I thought the movie was great, and my family enjoyed it, too. We were struck by how well-cast it was, and I had to laugh at my mom’s constant interjections throughout the film. Her inability to properly whisper conveyed many a “he’s so hott!” and “ugh, what a cutie” several times throughout– in reference, of course, to Mr. DiCaprio. It was hilarious and entertaining to hear Mom have such a great time.

Of course, the over-analyzer that I am, I couldn’t help but contemplate Faulkner’s initial message and theme over and over again. The power and evils of materialism, capitalism, wealth, and greed. These themes were prevalent in the 1920′s, when he originally wrote the book. But they are so relevant today as well.  I know that we have not escaped the constant torments of chasing America’s version of the Red Dragon, supreme wealth and success.

Gatsby is caught up in the need to attain wealth for, perhaps, a worthy cause. He’s chasing the dream girl, hoping to win her heart with his ability to attain whatever impresses her. It’s terribly romantic to imagine that a man is so driven by his heart’s desire to accomplish huge feats. It’s also terribly depressing. Because we all sympathize with Gatsby instead of seeing him for who he is– just as much a fool as his love, Daisy. He chases a woman only for her beauty and some long-lost connection they had years earlier. Sure, he was in love, but he didn’t fall for a woman of wisdom or virtue. She was hot. And he was enamored with her.

Being driven by love is commendable. But, isn’t the wealth and the spectacle required to make Daisy love him back incredibly depressing? Where, then, is Gatsby’s sense of virtue if he cannot see through her shallow demeanor? And what lesson does this teach us, today?

When I moved away from New York, I left feeling confused by the wealth I’d seen there and the race people make towards it. Many of my friends were, too, impressed by labels and parties and big houses and the things wealth can bring.

New Yorkers know how to sound politically correct about wanting money. We say: “Money doesn’t bring happiness. It brings security. It removes certain fears and anxieties, and that’s why it’s worth chasing.” But that’s some interesting kind of bullshit, isn’t it? None of us are really safe from anything. Money can only buy so much. And cancer will get you no matter how much you’ve got. We have Steve Jobbs to thank for teaching us that one.

I wanted to get away from NYC because, while I couldn’t quite name or even fully identify my need to escape materialism, I was undeniably discomforted by the life I’d lived there. Something just didn’t feel right, and I needed to live somewhere where I did feel right.

How does that bring us back to Gatsby? He was the only guy our narrator, Nick, could truly respect. Because Gatsby seemed to have some kind of virtue. The money didn’t mean anything to him because his life was really about getting to his love. But I can’t get my head around the truth. Gatsby is chasing a woman who would always be impressed by wealth, so even if he got her, he would still need to maintain his wealth and surround himself in it. So, does that make him virtuous? Does surrounding yourself by wealth somehow disrupt your moral compass? I don’t know. I don’t know the answer.

But if someone else does, I encourage you to share!

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This past week, we had a sub for the class. She’s a yoga instructor, she hadn’t taught pilates before. The let us know at the start of class that she would incorporate some yoga into the class and change up the routine a bit.

I loved it. I love yoga and welcomed the change. But there were several individuals who left the class while it was still going on. I felt so uncomfortable. I saw our instructor’s face. It was awkward to see people leaving because the yoga infusion was not there thing. She was doing an incredible job, and I loved the class, but it was still very uncomfortable to see folks leaving.

I wondered what I would have done had I been in the other womens’ shoes. If I walked into a class expecting one thing and got something else, would I get up and leave? I think I would stay. There’s something to be said for trying something new, and giving a chance to a woman who’s worked hard to put together an exercise routine for everyone.

It was a strange situation that I was sorry to see, for the sake of our instructor. I hope in the future that folks can try to venture out and try something new. Stick with the program and give things a whirl. You might surprise yourself.

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When I asked him what he should say if a woman approaches him, asking for a good time, he said, “I’ll tell her I’m a married, disease-free man, and I’d like to stay that way.”

I told him that working gals have families and responsibilities. So, maybe he should just go with, “No thank you,” and then offer her money for other necessities.

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After the first wash, the smell usually goes away. But, still, I have it for a short while, and imagine where the clothes were worn, what they saw, and how they made someone else feel at the moment they were worn. I’m clearly a sentimental basket case….but I can handle it.

I realize that vintage seekers are very posh right now– some may consider it a sort of fad. But, I like vintage I can trace back, too. Here’s an example.

When I was a little girl, my dad was always outside. I think part of it was because he loved the outdoors, while the other part of it was the fact that he spent so many hours crammed into a cubicle without windows or proper ventilation. Getting home meant getting a chance to breath real air. Air he hadn’t shared with some guy named Bob who talked about the same shit everyday and made water-cooler chatter utterly boring.

What I remember most about Dad’s nights outdoors is not just how he mowed the lawn in perfectly straight lines, or the awful neon yellow swimming trucks he wore as “comfort clothes” (whether he intended to swim or not). What I remember most about Dad being outside is the watch he wore.

A black Seiko. It was waterproof and had glow-in-the-dark looking strips so a diver could tell time in the deepest waters. My dad is not a diver. He’d been known to use a snorkel to clean algae off the pool liner, but a diver? No.

This was the watch he banged up. The watch that saw every inch of the yard, every layer of water in our pool (he did manage to swim sometimes), every kind of weather, every stratus of soil in the front yard’s planting beds. This is the watch he wore before life got fancy and expensive. This is the watch he wore as he climbed to the top and became the man he is today.

This watch is the most serious version of vintage I can imagine. Because it’s old and carries a story. As as strange as it may sound– it smells a little like my dad.

Dad let me have the watch. And you know I’m going to wear it when I mow the yard next weekend. And I hope to give it a few extra dings and dents while I’m at it.

Thanks, Papa.

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Smallwood State Park in MD is gorgeous!

The hubbie and I had a great time camping last weekend. We love the outdoors and we LOVE disconnecting from technology for a few days. No cell phones, no laptops, no Twitter, and no email. It’s nice to bring books, hike, and just experience simple things. Like the breeze. Or, the way light bounces between leaves on its way down to our tent in the early hours of the morning.

But, I have to admit that I had a less than exciting experience. In the later part of the evening on Saturday, I remembered that I needed to take a pill. I also needed something to wash it down. So, Hubbie pulled out a previously-opened Gatorade bottle from the back of his truck. This is the point at which I should have questioned him. “Where did that come from?” “How long has that been here?” or “Can I have a fresh one?” each could have served me well in this instant.

But, no. I trusted the situation. Or, maybe I was just tired and since it was dark out, didn’t consider plausible consequences. I snarfed down my pill, old Gatorade, and some kind of furry, fuzzy fungus that I cannot name or describe with great accuracy.

Now, we are somewhat convinced that it is either some sort of fungus or mold, based on legitimate sources like Wikipedia, and online forums. But, we are basing the fact that it is technically not dangerous only on my survival.

How was I supposed to see this in the dark of the night? While I was clearly concentrating on not stepping in the fire pit, instead?

Here’s the lesson, people. Stuff grows in your Gatorade over time. Don’t drink it if it hasn’t been refrigerated. In fact, maybe don’t drink it at all. I almost never do, but we somehow managed to drink all the packed water bottles, and I was left with fuzzy blue gunk.

If I grow limbs out of my ears or other unexpected orifice, I’ll be sure to snap a picture and allow you to make fun of me forever. Gross.

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Mom was venting about a meeting she’d had with one of the teachers she supervises. “They just don’t understand how to integrate the Common Core into their lessons,” she said. She was excited about the Core. She believes it has potential. She believes that the children across this country should be educated by the same standards. If we are a democratic nation, we should offer the same opportunities for growth, education, and success. Regardless of the child’s zip code.

I agree. Kids need opportunities. They need a strong education. They need to be able to compete and follow their dreams. They need the tools to achieve. And perhaps, some of the standards in other states across the country are in need of a facelift. But, I have to disagree that the Common Core are going to get us there. Because I don’t know that they are.

While it’s wonderfully optimistic to believe that a set of standards and curriculum aligned to those standards will boost the American educational system, it’s far from reality.  Because when you have standards set in place, you need a way to assess that those standards are being met. And to do that through a national approach, our country has deemed standardized state tests as the best (perhaps cheapest) way to provide such an assessment.

Everyone needs data. Proof. Evidence. To see if something is working or not, you need some sort of statistical printout, right? Whether or not I believe this to be the case seems irrelevant, because this is how our country feels about it. They need charts and graphs and numbers and dollar signs to correlate on a big chart to show us how the youth of our nation is performing.

Mom loves the idea that the Common Core raises a bar. It doesn’t only ask kids to be accountable for their learning. It forces teachers to become accountable, too. Now, school districts and its administration all plays a role in this assessment. We are all judged and held to a high standard to ensure that the kids are actually learning something. But, here’s the problem. NCLB has been in place for over ten years. That’s a decade people. Half a score, if you want to get a little Lincoln with me. And what has happened? We’ve raised the bar, upped the standards, aligned the curriculum, nationalized learning, and SQUAT.

Kids are miserable. They are not performing any better. Come springtime, they aren’t complaining as much about normal kid stuff– like zits and boys and parties. They’re complaining about the testing. They’re complaining about having to take these long exams. They hate having to sit through hours and hours of tests that take them away from the stuff that’s fun. The time with their teachers when they get to be creative, pensive, innovative, and kid-like.

After our discussion, I did relent and tell Mom that I’m not convinced that the Core is the thing to blame, really.  It’s a framework that can help teachers to align skills development with teaching material. That’s cool. That works. What’s tough is how the Core is causing bigger assessment problems that aren’t going away.

How do we fix this? I honestly have no idea….because most days I just wish I saw more kids playing outside than anything else.

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Hubbie: “I’m going to do a food shop for us…”

Awesome. Bangin’. Cool. Can’t wait. I started running through my mental picture of our fridge. I think in my mind of the butter tray. Is it empty? The side door. Do we have ketchup? The cheese drawer. Do we have Baby Bell? Or that Polly-O String Cheese he’s recently claimed is life-changing.

Me: “Ok, umm, can you grab some more orange juice? And soy milk? Oh, and a box of that sticky rice I like. It’s in the ethnic foods aisle…in the red box with the little yellowish swirlies on it….that kind of look like dented phalusses.”

Hubbie: “No. I was thinking of a more primitive food shop.”

Who wouldn’t eat produce from these delightful folk? This would have been perfect!

So, then I’m thinking about an organic food stand. Maybe a young Amish couple he met recently, from whom he wishes to buy foodstuffs and other wares. But then, he quickly corrects my assumption.

Hubbie: “I’m gunna catch you a trout in the lake for dinner…”

Me: (knowing his cheap- ahem- value-loving fiscal conservatism) “You know, fishing for my dinner doesn’t allow you to use our Giant bonus card. Where is the value in this proposition?”

Dinner kind of looked like this. No, wait. Imagine it without a head or tail, sitting on tin foil in my oven. Yea….that’s what it looked like.

Hubbie: “The value is that this fish will be free.”

Me: “Not if I get some kind of mad river disease from eating it, and we have a crazy hospital bill because our insurance doesn’t cover Gyrodactylus Parasite Ingestion.”

Hubbie: “I’m not asking you to eat a gyro. I know you’re a vegetarian…”

Me: “There’s no need to get fresh.”

Hubbie: Oh, it’ll be fresh. I’ll wait ’till I get home to kill it. I can hammer him in the driveway.”

Needless to say, he brought home two river trout. And I ate them. And I only accidentally swallowed two bones.

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• Q: Hey! How was your weekend?
• A: Ehh, you know. Never long enough.
• Q: Hey, how’s your family?
• A: Oh, my (mom/dad/sister/cousin/uncle/grandparent) is sick. It’s like, it never ends…always something wrong with someone, right? That’s life.
• Q: Oh, what do you have for lunch today?
• A: Same old.
• Q: Any fun plans for the summer?
• A: I don’t know. I have a lot to do with the kids, I guess. Chauffeur them around. You know how it goes.
• Q: Want to get together later this week? Maybe grab dinner or something?
• A: I have too much to get done with this week. I really can’t.
• Q: Oh, have you tried that new yoga studio by your house? It looks awesome!
• A: Who has time? I never really get out, unless it’s to take the kids to soccer practice.

Sometimes, it feels like I’ve asked people how they’re doing, what’s new, etc, and the responses feel the same. Not often enough is something particularly wonderful and happy and joyful going on in folks’ lives, and I can’t help but wonder WHY?! WHAT is taking up everyone’s time? What is so critical that people are not making time to do fun things that make them happy?

The bigger question, perhaps, is why are people spending hours and hours each day, working their tails off, without much time for the things they love? When are we going to get time or make time to really enjoy this short life we have? Without making a real effort to have fun, experience joy, and live a happy life, everyone just comes across as a little grumpy.

When my sister lived in the Czech Republic, she told me that folks always answered the question, “How are you?” with utmost honesty. If you were feeling tired, you would tell people you were tired. If you’d experienced a bout of diarrhea recently, you would share that with individuals as well. Interestingly, bowel movements tend to be something my Ukrainian relatives often share with one another. (Thanks, Baba. And, I’m sorry you’ve had some unpleasant stomach issues lately.)

However, it is considered braggy, flashy, or rude to over-tell how wonderful your life is. Sharing too much happiness or too many joyful situations makes you look like (1) a snob who thinks he’s better than everyone else or (2) a liar. Because in Communist Czechoslovakia, no one ever really had good news to share.

But, this is America! Land of the snobby! (Just kidding.) Americans are not all snobs-cabobs. But, we’re proud, and we usually don’t give a crap whom we offend with our braggardly ways. So, where are all the smiling Sams? In the land of opportunity, where are all the optimists? Where are all the happy-go-lucky folks, just itching to tell me something pleasant?

Maybe everyone has had a bad case of diarrhea this month…you never can tell. If anyone figures it out, please let me know. Or, you can just tell me how amazing your life is right now! Because I’d love to hear about that, too!

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