Because I have no news to report, this is an entry about the tournaments.

In Eastern Maine, this February vacation is structured around the Eastern Maine High School basketball tournaments.  It is a huge event, a legendary pligrimage to Bangor to watch 6 games a day, every day, as the B-C-D teams battle it out.  Our class system is A-B-C-D, A being the biggest schools, and D being the smallest.  The school I went to was C, and then D, when I was in high school, and last year moved back up to C.  For reference, there were about 200 kids in my high school.

It’s been written about, the tourneys, and those stories are always about the CInderella story of some high school upsetting another, or about a player who survived a car accident to make the big game, or about a coach who survived cancer, again.  They talk about the impact on the economy (it’s huge) and the influx of people to Bangor for that week (huge, again.)  But I see the tourneys from a different angle, now.

For one, win or lose the boys on the court are going home to blow jobs. Or, they were when I was in high school.  They may be celebratory or sympathetic, but a lot of those boys are getting blow jobs by the end of the week.  Except for the fat one (always number 55, because school uniforms might as well be printed with their sizes), he’s going to go home and be hugged by girls who think he is "like their brother."  All of this will happen at someone’s parents’ camp, and there will be beer involved.  Number 55 will be the one telling jokes to the cheerleader who is always a ‘good strong base.’

There will also be a motorcade.  When that bus rolls into town, the local cop (or one from a nearby town) will greet the bus before it gets to the hgih school, and parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and alumni who still Believe will follow, honking and flashing thier lights, because these kids! They worked so hard!  By the end of the week, most of those kids will ahve come to terms that there will be no Gold Ball this year, and they start making plans for baseball and softball season.

These little rural used-to-have-a-mill towns drain out and pour into Bangor.  They use vacation days so that their kids can swim in a pool to tide them over until July, when the lakes are thawed and warmed up to swimming temperature.  They go to the buffet restaurant, and to the chinese places, and the Pizza Huts and Wendy’s — all the place that their towns don’t have.  They spend money at the Super WalMart and the mall, excited to have a real JCPenney to browse, not just the catalog.  Maybe they’ll go to a movie.

But during the games, they wear their team colors, they wave streamers and signs, and they hope to see people they haven’t seen all year.  They get firecely angry at the refs, they get way too excited at That Guy who still leads crowds in cheers with his loud voice, even though he’s been graduated for 15 years.  That Guy will probably be wearing his varsity jacket, the year of his graduation on the sleeve letting the world know that it’s been way too long for him to wear it. 

For some people, this is the height of excitement.  The kids on the floor haven’t yet had to worry about things like mortgages and health insurance and wondering just what the hell they should do with their lives.  This is the biggest moment of their life, and they know it.  Later, it might look as silly to them as it does to outsiders, but not now. Right now it’s enough to bring you to tears when you foul out, or to make you jump in the air and pump your fists in victory, while the other teams jaws move in a silent "Fuckin Sucks." 

I’m glad that I don’t envision the tourneys as the pinnacle of excitement, but I can understand why people do.  And that’s why I don’t refuse the job of shooting.

I have been pricing fabric for curtains in the sewing room. Three walls are an apple green, and the fourth is beadboard painted white.
I have an area rug in there that is a lupine-y purple/blue popcorn chenille. What I wanted for the windows was white chenille, but not striped or wavy, which is all that the local JoAnn’s had. Online, I found the perfect texture: windowpane chenille, but that was 18 bucks a yard, which is more than I’ve every paid for fabric, ever.

Last night, Andy called to see if I wanted to do something. We decided to go to Marden’s to see what they had in. In addition to a small Freddy Krueger bust (2.99, Happy V-Day, Dave!) and two staple removers (.39, Happy V-Day, myself and coteacher!) they had some new linens. I only went up that aisle as an afterthought, because even Andy doesn’t like to look at fabric and leopard print bath towels, but on an endcap, I was filled with hope and gratitude. White. Windowpane. Chenille. Coverlets. 100% cotton, twin size, and coverlets, so, basically, hemmed fabric.

12.99 each.

There were three left, and I took two. Initially. In the furniture section, I kept thinking about that last one, and decided, screw it, I can’t afford NOT to. So I went back and ended up with three. Each is about 2.5 yards of extra wide (60+) fabric. If ordered, it would have cost 135 before shipping. Instead, I got enough material for two sets of full and long curtains (exactly what I need), and 2.5 yards to use for something else, if I need to.. I am way too excited.

Also exciting is driving my mom’s Subaru while they are gone. It’s a 98 wagon, but I LOVE wagons, I’ve wanted one FOREVER, and I even kicked myself back in 96 when I got my car for not holding out for a small wagon. We’ve talked about me buying it when they decide to get a new car, which is in the works for this spring, and I’m even more convinced that I want it now. It feels so different to be driving to work on icy roads and be warm and restrained, and feeling like even if I DID get hit, I would probably live.

The plan was to drive my car intot he ground, and since edmunds.com is apprasing it at a value of $203, I think I’ve done that. The Outback is older, and has 112k miles on it, and appraises at about 3k, but that would totally be worth it to us, to have a safe wagon for beating around town in. If it could get me through at least grad school/year 1 of hypothetical baby’s life, that would be great. It’s just so BIG and WAGONY. I love it more than a girl of almost 30 should, perhaps.

Tomorrow at this time, the kids will be gone, and I’ll be working on assessments or something until 2:30 or so, and then I am on vacation in a big, big way. I have to shoot at the tourneys again, which is fine, and I hope to make some curtains now that I have the supplies, and hopefully, by the next time I’m at school, my 2WW will be over.
Let’s hope it’s over in a good way.

When I got home from class on Tuesday, Dave told me that my mom had called, but he hadn’t answered because she calls just about every night, and she definitely calls every Tuesday night, and they have the same conversation every Tuesday night, with her forgetting I have class and then trying to make small talk with my husband. He didn’t pick up, but that’s why we have Caller ID. By the time I got home, though, I was ravenously hungry, and didn’t return her call because I was going to blow a gasket if we didn’t figure out a food plan, and soon. Once we’d ordered a pizza, the phone rang, and it was my mother, again, so I answered.

“Where have you been? Did you get my message? I’ve been hanging around Bangor waiting for you to return my call, because I wanted to stay at your house tonight.”

My folks are in Austria now, but mom came down early to drop off her car, the Outback, because “I figured for those ten days we’re gone, you’d like to have a seatbelt and heat.” I felt awful, the ONE TIME we don’t answer her call, she’s forced to eat alone at Ruby Tuesday’s, waiting for me to call her back and tell her to come on over. And the whole trip is because she was doing something really NICE for me! Gah.

Then, last night, Dave asked if I’d heard from my mom.

“No, they’re off to Austria, why?” “Well, I got to work yesterday, and my message light was blinking, but I decided to get my coffee and stuff before checking my voicemail.
But then I got paged, and it was your mom, who was freaking out.
‘DAVE! Oh, no, oh no, I JUST put a piece of toast in the toaster, and I hit the button, and ALL of the power went out! Where do I go to reset it? Oh, I feel just awful. SHIT!’ But, when I went to work, I noticed that the light at Hammond was out, so, basically, the power went out in the whole neighborhood JUST as your mom decided to make toast.”

My poor mom; she must have been freaking out. And wondering just what the hell was wrong with our wiring that you couldn’t even make TOAST safely.

On my way into class last night, I ran into my student teaching advisor coming out of the education building.

“Funny seeing you here, I just spent 30, 40 minutes talking about you,” she said. “To [education. middle level/IT bigwig].”

“Oh… really?”

“Yep. I told him your story, your situation, and he said ‘it would be a crime to lose someone like that from education.’ I asked him what kind of opportunities would be out there for you, because you’re so good with kids* and technology, and they’re always looking for people to travel and train. I mentioned you were thinking about grad school, and I asked him what kind of GA stuff was available, and he said not to worry, ‘we’ll find something.’ He’s on vacation til March something, but he’s expecting you to drop in and have a conversation.”

!!!!!!! Holy Cow!!!!!!

This is so cool. Hello, networking. Man, if I could do grad school that way, that would be cool. If I could even do the traveling trainer bit, going around the state and team teaching with other middle school teachers to get technology USED in the right way, you know? That would ROCK. That is my dream job, I think. Traveling, meeting new people, still working with kids, AND computers, without the shitty parts of dealing with parents and assessments and all that stuff. That would ROCK. If I did it 2 days a week, even when I had a kid, I could DO that, you know? And hell, depending on where I was going, I could take kid along — if I was in an area where I have friends or family, I could totally say “Hey, Amy, I have a workshop in Gorham, can you watch the little chicken for me?” and she would totally do that. (Am I right?) Or if I was back home near my mom, or over in the mountains near my mom, whatever. Wow.

I just need to get through this school year, survive and come out at the other end of June with my sanity intact. Knowing I have options, and people out there pulling for me, is just one more piece of the survival suit.

*Working with kids is my strongest asset. I pretty much suck at grading things on time, or taking ridiculous mandates without question, or worrying about how quiet my room is. Working with kids, having that rapport, is the least valued skill at my school, which is part of why I am so devastated by my job right now. I am damn good at dealing with kids, and I daresay that I will impact some of them long into their life because of that. That she put it that way makes me so happy; it’s not “She geta great test scores!” or whatever, but “She’s great with middle school kids.” Yes. I am.