A Cryin' Shame
So it's been nearly three years since my last entry. That deserves a dry slap.
Nutshell version of the missing years? Little Sasha Martine is a trip. First realized she had an interest in music when, at about a year old, she started humming the theme to East Enders. In the middle of a funeral. Loudly. First realized that a career in singing was out of the question when, a year later, she sang the Backyardigans theme. And never changed note throughout. Yikes.
Most embarrassing moment? This summer we were flying home from PHL, and Sasha insisted upon telling everyone in a uniform, "I have a stolen passport!" On account of it had been nicked while we were in Philly. No, Sasha. Your passport was stolen. There's a difference. Airport security seemed to understand, but still.
As for me, I'm still working my way through a bachelor's degree in communication (on the distance education tip). Hoping to get a master's at Temple in creative writing. Or journalism. Communication?
Went to Australia a few months ago on a journalism jaunt with ISLP. Mixed emotions about that. Although I enjoyed the experience and got a hint of Australian journalism (an extremely shallow hint), I can't shake the feeling that the program is a bit trumped up. Like their thinking is, if you charge enough money then people will convince themselves that an endeavor is worthwhile. Still, I met some great people and had organic East Timor coffee, which I LOVE and which spurred me on to purchase a french press when I returned home.
Best moment of the Australia trip was ditching the group (there were 80 of us) after a cruise and hanging out with with a couple of Aussie chicks (and one French gal) for the rest of the night. Slash morning. Worst moment? Fainting on the flight back. I felt like an utter gimp. I remembered trying to make my way to the toilet so that I could sit down on it and pass out at my own leisure. Next thing I knew, I was desperately grasping the headrest of a seat to steady myself. Next thing I knew after that was realizing I'd missed the headrest and had grabbed hold of some poor guy's head. (which, in retrospect, is kinda funny)
Then down, down, doooowwwwn. At first, I just lay there on the floor, too mortified to move. Then, as I tried to get up, I realized I actually couldn't move. But I kept trying to get up. Must have looked like a fish outta water. People kept telling me to just lay there and to be still.
OhOh! Sasha and I are working on a garden. The pot marigolds are looking pretty pathetic (but growing steadily, so I can't complain), and the mini-pumpkins are a joke. I must have planted 10 of the suckers, and I'll be lucky to finish up with three little pumpkins. And they'll be all rotted by Halloween. Maybe I'll just buy a bunch from the store and lay them amongst the vines so that passersby (what passersby? this town has a population of 1,002) will think we're rife with the buggers.
Right, I'm going to finish watching Withnail & I, then hit the sack. No, I'll restarte Withnail & I and polish of this bottle of Black Opal chardonnay. Now, there's a plan...
t!
Nutshell version of the missing years? Little Sasha Martine is a trip. First realized she had an interest in music when, at about a year old, she started humming the theme to East Enders. In the middle of a funeral. Loudly. First realized that a career in singing was out of the question when, a year later, she sang the Backyardigans theme. And never changed note throughout. Yikes.
Most embarrassing moment? This summer we were flying home from PHL, and Sasha insisted upon telling everyone in a uniform, "I have a stolen passport!" On account of it had been nicked while we were in Philly. No, Sasha. Your passport was stolen. There's a difference. Airport security seemed to understand, but still.
As for me, I'm still working my way through a bachelor's degree in communication (on the distance education tip). Hoping to get a master's at Temple in creative writing. Or journalism. Communication?
Went to Australia a few months ago on a journalism jaunt with ISLP. Mixed emotions about that. Although I enjoyed the experience and got a hint of Australian journalism (an extremely shallow hint), I can't shake the feeling that the program is a bit trumped up. Like their thinking is, if you charge enough money then people will convince themselves that an endeavor is worthwhile. Still, I met some great people and had organic East Timor coffee, which I LOVE and which spurred me on to purchase a french press when I returned home.
Best moment of the Australia trip was ditching the group (there were 80 of us) after a cruise and hanging out with with a couple of Aussie chicks (and one French gal) for the rest of the night. Slash morning. Worst moment? Fainting on the flight back. I felt like an utter gimp. I remembered trying to make my way to the toilet so that I could sit down on it and pass out at my own leisure. Next thing I knew, I was desperately grasping the headrest of a seat to steady myself. Next thing I knew after that was realizing I'd missed the headrest and had grabbed hold of some poor guy's head. (which, in retrospect, is kinda funny)
Then down, down, doooowwwwn. At first, I just lay there on the floor, too mortified to move. Then, as I tried to get up, I realized I actually couldn't move. But I kept trying to get up. Must have looked like a fish outta water. People kept telling me to just lay there and to be still.
OhOh! Sasha and I are working on a garden. The pot marigolds are looking pretty pathetic (but growing steadily, so I can't complain), and the mini-pumpkins are a joke. I must have planted 10 of the suckers, and I'll be lucky to finish up with three little pumpkins. And they'll be all rotted by Halloween. Maybe I'll just buy a bunch from the store and lay them amongst the vines so that passersby (what passersby? this town has a population of 1,002) will think we're rife with the buggers.
Right, I'm going to finish watching Withnail & I, then hit the sack. No, I'll restarte Withnail & I and polish of this bottle of Black Opal chardonnay. Now, there's a plan...
t!