Reading Yellow Birds

Reading Kevin Power's novel, Yellow Birds. His writing is eloquent and strikingly beautiful capturing the despair of the Iraqi war experience. A soldier himself, Power's tells two stories, that of the his protagonist's present, and the fuzzy confusion of the character's past: fighting the emotional and physical battles of survival. This book is truly reminiscent of Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, but yet more timely as our character shares a voice of today's warriors.

Linked-In

I'm linked in

with Facebook and Twitter

updating and tweeting

linked in with names I know

with names who recognize me

Do they know jelly or maple?

Purple or pink?

Or does that not matter?

I'm linked in

with lots of names I know

and who maybe know me

The Road: The Movie vs. The Novel

Started reading The Road this morning and just finished. I just couldn't put it down. Cormac McCarthy's fast paced syntax and in your face word choice mesmerized me. Actually having seen the movie first really added a new perspective to my reading. I appreciated McCarthy's detail, and the elements of plot which were furthered developed in the novel intrigued me. So, why in the movie, was there so much more blood and gore? I suppose because blood and gore sells. It certainly wasn't needed, and I think that the excess blood actually overly colors the greyness and despair facing the two main characters.

From the Ashes

Inspired after reading Lucinda Matlock and Chicago, I assigned a Hometown Poem to my advanced placement students. However, for those who know me, I never assign a writing I haven't done myself:


From the Ashes

Riding on weekend hayrides
Bonfires blazing in an orange glow of night
One-armed Saguaros dancing with flying embers
Like cowboys bristling and ready for a fight
Dragging on Camelback Mountain
8 tracks blaring in dashboard lights
Two-armed Saguaros poised and waiting
Like racers setting for the night

Those days were simple long ago
Back in my Sun Devil desert days
Home where more pools than carports dot the desert
Home where more golf courses than malls blanket the sand
Home where nights are often warmer than days
My city, a mythical bird
Guarded by bristled cowboy soldiers
My true Phoenix arisen from
A memory of teenage ash

KT Magalia

London's phone booths are soon to be a relic of the past. Cyberspace is replacing the the old fashioned forms of communication. Will this booth still be in existence our next trip to London's theatre district? 

The Paris Metro stops are truly "chefs-d'oeuvres" for all to see and enjoy. This one is for the Palais du Louvre and a perfect spot for a baguette with saucisson before taking in the wonders of the museum. 

Spring in Paris peering through at the Pei pyramids. 

Paintball Pain

I never noticed until now that the word "paintball" begins with "pain." How revealing is that! Also, another new discovery to me is that a body does not roll easily down a hill Rambo style. This is a technique that should be practiced, fine-tuned, and mastered without live fire. Amateur rolling is destined for pain, needless bruising of both the ego and body, and months of mockery. However, on a positive note, I discovered that women paintballers, especially over forty mama paintballers, gain nods of approval from young and old, amateur and expert paintballers. Here are a few tips for future mom paintballers:

Paintball tip #1: Never reuse the pretty colored paintballs (no matter how much you like the various colors and how you imagine that they are a like a bunch of quarters scattered on the ground). You will get reprimanded by the referee.

Paintball tip #2: Calibrate your gun to make sure that yours is at the same limit (or preferably above) that of your son's.

Paintball tip #3: Make sure to stretch every muscle in your body for at least three days prior to ball day. You will find muscles that you haven't heard from in over thirty years.

Paintball tip #4: Wear three or more layers. You'll feel like you've gone on an instant diet after you peel off your painted clothing at the end of the day, and you'll save yourself from permanent scarring.

Paintball tip #5: Don't worry about shooting your son. He won't hesitate to shoot you.

Find your savage side inside and always remember that paintball moms rock!

How Much Madness Must I Manage?

Hmmm? Why am I suddenly reminded of the ole "How much wood can a woodchuck chuck" twister? But really, how much madness must I manage? I just tried to e-mail a colleague, and I opened up my address book. Hmmm? Bubble2@sierra? Sk8trdood@aol? Glittrgirl@sunset? What the *&%#? Where are my contacts? The addresses
of over 10 years with the same address book? Was there a virus perhaps? Some glitch in the program maybe? A teenage son wanting to change settings who knew the password and reset settings so that EVERYONE in my family can contact his friends with a quick press of the button? Most likely! Yup....Arrrgh! Laptop for my own personal use, here I come! It will be mine...all mine....oops, better go get a beer to keep the madness at bay! LOL Bubble2, Sk8trdood, and TTYL Glittrgirl.

Shakespeare or Idol?

Ah...yes...to blog, or not to blog...wait, sorry. Too much Shakespeare in my mind. You can always tell the time of the school year with an English teacher. Listen carefully, and undoubtedly he or she will drop a few of ole' Shakey's verbage. Can't help it. We read it (for the zillioneth time), sometimes scan it (hey, there's only so many hours in a day), watch the drama on the screen, and somewhat tolerate the new renditions presented to us from our teenage students who could really give a rat's ass about the King of Denmark or a horny couple of kids (one of whom prances in tights and pantaloons...hmmm?). Sometimes it's enough to make me puketh (one of Willy boys gifts to the English collection of verbs). Well, must be off...parting is such sweet...oh, I better get my American Idol fix so that I can temporarly fill my mind with something far from the Renaissance. Simon...hasten thee!

Busy Playing Redneck Video Games

So, where have I been? In addition to an awesome Christmas in Los Barriles playing with puffer fish, watching the manta rays, sipping Pacificos while watching windsurfers and flying fish, and catching the occasional marlin,I've done some reading, a little napping (just a little...hard to believe, I know), a little writing, but I have found a new addiction: A redneck video Game. Click on Game. Have fun!

Agraphia Attacks

Ah, yes, the infamous white blog rectangle. Just me, you, and white space. What a shame my mind is spinning like a top, and I feel as dumb as a piece of wood (no comment from the peanut gallery please). Suitcase to pack, bills to pay, and I'm pretty sure that the toilet needs a good scrub. And what do I do? Sit typing absolute nothingness to a nonexistent reader. Hmmm? I better go sit on the toilet while packing my suitcase and paying my bills. Yes, much better use of my time. Adios muchachos!

Bruce and the Neanderthal Man

He sang for Kerry.They followed Bush. Whatever the case, just keep my future safe to make my own choice. 

I.M.O Kelsey November 5, 2004  

Fat Arnold Response

Remember Fat Arnold from the seventies and his deep response to any given topic? Well, in my best Fat Arnold imitation (which really isn't good as I don't have a deep voice nor am I African-American, so use your imagination), I bellow a throaty, "Hey, Hey, Hey," from the depths of my soul, "America has spoken." Cheers to four more years and may they be prosperous, safe, and make our country proud.

Is it? Can it be Marilyn? Nah, it's just K.T. happy-halloweening-around. A student asked, "So, is she your role model?" Before I could even answer, a quick student replied, "I sure hope not." Happy Halloween! Oh, by the way, Platinum Blondes do have more fun! 

Baldy No Brains

The bell ending fourth period buzzed, and in one quick sweep I grabbed my keys and coffee and sped to the faculty room. I needed the coolness of the just rained air on my face, to breathe quietly with no students mentally pulling on my last nerve, and yes, I needed to pee. It had been a rat race of a Tuesday, and I'd had my full of it all. I stormed into the faculty room to warm up my cold pizza in the microwave while I sped to the "facility" (multi-tasking at its best), when I was stopped by a colleague's rant regarding the "missing" weapons. " Oh, they were probably never even there in the first place. There never were any weapons in Iraq." What? Huh? Yeah right! You think I could have passed up this opportunity, even if it meant pissing right on the indoor/outdoor carpet of the staff room? Absolutely not. So there I was, legs crossed, eyes crossed in disbelief of such lunacy, and my inner frustration ready to explode. So I purged myself, vocally, with conviction, with smarts, and with no restraint. "In January of 2003, the I.A.E.A. inspected...blah blah...and THEN...So...and of course...according to the United Nations...grrr!" Yeah, you liberals are all the same. You're all in bed with the U.N., believe the New York Times is the gospel, and are so anti-Bush you'd vote Mr. Magoo in (okay, so I didn't say the latter, but I sure as hell thought it). And with a "Do your homework next time," I stomped off. Boy, Baldy No Brains, did that feel good.

They Should Have Drowned Him!

They should have drowned him! After a home invasion, a brutal attack and rape,all in front of three-old innocence, the bastard flees to the fields. Daybreak arrives and the attacker is found in the rice patties partially submerged in the water, and then treated for hypothermia. Treated? Hmm? Let's write a new headline: SOB Discovered Drowned in Durham After Brutal Rape. Yes, I like the sound of that much more. To read the article: Chico ER

Problems...Problems....

Funny how there doesn't seem to be many when warm,lazy days are just around the corner! Election? What election? Who cares?

El Baracho! Playas, Palapas, Pacificos y Pescado para el cena!