Poem in Your Pocket Day 2016

Each year, as a part of National Poetry Month (April), I celebrate Poem in Your Pocket Day. It's really as simple as it sounds. You fold up a piece of paper with a poem on it and stick it in your pocket. When you have a chance to share the poem with someone, you take it out of your pocket and read it.

This year's selection is Christopher Bursk's "Why Latin Should Still Be Taught in High School."

Because one day I grew so bored

with Lucretius, I fell in love

with the one object that seemed to be stationary,

the sleeping kid two rows up,

the appealing squalor of his drooping socks.

While the author of De Rerum Natura was making fun

of those who fear the steep way and lose the truth,

I was studying the unruly hairs on Peter Diamond’s right leg.

Titus Lucretius Caro labored, dactyl by dactyl

to convince our Latin IV class of the atomic

composition of smoke and dew,

and I tried to make sense of a boy’s ankles,

the calves’ inquiring

resiliency, the integrity to the shank,

the solid geometry of my classmate’s body.

Light falling through blinds,

a bee flinging itself into a flower,

a seemingly infinite set of texts

to translate and now this particular configuration of atoms

who was given a name at birth,

Peter Diamond, and sat two rows in front of me,

his long arms, his legs like Lucretius’s hexameters

seemed to go on forever, all this hurly-burly

of matter that had the goodness to settle

long enough to make a body

so fascinating it got me

through fifty-five minutes

of the nature of things. 

Nutty Neighbors: Sunday Morning Burlesque

I've held on to this post for some time. In fact, I'd written it almost a year ago but forgotten it over time as other posts and other duties have taken precedence. I share it with you now just so I no longer have any posts in draft form. Do with it what you will.

I've written before about how annoying the next door neighbors can be, particularly when The Princess, the guy who has the master bedroom in the back of the apartment (parallel to my own, with just a thin wall separating us), plays his music so loudly that you can hear it over the shower (mine, his, both at the same time, doesn't matter). I suppose I might not mind hearing the music from next door if he didn't have such crappy taste.

He goes through different moods, of course, and the music often reflects whatever he's feeling at the time. When he's broken up with some guy he's dating, I get to hear very sad, depressing stuff. Unfortunately--for both him and me--that happens quite often. When he's getting ready to go out, presumably to snag another boyfriend (at least for the night), it's all about the dance music, much of which sounds like every other song on the radio these days.

Yesterday [almost a year ago now] was a strange day, though. What mood must someone be in to listen to the soundtrack to Burlesque? How can you get yourself ready for the day ahead by forcing yourself to hear all Christina, all the time? Couldn't you have at least included one of the songs by Cher just as a shout-out to the older gays?

Here's why I'm not a fan of Christina Aguilera's most recent work ("recent" meaning the past ten years or so). She has an amazing voice with a spectacular range and is obviously quite talented. However, her performances are what's wrong with most of today's music. Listen to the radio or watch a singing competition show like the one for which she occasionally judges, The Voice, and all you'll hear are people who are enamored with their ability to do runs and hit very high notes and dazzle people with the flexibility of their voice. There's only one problem: That's not really singing. It sounds more like you're doing a warm-up before you sing.

Besides, Burlesque is just a really bad movie. Not bad as in campy fun like Showgirls, which it hoped it would be. Just bad as in boring and kind of pointless. I suppose it must have fans out there, and apparently, The Princess is one of them, but isn't it just a forgettable piece of dross? Why blow the dust off that soundtrack and play it to get yourself primed for the day ahead? Especially so long after the movie has disappeared from theaters?

In honor of The Princess' Sunday morning rise-and-shine music, here's a song to get stuck in your head. Better yours than mine.

One Day in Hawaii

I’m going to share just one more memory from my travels before I stop writing about my once-in-a-lifetime experience. I might share some more pictures in the future, but for now, this might be it.

Before I returned home from Micronesia, I spent about 36 hours in Hawaii. Spring Break was the following week, so I didn’t need to be in a rush to get back home. The Boyfriend had spent some time in Taiwan visiting his family a couple of weeks earlier, so I was fairly certain we would not be spending additional money to travel during Spring Break.

I woke up around 11 a.m. on Friday after about six hours of sleep. I had been very tired from the long plane ride and a week of work and activity, but I wanted to have some time to enjoy Hawaii. It was my first time on the island, and I keep saying to myself that I need to travel more.

The hotel room for the return trip was in the Waikiki Tower—perhaps because it faces the direction of Waikiki Beach—and it has much more spectacular views. The night I spent here before traveling to Micronesia was in the Kona Tower, not a particularly impressive view since it was mostly apartment and hotel buildings rather than a sliver of beach and palm trees.

I first went in search of food. The hotel was next door to the Ala Moana Hawaiian Center, reportedly the world’s largest open air mall. I have no reason to doubt it given how many stores there are and how much walking you can do there. I found a restaurant in the food court that served garlic shrimp. It wasn’t bad, actually, but the shrimp still had their shells, making them a little more difficult to eat. From what I gather, people in other countries, especially Asian countries, tend to eat shrimp with the shell intact. I’m not quite on board with that yet.

I walked around the mall a bit after that, and I happened up a performance of hula dancers. The mall advertises that this occurs every day at 1 p.m., so I lucked out that I was there on time.

I also talked to The Boyfriend for the first time in more than a week. Now that I was back in the States, I had phone service without roaming charges. I had checked with my carrier before leaving on the trip, and the amount you have to pay for calls and texts when you’re out of the service area is just outrageous. I’d like to blame the particular carrier that we have, but none of the team had better service.

I spent the greater part of the afternoon walking around the beach area in Ala Moana Park, which is close to the hotel and shopping center. It’s really just across the street. The scenery is almost stereotypically Hawaiian. I saw surfers, boats, fishermen, swimmers—just what you’d expect and want to see on a Hawaiian island. The ocean is spectacular here, so many beautiful shades of blue, and the sky was clear, almost cloudless, and a brilliant blue color itself. I also saw lots of pigeons and doves, many of them congregating in areas where they are more likely to get food.

Dinner included a couple of bento boxes (they were very small), some Hawaiian cookies, and some Spam musubi. I had to have some Spam given how well-loved it is on the islands. The dinner on the night before we left for Micronesia had included Spicy Spam Rice Bites, and I wanted to have another, different taste on the way back home.

I started to feel the exhaustion catch up to me not long after eating dinner. I got sleepy very early in the evening, earlier than I normally would be sleeping, but I couldn’t resist getting to bed in anticipation of the return flight the next day.

Saturday morning only provided time to buy a few souvenirs: a t-shirt, some chocolate covered macadamia nuts, a keychain to replace the one from Hawaii that I had lost last year, a small stature of King Kamehameha—nothing expensive.  

I had to go through TSA screening again and several agricultural inspections, but the worst part of navigating the airport in Honolulu was having to pay extra charges because one of my suitcases weighed more than 50 pounds. I was given the option of rearranging and redistributing my stuff, but I opted just to give the airline a little more money. I haven’t told The Boyfriend about that charge—or about some other charges I incurred during the trip—because he would consider it wasteful, but sometimes it’s really not worth the hassle.

Hawaiian Airlines is a much better travel option than United. The seats are larger, and they do try to keep you hydrated and somewhat well fed during your six hours in the air. I even got a free glass of wine (chardonnay, if you must know). Chuck Henry, who anchors the Channel 4 News here in Los Angeles, was on the flight with what appeared to be a dozen relatives. I guess they had a family vacation in Hawaii and were coming home too.

We landed at LAX at almost 11 p.m., and after waiting for quite a while for my luggage to appear in the baggage claim area, I walked to the street, located The Boyfriend, and started the short ride home. The trip was finally over, only a collection of memories now. 

When Hornets Become Angels

I joined about 2,000 people associated with my college last night at Angels Stadium in Anaheim. The crowd included faculty, staff, students, administrators, trustees, alumni—just about anyone who has a connection to the college. The occasion was the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (what a long name for a baseball team) hosting a night in honor of our college. Tickets to the game were just $25, and as a part of that price, you received a commemorative baseball cap with both the Angels logo and the college’s logo as well as the college’s mascot (Buzzy the Hornet) under the bill. Some of us went for the game, others for the cap, but most seemed to be there to share an experience with other Hornets.

The idea for the night came from a student. She’s the president of the Sociology Club, a student in my Introduction to Film Studies class this semester, and a long-time Angels fan. In fact, she missed her first exam in my class because she was going to Opening Night at the stadium. It was her 48^th consecutive Opening Night, and I told her to go. I’m not going to interfere with a tradition of almost half a century just for an exam.

Before the game began, a group mostly comprised of English faculty members and their spouses and partners (and a few kids) stopped by Noble Ale Works in Anaheim. We had a choice to make. We could have paid $10 to park at the stadium and then pay for beer there, or we could pay $10 for two beers at Noble and park for free. We just had to walk about 10 minutes to get to the stadium. A simple choice, really, when you consider it.

I had the Wrong Side of the Road, and The Boyfriend had a Drink Yrself Clean. Both were quite tasty, and I highly recommend this microbrewery. It has quite an assortment of beers, and we were treated to a tour of the facilities thanks to one of our colleagues being the wife of the owner. It helps to know people in the right places.

The Boyfriend and I walked to Angel Stadium so that I could support the students and staff members who were responsible for University Village. This event was the first time that a community college had the opportunity to present itself to the game-goers. The place was crowded and lively with lots of picture-taking going on. It’s also where you stopped to pick up your commemorative cap. The Boyfriend and I chose not to wear ours in order to preserve a piece of history. Besides, we were already wearing baseball caps, thankfully not our Boston Red Sox or Los Angeles Dodgers ones.

Even though almost 2,000 people had purchased the special tickets to the game, we were able to sit with other faculty from my department and division. In fact, those closest to us were especially close friends with whom I’ve shared many wonderful memories over the years. I did move for an inning to sit with the student leaders, who were all having a great time too. They do seem to enjoy each other’s company, and I’ve really liked working with them this past year. I also bumped into several former students of mine, several of whom I’d not seen in years. In fact, I apparently taught the college president’s mother-in-law in the past!

As part of the tradition of attending a baseball game, we had a hot dog. Well, we had an Angels Dog. It was quite tasty. I would have ordered another one, but socializing with other people and watching the game interfered with that. Needless to say, the Boyfriend and I had to have something to eat when we got home at about 10:30 p.m.

Overall, the night was quite a success. Not only did everyone have a good time, we also helped to raise an estimated $12,000 for the food bank on campus. That money will help to feed a lot of hungry students.

Oh, the game itself? Meh. The Angels lost 4-1 to the Texas Rangers. The highlight, other than being with so many friends and colleagues, was watching the college president throw out the first pitch. He did a spectacular job; it was an expert throw. The threat of rain hovered over us for most of the day, and there were a few sprinkles at the start of the game. However, the skies cleared up, and everyone had a great time. Except, of course, for the diehard Angels fans.