caucophony of your shoulders, knees, and toes. Hell yeah. You know what I mean to be sayin'.

Let me back up: I have always been a hummer. Music literally lives inside of me and most of the time I have no idea that it is leaking out in the form of a soft hummm. Half the time I don't even know what song I am humming, if it is even a song at all. Many people make the mistake of associating this humm with carefree gaeity or some other form of light-hearted expression. Not so. You people have simply been watching too many cartoons and corny prime-time citcoms.

But that's not really my point at all. My point is this: as of late, I feel like I have begun processing my life in terms of particular songs. I guess you could call it compiling my own personal soundtrack of life. I feel like Nick Hornby would be proud.

And so, in honor of High Fidelity and the prestigious act of list-making, another of my favorite past-times [see Favorite Movies of All Time list, below], I give you the compiled list of songs that would be on today's soundtrack:

WooHoo by 5,6,7,8s
I'll Fly Away by Gillian Welch & Allison Krauss
Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles
Mary Jo by Belle & Sebastian
Take My Hand by Ben Harper
The Wind by Cat Stevens
Born to Be With You by Chatham County Line
Caring is Creepy by The Shins
When I Was in Love
with You by The Greencards
The Long Way Home by Norah Jones

Candace's Favorite Movies of All Time List (1-50)

Ladies and Gents, a drumroll please...
I present to you,
the new and improved
2nd edition...
Candace's Favorite Movies of all TIME, in order:

1. When Harry Met Sally
2. ONCE
3. Lost in Translation
4. Stardust
5. Waiting for Guffman
6. Moulin Rouge
7. The Princess Bride
8. Dirty Dancing
9. Love, Actually
10. Manhattan
11. Almost Famous
12. Imagine Me & You
13. Psycho
14. Best in Show
15. Garden State
16. The Saint
17. Spinal Tap
18. House of Flying Daggers
19. Legends of the Fall
20. Kill Bill (1 &2)
21. Closer
22. Tombstone
23. Knocked Up
24. The Family Stone
25. Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
26. Shop Girl
27. Harry Potter V
28. Hiroshima, Mi Amor
29. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless
Mind
30. Bridges of Madison County
31. Sliding Doors
32. Casablanca
33. Pride and Prejudice
34. Annie Hall
35. Lord of the Rings (1,2,3)
36. My Fair Lady
37. Chocolat
38. The Lion King
39. Laughing Hyena
40. Two Wondrous Tigers
41. Little Miss Sunshine
42. The Last Dragon
43. Sabrina
44. Dreamers
45. James Bond: Casino Royale
46. Independence Day
47. The Devil Wears Prada
48. Trains, Planes, and Automobiles
49. What About Bob?
50. Kung Fu: The Movie


Honorable Mentions:
Sister Act II
Pistol Pete
Rookie of the Year
Titanic
You’ve Got Mail
Ever After
The Other Sister
Only You

Big sigh...

As I sauntered into class this morning, I was greated by a rather large giftbag overflowing with blue tissue paper, patiently sitting on my desk. In the bag I found an assortment of hallmark "congrats" cards, one from each of my classes and another from Mrs. C, my Co-op. Each class had signed the cards with individual little messages, wishing me luck, thanking me for helping them this semester, well-wishes, etc. It was ridiculously cute, I assure you. There was much heart-swelling on my part. As a gift, Mrs. C. had provided me with the basic essentials for any beginning teacher: dark chocolate, green tea (mugs included), and a coffee/tea maker. This was especially sentimental considering Mrs. C and I's routine over the past two months: start out the morning with a hot cup of tea, nibbles of dark chocolate providing sustanance throughout the day. (The difficulty level of a day could often be measured by how much chocolate was consumed: a single chocolater would be considered a downhill sleigh ride, while 4-5 pieces would be a clear sign of headaches, deep breaths, and inspirational monologues.)

So today was my last day in the classroom. I completed my observations, raided Mrs. C's file cabinet, cleaned off my desk and said goodbye to my kids via white-board (which I thought was rather apropos). I decided to take off at the beginning of fourth period, having nothing left to do but sit and reminisce. I was not prepared for the cacophony of protests that greeted me as I began to gather my things. I was profoundly touched and did my best not to linger, soaking in as much positive affirmation of these many months of hard work as possible.

The truth of the matter is, I am going to miss it. I'm going to miss the classroom and the day-to-day routines. Most of all, I will miss the kids. I will miss hearing them call me by my last name. I will even miss their whining and disruptive banter, times in which I often had to hold back my laughter and put on my "stern" face, if only for pretense. Still, by the end of the six weeks, I stopped holding back and laughed openly with them. This was a relief for both of us I think. They were a good group. Challenging, yes. Hard-headed, lazy, apathetic--good GOD! Still, there was a spark there. I saw it; they felt it. What more could I ask for?

And so I am finished. Done.
I completed the hardest semester of my academic life thus far and--most importantly--I did it all on my own. There was no one waiting for me at home to rub my feet or give me words of comfort or fix me dinner. For these things, and more, I looked to myself; I dug deep and found a strength I didn't even know was there.
For this inner strength and for the friends and family who gave me countless words of encouragement along the way, I will be eternally grateful.

BOO.

In honor of the season [it is halloween, afterall], the following blog recounts two rather frightening experiences as of late:

Scarytime #1:

I went out on a date the other night. This in and of itself may seem rather scary but, wait, there's more.

I was actually pretty excited about it. The guy in question seemed like a real catch: Americorp alumni (he spent a year in Colorodo providing medical care to poverty-stricken, mostly illegal immigrants), Chapel-Hill Graduate, pre-med, semester in Australia, super hot and quirky cute all rolled in one. And he seemed pretty hung up on me, to boot.

So he gets my number and we go have a couple of beers at one of my favorite pubs downtown, which just happened to be having bluegrass jam that night. Cat's out of the bag: we both like-no LOVE- bluegrass music. Major bonus points. We talk and laugh and all is going rather well. Could it be? Had I actually managed to meet a smart, attractive MAN, official graduate of the petty little boy status so common to these parts? The question is humming around in my mind, practically in mid-air, stuck in one of those lovely little bubbles so often attributed to mental activity. Aforementioned bubble is floating inconspicuously over my left shoulder when it comes time to pay the bill.

"You ready to make a break for it?"

POP! goes the bubble.

"We will have to be pretty sneaky about it though, make a quick get-a-way."

Ummm...come again?

While I continue to stare at him in what would best be described as dumbfounded awe, unable to formulate a coherent reply, the waitress comes to my rescue.

"Can I take that for you?" she asks nonchalantly.

Yes! Yes, please take it! Take it now before this niceboy FRAUD pulls a gun on us all and asks us for our spare change. It is only a matter of time. Sweat begins to pool on my brow. No wait, I almost forgot: we southern gals don't sweat, we glisten.

"Damn it. Almost. I do feel bad for the waitresses though, if only because I wait tables myself." He says this with a note of, not remorse, but dissapointment.

So to my relief, he pays the bill-- all fifteen dollars of it. I mean, seriously! Seriously? Fifteen bucks? I'm not even worth the price of four beers, two of which were YOURS? And on a FIRST DATE, nonetheless. It boggles the mind. Even now, I have trouble rapping my brain around it.

Jump to the end of the evening: we pull up to my house, he leans in for a kiss and before I know it, without even thinking about it, I've totally pulled a Cheeker. So let this be a lesson to you, little boys everywhere: attempt to swindle your date into participating in an immoral, not to mention illegal, activity and you too shall receive a similar, if not far more severe, fate. You have been forewarned.

Scarytime #2:

I went to Wal-Mart today. I didn't want to; I hadn't planned on it. It just kind of, happened.

I found myself standing in aisle 15, hands by my side, shoulders slouched, brow furrowed. My eyes bounced back and forth, as if waiting for someone [or something] to jump out from behind the 50 pound bag of dogfood beside me and begin knawing at my ankle.

Instead, a 400 pound woman strutted by infront of me, her camoflage entourage obediently in tow. I immediately break into a cold sweat. Where am I? What is happening? A feeling of total and complete resignation passes over me as I realize that half of the people in the store- sorry, "supercenter"- are probably related to the unfortunate kids I see every day in my classroom.

Wal-Mart on a saturday afternoon is officially one of the scarriest places I can imagine. Even now, I shudder just thinking about it.

Picture this:

Halloween party. Myself, a multitude of friends, including those I have yet to meet. Keg out back, tequila (lime and salt included) standing guard in the kitchen. Jolly good times all around.

Now enter into this picture another, as to yet unrelated, image: that of my boss, the head of the English Department at the high school I am currently student teaching at. Blonde hair, pretty, composed and FIFTY THREE YEARS OLD.

Now slingshot one directly into the other-- WHAM! BAMB! CRASH! KABOOOOOMMMM!

Get the picture?

Oh, and did I mention the fact that I just happened to be decked out in full skankorific regalia as only Halloween could properly condone? [Sexy mental patient = the perfect opportunity to be skanky AND demented at the same time!!!! perfection!]

Needless to say, you can surely imagine the "worlds crashing" sound effects that rang in my ears when Ms. X walked in the door to the aforementioned KEG PARTY. To be more specific, I ran. No, seriously. I ran out of the house, covering my eyes until I reached a deceivingly safe Rhododendron out back. Perhaps if I just shut my eyes tight enough and squated in the dirt long enough, this would not be happening?? Surely the embarrassement and HORROR of the current situation would soon pass away into a tequila-induced blur?

After several minutes of seriously contemplating my options [the strange looks I was receiving continued to convince me that I was not quite as undetectable as I once believed] and surveying my surroundings, I came to the harsh yet irrevokable decision that I must, indeed, face my fear, [wo]mano a [wo]mano.

Flash ahead, one hour. Ms. X and myself, raising our filled to the brim shot glasses into the air and triumphantly sending out a toast to the noble teaching profession. Lick, drink, suck.
Seal with a mid-air high five and you have yourself one mighty fine evening.
CHEERS!

Sucking of the Marrow

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it...."

--Henry David Thoreau
from Walden

Things I love in this moment:

Bluegrass music
Manhattan, the Woody Allen movie
Paris Green, the color of my bedroom walls
Bumblebees
The cobblestone streets of Vienna and the
sparkling lights that reflect off of their
worn smooth surfaces
Daisies
Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches
Grilled--so that the peanut butter is runny
and gooey
sticking to my fingers and dripping down
my chin
Strawberry Milk, sipped from a spoon
And pearlescent nailpolish
pretty and
pink.
But most of all,
in this moment,
I love the smell of my own skin
And the beat of my own heart.